Rob
Nilsson is an internationally-acclaimed director working in the
industry for over 20 years. He is the first American director to
have won both the Camera d'Or at Cannes and the Grand Prize at Sundance
(HEAT AND SUNLIGHT, NORTHERN LIGHTS). His film CHALK was the 2nd
film to be streamed in its entirety over the Internet and was released
theatrically in 2000. His most recent film ATTITUDE opened in New
York City in 2003. Rob continues to be one of the most influential
voices in digital cinema, and is considered a pioneer in the field
who has consistently demonstrated innovation and integrity.
You can learn more about Rob at his website www.robnilsson.com.
Thompson:
How did you first get involved with filmmaking?
Nilsson:
I got an idea that wasn't a poem, a painting or a song. I had avoided
filmmaking because my grandfather did it. But I got hooked. It was
in Nigeria. I made a film with some friends called The Lesson.
It was an adventure, a lark. It was also about neo-colonialist stereotypes.
Tarzan, Kurtz, and Dr. Schmutzer were all there. Luckily for film
history the only copy was stolen.
Thompson:
I know Cassavetes was a big influence on you. Did you ever meet
him? Any interesting stories about Cassavetes?
Nilsson:
I knew John for several years. I met him at the Chicago Film Festival
the year Northern Lights played there. When I made Signal
7 and dedicated it to him, he called me up. "Rob, I loved
your film -- I loved it and Gena (Gena Rowlands, his wife) loved
it too and we never agree about anything." That was the best
compliment I ever got. When I sent him Heat and Sunlight,
he called again. "Rob, Rob, I saw your film and... and... I
can't talk right now." This didn't sound promising. Then the
phone rang again. It was Gena in a very calm, firm voice. "Rob,
this is Gena. John saw your film and he liked it very much."
Toward
the end of John's life, when he was very sick, we'd get in his old
Lincoln and drive through the Valley. He told me all of the war
stories about making the movies which had given me my original inspiration
to be a filmmaker. He used to tell me I should never have dedicated
a film to him. "Rob, it makes it difficult for me to praise
you. Everybody thinks it's just self interest."
Thompson:
You won the Camera D'Or at Cannes for Northern Lights. How
did that project evolve? What was it like at Cannes during those
days?
Nilsson:
Northern Lights started out as a 30 minute documentary financed
by the North Dakota Committee for the Humanities and Public Issues.
But John Hanson and I started shooting dramatic scenes. We presented
a sprawling mix of the two. The Humanities Committee was either
completely impressed or totally confused. At any rate they could
see we were on to something. "Now about that 30 minute documentary..."
they said. "Let's finish that and then we'll talk about a dramatic
feature." John Hanson was a master diplomat and that's how
Prairie Fire was born and how Northern Lights got
its start. I believe if we had gone to them originally proposing
a dramatic feature film, Northern Lights never would have
happened. We won the Camera d'Or at Cannes for Northern Lights
in 1979, the same year Apocalypse Now and The Tin
Drum tied for the Palm d'Or. I thought it was a good start.
Now
Cannes is certainly a place on the make. In the long run, however,
it's misleading. You have to follow your instincts no matter what
the world says. If they close the door on you, you must work in
your own idiom. Likewise if you are the world's darling. Everything
changes, including your work. But the work has to change out of
a determination to explore your personal unknown. Cannes chose
Northern Lights to praise that year. But they were just some
people sitting in a room. Who were they? And Northern Lights
is not my favorite film. I'm more interested in what I'm doing
now, or will be doing tomorrow.
Thompson:
Heat and Sunlight won the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance early
on in the festival's history. What was that experience like and
how has Sundance changed?
Nilsson:
It's nice to win awards. But the work is the real thing. We danced
around when we won. We thought we deserved it. But tomorrow the
fascination begins again. You scratch your itches. You want to see
how the thing will look. So you make it. As for Sundance, it has
become a sort of Wal Mart or Home Depot for low/middle brow taste.
The good? Sometimes films like Irreversible play there. The
bad? The rest of the film school training wheel cinema they play
there. How could it be different? There is almost no independent
American Cinema worth watching today, and Sundance exists to present
it.
Thompson:
You sometimes work with a script, sometimes not. What's the
difference in how you approach a scripted and/or non-scripted film.
Do you feel either method is inherently better than another?
Nilsson:
A scripted piece is filled with obligations... and goals. You try
to service your expectations. This is a dangerous path requiring
special skills, including the skill of forgetting. In other words,
you rehearse and think out what you're going to do in advance. And
then you must proceed as if you don't know what you're doing in
order to keep the characters honest and fresh. That's a tough balancing
act. When you don't have a script, but have spent weeks on back
story improv, where characters get used to being in their fictional
skins, you bet that you will find unplanned miracles from relaxed,
concentrated performers mining the moment. And often times you fail.
But film is not a real time medium. Failure can be turned to success
in the editing room -- which is really where a film is made anyway.
In the Circus: Oh. Oh. the character fell off the tightrope. End
of show. But in the cinema you cut to the audience. And when you
cut back, the acrobat does a double flip and lands on his feet.
Personally I prefer a sense of complete truth to the moment, and
a more general truth about what feels real, plausible, rooted, inevitable.
If that's not there... I couldn't care less.
Most
scripted stuff creates a proscenium reality. In other words, let's
block off the streets, put up the yellow tape and keep the riff
raff out. I want the riff raff in. I want all the human messiness
to be there... or I want to feel it could be there, that it's included
in the filmmaker's mind. That the bottom line of being alive is
never neglected.
Thompson:
How do you keep actors emotionally honest?
Nilsson:
Hopefully they already are honest. Hopefully they haven't been destroyed
by the degraded work the film business gives them to do. Hopefully
honesty is what they want, because if they don't, they wouldn't
want to work with me. That's what I'm trying to be, to do, to promote
honesty... maybe the only thing. Luckily I have a workshop I go
to every Wednesday night in The Tenderloin (San Francisco). There
we test each other. Work shop members attempt to mine honest inspiration
and I try to recognize it, encourage it, find ways to engender it.
We need to practice this relationship because it's hard to get it
right. How could that be? Is truth that rare a commodity? Well,
when you add up fear, ambition, self interest, and the competing
claims of children, lovers, parents, families, fellow artists and
business connections, your sense of reality can be stretched rather
thin. But if there's one place where the only thing valued is total
human presence in the here and now and a completely honest and open
soul to explore it, maybe you have a better chance of finding it.
Thompson:
How did you begin to work with the homeless in San Francisco? How
has that experience shaped your life artistically and personally?
Nilsson:
My brother had been missing for many years and I got interested
in the brown baggers, the shopping cart ladies, the screamers, the
shell shocked, the rogue elephants with their monickers and fellowship
of the damned. And who were the people who wanted to be alone for
their own reasons? I found no answers to those questions. I found
individuals with very interesting lives, thoughts, hopes. I found
pain and suffering, delusion and inspiration alike. I found people
with talent but little opportunity. So I created the Tenderloin
Action Group, now the Tenderloin YGroup, and 13 years later I'm
still interested. Of course, by now, the group has taken on its
own identity and now fewer people come directly from the streets.
It's an all comers workshop about human expressivity. We have professional
actors, people from all walks of life hopefully more healthy, saner,
and more motivated for their work in our circle. But we're in the
Tenderloin, meeting at the Faithful Fools Ministry, open to anyone
interested in our searches.
Thompson:
You call your technique "direct action." What do you mean by that?
Nilsson:
Direct Cinema is a term coined, I believe, by the Maysles Brothers
for a kind of documentary where life is allowed to happen in front
of Cameras, and a shape and meaning discovered in editing. I turned
that insight toward fictional drama and added the word "action."
Direct Action has a political meaning. It emphasizes doing rather
than talking. "Action" is also the director's traditional
starting gun. It's more complicated than that so interested people
should go up on my website, www.robnilsson.com,
to read the Direct Action manifesto.
Thompson:
Your recent film CHALK has won wide acclaim. Was CHALK
a significant turning point for you in terms of how you made films?
Nilsson:
CHALK was the first film I made with the Tenderloin Group
but I had been working with the techniques and ideas for Direct
Action since Northern Lights. Perhaps the first real Direct Action
film was Signal 7, which we shot in 1983. But CHALK was unique
in that it was the first film made with my on-going street ensemble,
the Tenderloin YGroup. Don Bajema and I did write a script for CHALK,
but I both used it and put it aside from scene to scene. Since that
time I have not written traditional scripts for the personal films
I've made.
Thompson:
Your recent NINE@NIGHT films have gotten a lot of attention, with
the latest in the series, ATTITUDE, opening recently in New
York. What are your goals with NINE@NIGHT?
Nilsson:
I'm really waiting for the day when we can show all 9 films back
to back and se what the experience will be like. All the films interact
in non-programmatic ways. Serendipity, 6 degrees of separation,
and sheer coincidence are factors in the way characters encounter
each other. But I'm also interested in how things go on at the same
time and we don't see the connections. That's what Time Code
was about. What connections seem pivotal and which incidental?
What will we know about people seen from different perspectives
and viewpoints through the prism of 9 films? I'm eager to find out.
Thompson:
What about technology? What impact does it have, for good or for
ill, on filmmaking?
Nilsson:
Without video technology I wouldn't have been able to make the films
I've made. I would have been forced to take a more traditional approach
to the dramatic feature. The technology would have been too expensive
to work with an ensemble of unknown actors on projects which come
from personal curiosity. I've also found that digital technology
is perfect for the collaboration of circumstantial acting and the
editing room. Easy control of the Magicianship of editing makes
all the difference.
Thompson:
Since SolPix is often visited by writers interested in film -- who
are some of your favorite writers? Do you have any favorite translations
from literature/plays to film?
Nilsson:
I believe that the richest language of film is more akin to poetry
than theatre. I also believe that most people are unaware of what
ties images together and creates potential for meaning, suggestion,
surmise. They simply aren't educated to know what they're watching.
Pictures as metaphors, symbols and meaning devices are what interest
me (and the shallow posing of Matrix Reloaded is the farthest
from what I mean). The simple linear screenplay with its predictable
rationality is over for me. The cinema has a long way to go but
not in its present form. MTV showed people capable of making profound
connections between varieties of images and linking them to human
thought and feeling. Filmmakers such as Chris Cunningham, Gaspar
Noe, and Mike Figgis attempt to carry those connections into the
longer narrative form. This is where the epic poetry of cinema will
synthesize with the insights of science and the longings of lyric
expression.
Oh,
you said writers? For language read Walt Whitman, Emerson's On
Self Reliance, Melville, Gary Snyder, Robinson Jeffers. These
are great American poets which show how to live deeply, seeking
the boundaries of the human imagination in our native idiom.
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Copyright Web del Sol, 2003
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