“Maybe an Individual is Only as Interesting as the Energy Surrounding Them”: Angelo Madsen on His True/False-debuting A Body to Live In

Angelo Madsen’s A Body to Live In is a doc as unconventional in form as its leading man. Comprised of various formats (16mm, VHS, archival, 2K) overlaid with underground voices (Annie Sprinkle and Ron Athey are probably the best known), the film takes us on a winding journey through the life and philosophy of photographer-performance artist-ritualist Fakir Musafar, one of the founders of the modern primitive movement. With the archival Musafar (born Roland Loomis in 1930) as our guide we’re introduced to an unheralded slice of LGBTQ+ history that includes gay BDSM parties, the first piercing shop, body modification as a balm during the AIDS epidemic, and of course body-based performance art. And this is all while never really getting to know the queer Korean War vet, whose anthropological fascinations led to dabbling in flesh hook suspension by the mid-’60s. (Musafar eventually married BDSM educator and ritualist Cléo Dubois, who remained by his side till his death in 2018.) But this elusive quality is as it should be when it comes to celebrating a mysterious artist for whom seeking, not answers, was the point. A week prior to the doc’s February 27th True/False debut, Filmmaker caught up with the director and interdisciplinary artist to learn all about A Body to Live In and making art from life.

To read my interview visit Filmmaker magazine.

“He Realized It Was Useful to Stop Running From the 500 Pound Maus Chasing After Him”: Molly Bernstein and Philip Dolin on Art Spiegelman: Disaster is My Muse!

Molly Bernstein and Philip Dolin’s Art Spiegelman: Disaster is My Muse! centers on a legendary cartoonist who’s long struggled with being eclipsed by his own creation. Decades ago Spiegelman’s Pulitzer Prize-winning, Holocaust-focused, autobiographical graphic novel Maus launched the underground artist into mainstream fame, and its success prompted him to follow up with the explanatory MetaMaus so he could finally stop having to publicly dissect the most painful time in his family’s history. (Needless to say, the plan backfired spectacularly.) Fast forward to today, when calls to ban Maus — and other “uncomfortable” books — make the moral of the story more relevant than ever, and the perennial antifascist spokesman even more in demand. (Cut to a panel with the caption “Oy.”) Nevertheless, Spiegelman is a game participant in this study of his life, influences (Mad magazine of course) and eclectic oeuvre (the 9/11-themed In the Shadow of No Towers is probably better known than Garbage Pail Kids); as are the assorted literary scholars, fellow cartoonists and critics (including J. Hoberman), all some combination of fans, friends and colleagues. But perhaps the most memorable moments occur when reflection is a group activity, such as the intimate scene around the dinner table with Spiegelman and his spouse and collaborator Françoise Mouly eating and chatting comics with a strikingly bland Robert Crumb and his late wife Aline Kominsky-Crumb — the burden of Maus temporarily lifted by graying domesticity. A few days prior to the theatrical release (February 21st at Film Forum) of Art Spiegelman: Disaster is My Muse!, Filmmaker reached out to the veteran co-directors whose 2013 doc Deceptive Practice: The Mysteries and Mentors of Ricky Jay likewise received PBS’s American Masters imprimatur.

To read my interview visit Filmmaker magazine.

“Meredith Understood That I Needed the Freedom to Create My Own Interpretation of Her Work and Life”: Billy Shebar on his Berlinale-Premiering Meredith Monk Doc, Monk in Pieces

Billy Shebar’s Monk in Pieces stars Meredith Monk, an artist so singular as to be unclassifiable. (A collage of Zoom-interviewed academics who expound on the titular composer-singer-director-choreographer – and creator of new opera, music theater works, films and installations – is like watching proverbial blind men describing an elephant.) A progenitor of what we now call “extended vocal technique” and “interdisciplinary performance,” Monk began her career in the downtown NYC art scene of the ’60s and ’70s — a time and place not all that kind to female boundary busters. (Indeed, New York Times reviews ranged from scathing to the downright patronizing.) Then again, who cares what stuffy elites like Clive Barnes think when none other than Monk contemporary Philip Glass declares, “She, among all of us, was – and still is – the uniquely gifted one.” Divided into discrete sections, the film makes ample use of Monk’s own vast archive and of the octogenarian herself, still working in the same Tribeca loft she’s had for over half a century. It also includes notable talking heads (literally in the case of David Byrne). And yet despite this familiar structure, there’s a compelling dissonance between the audio and visual that renders Monk in Pieces nearly experimental. It’s a creative choice that deftly reflects Monk’s own approach to her iconoclastic art, forcing us to listen with a different ear, to look closer not away. A few days prior to the Berlinale premiere of Monk in Pieces (February 18th in the Panorama Dokumente section), Filmmaker caught up with the doc’s Emmy-nominated director-writer-producer and founder of 110th Street Films.

To read my interview visit Filmmaker magazine.

“It Carries the Weight of Improvisation but Also Inevitability”: Liryc Dela Cruz on his Berlinale-premiering Where the Night Stands Still (Come la Notte)

Liryc Dela Cruz’s Where the Night Stands Still (Come la Notte) takes the simplest of storylines and renders it infinitely complex. Three Filipino siblings, all domestic workers in Italy who’ve not seen each other for years, reunite at an extravagant villa the elder sister inherited after the death of her longtime employer. They reminisce about childhood over Filipino delicacies the younger sister and brother have brought, and stroll the vast grounds that the new owner meticulously preserves as if she were still a servant and not the lady of the house. But as the languorous day draws to a close tensions build, conversations turn, and buried grievances emerge. All of which is meticulously captured in haunting B&W, the ghosts of the past present in every striking frame. A few days prior to the February 15th Berlinale premiere of Where the Night Stands Still (Come la Notte), Filmmaker reached out to the film’s director (and producer, writer, editor and DP), an artist with roots in both the Philippines and Rome, about his thrillingly auspicious feature-length debut.

To read my interview visit Filmmaker magazine.