New wave of indie cinema fights power of Hollywood
When is an indie film not an indie film?
Take ``Capote" and ``Brokeback Mountain." These low-budget productions with moderate-size stars and artsy scripts took on gutsy topics. They found their audiences and earned the success they deserved. No harm in that, right?
But not so fast. Films like these were produced not by independent studios but by the ``boutique" divisions of hulking Hollywood studios -- such as Focus Features,
Truly independent films and their small-scale distributors are better able to adapt to a viewing public that's changing, but they still have trouble competing against the big studios' deep pockets. At the same time, studios are desperate to remain hip and relevant.
``They need to spend a disproportionate amount on films for prestige," Mark Urman of ThinkFilm says by phone, on his way out the door to Cannes. ``The rest of the time they are busy making roller coaster rides." His company recently distributed ``The Boys of Baraka" and ``Down in the Valley," and will release ``Half Nelson," to a market that is nearly saturated with films all clamoring for attention.
So, where does all this high-stakes competition and identity crisis leave the real deal, the genuine independent film?
More unpredictable, more accomplished, and more pertinent than ever, in many ways thanks to the very digital revolution that's shaking up the majors.
Micro-budgeted films have changed the entire playing field, from how and who makes films to the expectations of viewers to how they are seen. They may not be cash cows or reach mainstream audiences, but their makers -- young directors such as Andrew Bujalski, Joe Swanberg, and Mark and Jay Duplass -- aren't focused on hitting the Hollywood jackpot.
``You have a new group of filmmakers doing much less cynical [work]," says the Harvard Film Archive's Ted Barron, curator of its ``New American Independent Cinema" series, which begins Thursday . ``They have a different sort of immediacy in the way they are constructed and the kinds of experiences they are trying to create. They seem to be inspired by new things, not just tearing down old systems."
Other entries in the festival include Jim Finn's ``Interkosmos," a comedic account of East Germany's supposed attempt in the 1970s to put colonies on the moons of Saturn and Jupiter. ``Chain" was filmed by director Jem Cohen over the course of seven years and examines how the homogenization of American culture affects two women. Kelly Reichardt's ``Old Joy," which premiered at Sundance this year, looks at two friends trying to reconnect during a weekend camping trip. ``Quietly on By," the third feature of Frank V. Ross, centers on the loneliness of 20-somethings still living at home.
Barron says the new indie wave differs from the last major one, in the early 1990s, when directors such as Quentin Tarantino (``Reservoir Dogs"), Kevin Smith (``Clerks"), and Robert Rodriguez (``El Mariachi") caused the film community to rethink its identity. Films of that generation, he says, were informed by film history and pop culture, with more reflexivity and self-conscious riffing on other directors' work.
``With these [new] guys, it's not about you being made aware of watching a film, it's not about getting some joke," Barron adds. ``It's more spontaneous, reflecting on life experience."
Technology makes that spontaneity possible, putting faster and cheaper tools and a do-it-yourself spirit within reach of anyone. Take Joe Swanberg, director of ``LOL," a feature screening at the HFA that looks at the ways cellphones, e-mail, and instant messaging wreak havoc on interpersonal relationships among his circle of 20-something friends.
``I was at film school just as DV [digital video] cameras came out and video editing systems were easy to use," he says by phone from his native Chicago, his movie-making home base. ``I'm personally serving about 12 roles that would be done by other people." By which he means, for ``LOL," he was producer, director, editor, cinematographer, one of the writers , and costar .
All this is hopeful, especially if one's notion of independent film harks back to the highly personal work of John Cassavetes, Robert Altman, and Terrence Malick, before the mavericks got wiped out by the Spielberg-Lucas event movie . By the late 1970s, Hollywood had learned that the way to make money was to churn out crowd-pleasing blockbusters, not hit- or-miss art-house flicks.
But today, a director making a film he or she is passionate about with no plan for fiscal solvency again seems doable. Audiences might be smaller or more specialized, but the directorial visions are clearer and, so far, less beholden to or compromised by Hollywood.
``[The idea is] not to get too conceptual," says Mark Duplass, actor, writer , and producer of ``The Puffy Chair," a road-trip film about two brothers, the girlfriend of one, and a plush recliner. ``As films go higher and higher concept, you can't compete with that. You go the other way."
``The $15 million independent film isn't as interesting as the $15,000 [one] ," adds Duplass's co star, co producer, and fiancee Kathryn Aselton. The filmmaking couple were in town in April to introduce ``The Puffy Chair" at the Independent Film Festival of Boston. ``Audiences expect a more `real' movie."
That ``real" has come to mean not color-saturated, 35mm film stock shot by a cameraman named Andrzej, but a ``low-fi" digital look, which is a boon to self-made filmmakers everywhere. Duplass and Aselton say that what began as a budgetary limitation has become their visual style. Improv or scripted, digital shooting allows for instant feedback and endless takes. ``Now we're addicted to it," Aselton says.
``Before , there was [this belief that] the aesthetic of film is better than video," says Barron, whose series features Jay and Mark Duplass's film. ``[Now] all kinds of viewing experiences are changing." He cites gadgets such as laptops and iPods as the new platforms for indie cinema.
To get their $10,000 film to Sundance in January 2005, the Duplass brothers spent another $15,000. Once there, they got a glowing reception . ``The Puffy Chair" then toured some 20 mid size and small festivals, from Atlanta, Chicago, and Nantucket to Edinburgh; Thessaloniki , Greece; and Goteborg , Sweden.
The exhausting, year-and-a-half -long festival circuit kept the buzz alive, eventually resulting in two Independent Spirit Award nominations and a theatrical release deal with Roadside Attractions/Netflix that begins in six cities, including Cambridge's Kendall Square Cinema, on Friday .
``I'm really happy to have it play in 25 to 30 theaters," says Mark Duplass , who is not counting on any box-office windfall .
For Swanberg, scraping up money for a plane ticket to attend the Harvard Film Archive screening will be hard enough. ``I go into the productions expecting to lose money. It doesn't make much business sense, but I'm happy," he says. ``All we can hope for [is] that we get to go to festivals and meet other filmmakers."
Even ``the big boys" don't necessarily expect to make money on theatrical releases anymore, says Jamaica Plain-based local hero Bujalski, director of ``Funny Ha Ha" and ``Mutual Appreciation." The first, made in 2002, took three long years to reach theaters. When the film finally was screened, it was named by New York Times critic A.O. Scott as one of his top 10 of 2005, and earned Bujalski a measure of fame. That doesn't mean that filmmaking pays the bills yet, however.
``These days conventional wisdom seems to be that your theatrical release is essentially a large-scale advertisement for your DVD release, where you stand a much better chance of recouping," Bujalski wrote via e-mail. ``That's still an uphill battle for an independent, of course."
Bujalski had a lucky, and significant, boost from an ``angel investor" who privately financed his films' theatrical releases. But now that he's a micro-scale distributor himself, he's beginning to see the industry from a mogul's point of view.
``I can certainly have some sympathy for why the real [distributors] are as skittish as they are, particularly in the case of my films," he wrote, ``which have had lovely reviews but otherwise present very few conventional marketing hooks -- the economic model of theatrical distribution is too brutal to take such a chance."
Which brings us back to the studios. How do they respond to the accusation that they saturate the market and prevent genuine indies from reaching the silver screen?
``I don't think the audience cares how the film is financed or distributed," answers Bob Berney, president of Picturehouse, the HBO-New Line Cinema mini-studio owned by
Still, Berney acknowledges that some of the truly small indie films have a tougher time than ever because the boutique divisions have raised the bar.
``I think some studios do spend too much to market the films," Berney says, noting that about 20 independent features open every Friday in New York. ``It's still a chore and an expensive proposition to get people's attention."
Sounds competitive. Fortunately, a happy bubble of camaraderie still lingers over this new generation of directors. But just wait. Hollywood's solution to reinventing itself has always been to lure fresh blood and new talent westward -- then corrupt writers, directors, and actors, one by one.
The promise of success is mighty tempting, but Bujalski's not worried. Everything's fine.
``For now, sure," Bujalski wrote. ``Nobody's made any money yet."
Ethan Gilsdorf can be reached at ethan@ethangilsdorf.com. 
