Film

Conan O’Brien has a big head. Literally AND figuratively, as apparent in the new documentary Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop, that premiered this spring at SXSW 2011. We all heard the stories about Conan being booted off TV and Leno coming back. This film lets us into that large head as we watch Conan getting too big for his britches as his world gets turned upside-down. What would YOU do if, when climbing the late-night TV show ladder, you lose your time-slot in a convoluted shuffle, yet receive $45 million to disappear from national TV for nine months? Well, I’d probably take a nice vacation. But, not Conan. Nope. His solution was to funnel his manic, clever energy into a 40 city road show (which turned out to be far more successful than Charlie Sheen’s recent attempt…but I digress).

Rodman Flender, the documentary director, began filming just three days into Conan’s sabbatical. He convinced Conan to consent to a raw, in-the-flesh, warts-and-all-look at his struggle to come to terms with his interim status of anonymity. And what a ride it was.

Morgan Spurlock, the director and star of The Greatest Movie Ever Sold, also screened at SXSW (premiered at Sundance this year), could be a stand-up comedian or talk show host himself. His quick wit and wry perspective mirrors Conan’s jive talking. Both ‘comics’ come across as tall everymen who translate the world into askew jokes. In Conan’s movie, his humor emanates from narcissism and his need to grab attention at all costs. Morgan’s humor, however, is more subtle, more outward. The premise of The Greatest Movie Ever Sold is an attempt capture the process of financing an independent film through product placement: attracting sponsors to fund a film about attracting sponsors to fund a film. Very circular. He pitched to whomever he could, finally securing meetings with a few brave corporations (companies not too leery of the director of Super Size Me stop customers from eating McDonald’s fame). Morgan presented these companies with cleverly prepared like skits and commercial pitches as if from a late-night talk show. He created crafty and comical marketing promises that he actually executes during the filming of the documentary, and surprisingly well.

Early on in his search for funding, Morgan secures what becomes the film’s largest sponsor, Pom pomegranate juice. In order to get the company’s enlightened and humored board to agree to pay for the highest tier of financing for the film (ultimately a million dollars plus incentives), he promises that every person in the movie will be drinking Pom and only Pom drinks. So, picture this: in every subsequent scene where Morgan pitches a new sponsor or films a product placement scene for a different product, he and the people at his meetings are drinking Pom, prominently displayed at the forefront of the shot. Very funny. To reveal other skits would ruin the impact of the jokes in the film, but suffice it to say that his favorite partner is the one and only crossover horse-to-human shampoo product line: Mane ‘n Tail. You can only imagine where Morgan goes with this, and THEY didn’t even pay him!

All of Morgan’s jokes are presented in an irreverent, reveal-the-inner-workings-of-the-film-industry manner, without any sense of his own emotional involvement. In contract, Conan’s movie is not scripted or planned, yet simply unveils the development and execution of his impromptu off-season tour. As a consequence, it captures a tortured sole. Conan seems to crave large-scale attention, as he has all hands on deck working to bring an audience to him. His team eventually books and sells out 42 cross-country shows, and then sets about helping Conan create his first-ever stage act.

What works in Conan’s movie is his quick humor, his frenetic energy, and his prodigious talent as a singer, musician, comedian, dancer (dancer? well, kind of). He comes across as an accessible Steve Martin, a funny man for the masses. The movie was extracted from 149 hours of tape, crafted down to an entertaining 89 minutes by Flender, who edited it himself. The audience goes on the wild ride with Conan, an adventuresome experience.

Conan surrounds himself with likable, average support professionals whose normality accentuate his larger-than-life talents. But, his trip through this period is not only funny, but also a disturbing one. It is disconcerting to watch a grown, married, father of two without financial woes so desperately crave applause. During these nine months, Conan lost 30 pounds and hardly ever stopped moving. He constantly punches his staff, who absorb the hits apparently to allow Conan’s juices to flow. His desperation is palpable and somewhat pathetic. Meanwhile, he keeps his team, the live audience, and the film audience continually laughing out loud.

At the Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop premiere, a robustly glowing and even-keeled Conan walked the red carpet and took the stage for the post-showing Q&A. He seemed to have a visceral reaction to watching his frenzied, rude, self-obsessed journey. During the making of the movie, he was pitched the idea of going on TBS (“What’s next, Animal Plant??” he cries at the time). Now, having a current presence of television, even if it is basic cable, has seemed to bring order to his life. It is apparent that this documentary brought immense self reflection into his own life.

The Greatest Movie Ever Sold extravaganza (city to city festival screenings), however, has been created as ever-evolving as a road show. Much of the co-branding was negotiated during the filming but doesn’t actually kick in until the release of the film, such as collector cups at Sheetz gas stations. Morgan embraced the SXSW Q&A wearing a customized flight jacket covered with the emblems from all of the sponsors. The message from the movie? If you package yourself cleverly, you can attract product placement funding. Morgan seems more amused by the success of the film, and reaction of audiences, than by critiquing the profit-making process. But who am I to judge? It was a very interesting and entertaining film that I hope reaches audiences around the world.

Both films have been picked up for multi-platform distribution deals after their respective premieres, so let the road shows begin! And now I think I’ll have a Pom.

There’s something critically wrong with the consciousness of America as a whole and in this (unique) case I cannot blame the fact that six companies control 96% of the world’s media. They’re in it for commerce and their commerce has always been dependent upon people’s ravenous desire for the distraction of mindless stupidity; specifically epic fails of the rich and famous. It appeals to our base level subconscious desires that give us respite from our all too menial and pedestrian lives.

Indeed it does.

I’m speaking of course about Charlie Sheen. And I say “we” because my so-called higher consciousness self also fell prey to the ways of sheep when I posted a rant of his on my Facebook page. Granted it was right at the start of his madness when I thought it was a one-time bit; just another day of Celebrities Gone Wild in La-La land . Now, nearly ten days later, Sheengate has gotten so out of control that I’m hoping to become a terminal victim of a stray bullet rather than continuing to face this abhorrent daily onslaught. All my geeky-cool websites that I’ve culled so meticulously to give me my knowledge fix are posting non-stop Sheenisms. I sit in fear waiting for my beloved Scientific American to betray me by finding some ridiculously obscure way to cash in as well. That would be the last straw. Clearly I’d have to man-up, find a gun, and do it myself. Save tech-free isolation indefinitely, what else is a girl to do? Sit around with the rest of the world secretly waiting for him to overdose and die?

Because that’s exactly what we’re doing.

Why else are millions of people still feeding like bloodsuckers on this story? Because anything less and we’ll really have post gossip coital regret for investing so much of our intellectual time in Sheens drug-addled megalomaniac lunacy. C’mon… it’s the big finish! If he dies, we can all be right! Right about the perils of too much fame and money and never having to be accountable to any social or moral norm because of such. To hell with the life of a famous person whose Peter Pan existence affords none of us everyday hardworking people the same glorious escapist havens.

People love being right.

Even at the expense of the death of another human being, which despite all evidence to the contrary, Charlie Sheen still is. And just like when a director yells action, if he does indeed die, on cue America will be SO sad. “Such a shame…” “His poor kids…” “He was far too young…” B and C-list fame-mongers will inhabit the next wave of media onslaught with soulful quotes (with their best side shots for photographic purposes along with plugs about their upcoming new DVDs/reality shows/cookbooks for anorexics). His death will be cashed in upon as much as his sickness currently is. Then, like all things in media that fade (stop generating income), he will disappear altogether from public consciousness. Well, not altogether. You can count on the Academy Awards that follow his death to snub him during their “In Memoriam” segment. Mustn’t glorify or condone drug addiction after all, only capitalize on it.

Can you imagine an alternate (morally responsible) Universe? One where the media acts like responsible parents; allowing their kid (Sheen) to scream and cry and rant all he wants till he wears himself out and learns the lesson that doing so does not result in adoration and gains? Or doing the right thing by them when they’re sick (as he so clearly is) by giving them help, not reward, for continuing on an inevitably lethal path? But that wouldn’t make the Top Six any money and they most definitely won’t ever don the responsible parent roll. A celebrity’s life lost is a huge financial boon. There’s big money in crazy; HUGE money in death. They won’t change, but we can. We can stop gobbling up the public self-destruction of another human being. We can “Just Say No!” to the cycle of click, read, and repeat. We can choose instead to invest in man’s salvation rather than his downfall, because I’ll tell you something…if Charlie Sheen dies, make no mistake that the public, however minor their participation, will have been wholly complicit in its facilitation.

*Upon going to press, we learned that Scientific American did indeed do a story on Charlie Sheen.

Carissa Tedesco has thusly moved to Compton.

I’m more of an Independent Spirit Awards kind of girl; irreverent hosts, a casual setting and films that are truly that: films. There is a great divide between films and movies, so I’m quite clear on what to expect when watching the Oscars: Politics, fashion, preening and PR…with a side of awards. While there are great actors working today, there are no movie stars. No leading men who take my breath away like Bogart, Gable, Grant or Stewart; no sirens like Dietrich, Bacall, and Taylor and slim to none talent like Garbo, Hepburn, Davis, Crawford, or Stanwyck. There is no palpable heat or unconscious leg-crossing the likes of which Brando, Newman, Redford and Poitier gave us, and no dance wonders like Astaire, Kelly, or O’Conner to trip the light classy and fantastic. Nobody today does comedy like Lewis, Hope, Lemon, Sellers or Lombarde, and name me an equal to character actors Edward G. Robinson or James Cagney and I’ll give up cheese for a week. What we do have, ladies and germs, are James Franco and Anne Hathaway to carry the torch of all those on what is supposed to be the biggest night of the year honoring the film industry.

Annnnnnnd, I just threw up in my mouth a little.

I’m a filmmaker and a writer, and I acted for years and years, but the eye I see with, when watching something as abominable as this past Oscar ceremony, is that of a sociologist. Sociology is the study of society.[1] It is a social science—which uses various methods of empirical investigation[2] and critical analysis[3] to develop and refine a body of knowledge about human social activity (sociological theory), often with the goal of applying such knowledge to the pursuit of social welfare (social theory). Now that I quoted Wikipedia to appear an erudite researcher, let me speak in layman’s terms.

What the fuck were they thinking???

James Franco, whose immense success I will never understand, showed up as his character from Pineapple Express. He had not an ounce of energy, charisma, or humor and was clearly stoned on some seriously fine medical marijuana. He squinted all night like a fifteen year old kid in Indiana on YouTube doing a very bad Robert DeNiro impression, and put as much effort into being there for his co-host as a high school quarterback with a full football scholarship would for his pregnant tenth grade girlfriend. But I don’t blame you James Franco. Get that check. (And ruin your blessings of mostly undeserved career success for taking a job at which you knew in your heart you’d suck, numbnuts.) Oh no, who I blame for those arduous three plus hours are the idiots who hired him: producers Bruce Cohen, Don Mischer, and Academy president Tom Sherak. They should’ve known, like all of America, that Franco is not an ENTERTAINER nor is he FUNNY. It is they who need to be on the Oscars’ stage next year, tied up naked while Mike Tyson plays with their balls for the entire broadcast for the torture they made us endure. Then maybe America and I will call it even.

Too harsh? Sorry. I momentarily lapsed into my ethically questionable fantasy world of penance for an Ex of mine.

What was the first inanely bad decision? The Academy chose to skew young for increased viewership. It didn’t work. The overall audience fell by 9%, and the age of the average viewer actually edged up to 50.6 years old continuing a decade-long rise from 44.5 years old in 2001. Save The Social Network and Black Swan, of the nominated films’ lead actors most are in their 30’s and 40’s. Logic dictates that, during the worst movie-going period in history, grown-ass people went to see these films. But let’s ignore logic, statistics and common sense because they have no place in Hollywood. So fine, go for it Academy. Get your not-so-revolutionary-idea groove on and try the whole target “young” thing. Then, why not ponder hosts like Ben Stiller or Zach Galifianakis, whose movies are wildly popular with the younger demographic and who are both COMICS? Or, pair either with Jonah Hill whose stoicism, unlike James Franco, is FUNNY? How about thinking about far away notions like chemistry between the two people that are going to be on stage for an inordinate amount of time? Or, at least notice when there isn’t any. Dozens of other smart salient choices were to be had Academy, but smart, salient, and Hollywood will never be a trifecta. It just ain’t the days of old where class, elegance and movie stars abide, and, it will never be as long as idiots responsible for decision making hold the ranks of Academy control.

P.S: I forgive you Anne Hathaway; for as annoying as you were and as much as I wanted to reach through my TV screen and slap sense into you, you were left with no choice but to overcompensate and morph into a Laugh-In extra just to stay afloat with that corpse beside you.

Like the ones who comfort those who lose (in this case, us) often say, “There’s always next year.” I, for one, will continue to cushion the inevitable blow with my fandom of the always satisfying Independent Spirit Awards who keep it simple: Honoring great films with all the above and below-the -line people who make them possible.

Robert Munroe discusses the short film Oscar Nominees for 2011 on NPR. Check out what she has to say by following the link below!

http://n.pr/hihLri

Robert Redford said that Sundance 2011 is one of the best festivals yet. While the festival was very exciting, it wasn’t until I detected something serious brewing that I began to think he may be right. And now it is my turn to go out on a limb and make a big statement: two revolutions in media launched during January 10-20th, and if they were not totally believed by the press during the festival, they will certainly be proven over time.

One very exciting revolution-in-the-works is Kevin Smith’s rebellious lead in saying no to traditional distribution business strategy and instead self-distributing his film Red State, which he plans on eventually leading to establishing his own distribution company for other indie filmmakers. The potential is great, and I only see him gaining momentum, not losing at all. He has already proven that he knows how to successfully capitalize on his self-proclaimed loser-identity: first with a catalog of indie hits, and now with over a million Twitter followers whom he hopes to see in theaters when he will personally present Red State at screenings.


The second revolution coming was marked by Jennifer Siebel Newsom and her documentary Miss Representation, a film about how women are (mis)represented and hyper-sexualized in the media. As noted by famous economists such as Amartya Sen, journalists such as Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn, and forward-thinking visionaries such as Bill and Melinda Gates, that the empowerment of women and women’s contributions to society is the next and necessary step in making the world a better place, in battling poverty, and in sustainable practices that include environmental and economic responsibility and accountability.

At least two other films premiered at Sundance that support this as of yet under-the-radar movement for women in film. The documentary !WOMEN, ART, REVOLUTION by Lynn Hershman-Leeson, which tells the story of women artists in the 1960’s and 70’s who battled nearly impenetrable sexism for acknowledgement of their mere existence in addition to their merit as artists.

Proof of tables turning in favor of women gaining respect is the very fact that Hershman-Leeson was able to finish this film—her volumes of art were finally purchased for a considerable value, and foundations such as Stanford University is supporting her catalogs of videos, images, and contributions from women artists of the past and present.

The next film that I saw which I felt had an exceptionally unique and deep vision, which counts as revolutionary in my books for sure, was the campy parody of sci-fi B-movies of the 60’s, the comedy narrative feature Codependent Lesbian Space Alien Seeks Same by Madeleine Olnek.

This film is unlike anything I have ever seen, and the large audience filled the theater with roaring laughter throughout the show. Not only was it completely hilarious, but it was also ridiculously creative, and while the film is a light-hearted lesbian romantic sci-fi comedy, it also addresses very important and deep social issues…but it is the way in which Olnek addresses these issues that I find so remarkable—from the dialogue, to the pacing of the edit, to the story and the out-of-this-world characters, Olnek makes a perfect work of art which is not only entertaining, but it is transformative. I rarely go off on how brilliant a film is…usually only Terrence Malik makes me go on and on about transformative vision. But I have found that he has a low-budget lesbian counterpart stalking the streets of Greenwich Village.

The last premier I saw which solidifies my theory of a revolution brewing is Sundance Channel’s series Brick City,  in its second season, with visionary Mayor of Newark Corey Booker setting the blueprint for how we in America can reclaim our country, and filmmakers Marc Levin and Mark Benjamin capture it with electric charm and exhilarating entertainment.

Indeed, I agree with Robert Redford that the 2011 Sundance Film Festival was the best yet. While the expansive festival seems to have outgrown the limited space of the little ski town of Park City, I predict the visions of the filmmakers will begin to permeate society finally as Redford had one day dreamed of. I can’t wait.

Every year, the Sundance Film Festival takes over the quaint ski town of Park City, Utah, and runs a full and invigorating 10 days, from the third Thursday of January through the following Sunday. Everybody who’s Anybody of Hollywood shows up the first weekend to ride the mayhem for 3 straight crazy days. Most of the crowd leaves by Tuesday, and it’s after that when it becomes much less hassle to attend screenings.

The Sundance Film Festival is an ongoing party –  day and night — and this year was no exception. This year’s festival made my record book as I attended 10 parties in one 13-hour stretch on the first Sunday, a definite lesson in endurance! Getting into the parties themselves can be exhausting. At some, we were on the list, others we had to talk our way into, still more we were working press, and the last handful we simply walked into while creating various distractions. But, of all the parties we attended this year, the most phenomenal was held against a beautiful snow covered backdrop – an outdoor reception at the 5 star St. Regis Resort Terrace Patio in Deer Valley, thrown by Seattle Socialite JJ McKay and sponsored by Eddie Bauer. Here’s a link to just a little piece of the gorgeous afternoon, even more so than the video captures:



Another highlight of the current festival is the many many music acts that perform all over many small venues in Park City. Two shows I attended and enjoyed this year were Ozomatli and Lauryn Hill.

Aside from the parties, being at Sundance can spoil a girl – all the freebies, aka ‘swag’: Eddie Bauer backpacks, facials,  rides around town, complimentary housing, massages, snowboard demo boards, abundant food and open bars, fancy meals on company credit cards, and more. Rebekah and I even received our money back on airline tickets and earned $300 credits on Southwest for bumping to later flights – no big deal for us as we arrived a day before the fest started. If you play your cards right, this trip doesn’t have to cost anything!

With all the swag lounges, dinners, and networking receptions, it was almost easy to forget about the films. But, alas, after the first weekend celebs made their way back to Tinseltown, and the massive exodus of amateur Sundancers left the snow, our schedule (and the theaters and sidewalks) were cleared for films. Unfortunately, we saw only 3 movies this year, but they were each worthwhile. And, it’s refreshing to note that they were all written and directed by first-time filmmakers and in the US Dramatic competition section. Perhaps the most moving moments of the festival were the tear-jerking Q&A’s after.

Thumbs up for “Gun Hill Road” about a transsexual teen coming out to his ex-con father Esai Morales, and for “Little Birds” about 2 teen girls who run away from home directed by a young ex-gang member. The third film,”Here,” demonstrated some extraordinary authentic acting by Ben Foster and his Armenian co-star, Lubna Azabal.

And, while we’re on the subject of Sundance films, a bit of trivia: 4 of the 5 documentaries recently nominated for the Academy Awards 2011 premiered at the 2010 Sundance Film Festival. You may remember hearing about “Wasteland” and “Exit Through the Gift Shop,” my prediction to take the Oscar, and both great films. Additional 2010 Sundance films to be nominated that I also enjoyed are “Animal Kingdom” (best actress nomination) and “The Kids Are Alright,” amongst others.

New on our roster this year was assisting a PR company at two large club venues. Rebekah and I were given the task of inviting celebrities to the 50 Cent party on Friday and the KT Tunsall (Suddenly I See) party on Saturday, then locate them in line, escort them into VIP, and make sure they were photographed in the crowd. Along the way we friended Rick Fox and Eliza Dushka as well as Ryan and Trista from “The Bachelorette” – both beautiful couples. Also, in attendance at our events were Bobby Kennedy 3rd, Cheryl Hines, and the producers of “The Cove”.

Aside from the parties, dinners and films, let’s not forget the the Sundance Film Festival was built one one thing – the slopes! I enjoyed 2 full days of snowboarding with a promotional snowboard (thanks to Burton!). This year it snowed plenty and early which made for amazing powder. Thankfully our private condo sported a very fancy hot tub which we used nightly and invented our own game of musical chairs. But, I’ll save the stories of my roommates for another time as the cast of delightful characters filling up our 4 bedroom 12 person plus a van condo can serve as it’s own reality show!

Overall, the 2011 Sundance film festival brought many new connections along with familiar faces from last year. This year, Rebekah and I only stayed for one week, but next year we plan to return for the entire festival, so that our skier and film buff friends can come at the end to enjoy the empty slopes and see some flicks. So, if one of those categories describes you, mark yor calendars for the 2nd half of Sundance next year! I enjoyed the parties, music, films, boarding, and even the long 20 degree walks home. I am a very lucky woman! See you next year, Park City!

One of the most incredible things about being an actor is getting to live life “as if.” As if you were younger, older, funnier, meaner, bolder or sexier. Whatever you could never be – or might never try – in your own life, you’ve got a free pass to explore between the commands “action” and “cut.” And sometimes you’ve gotta weigh the journey and make sure you want to hoof that mile in someone else’s shoes.
 
As Angelenos go, I’m certainly unique, but not that original. I’m an East Coast transplant who recently celebrated one year in Los Angeles – which means I landed on the heels of the writer’s strike and had just enough time to figure out that the 405 is never a good call before the economy plummeted. In short, my star on the Boulevard is on perpetual layaway, just like the shoppers who opt to dress for less at Ross in installments.
 
So when I got offered my first lead role in LA (asterisk: in a USC graduate short), I was ecstatic. Of course, it meant that now I’d actually have to do the role. I’d said in the audition, without hesitation, that I was completely comfortable with the material. But you’d say just about anything to get the part, right?
 

 
“Nikki & Alex” is a story about two former lovers who reunite after five years to see if there’s still a spark. As you might imagine, there’s a catch. Nikki (played by me) announces she’s engaged to be married to a guy named Keith, which isn’t what her ex-girlfriend Alex wants to hear. Their lesbian relationship unfolds through a series of flashbacks that demand total commitment. When you’re an actor, you should be able to become any character, even if their truth differs from yours. You’re either all in, or you’re out (in this case, you’re so out if you’re in). And I was all in.
 
The very first weekend, we shot almost no dialogue and every relationship flashback sequence in the film. To catalogue the scene list, that’s two kissing, a fantasy hotel, a simulated sex and a simulated masturbation scene – all done artistically, of course. A tall order for two actors who’d just met (and are not gay). But we found a way to be comfortable in the moment (it helped that my costar went to my rival school, Amherst College, as we’d both come from the same place), and even enjoy the shoot.
 
The next day, we were rehearsing for the following weekend’s shoot (mercifully comprised entirely of dialogue), and I had a realization. I turned to my costar and mused: “You know what? I made out with you all weekend and don’t even know your last name. Weird, right?” She nodded and agreed, but ignored my cue and turned her attention back to the cues in her script. Nope, now I’m curious. “So…” I probed, “what’s your last name?”
 
I had to wait at least a few Pinter pauses for an answer she seemed reluctant to give. A family friend’s mom had the unfortunate maiden name of Judy Doodlesack. I start to get excited that maybe there’s a new doozy – or doodle – to trot out at parties. She shot me a stern look that was unmistakable in its meaning: “Do not say anything to what I’m about to tell you, wise-ass.” My wise ass was on the edge of its proverbial seat.
 
“Munch,” she offered tentatively, and then with more conviction, “it’s Munch.” Utter chaos in my sarcastic noggin juxtaposed with radio silence. One message locked itself in repeat: “Don’t react. Don’t react. Then what the hell’s your middle name? So many possibilities! Crap! Don’t react.” I doubt it was executed very well; my face likely appeared as though I had developed a temporary Tourette’s-like twitch. But I had to say something to hide my true reaction, which was about to bubble to the surface and betray me.
 
“Oh,” I interjected off-handedly, “is that German?” She half-smirked and again went back to her lines, signaling that query would be my last. Just as well – that was the entirety of my stash of awkward small talk disguising the freak out raging in my head. If you could have peeked inside the View-Master of my soul, you would’ve seen the Norwegian Munch’s painting “The Scream,” and maybe a random 3D bonus frame of He-Man battling Skeletor from “Masters of the Universe.” I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the utter perfection of the punch line, as if intuitively I’d known not to ask her last name until after the first weekend was in the can. Really, you just can’t write this stuff.
 
So that’s the story of the very first girl I ever kissed (yes, including college). In one glorious surname, all the hours and frustration of being on a bare bones student film set became worthwhile – and gifted me with a doodle of a story to trot out at parties. Mun