Be Independent...



By Terry Green  

In lackluster election years where it appears that independent voters will decide who remains or becomes our next president, being an independent is once again a sexy moniker—at least in political circles. Not because women are likely to tilt the scales, although my guess is that this will indeed be the case, but because independents have a charm that the mainstream electorate can’t grasp—they despise the status quo.

In the film world being independent was once a badge of honor worn by those who refused to go along and wanted something more for their hard work and for their art. It was their way of saying, “Enough is enough and we can do better.” It was a slap in the face of the establishment and it is no coincidence that the independent film movement in large part owes its introduction to the radical politics of the 1960s. Artists were tired of the same old formulas and needed to express themselves. More than anything, they needed to not belong to the stale traditions of the past, hence the dawn of independence and the emergence of great talents like Truffaut, Godard, Chabrol, Rohmer, Rivette and the sole American—Cassavetes.

But eventually, time got in the way. Being independent was to be outside the system and the system conformed, taking on the appearance of independence. Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde launched a radical wave in studio film making and it’s treatment of sex and violence on screen, giving birth to a New Hollywood that was eager to break cinematic taboos if it meant appealing to a younger generation and a bigger box office. But then the New Hollywood got old and stale, because the next generation wanted something more—it wanted something cool. So we gave it the modern independent film—the one that you could only see at festivals and festival going became the next hip thing. This is where the voices were speaking the loudest, and they weren’t the voices of Hollywood—they were the screams of change.

So Hollywood repeated its mantra, “Hold on a minute, we can’t allow this to happen again.” There has to be a way to control it and control it they did. Movie studios poured money into specialty divisions like Warner Independent, Fox Searchlight and Sony Classics. “Not to worry,” they told their shareholders, “We’ll get the reins back and make sure this time we never let go. But first, let’s get a handle on this festival business—we can’t afford to let it run wild.” So they poured money into the film festivals and made them their own—a brilliant move that forever changed the landscape of film making and the distribution of films. “We don’t have to make all the movies, we just have to control who sees them,” they boasted. “We’ll become the new independents before anyone is the wiser.” Damn, these guys are smart.

On the side of the road sits the little guy who still wants to call himself an independent filmmaker. He’s seen the films of Truffaut and Cassavetes, and they mean something to him. But he’s missed the train. The definition of independence has changed. It’s not sexy in the film business, not anymore. People laugh when he says he wants to tell stories on film that matter. “Throw your hat into the ring and get with the program,” they respond. You don’t have to be unique—that’s just an empty ambition—what you have to be is one of them. Don’t dare to be different—different only gets you in trouble. “So, let’s go, little guy, pour your heart out with the new film auteurs—and make one big movie no one cares about.” Above all, vote your conscience and give independents a title they will never forget—the ordinary.


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