Following

Before Inception, before The Dark Knight and Batman Begins, before The Prestige, before Insomnia, and before Memento, Christopher Nolan made a little, 71-minute feature film called Following.

I bought Following on DVD this summer.  I was in Half Price Books, as is my custom on weekends when I get antsy, and I saw they had shelved this DVD among the out-of-print/hard to find titles.  I didn't know Following had gone out of print, nor did I know the film had gotten scarce.  Sold!

I came home and price-checked the DVD online.  I paid a few dollars too much.  Ah well.

I've mentioned previously that my DVD buying has all but stopped as I migrate to Blu-Ray and get more conservative with my shiny disc collecting.  But that's not the only reason for the near-cessation.

After 10 months of this project, I'm still on "F."

At this rate, I'll get through the alphabet sometime around 2014.  That's troubling in a way, and comforting in another.  At least I have a goal.  I often feel as if I don't.

I still buy the odd DVD here and there, usually when I realize there's a specific film missing from my collection and not available on Blu-Ray (yet).  Following deserved a place on my shelf.  The completist in me rides again.  I have all of Nolan's films on DVD now.

Nolan shot Following guerrilla style, with virtually no budget, no permission, and not much in the way of equipment.  Although the results are not perfect, what Nolan manages to accomplish is admirable.  He gets these quick shots on the streets of London with no permits and gets great takes in public without people blowing his shots.  He used available light as often as possible, recruited friends and family for roles, and ended up making one of the more critically acclaimed independent films of the 1990s.

A lot went right, in other words.

"Everyone has a box," Cobb says to the inexperienced Bill as they rifle through a stranger's home.  He finds that box — you know the one, with the mementos, photos, love notes, trinkets, souvenirs, all detritus of a life, all kept in a shoebox or a hope chest.  This is the flotsam of our past, evidence of what we've done, where we've gone, and maybe where we're going.  Our homes are places where we store our belongings, and they are the evidence of what we have accomplished to date.  If someone broke in and stole our stuff, would we have evidence of our progress?  Would we have anything to show for all those years of working?  Does the acquisition of "stuff" serve as an adequate substitute for the creation of art?

I ask myself that question all the time.  Every weekend, I get antsy.  On payday, the feeling is worse.  I'm compelled to go out, to collect, to acquire, and then never enjoy what I bring home.  Piles and piles of books to go along with shelves and shelves of shiny discs.  I started this blog to force myself to stop and to give myself a project.  I want more.  I should be writing.  I want more.

I've known many people over the years who've had dreams of making a full-length film or writing a novel or screenplay.  Most of those people were just talking — idle chatter no different from the offhand comment about how they'd like to go to Paris someday, or how they'd like to own a Jaguar.

I bring this up as a contrast to what filmmakers such as Nolan, Kevin Smith, Robert Rodriguez, and Richard Linklater were able to accomplish before turning 30.  All of them took that initial leap of making a full-length picture.  They didn't shoot on 35mm film.  Most of them shot on 16mm stock or Super 8.

All four made a critically acclaimed film with little money and went on to successful filmmaking careers.  They found ways to cut corners and make their vision into a real film.  They got antsy in all the right ways.  They got off their asses and stopped talking and started doing.

I'm happy doing what I do and living this life, but I'd be lying if I said there was nothing missing.  I have these moments when I stop and consider how much I've done with myself by age 35, and I have bouts of self-loathing and general dissatisfaction.  Acquisition does not provide long-term satisfaction.  Thoreau's bit about leading a life of quiet desperation comes to mind, but I don't want this to devolve into some whiny, navel-gazing mess.  (Too late.)

Films like Following remind me that one can get up at any time and make a start.  Whether I will is another prospect entirely.