CAMP Film

Throughout the six years of the Rehoboth Beach Independent Film Festival, the words—and the worlds of—"independent film" have been twisted, contorted, reshaped and essentially turned on its ear, leading to a real identity crisis for both filmmakers and audiences alike.

A scathing new book, Down and Dirty Pictures: Miramax, Sundance and the Rise of Independent Films by Peter Biskind, takes a peek behind the curtain and shows how some of the former pillars of independent cinema have since become business as usual, concerned more with director’s dollars than director’s dreams.

In the early to mid-90s, the definition was rather simple: small studios dotted the cinematic landscape, eager to help promote films that would otherwise never see the light of a projector. Filmmakers, armed with cameras, credit cards and chutzpah, would peddle their products in hopes of being able to do little more than pay back the loan from their parents and possibly move on to their next feature.

Soderbergh and Tarantino barely registered as blips on the artistic radar. The Blair Witch had yet to emerge from the woods. Sundance was actually called the U.S. Film Festival, and was more a cool place to see some small-budget flicks in between runs on the slope. Then, a little studio, fronted by two very big brothers, gobbled up small films like celluloid Twinkies. The Weinstein Brothers, Bob and Harvey, formed Miramax Films in 1979, but the studio found its groove in the early 90s, with films like sex, lies and videotape, Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Clerks and The Brothers McMullen.

When the studio first formed, who knew that the Weinsteins would be responsible for both the birth and death of independent cinema as we now know it? After dabbling with concert films and documentaries for the better part of a decade, Miramax saw an opportunity in 1989, as the world of independent films was crumbling. Studios such as Vestron, Island, and Cinecom had made some ill-conceived moves—investing bucks in larger budgeted films—that drained them dry.

The release of Steven Soderbergh’s sex, lies and videotape in 1989 changed everything.

Its piddling $1 million budget was nothing compared to the $24 million take at the box office. In the decade that followed its release, most of the major studios consumed or created a smaller distribution company in an attempt to find that next indie "blockbuster."

Studios such as Artisan, IFC, Lions Gate and Newmarket began to peddle their wares to the general public, elbowing their way into the multiplexes with little to no marketing, but a heart twice the size of Jim Carrey’s wallet. The studio big boys were still relying on more formulaic fare in 1990—such as Predator 2, Back to the Future III and Rocky V. Congruently, independent films were making their voices heard in films like Longtime Companion and The Grifters. Names such as Spike Lee and Robert Rodriguez decided to turn their lenses on more intimate tales that twisted narratives, rather than the mass-produced, pre-packaged "blockbusters" from studios like 20th Century Fox, Universal and Disney.

It took only a few short years for each of these studios to acquire their own "independent" divisions, such as Fox Searchlight, Sony Pictures Classics and Miramax (which was acquired by Disney). To muddle matters even further, chains of theaters were purchased by divisions of large studios (studios that already have arms in the television industry as well, such as Disney owning ABC, Paramount owning MTV, VH1 and Nickelodeon, and 20th Century owning the various Fox networks). This created monolithic challenges for the aspiring auteur to be able to squeak onto the screen. It also served as an ironic footnote in 1995, which was declared "The Year of the Independents" during Oscar time, as The English Patient, Breaking the Waves, Fargo and Shine were all vying for top honors at the Academy Awards. And while the films may have had tinier budgets, they were released by divisions of Disney, Universal, Polygram and Time Warner, respectively.

Miramax, which once trumpeted itself as the voice of the "little guy," now regularly releases more than 25 films a year, many of them carrying large budgets and larger stars (The English Patient, Cider House Rules, Shakespeare in Love, Cold Mountain, Chocolat as well as the Scream and Scary Movie franchises). In fact, Harvey Weinstein is known for his ruthless push each year around award season to cram a "prestige picture" down the throats of critics in an effort to garner golden statuettes and additional accolades.

Also in this decade of disarray, anyone who has plopped down cash for a ticket at the local theater has become a cineaste, as phrases such as "box office take," "total gross" and "per screen average" crept into the vernacular. The box office is now grist for the mill for Monday morning mini-moguls, who check to see what was top of the charts in its opening weekend. Everyone from Entertainment Weekly to local papers such as the News Journal, now report what was top of the charts for the previous weekend. With this glacial shift at the cinema, it has become harder to discern just what is considered "independent."

"Independent" is now more a state of mind. It is still representative of those little-seen films shot on an infinitesimal budget with little to no studio backing, but there are just as many bad films shot in this style as those released by mainstream studios (to this, I can testify after watching thousands of head-scratching submissions in the six years of festivals we have produced). In today’s market, it is more a vision of the director who pushes limits (Soderbergh, The Coen Brothers and Alejandro González Iñárritu immediately spring to mind), that shift from the norm, that cause us to reevaluate ourselves or our lives. Most independent films are more personal tales, which cause us to either laugh or squirm in our seats because the characters on screen are just a little too close to ourselves.

It is these personal tales that remain the foundation for the Rehoboth Beach Independent Film Festival, and we hope that they will remain so for as long as there is a filmmaker’s camera, a vision, and a dream to share with the world.