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The blog of author Dennis Cooper

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Lukas Haas Day *

* (restored/expanded)

 

‘On a midwinter Friday at Guero’s restaurant in South Austin, Lukas Haas is about to muse on his life as an actor when he turns his attention to a harried waiter. The place is packed with a hyper, bustling lunch crowd ordering heaping plates of Tex-Mex, but the nineteen-year-old calmly fixes his enormous, bottomless brown eyes on the guy and orders only two corn tortillas and a glass of orange juice. “That’s it?” the puzzled waiter asks. “Really, that’s all I want,” he replies decisively.

‘It would be easy to read too much into the exchange—maybe Haas wasn’t hungry—but it serves well as a metaphor for his career to date. Eleven years ago, in his first major role, he shook the seats of moviegoers everywhere as the frightened title character in Witness, director Peter Weir’s thriller about an Amish boy who sees a murder at a train station and helps a detective (played by Harrison Ford) bring the perpetrators to justice. It was the kind of high-impact role that catapults a child performer to stardom, yet in the months and years that followed, Haas turned down big-budget projects in favor of smaller ones that touched his head and heart. Such pickiness meant taking parts in films that did not exactly qualify as box office hits, such as the thirties-era drama Rambling Rose and Leap of Faith, a satire about a traveling evangelist. Factor in the Haas family’s move from California to Texas three years after Witness and you can see how he slipped from the limelight and, despite working steadily, never again gained the recognition he earned as an eight-year-old.

‘That transition, from famous child to somewhat anonymous young adult, has not bothered Haas. In fact, he professes to be publicity shy—so it will be interesting to see how he greets the onslaught of accolades that await him this year, when he’ll be all over the big screen in four highly visible films. First comes Boys, a coming-of-age tale starring icon-of-her-generation Winona Ryder; it hits theaters at the end of April. Then there’s Johns, an independent flick about young male hustlers in Hollywood, which debuted at the Sundance Film Festival in January and was picked up by a major distributor. Haas also has a role in Woody Allen’s latest, Everyone Says I Love You, a musical comedy that stars Alan Alda and Julia Roberts. And he has joined the cast of Tim Burton’s forthcoming sci-fi farce, Mars Attacks!, which features campy turns by Glenn Close, Pierce Brosnan, and Jack Nicholson as the president of the United States.

‘Haas would prefer not to fathom the possibilities of a return to full-throttled fame, though he knows enough to be thankful for whatever comes. It’s a wise stance, considering how many of his contemporaries crashed after their first star turns. Take Justin Henry, who broke into the business in a big way in Kramer vs. Kramer; after becoming the youngest actor ever nominated for an Oscar, he all but disappeared. Or, at the other end of the spectrum, take Macaulay Culkin, whose relentless precociousness has turned the country against him. Or take River Phoenix, who crafted his career as carefully as Haas has but eventually succumbed to Hollywood’s pitfalls and ended up overdosing at an L.A. nightclub. Perhaps the best model Haas can hope to emulate is Henry Thomas, who got the ultimate career kickoff in E.T. but has managed to stay centered ever since by carefully choosing the roles that best suit him (his last marquee performance was in Legends of the Fall) and splitting his time between Los Angeles and his native San Antonio, where he lives near his family and plays in a band.

‘“After Witness, I was really famous, but I don’t remember much—I think I was very protected,” Haas says. “I don’t know how I’ll react this time. I can’t predetermine that. I’m going to try to keep living the same way I’ve been living.”

‘How he’s been living depends on which day of the week or week of the month it is. He mainly divides his time between Austin, where he owns a condominium in one of the city’s older neighborhoods, and L.A., where he shares an apartment with his mother, screenwriter Emily Tracy (who shuttles back and forth to see her husband, painter Berthold Haas, and their eleven-year-old twins, Simon and Niki). There is no set breakdown on how much time Haas spends in each place, but there’s a big difference in what gets done there. “In Austin, I mainly stay in my house and record my keyboard music, read, or write,” he says. “L.A. is a party scene. I hang out with a lot of famous people out there. But not because they’re famous—that’s just the community.” Indeed, Haas insists his life is essentially the same wherever he is. “It’s not like, ‘Now I’m in Austin, so I’m changed.’ Austin provides a balance for me. I have old friends here who are non-industry and who are just as creative as a lot of my industry friends. I go off to New York or L.A. for a month and I’m with these stars. Then I come back and it’s a completely different world. It’s like real life.”

‘Not that Haas loathes the Fantasyland aspect of being a Hollywood actor. His celebrity comes with privileges, from star treatment on the sets of his films to fast friendships with show business gadabouts like rock star—auteur Michael Stipe and model-actress Liv Tyler. But it’s clear that Haas would rather the spotlight fall on someone other than him. Unlike, say, Culkin, Haas neither seeks reporters nor finds himself having to run from them. And when the spotlight does fall on him, his mother insists, he can handle it. “He’s seen many examples across the board—all the dead ends,” she says. “He’s watched what happens to people who get full of themselves and who buy their own press. Those things are just not interesting to him.”

‘One resonant example Haas has seen up close is his pal Leonardo DiCaprio, a heartthrob actor whose performances in This Boy’s Life and What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? (for which he earned an Oscar nomination) have made him a hot commodity. As public personas go, Haas and DiCaprio couldn’t be more dissimilar. DiCaprio’s handlers blitz the major magazines whenever he has a movie coming out; by contrast, even if all of Haas’s films this year are hits, it is impossible to imagine that he will pose seductively for the cover of Details. “Leo is in this amazing place right now,” Haas says. “People want to be like him. He’s idolized. But no one is as big as he’s projected to be. Leo is just a guy—he’s my friend.” Like all friends, though, these two have had their moments of rivalry: Each auditioned for This Boy’s Life and Gilbert Grape. Haas maintains he doesn’t care that DiCaprio got both roles. “We’re both very lucky because we make money doing art,” he says. “Why should I want to be him?”

‘As far back as anyone can remember, Lukas Haas has always known just what he wanted. When he was still preschool age and his family was still living in L.A., he saw a live taping of a TV show his mother had written and was immediately taken with acting. “Afterward, he put his arm around me and said, ‘Mommy, this is what I’m going to do, I’m going to be a star for a little while,’” Emily remembers with a laugh. Initially, she and Berthold were reluctant to allow their son to do what could be cruel and demeaning work, but Lukas was insistent. Eventually they let him audition, and he got a role alongside Jane Alexander in the no-nukes drama Testament. He was five and a half.

‘With that first experience, the Haases began a tradition of discussing roles with Lukas in great depth. “We paid attention very, very carefully to whatever project he wanted to do,” Berthold says. “We wanted to make sure it was something he liked and that we felt good about, so that when he saw it, he would feel it was worth it.” Choosing scripts and roles carefully was one thing, however; guaranteeing that a finished movie would meet the family’s expectations was quite another. “There are so many variables, so many different people affecting a movie,” Lukas says. “You could give the most beautiful performance in the world and if they wanted to make it crap, they could. Somebody else could ruin it.”

‘This sober realization taught Lukas early on to speak his mind on a set, a trait that risked getting him pegged as an enfant terrible. “I’d say the director-actor relationship is very strange,” he observes. “You can be friends with a director, but there is a fine line where one person has control and the other doesn’t. There have been times I’ve jumped into the director’s territory. It’s the director’s movie, of course, but it’s my movie too—it’s on my record.” Many directors seem to at least consider, if not agree with, Lukas’ suggestions. “He clearly has his own opinion about things,” says Stacy Cochran, who directed Boys. “But he’s not opposed to figuring out someone else’s idea.”’ — Texas Monthly

 

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Stills




















































 

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Further

Lukas Haas @ IMDb
Widows Proves Lukas Haas Is the King
Lukas Haas @ Apple Music
Lukas Haas @ Facebook
I Wonder What It’s Like to be Lukas Haas
Lukas Haas: Vigilante
LUKAS HAAS: Going Ape for YouTube Vids
L’authentique fusil de Jones (Lukas Haas) dans The Revenant
Lukas Haas @ Vogue
PROFILE: LUKAS HAAS

 

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Extras


Lukas Haas on ‘The Today Show’ Promoting ‘Lady In White’


Lucas/Lukas: Made for You


Lukas Haas in ‘T Takes’ Episode 7


Lukas Haas Talks Stepping Outside His Comfort Zone

 

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Interview

 

Collider: As an actor, in an industry that can and often is very unpredictable, what does that feel like to be in two films in Oscar contention, in the same year?

LUKAS HAAS: It’s been a great feeling this year. It’s pretty amazing because it’s hard, these days, to find a single film that you’re gonna be proud of, let alone to get cast in it. It’s hard to search out those really beautiful movies. And so, I’m just incredibly blessed. I feel so lucky. I don’t even really know what to think. I just got really lucky, and I was there at the right time.

It’s also very cool that they’re such different movies.

HAAS: I know. I actually did Widows first. I think somebody else was cast for that role and had to drop out, for whatever reason, and they were scrambling to find somebody quickly. My manager hit my up and asked me to self-tape, really quickly, that day. They were like, “You have to send it in now, or it’s gonna be too late.” So, I called my friend over and they helped me record it with my iPhone. I just read off of the page and sent them a little audition, and I got a call later that day from (director) Steve [McQueen] saying that I got the role. And then, I was in Chicago, two weeks later, for filming. It really just happened out of nowhere, and I was there for maybe a week, if that. Everything that I shot was packed into three days.

And then, First Man was the opposite. I was there for four months, or something like that, and there was a whole process. I got to go to NASA, see everything and ask every question, and we had astronauts escorting us through it. We went to not just Florida, but Houston, traveling from NASA to NASA and checking everything out. It was very, very cool. That whole part of the experience was the coolest film field trip that I’ve ever been on, for sure. That was the coolest preparation period that I’ve ever had. It was so cool. It’s just interesting how it took a few days to film one, and months to film the other. I love working and I love acting, so I like being on the set for a long time. I would have been happy to be in Chicago for a few months (for Widows), if it took that. And First Man was just the coolest film that I’ve ever seen being made. It’s hard to explain just how cool it was. I went to set every day, and it was just so rad working with Damien [Chazelle]. I’m a major fan of his, so I was especially excited about it. Everybody was excited about it. I’m not a fan kind of a guy, so when there’s someone that I really am a fan of, I’m extra excited to work with them.

I think Steven McQueen and Damien Chazelle are two of the most exciting filmmakers working today, and as exciting as their movies are now, I’m even more excited to see what they do, in the future. How was the experience of working with each of them? Were there any ways in which they approached filmmaking from a similar point of view, or are they very different filmmakers?

HAAS: They actually do have some similarities. They’re different personality types. Some directors are gregarious and loud and commanding, and some are more thoughtful. I’d definitely put Damien and Steve in that category. For my taste, of the people that I’ve worked with, Peter Weir (who directed Witness), Rian Johnson, who directed this movie Brick that I did, and Steve and Damien, all have this really lovely, warm, calm disposition. And Steve and Damien are incredibly generous directors. They listen. They’re engaged in the moment. They both want to know what you have to say, and they want to know what everyone has to say. They are so well-prepared. They’re living and breathing what they do, so there’s never any disconnect. Sometimes on a film, especially when you’ve been in a lot of them, you know the rhythm and what would be the right direction, going in. But with guys like them, you can see how they move through the day and through their scenes, and how they choose to shoot things. They’re both true artists. That’s what it boils down to. They’re trying to create something visceral, and they’re trying to connect, in a real way that’s special. I hope that there’s more of that in the world.

You’ve worked with some pretty great filmmakers, throughout your career. How would you compare working with Steven Spielberg to working with Christopher Nolan? Are there any similarities among those two?

HAAS: That’s interesting. So, I had a very particular experience with Steven Spielberg. I was really young when I first really worked with him. When I was in Amazing Stories, it was literally the most fun that I’d ever had on anything. The set was like a playground. We were shooting at Universal, too, which is almost like a ride. Steven would ask me, if I wanted to do it again, just because it was that fun. They would reset all of the spots, and a train would come through the house. There were all of these special effects that were in camera. I was a little kid, working with him, but he was so fun. He’s just awesome. He’s a special guy. Both Steven Spielberg and Chris Nolan are guys who are not aggressive, but are commanding type. Chris Nolan is definitely like that. He just has a vision, and he’s the commander-in-chief, for sure. He delegates. He has a very clear vision of the scene, and he sets up that scenario while the actors fit into it. Whereas with Damien [Chazelle], and people like that, at least in my experience, it’s way more about connecting to each other and working with each other. Chris is a little more of a guy who has this grand vision and he wants to execute it, and you’re a part of his palette. Really, that’s the case with any director, but some directors are more engaging, in the moment. They want to mine the actor to get what they’re looking to get.

I loved your performance in Widows because it’s such an interesting character. He’s this guy that seems like he’s saying all of the right things, but he’s also just very transactional and matter-of-fact. Having jumped into that role as quickly as you did, did you have time to find that balance and how you wanted to play him?

HAAS: A lot of those dynamics were just built into the role, so all you had to do, as an actor, in that case, was get out of the way. What was really important for him is to be charming, so that you believe that she would want to go with him, even though the scenario is maybe not something she would normally do. I recognized that, and I went into it with the very simple goal of trying to charm her. The transactional thing was funny because he’s not a bad guy. He’s in the middle somewhere. When you see the film, you’re not sure about him, but the truth is that he’s actually, at least from my perspective, being honest with her. He was not just trying to sleep with her and never talk to her again. He explained himself to her and told her where he’s coming from, and he was pretty clear and honest about it, from the beginning. That’s what’s cool about Steve [McQueen] and (writer) Gillian [Flynn].

He’s an interesting character that has these different sides. From the way that I looked at it, he’s a guy who was scared of the commitment part of it and was nervous about the closer connection. At least, that’s how I played it. It could’ve been that he was lying and he had a family, but I didn’t think of it that way. I thought of him as a guy who just had trouble with intimacy and didn’t know how to really let himself go that way, so the transactional thing was good for him. He used that to be able to get to a woman, and to protect himself, emotionally. It was a really interesting role. You have to think of the character’s motives, and all he really is trying to do is impress her and make her like him, so that’s all I was doing. I kept it pretty simple like that. And Steve was just so generous and warm. I think he could tell that I was on the nervous side. I hadn’t really been in a situation like that in a bit, with a big role in a big movie, and he was just so encouraging and warm and helpful and attentive. He was just there, supporting me and rooting for me. He’s a cool guy, and it was just a cool experience.

When you do such great work, especially like these last couple of films, does it make it harder for you to find things that you get excited about?

HAAS: No, it doesn’t, only because it opens some doors. You go through phases, as an actor. It changes, all the time. The whole business has changed so much, too. You never know if you’re gonna find something that you’re gonna like. That’s why it’s so exciting to get two of them in one year, like that. But, that’s rare for me. I just try to do the movies that I really connect to and that I really love, but there aren’t that many of them out there. You can’t always just do what you love, unfortunately but you try to get as close as you can. But I’m getting some scripts now, that I wouldn’t have gotten before these movies, so it opens up that side of things. It’s great. It’s such a nice way to establish yourself again, for the movies that are contender types, which are the kind of movies that I love to make and are consistent with my early career. Honestly, I’ve gotten super lucky. I’ve worked hard for it, but it still takes a lot of good fortune and good timing.

Do you know what you’re going to do next, as an actor, or are you in the process of trying to figure that out?

HAAS: My next film is called The Violent Heart, by this guy named Kerem Sanga. His last movie (First Girl I Loved) won an award at Sundance, two years ago, and that was a beautiful movie. The script is really cool and it’s a really cool role, so I’m excited. I start filming that in February.

 

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20 of Lukas Haas’s 103 roles

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Peter Weir Witness (1985)
‘While his first screen role was as the youngest of the doomed children in the 1983 nuclear Holocaust film Testament (1983), it was his second appearance, in Witness (1985) opposite Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis, that earned attention and acclaim. In Peter Weir’s 1985 film, Lukas portrayed Samuel, an Amish child who was the sole witness to an undercover cop’s murder, and his work earned him starring roles in such films as Lady in White (1988), The Wizard of Loneliness (1988), and Alan & Naomi (1992) – the latter film co-written by his mother.’ — IMDb


Excerpt


Excerpt

 

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Frank LaLoggia Lady in White (1988)
‘It’s kind of tricky reviewing a movie like this. Almost nothing I can say will accurately reflect the tone of the film. I can write about ghosts and killers and strange old ladies, and I could be describing a much different film. But “Lady in White,” like most good films, depends more on style and tone than it does on story, and after awhile it’s the whole insidious atmosphere of the film that begins to envelop us. Like the best ghost stories of M. R. James and Oliver Onions, who were the best in their classic field, “Lady in White” is finally not really about being frightened by ghosts, but about feeling pity for them.’ — Roger Ebert


Trailer


Deleted scenes

 

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Martha Coolidge Rambling Rose (1991)
‘Nineteen-year-old Rose (Laura Dern) arrives at the Hillyer house to take care of 13-year-old Buddy (Lukas Haas) and his younger brother and sister. “You are as graceful as the capital letter S,” Mr. Hillyer (Robert Duvall) tells her. “You will adorn our house. You will give a glow and a shine to these old walls.” After she’s there a while, Rose discovers her best ally is Mrs. Hillyer (Diane Ladd). The older woman is, like Rose, an orphan. She seems to intuitively understand Rose’s need for attention and her yearning to find “Mr. Right.” Only trouble is, Rose doesn’t know how to express her emotions appropriately. She shocks Mr. Hillyer one day by declaring her love for him. He resists her advances, but Buddy and his young sister see it all. They are fascinated. Later, the distraught Rose turns to the teenager for consolation. He provides it freely in exchange for the chance to satisfy his curiosity about female anatomy.’ — S&P


Trailer


Excerpt

 

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Richard Pearce Leap of Faith (1992)
‘Steve Martin stars as Jack Newton a.k.a. Jonas Nightengale as a Brother Love’s Travelling Salvation Show huckster born in the Bronx and abandoned to a hardscrabble life of con games and crime. Debra Winger plays Jane, his front person behind the scenes who sets up “miracles” and other well known mentalist con artist tricks that let them roam the Deep South making a comfortable living on gullible believers along with his sizable church posse which includes Meat Loaf as bus driver. He packs revival meetings with an impressive array of charismatic black choirs, stunning stage effects and other gimmicks that, as he says to Liam Neeson, the skeptical sheriff of fictional Rustwater, Kansas, “sells hope to his victims more than an expensive Broadway show”. Because of a truck breakdown in drought stricken and struggling, farm town Rustwater, Martin takes the opportunity to turn a quick dollar even though the population is nearly broke and praying desperately for rain soon for their corn crops which they pin their last economic hopes on. But he ends up getting more than the usual push back and reaction when a boy named Boyd, played by Lukas Haas, looks to Martin for healing after being crippled in a deadly auto accident which also orphaned him.’ — writersalive


Trailer

Watch the film here

 

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Stacy Cochran Boys (1996)
‘“Boys,” the film that wants to make a man of Lukas Haas, is beset by growing pains, and not all of them belong to the gawky young actor. Stretched from a short story called “Twenty Minutes,” this flat, oddly paced mystery/coming-of-age drama might have been better served sticking to that time length. As it is, “Boys,” pairing Haas with “older woman” Winona Ryder, is as vague and unfocused as its title, and Stacy Cochran’s direction promises far more than her script delivers.’ — Variety


Trailer

 

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Woody Allen Everyone Says I Love You (1996)
Everyone Says I Love You is Woody at his most fun and freewheeling, tossing gags and digressions around virtually at random; he’s perfectly happy to put the flimsy narrative (an extended family’s romantic foibles) on hold for several minutes to stage a routine involving a dozen Groucho Marx impersonators. It’s essentially a companion piece to Radio Days, but in this case the nostalgia is present-tense, with Allen replaced as narrator by Natasha Lyonne’s still-evolving teen. You can see the beginning of Woody’s latter-day laziness as a writer here—a recurring bit with Lukas Haas as a Young Republican in a family of liberals is beyond feeble (though it has a great punchline)—but his comic timing was still comparatively razor-sharp, and this was pretty much the last gasp of his career as an improbable romantic lead.’ — AV Club


Trailer


Excerpt

 

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Scott Silver Johns (1996)
‘“Johns,” a movie about male prostitutes in Los Angeles, has a moment that offers a key to the film: Tourists offer a hustler $20 to pose in a snapshot with them. They want to show the folks back home that they’ve not only seen the sights, they’ve met the locals. The movie stars Lukas Haas and David Arquette as Donner and John, who work Santa Monica Boulevard, nurtured by their dreams: John wants to spend his 21st birthday in a luxury hotel room, and Donner wants them both to take the bus to Branson, Mo. Donner is gay and loves John; John says he’s straight and working only for the money, and he does have a girlfriend, although the relationship is fleeting and chancy.’ — Roger Ebert


Trailer


the entire film

 

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Tim Burton Mars Attacks! (1996)
Mars Attacks! started out the way so many films do: as a pricey, feature-length adaptation of a series of scandalous Topps trading cards from the early 1960s. Basically, the kind of movie you make when you know that nobody will tell you “no.” An early version of the project would’ve carried a budget of over $200 million, which would be expensive today and would have been patently absurd 20 years ago. Yet these were the ‘90s, a time when studios would still throw unreasonable amounts of money at speculative projects by noted auteur filmmakers. (It’s the sad genesis of today’s bloated, brand-minded filmmaking: Hollywood kept the overpriced franchise starters and sequels, but pared down on all the volatile, excessively paid filmmakers that made so many of them worth watching.) All this for a movie about hideous, green aliens destroying Earth with laser beams. Burton dug deep into his bag of aesthetic tricks in order to make what really is essentially a stunt-cast Wood film with $70 million at its disposal instead of a few grand at a time. The Topps series imagined the colonization of Earth by the brain-exposed Martians, who wreak havoc until Earth fights back by detonating nukes on Mars, ensuring our continued intergalactic sovereignty. (The postwar ‘60s, everyone.) At the time, some were upset by the surprisingly graphic violence of some of the cards; even today, there’s something a little horrifying beneath the garish, cartoonish designs about the ugliness of its version of the end of the world.’ — Consequence of Sound


Trailer

Excerpt

 

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Alan Rudolph Breakfast of Champions (1999)
‘Getting Kurt Vonnegut’s satirical novel on film was a challenge both Rudolph and Bruce Willis were eager to meet, and the resultant movie shows them both taking creative risks. Midwestern auto dealership proprietor Willis keeps smiling even as things become unmoored with wife Barbara Hershey and son Lukas Haas, mistress Glenne Headly, colleague Nick Nolte, et al. Vonnegut’s recurring Kilgore Trout character is played by the great Albert Finney.’ — Quad Cinema


Excerpt

Watch the film here

 

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Rian Johnson Brick (2005)
‘With its peculiar metabolism, “Brick” has digested the detective novel, drawn its nutrients from Dashiell Hammett’s potent prose. It’s not the champagne of the “Thin Man.” Or Spade’s scotch and soda. It’s “Red Harvest” rotgut. This won’t be to everyone’s taste. Some will gag on it. But there’s something undeniably bracing in what Johnson serves up. Something strong and promising.’ — Denver Post


Trailer


Deleted & Extended Scenes

 

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Gus Van Sant Last Days (2005)
‘Gus Van Sant does a remarkable job with this film – “Last Days.” Nothing much happens, there is not a lot of dialogue but what we see, experience, is the slow demise of an individual into oblivion. We are observers, albeit at a distance. The urge maybe there to intervene; deliberately evoked by the structure of Van Sant’s film. We want to say: ‘You do not have to go on like this. We can help.’ The structure is like a memory recalled. We keep going over it, adding bits as we do to try to make more sense, but never arriving at a definitive version. We especially hope that when the advertising salesman calls to the house and Blake lets him in,that he will engage with the man and forget his morose preoccupations. But the gulf between the two is unbridgeable. The nadir of the film is when Blake, left alone by his friends in the rehearsal room, starts to play on his guitar. His voice echoes his inner anguish, rising from a low to a high and then back to a low. He even manages to break a string on the guitar, but dexterously pulls the string while continuing the song. How could such music come out of such gloom? This is the paradox of creativity — of trying to give form to ideas, not yet realized. We wait in anticipation, incapable of giving directions. Blake is constantly trying to evade the intrusion of others but cannot transcend his own self, of being in the world. The final intrusion finds him not there; he is dead.’ — dliathain


Trailer


the entire film


Lukas Haas interviewed about ‘Last Days’

 

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Derek Sieg Swedish Auto (2006)
‘“Swedish Auto” marks the debut of a singular talent in Derek Sieg, writer-helmer of this charming, poignant drama about marginalized people. Carter (sad-eyed Lukas Haas), a character who seems like a combination of Holden Caulfield and Boo Radley, was orphaned long ago by a car crash. Carter now is the go-to mechanic in a Charlottesville, Va., auto garage run by Leroy (Lee Weaver) and staffed by Carter and Leroy’s ill-tempered son, Bobby (Chris Williams). Haas covers the waterfront of emotions, never missing a beat; he and Jones are adorable as the oddly matched couple who are treated badly, mostly because their abusers can get away with it. There’s a well-calibrated naivete at the heart of “Swedish Auto,” which together with Richard Lopez’s expert cinematography and Sieg’s creative use of a limited budget, make the movie a study in state-of-the-art-indie filmmaking.’ — Variety


Trailer

 

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Christopher Nolan Inception (2010)
‘Not that anyone doubts it at this point (or at least shouldn’t), but we were one of the first sites (if not the first), to call out Lukas Haas’ participation, via the original trailer, in Christopher Nolan’s “Inception” starring Leonardo DiCaprio and an all-star supporting cast (Haas is also a longtime pal of DiCaprio’s who hung out with him in their early bratpack days after he became huge with “Titanic”).’ — The Playlist


Trailer


Excerpt


Lukas Haas at the “Inception” premiere

 

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Steven Spielberg Lincoln (2012)
‘Lincoln lacked social polish but he had great intelligence and knowledge of human nature. The hallmark of the man, performed so powerfully by Daniel Day-Lewis in “Lincoln,” is calm self-confidence, patience and a willingness to play politics in a realistic way. The film focuses on the final months of Lincoln’s life, including the passage of the 13th Amendment ending slavery, the surrender of the Confederacy and his assassination. Rarely has a film attended more carefully to the details of politics.’ — Roger Ebert


Trailer


Featurette

 

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Jane Clark Meth Head (2013)
‘The haunted little boy in Lady in White (1988), the alien-fighting teen in Mars Attacks! (1996), and the imperious drug kingpin known as The Pin in Brick (2005) are just a few of his memorable roles. But now he’s taking the lead in the new indie drama Meth Head, as a young man who falls into a Shame-like spiral after getting hooked on the stuff that makes even the most clean-cut souls break bad.’ — EW


Trailer


Cruz Haas+Interview

 

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Alejandro G. Iñárritu The Revenant (2015)
The Revenant is a 2015 American semi-biographical epic western film directed by Alejandro G. Iñárritu. The screenplay by Mark L. Smith and Iñárritu is based in part on Michael Punke’s 2002 novel of the same name, describing frontiersman Hugh Glass’s experiences in 1823. That novel is in turn based on the 1915 poem The Song of Hugh Glass. The film stars Leonardo DiCaprio, Tom Hardy, Domhnall Gleeson, Will Poulter, and Lucas Haas.’ — collegedome


Trailer


Monica Bellucci, Lukas Haas and more at The Revenant Premiere in Paris

 

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Steve McQueen Widows (2018)
‘Lukas Haas is now starring in the second of two consecutive films by Academy Award-winning directors: Damien Chazelle and Steve McQueen. While the roles couldn’t be more different – he portrays astronaut Michael Collins in First Man and a real estate executive/sugar daddy in Widows – he explained to The Hollywood Reporter In Studio the similarities he encountered between the two directors. “One thing that was common between them is their gentleness. They’re both very warm and giving. They’re very generous in the way that they direct,” he said. Haas added, “One thing that Steve was really lovely with, he would tell me, ‘Lukas you’re great. Just keep doing it.’ He would really build me up, my confidence. He flattered me quite a lot, which in that situation was really nice because it made me feel very comfortable, and I think he felt that maybe I was nervous. But he was incredibly giving, and same with Damien.”’ — LH


Trailer


Lukas Haas on ‘Widows’

 

_____________
Mike Testin Browse (2020)
‘There is such a great concept in the midst of this incoherent film. The idea that someone could have their life completely messed with, financially, morally, and mentally, just by viewing a specific website could be frightening. Unfortunately, “Browse” tends to walk the fine line of having the viewer figure out if our protagonist is the one that’s mad or if it someone harassing’s him, or if it’s something that cannot be explained. I really like Lukas Haas, but this was a confusing mess of a movie. So many questions and no answers.’ — LeslieBear9


Trailer

 

_____________
Damien Chazelle Babylon (2022)
‘A tale of outsized ambition and outrageous excess, tracing the rise and fall of multiple characters in an era of unbridled decadence and depravity during Hollywood’s transition from silent films to sound films in the late 1920s.’ — Letterboxd


Trailer


Behind the Scenes + Deleted Scenes

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. ** Dominik, Hi!!! I think I found a spot for ‘curdled’ in the film script, we’ll see. No, must-have, totally get it. And good for love! I’m still thinking about the Rammelzee brick. The show was amazing, yeah. In Paris, it usually only rains for about 15 minutes at a time, I don’t know why, and I guess I’m hoping Vienna had similarly discreet clouds. Love + Lukas Haas = 👩‍❤️‍👨, G. ** _Black_Acrylic, Obviously Donnelly’s work really needs to be seen in the flesh, but I thought dropping hints was worth it. Wow, 100,000 punters! Who needs Oasis? ** Misanthrope, Good lord, devious and thwarted to the end. You sorted the transport to NYC? Man, have so much fun, and what’s a little rain? Unless it’s a lot of rain. But even then. ** Steeqhen, I’m trying to figure out what the downside is of a city being full of teens from the private schools, haha. I treat my smartphone like it needs its rest, and I try to pick its pocket without waking it up. Or something. Well, four days to make something Rimbaudian seems doable given your legendary nose and grindstone. ** Jack Skelley, You’re welcome, Fatty Arbuckle. ‘Green Acres’ is both very deserving and intellectually volcanic. Signed, Chester Conklin. ** Alistair, Hi! One of the great things about poetry is that it can catch even the chilliest person off guard and sneak inside them. The downside is that they may never admit that it did. Yeah, with tough poems, politically motivated or otherwise, the best option is publishing them somewhere and letting them do their work on people in secret, I think. Or that’s how it seemed to be for me. People seem more open to challenging themselves when the poem’s author is faceless. Exactly, I agree, about poetry being an outlet. Nice that you found music that made your imagination unleash. Fellow commenter Carsten spoke to you in his comment if you didn’t see it. xo. ** julian, Hi, julian! Thank you a lot for going to the trouble to come inside here. And thank you so much about the blog and my work. That’s really, really gratifying to hear. What is your writing? I mean what form does it take and so on, if you don’t mind saying? If my work helped give you strength to write, there’s literally no greater accomplishment. Yeah, with ‘Room Temperature’ we’re working our way through the film festival circuit for a while, which you kind of seem to need to do, and which is really frustrating when you’re used to writing books where everyone can have them at the same time. But we’re anxious to get it more available asap. Thanks again! I hope everything’s great on your end. ** Carsten, I’m old enough that I got to see The Stooges live a few times, and I feel like I don’t need to cover up those memories with him redoing all that great stuff in his dotage. But if you’ve never seen him, he’s surely still a fireball off some sort. Thanks for speaking to Alistair. ** Justin D, Hey, man! If you ever get the chance to see her work in a gallery or museum, do go. It’s pretty trippy/magical. I’ll go try the Maria Somerville track once I’m in the clear. Just glancing at the first seconds, you can immediately she’s a 4AD artist. RT is currently submitted to about 14 film festivals, and we’re just waiting to see how many of them bite. And we’re starting to look a distributor in the US. That’s where we are at the moment. How are you? What are your favorite things that’ve happened to you lately? ** Darbz 🕷️, Hey, D, and to your spider too. Thanks! It’s beautiful to imagine you writing that while sitting on a porch. You’re in the South, and there’s something about a porch in the South that’s very romantic to think about. I guess because of movies or something. Frankie is getting a major scrunch from me. I’m using my coffee cup as a stand in. Sometimes doing research can help with writing for sure at those moments when your brain feels a little underfed. I hope those four books have at least some really triggering paragraphs. When do you go to NYC again? It’s pretty soon, right? ** HaRpEr, Hey. Yeah, agreed about constraints. You know I sort of need to have a predetermined structure in place before I start writing even if I end up blasting through its walls. Like a trance. A refreshing trance, the best and rarest kind. I know what you mean. For me, hm, really, as long as I’m excited, I can sort of write under any circumstances. I think for me it’s about which aspect of what I’m writing about excites me. Like the new film script, I’ve been mostly into creating the dialogue and finessing that, and I didn’t have a lot of interest in the settings of the scenes where the dialogue was happening. But yesterday something switched, and now I have all kinds of ideas of where the characters are and what they’re doing with their bodies while they’re talking, and I don’t know why I managed to fall into that space suddenly. Strange process. Interesting, The Roussel technique. I wish I wasn’t so dependent on caffeine because my brain is just mush until I’ve had a cup of coffee, and by then whatever my brain was doing during sleep is disappeared. ** jay, Hey. Glad you liked it. Cool. I need to go back and finish ‘Paper Mario’. The problem is that all that’s left is three battles in a row, and battles are my least favorite part. And the ending — everything and everyone magically stops being origami and returns to 3D — is too easily imaginable. Darn. I’m good, just writing like a fiend, which is good. How are you filling your post-game time? ** Bill, Eternal rule of thumb when encountering art you like: never read the wall text. Yeah, Evenson is so nice. He’s thinking of moving to Paris. I, of course, did some major encouraging. What is Zorn’s visual art like? I’m guessing … crazy drawings? But it’s at The Drawing Center, so that’s not exactly a psychic guess. Nice, nice, all that art. God, I know, like half of the presses I like just got defunding notices. I just hope the courts can stop that massacre like they’re stopping most of his other massacres. ** Steve, I wish I could do more than just tell you how sorry I am that you’re having to go through that and tell you it’ll get easier. Love, me. ** Right. The other day someone asked Zac and me what well known actor we would most like to work with in our films, and we said ‘None’ since we only want to work with non-actors. But then later I thought, you know, I would totally love to make a film with Lukas Haas in it. And that’s of course what lead me to restore and expand this old Day about him. See you tomorrow.

Galerie Dennis Cooper presents … Trisha Donnelly

 

‘Late in 2007, I went repeatedly to Tate Modern’s exhibition The World as a Stage, primarily to see one small black-and-white photograph – or, rather, a series of 31 small black-and-white photographs presented one at a time and, as per the artist’s instructions, rotated daily: Trisha Donnelly’s The Redwood and the Raven (2004). The experience of this staggered, witchy display, which documents the headscarf-wearing dancer Frances Flannery performing, against a tree in a forest, a dance called ‘The Raven’, choreographed to Edgar Allen Poe’s eponymous 1845 poem, was borderline perverse: you couldn’t grasp the moves, hear the poem or precisely remember the previous images you saw, so that the additive melded continually with the subtractive. (The raven in the poem famously answers queries with ‘nevermore’.) You wanted more, aware that the more you got would equate to less. This, I already knew, was the American artist’s conceptual wheelhouse: earlier that year, in Manchester, I’d seen her deliver a drum-pounding, soprano-screaming, incantatory performance, The Second Saint, at Hans Ulrich Obrist’s and Philippe Parreno’s performance-art extravaganza Il Tempo del Postino, a fully confident yet, for all its noise, muted display, ending with the fall of four black obelisks, that resides in my memory as a roaring blank abstraction.

‘Hers is a chess-playing art, one of timing and artfully mobilised viewer psychology

‘But then methodically parsing the actions, objects and images proffered by the forty-year-old, San Francisco-born Donnelly, who has now returned to London with a solo exhibition at the Serpentine Galleries, is not really the point. Thinking about them as interacting systemic units and conjectures about shaped reality, the fungible nature of space and time, and the strictures of art reception is more fruitful. Hers is a chess-playing art, one of timing and artfully mobilised viewer psychology; or at least that’s where it starts. In her New York solo debut at Casey Kaplan in 2002, Donnelly rode into the opening on a white horse, dressed in Napoleonic garb, and, acting as ersatz courier, delivered the oration that the French emperor supposedly should have given at the Battle of Waterloo: ‘If it need be termed surrender, then let it be so, for he has surrendered in word, not will. He has said, “My fall will be great but it will be useful.” The emperor has fallen and he rests his weight upon your mind and mine and with this I am electric. I am electric.’ (Eyewitness critic Jerry Saltz wrote that here Donnelly ‘stole my aesthetic heart’, while reckoning that the performance rather outweighed the show itself.)

‘By 2005, Donnelly didn’t even require a real horse; stage-managed rumour was enough. At the opening of a show at the Kölnischer Kunstverein celebrating a major artist’s prize she’d won, word ‘got around’ that another steed was waiting somewhere in the institution, that Donnelly would perform – and the artist, curator Beatrix Ruf remembers, left the preview dinner a few times to reinforce the idea. It never happened, but the very possibility coloured the event. This, in microcosm, is what Suzanne Cotter has called Donnelly’s ideal of the ‘uncontrived encounter’, something Donnelly herself calls ‘natural use’ and which is the carefully controlled outcome of so much of her work (which, in a gesture of imperial defeat that is also a gift, then abdicates control): a process that, though the description may sound hyperbolic, comes closer to a suggestion of opening up space and time, with visibly disproportionate means, than almost any of Donnelly’s contemporaries. See, for example, Hand That Holds the Desert Down (2002), in which a black-and-white detail of one of the paws of the Great Sphinx at Giza flips, via titling, into a vertiginous recasting of gravitational reality, though a proposition whose supporting wires are blatantly evident.

‘Donnelly’s art has prowled, avoiding resolution, around stormy transcendence from the outset: the first work of hers I remember seeing (and not being particularly struck by: her work has to accrete in the mind) was Untitled (Jumping) (1999), made before she graduated from Yale in 2000, in which she imitates, while moving in and out of the video frame, a variety of musicians in states of musical rapture. Her art since, which encompasses soundworks, actions, lectures, drawings, sculpture, photography and more video, continually stresses the possibility of – to quote the Bard – there being more in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in our philosophy. Or in our artworld, which has a schizoid relationship nowadays to the esoteric and occult, liking it when historical – Hilma af Klint, say – but not so much when offered without irony or a sense that certain ancient fires haven’t yet gone out. The thematic framework Donnelly has set up charges even her most outwardly slim works with electricity and expansive portent. The Napoleon theme, for example, continued in The Vortex (2003), which featured a recording of the Slavyanka Russian Men’s Chorus singing Lermontov’s poem ‘Borodino’ (1837), named after a gruesome battle of the Napoleonic wars. What this added was perhaps just another line of code, though it also aimed at an experience of synaesthesia (see the anticipatory text ‘The Vortex Notes’, 2002, which advised following the highest male voice and feeling it ‘compress like a photograph’) and dragged a vast historical event into the artwork’s orbit, resituating it in the twenty-first century as a question that is particular and also diffuse. Her sculptures involving carving into quartzite, she’s said, relate to ‘the enacting of processes of loss in geological time’: entertain that, and millennia fall away as you look.

‘The thematic framework Donnelly has set up charges even her most outwardly slim works with electricity and expansive portent

‘Or, rather, they might. Again, it’s characteristic of Donnelly’s art that one simultaneously falls under the spell and has a sense, related to critique, of how the spell is cast. What’s likely is that no spell at all, or at best a pale shadow of a spell, is cast if this art is received secondhand, and here her work twists uncharacteristically polemical. In an age where so much art is experienced – if that’s even the word – through online aggregators and through documentation, Donnelly’s art insists on being taken in real time and real space, so that it can ask what those things even are. It’s presumably to this end that she has given up doing interviews – we asked, and were politely rebuffed; a 2010 in-gallery interview she did with Anthony Huberman apparently most often featured the response ‘pass’, with Donnelly playing tracks from her iPod in lieu of other answers – while her catalogues don’t usually feature essays and her press releases can veer strongly away from the interpretative. When a visitor attending her 2002 Kaplan show requested more info, he or she would be played some electronic beats. The PR handout for her poised, codified-feeling 2010 exhibition at Portikus, Frankfurt, with its sequence of leaning incised marble reliefs, drawings and video, purports to be a press text but is a list of titles and media.

‘Art today comes with an accompanying explanation that actively disarms the viewing experience, rationalising appears to be the last thing Donnelly wants

‘This matters: one might wish it to be exemplary, except that it is turf that Donnelly almost owns and that, to mix metaphors, would become hackneyed fast. So much art today, as we’re all aware, comes with an accompanying explanation that actively disarms the viewing experience, rationalises it, and rationalising appears to be the last thing Donnelly wants: her art, in its myriad margin-directed speculations, says there’s too much of that already, and not enough that, to paraphrasTrisha Donnelly @ Air de Parise that horseriding ensign, really rests its weight upon your mind and mine. Think for a second about how few artists actually sustain this quality of tactical, shape-changing surprise and risk. David Hammons would be one, Lutz Bacher another; there are not that many others. Meanwhile galleries and fairs clog with frictionless production lines. Donnelly operates, conversely, a continual transitive process, new works adjusting old ones, the full picture held back: Black Wave, a 2002 photograph of a wave about to crest, feels like it might be metonymic both in its minimal ominousness and its forceful incompletion.’ — Martin Herbert

 

___
Further

Trisha Donnelly @ Matthew Marks Gallery
Trisha Donnelly @ Air de Paris
The Beguiling Desolations Of Trisha Donnelly
Trisha Donnelly Sculpts in Four Dimensions
Trisha Donnelly by Katherine Siboni
OPENINGS: TRISHA DONNELLY
Trisha Donnelly’s inscrutability is legendary.
Trisha Donnelly Mixtape
Wavelength: On Drawing and Sound in the Work of Trisha Donnelly
The Image of Trisha Donnelly at Matthew Marks
If It Need Be Termed Surrender: Trisha Donnelly’s Subjunctive Case
Trisha Donnelly and the Infinite Potential of Video Art

 

____
Extras


Trisha Donnelly


trisha donnelly looped 4 times

 

________
Interview

 

Hans Ulrich Obrist: The interview happens now at the corner of rue Jacob and rue Bonaparte. Already this interview goes completely circular and reminds me of your favorite message from The Young Ones [British TV series, 1982-1984].

Trisha Donnelly: Oh yes. “Meanwhile, the next day.” It’s a break of narrative formula, usually for film, TV or radio. Something is happening in the plot and normally the device is to say, “and the next day” or “meanwhile in Paris” or “meanwhile in Los Angeles.” In The Young Ones, in between the change of a scene, all of a sudden it says, “meanwhile, the next day.” It reversed the function after that, but of course then you realize the next day is the projected idea of the next day.

HUO: Rirkrit Tiravanija would say “tomorrow is another fine day.” It’s a very Buddhist sentence.

TD: It’s true. But then you don’t have a past but you have a future. So “meanwhile, the next day” I think is a simple validation of the space and time continuum suggestion.

HUO: You said this is a totally historical and indestructible idea.

TD: I think that when you have a phrase that names the next day as being the past it is completely indestructible. Once you say that tomorrow is the past, it is indestructible. The duality of any day is that it is bookended by the ideas of the previous day and the day to come. In some ways it seems our memory is much simpler than we think, so we project memory into the future. We have a memory of the future…

HUO: Recently Stephanie Moisdon curated a show that included your first piece. Can you tell me about it?

TD: It was called She Said (1989). Funny. I was sixteen and came to understand the object nature of “ ”. If you have words and they are said, then they are said and they stay in the environment like a load of mass. She Said is about the first time I understood that; it was the same sensation as mass. So it’s the side of a chair and it just says “She Said” painted on it.

HUO: Could you talk about your drawings?

TD: I think that they relate to objects the way that you listen to the radio, if you have a radio on. I draw when the radio is on. When I’m drawing, I just wait a really long time because I have to do the right thing. So I don’t draw all day, but when I have the thing I am supposed to be drawing, I draw all day and all night.

HUO: It comes from an object or it comes from an idea?

TD: Both. Sometimes it comes from the sight of an object; sometimes sight is virtual. Some of the objects are sounds; some of the sounds are drawings, but I think that the drawings that I do are more of a physical realization of what I am thinking of than of myself (i.e., an action). Drawings can be a more intense version of the presence I think. They can act as actions. They are worse. More horrible. More distant.

HUO: We have [Musée d’Art Moderne, Paris] two drawings published in the catalogue I Still Believe in Miracles. Can you tell me about them?

TD: Well, one is Untitled. This drawing is of an extinct object, which is this specific act of unlatching on a leg. It’s an action that is extinct because people don’t know how to put them on or take them off anymore because they are not worn. Every time somebody would ask at the place where it was shown, “What is that?” the person who works there has to show them: “it is…” So Untitled is that. And the other one is The Vortex (2001), which is the beginning of something I understood very simply with physical space. You know when some people see the color red they have a fit, which they think separates them from the normal world. It’s a physical response to the visual. So the vortex is something that I have understood as one of those thresholds.

HUO: Rupprecht Geiger, the more than ninety-year-old German painter, for many decades developed an almost obsessive attraction to the color red. There is a physical aspect to red.

TD: I think perhaps red is our most physically humanly understandable color because it’s the first time we see ourselves dying. Blood pouring out.

HUO: So The Vortex has to do with perception.

TD: It’s more than that, I think. It’s not even as much perception, but it’s imperceptible motion: you realize that you physically move through the viewable image. The corresponding piece is a demonstration — also called The Vortex (2003) — I did which consists of a Russian song where if you link the highest man’s voice and the lowest man’s voice you can build a vortex in your mind. When I play the song and I state the formula, each member of the audience builds a sculpture in their mind that is like a vortex. So you have hundreds of these built and rendered, point-placed never-ending vortexes in people’s minds. Hundreds of sculptures. I consider it more of a sculpture. A mass.

HUO: The drawing is a trigger for vortex. It is not an object in this regard.

TD: It’s not. But a vortex is never an object; it’s something else. We don’t have a word for this. It’s the same problem when you don’t have a word for “not performance.” It is not performance.

HUO: Cartier-Bresson told me the last time I interviewed him: “Photographs should be more seen in books than polluting too many walls.” The same thing is true for the way you use drawings and photographs; they are rare instances. It is against pollution.

TD: Yes. I think polluting something displays that you are sure of things and mortally terrified. Every time you make a piece of work you have to ask if it really needs to exist in the world and should you do the deed of adding more shit to the world. I write every day; that’s more where I do my everyday obsessive habit.

HUO: So, the writing, the texts are a daily practice for you.

TD: Yes, the texts. They also take a long time. Sometimes I begin a text one year and then I finish it in four years.

HUO: I am very interested in this link from art to literature and poetry because art has created all kinds of bridges in the recent years to music, to cinema, but the link to literature is too rare. Your own is a very rare instance of bringing back that link to poetry, and what is interesting is that poetry is maybe the only art form that has not been recuperated by the market.

TD: It never will be. The only time it had a possibility was in advertising, which has beautiful stuff sometimes. But poetry has regained its status in a way: as people believing that it has a compression that is important. It’s both horrible and perfect simultaneously.

HUO: And you are a native daughter of San Francisco, which is a city of poetry; I think of City Lights Bookstore and the whole beat generation. Have these people been important for you?

TD: No, actually, not at all. I was not so much a beat fan. Unless you could call Gertrude Stein a beat. But it’s a different temperament.

HUO: And who are your heroes in poetry?

TD: I love Ahkmatova, Marianne Moore, H.D., Michaux and I love Yeats because I have an obsession with the Irish disaster, the feelings of disaster. If a text’s category is somehow loosely dependent on structure then so many things can fall into and out of the form. I had a kind of dumb attraction to film moments in poetry. I grew up watching films that were already old. We weren’t allowed to watch TV so we watched John Wayne’s films, Gary Cooper’s films, classic westerns, so I think there would be these epic statements that act as catalysts more than like a constructed poem. John Wayne would walk into a space and say something and then the entire film would shift. The film in this type of action set up is literally built for and around his lines. Set-up lines, to wind its way around the text. The mass of the word. It is kind of like this basic masculinity, mutuality and intensity that are like an explosive statement, the low-grade hesitation and the verbal release. Some films have shorter leashes for this type of thing and make a faster dialogue. Snap you back in quicker. So, if you could build poetry that had a function to move a plot or a story, that was what I found really incredible. But you know I think I was looking for it. I needed to translate it into that structure. It’s text with camera movement built in, understood as part of the formula, like writing with the correct sense of punctuation.

HUO: You film when you travel. You were filming here in Paris too. What about your filmmaking? Is it a daily practice for you?

TD: It’s a daily accidental thing. The camera is palm sized. I never think about it.

HUO: Can you tell me about your bigger photographs?

TD: Some big, some small. The big ones are more like architecture. So polluting with columns. We should have a problem with photography. That’s all I know.

 

___
Show

Untitled, 2008
video, 4 minutes, looped

 

Untitled, 2005
DVD, 20 seconds, looped

Watch it here

 

Untitled, 2011
‘In the final analysis, maybe, numbers, far from facilitating a purely scientific approach, actually contribute to the depth of the world. Like the letters in a novel, they could be seen as constituting not only its secret grammar, its skeleton – the dream of a mathesis universalis – but also its flesh. Not so much marking out time as filling it. With each layer of time a notch to be noted, a stratum of meaning to be read, a space in its own right: gone the distinction between the acts of reading, counting and contemplating a landscape.’

 

Untitled, 2007
Synthetic polymer paint on paper and pencil on three sheets of paper

 

Hand that Holds the Desert Down, 2002
‘In Hand That Holds the Desert Down (2002), a black-and-white detail of one of the paws of the Great Sphinx at Giza flips, via titling, into a vertiginous recasting of gravitational reality, though a proposition whose supporting wires are blatantly evident.’

 

Satin Operator, 2007
‘Across a sequence of thirteen digital prints, the torso of a woman slowly rotates as if photographed in stop-motion: first we see the back of her head, then the side of her face; in this print—the sixth in the series—her eyes meet ours. As her gaze locks with the viewer’s, there is the potential for a brief act of exchange—if only for an instant. To make these images, the artist modified the glass bed of a digital scanner to turn it into a device that would record with an almost three-dimensional, tactile vision.

‘Of her intentions in this series, Donnelly has written, “I thought if you could hit that nexus in the axis of the slow path of two tubular forms either lightening or reflecting (or eating) the projected image, you could expand the thing: into some zone between the film-pattern-flash phenomenon of motion and the paralyzed known of the photographic still. Somewhere in there was a newer dimension I had hoped to catch on paper or file.”’

 

Untitled, 2008
Video, 6 minutes, looped

Watch it here

 

Hello, 2012

 

Untitled, 2015

 

Untitled, 2007

 

Untitled, 2014
projection, dimensions variable

 

Untitled, 2019
‘Trisha Donnelly’s conspicuously untitled (and unexplained—there is no press release) work of installation art at the Shed is a lyrical op-ed about humanity’s inhumanity to nature. Into a capacious, dark gallery illuminated only by a little daylight coming in through vertical openings in one wall, Ms. Donnelly has brought the trunks of two large redwood trees and placed them atop the kind of padded, rolling platforms that furniture movers use. She’s also bandaged, as it were, the ends of their amputated limbs with cloth and twine. Across the room, the artist has placed a large number of similarly wounded, albeit smaller, sections of trees. (All the examples were already diseased and dying, and taken from private land.) Off to the side, separate from the mournful arboretum sits a black speaker that emits—at considerable volume—Leontyne Price singing “Habanera” from “Carmen.”

‘The effect is something like a World War I field hospital, minus the moaning and screaming. Each morning, in fact, someone from the Shed comes in and pours water on the two big trunks to keep them from drying out. On the floor, the spilled liquid looks not unlike blood in a black-and-white war movie.’

 

Untitled, 2002
‘In 2002, Trisha Donnelly created one of her best-known “events”. Arriving on horseback at the Casey Kaplan Gallery, dressed as a Napoleonic soldier, the artist announced that the Emperor had abdicated.’

 

8 videos, 2012

Watch it here

 

Watch it here

 

Watch it here

 

Watch it here

 

Watch it here

 

Watch it here

 

Watch it here

 

Watch it here

 

Untitled (Jumping), 1998-1999
‘In the silent video untitled (jumping) (1999), Donnelly reenacts what she contends are the signature gestures of specific rock musicians at the moment they achieve their “performance wall”—the point when they reach physical transcendence through their music. By jumping on an unseen trampoline, she floats in and out of the frame in slow motion, assuming a dreamlike state and re-creating the musicians’ adrenaline-induced moments of ecstasy. The identities of the different performers—from Ozzy Osbourne to Joey Ramone—are never revealed.’

 

Various, 2017
‘Donnelly’s video works are often based on digital photographs, analog re-workings of their printouts and further layers of processing of the resulting materials. This inextricable fusion of source codes through the electronic sphere of digital processing is palpably present in another projection: a green texture flanked by two vertical red lines. A white beam crosses the image from top to bottom, a kind of light-scanner extracting all color and absorbing it into brightness once it comes into contact with a particular section. In light of Donnelly’s tactics, the realm of video art appears infinitely expansive. She makes explicit the function of photographs as the basis of film’s moving images only to twist this very foundation. It seems as if the presence of single takes is not hidden by adjusting their speed so that they appear as sequential movements. Instead, Donnelly alters their function, by not making many images move over progressing moments in time, but creating the impression of continuously stretching, folding and morphing a single image across the screen into infinite shapes. This process creates a sensation of walking deeper into layers of time, rather than following its chronological passing. The effect of video appearing not through moving images but as moving image is aided by the way Donnelly cuts through the habits of projection and positions her works vertically. Movement enters the scene as the transformation of perceptional habits vis-à-vis the alternate arrangements and material energies manifesting themselves in these theatrical spaces.

‘The third seemingly inconspicuous, small projection emanating from the base of the video projector is where the show becomes uncannily sublime. Here, a set of rings (perhaps from a binder) meet a bright white field. Staring at the projection for too long hurts the eyes – yet every time I moved my head to look away, bright colors appeared in the corner of my eye. Staring into the light as long as possible to determine whether I simply missed a frame in the projection was pointless. And there I found myself in the midst of Spiritism, trying to use technology to capture the invisible. When photographing the screen, the pattern revealed itself again: crisscrossing pillars much like on test cards used in television and screen calibration to probe the spectrum of visible colors. “Spectrum” designates electromagnetic emissions including light or a complete subset of colors. Its etymological kin “spectre” however is an even better frame for describing what emanates from Donnelly’s work: an optical illusion or – a ghostly presence. This is one that activates the senses including the infamous sixth one.’

 

The Dashiell Delay, 2006
‘Akin to her site-specific practice, Donnelly here involves the collector in the process of art production and reception. She conceives an edition subscription, where a total of 10 installments are made and delivered regularly over the period of one year. Consisting of four Xeroxes, three gelatin silver prints, one line-block, one felt-tip pen drawing, and marble slab, this edition makes for twelve months of mystery: ten unpredictable messages that will (or will not) be decoded in the record left behind.’

 

Let ’em, 2005

 

Untitled, 2010
Travertine, 61.3 x 32 x 7.3″ x 155.6 x 81.3 x 18.5 cm

 

Untitled, 2012
‘Commandeering a high floor, Donnelly presented a suspended sculpture, a big, steel-framed, partly cracked tray held up with aeroplane cables, like a perpetual enigmatic experiment. I remember low lighting, I remember the variable tilting of the oblique tray and water in it, but mostly I remember that characteristic quality of insistent wordless proposition: disbelief suspended, the author as artist erased and replaced, prospectively, with someone or something arcane and anxiety-making, and then the figure of Donnelly, manipulating the murky theatrics, returning to mind.’

 

Untitled, 2018
pencil and print on color paper

 

Untitled, 2010
video projection and rc-print, 3.19 minutes looped

Watch it here

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. ** Lucas, Voila! Nice summer, especially since Paris is included. Hopefully we won’t be heat-blasted then. You sound really great, that’s so happy making. I’ll try to do a spotlight on ‘It Then’ if I can find enough of an excerpt online, as I don’t have a physical copy. The new script is still very much in process, but the ventriloquist stuff is gone. The boy with the puppet is still prominent. It’s getting better. I’m pretty excited. It’ll probably be a feature film, but maybe a shortish one. We’ll see. My day was working on the script basically, partly by default because I forgot to pay the electricity bill so the power and internet were cut off until late last night. Scary how empty life gets when that happens. Anyway, I hope the queer part of the soccer match upped the sport’s game. ** Carsten, Yeah, when Reed’s great, he’s great. I love the Stooges, of course. I like his first few solo albums. After that, for me, his stuff got very spotty, and I haven’t been excited by anything he’s done in, gosh, decades. But I think he sticks to the old stuff in concert, so it should be fun. But you tell me. ** Misanthrope, David will have to slip and fall into the cure, I just hope he remembers why he likes being alive in time. I hear ‘Thunderbolts’ is kind of more ragtag than the usual Marvel stuff, which sort of appeals. Thursday, cool, imminently. Have fun. Well, obviously you will. ** Alistair, Hi, Alistair! Thanks a lot for coming in. Interesting about the feedback you’re getting to your poems. I’m sure you can imagine that my poetry was pretty divisive when I was in the heat of writing poems, and the problems people had sound not dissimilar to yours. I’ve never really understood people who want poetry or fiction to soothe them and make them feel better in a conventional way. They don’t demand that from movies or music, usually. Needless to say, I relate and encourage your desire to write about yourself or your thoughts clearly. That’s what will or already does make the poems original and distinct, you know, and those are the qualities, plus skill of some sort, that make writing mean something, I think. All of that probably sounds obvious. Btw, no etiquette here at all, or, if there is, you aced it. Tell me more about your poetry or anything if you like. It’s very good to meet you. ** _Black_Acrylic, How sweet, that parade. I think I mentioned that I went to this giant celebration when France won (I think) the World Cup, along with 500,000 people, cheering Mbappe and Messi and the whole gang, and it was kind of joyous. Surely at least still somewhat so on a TV screen. That is so curious and interesting about Kraftwerk being influenced by early Gilbert & George. That’s so funny. I never knew that. Wow. ** Jack Skelley, You de-quirked this place! ‘Mumbo Jumbo’ is really, worth a full read. Maybe you remember when I had him read at Beyond Baroque? He wasn’t very friendly, but hey. ‘Green Acres’ is Samuel Beckett, or it might as well be. Glad our Sunday confab inspired hours on your memoir. It’ll get faster. You know it. ** Bill, Hey Bill! Welcome back! I’ll be able to tell you the date of the proximate ‘RT’ screening very soon. And on Saturday I met and had a really good visit with a writer I know you like, Brian Evenson. He’s here ‘cos they’re doing a conference on his work at the Sorbonne. The French love Evenson, no surprise at all. He’s a really cool and great guy. Thanks for the look-see on your trip’s highlights. I’ll pore over the evidence. Thank you! What’s next for you? ** scunnard, Hi, pal. I’m good, headlong into writing the new film script mostly, which is a pleasure. Yes, we had serious hail here that damaged buildings and everything. It was gorgeous. Now it’s chilly and sunny, which is almost as gorgeous if a lot less daunting. ** Dominik, Hi!!! Yay, a new Sparks acolyte! Yeah, I saw the word ‘curdled’ somewhere and thought it really deserved a good home, it’s just whether that means a mansion or a tent, I guess. Haven’t found it yet. I trust love indulged himself yesterday. I had the same thing with a massive catalog of the Rammelzee show I saw the other day, but I literally have nowhere to put it, so I gave up. Love feeling in awe of electricity, G. ** Steeqhen, Friends, yes, cue a million corny songs celebrating friendship. Even the fewer number of songs celebrating friends with substance abuse problems. Friendship has its demands. Sorry, though. ** Sarah, Hi. Melodramatic sounds kind of exciting, so please do. Cool about your stand-in reader friend. Who will go with friends who will hold up their iPhones at the time, I hope. Yes, I’ve been to Efteling twice. It’s the best. And they have this crazy looking new kind of goth-y ride called Danse Macabre where the building supposedly starts dancing with you inside it. I’ll report back. You have a solidly great day yourself. xo. ** Steve, Hi. ‘The Last Days of Louisiana Red’ is quite good. As is ‘Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down’ which came in-between ‘Mumbo’ and ‘Freelance’. I mostly think Utopia is prog in overly self-conscious quotation marks and severely dated. Except when he/they did some shorter pop-like songs in their later days, which can be quite good. Hoping your today is stress-free to the max. So tough, so sorry, my friend. ** HaRpEr, Hey. ‘The Free-Lance Pallbearers’ is Reed’s other unimpeachably fantastic novel, so, yes, recommended. I’m good with making a short film next. Zac is less enthusiastic about the idea. I think we’ll end up making a feature film that’s shorter than ‘RT’ or at least much easier to get made. That’s the main goal, even if it ends up being 90-ish minutes like our other ones. There’s no way we’re going to go through the years of fundraising hell that we did with ‘RT’. So it’s more about trying really hard to make it less expensive, less characters, no settings that require significant money being raised. I tried ‘Um, Jennifer’ yesterday too, and I like it pretty well so far. They seem very cool in interviews, so I’m inclined to dig in and concentrate. Marie Davidson: I don’t know them/her or that record, I’ll search it out Thanks! ** Malik, Yay, one of my favorite all-time novels too. I would read ‘The Freelance Pallbearers’ next. That’s my second favorite Reed novel and an big all-time favorite too. Happy … what is it … Tuesday! ** Right. Today I’ve filled my galerie with works by one of my very, very favorite contemporary artists, the enigmatic and complex and endlessly surprising Trisha Donnelly. Have a look around and see what you think, please. See you tomorrow.

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