The Burger Kingification of Popular Cinema

The number one question I got when I walked around in my bright red AFI Dallas Film Festival Volunteer T-shirt was this, “What should I see?”

The festival had nice booklets for people to review.

The local press wrote about the festival weeks ahead of time. They made recommendations, listed out films they wanted to see, and even provided a group of trailers ominously missing from the AFI Dallas website.

But people still wanted to know what was good.

That is the joy and the terror of the Film Festival – you have no idea what the movie is going to be like. No one has seen it. You get to be the first. With this comes a certain amount of risk – it might be a real stinker or, even worse, a drug-rape-kill “comedy.” But there is also the very real chance that you will see something special and wonderful, a secret film that makes your heart warm every tine you think of it. (Case in point - My wife and I had an amazing time at a festival seeing the Adrienne Shelly film “I’ll Take You There.” It is still one of our favorite movies, even though it never got distribution. We love it even though no one else has even heard of it.)

But this got me thinking – you have the summary of the film before you. You have the trailer. You can use the International Movie Database to find out the filmography of all the actors, the screenwriter(s), the producer(s), the director, and even the cinematographer. But somehow this is not enough. You need to look someone in the eyes and have that person put his or her reputation on the line by recommending a movie.

Why don’t they trust all this information? Because too many times, they’ve been burned by the film summary, the trailer, or the resume of the talent involved. The movies are marketed to everyone, but the truth of the matter is that they’re made for niche audiences. And if you are in the mainstream but not in the niche, you will probably walk away from the experience disappointed.

This is a symptom of what I call the Burger Kingification of the movie industry.

For those of you who don’t follow fast food marketing, Burger King has adopted the business plan of ignoring the mainstream. Rather than put effort into following popular diet trends (such as serving salads, focusing on healthy foods, or serving anything Atkins of South Beach compliant), they just want to focus on the super-user. By catering to fast food aficionados, the company would (in theory) make more money than making something for everyone. Because only the fratboy demographic (a male age 17 to 24) would think of a sandwich named Meat’normous and think of it as a digestic challenge instead of something that should be fed to your enemies in hopes that it clogs their arteries.

Anyway, as more people who grew up on movies start making movies, a bit of genetic drift occurs. You watch films from Martin Scorsese and Brian de Palma and learn that they grew up watching movies by King Vidor and Alfred Hitchcock. And you watch movies by P.T. Anderson and Quentin Tarantino to learn only that they grew up watching Scorsese and de Palma movies. So you have someone riffing on someone riffing on someone riffing on Hitchcock. Or John Ford. Or Fritz Lang.

Sometimes it works, but more often than not, it comes across as a photocopy of a photocopy of a photocopy – just a mess. But a mess that is cherished and adored by the cool person who has the wherewithal to get the in-joke or who has been raised by Showtime, HBO, and Cinemax.

It even has gotten to the point where film directors pat themselves on the back for driving mainstream, Middle America out of the theaters. As if upsetting everyone except the niche audience was a mark of artistic integrity. The sad truth of the matter is that embedding yourself deeply in a niche is not a sign of artistic integrity as much as it is immersing yourself in an echo chamber. Cynicism and naiveté are not mutually exclusive.

One of the conversations I had with another AFI volunteer was about the movie Cake. He said he didn’t understand why the movie sold out when it looked stupid. I mean, what were these people thinking, spending their time and money watching a romantic comedy about a wedding? Why would someone even want to make a movie like that?

I asked him how much money "My Big, Fat Greek Wedding" made. THAT’S why someone would want to make a movie like that. It seems like an anomaly because so rarely is a movie made for the mainstream. Movies today are made for core and niche audiences. The Burger King Super-Users.

To try to make this point, I asked him if he wanted to see Grindhouse.

Hell, yes.

What about your mother and your grandmother? Are they just as excited about Grindhouse?

No way, man.

But would they go see Cake?

I guess so.

Well, ok then.

A not safe for kids/work post about art and commerce from the Dallas AFI Film Festival

More Tales of AFI Volunteerism

I have been volunteering for the AFI film festival for the past few days. Volunteering is fun; you get to hang out a movie theater all day long, telling people to line up for THEATER 6 UP AGAINST THE WALL! NO that line is for PRESS ONLY! And then you repeat yourself for the next 127 people who also try to get into the press line.

One day, I was assigned to the role of Production Assistant. Production Assistant sounds a whole heck of a lot like Assistant Producer, a title I often read on movie credits. I was thrilled to have the job. Until I found out exactly what it entailed.

Production Assistant does not mean you walk around with a clipboard, telling people what to do, and having them do it with no back talk (i.e. every filmmaker’s dream).

No, Production Assistant means you get to to be part of the Production Crew. And what does the Production Crew do? It cleans up after all the parties from the night before, and it also sets up for the parties and events that are happening that night. The Production Crew lived in this little un-air conditioned closet of a space, huddled over their laptops and MySpace pages until the walkie-talkies started blaring.

My work day began with a stint in the hospitality lounge. Before we walked in, the person on the Production Crew warned me that the lounge was “totally gay.” I didn’t think of it in those terms as much as I looked at in terms of advertising. You see, the AFI Film Festival is heavily sponsored by Target, and the lounge looked like it was Target’s industrial sense of style. Everything was a mixture of red and white, and everything was… plastic. I am sure if I time-traveled from the 1960s to this moment and this place, I would be so excited to see that, in the future of 2007, everything would be exactly as I imagined – sleek, clean, and plastic.

I didn’t time-travel from the 1960s, though, and the plasticity of it all (they even had plastic martini glasses) made me think of patio furniture and cookouts. This is the type of furniture that doesn’t inspire you to mouse up your hair into that “just got out of bed” shape, clad yourself in black leather, and vamp; this is the type of furniture that inspires you to show up in flip-flops, slurp some Bud without wiping off the can first, and tell stories about how that cousin who accidentally set himself on fire while fine-tuning his illegal moonshine still because, as you pointed out before, that boy ain’t right.

The most valued area of the lounge was the snack bin. Part of being a Production Assistant means that I was responsible for keeping the snack bins full of chips, cookies, trail mix, chocolate, chocolate-dipped granola bars, and at least nine types of colored sugar water with bright labels proclaiming them as “energy drinks.”

The person responsible for the lounge inspired the volunteer staff by waxing poetic about how he has lost faith in humanity. “I have spent 23 years in the hospitality industry because I like to be hospitable. When people come in, grab a bunch of food, and leave, it makes my heart ache.” Shortly after hearing that speech some people came in, looted the snack area, and left without saying anything or making eye contact.

The whole point of being a Production Assistant is to help create this separate world between the elite (filmmakers, press, honored guests and dignitaries), and everyone else. Only the elite get to see the lounge. Only the elite get to walk the red carpet. Only the elite get to loot the free trail mix.

It is human nature to expect the elite to behave better than the rabble, and it is easy to become resentful when you see the elite behaving poorly. And while the production crew cleaned up the broken beer bottles after one of the swankier parties, the resentfulness came out in the form of gossip. Such and such person refused to walk the red carpet. So and so didn’t even show up to the Q&A. Can you believe the fit Important Person made over the fact the hotel bar didn’t carry the right brand of coffee?

The only bit of gossip I had really wasn’t all that gossipy – a bit of talent was upset because paying ticket-holders didn’t get kicked out of a screening to make room for an entourage of some sort. There was also the issue of Someone Elite wanting the movie to start late because Someone Elite was running late. The theater staff decided that, no, the movie would start ON TIME because if it started late the next movie in that theater would start late and the movie after that would start late. Needless to say, the limitations of space and time upset Someone Elite so much that a whole heck of a lot of people suffered the verbal assaults of the Handlers of the Elite.

My story did not impress as much as get an, “Eh, that’s typical… we need to wrap up here and start setting up the red carpet.”

I felt that distinct sense of blotches-on-the-neck discomfort I get when I’ve committed some sort of faux pas. And then I realized what it was – I was a volunteer. Here these crew people were getting paid $12 to $25 an hour to do this job and I was doing it for free. They had the right to complain about the cruddy work situations and the tedium of it all because, hey, it was their job, right? Everybody has the right to complain about the job, right?

But this wasn’t a job for me. I was doing this heavy lifting and manual labor for the cost of nothing, donating my time to a film festival because I love movies and I love film festivals, and to be a part of it, even if it is the part that cleans up broken beer bottles, was an honor. To complain about doing something out of love like it was just part of your job you hate… well, that is borderline insane.

I decided not to complain any more, and steadfastly march on. And I am glad I did. I am quite sure I lost a few pounds when all was said and done. One quick sniff at the end of the day would let you know that my nice little volunteer T-shirt was permeated with sweat and stink.

Because I worked four straight days on a film festival without watching an entire film, I felt this need to keep my sleepy eyes open enough to actually watch a movie.

The movie I picked was Shut Up and Sing, a documentary about those controversial Dixie Chicks who exercised their right of free speech and were subsequently demonized by bloggers, some people on Fox News who like to scream, and country music fans who decided to give up on their “South-Shall-Rise-Again/We Should All Be Secessionists Because We Hate The U.S. Government” rhetoric in favor of “Our President Should Never Be Doubted” rhetoric.

But when watching the movie, the number one thing that struck me was how the entire film is spent with the Dixie Chicks in this insulated bubble - separated from what the rest of us call reality. They have ranches away from everyone. They’re in recording studios away from everyone. They are all insulted in hotel rooms, surrounded by their laptops, cellphones, and Starbucks drinks. For a film that is nominally about the Dixie Chicks vs. their fans, there is no direct interaction between the Dixie Chicks and their fans. In fact, their manager carries a laminated photo of them one time when they weren’t kept in an insulated bubble, and he taunts the band with it. Before me, you played concerts where you had to interact with the commoners. Before me, you weren’t set to sail on a sea of professional handlers. You should listen to me.

I will have to admit that it made it difficult to feel sympathy for the ladies because their tour was only going to make $20 million instead of $60 million. As much as I am for freedom of speech and freedom of expression, the filmmakers seemed to reduce all of the intellectual and debates on principles to “Isn’t it sad when pretty girls are made to cry.”

I thought of the people who cleaned up their left over Starbucks cups and broken beer bottles. I thought of the people who set the lights for the concerts. I wondered if they did it to be part of the scene, or if they did it out of love.

Successful Filmmakers Cause Pain

I am volunteering at the Dallas AFI Film Festival, because I do things like that. I like film festivals in general and Short Film Showcases in particular. The short film showcases tend to be more crowded than other programs, and they also have the most enthusiastic crowds.

Here’s why – only newbies make short films. Do you ever hear about Stephen Spielberg’s great idea for a 6 minute short? Do you think that Tom Cruise looks up from his spiral notebook of Deep Scientology Thoughts and proclaims to his handlers and yes men, “Hey! This weekend would be a great time to film a dramatic scene where I can hone my acting ability! Let’s just do because we care about art, not money!”

Of course not. Short films, especially ones by first time directors, are made out of love and care. It takes a village to make a short film. Or an extended family.

And that is who shows up – friends and family. And they’re going to love whatever is on the screen no matter how crappy it is because THEY HELPED MAKE THIS HAPPEN. This is their moment to sit back and admire their own handiwork. And if this great happening happens to be a tasteless waste of time, no one will admit it, lest they look foolish. And clapping at every name in every credit does not make you look foolish because everyone in the three rows around you is doing the same thing, except some of them are hootin' and hollerin', too.

The only problem is when the short film programming pits first-time filmmakers against each other. Like the one I was assigned to.

One film on the program was for kids. Wellllll, it was not necessarily made for kids (it was an adult thinking back to childhood), but it was chock full of kids. Almost all of the scenes had children frolicking all through the background. And all of the little child extras came en masse to see their collective screen debuts.

Unfortunately, the film with the kids in it came after the other two short films. And the first of these was a “comedy” about a guy who creates a magic formula that makes women want to have sex with him (HA!) until he gets mobbed by women so much he just has to kill them all (HAHAHA!!!). During the scene where he is having a threesome in the back of a taxi (OH! MY SIDES! STOP THE HILARITY, PLEASE!), the parents of all the under-eight-year-old crowd decide it is time to pack up and go home.

The director of the filled-with-kids film got upset about this and complained to the staff. Because I was the peon-on-duty, all I saw of the conflict was the moment of first escalation. “I’m sorry, I am just a volunteer. Let me take you to the program director’s table, and you can make a formal complaint to them.” Apparently, the director calmed down enough to make it through the rest of the screening (minus the prepubescent entourage, of course), but wrote a nasty note to the marketing department when all was said and done. Yes, a few feathers were ruffled, but a crisis was averted.

I wondered if anyone else saw this happen, and how they felt about it. I got my answer when the screening ended and all of the friends and family clustered around each other, so happy that they had all made it to the big time. I walked over to the “comedy” troupe, put on my listening ears, and heard the director of the drug-rape-kill “comedy” bragging to the little “comedy”-loving entourage about it.

“Did you see those people walk out? That guy took, what, like five fuckin' kids out of my movie? You didn’t see it? Aw, man , it was FUCKIN’ AWESOME! I FUCKIN’ RULE!”

And then, the inevitable high five.

This is where I differ from most up-and-coming filmmakers. I would like my film to be seen, to have people enjoy it, and then want to pay me lots of money for unique pleasure of owning the DVD. No where in my agenda does making people walk out of my film fit – especially when they’re in a friends and family crowd.

Maybe someday I’ll learn.