Heyoka Magazine: Your film "No Depression" is incredibly realistic and quite visceral.
For many people in that industry and others like it, I bet it's even more anxiety
producing. I find it really quite depressing, but also very funny in the sense
that when things happen so fast and get out of hand like that, it's hard not
laugh, or cry or know what to do.
Parts like the intellectually challenged woman with the cat-eared hat are
hysterical and is also like rubbing salt in a wound. I like the way you have interlaced
these moments with all the high pitched catty screaming and frenetic chaos.
What inspired the making of this film?
Jody Franklin: The setting of the film is the day a software firm goes belly-up when
the bubble bursts. At the time I had many friends who were losing
their jobs and businesses during the big tech downturn. I wanted to put myself
in that situation and try to imagine what the carnage would
look and feel like when a group of young, dedicated geeks suddenly had their
futures yanked out from under them. In what is the only "true"
documentary scene in the film, actor Dani Price comments upon her own real-life
experience working in the tech industry.
HM: Was this film scripted or were some parts
improvised?
JF:
The storytelling method I used was, I believe, unique, though it certainly has a
foundation in the Method school, and in the works of
filmmakers such as John Cassavetes and Mike Leigh. It was important to me that
everything seem spontaneous, real, so that if you didn't
know any better you'd think you were watching a real documentary. I workshopped
all of the actors in the weeks before the production in
order to get them into character, they had to be able to react as their
characters might in real life.
I wrote out a storyline but I shared it with none of them. Before every scene I
directed each actor individually by pulling them aside
and telling them what I thought they needed to know in order to play the scene
successfully, to give them some fuel that would propel them
to the next point in the story. The actors never knew exactly what they'd hear
from each other, they couldn't anticipate reactions and
had no idea where the story was going to lead them. The story itself was
tightly controlled from my perspective, but from the perspective
of the actors it was being authored as we went along, just as we author the
events of our own lives every day.
So when viewing this film, you feel what the actors feel because the chaos, the
emotion, it is all so very real, it rings true, hits home.
There is as much humor as there is anxiety. I think humor always exists in
situations where people take themselves too seriously; in
this case, dark and slightly ironic humor.
HM: Why were most of the employees women?
How do you think it would
have differed if it was mostly all men in the same
circumstance?
JF: The gender imbalance was not conscious when I went into
pre-production, so it is interesting to analyze it in retrospect. I
chose actors I wanted to work with, and it just so happens a majority of them
were women. But we do see the male in the dominant position,
which is quite appropriate, as he is in many ways a typical, culturally-defined
alpha male businessman. Perhaps we can see the
women, who are in the majority at this place of business, as somehow
representing the new economy. Whatever the case, there are two female
characters who rebel against the impossible situation forced upon them by the
patriarch in the film, while there are the others who fold to
the male power broker and attempt to placate everyone else, to squash this
rebellion. I believe the last scene, in which the character of
Minerva (played by Koralee Nickarz) is out on the street hawking her resume in
the business district (which she suggests might be seen as prostitution by some), is the key scene of the film, it ties all of the concepts
together in a punch line that can be interpreted in many ways.
I can't imagine where the story would've gone if I had an all-male cast, but I
know it would've been a much different film. Humans are
culturally programmed, there are certain sets of memes that strongly influence
gender roles. Revisiting the last scene again, I don't think
it would've been as powerful to have a man in the Minerva role out on the
street, unless he felt or projected a feeling of emasculation, or
the profound loss of male pride. In reaction to a man, the paths of
interpretation the audience could explore might lead them to places
far from where Minerva took them.
Heyoka Magazine: The Lines I Draw Upon My Body is a film you made with Dena Ashbaugh which is
a deeply personal account of a beautiful woman's 20-year struggle with eating
disorders. In this film you have included images from her childhood as
well as her modeling career, interwoven with medical slides, images of raw
meat/flesh, which are projected onto her body as she tells her story. The
outcome is a brilliant and very disturbing abstracted representation of a mind
and body split, "a divided self" or an altered perception, what seems like a
never ending internal conflict. What I also find interesting about this
film is that I sense it's not just about eating disorders, but points at
something else, as well as the social and psychological causes.
What was this experience like from a filmmaker's and personal perspective working
on a difficult subject like this?
JF: This was a very courageous portrait of Dena which is quite chilling if
you let it really sink in. We met through mutual friends when I was casting for
a feature film. I was immediately drawn to her very honest style of acting, so
we began talking about working on projects together. She was an anthropologist
(as well as being an accomplished model and actor) and had done this spoken word
piece accompanied by a slideshow at Simon Fraser University. When she told me
about it I had this concept of creating a video piece merging her words with her
naked body in this moment draped with images from her past, as well as pictures
of raw flesh, some of which she had used in her presentation.
The portrait we see of Dena is authentic, which is why I think it strikes such a
nerve with people. We can see her as intelligent, beautiful, strong, but also
as someone who has been infected by this modern-day malady that destroys so
many people. Reflections, perception, imagery: we're casting mirrors back on
her past, we're casting mirrors out into the culture that created this monster.
As to Dena's mind and body split, we had her internal psychological conflicts in
this piece manifest themselves upon her skin, her body became a canvas I was
painting. We see her as a little girl, as a model in Japan, as someone frail and
weak, perhaps even exploited and ignored, a silent person crying out. The
closing imagery we see her holding her head up as a proud warrior (with
pseudo-Maori markings), a strong woman who, no matter how much this has ripped
her apart, can stand and tell the world her story. We know it isn't over, but
there is light in her new kind of self-awareness.
In terms of my role in the project, I feel I helped her bring out her personal
story in a more powerful and effective way. We worked well together, quite
intuitively, and that afternoon we spent in the studio together was powerful,
and I think that comes across in our creation.
I'm extremely critical of my own work, so I
was genuinely shocked when the producers who commissioned the piece from me were
sobbing while viewing the rough cut.
HM: What has the feedback been like so far
- from showing this film in Canada and elsewhere?
JF:
The film has been well-received in Canada, where it has played film festivals
(winning some awards), a mental health film festival, art galleries, a videopoem
festival and a women's festival. It has also been used as an educational tool
by health care professionals and counselors who work with persons with eating
disorders. And, once again to my surprise, it has apparently been added to some
university collections and been studied in an experimental film program.
Curiously, I don't think it has ever played anywhere outside of Canada. We had
an extremely tight budget for this, so we weren't able to disseminate it as far
and wide as we wanted to. We tried knocking on a couple of American doors, but
we weren't taken in. I think this could partially be explained by cultural
differences. In general, Canadian cinema is more muted, subtle and slowly-paced
than American film. I think Americans have been immersed in a much splashier
cinematic culture: on the nose dialogue, fast cuts, violence, linear
storytelling with clear resolutions. Even on an independent level a lot of
American film has not strayed from this basic language. You have to look at the
real experimentalists like Maya Deren in order to see something alien produced
within American culture.
HM: What else are you working on and do you have
any longer projects or documentaries in the works?
JF:
I spent over a decade working in the film and television industry, and working
with video as an artistic medium. Right now, I'm on a bit of a hiatus (two
years now, actually), although I do have a couple of films that I intend to make
when I'm ready.
Despite the fact I love working in video and film, and see them as engaging,
powerful, expressive media, I am not a fan of the film industry. This has
always informed my artistic perspective and methodology. I turned away from the
industry to working on documentaries with small crews, and on intimate, highly
personal short works. Most of my art, no matter the media I'm working in, is
honest, gut-wrenchingly personal. I really expose myself to the world. I have
to do it that way, it's the only way I feel I can really connect with people,
with the world at large.
When I was in my early twenties, I acted in a few "Hollywood North"-type movies
and TV shows. I was actually repulsed by the way they were made and made the
decision that I would never make films this way. I wondered, how can any of
these shows hope to connect with people on a deep emotional or intellectual
level when you have a cast and crew of dozens, sometimes hundreds? How
can personal vision cut through this when there are so many hands in it,
especially when most of the hands are just there for a paycheque, and they have
absolutely no passion for what they are creating? And the caste system, the
hierarchical culture of film production, is very repellant. I don't take well
to top-down environments.
Of course, the point of most of these productions is not to create art that
makes people think and feel, it is all about consumption, finding something that
is an easy sell to people. There is a real supply and demand mentality in the
film industry. Hollywood is run by marketing gurus who want to dumb everything
down because they believe it is the only way to get people to empty their
pocketbooks. I have more faith in people than that, I feel that most people
would respond to great works of art if given the chance. Jim Jarmusch is one of
the best filmmakers of our time, and the popularity of his film work continues
to expand.
Another reason I'm taking a break from film is because I got tired of running
after money. While the digital video revolution has made it a lot cheaper, it
is still the most expensive artistic medium in which to work. I have actually
abandoned a couple of feature film and documentary projects because I was unable
to piece together enough funding. My work is a tough sell, anyway, given the
subject matter I choose and my non-conventional methods of working and
presenting my material. I've actually had more success getting money as a
producer of projects initiated by other primary creators. I didn't want to have
to be a businessman, a salesman, a schmoozola, it's not naturally where I'm at.
I did it because I had to, but I'd much rather spend my time and energy
creating art rather than selling it.
At this point I'm concentrating my creative efforts on artistic projects in
other media, particularly literature and performance. I'm currently
co-publishing MungBeing, a unique online magazine exploring art, culture and
ideas, as well as The Misfit Library, a collectively published, peer-edited
literary journal. I'm also getting ready to sit down and write a book that will
be either straight up autobiographical gonzo creative non-fiction, or
essentially the same material using a fictional facade as a masque. In the
realm of performance, I'm working on both solo and collaborative performance art
acts I intend to take on the road. And I've been working with July Fourth
Toilet for the past eleven years. We're an offbeat, lowbrow, high concept
musical troupe with theatrical flair. We're in the recording studio right now
trying to conjure up the most listenable unlistenable album possible. We are
novelty junkies (and you can take that both ways), as each performance we do is
very different in terms of music and presentation, no two shows are alike. We
tend to defy easy description when journalists write about us.
I will return to film when my passion for it inflames me once again. I
still have many things I wish to say using this medium, and I will get back to
it when the time is right for me.