BEHIND THE LENS

Matthew Ross claims he chose Harvard mainly out of "adolescent confusion" but found a reason to stay when he joined the Visual and Environmental Studies department. Ross adds that even beyond VES classes, Harvard is instructive to a filmmaker in that "you have to put up with a lot of crap at Harvard. I think in a lot of ways it's a really challenging school emotionally and socially." Ross has paid his dues and his reward, a senior film "Here Comes Your Man," named after a Pixies song, chronicles the end of a relationship. In order to finish in time for the screenings of student films at the Carpenter Center (beginning May 7), Ross will spend endless hours cozying up to the Steenbeck, an editing machine whose giant silver spools and clicking knobs recall a technology-gone-bad episode of The Twilight Zone. But unlike many other thesis students who feel painfully committed to their machines, Ross can think of no other place he would rather be. "I can't even remember when I first knew I wanted to make films," says Ross, taking another moment to think back. "Maybe when I was eight or nine, I realized that's what I wanted." Now, at the ripe old age of 22, Ross' love for film is greater than ever, and manifests in a deep concern, not just for making great films, but also for coming to terms with the essence of the medium. Ross worries that he cannot, in all honesty, trust a movie-going public that worships at the feet of James Cameron. And yet, asks Ross, "if you don't trust the public, what do you do? [Film] is a public thing. The experience of watching the film is what the film is." Furthermore, Ross ponders the all too easy corruption of a filmmaker's motivation. Unregulated narcissism and an attraction to prestige are examples of what Ross terms the "impure" influences which often lead to mediocre work by some filmmakers. "I don't even think those people like film," he adds. Ross hopes that his own motivations, which include a love of the medium itself as well as the challenge of making a meaningful film, are more legitimate. Ultimately, all this philosophizing leaves Ross unsatisfied and he concedes "I don't know. I have a lot of ideas about this, but who knows if they're bullshit or not."

As for the future, Ross thinks the starving artist aesthetic is true: "I'll do whatever it takes to pay the bills, as long as I can also keep writing and doing what I love to do." It's not that he lacks exposure to the "right people;" in fact, Ross has held the highly coveted internship at Miramax. But after a summer with the big wigs, Ross believes more than ever that the trappings of the executive track only serve to divert him from his true creative passions. "If you start thinking about your connections," says Ross, "you're already going in the wrong direction. The work has to be your focus; it always comes first." Ross pauses for a second while his compulsion toward absolute candor on this subject catches up with him. "Maybe I'll be changing my tune once I get out of here. I hope not."

Victoria L. Merriman '98: The Departure

"Enter the Belly of the Beast," reads the sign on the door to her cramped room in the bowels of Sever Hall. Vikki Merriman has spent so much time in the Beast lately that her pine-green sleeping bag has become a fixture there. While long incubation hours in Sever's basement are a typical stage in the development of a VES film project, Merriman's senior thesis, "Burial," shares little else with the rest of the pack. Merriman cites numerous VES video classes as well as a Literature class called Culture and Performance as steps leading toward her thesis project. In addition to the guidance provided by these classes, a summer job as a "memorial gardener" at an animal shelter provided the central image for her piece.

Inspired, in part, from her experience with crane-assisted horse burial, Merriman's video performance project features an actual crane which lowers a Plexiglas box full of prosthetic legs into a seven-by-seven foot hole in the ground which is then covered with dirt by an excavator. Meanwhile, four monitors on either side of the hole display videotaped images concerning Merriman's personal search into what happens in the afterlife. The images, shot at various angles, include her little brother and sister playing, newly planted flowers, and views of unusual objects associated with death rituals, such as fabulously-designed coffins and factory-packaged embalming products. Concurrent with these video images, the viewer hears a variety of audio including professional psychics discussing the afterlife status of four of Merriman's family members (including a pet dog) who have died.

The difficulty in describing the project has become quite familiar to Merriman, who admits that it gets "a little irritating to constantly have to explain, even to people within the department, that I'm not shooting a crane or an excavator-that you're there at this performance, watching this happen." In response to those who fear that the project sounds gloomy, Merriman explains that her piece is meant to invoke a child's innocuous eagerness to grasp the concept of death rather than a morbid desire to linger on tragedy. The poignant images captured by Merriman are, in fact, quite uplifting somehow, even strangely humorous at times.

Presently, the collective force of thousands of dollars and the cooperation of psychics, museum curators and department tutors (not to mention Merriman's own emotional and physical investment) await consummation in the performance of the project. But for all of Merriman's successes, she still faces one enormous obstacle. The onetime presentation of "Burial" is scheduled for dusk (around 7:46 p.m.) on May 2 as part of Arts First. But as Merriman puts it, "Harvard is not that excited about me digging a hole in the ground." Despite the overwhelming support from some members of Harvard's administration and Merriman's resolution of insurance and safety issues, others in the administration are literally taking a "not in my backyard" attitude. Merriman hopes that her concerns are unnecessary and will soon be allayed, but time grows short.

She is hoping to return to Harvard to TF in the fall in a video/performance art class. Beyond that, Merriman wonders about the process by which one becomes recognized as a performance artist. She might consider doing more traditional films, but feels the need to always experiment with form. "I'd want to make something more like Godard than like George Lucas. I mean, I wouldn't even want to make something like Godard, except that I'd want to have that same experimental spirit."

W. David Marx '01 & Benjamin J. Novak '01: The Dilettantes

The plot had the essentials: murder, morality and chewy nougat. All that David Marx needed was someone with whom to collaborate on his self-proclaimed best idea for a movie ever. Fate brought Marx together with B.J. Novak, roommate and aspiring filmmaker to collaborate in "Studio Holworthy" to make these first-years' first movie. The plot of Marx's screenplay, which came to be called "Who Laughs Last," centers around a joke printed on the inside of a Laffy Taffy candy wrapper--a joke so egregiously unfunny that a group of young Laffy Taffy devotees vow to find and kill the author.

The screenplay was originally written entirely by Marx but the main characters' "ghetto lingo" lacked the ring of truth, an authenticity which Novak brought forth from his Newton, Mass. roots. Novak plunged right to the heart of the film which he claims is actually all about caring. "The kids care so much about a joke that they're willing to kill for it. I would care that much." He reconsiders, "I wouldn't kill," he says, "but I would care." Eager to shoot the revamped script, the two roommates joined Harvard-Radcliffe Television's movie-making branch, the Filmmakers' Network, which eventually approved "Who Laughs Last" and provided the two new members with all of the necessary equipment to film.

Marx and Novak went to work and succeeded in finding a cast that was more than satisfactory--from an 11 year-old actor whose mother saw one of their posters, to a 43 year- old whose drama coach had heard about the project. In fact, they were even able to get Jonathan Katz from Comedy Central's Dr. Katz to do a voice-over cameo. Marx and Novak can only blame themselves for the glimpses of unprofessionalism in the cast. The actors would invariably "crack-up during the first few takes, especially during the killing part," says Marx. The two writers concede that the script may simply have been too funny.

The only other difficulty on the shoots resulted from equipment problems. The otherwise user-friendly digital video cameras had a battery life of about five minutes for every overnight charge. "We'd have to sneak into a McDonald's and plug it in for an hour and-a half to get a couple more minutes," says Novak. "Meanwhile our actors and crew would be standing around, waiting."

Surprisingly, neither Marx nor Novak intend to concentrate in VES. Both feel that the department is far too "closed-off." Having attempted to take some filmmaking courses, Marx complains that one must "impress [the department] the right way" in order to gain entry. But perhaps the makers of "Who Laughs Last" simply wouldn't be interested in making films which are governed by the kind of academic refinement and complex self-scrutiny which the VES department seems to engender. These enthusiastic first-years may not experience Harvard's best offering to its filmmakers, yet they are perfectly happy to try and make films on their own.