Ill-Fated Indies

Living in Oblivion

Cecil B. Demented

Greetings, my fellow guerilla filmmakers! If I’ve learned anything on this never-ending celluloid odyssey, it’s to really appreciate all varieties and tones and perspectives that exist within the film world. I’ve always been a fan of indie films, underground films, movies that were marketed poorly and never got their fair shot, but in this dystopian day-and-age, it’s never been more vital to support these less-than-mainstream projects. For the past few decades, we’ve been living in an era of big-budget, low-risk filmmaking that prioritizes recognizable intellectual property and familiar faces over new ideas and bold storytelling. I’m talking about remakes, reboots, retconned retellings, syndicated superhero movies, whitewashed biopics of minimally-controversial figures, bad romance book adaptations that are sexless and trivialize trauma, toothless action movies, and well-meaning family films that are mostly about nothing. And don’t get me wrong, I still see a lot of these movies, I tolerate and even end up enjoying a handful of them, but for the most part, they do not excite me or spark any joy. Though I am a jaded film critic, I’m grateful to have maintained a smidge of my childlike wonder and imagination, and I still have the ability to leave the theater buzzing with excitement and emotion and a new personality. But there is such an oversaturation of the same. kinds. of. movies. that I do often feel uninspired and even enraged by how little thought went into a project that clearly had a lot money and human effort behind it—I say that, but AI is also swiftly encroaching upon this art form, despite many industry protests. And this is to say nothing of the horrific merger that Warner Bros and Paramount have been plotting, which would create a dangerous monopoly that seeks to snuff out free speech (though, hopefully hopefully this won’t happen…) Our cinematic heroes have betrayed us, and even the arthouse studios that once platformed and championed unknown auteurs are selling out. In short, art is under fucking attack. Creativity is no longer the aspiration or virtue that it once was. Productivity and profit and shareholder stakes have overshadowed the very human inclination to think and dream and create for ourselves, to make things simply because the process is fulfilling, because the result is fun, to enjoy art for art’s sake. This is why I intentionally seek out weird movies, lesser-known movies, confrontational movies, movies that were judged too quickly and too severely, movies that dare to tell a unique story, rather than rehash an already-successful one. Despite the terrors of the non-scripted world, indie filmmaking is still around, small-budget movies still get made, and miraculously, I still enjoy doing what I do. I have to give credit to the bold voices still creating bold stories in this increasingly-automated world, though indie filmmaking is not without its own, unique follies. So let’s pay tribute to the writers and directors who recognize this struggle, who operate within this struggle, and who know that sometimes the best movies are about making movies—failures and fires and fatalities and all.

Let’s begin with a film that I believe was made for filmmakers or anyone who has ever worked on a film set, but is still enjoyable and entertaining to us non-filmmaking-civilians anyway, this is Tom DiCillo’s 1995 film Living in Oblivion. The film opens on a dark, cold morning on a shockingly quiet New York City street corner, where the barebones of a craft service table is attempting to materialize, though its only contents appear to be a handful of Oreos, some cheap coffee, and some milk that has gone bad. A small group of people huddle together, trying to figure out which scene they’re supposed to shoot that day, as one of their walkie-talkies spurts out, “Does anyone know where we park?” The film’s leading lady, Nicole (Catherine Keener), is nervous about the big, emotional scene she’s doing that day, and the director, Nick (Steve Buscemi), stresses to his assistant director, Wanda (Danielle von Zerneck), that he won’t be settling for “just okay” today. Nick, our anxious protagonist, has a vision and a dream and the best intentions for his film set, it’s just that everyone and everything else surrounding him keeps getting in the way. There’s his pretentious, leather-clad cinematographer, Wolf (Dermot Mulroney), who fears mediocrity and mimicry over anything else, even when his girlfriend, Wanda, starts making eyes at douchey leading man Chad Palomino (James LeGros.) Then there’s his blaccent-talking, tiny-top-wearing boom-operator, who keeps getting the microphone in the shot. Leading lady Nicole is hoping this charming but grimy indie project will help her fledgling career, but all of the constant stopping and starting is beginning to take a toll. Eventually, Nick gets a truly powerful performance out of her, but this, of course, happens when the camera isn’t rolling. Nick and his crew are just trying to capture one, successful scene, but they endure exploding lightbulbs, out-of-focus cameras, fog machine mishaps, needy actors with their own notes for the script, and at one point, Nick’s mother just shows up out of nowhere to cause further chaos and anxiety. There is no such thing as a flaw-free film set, and Living in Oblivion delights in its Curb Your Enthusiasm-esque representation of this fact. Steve Buscemi is the perfect man for this frustrating job, and it’s impossible not to sympathize with him, even when he is the cause of some of the destruction and discord. The entire cast—which also includes Kevin Corrigan, Lori Tan Chinn, Robert Wrightman, and Peter Dinklage in his film debut—is cute and funny, and pretty much everybody involved did not get paid, with some cast and crew even contributing money to the cause. DiCillo was inspired by the tribulations he experienced while making the film Johnny Suede, and his long struggle to make his next intended film, Box of Moonlight. Living in Oblivion was rejected by every producer they approached, but the actors and friends of the director felt so strongly about the project that they financed it themselves. It was rumored that the egotistical, womanizing character Chad Palomino was based on Brad Pitt, but this was debunked (so why do I still kinda believe it…?) Though Tom DiCillo won the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award at the 1995 Sundance Film Fest, Living in Oblivion is a largely underseen gem of indie filmmaking, about indie filmmaking, for appreciators of indie film. Living in Oblivion is frenetic and fun and full of hijinks and odes to different film genres, and though it is a bit maddening at times, I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Speaking of maddening, maniacal, multi-genre-offensive moviemaking, I then decided to watch a film that’s been on my watchlist for eons, a newer entry into the filthy and fabulous John Waters cinematic universe, this is his film from the year 2000: Cecil B. Demented. The film opens on several old-school Baltimore city movie theaters, now a bit dilapidated and depleted of some of their original magic, one of which with a marquee that just reads: “Star Trek, Star Wars, Star Trek, Star Wars” over and over again. We are then introduced to A-list actress Honey Whitlock (Melanie Griffith), who has just arrived in Baltimore for the premiere of her new movie, and though she presents herself as a humble, angelic, aging-ingenue, when the cameras go down, she is a rude, snobbish, Hollywood elite who verbally abuses her staff and cannot wait to get back to LA. As Honey arrives at the Senator Theater in downtown Baltimore, we see members of the theater staff prepping for more than just a premiere, but something far more sinister. Guests arrive in black-tie and take their seats, unaware of the guns and bombs and duct tape being passed around by the young, conniving staff, until Honey goes on stage to announce the film, and is interrupted by a wild, hot cinematic rebel who screams, “I am Cecil B. Demented, and this is a fucking kidnapping!!” Stun grenades go off and guns are blazoned as the entire theater descends into chaos, and Honey Whitlock is apprehended by this rogue gang before the cops can even get close. They tie Honey up and take her to their secret lair, hidden in an abandoned movie theater, and introduce themselves. There is, of course, the ringleader/director, Cecil B. Demented (Stephen Dorff), then there’s Cherish, a porno actress who plays Honey in all of the explicit versions of her films (Alicia Witt), Lyle the drug-addicted actor (Adrian Grenier), Chardonnay the sound mixer (Zenzele Uzoma), Lewis the art director (Larry Gilliard Jr.), Raven the satanist makeup artist (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Rodney the hairstylist who is ashamed of his heterosexuality (Jack Noseworthy), Pam the cinematographer (Erika Lynn Rupli), Fidget the costume designer (Eric M. Barr), Dinah the producer (Harry Dodge), and Petie the driver (Michael Shannon.) This new-new wave of outlaw filmmakers have one goal: to eradicate mediocre, mainstream cinema with an indie film masterpiece, and Cecil says this won’t be possible without America’s sweetheart, Honey Whitlock. They dye her hair bleach blonde, they don her in ridiculous clothing and punk-esque makeup, and do nothing but trash-talk the established studio system from whence Honey came as they force her to act in their bad-intentioned film. At first, Honey is defensive of Hollywood standards, insisting that big-budget blockbusters keep the industry afloat, but Cecil has a diatribe for every debate she sparks. He explains how “technique is nothing more but failed style” and how “your studio system stole our sex and co-opted our violence”, but now they seek to take back the power. In order to operate under completely focused circumstances, Cecil has insisted that his crew take a vow of celibacy for celluloid, much to the sexual frustrations of this band of movie misfits. And as zany and dangerous as Cecil is, he also makes plenty of good points. He explains how he’s the ultimate auteur because he is a “prophet against profit”, and if he doesn’t avenge bad movies, then who else will? And while Honey is wildly out of her element and comfort zone, she begins to see Cecil’s vision, and in a true homage to one of John Waters’ muses Patty Hearst (who also, of course, stars in the film), Honey is fully indoctrinated into this radical film crew’s beliefs. As they terrorize the city of Baltimore, narrowly escaping the police, they film their movie with unpaid and nonconsenting extras on the streets, some of whom (like family-friendly audiences) despise this crew’s plight, and others (like action movie fans and pornographic film viewers) who offer their fervent support. One of my favorite scenes involves a confrontation with the Maryland Film Commission, wherein their oyster-slurping is interrupted by this movie-lover mayhem and producers are made to pay for their crimes, like making Hollywood versions of foreign language films and greenlighting another video game movie. It’s all of the audacious, hilarious, risky and frisky fun I expect from John Waters, with the addition of a rather delectable bitterness that could only come from a brilliantly freaky auteur who’s been forced to operate within a stuffy and stifling studio landscape his whole career. And in a typically-meta turn of events for John Waters’ films, this movie wasn’t a smash hit upon its (limited) release, but in recent years it has been reevaluated and appreciated for its bold, unflinching, and witty criticism of the Hollywood movie-making machine and its hypocritical force-feeding of wholesome cinema in our increasingly unwholesome world. Unsurprisingly, I fucking loved Cecil B. Demented, in fact, it might be my new favorite John Waters movie, which is really saying something. I wish all dark satires were really this dark and this absurd, but so few creators are willing to really go there in the way Waters does. Even 26 years later, this film is a breath of fresh air, and even though she’s been in numerous iconic movies, I think this is Melanie Griffith’s best role. Also, who knew Adrian Grenier could act? Not me! Well, that’s enough musing on meta movies about moviemaking, but until next time, power to the people who punish bad cinema!!!!!!!!!!!