... Robert Lantos, who produced many of the films Chaykin appeared in including "Whale Music" and "Barney's Version," called the man "an icon" and "one of the greatest character actors in the world."
"He made a gourmet feast of every moment he was on screen, creating unforgettable characters who he pushed far beyond the writing on the page," Lantos said in a statement.
"The refrain that for a great actor 'no part is too small,' must have been coined with him in mind."
Chaykin was born July 27, 1949 in New York to an American father and a Canadian mother before moving to Toronto.
His extensive resume spanned 35 years but mostly consisted of supporting roles. His legacy as one of Canada's most beloved performers was cemented with a starring role as a has-been music star in 1994's "Whale Music," which earned Chaykin a Genie in 1994 for best actor.
He appeared in many of Atom Egoyan's films, including "Exotica," "The Adjuster," "Adoration," and "The Sweet Hereafter," and could be seen in smaller parts on big U.S. features including "The Mask of Zorro," "Devil in a Blue Dress" and "A Life Less Ordinary."
"He always added such a wonderful dimension to the characters that he played," said Piers Handling, director of the Toronto International Film Festival.
"They were always memorable, no matter how small the roles were or medium-size the roles were. Maury was just a consummate professional, just sort of took over the screen."
Memorable roles included his turn as a suicidal Cavalry major in "Dances with Wolves," as the eccentric TV detective Nero Wolfe, and as an acerbic movie studio honcho in "Entourage."
More recently, he could be seen as the cantankerous father Sam Blecher in the HBO Canada sitcom "Less Than Kind."
"He was one of our greatest actors," said story editor Mark McKinney, adding that the cast and crew were "reeling" from the news.
"Maury's an actor of unparalleled gifts, you cannot learn what he had in spades — you could study for 1,000 years. He had an incredible gift, an instant quickness."
McKinney noted Chaykin long battled kidney problems but appeared to rebound earlier this year.
One of the last roles Chaykin filmed was a supporting part on the upcoming Showcase comedy "Drunk and on Drugs Happy Funtime Hour," created by "Trailer Park Boys" Mike Smith, Robb Wells and J.P. Tremblay.
Smith said a spirited Chaykin spent three days on set last month. He played a demented scientist who creates a hallucinogen that wreaks havoc on the cast of a fictional kids show.
"The character was written as this sort of lighthearted sort of scientist but Maury wanted to play him like a true mad man and he did that," Smith said from Halifax, adding that the cast and crew considered it an honour to work with him.
"It was just fascinating to watch this character we wrote, watch Maury just take it to a completely different level than we had ever imagined."
Lewis lauded Chaykin as a surprising actor full of "brilliant ideas," and a ridiculous sense of humour.
"He would make me laugh. He'd make me laugh until my stomach hurt," said Lewis.
"He was a true creative spirit and sometimes way out there and really kind of absurd. He had a very absurdist sense of humour and he liked the shock value of that."
Lewis said the mild-mannered Chaykin was always very humble about his achievements.
"He was a man of integrity. He was a very upstanding fellow who was very loyal to his friends and always told the truth. He was just a very forthcoming fellow, very forthcoming and I'll miss him. I'll miss him dearly." ...
Grace Jones: 'God I'm scary. I'm scaring myself'
Pop's formidable diva talks sex, slaps and annoying copycats (that's you, Lady Gaga)
Simon Hattenstone
Saturday 17 April 2010
Three bottles of red wine, a platter of sushi and four dozen oysters are lined up waiting for her, but still there is no sign of Grace Jones. We've been warned. Jones keeps Jamaica time. She doesn't appear in daylight. This is Graceland, and in Graceland only one person dictates the terms. Six pm turns into 7pm. We're in a freezing, underground car park turned exhibition space. Seven pm turns into 8pm, and now the stories are coming thick and fast. There was the time Jones kept David Bailey waiting a whole day, or was it two? Eventually, she calls and her manager Brendan screams down the phone at her: "GET HERE NOW, YOU BITCH!" Eight pm turns into 9pm.
She once appeared during the day for Breakfast TV, her make-up artist Terry says. "She said, 'Darling, you're ruining my reputation, you know I'm a vampire.' " How did she look by day? "Quite surreal. Like she doesn't really belong. She definitely belongs to the night."
As a supermodel, pop star, Bond girl, artistic muse and artwork in herself, Jones is a one-off. Photographers and artists love working with her. Andy Warhol's Grace Jones– all red lipstick, fierce flat-top and pink backdrop – is one of his last great portraits.
Helmut Newton wrapped her in the arms of Dolf Lundgren to recreate Adam and Eve as a modern-day designer muscle couple.
Keith Haring body-painted her into a parody Masai warrior.
Perhaps most famously of all, Jean-Paul Goude shot her as a rippling racehorse – virtually naked, standing on one leg, bronzed and oiled, microphone in one hand, right leg raised at 90 degrees to meet her right arm – it is an astonishing image, albeit famously faked. ...
... Nine pm turns into 10pm. Shoots with Jones are always like this. And yet there is something about her. People are prepared to wait. Two years ago she made her first studio album in 19 years. One of the team talks about all the people she's turned down as collaborators – including Lady Gaga. Not up to it, thinks Jones (of which more later).
At 10.03pm the doors burst open. A huge trunk is carried in. Then another. And another. Jones has brought her entire wardrobe – and then some. It turns out she stopped at her favourite Issey Miyake store on the way – they opened up specially so she could raid. "Finally!" she says, looking round the room as if we're the ones who have kept her waiting all these hours.
Jones is 61 now, but could pass for someone in her 30s. Her skin is extraordinary. Soft, shiny and muscly. She's wearing a ridiculous outfit – huge ski boots, tight jesterish jumpsuit, clashing socks, sable fur hoodie – and looks magnificent. Her bad manners should make me want to slap her, but I feel surprisingly well disposed towards her. Anyway, in Graceland it's Jones who gets to do the slapping, as I'm about to find out...
... It's getting on for midnight, she's on the red wine and is starting to come to life. I'm looking at her clothes admiringly, and she's encouraging me to try them on. "We're all a bit woo," she says. "I love cross-dressers."
Terry is painting her face, and she's talking 13 to the dozen. Conversation with Jones is a pinball game – ping, ping, ping, then it's gone. So we ping from beatings to drug busts and Brittany oysters within seconds and back again.
She's looking at herself in the mirror. Her face is as fearsome as it is beautiful, especially fully made up. Did she consciously created an image to go with the face? "No. I think the scary character comes from male authority within my religious family. They had that first, and subliminally I took that on. I was shit scared of them."
Jones grew up in Jamaica among a family of leaders – on one side there were pentecostal ministers, on the other politicians....
... Throughout, she was determined to be open with her parents about what she was and what she had become. "I did not make an effort to make everything pretty for them. I showed them the worst, and I thought if they could accept the worst… I don't like people who hide things. We're not perfect, we all have things that people might not like to see, and I like to show my faults."
Gradually, her parents did learn to accept the worst. "My dad had become a bishop, and I found out he was carrying pictures of me in his wallet, showing off quietly. And when I first did Merv Griffin..."
Who's Merv Griffin? She looks aghast. "You don't know who Merv Griffin was? He was a very big talkshow host in America. That is really bad." I hold out my hand for a reproving slap. But that won't do. "That is not a slap on the hand. That's a bend over. Wahahahahahahah!" So I do as I'm told. Thwack. Thwack . Thwack. Thwack. "Now go on the internet and look under Griffin – he was as big as Johnny Carson. You're lucky I've not got my whip! My hands were cold, so that heats them up a bit. Good for circulation. And the red wine."
Did her mother and father ever tell her they were proud? "Yes. It took a while. The thing is, as leaders in the church, they were pressured by everyone else to shun me. You know what shun means?"
"I'm afraid I do."
"Ach, I can't get you on that one," she says disappointed. ...
... Her face is almost complete. She looks in the mirror and compliments the make-up artist. "God, I'm scary. I'm scaring myself. It's great! That's beautiful." ...
Pop's formidable diva talks sex, slaps and annoying copycats (that's you, Lady Gaga)
Simon Hattenstone
Saturday 17 April 2010
Three bottles of red wine, a platter of sushi and four dozen oysters are lined up waiting for her, but still there is no sign of Grace Jones. We've been warned. Jones keeps Jamaica time. She doesn't appear in daylight. This is Graceland, and in Graceland only one person dictates the terms. Six pm turns into 7pm. We're in a freezing, underground car park turned exhibition space. Seven pm turns into 8pm, and now the stories are coming thick and fast. There was the time Jones kept David Bailey waiting a whole day, or was it two? Eventually, she calls and her manager Brendan screams down the phone at her: "GET HERE NOW, YOU BITCH!" Eight pm turns into 9pm.
She once appeared during the day for Breakfast TV, her make-up artist Terry says. "She said, 'Darling, you're ruining my reputation, you know I'm a vampire.' " How did she look by day? "Quite surreal. Like she doesn't really belong. She definitely belongs to the night."
As a supermodel, pop star, Bond girl, artistic muse and artwork in herself, Jones is a one-off. Photographers and artists love working with her. Andy Warhol's Grace Jones– all red lipstick, fierce flat-top and pink backdrop – is one of his last great portraits.
Helmut Newton wrapped her in the arms of Dolf Lundgren to recreate Adam and Eve as a modern-day designer muscle couple.
Keith Haring body-painted her into a parody Masai warrior.
Perhaps most famously of all, Jean-Paul Goude shot her as a rippling racehorse – virtually naked, standing on one leg, bronzed and oiled, microphone in one hand, right leg raised at 90 degrees to meet her right arm – it is an astonishing image, albeit famously faked. ...
... Nine pm turns into 10pm. Shoots with Jones are always like this. And yet there is something about her. People are prepared to wait. Two years ago she made her first studio album in 19 years. One of the team talks about all the people she's turned down as collaborators – including Lady Gaga. Not up to it, thinks Jones (of which more later).
At 10.03pm the doors burst open. A huge trunk is carried in. Then another. And another. Jones has brought her entire wardrobe – and then some. It turns out she stopped at her favourite Issey Miyake store on the way – they opened up specially so she could raid. "Finally!" she says, looking round the room as if we're the ones who have kept her waiting all these hours.
Jones is 61 now, but could pass for someone in her 30s. Her skin is extraordinary. Soft, shiny and muscly. She's wearing a ridiculous outfit – huge ski boots, tight jesterish jumpsuit, clashing socks, sable fur hoodie – and looks magnificent. Her bad manners should make me want to slap her, but I feel surprisingly well disposed towards her. Anyway, in Graceland it's Jones who gets to do the slapping, as I'm about to find out...
... It's getting on for midnight, she's on the red wine and is starting to come to life. I'm looking at her clothes admiringly, and she's encouraging me to try them on. "We're all a bit woo," she says. "I love cross-dressers."
Terry is painting her face, and she's talking 13 to the dozen. Conversation with Jones is a pinball game – ping, ping, ping, then it's gone. So we ping from beatings to drug busts and Brittany oysters within seconds and back again.
She's looking at herself in the mirror. Her face is as fearsome as it is beautiful, especially fully made up. Did she consciously created an image to go with the face? "No. I think the scary character comes from male authority within my religious family. They had that first, and subliminally I took that on. I was shit scared of them."
Jones grew up in Jamaica among a family of leaders – on one side there were pentecostal ministers, on the other politicians....
... Throughout, she was determined to be open with her parents about what she was and what she had become. "I did not make an effort to make everything pretty for them. I showed them the worst, and I thought if they could accept the worst… I don't like people who hide things. We're not perfect, we all have things that people might not like to see, and I like to show my faults."
Gradually, her parents did learn to accept the worst. "My dad had become a bishop, and I found out he was carrying pictures of me in his wallet, showing off quietly. And when I first did Merv Griffin..."
Who's Merv Griffin? She looks aghast. "You don't know who Merv Griffin was? He was a very big talkshow host in America. That is really bad." I hold out my hand for a reproving slap. But that won't do. "That is not a slap on the hand. That's a bend over. Wahahahahahahah!" So I do as I'm told. Thwack. Thwack . Thwack. Thwack. "Now go on the internet and look under Griffin – he was as big as Johnny Carson. You're lucky I've not got my whip! My hands were cold, so that heats them up a bit. Good for circulation. And the red wine."
Did her mother and father ever tell her they were proud? "Yes. It took a while. The thing is, as leaders in the church, they were pressured by everyone else to shun me. You know what shun means?"
"I'm afraid I do."
"Ach, I can't get you on that one," she says disappointed. ...
... Her face is almost complete. She looks in the mirror and compliments the make-up artist. "God, I'm scary. I'm scaring myself. It's great! That's beautiful." ...
... Peter Tazelaar was under orders from the exiled Dutch queen, Wilhelmina, to slip into the country to extract two fellow countrymen to join the government-in-exile in Britain.
He and his fellow secret agents – Eric Hazelhoff Roelfzema and Bob Van der Stok – had often spent time at the seaside resort of Scheveningen, near The Hague, and knew that the Palace hotel there had been taken over by the Germans as a headquarters, and that every Friday night they held large and boisterous parties there.
Their plan was simple but audacious – approach Scheveningen in darkness by boat, and take Mr Tazelaar into the surf by dinghy, from where he could scramble ashore. Once there, he would strip off his wetsuit, to reveal his evening clothes underneath, to enable him to pose as a partygoer and slip past the sentries. ...
He and his fellow secret agents – Eric Hazelhoff Roelfzema and Bob Van der Stok – had often spent time at the seaside resort of Scheveningen, near The Hague, and knew that the Palace hotel there had been taken over by the Germans as a headquarters, and that every Friday night they held large and boisterous parties there.
Their plan was simple but audacious – approach Scheveningen in darkness by boat, and take Mr Tazelaar into the surf by dinghy, from where he could scramble ashore. Once there, he would strip off his wetsuit, to reveal his evening clothes underneath, to enable him to pose as a partygoer and slip past the sentries. ...
HELLO AGAIN, TERRY GILLIAM
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Terry Gilliam is a perpetual imagination machine spewing out enchanting grotesqueries for the very major studios baffled by him. This week The Imaginarium Of Dr Parnassus, another film no one with money wanted him to make, came out on DVD. So I called him for a catch up.
VICE: I heard you had problems getting financing for the film because people didn’t get the idea, is that right?
Terry: Yeah, we went out to America and asked for money, $25 million, for Heath Ledger’s next movie after The Dark Knight, and we couldn’t get any money.
What was it they didn’t get?
Nothing! They couldn’t even get their heads around the idea that the following summer the biggest star on the planet would be Heath Ledger because The Dark Knight was coming out. They couldn’t even understand that simple concept, so how could they even begin to understand the film? I mean, I’ve always had these problems. I go to these meetings and they say, “Oh god, we love everything you’ve done Terry, but this new one we’re not sure about.” And it’s always been like that, so I don’t see why it’s ever going to change. The guys in that position, the guardians of the cash, they tend to be conservative people with very little imagination who really just want Time Bandits 2.
Do you think it had anything to do with the fact that it’s not a high-concept idea that can summed up in a pithy little “boy loses girl” one-liner?
Well, yeah, but that’s been the case for a long time. My stuff has never been high concept in that sense: It’s too layered, it’s got too many things. And what people tend to do, they immediately show it to the marketing people, because if they don’t know how to sell it, it doesn’t get made. The business is not run by people who get impassioned by an idea and want to make it happen, the business is run by people who want to say no so they can survive in their bureaucratic high-paid jobs as long as they can. It’s been like that for a long time and it’s gotten worse over the years because it’s become more and more bureaucratic. The reason my films really get made is because I can get big stars, that’s my power.
Talking about the layers and ideas you have, this seems like quite a moralistic film, in terms of being careful what you wish for, and harnessing fears and desires.
Yeah, well, it has to be about something. There are already enough other people doing stories about things turning into other things and blowing up. All my films start from an idea or a thought that I want to consider, and then I try to cram in as much as I can. I like the idea of layering films, and ever since the beginning I find that kids get my films quicker than adults do. Kids are more open to anything that’s entertaining them and keeping their attention–adults, as they get older, want things to be more straightforward, or put in tiny boxes to be more easily understood. These are ridiculous generalizations, but I’ve seen it time and time again. For this film people have come out after watching it and found it confusing, they didn’t know what it was about, and a seven-year-old kid came out and got all of it. ...
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Terry Gilliam is a perpetual imagination machine spewing out enchanting grotesqueries for the very major studios baffled by him. This week The Imaginarium Of Dr Parnassus, another film no one with money wanted him to make, came out on DVD. So I called him for a catch up.
VICE: I heard you had problems getting financing for the film because people didn’t get the idea, is that right?
Terry: Yeah, we went out to America and asked for money, $25 million, for Heath Ledger’s next movie after The Dark Knight, and we couldn’t get any money.
What was it they didn’t get?
Nothing! They couldn’t even get their heads around the idea that the following summer the biggest star on the planet would be Heath Ledger because The Dark Knight was coming out. They couldn’t even understand that simple concept, so how could they even begin to understand the film? I mean, I’ve always had these problems. I go to these meetings and they say, “Oh god, we love everything you’ve done Terry, but this new one we’re not sure about.” And it’s always been like that, so I don’t see why it’s ever going to change. The guys in that position, the guardians of the cash, they tend to be conservative people with very little imagination who really just want Time Bandits 2.
Do you think it had anything to do with the fact that it’s not a high-concept idea that can summed up in a pithy little “boy loses girl” one-liner?
Well, yeah, but that’s been the case for a long time. My stuff has never been high concept in that sense: It’s too layered, it’s got too many things. And what people tend to do, they immediately show it to the marketing people, because if they don’t know how to sell it, it doesn’t get made. The business is not run by people who get impassioned by an idea and want to make it happen, the business is run by people who want to say no so they can survive in their bureaucratic high-paid jobs as long as they can. It’s been like that for a long time and it’s gotten worse over the years because it’s become more and more bureaucratic. The reason my films really get made is because I can get big stars, that’s my power.
Talking about the layers and ideas you have, this seems like quite a moralistic film, in terms of being careful what you wish for, and harnessing fears and desires.
Yeah, well, it has to be about something. There are already enough other people doing stories about things turning into other things and blowing up. All my films start from an idea or a thought that I want to consider, and then I try to cram in as much as I can. I like the idea of layering films, and ever since the beginning I find that kids get my films quicker than adults do. Kids are more open to anything that’s entertaining them and keeping their attention–adults, as they get older, want things to be more straightforward, or put in tiny boxes to be more easily understood. These are ridiculous generalizations, but I’ve seen it time and time again. For this film people have come out after watching it and found it confusing, they didn’t know what it was about, and a seven-year-old kid came out and got all of it. ...
... Charles Ryder: How's Sebastian?
Julia Flyte: He's fine.
Charles: Fine?
Julia: Did he tell you he was dying?
Charles: Well, I thought... His message said...
Julia: I expect he thought you wouldn't come if you knew.
Charles: He's not badly hurt, then?
Julia: He cracked a bone in his foot so small it hasn't even got a name.
Charles: How did it happen?
Julia: Playing croquet....
Julia Flyte: He's fine.
Charles: Fine?
Julia: Did he tell you he was dying?
Charles: Well, I thought... His message said...
Julia: I expect he thought you wouldn't come if you knew.
Charles: He's not badly hurt, then?
Julia: He cracked a bone in his foot so small it hasn't even got a name.
Charles: How did it happen?
Julia: Playing croquet....
My pal Dogs came over tonight, and we watched Luis Buñuel's The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (orig. title, Le charme discret de la bourgeoisie). He'd never seen it before, but Your Humble Narrator has seen it at least four times and is a big fan. We discussed the surrealism of the film many times as we watched it, and how well Buñuel's dream sequences use elements of actual dreams. The washed-out colors (Bar one or two, I've always dreamed in color, but it rarely looks like Kodachrome©), curious perspectives, disappearing people, strange and sudden changes, etc are all trés a propos.
I looked around in the guide to see what else was on, and was delighted when I found TCM was showing Fellini's 8½! We went straight from one surreal film to another; and Dogs'd never seen 8½ either, and I'd only seen bits and pieces. It's not the pleasantest film in places, but for the most part it shifts into silliness when needed.
I looked around in the guide to see what else was on, and was delighted when I found TCM was showing Fellini's 8½! We went straight from one surreal film to another; and Dogs'd never seen 8½ either, and I'd only seen bits and pieces. It's not the pleasantest film in places, but for the most part it shifts into silliness when needed.
LOVE AND ROCKERS
Ted Bafaloukos Taught Us Everything We Know About Jamaica
INTERVIEW BY TASSOS BREKOULAKIS, PORTRAIT BY FREDDIE F.
PHOTOS COURTESY OF THEODOROS BAFALOUKOS
Theodoros Bafaloukos wrote and directed Rockers, the film that single-handedly made Jamaica and reggae interesting to couch-cozy white folks, their stoner kids, and a bunch of famous English punks with guitars. Today, Ted is not so reclusive as he is remote, spending his time at his childhood home on the secluded Greek island of Andros. Over 30 years after the film's initial release, we made the long journey for this, his first-ever print interview. ...
Vice: How did you first find yourself in Jamaica?
Theodoros Bafaloukos: I went there in 1975 as a freelance photographer for Island Records with a friend, a young guy in the reggae scene. We took photos of faces on the island. It was interesting and exciting. It was also funny because they arrested me as a CIA spy.
Uh-oh. What happened?
I’d gone to a radio station to speak to someone from the community. I wanted to ask him for equipment and for help shooting a documentary—which is what I wanted to do originally. I was in the car with my friend, who was driving, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a man sticks his hand through the window, grabs a small notebook from my chest pocket, and runs into the building shouting “CIA, CIA!” I got out and tried to run after him, but when I got back, my friend and the car had vanished. I was scared. I found myself completely stranded, surrounded by strangers. The friends who had left told me later that they were terrified. We’re talking about a time when fear reigned and everyone was scared.
When did the police arrive?
Two jeeps appeared out of nowhere, full of cops—some in uniform, others looking like bouncers. The tougher ones with Uzis pounced out of the vehicle and arrested me. They put me in the jeep and paraded me through the streets at low speed so all could see that they had arrested a CIA agent! They took me to the police station, where it became obvious that they had no idea what to do with me. So they took me to another guy, who interviewed me.
An interview?
An interrogation. When I entered the room, the interrogator was seated behind a desk with my notebook next to him. I went over, picked up the notebook from the desk, and put it into my pocket.
Gutsy. What was in the notebook?
The addresses of all the people I had met on the island, mostly musicians. I had promised to send them photographs upon my return to America, which I did.
So did they let you go immediately?
After I put the notebook in my pocket the guy said nothing, didn’t even budge. I answered his questions but he didn’t even know what to ask me. He had probably made a few phone calls and realized that this was all a mistake.
Looking at pictures of you from this period, you looked more like the lead in a Zapatista porn than a CIA agent.
Why, what does a CIA agent look like? [laughs] I had a Greek passport, which made me look even more suspicious. They took it away and kept me there for what seemed like an eternity. Another guy came to interrogate me, but that again led nowhere. It was 10 or 11 at night when suddenly this white guy appears and says, “Come with me,” leads me out of the room, puts me in a cab, and says, “Go, just go.” I said, “What about my passport?” And he said, “Get out of here, man.” So I left. I went to the house I was sharing and found them all there: my friend, Augustus Pablo, the whole gang. They were all younger than me. They were all scared and staring at me as if I had come back from the dead. They basically said, “Sorry, they’ll come to kill you tonight and we don’t want to stick around.”
Were they teasing you?
No, they weren’t. Stuff like that happened all the time.
This is a completely different picture of Jamaica than the one you present in Rockers.
There was this idea that everything was going swell, because of Bob Marley’s success. Even for reggae, the reality was different—much harsher. And harsher still for a white guy in the middle of it. I lived there for a couple years before we started shooting. Those Jamaicans living in the ghettoes of Kingston were innocent people in their everyday lives and this is exactly what I wanted to capture in the film—a more realistic picture of who they were, or who they really wanted to be. Something like Robin Hood. Jamaica was a fantasy world where reality as we knew it could not exist. ...
Dirty Harry!
"Hustlin' like raindrops!"
Ted Bafaloukos Taught Us Everything We Know About Jamaica
INTERVIEW BY TASSOS BREKOULAKIS, PORTRAIT BY FREDDIE F.
PHOTOS COURTESY OF THEODOROS BAFALOUKOS
Theodoros Bafaloukos wrote and directed Rockers, the film that single-handedly made Jamaica and reggae interesting to couch-cozy white folks, their stoner kids, and a bunch of famous English punks with guitars. Today, Ted is not so reclusive as he is remote, spending his time at his childhood home on the secluded Greek island of Andros. Over 30 years after the film's initial release, we made the long journey for this, his first-ever print interview. ...
Vice: How did you first find yourself in Jamaica?
Theodoros Bafaloukos: I went there in 1975 as a freelance photographer for Island Records with a friend, a young guy in the reggae scene. We took photos of faces on the island. It was interesting and exciting. It was also funny because they arrested me as a CIA spy.
Uh-oh. What happened?
I’d gone to a radio station to speak to someone from the community. I wanted to ask him for equipment and for help shooting a documentary—which is what I wanted to do originally. I was in the car with my friend, who was driving, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a man sticks his hand through the window, grabs a small notebook from my chest pocket, and runs into the building shouting “CIA, CIA!” I got out and tried to run after him, but when I got back, my friend and the car had vanished. I was scared. I found myself completely stranded, surrounded by strangers. The friends who had left told me later that they were terrified. We’re talking about a time when fear reigned and everyone was scared.
When did the police arrive?
Two jeeps appeared out of nowhere, full of cops—some in uniform, others looking like bouncers. The tougher ones with Uzis pounced out of the vehicle and arrested me. They put me in the jeep and paraded me through the streets at low speed so all could see that they had arrested a CIA agent! They took me to the police station, where it became obvious that they had no idea what to do with me. So they took me to another guy, who interviewed me.
An interview?
An interrogation. When I entered the room, the interrogator was seated behind a desk with my notebook next to him. I went over, picked up the notebook from the desk, and put it into my pocket.
Gutsy. What was in the notebook?
The addresses of all the people I had met on the island, mostly musicians. I had promised to send them photographs upon my return to America, which I did.
So did they let you go immediately?
After I put the notebook in my pocket the guy said nothing, didn’t even budge. I answered his questions but he didn’t even know what to ask me. He had probably made a few phone calls and realized that this was all a mistake.
Looking at pictures of you from this period, you looked more like the lead in a Zapatista porn than a CIA agent.
Why, what does a CIA agent look like? [laughs] I had a Greek passport, which made me look even more suspicious. They took it away and kept me there for what seemed like an eternity. Another guy came to interrogate me, but that again led nowhere. It was 10 or 11 at night when suddenly this white guy appears and says, “Come with me,” leads me out of the room, puts me in a cab, and says, “Go, just go.” I said, “What about my passport?” And he said, “Get out of here, man.” So I left. I went to the house I was sharing and found them all there: my friend, Augustus Pablo, the whole gang. They were all younger than me. They were all scared and staring at me as if I had come back from the dead. They basically said, “Sorry, they’ll come to kill you tonight and we don’t want to stick around.”
Were they teasing you?
No, they weren’t. Stuff like that happened all the time.
This is a completely different picture of Jamaica than the one you present in Rockers.
There was this idea that everything was going swell, because of Bob Marley’s success. Even for reggae, the reality was different—much harsher. And harsher still for a white guy in the middle of it. I lived there for a couple years before we started shooting. Those Jamaicans living in the ghettoes of Kingston were innocent people in their everyday lives and this is exactly what I wanted to capture in the film—a more realistic picture of who they were, or who they really wanted to be. Something like Robin Hood. Jamaica was a fantasy world where reality as we knew it could not exist. ...
Dirty Harry!
"Hustlin' like raindrops!"
...Moore has dug out of a South Carolina archive a piece of film buried away 66 years ago because it threatened to rock the foundations of the capitalist system as Americans now know it.
President Franklin D Roosevelt was ailing. Too ill to make his 1944 state of the nation address to Congress, he instead broadcast it by radio. But at one point he called in the cameras, and set out his vision of a new America he knew he would not live to see.
Roosevelt proposed a second bill of rights to guarantee every American a job with a living wage, a decent home, medical care, protection from the economic fears of old age, sickness and unemployment, and, perhaps most dangerously for big business, freedom from unfair monopolies. He said that "true individual freedom cannot exist without economic security and independence".
The film was quickly locked away.
"The next week on the newsreels – and we've gone back and researched this – they didn't run that," said Moore. "They talked about other parts of his speech, the war. Nothing about this. The footage became lost. When we called the Roosevelt presidential library and asked them about it they said it wasn't filmed. His own family told us it wasn't filmed." Moore's team scoured the country without luck until they were given a tip about a collector connected to the university of South Carolina.
The university didn't have anything archived under FDR's speeches that fitted, but there were a couple of boxes from that week in 1944.
"We pop it in. It was all there. We had tears in our eyes watching it. For 65 years not a single American saw that speech, not one. I decided right then that we're going to fulfil Roosevelt's wishes that the American people see him saying this. Of all the things in the film, probably I feel most privileged that I get to share this. I get to give him his stage." It's a powerful moment not only because it offers an alternative view of American values rarely spoken of today – almost all of which would be condemned as rampant socialism – but also an interesting reference point with which to compare the more restrained ambitions of the Obama administration. ...
President Franklin D Roosevelt was ailing. Too ill to make his 1944 state of the nation address to Congress, he instead broadcast it by radio. But at one point he called in the cameras, and set out his vision of a new America he knew he would not live to see.
Roosevelt proposed a second bill of rights to guarantee every American a job with a living wage, a decent home, medical care, protection from the economic fears of old age, sickness and unemployment, and, perhaps most dangerously for big business, freedom from unfair monopolies. He said that "true individual freedom cannot exist without economic security and independence".
The film was quickly locked away.
"The next week on the newsreels – and we've gone back and researched this – they didn't run that," said Moore. "They talked about other parts of his speech, the war. Nothing about this. The footage became lost. When we called the Roosevelt presidential library and asked them about it they said it wasn't filmed. His own family told us it wasn't filmed." Moore's team scoured the country without luck until they were given a tip about a collector connected to the university of South Carolina.
The university didn't have anything archived under FDR's speeches that fitted, but there were a couple of boxes from that week in 1944.
"We pop it in. It was all there. We had tears in our eyes watching it. For 65 years not a single American saw that speech, not one. I decided right then that we're going to fulfil Roosevelt's wishes that the American people see him saying this. Of all the things in the film, probably I feel most privileged that I get to share this. I get to give him his stage." It's a powerful moment not only because it offers an alternative view of American values rarely spoken of today – almost all of which would be condemned as rampant socialism – but also an interesting reference point with which to compare the more restrained ambitions of the Obama administration. ...
Banksy film set for Sundance premiere
Banksy describes his first film Exit Through the Gift Shop as 'the story of how one man set out to film the unfilmable - and failed'
Esther Addley
Thursday 21 January 2010
He is better known for his work on brick, plasterwork, portable toilets and even, on one memorable occasion, an elephant. But until now the artist known as Banksy, in creating his satirical artworks, has largely stuck to the old-fashioned mediums of painting and sculpture.
Today, however, it emerged that the graffiti artist and cultural bête noire has branched into filmmaking, with the release of what is described as "the worlds first street art disaster movie".
Exit Through the Gift Shop, which will have its international premiere on Sunday at the Sundance film festival, is described by its creator as "the story of how one man set out to film the unfilmable - and failed", and by the festival's organisers as "an amazing ride, a cautionary modern fairy tale ... with bolt cutters".
Banksy's spokeswoman, Jo Brooks, declined to elaborate much further on the plot of the 89-minute feature film, though the festival's website helpfully provides some details, describing it as the account of what happened when a French filmmaker, Terry Guetta, set out to record the "secretive world" of street art, only to meet Banksy, at which point "things took a bizarre turn".
Pressed for more detail, the artist himself offered the following, hardly illuminating, elaboration through his publicist: "It's a film about a man who tried to make a film about me. Everything in it is true, especially the bits where we all lie." ...
Banksy describes his first film Exit Through the Gift Shop as 'the story of how one man set out to film the unfilmable - and failed'
Esther Addley
Thursday 21 January 2010
He is better known for his work on brick, plasterwork, portable toilets and even, on one memorable occasion, an elephant. But until now the artist known as Banksy, in creating his satirical artworks, has largely stuck to the old-fashioned mediums of painting and sculpture.
Today, however, it emerged that the graffiti artist and cultural bête noire has branched into filmmaking, with the release of what is described as "the worlds first street art disaster movie".
Exit Through the Gift Shop, which will have its international premiere on Sunday at the Sundance film festival, is described by its creator as "the story of how one man set out to film the unfilmable - and failed", and by the festival's organisers as "an amazing ride, a cautionary modern fairy tale ... with bolt cutters".
Banksy's spokeswoman, Jo Brooks, declined to elaborate much further on the plot of the 89-minute feature film, though the festival's website helpfully provides some details, describing it as the account of what happened when a French filmmaker, Terry Guetta, set out to record the "secretive world" of street art, only to meet Banksy, at which point "things took a bizarre turn".
Pressed for more detail, the artist himself offered the following, hardly illuminating, elaboration through his publicist: "It's a film about a man who tried to make a film about me. Everything in it is true, especially the bits where we all lie." ...
... "Quentin provided an impetus for us to be ourselves, living without apology. He ran away from what was bad and became the talk of the town." ...
They're at a fair and have an argument when one of my favorite lines Evar happens.
Moses Pray: ...And stop standing around here checking on me! You don't have to worry. I ain't about to leave some poor little child stranded in the middle of nowhere. I've got scruples too, ya know. You know what that is, scruples?
Addie Loggins: No, I don't know what it is but if you've got 'em, it's a sure bet they belong to somebody else!
[Addie stalks off]
UP: Disney-Pixar movie balloons over London
UP, the latest offering from Disney-Pixar movie studios, has been marked by a balloon 'aeronautical feat' at Tower Bridge in London.
02 Oct 2009
Sleepy city commuters rubbed their eyes in surprise as the bridge was opened for a hot air balloon.
In what is claimed to be a new aeronautical feat, more than 500 mini balloons were woven together to create the contraption which sailed through the famous bridge.
The mini balloons, stitched together with 18 miles of thread, made their way upstream from Wapping aided by a tug boat to keep them on course.
The event was staged to mark the launch of the latest movie offering from Disney-Pixar. ...
UP, the latest offering from Disney-Pixar movie studios, has been marked by a balloon 'aeronautical feat' at Tower Bridge in London.
02 Oct 2009
Sleepy city commuters rubbed their eyes in surprise as the bridge was opened for a hot air balloon.
In what is claimed to be a new aeronautical feat, more than 500 mini balloons were woven together to create the contraption which sailed through the famous bridge.
The mini balloons, stitched together with 18 miles of thread, made their way upstream from Wapping aided by a tug boat to keep them on course.
The event was staged to mark the launch of the latest movie offering from Disney-Pixar. ...
...Metro Times: So, ultimately, do you feel government is more accountable than corporations? You can't walk across the street and talk to Fritz Henderson, but you can talk to your congressman. ...
Michael Moore: First of all, I think it's pretty crazy on GM's part to move us over here. I should be over there [at the RenCen] talking to people going in and out of my movie, but here we are, shuffled into some mini-ballroom across the street because I'm not allowed on the premises for my own premiere to talk to press. I can go over there and watch the film if I want, but I can't talk to you. What country are we living in here? Don't you and I own General Motors?
MT: You were very vocal about [former GM chairman] Rick Wagoner getting fired.
Moore: Oh yeah! One of the happiest days of my life was seeing Obama fire the chairman of General Motors.
MT: The first complaint of one of my conservative colleagues at the screening was, "He has money. He has a huge house. He's a hypocrite!"
Moore: This from people who like money.
MT: It's like Traverse City [where Moore now lives] is the south of France.
Moore: [laughs] I could see, too, around 1776: "Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, John Adams are wealthy landowners, they've done well under the king! They went to the king's college! The king has done well. What do they have to complain about?"
MT: Your entire career should have been nonprofit.
Moore: Actually, I have a whole nonprofit model created at the State Theatre up in Traverse City, for small towns in Michigan. But that's another story. ...
MT: But that's a fairly consistent attack on you; that you can't condemn the rich and be rich yourself.
Moore: It's because it really drives them crazy. They know somebody like me who gets some money, that's dangerous. Because I don't want to buy a big boat, what am I going to do with that money? I'm going to cause a ruckus with it. I'm going to be able to make my next film and the film after that and the film after that and no one can buy me. So you know what you're getting from my film. Nothing has been taken out to please a corporate boss at the studio, because if I don't do that [mock terror], "They won't let me make my next film. Oh, you won't let me make my next film? Oh, well, fine, I'll do it myself."
They understand that and that's why conservatives don't like it, because they know that it's fuck-you money, they know that it gives me the freedom to do and say what I want.
Michael Moore: First of all, I think it's pretty crazy on GM's part to move us over here. I should be over there [at the RenCen] talking to people going in and out of my movie, but here we are, shuffled into some mini-ballroom across the street because I'm not allowed on the premises for my own premiere to talk to press. I can go over there and watch the film if I want, but I can't talk to you. What country are we living in here? Don't you and I own General Motors?
MT: You were very vocal about [former GM chairman] Rick Wagoner getting fired.
Moore: Oh yeah! One of the happiest days of my life was seeing Obama fire the chairman of General Motors.
MT: The first complaint of one of my conservative colleagues at the screening was, "He has money. He has a huge house. He's a hypocrite!"
Moore: This from people who like money.
MT: It's like Traverse City [where Moore now lives] is the south of France.
Moore: [laughs] I could see, too, around 1776: "Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, John Adams are wealthy landowners, they've done well under the king! They went to the king's college! The king has done well. What do they have to complain about?"
MT: Your entire career should have been nonprofit.
Moore: Actually, I have a whole nonprofit model created at the State Theatre up in Traverse City, for small towns in Michigan. But that's another story. ...
MT: But that's a fairly consistent attack on you; that you can't condemn the rich and be rich yourself.
Moore: It's because it really drives them crazy. They know somebody like me who gets some money, that's dangerous. Because I don't want to buy a big boat, what am I going to do with that money? I'm going to cause a ruckus with it. I'm going to be able to make my next film and the film after that and the film after that and no one can buy me. So you know what you're getting from my film. Nothing has been taken out to please a corporate boss at the studio, because if I don't do that [mock terror], "They won't let me make my next film. Oh, you won't let me make my next film? Oh, well, fine, I'll do it myself."
They understand that and that's why conservatives don't like it, because they know that it's fuck-you money, they know that it gives me the freedom to do and say what I want.
Hysterical.
All I want for Christmas is time travel, a matter transmitter, and an infallible ambient-energy-using power supply-cum-internets connection so the First, Twelfth, and Eighteenth Dynasty Egyptians I visit can play online and I can dump tales from storytellers, songs, and the contents of their libraries into my computer and send 'em to MSiegel and the University of Chicago. XD
"Whoa, dude! Check out this torrent I found! First it sends scans of a papyrus, then a transliteration, then a translation!"
"HEY! Now it's MP3s of Ancient Egyptian music! Whoa!"
"Radical!"
"Ya-ah!"
"Now it's the carvings on the pristine walls of a now-destroyed temple!"
"No way!
"Way, dude."
"Whoa!"
Girl bands of the New Kingdom will become top ten pop stars, and the heavy black eyeliner an' nail polish brigade (Yup, they'll still be around: your subconscious never goes away, you know) will trade the polish for henna-ing their hands instead.
Fake tanning cremes of even darker hues will become popular, and everyone who's hip will walk like an Egyptian once again.
A group of teens in the Yankistani Southwest will shave their heads, wear braided wigs, kohl, wide bracelets, broad collar-necklaces, and linen kilts, and teach themselves the harp and lute. They will call themselves The Hummus Addicts, and take the world by storm; as old men they will become a well-loved las vega$ fixture, performing the ancient covers as well as their own hit parade.
The Ancients will follow all this on the computers I'd left them, much to their amusement and delight. Bands and successful writers of self-help papyri will be paid the Ancient Egyptian way: barter. They will receive healthy, bug-, hormone-, antibiotic-, and chemical-free food critters and (to them) exotic produce; ornamental and veg plants; fabrics; jewel/lery; cosmetics; scents; incense; camera phones; and computer parts.
"Oh, look, Meryt-Amon! We got Strawberries again!"
[giggles]"And lettuce!"[/whole band giggles]
Many ancient historians and librarians will become online advisors to universities and colleges worldwide, attending meetings and giving lectures via satellite.
Ancient and modren doctors will be pleasantly surprised by the vast amount of useful information they share. Ancient Egyptian doctors will learn to play golf on their days off, but be forever frustrated by myriad sand traps until a team composed of a golf course designer, a landscaping expert, and a rocket scientist figures out a way to run a sprinkler system and irrigate from the future. Modren doctors will at long last learn the rules of senet, teach it to others, and the game becomes immensely popular in the Middle East, China, Japan, Russia, and Europe. Russian chess stars become equally adept senet players and continue whompin' ass.
Lawyers, businessmen, spies, religious freaks, psychos, and other politicians will never be allowed time travel nor to use the matter transmitters; the reasons are many and obvious.
"Whoa, dude! Check out this torrent I found! First it sends scans of a papyrus, then a transliteration, then a translation!"
"HEY! Now it's MP3s of Ancient Egyptian music! Whoa!"
"Radical!"
"Ya-ah!"
"Now it's the carvings on the pristine walls of a now-destroyed temple!"
"No way!
"Way, dude."
"Whoa!"
Girl bands of the New Kingdom will become top ten pop stars, and the heavy black eyeliner an' nail polish brigade (Yup, they'll still be around: your subconscious never goes away, you know) will trade the polish for henna-ing their hands instead.
Fake tanning cremes of even darker hues will become popular, and everyone who's hip will walk like an Egyptian once again.
A group of teens in the Yankistani Southwest will shave their heads, wear braided wigs, kohl, wide bracelets, broad collar-necklaces, and linen kilts, and teach themselves the harp and lute. They will call themselves The Hummus Addicts, and take the world by storm; as old men they will become a well-loved las vega$ fixture, performing the ancient covers as well as their own hit parade.
The Ancients will follow all this on the computers I'd left them, much to their amusement and delight. Bands and successful writers of self-help papyri will be paid the Ancient Egyptian way: barter. They will receive healthy, bug-, hormone-, antibiotic-, and chemical-free food critters and (to them) exotic produce; ornamental and veg plants; fabrics; jewel/lery; cosmetics; scents; incense; camera phones; and computer parts.
"Oh, look, Meryt-Amon! We got Strawberries again!"
[giggles]"And lettuce!"[/whole band giggles]
Many ancient historians and librarians will become online advisors to universities and colleges worldwide, attending meetings and giving lectures via satellite.
Ancient and modren doctors will be pleasantly surprised by the vast amount of useful information they share. Ancient Egyptian doctors will learn to play golf on their days off, but be forever frustrated by myriad sand traps until a team composed of a golf course designer, a landscaping expert, and a rocket scientist figures out a way to run a sprinkler system and irrigate from the future. Modren doctors will at long last learn the rules of senet, teach it to others, and the game becomes immensely popular in the Middle East, China, Japan, Russia, and Europe. Russian chess stars become equally adept senet players and continue whompin' ass.
Lawyers, businessmen, spies, religious freaks, psychos, and other politicians will never be allowed time travel nor to use the matter transmitters; the reasons are many and obvious.
My Inner Mongolian Cavalryman loves the headline.
'Nother nice Guardian gallery.
... So what we get is little Gabrielle in a moodily chiaroscuro convent-orphanage where her itinerant market trader father had dumped her and her sister (the nuns’ habits imbued her with an enduring love of black minimalism); Chanel as an ambitious but not notably talented showgirl (her soubriquet Coco came from a vaudeville song about a lost dog) whose day job was working as a seamstress in Moulins, a garrison town in the middle of France; Chanel as the mistress of Étienne Balsan, a local toff who opens a door on to a gentler, more refined life.
No wonder Chanel refused to be shaken off after he’d had his way with her, following Balsan back to his château and staying there long after the two-day invitation he had reluctantly issued expired. Balsan made her hide out of sight (as she later did with her brothers) when his fashionable friends visited.
At Balsan’s Chanel learnt to ride horses like a man, eschewing the uncomfortable precariousness of the side-saddle (cue a life-long passion for androgynous, equestrian tailoring); to despise the overblown, elaborately garnished clothes of fin de siècle society with their constricting whalebone corset and feather-smothered, headache-inducing picture hats. “How can you think in one of those?” she inquires of one of Balsan’s ex-mistresses.
Cue Chanel’s uncorseted, bone-simple sack-dresses and unadorned boaters. She learnt, too, how to hold her own with the smart set, and that she needed to be independent (Balsan, having initially viewed her as a rather embarrassing leech, came to admire, adore and eventually propose to her).
But independence was a way off. In the meantime, the surest route for a poor but pretty girl intent on making her way was to sleep with men. Chanel was too modern to become a grande horizontale (the wonderful French euphemism for high-class kept women); too classy to be an out-and-out hooker. She settled for something in between. ...
No wonder Chanel refused to be shaken off after he’d had his way with her, following Balsan back to his château and staying there long after the two-day invitation he had reluctantly issued expired. Balsan made her hide out of sight (as she later did with her brothers) when his fashionable friends visited.
At Balsan’s Chanel learnt to ride horses like a man, eschewing the uncomfortable precariousness of the side-saddle (cue a life-long passion for androgynous, equestrian tailoring); to despise the overblown, elaborately garnished clothes of fin de siècle society with their constricting whalebone corset and feather-smothered, headache-inducing picture hats. “How can you think in one of those?” she inquires of one of Balsan’s ex-mistresses.
Cue Chanel’s uncorseted, bone-simple sack-dresses and unadorned boaters. She learnt, too, how to hold her own with the smart set, and that she needed to be independent (Balsan, having initially viewed her as a rather embarrassing leech, came to admire, adore and eventually propose to her).
But independence was a way off. In the meantime, the surest route for a poor but pretty girl intent on making her way was to sleep with men. Chanel was too modern to become a grande horizontale (the wonderful French euphemism for high-class kept women); too classy to be an out-and-out hooker. She settled for something in between. ...
Strange as it may sound, the makers of a film about the life of John Lennon had to go cap in hand to the Government to ensure the cameras could roll. Private investors, it seems, felt that a biopic about one of the greatest songwriters of all time was not box office enough and kept their wallets shut.
As a result, Sam Taylor-Wood’s Nowhere Boy ended up needing £1.2 million of UK Film Council cash or it would never have seen the light of day. The funds that go to support film-making are siphoned off from the National Lottery, so every time you dream that dream of landing the jackpot, you are realising a film-maker’s dream of hitting the jackpot.
No doubt Nowhere Boy will turn out to be a hit, or at least a critical success, and everybody involved will be happy, while the average cinema-goer will not have a clue where the cash, or rather some of it, came from.
And given that, perhaps we should all go home happy, and not worry about the £21 million a year of public money that goes on supporting the films spurned by Hollywood and the current generation of money men.
But that is hard because there could be better uses for £21 million, which includes the dollop of cash that goes on Kristin Scott Thomas’s fee (she plays Lennon’s Aunt Mimi). Go beyond the Harry Potters and the Working Title films, and what emerges is a cottage British film industry, producing great movies from Man on Wire to Gosford Park, but which is addicted to subsidy. ...
As a result, Sam Taylor-Wood’s Nowhere Boy ended up needing £1.2 million of UK Film Council cash or it would never have seen the light of day. The funds that go to support film-making are siphoned off from the National Lottery, so every time you dream that dream of landing the jackpot, you are realising a film-maker’s dream of hitting the jackpot.
No doubt Nowhere Boy will turn out to be a hit, or at least a critical success, and everybody involved will be happy, while the average cinema-goer will not have a clue where the cash, or rather some of it, came from.
And given that, perhaps we should all go home happy, and not worry about the £21 million a year of public money that goes on supporting the films spurned by Hollywood and the current generation of money men.
But that is hard because there could be better uses for £21 million, which includes the dollop of cash that goes on Kristin Scott Thomas’s fee (she plays Lennon’s Aunt Mimi). Go beyond the Harry Potters and the Working Title films, and what emerges is a cottage British film industry, producing great movies from Man on Wire to Gosford Park, but which is addicted to subsidy. ...
It's "sound bytes," you idiot.
As you were.
As you were.
Why is Hollywood in love with the mad and the bad?
Oh, that's easy.
Movies like that make Money.
Oh, and I never wanted Ronnie Biggs to get away with it, but I'm Yankistani.
Oh, that's easy.
Movies like that make Money.
Oh, and I never wanted Ronnie Biggs to get away with it, but I'm Yankistani.
Ang Lee’s film set against the backdrop of this defining moment in American cultural history lacks a sense of purpose
What did you expect from a hippie movie? ;)
What did you expect from a hippie movie? ;)
sigh................