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A Plague Called Complacency: Guerilla Filmmaker Burke Roberts Talks Film and Fanaticism
By Erin Broadley
Apr 1, 2007
The first time I visited the set of a Burke Roberts film he stuffed me in the trunk of a car in downtown Los Angeles, quite literally, and told me to keep my head down. He was filming a scene that involved a traffic accident and there I was, trying to take mental notes on his process while crammed up against film equipment and props, hidden from the camera beneath a sheet of foam core, when suddenly I smelled smoke. The car was overheating with me stuck inside. It was my first lesson in the unpredictable nature of guerilla filmmaking, to say the least, and I loved every adrenaline-fueled minute of it.
To call Roberts’ filmmaking process “exciting” is an understatement. You never quite know what might happen on one of his sets. Whether it's cops storming in to shut down production because of a permit problem or a crew car overheating and nearly bursting into flames—the challenge is all part of what fuels his creativity and the stylized, poetically twisted worlds his audiences indulge in on the big screen.
Growing up a rural punk in Colorado, Roberts moved to Los Angeles in his late teens and began making his own DIY 35mm and 16mm films after finding the bloated Hollywood scene a bit dull for his provocative tastes. His first film Jesus Rides Shotgun premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in 1997, though Roberts found the festival “Very posh. Very fucking square…like a festival for my grandparents.” Since then he’s made Handicap City, Fuck Fashion, Echo of a Man, Insult to Injury, and his most recent, Some of an Equation.
Roberts took some time out of his busy schedule to talk with SuicideGirls about the current state of guerilla filmmaking and where he draws the line between fanaticism and lunacy…
Erin Broadley: Let’s start by talking about the short film I visited the set of the other day. I know you don’t want to give too much away at this point…
Burke Roberts: That experiment was a perfect example of my addiction to the process and not the result. If we didn’t pull it off on a one-day shoot, I was willing to not even have a film. Which is an attitude not too common in the states. But in Paris there’s almost a hip-hop battle point of view with the underground film scene. See, even guys who are commercially successful in France still play in this arena. They come from that underground cred, which I’m lucky enough to be affiliated.
EB:
They don’t abandon it once they reach a certain level of success?
BR:
No, in fact, it’s more respected than commercial. There’s a friendly, battle nature to the kind of film that you saw us making. Not unlike with hip hop. And I don’t mean your mainstream hip-hop with clowns and let’s talk shit and then shoot each other and we’re done. Not like that. Part of the reason hip-hop progressed so quickly was because the battle, the challenge, is such an important aspect of that culture. It’s about one-upping each other. It’s like, “Oh shit…I can’t believe he came up with that! Respect.” So, there’s that kind of thing going on [with underground filmmaking] overseas. In between my other films which take so long for me to make, I wanted to have something for my next Europe tour coming up, especially for cities like London and Paris where they have already seen some of my other flicks.
My brand of guerilla filmmaking is basically making really complex, high production value somethings out of nothings. This particular shoot, I doubt many would try. We’re talking 20 cars, 30 extras, a professional crew, all shot in real time…one long shot, blocking traffic, with no permits, down two blocks, up and over the edge of a four story building, etc. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in production. I’ve been doing so much touring and working on other projects that I just needed to make something. I’ve never done one long shot this complex before. It’s called Some of an Equation, spelled s-o-m-e. I expect to get a lot of questions about the title that I don’t really intend to answer.
EB:
Well, I don’t really have any about the title. I mean, you can’t spell dude…whatever, it’s not my problem (laughs).
BR:
(Laughs) I also like to dabble in bending genres. I’ve worked in many genres. Equation was ‘horror’ my way. I’m mainly interested in redefining for myself. I’ve bent them all to be more of my own trip.
EB:
You’ve mentioned your interest in fanaticism before in other interviews, even going so far as to describe yourself as a fanatic of sorts. Where do you draw the line between fanaticism and lunacy?
BR:
(Laughs) Good question. I don’t.
EB:
You don’t? Not ever?
BR:
You know, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. One man’s sheep is another man’s wife. Ya know? Who the fuck am I to draw that line? All my films function around the human condition and the sociological outcome. I like to say I make protest films, like Dillon wrote protest songs. I’m interested in raising questions by getting to the uber-sickness that creates it, which is the human condition. I don’t claim to have an answer. But I definitely do say that there are questions being ignored. I run into a lot of people that have a very conditioned point of view about what film is. It’s like, if you’re doing something that’s not holding somebody’s hand, then it’s abstract.
EB:
Yeah, like if it’s non-linear then it’s automatically art.
BR:
Yeah, let’s get on the topic of what is art…or better yet, what is god? Or how about what is “is”?
EB:
(Laughs) I know, right?
BR:
There’s a slogan for a film I made called Handicap City which is “a plague called complacency.” That is ultimately what drives me. It’s the fear of that plague, which I believe is a reality. And it’s also the fact that I don’t know what the cure is. But my instincts tell me that it has to do with raising questions that people don’t want to be asked, or don’t want to ask themselves. One of my films, Echo of a Man, I call my mandala film. A mandala is when Buddhist monks do those gorgeous sand designs that are all about the process of making them and then the wind blows them away. Echo of a Man that was on the subject of insanity. But the film never got completed because it got lost, or I should say I lost it. I’m a heavy smoker and I smoke in my editing bay and basically my hard drive died. I took it to this place and basically they said you have to take this to NASA if you want to recover anything. I shot it on 16mm film so going back to fix the sound sync and telecine and other shit…not on my budgets.
Anyway, in that film I was tackling the subject of insanity. Personally, I think sanity is nothing more than an agreement of any given society. Rules and taboos that, if you don’t stick to, it’s just another excuse for the majority to put you in a box. The thing about fanaticism, and this is a very controversial thing to say in many circles, but I’m of the opinion that if you remove yourself from the equation of morals and ethics (which I think for the most part are nurtured), a fanatic is a role that has a similar foundation regardless of the moral universe. Take Hitler and Gandhi, although from an ethical point of view they couldn’t differ more, from the human condition aspect they are both fanatics. A fanatic would die and allow many others to die for their beliefs. Right now, we’re one fanatical country trying to change another fanatical country. That’s the kind of stuff my film Insult to Injury is ultimately about. I’ve done a lot with that film in Europe, but not much in America because Americans don’t necessarily want to look in the mirror. Insult to Injury, even though it uses the device of racism in the 1930s, has nothing to do with racism or the 1930s.
EB:
It has to do with the greater human condition.
BR:
Sure, yeah, and the heightened climate between Western and Eastern cultures.
EB:
Like, there’s a confusion between two things that somehow coexist and yet are still completely terrified of each other and themselves.
BR:
Absolutely, and now more than ever. The past and future of that scenario keeps me up at night. So I kind of look at my films like therapy. I think any personal, uncensored creation is an attempt at communication. But it’s impossible to control who it ultimately speaks to. I don’t know…I take a shit, you figure out how to flush it.
EB:
(Laughs) How would you compare indie to mainstream filmmaking?
BR:
Oh boy. Uh…shit that flushes itself? Let me put it this way, comparing “indie films” and “mainstream commercial films” is very similar to the differences between republicans and democrats. I’m not a fan of fucking either. Indie films are like democrats and mainstream is like republicans. I gotta say, at least republicans/mainstream films are honest about their evils. They’re not apologetic. Here’s an analogy: if you’re stuck in traffic and a republican cuts you off they’re like, “Fuck you, I cut you off.” If a democrat cuts you off they’re like, “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to.” But they still cut you off!
EB:
Like there’s always a qualifying aspect to their evil.
BR:
Exactly.
EB:
Indie films are qualifying their evil, while mainstream films are…
BR:
(Laughs) Just evil! The term “indie film” has become just like “indie rock.” Like I said earlier about defining guerilla film, what I do is genuinely independent film in the sense of what was considered independent film in the '60s, '70s and '80s. Casavettes, Godard, even Malick. But now, independent film is 10 million dollars with stars and Robert Redford putting P.C. feathers in his cap at Sundancepalooza and whatnot. Look, in both indie and mainstream, people really get off on clever these days. And I got to say, it’s entertaining! I definitely enjoy clever, I’m just not that impressed with it. Brando once said something about how genius had given way to cleverity. I can’t quote him exactly and I really shouldn’t misquote Brando, so let me get back to you on that one (laughs)! It’s the same thing with comedy. A lot of people would take Jay Leno over Lenny Bruce!
EB:
You seem very comfortable with acknowledging blurred lines between the categories. I read an interview you did in France where they were asking you about your take on mainstream Hollywood films and you said something about how you weren’t interested in replacing it, but just rivaling it.
BR:
Yeah. I don’t believe that there are any lines that aren’t blurred.
EB:
A friend of mine always says, “Fine lines are never linear.”
BR:
Yeah! Lines blur easily. They’re fucking blurry. They’re soft. You just have to squint. There was a time when I definitely believed in overthrowing the system. I had this militant fire in me. I couldn’t help it, still do. I’ve just started to focus it. I will always back someone who has some serious fire behind what they’re doing. I think rebellion is very important because I think we live in a time where something that formerly defined America, the American rebel, is in this badboyband, hot topic accoutrements of rebellion cesspool. But people are terrified of the real thing. One has to recognize the climate of their times and practice decent accordingly, to be affective rather than delusional.
There was an overthrowing of Hollywood in the late '60s to early '70s and basically what happened was, at the same moment when Jimmy Hendrix lit his guitar on fire on stage, the Movie marquees still read Doctor Doolittle. They were very out of touch. They didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know why people wanted to see the new Antonioni film. So things were ripe for change in the establishment and the inmates took over the asylum. And we were lucky to get a great moment in American cinema.
But that kind of thing is rare. One of the thing that depresses the shit out of me is to think about the fact that most of the greatest artists who have ever lived, we’ve never heard of. Obviously we’ve heard of some of them. But we’ve all known geniuses that for one reason or another no one will hear of or remember. And what pisses me off is people who say everything has been done. Everything’s not fucking been done! Sure a lot has. But I guarantee you Beethoven sat pulling his crazy hair out thinking, “No, no that sounds like Mozart!” So one has to have a feeling for collage vs. homage vs. simple regurgitation. I call what I do “large scale guerilla film.” Basically we execute a high production value, but the only thing that can’t solve a problem is money. There’s only one other art form besides film where evolution and imagination are as oppressed by monetary constraints, and that is architecture. But then again architecture is ancient. Film is very young.
EB:
Tell me about the Bizzurke Army?
BR:
Basically, it’s about 300 artists who come together to flatter me with their time and talents on my projects. And those two words at the front of my work and promos is my way of acknowledging that I couldn’t do it without them. What I’m interested in is the camaraderie of people who come together to make a film happen, simply because otherwise it won’t. And I never cease to be amazed at the level of difficulty this kind of foundation can overcome. And I’m aware that I ask a lot, but never more than I’d ask of myself. When I make a film I work on a level of sleep deprivation that some people may not realize or understand, just to exercise the detail devils. But, I can’t ask people to work their asses off on one of my films unless I’m right there beside them. So the Army analogy is in the infinite battles we face. From not having enough film stock to the Hollywood institution that we philosophically oppose. Hence why I am no longer interested in overthrowing an already self-destructing machine. I’d rather focus on creating with something outside of it. That’s why we built The Engine.
EB:
The Engine?
BR:
Yeah. Uh…that’s an entire other interview (laughs). But I will tell you it’s a new venue for noncommercial film and video. In short it’s a 1000-pound light and steel sculpture that is also a transportable high-end movie theater. We call it equal in form and function. It’s premiering at the Architectural and Design Museum of Los Angeles next week. You should come check it out. I promise we won’t stuff you in the trunk of a car. Well, probably not.
For more information about the Engine check out theenginetheater.com and bizzurkearmy.com
The first time I visited the set of a Burke Roberts film he stuffed me in the trunk of a car in downtown Los Angeles, quite literally, and told me to keep my head down. He was filming a scene that involved a traffic accident and there I was, trying to take mental notes on his process while crammed up against film equipment and props, hidden from the camera beneath a sheet of foam core, when suddenly I smelled smoke. The car was overheating with me stuck inside. It was my first lesson in the unpredictable nature of guerilla filmmaking, to say the least, and I loved every adrenaline-fueled minute of it.
To call Roberts’ filmmaking process “exciting” is an understatement. You never quite know what might happen on one of his sets. Whether it's cops storming in to shut down production because of a permit problem or a crew car overheating and nearly bursting into flames—the challenge is all part of what fuels his creativity and the stylized, poetically twisted worlds his audiences indulge in on the big screen.
Growing up a rural punk in Colorado, Roberts moved to Los Angeles in his late teens and began making his own DIY 35mm and 16mm films after finding the bloated Hollywood scene a bit dull for his provocative tastes. His first film Jesus Rides Shotgun premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in 1997, though Roberts found the festival “Very posh. Very fucking square…like a festival for my grandparents.” Since then he’s made Handicap City, Fuck Fashion, Echo of a Man, Insult to Injury, and his most recent, Some of an Equation.
Roberts took some time out of his busy schedule to talk with SuicideGirls about the current state of guerilla filmmaking and where he draws the line between fanaticism and lunacy…
Erin Broadley: Let’s start by talking about the short film I visited the set of the other day. I know you don’t want to give too much away at this point…
Burke Roberts: That experiment was a perfect example of my addiction to the process and not the result. If we didn’t pull it off on a one-day shoot, I was willing to not even have a film. Which is an attitude not too common in the states. But in Paris there’s almost a hip-hop battle point of view with the underground film scene. See, even guys who are commercially successful in France still play in this arena. They come from that underground cred, which I’m lucky enough to be affiliated.
EB:
They don’t abandon it once they reach a certain level of success?
BR:
No, in fact, it’s more respected than commercial. There’s a friendly, battle nature to the kind of film that you saw us making. Not unlike with hip hop. And I don’t mean your mainstream hip-hop with clowns and let’s talk shit and then shoot each other and we’re done. Not like that. Part of the reason hip-hop progressed so quickly was because the battle, the challenge, is such an important aspect of that culture. It’s about one-upping each other. It’s like, “Oh shit…I can’t believe he came up with that! Respect.” So, there’s that kind of thing going on [with underground filmmaking] overseas. In between my other films which take so long for me to make, I wanted to have something for my next Europe tour coming up, especially for cities like London and Paris where they have already seen some of my other flicks.
My brand of guerilla filmmaking is basically making really complex, high production value somethings out of nothings. This particular shoot, I doubt many would try. We’re talking 20 cars, 30 extras, a professional crew, all shot in real time…one long shot, blocking traffic, with no permits, down two blocks, up and over the edge of a four story building, etc. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in production. I’ve been doing so much touring and working on other projects that I just needed to make something. I’ve never done one long shot this complex before. It’s called Some of an Equation, spelled s-o-m-e. I expect to get a lot of questions about the title that I don’t really intend to answer.
My brand of guerilla filmmaking is basically making really complex, high production value somethings out of nothings. This particular shoot, I doubt many would try. We’re talking 20 cars, 30 extras, a professional crew, all shot in real time…one long shot, blocking traffic, with no permits, down two blocks, up and over the edge of a four story building, etc. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in production. I’ve been doing so much touring and working on other projects that I just needed to make something. I’ve never done one long shot this complex before. It’s called Some of an Equation, spelled s-o-m-e. I expect to get a lot of questions about the title that I don’t really intend to answer.
EB:
Well, I don’t really have any about the title. I mean, you can’t spell dude…whatever, it’s not my problem (laughs).
BR:
(Laughs) I also like to dabble in bending genres. I’ve worked in many genres. Equation was ‘horror’ my way. I’m mainly interested in redefining for myself. I’ve bent them all to be more of my own trip.
EB:
You’ve mentioned your interest in fanaticism before in other interviews, even going so far as to describe yourself as a fanatic of sorts. Where do you draw the line between fanaticism and lunacy?
BR:
(Laughs) Good question. I don’t.
EB:
You don’t? Not ever?
BR:
You know, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. One man’s sheep is another man’s wife. Ya know? Who the fuck am I to draw that line? All my films function around the human condition and the sociological outcome. I like to say I make protest films, like Dillon wrote protest songs. I’m interested in raising questions by getting to the uber-sickness that creates it, which is the human condition. I don’t claim to have an answer. But I definitely do say that there are questions being ignored. I run into a lot of people that have a very conditioned point of view about what film is. It’s like, if you’re doing something that’s not holding somebody’s hand, then it’s abstract.
EB:
Yeah, like if it’s non-linear then it’s automatically art.
BR:
Yeah, let’s get on the topic of what is art…or better yet, what is god? Or how about what is “is”?
EB:
(Laughs) I know, right?
BR:
There’s a slogan for a film I made called Handicap City which is “a plague called complacency.” That is ultimately what drives me. It’s the fear of that plague, which I believe is a reality. And it’s also the fact that I don’t know what the cure is. But my instincts tell me that it has to do with raising questions that people don’t want to be asked, or don’t want to ask themselves. One of my films, Echo of a Man, I call my mandala film. A mandala is when Buddhist monks do those gorgeous sand designs that are all about the process of making them and then the wind blows them away. Echo of a Man that was on the subject of insanity. But the film never got completed because it got lost, or I should say I lost it. I’m a heavy smoker and I smoke in my editing bay and basically my hard drive died. I took it to this place and basically they said you have to take this to NASA if you want to recover anything. I shot it on 16mm film so going back to fix the sound sync and telecine and other shit…not on my budgets.
Anyway, in that film I was tackling the subject of insanity. Personally, I think sanity is nothing more than an agreement of any given society. Rules and taboos that, if you don’t stick to, it’s just another excuse for the majority to put you in a box. The thing about fanaticism, and this is a very controversial thing to say in many circles, but I’m of the opinion that if you remove yourself from the equation of morals and ethics (which I think for the most part are nurtured), a fanatic is a role that has a similar foundation regardless of the moral universe. Take Hitler and Gandhi, although from an ethical point of view they couldn’t differ more, from the human condition aspect they are both fanatics. A fanatic would die and allow many others to die for their beliefs. Right now, we’re one fanatical country trying to change another fanatical country. That’s the kind of stuff my film Insult to Injury is ultimately about. I’ve done a lot with that film in Europe, but not much in America because Americans don’t necessarily want to look in the mirror. Insult to Injury, even though it uses the device of racism in the 1930s, has nothing to do with racism or the 1930s.
Anyway, in that film I was tackling the subject of insanity. Personally, I think sanity is nothing more than an agreement of any given society. Rules and taboos that, if you don’t stick to, it’s just another excuse for the majority to put you in a box. The thing about fanaticism, and this is a very controversial thing to say in many circles, but I’m of the opinion that if you remove yourself from the equation of morals and ethics (which I think for the most part are nurtured), a fanatic is a role that has a similar foundation regardless of the moral universe. Take Hitler and Gandhi, although from an ethical point of view they couldn’t differ more, from the human condition aspect they are both fanatics. A fanatic would die and allow many others to die for their beliefs. Right now, we’re one fanatical country trying to change another fanatical country. That’s the kind of stuff my film Insult to Injury is ultimately about. I’ve done a lot with that film in Europe, but not much in America because Americans don’t necessarily want to look in the mirror. Insult to Injury, even though it uses the device of racism in the 1930s, has nothing to do with racism or the 1930s.
EB:
It has to do with the greater human condition.
BR:
Sure, yeah, and the heightened climate between Western and Eastern cultures.
EB:
Like, there’s a confusion between two things that somehow coexist and yet are still completely terrified of each other and themselves.
BR:
Absolutely, and now more than ever. The past and future of that scenario keeps me up at night. So I kind of look at my films like therapy. I think any personal, uncensored creation is an attempt at communication. But it’s impossible to control who it ultimately speaks to. I don’t know…I take a shit, you figure out how to flush it.
EB:
(Laughs) How would you compare indie to mainstream filmmaking?
BR:
Oh boy. Uh…shit that flushes itself? Let me put it this way, comparing “indie films” and “mainstream commercial films” is very similar to the differences between republicans and democrats. I’m not a fan of fucking either. Indie films are like democrats and mainstream is like republicans. I gotta say, at least republicans/mainstream films are honest about their evils. They’re not apologetic. Here’s an analogy: if you’re stuck in traffic and a republican cuts you off they’re like, “Fuck you, I cut you off.” If a democrat cuts you off they’re like, “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to.” But they still cut you off!
EB:
Like there’s always a qualifying aspect to their evil.
BR:
Exactly.
EB:
Indie films are qualifying their evil, while mainstream films are…
BR:
(Laughs) Just evil! The term “indie film” has become just like “indie rock.” Like I said earlier about defining guerilla film, what I do is genuinely independent film in the sense of what was considered independent film in the '60s, '70s and '80s. Casavettes, Godard, even Malick. But now, independent film is 10 million dollars with stars and Robert Redford putting P.C. feathers in his cap at Sundancepalooza and whatnot. Look, in both indie and mainstream, people really get off on clever these days. And I got to say, it’s entertaining! I definitely enjoy clever, I’m just not that impressed with it. Brando once said something about how genius had given way to cleverity. I can’t quote him exactly and I really shouldn’t misquote Brando, so let me get back to you on that one (laughs)! It’s the same thing with comedy. A lot of people would take Jay Leno over Lenny Bruce!
EB:
You seem very comfortable with acknowledging blurred lines between the categories. I read an interview you did in France where they were asking you about your take on mainstream Hollywood films and you said something about how you weren’t interested in replacing it, but just rivaling it.
BR:
Yeah. I don’t believe that there are any lines that aren’t blurred.
EB:
A friend of mine always says, “Fine lines are never linear.”
BR:
Yeah! Lines blur easily. They’re fucking blurry. They’re soft. You just have to squint. There was a time when I definitely believed in overthrowing the system. I had this militant fire in me. I couldn’t help it, still do. I’ve just started to focus it. I will always back someone who has some serious fire behind what they’re doing. I think rebellion is very important because I think we live in a time where something that formerly defined America, the American rebel, is in this badboyband, hot topic accoutrements of rebellion cesspool. But people are terrified of the real thing. One has to recognize the climate of their times and practice decent accordingly, to be affective rather than delusional.
There was an overthrowing of Hollywood in the late '60s to early '70s and basically what happened was, at the same moment when Jimmy Hendrix lit his guitar on fire on stage, the Movie marquees still read Doctor Doolittle. They were very out of touch. They didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know why people wanted to see the new Antonioni film. So things were ripe for change in the establishment and the inmates took over the asylum. And we were lucky to get a great moment in American cinema.
But that kind of thing is rare. One of the thing that depresses the shit out of me is to think about the fact that most of the greatest artists who have ever lived, we’ve never heard of. Obviously we’ve heard of some of them. But we’ve all known geniuses that for one reason or another no one will hear of or remember. And what pisses me off is people who say everything has been done. Everything’s not fucking been done! Sure a lot has. But I guarantee you Beethoven sat pulling his crazy hair out thinking, “No, no that sounds like Mozart!” So one has to have a feeling for collage vs. homage vs. simple regurgitation. I call what I do “large scale guerilla film.” Basically we execute a high production value, but the only thing that can’t solve a problem is money. There’s only one other art form besides film where evolution and imagination are as oppressed by monetary constraints, and that is architecture. But then again architecture is ancient. Film is very young.
There was an overthrowing of Hollywood in the late '60s to early '70s and basically what happened was, at the same moment when Jimmy Hendrix lit his guitar on fire on stage, the Movie marquees still read Doctor Doolittle. They were very out of touch. They didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know why people wanted to see the new Antonioni film. So things were ripe for change in the establishment and the inmates took over the asylum. And we were lucky to get a great moment in American cinema.
But that kind of thing is rare. One of the thing that depresses the shit out of me is to think about the fact that most of the greatest artists who have ever lived, we’ve never heard of. Obviously we’ve heard of some of them. But we’ve all known geniuses that for one reason or another no one will hear of or remember. And what pisses me off is people who say everything has been done. Everything’s not fucking been done! Sure a lot has. But I guarantee you Beethoven sat pulling his crazy hair out thinking, “No, no that sounds like Mozart!” So one has to have a feeling for collage vs. homage vs. simple regurgitation. I call what I do “large scale guerilla film.” Basically we execute a high production value, but the only thing that can’t solve a problem is money. There’s only one other art form besides film where evolution and imagination are as oppressed by monetary constraints, and that is architecture. But then again architecture is ancient. Film is very young.
EB:
Tell me about the Bizzurke Army?
BR:
Basically, it’s about 300 artists who come together to flatter me with their time and talents on my projects. And those two words at the front of my work and promos is my way of acknowledging that I couldn’t do it without them. What I’m interested in is the camaraderie of people who come together to make a film happen, simply because otherwise it won’t. And I never cease to be amazed at the level of difficulty this kind of foundation can overcome. And I’m aware that I ask a lot, but never more than I’d ask of myself. When I make a film I work on a level of sleep deprivation that some people may not realize or understand, just to exercise the detail devils. But, I can’t ask people to work their asses off on one of my films unless I’m right there beside them. So the Army analogy is in the infinite battles we face. From not having enough film stock to the Hollywood institution that we philosophically oppose. Hence why I am no longer interested in overthrowing an already self-destructing machine. I’d rather focus on creating with something outside of it. That’s why we built The Engine.
EB:
The Engine?
BR:
Yeah. Uh…that’s an entire other interview (laughs). But I will tell you it’s a new venue for noncommercial film and video. In short it’s a 1000-pound light and steel sculpture that is also a transportable high-end movie theater. We call it equal in form and function. It’s premiering at the Architectural and Design Museum of Los Angeles next week. You should come check it out. I promise we won’t stuff you in the trunk of a car. Well, probably not.
For more information about the Engine check out theenginetheater.com and bizzurkearmy.com
For more information about the Engine check out theenginetheater.com and bizzurkearmy.com
