Jordan Tetewsky is an American filmmaker and cinematographer who has co-directed, co-written, and shot three short films and two features with Joshua Pikovsky. Their first feature, Hannah Ha Ha (2022), leveraged a unique, impressionistic aesthetic to sketch a subtle portrait of its working-class, eponymous character as she tries to maintain a connection with her community while feeling disconnected from an economic reality that is increasingly shorn of humanity. The film won the Grand Jury Prize at Slamdance Film Festival in 2022 and its balance of humour, compassion, and an unflinching (though slightly less hazy) look at contemporary, everyday class relations are further explored in Berman’s March (2023). The quasi-road movie follows the under-employed Charlie Berman as he navigates a precarious living situation, meeting fellow travellers in need, learning about rest stop vloggers, and the increasing feeling of being unmoored from the logic of the modern world on the way to meet up with more upwardly mobile friends at a cabin getaway.
Berman’s March screened in Toronto at the Paradise on Saturday, July 20th as part of the inaugural Bleeding Edge Fest.
The Seventh Art: What is the working dynamic between you and Joshua [Pikovsky] and even [producer] Roger [Mancusi] — how did you start your collaboration and how has it evolved?
Jordan Tetewsky: I work in movies, Roger worked in movies, and Josh and I have been making a lot of shorts together. We wanted to make Hannah Ha Ha — we wanted to make a feature — and we worked at a fast pace with fast turnaround. I was trying to do the movies between jobs and for the last three summers. I took off a good chunk of each summer to just focus on the movies — at least for the first two, Berman’s and Hannah — just put all the time and what I was making into making movies. For Josh, it was just a very rewarding experience for the first few movies. So how did the collaboration start? Just bringing in Roger as a producer from someone I met on set. I was very impressed with him on something I PA’d on, and then just by chance one of our actors had to drop on Hannah because they got COVID and Roger was around and ended up being great. So, it was a lot of happy accidents, a lot of things were chance, and also right circumstance, right time, right attitudes.
And the writing process, where do the ideas come from? How are they collaboratively realised?
For the shorts, a lot of them were [written] together. A lot of them were just sort of spitballing, trying to feel it, see what’s right, and try to sort of focus on telling very small stories with what we had access to. And taking inspiration from movies that I really loved and Josh sort of fell in love with: [Kelly Reichardt’s] Old Joy (2006) and Wendy and Lucy (2008). Very small stories that could be done by people like us. [Andrew Bujalski’s] Funny Ha Ha (2002) has been a very big inspiration for a long time.
Josh is just a very strong writer on the first drafts, we would often talk and work together: he would often bang out scenes, I would rework some of them, but a lot of a lot of the core things just came from spitballing a lot back and forth, and Josh having a great instinct as a writer. He has many shorts that are unpublished that are very good and very funny and very witty. [Our] process was just a lot of drafting and then Zoom rehearsing, and then also a lot of spontaneity on the day.
It’s interesting you mentioned the Reichardt [films] because she’s worked closely with [novelist and short story writer] Jonathan Raymond and then you mentioned Josh’s unpublished shorts, which point to a different literary quality.
I think so. I also think there are choices that would not be made in a normal film. Like in Hannah Ha Ha, I can think of one that just felt right on the page and I think a regular movie reader who’s reading that script might say, “Oh, you should not derail your movie for five minutes to just follow Avram,” or something, but for me it feels like a chapter that gives us a big slice. I’m talking about the part where for most of the film we’re following Hannah and then suddenly we are with Avram for about five or six minutes as he’s just taking a leisurely walk around town. I think to me it always felt right in the movie and I think it feels right when you’re watching it, but I think on the page a lot of people might be like, “What’s going on there?” When I was in film school, there [were times] when I would hand in a script, and people would tell me not to do something and that advice would get in my head. I would shoot the movie based on their advice, then I went back and would re-shoot to just do what I wanted to do anyway, and it would work. So when you say literary quality, I think of choices like that where it is just kind of a segue into a different chapter and then we’re back into the main story. I think it’s a unique choice that I don’t see a ton in movies — I’m sure it’s been done and I can probably name a movie or two, but I can’t think of a whole lot off the top of my head right now that do that.
Do you think this is because of what we were talking about [before the interview], that there’s a lack of media literacy so when it shifts from expectation—
I think people just want to take rules very seriously and we’ll listen to whoever they think is an expert on things. I’m guilty of this, too. Like when I get notes on a movie, I often will trust what people are saying as opposed to just going with the instinct sometimes. I think it’s a hard thing to fight against because you want to have something that’s a satisfying experience and you also trust the people you’re sending it to, but often the filmmaker is right, I think. Also a big problem is that movies today, in general, are not being made by filmmakers, they’re being made by a bunch of people all inputting bad opinions.
Both features centre around characters that are kind of out of sync with what’s going on around them, so even from a stylistic standpoint, it kind of represents that individual’s idea, which may not conform to what everyone else is doing.
Yeah, they’re people that are not taking the obvious paths that could be in front of them and sticking to their guts about things that are just very internal, like what they feel is right about how to live and how to exist.
And the spaces that they’re in are not what you’d commonly see in a film. Were these locations that you knew already or were they things that you scouted?
Yeah, I would say for sure with Hannah that they were all things that we had in mind, all written for stuff that was accessible [to us]. Then Berman’s was an easier production, because it was mostly at one place, but that was not a place that we had access to [already]. I was hitting up several different friends to find out if there’s a cabin that we could get for cheap or nothing. And we got one for nothing, which is the one that’s in the film, and so while we didn’t have it in mind, we wanted to write for things that were easy to get.
In both films there’s almost an equal amount of travelling between places, it seems like the characters are often in transition to and from those spaces that are maybe the crux of the story.
Yeah, that is true. I want to say a lot about that, but I don’t have a lot to say about that other than it’s just something I like: the journey from one space to another. I find it very soothing to watch and Josh does, as well, so it’s a very much a kind of thing where we are aligned — watching those kinds of moments in movies.
They’re not quite the same, but almost like the pillow shots in Ozu films. I also feel like the scores in both films tend to be more prominent in these moments, that they have a different feel aesthetically.
I’m very guilty of… most of what I’m stealing from are the Reichardt movies. For me, those are primarily what make up my mindset when it comes to shooting things and I think it’s very worn-on-the-sleeve. I think Berman’s March especially is very much almost an Old Joy tribute, directly.
I like the scores in both and they do seem to connect to a kind of 90s indie Americana, I guess obviously Old Joy stars Will Oldham, but even someone like Jim O’Rourke or something similar.
Yeah, Josh got me into Jake Xerxes Fussell, that was all the reference tracks, especially in Berman’s, but Jim O’Rourke is great. We actually used one of his songs in a short film of ours and he’s awesome. One day Jim will score for us.
One thing I like about those moments is that they really give the viewer a chance to settle into the style. I really like the kind of soft focus or whatever it is that you’re doing in camera to get that look.
You like the look? Yeah, I like the look. It’s pantyhose.
My friend guessed that and I was sceptical.
Does he like the look or did he hate the look?
He saw Hannah and that was at least the first thing he said to me about it.
I got a lot of complaints about Hannah and the look of that film, and I’ve gotten less complaints about Berman’s because less people have seen it. I did use a thinner grade of pantyhose than on Hannah, which was very, very thick — like there’s doubling on anything that’s tighter than a 120 [mm lens shot], I think. It was a choice of keeping it consistent or having a glaringly sharp image at the tighter ends, but there’s just something about the way it spreads the light, it just reminds me of the heat of summer in a way that I think works really nicely. I also like what it does to the colours. It just bleeds everything and has more of an impressionistic feel. There’s just something about it that works for me in these movies.
In Berman’s, I like how you get introduced to [the style] with the lights of cars and street lights at night where you can really pick up on what’s happening there.
You’re a positive reaction. This is quite a boost to my day.
At least for me what I enjoyed is that, as you said, it’s impressionistic — it gives you an idea of subjectivity. You may at first think maybe this is going to be nostalgic, but then you start to realise that it’s more just the impressions of a character, like you’re settling into their subjectivity for the film.
I think also, for whatever reason, it makes the film feel more timeless. This is totally subjective — in my opinion and only time will tell — but it doesn’t just feel of this era; it’s not a choice a lot of people are making. When I look at it, I’m not like, “Wow, this was made in 2022,” or whatever.
But I don’t know if that’s accurate. I don’t know if that feeling comes through, but I wanted to feel like it could have been made at any time. Obviously there’s things like cell phones in the movie that tell us, but I don’t want it to feel like a new film in some ways. Sorry, it’s very unclear and blurry the way I’m trying to describe what I’m thinking about, much like the effect you get from it.
Well, that did resonate with what I was thinking about the film’s moments of being in time and out of time — where there’s very explicit references in the the film, like the “Let’s Go Brandon” sign, talking about podcasts with stock advice, the ambient ads on the radio, which do all kind of confirm a specific time. But that’s the context that the Charlie character is always trying to get out of, too. He’s trying to pull himself away from it even though it’s happening around him intermittently.
I mean you’re just constantly inundated with noise you know wherever you go. Even when you’re turning on the radio, you can’t find a satisfying song, you just get ads and obnoxious podcasts that are often about nothing, that only rot your brain.
[The “Best Rest Stop” vlogging character] Travel Av is an interesting counterpoint because for some people, [this context] works for them; it’s exciting, he has his Patreon, he seems to be having fun. It doesn’t seem like such a hostile thing, but then that same impulse in other circumstances gets very aggressive.
I think that character is a highlight of the movie for me just because it’s so weirdly earnest and so different of a role than I’ve put my father through, you know? It’s also just very cute and in a way kind of how he responds to things. Like he if he was one of those characters, that would be him: this great misunderstanding and then the success of how that misunderstanding can be turned into a bit or a character and something fun.
And helpful; people are learning about the best rest stops.
We couldn’t actually film at the best rest stop for that movie, but we got something close.
What is it that made it the best one, the one that you couldn’t go to?
I’m kidding, the idea of there being a best rest stop is just… I’m sure it exists, I’m sure there’s some truckers that would tell you about the best glory holes on the road or something. But I do really love that idea of a place that no one would consider a destination and [there’s someone who’s] very excited about it. Honestly, there is a life to rest stops that is very weird, woozy, and I want to say dream-like — the lights against the dead of night and then just these strange drifters and characters. Have you spent any time on the road or did you ever do gig work where you were driving back real late? It’s a strange world to walk in on those places at like three or four a.m. when you need to just get a little bit of extra energy and get a coffee or something. You have these people that live a very different life and you kind of also get a taste for people who are doing the same thing, but you don’t often find connections there, you just sort of see a bunch of people on a parallel journey.
It’s interesting because as you were saying that, it occurred to me that travel stops tend to be not something you seek out, but whatever is available on the path you’re otherwise on. But there’s also this [contemporary] impulse to be like, “I need to have the best version of everything.” The Charlie character is on a trajectory that he’s maybe not in control of and just has to work within it, whereas his friends are the ones that would probably be looking up “best place to go on vacation.”
This is very true, that’s a funny point. It’s like Charlie is kind of one who accepts the hand he is given and doesn’t try to push, he doesn’t try to control it as much as the people from his past. They have a very directed version of their lives, you know, and also they are people that are told a story and then follow that story. [They] haven’t really stopped to think about why they are doing what they’re doing, they kind of are almost like nodes in a system, just on the path and staying on it.
They’re part of a system that they know rewards you to “max” things — how can you maximise whatever it is — like with the podcast investment advice. Were these characters [based on] observations you’ve had about the world around you or are you drawing upon any experiences or people you know?
I think I am a little lucky, I would say that this is something I have seen in friend groups, but a lot of this is coming out of Josh in some ways and his feelings around friends and people we’ve grown up with. I don’t think this is his own opinion on all of his friends, there is a critique of certain people from his past and I feel very lucky that a lot of my friends are more like the Charlie Robinson who plays [Charlie] Berman. I have not had this kind of sour experience and I think Josh actively doesn’t hang out with the people that he’s critiquing, but I think he would probably say he knows many more people like this than I do. I’m much more in an arts world, whereas a lot of his friends were doing very conventional things in college, but he’s since gravitated away and more into the people that are good for him. He certainly filtered out these kinds of friends from his life.
The reason I asked is because these characters feel very lived in. It’s true for both films. You don’t see [the characters] as an aggregate or type or whatever. You have a feeling that everyone that’s populating [the films], you’ve seen.
I mean, I’ve certainly dealt with petty behaviour. Especially in Berman’s March, we see a pettiness and a competitiveness amongst the friends, but most of my friends, luckily, do not just regurgitate, you know, crypto advice and shit like that. Most of my friends are closer to people like you where I will just talk about movies and art and I think it’s a much more fruitful exchange. If I were to reunite with my friends at a cabin it would not… It would mostly be to make a movie, probably. That’s kind of my main goal. But yeah, I do think that, especially for Berman’s, when people do see it, I think it will be a relatable experience in that a lot of people are in worlds with people like this who almost have a caricature-like energy at times where they are almost reading a script. I say reading a script, but they do have like a scripted persona and they’re almost predictable in how they’ll behave.
This relates to the notion of travel in the film, which is interesting especially as it connects to histories of American art, because on the one hand you have something like Jack Kerouac, and then on the other hand you have this travel tourism now, which does seem like you’re saying: you have to check this box. You need to show that you’ve done the cottage.
The checkbox of things to do as opposed to having a more real reason or experience of doing it. It’s just setting a destination and just going, not as a journey. Doing it as a means to just show that you did it as opposed to wanting to do it for, I want to say, a deeper reason, or actually the enjoyment of the thing necessarily. The enjoyment just becomes that you get a picture at this spot as opposed to really loving the landscape or whatever is there.
Or the people you meet, right? That’s the whole point when it comes to a lot of the traditional ideas of the adventure is what you don’t control in the process versus, as you say, getting to that destination and getting that shot. Which comes up in Berman’s, of course, with the kind of moral dilemma of do you help this stranger that’s at the rest stop with you or is that naive?
And then getting, you know, butchered and critiqued for just being a good human being by your old friends.
No one wants to be naive. They want to be seen as savvy, right? They want to know about crypto in advance. They want to be on the cutting edge of whatever economic boon they’re going to get as opposed to, you know, just feeling intuitive and doing something for the sake of helping someone.
I also think for the people that Berman’s March works for, one of those moments where you really start to get to know and like Charlie is what he’ll do in these smaller moments, in that he’s just got sweet intentions and isn’t thinking about, “Does this hurt me in the long run?” He’s more just thinking in a mode of, “If I can do it, I’m going to do it.” And he does it. And then he also, you know, finds in places he doesn’t expect a kind of reciprocation of those actions, like the next day when he’s just getting a coffee and [the diner] makes him the meal — just these kinds of nice gestures from strangers and I like that they happen almost like a call and response in the movie.
How is it working with the actors?
They’re all very close friends, so I would say it’s great. You know, basically anyone in these movies is just someone from my life who is game to be in a movie. Charlie [Robinson], who’s the star, is a production designer that I’ve loved for years. He’s also in Hannah and a couple of shorts that I’ve done. And in a lot of ways, there are parallels between him and [Charlie] Berman, which is why I think he works so well as the character. I also think he just brings a lot to the table based on who he is. The writing of his character is very sparse, but he just has a very compelling composure on film. He’s always thinking and I think you can kind of feel what he’s projecting as he’s playing the character. I think you can feel this warmth and also this kind of hope from him that I think he has.
I think he has a very natural ability that I’m grateful that I’ve gotten. And basically everyone else is also in film in some way other than my father, old teachers of mine from high school, or friends or parents of friends. So it’s a very nice community-oriented kind of thing, they’re movies made by a community as opposed to, I don’t know, a typical film set where you’re like going out and agonising over who are we going to cast, what star we going to get, that kind of thing.
Are you thinking of the opportunities, excited to see these actors shift from film to film? I know Charlie [Robinson]’s role in Hannah was not big, but I could see a subtle difference; they’re not entirely different personalities, these characters, but you can sense a different performance. Same with Roger [Mancusi] in both films: not worlds different, but you can feel that there’s a different approach. Is it exciting to have your friends [act], to kind of challenge them from film to film or think what they can do in this new role?
The roles are often written with the people in mind and what their abilities are as actors, as well, but I don’t feel there’s a crazy difference, to me they just are good. I think the thing is that they just understand the characters and are a good fit for the roles. It’s funny that you asked that because I just haven’t thought about it that much and now that I am thinking about it, I’m trying to see. I do think for Charlie [Robinson], really the biggest difference between the character that we see in Berman’s versus in Hannah is that I think this Charlie [Berman] is a little more isolated. I think he is not someone with a community around him, whereas in Hannah I really do get the sense that he’s this townie who kind of is friends with everyone in the state, connected with others that have also moved on. Whereas in this one, he’s very much… he’s not a hermit, but he doesn’t have a lot of people in his life that he’s immediately close with. Even with his roommate that we see very briefly, there’s a friendly rapport, but it’s not like these guys have each other’s back. I don’t think we get that sense. So I think that’s really the biggest difference for me and between Berman and Hannah, but it is exciting because from the moment I meet and become friends with most people, it is in the back of my mind: how can I get them in a movie in some way.
I was going to say in Hannah he’s a little more happy-go-lucky and in Berman there’s some jadedness and so you can perceive a shift. As you say, I guess I’m picking up on how it’s written, that there’s a slightly different approach to these characters or their subjectivity to the world around them.
Yeah, I think that he also just has a range, like I’ve seen him play assholes and he’s very good in that kind of role, too. I don’t know if he’s seen “Lemon Tree” (2023) where he plays the role of an irresponsible father and he’s also really good. He’s got range for a guy that would say he’s not really an actor. He’s offer only.
He’s pretty incredible, but I also think that what makes him special is he’s not an actor in a lot of the ways people try to be actors now. I don’t know if this is true, but at least the process is a very curatorial process of thinking about acting in one way and trying. I guess it’s because a lot of the hired jobs I’ve done have been with people that want to be TV actors and that acting style has almost a staleness to it in how they perform: they hit their marks in a specific way, there’s a gloss in the profession even to how the people who are doing these kinds of auditions for roles will dress and learn how to act. They’ll learn monologues, which are often [based on] people in conversation. It’s very rare, even in an argument, that you get a moment to have a monologue where you get to perfectly spit out your ideas and “own” someone else, you know, unless like you’re an orator or a debater. A lot of people aren’t those things and can only have a monologue like that when they’re spitting with anger and when heard objectively, it just sounds immature. A lot of movies hinge on monologues and characters saying the perfect thing at the perfect moment to make us like those characters or something. I think that at least the first couple movies we’ve made operate with a different idea than what has become I guess an American standard of films. I think that a lot of indie films are fighting against what has become the mainstream in that way.
The thing that I always think about with indie film modes is that they can go completely loose, completely improvisational. But then if it’s just that the entire time, it can also be overwhelming or I guess underwhelming. And what I like is this balance, going back to what we were saying about [Kelly] Reichardt and [Jonathan] Raymond, where it feels like it’s intentional and it’s written and there’s a project that’s happening, but it also feels lived in and recognisable, and not, as you say, stale. And so I’m curious about hitting that mark, how it seems like they’re intentional scripts and ideas, but there is also an openness to it.
Looseness to just sort of alter it when something better presents itself or trying to find something better in the moment, but also sticking to the core ideas.
In Hannah, I noticed there was a motif in the writing where there would be this repetition of talking about historical moments: “everything comes back,” “it’s a contemporary twist,” “history repeats itself.” It’s something that threads through different characters that’s just enough to be recognisable as beyond improv.
There is some level of improv on the films and alteration of lines, but I think that a lot of it is also choosing the right takes in the edit to kind of weave these ideas together. I think those ideas are baked into the script, like on the script level you have the radio and in both movies there’s an overlap of that as a device: listening to what’s happening through radio. In [Hannah] we have these ideas of family, these almost parallels between the brothers: Hannah and her brother and Avram and his brother. There’s a lot of those kinds of things just there on the script level.
I think that in both films, a character comments on the tires looking low, too.
Yes, that is that is a common problem with that car. I should check in with Josh to find out if he’s addressed it — he probably hasn’t.
Do you feel any like connection with a certain style of… not even film, because a lot of these aren’t films… but Joe Pera Talks with You or How To with John Wilson, which seemed to also be attuned to listening and observing these slight moments?
I have seen John Wilson before, I don’t know Joe Pera. Everyone is always telling me about the John Wilson show and I never connected with it as much. I’ve tried it, I really have. I used to like a lot of Nathan Fielder. I don’t know if that’s the same because I know he works with John Wilson, but I’m less hot on Nathan Fielder now. I mean, most of what I’m taking in, I would have to go to my Letterboxd, but are movies from the ’70s and some newer movies. There are some new movies I’ve seen that I’ve enjoyed. But I go through phases with different kinds of obsessions and themes. Like right now, I’m watching a lot of French crime films, which is definitely not within the world of these movies, which are very soft and kind of about your everyday person. But when it comes to inspiration, it really is only a few sources like Bujowski and Reichart. I’ve certainly seen other slice of life films. I do need to see, who’s the French director everyone always talks about when they’re asking? [Eric] Rohmer, I’ve got to watch some of his films so I can say he’s a reference. But it really is just, especially for me, a few of them like Bujalski. I don’t know if you’ve seen Funny Ha Ha (2002), but he was very much taking how people talked and behaviours and sort of translating that into the movies, and mixing that with the landscapes that Kelly sort of throws us into, especially with those two movies [Old Joy and Wendy and Lucy]. I really like the Western film — Meek’s Cutoff (2010) is amazing.
We invited Andrew Bujalski here to Toronto and screened prints of Mutual Appreciation (2005) and Funny Ha Ha around when Computer Chess (2013) came out.
So this is years ago. Is there a recorded interview with him online?
It’s on our site.
I watched that last year. It’s like 40 minutes, right? I’ve watched that whole video. I love that video. Bujalski curses like a sailor. He’s got a bullwhip of a tongue. I love, I mean, I really love his first three movies… Beeswax (2009), Mutual Appreciation. I really like Computer Chess and I hope he just keeps making movies. I hope he asks me to shoot one, one day. Is he friends with you?
I have not spoken to him since that interview. He has a producer that lives here in Toronto. I will play this card if it ever comes up.
I’ll do one for you, too. Is there anyone in New York that I can plug you to that would be a good service?
I’ll take you up on that, yeah.
Keep this part in. I find this stuff entertaining.
The thing I wanted to bring up about Joe Pera, I didn’t think it was an inspiration, but what I think is interesting about that style now… some people call it nicecore, I’m not sure that that’s what I’m trying to say, but it’s picking up on smaller moments…
Like just sweet and soft and earnest?
A little bit, but I think it’s a disservice to call it [nicecore] because I think that these examples know when to oscillate the tone to keep it interesting, you know, to introduce those conflicts, but those conflicts aren’t ever huge. They’re more that you really do feel like you’re inhabiting the subjectivity of a specific character and their everyday community.
For me, Berman’s March does communicate both things — a warmth and a bleakness — but I see [in other films] mostly things that are fully bleak and hopeless, and almost a nihilism and disgust for the world around us. A love for characters that create their worst circumstances imaginable and then only make bad choices in the face of those circumstances. I mean, it’s also because I’m not taking in a ton of new movies, but that is a lot of what I see.
Is that why you’re getting into the French crime films?
It’s a good question because there is something that still feels very different to me about these movies from the ’70s… like Straight Time (1978), for example. It’s not a guy making only bad choices. It’s a guy that has people that are getting in the way of him. Like his corrections officer, kind of a bully, you know, and is really just looking to lock him up again, but with the face of someone that is like, “No, I’m here for you, just cooperate with me.” And that movie does pose an interesting question at the end, because we see his whole life, we see all these photos from his past. I guess what I’m talking about is that I feel like a lot of the writing of today is just a glorification of dehumanising, like a fascination with dehumanising these human beings, I guess, into the worst possible scum. When I think about things I’ve worked on [where there’s] the desire to cast people like Buddy Duress because they were in movies like Good Time (2017) or something. I want to figure out a way to not just be crashing what I think are good filmmakers, who have made very good movies, but [instead] the knockoffs of these movies — the people that want to make movies just so that they could emulate that kind of thing as opposed to drawing from what they know and their circumstances, which is which is what I think is at least as successful when I look at Hannah Ha Ha and Berman’s March. It’s not trying to emulate something out of our reach from our own experiences as human beings. There’s a lot being made that is just imitation of other things as opposed to being a truth of one’s own experience.
It’s like being cool, right? There are people who can do it and then there are people that just see it and know that it’s cool and want to do it. And the thing is that the people who do it in the first place didn’t have a blueprint. They were just doing what they felt was authentic to them. And when the people who typically work in advertising or whatever see that, they recognise it. Like what you’re saying about Safdies, I think a lot of people can see and recognise what is interesting about those films, but they also haven’t immersed themselves in film and their reference points. They’ll watch the Safdie [film], but they won’t know where they’re coming from.
Yeah, exactly. It is just trying to imitate the roller coaster ride. I’ve just been on these sets where people are like, “I want it to be like this,” for no better reason than they just want to have a badass movie. Sure. Yeah. I’m guilty of it. Hannah and Berman’s, I definitely wanted them to be badass movies. And in a sense, you know, I wanted them to very much be tributes to these other movies that I love, but they are drawn from a very sincere place, I guess, and not made just to be cool. So that’s the goal, the goal was to make something beautiful — probably 90% of both movies are beautiful.
What would you say is the 10% that’s not?
I do struggle with some of my choices that I think were made out of necessity. On Hannah, I definitely wish I had spent a little more time. But then again, if I had spent more time, the movie might not have gotten done. There are these imperfections. I do think Berman’s is a lot closer in terms of the quality of the image. I think it was the right grade of pantyhose, I think the thinner one did wonders for the image. Some of the blooming in Hannah is insane, but it’s there and it’s there for the world to see for however long the digital age keeps it alive.
And on a long enough timeline, everything becomes beautiful.
If people claim it’s beautiful, then it’s beautiful, you know, so people like you are really helping me out.
That’s how I fit into this network, that’s my node.
Thank you for staying on the path of this. ❏
