So Many Questions

I have a lot of people ask me: What was the first movie you remember seeing in theaters? That’s easy. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. How about that for an interesting concept: There is this ooze, and it leaked on these 4 turtles and a rat that somehow already knew jujitsu, and it made them grow to human size, then the rat taught the turtles how to fight, and they constantly kicked the ass of this guy who loved to wear shards of metal. You think Marijuana was involved in that creation? Who cares…when I was six, those fuckers were so badass. I dressed up as Leonardo for Halloween four years in a row. I know, I know, four years. I could have been a different turtle each time. But Leo was the assumed leader of the bunch, and blue is my favorite color.

Anyways, I think a better question to ask your favorite director when you see him eating lunch at The Palm is: What movie made you realize that film was art? If you’re going to interrupt his meal, you might as well go for the gold. Find out his core influence. Who gives a shit that my mom took me to see TMNT for my sixth birthday. It wasn’t because of that movie that I am where I am today. I was six. It was because I continued watching tons of movies throughout my life until I got to Donnie Darko. That’s when I realized that I wanted to make movies. I don’t really care to get specific, that movie just knocked me on my ass the first time I saw it. Every director has “that” movie and it’s different for each one of us.

“That” movie is usually different from our favorite movie. At least mine is. My favorite movie is always changing, but I constantly juggle it around with the same five or six movies that I’ve once been quoted saying was my favorite. You have to be careful what you say when you’re asked that. Every time I’m out with someone new, I inevitably ask out of curiosity what his or her favorite movie is. I was out on a date once, and the poor girl said her favorite flick of all time was Harry and the Hendersons. I didn’t know what to say. I took her home right after dinner, and haven’t talked to her since. It’s not like she was missing a limb, or had bad breath; she merely had shitty taste in movies. What a nerdy form of shallowness I have. I guess it’s a good thing I’m in therapy.

AJ