Rich Guy Clubs and Rodent Saboteurs
Chewed Wires, Neocons, and Existential Cheesecake
It’s not a leap year, but it was my birthday month. I’m a year older, a year stronger, and a year more creative. I count my blessings as I continually feel like I’m waking up from a dream.
On the Film Industrial Complex front, the seas have remained choppy (to mix metaphors - or have I?). This month, I mixed corporate communiques extolling the virtues of AI, froze my hands off recording in the fields of northern Arkansas, selected music for a quirky profile documentary (that is also about a Jewish basketball star), co-wrote an outline for a feature film adaptation, and am now knee-deep in cutting (yes, I’m an excellent editor) some political spots to help farmers from getting screwed by funding cuts. Ahoy!
The takeaway - I have expertise in several domains and I like to do a lot of different things. This is a strength; it’s built upon endless curiosity.
The plug - if you have a project, I can probably help you make it great.
And now on to what was an epic shoot down in the nation’s capital. I was reminded of the production just today, as I saw the film is headed to VOD: Merkel. Check it out!
There’s more to the story below, much of it classified to protect the innocent, but I laughed out loud re-reading this one.
Project: Merkel
Cast of Characters:
Lizzie - Producer
Eva - Director
Ted - DP
Mat - AC
Larry - PA
November 12, 2021
The Wingback, the Diplomat, and the End of History
Sometimes, when you're passing a saga down from one generation to another, it's hard to know where to begin. Do you start with the moral of the story, or do you begin with the birth of the universe? Well, here are the facts. We made it back to DC, although but for one day of shooting. We slept, awoke at the proper time, and I met Ted in the lobby ready to load into my minivan. A light rain was peppering H Street outside the hotel. The air was warm, and I could smell the pavement; it filled my nostrils with a cool, misty scent. But my car was not outside. Then, the hammer fell - the valet attendant told me that my car "wouldn't start."
Oh no, I thought. Not now.
Around the corner, down the alley, start the car. It turns over but then dies. I know this one, so I pop the hood and sure enough, nestled on top of the battery is a mouse, looking up at me like "What?" and sure enough again - the wires on the right are chewed through. Long story short - we load into Ted's car, leave mine to rot, and head to the University club.
See you later, rodent-demon.
The University Club is everything you want in a "rich guy" hangout place. I don't know what the dues are, but it's probably worth every penny. There's a health club, a library, shoeshine machines, paintings of wartime frigates, and mouthwash in the bathroom. Mat always uses the mouthwash. We were in the Franklin Room, which as you can imagine, featured a portrait of the eponymous Ben Franklin. Larry noted that "rich guys" don't care about the floors - and indeed, there were many scratches. There was also a rather prominent bust of Taft, which confused some of the crew. Also, wingback chairs - do I need these in my life? Could this be a new thing? They are comfortable, yet elegant, almost regal, and yet at the same time dumpy, ornate with little legs and throw pillows. But I do not complain - I set up, Lizzie was on the Zoom, and I as sat back I instantly understood their timeless appeal. They were very comfortable and made me want to curl up and sleep until we all had grown old and died.
But you know who's not dead yet? John Bolton. The Hawk. "Mr. Tough Guy." Mr. Mayhem. The man whose assistant is more tightly wound than a bedspring and the same man who smiles like the guy in the silk suit offering candy to kids at the carnival. C'mon, take another.
And then it began, like a sluice of neo-con liquid cascading over a cliff. Bourgeois capitalism. China is exploring hegemonic aspirations. He's unsure about Germany’s legacy after Merkel; if all you're interested in is selling more good then you will be blind to other issues. The EU approach is incompetent, they only use economic tools. Back over here, Trump talked 50% of the time in meetings and usually about irrelevant topics. Meanwhile, Angela Merkel tried to reset the tone of meetings when needed. Trump once gave her a hug and a kiss when he had to leave. Merkel had a dry sense of humor, even sardonic. As far as Germany's defense spending, look, every administration has felt this way. They are free riders. So, naturally, Germany was the "biggest bone" in Trump's throat on NATO spending. I mean, what’s the point of making a commitment if you won’t ever meet it. What’s even the point of this alliance? Anyway, she put her game face on when meeting Trump. His principal focus was always economic, and he felt that Germany was a principal offender. Ultimately, Trump had a problem with prominent women in politics.
Then we turned around and reset the room. I stepped out and scheduled a mobile mechanic to come and fix the car. I sent pictures and set a time. I felt good. I wouldn't be out there trying to jerry-rig the thing myself. Things were going to be done properly. There was some fiddling with the zoom connection, and I wondered if the demon-rodent was eating the internet. Ted used his phone as a hotspot.
Then we sat down with Maureen Orth, who is like the anti-Bolton. Warm, agreeable, and friendly. Angela was Putin’s minder and the US depended on her. She was like that line from "The Godfather Part 2," she kept her enemies close and then got rid of them. And effective leader. As for her Vanity fair profile, it was rare for a foreign journalist to interview her directly but hey, "the girls camp" was running the country behind her. Maureen got as close as possible. Angela never played to the crowd. She lived in a non-descript building and pursued a low-key style of business. She was an academic type preferring numbers, stats, and formulas. She was very relaxed with her husband and dreamed of going to San Diego. It was obvious that the trappings if power did not interest them and as such, she rules by silence. Meanwhile, the men were always fighting each other. So, she moved when necessary. Her high school teacher said Angela got straight A's except in gym. It took her 44 minutes to jump off the diving board! It wasn't feminism, per se, she was just a worker, never wavering. For women, she’s an inspiration and her legacy proves that women can rule. But, she preferred Bush to Obama. No one's perfect.
And then we were done. We quickly wrapped out and I left the crew. Apparently, there was some kerfuffle getting into the EEOB, perhaps Ted has two names, perhaps some folks overstayed their time, I don't know and I cannot be made to testify. I, however, retreated to the hotel and waited for my Mobile Mechanic. But he never came. When I called him, he said he was having "stomach problems" he was "trying to control," and would come tomorrow. Ok, bye. Frantically, I tried other outfits only to reach wrong numbers, no help, and dead ends. Then, I got one to say he was coming! But at the same time, Larry offered to bring some tools and help see if we could get me on the road. Okay, I thought, time to DIY this thing. I didn't want to, but there I was, Leatherman in hand, a bag of gaff tape at my feet. I knew what the problem was, and now it was time to face the demon.
Wires were stripped. But then I broke off the last remaining lead on the spade connector. Ack! And then I saw the demon! It was still in the damn engine somewhere! Good grief... Whatever. Onward. I gaffer taped the wires together and I turned it over. It stayed on. Ok, I thought, proof of concept. it works. Then I asked inside for some electrical tape. I canceled the appointment with the mechanic. Larry was tied up with home life, but that was fine, he inspired me! If only I had a soldering iron with me and some heat shrink tubing! After more twisting and taping, I set it up, tested again, shook it around, and unless the demon feeds again tonight, I should make it back to Brooklyn. And if I stall out, at least I know how to fix it again. Crazy.
With the car back in action, I laced up my sneakers and hit the road for an end-of-day run. I ran down to the Washington Monument, just as the last light of the day was lighting up the horizon. A golden band still visible below rungs of orange, yellow, and blue. I ran up to the base, it was lit up brightly, majestic, clean, shining, with flags around, and I saw all kinds of people milling about, taking pictures, having fun and I thought yes, this is America, this is beautiful, made up of millions of hands and millions of minds; an eternal oscillation between the celestial and the clumsy; a song rich with counterpoint; something like magic and something like darkness; a million colors; a million sunsets; a million stars. Yes, for all its faults and problems, and terrible history, here we are, a nation, an idea, and here are the people, all beautiful and hopeful and coming together in harmony. We will persevere! The music was in my ears, the endorphins coursing through me, and it was all perfect. Then I headed down the mall, down to the Hirschorn, my favorite, and then back again right through the middle, the darkness now complete and I felt as if I was floating through the landscape.
As I made my way back, Marine One was ferrying President Biden off to somewhere special and I began the steady climb back up the hill to H Street. Residents were coming out for the night, dressed nicely, the air of possibilities and promise and money hovering just inches above the sidewalk. Young men, solid and confident, in suit jackets, brown shoes, and open shirts, and women, tall as castles, in above-the-knee skirts, boots, light jackets. But then... When I turned the corner for the home stretch, I ran through a stack of doe-eyed tourists, all white, stuporous, lined up like pinball machines or criminals, waiting to get into the Cheesecake Factory and I thought, America, I hate you. My god, of all the places in this gleaming city, this is the one you are waiting for? Just blocks away you could be eating the best Ethiopian food in America and yet you'd rather lay your money down for the same hot garbage that you might as well eat back at home in Des Moines.
Oh no, I thought. What a terrible place this is, we are doomed. Alas.
But all was not lost. I helped Ted into the hotel, we ordered in from Butter Chicken (yum!) and all was once again right with the world.
Almost Forgot
In January I went to Sundance for the first time in… Twelve years? And before that I’d have to reach back to 2009 when I was a fellow at the Sundance Lab (see above: polymath). In actuality, my history with the festival goes back about 20 years - both as a volunteer and a filmmaker. Lotta memories. Lotta skiing this year. Still a crazy scene.
Parting Glance
"To hold our tongues when everyone is gossiping, to smile without hostility at people and institutions, to compensate for the shortage of love in the world with more love in small, private matters; to be more faithful in our work, to show greater patience, to forgo the cheap revenge obtainable from mockery and criticism: all these are things we can do."
— Hermann Hesse