I like the films coming from Swanberg, Duplass, Bujalski, et al mentioned in Kristin’s Mumblecore post. Kevin and I watched Joe Swanberg’s new film, Hannah Takes the Stairs at SXSW and I had the same response to it I’ve had to his other films (LOL, Kissing on the Mouth). I didn’t leave the theater riding on one emotion. I left talking about all the brilliant little gems, the pieces that are more relevant in his films than the whole. As Kristin put it, the films are a series moments so acutely portraying people trying to communicate.

As far as labeling this family of film–and the friendships growing between the filmmakers–as a “movement.” Well, I bristle at the idea. What is it about coining a movement that (in this case before these filmmakers even reach the age of thirty) we find comforting? Does it somehow validate watching films which individually may confuse us? Now that they’re grouped together, like the French New Wave, are we now able to analyze them? Where as before, we just had to watch them like we would any other movie.

If a group of like minded people gather together, it’s normal. But if those like minded people gather together and make something interesting, like European painters exiled to New York after World War II, they’re labeled a movement. Their work is not close and intimate, it’s recognized by themes and concepts demarcating that movement. In short, trying to stamp “mumblecore” on the work of a filmmaker like Joe Swanberg I think defeats what his films try to achieve: A moment of real intimacy and connection with the audience. The moment when a 25 year old girl sits in a theater wading through the film and suddenly says to herself, “Whoa! This is me! My boring little life is on a big screen and now, suddenly, it’s interesting!”

Maybe now instead of having that moment, that 25 year old girl will say, “Hmm. This is Mumblecore.”

When is it time to demarcate a filmmaking “movement”? What if the filmmakers in this movement don’t want to be grouped into any kind of movement at all? And what if the films in this movement revolve around the crisis of self-definition? Could it get any worse for one of its members than to have to talk about feeling self-conscious about being in a movement?

An article in the Spring 2007 issue of Filmmaker Magazine begins by asking these very smart questions, which immediately intrigued me. The article, “What I Meant to Say,” looks quite thoroughly at the independent film movement known by many as “mumblecore.” There are several posts waiting to emerge from this article, so I hope Paul and some of the other guys will share their thoughts in the coming days. For now, just check out the article and take note of the collaboration aspect of this movement.

The article generalizes these mumblecore films as “severely naturalistic portraits of the life and loves of artistic twentysomethings.” Names like Joe Swanberg (LOL), Mark Duplass (The Puffy Chair) and Andrew Bujalski (Funny Ha Ha) are all names that bubble to the top of this “scene,” if you can call it that. (I’ll never forget stumbling across Funny Ha Ha with some friends. It was definitely unlike anything we had ever seen.) Here’s another description from the article:

The first aesthetic indicators–and, it must be stressed, not all friends of mumblecore make films like this–are improvised dialogue and naturalistic performances, often by non-actors. The films employ handheld, verite-style digital camerawork and long takes. Budgets are tiny. The plots hinge on everyday events. The stories are often obvious reflections of the filmmakers’ lives. Most characters are white and educated and pursue creative endeavors when not pursuing one another. They are sensitive. They are sincere.

So that’s mumblecore, and it’s been slowly emerging for a while now. But apparently something interesting started taking shape this year at SXSW, causing people to sit up and pay attention. The festival’s promotional shorts were co-created by eight so-called mumblecore filmmakers, most of whom also had feature-length films at the festival (most of which were made with, written with, or acted by some of the other filmmakers).

It may be hard to follow all that, but you get the idea–this is a tight group. Read the article and you’ll see all the names and how they’re intertwined. It’s quite remarkable. And it made me think that something exciting is happening, whether or not I love this style of film (and I’m not convinced, yet, that I do–I’ll get back to you after I see more). The exciting thing that’s happening, from my perspective, revolves around a shared filmmaking experience that organically draws in ideas and talents from anyone who has some to offer. It’s not about competition–rushing to finish your film first, get it to festivals, attract the most attention. It’s about the love of making movies like this, of finding a format for expression that works, and sharing with others through that format.

In the end, these films, as the Filmmaker articles says, are ultimately about “trying to communicate.” While all films are trying to communicate something, it’s often something that’s inside one person (the writer or director). What’s interesting (and rather poetic) about mumblecore, is that people are interacting and trying to communicate on the screen as well as through the creation process. That seems to be filmmaking collaboration at its best.

Jindabyne centers around the marriage of Stewart (Gabriel Byrne) and Claire (Laura Linney). As the film unfolds scene by scene, we discover that Stewart and Claire have unresolved matters in their marriage stemming from Claire’s intense postpartum depression after the birth of their son. Claire constantly strives to be the mother she wasn’t when her son was born. Stewart finds himself in the middle of his life, wondering where his marriage is and what kind of a man he has become. The film draws us into this domestic life, which seems to be in a kind of stasis.

When Stewart goes away on an annual fishing trip with his friends, however, this stasis ends, bringing their wounds to the forefront. An incident followed by a collective decision by the men ignite a crisis for Stewart and his friends, as well as their wives and girlfriends. Ultimately, all of their secrets and deceptions are brought out into the light, along with a piercing question: What kind of men would make such a decision? For Stewart and Claire, this question forces them to face where they are wounded and decide ultimately what they will do and how they will move forward.

This story unfolds in the Australian outback in a little town called Jindabyne. The locations for this film are both stunning and haunting. Filmed entirely with natural light, the film has a sensibility to it that reminds the viewer of Malick, but what Ray Lawrence, the director, does with the landscape is wholly original. The vastness of the outback, the desolation of it, the beauty of it, guides the characters in a way. This approach casts the landscape as a kind of character all unto itself. Its secret and sacred places try to warn the characters against the tragedy that awaits them. Some of them can sense this, but other cannot because their lives have caused them to dull their sensitivity to the beauty around them and what it wants to tell them.

Each scene of the films unfolds the way it needs to, for how long it needs to. Lawrence doesn’t seem to be interested in making sure the audience is “entertained” at all times. Rather, his concern seems to be with the emotional truth of each scene and what that truth means for the characters. Lawrence leads us, and them, towards a conclusion that is utterly profound and moving, while at the same not heavy handed or emotionally manipulative.

One of the highlights of watching this film at Telluride was the presence of lead actress, Laura Linney. After the film was screened she answered questions about how it was made and how she created her character, Claire. One of the most interesting things she had to say involved the director’s decision to only use natural light for the film. He made this choice, she explained, so that their performances could shine through and be the centerpiece of the story. This decision, while risky, imbued the film with beauty and a sensibility that is not often seen in the cinema.

At SXSW this last March I saw Doug Block’s documentary 51 Birch Street. I immediately wanted to show it to my family and friends. It’s just one of those films that’s complete only when you have somebody to talk about it with. The filmmaker, Doug Block, was gracious enough to let us to host a sneak preview screening here in Michigan before it opens later in New York, LA, San Francisco, Chicago, Minneapolis, and Boston.

Over the last several weeks I’ve been showing the film around to friends–by now I’ve probably watched 51 Birch Street half a dozen times. But I love showing it. I may know what happens next, but every time it ends I get to connect with people on a deeper level than what typically happens in everyday conversation. The film addresses the two most fundamental relationships we have: the one with our parents and the one with our wife/husband. What I’ve found is 51 Birch Street scratches an itch we all have, because, let’s face it, some part of our consciousness is always preoccupied with these relationships. It feels good to talk about them every once in a while.

There’s also something I’ve been thinking about around the idea of watching films in crowds. Snakes on a Plane was a blast because I saw it with a bunch of people willing to waste two hours on guaranteed good trash. 51 Birch Street isn’t as rowdy, but it’s also a film that gets better depending on who you watch it with. Although it’s airing on HBO next year, part of the reason we’re hosting this Spout event is I really want to bring it to a theater where people can watch it together, then walk across the street to the local watering hole and dig into some good conversation with each other. At Spout, we’ve always talked about bringing this type of experience to people. I think 51 Birch Street is the perfect film to start with, and there’ll be more to come. Join the 51 Birch Street Group for updates.

51 Birch Street will be showing at 8:00 Thursday, September 28th.
UICA Theater
41 Sheldon Boulevard SE
Grand Rapids, MI 49503

Lists are indispensable. Lists are how we keep track of things and define who we are. A list of my favorite books, a list of places I’ve lived, a list of friends I have or no longer have. Lists are the bones my life’s story is built on. In lists I can also find out what I share in common with somebody else. We believe in making lots of lists.