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Cover story, The New York Times Magazine last Sunday: Robert Sullivan's preview of the new Bob Dylan movie, Todd Haynes' "I'm Not There."
Haynes got Dylan to OK the project by sending him a pitch-perfect idea wrapped in Dylanish philosophical speculation: "If a film were to exist in which the breadth and flux of a creative life could be experienced, a film that could open up as oppose to consolidating what we think we already know walking in, it could never be within the tidy arc of a master narrative."
As Tommy Smothers used to say, "Get to know your rabbit." Haynes studied his before asking him to hop into the cage. "I'm Not There" is the first nondocumentary film to have secured the rights to Dylan's life and music.
It has Dylan's name on it, but it's not him, babe. It's six different characters rolling through time, which circles around itself. Dylan signaled his interest in the theme in D.A. Penebaker's Dylan documentary from 1967, "Don't Look Back."
Back to the camera, he leans over a table to scan reviews of his concerts. He reads some parts aloud in a wondering voice, about him smoking three packs of cigarettes a day and never sleeping, and he says, "I'm glad I'm not me."
When "I'm Not There" opens in Seattle, I'll be in line. Whether or not it achieves coherence is a question for another kind of movie. Best in this case to take T.S. Eliot's advice: "Oh, do not ask what is it. Let us go and make a visit."
Like Dylan and like Haynes, the article Sullivan wrote wanders with pithy beauty. Concrete clarity crops up only on the subject of Portland, Oregon, where Haynes lives.
For Todd Haynes, Portland was a tonic. It's a lo-fi town, a do-it-yourselfer's paradise, a place where, in contrast to New York, your career is not necessarily everything. "When I moved to Portland, I was more social and productive than I'd ever been in my entire life," Haynes says. "I remember being at an opening, talking to Gus, and people were just saying, 'Hey Todd!' 'Hey Todd!' I just felt available, and I loved that feeling. In New York, if someone came and knocked on your door without telling you, you'd be like, 'Get out.' " Gus is Gus Van Sant, the director, who also lives in Portland.
"I think he ran into a lot of people he really liked," Van Sant says. "They weren't really encumbered by all the ambition in New York and L.A." Haynes made friends with writers and artists, people like Jon Raymond, an editor of the magazine Plazm and a novelist whom he had asked to assist him on the New York-area set of "Far From Heaven." (For one issue of Plazm, Haynes posed in a Bigfoot suit, no one apparently telling him how dangerous it is to run around in the Pacific Northwest woods in a Bigfoot suit with so many armed Bigfoot hunters running around.) He went river swimming. He hung out at Berlin Inn, a brauhaus on the east side. "He could have been on the chamber of commerce," Van Sant says.
The habit in Seattle of thinking that Portland is a smaller Seattle misses the point. Yes, it is, but that's what's great about it. People hang together. Filmmakers go to art openings. Painters have drummers over for dinner. What is social fragmentation in Seattle is unity in Portland. Seattle may have bigger and better everything, but Portland has the bounce. No wonder Seattle talks about linking up with Portland's cultural scene, instead of, as in the past, the reverse. At this point, we need it more than it needs us.
Of course, some in Seattle are trying to pull us out of the holes we're dug. They include Hankblog's born-to-party Betsey Brock, and Scott Lawrimore of Lawrimore Project, who hosts what he calls the IHOP Art Klatch at Cafe Presse, 1117 12th Ave., "every Tuesday morning (from 7-10) for the rest of my life."
Special guest this week is Marisa Sanchez, assistant modern/contemporary curator at the Seattle Art Museum.
Who's invited? Anybody who can roll out of bed that early. I read a wire story last week that said cockroaches are smarter in the afternoon. In the morning, they can't think their way out of a toilet crack. Mentally, I waved down the evolutionary ladder at my people. Hey, cockroaches, I feel your a.m. pain.
No art blog worth the name can bring up cockroaches without a hat tip to Donald Harington's "The Cockroaches of Stay More," the best novel featuring them as central characters. OK, they're the only characters. Love this book, and Harington is also an art historian.
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Posted by Jeff Jahn at 10/9/07 4:42 p.m.
Not news to us Portlanders of course... but as you point out, size matters very little (Seattle's art scene actually seems smaller and more cozy than Portland's). Instead of size it's a difference in attitude. We still have lots of ambitious people here, but it's just not cut throat ambition. Also, sarcasm isn't the defacto mode of discussion. The money in Seattle produces an endless supply of material for sarcasm.
Our billionares and developers jus't dont develop the same kind of civic scorn and everyone seems to appreciate artists in Portland.