Archive for the 'Guest Blog' Category

Another America: My Experience on an Amish Farm in Lancaster County

Posted by on Apr 28 2014 | Guest Blog, Other, Photography

Fifteen years ago, I was in my mid 30s and I didn’t know anything about farming. I bought a farm in Chenango County near Binghamton, N.Y. and bought two of everything—goats, sheep, cows, chickens, and pigs. People called me Noah.

Robert Weingarten (American, b. 1941). Amish 25, Lancaster County, PA, 2001. Inkjet print. Courtesy of the artist. © Robert Weingarten

Robert Weingarten (American, b. 1941). Amish 25, Lancaster County, PA, 2001. Inkjet print. Courtesy of the artist. © Robert Weingarten

I really liked the egg-laying hens. They’re really easy to work with. They make magic every day. They lay an egg every single day, nature’s perfect protein source.

I decided I wanted to learn how to raise organic eggs, so I called up Organic Valley and asked who’s raising eggs in the Northeast. They gave me the name of an Amish farmer in Lancaster County, who was at the time the largest producer of organic eggs for Organic Valley.

Robert Weingarten (American, b. 1941). Amish 52, Holmes County, OH, 2002. Inkjet print. Courtesy of the artist. © Robert Weingarten

Robert Weingarten (American, b. 1941). Amish 52, Holmes County, OH, 2002. Inkjet print. Courtesy of the artist. © Robert Weingarten

I just kind of broke that third wall, walked onto his farm, shook his hand, and said, “Hey, I want to raise organic eggs and I’ve heard you’re the best guy in the Northeast.” We immediately hit it off.

Jacob Glick lives in Bird In Hand, P.A. He and his family had five hen houses each with 10,000 chickens. All of the hens had access to the outdoors, and were let outside during the day to run around the pasture. It’s instinctual for them to come back into the barn at night and roost.

The most interesting and intriguing thing about the Amish lifestyle is how they’ve figured out ways to work around not having the modern conveniences we all think about, like electricity.

Chickens need a certain number of hours of light each day. So they had gas lanterns in the barn and used an old-fashioned windup alarm clock, with a string tied to the bells that when pulled would shut off the lights.

Robert Weingarten (American, b. 1941). Amish 10, Lancaster County, PA, 2001. Inkjet print. Courtesy of the artist. © Robert Weingarten

Robert Weingarten (American, b. 1941). Amish 10, Lancaster County, PA, 2001. Inkjet print. Courtesy of the artist. © Robert Weingarten

The Amish live a very simple life, very hard life. They’re not remotely afraid to put in a fifteen or sixteen hour hard day of physical labor, six days a week. Sunday is a day off, devoted to Church.

Robert Weingarten (American, b. 1941). Amish 35, Holmes County, OH, 2002. Inkjet print. Courtesy of the artist. © Robert Weingarten

Robert Weingarten (American, b. 1941). Amish 35, Holmes County, OH, 2002. Inkjet print. Courtesy of the artist. © Robert Weingarten

For a six-month period, I would go down and stay on Jacob’s farm for five or six days at a time. It was about 300 miles from my farm in Chenango County. He trusted me and I trusted him. Jacob was so giving and so helpful to me to really understand all the things I needed to do.

Some of my best memories are of the meals. Everything is made from scratch. That shoofly pie … wow! Lunch is the biggest meal of the day and also the only time the Amish do business.

The Amish are close to the vest when it comes to almost everything. For them to open up to me was very unusual.
The Amish are very helpful to each other. When someone gets married, they’ll buy a farm, and the whole community shows up to build a barn for them. It’s incredible how much gets done as a community. They’re a very, very tight knit community.

For a couple of years, Jacob hired a driver in a big truck (yes, there is an exception when hiring a driver) and he and his boys came up to my farm and stayed for well over a week and we went out hunting deer.

Robert Weingarten (American, b. 1941). Amish 72, Lancaster County, PA, 2003. Inkjet print. Courtesy of the artist. © Robert Weingarten

Robert Weingarten (American, b. 1941). Amish 72, Lancaster County, PA, 2003. Inkjet print. Courtesy of the artist. © Robert Weingarten

There’s an innocence about them that’s lost in our society now.

Related Exhibition and Program:

Another America: A Testimonial to the Amish by Robert Weingarten is on view through May 25, 2014 in Brackett Clark Gallery.

In Person: Photographer Robert Weingarten (Free to Members)
Thursday, May 1, 2014 at 6:00 p.m. in the Dryden Theatre.
Robert Weingarten will discuss his work on view in Another America.
 

 

 

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Remembering Philip Seymour Hoffman

Posted by on Feb 06 2014 | Guest Blog, Motion Pictures, Other

Magnolia (1999)

Magnolia (1999)

I remember discovering Philip Seymour Hoffman for the first time at the movies. It was in Scent of a Woman. He looked like no one else you’d ever seen on screen before, and yet he was someone you immediately recognized as real. He played a bully in Scent and was more or less the villain of the movie, but something in his performance suggested an inner torment and that made him all the more recognizably human. His work in this movie was hard to forget. Maybe it was because we had never seen him before. Maybe it was because, as they’ve been saying, he was on his way to being the greatest actor of our generation.

He was a familiar face in Hollywood movies over the next couple of years. Because he was so indelible in Scent, it was hard not to feel that tingle of excitement every time he appeared on screen, even in forgettable movies. I really liked him as another bully, the cop who gets punched out by Paul Newman in Nobody’s Fool. Then came the unforgettable sequence where he played a degenerate gambler taunting Philip Baker Hall in Hard Eight (aka Sidney). That started a series of films with Paul Thomas Anderson. It was in their next collaboration, Boogie Nights, where, in one scene, the camera uncomfortably gazes on his character, the hapless boom operator Scotty, after he’s been rebuffed by Mark Wahlberg’s Dirk Diggler. Barely choking back the tears, Scotty performs a unique brand of self-flagellation, repeating, mantra-like, “I’m a fuggin’ idiot!” Was this the first time we shared a “private” moment with one of Hoffman’s characters on screen? I think it was the first of many times that he broke my heart.

This ability to play self-loathing characters who put up a false front while falling apart inside would turn out to be his specialty: Happiness, Almost Famous, Love Liza, Owning Mahowny, Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, Synecdoche, New York, and The Master. The Oscars like to reward actors for historical impersonations, but his Truman Capote was so much more than just mimicry in a standard biopic. It was a vivid and moving portrait of an artist who was ultimately crippled by his own self-doubts.

I lived in Rochester for a little more than nine years while I worked at George Eastman House, and I became very close with Phil’s mother, Marilyn O’Connor. Through her influence, and the influence of Phil’s brother Gordy, we were able to bring Phil in for a screening of Love Liza at the Dryden. After the screening, I hosted a Q&A with Phil and Gordy (who wrote the film), but I don’t remember what we talked about. I do remember, just after the movie began, talking excitedly just outside the theater doors with Gordy and my brother Pat (he had become friendly with Phil after they both appeared in Magnolia). We must have been loud, because Phil, who was inside watching the opening of the movie, came out and shushed and scowled at us. He was right, of course.

About a year later, Phil and Gordy were home for the holidays and Gordy invited me to join his family in seeing the third Lord of the Rings movie. We went to a multiplex in Henrietta and Phil was very relaxed. I only noticed him being recognized once or twice and he was very sweet with anyone who approached him. Phil sat one row behind me and Gordy. The ubiquitous pre-feature trailers seemed to go on forever. One of the trailers seemed determined to overwhelm us with bombast and swagger: “Now,” read the on-screen text accompanied by thundering music, “the epic action-adventure the world has been waiting for…” Phil leaned forward between me and his brother and, before we could find out what this “must-see” entertainment was titled, he whispered, “The Gin Game!” Before we stopped laughing, he leaned forward again and murmured, “Mornings at Seven!”

The next month, Phil came back to Eastman House to present a documentary he appeared in called The Party’s Over. We talked afterward and he answered audience questions. I don’t remember much else about the evening, but my pal Bruce Bennett was there, and he reminded me that a teenage kid stood up and tried to explain how much Phil’s performances meant to him. He struggled in finding the right words and he finally just asked Phil if he could have a hug. Bruce remembers Phil as being “totally moved and disarmed and surprised by all the emotion clumsily and honestly pouring out of this young guy who clearly didn’t get to express his feelings too often” Phil quickly replied and said “yeah, sure, of course” and the two embraced. Bruce says, “People forget how much personal impact actors can have. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked to hug [Paul Thomas Anderson] because of a camera move he blocked or a line of dialogue he typed.”

I saw Phil a few more times over the years; once at his mother’s birthday celebration, another time at a party after the Toronto premiere of Capote. I last saw him introduce a movie he directed and appeared in, Jack Goes Boating, at Sundance in 2010. It was a nice little movie, based on a play in which he had also appeared. I regret never being able to see him perform live on stage.

These few, brief personal encounters were pleasant and memorable for me. They gave me little insight into what drove him as an artist. I only know that he consistently surprised me and moved me with his honesty and his understanding of human beings.

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Crash Course: The Art of Film Stuntwork by Turner Classic Movie’s Scott McGee

Posted by on Jan 27 2014 | Guest Blog, Motion Pictures

Guest blog by Turner Classic Movie’s Scott McGee. McGee will be in person at the Dryden Theatre on Saturday, February 1 to introduce the film BULLITT (1968) and the importance of this film to the history of stuntmen, and particularly stunt driving.

Stunt work in film is a fascinating story of former cowboys, rodeo stars, circus performers, acrobats, daredevils, World War I pilots, wrestlers, athletes and racecar drivers becoming an integral part of film history. Stunting has been a part of cinema since cinema began. The thrill audiences got from seeing someone hang precariously off a window ledge, or gallop on a horse at reckless speeds through the woods on the way to a last-second rescue, fed the same basic need that we have today: to see human beings do something seemingly impossible, or at the very least, the human body in extraordinary motion. As moviegoers, our appreciation of stuntwork taps the same part of our cerebral cortex, that part of our brain that gives us pleasure by simply watching human beings move through defined space. We get a similar rush from choreographed song and dance. But as a filmmaking tool, skill set or profession, the artistry of stunting has been minimized. It could be assumed that there’s really only a finite number of ways a stuntman could fall from an established height into an airbag. But a fall is not just a fall, not when a director, cameraman, producer, the star and the entire crew is expecting that stunt performer to interpret the screenplay to the best of his or her ability, to stay in character, to do the gag quickly and efficiently—and to try not get killed.

 

In the winter of 2002, I had a chance to travel to Los Angeles for a three-day interview shoot with several veteran stuntmen. This was for an on-air tribute to stuntmen in the movies that aired in the summer of that same year on Turner Classic Movies. While there, I had a chance to talk to some gentlemen who represented some of the great movie stunt work of any generation: Terry Leonard, the guy who was dragged underneath the truck in Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981); Bob Herron, doubling Ernest Borgnine, jumped a car through a billboard, then through the roof of a barn and landed some 150 feet away for Sam Peckinpah’s otherwise forgettable Convoy (1978); Loren Janes, Steve McQueen’s long-time stunt double in The Magnificent Seven (1960), The Getaway (1972), The Hunter (1980), etc.; and others, including Rick Seaman, Jack Williams, Bobby Hoy, Tony Brubaker, and Chuck Bail. Then in 2013, I invited Mr. Janes, Jeannie Epper, and Conrad Palmisano for an hour-long conversation at the TCM Classic Film Festival in Los Angeles. What occurred to me during the ‘02 production and my ’13 interview was that these stuntmen and stuntwomen, in terms of the way they related to each other and spoke of the job, were not unlike firefighters, cops or any other vocation that entails a great deal of risk at pretty much every turn. What was lacking though was an awareness that they were more than just skilled professionals doing a job of work. They didn’t think or speak like artists, but skilled workers, old pros. That is an admirable quality, entirely in keeping with the humble ethic passed down from the first generation of stuntmen who came to Hollywood as out-of-work cowboys.

 

But stuntwork is an art, as meaningful, varied and integral to filmmaking as cinematography, acting, art direction, or scoring. Great stuntwork, like other great filmmaking disciplines, can be appreciated on multiple levels, from varying points of view. There’s bad stuntwork, to be sure, so not every fist thrown, stirrup drag, crashed car, and belly-flopped biplane should automatically be considered to have some artistic merit. The impressive 40 minute car chase that concludes the 1974 cult favorite Gone in 60 Seconds has plenty of stuntwork, but the lackluster direction and editing can not bring the film or its stunts far enough from its low-budget, drive-in parameters. However, the two car chases that director John Frankenheimer and stunt coordinator Jean-Claude Lagniez staged in Nice and the streets of Paris for Ronin (1998)? Exceptional. These sequences served the story, built characters, and created tension and suspense that help to make the entire film a modern classic. It’s not enough to just do the gag. It has to mesh with the film, with the narrative, or build the star.

 

There’s nothing inherently wrong about enjoying a stunt for its spectacle, no more than it’s wrong to enjoy Royal Wedding (1951) only for Fred Astaire’s famed dance around a revolving room. Seeing great stuntwork in film elicits a considerable “wow” factor. If it doesn’t, then the filmmakers have failed in creating the most basic response from an audience: a gasp at something they haven’t seen before. As spectacle, we acknowledge the power and the sheer enjoyment of seeing great movie stunts performed, recognizing how our emotional interpretation and enjoyment of a film is shaped by the stunts. That’s what made Bullitt (1968) such an important turning point in stunt work. Director Peter Yates and his stuntmen—Carey Loftin as stunt coordinator, Bill Hickman, Bud Ekins and Steve McQueen himself as stunt drivers (with an assist from McQueen’s frequent double, Loren Janes)—created a chase scene that was so wholly original, it stood apart from the rest of the film, and yet, is also elevated the reception of the film story itself. Critics at the time praised the film, and made a conscious call-out to the nearly 12-minute chase spectacle, while also noting Steve McQueen’s cool cop character, an assessment that was always within the context of how he and his double, Bud Ekins, performed the chase.

 


 

No film craft works independently of others. The very nature of the medium is a collaborative form. The study of film acting must take into account the power of editing, for example. Similarly, for a stunt to work fully, in order for it to have the greatest effect on the photoplay, it must reconcile itself with other disciplines, including editing, but also the way the stunt is shot by the 2nd unit director, how it is framed by the cinematographer, and the like. But within this collaborative medium, the work of the stunt performer is worthy of genuine critical appreciation.

 

But this praise does not come easy. While the romantic idea of the life of the stuntman has been the subject of films (The Lost Squadron, Lucky Devils, Hooper, The Stunt Man) and television series (The Fall Guy), the assessment of what he or she does for filmmaking has been mired in a prejudice against certain genres, namely Westerns and action films. Stuntwork is an essential ingredient of both of those genres, and because of that, stuntwork is often dismissed as the domain of brainless action. Anyone can fall off a horse or crash a car, right? But there’s so much more to stunting than simple allowing gravity to do its work. There is a vast difference between Carey Loftin driving a 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T through the American Southwest in Vanishing Point (1971) and the cartoonish shenanigans that take place in The Cannonball Run (1980). But in general terms, films that have a lot of stunts in them, such as Westerns and action pictures, are not often considered serious films. And as such, they don’t often receive high praise from the industry, like the Oscar. Veterans of the stunt business have lobbied the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences for years to have a stunt category created for Oscar consideration. So far, the Academy has refused. To be fair, they have good reasons for not creating a new category and they are at least being consistent; the category for Best Makeup wasn’t created until 1981. Regardless of whether or not stunt performers will ever get an Oscar category, two of their own have been given honorary statuettes: Yakima Canutt in 1967 and Hal Needham in 2012. But the need to look again at the work of the unknown stuntman remains. To be dragged underneath a team of horses (Yakima Canutt, Stagecoach)…crashing a plane on cue (Dick Grace, Lilac Time)…hurtling a car through New York City (Bill Hickman, The French Connection)…jumping a motorcycle onto a moving freight train (Michelle Yeoh, Supercop)…or coordinating an action sequence in such a way that allows an international film star to actually ride atop a speeding train (Sean Connery in The Great Train Robbery) or leap out of the world’s tallest building (Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible—Ghost Protocol)…surely there’s an art to that.

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