Truls Lie
September 2009
Do you see yourself as a political filmmaker?
– I try to make different films, because I’ve always reacted against French auteur filmmakers who make 20 versions of the same film. By making something different each time, I’ve kept myself creatively alert. Some have been more political than others, but the fundamental reason for making a film is that it should have something to say to you.
– But was it your intention to spark a debate about racial tensions when you made Mississippi Burning ?
– Yes, to say otherwise would be a lie. I can provoke debate. Nevertheless, a film cannot change people’s mindsets. Interestingly enough, the reaction to Mississippi Burning was enormous. When it was released in 1988, I could hardly switch on the American TV without the film’s theme cropping up. Even though many didn’t like it, they took part in the discussions. What I wanted to do clearly became important. And after preview screenings of my other political film, The Life of David Gale, about the death penalty, people really did come out of the cinema and argue. That’s brilliant. In fact, sparking debate is the very most one could hope for.
– Often, a film with deeper criticism may need to operate on two levels – as you did with The Life of David Gale, which you made as a thriller?
– Yes, the film was actually criticised for being far too much of a thriller. Pragmatically speaking, no American producer would have made the film if it weren’t for the thriller aspect. I had to do that in order to make a film about American executions. I was cynical and pragmatic; I certainly admit that.
– But the interesting thing about American film producers is that they rarely censor the political content. They don’t care about the director’s political views. The producer’s only politics are the politics of the dollar. Whether it’s an extremely left-wing or right-wing film, they’ll make it, as long as it’s a success. So in a way, it’s a very free world to work in.
– The French auteurs of the 1960s believed it was important to keep the producer out of the artistic content.
– I admire them. Jean-Luc Godard too, even though he was completely mad. I love anarchists. Anarchy is important in art. I particularly liked their films when I was younger. But they gradually became too full of themselves, and thus far too dogmatic, much like French writers and critics. Even though the French practically invented film criticism, it became too dogmatic, as if there were only one way to make films. I make films for a much wider audience, but my films are no less valuable for that reason. Godard once said that he only made films for himself: when you watch some of his films, it can seem as though he is the only one who likes them … A film cannot exist in film clubs with just your six closest friends and relatives. It only exists when it moves a wider audience.
– Did Godard, as he grew older, simply want to be more political in his films?
– But he forgot one fundamental thing: to use his abilities to communicate. Yes, he became more political, but at the same time increasingly insistent. And he convinced fewer and fewer people.
ALAN PARKER is cautious about commenting on the influence his films have had.
– I’ve made 14 films. Interestingly enough, it’s always Midnight Express that gets the most attention internationally. At the premiere in Cannes, nobody liked the film. I was really criticised. Yet it went on to be shown in Paris for 7–8 years.
– It’s the film about the American who smuggles hashish from Turkey, ends up spending years in a Turkish prison, and eventually manages to escape. But is the film as true as it’s described?
– You’re right. The story was never entirely true. The truth is something you’re always bending as a filmmaker. The story of Midnight Express is based on what Billy Hayes wrote down from memory when he left prison in Turkey. Then the ghostwriter William Hoffer wrote the book, in which the truth was further distorted. Then Oliver Stone wrote a new script for me in six weeks. What’s more, I reworked it again when I made the film. All these changes were necessary to make the film, but the original story isn’t intact. For example, Hayes was actually supposed to have swum from a prison island. Even though the producer, Columbia Studios, says it’s based on a true story, that’s probably not the truth.
Although Parker’s films are largely based on real events or people, he isn’t interested in documentary films.
– I have great respect for those who are skilled enough to make them. And that’s probably the reason. I once made one, but it became too much of a manipulation.
– Nevertheless, I’ve never made fantasy films. Although I was actually asked to direct the first Harry Potter film, I wasn’t interested. But then again, I wasn’t aware of just how successful it would become.
– You never actually attended film school yourself, and you’ve referred to the film Pink Floyd: The Wall as your student film. But wasn’t that your fifth feature film?
– Yes, that’s because we made it as we went along. Every day we came up with something new; we experimented – the film had no fixed parameters or plan.
– It was described as ‘an agonising scream from start to finish’?
– Yes, although that’s not my description. I took no pleasure in making the film; it was a miserable experience. It became quite popular nonetheless.
IN FAME AND The Commitments, he creates a sort of ‘believe in yourself’ mythology. Does he make uplifting films?
– To be honest, these films from the US and Ireland aren’t really about achieving fame. My point is rather what fame brings with it. About young people’s desperation to be successful. Fame from New York is just as much about failure. Unfortunately, the idea was copied in a highly commercial TV series. I was involved in neither that nor any of the theatre musicals or school productions. For these have nothing to do with what Fame was about. My film had a certain pain to it.
– The Commitments was a critique of fame. The moment the musicians in the film became truly skilled at what they were doing, they tore each other to shreds. Anyone who’s been in a rock band is probably familiar with the phenomenon. You get fed up with one another.
– Do you see yourself as a humanist, given that you deal with a range of fundamental issues?
– I believe film is important, and what you can say through it. I use it to express what I believe in. And I’ve been very lucky, as the influence of Hollywood producers has been minimal. In Midnight Express, we had to cut out a scene where we decapitated a chicken. I’ve had the freedom to create films exactly as I wanted them to be.
– Wasn’t there actually a scene in Pink Floyd: The Wall showing a caterpillar eating a brain?
– Yes, the studio boss asked me to remove it. In fact, that same man later blew his own brains out with a gun in real life. I don’t suppose it was that particular image that influenced him …
– Is Birdy and its theme of freedom autobiographical?
– Yes, I suppose it is. It’s set in a working-class neighbourhood in Philadelphia. In that respect, it’s very much like the working-class neighbourhood in North London where I grew up. I identify with it. It’s about how you can ‘fly’ out of the situation you’re stuck in. The film’s protagonist imagines what the bird can do. That’s the metaphor. The film isn’t so unlike The Commitments – where working-class lads from Dublin escape their social circumstances through music. In their day, it was the only option.
– Was your film Evita, starring Madonna, meant to be seen as uplifting?
– Well, half the Argentine population thought Eva Perón was a saint, and the other half thought she was a whore. So it was impossible to please everyone. Moreover, Argentina’s history had been all but ruined by a succession of governments, so which portrayal was the most accurate? The history written from the outside seemed far richer; domestically, they relied more on mythology, I suppose. But this is, after all, a musical, a ‘larger-than-life’ tale in which I didn’t claim to be telling a true story.
– So the radical Argentines’ version of her as a despot didn’t appeal to you?
– The radicals thought we were glorifying her, whilst her supporters saw the film as a terrible disservice to her legacy.
– ARE YOU INSPIRED by the Dutch painters of Rembrandt’s time?
– Yes, when you look at the lighting techniques used by the Dutch painters, they keep it extremely simple. It’s what the French in the 1970s called ‘lumière anglais’, essentially simple lighting – closer to reality and naturalism with its single-source setting. But French cinéma vérité was complicated in its lighting and should rather be called cinéma artificiel. For example, it’s not natural to have a face bathed in floodlight at all. So we adjusted this.
– Any particular compositions you’ve copied from paintings in your films?
– I’ve probably drawn more on well-known photographers from the early 1900s. I also wrote an entire film about the American Dorothea Lange, who started out in San Francisco and became a brilliant photographer. For instance, I had her photograph of Japanese-American children who were evacuated during the Second World War hanging on my wall at home, and it inspired me to write a film.
– Do you think the digitalisation that is now taking over the film world will compromise quality?
– I think so. Even though I was an advocate of digitisation – so that more people could tell their stories. But the truth is that it isn’t as easy to use as people expected. Not many people are good at it. Often, people are good with their computers, but not so good with their eyes. Digital film editing is easy to do, and easy to do badly because it’s so quick. Back when editing was physically demanding, you tended to think things through more carefully first.
– Why do you generally use the same cinematographer in all your films, rather than creating more variation in the visual style?
– I change actors, but rarely the cinematographers. Of the four I’ve worked with, Michael Seresin has done most of them. He’s very talented. We grew up together, so we share the same visual vocabulary and sensibility. Besides, it’s nice to have a friend along for the three months it takes to shoot a film. Because when something goes wrong – and it always does – it’s good to have a friend there to help you out.
– Are you working on a new film at the moment?
– I’m always working on a new film, but not all of them get funded. I’m superstitious enough not to say anything about the one I’m currently working on. But I can say that it’s about freedom of expression.
