Golden Gate Bridge at dusk
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Inside MVFF: A Spin with Glenn Close
Preparing for Glenn Close’s tribute at Mill Valley Film Festival last year, I called a filmmaker/writer friend in London who regularly helps me brainstorm ideas for interviews with filmmakers, and whose insights I always value. She remembered British producer David Puttnam talk about working with her (he produced Meeting Venus, directed by Istvan Szabo, in which she played an opera diva), and talking about her thoroughness and rigor as an artist, and the importance of having the environment on set be supportive of actors’ work.
I was also busy watching Close’s films, and working with an editor who was creating the clip reel we would use for the tribute program. He emailed me one day and asked what my favorite Glenn Close moment was. And he attached a clip, and said: Here’s mine! It wasn’t from The World According to Garp or Jagged Edge or Dangerous Liaisons, or her luscious Cruella de Vil from 101 Dalmations. It was from Frank Oz’s 2004 version of The Stepford Wives.
On a busy, multi-taking day at the office, I watched it. And I completely cracked up. It made my day.
Later, as I began to pull together my questions for her interview, I remembered this clip, since The Stepford Wives was set in Connecticut, where Close is from. Seemed like a good opener, to talk about roots, where she grew up, that kind of thing. So that was where I began our on-stage hour, asking about Connecticut. But she didn’t want to talk about Connecticut. Onstage, she looked at me with that twinkling smile, and it was obvious we were not going there. And about the film: she didn’t want to go there, either.
I had a moment’s hesitation, re-grouping and wondering what was actually going to be OK to talk about. But she did offer a little about the filming of Stepford Wives, and in doing so gave an insight into that film in particular, but also, indirectly, into her work. With a degree of diplomacy, she revealed that as the shoot progressed, she didn’t know whether her character was a robot, or was real. She would arrive for a scene without the complete picture of what, or who she was playing. As she said that, I thought back to the conversation with my friend in London, and Puttnam’s observation about her work: this did not sound like an ideal process for Close’s needs as an actress.
So the conversation moved on, to Garp, Dangerous Liaisons, Cruella de Vil, and then to her extraordinary performance in Albert Nobbs, which she co-wrote. As she described the process of working on this period piece, the meticulous research and work that went into creating the character of Albert, the work with her director, Rodrigo Garcia, her costumer, and an incredible company of actors, it was obvious that the experience of working on this film was one of her best. And this, of course, became her sixth Best Actress Oscar nomination, along with other accolades for her co-stars. And it was, well, quite a long way from Stepford.
-Zoë Elton, Director of Programming, Mill Valley Film Festival
Stay tuned to hear about the 2012 Cannes experience from Zoe Elton, Director of Programming for MVFF. Looks like this will be a great year.
Inside MVFF: A Question of Doris Day
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Inside MVFF: A Question of Doris Day
Just after last year’s MVFF, theLos Angeles Film Critics Association (LAFCA) named Doris Day recipient of their Career Achievement Award. I was curious. Definitely, a truly deserving actress and singer, one of the top box office performers of all time, and someone who helped define the sixties—well, the early sixties, before the sixties re-defined themselves. But: someone who has not pursued a public life for more than four decades. I was curious because I wondered whether she would actually show up to the awards gala in person. And I was curious because of what I learned from Doris Day.
In 1993, I really wanted to produce a tribute to Doris Day for Mill Valley Film Festival. And while on the outside it may seem like MVFF tributes are just a phone call away, this is far from the reality. I was starting from scratch. And remember, this is before the ubiquitous internet, before google, before all the online tools that search, search, search. I knew that her son, Terry Melcher, was a musician and music producer. So I found the address for his company, composed a letter of invitation and sent to it to her in care of her son. And heard nothing back. But I knew she lived in Carmel, and somehow, I found an address for her. (I have no memory of how I managed to root this out, but I did.) So I wrote again to her, and waited.
Eventually, I heard back by mail from Linda, her representative, apologizing for the delay, but saying they had waited to see when another commitment she had in October—a fundraiser for an animal charity—would be set. And since it turned out to be the same time, Miss Day would be unable to join us at Mill Valley. A very polite, courteous letter, which ended by saying, “Perhaps, if you might still be interested, we could discuss this for 1994.” Great!
The festival came and went. In November, a letter from Terry Melcher. Same thing: very courteous, suggesting we come back to them in 1994. Very encouraging.
Spring 1994, I wrote again—by fax this time—reiterating our invitation. Although there was no fundraiser time conflict this time, Linda replied that Miss Day would be busy with her animal welfare work. Brief, courteous—and rather general. But the door wasn’t closed. Several faxes back and forth. Then, I made a last-ditch attempt, proposing the Tribute as a fundraiser for her animal charity, and signed by everyone in the film festival office.
And then, I waited.
Linda faxed back, and this was when I learned a great lesson from Doris Day: the message relayed was again supremely polite, and ended “but she would not be comfortable with a Tribute program at this point in her life.”
Ah! The lightbulbs flashed. I realized she just didn’t like to do tributes and appear in public and talk about work long past. But she was also extremely polite, and saying no outright would not be the appropriate thing to do. And it made me realize that someone really has to have a reason to be motivated to come and spend an evening onstage in front of an audience. And while many do have a reason, and many are motivated, Doris Day is not one of them.
Over the years, various film and music events and awards have been afforded her, but she rarely, if ever, shows up—except for her charity work in Carmel. So, there’s been a little flurry of activity recently: at the end of last year, she released a new album of songs (one, My Buddy, dedicated to Terry Melcher, who died in 2004) and the LAFCA announced their award to her. And, this week, her 88th birthday (April 3rd) is celebrated by a week-long salute on TCM, along with the release of a 4 movie DVD and a 2-CD set of songs curated by Miss Day. And, astonishingly, Doris Day did show up: for an interview with Terry Gross on Fresh Air.
But at the Lifetime Achievement Award gala for LAFCA, she was a no-show, with someone from her animal charity representing her instead.
As for me: thanks to Doris Day, I’ve learned to ask the question, “Does Mr Matthau (or, Ms Farrow, or, Ms Redgrave) ever like to do these things?”
Happy birthday, Doris Day!
-Zoë Elton, Director of Programming, Mill Valley Film Festival
Doing great work…
We are so proud of our parent organization, the California Film Institute. Take a look at what they did on Monday as part of the Education Program. Great work CFI Education - keep it up.
At-Risk Youth Tell Their Stories through Film
Adolescents dealing with gang violence, loss of family members and more tell their stories with the help of the California Film Institute.
A group of adolescents stood on a stage were filmmakers and stars like Darren Aronofsky, Ewan McGregor and Martin Sheen stood before them.
And like thos big names, this group screened their latest work, a series of short films, to an audience at the Smith Rafael Film CenterMonday night as part of California Film Institute’s “My Place/My Story” program.
“My Place/My Story” is a five-day free workshop where kids from ages 13 to 18 write their own stories and then edit them into a short film. The kids are recruited by local social service agencies, many coming from Marin City and the Canal neighborhood in San Rafael. Each movie is around three to five minutes.
“It may be the most intimate program,” California Film Institute Executive Director Mark Fishkin said at the screening.
Many movies began with the filmmakers telling about the people closest to them. For Dany Reyes, that person was his older brother, who was a member of the 18 Street gang in the Canal neighborhood. His brother’s involvement with drugs and the gang terrify Reyes, his mother and his grandmother.
His brother bounces in and out of juvenile hall, only to return to the arms of his gang. One evening, a pair of cops arrive at the Reyes house, telling his mother that a rival gang member killed the friend of his brother. Fearing for his safety, the brother flees with his grandmother to Guatemala.
Reyes’s film closes with the hope that one day his brother will return to the United States to reap the benefits he would’ve had if weren’t for his illegal activity. In letters, his brother tells Reyes to be smart and never join a gang.
Loss was a common theme. Nia Crowell’s film showed her loneliness after some of her siblings served time in juvenile hall and were placed in group homes far away. She explains in her voice over that her hands are the most precious to her because they wipe away her tears and hold her loved ones close.
But not all the movies were somber. Alex Danvilla told how his fear of leaving Guatemala seven years ago transformed into optimism about his future in the United States. Joe Feria Lopez dreamed of one day becoming a professional soccer player. Gutberto Cab tells of his determination to improve his education.
For Crowell, her most important lesson during the workshop was the courage to tell her story.
Other than discovering their own courage, students learn to create their own music and use programs like Final Cut Pro and Photoshop to tell their story.
“It was hard because I didn’t know how to use a computer,” Luiz Velazques said. “A lot of times I wanted to go home and take a nap. So I began drinking coffee.”
The program, which is in its sixth year, provides lunch and transportation for the participants. Funded by several foundations including the Marin Community Foundation, CFI keeps its costs between $6,000 and $10,000.
“This program is so important,” CFI Board Member Larry Eilenberg said. “What it says is that you’re important and your stories fill the big screen.”
Written by and reposted from Nicole Ely, Patch.com
Inside MVFF: Calling for Entries (based on a true story)
Inside MVFF: Calling for Entries
(based on a true story)
Mill Valley, California, sometime in the late nineties. A beautiful April morning, the sun just high enough to be filtering through the tall branches outside. I pause as I check my email and peer over the top of my hand-me-down Mac to the redwoods outside. The phone rings.
‘Mill Valley Film Festival, this is Zoë.’
With full-on enthusiasm, a voice on the other end says, ‘Hi!’
‘Hi,’ I say, pausing slightly, wondering if this is someone I should recognize. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes! I wanted to ask you about submitting a film for Mill Valley Film Festival.’
‘Great,’ I say, ‘OK.’
And I begin to describe the process: the call for entries announced in the spring (right around the time the blossoms bloom on those trees along Miller Avenue, I think), the deadline in June, and so on. He interrupts me.
‘Yeah, but what kind of films are you looking for?’
Pause again—he’s leading this conversation somewhere, but…where?
‘Well, we consider all genres—narratives, documentary, animation, family films, experimental…’ And I am about to say, in all lengths, shorts, medium, features, when he cuts in—the guy is on a mission, I can tell.
‘Yeah, but what do you want to see?’
A beat. A moment.
‘Meaning…?’
‘Meaning, what do you want to see?’
I am stumped. How to answer? Really, what I want to see is that once every ten-plus years breakthrough feature by an audacious, ready-to-break-out-into-the world fully-evolved talent that grabs you by the heart and guts then takes you on a journey that leaves you breathless. Or, that doc that hits exactly the right issue at the right time. Or the short that leaves you wide-eyed and believing in the miraculous.
But somehow, I sense that this is not where this conversation is going.
I settle for generalizations about different kinds of films, different moods, waffle that throws some crumbs into the conversation but doesn’t commit me to a corner I can’t escape.
‘Yeah.’ The tone turns persuasive. ‘But I want to know what you want to see. And’—here, I feel the ta-da coming—‘I’m going to make that film.’
The silence that follows is all mine. I realize he hasn’t actually made a film. He doesn’t actually have a film he wants to submit.
‘Well…do you have an idea, or a story you really want to tell?’ I am treading very gingerly, here. ‘I mean…usually when someone makes a film it’s about something that they’re really compelled by—?’
I pause, hoping he’ll pick up on this. But nope, he wants to know what I want. He says, he figures I see so many films, that I must really know what film I’d like to see at Mill Valley Film Festival. And he’s going to make it.
Oh, let’s just pause a moment here. A couple of disclaimers, and an observation: my English upbringing, proper to the last, does not allow me to ask him if he is out of his mind, nor does it allow me to hang up on him. And really—you never know whose son or brother or friend you might be talking with. The observation: have you ever noticed how some people seem to try to coerce you into their own particular scenario, in the guise of a conversation? They’ve cast you in a particular role, which they expect you to fulfill?
So: I cannot fulfill this role. Instead, I explain: any films that come in through the call for entries—hundreds upon hundreds of them—are previewed by screening committees of film professionals. Directors, writers, editors, critics. People from backgrounds, ages, and ethnicities as varied as we can muster in a small group, so filmmakers get the best chances possible. Each film is assessed; recommendations are made. The high-rankers are reviewed by MVFF’s programmers. Thence, we hash it out to make the best, most well-balanced mixture of new works that we can, one that gives us a sense of what the pulse of the world is right now, through the eyes of our filmmakers.
He begins to scroll the conversation back, and I head him off with some encouraging words. ‘Make your best film. Knock my socks off.’ I hear myself saying. But not the response he’d wanted, I fear.
Did he ever make that film? Maybe. But fast-forward to now, and the class of 2012 hopefuls are already getting their films to us. Perhaps that audacious, breath-taking one is amongst them. I’m ever hopeful.
—Zoë Elton
Director of Programming, Mill Valley Film Festival
