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The Newspaper and the Filmmaker
When I was a teenager with a new Super-8 sound camera, a roll of Kodachrome cost about $3.50 and processing was another $2.50. I could mow a couple of lawns in the neighborhood and have enough money for three minutes of filmmaking. Trouble was, I never had any ideas. If I could just find a good script, I would create an epic with my new camera. At least that's what I thought. One day I went to a University library that had shelves and shelves of one-act stage plays from 1900-1940. They were all in the public domain, were around 30 minutes long with usually three or four main characters in a single setting. Seemed perfect for a low budget film. But what I found after an all-day scavenger hunt was nothing useful at all. I was mostly interested in comedies, but these one-act comedies just didn't seem funny. Could have been the material had been current and timely when written, but now the jokes were just too dated, or maybe the scripts weren't that hilarious to begin with and that's why they had been gathering dust. Mostly, however, the problem was that these were plays, and contained no action -- just talk. Not too exciting for a budding young filmmaker.
What a difference twenty years can make. Today I see film ideas everywhere without even trying. I just wish I had the free time of my youth to pursue all these ideas thoroughly. Since I find stories about people or items of historical significance appealing, I find many ideas in the human-interest sections of the local newspapers. If I see an article that interests me, I cut it out and save it for future reference. For example, in the past few months I have cut out and saved several articles that I think would make excellent films -- and all about people, events, or places within fifty miles of my home.
In a small town called Yellow Springs, there is an 81 year old photographer named Irwin Inman who just published his first book, one of his own photographs. Mr. Inman had never even picked up a camera until a little more than 15 years ago when he retired, which makes his story all the more interesting. He has used his Nikon to chronicle the life he sees in his small town, the farmland, the architecture, and the people -- especially children.
"I look for anything that makes us human," says Mr. Inman, describing his philosophy for determining photogenic subjects. The photographs reprinted in the newspaper looked very professional and inspiring, full of detail and artistic composition.
There's a story here that would make a great short film. Incorporating actual photos he has taken over the years in the film would provide plenty of material for an insightful look at a very creative and fascinating man.
Another local news story from this past fall was not found buried in the human-interest section of the paper, but right on the front page. A local landmark in Dayton, Ohio (a one million square foot 87 year-old department store) was to be demolished. The story had everyone's interest for two reasons. First, even though the store closed in 1992, much like an exquisite hotel, this was the place to be for generations, as the store sold everything from upscale clothing, cosmetics, jewelry and furniture, to household items and sporting goods. I remember as a kid buying records in the music department, and my father buying a GAF Super-8 movie camera for my brother's high school graduation at the camera department, and my parents buying the family's first color television set. The second reason for everyone's interest was in the destruction itself, a huge explosion by hundreds of simultaneously discharged explosives that would reduce the nine-story structure to a pile of rubble and dust within twenty seconds.
I was one of 200 spectators at this event and the only one with a Super-8 camera, of course. I filmed the demolition for posterity, but also was thinking about the possibility of using it in a future film. My idea is not a documentary about the rise and fall of a local landmark, but perhaps an avant-garde style of many still clips from the best days when the store was open and full of crowded shoppers. This would be set to classical music with no narration. Then comes the explosion for twenty seconds with just the sound of the blast, followed by silence -- and then the haunting sound of the church bells ringing the mournful cry of a fallen building. The church bells did ring after the dust settled, and that feeling left an impression on me, and that mood is what I would want to capture in the film.
"This is my castle," exclaims Glenn Wollenhaupt. His 28 room home situated on 10 beautiful acres in rural Ohio truly is a castle. Glenn was the subject of a newspaper article I saved earlier this year. His home is unique in that he purchased it at auction for only $44,000 in 1995. The house used to be a school. Built in 1916 and operated as a school until 1994, the abode offers plenty of space, with such amenities as a cafeteria, a 350 seat gymnasium, a complete library still full of books, and plenty of storage space in the form of lockers.
Glenn's actual living quarters is two classrooms converted into an apartment, and he is in the process of converting another classroom into a second apartment for his mother. But the majority of the school is exactly as it was left at the end of the school year in '94, with signs that say "No Talking," or "School Spirit" left on the walls.
I can just imagine shots of the empty school with some sounds of children talking, almost like the voices of ghosts, juxtaposed with shots of a typical day with Glenn relaxing in his home, or working out in his private gym. I'm sure there's an interesting film to be made here.
This week the human-interest sections of the newspaper have been filled with a series of articles of the history of U.S. Route 40. Known as "the National Road," it was the first federally funded highway, constructed from 1806 to 1834. Most of the road is still in use today, and most of it parallels I-70, the East-West interstate super highway built in the early 1960s. Some of the most picturesque areas of the road are within a two- hour drive from my home.
I find the more recent history along this route fascinating. Driving down U.S. 40 today is like driving through some ghost towns, passing abandoned motels, general stores, gas stations, and diners that would have been thriving in the 1950s but came upon hard times when traffic was diverted to the newer I-70 by the mid 60s. Each place probably has a story to go with it. A travelogue could be made combining some of the places to see that are still open for business, as well as a look into the past.
I see all these newspaper stories as great film possibilities: The documentary of the 81 year old photographer; the avant-garde short of the death of a building; the documentary of the gentleman who has made an old school into his own private castle, and the travelogue of a one or two day's journey down U.S. Route 40. And who knows what tomorrow's newspaper may bring?
--- Chris Cottrill
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