March 12, 2003

Double Bill: The Agony and the XTC

I remember the context but not the question. Oliver Stone was being feted at the Montreal Film Festival and queried about some aspect of the industry and his career. He circumnavigated the question and eventually landed on the premise that the strength of the American film scene was that it operated as a meritocracy.

The notion that talent will rise above the noise derives from deep-rooted American traditions including such venerable literary touchstones as the 18^th century Jonathan tales and Horatio Alger pop yarns from the turn-of-the-century. In relation to movies it is the understudy pushed onto the stage when the star literally breaks her leg, the Rocky saga or, as evidenced just last year, My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

And, befitting its origins, it is mostly bunk.

Without pointing too many fingers, the evidence of the lie is pervasive. As we reach the finish line of the 2002 awards season, the instances of gifted artists honored for lesser work occurs almost daily. Was Elizabeth Taylor Oscared for Giant, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof or Suddenly, Last Summer? No, the Academy relented finally and awarded her the statuette for Butterfield 8. Yikes!

Two quick observations of the current kudos clamor pop to mind. First, the decisions about what constitutes the absolute best are being forced down our throats by Herculean marketing campaigns. And second, the proliferation of honors doled out between January and March virtually guarantees that the select “chosen” films and individuals will almost certainly receive some recognition. The old saw about beauty being subjective is all too apt.

This site collated 138 critics’ lists to determine the best films of last year and the resulting top vote getters were Far From Heaven, Y tu Mama Tambien and Talk to Her. Considering the hosannas accorded the first film, one’s hard pressed to assert that its commercial appeal (it’s grossed $15 million) is in keeping with the acclaim it received. Now, one can make all manner of argument that quality and box office lack synchronicity. It cannot be denied that the film received exposure and an aggressive marketing campaign. The public was aware of the movie but it failed to escape a niche constituency.

While it’s easy to bemoan the commercial fate of Far From Heaven, one also has to admit that the film and the people responsible for its production were fortunate. It was financed, attracted top talent and was accorded serious and positive scrutiny in the press. The fact that audiences didn’t embrace it and opted instead for comparable alternatives such as About Schmidt is all part of the realities of the marketplace. It was on the field and had the opportunity to play.

However, this scenario is not the norm. More than 600 movies had some sort of commercial theatrical exposure in North America during 2002. Roughly half that number were produced or distributed by a major or an affiliate of a studio and those films generated approximately $8.6 billion of the $9.2 billion spent at movie theaters last year. About 40 % of the remaining revenue went to a single film - My Big Fat Greek Wedding - leaving 299 films to divvy up roughly $360 million. So, on average, an independent movie grossed $1.2 million compared to an average gross of $28.7 million for a studio picture. Rather than argue the reasons for the disparity, let’s simply say that a marketplace inequity exists that would belie the concept of a meritocracy. This equation can’t even begin to embrace more than 1,000 independent productions submitted annually to Sundance the majority of which will never be broadcast or cable of wind up gathering dust on the video shelf.

There is no level playing field and its foolhardy to believe one can be created by negotiation or coercion.

What is alarming is that the existing chasm between the two solitudes is widening. The modifiers (not equalizers) that allowed an independent film to rise above its station are turning into vapor. What I’m referencing primarily is the power of a positive review. When the significant national reviewers took notice of My Dinner with Andre or The Return of the Secaucus 7 two and three decades ago, the commercial vitality of those films immediately went from 0 to 60, albeit in the specialized arena. Slice it or dice it, it made a difference.

In stark contrast, consider the commercial demise of Ivans xtc., a 2002 release that received almost universal praise for its daring both artistically and technically and could not secure either traditional distribution or attract more than a handful of curious and adventurous viewers. (More on that film next week)

It’s understandable that a film critic, who’s subjected to so much mediocre entertainment, should become proactive when exposed to a “little gem” of a film. The opportunity to champion the underdog is both alluring and rare in the ratings game. The late Variety reviewer Gene Moskowitz probably holds the record for making the difference to scores of pictures that would not otherwise have had more than a flicker of commercial response.

About a decade ago, I caught the first screening of a film titled Hurricane at the Seattle Film Festival. By the time it hit the screen it had been re-titled One False Move and, despite an enthusiastic response, was going to need considerable assistance to grab the public’s attention. I suggested the film to programmers at both the Toronto and Chicago festivals who, respectively, turned it off after 15 minutes and eventually cut it from their event when some film forgotten to time was added at the 11^th hour. At about the time I began to question my taste, other critics chimed in with their approval and the film went on to a modest commercial success.

The difference between ignominy and respect for independent and alternative movies hangs by a slim thread. It is perilously fragile, dependent on so many dominos aligning and falling into place and not running amok in frenzied Keystone Kop fashion. Once one sets off on the wrong track, it’s virtually impossible for even a film of exceptional quality to recover. One of the worst tales of bad timing and missteps occurred several years back to the acclaimed French film Wild Reeds (Les Roseaux Sauvages), Andre Techine’s semi-autobiographical coming of age tale set in 1962.

Strand Releasing saw the film at Cannes in 1994 and acquired rights several months later it at the Toronto festival. The hope was to release it at the end of that year but following its festival screening they were told by a publicist that then New York Times critic Janet Maslin did not like the film. It was decided to postpone its opening until early 1995, hoping the film would be France’s Oscar submission. Wild Reeds and Techine received top prizes at the Cesars and was selected as the country’s foreign-language entry. However, it failed to make Oscar’s short list and Strand pushed its Los Angeles opening to May with a plan to roll out gradually toward the Eastern seaboard.

Just prior to its American debut, the folks at Strand ran into L.A. Times reviewer Ken Turan who expressed his admiration for the film and suggested they open on a Wednesday rather than on Friday to improve its prospects for front page (of Calendar) placement. That strategy came undone when Warner Bros. made a last minute decision to move up its critically admired The Little Princess by two days to improve it’s Calendar exposure and the review of the French film was bumped to the back of the section.

The film worked its way toward New York City picking up positive reviews along the way including two thumbs up from Siskel and Ebert. Still, it was unable to galvanize on critical kudos and attract better than OK patronage. Finally, it arrived in Manhattan and received 10 positive and one negative review (guess who?).  Time and Newsweek raves provided a belated national exposure but as the film had already played out in the rest of the country, it was a squandered opportunity. It was subsequently cited by the Los Angeles, New York and National Society of Film Critics (a rare instance of mutual agreement) as best foreign-language film but at that point was off screen. By sheer determination, the distributor squeezed out a box office of slightly more than $1 million, a disappointment all things considered. Timing is crucial to comedy and specialized film releases and Wild Reeds was unable to use awards and reviews to bolster its box office. Ironically, The Little Princess fared no better, barely grossing $10 million despite 4-star response from the critics.

In the ensuing eight years, it’s become even harder for critics to make a difference no matter how vigorously they’ve employed their soapbox. Glowing reviews, a prize at Cannes and the foreign-language Oscar failed to ignite No Man’s Land. It grossed less than $1 million in the U.S. as did Sundance winner The Believer, France’s Time Out and Bloody Sunday which accrued enormous ink but scant ticket sales when it was disqualified from Academy Award consideration. Marginally better but far from outstanding were the fates of such lauded films as The Fast Runner, Lovely and Amazing and The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys. For every indie success like Monster’s Ball, there are a dozen commercial casualties and the track records for the semi-indies (Sony Classics, Miramax, Paramount Classics, Fine Line et al.) is only marginally better.

The current situation may simply be a temporary, inexplicable glitch. The members of the acquisitions community continue to hedge bets by courting critical favor and, in light of ferocious competition in the sector, show a decided preference for films that have received festival prizes or been honored in their country of origin. Neither factor necessarily guarantees an audience or insures against bad timing in all its many forms. Yet for decades the embrace of critics or the crutch of prizes has had a modest to significant influence in film going options and the prospect that nothing can breach the onslaught of event and non-event movies from the majors is too hideous a scenario to contemplate.

Next Week: XTC2: The Death of Film

Email Leonard Klady