The cameras may have stopped rolling on Mark Borchardt, the Milwaukee filmmaker and star of the recent documentary “American Movie,” but his story continues to unfold.
“American Movie” director Chris Smith spent two years following Borchardt in his quest to complete two films, “Northwestern” and the horror short “Coven.” With unflinchingly honesty, Smith’s cameras focus on the dude-ish indie filmmaker, his loyal sidekick Mike Schank and an assortment of wonderfully wacky friends and family members. As Borchardt’s dreams overextend his funds, he ropes in friends to be film extras, employs his mother as a camera operator and drives an aging uncle to the bank so that he can become an “executive producer.”
“It was a total honor,” says Borchardt of having his life captured on-screen.
“American Movie” works because Borchardt is far removed from the L.A. film scene, but the early buzz about the film has thrust Borchardt into the middle of a Hollywood circus. He’s been hounded by Robert Redford at Sundance and asked for autographs; he has taken limos to screenings and been approached by “we should talk” industry insiders.
Flattered and a bit wide-eyed, Borchardt understands “American Movie” is Smith’s film, not his. Over omelets and coffee at a New York diner, Borchardt talked about the surreal ride of becoming famous for being himself.
How have things changed for you since “American Movie” began showing?
I’m sitting here, talking with you, that’s how it’s changed. A lot of people are calling me back in Milwaukee, the phone is always ringing, it’s a hassle in that sense, if you know what I mean … I don’t want to have to go to a bar and talk about projects because I’ve already got my own project.
I’ve never been on this side of the process before, that’s how it changed, too, with going to Sundance, Toronto. Sitting here doing all of these interviews, being recognized and stuff. For a year now, I’ve been totally exposed to something entirely new, but I don’t integrate that into my process of filmmaking back in Milwaukee.
This is one side of the filmmaking process. This is more the documentary-Hollywood-independent scene, where people are into having business and making money, but my filmmaking is a personal thing. I go back to Milwaukee and it’s completely separate from this kind of stuff.
Do you like the whole being on this side of the filmmaking business?
Yeah, of course I like it. I’ve never been exposed to it. But then again, I have sense enough myself not to integrate this with my filmmaking process. Because I know most people would. They’d follow up on the dozens of business cards that they’ve gotten. They would actually set up a deal down the road, more than likely, and I’m not going to do that. But you see, I’m 33, man, I got these films that I have to make, man, and they just don’t jive with the independent or Hollywood way of making things.
By going to Sundance and Toronto, has any funding for your own films cropped up?
I’ve been offered some money, tentatively, but I don’t want to take that up. I want to get my own money, borrow it from some credit cards, borrow from some people who don’t give a damn about filmmaking so they don’t want to put their girlfriend in it, or something like that. Like my dad and Bill, they’d give me money, but they didn’t want nothing to do with the process, and that’s the only good money to get.
When Chris was filming you, was there any added pressure, coming from yourself, to get your film finished?
Things would have happened the same even if he hadn’t been there. Because [making a film], all of suddenly, it pulls you along, no matter if you have a lack of discipline or a drinking problem. The film — you become responsible to this damn thing you created.
Chris filmed you pretty regularly for two years. Was there any point when you said, “Chris, turn off the camera, I don’t want this, or that, shown”?
Nope. I trusted Chris and I knew he was investing his time wisely. And for me to start setting boundaries, it might limit him, to say, “Well, I don’t think he’d want me to film this,” and he might miss stuff. It may set a precedent for days to come where he may not engage in something that he should have, so no, I never said anything.
Your friends and family pulled you though. They reminded me of this microcosm of a Hollywood production team. Why do you think they were willing to help you out?
Because I had to have people help me. I had to convince them, to motivate them because I had no other choice. I treat them with respect so I think they help me out, but I help them out, too, hopefully and so one hand feeds the other.
Have your friends and family become more interested in movies now?
No, not at all. If I would never shot another reel of film, it wouldn’t matter to them. They’re not into film at all.
Was it difficult for you to watch some of the family footage, like when your brother says he thinks you could hurt someone?
No, that’s just the way he thinks. I could care less. It just adds to the breadth of the film. I know what you mean, though. At that part, you kind of wince.
The part I winced at is when your mom says she doubts you’ll make it as a filmmaker.
I didn’t feel bad for me, I kind of felt bad for her that she said that. I guess you’ve got to watch your words, but she said what she said.
At the screening I was at, the audience was cracking up, particularly when Mike came on-screen. Some parts were genuinely funny, but did you ever feel that the audience was laughing at your friends?
No, because they’re laughing at their behavior. I know what you mean, about maybe [the documentary] being condescending or patronizing, but that’s not the way I see it. Because I know these people. And I think it’s great to let them be up on-screen because a lot of people don’t see people like that.
I never felt any malicious laughter whatsoever. You can laugh at us, or laugh at whoever you want. We’re just presenting who we are, man. And if you’re entertained by it, more power to the whole process.
The city is Longview, Texas. The location is a Nissan
dealership, where 24 people are gathered around a brand-new,
$15,000 “Hard Body” pickup truck. The event is a test of
human endurance: Whoever can stand upright the longest, with
his or her hand on the truck, will drive it home. And
capturing the lunacy — which will last several days — is
filmmaker S.R. Bindler, in his hilarious and heartbreaking
documentary “Hands on a Hard Body.”
Using Hi-8 video cameras, Bindler and crew chronicled the
event, in a film that is less about the prize truck than it is about
the characters who want to win it so badly. With the cameras
rolling day and night, they become cozily familiar to one
another, and to the viewer as well. There’s Benny, a
second-time contestant who won the truck in 1992 after
standing for 83 hours, and who takes on the role of the
seasoned sage: “It’s like the movie ‘Highlander,’” he says
ominously. “There can be only one.” Norma, who believes God
has chosen her to win the truck, has the support of the
local church members who form prayer circles and sing hymns
in the parking lot. And Kelli, a young student, is fiercely
determined to win the truck so she can sell it and get
braces.
Much to the credit of the 29-year-old Bindler, who grew up
in Longview, what easily could have turned into a cynical
look at life in Middle America is instead an emotional
glimpse into the core of human character. A graduate of New
York University film school, Bindler is working on
two more documentaries, one set in the Middle East and the
other in Texas. From his home in Los Angeles,
Bindler spoke with Salon Arts & Entertainment about making “Hands on a Hard
Body,” which has been seen in numerous festivals and is now
playing in selected theaters across the country.
How did you choose this subject?
I saw the contest for the first time in 1992. I was home for
the summer, and the local bar where everyone hangs out is
right across the street from the Nissan dealership. I came
out of the bar late one night and there were a couple
hundred people at the dealership. It’s pretty uncommon at
that time of night in Longview for people to be
congregating, so I walked over and saw the contest, was
struck by the absurdity of it, hung out for 15 or 20
minutes, and then I left.
I went back to New York and started to write a screenplay
based on some guys I knew in East Texas when I lived there,
but I kept putting the screenplay away because I was
finishing school. But when I got to L.A. three years later, I
was working with Kevin Morris, an entertainment lawyer, and
I started to tell him about the contest and the script I
started to write years ago, and we decided to shoot the
contest as a documentary.
A film like this borders on parody; it would have been
easy to make fun of these people and the absurdity of the contest. How did you avoid that?
I think it’s a very simple understanding that life, as Tennessee Williams said, is fantastic. And because it’s fantastic, you don’t need to amp it up any more than it
already does for you. It was already a fantastic,
exploitative event and I just didn’t think that it needed, on my end, to make it more so.
And I genuinely found the people shooting from heart: very honest, very open, very vulnerable and I’m not just the kind
of person to take advantage of that. By the end of the
contest, I felt a fondness for all these people, and as an
editor, after you watch the footage three or four times, you
catch all their nuances, you get to know all these people. I
felt a responsibility to represent them as they are and how
I perceived them. I didn’t think they [deserved to be]
mocked … my experience there wasn’t a parody, it was real
people going through a real situation, even if it was
hyper-realistic. The people had real concerns, real needs,
real wants. I didn’t want to make fun of them.
The contestants at the event seemed very open to going on
camera and sharing their lives. What made them so willing to
talk to you?
I think it’s a combination of things. Myself and my partner,
[producer] Chapin Wilson, we’re both pretty easygoing. We
meet everyone in the eye; we’re pretty respectful of people,
no matter where they are in their lives or the positions
they hold. I grew up in the town, and people knew that
immediately, and that put them at ease. And we were using
really small cameras; they were probably better than the
people had even seen, but they were basically home video
cameras — cameras that people were used to being around and
using themselves, so I don’t think they were intimidated.
And these were people who had signed up for a pretty crazy
contest, so these weren’t shy people. But the biggest
factor, I think, was that when the contest started, they
were too damn tired to put up any false walls, they just
sort of got annihilated by exhaustion. They were just left
bare, and I think that’s why we got some very honest answers.
After watching the contestants for so long and getting to
know them, it was agonizing to see them drop out. Was it difficult to interview them after they had just lost?
It was terribly difficult for me; in fact I missed a couple of post-[contest] interviews because I just couldn’t bring myself to
approach the contestants. I didn’t talk to Russell Welch, the rancher — my intention was to give him a few minutes to
gather himself, to compose himself with his family, but as I
started to walk toward him, he caught my eye and intimated
in a subtle fashion that it wasn’t a good time and to just respect that. Benny was also very difficult. I think Benny
would have been great to talk to after, and one of the other cameramen, who was also a director, wanted me to approach
him. I was just like, “I can’t do it, I think we’re getting it anyway.” It was tough.
There was really a palpable energy around the contestants –
when they were willing to talk, you felt it, and when they
weren’t, you could feel it as well. We were very conscious
of that during the contest, we didn’t want to distract them
[and make them] make a mistake.
Did the film screen in Longview?
We showed it and we had a big benefit; the whole town came
out, it was a lot of fun. I had trouble finding all of the
contestants — I found about half of them — and they all loved it. I sat in the back of the theater next to Benny and J.D. [another contestant], and I never took my eyes off them
during the whole thing.
Were you surprised that the film was rejected from major film festivals, like Berlin, Sundance and the New York Film
Festival?
It surprised me, but also, it doesn’t surprise me. The [documentary] category in festivals is reserved for traditional fare, very socially aware issues, personal diary-type issues. “Hands on a Hard Body,” although I think
it is a very socially aware film, [is] a comedy — and a
tragedy. I just think the documentary awards across the country are very traditional.
Documentaries have become very PC — there aren’t many
documentaries made by young, white males, nor are there many
made by young, white males about Middle America.
I think it’s a certain snobbery: The documentary
establishment has become a very intellectualized area, and I
think it’s become more so because of groups like Sundance
and the Academy Awards.
The filmmakers and the filmmaking public have become so
commercialized that they’re reserving that documentary
category as the last bastion of importance, because they’re
very afraid of something that is entertaining … but I
think as the technology is changing, and more people become
aware of the craft, I think you’ll see more documentaries
coming out of middle America.
Looking back now, is this the documentary that you
originally envisioned?
I had a very clear idea of what I wanted to shoot, and how I
wanted to shoot it. And I planned for that, and shot a lot
of stuff beforehand. But the reality is that it’s a
documentary — you just show up and you’re given what you’re
given. You can ask for a certain amount of it, i.e., the
questions that you ask, but you’re basically at the mercy of
the moment.
I over-planned, so that when things happened, we were ready
to capture it. In all honesty, we were just there to capture
the experience, and it’s a different film than what I had
expected. But that’s the double-edged sword of a
documentary. We were very prepared, but still [the central
character] Benny might not have been there, three or four
other characters might not have been there. You either get
something beautiful or you don’t. You’re either given a lot
of gifts or you’re not.
A kiss is just a kiss, or so the song goes. But it was just a kiss between two male actors in the beautifully shot film “Steam: The Turkish Bath” that led the Turkish government to ban the film from entering last year’s Oscar competition. A joint international production between Italy, Turkey and Spain, “Steam” is, at its center, a love story that speaks volumes about the cultural differences between Italy and Turkey.
Despite the odds, “Steam,” the directorial debut by Italian-Turkish
director Ferzan Ozpetek, went on to play in 45 countries, sweeping
numerous awards in Italy. In particular, critics praised the film’s lead actor, Alessandro Gassman.
Gassman, son of Italian actor Vittorio Gassman (“Profumo di Donna: Scent of a Woman,” “Riso Amaro: Bitter Rice,” Robert Altman’s “A Wedding”) plays the part of Francesco, a married, successful yet restless Italian designer who travels to Istanbul after his recently deceased aunt bequeaths him a Turkish bath, an “hamam.” Deciding to stay in Istanbul to restore the bathhouse, Francesco’s encounters with Turkish culture lead to his own self-examination as he becomes increasingly drawn to the simplicities of Turkish life.
After years of acting onstage and appearing in European films such as “Uomini Sneza Donne” (“Men Without Women”) and “A Month by the Lake,” the 33-year old Gassman, largely known for his comedic roles, is on the verge of becoming the next big European actor to find an American audience. He recently completed the film “L’Bomba,” an Italian production directed by Giulio Base, which will open the Los Angeles film festival in April. And he’s currently “in talks” with Madonna to star opposite her in a series of Max Factor advertisements.
Salon caught up with Gassman in Modena, Italy, where he runs his own theater company and is currently starring in his company’s production of “K2,” written by American playwright Patrick Meyers.
How did you become involved in this film?
It was a really small movie, no one wanted to produce it — then the producers [Paolo Buzzi and Ozan Ergun] decided that they could produce it, but only if they had a well-known actor. I’d just come out of a big success in the Italian box office with a comedy, “Uomini Senza Donne.” Other actors refused the movie before me, because they were scared of the homosexual character. I was the only one who accepted the role. I did it free, I wasn’t paid, but in the end it was very good for me, because the movie came out in 45 countries. So the money, I got it after. The profits from the film were much more than what I had expected.
What was the experience of working with Ferzan Ozpetek like?
When I play in comedies, I generally propose to the director many different ways of playing the role. But with “Hamam” [the European title for "Steam"], I just let myself be directed by Ferzan. I just followed directly what he wanted to reach, and we were always on the same mood, on the same idea. It was very easy, we never had discussions, everything came very naturally. And the kiss scene — which for me was the toughest one, because Ferzan, and me, we’re both not homosexuals — in the end it came very naturally for me, it was very easy.
Several American film critics have labeled this film “homoerotic.” Is Francesco’s discovery that he is homosexual
crucial to the film?
I don’t think it’s that important. If Francesco fell in love with the
mother, or the sister, it would have been exactly the same story. It’s the story of a man who discovers himself, and while he discovers himself
[to be] homosexual, that’s not the center of the story. It’s the story of a man who becomes better than he was before. And it’s also the story of an encounter between two different cultures.
What was the reaction from the cast and crew after Turkey banned the film from the Oscars?
What can I say? The movie was not sent to the Oscars — not because no one liked the movie, only because of the homosexual content. We’re reaching the year 2000, and it’s like a joke! But you’re speaking of a Muslim country. It’s a problem that they have to solve by themselves, it’s not our business. But it’s a pity for our movie.
Nor is Italy the most progressive country when it comes to
homosexuality; how did your fans in Italy react to seeing you kiss a man
on-screen?
Here the movie had a big, big success. We won the all the prizes possible, we won Golden Globes — all of them. I was pleased because not only people that are used to going to the movies liked it, but people who generally just go see action movies — movies with Bruce Willis — appreciated it very much. So this means the homosexual content of the movie wasn’t the center of the story, but really it was just a love story, a simple and touching love story.
How difficult is it for Italian actors, who get a smattering of
attention every now and then in the U.S. press, to cross over and become film stars in America?
It’s quite difficult because the United States is always simplifying
Italo-Americans in movies. Even when Italian actors succeed in the United States, it’s generally playing Mafioso roles, more or less the same characters. There’s not much chance for Italian or European actors to do much else. [Antonio] Banderas is the newest example, he is very famous, but I don’t think he’s doing exactly what he wanted to do when he started being an actor. I don’t know if you saw the first movies he did in Spain ["Matador," "Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!"] — certainly those were the best things he did in his acting career. So, if you’re very interested in money and becoming famous, all over the world, why not? But it depends on what you’re looking for.
A generation ago, actors like your father, as well as Italian directors, could easily become international stars. What do you think has changed about Italian cinema?
It’s only because we lost the elders in the cinema, the ones who made our movies in the ’50s and ’60s internationally appreciated — like Fellini, De Sica, Rossellini. They left a big hole, which has not been replaced yet. But, I must say, we have now very good young directors and new authors that are keeping to our cinema. It’s a new jump, I believe Italian cinema in the next years will have good results.
You’ve acted in three films with your father, most recently in New York City in “L’Bomba.” What’s that experience been like? What have you learned from watching his career?
It was cool for me. The problem would have been to be compared with him, but as an actor I’m completely different from my father. So that’s never happened, I never had that problem. The only thing I really got from my father is to be straight on your work — it’s not a joke. It looks like a joke, but in fact it’s tough work and you have to be precise. That’s the most important thing.
Can you talk about the film you just did, “L’Bomba”?
It’s the story of two young Italian actors who come to New York, trying to get into the Actor’s Studio. One of the two succeeds, which is me, the other one doesn’t. He starts working in a Chinese restaurant as a dishwasher. And they discover that, as Italians, if you move, dress, speak like Italo-Americans, like in Scorsese’s and Coppola’s movies, then people will believe you are real Mafioso. And then they will start respecting you and treating you very well. And doing this, they become a real Mafioso family, and they become the most powerful family in New York. They make a lot of money, until the moment the real Mafioso, played by my father, who plays the head of the Mafioso, gets pissed off that this family came and took the money they used to get. From there on, the story changes, and it becomes a real comedy. Shelley Winters is also in the film, playing practically herself — a teacher in the Actor’s Studio, as she is in real life. It speaks about stereotypes that become real.
What, beyond the Mafioso, do you think American stereotypes of Italians are?
I was in the United States, living there, and I used to follow the news, and I discovered that in the three months that I was living in the States, I never heard about my country. So I can imagine people who don’t read books, who are not interested in history or geography, they don’t know much about my country. So we came to the conclusion that the only thing they know is through the movies, made by American directors, big directors, like Scorsese, Coppola, De Niro and Turturro. I love those movies, and they did speak about our country when our country really was like that — it’s not their fault, we were exactly like that! But that was almost 50 years ago.
Are there any American film directors you’d like to work with?
Yes, definitely. I’m a big fan of Quentin Tarantino, so that would be a big dream for me to work with him.
How did Madonna contact you to appear with her in these Max Factor
commercials?
Madonna saw the film in Los Angeles, and she liked it very much. She was looking for a young man to be with her in the advertisements, and she called me. So we are trying to see if we can arrange with my theater for me to come for a couple of days to Los Angeles. But I’m very happy she saw the movie and she liked it. It’s an honor for me. I’m a big fan of Madonna.
