Art School Confidential
Directed by Terry Zwigoff
Terry Zwigoff was a documentary filmmaker before drifting into fiction features. Art School Confidential, about an art student's stab at fame, is his second collaboration with graphic novelist Dan Clowes after Ghost World. The two are so in synch they practically complete each other's sentences.
"Dan writes great dialogue," says Zwigoff. "That's what draws me to his scripts. It's extremely hard to write dialogue that sounds real, where characters are idiosyncratic and speak differently from each other."
MERIN: Graphic novels and movies tell stories through successive panels or frames. How do you translate stills into moving pictures?
ZWIGOFF: I try not to refer back, not to imitate. Some images stick with me, but I always think the movie's something completely new and different. Once cast, it has a whole new life. And, the timing's different-with comics, you can go back from page four to page two if you missed something. You can't do that in movies.
What about Art School interested you?
It's about the artistic experience, the subjective nature of art. One day during editing, we were choosing from eight takes of a Jim Broadbent scene. Friends dropped by and I did an experiment-I wrote down my favorite take, and asked them to do the same. Each of us picked a different take. It's so subjective. You can't say it's obvious that take six is best.
[But] it's obvious to me. I think it has to do with performances more than images. If a take has some little truthful thing that cracks the performance, an unexpected quirk-you say, "Ah, that's the one."
Like fortuitous drips on artists' canvasses?
To some degree, yeah. I don't want to be cliché, but it's the lucky accident. You just see something in the performance-and with really solid actors like Malkovich and Broadbent, every take can be similar, but there's something truthful, weird, idiosyncratic and specific about the one you choose.
How'd you make lucky accidents happen?
I don't know. With Malkovich, I didn't know what to expect. He's very intimidating. Not because he's played villains and creeps-he's so overly polite, it almost seems sarcastic. On some level, when he'd say, "Ah, that's a wonderful idea," and get that smile on his face, I'd think, "Oh boy, he hates my guts."
But I'd tell him what I wanted, and he'd do it instantly. He's incredibly accomplished.
On set, I usually watch the monitor so I can see the performance better. In a scene with John and another actor, I realized I'd blocked it wrong-I'd wanted a two-shot, but had this lens that was too tight, and it was going to crop John's head. But he's so aware of the camera, so aware of the lens; he very naturalistically found a way to bend down so he'd stay in frame.
Broadbent, too. When Max [Minghella] vomits on the rug, I wanted Jim to casually toss a newspaper to cover it. Jim was throwing the paper angrily. I said, "No, do it casually," but he couldn't get it quite right. It seemed so simple, but we did 25 takes before he got it the way I wanted it. Afterwards, he said I'm the most obsessive director he's ever worked with.
What was the difference?
It seemed right-maybe because I'd seen it in life. Years ago, I was asked to do a documentary on a heroin addict. I followed her around; I guess heroin addicts vomit a lot-she did, anyway. She vomited on the rug and casually took this newspaper and tossed it on the vomit. I remembered that.
I come from documentary filmmaking, trained to observe life and recreate it onscreen. I always tried to make documentaries through recreation instead of manipulation or staging. Part of why I drifted into fiction filmmaking is it's easier working with actors. You can tell them what you want, whereas you just follow documentary subjects around.
You shot this NY film in LA; how'd you reconstruct the city's atmosphere?
We found a campus that wasn't palm tree-lined, with lots of corners that could be Brooklyn. We shot in downtown LA, which is more like NY than NY at this point. It was supposed to be winter, but we had no snow. So, Dan thought of showing the New York Post with the headline "Strangler Strikes Again" and a story about global warming.
Coming from documentaries, how obliged do you feel to tell truth in fiction films?
I feel pretty obliged. It's a big responsibility. I always have truth in mind. Otherwise you're just creating propaganda. But, again, truth is subjective.
Do you intentionally step out of synch?
To some degree. I know what audiences like. Sometimes I give it to them, sometimes not.
I've turned down films that were smart career decisions-like Elf. I knew it'd make money, and I love Will Ferrell-but it's a kid's film, not for me. It'd be a good career move, not a good investment of two years of my life-not at this age. If I was in my twenties, I might be more inclined to make smart career moves. Instead, I made out-there-crazy-irreverent Bad Santa, but that was a commercial success, too.
Do you enjoy being contrary?
It's not something you have a choice about-like being an artist, you don't have a choice. You can't help yourself.