June 2008 Archives
Bo Diddley, George Carlin, Stan Winston, Harvey Korman, Cyd Charisse, Dino Risi, Charleton Heston… all gone. How incredibly sad. Mammoth figures. Men and women of monumental talent. Prolific. Inspiring. These were the giants of my youth and I’m having real trouble coming to terms with that simple fact. They’re all gone.
Sadder still, there is one more to whom I’m in debt and deserves tribute.
Mr. Kermit Love. Like Stan, his face was not as well known as some of the others, but his work was farther reaching and perhaps better known than all of those giants combined.
Mr. Kermit Love gave us BIG BIRD. Sesame Streets Big Bird. The ornithic 8 foot, 2 inch super puppet that entertained and guided many of us through the wonders of childhood. Big Bird, who taught us about sharing, compassion and of the many ways to deal with grouchy characters that lived in garbage pails.
Thank you Mr. Love. For giving me a place to lose myself. For the wonder of Sesame Street, its values and optimism.
Our time here is but a blink. The distance between cradle to grave, a few breaths. The skip of a stone. A road peppered with the most wonderous of things to be sure. But sadly, even sesame streets come to an end. A fork in the road where one is obligued to yield to the unknown. Or, to cross that street entirely.
But when that day comes, and it’s your turn to cross. Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll remember what to do.
Look left.
Right.
Then left again.
Thanks Kermit. Rest in peace.
There are few people in my adopted town of Vancouver that haven’t heard of a little film called ZACHARIA FARTED. Damon Vignale, Mike Rohl, Madison Graie and I myself produced the thing on a shoestring and although our first cinematic effort didn’t make us household names, it unquestionably changed our lives forever.
ZACHARIA FARTED. The film with the kooky title. A title that was little more than temporary so that we didn’t get lost in the shuffle of the big studio films, let alone the festival guide, seemed to stick like glue. Even when we’d tried our best to get rid of it, no one else would.
My proverbial, ‘first kick at the can’ it’s a film I am profoundly proud of. A little too long, a little too many ‘blue words’. But, talk about ambitious. Most first time filmmakers would have the brains to set their film in one location. ‘Zacharia’? We had an average of three company moves a day for 23 days. A mini-epic.
And not only did it win numerous ‘Audience Favorite’ Awards, but was invited to screen along side Roberto Benigni’s, LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL at the AFI (American Film Institute). An honor beyond anything I could have dreamed. And where did this double bill take place? The Manns Chinese Theatre in Hollywood, California. The Taj Mahal of Cinema.
Granted, this was our first shot at the big screen, but ‘Zacharia’ had more passion, scope and magic than any of the drugged out, sex crazed bullshit being regurgitated at the time, nor since.
That said, it ran into some snags after it’s sold out World Premiere. A story not unlike many already out there. But, it’s spirit only seemed to grow, and as of last week, finally found a proper house to haunt.
The ‘house’ is online, global and calls itself, VIDEOMATICA.
AVAILABLE FOR THE FIRST TIME in ten years. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you…
Hi everyone. Just wanted to direct you to a wonderful article written by Yvonne Zacharias of the VANCOUVER SUN. It’s certainly no surprise that getting press for a short film is a bit of a challenge. But Yvonne is a huge fan of film, no matter the format or status. She’s the real deal. And she really came to bat for us.
Thank you Yvonne, much appreciated.
Colin and Madison
What a week.
Met some fantastic people and saw some exceptional films. What more could you ask for? In fact, a number of the shorts actually managed to over-shadow many of the features. And that was so cool to see. Not because they were shorts, but because the features were damn good.
I personally saw two exceptional works that deserve a mention. A short film called CROSSBOW (by director David Michod) and REWIND (director Atul Taishete.)
These films were simply as good as anything, ever made, by anyone. Remember, in the early years of the medium, the short format was the ‘only’ format. Chaplin. Sennett. Roach. Keaton. The genius’ and giants of the medium.
Unfortunately, such a format has long since been reduced to that of a ‘film school’ tutorial. Something you do until you get the chance to go out and make a ‘real’ movie.
Well, I’ll tell ya. ‘Iron Man’ entertained me. But ‘Crossbow and Rewind’ floored me. Spun me. Inspired me. Provoked me in ways far greater than any experimental filmmaker or feces eating, cross dressing ‘performance artist’ ever could.
Anyone can light their dick on fire and call it art. The art councils have become so overrun with the most moronic, closed minded people on the planet that you just want to puke. But it’s true. Get sodomized by a horse and the elitist, artsy fartsy Lib’s hail it as *’breathtaking’.
(Think I’m kidding? Click here. *Variety)
I don’t call getting f*cked up the ass by a horse, ‘breathtaking’.
I call it the art department at UC Berkeley.
But, that’s me. Never drank the cool-aid in College. And so, perhaps I’m not as ‘open minded’ as many of my contemporaries. (Probably the reason I’ve never been invited over to mix the bowl at the BC Arts Council.) But hey, who’s complaining.
Still. What a weekend.
It’s also been a long time since I ever laughed so hard. Madison Graie and I fell in love with a little film called CUTE COUPLE by Courtney Moorehead Balaker. A simple, brilliant little wonder of a film. So smart. So clean and beautifully directed. The actors, sublime. It won AUDIENCE FAVORITE and we were so happy to see it take honors. It truly deserved every single vote.
Now, surprisingly… not every bit of magic this weekend took place at 24 frames per second. And so I just wanted to say, kudos to the cast and crew of THE BALLAD of CAT BALOO at the JACKSON HOLE PLAYHOUSE. This was one of the funniest and most entertaining ‘live’ evenings I’ve had in 20 years. Taking a break from the film festival for just a few hours, Madison and I hit up the local ‘dinner theatre’ and were treated to a night of entertainment to rival ANY thing we’ve ever seen in New York, Los Angeles, Toronto or Vancouver. Simply magical. First rate. All pro.
What a weekend. What a festival.
Thank you again Cevin Cathill and everyone over at the Jackson Hole Film Festival. And to the people of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Your hospitality was second to none. Genuine, warm and so very much appreciated.
See you next time.
I have a guilty pleasure. Whenever I’m on an airplane I take out my felt tip pen and absolutely decimate the in-flight magazine. Everything from blacking out the teeth of Colgate models to drawing nipples on Heads of State. It passes the time like no other.
I’m a bit of a pro when it comes to air travel. Over the years I’ve learned how to get into any VIP Lounge without having to pay. I have a data base of internet access codes for free internet in almost every major airport in the US and Europe (with the exception of Albuquerque and Denver, which are free). I know where to find ‘sleeping rooms’, off limits to most people. And of course the ability to drastically better my odds for a bump into business class. I could absolutely write a book. And it’s no great feat of genius trust me. Sometimes it’s just a matter of being a nice guy.
That said, there are few things that annoy me when traveling by air. I’ve grown accustomed to the snoring and screaming babies, the chick with the 10 minute bladder, the fat dude smothering my arm rest, etc. But the exception to this most affirmed and hallowed rule… is the kid who loves to munch ice.
It starts like this. The stewardess comes by with the cart. Asks the little squirts mother if the kid wants a soda. The mother replies, “No, but can we get a cup filled with ice? He likes to eat the ice.” and I immediately begin to imagine the child getting sucked through the jets intake manifold.
And so, he begins to munch. And crunch. And spit back little bits of ice mixed with spittle, bubbling up the cup. And I want to puke.
And it’s weird, because in spite of the fact that you can’t hear a goddamned thing on an airplane at 30,000, for some reason it pierces my brain like George Lucas himself had designed the cup. Give me the best noise reducers Bose has to offer, I’m still be able to hear every little crack and slurp from the little buggers pie hole. Give me anything else. Anything. Infants screaming for their lives. The smell of other people’s feet. Sleeping straight up. Whatever. But hand the little bastard a plastic cup filled with frozen ammo and I go off like a Muslim at a pizza hut.
But, it’s all for the sake of art… yes? You betcha.
For here we are again my friends. The festival train once again beckons. Whispering to those who would dare temp fate. To tempt adventure. To tempt bankruptcy. All aboard!
Next stop, Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
Home of Harrison Ford and the Grand Tetons, Jackson Hole is one of those wonderful little places shaped by nature, steeped in history, and filled with some of the warmest and friendliest people to drive a flat bed Ford. That, and they’ve got one hell of a film festival.
The Jackson Hole International Film Festival is one of the top 3 fests in the United States. Cevin Cathill is the gal who’s extended the invite for us and from that very first phone call, we have felt so incredibly welcome. They’ve had the professionalism to offer us TWO film passes (take note Vancouver) and to top it all off, a hotel! for the entire run of the event. That’s class.
So. I shall keep you all posted.
‘Till then, I guess I have no choice but to sit here, tag my in-flight mag and plug my ears. Then again, maybe I’ll put my hands together and pray that the little penguin across the aisle comes down with the biggest ice cream headache of his life.
