by PEGGY NELSON
In early December I met with Thad in his basement studio in the Mission, where he works surrounded by film canisters, gadgets, tools, stills, magic markers, nail polish, scraps of material scavenged from everywhere, and loops of drying handpainted film in all stages of completion. Another program of his short films and collaborations will be featured at Other Cinema this spring.Message-in-a-Bottle Handpainted Films Kid Stuff
The Seventies Music Collaborations and Venues
Aargh-X, Wildman of Mystery The Leonardo Complex Rockets!
What did you start out doing in film?
Then my friend Joe went off to NYU, and so I went to New York to hang out with him. I wasn't in school there, I was just hanging around and working on student films. The crowd I was in was all narrative. Then I came back to San Francisco and we made some films that were live action, surreal/narrative kind of things. That was '87, late eighties, when I first starting shooting film, and it was great and I certainly would have kept doing it, but I started running into different kinds of filmmakers in San Francisco. I took a class from Ted White, the classic Ted White, he taught a found footage class at FAF, same class that Craig Baldwin teaches occasionally and it was really great. Greta Snider was in the class, and those were the first found footage things that I had seen. I was interested, so that was the start of all rest of the non-narrative world for me. I continued making a few narrative musical kind of things, but they just became clumsy after awhile, those collaborations that become expectations. Where is a short-film career going to lead? It's much more fun to me just to do it and throw it out there, like message-in-a-bottle-type filmmaking. I'm just tossing films overboard and seeing what happens. Baling water, too.
It was actually a monumental evening the night I showed my first film. It was the film that I made in that class. There was a film screening at the Adobe Bookstore, which is still there, on 16th, across the street from the Roxie. It was not a regular program, just a one-night thing, but there were a lot of people there, and I was totally freaked out, because I had finished this film and wasn't going to show anybody. It had one of these little collage-type sequences where I had cut together all this home movie stuff, and the only reason I cut it together was I noticed in this batch of home movies, the dad points the camera and says 'OK, walk towards the camera'. That was kind of his thing to do. And so I just cut these sequences back and forth between these two shots, in one shot it was a little girl dressed up for catechism or something, and in the other case it was a Mountie with a riding crop in his hand on a ski lift. The camera's going down on the ski lift and passing him, so you get this great back-and-forth between the little virginal thing and the authority figure. I didn't cut it with that in mind, I did it just because of the movement.
So anyway, the film's playing and I'm sitting there in the dark, and all of a sudden right after that sequence, I heard the guy next to me, who I didn't know, lean over to his girlfriend and say 'that was really cool', because he got into that whole authority dialectic of the thing. I wanted to just grab him and say, 'tell me more! Tell me why that worked!' It blew my mind that I could actually affect somebody like that. And to be sitting in the dark and not have to be performing to do it was really cool.
When did you start manipulating the film itself?
Did you get into the Zone?
It seemed to me like your process must be like embroidery, sewing, all those traditionally women's domestic crafts that take forever.
So you're the only filmmaker in the Scratch Film Junkies?
This is our fermenting tank (a rack of strips of handpainted films). Things come up here and they sit around for awhile, in fact a lot of these are ideas that are not going to go any further. And some of the prettiest ones aren't the ones that do as well, they're more or less opaque. This one is actually a mesh, you can buy it in little strips, and I cut it into 16mm width and then punched the holes in the edge so it became a piece of film. It didn't start as a piece of film. That's what's fun to do, to make film out of anything.
A few months ago I saw a little film by silt, which I think is called Ouroboros. They took a 6-foot long snakeskin, and they sandwiched it between 2 pieces of adhesive tape, cut it to 35mm width, punched the holes in it, and put it in a handcrank projector, so the head would go by, and the tail, and you'd watch the whole snake go by. Ouroboros, the snake swallowing its tail. silt is into burying things in the dirt, and letting them rot, and making their own emulsions with plant dye and stuff. I think of them as the organic junkies. Whereas we love those chemicals! Hence the name junkies, because by the end of the night you're like, 'wow, this nail polish remover stuff is great!' After you've been inhaling it for 3 hours. This (picking up a piece of film) is nail polish, I call these images 'micro-aeolian dispersal patterns'. You put fingernail polish on and blow it around with Dust-off as it dries. Let me hold this one up to the light. They look like little bugs there.
Living in their 2-dimensional little world.
I tell my students that this is digital filmmaking, because these are your digits (wiggling fingers). Whenever somebody says, 'I'm making a digital feature', I think, 'digital feature? Man, that's a lot of painting!' They will totally not know what I'm talking about.
Actually my 3-year old daughter Isabel and I make these films too.
What does she do?
And then when you project it does she know that it's hers?
When I saw your work at Other Cinema I was having these Randolph Mantooth flashbacks! It seems like you got a lot of your found footage from the 70s.
And what's really great is it's all the outtakes, it's the stuff they didn't want, so you get all those awkward moments of people waiting for something to happen. Everybody's hung out to dry in some way, because the directors tend to just let the camera run for however long it takes until the film runs out. They basically would ask them the same question 40 times in a row. They would just let these people get more and more nervous, and rarely did the takes get any better.
So the first thing I did when I saw this roll of film from the Future Business Leaders of America Conference [that went into the film Thine Inward-Looking Eyes] was to cut out everything where their lips are moving, take everything in between all that stuff, and then I tried to structure it so that it was almost like a formal talk-show where there are no jump cuts, just continuity cuts. Rock Ross called it 'a talk show for the telepathic'. It's kind of sinister. And the crowd shots in that film, that's the stuff for me that's exactly like me growing up, you know. Not slightly, not metaphorically, but exactly, because I was so nervous in high school all the time. I recognize a dozen people in that crowd, even though I don't know where it was filmed. I'd think, that's Kyle Hochstadter, and that's Diane somebody-or-other and they look exactly like those people, so it's a very personal film in the sense of the purgatory of being in high school in the 70s. That whole film took about 8 hours to make; it was the quickest thing I had ever done, and I really didn't change it except maybe add some sound and titles, and it's definitely been one of the better things I've made too, as far as audience response.
And it's now metamorphosed into Everybody Grab a Pardner, a project with musician Mark Growden which changes the tone so that it becomes burlesque. What's sort of this personal story becomes this big farce; it's really fun to see projects like that change and metamorphose.
It seems like music is a strong narrative thread in a lot of your work.
My dad always played guitar and piano, he was a creative person, you know, as a hobby. In the 40s my dad played in a jazz band, Art Holman and the 10 Commanders, to work his way through college. I have a picture of him in the big band, with 3 girls in front of the big microphones, and my dad's in the corner with his little nylon string guitar.
I started playing guitar when I was 18 or 19. I was totally into Peter Gabriel, that kind of music, and I wanted to be a musician, so I was ready to drop out of school several times, but people would say, you know, just get your degree...College was pretty easy, it didn't take a lot, I could pass and get A's without that much trouble, and so I just played guitar all day long and drove my roommates crazy. They'd be at school, and I'd be at home, eating the food in the fridge and playing guitar. Then they'd come home and be like, 'you're still here?', and I'd say, 'yeah, listen, I've got Stairway to Heaven all worked out!' But finally I realized I do not have the temperament of a musician; mainly, I don't like to be in front of people. I pictured I'd just get to be a really good musician and I'll play in the studio all the time and I wouldn't have to play live, but you get to be good by playing live, and it dawned on me after awhile that hmmm, really this is not going to work. You can't sit in your bedroom all day playing guitar.
Tell me about your collaboration with Mark Growden.
So how many films have you made?
Where do you show your stuff?
The most gratifying thing certainly is showing them here, locally. I've been doing a lot of these screenings with musicians lately, over the last year, with Mark and another band, Ramona the Pest. Showing with live music, I really like that. I like the speakeasy atmosphere, as opposed to cinema. With Mark, I've done a few shows at Cafe du Nord, it's definitely really nice. An intimate salon kind of environment where it's not all film. It's music and film and maybe some other stuff going on, and suddenly film seems to make so much more sense, it's part of the performing arts, you know? I do like the sanctum of the cinema, but it's really nice to be in this world of live music. Especially when you're not in California and people can smoke, and there's smoke up in the light coming from the projector. Film should always be shown in a smokey bar! You realize there's a beam coming out of the projector when there's smoke in the air.
Small-scale cinemas are really fun, 30 Berry Street, which became the New Nothing, were both totally inspirational for me. You'd be there late at night and there'd be 5 people there and everybody's having a late night of it. There's always a community but also like 3 or 4 people who have absolutely no idea what they're getting into. And they might walk out going, oh my god, that was so cool. Dragging the innocent victims in, and seeing if they're going to stomp out or have their lives changed because you know, it happens, you get changed by some of those screenings sometimes. It would be nice to tour micro-cinemas or places like that every year, but ultimately for me I like to mix it in with a musician.
So then each projection is not a finished product but a creative act of its own.
You have a series of films about Aargh-X, Wildman of Mystery. Is he based on Ishi?
Definitely they've always been two of my favorites, because I grew up in Northern California, and that's where he came from. It started on a total fluke: putting my friend Keith in the caveman costume, shooting the snowman scene and afterwards, I started coming up with ideas. The Ava character is going to be essentially all found footage, so she doesn't really exist. Except that I might show her hands...it's mainly her camera P.O.V., because she's sort of a naturalist/adventurist.
Amelia Earhart was such a media creation herself.
Are you going to have somebody draw the comic strip?
The big question in the film is, 'Is Aargh-X a hoax?' Obviously the person you're looking at on film is pretty funny, and I'm not asking him to be a great actor. Aargh-X is sort of an amnesia head case, he assumes he's real, that he really came out of the woods. That's the first thing he remembers, but everybody else is like, 'caveman???' It might be that this publisher planted this guy, you know, found a patsy, and put him up in the woods, and let Ava go find him, but the legend of Aargh-as-Missing-Link character is very real. There's levels of manipulation.
So did you want to be an artist when you were a kid?
What did you want to be?
But my dad said, well you should be an engineer because I was into math too, so I got my BS degree from Cal Poly, and got an engineering license. For 15 years I've worked freelance doing engineering for architects: structural engineering, small-scale residential. I did it because I can work at home which gives you lots of time, and for filmmaking, that's what you need. But that's run its course, I'm just really burnt out on it, and 15 years or whatever, that's plenty. So I'm in this state of trying to figure out how to make money doing something else.
Anyway, I guess I have a sort of science-y background. My hero's always been Leonardo da Vinci; I want to do art and science. I came up with a good complex a while ago, a Leonardo Complex - which is not Di Caprio. No. A Leonardo Complex is like, if I'm not like da Vinci I'm failing.
It's a pretty high standard to hold yourself to!
I got to go to his last house in France a year ago last summer, it was really cool. I'll be a fan. For this, you know, I can be a fan. There were models of all his things. That's really what I used to do as a kid most was stuff like that: draw little pictures of things like that and try to build them. I made these weird little things that worked, usually. For my Hotwheels set, we were having races, and I had to find a way to see who would win the race down those two tracks. I needed this gizmo because I was alone one day and starting both cars, and I couldn't run to the end of the track fast enough to see who won! So I made this double gate, a piece of wood with string and a bunch of little nails on it, and it had two flapping doors, and so when the first car triggered its door, it dropped a pin and locked the other door, so the loser car would just go 'smack'! And it worked, over and over, unless it was a photofinish and they'd both get smacked. I found it the other day in my mom's house. There were also ornithopter wings that I made of sheets, and sticks, and baling wire, literally baling wire, and I used to run up and down the backyard all afternoon trying to fly. Obviously time to move out of Red Bluff. My mom's still got them hanging in the shop.
Did you ever try to jump off the garage?
Do you ever think about projecting your films on other things besides flat surfaces?
Did you make model airplanes when you were a kid?
Just like what skydivers do except they were already on the ground!
Also what I want to do is lie on the ground right under the camera, with a little face shield, and then run the film backwards, because you'd come falling out of the sky from 1000 feet in the air right onto somebody's face. It would be a great way to do portraits!