I'M NOT HERE and JUANITA

Did another double feature yesterday, this time two unexpectedly unique films, starting with I'M NOT HERE, a 2017 film I missed, which should have had a best actor nomination for J.K. Simmons. It's a small film, mostly confined to an old alcoholic's apartment—directed, edited, produced, and co-written by Michelle Schumacher. Most of which she does very well for my taste.

It won't be for everyone, and while I was watching it there were times when I thought it wasn't for me. But despite how uncomfortable some scenes made me, in the end it satisfied me, and not just for Simmon's performance. It may seem a little heavy handed in its use of the philosophic/quantum physics quandary of the Schrodinger's cat challenge, but ultimately, as I keep flashing on the film throughout my day today, fitting the pieces of the puzzle together and feeling more and more impressed, it worked for me.

JUANITA just came out on Netflix, and I've had access to that lately so jumped at the chance to see the always extraordinary Alfre Woodard. And JUANITA—even with an amazingly delightful cast—is all hers. (But just to mention two of the outstanding other performers, LaTanya Richardson Jackson and Ashlie Atkinson, the latter played the KKK wife in BLACKKKLANSMAN and is so transformed here I didn't recognize her).

Woodard also produced JUANITA, along with her husband Roderick Spencer (full disclosure, I've known them since my L.A.days), and Spencer also adapted the screenplay from a book by Sheila Wilson. Directed by Clark Johnson, there were times when I could have jumped for joy just with the unique use of a variety of filmic devises.

JUANITA is a delight, a story unlike any you've ever seen, though with elements you have. For one, the leads in JUANITA and most of the supporting actors are either African-American or Native American, and the combination of those distinct groups filling up any movie—let alone dominating the story and scenes—would be a bonus, but in one as fun as this it's a kind of movie heaven for me.

Don't miss this one.

MATERNAL LINEAGE

My mother, her mother, and her mother

in the 19teens before women could vote,

though they were all politically active.

AND THIS

Some more photos from the February 17th wrap and fundraiser (for Rachel E. Diken to finish the documentary on my poetry and life) party (taken by Daniel Purkis):

my two oldest children, Caitlin and Miles

Katy, Gabrielle, and Cynthia

John and Matt (two drummers)

Abi

Michael

my niece Jennifer and me

Lilian

Lori and Erin

Karyn and Norman

Violet and Wendy

Eric, Rachel, me, and Annabel

my youngest Flynn

Flynn and me

David, Norm, and Richie

Don, me, and Akrim

Tatiana and Rachel

Susan and Matt

Karen and Lisa

Richard, me, and Mary

Jeanne and Sue

David and Rachel

Jeff and Norma

CAROLEE SCHNEEMANN R.I.P.

Carolee Schneemann was a revolutionary force in the art world of the 1960s onward. We became friends in the '70s but I knew of her since the early '60s when I first encountered her performance art. She was notorious for using her body, usually naked, as part of her performances, and I had some notoriety for writing about my body and sexuality graphically and honestly, which she let me know she got and dug. We'd share stories about people we'd expect to be supportive and weren't, like feminists who didn't appreciate what a feminist pioneer she was in her art and the art world. I adored her, appreciated her, admired her, and feel badly now for not keeping in touch with her more. May she rest in peace and paint and whatever else she used over the years to make her amazing creations.

LUKE PERRY R.I.P.

I met Luke Perry in Amsterdam at the beginning of this century. I was helping the director, my friend Ate de Jong, with FOGBOUND, the movie he was shooting from an idea of his that he hired me to flesh out as co-writer. It was an English language movie but shot on a sound stage in Amsterdam where Ate lived.

As I remember it, Perry's character was a writer/journalist and somewhat of an intellectual. Once shooting started Perry began skipping and changing his lines in what seemed like an attempt to make his character more like the cool characters he was famous for playing, or to comment on them. I had written a joke about LA that opened the movie, but for LA Perry kept substituting Beverly Hills (or maybe even the BH zipcode "90210"), which made the joke not work, except as a reference to his 90210 character, which had nothing to do with the movie.

Ate flew me in after this had been going on a while. I was billed as "the writer" and a fellow "American" and other things. Perry might be more willing to take my suggestions. They put me up in the same hotel Perry was staying at overlooking a canal, and when I arrived on set I was introduced to him and we chatted and talked about the script as written. Perry was about as sweet and friendly as you can imagine. Later he knocked on my hotel room to see if I wanted to hang out, and we did.

Having worked before as a writer and/or actor on movie sets where stars had a different idea of what they wanted to do with their character, or what they didn't want their character doing, I thought I  understood what was going on. Perry seemed to like me and enjoy hanging out and talking with me, and to be willing to follow my script notes. But every day on set, he did what he wanted with the character and most of what we discussed was ignored, though he'd act like he was being compliant.

I was there for two weeks or so and fell in love with Amsterdam, met Burt Reynolds who was working on a movie on a different soundstage in the same complex, and grew to really care for Luke despite his changes to the character as Ate had created him and I helped develop. We had some deep discussions about deep topics and a lot of light ones too. He was always laid back and easy to be with. And though slighter physically than I expected, his great looks were a bonus to be around.

He was way too nice to ever be, or ever stay, angry with in any way. At least that was my experience of him. And he was way too young to die.

TALLULAH and CARRIE PILBY

Yesterday and today watched two movies from 2016 made by women filmmakers that should have received more attention.

TALLULAH, written and directed by Sian Heder is worth watching just for the three female leads, let alone the unique twist on a story that echoes classic comedy-of-errors plots but from a female perspective and with seemingly more at stake. Ellen Page and Allison Janney give their usual brilliantly crafted performances that knocked me out, but the revelation was Tammy Blanchard in what at first seemed like a thankless role but turned out to be the scene stealer. The fourth female smaller role of a detective played by Uzo Aduba also outshone the male actors in the flick, who did passable jobs but weren't half as mesmerizing as the women.

CARRIE PILBY was also directed by a woman, Susan Johnson (and written by Kara Holden from a book by Caren Lissner). The heart of the film is the lead performance by Bell Powley as the title character. I didn't know her work but she owns this movie, her Bette Davis eyes alone make it worth watching, but her craft elevates what could have been a contrivance to a lovely little romantic comedy full of wit and richly satisfying, at least for me. Again the male performers were less compelling than Powley (and another revelation, Vanessa Bayer in a supporting role), but Nathan Lane has never been more successfully subdued in a movie so I give the director credit for that too.

YEP

Or is at least one of the main things corroding the soul of this country.