For our final week of screenings in my 70's Film & Culture classes, we watched John Carpenter's 1976 classic Assault on Precinct 13. Although I usually hesitate to put the director's name before the title in referring to a film (knowing the collaborative effort that leads to the finished product), in this case I feel very comfortable highlighting that this is Carpenter's vision. He wrote, directed and edited it--and composed the unforgettable score. And while some might argue--as did a few students in my class--that his later work is better and more polished, I find this early work--even with its flaws--one of my all-time favorites. Every second of the film oozes with Carpenter's love for cinema, music and storytelling.
I contacted Carpenter to see if he could perhaps share some thoughts with our class. Here are my questions and his answers. Thanks to his assistant Sean for helping to make it happen:
1) I'm encouraging my students to not think of our course as a
history course, but rather to consider how the 70's connects with
today's issues and concerns. As a filmmaker, what is important to
you? Why do you choose certain projects over others?
2) When you look back at Assault on Precinct 13, a very early work,
what does it mean to you?
3) How would you describe the period of the 70's, as a filmmaker
and as an American?
4) What advice can you offer young storytellers as they begin their
professional lives?
TO: Francine Sanders
FROM: John Carpenter
RE: 70's Film & Culture
1) I choose projects for myself for two basic reasons: one, there is
something in the story that resonates for me personally, and, two, I
think I can do a good job with one or more sequences in the script.
Often a particular actor will attract me. If a script is well written, it is attractive. If I've written something myself, I have a feel for what needs to be done as a director.
2) ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13 was a retro movie, a throwback to an
earlier time in American cinema. Some of the action scenes were brutal, but essentially this is an 1940's or 1950's action western with a little noir thrown in. A lot of old Hollywood movies are 'quoted' in the movie, mostly from Howard Hawks films. I was young at the time and it seemed like a good idea.
3) America in the 70's was in turmoil, from Watergate to the oil
shocks to the Iranian revolution. Moviemaking was, for the most part, pretty tame except for exploitation movies. The 60's new wave had passed. We had THE STING and Charles Bronson action movies. Disaster films were popular, the ultimate being THE TOWERING INFERNO. STAR WARS came along in the later 70's. In a way, the 70's were a template for modern movies except there were very few pop culture references.
4) My advice to young filmmakers is to try and get into a film
school. Failing that, start making your own projects using consumer video cameras and editing. Learn the language of cinema. And stay with it.
John Carpenter
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Looking Back
In recent weeks, my 70's students--and I--had the privilege of hearing from some of our Flashpoint faculty and staff regarding their own experiences of life in the 70's. A couple of weeks ago, Dean Charles Jones and Game Faculty Darryl Hughes shared some reflections on their experiences as young black men seeing images such as John Shaft explode on the screen for the first time. I've heard Charles say this before and it still resonates as I write this: When he walked out of the theatre after watching Shaft, he "felt a little taller."
Last week, Recording Arts Faculty Jeff Kliment shared his experiences from his days living in the Castro in 70's San Francisco. This, too, was a special experience for the students--and me.
In an upcoming post, I will be sharing some thoughts on the decade from John Carpenter (who responded to my questions regarding Assault on Precinct 13 and filmmaking in the 70's), and previously included a response from legendary DP Haskell Wexler (who shot another film in our lineup, Coming Home.) But after experiencing the sessions with Charles, Darryl and Jeff, I was reminded that I don't have to go far to get thoughtful and inspiring insights.
Here's what Jeff had to say about stopping into the 70's classes:
On Monday and Wednesday of this week, I attended three sections of the 70’s Film and Culture course to discuss my experience during that decade as it relates to the Gay Liberation movement. The primary cinematic reference was the film “Milk,” much of which is set in 1978, the year I moved to San Francisco. The classes also saw related newsreel and documentary footage, which provided additional context. Francine Sanders invited me to give the students a personal perspective.
Speaking to the students was an interesting experience that definitely took me out of my comfort zone, especially in John Otterbacher’s section, which includes many Recording Arts students. However, the students were engaged and receptive, and in John’s section there was a lively discussion after my initial presentation, so I needn’t have worried. I also received a “thank you” email from one of Francine’s students.
Preparing my remarks beforehand was obviously nostalgic, but it also gave me a chance to reflect on all that has happened since that time. Having just returned to Chicago after spending thirty years in San Francisco, I have a particularly interesting perspective on the movement as it relates to geographical location. I am now able to compare not only the past and the present, but the two parallel, yet different, trajectories of Gay Liberation in two very different American cities.
Without repeating all of my remarks here in this summary, it is worth noting that my gateway into the world of gay culture was through literature. It was through reading that I gained a sense of community. I came of age in the 70’s, a time when gay literature was flourishing, and the bookstores that I found in San Francisco became the key to finding my sense of self-worth and my place in the world.
1978 was a pivotal year for the movement, the end of a very brief period of celebration and in may ways the beginning of the longer struggle for true liberation, which continues today. Harvey Milk showed us the way and gave his life for all of us who now follow in his footsteps. In a sense, my life straddles the “before and after” of the Gay Liberation movement, and that is the perspective I brought to the classroom this week.
Coming out is an ongoing process – every time we gay people meet someone new, this process is part of developing the relationship. This week, I took a significant step in allowing a large number of students to see a part of myself that they might not otherwise be aware of. Much more than just a history lesson, it was a good opportunity for all of us to learn a little more about each other and about ourselves as well. The 70’s Film and Culture course was the perfect forum and I am grateful for this opportunity.
Last week, Recording Arts Faculty Jeff Kliment shared his experiences from his days living in the Castro in 70's San Francisco. This, too, was a special experience for the students--and me.
In an upcoming post, I will be sharing some thoughts on the decade from John Carpenter (who responded to my questions regarding Assault on Precinct 13 and filmmaking in the 70's), and previously included a response from legendary DP Haskell Wexler (who shot another film in our lineup, Coming Home.) But after experiencing the sessions with Charles, Darryl and Jeff, I was reminded that I don't have to go far to get thoughtful and inspiring insights.
Here's what Jeff had to say about stopping into the 70's classes:
On Monday and Wednesday of this week, I attended three sections of the 70’s Film and Culture course to discuss my experience during that decade as it relates to the Gay Liberation movement. The primary cinematic reference was the film “Milk,” much of which is set in 1978, the year I moved to San Francisco. The classes also saw related newsreel and documentary footage, which provided additional context. Francine Sanders invited me to give the students a personal perspective.
Speaking to the students was an interesting experience that definitely took me out of my comfort zone, especially in John Otterbacher’s section, which includes many Recording Arts students. However, the students were engaged and receptive, and in John’s section there was a lively discussion after my initial presentation, so I needn’t have worried. I also received a “thank you” email from one of Francine’s students.
Preparing my remarks beforehand was obviously nostalgic, but it also gave me a chance to reflect on all that has happened since that time. Having just returned to Chicago after spending thirty years in San Francisco, I have a particularly interesting perspective on the movement as it relates to geographical location. I am now able to compare not only the past and the present, but the two parallel, yet different, trajectories of Gay Liberation in two very different American cities.
Without repeating all of my remarks here in this summary, it is worth noting that my gateway into the world of gay culture was through literature. It was through reading that I gained a sense of community. I came of age in the 70’s, a time when gay literature was flourishing, and the bookstores that I found in San Francisco became the key to finding my sense of self-worth and my place in the world.
1978 was a pivotal year for the movement, the end of a very brief period of celebration and in may ways the beginning of the longer struggle for true liberation, which continues today. Harvey Milk showed us the way and gave his life for all of us who now follow in his footsteps. In a sense, my life straddles the “before and after” of the Gay Liberation movement, and that is the perspective I brought to the classroom this week.
Coming out is an ongoing process – every time we gay people meet someone new, this process is part of developing the relationship. This week, I took a significant step in allowing a large number of students to see a part of myself that they might not otherwise be aware of. Much more than just a history lesson, it was a good opportunity for all of us to learn a little more about each other and about ourselves as well. The 70’s Film and Culture course was the perfect forum and I am grateful for this opportunity.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Sounds of Silence: The Power of What We Don’t Hear or See or Why I Hate When People Make Noise During Screenings
Throughout this course, we have observed that in many of the films we’ve looked at, some of the greatest moments have been delivered by the absence of information—whether it’s visual or aural. In The Parallax View, director Alan Pakula and DP Gordon Willis’s widescreen images often fail to offer focal points that allow the viewer a clear idea of where to look, what to pay attention to, and what’s really going on. In The Long Goodbye, directed by Robert Altman, we discovered that long takes combined with overlapping dialogue create a similar effect, often disorienting us, confusing us and prohibiting us from knowing with any certainty that we are “getting” it.
Our recent screenings of Jaws and last week’s Taxi Driver again reminded me of the power of holding back. In Jaws, we are not visually introduced to the shark until about halfway through the film. But that doesn’t mean we don’t know him or what he can do. In the opening sequence, which is perhaps, for me, one of the most horrific scenes in the film, the shark wreaks his havoc on a young, hippie swimmer. All we see is her upper body writhing around in the water, while we imagine the terror below in all its glorious gore. Of course, a big part of the scene’s power is John Williams’ score, introduced in this early sequence. From that point on in the story, even a few notes evoke a Pavlovian reaction: the viewer, still having not officially made the acquaintance of our killer shark, continues to feel his presence and react to his potential for terror.
In Taxi Driver, a film known for its intense violence and for its director Martin Scorsese’s seeming comfort with guns and the bloody fallout from using them on another human being, the most violent scene in the film is one without a drop of blood. For me, there is no scene more violent than the one in which a male passenger, played by Scorsese himself, forces the taxi driver, Travis Bickle (Robert DeNiro) to watch the silhouette of his adulterous wife in the illuminated window of her lover’s apartment. During this scene, we, like Bickle, are trapped in the cab and must listen to this sicko as he describes what he’s going to do to his wife. Once again, it’s the absence—in this case, dialogue—Bickle speaks no more than a word or two—that creates the tension.
In terms of emotional resonance, I similarly find myself most moved by some of the film’s quieter scenes, those without splashy displays of action, overt violence or big moments. For example, the scene when Travis calls Betsy (Cybill Shepherd) after their aborted date, the camera stays with Travis for a long take covering most of his painful conversation, and then pans to the adjacent empty hallway, leaving Travis behind. We hear the rest of the conversation, but we are no longer privileged to see it. Perhaps Scorsese is protecting his hero, saving him from further humiliation. There’s a part of me that feels relieved when the camera pans away, as if I shouldn’t have been watching this man on his way down in the first place. I decided to go back to the screenplay to see how writer Paul Schrader envisioned this scene. Interestingly, even in the final shooting script, there is really no hint of this choice. This seems to be an example of Scorsese at his directorial best.
So now to the second part of this post: Why I Hate When People Make Noise During Screenings. As a film lover, it just doesn’t sit well with me when someone is crinkling wrappers, texting or talking during a movie. While this is going on, it’s inevitable that this viewer (and the ones around him or her) are missing something—not necessarily a line of dialogue or an exciting piece of action—but rather a great moment between lines of dialogue or the curious shot that forces you to hunt for information and meaning. We’ve already seen that many 70’s films, particularly the ones we’ve screened in class, are not easy films that spoon feed information. Rather, they are stories that require an active viewer who is paying attention—all the time.
Let’s also consider the artist behind the work. French New Wave pioneer Francois Truffaut once wrote—I’m paraphrasing here—that he thought of his film audiences as people he was having a conversation with. He was having a personal, intimate exchange with us when we watched one of his films. I like to think about all art this way. As artists, we want our audience to take in everything that we have worked so hard to create. I’m a writer. Imagine if someone read a story I wrote, but for whatever reason, skipped over a couple of sentences, or even words—sentences and words that probably took me days or weeks or even months to fine tune into something I was proud of and ready to share with the world. And because of this, I think we owe the person who created this work a certain amount of respect. We need to listen and watch, to soak up all of it, and not miss even one second. Who knows? The moment we didn’t see or hear could be loaded with emotion, power and meaning.
I understand that some people may not agree with me on this, and that they may have a different take. That’s fine. I invite them to talk to me about it—just not during the movie.
Our recent screenings of Jaws and last week’s Taxi Driver again reminded me of the power of holding back. In Jaws, we are not visually introduced to the shark until about halfway through the film. But that doesn’t mean we don’t know him or what he can do. In the opening sequence, which is perhaps, for me, one of the most horrific scenes in the film, the shark wreaks his havoc on a young, hippie swimmer. All we see is her upper body writhing around in the water, while we imagine the terror below in all its glorious gore. Of course, a big part of the scene’s power is John Williams’ score, introduced in this early sequence. From that point on in the story, even a few notes evoke a Pavlovian reaction: the viewer, still having not officially made the acquaintance of our killer shark, continues to feel his presence and react to his potential for terror.
In Taxi Driver, a film known for its intense violence and for its director Martin Scorsese’s seeming comfort with guns and the bloody fallout from using them on another human being, the most violent scene in the film is one without a drop of blood. For me, there is no scene more violent than the one in which a male passenger, played by Scorsese himself, forces the taxi driver, Travis Bickle (Robert DeNiro) to watch the silhouette of his adulterous wife in the illuminated window of her lover’s apartment. During this scene, we, like Bickle, are trapped in the cab and must listen to this sicko as he describes what he’s going to do to his wife. Once again, it’s the absence—in this case, dialogue—Bickle speaks no more than a word or two—that creates the tension.
In terms of emotional resonance, I similarly find myself most moved by some of the film’s quieter scenes, those without splashy displays of action, overt violence or big moments. For example, the scene when Travis calls Betsy (Cybill Shepherd) after their aborted date, the camera stays with Travis for a long take covering most of his painful conversation, and then pans to the adjacent empty hallway, leaving Travis behind. We hear the rest of the conversation, but we are no longer privileged to see it. Perhaps Scorsese is protecting his hero, saving him from further humiliation. There’s a part of me that feels relieved when the camera pans away, as if I shouldn’t have been watching this man on his way down in the first place. I decided to go back to the screenplay to see how writer Paul Schrader envisioned this scene. Interestingly, even in the final shooting script, there is really no hint of this choice. This seems to be an example of Scorsese at his directorial best.
So now to the second part of this post: Why I Hate When People Make Noise During Screenings. As a film lover, it just doesn’t sit well with me when someone is crinkling wrappers, texting or talking during a movie. While this is going on, it’s inevitable that this viewer (and the ones around him or her) are missing something—not necessarily a line of dialogue or an exciting piece of action—but rather a great moment between lines of dialogue or the curious shot that forces you to hunt for information and meaning. We’ve already seen that many 70’s films, particularly the ones we’ve screened in class, are not easy films that spoon feed information. Rather, they are stories that require an active viewer who is paying attention—all the time.
Let’s also consider the artist behind the work. French New Wave pioneer Francois Truffaut once wrote—I’m paraphrasing here—that he thought of his film audiences as people he was having a conversation with. He was having a personal, intimate exchange with us when we watched one of his films. I like to think about all art this way. As artists, we want our audience to take in everything that we have worked so hard to create. I’m a writer. Imagine if someone read a story I wrote, but for whatever reason, skipped over a couple of sentences, or even words—sentences and words that probably took me days or weeks or even months to fine tune into something I was proud of and ready to share with the world. And because of this, I think we owe the person who created this work a certain amount of respect. We need to listen and watch, to soak up all of it, and not miss even one second. Who knows? The moment we didn’t see or hear could be loaded with emotion, power and meaning.
I understand that some people may not agree with me on this, and that they may have a different take. That’s fine. I invite them to talk to me about it—just not during the movie.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The Times Are They A-Changin?
One of the many delights of the 1978 Hal Ashby film Coming Home is the soundtrack. Among the legends featured are Aretha Franklin, the Stones, the Beatles, Jefferson Airplane, Jimi Hendrix, Richie Havens--and Dylan.
Although "The Times They Are A-Changin", written by Dylan in 1963, is not one of the featured songs, it feels like it should have been. Dylan's song became sort of an anthem for the protest movement that swept our nation and the world throughout the 60's and early 70's. It was part call to action, part wake up call to those who weren't paying attention. (http://www.bobdylanlyrics.net/timchang.html)
So, what does Dylan's song mean today? I've asked my students to create an "Art as Protest" project for their final in our class. I'm curious: What is their protest about? And I'm greatly looking forward to seeing how they express it. I hope that like the work we've been watching and discussing, they share something of themselves and create a piece of work that is about something.
I recently had the pleasure of talking to Haskell Wexler, the Chicago-born director and cinematographer, who at 84 is still a passionate filmmaker working on projects that mean something to him. Wexler began his filmmaking career as a cinematographer in the late 50's. Among the films he shot were Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, which earned him an Oscar, In the Heat of the Night, American Graffiti, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and Coming Home, the film we screened in class last week. Wexler has also produced, written and directed numerous documentary films and was one of several DP's featured in the "Visions of Light: The Art of Cinematography" documentary. His ground-breaking film Medium Cool (1969), set during the '68 Chicago Democratic Convention, is considered one of the seminal films of political cinema. You can read more about Wexler's work, including his most recent doc Who Needs Sleep?, at whoneedssleep.net and haskellwexler.com.
Wexler generously agreed to share a few thoughts with me and my 70's students. Here was his response to my questions:
Dear Francine:
You ask "As a cinematographer and filmmaker, what is important to you?"
Answer: Developing the professional skills to be able to communicate moving pictures in ways that engage people with a story I want to tell. Another answer could be: What's important to me is: getting a job, decent pay, and have a life and be able to buy things to make me happy. Hopefully your students, as artists, will struggle between those real world extremes.
I believe our discussions about the making of COMING HOME will afford insights into the 70s, period. The wider philosophic base to Art, Politics and Commerce may emerge.
When I received an Academy Award for VIRGINIA WOOLF I said: "I hope we can use our art for Peace and Love." 2010 still working on it.
Take it easy but take it,
Haskell
Although "The Times They Are A-Changin", written by Dylan in 1963, is not one of the featured songs, it feels like it should have been. Dylan's song became sort of an anthem for the protest movement that swept our nation and the world throughout the 60's and early 70's. It was part call to action, part wake up call to those who weren't paying attention. (http://www.bobdylanlyrics.net/timchang.html)
So, what does Dylan's song mean today? I've asked my students to create an "Art as Protest" project for their final in our class. I'm curious: What is their protest about? And I'm greatly looking forward to seeing how they express it. I hope that like the work we've been watching and discussing, they share something of themselves and create a piece of work that is about something.
I recently had the pleasure of talking to Haskell Wexler, the Chicago-born director and cinematographer, who at 84 is still a passionate filmmaker working on projects that mean something to him. Wexler began his filmmaking career as a cinematographer in the late 50's. Among the films he shot were Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, which earned him an Oscar, In the Heat of the Night, American Graffiti, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and Coming Home, the film we screened in class last week. Wexler has also produced, written and directed numerous documentary films and was one of several DP's featured in the "Visions of Light: The Art of Cinematography" documentary. His ground-breaking film Medium Cool (1969), set during the '68 Chicago Democratic Convention, is considered one of the seminal films of political cinema. You can read more about Wexler's work, including his most recent doc Who Needs Sleep?, at whoneedssleep.net and haskellwexler.com.
Wexler generously agreed to share a few thoughts with me and my 70's students. Here was his response to my questions:
Dear Francine:
You ask "As a cinematographer and filmmaker, what is important to you?"
Answer: Developing the professional skills to be able to communicate moving pictures in ways that engage people with a story I want to tell. Another answer could be: What's important to me is: getting a job, decent pay, and have a life and be able to buy things to make me happy. Hopefully your students, as artists, will struggle between those real world extremes.
I believe our discussions about the making of COMING HOME will afford insights into the 70s, period. The wider philosophic base to Art, Politics and Commerce may emerge.
When I received an Academy Award for VIRGINIA WOOLF I said: "I hope we can use our art for Peace and Love." 2010 still working on it.
Take it easy but take it,
Haskell
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Why I Love Teaching 70's Film & Culture
One of the many exciting aspects of teaching the 70's Film & Culture classes at Flashpoint Academy is the weekly opportunity to re-discover this dynamic decade and its key films with a new group of students.
I have been on this journey before, traveling to this fascinating time, but it always seems fresh when I have some first-time travelers at my side, especially a group that is as curious and thoughtful as the students in my current classes.
During our first class, we watched Five Easy Pieces (Bob Rafelson, 1970), one of the small, character-driven films that kicked off the period. The second week, we screened The Long Goodbye (Robert Altman, 1973), a 70's take on Raymond Chandler's quintessential private eye, Philip Marlowe. This week, it's Coming Home (Hal Ashby, 1978), an anti-war film that deflates the clean, good guys vs. bad guys scenarios in early Vietnam-era films, such as The Green Berets (John Wayne & Ray Kellogg, 1968), which we viewed a clip from.
From Day 1, students' observations have been thoughtful and thought-provoking--both in class and in their blog response journals. It's great to read their posts, especially the ones where the author has clearly spent time not only writing about the films and our class, but thinking about them.
I started off the class--and mentioned this in my first blog--with the thought that at least for me, the 70's was not an era defined by its solutions or answers, but rather a decade defined by the questions. So, as my classes continue their travels in this decade, I hope they will stay curious, think deeply, and ask lots of questions.
We never know when or where our next inspiration will come from. Perhaps, like the maverick film artists who defined 70's cinema (including the ones interviewed in A Decade Under the Influence) and whose inspirations and influences came from far and distant places--Kurosawa, Bergman, Renoir, Hawks and Ford, our work will be inspired by the energy and creativity supplied by the 70's. Then again, you might just get inspired by the student sitting next to you, or the one posting a comment on your blog.
Stay open. Your story is still unfolding and is still open to interpretation, just like a good 70's movie.
I have been on this journey before, traveling to this fascinating time, but it always seems fresh when I have some first-time travelers at my side, especially a group that is as curious and thoughtful as the students in my current classes.
During our first class, we watched Five Easy Pieces (Bob Rafelson, 1970), one of the small, character-driven films that kicked off the period. The second week, we screened The Long Goodbye (Robert Altman, 1973), a 70's take on Raymond Chandler's quintessential private eye, Philip Marlowe. This week, it's Coming Home (Hal Ashby, 1978), an anti-war film that deflates the clean, good guys vs. bad guys scenarios in early Vietnam-era films, such as The Green Berets (John Wayne & Ray Kellogg, 1968), which we viewed a clip from.
From Day 1, students' observations have been thoughtful and thought-provoking--both in class and in their blog response journals. It's great to read their posts, especially the ones where the author has clearly spent time not only writing about the films and our class, but thinking about them.
I started off the class--and mentioned this in my first blog--with the thought that at least for me, the 70's was not an era defined by its solutions or answers, but rather a decade defined by the questions. So, as my classes continue their travels in this decade, I hope they will stay curious, think deeply, and ask lots of questions.
We never know when or where our next inspiration will come from. Perhaps, like the maverick film artists who defined 70's cinema (including the ones interviewed in A Decade Under the Influence) and whose inspirations and influences came from far and distant places--Kurosawa, Bergman, Renoir, Hawks and Ford, our work will be inspired by the energy and creativity supplied by the 70's. Then again, you might just get inspired by the student sitting next to you, or the one posting a comment on your blog.
Stay open. Your story is still unfolding and is still open to interpretation, just like a good 70's movie.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Finding My 70’s Groove
I’m new to blogging, so please be patient with me as I figure out an approach that feels right—to both the “writer me” (the solitary person who writes in her notebook or laptop on the Brown Line, lost in the joy of putting words to the page, semi-oblivious to the world around her and occasionally missing her train stop) and the “communicator me” (the social person who is acutely aware of her environment and who desperately wants to make a connection between her thoughts, ideas and words and another someone, a listener, a reader, you.)
Why the 70’s? It seems only appropriate to start with a question, since the 70’s was less about coming up with solutions and answering the questions posed in the 60’s, and more about the questions themselves. For me, the power of the 70’s, the real nerve center of this decade, was all about people—the people—standing up and asking the questions that needed to get asked.
What is the 70’s? The 70’s, at least for me, is not just a 10-year chunk of time. Sure, it’s an important piece of history marked by some of the most significant events in the life of the American people, not to mention some of the most exciting filmmaking ever. But when I think about this decade, I think less about a physical place in the continuum of history and more about a state of mind. The 70’s is about a people, individually and collectively, asking the questions that needed to get asked—to their political leaders, religious leaders, teachers, husbands, wives, prison officials, police chiefs, neighbors, brothers, mothers, themselves. It was about no longer trusting that what we see is what is real, discovering that the truth has many faces, and that all the institutions we counted on to look out for us can no longer be counted on. It was about calling out the country on what’s not working, and coming together to make it work. It was about race, gender, sexuality, war, freedom, lies, truths, reality checks and always questions.
And that’s why you don’t have to go too far to get your 70’s groove. The 70’s is now.
Why the 70’s? It seems only appropriate to start with a question, since the 70’s was less about coming up with solutions and answering the questions posed in the 60’s, and more about the questions themselves. For me, the power of the 70’s, the real nerve center of this decade, was all about people—the people—standing up and asking the questions that needed to get asked.
Why choose to offer a class on the 70’s? Why choose to teach it? A little history seems appropriate. One of the first classes I ever taught was a course I developed called 70’s Film & Culture. That was about 10 years ago. Since then, I’ve seized on any and every opportunity to teach the class—or some iteration of it—every chance I get. Why? The 70’s continues to inspire. And even now, as I prepare to teach my upcoming classes, I’m as excited, passionate and eager as I was 10 years ago and all the times since. This is a decade that just doesn’t grow old.
What is the 70’s? The 70’s, at least for me, is not just a 10-year chunk of time. Sure, it’s an important piece of history marked by some of the most significant events in the life of the American people, not to mention some of the most exciting filmmaking ever. But when I think about this decade, I think less about a physical place in the continuum of history and more about a state of mind. The 70’s is about a people, individually and collectively, asking the questions that needed to get asked—to their political leaders, religious leaders, teachers, husbands, wives, prison officials, police chiefs, neighbors, brothers, mothers, themselves. It was about no longer trusting that what we see is what is real, discovering that the truth has many faces, and that all the institutions we counted on to look out for us can no longer be counted on. It was about calling out the country on what’s not working, and coming together to make it work. It was about race, gender, sexuality, war, freedom, lies, truths, reality checks and always questions.
And that’s why you don’t have to go too far to get your 70’s groove. The 70’s is now.
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