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Under discussion:

Gone With the Wind  (1939)

Metropolis  (1927)

George Washington  (2000)

Karina Longworth is contributing posts from Tribecca in New York (check them out--we're so excited to have her here on SpoutBlog). I'm here in the cornfield-embedded college town of Champaign-Urbana, Illinois. Sigh.

But I was feeling compelled this morning, nonetheless, to write a post about the ability, even in a small Midwestern town, to see great movies on a big screen. Besides the fact that we have a much-loved art film theater and all kinds of mini film festivals through the University of Illinois, we have our own annual festival, taking place this week--the 9th annual Roger Ebert's Overlooked Film Festival. Ebert grew up here, going to movies (including Gone with the Wind) at the 86-year-old Virginia Theatre, where the festival is held.

Much is often overlooked where I live--the Midewest in general, this town, Ebert's festival. But the most important things being overlooked (by all kinds of people everywhere) are great films. This is what Ebert is hoping to change through his festival. The first year I went, in April of 2002, I was skeptical. I thought the films would be good in a slightly-left-of-mainstream way. But I was genuinely impressed by what I saw and the way Ebert talked about each of them, before the movie started, and after it ended, often in conversation with the director or other guest. He is really passionate about these overlooked films. He's far more complex than a black or white, thumbs-up or -down man. (That first year I heard the Alloy Orchestra accompany the silent classic Metropolis, and I saw David Gordon Greene's George Washington, followed by a conversation between Ebert and Greene. I still carry those and other Overlooked Film Festival movie experiences with me.)

At this year's festival, for the first time, Ebert won't be talking before and after the films. Last year he underwent significant jaw surgery in his battle with cancer, and he isn't able to talk. (See this piece by him and this CNN story about him.) But he is here, with his wife Chaz and other friends as his voice, which is pretty darn impressive. And even though there's not much in the movie realm that could seem more mainstream than Roger Ebert, I'm glad that he's doing so much to promote great films that a somewhat mainstream audience might not otherwise see--especially in a small town like this.

Under discussion:

Funny Ha Ha  (2003)

The Puffy Chair  (2004)

LOL  (2006)

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.

Under discussion:

Sahara  (2005)

So have you read the recent LA Times article about films budgets? ($78 million of red ink?) You may have at least heard about it, because this article has been linked to lots of snarky commentary on the outrageous amount spent on dying Matthew McConaughey's hair. And I will admit, that's pretty funny.

Getting past that, though, this article is really a rare peak into the world of gigantic budget Hollywood productions that are "developed" from existing "properties" (in the case of Sahara, a series of books). Some pretty amazing accounting gymnastics take place along the way. Here are a couple of sections from the article to give you an idea of what I'm talking about:

- Sahara, an action-adventure based on the bestselling novel by Clive Cussler, has lost about $105 million to date, according to a finance executive assigned to the movie. But records show the film losing $78.3 million based on Hollywood accounting methods that count projected revenue ($202.9 million in this case) over a 10-year period.

- "Courtesy payments," "gratuities" and "local bribes" totaling $237,386 were passed out on locations in Morocco to expedite filming. A $40,688 payment to stop a river improvement project and $23,250 for "Political/Mayoral support" may have run afoul of U.S. law, experts say.

- Unlike most financial failures, "Sahara" performed reasonably well, ranking No. 1 after its opening weekend and generating $122 million in gross box-office sales. But the movie was saddled with exorbitant costs, including a $160-million production and $81.1 million in distribution expenses.

It makes me wonder, yet again, if one day people will realize how many more individual movies could be made for much smaller budgets, each with an opportunity to make a return on its modest investment through artful storytelling, filmmaking, and connection to a passionate audience.