nw film center

Portland’s arthouse movie theaters haven’t given up

In a mutating media landscape,the Hollywood, NW Film Center and Clinton St. Theater are learning to adapt

When Lani Jo Leigh bought the Clinton Street Theater in 2012, she considered ending the theater’s decades-long run of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, a movie that is far from her personal cinematic tastes. (“I like foreign films that are all very intellectual and nothing really happens and people just sort of talk,” she says.)

Then Leigh realized that Rocky Horror wasn’t just a cult craze. It was also a haven for Portland’s LGBTQ community.

“I started meeting all these people—these amazing people—and heard them tell me, ‘Rocky Horror saved my life. I used to cut myself or I used to harm myself in this way. I had thoughts of suicide because I didn’t fit in. But I came here and I was fine, I was safe, I could be me,’” Leigh says. “I understood that it was a gift that the theater was giving to the LGBTQ community.”

The Clinton St. Theater has a long history of resistance.
These days, it’s also fighting for its own survival.

But that was another life. The Clinton Street Theater is just one of many Portland arthouse movie theaters faced with a choice: evolve or die. As COVID-19 continues to rage throughout Oregon, theaters have been forced to abandon traditions like Rocky Horror in favor of streaming films or (if they have the space) hosting drive-in screenings.

As I began speaking to stalwarts of Portland’s arthouse cinema scene for this article, I braced for bad news. I was heartened to hear less of it then I expected. “It’s amazing—we’ve all still been really busy, even though the theater’s closed,” says Dan Halsted, the head programmer at the Hollywood Theater. “So I think that’s helped with keeping morale up. It’s not just doom and gloom.”

But not every theater is the Hollywood. Here’s what I learned about the state of some of the city’s most beloved arthouse theaters—what they have become and what they’re doing to survive long enough to see a post-COVID Portland.

Return of the drive-in.

Amy Dotson was sitting on the back of her grandfather’s 1970s blue Ford pickup truck when the tornado struck. It was 1996 and she was seeing Twister at the Cinema 69 Drive-In in Oklahoma. The arrival of an actual twister cut the screening short, but it didn’t diminish her enthusiasm for drive-in theaters—as the director of the NW Film Center, she’s overseeing the Drive-In at Zidell Yards (which is a collaboration between the Film Center and the Portland Art Museum and will be open on and off through September 27).

“We’ve sold about 800 tickets to date,” Dotson says. “We hope that that’s a good sign and people will continue to come out and enjoy some popcorn and a night under the stars.”

Drive-in theaters are often associated with blockbusters like Jurassic Park (Steven Spielberg’s devilish dinos topped the box office once again in June), but the Film Center is offering edgier options as part of its Cinema Unbound series. Obvious summer fare like E.T. and Fast Times at Ridgemont High will be shown, but so will Sofia Coppola’s transcendent Tokyo odyssey Lost in Translation (two of the series’ finest offerings, Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight and Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing, have already sold out).

“Our litmus test was people who refuse to let their creativity be bound by convention…from people like the late Lynn Shelton to Creature from the Black Lagoon,” Dotson says (the theater is showing Sword of Trust, the final film directed by Shelton, a brilliant mumblecore auteur who died in May).

Drive-In at Zidell Yards gets beyond traditional drive-in movie fare.

After facing controversy over a planned opening screening of Kindergarten Cop (it was replaced by the documentary John Lewis: Good Trouble, which has sold out), the Drive-In at Zidell Yards opens tonight—and will be observing strict social distancing protocols. Popcorn will be served to the hoods of cars and moviegoers will hear the film using a limited FM radio frequency.

“Everything is not foolproof,” Dotson says. “So we just want to make sure whether it’s the Drive-In or whether it’s other things that we’re doing that it’s safety first and then backing up from there.”

The evolution will be digitized.

If film fandom is a polytheistic religion, physical media is one of its gods. I should know—I’m one of the cine-snobs who insisted on seeing Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma, a Netflix film, on the big screen in 2018. This may sound like deluded romanticism to nonbelievers, but I’ve never liked the intangibility of streaming services. A movie isn’t fully real to me until I hold either a ticket, a DVD or a Blu-Ray in my hand.

That attitude is one of the pandemic’s more trivial casualties. “I’ve been a projectionist and film programmer my entire life, so all of this has been such a huge change in gears,” Dan Halsted says. “All of a sudden, I’m thrust into streaming and everything online, and the tech side is really complicated and I’m trying to figure all that out. It’s very bizarre.”

Thanks to its inventive virtual programming, the Hollywood has become a model for pandemic-era cinematic success. By offering moviegoers online classes and original films, the theater has given its fans a reason to watch (and will have drive-in screenings of its own, which will take place at the Expo Center beginning August 13).

After closing in March, the Hollywood announced an April 18 reopening date, which executive director Doug Whyte swiftly realized was a mistake. “We put it on our marquee I think the first night, and I think already by the second day we were like, ‘Let’s get that day off the marquee,’” he says. Eventually, the theater did reopen, but only for rental screenings (Whyte says that they have been popular, but that no customer has paid the $900-$1,200 necessary for a live pipe-organ score).

The Hollywood’s classes (which are offered through its Movie Madness University program) have spotlighted everything from A Hard Day’s Night to Luca Guadagnino’s remake of Suspiria—and they actually expanded during the pandemic. “We were about to launch those education classes before the pandemic, and they could have had 16 people per class,” Whyte says. “Now we’re doing them online and we’ve had like 100-plus people per class.”

Gremlins: A Puppet Story, available on the theater’s website,
is an example of Hollywood Theatre’sprogramming creativity.

Other Hollywood Theatre triumphs include Gremlins: A Puppet Story (a new behind-the-scenes documentary about Joe Dante’s 1984 horror classic Gremlins), which features rare photos and videos from special-effects master Chris Walas’ personal archive. Available on the theater’s website, it’s the kind of offering that is emblematic of the institution’s impressive reinvention.

“We are in a lucky position,” Whyte says. “We’re a nonprofit organization, we have a big base of members and donors, we own our building outright, we don’t have any debts on it and we have a pretty healthy reserve.”

Not every theater has been so fortunate.

Twilight for the Clinton?

Founded in 1915, the Clinton Street Theater has endured its share of crises. “The theater’s been there for the community since it opened and it’s never stopped operating,” says Lani Jo Leigh. “Through the Spanish flu, and through World War I and World War II, it’s survived.”

Can the Clinton survive Covid-19, too? Leigh isn’t sure, but she’s fighting for the theater. She’s offering Clinton lovers films and videos to stream, popcorn to go (on Fridays and Saturdays) and theater merchandise (including facemasks and Unfit, her memoir about being forced to give up her son Bo when she was a teenager).

Leigh also needs $4,000 a month to pay the theater’s bills—and its miniscule lobby means it won’t be able to reopen until social distancing is no longer necessary. “Everywhere you look, there’s a problem,” Leigh says. “If I went down to 25 percent capacity, I could have people arranged in the auditorium itself, but it’s just getting there and getting out or getting concessions or getting to a bathroom that’s impossible.”

In other words, the Clinton is a reminder that when it comes to arthouse cinema, the NW Film Center and the Hollywood are arguably the exception, not the rule.

“It’s important to remember that these businesses are now hurt through no fault of their own,” says Phil Contrino, director of media and research at the National Association of Theater Owners. “They were robust businesses, especially independent theaters, which are an essential part of the communities they’re in—a gathering place. They can be that again.”

How? Contrino points to the RESTART Act—which, if passed by Congress, could give movie theaters access to partially forgivable seven-year loans covering six months of expenses (NATO is promoting it using the #SaveYourCinema campaign). But people may have to act soon if they want to save theaters like the Clinton.

“I know I can’t open safely until there’s a vaccine or there’s a treatment,” Leigh says. “I kind of vacillate between being super, super sad because I’m losing something I’ve built up over eight years…and being angry at the messed-up way we are in our country and how we’ve had not little, but no leadership on this.”

Clinging to cinema.

Phil Contrino is a seasoned movie buff (the last film he saw in a theater was the Oscar-nominated obscurity Corpus Cristi)—and he was one of the most chipper people I spoke to for this article (“Independent theatres are so resourceful,” he declared). His optimism isn’t surprising—he has a personal stake in the survival of theaters.

I do, too. In 2012, I worked at the Joy Cinema and Pub (which is owned by my lifelong friend, Jeff Martin), a gig that paved the way for me to work part-time at Cinema 21—an experience that taught me that a movie theater isn’t just a place to watch movies. It can also be an arena of conversation and connection.

Which is why, even though I miss my job, I miss my colleagues more. I miss the fanboy frenzies that I share with Erik when we geek out about Christopher Nolan. I miss Riley’s mouthwatering rhapsodies about the ice cream at Mike’s Drive-In. I miss having zany political debates with Ward. I miss Agnieszka’s toughness, kindness and peerless sense of style (I’m biased because like me, she’s into berets).

There are times when I wonder if I should stop torturing myself with those memories, but clinging to them has become an act of defiance, and defiance feels right. I know that and I think Leigh knows it—she hasn’t fully closed the curtains on The Rocky Horror Picture Show. “My manager—I’m not paying him, he’s doing it voluntarily—every week, he still goes over and he runs that print and he plays Rocky Horror,” she told me.

You can call that a symbolic gesture, and it is. It’s a symbol of the ideals that are sustaining arthouse cinemas: resilience and hope.

Thomas Phillipson sums up 15 years at the NW Filmmakers’ Fest

The man behind this week's 42nd annual Northwest Filmmaker's Festival says goodbye to Portland and talks about the festival

A Portland tradition since 1973, the Northwest Film Center’s Northwest Filmmakers’ Festival showcases regional work by filmmakers from Oregon, Washington, British Columbia, Alaska, Idaho and Montana (those last three are technically part of the Northwest). As Regional Services Manager, Thomas Phillipson has been helming the fest since 2000, so he’s seen a lot of on-screen flannel. ArtsWatch writer Lily Hudson spent time with Phillipson to talk about the 42nd year of the festival (which opens Thursday, November 9 and runs through November 18), the newfound diversity of regional film and the despotic rule of the celebrity judge.

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ArtsWatch: You’ve been with the NW Film Center a long time. This year’s 42nd Fest marks 15 years and 15 NWFests. What’s been the arc of regional film in your time with NWFC? How has it grown and changed?

Thomas Phillipson: It’s tough to place the development of the Northwest filmmaking community in an arc—it just keeps bubbling and changing all the time. Of course technology has democratized filmmaking, and the Film Center’s glib mission of “putting cameras in the hands of the people” gets quite a lot easier when you move from a 16mm Bolex camera to today’s whiz-bang equipment. You no longer need an army to make your film… or video… or digital media. That means that there can be fewer filters between the auteur and the audience. I’ve been pleased to watch and have tried to especially promote projects that feel like natural expressions of the people who made them, and each year I feel like I have more of these types of films to choose from.

Forty-two years ago, the Film Center was pretty much the only screen in town where you could find super-indy Northwest filmmakers’ work, but that’s just not the case any more. In the new world order of an explosion of content, the Film Center’s curatorial function is all the more important.

While it sounds elitist (because it is) the Film Center’s high curatorial bar lets filmmakers and their audiences know that what they see on our screens is carefully chosen. We strengthen the Film Center’s brand not for the sake of the Film Center, but to be in an optimal position to advocate for the filmmakers whose work is screened here.

Phillipson introduces a film at a previous year's NWFest. Photo by RL Potograpiya.

Phillipson introduces a film at a previous year’s NWFest. Photo by RL Potograpiya.

Does the Pacific Northwest film scene have a ‘personality’ or a way of looking at the world? Is there a perspective that characterizes films coming out of this region? Or themes that come up again and again?

I hesitate to suggest that there is a defining characteristic common to filmmakers living in the Northwest, because that might unfairly suggest that this work is somehow provincial and quaint, when it’s viable on any global standard that I would care about. I’ve looked and looked through the years for something to talk about that is quintessential in Northwest filmmaking, but the work is so varied that any summing up feels forced and exclusive.

Can you tell us a little about the features this year?

I am pleased with the diversity of our feature-length films this year, which might point to that arc you were asking about before. Northwest filmmakers are great at exploring their community, but I see more and more excellent features investigating the world outside the Northwest. We have several features shot overseas (CHRISTIANA: 40 YEARS OF OCCUPATION, DRAWING THE TIGER, MAKE MINE COUNTRY, WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS), as well as other important issue documentaries (ARRESTING POWER: RESISTING POLICE VIOLENCE IN PORTLAND, HADWIN’S JUDGEMENT, THE WAY WE TALK) and some well-told narrative pieces (BIRDS OF NEPTUNE, THE CURIO, DEATH ON A ROCK, SLACKJAW, THE TREE INSIDE) that are finding audiences all over the world. In the same day we are showing the latest work produced by our friends at NW Documentary, VOYAGERS WITHOUT TRACE, and an entirely hand-animated (in cut paper) WWII epic AND WE WERE YOUNG. I’m also quite looking forward to our screening of THE SANDWICH NAZI, a documentary portrait of a colorful, somewhat outrageous deli owner in Vancouver that is an extrapolation of a favorite short of the same name we screened a few NW Fests back.

The ‘shorts’ sections are broken into three themes: Fantasies and Diversions, Tracing Space and Intimate Portraits. How do you define these three themes?

Each year, the Northwest Filmmakers’ Festival brings in a new guest judge who watches, selects and offers awards to a few gifted filmmakers (Roughly 10% of the films entered are selected). This year our judge was Steve Anker, who teaches at CalArts and has a long career in programming innovative and challenging work. Steve not only selected the short films this year, but also placed them into their three shorts programs guided by themes he saw in the work, hence the program titles.

Most years, the judges watch the films, tell me which ones they would like to include, and then I am left to place them into programs. I always like to make each shorts program as diverse as possible so any given audience will see a breadth of work being produced in the region. Then there’s the old mix-tape game of controlling the flow of mood throughout the program and also setting each film up to thrive in its position in the lineup. It’s always a delicious challenge for me and I missed not having the opportunity this year, but on the other hand, it’s great when a judge like Steve really digs into the project and goes one step further to solidify a point of view in the programming.

The advantage of the single judge system the NW Fest has stuck to all these years is that we end up with more adventurous programming than anything juried by a committee. The choices in the end are pointedly subjective; there’s no pretense that these are the only films that might have been selected for the festival this year, rather they are one highly regarded professional’s selections. So I’ll dodge your question because part of the fun of watching this year’s shorts programs is to think about how the individual films fit into Steve’s overarching, slightly enigmatic titles.

This is your last year working with the Film Center—any parting words? Hopes or dreams for the future of the NW Filmmakers’ Festival?

Yes, I am pulling up my deeply buried anchor and all the attached barnacles and setting sail for Germany without a clear idea of what comes next for me. There is a large part of me that is a little worried that I am leaving what could be the most rewarding work I will ever do. For me, the job has been first and foremost about getting to know and serve the filmmakers of this region. I have made so many dear, lifelong friends. As the old cliché goes, they have given me much, much more than I have given them. My dreams for the festival no longer have any currency but I look forward to my able and inspired replacement, the very talented filmmaker, Ben Popp, taking the Festival into new exciting directions.

There have been times over the last 15 years when I very selfishly thought of this Festival as my baby, but of course, it’s the Filmmakers’ Festival and its freshness and success relies on them much more than it ever did on me. It’s in great hands.

Thomas Phillipson will be at every screening for the 42nd Northwest Filmmakers’ Festival. All screenings are at Whitsell Auditorium located in the Portland Art Museum. Except for one film, which screens at the Skype Lounge. For more information, check the web site.

Orland Nutt and film poetics

The filmmaker talks about his life, art and upcoming program at the Northwest Film Center

I attended Southwest Portland’s Lincoln High School with filmmaker Orland Nutt from 1994 to 1998. We became fast friends. We’d chat between classes about Peter Jackson’s early movies: Meet the Feebles, Dead Alive and Bad Taste and reenact our favorite bits from Seinfeld episodes—Orland even dressed in lounge suits and made Kramer-esque room entrances. On the weekend we powered up camcorders, trained them on baby dolls we’d set on fire and record the transformation. There were wheelchair races to be had, avant-garde music shows to attend, and long, goofy nights of coffee and fries at Dot’s or coffee and pie at Montage.

Orland Nutt in his film: Dear Peter, Song

Orland Nutt in his film: “Dear Peter, Song”

After high school Orland attended CalArts where he studied experimental animation and filmmaking. We stayed in touch via telephone and email. After college he headed back to Portland, got a job doing post-production commercial work and started in on his own video projects. I’d lend a hand on his movies whenever I could. I still do. For Orland’s movies I’ve written a song from the point of view of a dead fish, performed ‘50’s style voiceover narration, contorted my face in uncomfortable ways, and walked up public stairwell after public stairwell—never quite sure how he would piece it all together.

If you follow experimental filmmaking in Portland, there’s a good chance you’ve come across Orland’s animation and filmmaking. He was a mainstay in the Peripheral Produce Invitational portion of the now-defunct (sadly!) Portland Documentary and eXperimental Film Festival where he was crowned “World Champ” by audience vote in the last two years of the festival. His work has been shown at the Northwest Filmmakers’ Festival and at the Portland International Film Festival, where he has received Judge’s and Audience Awards.

Orland received a grant from the Regional Arts & Culture Council last year. He has just completed the primary project funded by the grant—a film version of the James Broughton poem Bear of Heaven. To mark the occasion, a retrospective of his most outstanding work to date, including the world premiere of Bear of Heaven, will show at the Northwest Festival Film Center this Thursday, July 10, at 7 pm. It has been dubbed: An Evening With Orland Nutt.

Still from Bear of Heaven.

Still from “Bear of Heaven.”

Last weekend, as Orland was wrapping up the finishing touches on Bear Of Heaven, I stopped by his apartment where we enjoyed slices of pizza and a chat about his process, experimental filmmaking, poetry and divine fate. Here is our conversation—transcribed and edited for clarity.

Well your big night is fast approaching. Is there a special thrill to seeing your work projected on a big screen? A lot of people end up seeing it on the internet…

Yes, it makes a huge difference. I put a lot of work into the color and the details and the fine grain that goes over everything. A lot of that gets lost through compression when it’s shown on the internet. You really feel the texture of everything a lot more. It’s more detailed and more what I made.

I guess you describe your films as sort of experimental film or leaning that way. What does that mean to you versus…not…experimental?

My work has been experimental in that, for the most part, I have to experiment a lot in the process of making it—trying to figure out what it’s going to be. And I don’t really always know if it’s going to work. Like, for the movie You Come Home To This, I started shooting the houses and through the process of trying to animate them, by sequencing all the images, the animation started to appear but I didn’t really know how well that would work. By a lot of accidents in the process of sequencing them I would find new ways of animating them. It was through experimentation that ultimately the whole structure of the film came together.

And that could be said for Trinity of Three Dragons as well. I had a decent idea of of some things that might work but it was a lot of experimentation in editing that made that piece come together. As opposed to my newest piece. Not experimental. Maybe a little bit, because it’s featuring performed poetry which is kind of an odd thing… But it was storyboarded, planned, an animatic was made—the full, normal filmmaking process.

From: Trinity of Three Dragons

From: “Trinity of Three Dragons”

I think the term “experimental film” kinda scares some people off. They think it might be boring…

Mmmhmmm.

But you make experimental films—or out of the ordinary, non-narrative films—and you’ve seen a lot of films like that. What appeals to you about that kind of moviemaking? Even just as a viewer…

There are so many types of experimental… I guess some that are just purely visual, where the content is just a visual experience. Like Stan Brakhage movies where you’re just getting paint on film or they print the leaves on film—they’re just beautiful to look at. It’s a visual art that requires time and to be shown on film. Those are beautiful. Others have concepts that can only be communicated that way. This Is It, the James Broughton movie, is one of my favorite movies, long or short. I watch it a few times a year and it makes me really happy every time. It’s just a child running around and it’s again—I guess there’s a poem recited over the top—but it’s just communication of a feeling and a concept. That movie is about God in everything and kinda philosophical and grounding in a good way. Through non-narrative, non-traditional storytelling it’s able to put an idea forth and share it in a way that normal cinema storytelling couldn’t.

Speaking of James Broughton, your big premiere in this screening coming up is based on his poem Bear of Heaven. What about this particular poem made you want to visualize it in a movie?

It was actually the first poem that I ever wanted to make into a movie but it was so complicated that I had to wait for years to have the opportunity to do it. I needed funding and the right person to do it and all that stuff came together.

When did you first came across that poem?

It was probably 5 or 6 years ago when I was working on my first poem movie.

So you had an idea then?

Yeah. I really wanted to work with this poem. It’s probably the most—I don’t know the right word—it’s erotic without being explicit. But it’s also spiritual and I just really love the poem. The possibility of transforming it into a purely devotional poem that was a spiritual narrative rather than one that was just lust and human eroticism and into one of more…spiritual bestiality…

That’s a good way to put it! You’ve visualized other James Broughton poems. It seems like he’s a pretty big influence on your work. What about his poetry and films draw you in?

I just really love his voice and his attitude towards life—his celebration of joy—and he has kind of a light heartedness that I really relate to.

You’ve adapted poems by other people. This seems to be a source: poetry. Is there a particular reason for that?

It started because I was finding poetry for the first time in my life, around 25, that I actually liked. I had read a lot of poetry throughout my life and just hadn’t really come across anybody’s voice that really moved me. I started finding some that really did it for me. I think I wanted to share those voices in case they might do it for somebody else. It’s hard to just come across that kind of thing because people don’t generally recommend them. I can’t remember the last time anyone has ever recommended a poem to me.

It doesn’t seem like it’s the most popular reading material on the bus does it?

Nuh-uh. So that was a factor. Also, I was just finishing a bunch of work that had taken me a really long time in post production and I was wanting to make some simpler, easier projects. At first they were 1 to 3 month projects, but then they quickly turned into the same, 1 to 2 year, insane investments.

Can you give us a basic breakdown of the steps to create Bear of Heaven?

I think it really came together in the process of applying for a grant. At that point I really had to figure out everything that the project was going to be. To also figure out the costs and what was going to be necessary to make it. In terms of the pre-production it was pretty accurate but there was a lot more compositing and animation that I hadn’t planned for. I think that’s my own….it’s just because I can’t help myself! I could have made a much simpler movie but I just kept adding things and adding things and kept filling it up. I think that comes from working in advertising. I can’t let any moment go untouched.

After finding out I got the funding I needed, I got to work meeting with all the collaborators and starting them on the projects we would need. I worked on the storyboard—refining it more and more. I looked at a lot of anime and Bollywood movies for actions and types of motions and really trying to figure out the action of every shot in the movie. Jennifer, the actress, had a bunch of performance ideas also. We fine tuned the choreography and got it to the point where we were ready. We shot the live action part and then probably 6 months later we shot all the set elements. Those were totally separate. The live action was all on a green screen sweep and the set was also on a green screen sweep. I shot simply to so it wasn’t too complicated to figure out camera positions that would match between the live action and the miniature set.

Bear of Heaven still

“Bear of Heaven” still

How big was the set?

The set was about ten feet wide by about four feet deep.

What materials were used to make the set?

It had a foam base and everything else paper….paper…and….er what was that stuff called?

This is really a question for your mom I guess…

Yeah, my mom made the set. She’s a paper artist. She’s always worked in 2D and I’ve always liked her work and I thought it would be interesting to have her try her hand at a 3D environment and she did an amazing job. Once all that stuff was on the computer it was about 6 months of really intensive compositing. Making the shadows work, making the colors match between the elements of the live action and the set.

I’m not sure people know what compositing is necessarily…

Removing the green screen so there’s a matte on the objects and then marrying the elements together. Cutting out foreground elements so that I can place the performer between the foreground and background parts. Then there are the animation effects and then the color correct to create a look over the top of everything.

It’s very complicated! You said earlier that you were waiting for the right person to perform Bear of Heaven how did you come to select Jennifer Sindon who flew up from Los Angeles?

I had known Jennifer since I was 18. We had lost contact for a while, started talking again a few years ago and I found out she was making movies. I really liked her work and she really liked mine and so we started working on some projects together. As I saw her strengths as a performer it became really clear that she was the person I had been waiting for to have in this movie. She is a powerful, witchy, shamanic woman.

You work in advertising. What do you do exactly?

I work at Bent Image Lab, a production house that primarily does animation. I do post-production there and I’ve worked on stop motion jobs, live action, CG and special effects projects. I’ve learned a lot of the skills that I’ve utilized to make my own films from working there over the years and working with different directors who all have really exciting, different styles.

Some of your work has been all live action, some all animation, some has been a mixture of the two—how do you decide which techniques to use?

It’s just because of influences and outside stimulus for where I go…what kind of project I make. Like the dance piece, Trinity of Three Dragons, I was really inspired by a movie by Peter Kubelka: Pause!. It was pretty incredible to me as was the Butoh dancing by Tatsumi Hijikata. I was really engaged by that for a while so I wanted to make a dance piece or a movement piece. I feel like the flow of projects is all just random inspirations, whatever has been exciting me in the years leading up to whatever project.

You’ve made movies in many different styles. Do you think there’s some common thread to your work?

Looking at all my work recently, the thread i’ve seen is this attempt to thwart meaning or cause people to reinterpret meanings. My earliest work I would not put language in and avoided language at all costs. In You Come Home to This I tried to show architectural motifs but without presenting any of the names of them even though most of them have names and identifications. I tried to create purely visual categories through animation that would just exist temporarily.

In the dance piece Trinity of Three Dragons I tried to create categories of motion through editing that were not named but you would still feel them as you saw them. And then, as I started to put language into the films, I tried to apply reinterpretations to spaces. In Equanimous Passage I took public staircases that people climb and made that into a religious experience, or spiritual experience. With the poems I’m trying to, at least with the recent ones, take very erotic poems and turn them into something else. Recontextualize and just change the presentation of them.

So Bear of Heaven

Yeah and I Am Into Your Fire. That’s very much an erotic love poem and instead I made it into a crazy mountain woman’s personal ad or something.

Still from: "I Am Into Your Fire"

Still from: “I Am Into Your Fire”

Let’s go back a little here. When did you know you wanted to make films?

I think it started in high school, doing some video projects for a Humanities class and finding how fun it was.

Well, I was there with you, and these were not assigned video projects. You could make whatever you wanted, you could have written an essay but you happened to make these amazing videos that everyone was blown away by. How did you know even how to do it?

I did an internship where I working doing some compositing and post-production. I was getting into video at that point I guess.

How did you get that internship?

I have no idea. I don’t know why that happened! I think it was like a college thing: it’s good to try to get an internship. So I thought, well, what should I do?

What led you to get an internship at a video place?

I have no idea.

Alright. I’m going to accept that as an answer.

Divine fate! I have no idea…

The Dear Peter series is one of your more popular series of movies. One of them was voted by the Portland International Film Festival audience in 2013 as the best Oregon made short film. How did your Dear Peter series start? It seems to have evolved beyond just a letter to Peter….

It started with emails between myself and my high school friend Peter. We were good friends and had a lot of correspondence. I don’t know how it happened—we started sending letters to each other but not normal letters. They were often drawings or just short, odd statements about our lives. Peter would talk about his desire to eat a sandwich in the shower but then would send a letter days later about how he decided not to get a sandwich. We would send each other packages. I sent him a box of dirt from around one of the places I was living. I think there were probably cigarettes and garbage from the ground around just to show him that this is what I see every day—this is how I’m living. So it was kind of a conceptual exchange not a typical…well maybe it is typical but just in a different format.

That led to eventually making the videos, and then they started growing and changing and became a good venue to just present an outlook—present a way of experiencing something, even as mundane as a pile of wood chips or a weird figure in an alley, and turning those into stories. Turning them into an experience whereas you could just pass them by and have no reaction.

Would you say, in a way, that we’re all Peter? That you are trying to communicate these ideas to the world at large and not just Peter?

At this point, you could say that. They became a public thing…so yeah. But I do think the voice is definitely tuned to him. Like when sometimes people write they think of a specific audience. I am definitely thinking of him as the audience so I’m sure that affects the outcome.

What is the earliest film in your retrospective?

I think it’s 2000.

So you were in college?

Yeah there are two films in there from when I was in college.

Two from college and one that you are going to be wrapping up in the next few days… What has changed in that span of time? In terms of your approach?

Outlook, skills, interests, influences, everything.

So you’re better now?

Yeah.

Ok I think that covers all the questions I wrote down here…

That seems like plenty!

 

Note: You can see Orland’s work on his website and on his Vimeo page but I’d suggest holding back for now and attending An Evening With Orland Nutt at the NW Film Center Thursday, July 10th at 7pm for maximum impact and the world premiere of Bear of Heaven!

Jesse Malmed, The Body Electronic. NW Film Center.

 

The Northwest Film Center‘s Northwest Tracking program of contemporary works “looks at the edges of cinema.” And  Wednesday night, the viewat the edge is interesting indeed — out toward the horizons where video meets performance meets poem — with The Body Electronic, An Evening with Jesse Malmed.

Anyone could do some word play on Walt Whitman’s “I sing the body electric” to develop a title (Rush has), but  Malmed makes a good case why he can justifiably lay claim to that lineage.  Much of Malmed’s video and performance work comes through words, whether the mistranslation of the subtitles of a French film (directly translating the sound rather than sense of the words) or more often, the accompaniment of images with his own robust voice as in “SeeScape,”  in which the live sound track is a vocalization of Morse code.  More, Malmed’s engagement with the poem focuses on the kind of renegade poets who are in one way or another Whitman’s kin.

In a similar vein with projects by artists such as Sapideh Saii (whose work was recently part of a show at U of O’s White Box) and Miranda July, Malmed occasionally physically enters the frame the video makes on the wall. Unlike Saii, Malmed has a good dose of humor running through his work, as if to say, “this is not so serious, sing along.”

Malmed does ask the audience to “sing” and invites some to participate in his “Conversational Karaoke,” which takes the performance format of karaoke and applies it to promote and confound expression, narrative, and one-to-one communication. The evening will also feature works that are more straight-up expanded cinema, as in the hectic and riveting collage of “Inthreedia.”

I had the chance to ask Jesse a few questions about this body (electronic) of work.

Lisa Radon: Your spinning together the threads of experimental poetry and film is unusual. How did you come to this body of work?

Jesse Malmed: I went to Bard where that kind of cross-disciplinary exploration is encouraged. And of course there’s a long history of intertwining connections between poets and filmmakers.

You engage language in a number of different ways in this work from mishearings to codes. And this in a medium that’s typically more about the image and less about the word.

Yes, I’m interested in denaturing language in some ways, in taking it for its visual or sonic capacities outside the realm of the purely communicative.

Communication is confounded for sure in your “Conversational Karaoke.” It’s funny to use the word conversation when it’s so awkward and halting because of the way the words come at you on the screen.

“Conversational Karaoke” interests me because of how we conceive of interactivity. Any experience is interactive; your presence creates meaning for a painting. But the way people have been talking about interactivity, you are supposed to have complete agency. “Conversational Karaoke” questions that.

Can you talk about how or why you began inserting your live presence into your video screenings? Did you come at this from spoken word?

Well, I experienced this difficulty of being part of a screening, where you press play and then aren’t able to respond to room. I wanted to be able to be more responsive. And I’m interested in my presence as being part of shaping the experience.

Northwest Film Center presents
The Body Electronic, An Evening with Jesse Malmed
Whitsell Auditorium, Portland Art Museum
7 p.m. Wednesday, July 20

From the NW Film Center:

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