“State and Main”: authorship and what I didn’t learn in law school, or commercial practice

So, in another flatmate bonding moment, we watched "State and Main" on Foxtel the other night. A big part of what my flatmate and I have in common is taste in movies, which is all good by me.

"State and Main" is a small, tidy, well-crafted ensemble piece that comments on the myth of the auteur. We attribute films to their directors when, as often as not the director is apparently just the guy standing in the eye of the tornado, juggling chainsaws, to mix a metaphor. The point being that movies are a collaborative medium, works of joint authorship.

Sure, the director and director of cinematography are going to be important, but at the end of the day you’re dealing with a chaotic system: there are too many people, externalities and random elements to maintain complete control. Also, potentially, far too many egos - people who believe he or she is the "author" of their little part of the film.

From the get-go, the plot of "State and Main" is littered with the seeds of this film-in-the-making’s destruction: financial trouble; lawless, promiscuous, ego-maniac stars; local dignitaries to butter-up; and romantic triangles set to implode. As a gentle farce, it neatly keeps all the balls in the air, and very nearly successfully pulls off their resolution. (But hey, if we’re prepared to accept the end of the average Shakespearian comedy, nothing in contemporary drama will look that implausible.)

Anyway, it’s up to the director (William H. Macy) to direct chaos trouble-shoot and just try to keep the damn thing afloat. It’s a great role. Macy’s director is no auteur, he’s just a crisis manager (his lucky pillow reads, "shoot first, ask questions later"). I like Macy, and it was great to see him in something other than the softer-edged (or plain looser-ish) roles he’s had in "Fargo", "Mystery Men" and "Magnolia".

The chaos of the film is summed up by the situation the writer of the screenplay (played with brilliant haplessness by Phillip Seymour Hoffman) finds himself in. The film, "The Old Mill", is already in trouble. The town, in fact, lacks and old mill and there is no budget to build one. As Hoffman says to the local bookstore owner: "How am I supposed to write a film called 'The Old Mill' when we don’t have an old mill?" To which she pragmatically replies: "Well first thing, you’ve gotta get yourself a new title."

There is no single "author" - just people collaborating, and doing the best with the hand they're dealt. The ultimate results are not quite what anyone expected.

Anyway, my second little joy in the film was the entertainment lawyer gone feral, Marty played by David Paymer. Marty really just wants to see everyone get along - provided he gets his film on time and on budget, no matter how sharp, nasty or money-driven he has to be to get it. His job: defend the film, and crush the opposition. The sum of the attributes he exhibits is I think called "being commercial" in private practice. He conducts a great little negotiation with a local town councillor who wants to de-rail the film. It’s exactly the kind of stuff no-one taught me in law school, or at a big firm, dammit. (No-one even told me to make sure I’m carrying cigars either). Here’s Marty’s vision of, legal negotiation the way it should be done, lawyer to lawyer:

Now what is this, you sonofabitch,
because if you haven't heard about the
laws of Malicious Prosecution, you're
about to. DON'T FLINCH WHILE I'M TALKING
TO YOU, YOU TWO BIT SPEEDTRAP FRAUD:
There's an old saying, two scariest
things in the world, a black man with a
knife and a Jew with a lawyer. Now, I am
a lawyer, and I am The Jew, and you
continue ONE MOMENT with this slanderous
shit here in this public place, I'm going
to have your ass over my mantleplace.

… Look in my eyes: I made
eleven million bucks last year and I
don't like being trifled with. Now I
think that the better part of valor,
though we've got your back up here...the
better part of valor is to step away.
Or, before God, I will see you disbarred.
(beat)
Now, what do you think?
(beat)
We all have a movie to make. Now, can
we stay together here...
(pause)
What do you say...? Have a cigar.

Remember children, smile as you put the knife in - and play nice afterwards.

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