The Big Picture

Since former bowling champ Roy Munson lost his hand to a ball-return machine, he's drifted through a boozy life as a traveling salesman. Then he meets Amish bowler Ishmael Boorg, and the two head for a million-dollar tournament in Reno. Soon, though, Munson loses heart and turns the convertible back toward Pennsylvania farm country. Boorg gets out and starts walking--not back to his family's farm, but toward Reno. "I'd sooner get Munsoned out here in the middle of nowhere than lose face in front of my friends and family," Boorg says. "You know, Munsoned-- to have the whole world in the palm of your hand and then blow it. It's a figure of speech." "Munsoned?" says Munson. He thinks for a minute, then starts backing the car after Boorg, beckoning him in. "Congratulations, my friend, you passed the test. A true champion doesn't quit, and neither did you."

That scene is a turning point in the 1996 movie Kingpin, in which Woody Harrelson plays Munson and Randy Quaid plays Boorg. It's also a fitting metaphor for the condition of the Pittsburgh filmmaking industry, circa 2003.

This town was a star in the '90s, when it served as the backdrop for 30 big-budget films ranging from Silence of the Lambs to Kingpin to Wonder Boys. Hollywood money rained down, and hundreds of local film pros found steady work. The last big film shot here, though, was 2001's The Mothman Prophecies. Most location film work these days is going to Canada, overseas or to states that heavily subsidize moviemaking. Even TV shows set here--like CBS's "The Guardian" and Showtime's "Queer as Folk"--are mostly filmed elsewhere.

Today Pittsburgh's marketing pros, show-biz veterans and independent filmmakers are mapping courses for the proverbial Reno. Like Munson, Boorg and their gal pal Claudia, these would-be resuscitators of the local film industry aren't the most natural of partners. Whether one or more jumps out of the car and walks may determine whether Pittsburgh becomes one of the many cities Munsoned by the fickle film industry--or becomes a reel champion again.

Dawn Keezer moves her arms in tai chi-like arcs as she speaks. The director of the Pittsburgh Film Office has a California smile that never lets up, even when she's talking about a year that saw her home raided by investigators, her books audited and her organization teetering on the brink of fiscal collapse. Something about the smile and the arcs softens you up for the inevitable sales pitch: "Send money now!" she says. Big smile.

Though the Film Office is geared toward bringing Hollywood films to Pittsburgh, it has its roots in the region's first great independent film. Night of the Living Dead, directed by George Romero and produced by Russ Streiner in 1968, animated the ambitions of would-be writers, directors, actors and filmmakers. The local film business grew steadily throughout the 1970s and 1980s, as movies like The Deer Hunter and Flashdance were set and shot here. In the late 1980s, Streiner, of Highland Park, drafted the business plan for the Pittsburgh Film Office. It opened for business in 1990, and no one could argue with its early results: In the 1990s, after union issues caused the Hollywood studios to boycott New York, Pittsburgh picked up a lot of the Big Apple's business. Besides 30 feature films, the region hosted 25 television productions, from 1992's The Jacksons: An American Dream to 1998's The Temptations. The business "just exploded!" recalls Donna Belajac, a casting director from Blackridge. "It was incredible. I was doing three films at a time."

In 1994, Keezer was working for Santa Cruz County, Calif., trying to keep movies from leaving the Golden State for places like Pittsburgh. When the Film Office offered her its top job, she became the siren responsible for luring feature films and TV shoots to Pittsburgh and making their casts' and crews' stays here pleasant. "She is a very, very tenacious woman," says Streiner. "She understands how the film business works."

But Keezer quickly learned that the film industry is, like a zombie uprising, no picnic. By 1994, the studios had resolved their labor disputes in New York and started shooting there again. In the same year, Pittsburgh's International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees Local 489 shut down two made-for-TV movies being produced here, on the orders of the IATSE International. At the same time, Canada was offering subsidies to film producers willing to shoot north of the border. Still, the films kept on coming, albeit more slowly: Diabolique, Desperate Measures, Dogma, Inspector Gadget, Wonder Boys and Mothman. In 2002, the Film Office released a report indicating that film crews had spent $83 million in the Pittsburgh area from 1995 though 2001.

And since? A few commercials or reality TV shoots. An episode of "The West Wing" in August 2002. Not much else. "I haven't done anything in Pittsburgh since Mothman," says set decorator Diana Stoughton, of Ingram; she's had to fill her schedule working on projects in Cleveland, Atlanta and Minnesota. IATSE 489's membership is down from a peak of 225 to just 150, and most of them are working out of town, says Chip Eccles, the local's business representative.

Eccles says some of his members blame Keezer for the slowdown, but he doesn't. In the roaring '90s, Allegheny County redirected hotel tax revenue to the Film Office. "Then we decided to build two new stadiums and a convention center, and the [hotel tax] money disappeared," Keezer says. Since then, she's kept the office afloat with state money and donations raised at her annual Oscar night party. "We spend time now doing fundraising that we used to spend in marketing," she says.

Even as the money got scarce, the office's finances came under increasing scrutiny. In November 2002, the Los Angeles and Allegheny County district attorneys' offices searched Keezer's home and office, seeking evidence in an investigation of the Los Angeles-based Entertainment Industry Development Corp., which has been accused of misusing funds. Keezer's collaboration with former EIDC president Cody Cluff in the "Film U.S." organization, and EIDC's two $5,000 donations to the Film Office, apparently spurred the searches. In February 2003, Allegheny County Controller Dan Onorato released an audit of the Film Office showing lax bookkeeping, but no misuse of funds; District Attorney Stephen Zappala Jr. closed his office's investigation in June without filing any charges. Keezer says she's just a witness in the Los Angeles probe, which is ongoing.

As if that wasn't enough, Keezer has come under fire from some independent filmmakers who say her office does little for them. "I wish we did have a film office that was working more actively with those of us making independent films here," says producer Adrienne Wehr of Regent Square, whose film The Bread, My Sweet has toured nationally.

" We're really not set up for that," says Keezer. She notes that the Film Office helps indie filmmakers get government permits, and avails them of its library of resources. But locals, she argues, don't need the same level of proactive support that Hollywood producers parachuting into town require.

Keezer has long wanted to place a full-time Film Office operative on the ground in L.A. "It's a possibility for next year," she says --if she can get the funding. "It would be a whole redirection."

In the meanwhile, the Film Office's prospects may now hinge in part on the efforts of the city's ultimate hive of artsy independents: Pittsburgh Filmmakers.

Charlie Humphrey keeps his long, dark hair in a ponytail. He hangs with musicians and artists. Executive director of Pittsburgh Filmmakers since 1992, he used to edit the now-defunct alternative newsweekly InPittsburgh. And he talks darkly about the "fewer and fewer large corporate entities that are controlling the output" of media. The films he loves, and the films that come out of Filmmakers, generally don't contain scenes like the one from Inspector Gadget in which a talking car malfunctions and pours thousands of Skittles candies out on the PPG Place sidewalk.

To Humphrey, the low-budget movies that never make it out of the art houses are just as important a part of the region's film future as the blockbusters are. Pittsburgh Filmmakers teaches some 2,000 students per year the arts of film, video, photography and digital imaging. "Although we take a fine-arts approach, this is an extraordinarily technical place," Humphrey says, "and the skills that we teach here are exactly the skills you need in the commercial marketplace."

Humphrey wants to take that marriage of art and commerce a step further. He's drafted plans for a campus of visual- and performing-arts organizations centered on Filmmakers' Melwood Avenue location in Oakland. He hopes Filmmakers or an allied developer can start buying empty buildings in the area and fitting them for potential tenants like the public-access cable channel PCTV, currently on the North Shore; Summit Film Lab & Media Services, of Crafton; and the fledgling Pittsburgh Music Works, which aims to be a catalyst for local music. Humphrey imagines filmmakers, musicians and TV producers bumping into each other on Melwood Avenue, sharing ideas and starting collaborations.

He's found an unusual ally in Keezer, whose Hollywood clientele probably wouldn't need the film campus' services. She hopes to eventually move the Film Office to the campus. "Charlie's here to send [films made here] out," Keezer says. "We're here to bring the outside in." A film campus, she says, could create a buzz audible all the way to Rodeo Drive.

The buzz coming out of Pittsburgh's indie scene at the moment, though, has a bit of a sting to it. "A lot of independent filmmakers in town are really angry about the situation here," says John-Paul Nickel, a Shadysider who wrote, directed and produced the comedy Why We Had to Kill Bitch, which premiered at Loews Cineplex in June. He notes that the 2003 Summer Film Series, sponsored by The Pittsburgh Cultural Trust and Pittsburgh Filmmakers, featured Pittsburgh-connected movies. But it screened just one local indie: The Bread, My Sweet.

If companies and nonprofit organizations and iconoclastic filmmakers can work together, the ramifications could be big. "Having a quality film and video presence here, one of the best in the nation, is going to have all kinds of ripple effects on quality of life," says Janet Sarbaugh, director of arts and culture programs at the Heinz Endowments, which will likely be asked to help fund the new film campus. It could mean more local films like Daddy Cool by Pittsburgh Filmmakers' education director, Brady Lewis (see page 54); or Why We Had to Kill Bitch, by Nickel; or The Bread, My Sweet, by Wehr and writer Melissa Martin of Mount Lebanon.

But can independent filmmaking reel in jobs and wealth? Tony Buba doubts it. The dean of Pittsburgh documentarians, with 25 years in the business, Buba says that by the time theaters and distributors get their cuts, the maker of an indie film gets about 10 percent of the net. Out of that, he or she pays whatever costs weren't paid up front (as actor and equipment costs usually are), and tries to give the investors a return. "In terms of investing in independent films," he says, "you have to be almost nuts--or truly believe in alternative voices in the cinema."

Not all filmmakers agree. "In a time like this, when the economy is lousy, people can at least go to cocktail parties and say, 'Hey, I'm investing in a film!'" says Greg Rempel of Crafton, whose film The Murder opened locally last year.

Independent film occasionally spawns a creator who transcends indie status but stays rooted--like John Waters (Hairspray), who makes his films in Baltimore, or M. Night Shyamalan (The Sixth Sense), who favors the Philadelphia area. One such filmmaker can go a long way toward keeping a local movie scene viable, by creating a buzz in the industry and providing work and inspiration.

George Romero has been the closest thing Pittsburgh's had to a staple director. But ominously, he filmed his 2000 movie, Bruiser, in Toronto.

Flashdance's sappy comic Richie is the fictional version of thousands of Pittsburghers who've sought fame in the City of Angels. Many have returned disappointed. Carl Kurlander didn't. He went west for an internship and returned after 19 years with a fat resume, Rolodex and wallet--but a feeling that he still hadn't quite lived his dream.

Kurlander grew up in Shadyside and went to L.A. in 1982 for a 10-week internship at Universal Studios. While interning, he was sent to get gazpacho for director Joel Schumacher. He got the gazpacho just the way Schumacher likes it and landed a job as the director's assistant on D.C. Cab. Later he showed Schumacher a script based on a youthful infatuation he'd had. The resulting movie was St. Elmo's Fire, a big '80s hit.

Kurlander went on to write years of episodes for TV's "Saved by the Bell" and its spin-offs, and "Malibu, Ca.," another TV show. "I was driving fancier and fancier cars, and life was good," he says. But something was missing. "I [wasn't] fulfilling my vision of returning to Pittsburgh and writing the stories I cared about," Kurlander says. When a professorship opened up at the University of Pittsburgh in 2001, Kurlander and his wife and young daughter moved back to Squirrel Hill. He's now an English professor, writer, author and founder of two organizations aimed at drawing Pittsburgh expatriates back from Hollywood--if only for a day.

Pitt in Hollywood is a student-run organization that has brought former Pittsburghers like agent Eric Gold (who represents Jim Carrey and Ellen Degeneres, among others) and top production executive Bernie Goldmann (whose company created The Matrix, among other films) to town for seminars. The goal is not only to pass their knowledge on to students, but also to rekindle connections between Pittsburgh and its Hollywood expats, who might hire local grads, look at locally written scripts or even bring projects to town.

Another Kurlander-inspired initiative, the Steeltown Entertainment Project, is holding a summit of Pittsburgh-connected entertainment powerhouses on Oct. 25 at the Andy Warhol Museum and WQED Multimedia. Among the Pittsburgh natives expected are director Rob Marshall (Chicago); actor Shirley Jones (Elmer Gantry); actor/director Jamie Widdoes (Animal House); TV producer Terri Minsky ("The Geena Davis Show"); writer Peter Ackerman (Ice Age); actor David Conrad (Miss Match); TV writer/producer Maxine Lapiduss ("Roseanne"); Gold; and Goldmann.

The summit might lead to a plan for revitalizing film in Pittsburgh, the creation of a local Sundance-style film workshop or a movie all its own, suggests Kurlander. Pittsburgh-born filmmaker Laura Davis, in fact, is working on a documentary about the summit. "I could sell [the documentary] to HBO right now!" Kurlander gushes.

The effort has already impressed the Cultural Trust, the philanthropic Hillman family and business leaders like Ellen Weiss Kander, whose family owns the Weisshouse furniture stores. All have become collaborators in arranging the summit, and Keezer and Humphrey say their respective organizations are supportive as well. Kurlander brushes off suggestions that the Steeltown Entertainment Project could in any way infringe upon the Film Office's turf: "This is intended to be a resource for everybody," he says. "This is about bringing everybody together, from political leaders to business leaders to the university leaders."

Kurlander is often asked if the list of Pittsburghers who've hit it big in Hollywood--including director Steven Soderbergh, MTV Networks president Mark Rosenthal, director Antoine Fuqua and comedian Dennis Miller--is any more impressive than, say, a catalogue of former Clevelanders working in L.A. He thinks so--because Pittsburgh's work ethic, cultural richness and lack of pretension generate lots of talent. And he notes that the same community of artistic talent that's supported in Pittsburgh by philanthropic funding is responsible for producing emigres to Hollywood looking for commercial work.

Squirrel Hill native Lapiduss left for New York in the early '80s, did stand-up comedy for a few years, then headed for L.A. with a head full of sitcom scripts. The results include "Roseanne," "Ellen" and "Dharma and Greg," among other series. She thinks Kurlander's efforts will help get the film business rolling again in Pittsburgh and hopes to be part of the revival. "I'm writing a film that's set there," she says from her California home. "I'd love to come back and have it shot there.... We'll see, we'll see."

There's less and less [film] work in the U.S., and more and more in Vancouver and Toronto," says David Haddad, owner of Haddad's Inc., of Pleasant Hills, which provides many of the trucks and trailers used on movie sets. "Pittsburgh is probably going to be a one-movie or two-movie-a-year place." Casting director Donna Belajac agrees: "Cities get hot, and word of mouth gets [film producers] there, and then it's another city's turn. Now, it's always Canada's turn."

It's not surprising that pessimism has gripped the film community. But there's reason for optimism, too. Pittsburgh's famed work ethic and hospitality still earn rave reviews from producers who shoot here. "Everyone [in Pittsburgh] has been wonderful," says Ed Lammi, executive vice president of production at Sony Pictures Television, which makes "The Guardian"--mostly filmed in Los Angeles, but with some location work done here. "Dawn Keezer has been excellent."

And if our personality doesn't win Hollywood over, we can dazzle its big shots with technology. Local horror-effects guru Tom Savini has founded a thriving makeup design school in Monessen (see "Monster Man," page 56). And Carnegie Mellon University's Entertainment Technology Center is perfecting Magic Mirror, a computer system that allows audience members to appear on the movie screen. It may soon be in use in ads shown before movies and could eventually put moviegoers right into the feature presentation. ETC is "a time machine" showing the future of film, says ETC co-director Randy Pausch.

Point Park College, meanwhile, has just started offering a concentration in digital filmmaking that could turn out scads of minicam-toting George Lucases. Because digital video costs pennies on the dollar compared with celluloid and is easily edited, it's becoming the preferred medium for commercials and training videos, and is winning the favor of indie moviemakers and some big names like Star Wars director/producer Lucas. Point Park's fledgling program aimed for 25 students in this, its first year--and got 58. "I think if Pittsburgh makes a commitment to films, [it] can have as much success as it did in the '80s and '90s," says Point Park dean Ron Lindblom.

Is the commitment there? The next few months could provide the answer. The happy-ending version of our story would see Keezer finding funding for the Film Office, Kurlander pulling off a star-studded summit extravaganza and Humphrey getting the first pieces in place for his campus. In the alternate noir version, the Film Office limps into obscurity, Kurlander's efforts fall victim to Hollywood and Pittsburgh backbiting, and the visionary Humphrey can't turn his dream into reality.

Toward the end of Kingpin, it looks as if all is lost. Then Claudia, played by Vanessa Angel, shows up just as Munson is dumping his booze down the sink. "[Others] bet against you," she says. "But I'm ready to start betting on you, Roy."

We'll see how Pittsburgh bets--and whether this town says, "Roll 'em!" again.

Original Article: http://www.wqed.org/mag/features/1003_picture.shtml

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