May 31, 2005
Ladies and Gentlemen, I recently found my first experimental film.
Well, not really my first - I just wanted to paraphrase that line from Hedwig And The Angry Inch because I'm listening to the soundtrack. But I was going through an old hi8 tape from the months after I bought my very first camcorder in 1997 (which I used until I made Ghostboy two years later), before I'd ever written a feature length screenplay, right after I turned sixteen, when pretty much everything I made was experimental. I don't generally understimate myself (did I really just say that?), but I was really surprised with the quality of some of the content. I'm not saying it was good - there are plenty of reasons I'll never show it to anyone - but this was back in the days when I didn't really know much about film; Lost Highway had just come out and I'd just become obsessed with Lynch, I think I'd seen one Godard film, maybe some Fellini; but I knew none of the film theory, history or technical skills that I know now. But there's still some really wonderful stuff there - stuff I have no memory of, and which surprised me completely. An assured sense of form, of pace, of personal style. It gave me reassurance (which I need now and then) that this whole adventure hasn't been based on a house of cards; that there's something inate to it, that goes beyond everything I've learned, perhaps. Watching this tape, I felt a rather overwhelming sense of relief.
Of course, if the 16 year old me saw the 24 year old me, he'd be pretty upset. I am pretty upset a lot of the time, actually.
The best clip from the tape was a sequence of randomly juxtaposed, non-sequential shots of me in various overwrought action-movie poses, prop gun in hand (I assume it was shot by my friend Adam, who was my partner in art at the time). Then the harsh pacing changes as, inexplicably, I sit down and wrap my head up in masking tape, twisting my face into a grotesque contortion. Then I walk away, and that's the end of it. And it's wonderful.
There are a lot of other things on the tape, like a spider killing a caterpillar in my garage and me bleeding after cutting myself shaving, and then a long narrative sequence of my friend Ben waking up, driving and getting a midnight cup of coffee. I vaguely remember making that one, and I think it was potentially going to be the beginning of something longer, and the footage was shot to be edited. Looking at it now, paradoxically, the long takes of the passing scenery out the window and the passages in which nothing extraordinary happens perfectly reflects my current sensibilities.
I was talking to James the other day about how I think it's best to be able to act on instinct when making films, but that it's equally important to be able to back that instinct up later with an analytical explanation. I stand by this opinion, but now I think I see that more clearly how the former propensity naturally and fully informs the latter. I think my problem these days, at least on my bigger projects, is that I don't act on instinct enough. I don't trust myself to. Finding this tape made me think to myself that a.) so that's what I looked like when I had a lot of hair and b.) something needs to change.
Whether or not I get the grant, I think I need to make The Outlaw Son this fall.
Posted by David Lowery at May 31, 2005 04:52 AM
Comments
It's amazing how much you look like Ben and Nate.
Posted by: jmj at June 1, 2005 10:45 PM
I know. We're a family of clones.
Posted by: Ghostboy at June 2, 2005 12:16 AM
I think I remember the masking tape...
-- "adam"
Posted by: Just another anonymous kook at June 3, 2005 11:52 AM