Austin Underground Film Fest - One Night Only!

Explain the fascist popsicle stand.

It’s the production company I started back in college with [my partner] Caity. Mr. Burns says it in reference to America in a Simpsons episode, and it seemed somehow appropriate. It’s responsible for such no-budget master strokes as SunLand: Tallahassee’s Haunted Hospital, Pistol Pete, One Small Step for Man, Lillith, Jesus Saves (When He Shops at Wal-Mart) and who can forget the moving, understated period piece Cupcake’s Violent Reprisal.

What’s it like working with the Alamo Drafthouse? Name your favorite beer.

Live Oak Hefe Weizen, and when I can’t afford that, it’s Shiner, and when I can’t afford that, Lone Star. So Lone Star, basically. The Drafthouse has been extremely accommodating, and they let me have complete creative control of the event. They took a risk on me, and I hope to repay their amazing generosity by putting asses in seats.

What would you say differentiates the “underground” aesthetic from the rest of independent filmmaking?

To me, “indie” just means non-studio, whereas “underground” has connotations of being from a dissenting viewpoint, because it’s only underground if it’s being marginalized. And right now, that just happens to be mostly liberal, progressive, confrontational stuff. It’s almost like escapism from Hollywood escapism. This can be realism, but can also be many more things. I’m just looking for honesty. Aesthetically, the budgets of our filmmakers, or lack thereof, are naturally going to be reflected on-screen. But they’re only limitations if you let them be. It’s just like being censored, really. I think you’re only a victim of censorship if you allow yourself to be, because there’s always a way to say what you want, if you’re creative enough, under even the most oppressive of regimes.

What sets underground filmmakers apart, I think, is their willingness to forsake big budgets in exchange for total liberty to say whatever they want, any way they want. But by doing this, they’re still choosing a kind of ‘financial censorship,’ since getting funding for a movie that voices currently unpopular ideas is always difficult. The true geniuses of film, the auteurs, are the ones who can get away with both convincing those in power to give them astronomical sums of money, and then going and making, you know, your Full Metal Jacket’s, your Fight Club’s. Of course, artists have been doing this under dictators forever. If art was able to survive under Mao Tse Tung, then a second-rate despot like Bush is child’s play.

The festival’s modus operandi seems to center around taking the first amendment to its limit, vis-à-vis your mission statement. Good taste/PC-ness aside, do you think this has ever, or potentially could, get in the way of good storytelling? What benefits can be derived from this approach?

It ties in with what I was saying. Pushing the boundaries of what is socially allowable in your time; this isn’t so much an “approach,” in my opinion. Creatively circumventing limitations, and doing it with style, to me, that is art. Doing it without style, that’s shock value, and I’m not interested in that. Whether it’s writing around your available resources, casting your friends, slipping jokes past the MPAA, insinuating violence instead of showing it – you know, some of the old noirs, you watch those, and they are so much more violent than your average Bruckheimer widget, because the dark ideas that they merely hint at so well are much more powerful than, you know, John Malkovich setting someone on fire with his cigarette. We all know about the mischievous Disney guy who animated an erection onto the priest in The Little Mermaid—to me that is art at it’s purest!

How would you describe the local film industry? Name three people who best support/define the scene.

Linklater, Rodriguez, and Mike Judge. By having his QT Fest here, Tarantino is paying the city a great compliment as well. The Austin film scene is charmingly resourceful, yet cutthroat. So if I had to characterize the local industry, I’d say it’s a pirate.

So what’s the best part about making movies in Austin?

No permits, baby. And unexpected Leslie cameos.

Thanks much, and good luck.

Thanks, man. Keep hip hop alive.

*BONUS INTERVIEW: MIKE Z*
When it comes to serious art, you’ve only truly arrived when you’ve been investigated by the FBI. At least, that’s how it should be. In any event, Mike Z is a legendary video artist know for socio-political hoax videos, sort of America’s Funniest Home Videos-meets-Oliver Stone. His more popular works include Homeless Guy Steals A Camera And Kills Someone and How to Start A Revolution, the latter of which won him a visit from the aforementioned men with dark glasses.

First of all thanks for talking to us. Are you actually coming down for the fest?

I am.

You studied screenwriting at Syracuse U. Have you done the Hollywood thing at all?

What happened was I trained in film and eventually found my way out to LA and I was working in production—I was helping other people make movies, for a couple years—actually it was about ten years—and eventually I realized that that was not what I had originally intended to do. I really wanted to make my own films and I also wanted to make films that didn’t necessarily have a commercial audience. I wanted to make my own films. And I’ve been doing that for, I dunno, about eight years now.

Let’s talk about what you’re showing at the fest this year. One is called Could This Be Real?

That’s one of them, and the other is called How To Start A Revolution In America. What they both have in common—what I try to do with my work—is I make things which appear to be real, and give the audience the opportunity to believe they’re watching something that could be real, something that’s not supposed to be at a film festival, something that isn’t intended as an entertainment but could in fact be a document of some kind, that could be real.

Speaking of which—it seems like people who would be aware of a “Mike Z Film” would already be aware of the process that goes into your work, and would be “in on the joke.” How do you disseminate these pieces—do they mainly screen at festivals, or have you ever just dropped one at a bus stop to see if it’ll freak somebody out?

What I do is, a lot of my work is distributed on the internet, and oftentimes I will present them as hoaxes. Most of the audience, initially, doesn’t necessarily know that it’s something that I’ve done. I don’t put credits on it and I don’t present it as a fictional work. For instance, Could This Be Real went up on a website, and there was a comment board for discussion, and anyone who watched it could comment on it. and it generated a lot of discussion—some people thought it was real, some people didn’t, and they tried to convince each other. What’s important for me is that people experience the work directly—they really think about the idea that I’m presenting. I present them in this uncertain fashion to give people the opportunity to believe it, as opposed to just enjoying it.

How would you describe the average response when an audience realizes they’ve seen a hoax? Have you dealt with any hostility?

Very much so. One of the internet pieces, Deathbed Confession, plays into a lot of secret society/conspiracy theories that are so prevalent on the internet, and I presented it to an audience that really, y’know, goes for that sort of thing. And they took that piece and believed it to be the smoking gun, the proof of what they’d believed for all these years. When they found out it was in fact just a hoax, there was an initial backlash. They were upset, but in the end they appreciated it for incorporating a lot of the ideas they believed. So it’s kind of a mixed bag—on the one hand, one audience really believes in my work is kind of literal-minded and doesn’t see the nuance—and there’s another audience that appreciates the ideas I’m throwing out there and oftentimes the humor I inject in.

Do you find yourself having to work around audience preconception?

I intentionally set out to address those issues. I try to make my work as real as I can possibly make it—that means not taking any dramatic shortcuts, or making it any easier to watch. Often I’ll include a really boring section just so that when something exciting happens it has that much more power. One of the things I think people notice about my work is that I don’t use the conventional shortcuts to present reality. Most people think if you ever had to look at something that was in real time, it would be hideously boring, because real-time is boring. I try to manipulate the structure of the piece so it has those rough edges, that looseness to it. But I don’t improvise any of my pieces—everything I film is to the word, exactly as the script was.

In the past few years there’s been a real rise in this sort of meta, post-ironic media—movies like Adaptation, reality-television and now mock-reality television. What do you think makes this self-reflective media so popular?

I think that we got to a point in our culture where everything was clichéd. There was a point where all of our entertainment was self-reflective, everything was a comment on genre. So this new approach does strike people more directly. It’s not something that’s brand-new to our time. What’s interesting is that the means of production and information has fallen into the hands of the consumer. In the past, to make a mockumentary, you needed cameras and film and a lot of money to make something that looked real. Now, YouTube is full of short pieces kinds are making for their own enjoyment. I think it’s great because it’s less filtered, less distant to reality, and the audience has to approach it differently than just a “western” or any of the obvious narrative.

And on the flip-side you have “reality” television, which is in fact some of the most contrived, manufactured entertainment in history.

To me, the essential question has always been “who’s controlling the camera?” That’s when the concept of “reality” really starts to come in. For instance, you have a game show—contestants are already performing for the camera like trained chickens. If you have a camera that looks like it’s live in a police station—that is still one step distant—who’s behind that camera? What I try to do is figure out who’s behind that camera—is this a confessional video? A surveillance video? I try to figure out what’s the camera’s purpose, and that gives it a little more realness, brings it one level up.

I’ve dubbed my films experiential—not to be mistaken with “experimental”—because I want people to experience the works through the process of discovery—first wondering if it’s real, then wondering what could possibly happen next, because once you don’t have a framework or a stated purpose, then anything can happen. I take advantage of that.

Austin Underground Film Fest
Tonight @ 7pm
Alamo Drafthouse South Lamar
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