Bombing Out

Get me out of here: Is that Denzel Washington fleeing the set of The Siege?

Two action novelists take on ‘The Siege’

By David Templeton

David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time around, he journeys to Sacramento–the hometown of authors Richard Herman and William P. Wood–for an afternoon matinee of the big-budget action-thriller The Siege.

FUNNY, but somehow when I sat down in the theater with Richard Herman and William P. Wood, I never anticipated that they’d end up in recurring fits of boyish giggles. This from a former Air Force major (Herman), the best-selling author of numerous testosterone-fueled action novels, and a retired deputy district attorney (Wood), with his own string of white-knuckle crime thrillers.

Honestly, these guys don’t strike one as the giggling type. Then again, some movies are so dumb that a good giggle is the only logical response.

About halfway through The Siege–in which freedom-loving FBI agent Denzel Washington crosses swords with evil Army Gen. Bruce Willis in an attempt to squash a New York City bombing campaign perpetrated by Arab terrorists–enough dumb plot twists and make-believe nonsense have piled up that any intelligent viewer would be hard-pressed to resist a disbelieving snort or two.

Terrorist bombings, it is explained, always come in fours. Yeah, right.

When a bomb-carrying truck drives over the sidewalk and through the front window of a thoroughly unprotected Federal Building, Wood merrily mutters, “Hah!” as the screen ignites in a noisy kaboom of flames. “Oh come on, where’s the concrete barrier?” he’d like to know. Herman, during a silly sequence involving Washington’s improbable evasion of an army surveillance squad, just smiles and shakes his head. The giggle factor only gets worse by the film’s unlikely ending, at which point my two guests have been brought to the brink of hysterics.

In fairness, some of my guests’ mirth is generated by little things that the movie gets right. A remark about the CIA making mistakes all the time draws a bellow of appreciative laughter and a line about a U.S. “policy shift”–an event that leaves a group of Palestinian double agents in the lurch without protection–is received with ironic amusement. “Oh no!” gasps Herman. “Not the dreaded policy shift!” (More on that later.)

It is certain that others will not find The Siege quite so laughable. Its depiction of hate crimes against Arab-Americans, the imposition of martial law on NYC, and the subsequent internment of Arab-American citizens are certainly chilling. In fact, several anti-defamation groups have accused the film itself of being racist, making claims that the Arab characterizations are stereotypical and mean-spirited. Nothing to laugh about there.

“But you see, Bill and I have both seen how government operates close up,” explains Herman after the show. “So we’re in a position to see the humor that others might miss.”

Not to mention knowing their way around a good, believable plot: Each author–both residents of Sacramento, they’ve become friends and staunch supporters over the years–has been praised for the realism of their work. Wood is known as the author of The Bone Garden (based on the case of Dorothea Fuentes, whom Wood successfully prosecuted). His new book, Quicksand, is one of his best: a taut, intelligent thriller about husband and wife crime-fighters on opposite sides of their own terrorist conspiracy. Herman’s books–geopolitical potboilers of the highest order–include Warbirds, Power Curve, and the just-released Against All Enemies, in which two downed U.S. pilots are put on trial in Sudan after a failed bombing run on a chemical weapons plant. Ironically, the title Against All Enemies was once announced as the title of The Siege.

“I’m really glad they changed the name of the movie,” Herman says, as we all slide into a booth at a popular hamburger place. “I would have hated to have been linked to this thing by having the same name.”

“So, was there a point to this movie?” he asks. They both turn to me for an answer.

“Well, the posters all carry the phrase ‘Freedom is History,'” I tell them. “I assume they were trying to make a statement about the price of freedom and the possibility of those freedoms as the world becomes increasingly dangerous.”

HERMAN BURSTS out laughing. “Really? Did they accomplish that, do you think?”

“If you like science fiction, yeah, they did,” answers Wood.

“In the movie’s defense,” Herman says, shrugging, “it was fairly entertaining. It was a classic series of setups and payoffs. The backbone of fiction, right. Nice payoff to nice setups.”

“OK,” Wood considers this, “the setups were OK, but the payoffs were phony. And if the payoff is phony, then the picture is phony.”

“Oh, they did a few things right,” Herman says. “The laughable ‘dreaded policy shift,’ for instance. Unfortunately, they hit that one right on the head. That’s real. Honest to God, how many times have we asked our allies to carry the water for us and then left them high and dry?”

“So it hit a few nails on the head,” Wood amiably retorts. “It spent the rest of its time insulting my intelligence. What about the way the military was portrayed? Willis was a one-dimensional bad guy. Another stereotype. I’ve never known a military officer who was anything like that.” Willis, in fact, played the part like a monotone megalomaniac with a cold, soulless, zombie stare.

“I’ve known more than my share of military types,” Herman says. “And Bill’s right. The army guys were stereotypes as much as the evil terrorists and the driven FBI agents. In fact,” he points out, “what emotional impact the film has is had by playing on our prejudices–prejudices against the military as well as against the Arab nations.

“Yet I still go back to my point,” he continues, “that if you take an uncritical eye at this thing, the movie works.”

“Well, I don’t agree,” Wood says, grinning across the table at his old friend, “uncritical eye or not. Then again, I guess I’ve seen worse.”

From the November 19-24, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Vanished

By David Templeton

IN ARGENTINA, in the mid-1980s, whenever Gustavo Mosquera was stopped for “routine questioning” by the military police, he was asked the standard questions: his name, his address, and his occupation. If you were lucky, that was as far as it went.

“Every day the cops were putting us up against the wall, asking for our IDs,” Mosquera explains, “and asking for our ideas, too. Because ideas are what dictatorships are most afraid of.” Whenever questioned, the young Mosquera would reply, honestly, that he was a student, currently enrolled at the University of Buenos Aires.

“Then they would want to know what I was studying,” he continues. “So I would say, ‘electronic engineering,’ and they would let me go. ‘An electronic engineer? Those are not dangerous.’ ”

But what Mosquera, who is now a part-time resident of Santa Rosa, would always fail to mention was his other course of study, his passion, his first love: In addition to his engineering degree, he was also pursuing a degree in cinematic arts–with dreams of becoming a film director.

“The military dictatorship had no use for filmmakers,” he says of the since ousted cadre of military generals. “Artists of any kind–journalists, poets, writers, thinkers–had been disappearing. Thirty thousand people vanished during the military times. So my family begged me to have another occupation.”

That other occupation may have saved his life; it most certainly made him a better filmmaker.

“I’d gained so much knowledge about electronics and engineering,” says Mosquera, “and had come to appreciate mathematics and abstract ideas and the artistic works of people like M. C. Escher that it began to all come together in my films.”

Case in point: Moebius.

Made two years ago while Mosquera was teaching at the University in Buenos Aires, Moebius is a small-budget allegorical thriller about a missing subway train. Financed by the university, it was made with the assistance of a hand-picked “workshop” team of students. The film features a mathematician hero, numerous references to advanced mathematical concepts, striking visuals imbued with an Escher-like circuitousness, and special effects shot with a camera that Mosquera, employing his accidentally acquired engineering skills, designed himself.

“What I did was I found a very old 35-mm camera in an antique store,” he explains, reaching to pick up the case that holds the very same machine. “It was made in 1926. I basically took it apart and rebuilt it to do things it had never been intended to do.” Unveiling the camera–a rickety, smoky-black thingamajig–Mosquera lifts it from the case and holds it up proudly. “I changed the motor, added a few enhancements, a new belt. This is the camera that I held while hanging from the front of the subway train, riding back and forth for hours, filming the tunnel shots. I am now very fond of this camera.”

And audiences have become very fond of Moebius.

Michael Amsler

For the last two years, Mosquera has been globetrotting from film festival to film festival, with Moebius as his calling card. The film has picked up numerous awards and been enthusiastically received in Hong Kong, Singapore, China, and throughout Europe, and has also performed well at the Sundance and San Francisco film festivals. The movie will receive its local premiere this weekend at the Sonoma Film Institute, on the Sonoma State University campus.

ON THE SURFACE, it’s an eerie and compelling mystery story set in the labyrinthine tunnels under Buenos Aires, loaded with nifty surreal tinges and a sly, satisfyingly metaphysical payoff. Underneath that, however, there is a poetic, richly symbolic exploration of Argentina’s abiding national guilt over the vanishing of those 30,000 disappeared people, a subject on which the country’s current democratic government has remained staunchly silent. As with the missing subway train, it is ultimately easier for the bureaucrats to forget all about it than to pursue the mystery further into the unthinkable darkness.

“The festivals have been a very big help,” Mosquera allows. “They have increased the reputation of this film in ways that I could not have done on my own.” While staying in Northern California–his fiancée, Terra Miezwa, is a longtime local resident–Mosquera has been meeting with various Hollywood movers and shakers, hoping to turn Moebius’ indie glitter into a chance at mainstream gold.

But according to Mosquera, any such alchemy will have to be on his terms.

“I’ve been told by many producers,” he says, “that Hollywood is not in the business of making movies for intellectuals. It’s crazy. You’d think they would be so happy when someone brings them a well-written script, a script that tries for something deeper and better than all of the rest.”

He sighs. “Hollywood believes that the audiences are stupid, but they are not. I know that they deserve better than much of what they’ve been getting.”

While Moebius was made for only $250,000, his next film, he hopes, will be made, in English, for $3 million–still a pittance by Hollywood standards. Like Moebius, it will be a philosophical fable disguised as science fiction.

But first, there are a few more festivals to attend.

“I’ve been asked to take the film to Korea, to Calcutta,” Mosquera says. “But I believe it is nearing the time to stop all of that. As much as I love Moebius, I am ready to make a new one.

“All I need is for some producer to say, ‘Yes. Green light. Let’s go.’ “

The Sonoma Film Institute screens Moebius on Nov. 13 and 14 at 7 p.m. at the Darwin Theater, Sonoma State University, 1801 E. Cotati Ave., Rohnert Park. Admission is $2.50-$4.50. 664-2606.

From the November 12-18, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Past Imperfect

Glory days: William Macy and Joan Allen get ready for revolution in Pleasantville.

Author Clyde Edgerton on ‘Pleasantville’

By David Templeton

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time out, he takes a stroll through Pleasantville with best-selling Southern author Clyde Edgerton.

IT’S A LONG WAY from North Carolina to San Francisco, and Clyde Edgerton–appearing now at the front door of a massive downtown cineplex–looks as if he’s walked the whole way on foot. His eyes are remarkably red, his unshaven, smiling face broadcasts the effort of every stifled yawn. He’s in California for a string of bookstore readings–his 1997 best-selling novel Where Trouble Sleeps has just been released in paperback–and he’s graciously agreed to go to the movies before his first appearance. Even so, I’m feeling more than a little guilty, fearing that Edgerton might be happier back at his hotel–you know, taking a nice long nap.

“Oh, I’m all right,” he says in a warm drawl, suppressing another yawn. “I may end up fallin’ asleep during the movie–but hell, if you don’t mind, I don’t mind.”

I don’t mind. And for the record, Edgerton doesn’t fall asleep.

In fact, Pleasantville proves to be a stimulating experience. You’ve seen the commercials: Two ’90s teenagers (Reese Witherspoon and Toby Maguire) are transported into the strictly black-and-white world of a ’50s television sitcom, infecting the townsfolk (including Joan Allen and William H. Macy) with a kind of Technicolor virus as the citizens’ private passions are gloriously, sometimes frighteningly, awakened.

By the end of the film, Edgerton has been temporarily energized.

“Though I wanted it to be funnier,” he points out. “It could have been one funny-ass movie.”

Pleasantville is a film about many things, but chiefly it’s a satire on modern conservative attitudes, poking holes in the right-wing’s insistence that America in the ’90s needs an infusion of ’50s values. Certainly, the colorful changes brought to the town of Pleasantville have a dark side–with shades of McCarthyism and racial segregation, erupting into book burning and ugly hate crimes. The filmmakers seem to be saying that, sure, changes can be difficult. But in the end, freedom is always worth the complications that come with it.

Edgerton’s own work explores similar territory. Walking across Egypt (soon to be made into a film itself), Killer Diller, and especially Where Trouble Sleeps, all show the conflict between old ways of thinking and new. In Trouble, a tiny ’50s Southern town–a rundown version of Pleasantville–is forever altered, for good and ill, when a mysterious stranger drives into town with larceny in his heart and a trunk full of dirty movies. The way the town ultimately deals with the stranger, and the mark he leaves behind, is unforgettable.

“We talk about the way the world was in the ’50s and the way it is now,” Edgerton says after the film, as we sit in a nearby diner. “But when we think of the ’50s, we can’t really remember what the ’50s were like. We remember the way the ’50s were in some movie or some TV show or in photographs. Politicians say that the ’50s were such a wonderful time, a time of family values and goodness. That’s true–but it’s also not true.

“In my life, when I was growing up in the ’50s, there was no discussion of sex, certainly, but there was no discussion of any new ways of thinking,” he continues. “Harmony had to prevail. Harmony had to be in the family and in the community. There was no such thing as an outspoken person–unless they were crazy.

“In my family, especially on my father’s side of the family, he always worshiped his parents. He and his sisters stayed at home, very close to their parents. In a sense, they gave up their lives; they didn’t look for options or even think about moving away. They just stayed there, almost in a kind of psychological, emotional incest.”

“Which was bad,” I interject.

“Well, it’s good and bad,” he replies. “I think–not only in the South, but in many rural areas, especially agricultural areas, where the family lived and worked in sight of each other, from dawn to dark, every day of the year, year after year–a certain level of harmony had to happen in order to survive.”

EVER READ Robert Bly?” I ask.”Not much,” Edgerton returns. I explain the controversial assertion by the poet/men’s movement leader that one of men’s biggest problems is that we no longer grow up in sight of our fathers, are no longer trained in our father’s trade. “Bly says that a kind of spiritual food was once passed from father to son,” I sum up, “and that isn’t done much today, to the spiritual detriment of all men.”

“Well, that’s fine as long as you don’t have an asshole for a father,” Edgerton tosses back, amiably. “As soon as you have an asshole father you learn asshole ways that you pass on to your asshole son. There were plenty of people living at home and who knew their fathers in the ’50s, and in a lot of cases, because they grew up with their father, and because of that militaristic emotional bonding, they didn’t ever do anything on their own–because of their father.”

He let out a yawn again–a great big one–as I mention a recent Time magazine article. Critical of Pleasantville, the writer argued that the ’50s were far less dark than what followed; we gained sexual and artistic freedom at the cost of drug addiction, AIDS, and teen pregnancy.

“Time magazine can make the same argument about the Middle Ages,” Edgerton says. “They could say, ‘Well, you know, in the Middle Ages they didn’t have AIDS, so the Middle Ages weren’t all bad.’ Depends on who you were in the Middle Ages, where you fell in the class structure. The ’50s were nice for middle-class white men. OK. But if you were black? If you were a woman? In the ’50s? It was a hell of a lot worse for you.

“The thing is, when we talk about returning the ’50s–either literally, like in the movie, or figuratively, by regaining some sense of values–you can’t. You can’t do it. We can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. The differences between today and the ’50s are too great. Like I said, we’ve forgotten what it was really like back then, but it wasn’t Ozzie and Harriet.

“What I’m tryin’ to say is,” he concludes, politely covering one last yawn, “we’ve covered so much ground since the ’50s–ground we don’t even remember covering–that we no longer even recognize how far we’ve come.”

“We’ve come a long way, baby?” I say with a laugh.

Edgerton nods, smiles, and shrugs all at once: “You bet we have.”

From the November 12-18, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.