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LETTER FROM MALIBU
FINDING BALANCE &
THE UNDREAMED OF
POSSIBILITIES…….
by Artistic Director,
Natalia Lazarus
27
miles, 20,000 inhabitants. Malibu is a place of dreams come true. A place
that makes us dream. Dreams of cinema, movie stars, iconic music,
legendary musicians, surfing and dallying in the sun... Dreams of a
different time, of a time gone by, of a history ingrained in the sandy
beaches and the winding canyons. Dreams in creation, dreams of the times
to come and dreams of the here and now.
The
“Bu”, as it is lovingly called by its inhabitants has the magical quality
of providing for the soul a sense of peace, relaxation, serenity.
To
some, Malibu is a place of status. A place that means you have arrived.
To the naked eye it is VAST, vast in wealth, vast in mountainous terrain,
vast in beaches, vast in sun, vast in fauna, vast in wild life: coyotes,
mountain lions, blue belly lizards, dolphins, seals, seagulls, birds that
fly and plunge themselves fearlessly into the ocean. A metaphor for our
lives as we live on the edge, on the edge of this vast ocean from which
on a clear day you can see Catalina Island…
90265,
a privileged zip code. A place blessed with gorgeous sunsets,
hallucinating sunrises. A cocktail of colors: pink, lavender, orange,
gold…Magnificent in its splendor, a place where you can escape to, a
refuge from busy city life, a safe place where you can leave your door
unlocked. A place of healing, where you can actually hear your own
thoughts, a place where you can find your own voice.
I’ve
lived in Malibu for 12 years and I absolutely adore it. As a child in
Honduras and having never been to California, I still intuitively had the
power of visualization. I could see the Hollywood sign and myself walking
on a Malibu beach. In my mind, both were side by side and a cozy, wooden
bungalow on the sand awaited me….
Years
later, as I bask in the glorious Los Angelean sunshine, a delicious,
salty breeze gently caressing my skin, the pounding of the waves
providing a musical backdrop, I think, “Wow, is this life or what?”
It
is award season in Los Angeles and somehow the landscape of Malibu is
tied in with all that Hollywood imagery. The air is bustling with
excitement and positive energy. It is a time when I feel especially proud
to be an artist and compelled to see every film that is nominated in every
category. It is so fulfilling to see other artists get recognition for
their talent, skill, passion and creativity.
As
I stare out into the infinite ocean, a shadow thought crosses my mind:
What about all the other artists that have done good work and are not
nominated? Suddenly, I feel just as superficial as the movie lots and
sound stages that surround us. I, too, falling prey to the hype machine.
That machine that measures box office receipts on the opening weekends of
films, the marker for whether the film will “survive” or not.
I
stare into the Pacific and like a movie, my mind makes a cut from water
to water, from the Pacific Ocean in Malibu to the Seine River in Paris. I
live in the Third arrondissement in Paris. It’s called Le Marais. I am
told it is as old as 1240! It is considered an artistic quartier filled
with cafes, the Musee Picasso, Musee de l’Histoire de Paris, La Place des
Vosges….
I
jog sometimes from my door at the Rue Commines, a small little street
named after Phillippe de Commines, a political man who was at the service
of Louis XI to the Rue de Bretagne, where on weekends, the whole street
is closed off and the market takes place. You can buy large, raw oysters
that you can eat right on the street if you like, lovely cheeses,
flowers, antiques….I curve my way around the Rue de Turenne filled with
clothes shops and cafes, I pass La Place des Vosges (sometimes I jog
around it and stare at the divine apartments), I hit Place Saint Paul,
where there is a magnificent bakery with bread and croissants to die for
and then….one of my favorite places, L’ile St. Louis. An island of the
Seine River located in the heart of Paris. I step onto the Pont Marie. I
always stretch in the middle of this bridge. I stare out onto the Seine
and it is always magical, straight out of a fairy tale.
The
Seine divides Paris into two halves, the Left Bank and the Right Bank, so
the Seine is always a present force, much like the Pacific Ocean is for
us. On my last trip, all along my jogging route, in the metro stations,
through out the entire city there were giant, tall posters announcing the
opening of Francis Ford Coppola’s film, TETRO. Posters for all cultural
events are placed throughout this sublime city, reminding you of what
must be seen but displayed in the most tasteful of ways. The poster sizes
are different than ours here in the States. I found the French ones to be
taller and thinner, and sometimes the graphics and slug lines chosen for
the films are different than what is chosen here.
I
remember thinking, “wow, I had never even seen a poster of the Coppola
film, Tetro”. I’m embarrassed to say, I never went to see the film when
if first opened for us here last summer. We tossed it around with some of
my friends as an idea of what to go see and just as easily we dismissed
it, “oh it didn’t get good reviews”. “I heard its not doing too well”…
Not to mention, that if you wanted to see it on the West side, one of the
few cinemas carrying it was the Landmark, for a whopping 2 weeks,
if even…Those darned box office receipts and reviews,
dictating to us again, what to see and what not to see…
So
how is it that a film that did so “poorly” here can have success
elsewhere? As I walked and dined in Paris, every group I was with, one of
the “must see events” on their list was the opening of the Coppola film,
Tetro. Boldly, I commented several times to the French, “it didn’t get
good reviews in the States you know,” and every time I got the icy, non
chalant stare that only the French can master, followed by animated
hands, “On s’en fous des Americains! Qu’est ce qui’ils
savent??!!! “We don’t care what the Americans think! What do
they know anyways”! Incredulous stare, usually followed by a large exhale
from their cigarette, “Coppola est un artiste”!
Another
incredulous stare at the blasphemy of what I had just said and then,
SILENCE. Nothing more needed to be said.
Coppola
is an artist, an artist, an artist…..the words echoed in my mind,
reverberating to a point of goose bumps on my flesh…Coppola is an artist,
yes he most certainly is! Hearing such passion and conviction, I too was
impassioned. Oui, Oui! Respect for the artist! Loyalty to the artist! How
could I have forgotten that?
I
went to see the opening of Tetro in Paris and it was a magical event
treated with much respect. The cinema was packed and silent. There were
no jumbo size popcorns, nachos or hot dogs. Just silence as the patrons
patiently waited. The lights dimmed and the curtain rose. The first image
was already the sign of an auteur. A blinding white light against a black
screen…Every shot was a tableaux and this artist chose to film the
present in black and white; the past in color. It is the story of two
brothers, it is moving, the performances are magnificent. The French man
I went with, cried…When the film ended, the audience clapped, not a loud
thunderous clap, a respectful clap….I was moved on all levels. I was
moved by the actors. I was moved by the visual landscape that Coppola
created but most importantly, I was moved by the respect he was offered.
“We
don’t care what the Americans think! What do they know anyways”!! Coppola
has been ousted by the same Hollywood system that once embraced him but
it doesn’t matter because he’s an ARTIST. And an artist is unstoppable.
An artist CREATES. Just like Louise Bourgeois, he creates, he destroys, he
rebuilds…”Je fais, je detruis, je refais”… An artist’s voice is larger
than oneself and an artist has something to express.
Tetro
was shot in Argentina, with Argentinian and Spanish funding. “On s’en
fous des Americains! Qu’est ce qu’ils savent”!!
Say
it with me, “We don’t care what the Americans think! What do they know
anyways! Open your door, your window, step out on to your balcony, on
your rooftop, the street, the beach, your acting class, your trailer,
your sound stage… and scream it; not literally as a political statement
against Americans but as a METAPHOR for your art and for yourself as an
artist. Say it for all those that don’t understand or appreciate your
expression, say it to those who try to rob you of your light and diminish
it because what do they know anyways….
You
are an artist, an artist. And somehow, somewhere, someone will see, hear
and feel the depth of your talent.
And
then just sit back, let the universe do its work and just watch as how
the red carpets get laid out for you and doors begin to open for you in
ways and places that you never dreamed of. Balance in our lives and art
is about embracing our own strength, nurturing our talent, expressing our
voice, building our kingdom and manifesting the undreamed of
possibilities…
So,
lets all be French for a day and if you’re already French, be even more
French! Stand with pride, grab the iciest look you can muster, make one
dramatic hand gesture that dismisses all that you find ridiculous, exhale
the smoke from your cigarette and if you don’t smoke, pretend that you
do, it will give you the perfect non chalant rhythm of French
haughtiness, “On s’en fous des Americains! What do they know anyways”!!
Don’t forget the incredulous glare….
Natalia
Lazarus
Artistic Director
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