My blog where I write about films I enjoy and post interviews I've done with actors and filmmakers. I am a sci-fi fan, an action film nerd, and into both arthouse films and B-movie schlock.
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Monday, October 29, 2012
The Dumb Girl of Portici
As part of MoMA's Tenth Annual To Save and Project Festival, the silent film, The Dumb Girl of Portici, was screened. This film, an historical epic directed by pioneer feminist filmmaker Lois Weber and starring the legendary ballerina Anna Pavlova in her only feature film appearance, was an adaption of the 1828 opera La Muette de Portici, by Daniel Auber, a historical re-telling of the uprising of peasants in 1647 Naples against Spanish rule. The piece introduced dance into opera using a mute heroine, whose lack of words are replaced by vibrant and emotional movement.
The film was designed as both a historical drama on a grand scale for 1916 (this also being the time of D.W. Griffith epic films like Birth of a Nation and Intolerance), and a star vehicle for Anna Pavlova, considered to be one of the finest ballerinas in the history of dance, and an exquisite artist in her own right. The film opens with Pavlova dancing en pointe, occasionally being supported by an "invisible" man hidden against the black background. It didn't have much to do with the rest of the film, just a treat for the audience coming to see the great ballerina for the first time on screen.
The opera's plot, at the heart of it, centers Pavlova as Fenella, a poor mute Italian woman, who falls in love with a Spanish nobleman that poses as a fisherman, and ultimately betrays her in order to maintain control of her people. The plot gets complicated, but Pavlova displayed both a moon-eyed fragility, and a wildness that exemplified her creative spirit and cosmopolitan worldliness. She was truly a magnetic star to behold.
However, while Pavlova was an exceptional dancer, she falls into the cliches of silent film acting, by overacting with exaggerated gestures and facial expressions that were sometimes unintentionally hilarious. It was understandable because she was playing a mute woman, with no title cards to display her dialogue, but it resulted in Pavlova waving her body all about wildly, looking more insane, than finding more subtle ways to express emotion through dance.
The film took major chances in staging the riots of the Neapolitian peasants against their Spanish rulers, with a grand finale that MoMA compared Weber's direction of action sequences to be a predecessor to Kathyrn Bigelow. It was wonderful to see hordes of extras playing peasants that were storming the scenes, stabbing one another with swords, falling off of balconies, and taking back their rightful land. Again, the acting can be more influenced by overdramatic theater styles, like extended moaning while dying, and swords clearly going under a victim's arm than through them. But it was the early days of silent film, and The Dumb Girl of Portici was a monumental film that was a landmark for a woman director, a showcase for an unforgettable star, and was a treasure of the Wild West-like days of silent filmmaking, where anything was possible.
2012 DOC NYC - Beth Toni Kruvant's David Bromberg: Unsung Treasure
How does a Jewish rock musician go from touring the world with his funky, blues-inspired band, who can count Dr. John and Bob Dylan amongst his friends, to giving up performing and, twenty years later, running a small violin shop in Wilmington, DE? It’s a story that is touched by a passionate love for music and creative journeys, and Beth Toni Kruvant's David Bromberg: Unsung Treasure profiles a musician who culled from his influences to play music that fused rock, folk, bluegrass, blues, and country, blending music in a way that celebrates the close ties of many genres, as well as the incredible talents of many diverse artists.
David Bromberg was born in Philadelphia, came up in Tarrytown, NY, and initially taught himself to play the guitar, much to his father’s disapproval of a musician’s life, for personal reasons that Bromberg did not learn until his father was dying. In addition, he became proficient on the fiddle and many styles of the guitar. He got into the Greenwich Village folk scene of the 1960s while attending Columbia, and refined his guitar technique with Reverend Gary Davis, a blues and gospel singer. Bromberg not only learned how to play blues guitar from him, but also learned about the style of phrasing from the gospel church, telling stories and captivating an audience while shaping music in time, a practice he would take in his live concerts.

As Bromberg assembled his band, he collaborated with many other artists. George Harrison co-wrote “The Hold-Up” on Bromberg’s first album, a jaunty folk song with trumpets about a robbery. When hearing his music, it’s listening to lengthy stories while being amazed by the talent that Bromberg surrounds himself with. The 1970s were a glorious time for music, where musicians collaborated closely with one another, crossing genres, and supporting each other in a drive to entertain audiences and have fun with playing music. Vince Gill, interviewed as he recorded a duet for Bromberg’s 2011 album Use Me, said of him “A Jewish man from the Northeast playing bluegrass would be a stretch, so to speak, but I learned that it wasn’t.” These are artists who are true to what they do, and it is more satisfying to hear that than artists who claim to be about the music, but are more attracted to celebrity or excessive rock star lives.
In 1980, after ten years of touring and recording albums, Bromberg was burnt out. Because he loved music so much, he wanted to preserve his sanity and stay focused at home. In an interview from that time, he said “Nobody ever holds a gun to your head and says ‘Go on the road.’ And I’d get to the point where I’d go, ‘Oh God, I hate it out here, I’m going crazy, this is awful.’” It was a healthy decision for Bromberg to leave, and he and his wife, singer/artist Nancy Josephson, raised their family in Wilmington, DE.
In 2002, Bromberg and Josephson opened a violin sales and repair shop, and it’s here where Bromberg’s expansive love for music is further developed and cherished. It is really wonderful to see Bromberg speak so knowledgably about the craft and history of violins, and beaming as he watches a customer play them beautifully. Bromberg owns the largest American violin collection in the world, and the shop is clearly is his safe place in the world. He says of it “I love my shop. I get up in the morning, go down to the shop, day after day. And the grind is difficult. And when I was touring, the grind was difficult.” It’s a good kind of grind, less taxing than when he toured for many years with little breaks. The shop is his other life, separate from his music career.
Bromberg has worked to revitalize Wilmington’s urban economic growth through the arts, being considered the “cultural ambassador.” According to city officials, he has been a major component to bring Wilmington back to its former glory. He and Josephson donated funds to rebuild the Queen Theatre, creating a beautiful space for the cultural arts, and he has made a performing comeback with friends like Dr. John and the late Levon Helm. He also performs regularly at the New World Café at the Queen Theater, in a weekly jam session with many other local musicians, continuing his tradition of simply enjoying music as a collaborative community.
David Bromberg: Unsung Treasure is a wonderful little film about how much fun music can be. I personally enjoyed it because my father is a major music aficionado, particularly 1970s rock bands who blended genres and worked together a lot, without too much ego getting in the way, and his record collection is of many well-known and obscure rock bands whose music had a richness and creativity that is hard to find today, but well worth it when you do.
Monday, June 11, 2012
The 2012 Korean American New York Film Festival
Friday, January 13, 2012
“The Interrupters” Wins Big at Cinema Eye Honors
The 5th Annual Cinema Eye Honors, a celebration of the best in documentary film, was held last night at the Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria, Queens. The ceremony was relaxed and fun, more a coming together of great artists in the documentary field than a narrow competition for awards. Hosted by filmmakers A.J. Schnack (“Kurt Cobain About a Son”) and Esther Robinson (“A Walk Into the Sea: Danny Williams and the Warhol Factory”), the ceremony handed out awards but also paid tribute to landmark filmmakers such as Frederick Wiseman, for his 1967 film “Titicut Follies,” and the duo of Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky, for their “Paradise Lost” trilogy and the landmark efforts in justice that it helped to bring about.
Both of the top prizes, Outstanding Achievement in Direction and Outstanding Achievement in Nonfiction Feature Filmmaking, went to Steve James and Alex Kotlowitz’s “The Interrupters.” A film that has appeared on many film critics’ “best of 2011″ lists, it is a gripping look at three community activists known as Violence Interrupters who work to end street violence in their Chicago neighborhoods.
The first ever Hell Yeah award was given to Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky, most notably because the human rights advocacy sparked by their “Paradise Lost” films led to three innocent men–the West Memphis Three–being released after serving years in prison for the deaths of three children. The surprise presenter was one of those men, Jason Baldwin, who had a casual warmth and a relaxed, open smile. For somebody who had spent many years behind bars for a crime that he did not commit, he did not show any resentment, just a desire to enjoy life and see the world. Baldwin made a poignant statement that when he was released from prison, he enjoyed getting to know Berlinger and Sinofsky as real people, meeting their families, no longer being filmmaker and subject, but now equal friends. “The Paradise Lost” films were noted by the filmmakers as an example of documentary filmmaking making a real difference.
Some winners were predictable in an understandable way. For Nonfiction Short Filmmaking, the award went to Tim Hetherington’s “Diary.” A noted photojournalist, Hetherington was killed in the Libyan conflict in April. His mother accepted on his behalf.
Mike Mills’s “Beginners” won for the Heterodox Award, which recognizes a narrative film that is influenced by documentary filmmaking styles. Of the five nominees, it was the only relatively mainstream film, compared to smaller films like “My Joy” and “The Mill and the Cross.”
Frederick Wiseman was presented with the Legacy Award for “Titicut Follies,” a look at the harsh life inside a state prison in Massachusetts. Wiseman’s film oeuvre has spanned the range from ballet to boxing to the Air Force to state politics. The award was created to honor past documentaries that were landmark influences for many future filmmakers, fulfilling an achievement in artistry and nonfiction storytelling. Wiseman spoke eloquently, stating that “Making these movies is a great adventure. I’m extremely pleased and proud to have this award for this first film I did.”
A small moment that was a personal standout occurred when Cindy Meehl and her crew won the Audience Choice Prize for “Buck,” a documentary about a cowboy and his deep relationship with horses. “It takes a lot of women to make a film about a cowboy,” commented one of the filmmakers.
The other winners were as follows:
Outstanding Achievement in Production:
Gian-Piero Ringel and Wim Wenders, “Pina”
Outstanding Achievement in Editing
Gregers Sall and Chris King, “Senna”
Outstanding Achievement in Cinematography
Danfung Dennis, “Hell and Back Again”
Spotlight Award
Tatiana Huezo Sánchez, “The Tiniest Place”
Outstanding Achievement in an Original Music Score
John Kusiak, “Tabloid”
Outstanding Achievement in Graphic Design and Animation
Rob Feng and Jeremy Landman, “Tabloid”
Outstanding Achievement in a Debut Feature Film
Clio Barnard, “The Arbor”
This coverage was originally posted on Cinespect.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Highlights from 2011 DOC NYC
“The Children Were Watching” & “The Chair” – (Richard Leacock; U.S.A.)
DOC NYC is celebrating the career of documentary filmmaker Richard Leacock (1921-2011), a filmmaker whose documentaries were a call for social activism in the name of human rights. His films, often so stark and revealing in people’s prejudices, ambiguities, and brutal honesty, would be prevented from being aired on television, too controversial at the time. Along with filmmakers D.A. Pennebaker and Robert Drew, they made films like”Primary,” about the 1960 Wisconsin Primary election between John F. Kennedy, Jr. and Hubert Humphrey for the Democratic Party’s nomination for President. Getting unprecedented access, using light cameras, and filming a la cinema verite, it was a breakthrough and innovation in the world of documentary filmmaking. Leacock’s career paved the way for many documentary filmmakers to film subjects with private access, capture candid moments, make social statements, and open audience’s eyes to worlds they never knew about before.
Two of his films that demonstrate that kind of candidness and brutal honesty were “The Chair” (1962), a feature about lawyer Louis Nizer’s fight to save his client Paul Crump from the electric chair, and “The Children Were Watching” (1960), a made-for-ABC-TV short about school integration in New Orleans. “The Chair” is gripping with courtroom drama and a sense of dread, while “The Children Were Watching” shakes audiences to the bones with the absolute hatred and steadfast prejudice spewed out of ordinary people due to social changes.
“The Children Were Watching” is right in the midst of the controversies that surrounded school integration at the time. In New Orleans, history is made when Ruby Bridges, a six-year-old girl, became the first African-American child to attend an all-white elementary school in the South. Mobs of white people who were pro-segregation gathered on her daily walks to and from school, yelling hateful epithets and threatening violence against this child, escorted by U.S. Marshalls to ensure her safety. The vitriol that came out of people’s mouths regarding African-Americans was absolutely horrendous. Talk of “these people,” that “they are trying to be white, and they’re not white,” and that they “have it good” only kept their perspectives narrow and close-minded. The sound quality of the 1960s audio made it a little difficult to understand people’s deafening yells, but the message was clear.
In retaliation, white parents pulled their children out of schools that supported integration, sending them to all-white schools that they had to be bussed into practically the next district. The narration was clearly in favor of integration, pointing out the benefits of integration would have children learn together as equals, and that the attitudes of these parents seeped into the minds of their children, infecting them with racism that they would carry on into adulthood. One man even stated that he thought school integration was a Communist plot, like an infection of American values of capitalism and freedom.
The mobs’ racism was not reserved only for African-Americans, but for white parents who supported integration and sent their children to schools with black students. The film focused particularly on the Gabriel family, a middle-class white family with six kids. Mrs. Gabriel escorted her daughter to and from school, nearly losing in amidst the mob that practically wanted to swallow them both up. But even when they got home safely, it wasn’t over. The mob continued yelling outside of her house, their roars nearly shaking the glass. The children inside, both watching from the window and being distracted with toys by their mother, were trapped, as if there were riots or a war going on outside. The mob was unrelenting, and their influence was close to destroying the lives of the family through social pressure and the high status that race plays in society.
The Chair was unusual in that it was not the case of an innocent man being on death row, as one might surmise from the description of a lawyer saving his client from the death penalty. Paul Crump was on death row for killing a security guard during an armed robbery of a meatpacking plant in 1953. Over the past several years, his lawyer, the famed Louis Nizer (clients included celebrities and journalists) gathered evidence that, while Crump was guilty, he showed that he could be rehabilitated into a civil, individual who showed contrition for his crime, and that killing him would only stop progress of successfully rehabilitating other prisoners to become law-abiding citizens. The film is a stirring drama of the uphill battle to convince a court that an admitted murderer can be reformed, especially playing into any racial politics at hand (Crump was African-American).
The film was a collaboration between Leacock, Drew, Pennebaker, and filmmaker Gregory Shuker, and their work as a team showed magnificently. Leacock’s depth of perspective was evident as he followed the prison warden through the long, winding hallways to the death chamber, where the electric chair waited for its next victim. The chair had a medieval appearance to it, with straps for the ankles, chest, and lap, and a screwed-on headpiece, as a true torture device for those both guilty and possibly innocent.
The hearing itself, while it mostly advocated for Crump to not receive the death penalty (with one or two prosecutors questioning if Crump was truly remorseful for his crime), brought the audience along with its suspense, dependent on the governor’s decision the day of Crump’s execution to save him or not. Even throughout the majority of the film, Crump is not seen, only spoken of by his defenders and reading a statement he made declaring that he has reformed for the greater good of humanity, while accepting whatever fate is bestowed upon him. Without knowing the ending, there is a fear that somebody would be executed, and Nizer would be shown sweating bullets in his office, staring at the telephone as if willing it for good news. The friendly and jovial relationship shown between him and his amiable secretary, who often eased his anxieties with good humor, were light and likable moments in the film.
Both films were landmark documentaries for their time, about the need for change in social issues regarding integration and the death penalty, and Leacock is to be remembered for his pioneer work not only as a documentary filmmaker, but as an advocate for social reform and positive change in the world.
A Selection of a Few Gems at Latin Beat 2011 in August
Of the films offered at the festival, there are a few with significant buzz and critical acclaim that should be noted. The Chilean film “The Life of Fish,” directed by Matias Bise, is a sad and poignant drama centering on the handsome vagabond Andres (Santiago Cabrera), who has been out of the country for a decade covering the world’s cities and landmarks as a travel writer sent on location. He is preparing for another business trip, and spends one last night in Chile, revisiting past friends at a birthday party.
What was remarkable about the film was how much is revealed in such natural ease. The dialogue doesn’t hit audiences like clunky exposition, but rather unfolds slowly, be it with Andres’ friends’ jealousy over his glamorous life, the adolescent crush had on him by the sister of an old friend, the fascination by two young boys over his experience in drugs and sex, and finally, the painful revelations revealed by his former lover, Bea (Blanca Lewin), now in a domestic and stable life from when he knew her. The film has minimal music, and an atmospheric blue lighting that gives the film a feeling like wading through water, slow and steady and controlled.
“No Return,” an Argentine psychological thriller by Miguel Cohan, is tightly paced, but is frustrating due to the selfish actions of its teenage protagonist, Matias (Martin Stipak), and the consequences of his parents’ actions to protect him. Matias is introduced as an ordinary teen boy driving with his friend from a party, while Federico (Leonardo Sbaraglia), a roguishly handsome ventriloquist, is driving home to his wife and daughter. A double tragedy occurs that evening when a young male cyclist is run over twice by both men in the same night. Federico merely hits his bike and leaves after arguing with the cyclist, who is then immediately hit by Matias. Matias, in a panic, leaves the cyclist for dead and rushes home, telling his father a bogus story to avoid the reality of the hit and run. The cyclist dies, and, with Matias being protected by his parents, refuses to own up to the reality, leaving Federico to be wrongfully imprisoned.
The sight of seeing a sniveling teenage boy being coddled by his parents over fear of going to prison was absolutely disgusting, and the story in the second act follows the retribution planned by Federico upon his release from prison. The film takes on a more dangerous atmosphere, as the warm and safe personality Federico had had has given away to a cold and calculating presence, a la a hardened criminal despite not having done anything to deserve that life.
“Long Distance,” a Cuban film directed by Esteban Insausti, is a drama centering on politics and fractured relationships. In 1994, Cuba experienced a mass exodus as Castro declared that the government would not stand in the way of those wanting to flee the island during their economic crisis. More than 35,000 people went to the United States in hopes of a better life, leaving friends and family behind. This film focuses on a young woman, who, on her 35th birthday, is struck with the emptiness that many of her friends are gone. She reminisces about her past friends, picturing them as attending a dinner party in her home, and the film tells their individual stories of pain and struggle, and it also uses documentary-like interviews with those who fled the country years before to escape poverty. The cinematography is stark and cold, reflected in the woman’s large apartment with minimalist art and spotlessly clean kitchen counters. The apartment is beautiful, but it feels like a tomb rather than a warm home.
“The Death of Pinochet,” directed by Bettina Perut & Ivan Osnovikoff, had the potential to be a thoughtful and objective documentary about the reactions to the death of the Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet in 2006, such as the supporters who argued that he brought economic stability and prosperity to their country, or the protestors who said he only brought death and destruction for over thirty years. But while the documentary did capture the explosive energy in the streets following his death, and gave both sides equal attention, the choice to film the interviewees with close-ups of their mouths as they spoke was jarring and irritating to watch. It was difficult to stay interested with their mouths filling up the whole screen, instead of pulling back to film their faces in an ordinary way. The choice was garish and over the top, and was bothersome to watch while staying informed about the impact Pinochet’s death had on Chile and their future.
The festival has many more selections and offers, which runs through the 24th at the Walter Reade Theater at The Film Society of Lincoln Center. To see Latin American films from a wide range of countries and experiences, the festival is highly recommended to be seen.
This story originally appeared on Cinespect
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Guest Post: Interview with Sophia Takal - Writer/Director of Green by Melissa Silvestri
Actress/writer Sophia Takal’s directorial debut, Green, is a film that is both dark in its themes of jealousy, yet shines with a natural ease depicting the burgeoning friendship of two very different women. Green focuses on a young Brooklyn couple, Sebastian (Laurence Michael Levine) and Genevieve (Kate Lyn Sheil) who come out to a cabin in the woods where Sebastian is going to cover gardening and country life for his hipster blog, a city mouse meets the country sort of feel. Genevieve puts up with Sebastian’s pretentiousness because she doesn’t have a secure identity of her own, and it takes the friendship of Robin (Takal), a local woman, to bring out her confidence. But though Genevieve and Robin share an ease with one another, it slowly twists into a dark path in Genevieve’s mind, when she concocts cheating fantasy scenarios between Sebastian and Robin that threaten to destroy her relationships.
Green is slow-moving, and despite its dark moments, has a light and lush beauty to it, thanks to the gorgeous cinematography and long takes captured in wide camera angles, that really give the audience a chance to walk with the characters and understand them from the inside out. I spoke with Takal via phone, after Green had played at BAM’s BAMCinemaFest.
Women and Hollywood: : The title of the film has a double meaning, to both indicate nature and jealousy. How did you develop the story?
Sophia Takal: The story came up in an outline one night. I knew that I wanted to shoot with the other two actors (Sheil and Levine), and I had that house for location because it was my dad’s house. I wanted to explore jealousy, and the emotions that I’ve been going through my whole life, really intensely in the year before shooting Green. And the last movie I made, Gabi on the Roof in July, was all in New York City. I wanted to get out of New York and into nature; I thought that would be really nice. The plot itself just came out of nowhere. It was based on some themes that I had been sort of playing around with.
WaH: The cinematography was absolutely lush and gorgeous. How did you and Nandan Rao get together to collaborate?
ST: He had shot another film called Bummer Summer. Both Bummer Summer and Gabi on the Roof in July premiered at a festival in California called Cinequest, and we became friendly and stayed in touch. I love the way that it was shot. He’s really talented. And [I was using] the Canon 5D, and a lot of people said that it was hard to focus with. But I knew that Nandon knew the camera really well. But mainly he’s really talented, and more than being just a D.P. He was really patient with me because it was my first time directing, and he always knew what questions to ask to help me figure out what I was trying to get at. It was really helpful, because I don’t know if I’m the most articulate person, so anyone that can help me to get what I want, I really want around.
WaH: There were interesting camera perspectives where, during conversations between the two women, the camera was placed far back and stationary, and it was like listening in on private conversations. What was the thought behind that kind of staging?
ST: I really wanted to do as much in one shot of each scene as possible. I really didn’t want to cut a lot during the scenes. As they’re getting to know each other, the camera gets a little wider. But there’s a scene on the swings where Genevieve is upset, and they’re having their first real heart-to-heart, and the camera is closer in. But I feel like whenever there’s a cut in a movie, it gives the audience a millisecond to re-set and re-focus. I just wanted the audience to sit and have to watch everything as it was unfolding.
WaH: You reference back to older films where scenes were shot with fewer cuts and it allows the audience to take the film in more rather than be interrupted by jump cuts or stylish editing.
ST: I wanted the movie to be slow and meditative. I was really influenced by the Japanese filmmaker Yasujiro Ozu. He did a lot of static shots, where everything unfolds, and it’s all really naturalistic. Imagine mundane conversations, but there’s a lot going on underneath. I wanted to mirror that feeling.
Despite that there is a thread of jealousy in the film, the film’s strength comes from the relationship between Genevieve and Robin. Genevieve sees Robin as strange, but her lack of pretension is refreshing. The dialogue flows very naturally between them, that it almost felt improvised. What was it like developing those scenes?
Well, Kate and I are actually best friends in real life, so it was really easy to pretend to act like friends. We became friends while shooting Gabi. For me, I thought the most important relationship was the one between the women. Something about the supportiveness of females and friendship, and that Robin is giving Genevieve an opportunity to become more fully realized, not only defining herself by her man. It’s really important to me, because in my own experiences with women, I have a harder time trusting women and feeling comfortable, but I find that when I finally do break through, I can get a lot closer than I could with a man. So I wanted to look at that, I thought that was really important.So even though there’s jealousy and the love triangle, the tragedy for me is the non-supportive nature of the two women. Genevieve turns so quickly against Robin, even though Robin hasn’t done anything, it’s all in [Genevieve’s] mind. But if women were more supportive of each other instead of viewing others as threats, maybe we could all feel stronger and undefeatable.
WaH: Genevieve really goes through an evolution in the film, as if nature is bringing out her primal side. How did you develop that character?
ST: I really wanted to start off with a character who doesn’t feel safe to show who she really is. And I feel like it’s rare to have a female protagonist whose identity is so unclear and unformed. But that was intentional, because I feel that Genevieve had defined herself by outside expectations. And that’s something that I’ve struggled with. Like, “who am I?” in relation to this person, vs. “who am I?” on my own. So I wanted to show her progress, and with the female friendship, show a potential way she could be. Like being comfortable in her own skin, comfortable to say what she does and doesn’t want, and comfortable in saying no to her boyfriend without being afraid that he’s going to leave her. That’s a really scary thing, I think. Forming an identity, and being comfortable enough to acknowledge who you really are, and get rid of all these poses of what you think you should be. So I think that she has the opportunity to grow, but because she’s not being supported [by Sebastian], she shrinks back to the way she was before. So that was the arc that I wanted to see with her character.
WaH: The music was very sparse, yet during Genevieve’s fantasy/jealousy scenes, it reminded me of 1970s horror films, most notably Carrie, due to Genevieve’s appearance. What kind of music was developed for those scenes?
ST: Ernesto Carcamo, who did the music score, is really talented. It sort of sounds like found objects, and he turns them into music. He can take the sound of a car driving and manipulate it to make it into a tone. Or people having sex, he can make it sound like a weird, ethereal instrument. He did a lot of stuff like that. I also wanted it also to be rooted in nature, like wind chimes and Native American instruments. He made it very other-worldly.
I wanted it to have the tone of a horror movie, because in those scenes Genevieve is becoming a monster, but I didn’t want it to be a horror movie. So I tried to have the music translate into what would sound like a horror movie. The horror of everyday, and the way that people are against each other, with psychological manipulations.
This post originally appeared in Women & Hollywood









