Vincent Gallo's directorial debut, Buffalo '66, immediately established Gallo as one of the most talented directors of his generation. Gallo had been known previously for his tour-de-force performances as an actor - from his postmodern deconstruction of acting in the uncut version of Arizona Dream to his scene-stealing charm in the under-rated Palookaville.
But ever since the controversial reception of Gallo's second feature, The Brown Bunny, at the 2003 Cannes Film Festival, Gallo has become a kind of lightning-rod of personal projection, engendering both virulent condemnation and lavish praise. Because of the highly personal nature of Gallo's work, critics have had a hard time differentiating between Gallo-the-filmmaker and Gallo-the-person, and the criticisms of his new film have tended to devolve into criticisms of Gallo himself.
I spoke to Gallo in San Francisco while he was touring the country (by himself, in a car) to promote The Brown Bunny.
There were a lot of years between Buffalo'66 and The Brown Bunny. What were you doing all that time?
I've been so busy. I did a bunch of short films, I advertised...
You made short films?
Oh yeah, I did 15 short films for John Frusciante for his music. I recorded an album - actually, I recorded two albums. I toured. I acted in five films just for money. I restored a house. And I prepared for The Brown Bunny. It took two years just to prepare the camera package for Brown Bunny.
Buffalo '66 was finished in 1998, but I didn't finish all the press and all the work around the film - the DVD, the posters, the trailers, the releases, and the prints - until the end of '98. So it was only two years - '99 and 2000 - and then I started working on The Brown Bunny in 2001.
I was more busy from the end of Buffalo '66 to the beginning of The Brown Bunny than I had been in my entire life put together. I was working like a fiend, and unfortunately, that same rhythm followed me into The Brown Bunny. I sort of burnt myself out. I mean, I suffer the side effects of excessive stress and self-neglect.
Can you take a break now?
I'm hoping to. After this last publicity tour, I have to play a show in New York, and then my plans are to take a break for the rest of my life. That's my dream anyway.
There was a rumor at Cannes that you were going to give up filmmaking...
That's phony bullshit. That's some jerk from Screen International who sent a journalist in under a false name with false credentials because they knew that I didn't want Screen International there. And then out of revenge, they pulled things out of context. I never apologized for the film and I never said I would never make a film again. What I said was: "This is my idea of a beautiful film. If people don't like it then I'm sorry for that."
You know, when you finish a film, you're so exhausted that you think to yourself, "I'm never going to fucking make another movie again..." So what I said was: "I'm not even finished with this film, but right now my feeling is, I'm never going to make a fucking movie again." That was how I felt at that moment. It wasn't to announce my retirement or anything.
I mean, Wes Anderson or Spike Jonze are sort of career people, doing the same thing over and over. So Wes checks in at the Chateau Marmont for a year and writes a screenplay - his workload is to casually have something to do all the time. For me, I put intensive pressure on myself.
My dream is not to care about anything ever again. That's my fantasy: not to love anyone, or care about anything, or want to change the world in any way. At the end of an extremely vigorous workload, I can't wait to retire or to die or to not care anymore.
I should say, I really, really loved your film.
Really?
Yeah. From the first shot, the way the camera was moving and the quality of the image was immediately mystical, and it just continued that way for the whole film. It was very beautiful.
You know, it was booed within two minutes at Cannes. I mean, it was booed loudly from the first two minutes.
I heard that, but I couldn't figure out why anyone would boo. All I could come up with was that maybe it had to do with the opening credits. What made you decide to start the film with a title card that read: "a film written, directed, edited and produced by Vincent Gallo"?
I wanted to take it away from the marginal film world. I didn't want it to appear like an independent film or like an art film.
But why would that title card make it seem like it's not an independent film?
Because it was preceded by a title card that read: "Grey Daisy Films Presents." It was a fake company, as if that meant something, as if I had establishment. But it was just a focus card - that's a focus cue in the center. The concept was to create an iconic opening, or a sort of historic opening. It was an aesthetic decision.
It seems like people misunderstand what you do, and it seems like a lot of things you do get misperceived. With the whole sex thing, people are so suspicious about your motivations.
I know. "Suspicion" is a good word. You're the first person that used that word and I think that word says it all: "suspicion."
There was a Belgian filmmaker who insulted me about the opening credits and at one point I just said to him, "You know what, man? You live in a fucking country where you show up at your own pace, at your own time. A country where there's no real chaos and no real risk. Try to make a fucking movie in America and see what it's like, fucking asshole."
That opening credit was an aesthetic choice - it has nothing to do with ego or anything like that. It was to break the protocol or the status quo of a typical opening of a movie. It's like to do a poster or a billboard without a billing block. I chose to do it without a billing block, not just because no one worked on this film, but because it's visually fresh.
What's a billing block?
It's that list of names on the bottom where 800 people have to get their credit on a film poster. I mean, how could you possibly design a film poster if there're so many pre-existing requirements? If a name looks good, put it in. If it doesn't look good, don't put it in, right? Ok, so that's it. That's how I make a poster.
In the billboard, it didn't say, "Written and Directed by Vincent Gallo." It didn't say, "Produced by Vincent Gallo," it just said: "Vincent Gallo and Chloë Sevigny. The Brown Bunny. In color. Rated X. Adults only."
It's rated X?
No, I self-rated it X because I felt X meant "adult cinema," not pornography. XXX or NC-17, I felt that was more suggestive of pornography or exploitation or scandal, but X meant, you know, that it was in the tradition of Midnight Cowboy or Last Tango.
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