Official Rejection (Redemption)

Okay. So we were rejected from two festivals this week. The one isn’t relevant as everyone knows and I was only doing it for fun (but it’s the last time that fucking clown gets a red cent from me), the other one cut a little closer to the bone because it’s local and you think they would at least give a hometown gal a shot. It kind of upset me so I did further research on this little festival and checked out the work of the man who made the selections. After all, this guy must have really high standards, right? I wish I could link his reel here but I don’t want to be sued for telling it like it is, but OMG! What the fuck! I laughed my ass off. The worst acting & directing choices, stilted dialogue, every cliche’ in the book. After I treated myself to a good evil laugh, I calmed down and started thinking about what a waste of time these small time circle jerk film festivals are anyway. After all, I happen to know that TV people are beginning to look at our series (it’s confidential and I can’t name names just yet). Whether anything comes from that or not, it is extremely encouraging that people on that level saw it and think it has value. It’s tough to make the jump from amateur to professional, but that is where I find myself now. Look, most of these small time film festivals are just a way for some mutual admiration society to showcase themselves while collecting money from hopefuls like me so they can put on a good show to pat themselves on the back and eat a good dinner afterwards. Hey, it’s a good business plan and it crossed my mind to pull off something like that myself, that is until I recognized that I have a soul and I’m not interested in fucking up my karma anymore than I already have by taking advantage of people with dreams. If anything, I want to encourage the dreamers to dream, especially the really talented ones (always the most humble people in my opinion–love you guys). I know I’ve been through hell and back on this project but I’m feeling really good right now because I know that with this last episode, we really accomplished something. All of us, the entire team. We worked our asses off, especially Chris, and a few good people really came through for us and helped. So despite being pissed off at the posers (and being pissed off at myself for giving them $–let me ask you something? Why does it cost me $35 for you to not even watch my film and send me an official rejection form letter-huh asshole?) I know I am truly blessed right now at this moment. If or when my series does get picked up by a network they will be the first to know about it.

To all the amateur filmmakers out there, here is my unsolicited advice (I need to take it myself): unless it’s one of the big festivals, avoid these circle jerk small time film festivals (unless you’re part of the circle jerk and you know your film will be accepted). Why should your hard earned cash support their shitty projects? It’s a waste of money. And even if you do get in (we have) it’s a waste. They want you to do all the promotion for the screening. All they really do is provide the space and maybe list you (misspelled) on their website. You’d be much smarter to do what we’ve started doing: host your own screening. Get a few of your friends together and make an event out of it. That is what we did recently and it was a great night.

You can do it as a fundraiser or a showcase. It can be expensive to “four-wall” at a theater, but there are ways around it. I highly recommend a book I just finished reading: Thinking Outside the Box Office by Jon Reiss. It has many great ideas on rethinking your marketing strategies in the digital age. We’re also beginning to experiment with the idea of having other people host GR screenings. This is new territory, but I will let you know how it goes.

In the meantime, while I’m waiting to Hollywood to call regarding the fate of Gemini Rising, I’m beginning to work on a new project. Recently a few of us got together for a Writers’ Weekend Retreat. Despite the high jinks we actually got a lot accomplished. This is something else I highly recommend. We rented a cabin in a woods (the location alone is enough to inspire a horror film) and spent the weekend hashing around a few ideas . It’s important to get away from computers and televisions and just use your imagination the old fashioned way. Let’s face it, most filmmakers are introverts and spend a lot of time alone, so it’s good to get out and mix it up once in awhile. It was a blast and we’re looking forward to the next one. If you are interested in participating in the next one, please let me know (fuguefilm@gmail.com). Here is an excerpt from the weekend (you may also listen to a few of us discussing writing for a web series here on This Is Some Scene Blog Talk Radio:

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My new project is a horror feature film. I just came up with an idea I really like and I’m already beginning to toss the idea around with a few of my friends. I’ve always been a big fan of horror and I’ve always wanted to make a horror film. After coming up with, and rejecting, many, many ideas that were wrong for one reason or another, I finally found something that I really like and I’m excited to start working on. I love the early love affair of a new project. It’s what keeps me going. I don’t take rejection very well , but I don’t hold onto shit either (too much). I am an eternal optimist when it comes to believing I can pull off the impossible. So far it’s working. Onward and upward.

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“We’re made of star stuff”

Click on the image to watch the video. Dig it? Check THIS out!

Here we go. This episode was a lot of work. We started back in April of last year when I found myself creating costumes in my living room for the Star Child section. As all things Gemini Rising related, there were many influences. Chris Marston provided 2001: A Space Odyssey; I provided Phantasm. Add two doses of Pink Floyd and shake liberally — the sublime and the ridiculous.

The song was written before then (the lyrics anyway), starting back when I was floating in a pool in Southern California staring at a few palm trees against a navy blue sky (savvy GR fans will recognize its early incarnation from GR2). I knew from the very beginning of Gemini Rising that I wanted to feature space related music and imagery. Flashback to 1977, I’m at a party and my boyfriend and I are discussing, with embarrassing seriousness, the genesis of the YES album (or perhaps it was the yes of the Genesis album), whatever, it seemed significant at the time.

Lying on my back in the field above my house watching the stars on a summer’s night, I thrill at that occasional shooting star (meteor). I’ve never lost my sense of wonder about space, the cosmos. I was also a geek who dug Dr. Who (check out Richard’s scarf–it’s all here people).

Lately I’ve been watching reruns of Carl Sagan’s The Cosmos on Netflix and noticing that for all its cheesy effects it’s light-years more advanced than what you find on the Sci-Fi channel. Evolution was discussed as a given fact, not something open to debate. You either got it, or you were a real dumbass.

Robert and Richard are on the edge of the cosmic ocean. Aren’t we all. Very quickly our dreams can be usurped by ignorance (a romantic picnic in the woods with my prog rock loving boyfriend in 1977 interrupted by four camo wearing weapon bearing men became an inspiration for the final scene in GR8). Turning trauma into drama. Dare to dream. Thanks for accompanying us on our journey. None of this could have happened without the talent and commitment of the many people involved. Hopefully, we’ll be back for another season. If you’d like to get involved there are a couple of ways. If you dig the music, buy one of the tracks on Another way is to donate to the project is HERE. We’re always looking for creative people who want to lend a hand so contact us at fuguefilm@gmail.com if you are interested. Thank you for your continued support. Stay in the light.

Ramble on

BULLETIN: New GR merch on Slakerplanet.net. Check it out!

Wow! What a few weeks (months, years) it’s been. Despite what I wrote a while back, it looks like GEMINI RISING is back on track like a runaway train. Cut to the chase: we’re planning season two, although we are taking a few months off during which we will be working on music and other GR related business. It’s been quite a ride.

We just completed episode 8 which is the season finale. We debuted it a few nights ago at the lovely Sellersville theater in Sellersville, PA. We had a small, appreciative crowd. Certainly not the standing room only hot ball of energy we had at the 941 Theater (since closed down unfortunately) last summer, but it’s hard to get people out on a Sunday night in a cold rain storm to a remote PA town when there is a major football game playing. Nuf said. The ones who did make it really got a treat because we put on an awesome show, starting with the latest episode of the hit web series Polyester Dreams, moving on to GR Episode 7, then the debut of Episode 8 (our most ambitious effort to date, taking ten months to complete and running 30 minutes). The screening was followed by some great music. Joe Shifflett (my Virginia gentleman) and Fritz Vivien (amazing drummer from Haiti featured in GR5) played an incredible fusion of old time banjo and conga drum (you’ll hear this in episode 8). This was followed up by the Gemini Rising House Band consisting of Anton Roolaart (co-writer of Star Child and a very cool and talented guy), Righteous Jolly, Evan Scheerer, Chris Marston, and Greg McGarvey. The evening was topped off with our friends from Delaware: The Joe Trainor Trio, who played an awesome set of their original songs and some classic prog thrown in (more videos forthcoming).

“The Ballad of McKade” is our latest work in progress song. Funny story about that and kind of indicative of our the creative process works, I had written the lyrics to “The Ballad of McKade” years ago when we were in the very initial stages of GR, but trashed them. Later I found them under the seat of my car and on a whim passed them on to Evan Scheerer (Chip in GR7) and member of Syrrah. Next thing I knew he and Chris Marston had come up with this beautiful song. Part serious, part cheese, all GEMINI RISING. Greg McGarvey (catch him in the studio in GR2) improvised on the mandolin, and Joe Trainor (co-writer for ELOTL) is planning on helping to turn it into a 20 minute epic. I can’t wait! Once again, I am feeling extremely lucky to know so many talented people. I have a feeling 2010 is going to be the best year ever for GR.

And speaking of creativity, make sure you tune into This is Some Scene every Monday night at 9pm (or listen via podcast). Next week Chris and I will be joining James to discuss the writing process after a few of us got together last weekend for a “writers’ retreat”. I will have a follow up blog about that soon, so stay tuned.

GEMINI RISING – Next Theatrical Screening

Mephisto Waltz – Feast for the Eyes

I feel I must qualify this entry by writing that I know it’s corny and ridiculous, but it’s still great perhaps because not despite of being corny and ridiculous. I’m writing of “The Mephisto Waltz”, no not the musical piece composed by Franz Liszt although it’s truly beautiful and heavily featured throughout the film (a fact that rather underscores the movie’s cheesiness), I’m referring to the big piece of satanic themed post “Rosemary’s Baby” schmaltzy 1971 film starring Alan Alda, Jaqueline Bisset and the divine Barbara Parkins (that is not to say that Miss Bisset isn’t equally divine, but more on that later).

The Mephisto Waltz, a twisted story of evil which features California real estate only God could afford, is about a dying old virtuoso and his deadly beautiful daughter who is also a satanic witch (sometimes she wears white–like the gorgeous halter dress in the above clip–sometimes she wears black). Alan Alda plays a dopey Julliard drop-out now working as a music journalist. During an interview the old maestro notices Alda’s big hands and a plot is hatched!

The next you know Barbara Parkins–my favorite B-movie beauty of all time–is seducing him away from his equally gorgeous Jaqueline Bisset.

Now Barbara Parkins was of course famous for the television show “Peyton Place” (starring Ryan O’Neil and Mia Farrow), and of course “Valley of the Dolls”. In my coveted special VOD DVD Barbara does the commentary track along with Ted Casablanca (this stage name taken from a character in the film–”"Ted Casablanca is NOT a fag. And I’m the dame who can prove it.”!” Sorry, but I’m a gay man trapped in a woman’s body). She was also best friends with Sharon Tate and talks about her a lot throughout the commentary. I’ve always just loved Barbara Parkins when I was a kid going to the movies. From “Valley of the Dolls” to “Asylum”, I just cannot stop staring at her perfect beauty or listening to her melodious fake British accent (I believe she is originally from Canada). In a sea of 60’s blond beauties, Barbara Parkins gave a little kid with dark hair hope for beauty. Although I never grew into that type of perfection unfortunately, I’ve worn my hair in that flip before and I think it’s time to grow it out again (I know my guy would appreciate that).

Jacqueline Bisset I discovered a bit later in life when I saw “The Deep” at the drive-in. The movie was terrible, but at the time I had a huge crush on Nick Nolte (I admit I still have a weakness for blond blue-eyed men)

Of course the only thing I remember about that movie is the famous wet t-shirt scene.

She is pretty incredible looking and 100% real. Wow! I asked Joe during Mephisto Waltz which woman he’d rather “do” if he had a choice and he said Bisset without hesitation which surprised me because he has always been into evil brunettes (he married one after all).

Who would YOU rather do? Click below to take the poll.
Who would you rather “do”? (circa 1970’s that is)
(polls)

But I digress. Back to “Mephisto Waltz”. The movie is absurd but I’d pay money to see it on the big screen in a heartbeat. Why? Because movies just do not look like this these days and I love how this looks–from the canted angles to the fisheye lens to the wardrobe, the sets, the performers. Maybe Barbara Parkins was hoping that this film would make her as big a star as Mia Farrow became after her genius turn in “Rosemary’s Baby”, but alas this director was no Roman Polanski.
Even so, it’s fun as all hell. Spoiler alert! Alan Alda gets body snatched by the dying old pianist whose lover turns out to be his own daughter Parkins (decadent!). You can tell Alda becomes evil when he starts wearing turtlenecks and when he makes love to Bisset, his wife, she notices the “change in him”. Apparently his hands weren’t the big only things that he didn’t know how to use properly because once the maestro waves Alda’s wand he does it so well Bisset decides to kill Parkins and take over her body, unbeknownst to Alda, so he will keep screwing her (oh, those lustful women). Here’s the scene where Bisset kills Parkins. Parkins is a real bitch so this was fun. If you are a fan of 70’s cheese, as I certainly am, then I highly recommend this film.

Kitsch and Tell

I do a lot of thrift store shopping. It’s always been kind of a weird passion of mine from the time I was a child. I have Celtic gypsy roots and a love of rag-picking is in my blood. Growing up I lived near two amazing flea markets: Mary Fisher’s in Peddler’s Village (unfortunately now a–gag–outlet store) and Rice’s Sale, which used to be an incredible source of local antiques but has since morphed into the same crap you see sold on Canal Street. I still find some great stuff at thrift stores though, and over the years I’ve turned this hobby into a small business for myself: Hotel Regina Vintage, my eBay store. Many of the authentic 70’s wardrobe items seen in my web series GEMINI RISING came from my vast collection of vintage clothing and accessories.

Although I mostly only collect clothing, once and awhile I come across a great piece of kitsch that I can’t pass up. Lately I’ve been collecting these hideous Sears (and the like) factory paintings from the 60’s and 70’s. Here are a few from my private collection.

These big, sad eyed kids pictures (I think I paid about $5 for the set of three) are from the early 60’s and copied after the famous Margaret Keane paintings of which originals are quite valuable, although still tacky as hell. Joan Crawford famously hung them in her Fifth Avenue duplex.

And just for shits and giggles, here’s our Joan again on her private jet (j’adore the outfit with the matching chapeau) catching up with her correspondence while Mamacita lends a hand.

I was in the Goodwill in Burlington, NJ yesterday and I found this great 80’s liquid metallic gold dress that I knew I could get a good price for on eBay. As I was headed for the check-out I came across THIS masterpiece entitled “Trumpet Boy”. I was a bit short of cash and I had to decide between the picture and the dress (if I had paid for both I’d be short the $2 needed to get over the bridge). I weighed my options, but the picture won out. I’ve seen that same dress before and I’m sure I’ll see it again, but Trumpet Boy is a once in a lifetime find. I only wish I had found him before we shot Gemini Rising Episode 7 because this would have been great to have hanging over the bed when Dorian and Brad (both played brilliantly by Ryan McFarland) get it on. Instead we had this “Wild Fire” horse on beach painting that worked pretty well, but Trumpet Boy would have been even better.

Oh, Trumpet Boy, you kill me softly with your horn.

Thankful it’s over–the Ick holiday

It happened when I was eleven years old. I had struck out on my own (sort of) after sharing a room (and sometimes a large bed) with my sisters for my entire childhood and commandeered the loft space above our living room which my father build lovingly out of an old barn from an abandoned Pennsylvania farm (the old hex sign that once graced it is faint but still visible). The loft was accessible by a ladder or by climbing through a window that my father never got around to covering over from the old part of the house. The window led to my brother’s room which was no man’s (or at least no woman’s) land. The window was rarely traversed except as a convenient escape route when “bomb” (our brother’s nickname due to his horrific temper) exploded. His fists when they landed hurt like hell so it was important to be skinny, limber and quick to get through that window. The loft provided me a certain solace from a wonderfully insane world that was my upbringing. The sharply pitched roof barely accommodated the height of a girl in her growth spurt, but the privacy was welcomed. For one thing I was able to have some control of my environment and except for the living room television keeping me awake at night (my God, how my mother and I used to fight about that!) I enjoyed my semi private space. A stained glass window (again, retrieved from an old barn) swung open to the kitchen roof and from there a quick hang and jump and I’d be in the tall grass of a summer evening. The thing I miss most about living in the country is to be able to walk out the door in any state of dress (or undress) and just “be” in nature. Some day I will return to that life.

The birth of my vegetarianism (although it would take many years before I gave up meat altogether) began on a cold, rainy Thanksgiving day when I was in my loft reading Creepy comics. Do you know Creepy comics? Well, I’d like to pretend that I spent my youth immersed in the great classics, but the truth is Creepy and Eerie comics (I graduated to Heavy Metal Magazine as the hormones kicked in having already matriculated from Mad Magazine) were my main reading material. I’ve always loved comics (Archie, Love comics) and even now I realize that I’m probably missing out by not getting into these wonderful graphic novels that are out there, but alas, there are only so many hours in the day. I was pretty much addicted to Creepy and Eerie during most of my preteen years and I’m sure it has a lot to do with my love of horror, the macabre, and dark themes in general.

Thanksgiving day 1972 I was up in my loft space reading my Creepy comic. My mother was calling for dinner in the afternoon and I was so absorbed in my comic story (an apocalyptic nightmare) that I ignored her as bratty children are wont to do. There was a nuclear war and one couple is living in a cave, trying to survive. First they eat their dog, then when the woman dies, the man eats her. There was a very graphic drawing of the man, completely bonkers at this point, gnawing on the woman’s arm with her nail polish and everything. I was horrified. Just then my mother was standing at the bottom of the ladder screaming for me to come to dinner. I raced to the table with the horrific image in my mind, I sat down and saw not a turkey, but a dead bird on the table. I suddenly became aware of what exactly we were eating and I nearly passed out from the horror of it! A vegetarian was born on that day. Since then I’ve always associated Thanksgiving with nuclear holocausts and cannibalism. The site of a cooked turkey even to this day is enough to send me into a fit of depression. It happens every year and this one was no exception. The only thing on most Thanksgiving tables I can eat are the mashed potatoes (sans gravy) and the cranberries with the indentation of the can in it. I should probably just go away by myself to a vegetarian resort until the revulsion passes. I’m sure my loving spouse who puts up with my moods would be relieved.

This “ick” factor was a great source of inspiration for Gemini Rising “The Lamb”. It was no accident that Sandy prepares a vegan meal. I also tried to capture that icky feeling that Thanksgiving always evokes in me, whether it’s the amber color that seems to be cast over everything or just the depths of despair it seems to inspire in me. It’s all there in this episode. Poor Robert McKenzie suffers a lot because of my endless neuroses. If I didn’t have art as a means of expression, I’m sure I would explode, or implode as the case may be. I know I was born a weirdo, but I still blame a lot of it on Creepy.

Challenge Your Perceptions Change the World

There are many mysteries about the human brain still untapped, so why aren’t we tapping them? Does it ever occur to us that we can change the paradigm at any time? I observed an interesting and distressing pattern when I was teaching at a public school I was amazed at how the students were “tracked”, categorized according to their supposed ability based on some random IQ test they were subjected to at some point. They were given numbers like 01’s, 02’s, and 03’s which was code for smart to stupid. In the staff room the teachers would even refer to the students as “That 03.” or “What do you expect from an 02?” It sickened me really, and I wish I had fought it more because it went against everything I believe about human potential and education. In my ten years of teaching at that school I found some of the “03’s” to be the most artistically gifted young people I’ve ever met and they were just ignored, categorized, stamped, dehumanized. Conversely some of the students stamped as “gifted” were just nice average teenagers with highly ambitious and influential parents. Some times I would come into the staff room raving about the brilliance of some student and I’d get, “but he’s an 03,” or “she’s just an 02″. They just could not compute anything different.

I had a wild year when I was eight years old. It was 1969 and things were happening in the big world and happening in my little world. My brother with whom I was really close had been put into a private school and started seeing a psychiatrist. I rebelled and I don’t think anyone really noticed until I was in serious trouble at school. I would ride my pony, Vagabond, before school and my Levis would be covered in horse shit and this did NOT please my teacher very much. Her name was Miss Schwartz and she was a rail thin bull dyke with a gray crew cut and she hated me. I was a bad kid and I was at great risk for being labeled an “04″ probably. In her obscenely narrow mind, I only existed as this trouble maker who would prefer to play with the troll house I had stashed in my desk than listen to her bullshit. She had me pegged as a real dumb ass and future juvenile delinquent until the day of reckoning came when I somehow managed to win the district wide art contest for the best poster commemorating Earth Day. To get this recognition at that stage in my life was invaluable to me in recovering from what I now recognize as a complete childhood nervous breakdown that no one really noticed. I remember feeling pretty good about my prize when Schwartz came over to me and got real close (I can still recall the deep vertical lines running down her face) and asked me who I copied the poster from. You see, in her mind, she could not compute that this wild kid before her with the dirty jeans could also be an artist, could be someone with something valuable to contribute to the world. If looks could kill then the look my eight year old self gave that bitch would have killed her in her tracks. All I remember is I said nothing, just looked at her, and she backed up and walked away like a startled rat. I’m sure she is lying cold in her grave. Do I forgive her? My adult self is indifferent, my eight year old self would like to find her grave and dance on it, but that’s perhaps being too honest for anyone’s comfort level.

I still put up with this shit. Some people can’t compute seeing a woman as a filmmaker or specifically as a woman director with a somewhat unorthodox approach. How much do I have to do to prove that I know what I’m doing? Women, let me ask you something? Do you ever find yourself making less of yourself and your talents in order for other people to feel comfortable? Don’t. Remember Sylvia Plath. It’s not an easy road though. I’m still struggling and sometimes it gets pretty hard. So much of it comes down to how much you are willing to fight. Here’s a story about a man who was a musical prodigy and renowned classical pianist performing 50 concerts a year. Then he had a sex change and could barely get a job teaching piano lessons to kids in the Bronx.

Maybe it is time to break out of our comfort zones and change our perceptions, the ones we project onto others and the ones we project onto ourselves, and broaden our minds about human potential. In so many ways, I’m still that eight year old kid with the horse shit on my jeans screaming, “I don’t care!” and I can still shoot a hard look at someone who dares enough to go there. Sometimes that is all you have to hold onto. My Earth Day poster was all about changing the world (I wish I could still find it). Call me a dreamer, but I still believe it’s possible.

Why you gotta be ignorant!

When I was working as a teacher (which now feels like a hundred years ago) I was always amused when one of my students would shout to someone who was rude or who in particular ignored them, “Why you gotta be ignorant!” When I would try to correct their use of the term by explaining that ignorant meant “unknowing” as opposed to rude or obnoxious, they would usually respond with, “yeah, that’s what I meant – ignorant!” Maybe this is partly how language evolves (after all, etymology is a fascinating study) because lately I’ve found myself confronted with people in supposedly professional situations acting so obnoxious that the ONLY word that adequately describes them is “ignorant”. After all, if they were knowledgeable they would know that acting the way they do makes them a major asshole. So perhaps they are ignorant of that fact. Or, conversely, they don’t give a shit, meaning they not only act like an major asshole, they are a major asshole, of which I can now be less ignorant of the fact and treat them accordingly. Now I’m aware that I would be hypersensitive (I am already but it would be taken to an extreme) if I expected your average asshole on the street to act like a gentleman or a lady. I am not that ignorant. No, I am speaking of supposedly “professional” people who lack common courtesy. Speaking of which, “common” is an interesting word you don’t hear too much any more. I suppose it’s a bit politically incorrect to call someone “common” meaning of the common people, but I am finding that most of these ignorant assholes are people with degrees and so forth so you might expect them to act with a bit more class. Wrong! Class has nothing to do with income level or higher education. You’ll find “classy” people in the poorest sections of the deep south and common ignorant assholes at the Russian Tea Room (I know I’ve met a few), probably more in the latter in fact.

And what are these “ignorant” behaviors of which I vent? For me it’s mostly “professional” people with whom I have business who return a “Dear…” and “Sincerely….” email with a two word grunt or don’t email at all, who try to strong arm me at the last minute for more money after a specific amount was agreed upon, who think they’re above it all because they have a college degree (bulletin: the rest of us do too and it doesn’t mean a damn thing–get over yourself!), of trying to take advantage of the fact that I’m a nice (read: pushover) lady, who reads my “please” and “thank yous” as a sign or weakness that can be exploited.

I love Emily Post’s definition of what real manners are: “Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use.” Hear! Hear! That’s how I was raised. Those are the people I choose to work with and support. And the rest? Figure it out fast or remain ignorant!