HOW THE SAN FRANCISCO INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL STARTED

Friday, April 27, 2007

HOW THE SAN FRANCISCO INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL STARTED

The glamour, the stars and the films that kicked off the San Francisco Film Festival in 1957.
By Traude Gómez
It was a dark and stormy night on December 4, 1957. San Franciscans and international guests in black tie and gowns scurried into the Metro Theater on Union Street to escape the torrential rains. It was Opening Night at the first San Francisco International Film Festival.
Actor Franchot Tone flew in to act as master of ceremonies. Tone's major roles in Hollywood films had made him a well-known figure to many Americans, but in 1957 he was also known as the host of CBS's Playhouse 90. Unable to be in two places at once, Tone asked James Mason to fill his shoes on the live drama program so he could come to the Festival. Tone introduced dignitaries in the 1,000-seat theater, among them Harold Zellerbach, president of the San Francisco Arts Commission, and Festival director Irving M. "Bud" Levin, who had spearheaded the groundbreaking event.
In the audience was the venerable Frank Borzage, director of such classic Hollywood films as A Farewell to Arms, History Is Made at Night and Three Comrades. (Tone had dragged the director of The Postman Always Rings Twice, Tay Garnett, as far as the Hollywood airport, but Garnett said he had to make a phone call and missed the plane. Garnett tried again the following night, again unsuccessfully.) After Tone read a congratulatory telegram from Vice President Richard M. Nixon, the lights dimmed, and Helmut Kautner's The Captain from Köpenick began to flicker on the screen.

Mayor George Christopher

hands the key to the city to Nigerian filmmakers Manasseh Moerane (left) and Ifoghale Amada (center) at the first SFIFF.

That morning, columnist Herb Caen had written in the Chronicle, "The first SF International Film Festival opening today at the Metro, is definitely international. America's only entry is Uncle Vanya, based on the Russian classic by Chekhov. Britain's big one is a performance in London by the Soviets, Bolshoi Ballet. And Japan's hottest contender is Throne of Blood, a Far Eastern version of Sweet Will's Macbeth."
For the next 14 days, an international film premiered each night to a fancy, eager audience. It was the dedication of San Francisco native Irving Levin and the many who helped bring the first international film festival to North America that made it possible.
Levin passed away in 1995, but his legacy continues. His widow, Irma Levin, worked by his side as hostess from 1957 till 1964, after which the Levins left the running of the Festival to others. She reflected on the first Festival from her Nob Hill home, with her son Fred. "I was scared to death," she laughs. "We were very young. How would you like having all these people coming into your home, and you don't know any of them?" Trepidation, however, didn't stop her from hosting almost nightly pre- and post-film parties at their Sea Cliff home.
"There were films from 12 countries," recalled Irving Levin in a 1979 interview with San Francisco magazine. "I purchased the best film each country had to offer." Levin grew up in the theater business. His father, Samuel H. Levin, built the Balboa, Coronet, Galaxy, Stonestown, Coliseum, Alexandria, Metro, Vogue and El Rey theaters, which Irving later inherited. Irma knew Irving from high school, but she went to Hollywood to work at Paramount Studios as a hat designer before returning to San Francisco and marrying him.
San Francisco was a friendly audience to international cinema in the late 1950s. The famous international festivals of the day were at Cannes, Venice, Berlin and Edinburgh. There was some thought that perhaps San Francisco could join their ranks. Locally, Levin had helped organize an Italian film festival in 1956 at the suggestion of Italian consul general Pierluigi Alvera. And in 1957, a group calling itself the Camera Obscura Film Society was sponsoring a Sunday series of "unusual, classic and experimental films."
Fred Levin remembers that the Vogue, Bridge and Clay theaters played foreign films in the 1950s, albeit to a small audience. "It was the beats who went to these films," he says. "Most people didn't want to read subtitles. You could buy French cigarettes. It was a whole different world." Bud Levin wanted to open up this world to a bigger audience.
Playing at the Larkin and Clay theaters at the time was Jean Renoir's great film, French Can Can (under the title Only the French Can). Also playing in the City were I Was a Teenage Frankenstein, Tammy and the Bachelor and Love Slaves of the Amazons. Cinerama vied with Todd-A-O, Technicolor, Color by Deluxe, VistaVision and CinemaScope to thrill the viewer. On your TV-at the time considered the deadly enemy of film-you could tune in to American Bandstand, Wagon Train and Leave It to Beaver.
The Festival "was my deal with the City," said Levin in an April 1995 interview with the Richmond Review. "Back in the '50s, San Francisco needed to keep its place in the arts world with an international film festival. There wasn't one in North or South America. I took on the job of exposing the people of San Francisco to movies as an art form. I am thankful for what I got out of it," he added. "I wanted to expose them to what film is. That it was an art form. That there was something to it."
After the success of the Italian Film Festival in 1956, Alvera suggested to Levin an international festival with films from all over the world. Levin thought it a great idea and began planning the international festival from the office of his theater business. Money proved the biggest obstacle. The Art Commission's sponsorship allowed Festival planners to use its name for credibility, but didn't provide funds. Mayor George Christopher was supportive, but not with money. "As long as it didn't cost anything, and no one had to pay, then Irving could do it," says Irma Levin. One money-saving practice involved setting another plate at the family dinner table. "We had Franchot Tone one night for dinner," remembers Fred Levin, who was 13 at the time. "It was just us: my brother and I, my parents and Franchot Tone."
Lack of support from other film festivals and Hollywood proved another obstacle. Irma Levin says the Venice and Cannes festivals feared San Francisco's endeavor would steal from their exclusive prestige. "They fought it. They didn't want to give films and they didn't want their film industries to cooperate and give us good films."
Despite these difficulties, Irving and his supporters forged ahead, working hard to secure films and bring them through customs. One supporter then and now is Serge Echeverría, who was a volunteer staff member at the 1957 Film Festival. He says of Irving, "His enthusiasm and joy for living was inspiring." Serge had just moved to San Francisco from Hollywood, where he had worked as an actor. At Levin's office, he filed, stuffed envelopes and distributed press information. "We were all so proud to work for the glory of San Francisco," he says. He also remembers the first Festival as a society event with nightly consulate parties.
Indeed, if the Festival didn't have money, it certainly had tremendous local support. The consulates celebrated the films from their countries with great fanfare. Italian consul Pierluigi Alvera held a formal reception after Michelangelo Antonioni's Il Grido at the consulate on Broadway. The consul general of India hosted cocktails before Pather Panchali. Consul general Frode Schon of Denmark held a reception before the screening of the Danish film Qivitoq.
The newspapers provided wide coverage, with Festival stories running daily. Chronicle drama critic Paine Knickerbocker, who reviewed most films, interviewed Franco Cancellieri, producer of Il Grido. "Cancellieri is extremely pleased by the fact that finally an international film festival is being held in the United States," wrote Knickerbocker. "A festival is one place," Cancelllieri told him, "where a sincere picture made without hopes of great commercial success can receive a considerable amount of attention."
Herb Caen-as always-had the best dish. He exposed one near-calamity: "SF's International Film Festival, going strong at the Metro, almost hit an unexpected snag Thursday when the Italian film, Il Grido was scheduled for an 8:30 showing," wrote Caen. "Steve Cochran, star and part owner of the picture, hadn't yet seen it in its entirety and insisted that the movie be run for him before he'd allow it to be shown to the public. So at 6:00 pm, Il Grido was screened at the Metro for an audience consisting of Cochran and his lawyer, Nate Cohn. 'Well, it's a lousy print,' Cochran said at the end. 'But go ahead, show it.' The Film Festival backers heaved a relieved sigh that could be heard clear out to Land's End."
Nonetheless, the Festival had its unexpected snags. The scheduled film from India, the second part of Satyajit Ray's Apu trilogy, Aparajito, did not materialize. Instead, Ray's first feature, the first part of the trilogy, Pather Panchali, was entered.
On Closing Night, Mayor Christopher, Zellerbach and Levin presented the Golden Gate Awards, the winners having been chosen by five Bay Area newspaper drama critics. Four bronze plaques with a replica of the Golden Gate Bridge were awarded. Shirley Temple Black presented the Best Picture to Pather Panchali, which was received on India's behalf by consul S.N. Hussain. Satyajit Ray, who also wrote the Pather Panchali screenplay won for Best Director. Dolores Dorn-Heft (who was married to Franchot Tone at the time) won Best Actress for her performance in Uncle Vanya, and Heinz Ruhmann won Best Actor for his performance in The Captain from Köpenick.
The Closing Night film was supposed to be The Bigamist, an Italian comedy directed by Luciano Emmer. However, more snags. The Bigamist could not be had in time. Wheeling and dealing, Levin instead secured Luchino Visconti's Senso, which was shown out-of-competition. The post-film champagne reception at the Italian Consulate, honoring the Golden Gate winners, was sponsored by the local chapter of the American Association of the United Nations. In the end, the Chronicle reported that 11,500 people attended the Festival.
"It was an exciting time," Irma Levin remembers. "It's exciting to see how the Festival has grown and changed. You know, nothing stays the same. I wish Irving were here to see it."

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New Community Radio Station is Launched in Key West

A new radio station, KONK-AM on the dial, was launched on May 26,2009, in Key West. It has evolved to its current place on the dial, at 1500AM, broadcasting from studios at 1106 White Street in the island city and can be heard from Islamorada to Havana, Cuba.

It is Community Radio, broadcasting its AM signal from a tower on Stock Island, and is most easily heard, cystal clear, on the web site, http://www.konkam.com/

I host my own show, ARTWAVES, weekdays at 11am until noon.
We talk about the arts, it's value, impact, where we find it, create it, support it. My guests range the full gamut, from filmmakers, poets, writers, sculptors, painters, jugglers/buskers, dancers (from ballet to modern), musicians of all stripes, arts administrators, policy makers and shakers, and advocates, gallery owners and operators, photographers, even a longboard artisan who creates stunning pieces from woods found only in the Keys, theater actors and directors, operatic singers, divas from dive bars and lounges, treasure hunters and finders, too!

Join in weekdays. Each hour brings another show host, a new program on different topics and issues. All Talk Radio, with live music added in as well. Tune in! Catch a wave...

Blame it all on the 70's

Author Thomas Hine argues we're still suffering from that "slum of a decade" that brought us gas lines, pantsuits and shag rugs.

If the left and right agree on almost nothing else, we agree at least on this: America's in terrible shape. Such shocking shape that -- how did we come to this? -- it might not actually survive.
And there our dialogue dissolves. The things about America you diagnose as lethal are the very things your megachurch-belonging cousin with the rifle rack in his truck prays might save its life. And vice-versa. Gay rights. Abortion rights. Prayer in the schools. Environmentalism. Corporations. Porn. There the shouting, and possibly shooting, begins.
How did we come to this? It's the '70s' fault, writes Thomas Hine in The Great Funk: Falling Apart and Coming Together (on a Shag Rug) in the Seventies (Farrar Straus Giroux, 2007), a richly if incriminatingly illustrated book about a traumatic "slum of a decade" in which "the country was running out of promise."
Well, the '60s were a hard act to follow.
"Only a decade before," Hine muses, "as the nation anticipated the conquest of space, the defeat of poverty, an end to racism and a society where people moved faster and felt better than they ever had before, it seemed that there was nothing America couldn't do." Flash-forward through Watergate, gas crises, helicopters escaping Saigon -- and "to live in the seventies was to live in a fallen world, one of promises broken and trust betrayed." Hine ticks off that decade's insults to heart, mind and eye: "The politicians were awful. The economy was awful. The insipid harvest gold and avocado kitchens were awful." Ditto gas lines, AMC Pacers, and pantsuits.
Nearly everyone who lived through those years would nod, flinching.
An eternal question about any era during which one was young is: Was the whole world embarrassing, or was it just me? As regards the '70s: It wasn't just you. A longtime design critic -- thus more sensitive than most to beanbag chairs and Bicentennial-patterned carpeting -- Hine painstakingly skewers pyramid power and Virginia Slims in chapters whose pop-culture-referencing titles evoke the chronic inferiority complex of those disappointed times: "Running on Empty," for instance, and "It's Too Late," and "Not Ready for Prime Time?"
Yet his skewering has an obligatory quality, a must-mock-Midler delliberateness. It's a setup. Because this book's real point is to burrow deep into the shag rugs and chest hair and extract wisdom. Yes, your dad lost his job. And disco sucked. But from an era that is all too easy to dismiss as silly, trivial and grim sprang most of the essential issues inflaming our discourse today. Grounds for celebration or destruction or for civil war, depending on whom you ask, were cultivated in that decade, in a petrie dish that smelled of Diet Pepsi, amyl nitrate, apple-spice air freshener and, well, funk.
Ecology. Diversity. Ethnic and sexual identity. Individuality. Alternative sources of energy. Feminism. Fundamentalist spirituality. Retrace our steps (in Earth shoes and a crocheted vest and Dacron flares, of course) through Jimmy Swaggart and solar-heated geodesic domes and blaxploitation films and the Village People and you will find it there, albeit all innocent and earnest and embryonic. And not just the topics themselves but the ways in which we face them now: our wary citizen-journalist vigilance, questioning authority, scoping out conspiracies, pursuing truthiness. The '60s tend to get all the credit -- for rebellion, for consciousness-raising, for everything. And those who were young in the '70s faced a deafening chorus roaring: You missed the boat and are, indeed, too late.
The era they'd missed had been imbued with a wild easy-rider-come-together optimism. "Even the protestors of the sixties," notes Hine, who is old enough to have been one of them, "objected that America was using its immense wealth and power to do the wrong things, not that it did things wrong. Yet during the seventies it seemed that the United States couldn't do anything right." And it was precisely that shattering of optimism, the serial humiliations of Nixon and Vietnam and ugly urban sprawl and the wracking poverty spawned by inflation and massive layoffs, that spawned a strange new kind of solidarity. A desperate bottom-of-the-barrel creativity. The sneaky kind of freedom that breaks chains and opens doors when -- to paraphrase Kris Kristofferson's "Me and Bobby McGee" -- you've got nothing to lose. And that, of course, was the last song Janis Joplin recorded before she died in 1970. Among baby boomers, Hine writes, "the song's refrain ... was heard as a kind of epitaph." Her death was itself a loss, thus one less thing to lose. As was Jimi's, one month before, and Jim Morrison's, one year hence. As was the Beatles' slow-motion collapse: mere markings on a timeline now and, to most, funny ancient history: Yoko smiling and smug, Linda singing off-key into a switched-off mic, flashing past in the neat anodyne black-and-white of documentaries. But to a generation raised to be the center of attention, the first wave to worship rock-'n'-roll, these losses wrought a shocking loss of innocence. The long and winding road was cracked.
But hey. "When the center cannot hold, well, that's good for those out on the edge," Hine reasons. "When the forces of order are revealed to be a malign conspiracy, it's a good time for a party."
And in that spreading uncertainty, "when the system weakened, the oddballs and malcontents found an opening. It became possible to try out identities and find solidarity with other rare birds like yourself." Failures, deaths and disasters had proven space-age optimism and patriotism illusory. Yet as darkness fell without, light swelled within: "Awareness of a world with limits allowed people to impose fewer limits on themselves and to explore frontiers within themselves." Struggling up out of the ruins of shared midcentury assumptions, Americans dusted themselves off and decided that their ripped jeans required patches -- but which to choose? Smiley faces, pot leaves, praying hands? In that scramble, Americans discovered a new icon:
Me.
Not me, who sits here writing this, but "me" as an idea. An ideology. A literature, a style. An endless source of fascination. "Finding your identity was extremely important," Hine writes of an era when "each family member dressed to express" -- with enormous clashing checks and plaids, with star-studded lace-up boots and "fun fur" skirts and factory-embroidered faux batiks, sudsing with a shampoo only the '70s could spawn: It was called Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific. It was an era when, tellingly, Life magazine folded and People began.
Yes, this arguably turned us into narcissists. But Hine strives to show how all that mirror-gazing also brought self-awareness, direction and long-overdue self-acceptance to countless Americans, even if some of the gazing occurred over the tops of cocaine straws. And sometimes me morphed into an empowering we.
"The history of the seventies is dominated by the rise of like-minded but hitherto marginal individuals asserting the validity of their ways of seeing and doing things. Not all these ways of thinking were ultimately liberating. Nevertheless, finding that there were others who thought and felt as you did was liberating itself." The resounding popularity of the 1977 miniseries Roots, for example, "reached far beyond the African-American community" and, "as its title suggested ... spoke to a wider desire by all sorts of people to know about the circumstances and experiences of their forebears and to connect with their traditions. Roots, by telling such a rich story about slaves, for which the historical and genealogical record was presumed to be sparse, encouraged others whose ancestors didn't arrive on the Mayflower to look for evidence of these humbler lives."
Other corporate products, however cynically motivated, served as touchstones for what are today's identity politics. The 1973 film Jesus Christ Superstar, along with Jimmy Carter's born-againism and Hal Lindsey's 1970 megabestseller The Late Great Planet Earth -- which prophesied the end of the world and the Second Coming and sold 28 million copies -- alternately seduced and scared legions of Americans into "a Christian consciousness," Hine writes, "that was very different from the liberal Christianity that had become the consensus during the post-World War II era."
Disco sowed the seeds of technomusic. Funk sowed the seeds of hip-hop. Compact cars -- despite the Pinto's tendency to explode when rear-ended -- sowed the seeds for Priuses. Shattered ideals sowed the seeds of dissent.
The scrutiny was nonstop. "One of the fundamental approaches" of the groundbreaking 1973 women's-health manual Our Bodies, Our Selves "was self-examination," Hine reminds us, "and some passages were written to be read while holding a mirror, so that readers could discover previously unexplored parts of their own bodies. It was easier, however, to learn by looking at someone else's body. Many women recall consciousness-raising sessions at which, speculum in hand, they examined the vaginas of their fellow participants in order to understand what was inside themselves." During those same years, he points out, Hustler magazine revolutionized over-the-counter porn by printing "pink shots" -- interior photos, as it were. Ironically, if for different reasons, "feminists were engaged in much the same exploration."
Apocalyptic and disco fantasies mixed giddily in those years with a yen for authenticity -- by which yogurt and animal-rights activism and vibrators became mainstream, and by which manufacturers got rich churning out decor in feculent "earth tones." And this is what marks the '70s: this urgency, this dazed, tender, ever-so-public awakening on the cusp between Strawberry Fields and multinationals. It was the decade when a hundred pride movements bloomed. So much pride, so little embarrassment.
And that's what makes the '70s, arguably more than any other decade, so embarrassing.
But hey. They wore that Dacron so you wouldn't have to.

NUTCRACKER KEY WEST 2007

The Nutcracker Key West production, just ended at the Tennessee Williams Theatre, has been dazzling, spectacular and simply phenomenal. Joyce Stahl's amazing reimagined staging of the classical ballet with Key West imagery set records as well as setting audiences ablaze with a rapture usually reserved for high cathedrals or the New York stage.
Eleven performances, over 4500 attended, with the last 6 shows sold out. The Paradise Ballet Theatre brought in the many talents of 18 professional dancers from esteemed ballet companies in the US, with Alun Jones reprising his role as choreographer. You can see the amazing photos at http://www.nutcrackerkeywest.com/ and more will be posted here. Plans are already underway to produce a 2008 version, as Joyce is a whirlwind of motion, not stopping or slowing down for a second. The success of this year has obviously encouraged the consideration of mounting the next show, and will advance establishing the Nutcraker Key West as a real tradition in the community.

MidSummer's Night Update

Celebrate the Most Magical Night of the Summer this Monday, August 13

We’re assembling a wonder-full Midsummer’s Night Dream and Perseid Meteor Showers “Salon Spectacle” - a night of feasting, dancing, and theatrical antics celebrating the art and artists of Key West.

Presenting on Monday, August 13, by Michael Shields and Java Studios as a joint production with Marky Pierson, Christa Hunt, and Quincy Perkins, the Salon Spectacle is being hosted by Joyce Stahl at her 727 Eaton Street home, from 7 to 11 PM. The free event has attracted over 50 artist participants including musicians, singers, dancers, painters, fire jugglers, actors, poets, storytellers, and more, with filmmakers capturing and projecting the evening’s action. George Murphy is M.C. for the festivities, with actors from The Studios of Key West “One Night Stand” presenting their 10 minute plays, on the two outdoor stages, with a band and a DJ keeping the beats, urging people to roam the property and delight in the night. Many surprises are in store!

Midsummer’s Night has been observed worldwide by many cultures and seen as a time when the veil between this world and the next was thin, and when powerful forces were abroad. On Midsummer’s, legend held that you could gain the powers of a bard – or on the downside, end up utterly mad, dead, or whisked away by spirit faeries. Romances flourish, affairs are begun, mystery and mischief abound.

While traditionally celebrated on the Summer Solstice, in Key West, Midsummer’s Night is indeed the midpoint of the summer, between the Solstice and the Equinox. It is also the occasion of the annual Perseid Meteor showers, a true celestial event, displaying the most spectacular shooting stars of the year.

Midsummer’s Night “Salon Spectacle” is being created to celebrate why we live here, and to give artists a voice and a platform to share the power of their dreams. The launch of the Salon on this cosmic night of community is intended to stimulate the arts, foster greater awareness and spawn further Salon style projects. All are invited to join the creation of the Midsummer’s Night. Costumes are caliente! Dancing is delightful! Food and beverage provided.

It all begins with a dream. What is yours? Show your star!

Questions?
Call Michael Shields at 305-394-3804, or email michael@javastudios.org

Mid Summer’s Night Dream & the Perseid Meteor Showers SALON SPECTACLE

Come Celebrate the Most Magical Key West Night of Summer and Share Your Dream ! AUGUST 13th.
The evening historically is a fire festival called Midsummer's Day or St. Johns Eve, representing the middle of summer. Traced back many thousands of years, observed throughout Europe by many cultures, and later called St. John's Eve, which was seen as a time when the veil between this world and the next was thin, and when powerful forces were abroad.
Vigils were often held during the night. It was said that if you spent a night at a sacred site during Midsummer Eve, you would gain the powers of a bard, on the down side you could also end up utterly mad, dead, or be spirited away by the spirit faeries. Indeed, St. Johns Eve was a time when faeries were thought to be abroad and at their most powerful (hence Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream). Herbs gathered and foods eaten then are thought to be imbued with the power of the sun. Add to this the influence of the later sister summer festival of Lughnasa and the circle of fire is further made brilliant, promising abundance and peace in the coming harvest (and, an invigorated arts scene in Key West!)

The community gathers on this special night for the Midsummer's SALON. It is a night of feasting, dancing, theatrical antics and celebrating Mother Nature's summer bounty. While traditionally celebrated on the Summer Solstice, in Key West, Midsummer’s Night is indeed the middle of the summer, midway between the Solstice and the Equinox, or also seen as mid-point of the April-November axis when Summer weather prevails.

It is also the occasion of the annual Perseid Meteor showers, a true celestial event, displaying the most spectacular shooting stars of the year, August 12-13, 2007.

The most gifted musicians play their instruments, filling the night with their magical music. Performers from all avenues join to make the evening memorable and marvelous. Dancers swirl, painters create stories, wordsmiths paint pictures, and above all, dreams are woven in the night air and the shooting stars are witness.
PLUS, we’ll have prepared and festive summer food and beverage - the Keys’ most delectable and tasty – And FUN!
You are Invited ! Read ahead…

Key West is a haven for artists and now’s the time to step forward to further deepen our appreciation for the arts on this truly celestial evening.
Mid Summer’s Night is ideal to celebrate that we live here, to give voice and a platform to experience what gives meaning and pleasure to everyone. You can be heavy or you can be light, sweet or savory, it’s all tasty.
On this Night, we launch The SALON - the channel to make it all happen and set the stage for future SALON development.
Hosted at the home of Joyce Stahl, 727 Eaton Street and 328 William Street, presented by Java Studios and Michael Shields.

And YOU are the Creator of Mid-Summer’s Night!

What is YOUR Dream? Tell Everyone !
Say it in words, song, dance, film, and…?
The Night invites you to show your Star
From pre-sunset to midnight, every fifteen minutes, your turn to shine will be scheduled as you spotlight your talent, your idea, your song, your poem, whatever makes you shine!
We are seeking YOU - Artists, Actors, Singers & Songwriters, Dancers, Poets, Writers, to make the Mid-Summer’s Night a Carnivale, a Celebration of Celestial Light.
RSVP... by August 3…to be part of the SALON & Stage
RSVP… by August 10…to come to the NIGHT and see and hear the dreams being displayed and woven…
Stars In The Making!
394-3804…RSVP…

…Be creative!
and Circle The Date!

JAVA STUDIOS - Media That Matters and Community Development

Friday, April 27, 2007