Written by Elena Saavedra Buckley
Translator: Yi Ersan
Proofreader: Onegin
Source: The New Yorker (July 18, 2020)
For much of this past spring, scenes in Austin, Texas, were as dreamy as described in the opening monologue of Richard Linklater's early nineties film Urban Ronin— a film written, performed and filmed in the city.
《Urban Ronin》
"I just had a very strange dream in a car," the film's protagonist says to an indifferent taxi driver. "Nothing happened. Dude, it's like a scene from The Last Man. No one around... When I got home, I kept switching TV channels and reading."
As Texas approached 1,000 cases of COVID-19 infection, Austin issued its first "stay home" order on March 24. On May 1, hours after a record number of reported single-day deaths, the state launched a reopening program. Gov. Greg Abbott has asked businesses to gradually resume business while controlling foot traffic.
In Austin, some shops and restaurants immediately reopened; Cisco's, a popular American-Style Mexican-style restaurant, surrounded alternating stools in front of the counter with blue paint worker tape, while Texas Chili Parlor, near the state capitol, let customers sit in the back room. Others were more resistant.
The A.F.S. Cinema, run by the Austin Film Society, founded by Linklater in 1985, was the first cinema to announce its continued closure. ("Whatever control experiments the government wants to do right now, we're not going to be at the forefront," Linklater later explained.) Other theaters have followed suit: As of July, only five of the more than 20 theaters in the Austin area had tried to reopen.
The other day, Linklater drove 40 minutes from his home in southeast Austin to town to see a movie. He parked his car in front of a high street sandwiched between the chain hotel and the vacant lot, and walked toward the corner of the building, where the A.F.S. Cinema has been operating since 2013. The cinema screens independent, foreign and experimental films, and has a soft spot for films shot in Texas.
Linklater is the artistic director of the Austin Film Society, and although no longer responsible for all of the association's work, she will continue to contribute to the curatorial exhibition, including the "non-stop" screening of 1980s films. The week the cinema closed in March, it was supposed to be screened at the South by Southwest Film Festival. (The festival was also canceled due to the pandemic.) ）
"This is my first time out," Said Linklater, his hands crossed at his waist, wandering the halls of the movie theater. "Everything is at a standstill." He wears a mask with a dot pattern, a short-sleeved shirt with buttons, a pair of shorts and a pair of Keen hiking sandals.
A few days before the "stay at home" order went into effect, he had finished production of his next film, Apolo One and a Half: Adventures in the Space Age, set in Houston during the 1969 moon landing. Inspired by The Memories of Linklater, the film tells the story of a group of children fantasizing about a mission to the moon.
The film was partly live-action and partly animated using a technique similar to rotoscoper technology; Linklater spent a lot of time editing videos during the quarantine. He also watched many old movies with his 16-year-old twin daughter, such as the documentary "Give Me Shelter" about the Rolling Stones tour. Until the projector at home broke. "It's the worst thing," he said. "I don't even want to mention it."
Like a good dog sniffing out his old nest, Linklater hurried to the movie posters hanging in front of the cinema door—Dead Kiss, The Red Desert, and an entire wall of Polish posters—taken from his vast collection. He was also thinking about where to put a new poster he bought in Paris ("Those poster shops in Paris are very distinctive"), perhaps alongside the black exploitation film Kofi. "I think it's a good combination," he said. He then looked at the crimson printed poster of Jean-Luc Godard's The Chinese Girl and wondered if it should be replaced. "We're a little too European-centric."
The theater, though closed to the public, wasn't completely empty; technology manager Aaron Marzane had to deal with the equipment from time to time — digital projectors and servers needed to be constantly debugged so they didn't lose connectivity, like a car battery idling. Holly Herrick, head of film and creative media at the Austin Film Association, was also in the theater, with a cloth napkin wrapped around his face. Like Linklater, she hasn't been here since March. "I'm a little worried that I'm going to be too emotional," she said. "But I'm so familiar with going through those doors that I don't feel the passage of time."
"It's definitely a shame," Linklater said of the theater closing. "It's like something is being taken away." There are also personal losses. You may even feel selfish and feel that it is a personal need. But that's something we all believe in."
In 1983, Linklater moved to Austin and began taking film courses at Austin Community College. It took only four minutes to ride from his house to the University of Texas, and he often ran to screen events in different departments. However, he quickly touched the ceiling; although it was easy to see Wild Strawberries and Seven Samurai, there was almost nothing beyond the scope of "101 Film History Classics".
He and his friends persuaded the owner of a coffee shop near campus called Quackenbush's to use the space on the second floor of the store for free to show 16mm movies. As the screenings became more popular, the owners wanted to charge them, so they moved away and wandered around the rest of the city. The group calls itself the Austin Film Society.
Richard Linklater
Linklater never really left Austin, but he moved from film screenings to filmmaking; Urban Ronin brought him into the spotlight of independent production, and "Young and Crazy" and "Half Dream Half Awake Life" earned him widespread critical acclaim ("Rock School" garnered more mainstream attention).
As a director, he was known for his patience, having collaborated on the 18-year "Love In" trilogy with Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpe, and spent 12 years shooting Boyhood with Hawke, Patricia Aquet and Ella Cortland, both of which were Oscar-nominated. At the same time, the Austin Film Society is also growing.
In addition to the cinema, the organization also runs a production company, as well as a media studio where locals can rent film equipment and take classes. Linklater believes the association has built up a loyal audience for the film that will come back when things are safe — whenever that's going to be. Herick also said, "For all of us who come here a lot, this is all of our social life."
"A good screening happens in this space," Linklater said, waving his finger at the door leading to the theater. "People will come here after the screening" — he pointed to the lobby and the bar — "some people will order a drink." An hour after the film screening, the night was coming to an end, and people drove home one after another. This is not a step-by-step life. People can have their own pastime." Through the cinema, Linklater inscribes this pastime of comfort, both in the hormonal atmosphere of a college campus ("When Each Has a Teenager") or in the intoxicating and heart-wrenching interaction between a pair of lovers ("Love in" trilogy).
In real life, such moments often happen because of movies. It is impossible to reproduce these stories without a real physical space. "Movie lovers are like that," he said. "For them, there's nothing better than a movie theater."
"Each Has a Teenager's Time"
Since the invention of television, there have been many people who have sung the "death of the cinema". But in recent months, the threat seems more real: Movie theaters have been closed and should ideally be crowded, and most of their profits come from tapas and drinks, which are inconvenient to eat and drink wearing masks. Cinema chains are probably the most prone to mass closures; in March, stock prices of some of the largest U.S. theater companies, such as AMC, Regal and Cinemark, plummeted. (Rumor has it that AMC, which has nearly $5 billion in debt, is considering filing for bankruptcy.) ）
The film itself also faced obstacles: the new James Bond series "007: No Time to Die" was postponed to November, and the premiere of Christopher Nolan's "Creed" was postponed twice, and now scheduled for August 12 .) Immediately after the film, the major theater chains have postponed their reopening (where audiences are required to wear masks) until the end of July.
"Creed"
If cinemas are dying out, people can still blame it on small screens — and more specifically, streaming services, which explains the decline in cinema attendance long before the pandemic. (A total of 1.24 billion movie tickets were sold in North America last year, down 20 percent from its 2002 box office peak.) Universal Released Trolls 2 online in April, didn't wait for theaters to reopen, and earned nearly $100 million within three weeks of going live, more than Trolls brought in during its five-month theatrical screening period. Later, Universal announced that it was exploring the possibility of simultaneously releasing all future films on cinema and streaming services — even post-COVID-19 films. In retaliation, AMC announced it would ban Universal Studios' films from being released in its theaters.
Art Theater is less nervous about this. They are more worried about the difficulty of paying rent and the possibility of having to disband the current mature team – in March, A.F.S. Cinema laid off nine full-time employees. But these theaters are more flexible than commercial theaters. During the pandemic, many independent theaters have opted for online screening platforms where users can watch independent films, and a portion of the revenue is distributed to theaters. There are also some theaters that sell retail goods.
Nashville's Belcourt Hosted a Viewing Party on streaming platform Twitch. Several theaters in Pennsylvania came up with an online "family Q&A" game called Reel Rumble that let theater crews answer audiences' cold knowledge about movies.
Art theaters are often profitable, and their audiences tend to be loyal; both qualities come in handy in times of crisis. At the end of March, the Criterion Collection and Janus Films launched a crowdfunding campaign to fund 184 independent theaters that were temporarily closed due to the pandemic. The event raised more than $800,000, with donations from many filmmakers, including Linklater, Prince Yi, Barry Jenkins, john Waters, and many others. Alison Kotzberg, head of events, said the survival of small theaters — even with these hefty donations — depends on the burden on individual theaters. "Do they have reserves?" she asked. "Do they own their own property?" Do they need to pay off their debts? Are their property owners generous? All of these factors will have a huge impact."
In the years since Linklater founded the Austin Film Society, Austin has become an important center for independent film. Launched in the city in 1987, the South by Southwest Film Festival is one of the most popular platforms for young filmmakers. (The cancellation of this year's festival also left a gap in Austin's economy; the event brought in more than $350 million in revenue last year.) The Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, a chain of movies you can eat and watch, with 41 stores across the Country, was founded in 1997 in an old parking lot in Austin. According to a 2013 Texas Monthly article, the four-screen Violet Crown Cinema in downtown the city "is the highest-grossing theater per seat in the nation."
While Texas is currently battling a second wave of COVID-19, some movie theaters on the edge of the city, as well as some elsewhere, have tried to reopen. EVO Entertainment, a Texas cinema chain that screens mainstream movies, is gradually experimenting with its theaters: seats have been alternately blocked, and audiences need to undergo temperature checks and confirm that they don't have any symptoms. The Blue Starlite Mini Urban Drive-In has never shut down and has been showing Shippo Wonders during the pandemic.
At the same time, some cinemas have been permanently closed. Bill Barnowski is the founder of Violet Crown Cinemas and the former CEO of Landmark Theatres, who owns another cinema outside Austin called Sky Cinemas. Unable to pay rent, it was already closed in May. "The problem with small independent art theaters is that even at their best, their survival is tough," Banowski said. "When we get back to normal, the industry will be very different."
Linklater and Herrick walked into the older of the two auditoriums of the A.F.S. Cinema, which had a small stage and red velvet walls. They sat down in the front row, four seats apart, trying to judge exactly what the safe distance was. "Maybe it's that far away?" Linklater leaned over the armrest and asked Herrick.
The Austin Film Society has discussed what a screening in social isolation would look like, but it is unclear whether an audience will be willing to attend. The group estimates that its cinemas won't reopen until 2021 at the earliest. "To switch from prosperity mode to survival mode, you realize how vulnerable you are," Linklater said. "This could happen to anyone in their daily lives. It's just a little accident, injury or illness."
"It's like a curved ball," Herrick said. She looked at Linklater, who had previously been a baseball player in college. "Well, I don't know if that's right." "It should be a pitching hit," he replied. "Right in the middle of the eyeball."
Compared to smaller, less organized art theaters, A.F.S. cinemas have some unique advantages. Linklater's posters or related materials aren't widely available in movie theaters, but his presence is rarely forgotten; the director's films are often shown in theaters, and celebrities, such as Renee Zellweger, a Texas native who made a cameo in "Young And Crazy," occasionally visit.
Independent theaters tend to promote what audiences can't get in multiplexes (usually alcohol). The celebrity effect can certainly do a lot. (In 2007, director Quentin Tarantino bought the new Beverly Cinema in Los Angeles and reopened it, and fans' love for the director shifted to the theater.) ）
Linklater is hesitant to become the face of the Austin Film Society, but he understands that his involvement helps raise money that could give younger filmmakers who have lost the opportunity to publicly show their work during the pandemic, and less. During the pandemic, the Austin Film Society continued to award grants to native Texas filmmakers; Channing Godfrey Peppers' critically acclaimed directorial debut Miss Juniteng was one of the works that received such prizes in 2019.
Miss Juniteng
"I was thinking about how my life would be different," Linklater said. "If my first movie comes out at that time..." He dragged out the tail note and shook his head. Still, he's adapting to changes in the industry. Netflix recently bought his moon-landing movie; even if it premieres in a movie theater first, it will eventually air online. At a time when movie theaters are struggling to survive, streaming services provide a space where movies seem to live forever.
Over the past few decades, Linklater has witnessed the disappearance of many of the cinemas that accompanied him. He grew up in the small town of Huntsville in eastern Texas, where there was a movie theater that showed John Wayne's movie every week, but it closed in the early 1970s. There are also some places he frequented in his 20s that have survived; he still likes to go back to those places. "It's like going back to the church where I grew up," he said. The cinemas he saw that withstood the test of COVID-19, and the theaters that could continue to be maintained, were theaters that would make cinema a kind of love—they won reputation and audiences over time, and they were able to keep the audience obsessed and loyal, even beyond the status of a coffee shop.
Still, Linklater talks about cinema from a past perspective. "I think cinema has been so successful because it recreates the state of the dream," he said, as he watched the color promo "Infinite Popcorn" flashing on the screen and membership in the Austin Film Society. "You don't need to explain it to people. They all have their own understanding. Dark room, completely immersed in it. When the lights came on, people forgot who they were for two hours." He acknowledged that it was a cliché, but it did make sense. This is not a dream on the bus, nor is it the haze that haunts the isolated apartment, both of which are inseparable from the isolation state. It's a co-creation dream, started by the director and completed by the audience, in a space that now seems even more fragile—we tacitly, silently coming together for something. "I think people know that to some extent," Linklater said. "Because they keep insisting."