Short and Sweet

Taking the temperature yielded concerns about self-image, bullying and atheism.

The reading being taken was that of the local film making scene at the winter edition of the James River Filmmakers Forum.

There was a decent crowd at the Visual Arts Center and the brown bags full of popcorn were lined up on the counter for the taking.

I took.

First up was Paul Hugins' "Applications," with a woman at a makeup table trying to make herself beautiful.

Make-up application wasn't enough, so she resorted to scalpels and giving herself plastic surgery while brassy vintage music played.

It's not pretty to watch someone carve up their own face, meaning the effects were good.

"As Best I Can Remember," was introduced by filmmaker James Mattise as, "There's gonna be a lot different vibe for this one. I was trying to create a film documentary without using Ken Burns."

Using audio created by his grandfather reminiscing about his life, James placed still photographs of his life - shots from his time on a minesweeper in the Navy, as a groom and young father, working at the family dairy- along with family shots to create a visual to accompany the memories.

The grandfather's dialog was informative and sharply observed, as when he said about being in the South Pacific during WWII, "If you were going to survive, you couldn't be foolish."

Nils Westergard and Daniel Ardure's "William" was introduced with the caveat," We made this after my first years as a film student and his second. We haven't watched it in a while so some parts may make me wince. And that's okay."

The story of a shy kid invited to a party in order to later cyber-bully him could be seen as a 21st century tragedy.

All I know is, I hate to see a college kid wake up next to a Supercan.

And speaking of college kids, I recognized the intersection of Main and Harrison and the credits acknowledged Pabst Blue Ribbon.

The only filmmaker in a tux (he said he was planning to fly out and crash the Oscars), James Cappello called the making of "Cain" a "long, arduous and sometimes lazy journey to get a film made. Oh, and I'm an atheist."

He then asked his parents to move to the front row so they could watch his film without heads in front of them and they obliged.

The tinny voice of god narrated the unusual take on the classic bible tale, with quotes from Nietzsche and lines like, "Humans can be such opportunists," and "Boys will be boys."

"The Persistence of Poe" was a more recent edit of the film I'd seen at the Poe Museum in September, introduced by David Fuchs as, "After biblical deepness, here's some light history."

A prior viewing meant I knew to expect excellent old photographs and illustrations along with the story of Poe's deeply unhappy and thwarted life.

Which meant that by the end of the screenings, we'd swung from self-mutilation to poets dying in gutters, with granddads, mean boys and brothers in between.

The only way to deal with that was by calling all the filmmakers up front for the forum part of the evening.

Alright, you guys, time to explain yourselves.

This is always a fun part of the program because you never know what you'll hear out of their mouths.

Like Hugins saying, "After seeing that again, I found that final shot (of her stabbing herself in the nose) too humorous for what I wanted to do with this film."

Humorous, grotesque, call it what you will.

He did say the film was about his (and everyone's) sense of self-doubt when it comes to looks.

Mattise talked about the sense he had when making the film about his grandfather of listening to the audio on headphones and feeling like he was having a conversation with the long-gone relative, meaningful since he'd been in high school when his grandfather had died and not really taking much note.

The screenwriter for the sad tale of "William" said that the intent was, "Going for the the most dramatic story I could to make a film with no money and our friends."

They spoke of Facebook as an analogy for the ancient art of public humiliation, something that hadn't occurred to me.

John the Atheist said he was drawn to using a bible story so he didn't have to create one of his own.

"I wanted a cheap but challenging story, but the original "Cain and Abel" was so dry."

JRFF host Jeff Roll asked him a terrific question about why an atheist would turn to a bible story instead of, say, Nietzsche or Sartre.

"What better way to talk about my opinion of the bible than by splintering it?" he retorted.

When asked, "How did being raised Catholic and turning atheist affect your film?" John answered, "Mom, do I have to answer that?"

Mom said yes.

He talked about Cain and Abel as victims, finishing with, "I don't really know how to justify it cause I'm just a 22-year old."

Then, turning back to his Mom, he inquired, "Did I answer that right?"

So cute.

The Poe filmmaker Christine Stoddard spoke about all the little changes they'd made to the film since September in an attempt to make it more appropriate for long-term viewing at the Poe Museum, the eventual goal.

And, just like that, we closed out the forum, secure in the knowledge that interesting film making is being churned out all around us.

I'd probably cite "As Best I Can Remember" as my favorite tonight, but the fact that my grandfather was a milkman for Richmond Diary no doubt plays a role.

What's key is that young, local filmmakers continue to crank out new work on important subjects like mutilation, bullies, fratricide and dissolution.

Short-form Oscars, here they come.

Coo Coo Ca Choo

You just never know how things are going to blow up on you.

One minute I'm walking into 2113 (where they've just added a sinuous partition to separate the dining area from the bar) and the next someone is asking me if I'm with the Ad Club.

As it turned out, I think my friend and I were the only two non-advertising people in the bar for the next hour and a half.

But that was okay because advertising types are a fascinating group to watch network (so much intensity! so much self-awareness!), especially with alcohol.

As non-networking types, my friend and I discussed important topics of our own like how music must never be far away no matter where in your home you are.

She mentioned how tired she is of hearing '90s music everywhere (despite the fact that it's the decade of her youth) now that it's become the new oldies.

It made her feel my pain, that of the multiple decades of old music I've had to endure for years.

As her mother put it, "I never need to hear The Doors again."

Amen, Mom.

When we parted ways, the adsters were in full swing talking to each other while looking around to see who else they needed to connect with.

Walking toward the Poe Museum, a guy said hello and, "I like those shoes."

Diversity Thrift, three bucks, I said, clearly impressing him with what look like espadrille wedges from the '70s.

Since when do men notice shoes?

Tonight was the Poe Museum's monthly Unhappy Hour, an evening of music, drama and film with liberal doses of corny humor, male humor and band humor.

It was a gorgeous night to be in a brick-walled garden inhaling soft, warm air with a nearly full moon above.

Walking into the Poe garden, I saw that Goldrush (all clad in black Kronos Quartet-style) had already begun playing so I found a spot against a curved tree trunk.

When they finished their song, Treesa spotted me and Prabir said hello via the microphone.

"This one's for you, Karen," he said. "This isn't about you, Karen but I wrote it right around that time we discussed this situation and you agreed and I agreed, so here we go."

Let's just say the lyrics had something to do with, "Thank you, thank you, but I am a mess, so thank you."

Ah, yes, that messy period.

"This one's called 'Tyrannasaurus Rex. Ma'am, this is dedicated to you," he said pointing at a woman in the third row. "Nothing personal."

During the song, the Man About Town showed up and when I went to hug him, he lifted me clean off the ground with his bear-like embrace.

An inquiry into his state of being resulted in, "Better now."

With the fountain burbling behind the trio of Goldrush, they played "Eleanor Rigby" before excusing themselves.

"We're going to take a break but stick around and be unhappy," Prabir exhorted.

Why come to Unhappy Hour if not to be maudlin?

Next up was Ryan Lee unburdening his soul with Poe's short story, "The Black Cat," done partly as a dramatization and partly as a reading.

While it was easy to get lost in Poe's language ("Evil thoughts became my soul intimates"), modern reminders abounded.

Motorcycles roared down Main Street. A helicopter whirred overhead. The museum's a/c unit cranked on and off.

Lee's performance ended with him portraying the guilt-ridden murderer of the story, on his knees in the grass and sobbing.

"I hope you're all thoroughly miserable now," the museum's director said afterwards.

I passed the subsequent break discussing with my seatmate hanging heavy winter coats with metaphors about the tensile strength of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Granted, it was more hysterical than unhappy.

Goldrush returned to do "our most macabre song about why you should love people."

I'm not sure how macabre a song called "Kiss and Make Up" can be considered but the crowd went along with it.

"This one's for Karen, so she can have more bass," Prabir said a second time, surprising no one more than me.

A tease of a few notes had my seatmate humming the melody of "Mrs. Robinson" before they launched into a Goldrush standard, "Roll One."

Mid-song, Prabir says, "Here's what you came for," and gestured to Matt who did a very fine upright bass solo.

The song "Don't Worry" had M.A.T. cracking, "That's the Romney/Ryan theme song."

There was a song dedicated to the Indians in the audience ("I guess it's a self-dedication," Prabir cracked only to have a guy yell afterwards, "I'm Hindu!") and a song for Christians.

You know, the classic, "Jesus Christ Loves His Beans and Rice."

It was getting harder and harder to stay in unhappy mode.

Their closer was a rousing and rocking cover of "I am the Walrus" and looking around, I was reminded that after almost 50 years, everyone likes the Beatles.

When they finished, some guys took their place in the center of the garden with what looked like a big, black parachute.

Nope, it was way better - an inflatable movie screen.

That's right, something that inflated in seconds and rather resembled a moon bounce grew right before our very eyes until it was touching tree branches.

"Now it's a party!" Man About Town joked.

Screening was "The Persistence of Poe," a film by Christine Stoddard about the Poe/Richmond connection.

Full of fabulous old black and white photographs of the city in the 19th century, the documentary was still in the "rough cut" stage but I found it full of fun facts about Poe's life.

When the film mentioned Poe's first love, the older Elmira, my companion leaned in and murmured, "Mrs. Robinson."

Clearly we had a motif going.

When the film ended, it wasn't like the house lights were going to come up so everyone sat there momentarily.

I mentioned that I thought we should hang around and watch the screen deflate.

"I don't want to talk about deflation," M.A.T. quipped.

Not at middle age anyway, I responded.

"Touche!" he roared, throwing back his head and laughing his distinctive laugh.

The museum's director instructed us all to come back in October for the next unhappy hour.

"Next month's theme is 'The Mask of the Red Death,' so everyone will be dropping like flies," he deadpanned.

I can hardly wait for the misery of it all.