I liked something that Stephen Elliott wrote in his "Daily Rumpus" newsletter the other day. (Elliott is the author of books including The Adderall Diaries, founded The Rumpus, and directed a movie, About Cherry, that opened from IFC recently.) He was describing a conversation he had over dinner about memoir writing:

Then we got into this whole other discussion about how there is no bad topic for a memoir or personal essay. Some topics are more challenging than others, because they've been done so many times. If the protagonist is a college professor, or a writer, you start at a disadvantage. If s/he's having an affair with a student, you're still further in the hole. Same thing with memoirs about stripping and drug addiction. But none of that matters if it's well done. Stoner, for example, a novel about an English professor, is easily one of the best books I've ever read.

It's easier to write a good book about subjects that have not been written about. Because a book can have meaning just by serving an underserved audience. Not every book has to compete with Joan Didion and Tobias Wolff. When Michelle Tea wrote Valencia there was nothing else like it. Similarly Eileen Myles' Chelsea Girls. Those are two great books, even in a vacuum, but they're particularly relevant in speaking for a culture and a movement that wasn't spoken of enough. There's also Dennis Cooper's Frisk.

I've dug myself a hole here. I'll sum it up: Strive to write a great book, if you're going to write a book. A book has to be perfect, on the level of the sentence, tension, and honesty. Or, it has to be really really really good and appeal to a group that doesn't have enough books.

I've been watching a lot of movies in the last few weeks, screening for our Filmmaker-sponsored "Best Film Not Playing at a Theater Near You" Gotham Award, so Elliott's comments particularly resonated with me. It's true: movies stand out in different ways. The first is because they're simply great. The second (and third and fourth) is because they do something different, or are directed to an audience that doesn't have enough movies, or because they show you a world you haven't seen before. Sometimes they do the latter while also telling you a traditional story, but they do it really well and that's what makes the movie connect to a big audience. But sometimes they tell a traditional story in a world you haven't been before but the traditional story isn't done that well and it weighs the movie down. It turns something that should be fresh into something cliched.

Where I'd extrapolate a bit from Elliott's remarks has to do with genre. Genre can be like comfort food. You've seen (or read) a certain kind of thriller or horror tale or mystery before, and you're happy to see (or read) another. You actually like the familiarity of the story as long as the narrative voice or lead character feels fresh. I think it's easier to like well-constructed genre films because there's an essential durability to their classic storylines. But personal dramas -- the teenage coming-of-age tale, the twenty-something post-adult story, or the classic immigrant leaving home saga -- can be a bit more fragile. Their smaller-scale narrative comforts can tip into dull overfamiliarity very quickly. And that's when, as Elliott says, they have be either really great or directed at an audience that really needs these stories.

It's all some kind of strange alchemy, I guess.

On a somewhat related note, I tweeted the other day that of my final five or six films to watch for the BFNP Award, all were under 80 minutes. "Is 75 the new 90?" I asked. I got several interesting responses, including one from a filmmaker who wrote about the difficulty he has in writing traditional second-acts, speaking of a natural narrative compression that results. Are there no second acts in American independent film? Is 75 the new 90? What do you think? You can always email me at scott@filmmakermagazine.com. And follow me on Twitter at @filmmakermag.

See you next week.

Best,
Scott Macaulay
Editor
NOMINATIONS ANNOUNCED FOR THE 22ND ANNUAL GOTHAM INDEPENDENT FILM AWARDS Twenty-six films were announced today as nominees for IFP's 22nd Annual Gotham Independent Film Awards. Cited for Best Feature were Richard Linklater's Bernie, Julia Loktev's The Loneliest Planet, Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master, Ava DuVernay's Middle of Nowhere, and Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom. Best Documentary feature nominees are Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady's Detropia, David France's How to Survive a Plague, Matthew Akers' Marina Abramovic: The Artist is Present, Rodney Ascher's Room 237, and Peter Nicks' The Waiting Room.

In the "breakthrough" categories, directors Zal Batmanglij (Sound of My Voice), Brian Cassidy and Melanie Shatzky (Francine), Jason Cortlund and Julia Halperin (Now, Forager), Antonia Mendez Esparza (Aqui y Alla), and Benh Zeitlin (Beasts of the Southern Wild) were singled out for Breakthrough Director, while actors Mike Birbiglia (Sleepwalk with Me), Emayatzy Corinealdi (Middle of Nowhere), Thure Lindhardt (Keep the Lights On), Melanie Lynskey (Hello, I Must Be Going), and Quvenzhane Wallis (Beasts of the Southern Wild) have been put forth for Breakthrough Actor.

The year's Best Ensemble Performance nominees are the casts from Bernie, Moonrise Kingdom, Safety Not Guaranteed, Silver Linings Playbook, and Your Sister's Sister. Singled out as the best undistributed films which will vie for the Best Film Not Playing at a Theater Near You Award are the Zellner Brothers' Kid-Thing, Terence Nance's An Oversimplification of Her Beauty, Alex Karpovsky's Red Flag, Amy Seimetz's Sun Don't Shine, and Franks V. Ross' Tiger Tail in Blue.

In addition, the 3rd Annual Gotham Independent Film Audience Award will be voted on again by the independent film community. Voting begins today for the Audience Award. For a complete list of nominees go here. The Gotham Awards ceremony will be held November 26th at Cipriani Wall Street; tickets and table info available here.