I am on a mission.

I have always enjoyed pursuing a number of different artistic endeavours, from graphic design and filmmaking to penning a few words or strumming a few chords. The film world especially almost mandates that those who intend to experience some form of success in the act of creation must follow suit of those before them, falling in line with the sensibilities of the postmodern period we are in, as well as employing the narrative and formal conventions the last century has made into hard-fast rules. Alas, the time has come for me to respectfully disagree. I find myself moving closer toward the fringes of what my classmates and colleagues consider the right direction, yet I am also unwilling to operate outside the mainstream film world (i.e., I am not interested in adopting the avant garde). Uncomfortable though it is to lie between the two philosophies, as it were, if I am to stand here long enough I might as well take my shoes off and make myself at home.

The time has come for me to respectfully disagree.

As you might imagine, I have some very strong opinions especially regarding filmmaking, though I will admit to enjoying a variety of genre attempts alongside a great many guilty indulgences. But my eclectic palate does not necessarily dictate my interests. I enjoy heist films without a consideration of making them. As a result, you could say my influences are many, their impact, shallow. For the moment. In a sense, I am in a Freudian formative state of non-identity, willing to explore, but afraid that, in doing so, I will foreclose the elastic ability to be molded into a thing of great difference. My reaction is to simply consume everything, to learn and remember all I can, to reinvent myself on an almost daily basis. It is exhausting, though now I have been remodeled so many times I can begin to see which influences have stuck, and thus where the latest mark is headed. So what sort of art do I want to make? What have I been making?

In a sense I am in a Freudian formative state of non-identity, willing to explore but afraid that, in doing so, I will foreclose the elastic ability to molded into a thing of great difference.

Four years ago I was constantly pumping out low-tech, occasionally half-baked, wildly experimental films mostly of the comedy variety, in what unquestionably has been the most prolific period of my life. The culmination of this very first “learning how to crawl” era was a near feature-length documentary I was passionate enough about to sacrifice the majority of my life toward. From this ultimate achievement I gained an understanding of filmmaking on both a logistical and intuitive level, the solidification of my desire to pursue film professionally, and an acceptance letter to one of the most prestigious film schools in the world. And then, the engine blew out. I have made little since.

Throughout my film school experience, the work I have crated has always been criticised as formless, unfocused, and nostalgic. While I am aware that more often than not I become trapped by the inability to table my own footage, I am also aware that my films do not attempt to force the traditional literary arc. I’m exploring something different. My point: so many people are so cynical about the world we live in today — our morals are corrupt, our priorities are mismatched, our intentions are off-course — but the pockets in the world that fly in the face of everything we think we are lie quietly waiting to be found. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t believe my films are nostalgic. I believe people do not see the parts of the world that don’t fit in for what they truly are: beautiful, peaceful, sensible, and so honestly human. I believe that in film at least, we need to slow down, reconsider, and let the stories tell themselves. We need to give the subjects of a film time and enough distance to get the message across at its own pace. Movies should be able to evoke your emotions without the overuse of music. A film shouldn’t tell you everything it’s trying to say, as an audience it is our job and our great skill to read between the lines, just as existentially it is our job as humans to figure it all out as we encounter the day-to-day.

As an audience, it is our job and our great skill to read between the lines.

There is no answer. I am simply on the verge of changing eras once again, in a transitional period that is, not surprisingly, fit to match the rest of my life. There are several roads before me and the map can’t tell me everything, but I believe that in my experimental dustings, I have uncovered something that lies much deeper. The film industry’s need to change methodology is indicative of the change our society is poised upon without even knowing it. I am okay with being criticised for the films I don’t make, I just wish they could be assessed for what they are: exercises. Exercises in mood, profile snippets, snapshots of someone else’s life put on film so that one day I might better understand how to listen to what I am trying to make a film about instead of applying the same, unyielding method to a new topic.

Just a few steps outside my front door is an unlikely park. Not even a block south of my building a gaggle of neighbourhood kids convene mere moments after the final school bell sounds ready with bottles of pop, hilarious stories, and of course, skateboards.

The area immediately north of USC is somewhat of an infamous skate park. In fact, the location is so highly desirable to the board crowd that the university’s administration or the city division of parks and recreation or whoever it is in charge sat down and decided all this ollie and grinding business had to stop. So, recently two feet of concrete have been removed from the base of every ramp, stand, and rail to be replaced with sand in an effort to discourage after-school free-wheeling. However, the skateboarders keep coming back, day after day after day. Occasionally the herd of skaters are broken apart by a rival BMX clan who every so often take it upon themselves to assert two larger wheels over four smaller ones. But for the most part, not a day goes by when some incarnation of teenage extreme sports manifests itself directly between where I am and where I need to go.

Occasionally the herd of skaters are broken apart by a rival BMX clan who every so often take it upon themselves to assert two larger wheels over four smaller ones.

Having spent a considerable amount of time observing them whilst I wait for the stoplight separating campus from the community to change, I have amassed a number of questions I would like to hear the answers to. To the outsider the group is a rag-tag collective that spontaneously collided to create a storm force, and just as quickly as their powers combined, so do they dissipate. As an onlooker, I am left bewildered. Where did they start? Which wind blew them in? How did they begin learning? How on earth did they find this place? At first, I assumed the space we both shared was simply convenient, perhaps even familiar. Yet there is much more to it. This is no neighbourhood gang of school children, this is a subculture, with rules and tells and leaders and lore.

I find their pecking order unusual, idealist even. Unlike the world I live in, where rising up the ladder is attributed to a mix of earned expertise, seniority, and good timing, their world is based upon a strict set of skills that is the foundation of their motives. So strong is this tenet that these seemingly rambunctious minors are accomplishing as much for tolerance as any Rosa Parks. In short, if you’ve got the skills you’re in the club, regardless of age, race, creed, personality, background, or appearance. It is not uncommon to see a band of middle school preteens attempting precisions alongside unsteady college students. You’ll find eight-year-olds giving tips on how to change directions efficiently to high-school seniors more than twice their ages. More than once I’ve come across an elementary school trickster riding easily among the primo skaters, given a wide berth by all others pursuing the same co-curricular.

These seemingly rambunctious minors are accomplishing as much for tolerance as any Rosa Parks.

These variations in group composition are completely natural, integrated, and accepted. Furthermore, in my three years studying the subject regularly, I have not once seen anyone step outside their place. The rules are simple: the most talented group gets the space first, usually at prime hours. Everyone else has to fall in line when they can. The inexperienced first-timers almost always get stuck with the Sunday noon slot, while those with top shelf game get to practice at five every weekday. And that’s all they really do, too, practice. You will not see anyone — neither the skaters nor the bikers — there to show off. Each group cheers each other on in the attempt to acquire a new trick. Once that trick is mastered, it is rarely seen. It’s not unheard of to outgrow the makeshift park altogether and graduate to the half pipe and skate ramp further uptown. However, you have to work your way up the ladder first.

In skate terms it seems that changing groups is rare. Usually you stick with your group until eventually another group forms underneath you, allowing you to move up the chain. However, sometimes an individual will challenge his or herself into a higher group by attempting to practice with them at their time slot. If he or she can keep up, they have succeeded. If not, they return to their original group. I had thought such an alpha male challenge would be taken with more offense, but instead the issue is so trivial, I never would have known anything had occurred had I not been present. Competitive as I thought skating and BMX to be, I have witnessed something else entirely. Conflict within or between groups is rare. The vibe is generally one of collaboration and support. I know someone of my studiousness shouldn’t be so shocked to find fought-for academic models of equality and harmony that seem so impractically idealist exhibited so easily in a group such as this, but then again, the skate park is not the first place one looks to cure world suffering.

A few months ago I made a short piece on the same notorious locale, before the concrete was removed. Although it certainly isn’t the whole picture, it might give you a good idea of what the corner, the culture, and my neighbourhood is like. You can view it below.

Word on the Street from Leigh Cooper on Vimeo.