Kate | Slininger

Yesterday I went to a screening of documentarian Errol Morris’ debut film, Gates of Heaven, which was made in 1978. Errol’s films raise important question about the nature of reality and representation, with his documentaries blurring the line between fiction and non-fiction. He relies on many unusual cinematographic techniques that draw attention to the constructed nature of his documentaries, often over-emphasizing the staged aspects of a scene. I could write a whole lot about Errol (a lot has already been written), but I’ll focus specifically on yesterday’s screening.

Gates of Heaven was shown at the Walter Reade Theater in Lincoln Center, and Errol Morris was present to answer a few questions after the movie ended. The documentary is about two pet cemeteries; one as a failed business venture and the other still thriving to this day. It’s a bizarre topic, matched by unsettling choices of technique for capturing the equally bizarre on-screen personalities. Here’s a representative scene from Gates of Heaven: 

[Side note: I want to make a video just looping her flinch at the screeching tire sound.]

Prior to this film, cinema verite was the main style of documentary: make it as “real” feeling as possible, handheld camera, natural lighting, invisible cameraman and interviewer. Be a fly on the wall, etc. Morris purposefully did the exact opposite: used a tripod, lighted every scene, carefully positioned every interview and captured surreal situations.

You’re completely aware that this is Being Filmed.

Let’s get to Errol’s own words. I took notes during the Q & A session after the screening last night, and while I definitely missed some things, I think these quotes are generally accurate:

——- 

[On a “theme” or “purpose” to Gates of Heaven:] What’s it about? That’s a difficult question, with regards to this film and my entire life. I don’t know. Am I supposed to? Is that in my job description? […] The single greatest question I ever got about this film was after the first screening. A woman stood up and said, “You know, this movie would have been better cut in half.” I said, “The same could be said of you.”

[On lack of acknowledgment for Gates of Heaven] This movie was destined for obscurity. I can thank two reviewers: Rober Ebert and Gene Siskel.

[On the “topic” of Gates of Heaven] So what is it about? At heart, I’m an investigator. I really don’t know what I’m going to hear in an interview. If I did, why bother? You should hear the unexpected and the unimaginable. That happened again and again making this movie. The pet explosion? I didn’t think I’d hear that! I knew there was a movie here early on. My underlying motivation was desparation.

[On being a broke filmmaker:] After Vernon, Florida I worked as private investigator to earn a living, then made Thin Blue Line. At one point I wanted to make a movie about spontaneous human combustion and call it Ablaze!

[Side note: Philip Glass scored The Thin Blue Line. In a documentary on Glass, Errol Morris said “No one does existential dread like Philip Glass.”]

[His motivation for “picking up a camera” and making Gates of Heaven:] Death, and false hope. Two of my favorite themes. “False hope springs eternal.” 

[On breaking “rules” of documentary:] I went through three cameramen and women before I found Ned. One told me documentaries were made with handheld cameras and available light. At one point we were filming while they were digging up the plots. I pushed him into an open pet grave while we were arguing about the nature of Montage!

[On interviewing old lady on stoop, Florence:] She was great! Wouldn’t you have interviewed her? I think she’s absolutely perfect. She provides a perfect transition between the failed pet cemetery and Bubbling Well. 

[On Werner Herzog’s wager that he would eat his own shoe if Morris completed Gates of Heaven:] “There was no wager with Herzog, he made it up. Herzog just really, really wanted to eat his shoe. No, I’ve told him that I remember the wager, but that it was he would eat his foot. 

[Finally caves into question about the “theme” of Gates of Heaven:] I hate rhapsodizing about my own films, but why not. It’s about love, and who you love. I used to say that I hear people have relationships with pets because they can’t have effective relationships with humans. But I think it’s the other way around. People have relationships with other humans when they can’t get along with pets.

[“How did you know when you were done with the film?”] When you run out of money and the producers are screaming at you, and don’t stop screaming.

[On whether there’s anything about Gates of Heaven that he doesn’t like, seeing it so many years later:] I didn’t like this print very much. It looked like someone walked on it in track shoes. It’s so strange and primitive, it’s almost an anti-film. I rather like it, though, because the idea of a “rule” for interviewing is heretical. I’m kind of contrarian and said, “Let’s take all the tenants of cinema verite and turn them on their head (lighting, tripod). Let’s be observed.” Here’s everyone looking directly into the lens of the camera. There isn’t anything like it and I’m quite proud of it. One of the good things [about being a filmmaker] is that you can reinvent the way you do things. There are no rules. [One of my favorite quotes is] “I didn’t know I can do that.” You have the opportunity to reinvent movies. With Fast, Cheap and Out of Control I had the opportunity to work with one of the best cinematographers in the world. I see it as a eulogy about mortality after I lost both my parents. 

There’s themes [throughout my films], there’s a mystery about people that fascinates me. With Thin Blue Line, there’s the mystery about who did something, who killed the cop. There’s a different, deeper mystery: the mystery of people. I’m trying to capture the dreamscape of what’s in everybody’s head. It’s a theme that’s in all of my movies. 

Update: I made it.