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views, the stuff with the PI, and the stuff
involving my submission of the film. I had
to balance the interviews with the PI section
because people would feel like I was pulling
away from the PI stuff for too long. I chose
to limit the focus to how the “NC-17” is
affecting art filmmakers, which I think is the
real significance. This is where gay films and
art films are getting censored. That is where
the most profound impact is, and that is why
I kept the focus there.
PS: Another recurring theme in the film is
just how arbitrary the system seems to be at
times. Something that is perfectly acceptable
for an “R” in one film will later be deemed
worthy of an “NC-17” in another. How
surprised were you to discover these rampant
disparities during the process of making
your film?
KD: One thing is that all of the filmmakers
that I interviewed whose films initially or
finally received an “NC-17” rating thought
that they had made an R-rated film. To me,
that was astounding,
and that shows how
little information
there is out there.
Again, that plays to
the MPAA’s benefit:
if there are no written
standards, no one can
call them on it and
say that they can’t give
a film an “NC-17”
because they gave
another film like it
an “R.” This allows them to manipulate the
system to their benefit. I think the inconsistencies
are there in part because there are
no written standards; it is impossible to rate
over 300 movies a year without any written
standards and not have inconsistencies.
Atom Egoyan and Kirby Dick discuss the MPAA.
PS: The turning point of the film comes
when you submit This Film Is Not Yet Rated
to the MPAA for classification. What
exactly were they seeing in the version that
you submitted?
KD: They saw pretty much everything you
see in the film up until the point where I
submit the film. That included nearly all of
the sex scenes that we showed that you see
in the final version of the film.
PS: There was some talk a while ago about
how you discovered that the MPAA actually
made a copy of the film—in complete violation
of their strict views toward piracy—and
that you were considering legal action.
KD: A few days before I submitted the film,
it occurred to me that they were probably
going to want to make a copy of it. I called
them up and asked if they made copies of
the films that they submitted for ratings, and
was told that only the raters would see it, not
even the staff. A few weeks after I submitted
it, I heard that Dan Glickman [head of the
MPAA] had seen the film. Dan Glickman
is in Washington, and the Ratings Board is
in Los Angeles. So I called up Joan Graves
[Chair of the Ratings Board] and asked if
they had made a copy of it. She says, “Um .
. .er . . .not to my knowledge.” I think they
knew that I was on to them, or at least that
I had my suspicions. About five days later,
Greg Gaffner—who makes an animated
appearance as the MPAA lawyer in the
film—called up and said, “Kirby, I have to tell
you that we have made a copy of your film,
but you don’t have to worry: it is safe in my
vault.” You can imagine how reassuring that
was. What is incredible is that the MPAA
defines piracy as any single unauthorized
duplication of a copyrighted work—that is on
their own website! That is quite an example
of hypocrisy.
PS: Were there any legal concerns or worries
about the scenes in the film in which you and
your detectives track the various members of
the Ratings Board on the street in order to
get them on film and identify them?
KD: Everything we did in the film was 100%
legal, and we worked with an attorney all the
way through. It had to be legal because we
were putting it all on film and it was going
to be up on the screen
as evidence. I had
no qualms about it,
because what they are
doing is in the public
interest, so we have
a right to see them.
Secondly, we always
shot them in public
places, so we were
within the letter of the
law. People have asked
me if I had any qualms
about following these people around, and I
say absolutely not. What I feel is wrong is
that these people have participated in a system
where they have made decisions that are in
the public interest yet have agreed to remain
anonymous. That, I think, is entirely wrong.
If people are making decisions in the public
interest, they should either be public people
or not participate in that system.
PS: In your view, is there any way that the
MPAA can be fixed so that it becomes a
fairer and more equitable institution for all
filmmakers, or does it need to be entirely
dismantled?
KD: The studios are very happy with the
“NC-17.” As John Waters said, “The studios
would sell spread-eagle-pink if they could.”
However, that isn’t where their demographic
is, and that isn’t where they make the most
money—they make that from adolescents.
They don’t want to go into that area, and they
don’t want their filmmakers to go into that
area, so the fact that the “NC-17” is considered
off-limits actually helps corral filmmakers
and keeps them making films that are aimed
towards adolescents. What can be done? I
don’t know. If it was professionalized—and
who knows if they will do that—and if it was
made transparent—which could change if
there was enough pressure—it could make
it somewhat more consistent. That would be
an improvement. What I want is to initiate
a discussion, and the more that people see
this, the more they will know that people
are pissed-off, and there will be a cumulative
pressure to force some change. P
ENTERTAINMENT TODAY SEPTEMBER 15-21, 2006 |26|
Justin Rice heads a cast of non-professional actors in Andrew Bujalski’s naturalist Mutual Appreciation.
naturalist film is scripted. Having written his
first draft in NY (where the fulcrum of the
entire project, actor/musician Justin Rice, lives)
a year or so before lensing commenced, Bujalski—as
he had with Funny Ha Ha—basically
gave the meticulously re-worked “final draft” to
his actors (all of whom are non-professionals,
most of whom he met through mutual friends
or, in Clift’s case, literally on the street) and
allowed them to “do what needed to be done
to make it sound real.” The result is that his
script’s structure is present, but the content
becomes more organic. “All the characters
should sound like they live in the same universe,
but not exactly sound just like me.”
In truth, Bujalski—who unconsciously
fiddles with his flimsy cardboard coffee cup
holder as he talks to me—seems so unfazed
by the praise some critics have bestowed upon
him that his equanimity almost reads as disappointment
with what he thought would have
been a crazier ride. “I don’t trust anything
good that happens to me,” he says as
he speaks about how even though
he’d like to make at least one more
movie in the same vein as his first
two, he doesn’t necessarily believe
he’ll be able to pull it off.
We go into a bit about
Eternal Recurrence: about the
feeling that he and I—and
his characters—retain about
not really moving forward…
even when we seem to be
progressing or, dare we say,
growing up into “adults.”
“Maybe when we have kids, we’ll
feel like something new is happening,” he suggests.
In such a way, Bujalski may be speaking
for all of us who find disappointment even with
our successes as we grow older. It was Too Much
Coffee Man’s Shannon Wheeler who said in one
of his stories, “Somewhere between anticipation
and nostalgia, we were supposed to be happy.”
This incisive epigram could easily encapsulate
Bujalski’s central sensibility.
The filmmaker’s real charm—the reason he’s
not just another “kid” living on the fringe and
spending his days brooding over the ineluctable
degradation of contemporary art, or editing
a free weekly entertainment tabloid—is his
ability to so effortlessly make light of Wheeler’s
eschatological statement.
Traditionally, this is the point in the article
where the writer would posit something to
the effect of, “So, if only Bujalski could find
a supportive studio or an amenable big-time
manager…” But, with this fidgety thirty-yearold,
it’s really a moot statement. He really
doesn’t require these things to do what he
does or to continue, his humble exigencies
already easily satisfied on his own. In fact, ask
him about why he hasn’t sent his film in to
the MPAA for a rating, and he’ll look back at
you through his bespectacled eyes, and, with
earnest puzzlement, ask, “What will that do
for me?” After all, Bujalski takes care of the
distribution and exhibition of Mutual pretty
much by himself.
This article is almost meaningless for his
“career,” less maybe garnering ten more filmgoers
who might check out Mutual Appreciation
or buy Funny Ha Ha on DVD. No, this
article is instead a paean of the independent
cinematic spirit that—though it was commodified
in the 1980’s, then sublimated as
less a mode of production
and more of a genre/aesthetic
in the 1990’s—still
exists in America today
and can be found (however
exclusively) in the films of
Andrew Bujalski.
Yes, along with Mel Gibson,
Bujalski is a true American
independent. Unlike Mel,
however, Bujalski produces
apt portraits of humanity that
attempt to and succeed at adding
to the common good and
cinematic continuum. Mel would
have to self-finance and make at
least two more like The Man Without a Face
to catch up.
Maybe a year from now, Bujalski will be
back substitute teaching in Boston with a fond
memory of his years as a favorite filmmaker
of Amy Taubin. It wouldn’t surprise Bujalski.
But, if he ever gets a couple o’grand, a couple
‘o buddies, and someone’s scenester apartment,
you can be sure it’ll just be a matter of time
before he busts out a camera…even if the
finished project is screened in his garage for
an exclusive audience comprised only of his
nearest and dearest. P