Over the next few weeks, we at IDA will be introducing our community to the filmmakers whose work will be represented in the DocuWeekTM Theatrical Documentary Showcase, August 18-24. We asked the filmmakers to share the stories behind their films--the inspirations, the challenges and obstacles, the goals and objectives, the reactions to their films so far.
So, to continue this series of conversations, here is Karina Epperlein, director/producer of Phoenix Dance.
Synopsis: It seems impossible, but after losing a leg to cancer, accomplished dancer Homer Avila returns to the stage without crutches, performing with Andrea Flores a duet choreographed by Alonzo King. We witness determination, skill and courage as Homer collaborates in his now 'imperfect' body' and his 'one-leggedness' turns into transcendent beauty.
IDA: How did you get started in documentary filmmaking?
Karina Epperlein: In the 1980s, still in my theater days, I made a couple of short art videos. I produced, directed and performed in the video Labyrinthian, based on a work by Greek poet Nanos Valaoritis, as well as the short video version of my solo theater piece i.e. Deutschland,
which were both shown in festivals here and abroad.
I enjoyed the medium, but did not get fully into it until I started a theater, sound and poetry class in a federal women's prison in 1992. These women needed to be heard and seen; people only knew stereotypes from the mass media. I had unsupervised access (a miracle!) because of my reputation as the crazy "screaming lady" from "Berzerkeley" who wanted to "only
document her class." The prison would not have allowed regular media to film what I did. Subversion and inventiveness--with support from the women prisoners--helped me succeed in making my first one-hour documentary. Four years later, in 1996, I completed Voices from inside, about women in prison and their children on the outside. Voices won the PASS Media Award from the National Council on Crime and Delinquency.
This got me hooked. As an artist I liked the raw energy of real life, the making-do with what is, the art of listening, inquiring, learning--all my previous skills seemed to come to fruition here.
IDA: What inspired you to make Phoenix Dance ?
KE: In October 2002--totally by chance--I saw Homer Avila perform as a guest dancer with Andrea Flores at an AXIS Dance Company event of integrated dance. The duet started off with a man on the floor, dim lighting. He began moving, and a minute into his dance I thought I was hallucinating: he had only one leg! How was that possible? When Andrea entered, a creature with
three legs and four arms emerged. The traditional roles were reversed: the man's vulnerability and the woman's strength complemented each other, sweetly. And in their solo outbursts they spurred each other on to great heights, like the flames of their souls' fire . I had tears streaming down my face; I was on fire. And I urgently asked myself how I could help to bring this utterly inspiring effort to the world. Having been a professional dancer, [I knew that] this was too beautiful to not be seen by everybody!
Then I woke to the reality of being a filmmaker. At intermission I ran to ask Homer if he would be interested in a film about himself and this particular pas de deux, which, for me, spoke about the essence of the human experience. I knew nobody would be able to imagine a dancer on one leg like Homer without seeing it. He said yes, and took me on a journey, too.
IDA: What were some of the challenges and obstacles in making this film, and how did you overcome them?
KE: That Thanksgiving Homer told me that the cancer in the hip that had caused the amputation was recurring in his lungs. He disclosed this news only to a few very good friends. He wanted to be known as living, dancing, re-inventing himself as a dancer and artist. I needed to hurry to find the money! And it was difficult to get the busy schedules of Alonzo King, the choreographer, and the two dancers freed up for a week of rehearsals, performance and interviews. I knew what I wanted and I wanted it to be limited, precise.
The week of filming finally happened in April 2003, and much went wrong. We rented a theatre, but the lighting designer did not appear that day. Alonzo and I kept tweaking the lighting until we were satisfied, but the filming schedule was getting messed up. And at the end of that week I felt I had not gotten the emotional and technical quality that I had envisioned. I put the footage aside, crying with despair, hardly looking at any of it. A month later I had a serious back injury, and felt crippled, literally. It took months to recover. I was going through my own burning to ashes and rebirth.
When I came back to the material in January 2004, I questioned deeply: How could I stay true to my original being "on fire," my enthusiasm? How could I make the magic that I experienced when seeing Homer and Andrea for the first time into a film that would give audiences a similar experience? It was all up to me to recreate this in the editing room. I prepared the script and
sequences meticulously, drawing, sketching, weighing the words. And the first cut came easily, like a miracle. Fundraising and my own health were a more difficult matter. I tried to show Homer the 15-minute rough cut. But he was in Frankfurt, and the next thing I heard he was dead. He had danced on a Friday night, checked himself into the hospital on Saturday, and died Sunday morning
surrounded by friends, his new girlfriend in Holland singing him a lullaby over the phone.
Homer died on March 26, 2004, at age 48, three years after his amputation. The last three years of his life he had lived to the fullest, doing what he loved most: dancing, one-legged, on stage internationally, having pieces choreographed for him not only by Alonzo King but also by Victoria Marks and Dana Casperson from the Frankfurt Ballet. The urgency in Homer's dancing (reflected as well in his busy schedule of rehearsing, performing, traveling, lecturing) was palpable. He inspired all who came into contact with him. His death did not affect the making of the film; all the footage needed had been shot. It only made it more essential that the legacy of Homer live on.
IDA: As you've screened Phoenix Dance --whether on the festival circuit, or in screening rooms, or in living rooms--how have audiences reacted to the film? What has been most surprising or unexpected about their reactions?
KE: When I first shared Phoenix Dance with an audience at a private fundraising event in 2005, I noticed the long silence at the end. Nobody could talk, there was sniffling, tears were wiped, and no words for a long time. I sat with this, stunned; I had not expected such a deep
response. Was this not what I had experienced when seeing Homer and Andrea dance for the first time?
Despite this, fundraising still proved very difficult, and it took me another year to complete the film, and I often lost hope, wondering whether the film would really be able to get out there and do what I had envisioned.
Since Phoenix Dance's release in January 2006, the audiences' feedback has been tremendous. Whatever people's hardships are, they can identify with the film and they see Homer as an inspiration. People of all walks of life have come up to me, be it the girl with the war veteran father, the man with ALS, the mother with the autistic teenage son, the daughter with the mother with Parkinson's, just to name the more dramatic cases. Or just the everyday person with the difficulties we all encounter in staying human in a rapidly changing world! Even the lucky ones feel they need the encouragement of the film. They all say basically the same thing: The film gives them courage, it opens possibilities for them, it's a "yes" to life, they love the beauty and inspiration, it is like food to them, they feel moved, they want many people to see it! Therapists want it for their clients, teachers for their students. Some people take a DVD home and call me the next day, how they kept watching it over and over. Homer puts life and hardship into perspective. Homer shows no self-pity, viewers see his skill and determination.
People get it when Alonzo says in the film, "It's often when these obstacles come, that you have to reveal to yourself who you are. Who you are is forced to come forth!" And people are struck how Homer turned his "imperfect" body--his "one-leggedness"--into beauty, how he was not ashamed, did not hide--he showed courage. Audiences love Homer's
playfulness at the end of the film when he dances with crutches on the sidewalk. By now they are endeared to him, knowing him for only 13 minutes--then comes the big collective sigh of sadness when they read of his death. I love it most that everybody comes away with some slightly different
point of inspiration.
IDA: What docs or docmakers have served as inspirations for you?
KE: For me documentary filmmaking is about how we experience the world, and I am very interested in the inner life, what's under the surface, underneath the image, the stereotype. Poets, writers and journalists as well inspire me, and all kinds of artists who penetrate the obvious, can
hold complexity and highlight the transcendent and transformative aspects of life.
Tarkovsky and Kieslowski have been big inspirations, some of Herzog's and Fassbinder's films. Night and Fog by Alain Resnais. I love everything about The Fast Runner --the documentary quality, storytelling, camera, acting, taking the audience on a journey that is unknown, and yet so familiar and universal.
To view the entire Docuweek program, visit http://documentary.org/programs/index_06.php.
To download and view the Docuweek schedule, visit http://documentary.org/src/DW/DocuWeek_Schedule.pdf.
To purchase tickets to Docuweek, visit www.ArcLightcinemas.com.