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FILM & VIDEO MONTHLY
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Martha Gever |
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Renee Tajima |
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Robert Aaronson Bob Brodsky |
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Deborah Erickson |
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Debra Goldman |
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Mary Guzzy |
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Fenton Johnson |
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Jacqueline Leger |
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David Leitner |
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Toni Treadway |
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Editorial Assistant: |
Debra Payne |
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Art Directors: |
Michael Barnes Roberto Bertrand |
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Advertising: |
Barbara Spence; Marionette, Inc. (718-773-9869) |
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Distributor: |
Bernhard DeBoer 113 E. Center St., Nutley NJ 07110 |
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Typesetting: |
Skeezo Typography |
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Printer: |
PetCap Press |
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The Independent is published ten times yearly by the Foundation for Independent Video and Film, Inc. (FIVF), 625 Broadway, 9th Floor, New York, NY 10012, (212-473-3400), a not-for-profit, tax-exempt educational foun- dation dedicated to the promotion of video and film, and by the Association of Indepen- dent Video and Filmmakers, Inc. (AIVF), the national trade association of independent producers and individuals involved in in- dependent video and film. Subscription is in- cluded with membership in AIVF. Together FIVF and AIVF provide a broad range of educational and professional services for in- dependents and the general public. Publica- tion of The Independent is made possible in part with public funds from the New York State Council on the Arts and the National Endowment for the Arts, a federal agency.
The Independent welcomes unsolicited manuscripts. Manuscripts cannot be returned unless a stamped, self -addressed envelope is included. No responsibility is assumed for loss or damage.
Letters to The Independent should be ad- dressed to the editor. Letters may be edited for length.
All contents are copyright of the Founda- tion for Independent Video and Film, Inc., ex- cept where otherwise noted. Reprints require written permission and acknowledgement of the article's previous appearance in The In- dependent. ISSN 0731-5198.
©Foundation for Independent Video and Film, Inc. 1985
AIVF/FIVF STAFF MEMBERS: Lawrence Sapadin, executive director; Robert Aaronson, festival direc- tor; Andrea Estepa, membership services; Mary Guz- zy, administrative director; Sol Horwitz, Short Film Showcase project administrator; Susan Linfield, Short Film Showcase administrative assistant. AIVF/FIVF BOARDS OF DIRECTORS: Robert Richter. president; William Greaves, vice president; Lillian Jimenez, chair; Barton Weiss, secretary; Pearl Bowser. St. Clair Bourne; Christine Choy; Loni Ding Peter Kinoy; Howard Petrick Lawrence Sapadin (ex of- ficio); Richard Schmiechen.
CONTENTS
FEATURES
AIVF at lO: A History
by Debra Goldman
Latino Media: Democracy Begins at Home
by Renee E. Tajima
NAMAC's Critical Condition
by Martha Gever
Foreign Currency: International Television Markets
by Debra Wells
Toward an Imperfect Video
by Kathleen Hulser
LETTERS MEDIA CLIPS
Too Close for Comfort
by Renee E Tajima
Coast Coalition Convenes
by Fenton Johnson
CIA Request Spurs Producers' Debate
Crisis to Crisis to Crisis
NYSCA Names New Media Director
FIELD REPORT
The Problems of Pluralism: AFI Video Festival
by Sherry Millner and Ernest Larsen
50 FESTIVALS
The Cannes Game
by Dina and Mansa Silver
Asian American International Film Festival: The Old World and the New
by Robert Aaronson
Athens: Small Classic
by Josephine Dean
In Brief
58 IN AND OUT OF PRODUCTION
by Mary Guzzy
60 NOTICES
68 MEMORANDA
COVER: Brick by brick, AIVF has built on its foundation, expanding from a small New York- based group of producers to a national, multi-service organization, which provides everything from advocacy for its members to professional seminars, information services, and insurance. But it wasn't easy. In this special anniversary issue, Debra Goldman tells the inside story of AlVF's first decade of tumultuous growth. Illustration by Tim Grajek. g rim Grajeck 1985.
THE INDEPENDENT 1
Northern California's Film and Video
service organizations Join In congratulating
AIVF for 1 0 years of outstanding service
to Independent media producers.
National Asian American Telecommunications Association
346 \inth Street. 2nd Floor San Francisco. California 94)03
fCu**ncN
BAVC □ 1 1 1 1 Seventeenth Street □ San Francisco. CA 94 1 07 FAF Z 346 Ninth Street. 2nd Floor □ San Francisco. CA 94103
And best wishes from,
i
KORTY FILMS
JOHNKORTY
200 Miller Avenue Mill Valley. CA 94941
QUEST PRODUCTIONS, INC.
qp
BILL JERSEY
4560 HORTON STREET EMERYVILLE, CA 94608
CAROL MUNDAY LAWRENCE
NGUZO SABA FILMS, INC.
2482 Sutter Street San Francisco, CA 94115
Adajk
FILMS
2051 THIRD ST SAN FRANCISCO. CA 94107
VOX
Productions, \nc.
FILM- VIDEO -PUBLISHING
LONI DING
San Francisco. CA
2 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
We salute your 10th year.
Congratulations to the Association of Independent Film and Videomakers, from the Labor Institute of Public Affairs (LIPA).
LI PA is a nonprofit media production and distribution unit committed to putr ting the concerns, endeavors and dreams of working people on television. Commitment to independents.
With funds from AFL-CIO members nationwide, we're committed to producing and distributing a wide range of programs that give you and other working people a vital presence — today and tomorrow — on
network, public and cable TV, as well as the new electronic media.
In two years weVe produced 18 episodes of our issues series, AMERICA WORKS, using dozens of independents. Our Cable- LINE experiment not only employed in- dies and other broadcast union members, but showcased the best independent docu- mentaries and features about workers and their concerns. In TV and radio adver- tising, internal cassette production and other areas, LIPA has forged a working collaboration with independents that has won respect from viewers, critics, the in-
dustry and the labor movement. Look for the union label.
As LIPA enters its third year, you'll be hearing about more exciting projects, all funded in part by union members — includ- ing those of you in the film and television unions. ^
We thank you for your talent and sup- port and salute you for your commitment to working people. Together we can make a difference.
LABOR
INSTITUTE
of PUBLIC AFFAIRS
CONGRATULATIONS, AIVF . . .
Jlllif
I
juu
RATULATIONS, AIVF!
— Asian CineVision
(713)522-8592
SOUTHWEST ALTERNATE MECHA PROJECT
1519 WEST MAIN HOUSTON TEXAS 77006
from The Media Alliance W
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\~E~:-~ ONAl DQCl WFNTAflY ASSOCIATION 8489 W THIRD ST LOS ANGELES CA 90048
PITTSBURGH FILMMAKERS
THE MEDIA ARTS CENTER
: EE-- ■ •_; _
(ECUTIVE DIRECTOR
205 OAKLAND AVE P O BOX 7467 PITTSBURGH PA 15213 14121 68 15449
THE BOSTON FILM/VIDEO FOUNDATION, INC.
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1126 BOYLSTON ST BOSTON. MASS. 02215
617-536 1540
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4 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
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CONGRATULATIONS |
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AIVF AND TO THE INDEPENDENT ON YOUR |
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IQ ANNIVERSARY |
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We salute you for |
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your contribution to the film and video community |
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From the staff of |
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the Department of Film |
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The Museum of Modern Art |
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1 1 West 53 St. |
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New York, N.Y. 10019 |
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(212)708-9600 |
The Museum of Modern Art
N
N O U
N
The Publication of a New CIRCULATING FILM LIBRARY CATALOG An up-to-date listing of the expanded holdings of the Circulating Film Library, this illustrated catalog spans the history of cinema from its beginnings to recent work by documentary and avant-garde filmmakers and animators, making it a major one-volume sourcebook on film history. THE CIRCULATING FILM LIBRARY CATALOG includes annotations on the 1,000 films in the collection and interpretive essays on the silent film by Eileen Bowser, the documentary by William Sloan, the European avant-garde by Larry Kardish, the Ameri- can avant-garde by Lucy Fischer, the British independents by John Ellis, and the history of documentary and animation at the National Film Board of Canada by Sally Bochner. Includes price list of film rentals, sales, and leases. 127 photos; indexes by title, director, country, and subject. 8V2 x 11" paperbound, 304 pages.
Price: $12.95 plus $1.50 for postage and handling. Members' Price: $9.71 plus $1.50 for postage and handling.
Please direct all orders and inquiries to:
Publications Sales and Service, The Museum of Modern Art
1 1 West 53 Street, New York, N.Y. 10019 (212) 956-7262
A separate catalog of the Circulating Video Library is available free of charge.
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT
CONGRATULATIONS, AIVF . .
Dear AIVF:
Without you I'd find it hard
To call this here my business card
Thanks , Ralph Arlyck
KPISTEN SIMONE PuWc Pectoris
212/289-8299
FRANCES REID (415)658-5763
Filmmaker • Cinematographer t
Darryl Mitteldurf
HIM • VIDEO PRODUCTION
125 Second Avenue • New York. New York 10003 (212) 673-6755
IDEQ FREE EARTH Jamie Ufelters
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MICHAEL MAYERS PRODUCTIONS
Cinematography/Production Services
424 East 13th Street #20
New York. NY 10009
212-777-2735
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Sam Bryan |
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EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR |
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INTERNATIONAL FILM FOUNDATION |
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ROOM 306 |
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155 WEST 72nd STREET |
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NEW YORK. NY 10023 |
W R1TTR & EDITOR.
Trojan
201- 472-1 2751 II hcmu 212- 227 -I 5599 ^ office
7Cortaflclaiit Clifron.f^J0 70i2
Video and Film
Alan Steinheimer
878 Capp Street
San Francisco. California
94110
(415)824-1174
2 1 2/989- 1 508
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Films to moke o difference
Robert Richter Productions
330 W. 42 Street New York. NY 10036
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cAlcm <Ub ouj
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Fran Burst-Terranella Cheryl Gosa
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PO BOX 5354 ATLANTA GEORGIA 30307 TELEPHONE 11041 523 8023
(212) 666-6787
Maria De Luca
FILM PRODUCTION SERVICES
Specializing in Directing. Editing & Documentary
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205 West 95th Street - Apt 6B New York. N. V. 10025
6 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
N
A.l.lr
City_
State.
Country (if outside US)_
Telephc
Send check or money order to: AIVF, 625 Broadway, 9th floor, New York, NY 10012; or call (212) 473-3400.
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HE ASSOCIATION OF INDEPENDENT VII) AM) FILMMAKERS MEANS:
Comprehensive health, disability and equipment insurance
The Festival Bureau: your inside track to international and
Advocacy: lobbying in Washington and throughout the cou
Access to funding, distribution, technical and prop-amminfi
Professional seminars and screenings
Discounts on publications, car rentals and production servi<
AND
A subscription to THE INDEPENDENT Film & Video Mc
to your needs ( 10 issues per year)
■SB1/ ■
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Congratulates
AIVF
and wants to
thank all the artists
and independents
who worked
with us
FRANCESC TORRES* BILL BEIRNE* EUGENIA BALCELLS* RITA MYERS* PING CHONG BLONDELL CUMMINGS* LOUISE TIRANOFF • KAYLYNN SULLIVAN • MARTHA ROSLER ALZEK MISCHEFF • JACKI APPLE • EDGAR HEAP OF BIRDS • AGNES DENES • YASUNAO TONE • JAIME DAVIDOVICH • ARLEEN SCHLOSS • JOAN BLAIR • PAIGE RAMEY JOHN WILCOCK • DEEDEE HALLECK • ART KAMELL • DOUG EISENSTARK • AL ORENSANTZ • DAVID MENDELSOHN • WENDY CHAMBERS • PACO UNDERHILL JAIMIE WALTERS* SUSAN BRITTON • DORIS CHASE* MICHAEL DUFFY* ALEX HAHN INGO GUENTER • JEFF MCM AHON • PAUL GARRIN • LARRY MILLER • SHIGEKO KUBOT A MARTHA WILSON & DISBAND* JULIE TAYMORE* PETER VAN RIPER • CHRISTAGAMPER REYNOLD WEIDENAAR«BILL BECKLEY* WILLOUGHBY SHARP* ROUL MARROQUIN SHRIDAR BABAT* NANCY BURSON»LIZA BEAR* APRIL GARDINER & CHINA DAVIS JUDY HENRY* RITA MOREIRA*ANN WOOSTER*JEFF WICKLAND* INGE MAHN GLENDA HYDLER*VERNITA NEMEC* DAVID TROY* GEOFF HENDRICKS* DAVID KELLER • DARA BIRNBAUM • BARBARA ESS • HEIDI LATZKI • COLLIS DAVIS CAROL SHIMANSKI • ERIC TILLET • TOM LUCAS • JOHN GREYSON • CEZAIR STEFANIE SKURA • RISA JAROSLOV • DAVID HECHT • ALAN MOORE • GLORIA DEITSCHER*AL ROBBINS*ALEX ROSHUK* SARAH HORNBACHER* DAN WEISSMAN PENNY WARD* MIKE SCHLESSINGER* BOB HARRIS* SIMON PENNY* FRANZ VILA LICIO SOLANI • YUKI WATANABE • CLEMENS GOLF • TONY WHITFIELD* JOHN STACSAK • ROB LIST • ANNABELLE GEIGER • NORBERT PRZIBYLLA • BILL DAVIS ED HAMILTON • DAVID WALD • BETH LAPIDES • BRAD EROS & ALINE • ABBY LUBY • DAMON BRANDT • MARK FIELDS • NAM JUNE PAIK • JEFF SCHON TONY COKES • CATERINA BORELLi • NANCY GOLDRING • BARRY SHILLS • CHRISTIAN MARCLAY • JIM & MARIA SUTCLIFFE • RENEE ROCKOFF • MITCH CORBER ARTHUR BRESSAN • KATHY ROSE • JODY O'BRIAN • TODD CONGDON ANDY HORN • BETHANY JACOBSON • TAMAYO SASAKI • MINDY STEVENSON MARGIA KRAMER • HELEN GRANGER • JIM NEU • JOE BIETOLA • LUTZE CRAIG BROMBERG • TERRY MOHRE • GEORGE KOURY • JANE GREER JANA HAIMSOHN • TERRY BERKOWITZ • JOAN JUBELA • LUCY HEMMENDINGER
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Keep the Faith.
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Chicago 312/871-6033
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT
Anniversary Greetings from:
William Farley, Oakland, Calif.
Judi Fogelman, New York, N.Y.
John Greyson, Toronto, Canada
Barbara Kopple & Cabin Creek Center, N.Y.C.
Stephanie Palewski, New York, N.Y.
Philadelphia Independent Film/Video Association
Bill Quinn Productions, Manasquan, N.J.
Herbert I. Schiller, La Jolla, Calif.
Maureen Selwood, New York, N.Y.
Patricia Sides, New York, N.Y. Don Starnes, San Francisco, Calif. Catherine Wyler, Washington, D.C.
r -u
Laia
Deborah H. Payne
GRAPHICS
Specializing in brochures
& other printed sales materials for
the video & film industry
212-491-4417
CONGRATULATIONS AIVF!
Best wishes for many more years of success!
BARBARA SI ROTA PRODUCTIONS Marketing, fundraising, packaging, personal marketing consulting services for the independent community
THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
PORTRAITS FROM AMERICA
by Emile de Antonio
POINT OF ORDER MILLHOUSE: A WHITE COMEDY PAINTERS PAINTING IN THE YEAR OF THE PIG
UNDERGROUND IN THE KING OF PRUSSIA
For distributors, stories, prizes,
as well as information
concerning personal appearances
call or write:
TURIN FILM CORP. BOX 1567, NEW YORK, N.Y. 10017 TEL: 212-475-2630
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JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT
%
The American Film institute
QQalutet
THE ASSOCIATION OF INDEPENDENT VIDEO AND FILMMAKERS
77-/5
INDEPENDENT
FILMS
VIDEOMAKERS
GUIDE
□ THE IXDEPEXDEXT FILM "ease make >our check pasahle to Michael Wies
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19X4. 400 pp.. 45 illustrations.
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1984. 300 pp. IX budgets
Each book is SI4.95 plus SI 75 shipping = $16.70
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THE BURDEN OF DREAMS BOOK.
By Les Blank. Maureen Gosling. Werner
Herzog. 320 pages. 74 photos. A colorful
and personal "behind fhe scenes
casebook Brand New.
LES BLANK'S FLOWER FILMS
10341R Son Pablo Avenue
El Cerriro. California 94530
415 - 525-0942
Home of American Film Festival Blue Ribbon winners: Always for Pleasure. Burden of Dreams. Dry Wood and Hot Pepper. Garlic Is As Good As Ten Mothers. Perfumed Nightmare.
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lO THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/FEBRUARY 1985
CONGRATULATIONS TO A.I.V.F.
on 10 years of achievement, with best wishes for the future, from the
FILM & VIDEO
TRAVEL SHEET
Now in its twelfth year of serving independent media
Published monthly by the Section of Film & Video Museum of Art Carnegie Institute 4400 Forbes Avenue Pittsburgh, PA 15213
Made possible in part by grants from: National Endowment for the Arts; Pennsylvania Council on the Arts
CONGRATULATIONS
TO
AIVF ON ITS 10th ANNIVERSARY
THE TEXTURE FILMS COLLECTION P.O.BOX 1337 SKOKIE, ILLINOIS 60076
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT 11
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THE CINEMA GUILD |
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Congratulations toAIVFon Your 10th Anniversary! From One of America's Leading Distributors of Independent Films THE CINEMA GUILD 1697 Broadway New York, NY 10019 Phone (212) 246-5522 |
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THE KITCHEN
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AIVF... TO YOUR HEALTH, STRENGTH, AND VITALITY
here's to the next tenJ l '.
Bob Becker
George Kane
Alan Lebow . . .
producers, AMERICAN MADE
505 Fifth Avenue. Suite 1602. NYC- NY. 10017 1
12 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
The Newlfork City Mayor's Office of Film, Theatre and Broadcasting
Salutes AIVF
on its
Tenth Anniversary
Edward I. Koch, Mayor
Patricia Reed Scott, Director
Mayor's Office
of Film, Theatre
and Broadcasting
110 West 57th Street
New York, New York 10019
(212)489-6710
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985 THE INDEPENDENT 13
LETTERS
FAIR SHARE
To the editor:
Your article entitled "Summer Summit" [Renee Ta- jima, "Media Clips," October 1984] has prompted me to write you. There are certain conclusions which we at the Program Fund do not feel are warranted by the ac- tions of the legislation.
The author infers from the quoted section of the House report accompanying CPB's Authorization Bill (HR 5541) that independents have a "role in shaping public broadcasting programming." Actually, the report refers to independent work as an indispensable element of program source diversity for the entire public broadcasting system. The characterization made by the article suggests a greater policy role for in- dependents than even the partisan House committee anticipated.
The article sidesteps the issue of why the legislation itself did not reflect any changes in language. It sug- gests that legislators wanted to avoid opportunities for opponents of public broadcasting. This is true enough; however, the committees also did not agree with the in- dependent position on many issues, such as statutory set asides.
The article goes on to state that "both the House and Senate affirmed the exclusion of the Frontline series from the category- of independent funding." The Senate report made no mention of Frontline. The House report referred to Frontline as a source of con- cern because it had been designated as an independcent production. The report went on to acknowledge CPB's decision to discontinue counting the series Frontline as currently produced as an independent production and noted that this decision was consistent with the congressional mandate to devote a substantial portion of the Program Fund to independent producers and production entities. The House report did not, as was reported in the article, "establish the principle that final edit is an essential element of independent pro- duction— a definition that goes beyond what the law requires"; rather, the House report seemed to endorse the CPB definition. In addition, I might add, the Frontline staff is making certain changes in their struc- ture and procedures which we hope will enable in- dependents working for them again to be counted.
Last, Larry Sapadin's statement that if the sup- plemental funding bill passed, the Program Fund director has indicated that $1 -million of the fund would be stipulated for independents in the August 1984 Open Solicitation. What I said in fact is included in a letter to Larry Sapadin and the AIVF dated March 23, 1984. The letter refers to supplemental funding in two places. In the first instance, it says, "If as a result of the supplemental appropriation for CPB FY '84, FY '85, and FY '86 the amounts of money available to the Program Fund increase substantially, the Program Fund expects to allocate substantial amounts of those increases to the Open Solicitation funding process or similar funding structures that may be established by the Program Fund." The letter later goes on to state, "If CPB receives a supplemental appropriation for FY '84 that results in an increase in the amount available for program production, then for FY '84 only the Pro- gram Fund will allocate a substantial amount of such
increase for financing productions by independent producers. Perhaps this will be accomplished by special solicitation for proposals from independent producers." In FY '84 the Program Fund received an additional $1 -million as a result of the supplemental and has added $400,000 of that to the August Open Solicitation for independent productions. The an- nouncement will be made as to which independents from that round of solicitations have received the monies shortly.
I hope this response makes clear the Program Fund's interpretation of the past summer's events as reported in your article.
—Ron Hull Director, CPB Program Fund
Renee Tajima replies:
First, it seems odd for Ron Hull to argue that in- dependents do not have a "role in shaping public broadcasting programming" when CPB regularly claims to be distributing 40% of its national produc- tion funds to independent producers.
With respect to the shaping of public broadcast policy, independents have played a signficant role for some time, including testimony before the Carnegie Commission on public broadcasting in 1978, testimony before Congress on every CPB funding bill since 1977, participation in CPB's own Five Year Plan- ning Committee, numerous presentations to the CPB Board and, most recendy, in negotiations and policy meetings with CPB's Program Fund and management staff.
Concerning these recent meetings, the Senate said:
"The Committee approves the decision to schedule regular meetings between the Fund and the independent producers, and believes that good faith negotiations among the in- terested parties is consistent with Congres- sional intent. Ongoing meetings between the Program Fund and representatives of in- dependent producers will provide a structure whereby the Committee can be alerted to problems in the procedures used to allocate Federal funds for public broadcast program- ming. The Committee will monitor CPB's progress in achieving the desired goals."
And from the House:
"CPB and a group of independent producers have conducted meetings over the last several months in an effort to reach agreement on many of these issues and to forge a more pro- ductive working policy for the future . . . The Committee welcomes these recent efforts of CPB in that they evidence strides being made in the direction of strengthening the ties be- tween the broad creative and innovative inde- pendent production community and the more established components of public broadcasting. While CPB has made a positive step in the right direction, the Com- mittee urges CPB, public television stations, and independents to continue to work to-
gether to ensure that the Program Fund op- erates to provide high quality programming from a wide range of sources."
Second, recognition that editorial control is an essential element of a definition of independent pro- duction is implicit in CPB's agreement to exclude Frontline. This agreement was reached in negotiations with AIVF and other representatives and cited with ap- proval in the House Report.
Finally, Hull's March 23, 1984 letter notwithstand- ing, at the July 24, 1984 policy meeting with in- dependents, Hull is indeed reported to have said that if CPB's full supplemental appropriation of $15-million were approved for 1984 (of which about $2.5-million would go into the Fund), $1 -million would be put into Open Solicitations. Since, in the end, Congress significantly reduced the appropriation, the specific dollar commitment became academic. We are pleased to hear that an additional $400,000 has become avail- able for independent production.
APPLIERS BEWARE
To the editor:
I would like to correct a significant misstatement in "An Independent Primer for University Film and Video Association" [Betsy McLane, "Field Report," November 1984] which says that I suggest applicants "get to know panelists personally through telephone calls and visits, as well as letters." I cannot think of more inappropriate advice to Endowment ap- plicants— if there's one thing we've learned over the years, it's the uniformly negative response of panelists to any type of "lobbying" on the part of applicants. I'm concerned that applicants might seriously jeopar- dize their opportunities for funding by heeding this "advice." Applicants should feel free to call or visit Endowment staff members, as one of our functions is to represent applicants' goals clearly to panelists.
I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate FIVF on its tenth anniversary. We are proud of the work you and your members have done, both in- dividually and collectively, and look forward to your continuing success-.
— Perrin Ireland Art Specialist, NEA Media Arts Program
SECOND POSITION
To the editor:
As a member of the Board of Directors of Dance Films Association (DFA), I am writing in response to Deborah Erickson's description of the Dance on Camera Festival ["Pterodactyl Lake," November 1984].
Erickson, who has never attended any sessions of our annual festival, has nevertheless felt qualified to comment. In addition, she has focused on only one of our organization's several functions. (She need only have referred to the half-column advertisement on page 6 of the same issue in which her article appeared to have read about some of the new services we are making available, specifically involving videotape, in our New York City offices.) Furthermore, her infor-
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mation on publicity for the 1984 festival is totally er- roneous. Forty-four film and video publications and 17 dance publications, in addition to the "usual sources" like the New York Times, all received our publicity information, and more than 250,000 copies of brochures describing the festival were distributed in the New York City area. The number of entries received in 1984 was not substantially different from those re- ceived in previous years, although the mix of films and videotapes has shifted dramatically toward the latter.
Our Board is very aware that Dance on Camera can and should grow in stature as an international festival. I sincerely doubt, however, that describing it as an event on the verge of extinction is the kind of help we need in nurturing that growth. For years, Susan Braun, our executive director, has been operating heroically on an extremely limited budget and deserves our congratulations for the survival of our organiza- tion and the festival, rather than criticism for its failure to grow at a rate of which Erickson would approve. We appreciate a little credit for effort and good faith and welcome constructive suggestions and involve- ment from the dance/ film/video community.
— Jonathan R. Bell New York City
Deborah Erickson replies:
The purpose of The Independent's festival column is to provide film and videomakers with information, not publicity material. Discussion of an organization's non- festival activities is irrelevant. It is my responsibili- ty to make appraisals based on all the sources I con- sult— 1 7 people were interviewed for this article. Braun
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and DFA board member Virginia Brooks said the festival's publicity consisted of some 100 flyers mailed to publications with free listings; your letter presents an even lower Figure. Two hundred fifty thousand brochures were never mentioned to me; I would have included such information, had it been given. However, I stand by my evaluation of Dance on Camera, and feel strongly that the excellent dance films and videos being produced in this country deserve support; I hope your board can organize a strong event to showcase this art form.
SERIOUS BUSINESS
To the editor:
Coping with the recent demise of the two foremost ex- periments in short film distribution, ICAP and Serious Business Company, has been difficult for all concerned. However, it strikes me as an unfair comparison for Debra Goldman ["Media Clips, November 1984) to preface the announcement of ICAP's closing with the assertion that "it falls short of disaster" because, unlike Serious Business Company, ICAP leaves no debts to filmmakers. The overall impression is that ICAP was an unswerving support to filmmakers, but was stabbed in the back by NYSCA's funding cut, while Serious Business simply failed (a crime in itself in our particular economic culture) — and, owing money, is doubly suspect.
As a filmmaker who was handled by both organiza- tions, I must say that whatever financial debt Freude Bartlett's Serious Business Co. owed me was more than compensated by her extraordinary efforts during the 10 years of our association. Freude was a brilliant and tireless promoter of a widely diverse collection of short films: experimental animation to documentaries on health and feminist issues. She took films other distributors wouldn't touch with a 10 foot pole and carved a significant niche for them among the normal- ly staid nontheatrical heartland.
Freude did not have any government or foundation funding to support her company. During the final two years of Serious Business, when most economic in- dicators were turned against our field, Freude was engaged in a courageous campaign to secure a bank loan to expand, which, in the cruel logic of our system, often means mere survival. When the banks balked, the "smart" alternative would have been bankruptcy. Freude opted instead for a percentage pay-back to the filmmakers which meant that no one was left completely empty-handed. Today, more than a year later, she is still acting as a reference service for ongoing calls and correspondence.
— George Griffin New York City
Debra Goldman replies:
I cannot take credit for Griffin's "overall impression" of my account of ICAP's demise and its relation to the equally unfortunate failure of Serious Business Com- pany. Bartlett's decision not to declare bankruptcy and pay her filmmaking clients gradually [see Media Clips, October 1983] is a testament to her dedication— but it is neverthless a burdensome and time-consuming task, which, in the best of all possible worlds, she would never have had to undertake. Serious Business, like ICAP, was a victim of the shrinking short film market. It is a "disaster" for the field when small distributors like Bartlett cannot survive.
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Debate over the definition of "independent" re- surfaced once again when the California Arts Council (CAQ turned down a funding proposal from the Los Angeles affiliate of the Indepen- dent Feature Project (IFPAVest) in October. The 700-plus member group had received one prior grant of $6,600 from CAC the previous year.
IFP/West was angered by the rationale be- hind the decision of the six-member film and video panel which rejected the request. Accord- ing to IFP/West's director Lynette Mathis, CAC cited IFP's presumed lack of substantive serv- ices, said that the group was not fulfilling its claim to promote and support independent film- makers, and mentioned the heavy competition for state dollars. (Larry Larson, director of CAC's grants program, estimates that 400 to 500 applicants in all disciplines were rejected for funding this year.) But the clincher seems to be the core of the panel's criticism was the question of IPF/West's "too heavy industry orientation." Says Larson, "It centered on the disagreement as to what the role of the indepen- dent really means. IFP sees independent as non- studio financed. Our panel sees it as a little more than that. Not just low-budget work, but more of an aesthetic issue."
IFP/West officials agreed that the two parties did not see eye to eye on the independent identi- ty, and questioned CAC's role in defining, or "dictating," the term. In a letter to CAC's chair Consuelo Killens, IFPAVest president Victoria Wozniak pointed out, "The IFP/West exists to support films in which the vision of the primary creators (producer, writer, director, actor, etc.) is realized without significant alteration by the sources of financing. Whether a film is tradi- tional or avant garde, studio produced or in- dependently financed, it is 'independent' if the filmmakers — and not the lawyers and accoun- tants— are in charge. This viewpoint is more in- clusive than that put forth by the Arts Council, which would seem to define only 'art for art's sake' films as independent."
But panelists questioned the balance of IPF/West's programs. "Overall, my feeling was that they seemed to be just a little too much oriented toward Hollywood," says panelist Wil- ly Varela, an independent filmmaker. "It seemed they were trying to break into the industry rather than [supporting] an independent artistic vision that breaks those industry conventions." IFP/West sponsors a number of programs, in- cluding screenings, seminars, workshops, a newsletter, information services to in- dependents, a weekly cable television series geared to independents, evenings with promi- nent professionals, and social events. The
November calendar, for example, combined seminars on legal issues, marketing and distribu- tion of independent features, and computer editing with a screening of Wim Wenders' Paris, Texas and an evening with advisory board member and producer David Puttnam (Chariots of Fire, The Killing Fields).
Panelists objected to the screening of films that are commercially distributed, such as Paris, Texas and John Sayles's The Brother from Another Planet, and questioned the composi- tion of IFP's nine-member advisory board, which is composed of Jane Alsobrook (20th Century-Fox Classics), Wilbur Hobbs, Jr. (Crocker National Bank), independent pro- ducers David Puttnam and Jonathan Sanger, Michelle Satter (Sundance Institute), Charles Schreger (Triumph/Columbia Films), Daniel Selznick (Louis B. Mayer Foundation), Eric Weissmann (Weissmann, Wolff, Bergman, Col- eman and Schulman), and Ken Wlaschin (Filmex). Mathis thinks the panel may be "suspicious of IFP's amicable relationship with the industry. " As Wozniak pointed out in her let- ter to Killens, "Since this organization is based in Los Angeles, it would be supremely naive and counterproductive not to develop ties with those working 'within the system' who support us and align themselves with our goals. And we would be foolish not to make available to our members this important pool of expertise — whether a filmmaker chooses to work in, out, or in and out of the studio system is then up to the filmmaker."
One highly visible IFP/West program was the annual Independents' Day Seminar in conjunc- tion with Filmex. Speakers at the July event in- cluded industry heavies like Mark Rosenberg, production chief at Warner Bros., and directors Joe Dante and Mark Rydell. "There's a tremen- dous need for an organization like IFP out here," says panelist Jacqueline Kain of the American Film Institute. "But the question is, are they doing seminars which are basically train- ing for the system or are they doing things to get films made that would not otherwise get made?"
According to Larson, there is no possibility that CAC will reverse this year's decision. But the issue has again been raised: where does inde- pendence leave off and the industry begin? Un- doubtedly those boundaries will shift with the aes- thetic and economic currents of the times.
— Renee Tajima
COAST COALITION CONVENES
Over 100 Northern California independent pro- ducers turned out November 16 to hear
Lawrence Sapadin, executive director of the Association of Independent Video and Film- makers, and to gather advice from local veterans of government funding battles. The occasion marked the first anniversary of the Association of California Independent Public Television Producers (ACIPTP), formed to act as Califor- nia independents' research and advocacy arm. Included in its member organizations are the Bay Area Black Media Coalition, Bay Area Video Coalition, Cine Accion, East Bay Media Coali- tion, Film Arts Foundation, National Asian American Telecommunications Association, Media Alliance, Pacific [Islanders] Educational Network, and Video Free America.
Sapadin presented a thumbnail sketch of the 15-year history of federal support for public broadcasting and independents. Noting that President Reagan has declared public broad- casting persona non grata, hesaid, "Ourjob isto develop and put forth our own agenda for public television's future, and to mobilize the public to support it. " He outlined strategies to achieve this "daunting" task, such as forming coalitions with others who share independents' concerns (in- cluding such natural constituencies as unions, gays, women, and minorities) and sharpening in- dependents' lobbying skills. "Independents must realize that media advocacy is as much a pan of our job as writing grant proposals, refin- ing our technical skills or having lunch with potential investors," Sapadin said.
Following Sapadin's speech, California Newsreel's Larry Daressa gave an "insiders' view" of the government funding treadmill. "To understand what the Corporation for Public Broadcasting wants [to support financially] is to understand where it's at: attracting large prime time audiences in order to help public television woo corporate underwriting and individual members. If you [create] something esoteric, you're not going to get in." And, Daressa noted, "If you don't have some sort of track record, forget it. CPB does not view itself as a funder of experiments." Speaking from the audience, pro- ducer Carol Lawrence agreed: "CPB is not the place to start. But you can get together with others who do have the track record you need."
While CPB priorities are not hard and fast, Daressa said that, in conversations with CPB Program Fund director Ron Hull and CPB staff, the following areas won CPB's nod: American literature dramatizations; anything for children in the eight-to-12 age bracket; pro- grams which "make people proud of their coun- try and heritage"; performances or documen- taries about popular culture; comedy. Daressa noted that international affairs programs are low on CPB's shopping list. "If you think that what
18 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/FEBRUARY 1985
happened on November 6 affected those priori- ties, you're not far wrong," Daressa added.
Independent producers Skip Sweeney and Louise Lo then joined Daressa and Sapadin to field audience questions. Lo pointed out that among ACIPTP's principal goals is "holding CPB to its commitment to funding minority pro- gramming," especially important because the number of minority proposals has been drop- ping. "That's* hardly surprising, given [CPB's] record of poor outreach and their abysmal fund- ing percentages." Panelists stressed that if ap- proached professionally (i.e., with a query letter first, then a follow-up phone call), CPB staff is willing to discuss potential proposals.
In organization and diversity, the evening demonstrated the development of ACIPTP itself. The familiar faces were there, but there was also a sprinkling of newcomers and healthy representation of women and minorities. Last year's meeting, though well-attended, was rambling and unfocused, with little in the way of tangible advice for newcomers or old hands. But both veterans and novices gave high ratings to this year's speakers for their conciseness and pragmatism. "We've spent a year investigating the pressures and problems facing the Program Fund and the stations," Daressa said afterwards. "Consequently, we were able to give a much clearer outline of present Program Fund priorities and identify concrete routes through which independents' work could become a more intrinsic part of public broadcasting."
— Fenton Johnson
CIA REQUEST SPURS PRODUCERS' DEBATE
Last fall, the Central Intelligence Agency sent a purchase order to Icarus Films for approximate- ly one dozen films and videotapes from the distributor's Central American Film Library, one of the largest of its kind in the United States. Most are documentaries critical of United States foreign policy — and CIA involvement — in the region.
What does it mean? There is no doubt that U.S. intelligence forces are taking an increasing- ly active interest in Central American affairs. And independents have been able to penetrate the region, documenting politically sensitive, controversial news material [see Susan Linfield, "To the Source in Latin America," The In- dependent, January/February]. Are these independent works becoming a source for in- telligence gathering by the very agencies they criticize? And shouldn't producers expect that their works may well end up in the possession of intelligence organizations? Political film and videomakers have reacted strongly, sometimes passionately, to this issue.
Because of the political sensitivity involved, Icarus president Jonathan Miller informed each producer of the CIA's request, leaving the deci-
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sion of whether or not to sell to the film and videomakers themselves. Still, the Icarus case raises broader moral and political questions for independents.
The CIA's request was unusual. It was the first that Icarus had received from an intelligence agency; and, in a survey of distributors that han- dle media dealing with sensitive issues in American foreign policy — California Newsreel, the Cinema Guild, Downtown Community Tele- vision, Third World Newsreel, and (now- defunct) Tricontinental Films — no one I spoke to had ever encountered as hefty an order. Larry Daressa of California Newsreel says the group receives a rental order every August for Willmar 8, a documentary about a strike by female bank workers, to be shown at the agency for Federal Women's Week. Four years ago, DCTV was asked for a preview copy of the 1974 video Cuba: The People. A few distributors had received single copy orders.
Because of confidentiality with his clients, Miller declined to reveal the names of the re- quested films and tapes. However, from conver- sations with a number of producers listed in Icarus's catalogue who told me their work had been requested by the CIA, it appears that the agency was interested primarily in works on Nicaragua. According to Icarus staffer Domini- que Bomhauser, a CIA purchasing officer re- quested Spanish-language versions of the films and tapes in a phone conversation.
Pam Tenneson of the CIA's purchasing de- partment in Langley, Virginia told me that al- though film and video requests normally come through her office, she did not remember any order to Icarus. However, she stated that she is not able to comment on such matters in any case. Similarly, Harold Padgett, deputy chief of pro- curement would not comment on whether or not an order had been placed or on how the films and tapes could be used. He suggested, "I think you may have gotten some bum information" regarding the purchase order. Patty Volz of the agency's Media Affairs department said, "We obviously can't get into releasing our purchasing or acquisitions to the public. There may be varie- ty of reasons why they were bought, but we couldn't release the information." She would neither confirm nor deny the purchase order.
If the CIA was reluctant to talk, producers and distributors had a lot to say about the possi- ble scenarios for, and responses to, a CIA buy. The most immediate concern for producers is protecting the people appearing in their films or tapes from possible danger or political reprisal — a dilemma they face from the very beginning of production. "We thought that if there was an invasion of Nicaragua, we didn't want to endanger those people," said DeeDee Halleck, producer of Waiting for the Invasion, a portrait of North Americans living in Nicaragua, many of whom support the Sandinistas. Halleck directed Miller not to sell Waiting when it was re-
quested by the CIA. Allan Siegel of Third World Newsreel, who is currently editing a documen- tary about the Nicaraguan Peace Fleet, said, "It's like giving the CIA a capsulized report on people." He added that Third World Newsreel would not sell to intelligence agencies under any circumstances.
Miller does not agree with Halleck 's Under Fire scenario. "First off," he said, "the CIA knows everyone [North Americans] in Nicara- gua already. They can find out [about] everyone who takes a plane [down to Nicaragua]. Dee- Dee's film was on national television. I don't think [hers] is a practical decision, it's a moral decision." He added, "I think [the CIA] is prob- ably buying them [the films] for their back- ground reports, like they buy books."
Wolf Tirado, a Managua-based videomaker whose Thank God and the Revolution and The Pope: Pilgrim of Peace? are handled by Icarus, did agree to sell tapes to the CIA. "Our position is, if the CIA wants to have our film, they prob- ably got it four years ago," said Tirado. "I think you should look beyond the fact that the CIA is buying those films, and look at why they're buy- ing. I don't think they're interested in using them against us in Nicaragua or against the people in the film. I think it's a way of putting presure on Icarus, to say, 'We know what you're doing, we're following you."' Tirado pointed out, "Here in Nicaragua [we have] mines in the port, bombs falling on our heads and kids getting killed every day — and the CIA is doing it. Why should we worry about them buying Betamax copies?" Tirado said his main concern is that Icarus is pro- tected here in the States and that it not suffer negative consequences by refusing to cooperate with the agency.
Halleck argues that the independent com- munity should not cooperate with any form of intimidation. "People should understand that as repression gets harder — although they may think 'Oh, why not talk to the FBI or someone, they have nothing on me' — that's the way they accumulate information." She admits that an intelligence-gathering agency could get copies of films and tapes through a number of different channels, including taping off the air and pur- chase or rental through an assumed name. In ad- dition, many of the people who appear in these films are already public figures or are known for their activities. John Greyson, co-producer of Manzana por Manzana, a videotape shot in Nicaragua which is distributed by Icarus, said, "In a practical sense, it may not make much dif- ference whether or not we sell it. But politically there was no choice involved for us. It's such a bad precedent to sell to the CIA. It just comes down to a matter of collaboration."
Larry Daressa of California Newsreel, which produces and distributes social issue films, said the group would not unilaterally refuse to sell or rent films to intelligence agencies. "I think we would be very reluctant to become financially
dependent on their business. My position is that the CIA and FBI do maintain quite legitimate educational programs but they also undertake subversive, covert activities. In the case of Cen- tral America, if there is sensitive footage, even if it was available off-air, then as a matter of princi- ple, we wouldn't sell it." But Daressa thinks that ethical considerations do not end with direct sales. "I think that people who have scruples about selling to the CIA should have scruples about airing [their work] nationally."
Siegel asserts that producers should not be resigned to the fact that "they [intelligence agen- cies] can get it anyway." He points out that a Freedom of Information request can be filed to determine if an agency such as the CIA or FBI possesses a pirated copy of a film or tape. Third World Newsreel discovered evidence of such an acquisition when a writer researching the Black Panther Party filed for information from the FBI. A bureau memo on "Counterintelligence Program/Black-Nationalist Hate Groups/Racial Intelligence (Black Panther Party)," dated February 13, 1970, read, "The Bureau ap- preciates your suggestion in connection with the CBS television program 60 Minutes, but believes the Black Panther Party film Off the Pig very adequate. . ." Off the Pig was distributed by Third World Newsreel, which had not sold a copy to the FBI. Attorney Marty Stolar points out that if a copy has been struck illegally by a government agency, it may be possible to bring a copyright infringement suit.
Because these films and tapes are part of a larger reality, created to influence public policy, the real test of their impact often lies in how and to whom they are distributed. When the material is highly sensitive, and when the subject matter is highly politicized, can and should the producers limit distribution from institutions whose in- terests they regard as opposite to their own? A striking theme in this discussion has been the consistent reference by independents to the CIA (and FBI) as — "them," a sort of evil empire to which a range of subversive activities are as- cribed. But precisely because these agencies operate in an environment of secrecy, the dia- logue becomes mired only in speculation based on the CIA's past track record or information acquired through the Freedom of Information Act. The most common initial response I re- ceived from producers and distributors as to the CIA's reason for ordering films and tapes was, "Well, it's obvious what they want them for." Everyone knows, but no one knows.
On location and in the cutting room, produc- ers have debated the moral dilemma of exposing their sources to danger. Clearly, the conflict in Central America has been unprecedented in its coverage by independents — coverage which has been publicly shown early enough in the conflict to effect policy. Because independents have a close relationship with and remarkable access to their subjects (the networks often rely on in-
20 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
dependents for difficult-to-get material), in- dependents find themselves in a position of vul- nerability and responsibility. But since the morality of relationships with government agen- cies is nebulous, there is a tendency to react to governmental requests with hysteria or cynicism. To counter the secrecy, and to achieve informed moral choices, perhaps this issue should be taken to a public forum.. — RT
CRISIS TO CRISIS TO CRISIS
During a November 1984 seminar at Global Vil- lage, Gail Christian, director of news at PBS, questioned whether independents should con- tinue to regard public television as an accessible broadcast outlet. "I don't think you should look at public television the way you looked at it five or 10 years ago," said Christian. She pointed out that PBS itself is an entity accountable to its member stations, and not the audience. "What are they [the stations] interested in? Prime time, big budget [programs], primarily series, and more glitz than we wanted in the past." She con- tinued, "If you've got a fancy program on polar bears, I'll have an easier time selling it than a 30-minute documentary on El Salvador, which I have no indication that stations will air."
Christian's comments were part of a panel discussion on public television organized by the documentary center at PBS. Other panelists in- cluded producer St. Clair Bourne, Chris Fen- nimore, director of scheduling at WNET, Nancy Boggs of the Ford Foundation, and moderator John Reilly, founder of Global Village.
Christian identified the problem as one of presentation, not subject matter. She pointed out that stations do not look favorably on point- of-view journalism. The panelists sparred over the definition of balance and fairness in pro- grams, which is certainly no new issue to in- dependents. But the resistance to works regard- ed as "point-of-view" or simply controver- sial— the category into which many indepen- dents are placed — seems to be strengthening. "There is a very dangerous movement out there among the stations," Fennimore warned. "We saw it recently at the PBS Program Fair, where, in the evaluation of programs, you'd hear people say, "How'd you like that program on canoeing?' 'Oh, it's harmless enough. We'll take that one.'" Said Christian, "I think it's frustrating when you remember the days when we could say, 'OK, we're going to sit down and make America take a look at itself.'"
Bourne stressed that independents should "join [in] a united front with other progressive forces to fight the swing to the right." A renewal of the "make public TV public" days? Said Fen- nimore, "It's urgent that there be some counter- movement, and a return to the original premise of public television."
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But there were few concrete strategies for opening doors to independent programs, or even for making carriage work for the few programs that get air time. From the audience, Carol Brandenburg, who was executive producer of the now-defunct Matters of Life and Death series, pointed out, "The basic problem you can't get around is that series are basic to public television. The difficulty now is how all these in- dividual specials will trickle into the schedule." With Matters of Life and Death and Crisis to Crisis gone, there currently exists no national vehicle for carrying independent works in a series format. According to Fennimore, WNET is able to stockpile single programs and produce "generic" openings, such as the well-received In- tercom documentary series. But most public television stations do not have the money to pro- duce wrap-arounds, nor do they have the re- sources to take the heat for a controversial pro- gram.
Nancy Boggs was not optimistic about the re- sponse of the foundation community. She point- ed out that foundations are basically conser- vative, and many are unfamiliar with media is- sues. "Somehow the independent community hasn't gotten together and done its groundwork," said Boggs, noting that the community works in a "piecemeal" manner. She added, "You'll have do some educating." — RT
NYSCA NAMES
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Dai SO Kim-Gibson will replace John Giancola in late January as director of the Media Pro- gram at the New York State Council on the Arts. Giancola left the Council last summer to head a media progam at the University of Tampa.
Kim-Gibson was formerly a program officer in the Media Program of the National Endow- ment for the Humanities, where she worked on numerous programs, including Vietnam: A Television History, Hard Choices, and The Good Fight. Before joining the Endowment, she was an associate professor of religious studies at Mount Holyoke College. Says Kim- Gibson, "I've always enjoyed working with in- dependent producers — that's been a special joy for me. They are unafraid of taking risks, they are daring in their work, and they are sensitive to the plurality and diversity of society. " — R T
22 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
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THE INDEPENDENT 23
FIELD REPORT
THE PROBLEMS OF PLURALISM: AFI VIDEO FESTIVAL
Sherry Millner and Ernest Larsen
Much of the considerable success of the fourth National Video Festival, sponsored by the American Film Institute in Los Angeles last September, derived from its mood of in- clusiveness — an apparent desire on the part of its organizers not to be nationalist in their choices and definitely not to rely on "pure" video at the expense of television. Instead of a consistent and/or polemical focus on a few types of video, this festival demonstrated the variety of work be- ing produced. At times risking a tendency toward the over-stuffed, the festival, at its best, generated continual spill-overs of animated discussions in the halls and verandas of AFI.
This density of exhibition — there were usually four programs beaming at the same moment — may itself be a polemic in favor of pluralism. Festivals are often pluralist in design, so it re- mains to be seen how much the choices of tapes and arrangement of programs tells us about the current varieties of video. For instance, the selec- tion seemed to imply that this is less a period of individual "masterpieces" than of groupings, of political and/or artistic tendencies, of small communities for which video is only provisional- ly defined in its use. This observation may be conditioned by the inclusion of so much work made for television — work keyed to the recep- tivity of fairly broad audiences. Certainly the main (though not total) divergence within the festival was between this work and artists' video.
One of pluralism's seductions is that it's as roomy as a limousine. A critic with any par- ticular axe to grind can be sure to find one lying around on the well-carpeted floor, and can, without undue embarrassment, ignore all the other axes lying there as well. But although this particular limousine of a festival was fueled by Sony Corporation underwriting, it actually tend- ed to discourage the axe-wielder. There were at least 12 programs to discipline one's attention, providing a way to map the vast forest of over 150 tapes from 15 countries.
Questions of both form and content were car- ried from screening room to screening room, testing not only consciousness but some of the underlying assumptions of each program's more or less coherent view of video. This seemed to bear out festival director Jackie Kain's inten- tions: "We have organized the festival both ver- tically and horizontally . . . Juxtapositions, we hope, will not be perceived as random, but as purposeful — to draw out further the questions raised within the presentation." In response, we will try here to make a few cross-connections among the multitudinous presentations. We
didn't see everything; what we did see we saw on- ly once. However, even to our strained eyes a few patterns were visible: certain interesting distinc- tions between collective work and individually made tapes, between work relying on relatively high production values and work made with relatively inexpensive equipment.
In almost half the programs the terrain was public: among them, 1950s U.S. broadcast TV, Britain's Channel 4, advocacy television, and documentaries on Central America. Robert Rosen's presentation, "Television in Search of Itself: The 50s," featured clips — from a variety of early shows including Jack Benny and Ernie Kovacs — demonstrating an almost subversive liveliness and spontaneity, and a tropism for the unplanned, the disordered, and the outright mistaken. Rosen's catalogue critique of present- day television draws the contrast aptly:
The omnipresence, repetition and predic- tability of broadcast television causes us to take its stylistic conventions largely for granted. The strategies used to structure sound, image, and narrative have become so familiar that they appear to be somehow "natural" to the medium. The full array of possibilities for an audio-visual language of television has been narrowed, over the course of time, to a commonly agreed-upon craft that we have learned to accept as self- evidently "correct."
Broadcast television's dismissal of the concep- tually unlimited possibilities of live transmis- sions, in overwhelming favor of taped broad- cast, has quite obviously drained the electronic juice out of what was, briefly, an exciting medium. An argument could be made for raw- ness as a deliberate strategy in video production, a strategy that could allow participation by viewers now pushed into the role of couch potatoes by slick high-tech production values and equally slick narrated entertainment.
It is both instructive and chilling to con- sider— in light of this festival's attempt to render the gaps in and the alternatives and resistances to "real" TV — the program entitled "Point Counterpoint," presented by Peter Broderick. Apart from excerpts from longer advocacy pro- grams, this was a lightning-fast barrage of one- minute advocacy spots on dozens of issues — for and against a nuclear freeze, gay rights, abor- tion, gun control. Briskly clarified, with the aid of Broderick's comments, was the extent to which television no longer addresses us as political entities but as consumers, even when political persuasion is the aim. When con- sumerism swallows politics, politics literally disappears in favor of good digestion, oral
hygiene, and regular professional care. The substance of issues, already too starkly stereotyped by the print media, is reduced to a toothsome nugget by TV adverts— and the will- ing electorate to a somnolent nullity. Suppose, neverthless, that we want to realistically respond to the enormous influence of these ads — would realism mean fighting video fire with video fire? It's got to be a losing fight, given the right wing's bottomless reserves of oil-saturated dough.
Britain's Channel 4, now only about two years old, represents a partial response to the "nar- rowness" of conventional television that Rosen documented and that political commercials ex- ploit. Chartered to "appeal to tastes and in- terests not generally catered to" and to en- courage experiment in form and content, Chan- nel 4 is already doing some of its own political narrowing. Even so, the tapes shown here were far more adventurous than seems possible, on U.S. public TV. All tapes are independently pro- duced, with Channel 4 acting as their "publisher," in the words of curator John Wyver. Some of these tapes — the 155-minute 1980: A Piece by Pina Bausch, for instance — are guaranteed to give a contact high to culture freaks. And an episode of Visions Cinema, directed by Chris Petit, explored the work of Wim Wenders with some of the devotion an acolyte might pay to the epistles of Saint Paul. Just as we were about to come down with creep- ing culture sickness, on came Video Box.tA working-class woman with an interracial toddler in her lap delivers a one-minute rap on television's exploitation of racial stereotypes. Four teenagers cluster together and sing, a capella, a one-minute tune they've made up in response to a program they've seen the previous week. Ordinary people (we'd say "real people" but that's been pre-empted), not spokespeople, making their own claims without carnival media- tions of announcer, or hokey program design, or more subtle intimidations of technology. In the end, what should be an obvious use of televi- sion— individual access for individual points of view — seems like a series of one-minute com- mercials for radical subjectivity. Here Kain's in- tentions are gratifyingly fulfilled: one can hardly fail to contrast Video Box with the political com- mercials.
Ian Breakwell's Continuous Diary is a quirky, intermittent series of programs with lengths suitable for each segment, not for standard time slots. While one tape shot in a local restaurant is little more than some wry thoughts on waiting for a meal (like Andy Rooney with grit), another piece concerned Breakwell's father, a factory worker hard hit by the failure of the British economy. The direct relationship of personal
24 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
history to social history is demonstrated visually — in a sometimes shorthand, sometimes rambling adherence to the diary form — replete with painful contradictions that may take a generation to comprehend, rather than a lesson to be learned at a sitting.
Pluralism tends to regard all social contradic- tions as equal contenders in the marketplace of ideas. Channel 4's position as impartial broker for the voices of the underrepresented typifies both the advantages and disadvantages of this position. Perhaps the strongest argument for the best of Channel 4's diverse programs is advanced by Raymond Williams in an interview that prefaces the festival catalogue. In speaking about TV coverage of the English miners strike, Williams says,
There's something about the physical image of the working miners which separates them both from their officials and their employers; the great gain of television is that it enables you to see that difference. However, those opportunities are dimin- ishing, and the quality of information is deteriorating because the media-event, ar- ranged for spectacle and visual quality, tends to blot out the more significant but more everyday image, and spokesmen are much easier to get and much more willing to talk than the people who could speak up for themselves.
Here is a radically democratic concept that in- volves, in Williams's view, not just the authen- ticity of direct representation but also what he calls a necessity for a different kind of "finish" in video production — an abandonment of rela- tively high-cost production values. This would release money and energy for a diversity of cheaper, less studio-bound, and more immediate productions rooted in heterogeneous com- munities.
Some of these ideas resurfaced at a panel discussion, organized by Jump Cut's Julianne Burton and Downtown Community Television's Karen Ranucci, "Nicaragua and El Salvador: Art and Activism, Urgency and Ethics." Augusto Tablado, supervisor of the video branch of Midinra, Nicaragua's national agrarian reform program, articulated a similarly politicized view of video production in his coun- try: "We want to give the word back to the people — the right to speak denied the people by the Somoza government for 50 years." In his view, this applies not only to video production but to its distribution as well. Video's capacity for instant and repeatable playback, the pocket- size portability of tapes, and the common tendency in villages for collective reception (a TV set hung on a tree and powered by a gas generator) promote the conditions for dialogue instead of passive reception. This point has all the more force where generations of cultural represssion and censorship determine the historical situation.
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THE INDEPENDENT 25
Robert Rosen discussed clips from '50s TV, including "Pete Hunter, Private Eye," in his presentation, "Television In Search of Itself," at the AFI Video Festival.
The overwhelming need for national self- expression does not mean that individual self- expression should be swamped in the process. Tablado showed a clip from Que pasa con el papel higienico? (What's Happening with the Toilet Paper?), a tape examining reasons for fouled-up distribution of this scarce, indispen- sable consumer item. One citizen after another offers differing arguments, successively criticiz- ing paper factory employees, middlemen, and the government. This multiplication of view- points is not only democratic, but provides a sense of the many-sided complexity of one tissue (pun intended) of daily life.
As soon as a by-now dazed festival-goer moved from the presentations of collectively-produced work to the variety of art video programs (a good many grouped under the elastic rubric "From the Narrative"), the conventions of a second (art video) history came into play. Some these conventions have regrettably become somewhat lifeless. For instance, one must now be very patient or asleep to put up with much image-processed video. There was an almost universal recourse to slow motion — used whether or not there was any reason to analyze movement within the frame. It became difficult not to mock this suddenly fashionable, or perhaps just suddenly accessible, trick, which is hard to justify except as an unmistakable signature of artiness. Maybe it attests to a
fascination with technical possibilities — gimme that high-tech religion! More importantly, such conformity tends to limit the range of expression instead of diversifying it.
At a suitably flakey music video panel discus- sion (attended, it appeared, by half of L. A.), the most pleasant moment came when an inane, soft-core, s&m ditty-video, directed by Beth B, was roundly booed. A separately presented but related category could be designated video with music. Aurally sumputous, Kit Fitzerald's Return of the Native (music by Peter Gordon) organizes a musical soundtrack around the chapter titles of Thomas Hardy's novel, and a kind of coherence is maintained by the conceit. The visuals are technically polished but so spineless you could break your back trying to maintain some connection between the sunny pastorale of the Irish countryside and Hardy's gloomy determinist novel set in Dorset, England. The befuddled audience, at first struck dumb by this rather opulent production, could only stammer out an inquiry' to Fitzgerald about the availability of the soundtrack album.
Dan Graham's Rock My Religion, also a music tape of sorts, looked as if it was edited with a coffee grinder. Watching this attempt to estab- lish the nature of rock ecstasy via the Shaker re- ligion, we kept rooting for Graham to get it to- gether. However, ultra-cheap production should not mean glitches wider than your living room couch and a sound mix with less fidelity than a
drive-in movie speaker. Return of the Native looks better and sounds better but lacks Graham's intellectual verve.
The British Framed Youth: Revenge of the Teenage Perverts, shot and edited by members of the Lesbian and Gay Youth Video Project, fairly bubbles over with the kids' determination to get their experiences — coming out, parental reactions, violence, love and sex — on tape without adult mediation. Their palpable convic- tion that transparent emotional honesty will somehow carry the day ends up doing just that. A sense of collective autobiography, which videotape in its accessibility can afford much more directly and immediately than film, so in- forms the sexual politics here that straight au- diences would be hard put to ghettoize sexuality so glibly in the future.
Probably no tape at the festival was as warmly received as Gary Hill's Why Do Things Get in a Muddle?, a very clever reworking of a Gregory Bateson "metalogue." Hill painstakingly train- ed his actors to speak their lines in reverse. Thus, in reverse motion, the actors seem to be speaking their lines directly. One side effect of this Marx Brothers procedure is that the actors seem to speak English with a stage Swedish accent. The tape's blithe violation of the notion of time's ir- reversibility has several other such unexpected benefits which enrich a mise-en-scene that is also cheerfully dotty. Illogic and order begin to seem like allies. But the audience seemed more im- pressed by the technical tour deforce than by its representation of Bateson 's ideas. Does vir- tuousity in its alluring chinklessness preclude other than a surface fascination and work to pre- vent a dialogue with its audience instead of pro- voking one?
Der Riese (The Giant), by West German film- maker Michael Klier, was perhaps the most unsettling experience of the festival. Der Riese resituated video directly in the area of its most widespread use: as surveillance. Instead of being watched by the omniscient video camera (wher- ever secreted: shopping mall, boat, hallway, sex shop, conning tower — choose your poison), we become the watchers, the aggressors, implicated for the duration of the experience in the univer- sal proscription of free (because unmediated) behavior. As the camera steadily, starkly, in- humanly proceeds across a prospect of daily life, we feel we are at the scene of a crime; but it's as if the crime we witness is everyday life itself. This surveillance tape encourages, almost dictates, this conclusion without itself uttering a word of narration or voiceover. In one extraordinary sec- tion, shot in closeup, the features of one face after another are comically distorted by a police criminal identification machine as a metaphor for the physiognomy of social control.
The Mark Goodson Screening Room, where many U.S. premieres were screened, is sizable and luxurious. Six monitors are evenly spaced around it. Each viewer would automatically watch the closest monitor; from the front, the
26 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
audience looked more like six audiences watching six different tapes. This clash of sightlines pro- duced a false impression of fragmentation. But the festival as a whole felt fragmented only in relation to the art tapes. Perhaps this is in- evitable, but the lack of organized presentations and panel discussions contributed to the sense that discourse on this work is either unnecessary or so undeveloped as to be pointless. The first suggestion is absurd, and the second refuted by the relatively high level of articulation in every cluster encountered following the screenings. Isn't such response the main reason why we make the work in the first place?
Even the festival catalogue reflects the organ- izational lack — with art and/or narrative tapes receiving little if any contextual evaluation. This happens when pluralism, with its live-and-let-live bias, abdicates the political and aesthetic im- perative to relate individuals' work to each other and to their audiences (in other words, to the larger collectivity) and to create a discourse that could provide corrective inspiration both to art- ist and audience. The absence of such discourse helps explain why so many tapes flounder in a formalist miasma.
This crucial objection aside, the fourth Na- tional Video Festival was not only large, am- bitious, and involving — it worked. Every tape was shown twice; if you still missed something, arrangements could be made to screen it private- ly. The breadth of material was astonishing: substantial surveys of Japanese, Native Ameri- can, and U.S. student video, a number of not even slightly Stalinist Eastern European tapes (including an episode of Miklos Jansco's Faustus Faustus Faustus), two episodes of Boys from the Blackstuff, a British social realist drama on unemployed workers, and, at a side- bar screening, a full roster of Barbara London's selection of narrative tapes. And on and on. In this case surfeit was bracing, bearing out Kain's intentions, and testifying to the enormous organizational resources of the festival staff.
Sherry Millner is a film and videomaker current- ly teaching at the California Institute of the Arts. Ernest Larsen is a fiction writer currently teach- ing at University of California/San Diego. Both are associate editors of Jump Cut.
©Sherry Millner and Ernest Larsen 1985
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association of INDEPENDENT VIDEO AND FILMMAKERS, inc
Debra Goldman
Defining the term "independent" is a treach- erous task, and the formulas used are tradi- tionally negative. An independent is a producer who is not affiliated with a corporation. An in- dependent is someone who works outside the marketplace. An independent is a creator whose
Connect to the Independent Community
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vision represents an alternative to mass enter- tainment. The term is also something of a mis- nomer. For whether raising money to shoot and edit, or finding outlets through which to reach a public, independents must come to terms with their dependence on social forces.
The creation of a place in our culture for media that is alternative without being marginal, imbued with values distinct from mass entertain- ment while still attracting an audience, is the
paradoxical purpose of the Association of In- dependent Video and Filmmakers, now in its tenth year. The organization's history, stretching from the last communal days of the countercul- ture to the hyperindividualism of Ronald Reagan's America, tells the story of a collective balancing act between these dual priorities. AIVF's evolving institutional character presents yet another paradox: the attempt to represent a working community whose only common de- nominator is the individualism of its members.
The unwitting godfather of the Association of Independent Video and Filmmakers was the United States Department of Labor which, in the early seventies, was funneling money through the Department of Education to retrain workers who had been displaced by the changing economy. John Culkin, director of New York University's Center for Understanding Media, successfully engineered a proposal designed to channel some of these dollars to independent media makers with the ostensible purpose of making them employable. Money in hand, it then became a matter of finding someone who could rally the New York community of in- dependents, whose presence was palpable but whose dimensions were unknown.
Culkin 's associate at the center, Bob Geller, and friend, producer Ted Timreck, knew just the guy: cameraman Ed Lynch. From a family of West Virginia preachers, Lynch was known among his friends for what Amalie Rothschild called his "evangelical" style. "They knew my predilection for talking people into things," Lynch explains. Timreck and Geller introduced Lynch to Culkin, who arranged for Lynch to re- ceive a small stipend while he went out into the community to spread the word.
Culkin's original notion was the establishment of a foundation, along the organizational lines of the American Film Institute, but which would offer resources to the very independent media makers whom the AFI had thus far steadfastly ignored. Lynch said he "was perfectly happy to start any kind of organization, because I figure you start talking to people and you form the kind of organization that people want to form." He began contacting friends and found that "none of the people I talked to wanted any part of anything that they didn't have everything to say about." Lynch proved to be as good as his reputation, and, in early 1974, when the first public meeting was called, more than 100 people showed up to have their say.
From the first gathering, "it was high energy," founding board member Marc Weiss recalls. "Millions of things could happen. There was a sense that we were discovering each other and the feeling was, 'Let's find out what we can
28 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
create for each other.' Self-interest and social in- terest were happening at the same time." Large, voluble assemblies devoted to a collective cause were familiar turf to the group, many of whom had come of age in the sixties attending dozens of such meetings for a variety of political causes. Now they turned this activist energy to a cause of their own. "Somebody would say, 'Hey, we need blah-blah-blah,' and everybody would say, 'Okay, go ahead and organize it."' Soon there were committees dedicated to cable, self-dis- tribution, and membership, while dozens of in- dividuals began organizing screenings and presentations on their own. Weiss remembers that "people were hungry" for exposure, feed- back, and information.
All this spontaneous activity needed was a leg- al form. Lynch invited fellow filmmakers Mar- tha Coolidge and Ed Emshwiller to join him as incorporators, and in July 1974 a meeting was called to discuss the by-laws and principles of the Association of Independent Video and Film- makers, drawing a large crowd. The board was then chosen: Lynch, Emshwiller, Coolidge, Weiss, Rothschild, Phil Messina, and Robert Bordiga. At Emshwiller's urging, Lynch, whose self-described "insanity" had sparked the whole enterprise, was voted president.
The activities of the newly official AIVF con- tinued at a feverish pace. Not a Wednesday passed without a business meeting, a screening, or a presentation. The board convened weekly. With the exception of Lynch, everyone was a volun- teer, and even Lynch's stipend in no way matched the 24-hour a day commitment he poured into the organization. Yet, according to Rothschild, the lack of money was more than compensated for by the fun, whether it was the post-board meeting game of pool at a nearby Tribeca restaurant or the Sunday screening parties at Ellen Hovde's loft, which evolved into a quasi- official AIVF activity.
Ed Lynch's peers unanimously credit his in- cendiary spirit as a major source of the upbeat, social energy of the early Association; they describe him as a "sparkplug" and "igniter." "Independent Cinema Lives!" proclaimed the title of a two-day festival organized by AIVF in late 1975, and Lynch strove to bring that celeb- ratory exclamation point to all of AI VF's activi- ties. Weiss said, "He really created a sense of ex- citement that as a group we were able to do things we were never able to do before, and that we should take every opportunity to celebrate ourselves."
"I've never disagreed that we had some of the hot stuff," commented Lynch, "but I would say it had more to do with the period of time, and everybody's energy and age. " AIVF was exciting because it happened "in the context of the move- ment"— it was, in fact, one of the last institu- tional flowers of that movement. AIVF was not, however, a political organization, and as long as it was buoyed by the general momentum of the culture, it did not have to be. The luxury of the
era, Lynch observed, was that "because you were part of a movement, you didn't have to worry [about] whether you were right or not." The politics of the group were reflected, not in an explicit political program, but in its organiza- tional lifestyle, in the atmosphere of "activism, idealism, and communal sharing" which, in Rothschild's words, animated the Association's early members.
Nevertheless, a political identity clung to AIVF, so that despite its avowed openness to every kind of media maker, in practice it was dominated by social documentarians working in film. "In the sixties, the passion which brought people into film was art," said Emshwiller, one of the few experimental filmmakers to take an early active role. "In this period, it was politics." He attempted to draw his art film friends into the group, but "they just didn't feel like they be- longed in a political organization." Video, in spite of its prominent place in the Association ti- tle, also suffered from a lack of attention. One problem was that many video documentarians in this period also worked in film and thought of themselves primarily as filmmakers, while the video artists felt the same estrangement from the organization as the film avant garde. "We welcomed any individual caring enough to take the initiative and put a project together. We wasted an awful lot of meeting time because of our concern to serve a whole panoply of interests," said Rothschild. "But ultimately it was the politically motivated people who had the most energy, passion, and commitment."
AIVF was only a few months old when events in Washington drew the organization into a political battle. The six-year-old American Film Institute was receiving a large percentage of the National Endowment for the Arts' media dol- lars; yet except for the grant-giving Independent Filmmaker Program, the Institute barely ac- knowledged the existence of independent media. In 1975, led by aging matinee idols like Gregory Peck, the AFI attempted to convince Congress to make the Institute a line item in the NEA budget, and therefore not subject to yearly review by the Endowment. If AFI succeeded, it would become the sole recipient of government media funds, an alarming prospect for hundreds of artists and dozens of incipient media institu- tions beyond the borders of Hollywood. Lynch began rallying the troops to lobby against the West Coast glitterati. In fact, the campaign was so absorbing that the board cautioned, "When getting in touch with people around the country, be sure to stress that AIVF is not a one-issue organization (anti-AFI)." The fight concluded in classic David-and-Goliath fashion: AFI lost its bid for guaranteed access to the arts budget.
That same year, United States copyright laws, which had stood on the books virtually unchanged for over a half-century, were being revised to reflect the realities of postwar technologies like photocopying and videotape. The National Education Association succeeded in writing into
law a special exemption giving public schools the right to copy books, films, and tapes at no cost. Yet what seemed on its face to be a reasonable cost-saving measure for tax-supported educa- tional institutions could, in fact, deprive pro- ducers and distributors of their livelihood. For many AIVF members, the educational market was a major source of income, and the organiza- tion joined forces with other audiovisual trade organizations to strike the measure from the bill. "We explained to legislators that the provision would destroy the private educational program- ming marketplace, and that the void created would have to be filled by government," said Rothschild, who vividly remembered two days of intense lobbying. Congress soon realized that what seemed like a public-spirited moneysaving measure had a hidden price tag of alarming pro- portions. The educators went down in defeat, and AIVF, barely a year old, now had two con- crete victories, vindicating Lynch's "together we can do it" rhetoric.
Closer to home, the Association was busy or- ganizing projects designed to assist media makers in their daily practice. The articulated purpose of the organization was to empower the membership through shared information and at the same time to create resources so that in- dividuals could test their expressive powers on ever higher ground. For some, the latter meant moving from documentary into fiction features. As Lynch recalled, many people involved in documentary work did not choose "between three or four different film projects that they could make. It was just— this is it." There was a strong feeling that AIVF should help create dif- ferent creative opportunities, said Lynch, who was becoming interested in making the organiza- tion a force in production. He and member Peter Barton organized the Screenwriters' Workshop The goal, according to Lynch, was to create a number of scripts which he himself hoped to produce. At the same time, member Alice Spivak began putting energy into a Directors' Workshop. "These workshops were very, very important." remarked Weiss, "because they were the first opportunity people had to get these kinds of skills."
Like all of AIVF's work at the time, these were volunteer efforts. Yet a continuing stream of concrete accomplishments kept the activist energy alive. Perhaps the most dramatic example was the creation of Independent Creative Artists and Producers (ICAP), which grew out of AIVF's cable committee; it was organized by Charles Levine, one of the few experimental filmmakers active in the membership. "Nar- rowcasting" was not yet a communications in- dustry buzzword, but it was key to Levine's vi- sion of cable's potential for independents. His hopeful notion was that somewhere on that 100-channel cable dial of the future was a slot for independent media. In the meantime, the commit- tee, concentrating on more immediate oppor- tunities, put feelers out to Home Box Office, the
JANUARY /FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT 29
then- fledgling pay movie channel with 10,000 subscribers, to test its interest in programming independent shorts. In March 1975, the cable committee reported to the board that "Robin Ahrold of Home Box Office wants to deal with an organization that gives him direct access to filmmakers. An exploratory meeting is sug- gested and then a group of filmmakers will form and make their own deal." HBO supplied a little start-up money, and ICAP began its life as an in- dependent organization.
ICAP was a small part of a fairly grandiose plan. The next stage of what became known as the Cable Project was a collaboration with an in- teractive cable system in Columbus, Ohio. But such a daunting enterprise needed considerable financial backing, as did a variety of other AI VF projects. Moreover, it was clear that the active members, all with personal cash flow problems, could not continue pouring free labor into the organization indefinitely. Said Lynch, "We finally came back to Culkin's original concept of a foundation," which could solicit grant money. The result, the Foundation for Independent Video and Film, was established in January' 1975 as a distinctly separate, non-membership organ- ization, although its board was identical with AIVF's.
The Association's first year had yielded not one but three organizations: AIVF, FIVF, and ICAP. Yet even as the Association was multiply- ing its activities and accomplishments, the "spirit" "of the community was shifting. The period of peak energy which the old guard remembers so fondly was short-lived; by the end of 1975, the days in which large crowds flocked to business meetings were over. In the spring of 1976, the board framed the upcoming general membership meeting with the title, "Is There a Needfor AIVF?" Inalist of suggested questions sent to the membership prior to the meeting, "energy" was the buzzword: "How can we structure AIVF to get more energy? What can we do better to get you and keep you involved and interested, and get some of your energy?"
Flagging activist commitment ' was not the problem of AIVF alone; it was endemic to the entire alternative movement. It was becoming evident that the organization could no longer float on the tide of a broad cultural consensus, as social activists of all stripes were returning to private life. The quiescence of the membership was one symptom. Another was the "sense of urgency being over, and a need to define the Association's role as a political force" that some members expressed to Coolidge. What would be the fate of the alternative vision of independent media makers without an alternative culture to support them?
During this same period a rift was developing between Lynch and the rest of the board. Lynch was labelled the "visionary" of AIVF — but his vision w as increasingly at odds with the collective decision-making process by which the organiza- tion was run. Rothschild, while never doubting
"Ed's purity of motives in organizing AIVF," said that the board grew more and more exas- perated with with what she termed his "authori- tarian, secretive" style, which she saw as the flip side of his evangelical fervor. Purity, however, was not a big concern for Lynch, who says he chafed under the obligation imposed by "the left, where everything had to be in the open." A certain amount of secret dealing, he believed, was in- dispensable to the exercise of power — power he wanted for the organization, and, it was thought by some, for himself. Lynch does not deny his secretiveness. Looking back on the Association's early years, he remarked half-facetiously, "We should have launched a coffee shop or restaurant. We never really admitted that, like any good subculture, we had to have a restaurant with a backroom." The backroom was Lynch's chosen turf.
Lynch believed that the shortest and most ef- fective route to legitimacy for independents was through the production of great films, and he saw the Foundation as a vehicle to get the funds to make them happen. Within a few months of AFI's legislative defeat at the hands of AIVF, the Institute "unofficially" approached the Foun-
public" — wanted broader and more assured ac- cess to the system. Lynch saw control of the Ford/NEA money as a means toward these goals. "I wanted to broker that money for a new relationship between independents and [PTV] stations."
Lynch's conviction was fueled by AIVF's past experience with public television. This was the period in which stations like WNET had so much money that, Lynch said, "They were car- peting the walls. They were not receptive to in- dependents. We always had to beg for meetings with them. They never really wanted to officially enter into conversations with us, because that would be like admitting that AIVF was a profes- sional trade association to be dealt with." It was therefore crucial to keep these funds out of sta- tion hands.
The board remained resistant. Lynch, however, says he "took a very strong position. I said we must go after the money." He was determined to do so "whether it was done through the Associa- tion or not. So I think people felt a little angry' and upset, because they thought I was blackmailing them." They did. Ultimately, said Rothschild, the board, "gave in" to Lynch
|
^1 |
MP* |
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J? |
The first Indie Awards, presented in March 1976.
dation, offering it control of the Independent Filmmaker Program. "They offered it as a kind of conciliatory gesture, because we sort of had them on the ropes," said Lynch. But there was strong sentiment on the board that administering such a grant program would be divisive. "We didn't want to be in the position of choosing one filmmaker over another," explained Rothschild.
Another opportunity to gain control of pro- duction dollars came in 1976, when the Ford Foundation and NEA announced that they were jointly making S500,000 available for the pro- duction of independent documentaries to be broadcast on public television. The right to the producing entity was up for grabs, and it was supposedly an open question whether the money would be administered from inside or outside the public television system.
The independent community was already well aware of how important public television was to its future in terms of dollars and exposure. In the late sixties and early seventies, a small number of producers had established relationships with PTV, but independents — who felt that as unaffiliated individuals, they were "the
because they felt "there wasn't much of a chance that we'd get the money." They didn't. FIVF, Global Village, and Media Study/Buffalo lost out to WNET. The Independent Documentary Fund would be administered by a station within the system.
Lynch felt the loss of the documentary money was a "big, big, big missed opportunity" for public television and independents. Moreover, his relations with the board continued to be strained. "People said to me, 'Don't fool yourself. There's a big difference between being a bureaucrat and an organizer. An organizer is a different kind of animal, and you're finished with that phase.'" In 1977, he decided not to run for board president and was succeeded by Ting Barrow. Six months later, a short letter appeared in AIVF's mimeographed newsletter, in which Lynch announced that he would not be running for the board again. The note contained all the obligatory sentiments of continuing support for the organization and satisfaction that it was in "good hands." But Lynch could not refrain from taking a parting shot, adding cryptically, "I still believe in a philosophically correct in-
30 THE INDEPENDENT
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dependent movement." It was one last crack from the backroom.
Lynch's departure meant that the organization would have to confront the problem of its own administrative structure. At a fall 1976 meeting, the board considered creating an executive direc- tor who would be responsible for the organiza- tion's direction. But at the time, sentiment ran against the idea, and the board remained the locus of power. In the absence of a charismatic leader and in the face of declining membership involvement, the years 1977-78 marked the peak of the board's control over the organization.
The more far-reaching issue facing AIVF, however, was its political identity. The conflicts between Lynch and the board were, in fact, "political," representing two different concepts of power. Of what did real power consist? In whom should it be invested? How should it be used? The choices made by AIVF at the time were gestures back toward the sixties ideals of collective decision-making and organizational democracy which were the wellspring of the organization. The effect of those choices was to
reaffirm the "alternative" identity of in- dependents, and reinforce the notion that they "stood for" something. But what did they stand for? A vague half-articulated — and perhaps in- articulable — amalgam of values like individ- ualism and freedom of expression? Were they a band of cultural workers at war with the conven- tions of the media industry? Or with the whole of capitalism? Did they have to choose?
Since its earliest days, the Association had a vocal contingent of "politicos." But according to Ted Timreck, who remained involved with AIVF through his friendship with Lynch and served as a board member in the late seventies, they were not typical of the membership. Orig- inally, he said, "The idea was an organization of artists. It didn't have to be political; certain peo- ple turned it into something political because they wanted that kind of struggle in their lives. But in the first meetings there was a feeling that this was a group of people on the verge of becoming great artists." Timreck claims that it was when the political types took the leadership role that the "organization lost its hopeful perspective."
This ongoing tension came to a dramatic head
soon after Lynch stepped down from the presi- dency. Ting Barrow's election to the office might well have been considered a victory for the poli- ticos. "He did a lot of free work for a lot of peo- ple," said Weiss, who with Barrow, had been a member of the political film group Mass Pro- ductions.
Like many filmmakers, Barrow depended on freelance jobs for hire to make ends meet. And when he was approached by the South African government to work on Portfolio for Progress, a film they were producing to promote South Af- rica's "business climate," he took it on. "He did it very naively," observed Weiss. "I really don't think he understood what the significance of it was."
Once word leaked out that Barrow was in- volved in the film, there were plenty of people ready to explain it to him. "People were shocked," Weiss recalled. AIVF received a letter from member Anne Boggan claiming that in- volvement in such a project was untenable for a president of AIVF. She wanted her letter published in the Association newsletter and re- quested that AIVF join the "New York Political Film Group" in a forum to discuss the issues raised. Many members were sympathetic to her reproach. According to Weiss, they believed that by "doing this work, Tmg was betraying the founding principles of AIVF."
But at the the board meeting which considered Boggan's request, the majority of the board con- cluded that, in fact, Barrow had not betrayed the founding principles. For there was nothing in these principles regarding the kinds of films or tapes members and officers could or could not make. Longtime AIVF member DeeDee Halleck responded by pushing for a general membership meeting to discuss whether perhaps there should be.
The board agreed to participate in the forum, as well as publish Boggan's request. In a reply, they stated, "We feel it would be difficult and possibly dangerous to sit in judgment of one another's morality or artistry. . .AIVF restricts itself from either endorsing or condemning the contents or aesthetics of any member's work." Barrow, too, responded briefly: "My participa- tion in the film was as a craftsman — as a camera- man and editor — not as a producer or director. I had no role in initiating the film." It was the sum total of his self-defense for the duration of the controversy, which dragged on for several months.
Barrow would not resign. A meeting to con- sider his status was highly polarized. As Weiss remembers it, when the matter finally came to a vote, Barrow was not thrown out, "but it was close, very close." In Halleck 's version, there was one group of board and general members who were so hostile to what they saw as the forced politicization of AIVF that "they refused to even listen to the arguments. They took off for a bar across the street, and told their friends to come get them when it came time for a vote.
And then they lost!" But at that point it was determined that there was not a quorum of members present, so Barrow stayed, ran again for the board later in the year, and was re- elected. But, according to Weiss, he was for the most part ostracized. In 1979 he left the organization, and eventually dropped out of the film scene altogether. Fellow board member Jane Morrison later speculated, "I don't think Tmg could ever quite understand how all this could have happened to him."
The controversy continued into the spring, and the board postponed elections so that a meeting could be called to discuss AI VF's found- ing principles. Entitled "Economics and Prin- ciples," the meeting was described by Morrison as "almost a civil war. There were people who were uncomfortable with the attempt to legislate ethics, for there was a feeling that that can result in ridiculous laws, guidelines that are worse than the original problem."
There were not enough members at the meet- ing to amend the principles of the organization, but several "sense of the meeting" votes were taken. The results indicated the members were, in fact, ambivalent about creating ethical guide- lines. Two motions, which passed easily, sought to amend the principles with language affirming the Association's support for "justice" in human relations "regardless of sex, religion, race, age, or class." Yet a third motion, supporting a media maker's right to "complete freedom of ex- pression in the choice and execution of his/her professional work" lost by only one vote.
In a subsequent board meeting, a number of resolutions which became the official addenda to the principles were passed. They reflected the membership's desire to have it both ways. One "affirmed" AIVF's "respect for all," along the lines stated at the general membership meeting, while another "reaffirmed" freedom of expres- sion. A third underlined the Association's com- mitment "to help reduce the membership's dependence on the kinds of sponsorship which encourage the compromise of personal values" — an issue that many felt was at the heart of the Barrow incident.
In the course of the furor over Barrow and the South African film, DeeDee Halleck 's visibility in the organization rose dramatically. At the next board election, Halleck received almost 300 more votes than the second most popular candi- date, and became board president. Morrison ascribed the victory to a sense among "the peo- ple mad at Tmg" that Halleck would "renew the oeople's confidence in the moral fiber of the organization." And if there were people in the organization who were still ambivalent about AIVF's more explicit political stand, they found no sympathy for their viewpoint in Halleck, who said, "What does it mean to be independent? It means you don't work for a corporation. That you want to make something that comes from the heart, soul, aesthetic intuition, whatever. In this society, if you want to do that, you have to
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT 31
be political. That is a political statement." In light of her margin of victory, she felt she had "a mandate to push the organization in the direc- tion 1 wanted it to go."
One such direction was the reinforcement of AIVF's democratic tradition. "Know Your By- Laws!" trumpeted the first membership news- letter printed after Halleck's election. She in- sisted on letting the membership know the date and time of all board meetings in advance so they could attend if they wished. And she pushed for the publication of the Association's principles in the newsletter and in The Independent, which replaced the newsletter in 1978.
Yet at the same time that Halleck was shoring up the mechanisms of democracy, other forces were pulling the organization in the opposite direc- tion, toward the creation of a centralized staff. The furor over Portfolio for Progress had pro- duced a rupture in the tradition of the elected president as the organization's leader and spokesperson. This was not viewed as a neces- sarily negative development. "Everyone iden- tified AIVF with Ed [Lynch]," said Morrison, "and we had to make the transition to a more solid administration, so that people would know that AIVF was not just Ed's idea." On a more practical level, the neutralization of Barrow in- evitably threw more responsibility on the organi- zation's single staffperson, Tom Lennon, who had served as administrative director since the fall of 1975.
The necessity of bringing some administrative order to the organization was exacerbated by two new long-term projects with which FIVF be- came involved, the Short Film Showcase (SFS) and the Comprehensive Employment Training Act (CETA). Lennon described SFS as the pro- gram that "put us on the map." It was conceived by the NEA as a means of cultivating a theatrical audience for short films. The Endowment pro- vided funds to enlarge from 16 to 35mm a group of shorts selected by two screening panels; the filmmakers were to receive an honorarium, and the films would be distributed to theatrical ex- hibitors for free. NEA wanted FIVF to ad- minister the program, a responsibility which the organization readily accepted. "It was a feather in our cap," declared Lennon — as well as a dramatic shot in the arm financially, for the $100,000-plus of support money that NEA poured into the project more than doubled the AIVF/FIVF budget, as well as providing money for a full-time staffer.
Two additional people joined the staff in 1977, but even with this expansion, the CETA project, which also came on board that year, pushed the small administration to its limits. Through Lennon's connection with the Founda- tion for the Community of Artists, FIVF became involved in organizing around the issue of artists' access to CETA funds. Lennon said "it was quite a laugh" attempting to describe "artists" in terms that the Labor Department could com- prehend, but they succeeded. In 1977, FIVF was
awarded 14 CETA positions. Eleven slots would be devoted to the Media Works Film/Video Pool, which would work for local community groups, while three would be for the pursuit of independent projects. Yearly salaries of $10,000 were offered, which was $1,500 more than the CETA average.
If the Short Film Showcase represented a quantum leap in prestige and funding for the organization, the CETA project made AIVF the object of intense interest within the community. CETA was "momentous" for the organization, claimed Lennon, because it meant "we had goodies to give out." At the same time, it was "a test: could we as a community act civilly in parcelling out these goodies? There were a lot of hungry people out there." And in taking on CETA the organization had assumed the re- sponsibility that it had heretofore resolutely avoided — picking and choosing among media makers. Mindful of the potential for controversy and divisiveness, an elaborate three-tier panel was constructed "in order to insure that there was no personal scratching of backs." One panel reviewed the 300 applications for the jobs, another screened applicants' work, and a third interviewed the 90 chosen candidates.
Despite all these precautions, the final deci- sions provoked a letter of protest from a group of AIVF members questioning the fairness of the process. The subsequent "scandal," which made the SoHo News, revolved around Chris Choy of Third World Newsreel, who had made it through the panels but was not among the final 14. Her exclusion, said Lillian Jimenez, who became Media Works administrator the follow- ing year, raised questions about the program's priorities. "After all, she was experienced, she was a woman, and she was Asian. Why didn't she get it?" Jimenez asked.
In fact, Third World media makers were not much of a force within the organization at the time. "When I first started becoming involved with AIVF," recalled Jimenez, "my friends in the Latino community said to me, 'What are you bothering with them for? That's a white boys' network. They don't have anything to do with us.'" Despite Lennon's insistence that the selec- tion process was "rigorously fair," the protest did have an impact, for this controversy evolved simultaneously with the uproar over Barrow, and consciousness of racism within the organiza- tion reached a new high. Thus when selections were made for the 1979 CETA positions, there were several more minority film and videomak- ers among the chosen. Black camerawoman Jes- sie Maple, a member of the 1978 pool, was sub- sequently elected to the board. Choy is a current board member. And Jimenez has been board chair for the past three years.
But the pressure the CETA program placed on AIVF's small overworked staff obscured its long-term effects and its role in opening the organization to minority producers. "The selec- tion process was a harrowing one for all," Len-
non reported to the membership in a January 1978 newsletter. "The office was besieged, all but overrun; it shook with phone calls: dis- tressed, irate, hopeful, disappointed." Ad- ministrative tasks included maintaining contacts with community organizations who were using the pool, keeping track of who was working on what, scrounging equipment. "There was no ad- ministrative money for this, and we were seen as a financial drain," claimed Jimenez. "Relations between the staff and the Media Works people were very bad. CETA became the stepchild of the organization." Lennon agreed that the com- plicated responsibilities of CETA were "too much, too soon" for AIVF, but added, "It made us grow up." It certainly made clear the need for a strong centralized administration.
In January 1978, the board formally resolved to create the position of executive director, a central administrator who would be responsible not on- ly for the organization's day-to-day functioning, but actively involved in determining its develop- ment. A major break with AIVF's past, the deci- sion's impact has been unfolding for five years and spans the tenure of two directors, producer Alan Jacobs and Lawrence Sapadin, a labor lawyer. Jacob's year-and-a-half at the job was spent turning what was an organization "very much of the sixties, still a very communal sort of operation" into a professional arts institution of the seventies; Sapadin has had the subsequent task of securing AIVF's continuing existence during the Reagan years.
Jacobs said that when he came on staff in 1978, the organization was "still very New York- oriented, and still very much dominated by documentarians." Jacobs wanted to "open the organization up." In 1978 and 1979, several groups outside the city approached AIVF with the notion of becoming regional chapters, but the board was uncertain both as to "how we can know the needs of communities outside New York" as well as how the small, overstretched staff would administer such chapters. The alter- native was to directly seek individual members nationwide, so Jacobs organized a mailing to 10,000 names, a project that Sapadin inherited mid-stream in 1980. The response was impress- ive: membership stood at little over 700 when Jacobs left the organization; within six months of Sapadin taking the post, it reached almost 1400.
But the question remained: how could AIVF serve members beyond the immediate geograph- ical reach of the New York office? Jacobs saw the answer in the Association newsletter. The first attempt to create a more ambitious publica- tion that would represent the organization to a wider public occurred in 1975. "The only pro- blem," wrote member Tom McDonough in his proposal for the publication he called Deep Truth, "is what are the running dogs of idealism who make up AIVF going to put in it?" The
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"message" of Deep Truth, McDonough decid- ed, would be that "while AIVF is a film-and- video thing, it is also a personal and political thing." In 1976, AIVF received a $4,000 grant for the publication, now more soberly titled The Independent Gazette; later in the year it debuted in a respectable 30-page tabloid format "a la Rolling Stone, " featuring interviews, reviews, a report on the emergent ICAP, an account of the first Indie Awards banquet, and, as McDonough had promised in his proposal, "mystic- philosophical ruminations in the Lynchian mode."
But the effort was too ambitious to sustain, the second issue never came out, and the organization returned to its modest mimeographed newsletter. By the time Jacobs became executive director, Bill Jones, a CETA- supported painter and photographer, had al- ready been contracted to transform the news- letter into The Independent. The magazine, first published at the end of 1978, was a rather grim-looking 12-page booklet, its pages tinted paper bag brown, and only slightly distinguish- able editorially from its newsletter predecessor. But Jacobs recognized the seed of a publication which could dramatically increase AIVF's usefulness to members nationwide. He created a separate funding category in the next grant pro- posal, and, with Jones, transformed the dull brown bulletin board into a "magazine," com- plete with logo and photographic cover.
Further development of The Independent fell to Sapadin, who had pledged to the board that he would make the magazine come out regularly every month, an elusive goal in the publication's first year. His intention was to change The In- dependent from a "bland communicator" into a publication "with an editorial thrust" that could "influence the field as well as respond to it." In early 1982, Sapadin hired Kathleen Hulser as editor. She instituted regular columns and diver- sified the feature coverage to reflect the disparate needs of a now widespread "community," while expanding to a more conventional magazine for- mat. And she got the magazine out on time, every month. The Independent quickly became a central inducement to membership, especially for media makers outside New York. In 1984, under the editorship of Martha Gever, it was redesigned and increased its pages and advertis- ing revenues.
ATVF hoped to not only expand quantitatively, but to diversify its activities as well. In 1979, Jacobs heard from a number of "old friends" who were trying to put together a support organization for feature filmmakers; he joined their meetings in Minneapolis and Los Angeles in an attempt to bring the incipient Independent Feature Project "into the fold" of AIVF. Jacobs offered the new project the support services of the Association, which became the collection point for the first IFP Market's films, as well as $1000 in financial assistance. His notion, as
recorded in board meeting minutes, was that IFP "would be a project of our own — they would be included in our application for funds [although they] may have to raise funds for themselves."
Despite Jacobs' efforts, the IFP organizers became wary of close ties with the Association. "I think they felt their needs were so specific, in terms of the dollars needed for feature produc- tion and distribution, that their interests would be diluted by the concerns of the organization at large," Jacobs speculated. IFP reluctance sparked in the board a "paranoia that IFP would divorce us after using us. It was decided that they should come to us, that they would soon discover our usefulness to them." But the IFP soon set up separate headquarters in New York, and subse- quently spawned a West Coast cousin with priorities substantially different from AIVF's.
The IFP was not the only project that sent Jacobs, in his words, "flying around the coun- try" promoting AIVF as an institution of na- tional importance. In 1978, Brian O'Doherty of the NEA Media Arts Program offered the Foun- dation, already administering the Short Film Showcase, another job. He conceived of a na- tional organization which would bring together all the media arts centers in the country under one umbrella. NEA was offering $15,000 to be matched by the Rockefeller Foundation. Tom
The
GAZETTE
Journal of Independent Film and Video Artists
50c
ASSOCIATION OF
INDEPENDENT VIDEO AND FILMMAKERS, inc.
Lennon, then top adminstrative staffer, or- ganized a 1979 conference in Minnewaska, New York, at which media arts administrators would flesh out the concept. Implementation fell to Jacobs, who sat on the planning committee, de- spite his doubts about the purpose of such an en- tity. "I just couldn't see creating another organization which would put service institu- tions in competition with the individual artists they were supposed to serve for the pathetic few funding dollars that existed," he said. Never- theless, it was hard to say no to the NEA and Rockefeller Foundation, and the group that gathered in Minnewaska decided that the con- cept was worth pursuing. A year later, the Na- tional Alliance of Media Arts Centers (NAMAC) was formally voted into existence at a second meeting in Boulder, Colorado. But the conflict of interest that Jacobs had foreseen soon surfaced. He returned to New York to report that the decision to exclude individual media makers from NAMAC had provoked a
bitter fight and, with the support of the board, withdrew from taking any leadership role in the new organization
"Jacobs was a very one-to-one, very glad- hand kind of guy," said Lillian Jimenez. "He was tremendously important in creating a na- tional profile for the organization." Yet his con- siderable social skills also caused some friction, particularly with those members of the board who were still less than enthusiastic about the ex- ecutive director role. Weiss, one of the last of the old guard active on the board, was especially in- censed when Jacobs joined the founding board of the Sundance Institute "without bothering to tell us."
The American Film Institute board was another of Jacobs' platforms that caused controversy. AIVF was first given a seat on the AFI board in 1977, another consequence of the legislative en- counter of 1975. The position had been tradi- tionally filled by the board president — first Bar- row and later Halleck. When Jacobs became director, Halleck reluctantly ceded the seat to him in response to general board sentiment that the executive director should be AIVF's most visible spokesperson. While Barrow's and Halleck's reports to the membership of their ex- periences at AFI read like dispatches from a deluxe but distant planet, Jacobs began de- veloping a working relationship with AFI's new director, Jean Firstenberg, who, he told the board, was "sympathetic" to independents' in- terests. Jacobs left AIVF m mid- 1980, but did not resign his seat at AFI. For almost a year after Jacobs's departure, the AIVF board tried to in- stall Sapadin in the AFI seat without success; when Jacobs at last left AFI, the AIVF seat vanished with him.
In some ways, AIVF's increasing national visibility and legitimacy masked its internal weaknesses. When Sapadin became director in late 1980, he was surprised to find that ad- ministratively "the organization was totally ad hoc — no structures, no allocation, no staff responsibility in certain areas." Over the pre- vious three years, a staff of a half dozen (in- cluding CETA workers) had slowly but unsys- tematically coalesced. Over the next few years a process of staff specialization developed as the organization's programs and priorities emerged: the festival bureau, information services, screen- ings and seminars, membership, fiscal manage- ment and fundraising, The Independent's, ex- pansion. By the end of 1984, what had begun 10 years before as volunteer activities had become the functions of a professional staff.
Flipping through the pages of the different ver- sions of The Independent, one topic appears again and again: public television. It is fair to say that in the last five years, PTV has developed in- to a veritable obsession of the organization. In 1975, the board worried that AIVF might ap- pear to be a one-issue, anti-AFI organization; in 1978 the anxiety was that it might seem Like a one-issue, anti-PTV one. The event that
JANUARY/FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT 33
galvanized AIVF's preoccupation with public television was the creation of the second Carnegie Commission in 1977. The public televi- sion system was then a decade old; Carnegie II was to evaluate its accomplishments and defi- ciencies and make recommendations for its future.
The board's activist fervor was first kindled when A1VF learned that there was no indepen- dent representation on the commission. "Bill Movers was their idea of an independent," Halleck observed. The Association insisted on a special hearing dedicated to the concerns of in- dependent producers, as part of the series of meetings being held across the country. The resultant hearing, chaired by William McGill, then president of Columbia University and head of the commission, attracted 160 producers ready to testify. To add scope to AIVF's in- vestigation into the state of independent-PTV relations, board member Jeff Byrd created a survey which queried the membership on their past experiences with the system.
Public television was due to come up for Con- gressional review the next year and the Carnegie Commission testimony was expected to loom large in the final legislative result. AIVF, now armed with its own Carnegie testimony, gathered its resources for a trip to Washington. "There were about six of us in the car," remembered Halleck. "We had the number of some people who were going to put us up, but when we called no one was home and we didn't know their ad- dress." Moreover, they had learned that all 50 copies of testimony which they had brought for both the communications subcommittee and the press had to be deposited with Congress. So the group spent the evening before their Congres- sional debut "with no place to go, riding around Washington, looking for an open copy shop."
But the substance of their lobbying testimony compensated for what they lacked as profes- sional lobbyists. While CPB president Robben Fleming "treated us like college students," as AIVF staffer Robin Weber said, the Congres- sional aides with whom the lobby made contact listened closely. Halleck, Ralph Arlyck, and Joan Shigekawa were among those who tes- tified, and the carefully cultivated aides "loved our testimony," declared Halleck. "We were taken very seriously as an authentic voice, and invited to testify again."
The result of their testimony was that the new legislation contained a stipulation that a "sub- stantial" portion of public television program- ming funds be devoted to independently pro- duced programs. The subsequent Carnegie II report, A Public Trust, forcefully advocated an increased role for independents and fueled AIVF's sense of victory. But not all skepticism was diffused. The legislation talked about "substantial" funding for independents, but how much was substantial, and who decided? And while AIVF supported the "spirit and in-
tent" of Carnegie II, a statement issued in response to its publication also warned that "Car- negie I had a lot of beautiful language, but its recommendations were not fully implemented."
Every issue of The Independent reported new developments in the CPB effort to realize this new mandate — as well as documenting its re- luctance to cede any meaningful control over the programming process. Independents' sense of righteousness was reinforced by a December 1979 letter to Fleming from Rep. Henry Wax- man (D-Cal.) which stated that "substantial" meant that 50% of program funds should go to independents. AIVF brought CPB officials face to face with members in a number of forums to which CPB responded with a mixture of placa- tion and resentment. The law said that CPB had to work with independents, but the corporation conceived of the relationship not as part of a "public trust" invested in them, but as an unwelcome intrusion on their institutional perogatives. There were angry exchanges be- tween CPB and producers over questions surrounding the panel process, editorial control, and the hoariest issue of all: who is an "indepen- dent"? Producer Peter Adair expressed the sen- timents of many members when he admitted, "I'm torn between seeing you CPB people as the enemy or as the only friends I have."
Jacobs resigned at the very time that CPB for- mally announced proposed guidelines for the "Independent Anthology," its first program under the independent mandate; it was left to Sapadin to monitor CPB's compliance with the legislation. His baptism occurred his first day in office with a call from Ralph Arlyck, one of 24 producers who had just received a contract for the new series. Sapadin said he learned that "the contract was an incredible dog" which required producers to sign over exclusive broadcast rights to their programs for a full three years — whether they were aired or not. "My immediate response was, 'Let's get together and do something about it — collective action,'" Sapadin said. Sapadin, Arlyck, and members of the board advocacy committee rounded up 17 of the 24 producers, each willling to pay $75 toward legal fees. The resulting negotiations with CPB led to major ad- justments in the contract, a "huge victory," Sapadin asserted, "because no independents had ever negotiated with CPB as a group before."
Not all subsequent battles with CPB would prove so fruitful. Sapadin had spent no more than a month at his post when Ronald Reagan took up his in Washington. By the time the "In- dependent Anthology" series, broadcast as Mat- ters of Life and Death, was aired, public televi- sion was facing drastic reductions in its federal subsidy. Within months, 1983 funds shrank from $220-million to $130-million. The "inde- pendent mandate" was actualized not in the at- mosphere of increasing diversity and financial security prescribed by Carnegie II, but in a time of shrinking governmental support. As money
AIVF president Robert Richter testifies before th< :
Ccutesy "Curent"
grew tighter, CPB, which had never willingly embraced its relationship with independents, began to close ranks.
In 1982, CPB's Program Fund announced the formation of various station consortia devoted to the production of dramas, documentaries, children's and arts programming, to which a ma- jor portion of the fund would be committed. "The net result," wrote Sapadin in an Advocacy Committee report to the membership, "is that the most open and democratic procedures which were designed to make the CPB Fund a fair and efficient point of access" were wiped out, except for Matters of Life and Death, "CPB's sop to the community of smaller independent produc- ers." CPB still claimed that 40% of its funds were going to independents, but that figure in- cluded a significant portion of the $4.5 million budget of Frontline, a documentary series pro- duced by WGBH which had been severely criti- cized for what many considered its closed-door policy toward independents. Four years after the passage of the 1978 law, independents were fighting for territory they thought had already been won.
Obsession was enflamed by frustration. For several months, AIVF considered a lawsuit against CPB, only to drop the idea in light of the huge expense and poor prospects for success. The Association was forced to take a less dramatic tack in pressing its demands. Its most recent strategy has been the formation of a na-
34 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
joard, 1983.
tionwide coalition of independent producers, a group that began regularly scheduled meetings with CPB in 1984. Thus far the meetings have yielded the declassification of Frontline as an "independent" project and some democratizing concessions in regard to the panel process. But without question, the funds and opportunities at issue in no way correspond to the promise of the 1978 legislation.
Is the current state of independent production and public television a half-full or half-empty glass? "We may not have gotten everything, but we're a lot better off than we'd be without [PTV]," asserted Halleck. Yet the struggle has taken its toll in frustration. "We knew we'd have to fight for the CPB money," said Jane Mor- rison, who was on the board during this period. "But the public television system is structured so you can't ever pin anyone down and hold them accountable. Ultimately, I was burned out by the endless struggle."
In the past, CPB officials have accused AIVF of being too strident in its dealings with PTV, an argument Sapadin rejects. "There are people out there who are not your friends. You have to fight to get what you want." He also defended the organization's dogged pressure on CPB. "In the case of public TV , there is a statute that says we have rights. It seems to me that you should pro- tect what's yours." And in what is perhaps an ironic footnote to the Lynch-board dispute over the Ford/NEA documentary funds, as recently
as December 1982, Sapadin suggested that the Association push for the creation of an "Office of Independent Video and Film Production for Public Television," which would administer pro- duction funds for independents outside the pub- lic television system.
In its first decade, AIVF has shown beyond a doubt that it is, in Jane Morrison's words, "not just Ed Lynch's idea." But it has, in fact, be- come a very different idea. The erstwhile "film- and-video thing" that was the early AIVF is to- day a sophisticated membership trade organiza- tion, a practiced lobbying force, the member of several ad hoc producer and telecommunica- tions coalitions, and the publisher of a magazine with a growing newsstand distribution.
AIVF still refers to its membership as a "com- munity," but the label is more rhetorical than descriptive. It is too large (members now number close to 3,000), too geographically diverse, and too differentiated in terms of skills, experience, interests, and personal histories. Its roster in- cludes producers of feature films and public ac- cess shows, documentarians and video artists; while this variety is not new, the range of ambi- tions, track records, and working budgets is. In 1975, AIVF was a relatively homogenous group of documentarians; in 1985, a member seeking assistance is almost as likely to be looking for in- formation on limited partnerships designed to raise a quarter of a million dollars as one looking for a cheap postproduction house in which to edit a low-budget social issue videotape.
Sapadin's response to this variety is the policy of "something for everyone." The organization, he believes, should provide the widest possible range of services, so independents of every stripe have something to gain from belonging. But this "united in diversity" approach is more a membership and advocacy strategy than the members' own expression of any common identity.
One casualty of AIVF's maturation is the decline in membership activism. The services that members once created for themselves are now the responsibility of a paid staff. Even the board, which once met weekly to decide all organizational matters, now convenes only quarterly, because of its bi-coastal makeup. Both Jacobs and Sapadin see this shift as in- evitable, part of an organizational life cycle that can be traced in every institution. Sapadin ad- mits that "some of the personal involvement" is lost in the process, but the trade-off is a gain in "stability and impact on a broader scale. The organization will never go back to what it was in- itially, but if it develops to the stage where there are chapters — regional structures on a decen- tralized basis — you've essentially created miniatures of the original organization."
Finally, the loosely defined, common ideal of free imagination which drew the crowds to Ed Lynch's loft has been largely supplanted by a more explicitly political agenda. But the agenda
itself has changed — from countercultural subversion to institutional, mainstream politics. In what is perhaps the greatest irony of AIVF's history, the further the organization has drifted from its activist subculture roots, the more pro- fessionally political it has become. The multiplication of threats to the funding framework upon which the growth of indepen- dent media has depended — cuts in the NEA budget, conservative consolidation of the Na- tional Endowment for the Humanities, the Federal Communications Commission's sell-out of the public interest and parallel developments at CPB — have required the broadening and pro- fessionalization of the organization's advocacy.
It is an open question as to whether the politics of AIVF today reflect only the priorities of the staff and board — still dominated by social documentarians — or of the general member- ship. "I've heard complaints: 'Too much Third World stuff in The Independent,'" Sapadin reports. But he argues, "That's where it's hap- pening. The survival of minority production is essential to the survival of independent produc- tion." Sapadin says the cross-over producers who can command six-figure budgets and edge their way into theatrical exhibition "are less secure than they think. Their ability to cross over is not a given. It comes from their continuing ability to get funding from public sources." It is that fight to preserve access to public funds, which in turn provides producers with creative insulation from the demands of the market- place, that, in Sapadin's view, dictates AIVF's political profile.
The prospects for public funding for indepen- dent media have never been more bleak. The en- tire rationale for public support for the arts — that there are certain matters on which the marketplace should not have the last word — is increasingly regarded as heretical. Four more years of hostility toward the public sector ul- timately may mean, Sapadin says, "that in- dependent production will be for those who can self-fund or those who, through their willingness to exist on a subsistence level, can self- capitalize": the very conditions which gave rise to AIVF in the first place. Sapadin is well aware that "AIVF will not solve the independent's problems by being better organized of by having a more active membership. None of our little ad- ministrative problems are going to solve the problems of independent production separate from the social and political context of .the time." Even as the Association of Independent Video and Filmmakers celebrates its first decade of growth, institutional stability, and national visibility, troubled questions about the indepen- dent movement intrude on the party like unin- vited guests; No one knows whether this tenth anniversay is a landmark in the upward trajec- tory of independent media, or a circular move- ment coming to rest.
©Debra Goldman 1985
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT 35
Renee E. Tajima
The world crisis in democracy has produced yet another pilgrimage by independent film and videomakers and the media center community. This time the hot spots are Nicaragua, El Sal- vador, Guatemala, and their environs. And so we brush up on our Spanish to shoot, teach, and demonstrate our solidarity with the people of Central America. The irony is that we may trek thousands of miles bringing our valuable hard- ware and skills; but are the Latino communities in the United States being served? And shouldn't our awareness of the depth and scope of productions coming out of Lincoln Park and East Harlem at least match those in Managua?
When I brought this issue up at the annual conference of the National Alliance of Media Arts Centers (NAMAQ last October, my cri- ticism was not directed at those who are doing important and sincere work in Central America, but rather at those who hurry in the direction of the latest political crisis yet at the same time wouldn't set foot in neighborhoods in their own cities or express much concern about Third World media in this country. The recent interest in Central America has resulted in a wider access and exposure to Latin American film and video than ever before. However, the stories of Latino people here, and the opportunities for Latino in- dependents who want to tell those stories, remain neglected.
As we gathered at Appalshop — in an Appa- lachian town that is suffering another round of lay-offs in the coal mines — some of us asked, "Aren't these the kinds of constituencies that the MACs are supposed to address?" In a self-con- scious effort to compensate for last year's classy, maybe too classy, gathering at the Walker Arts Center, NAMAC devoted this year's conference to the topic of media and democracy. But an alliance is only the sum of its parts. As we lis- tened to MIT computer artist Jennifer Hall an- nounce that video is archaic, followed by an ex- hibition of her programmed creations inspired on-line by her chest cavity pulsating against a touch-sensitive terminal, and as we were intro- duced to the concept of "off-Hollywood" by an American Film Institute/Independent Feature Project/Sundance Institute panel, tided "Whose Vision of America?," we wondered if the field has an identity problem.
One refreshing aspect of the NAMAC confer- ence was the presence of individuals, such as Elizabeth Perez Luna of Toucan Productions in Philadelphia, and Eduardo Diaz of the Guada- lupe Cultural Center in San Antonio, who have not been a part of the MAC inner circle, but nevertheless have been developing community- directed independent media services in their own cities. They, like many other Latino producers and media activists, work in a milieu where alter-
LATINO MEDII
native media functions as a democratic tool asserting the right to information (and in one's own language) and the right of self-deter- mination over the record of one's culture, history, and experience. Two other examples of Latino organizations with similar goals not represented at the conference are Bilingual Education Services (BES), which produces pro- gramming that deals with the importance of now-controversial bilingual education, and the Latino Consortium, which addresses the paucity of Latino television programming for general audiences by packaging and distributing pro- grams to public television. Across the country the activity of individual Latino producers and small production groups has steadily grown. Perhaps the best way to gauge the social tem- perature of the MAC world, then, is to look at what's happening in the field.
How has the MAC movement, represented by NAMAC, affected the Latino community, or how has the Latino community contributed to the field? First, let's take a look at the relation- ship between Third World media and white-con- trolled MACs — which has ranged from neglect to tokenism to the integration of work and pur- pose. Independent producer Lourdes Portillo cites the Film Arts Foundation as an example of the ideal: "You don't have to push FAF to do things," says Portillo. "There's a very close link between the directors and the Black, Latino, and Asian producers. Whenever there's a need, you don't need to push them, they just go ahead and implement it."
On the other end of the spectrum is neglect, or even hostility. "Over all, Latinos aren't being served by the MAC field," says Luis Ruiz, a former board member of NAMAC who has argued for more minority outreach in the organization, "and there's no consciousness about it, which is worse." As Diaz sat through the southern regional caucus at the conference, he was irked to hear someone ask, "What do we do about the minority problem?" During its four- year lifespan NAMAC has been plagued by de- mands for Third World representation and/ or by the inability of the organization to involve all sectors of its constituency — depending on your point of view. To a degree, minority media peo- ple have been viewed as outsiders — a special in- terest group that must be accommodated to satisfy an obligatory guilt complex left over from the '60s, or to avoid embarrassing boycotts. Last year Asian Americans refused to attend the Walker conference after being left off virtually every panel. Ruiz also boycotted the '83 conference because of the lack of minorities on panels, despite his discussions with the organ- izers prior to the event. To the extent that minori- ty relations are defined by tokenism, what is
perceived as "the minority problem" will con- tinue to besiege the field.
The real problem, however, may lie in the failure to accept minorities on equal footing or, better, as assets to the field. At the Appalshop conference, New York State Council on the Arts Film Program director B. Ruby Rich remarked that she had not seen so much energy in the organization in a long time, and the greater Third World presence at the conference contrib- uted to that new energy. More than one observer has noted that many minorities in the media field have a wealth of political organizing experience, along with the clarity of purpose that comes with that experience. One theme at the NAMAC con- ference was "building new alliances" with natural constituencies. Minority producers have organized that way for years. For instance, Mabel Haddock, executive director of the Na- tional Black Programming Consortium (NBPQ, has engaged in extensive outreach to Black churches — traditional activists in promoting positive images of Blacks in the media — to gamer support for the organization's public television distribution efforts. (Like the Latino Consortium, the Native American Public Broadcasting Consortium, and the National Asian American Telecommunications Associa- tion, NBPC packages, distributes, and promotes minority programming to the Public Broad- casting System.)
Cine Festival in San Antonio screened Eduardo Maldonado's "Laguna de dos Tiempos." Ixx/tesy One Festival
36 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/FEBRUARY 1985
pIMwY
In a sense, the greater minority population in this country is a natural constituency of the MAC field. But how are the minority and white media communities to achieve that ideal of in- tegration of work and purpose? Last year, Lil- lian Jimenez wrote that she was at one time heavily criticized for working with AIVF, long seen by minorities as a "monolithic white male structure that they had to break into" ["First Steps to Developing Latino Alternatives," The Independent, July/ August 1983]. People told her, "We need to set up our own structures; we need to work by ourselves; we don't need white folks; we need to break that dependency." Jimenez pointed out that minorities have to ap- proach the situation tactically and be willing to struggle. "We need to look at how we can work with white people, especially people who are out- side of our class, educating them and being educated also." I will take that idea one step fur- ther, adding that minorities need to work with whites from a position of internal strength.
The existence of minority-controlled MACs and other organizations are a way of achieving that strength. Most people agree that local Latino organizations and centers are necessary. "They know how to package Latino aesthetics and concerns, and they know the particularities of Latino media artists," says Jimenez. However, there are differing views on the prospects of creating a national entity. Jimenez believes that there is a need for a national center to provide services and communications and to bridge the schism between producers on the East and West Coasts. She cites the ties that resulted from the Alternative Cinema Conference in 1979, where many Latino producers met for the first time. According to Diaz, there were earlier efforts to establish a National Latino Media Coalition in the 1970s. "People were starting to come out and do stuff. It was the highlight of the civil rights movement for access and employment, and there was an effort to organize the producers. For the first time, Puerto Rican and Chicano producers came together." But that coalition did not last. Diaz blames the lack of funding and losses incurred when the WNET-produced pro- gram Realizades folded after the Corporation for Public Broadcasting curtailed its funding;
Rick Tejada-Flores's "Low 'N Slow: The Art of Lowrldlng," shown at the Guadalupe Cultural Arts Center.
Courtesy Filmmaker
"Los Lobos . . Consortium.
Photo Brad Branson
. And a Time for Dance" was shown on "Presente" by the Latino
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT 37
the Realizades group had spearheaded the coali- tion. But Ruiz also points out that the diversity of coalition members created difficulties, and this would present an obstacle to further organizing efforts. "You have to have very strong local groups," he observes. "With that there's a lot of mistrust. There are three distinct Hispanic groups in this country: Chicano, Puer- to Rican, and Cuban. It would be better if they were taking care of local needs and getting together nationally on bigger things." Jimenez is in the process of organizing a conference of Latino producers where these issues can be discussed.
Indeed, most of the organizing process has been made on a local level. Cine Accion, which Portillo helped found in 1980, serves the San Francisco independent community, particularly Latinos and other minorities. It is a multi-service center, under the direction of Roberto Echevar- ria, that sponsors screenings, meetings, a skills bank, and a newsletter inserted in FAF's pub- lication Release Print. (FAF's executive director Gail Silva is on the board.) The group has recent- ly received a grant to produce a four-part 30-minute cable showcase of works by Latino producers.
Cine Accion works closely with other local arts and media groups, according to admini- strative assistant Clara Ines, the only paid staff-
person. They have recently organized Imagenes, a project with Cultural and Educational Media and the Theatre Artaud Film Committee which will showcase Latin American cinema. They are also planning a Latin American Film Festival, which may be presented as an official compo- nent of the San Francisco International Film Festival. Cine Accion has long served as a link with Latin American filmmakers. "When they come to the San Francisco International Film Festival, we host events like cocktail parties and introduce them to the community," explained Ines, "because otherwise they would only get to know the film community. We have things in El Barrio; for example, the Mission Cultural Cen- ter will do a presentation or a press conference. " presentation or a press conference."
Latino media people have been active in forg- ing these intercontinental connections long before Latin America became a popular issue. "We feel a very close link with Latin American filmmakers," said Portillo. "There's no dif- ference between us here and in Latin America." Los Angeles-based Ruiz and his partner Jesus Trevino see Chicano filmmakers as being part of El Nuevo Cine Latino Americano [the New La- tin American Cinema movement], and have co- operated with the Mexican film community in productions [see "Chicano-Mexican Connec- tion Grows," The Independent, June 1984].
Another Cine Festival presentation was "Cronlcas Carlbe."
Other visible efforts have included exhibition ex- changes, such as Cine Festival's program of Cuban films last summer and the Chicano cine- ma retrospectives in Havana, Benalmadena, Spain, and one being planned by BES for broad- cast on Mexican television. Given this experi-
- : --~\. . '-i -~y
NAMAC'S CRITICAL CONDITION
Judging from the National Alliance of Media Arts Center's annual conference in late Oc- tober, the organization is in deep trouble. The vexing problems, articulated at an all- day board and membership meeting, can be variously pinpointed: financial instability, lack of communication, murky decision- making processes, unresponsiveness to con- stituents' interests, lack of common pur- pose— in sum, organizational disarray and a great deal of discontent. To those present at the genial Appalshop conference, this may seem a downbeat, overly harsh evaluation of NAMAC's current condition; but despite good will and the alliance's resolve to persevere, no practical cures for NAMAC's general malaise were identified, not to men- tion implemented.
There were a few decisions reached during the conference deliberations. Three are significant: restructuring of the board of directors, election of two new co-chairs for the organization, and the resignation of the board's sole minority member present. All decisions were confined to the board, al- though the first two were subjects of discus- sion at the membership meeting. A "stream- lined" board was proposed by Melinda Ward, head of NAMAC's long-range plan- ning committee and director of media at the Walker Arts Center in Minneapolis. Ward's reasoning was based on the failure of NAMAC's 16-member board to meet even once during the past year, which she at- tributed to its unwieldy numbers. She recom- mended a 12-member body instead. In addi- tion, Ward's board design included provi- sions for six appointed members, the remain- ing sue to be elected at-large by the member- ship from a roster of candidates compiled by a board committee. As someone remarked at the membership meeting, under this plan the composition of NAMAC's governing body will be internally controlled. Board member Jose Luis Ruiz reminded the assembled membership that past board appointments have been intended to achieve geographic and ethnic balance, but Ruiz's subsequent resignation from the board raises questions about the organization's ability to serve Third World constitutents. Also, Ward's proposal simply advocated that those sitting on the board be individuals "with national influence and fundraising ability"; the by-
38 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
ence, Ruiz finds its strange that other MACs, now showing a deep interest in similar ex- changes, have not proposed cooperative efforts with Latino media people.
Diaz confirms the growing interest in Latino film and video by Spanish-speaking countries,
but the reception at home has proved problem- atic. Ruiz echoes Portillo's concern that in- dependent Latino producers often fall between the programming cracks, unable to find a telecast outlet. "We're not in SIN, we're not in CPB, we're right in-between," says Portillo.
SIN (Spanish International Network) is a na- tional Spanish language system that largely ac- quires programming from abroad — a primary vehicle for major advertisers who are looking for a Spanish-language market. "In public televi- sion, we have a sizeable potential audience na-
laws contain no language ensuring balance. And in Ward's view, as she explained to the membership, "It doesn't matter whether you elect or appoint the board." Although there was dissension on this issue, the membership was never polled, and the board adopted the plan at its meeting the next morning.
At that meeting Ward and Rick Weise, di- rector of Film in the Cities in Minneapolis, were chosen to co-chair the alliance. Weise has been NAMAC's treasurer and the prob- lem of NAMAC's solvency may be acknowl- edged in this choice. Since the last conference in 1983, NAMAC established a national of- fice, hired an executive director (Wanda Ber- shen) and an assistant, and then, last July, closed the office and laid off the staff. The reason given by Ron Green, NAMAC chair for the past two years, was a "cash flow prob- lem." At the board meeting Weise reported on NAMAC's current balance sheet and pro- jected 1985 budget. The math involved in figuring the financial state of the organiza- tion was questioned, however, and the ensuing discussion degenerated into a verbal battle over debt repayment. From that debate and Weise's report to the membership, it seems fair to conclude that a balanced budget for NAMAC hinges on successful fundraising during the last months of 1984. Otherwise, the cash flow problem could become a true deficit. Weise brushed aside skepticism voiced by fellow board member* Ruiz and Virgil Grillo, replying, "There is money to pay a substantial portion of that debt." The precise sources for funds to make up the approximately $15,000 shortfall were never given, though.
Money matters may also figure in the fate of NAMAC's one-year-old journal, Media Arts. Editor Douglas Edwards reminded the board that "NAMAC didn't meet its full cash commitment this year." That failure forced Edwards to cut back the publication schedule from the promised six issues to four over the past year. Even so, the $24,000 pro- ject required outside support, which Ed- wards secured from various member institu- tions: the Long Beach Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences (Edwards's employer), and the Academy Foundation. Recently, the American Film Institute in- vested $4,000 in Media Arts. (NAMAC's share of Media Arts' 1984 budget was $10,000.) This coalition of sponsors, with NAMAC footing less than half the bill, raises certain doubts about the alliance's most
tangible and visible project. Indeed, MOMA's film program was featured in the magazine's summer 1984 issue, along with excerpts from a lecture delivered by Arthur Schlesinger Jr. at AFI. Although members regularly praised Edwards's dedication and diligence, the allocation of NAMAC's scarce resources to Media Arts and the publication's use value received some criticism. And Ed- wards questioned his own willingness to take responsibility for what is essentially a one- man operation beyond 1985. NAMAC, how- ever, seems hesitant either to modify its publication goals or find the funds necessary to guarantee independence and continuity for Media Arts.
The uncertainty surrounding Media Arts and NAMAC's overall budget could be at- tributed to structural flaws in the organiza- tion— the sort a more efficient board of di- rectors might correct. On the other hand, the obvious dissatisfaction of some members with the board's plan to "streamline" itself, the shaky status of Media Arts, and the vague budget projection (as well as the questionable position of Third World media groups within NAMAC, discussed in Renee Tajima's accompanying article) point to the alliance's most severe predicament. Put bluntly, de- spite its four-year lifespan, no one seems to know what NAMAC is supposed to do. Tak- ing stock of sentiments expressed by mem- bers, there appears to be consensus that an umbrella group of some sort is desirable, and everyone agreed (or no one disagreed) that a conference which brings together disparate segments of the far-flung media arts com- munity provides useful exchanges and en- courages debate. Past that, little binds this nebulous community together — save that most, if not all, of NAMAC's member organ- izations receive funds from the National En- dowment for the Arts Media Program.
Speaking from the floor at the member's meeting, Julie Gustafson, director of Global Village in New York City, cited a "perception in the field that NEA started NAMAC" as an important factor in NAMAC's identity crisis. Her comment was met by a round of denials. Why, when that "perception" is not arbitrary, but based in fact? (For details of the NEA's role in the founding of NAMAC, see Debra Goldman's history of AIVF in this issue.) If NAMAC refuses to recognize the NEA con- nection— its own and that of its members — how can it begin to define itself in relation to the national media scene? Isn't the common
denominator of NAMAC members — the designation "media arts center" — also an NEA creation? Media arts centers, NEA Media Arts specialist Don Drucker told his NAMAC audience, stand "in opposition to official culture." This may be true for some, but clearly not all; for instance, little opposi- tion can be found within the AFI. How can one organization simultaneously represent the interests of well-heeled institutions like MOMA or Media Study/Buffalo on one hand, and those of modest, community- based programs like the Cincinnati Film Society and Women's Studio Workshop on the other, and, in addition, the interests of diverse Third World media producers and groups? Even with a facelift for NAMAC's board, this dilemma will plague the alliance.
So far, NAMAC's major achievement — apart from conferences — has been to secure management assistance grants, funneled from the NEA, for a few of its member organizations. A reestablished and restaffed office — a priority of the 1985 agenda — may make NAMAC even more attractive as a sub- contractor, thus competing with its members for government and private foundation money. Bureaucracies are most comfortable dealing with other bureaucracies; perhaps this is why NEA encouraged NAMAC in the first place.
After all, oppositional culture isn't exactly the order of the day at the Reagan NEA, Drucker's comments to the contrary. As NEA Media Arts program director Brian O'Doherty cautioned last year's NAMAC conferees, "High moral seriousness and vir- tue is [sic] not fundable." As the Reaganites dig in for four more years of dismantling liberal funding policies, media centers will either fall into line, suffer the blows, or strategize and organize in opposition. Mean- while, NAMAC, bogged down in its bureau- cratic morass, takes no position — not at the Appalshop conference and not in the fore- seeable future.
Without an identification of differences within the organization and a coherent defin- ition of opposition that isn't emptied of all meaning because it encompasses every va- riety of nonprofit activity, how can NAMAC begin to set its course? As a collective voice for media centers and media makers, NAMAC has proved ineffective. Should NAMAC perish in the funding crunch, or even if it muddles on, will anyone notice?
— Martha Gever
JANUARY/FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT 39
tionwide, but PBS doesn't know how to reach them," says Ruiz, "so MACs are necessary because they can target audiences and meet specific needs instead of trying to meet mass needs. A good example is Appalshop, which doesn't have to produce what's palatable for Boston and New York, but fits regional needs." And thus develops its own audience.
The Latino Consortium, also based in Los Angeles, was established to build public televi- sion audiences for Latino programming. The consortium packages and distributes program- ming on a national basis through its Presente series. Like the other minority consortia, it is funded largely by CPB. "The Latino Consor- tium has been successful because it allows PBS access for independent producers and has allow- ed for upgrading of some local Latino program- ming," says Ruiz, who serves on the board of the organization. According to executive director Sylvia Morales, the consortium also provides on- the-job training and information services to pro- ducers. "Latino media is still at a very young stage," says Morales, "but some [producers] have a lot of experience. I think those who have been producing for the last 15-20 years need to mentor young Latino producers. Pioneers have made inroads, but we need new blood all the time."
Training is a primary concern for Diaz and Perez Luna, who are developing Latino media centers in their own communities. Perez Luna, who is a principal in Independence Public Media [see "A Station of Our Own, " The Independent, November 1984], a group of independents that has just been awarded a full power television broadcast license from the FCC, works primari- ly as an independent radio producer. She has just completed the award-winning radio series Latin USA for National Public Radio, intended "to show the tremendous diversity of the Latino population in this country." Perez Luna ex- plains, "People tend to stereotype Latinos into thinking they're a monolithic entity. But if you multiply the different Latino cultures, it creates a much more powerful impact than what people think; which is oversimplified."
Perez Luna and Len Persky also established Toucan Productions, a non-profit audio studio with 8-track and 4-track systems, including the services of an engineer. Toucan provides facil- ities access, training, and assistance in fund- raising, with an emphasis on high technical qual- ity. "I started out as an independent producer for NPR and I found that there are no facilities open for independents," says Perez Luna. "Len and I found that there is not only a need for pro- duction for Latinos but independent production in general — with good equipment, at a good price with people who know what you want to do and are sensitive to what independents and documentarians are trying to accomplish."
In October, Toucan sponsored a two-day training session in conjunction with San Fran- cisco's Western Public Radio, funded by CPB. VVPR also held a conference in San Francisco
around the same time. The response was enthu- siastic. "On the East Coast, Latino radio pro- ducers are isolated," explains Perez Luna, "but with a center like this we find out that there are more producers than we thought, and we've created a lot of energy, because people who never thought of doing radio before now want to do things." Toucan has attracted Latino and non-Latino producers alike, creating a ripple ef- fect. Says Perez Luna, "Usually minorities are seen as low end, low tech. But they come here and work at a sophisticated level. The image of the unskilled minority is false." Toucan hopes to build the presence of Latino radio on the East Coast, to join with the movement of bilingual radio stations, both public and community, on the West Coast and in the Southwest.
The Guaaalupe Cultural Arts Center in San Antonio is located in a unique city. It is the tenth largest in the country, and 55 percent of the metropolitan area population is Latino. Accord-
Bill Jersey's "Children of Violence," screened at the Cine Festival.
ing to Diaz, a former radio producer and the director of the Center's theater, the Texas border, Mexican-based Tejano culture is strong in San Antonio, and Spanish is the primary lang- uage in most sections of the Latino comunity. As a result, the local area is served by four Spanish- language radio stations, a SIN station, and one Spanish-language cable system. Programming fare, however, is typical. SIN offers old movies, game shows, novellas and the like, while Spanish-language programming on cable is dominated by Galavision — "standard, boring programming," according to Diaz, "very stereo- typical, very sexist." KLRN, the local public television affiliate, carries Presente but is weak in local programming dealing with Latinos.
What would Diaz like to see instead? "In the case of San Antonio you have a strong culture, as opposed to Los Angeles where you have a res- cue mission to preserve the culture. Here the
needs are issue-oriented," explains Diaz, "edu- cational, political, economic, cultural. Access is still very much an issue down here. Even though the public affairs directors are Chicanos, they need to be a lot more aggressive. They're still very middle-class, comfortable, safe types of people that don't want to rock the boat." Given San Antonio's strong cultural foundation, there is the potential for production and distribution to cities with smaller, or newer, Latino populations. A GCAC arts tabloid recently published was "gobbled up" in other cities, according to Diaz.
GCAC plans to develop into a full media arts center. It has programs in the visual arts, perfor- mance, music; sponsors Cine Festival, the annual Latino film and video festival; and has already produced short programs and public service announcements for Rogers Cable. The MAC will focus on training programs — from scriptwriting to hands-on production experi- ence— as well as production, distribution, and expanded exhibition in the Center's theater space. A small group of staff instructors have already been certified by Rogers Cable as a result of- their program cooperation. "But we don't have control," Diaz points out. "Rogers owns the equipment." Beyond the Center's local plans, Diaz thinks it is crucial to unify Latino producers and media support people in the U.S. Says Diaz, "I hope people realize a certain amount of urgency. I've decided to cut down my international trips — a lot of Latin American coun- tries are interested in what's going on here, in im- proving distribution of their works, so I've been going around to festivals and conferences. But we've started to let our own backyards grow weeds."
In her article on Latino alternatives, Jimenez concludes: "I think everybody, not just Third World people, has a responsibility to work toward creating alternatives, developing leader- ship, struggling against racism." Clearly, the Latino community is developing alternative structures. However, that doesn't let the rest of us off the hook. The New York Times [November 18, 1984] quotes Kenneth B. Clark speaking at a recent conference commemorating the twentieth anniversary of the Civil Rights Act: "[Liberal whites] seem to feel they have gone far enough in promoting equal rights. . . . The strug- gle for democracy is an ongoing burden and bat- tle fatigue is a very real phenomenon. People get tired, particularly if they are not the direct vic- tims of the inequities."
The burst of activity in Latin America dem- onstrates that the media field has not entirely lost its combative edge or social-mindedness. But, as Diaz points out, we can easily "let our own backyards grow weeds." Latino, and all other Third World media, must be taken seriously by NAMAC and the entire field — not only because they form an important part of the original vi- sion of independent, alternative media, but be- cause they might point a new direction for media
democracy. © Rener E. Tajima 1985
40 THE INDEPENDENT
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
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INTERNATIOHAL TEI^EVISICaSr MARKETS
Debra Wells
Your independently produced film has been com- pleted. You've called in all your chips, begging funds from public television, foundations, and your relatives. Now, with your bank account cleaned out, your thoughts turn to the foreign marketplace: you want to recoup your invest- ment, and would like the additional broadcasts to add to your resume. You've heard that many foreign countries are far more receptive than the United States to independent productions, are willing to experiment with the avant garde, and will actually program documentaries. But before you grab the next flight to the continent, there's a lot you should know about world broadcast markets and how they've recently changed, pro- gramming trends, which types of films are and are not marketable, technical standards and for- mats, standard contract terms, and worldwide license fees. [For purposes of simplification, in this article "film" refers to all programs discuss- ed, including those shot on videotape.]
A brief note about my own background: much of this article is based on my experience as a distributor. At WNET/Thirteen, I was coordin- ator of international sales, distributing such WNET productions as Bill Moyers' Journal and Dance in America, along with independent pro- ductions produced through the TV Lab. From WNET I moved to Fox/Lorber Associates, Inc. , where, as director of international sales, I work- ed exclusively with independents, distributing a wide range of features, documentaries, music and children's programs.
I believe that broadcast markets are still the best outlet for most independents. But in recent years, international broadcast markets have been greatly affected by the so-called "new technologies" of cable, pay TV, direct broadcast satellite (DBS), home video, etc. Since one can- 42 THE INDEPENDENT
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The human interest angle of DCTV's "Third Avenue: Only the Strong Survive" appealed to foreign audiences.
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not adequately understand the current broadcast market without a bit of information on how these new markets have altered the status quo, let's briefly look at these changes.
Until recently, international television has generally been structured more or less as PBS is here at home — non-commercial, with varying degrees of government support. Many countries have had only one national TV network. But
those days are rapidly changing. Additional broadcast channels, some commercial, have come or are coming soon to much of the world. And while much of Europe has been heavily cabled for years, pay TV a la HBO is just arriving on foreign shores. (Pay TV is actually a misnomer, since most Europeans pay for TV already: yearly license fees based on the number of TV sets owned are collected by the govern- JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
ment.) Some examples are Canal Plus in France, ATN in Holland, and The Voice in Denmark. DBS is also a factor to contend with: England's Sky Channel may reach all of Europe in the near future, and Thames TV, also in England, is plan- ning a pan-European "super-station," much like Ted Turner's Atlanta-based WTBS. VCR ownership (and therefore rental and purchase of videotapes) has until fairly recently been much higher in many foreign countries than in the U.S. Video has been especially strong in Scandinavia, the Benelux countries, and England.
Great, you're saying. More potential markets for my film. In theory, yes. In reality, these new markets have not been especially receptive to in- dependents. The operative word here is commer- cial. All those culture-loving Europeans have not been rushing out to rent videotapes of documen- taries. They want E. T. Or Michael Jackson in
concert. Or You get the picture. The "new
markets" are good for the Hollywood studios, although independents should not categorically rule them out.
The new markets have intensified competi- tion, causing many TV networks to tighten up. When networks are faced with serious competi- tion for viewers and the necessity of attracting advertisers, the drift tends to be toward the mainstream and the commercial. Programs that were once acceptable are no longer even con- sidered in some cases. I have worked with several producers who had licensed films to TV net- works some time ago, and were rudely surprised and disappointed when later offerings of similar quality were turned down.
Another factor causing change in broadcast markets is a desire among some countries for more indigenous original programming. A re- cent study by the Broadcasting Research Unit of Britain found that 40% of those questioned thought there was too much U.S. programming on British TV. And many North Americans are by now familiar with French Cultural Minister Jack Lang's condemnation of U.S. cultural domination, especially in television.
A couple of years ago I was in London, short- ly after the Channel 4 broadcast of a U.S. docu- mentary, Quilts in Women's Lives. This non-po- litical program was causing a political storm. I first learned of it at the airport: a remark to the customs inspector that I was in London on busi- ness, and that I worked in the television industry, prompted a denunciation of Quilts and Channel 4. The inspector's reasoning was that since there are plenty of British quilters around, Channel 4 should not have shown a film on U.S. quilters. This same line of thought was expressed in most of London's newspapers. Later in the week, I met with the Channel 4 commissioning editor who bought the program; she confirmed that the uproar over Quilts was very real, and that in the future there would be more pressure to buy and commission works from British producers.
Anyone with a TV set knows there is virtually no foreign-produced programming on U.S. tele-
vision, with the exception of some high-budget dramas by Britain's BBC and ITV networks on PBS. (Some cable stations do air foreign, non- English films, but these reach only a fraction of the U.S. market.) There is growing dissatisfac- tion among Europeans and the British with this lack of reciprocity, and a desire for a more even exchange. And some European broadcasters are disappointed in PBS's apparent lack of support for independents: they say they have spent too much time and money on U.S. films for which there is no U.S. support.
Another complicating factor is foreign import quotas. Not all networks have quotas, but many do. Let's say a network allows only 15% of its programming to be foreign-produced. To fit under that 1 5 % umbrella, you must compete not only with Hollywood studios, major networks, and other independents, but with foreign net- works and foreign filmmakers as well. And keep in mind that many countries have a broadcast day of only eight-to-10 hours, unlike the round-
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the-clock programming we've come to expect in the U.S.
Who said it was going to be easy? In fact, it's damned difficult to get an international broad- cast deal these days — but not impossible. Many independents are still doing well internationally: licensing films, getting co-production deals, and enjoying a world-wide reputation. Even though Dallas, Dynasty, and The A Team are among the top-rated shows in most foreign countries, there's still an overseas audience for serious, challenging, and experimental programs. But how can you determine if your film has a good shot at the world market?
Let's start with pacing. Most non-U. S. films move at a much slower pace than U.S. ones. (Japan is a bit of an exception, preferring action in the North American mode.) This is not to sug- gest that you can get away with something that's dull, boring, or meandering, but don't worry if your film is considered slow by U.S. commercial standards.
Guest hosts are scorned by foreign program- mers and audiences. As an English buyer once rather flippantly said to me, "We can think for ourselves. We don't need a celebrity to tell us
that this is okay to watch." Don't worry, however, if your documentary has a celebrity in- tro. Just be aware that most foreign TV pro- grammers will edit out hosts (and may even specify this in a contract).
Since most foreign program time slots are more flexible than U.S. network slots, you don't need to be concerned about adhering to rigid timing, such as the 45-minute hour, created for advertising purposes. Timing is important in marketing your film, however. Feature length (90-plus minutes) offers the most options to pro- grammers, and, is therefore the most attractive. Programmers frequently have feature slots avail- able. But while buyers are eager for feature- length dramas and entertainment specials, it is almost impossible to place 90-minute documen- taries. Sixty-minute slots are good for music and entertainment specials, and some documentar- ies. There seems to be resistance to 60-minute dramas.
The 30-minute program poses the most prob- lems of all, unless that 30 minutes is part of a series. There are virtually no 30-minute slots for "stand-alone" programs. One way to solve this problem is to package a 30-minute program with other half-hours to form a series. A good distri- butor with an ample catalogue can often pull this off. For instance, five half-hours on the same topic or theme (women's issues, Black artists, etc.) can be licensed under one series title, with series promotions. Buyers usually love series since they can quickly fill several time slots.
Some types of films are extremely difficult to place. Comedies do not fare well: humor varies tremendously from one culture to another, with few crossover successes. (Monty Python seems to be the worldwide exception.) What has Ger- mans rolling in the aisles may leave a Japanese audience wondering what all the fuss is about. Comedy sketches are often very topical or political and therefore get stale quickly. I once distributed several Saturday Night Live specials, without a tremendous amount of success: many of the SNL stars were unknown abroad, the buyers often did not understand the humor, and five-year-old Gerald Ford jokes are not even fun- ny to Americans. Another drawback to comedy shows is that they do not lend themselves well to subtitling.
Locally-oriented programs, especialy docu- mentaries, often do not meet with success abroad. An investigation of the Hartford Police Department is not going to be of much interest to viewers in Kuwait. There are exceptions to this, of course: Jon Alpert's Third Avenue: Only the Strong Survive, a documentary dealing with the lives of people who live or work on New York's Third Avenue, was licensed to several interna- tional TV networks and received high praise. One reason for the success of this program may have been its general human interest qualities: viewers everywhere could empathize with the lives of these New Yorkers.
Other programs which may encounter resist-
JANUARY/ FEBRUARY 1985
THE INDEPENDENT 43
ance are those which pose special dubbing or subtitling problems. A lovely, imaginatively staged version of Alice in Wonderland, produc- ed by the Minneapolis Children's Theatre for Home Box Office, was turned down by Dan- marks Radio in Denmark because of the expense of dubbing. (Denmark usually subtitles, but must dub children's programs; since Alice was feature-length, with many characters, the ex- pense of dubbing became prohibitive.) BRT in Belgium, after much debate, passed on The Longest River, a 30-minute documentary on river rafting in Chile. BRT also usually subtitles, but felt that this sort of action-adventure documentary, with the interweaving of voices of the trip's three participants, needed dubbing to be understood. The problems and expense of dubbing this type of documentary were deemed not worth the effort. Shorts (usually defined as anything less than 20 minutes, but more com- monly in the three-to-15 minute range) can be licensed as filler material, but the net dollar gain is rarely worth the effort, and very few distributors now handle shorts.
But it's not all bad news. There are some pro- grams in demand internationally. Good chil- dren's films are hot, with animation considered especially attractive. (Animation lends itself well to voiceover dubs, which can be done easily and relatively cheaply.) Good features are always wanted, and many foreign networks — such as Danmarks Radio, BRT, Channel 4, and West Germany's ZDF, to name a few — have slots spe- cifically allocated for independent features.
Hard news journalism is in demand. Many of the world's smaller TV networks cannot afford to send correspondents to all of the globe's political hot spots, and so are quite willing to use news reports from independents. Videomaker Ilan Ziv was able to get into the Philip- pines shortly after the assassination of Benito Aquino — when many of the large news organizations were not allowed in — and licensed his footage to CBS and the BBC, among others. Pam Yates's footage of the contras in Nicaragua was licensed extensively worldwide, including to the Soviet Union and East Germany. But hard news material must be handled carefully, since it can date almost overnight. It's a good idea to have your deals lined up in advance.
There is also still a market for good documen- taries, even though it can be difficult to predict which ones will be successful. Social interest topics and people portraits are good bets. Peren- nial favorites are wildlife and nature films, especially series. Educational films will find an audience, especially in the Third World.
Films on the arts (ballet, opera, classical music, etc.) usually find a receptive international audience. Europe, especially, has been home to the avant garde and the experimental. Both Philip Glass and Laurie Anderson were success- ful in Europe long before they made waves in the U.S. Music programs, especially "in con-
44 THf INDEPENDENT
cert" shows, are always popular, and music videos were hot in Europe long before MTV shook things up here. Several foreign networks are now featuring series built upon an MTV for- mat. But while most types of music program- ming have done well in recent years, jazz has not. There are a large number of accomplished jazz musicians willing to work relatively inex- pensively, and studio jazz sessions can be pro- duced on a low budget, which has led td a huge surplus of jazz programs, both concert pieces and documentaries.
Foreign audiences are becoming more sophis- ticated, and buyers are placing more emphasis on high production values. Programs do get re- jected on the basis of technical quality. Today, the standard for broadcast is 1 " tape, even though many countries still use 2" tape. Sixteen millimeter film is also accepted for broadcast, even though the network's engineers may make a film- to- tape transfer for the actual broadcast. Three-quarter inch tape is the preferred format for screening, even though a growing handful of people will screen Vi " tape.
There are three tape formats in use: 525 NTSC (used primarily by the U.S. and Japan); 625 SECAM (used by France and the former French colonies); and 625 PAL (used by the rest of the world). It is perfectly acceptable to use 525
NTSC V* " tapes for screening purposes, since everyone has tri-standard decks. But if you get a broadcast deal, you will be required to supply a 1 " or 2 " tape in the proper format. NTSC tapes cannot be broadcast over a PAL or SECAM system, and vice versa.
Dubbing or subtitling is the responsibility of the buyers, with the exception of Latin America (more about this in a later article). In any sale to a non-English-language network, you will be re- quired to provide an English transcript of the program for translation purposes.
What other factors help sell a film interna- tionally? Previous broadcasts and theatrical re- leases are points in your favor. So are prizes — but only the most prestigious ones. Some worth mentioning: the Emmy, Cine Golden Eagle, Academy Award (or even a nomination), Berlin's Golden Bear, Cannes's Palme d'Or. Festival showings will pique some interest. The most impressive festivals are Can- nes, Berlin, London, New York, and Telluride. Good reviews can also be important. But none of these factors will make a sale for you. In the end, that will depend upon a buyer's current needs, likes, and budget. But they may help you at least get your film screened.
Should you attend international festivals and markets in the hope of selling your film? If
you're doing your own distribution, you'U prob- ably have to, in order to meet people. But the big markets are so crowded and so heavily dom- inated by the commercial interests that it's very difficult to grab a buyer's attention. Much bet- ter, I believe, to arrange appointments with rele- vant buyers in their offices, away from the roar of the marketplace. The catch is that in order to find out who these buyers are, you may have to attend markets.
The most important international TV market is MIP (Marche Internationale des Program- mes), held near the end of April in Cannes, France (not to be confused with the Cannes Film Festival). MIP is international TV at its glossiest. All buyers and distributors of impor- tance attend, and while most people agree that deals usually don't get finalized here (all hype to the contrary), it's a must for public relations, information gathering, and strengthening con- nections. But unless you are prepared to be ex- tremely aggressive, or have lots of contacts and appointments set up prior to arriving in France, MIP can be a very lonely and unproductive ex- perience.
Each year, MIP publishes a guide listing all participants' names, tide, company, address, phone and telex numbers. This is the interna- tional TV Bible, and you would be well advised to
get your hands on a copy. Unfortunately, the only way to do this seems to be to attend MIP, since the guides are not sold or distributed separately. Other international TV markets of importance are Monte Carlo (usually held in the first part of February), MIFED (Milan in October), and the London Market, formerly the London Multi- Media Market, also in October. There is jockey- ing going on between MIFED and the London Market as to which will emerge as the dominant autumn event. MIFED is much older and more established and is a good place to reach the Italians, Scandinavians, and Eastern Europeans. The London Market is only three years old, and has had varying degrees of success. Both markets have their advocates.
Once you actually start marketing your film, do not be surprised at the length of time it takes to get any response at all. Buyers are notorious for holding on to screening cassettes for weeks (even months!). Most people find that it takes at least a year to fully play out worldwide broad- cast options — from the time you first start mar- keting the film until it is picked up for broadcast.
If an offer is made for your film, you or your distributor will negotiate the contract. Contract terms usually specify one broadcast within one year. (West Germany is an exception, often re- quiring three broadcasts in five years.) Deals are usually exclusive. Some elements you can nego- tiate (in addition to license fee, of course) are tape conversion costs, shipping charges, and when you will receive payment.
Now, what you've been waiting for: money. First, let me say that many of the independent producers I've worked with have had wildly in- flated and unrealistic expectations. Producers are astonished to find that some countries, pri- marily in the Third World, pay license fees as low as $50-$ 150 for a 60-minute program. Most developed countries do a great deal better than that, but license fees may be a lot lower than you expected.
The world broadcast market can be divided into three financial tiers. The top tier consists of Great Britain, Canada, France, Italy, West Ger- many, Australia and Japan. Average license fees for a 60-minute independently produced film can range from $5,O0O-$30,0O0. Features will bring more, and don't be surprised if you hear of licensing deals for Hollywood blockbusters {Gandhi, Star Wars, etc.) reaching stratospheric levels — $250,000 and up. Series such as Dallas and Dynasty can bring from $25,0OO-$75,O00 per episode in these countries. Do not, however, expect your film to be bought for such sums.
Mexico and Brazil float between tiers one and two, paying $4,000-$ 12,000 for 60-minute films, and up to $50,000 for Hollywood features.
The second tier countries include Scandi- navia, Benelux countries, Austria, Spain, Switz- erland, New Zealand, Portugal, Greece, Ar- gentina, Puerto Rico, Venezuela, Singapore, and
Hong Kong. License fees for 60-minute films range from approximately $2,000-$5,000, with feature prices, again, slightly higher ($3,00O-$2O,000). Most networks in these coun- tries are noncommercial, with fixed, standard fees, often paying a flat per-minute rate.
The third tier is composed primarily of the Middle East, Africa, Latin America, and the Car- ibbean. License fees here range from $5O-$8O0, but with some countries (Colombia, Chile, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia) paying as much as $4,000-$6,000 for features.
Eastern Europe is a category all its own. Prices are generally low, ranging from $400- $800 for a 60-minute film. East Germany and the Soviet Union are the biggest, most lucrative markets, with prices for features ranging from $4,000-$8,000. However, deals are hard to get and relatively rare.
Variety publishes an average listing of world- wide broadcast license fees at least once a year; while the figures are usually accurate, their inter- pretation is very important. Remember that they represent an average of all programs licensed, so the license fees for independent, non-commercial material tend to be lower than is often indicated.
International distribution is a complex, time- consuming process with ever-changing variables. You may find that being your own distributor is difficult and frustrating. I believe that for most producers a good relationship with a profes- sional distributor is a key to success — although I am of course biased, having worked as a profes- sional distributor for several years. As part of his or her job, a distributor is expected to have the knowledge it may take you several months to gain. A distributor should have good contacts with buyers, and will attend the major interna- tional markets and festivals, in addition to mak- ing other international business trips throughout the year. A distributor can plot strategies to take advantage of all possible "windows" for your film, making sure that every market is fully ex- ploited. Of special importance to producers, dis- tributors can package films, thereby enhancing licensing opportunities. A distributor should have expertise in negotiating contracts, and, based on ongoing relationships with buyers, may be able to obtain higher license fees. But whether you choose to work with a distributor or plan to do your own distribution, it's crucial to be informed about the realities of the marketplace.
This is the first in a series of articles about inter- national broadcast markets. Subsequent articles will examine markets on an individual, country- by-country basis.
Debra Wells has been an international dis- tributor at WNET/Thirteen and Fox/Lorber Associates, Inc. Most recently she has worked as a commercial video specialist and as a freelance writer.
© Debra Wells 1985
THE INDEPENDENT 45
Kathleen Hulser
Independent media activity in the United States matured during the past few decades, and many of its founders have professionalized their work, finally penetrating at least the edges of the main- stream. Already some producers distribute through cinemas, public television, home video, and cable. As for video, although money is still scarce, the art world now accepts video as worthy of exhibition and incorporation in modern art history. Meanwhile, somewhere along to the road to respectability, social urgency and formal pizzazz seem to have been lost. And the funding and equipment crisis hitting newcomers, dissi- dents, and grassroots media activists threatens the survival of independent media. But all is not lost. Public access cable, a widespread but under- used outlet for community media, offers hope to independents — and might rescue the impulse of cultural democracy which originally spawned this movement. Public access cable is attractive in three significant ways that may ultimately make it a hospitable venue for independents and their community allies. Access radically reshapes the problem of audience, traditionally independ- ents' weak point; for once, an independent pro- ducer can expect to see finished work piped into the homes of the many — though not all, since lower income neighborhoods are last and least cabled. The 1 ,000-plus access centers which have sprung up in the last decade offer a truly local base for production. And, if independents align themselves with some obvious friends, the combination of local forces may bring an au- dience and and community integration (with some resulting attention) that could add up to a solid financial base and a serious connection to those people supposedly served by independent films and tapes.
aids an imp<
In "Depot Duet," made for "Vertical Interval," Los Angeles's glided age train station part- ners a local choreographer.
So far, this alliance is a theoretical con- struct— mostly because many independents re- main wary of the "low quality" of access. In the past, independents have concentrated on reach- ing the largest possible audiences, with only par- tial success. What that effort demanded was in- creased "professionalism." Brainwashed by years of distribution trouble, producers worry that without a pro look their work will be ig- nored. But access doesn't have gatekeepers in- sisting that thousands be spent to achieve a high quality look. Accessers simply forge ahead with available means, confident that their wire into homes will reach some viewers. Still, some pro- ducers fear contamination by association with low-tech access. But if the quality issue is viewed in the context of local communications, instead of high art aesthetics or pubtic television's norms, the temptation to democratize com- munications may win over many independents. And their contributions can help energize a new area of cultural creativity — no mean accom- plishment for media activists.
One project mounted last spring in the South exemplifies such an alliance. Through the efforts
46 THE INDEPENDENT
of Steve Suitts of the Southern Regional Coun- cil, the Atlanta Media Project, Gark College, and 40 southern cable systems, special program- ming covered the spring presidential primaries in the region. Southern Network assembled ma- terials, grilled candidates on local concerns, and edited the results into an overnight package, feeding a two-hour magazine format to the 1.25-million subscribers of the participating cable systems. This went on five days a week for nine weeks. Ambitious? In more than one way. Much of the studio work was shot by students. A mix of local origination cable staffers, inde- pendents, local print journalists, and students blanketed the field. A team of editors working nights in Atlanta boiled down the footage which was then fed via a donated satellite transponder. This was more than an exercise in local pride. It showed how people with different levels of skill could cooperate in an ad hoc structure which drew on cable's potential.
Local news, magazine formats, and single is: sue shows are public access staples, which offer the kind of ongoing exposure for alternative views that cable's multiple channels once pro-
JANU ARY / FEBRUARY 1985
feet video
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There's nothing like an illusion of choice— which is what you get when you believe in the interactivity of Interactive cable. "Dallas Interacts" is an example.
Palo Alto council member Klein decides to change his vote on the nuclear freeze during a town meeting recorded for public access.
mised: the "marketplace of ideas." (The argu- ment that a markeplace of ideas will follow from the availability of multiple channels is derived from economic theories of free enterprise. Although cable TV's expansion has not pro- duced such diversity, these theories have been used as a deregulation rallying point by the current Republican administration.) In Decatur, Georgia, for example, the access news show provides the only local television coverage. The news report has won acceptance from both viewers and news- makers as a part of the media scene, and it is also transmitted by neighboring cable systems.
In Palo Alto, California, an activist made a Vi " recording of a city council meeting where a local freeze resolution was on the evening's agen- da. The ensuing debate over whether the motion belonged in the city council's jurisdiction pre- sents a fascinating rendition of the effect of public discussion on changing elected officials' minds. Most council members initially opposed considering the matter, but after 40 citizens had testified they were moved to pass the measure. Such exposure prods local officals toward great- er accountability, says George Stoney, who has
JANUARY / FEBRUARY 1985
organized and championed access for over a decade. He notes that even a minor feat such as making an official's face familiar leads to small shifts in public awareness, making officials more likely to be confronted by constituents on the street or in the supermarket. World Peace Is a Local Issue raises these topics, although the piece suffers from truly horrendous technical quality: the audio was so muddy that the tape required subtitles. This is noteworthy, not as a recom- mendation that all access be audio-video scrib- ble, but as a reminder that content, not technical quality, is the point.
The series is one television format that has sur- vived on cable — for good reason. With a pleth- ora of channels, it's quite useful to have an iden- tity linked to a regular slot, especially since cable companies still devote little or no attention to public access listings and program descriptions. A series format, when not governed by cretinous constraints on subject matter and style, can help build a regular audience because people will know when to tune in. Also, it's a lot cheaper to publicize a regular access series than, say, a film opening. The series concept in access is best de- ployed to attract a specific public. The famous concept of narrowcasting, no sooner invented for cable than dropped, has actually been realized in access.
What is narrowcasting? Ideally, the term refers to programming that deliberately appeals to specific groups of people, either through its themes (pregnancy, canoeing) or its idiom (Cen- tral America shows which assume some background, gay humor). Narrowcasting mitigates one of television's most pervasive structural problems: addressing everyone and, as a result, addressing no one in a degrading man- ner. Narrowcasting died out instantly on cable commercial channels because, for the most part, cable is commercial TV; narrow audiences can- not be exploited as a market. But narrow- casting — in its positive, non-market applica- tions— works for public access shows that appeal to an audience previously ignored.
Members of one not so narrow group, women, have been some of the earliest and most eager respondents to the challenge of access. Cable, especially access, has proved more open to women than any other single branch of the media. Chapters of the National Organization of Women in Wisconsin exchange tapes with one another — one of the few examples of a function- ing tape bicycle. In Pittsburgh, Hershow sprang from the concerns of media activists and women's groups. Now in its third year, the group has com- piled shows on the history of the Pittsburgh women's movement, drawing largely on confer- ence materials, and also offers a menu of in-
ternational women's news, interviews with women artists, and sports. A presentation aimed at educating children about sexual abuse used puppets. The producer of that show, Kathleen Kampfe, notes that with the pending sale of the deluxe Warner Amex system to Tele- Communications, Inc., access producing may soon suffer. The Pittsburgh city government has been convinced by Wamex's complaints about the direct finances of its cable system and seems inclined to relieve the new operator of the com- munity service portions of