New! Mini Film Stills Released

In 2006 I began a collage series based off of the idea of Hollywood film stills. Film stills, or production stills, were images captured on the set of a film, either by staging them for publicity, or by taking the pictures while the cast and crew were working. The original series I developed was born from my frustration as a photographer. I wanted to photograph cinematic scenes but didn’t like having to coordinate models and sets because of the time it took. Working with images I cut out from old books and magazines made it easier for me to scratch the creative itch in real-time. I began creating fictional movie names and started matching collages to these made-up films. Sometimes I would even write parts of dialogue or story lines for my own entertainment.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve further developed this idea, but scaled down the size to see what I could do with a smaller canvas. The new Mini Film Stills are 2.5 x 7 inches and are meant to mimic the old CinemaScope aspect ratio. The new, hand made, one-of-a-kind collages are available for purchase in the store:

http://www.jeremypeggphoto.com/store

Below is a scan of one of the larger stills from the original series and an interview with the filmmaker.

Still #6 From Take Me Anywhere

Still #6 From Take Me Anywhere

INTERVIEW WITH MARTIN NOVACK

Though respected by his peers and the type of mythical director that every actor dreams of working with, filmmaker Martin Novack has never been a household name. I recently sat down with him on the roof of his Minneapolis apartment to discuss his life in cinema and the release of his new film Autograph.

Paul Horton: You've made four films in as many decades. When you started your career did you see yourself making more or less films?

Martin Novack: I never thought so far ahead as to hope I would be prodigious. When I completed work on my first film (Take Me Anywhere) I was shocked to see it in a theater. I felt I was getting away with something.

PH: It was well received.

MN: By the critics, yes.

PH: Were you disappointed that the public didn't seem to understand it or were you happy that the critics loved it?

MN: Both yes. I suppose I wanted the public to receive it but I knew the story may be difficult for some to digest. But for me it was the type of film that had to be made at that time. Even if only for myself.

PH: Is it true that you are most fond of Take Me Anywhere?

MN: Certainly, I have feelings for that film that I think may be impossible for me to have towards the other three pictures. Pure nostalgia, I’m sure. That picture is over thirty years old and I seem far enough removed from the thing, the artifact, that I can watch it and be in wonder at myself. In that sense, I am fond of it. I think I'm fond of the relationships I made on that film as well.

PH: It's a well-known fact that you hired the Bleeker twins from that film to be on your production staff. What motivated your decision to do that?

MN: After wrapping production on Take Me Anywhere, I found myself missing them. They were very dynamic you know. At the risk of sounding insensitive they really were a force of nature. Their personalities were absolutely addicting.

PH: Some have said that you hired them out of guilt for possibly exploiting their situation.

MN: I think now I could admit that that is partly true. But I also think I really loved them and wanted them around. It was not uncommon for me to have friends on my production staff.

PH: Do you think having the Bleeker sisters play such a prominent role in that film helped to take away the social stigma of conjoined twins?

MN: I have no idea if it helped or not. I knew that was one of the elements of the film that the public could have a difficult time with.

PH: You featured them on the promotional posters.

MN: I insisted on it actually. I wanted people to know right away what sort of thing they were getting themselves into. I also think in my young mind I was being anti-establishment or something. There were definitely thoughts of Tod Browning there.

PH: And Take Me Anywhere was nothing even close to Freaks. There were so many great scenes in Take Me Anywhere that I find myself getting angry that people only remember or talk about the scene with the sisters.

MN: Their scenes are memorable. I like to hope that it's their very real personalities that they so vulnerably revealed on the screen, but I suppose that is some kind of commentary on social awkwardness that that is still talked about.

PH: Your next film, Seven Ways to Prosper, was a total departure from Take Me Anywhere. Why was there nearly ten years between them and do you feel like that length of time contributed to the public falling in love with it?

MN: In that they forgot or didn't care that I made Take Me Anywhere? And that the critics seemed to forget that they liked me before? It wasn't purposeful if that's what you are getting at. The distance in time between those two pictures came out of necessity.

PH: You lost your father in that time.

MN: Yes. It was a profound experience. On more than one level. About four years after Take Me Anywhere my father drowned while he and I were fishing on the Pacific Coast. The circumstances around his death have been well documented, but needless to say, finding him already gone and holding him in my lap changed me completely. Out-of-my-control changed me. There are so many little details that are still very tangible even now.

PH: Obviously, the drowned man in Seven Ways to Prosper was a direct and blatant homage to that.

MN: It's not as obvious as you may think. I can see that now when I watch it but it's more in the little things about the scene than the fact that there is a drowned man on the beach in that movie. The story called for that.

PH: What little things in that scene make you realize it?

MN: Little nuances. The awkward heaviness of a lifeless man. The shot of Carl wringing out that heavy wool sweater on the man. The wet hair beginning to dry and move on his head. That brilliant shot of the sun by George (George Girardeau, Novack's director of photography on all his films). The sun still shining and almost happy in the midst of such a tragic moment.

PH: You said it was profound on more than one level?

MN: Losing my father. Losing such a dominant force in my life and then finding out that he left me this substantial inheritance at a time when I really didn't think film making was going to work for me.

PH: In what sense?

MN: I was broke. My first wife and I had our first child. I was writing copy at a local television station and working as an overnight clerk at the hospital. Film making became something I did in my notebook during coffee breaks. My father's death and subsequent inheritance allowed me to devote myself to writing and eventually the completion of Seven Ways to Prosper. I am very grateful to him for that. He gave me a chance that most people, early in their career, never get. I'm not sure I would have made another film without his help.

PH: Do you find it odd that part of your mystique is that you have only completed one film every ten years or so?

MN: That has more to do with the trajectory of my career and the stories I chose to tell than any calculation on my part.

PH: Trajectory?

MN: Getting a break on my first film. Struggling along after no mainstream success. My father dying. Getting back in the habit of writing. Filming and producing Seven Ways to Prosper and then taking on Cervantes. Don Quixote was an absolute nightmare. A legitimate ten-year project. That made me want to quit making pictures forever.

PH: A lot has been written about that. What made you go from Seven Ways to Prosper to Don Quixote?

MN: People saying it couldn't be done.

PH: I read somewhere that you predicted someone would end up dying if you attempted to make that film.

MN: I did. And as everyone now knows, they did.

PH: Why would you predict such a thing?

MN: I don't think I literally thought someone would die. Maybe I did. I said it in jest knowing that to try and tell that story was said to be impossible. At the time I was reading a lot of Jorge Louis Borges' writings on Cervantes and labyrinths and the almost Biblical power of Cervantes. There was something sublime and terrible about the audacity of taking him on.

PH: You have rarely admitted to being influenced by other filmmakers. Why have you been so stubborn on that point when it seems to be the fashion to tell people who you are ripping off?

MN: I am very selfish and paranoid when it comes to the creative process. I don't want to see what other people are doing. I think to some degree you must protect your own voice. I think before you find your voice, you do well to mimic others. They help you along until you can stand on your own. The one filmmaker that I must pay my respects to is Chaplin. He devastates me.

PH: How so?

MN: You have to know all the right strings to pull when it comes to storytelling. And here was a man that did that without the use of words. I would say he's among the masters. Eisenstein was brilliant. Kurosawa was brilliant. But there is something so heartbreaking and pure and funny about Chaplin's best films that they serve as the model, collectively, of great story telling. Look in Chaplin's eyes in The Kid when they rip Jackie Coogan out of his arms. There is more truth in that scene than nearly every film that came after it. Watch the globe scene from The Great Dictator and tell me it doesn't fill you with joy and sadness at the same time.

PH: Are you happy with the response so far to your last film, Autograph?

MN: I think at this point in my career I am indifferent to the response. I used to say that but not truly mean it. But I think now I've realized I have great freedom to make these pictures and so far the reaction by critics or the public has had no real influence on my life. I mean in any meaningful way. Which is not to say that I am ungrateful. It is pleasing to know that there are people that have enjoyed or found meaning in my work.

PH: Are you currently working on any new projects?

MN: I'm kicking some ideas around yeah.

PH: Care to share?

MN: I'm not the telling type.