6/21/24
Newsletter #621
The Crack of Dawn
August, who has been keeping tabs on me for most of my career, asked on the comment page:
“The time zone difference is working out in your favor - your early afternoon reflections are still the crack of dawn for us! So I'm curious - in between your idyllic walks through nature in your neighborhood, and your appreciation for the all the quaint nooks in Haarlem... there's a common thread of stopping to smell the roses, appreciation of things like the morning sunlight and the chirping of little birds, and contemplative reflection on history, both the world's and your own. Is this at least partially due to sobriety? Experience? Age? Withdrawal from the rat race? Newfound spirituality?”
Now that’s a whole question. Thank you, August.
I’m 65 years old, and I have retired from the Director’s Guild of America after 30 years’ service. I had them pay me my pension all at once. Is it due to “Sobriety? Experience? Age?” Yes, it’s all of those things. Which has brought me to a place where I have nothing to prove. I’ve already had a full career. No homeruns, but I got on base a bunch of times. And maybe my new book, The Gospel According to Judas, will blow the lid off Christianity and sell as many copies as the Bible. It could happen.
Regarding withdrawal from the “rat race,” even if you’re winning, you’re still a rat. I didn’t resign for the DGA, I just retired. I could still be hired for a union picture. I doubt that I will be, but luckily, I don’t care.
And what of this accusation of “Newfound spirituality?” Newfound you say. My entire life has been a spiritual search for equanimity. My two favorite things, writing and shooting movies, are both very present-minded pursuits. Earlier in my life I did often dream of shooting any number of my scripts, but that faded away. I’m no longer directing and editing in my head.
This isn’t an excuse, it’s just a fact. “It’s hard to make a good movie and it’s hard to make a bad movie.” And however they turned out, those last two movies I made, Morning, Noon & Night and Warpath, were hard as hell to make. That was partially because I made them the only way I know how, which is as fast and cheap as possible.
Speaking of Morning, Noon & Night, I tried something a bit difficult with that film in that it intentionally has no plot. The plot is that gross mechanical story element that seemingly keeps everything going, from: find the microfilm; stand up for your principles; only take so much shit, then exact revenge, figure out the DaVinci Code, etc. Remove the plot and all you have is life. The plot becomes the movement of time. In my film, the movement of time became the structure and title, Morning, Noon & Night – one day broken up into three acts. Nobody had to find anything, or save anyone, or be there at the last second. It’s simply a day in the life of these people.
Which brings me to a point of comparison. I already mentioned that I saw Wim Wenders’ new film, Perfect Days (2023). Of the six films I watched going and coming from Holland, Perfect Days is the one that’s stuck with me. One thing I love is that it’s an extremely Japanese movie made by a 78-year-old German director-writer. The comparison is that this story too has no plot and makes that clear pretty fast. Nevertheless, I quickly found it compelling, partially because it didn’t have a plot, yet was still moving so snappily through so many days. Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho) is a toilet cleaner in Tokyo. All of the public toilets there are seemingly works of art, each in a different architectural style, and this man makes sure to keep them clean. He takes his job seriously. Every night he dreams disconnected images in black and white. He folds his tatami mat every morning in just the same way. He reads paperback books at odd times. His niece comes to visit. His sister comes to pick her up. Every day is similar, but not exactly the same, and the slight differences are the drama.
Every day is a perfect day, if that’s how you see it, and that’s how Hirayama sees it. Even still, there is a strain of despair that can’t be avoided. The point is to just not hold on to or focus on the pain, letting it go by.
This is a spoiler alert of a sort, but it’s really more something to look forward to. The last shot of the film is a medium close-up, straight into his face, of Hirayama driving his little truck through Tokyo. My instinct and memory are that the shot is about four minutes long, or longer, which is a really long time in a movie. Wim Wenders must have said something like this to Kōji Yakusho, “Zink about everything zat’s occurred in zis whole movie up until zis point, then react appropriately. Don’t stop until I say cut.” In this one extremely long shot Kōji Yakusho shows us every subtle emotion there is: he smiles absently, nods, chuckles at something, is thoughtful, suddenly seems like he might cry, then shrugs, etc., and it just keeps going and going. And it’s completely sincere. Certainly for the whole film, but particularly for that last shot, Mr. Yakusho won Best Actor for Perfect Days at Cannes 2023.
Personally, I don’t recommend skipping a plot. A plot is a tool in small toolbox. The idea is to come up with a good plot.
But in both Perfect Days and Morning, Noon & Night, not having a plot is the point.
OK?