• Blue-Tongue Films – Hollywood’s Australia Collective – NYTimes.com
  “We run into people carrying $120,000 debt from film school,” Mr. Doolan said. “And all they want to know is how we did it.”

Here are three of the films the group has produced. I have blogged about Crossbow as a short good enough to get an agent.

Thanks to Short of The Week.

Hello, Thanks is a wonderful little short film by Andy Blubaugh, which premiered at the 2006 Sundance film festival. Andy was recently written up in Indiewire’s recently revived Futures Column, which looks at up and coming independent filmmakers. Blubaugh is based in Portland Oregon.

Hello Thanks uses what Blubaugh calls “speculative documentary construction,” to weave a narrative around his quest for love through the personal ads in Portland.

The charming and poignant style of the documentary, with samples of interviews throughout, reminded me of the band the Books. This song, “Take Time,” is one of my favorites.

Synopsis: A troubled relationship between a Cat and Mouse set in the distant Future.

Written, Directed & Produced by David OReilly, Sound design & Voice synthesis by David Kamp, Sound design & Music by Bram Meindersma. Distributed by Future Shorts.

Awards:
Golden Bear for best short film – Berlinale (2009)
Grand Prize – Kurzfilmtage Winterthur (2009)
Special Jury Commendation – Encounters (2009)
Special Mention – Animated Dreams Tallinn (2009)
Silver Dove – DOK Leipzig (2009)
Deutscher Kurzfilmpreis (2009)
Best Narrative Film – Ottawa (2009)
First Prize for Best Short Film – Animadrid (2009)
The Cartoon D’or (2009)
High Risk Award – Fantoche (2009)
Special Distinction – Annecy (2009)
Best German Film – Oberhausen (2009)

Please Say Something – Full Length from David OReilly on Vimeo.

Watch on Youtube.

The therapist in popular culture is hackneyed figure. Usually a small, stocky, jewish-looking man, his fate is to listen to the lucrative if dull problems of the rich, problems more easily solved with a bit of common sense.

I know this is a comedy, and I watched it with my mom and enjoyed it. Clichés are easy to digest and enjoy. Comedy is full of them, and they are necessary for comedy to thrive. Still I have real problems with what this film is saying.

“Our Time is Up” begins with a bored psychotherapist, very reminiscent of Lester Burnham from American Beauty. He goes through his morning routine before ending up in his office, where he receives a phone-call from a neophyte therapist eager to hear how he treats his patients. Our hero is not so eager to talk, and rudely hangs up the phone.

Thereafter we meet his patients. Here are a few of the clichés he works his way through;

• a playboy who goes out with a different girl every night of the week and can’t find love
• the thin, attractive and bulimic model who’s convinced she’s obsese
• the classically closeted homosexual
• the (asian) hypochondriac
• a man with a turtle phobia
• a man who loves his wife despite the fact that she throws plates at his head
• the compulsive ass grabber
• a middle-aged man who’s afraid of the dark

After hearing them out with boredom, he receives a phonecall from his doctor telling him he has six weeks to live. It is, not surprisingly, a life-changing ordeal.

He proceeds to tell all of his patients exactly what he (and the audience) thinks they need to do. They get angry, do what he tells them, and miraculously heal themselves. All is well in psychiatry.

I understand the need for tropes in comedy but this film is disrespectful to anyone who has ever been in therapy. It proposes the classic argument that people in therapy don’t have real problems, and if they just went to their cousin Jed he’d fix ‘em up with a little bit o’ common sense.

Aside from all of that, and this is so common in short films, it’s just not a very interesting movie. There isn’t the least bit of surprise throughout. Each character presents their clichés, then are healed from them. Real people’s psychological problems often take years of concerted effort on behalf of both therapist and patient.

I once read a book on hypochondria that said that people generally go to their traditional medical doctors with psychological problems. Their GPs, trained to treat the body, offer them medication to numb the symptoms of stress, depression, anxiety etc. Their patients then wander around doped up, grateful to avoid dealing with the roots of their problems for the price of a few more prescriptions.

Their problems would have been better dealt with in therapy. Of course, if that person had watched a film like this, they might be afraid of being seen as silly or weak. One of the comments on youtube was from a high-school student whose teacher showed the film in an AP psychology class. I’m sure he’ll be the first to visit a therapist if he has problems his traditional doctor can’t handle.

This film, albeit humorously contributes to the view of psychotherapy as ridiculous and unnecessary. Not every therapist is fantastic, nor is every film. It takes a long time to find a good therapist, as it sadly does to find a good short film. I’m starting to think the Oscar-live action category is not the best place to look for them.

This short film successfully bridges the gap between literary narration and film. It begins with Madeleine Peyroux‘s lilting cover of Bob Dylan’s “You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go.” The song, coupled with an elegant title sequence that evokes the Moirae of greek mythology, is a stunningly effective entrance to the film. From Wikipedia:

“The Moirae or Moerae (in Greek Μοῖραι – the “apportioners“, often called the The Fates), in Greek mythology, were the white-robed personifications of destiny.

The Greek word moira (μοῖρα) literally means a part or portion, and by extension one’s portion in life or destiny. They controlled the metaphorical thread of life of every mortal from birth to death.”

I once stood for forty-five minutes in front of this painting by Sir William E. Reynolds which depicts a Moirae at work above two careless lovers.

This subtle and beautiful metaphor of the thread of life guides us into the film.

Plot / Themes

Manon has an accident while riding home on her bicycle. While lying paralyzed in the street, she becomes omnipresent and reflects on her friends’ reactions to her accident and the final events of her life leading up to it.

The film is reminiscent of the ending of American Beauty, where Kevin Spacey’s character, floating above his suburban neighborhood, comments on death;

“I’d always heard the entire life lasts in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn’t a second at all. It stretches on forever, like an ocean of time. For me, it was lying on my back at Boy Scout Camp, watching falling stars. And yellow leaves from the maple trees that lined our street. Or my grandmother’s hands, and the way her skin seemed like paper.”

Manon Sur le Bitume expands upon these themes of eternal return. The film transcends it’s own sentimentality through very careful writing and filmmaking. Manon’s observation that her panties may be showing, or close up shots of her lovers neck, are a few of the gems in this film that push it out of pablum.

The Literary Structure of “Manon sur le Bitume”

As in American Beauty, this film makes heavy use of voiceover narration. During a relatively long introduction we see each of Manon’s friends as well as her mother going about their daily lives. Only at the end do we move to Manon. When we finally see her, the Madeleine Peyroux song fades away into the ominous sounds of traffic. After a fade to white we enter silence and a bird’s eye view of Manon on the asphalt; she has been hit by a car. We linger for a few shots until we move back into her blurred perspective.

“It must be serious,” she comments.

Then we are introduced to the scene of the accident and Manon’s reaction to it. The action comes before any information about her character; the film’s intention is to reveal her through her final moments.

Manon reflects that “someone must be told,” and from here we move to her next-door neighbor. Confronted by the police, he is given the difficult task of informing Manon’s friends of what has happened. Manon narrates his progress with a strange detachment in her voice, conveying her surprise and curiosity; for the moment she is on the same level as the audience.

After the neighbor proves too upset to inform her mother, Manon thanks him and we return to her lying on the street. She observes the people around her, transitioning to the friends we met in the beginning with “I should tell the others.”

The friends sit around in a friend’s apartment discussing what happened. The accuracy of Manon’s narration is remarkable. She knows each of her friends precisely, almost omnisciently. She answers her own question of “What will they do?”

“They’ll all get together. At Jasmeen’s, her place is bigger. I have the feeling they’ll talk about me. Jeanne will rehash high school stories. Yasmeen terrible parties. Francesco will repeat that life is shit, in his outrageous accent. For once, they’ll all agree. And they won’t even laugh at his accent. Everyone will bring up their own memories.”

From here we make a subtle transition to a time when Manon was alive and well. Everyone sits around talking about what might be HBO’s “Six Feet Under,” calmly removed from the images of death they describe. It was to be their last dinner.

From here we move back to the apartment with the friends. Mehdi sits staring out the window, perhaps remembering that last dinner;

“He’ll smoke, and for once Jeanne won’t get pissed off. Antoine will want to do something amazing, in homage. But everyone will think it’s stupid. In the end, he’ll think it’s stupid too. So he’ll stop talking, and toy with his crappy old phone.”

The phone marks another fluid transition to Manon failing to figure out how to use her own new phone.

Tolstoy once wrote that the most important part of writing is transitions. In this very literary film, more of an illustrated essay, the transitions are perfectly placed. We see visual transitions, thematic transitions, and dialogue transitions between scenes and moments.

These carefully connected jumps in time aid the idea that Manon’s memories are chaotic, that pieces of her life are coming up all at once. It is a remarkably effective use of stream of consciousness in film. Normally a literary form, it becomes acceptable here through the paralyzed narrator, similar to that used in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, another pensive, static, beautifully reflective french offering.

From the cell phone Manon realizes that if she had known what was going to happen, she could have left each of her friends something. She lists them off: an Olive Tree for one, a beach ball for another. I am struck here by the illustration of the idea that we are all formed by those closest to us. As Manon imagines giving a gift to each friend, we realize in turn that her personality and interests are shaped by the people she could share them with. As I pack up my life in Berlin, I realize all the small gifts I have received from people over the years, and remember the circumstances in which they were given to me.

And now we come to Matthieu, Manon’s lover. We see him at this moment in slightly blurred, unbearably beautiful extreme close-ups. It is as if we were as close to him as Manon was, within kissing distance. She reflects that she never told him how happy she was with him, though she almost did once. We see the first time they met, and the precision of her narration is heartbreaking;

“I didn’t beat my record, you’ll never be my longest.”

We return to the asphalt to see Manon fading, remembering the last time she talked to her mother. She was in a rush, and terribly rude. She apologizes.

We hear the dates of her last trip to the beach and the last time she made love. She sees Matthieu on her way into death. From here we jump back into the past, guided by the return of Peyroux’s Bob Dylan, to see each of Manon’s friends being informed of what happened. Some answer their cell phones, others are busy and say they’ll deal with it later. With this we close the set-up from the beginning, answering the question of why they were all there; to be informed of their friend’s death.

Lastly we return to Manon’s apartment, to her cheery voicemail. It’s Matthieu; he’s wondering where she is, late as always.

This film is a beautiful example of how to use literary narration in film. As mentioned earlier, this film is more of a photo-essay, along the lines of Chris Marker’s La Jetée, than a classical dramatic piece. It’s tone of nostalgia is effective and elegant, but probably not for everyone. For the others, it’s a film you’ll leave with a sudden appreciation of life; who you are, what you have, and what you hope to be.

Watch The Replacement Child on Vimeo

“It is not the storyteller’s job to provide answers,

but in fact the harder job is to correctly state the question.”

-Anton Chekhov

The Replacement Child was writer-director Justin Lerner‘s graduate directing thesis at UCLA’s School of Theatre Film and Television. It screened at the Los Angeles International Film Festival before its world premiere at the Telluride Film Festival.

“After spending a year in a juvenile center for beating up his stepfather, Todd Turnbull returns to his backwoods hometown a repentant, deeply religious boy. When he finds his best friend, Michael, withering away without any medical attention due to the family’s spiritual beliefs, Todd must make a choice: let his friend die; or break his oath of non-violence and take matters into his own hands.” – Via ImdB

This complex and well crafted narrative is difficult to summarize. While following Todd Turnbull’s journey from meekness to righteousness, it also compassionately depicts the other characters in his rural spiritual world. Lerner refrains from judging any of his characters, an admirable feat for such a difficult subject matter.

Lerner says that he begins every film with the above quote by Chekhov, and he remains true to it. These solid and human characters are benefited by a strong and well-constructed plot that leaves the audience to make their own judgments about its themes.

It is well worth reading Lerner’s interview on his creative process with Behance Mag to catch a glimpse of how he reigns in the chaos of the creative process through meticulous organizazion. You can also listen to a podcast featuring an interview with the filmmaker for a more in-depth discussion of the film.

Lerner has commented that he sees the film as a mixed genre; a coming of age western. This is strongly reflected in his choice of shots. We see many showdown style configurations throughout the film. One of the most memorable is the scene where Todd sees his step-father for the first time since juvenile hall, which is surprisingly realistic in its brutality.

The script is aided by very strong performances all around, especially that of the lead Travis Quentin Young, who brings a subtle elegance to this difficult charcter. The music of Sam Cooke complements the film’s spritual themes and earthy tones.

All around an excellent film and especially impressive for a student work. Justin Lerner is currently working on his first feature titled Girlfriend, scheduled to shoot in September. You can see more about him at his website www.twelve34films.com.