Last night, in a Microsoft office in downtown Venice, I witnessed the resurrection of Lindsay Lohan.
Picture it: there I am in my green “Censorship is Objectionable” t-shirt I got from the Newseum in Washington D.C., sitting in some office space by the beach, drinking free wine, waiting to watch an invite only screening of a film for its Kickstarter backers, starring Lindsay Lohan, after which the director, the writer, and the producer will be doing a Q&A. It doesn’t get much more LA than this.
My cousin Matt is an excellent screenwriter. He has taken two of the most “unadaptable” books, American Psycho and You Shall Know Our Velocity! and not only created fabulous page turners full of wit and power, but captured both Ellis’ and Eggers’ idiosyncratic whimsy. His version of American Psycho was going to be made by Oliver Stone, but as projects often do in LaLa Land, Hollywood decided to go in another direction. His Velocity! script, if Hollywood is smart, will win him the Academy Award.
Being a member of the Church of LiLo, of course I knew of The Canyons, the newest “comeback” film in a string of her would-be-comeback films. I also knew of the bad reviews it had been getting, the rumor that her performance was the reason they couldn’t find a distributor, and that her leading man, James Deen, a porn star, acted circles around her. The clips they decided to leak didn’t do much to negate this or really prepare the viewer for what was in store. But I didn’t care. I HAD to see The Canyons, Bad Cinema or not. Had to see Lindsay!
So when Matt couldn’t use the tickets he got for donating to Kickstarter, I was only too happy to see that they wouldn’t go to waste.
I told myself that I was going to be sociable. The time is now! Saia is stepping outside of his box! But instead of talking to the handful of guys my age, I tried to strike up a conversation with a man who could be my grandfather; somewhere deep inside, I still harbor this fear of young straight men. Plus, to try and muscle in on some conversation about film between two bearded 27 year olds in flannel seemed disingenuous and shamelessly transparent; there is networking and there is being awkward. And then there is awkward networking. The old man smiled and dashed off to the bathroom.
So I did what I always do. I sat myself down in between two groups of women. I felt protected. And at peace.
“What is the over/under that Lindsay shows up tonight?” one of them said to the other. I knew this was my chance.
“OMG. Are we talking about Lohan?”
“Of course! I just love her.”
“Oh, me too. Is she coming? If she’s here, I think I’m going to shit the floor.” Two sentences in and I was already talking about shitting on the goddamned floor to a stranger. Smooth.
I can’t fully explain what it is about Lindsay that drives my desire – my obsession – to see her succeed. There are many actors who are equally as talented, equally as beautiful, that entertain us without drama, without the ringing of the hands that make us throw our heads back in torment to exclaim, “Why?!” And yet, fewer actresses excite me more than LiLo. Friends and lovers alike scoff at my unfailing belief in her power to arise, triumphant, like a Phoenix from the burning embers of her once promising career.
And it was once promising. Before the arrests and the rehab, before the breakdowns and the gaunt like frame, before the shameless ways her parents tried to make a name off her infamy, Lindsay Lohan was one of the most exciting rising stars in the game. The Parent Trap made her a star at 12, Mean Girls made her a household name at 18, and her trifecta of strong work in A Prairie Home Companion, Bobby, and Georgia Rule, along side Meryl Streep, Sharon Stone, and Jane Fonda, made her an actress to envy and admire at 20.
But a string of duds (I Know Who Killed Me, Labor Pains, Machete, and particularly the dreadful Liz and Dick), coupled with her out-of-control life broadcast on the hour by TMZ, made even the staunchest fans wonder, Is Lindsay gone for good?
And the answer is a resounding: Hell NO!
The Canyons is a neo-noir set in modern times about a trust fund film director (Deen), his bored girlfriend (Lohan), and their sexual improprieties. I don’t want to say too much more about the plot of the film because it is best to go into it with little to no expectations. The trailers create an ambiance that the film delivers, but it is much darker and richer than what you may imagine.
In fact, Paul Schrader, the director, actually cut “parody” trailers meant to deceive the audience.
In the Q&A, Paul and Bret talked a lot about the look of the film. To the uninformed viewer, which I considered myself until about half way through, the film looks cheap. I remember thinking to myself, “This is Paul Schrader? This looks like some kid made this in film school!” And I would be right on both accounts. The film was made for $250,000, over half of which came from Kickstarter.
I am at a crossroads with Kickstarter. For the unknown and the underfunded, Kickstarter is a great idea. But ask Julian. I have definitely not been shy about shitting on Zach Braff and Spike Lee for trying to rape money from fans. But, like I am prone to do, sometimes I speak on things without thinking them through or knowing all of the facts.
“You’re telling me Spike Lee doesn’t have 2 million dollars to fund his own goddamn movie?”
Well, of course he does. But the point is that everyone in Hollywood of any clout has the funding to finance their own movies. But they don’t. They turn to studios. Or friends. Or the actors. But the system is changing drastically. We are officially the Digital Age. In one of the biggest pieces of irony, the Kodak Theatre, the place where the Oscars are held, is now called the Dolby; Schrader and Ellis beautifully portray this shift in The Canyons with their intermittent still frames of abandoned movie theatres, shot of course, on digital. Most small movies actually can’t get outside funding because they need to make 100s of millions of dollars to be considered “successful” so they turn to TV, or the once dreaded VOD, instead. Soderbergh’s Behind the Candelabra was estimated at costing 10-15 million dollars to make, plus an additional 10-15 million in publicity, which for a “gay indie” was way too much money for studios to “waste.” So HBO made it for 23 million, and piped it into the homes of their 93 million paying subscribers.
Looking on Spike and Zach’s Kickstarter page, the incentives to give are actually really fabulous. Yes, for nominal amounts, you get signed swag and premiere parties like the one I went to for The Canyons. But for the more substantial donations you can have a private party with Zach, take Spike’s film class, and even sit with Spike front row at the Knicks. And for those interested in actually being in the industry, for $500 or more, you get to participate in Spike’s boot camp, culminating in an interview to be a PA on the new Spike Lee Joint. That may seem extravagant, but juxtapose that with the price of film school. And after film school, you aren’t guaranteed a shot at a job with a legendary director.
What made me gain even more respect for The Canyons is that the filmmakers put their money where their mouth was. Paul Schrader, Bret Easton Ellis, and producer Braxton Pope, all chipped in $30000 of their own money. Lindsay Lohan even deferred her $250000 payday. They believed in the film financially, which made me look at the solicitation of fan money in a new way. I don’t know if Spike or Zach are spending any of their money. I hope so.
Even though The Canyons isn’t the first micro-budget film to be made by famous people (Edward Burns has made three), it has definitely made some of the most press, given the controversial, high profile people involved, garnering reviews in The Village Voice, the New York Times, and EW.
The film shines with an amateurish mastery. Its budget is pronounced, but never a hindrance. Schrader does wonders with what he has. Particularly the actors. You would never know that James Deen comes from porn (except his giant penis certainly makes you wish); his “limited” ability works well for a sociopath’s emptiness.
Nolan Funk is perfect as the young actor trying to seem older than his years; and where his acting seems disjointed, his body picks up the slack.
And then there is Lohan. Her performance is so lived in, so unforced, people will inevitably claim she is playing herself. Which is a discredit to her talent. Does she know what it’s like to be bored and rich in LA? Of course. Does she knows what it’s like to feel followed? Of course. Does she know what it’s like to have orgies? Perhaps. But all actors draw from their personal lives. Lindsay wears Tara like an old familiar coat. Every breath, every uncomfortable glance away, every chuckle comes from a real place. In fact, she is the only actor in the film that always rings true. It slightly reminded me of Closer. Julia Roberts was the only one attempting for real life on camera, while her three co-stars most definitely thought they were in a play. The Canyons, with its stylistic flourishes, including Ellis’ sing song hipster speech, can, like Woody Allen, seem almost a caricature if not in the right hands. Lohan delivers her dialogue with aplomb, capturing the subtle moments in between, as well as the heavy emotions asked of her. Brava, Lindsay. Brava.
The Canyons is an inspiring film to watch as a young filmmaker. The fact that Paul Schrader can still have trouble funding projects and then make such a great one on a quarter of a million dollars leaves me without excuses to make my own work happen. Or to let fear keep me from engaging in new situations. Like introducing myself to Bret Easton Ellis.
Of course Matt knows Bret Easton Ellis, which is still a surreal thing for me to comprehend; I am one step removed from an iconoclast. Somewhere within me is still that little kid from Troy who is pinching himself that he works the Oscars and gets to go to events like these; like Anne Hathaway, only not fucking obnoxious and affected.
Matt had sent me with instructions to say “hello,” partially, I think/I hope, so that when we meet again at some dinner party at Matt and Lisa’s we will already be old friends. I was nervous, but the longer I am in Hollywood and the closer I get to achieving my goals and interacting with the famous, it is much less intimidating. I’ve waited on innumerable celebs, work for Judge Judy, almost smoked a hot J with Sarah Silverman, and a TV treatment I wrote made it into Martin Scorsese’s circle. I have definitely not seen it all, but the old trope is true: they are just like us. Even Diana Ross sleeps on an air mattress in Harlem when she visits her daughter.
Bret was exactly what I had hoped he would be, but not what I expected. His prose is so alive, so visceral; his Twitter feed rightfully notorious, and yet he was very calm, polite, and unaffected; the perfect separation of art and artist. I felt like an idiot, stammering, trying to come up with interesting things to say, and all the while he made me feel heard and important, even with thirty other people around. Which felt indicative to The Canyons. For all his infamy of being bombastic, The Canyons was almost romantic in its lyrical hypnosis. I can’t wait to see it again.
Do yourself a favor. Ignore the critics. Even me! Go see The Canyons. Hell, download it! Order it on demand! Just see it and make your own conclusions. If nothing else, it is an interesting exercise in guerrilla filmmaking. An exercise that will be the wave of our future.
SERVING UP SAIA. 