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Adventures at Canyon Cinema Coop by Dominic Angerame
Filmmaker and ex-Canyon Cinema director, Dominic Angerame, in trademark wide-brimmed hat. photo: courtesy D. Angerame
I WOKE UP AROUND MIDNIGHT, ONE SUM-
mer Sunday in 2012, feeling like I had already taken my last breath. On the nightstand sat a half pint of Stoli and a cigarette: all I had left.
As I sat up, taking a hit of Stoli and lighting the smoke, I realized my pillow had been my Bolex 16mm camera and my blanket, unreeled celluloid film.
I regarded the camera, amazed, because checking the gauge, I had apparently shot six minutes of film earlier that day.
"Shit," I said. "Where do I get it processed?" given the last lab in San Francisco, Monaco, stopped processing film in mid-2000s.
I staggered into the foggy, damp, one am streets looking for an open bar.
"Tony was working," I remembered and, indeed, he fronted me a shot of Fernet, which cleared the remnants of my mind. Thanks Tony!
Then there was James, an ex-student of mine. Not only did he work at Gino and Carlo's Bar but he had access to the black and white film processor at the San Francisco Art Institute.
"No charge," he said, for both the processing and the martini, I ordered.
Suddenly, I had a goal and was thinking clearly. I had to see what I'd captured in my Bolex and continue my cinema adventure.
The old logo for Canyon Cinema, the alt-film distributor, was designed by noted artist-filmmaker Bruce Conner. Illo: courtesy D. Angerame
An experimental filmmaker since longer than I can remember, I was appointed the Executive Director of Canyon Cinema in 1980.
Canyon Cinema had been created in 1961 by Bruce Baillie, Lawrence Jordan, Robert and Gunvor Nelson, Ben Van Meter and other filmmakers, and had its first showings at Baillie's place just over Skyline Drive from Oakland in the small town of Canyon.
Canyon Cinema's mission statement was simple: To distribute, promote and archive experimental motion pictures and to be governed and operated by filmmakers.
I am writing this article, open letter—whatever you want to call it—because I was fired by Canyon's board in 2012. While there may have been some valid reasons for that, there was no reason for the manner in which it was done.
Indeed, it is all too common for older, poorer and less-well-connected artists and creative administrators to be ignominiously dispatched from programs and projects, as well as jobs, simply because the Art Mafias—let's call them what they are (although out of courtesy to the specific people, some of whom used to be friends, I will use nicknames)—assume, often correctly, that those artists won't have the wherewithal to sue or even consult a lawyer.
Following the contemporary style of corporate mergers, buyouts and hostile takeovers, these Art Mafias are taking over organizations and treating those who labored in the trenches, often for long hours and with little recompense, like crap.
Members of Canyon Cinema's board formed their Mafia in the late 2000s and enacted their coup d'etat in 2012. At that point, they renamed it the Canyon Cinema Foundation and adopted different mission statements, articles and bylaws. Showing up unannounced on July 30th, they took my keys and terminated me with extreme prejudice.
No two-weeks notice, no gold watch, no financial recompense, not even a cardboard box in which to carry away the personal effects I had accumulated over three decades. (Hell, the Mafiosi who was there wouldn't even let me go out to find one.)
Bruce Conner, Canyon Cinema's and San Francisco's top seller and alt-film star. Illo: courtesy D. Angerame
Plus, I hadn't the faintest idea why. At no point did the Mafiosi ask to meet or talk with me regarding my performance or track record. In 32 years on the job, I had only two performance reviews—both positive.
I soon learned that I was rumored to have been absent a lot (untrue) and that I had a drinking problem (true, but it didn't effect my work that much and is a tradition among alt-filmmakers). (Ironically, one of the Mafiosi, whom I will call "The Devoted Buddhist Prophet," freely admits to being a marijuana addict.)
It is true that, since my job description mandated I be in the office only three-and-a-half days a week and my part-time assistant even less, and that I would attend meetings or do business outside the office when my assistant was not there, the office was sometimes closed. Still, business was attended to, notes were left on the door, calls returned, etcetera.
True, I did take days off, flex time as they now call it, after putting in long overtimes or many successive days of work, sometimes when my employee was not there—again meaning the office was closed—but I never shirked responsibilities or was absent for weeks at a time, as some have claimed. Email records back to 2003 are available to prove that.
Indeed, I worked a lot of social events and a lot from home and was on call pretty much 24/7/365—all for 30 hours a week at $35 an hour.
True, I AM an alcoholic. And, yes, it may have been grounds for mandatory rehab or even termination but not the ending of Canyon Cinema, as we know it, or the heartless dispatch of a dedicated director of over thirty years.
Although "I don't think my alcoholism led to any major misguided actions" is exactly what you'd expect an alcoholic to say, the facts indicate I was devoted to Canyon, as Scott MacDonald indicates repeatedly in his book "Canyon Cinema" (2007).
Angerame, as a young man, with Stan Brakhage, alt-film's most prolific artist with some 400 titles. Illo: courtesy D. Angerame
Anyone familiar with the Canyon's operations over the last thirty years will tell you much the same. They might also mention that I saved it from bankruptcy at least three times and increased its revenue by more than 150 percent.
My drinking did not impair my ability to run the office, to promote Canyon or to speak at length in public forums, which I did a lot. In point of fact, it may have been an essential lubricant to keep me on message and offset the immensity of the unpaid hours.
Over 32 years, I personally raised more than $750,000 for the company, which had an annual budget of more than $250,000 in the 2010s. In 2010, I negotiated the sale of Canyon's written archives to the Stanford University Media Library for $100,000.
A few years earlier, I had been instrumental in writing a grant of $10,000 for MacDonald to publish his book covering Canyon's early history, replete with reprints of the organization's original newsletter, "The Cinemanews" and other artifacts.
Throughout the years, I have been Canyon Cinema's primary spokesperson and was interviewed by the New York Times and other publications.
Curators and programmers enjoyed my company in large measure because I could relax with them over a glass of wine, or two or three (OK, no more than four), and frankly discuss Canyon Cinema and its artists.
“This is what we like about you Dominic, you can be real,” a curator from New York's Museum of Modern Art once told me.
All the while, I was a practicing filmmaker, making "In the Course of Human Events" (1997), "a seductive 'tableau' of twisted metal where bulldozers are prehistoric monsters," according to one reviewer, and "The Soul of Things" (2103), among many others films. They have screened at Lincoln Center (New York) and the Foundation Cartier (Paris) among other distinguished venues.
Things started their downward slide, however, with a corresponding uptick in my drinking, in 2010, when I discovered one of my former employees—call her "Lawrence-A-Lot" or LAL—was a Film Mafia mole.
Unbeknownst to me, LAL had taken great pains to complain to the board, to recount my every tardy arrival, day taken off (with no knowledge of it being recompense for travel or overtime), glass of wine with lunch and—worst of all!— suggestion by her that I didn't heed to the letter.
And LAL's suggestions? All completely sophomoric or attempted and deemed unworkable years before. Still, her actions had the Film Mafia targeting me in their hostile take-over.
No wonder I didn't like to come to work. Not to mention the skyrocketing rents had forced CC to move to Skid Row, Ninth and Minna in San Francisco's South of Market, where people were smoking crack and pissing right outside our windows (admittedly, making for some good shooting).
The real problem wasn't my attendance record or substance abuse, I believe, but my ability to unify CC's diverse and sometimes contradictory assignments.
As an artistic organization from the '60s, it went without saying that Canyon should be altruistic and not run like other companies, even non-profs which often have big administrations, and that became the crux of the problem.
Angerame at work, old school, 16mm Movieola flat bed. photo: D. Blair
Contrary to the Film Mafia's ambitions, I managed Canyon Cinema as a union of experimental artists: looking out for their interests, fighting to increase their royalties and to get pay raises and health and dental insurance for the staff.
I did my best to keep everyone informed of my operations, from policy changes to finances, and to make sure filmmakers ran for seats on the Board, the director of which was elected by them.
Along with The Devoted Buddhist Prophet, CC's 2012 takeover was engineered by those I'll call "The Francophile Silicone Head" (a great admirer of Meg Whitman, who recently tried to buy the California governorship), "DeeDee" a film teacher and filmmaker, "Da Playful One," a tenured professor, and "The Archivist of the Undead" a noted archivist of experimental cinema and a former Canyon employee.
Their spies and moles included Lawrence-a-Lot and "Slippery Shelly", a filmmaker, artist and film agent.
The restructuring of Canyon started slowly in 2010 when Francophile Silicon Head suddenly demanded at a board meeting that all board members and staff sign a non-disclosure statement. It was so stringent, it made it almost impossible for me to communicate events to our members and the public.
Actually things started shifting earlier when Bruce Conner died in 2008 at 72. A founding and major member of Canyon, as well as a world-famous pioneer in the found footage genre, Conner was an extremely important artist and filmmaker in San Francisco throughout the beat, hippie and punk movements.
Indeed, he was one of Canyon Cinema’s major cineastes. Not only did the income from his films help keep Canyon alive, he supported it through personal grants and other means and the logo he designed had been considered a classic for 40 years.
Ironically, that logo had to go, according to Slippery Shelly and Francophile Silicone Head, at another board meeting. While the Devoted Buddhist Prophet seemed too stoned to respond, I objected insisting it was the essence of CC branding.
Canyon's new, more corporate logo. photo: courtesy Canyon website
Much of our public loved that logo, I explained, on top of which it was designed by Bruce Conner, making it both timeless and an honor for the institution. The Mafiosi insisted we switch to a "cool," "hip" and "modern" logo.
They had found a designer who'd do it for $2,000 but he refused to continue any of Conner themes, standard procedure when updating a brand, nor let us offer any suggestions. No one at Canyon could question his precious work while he replaced the art of a filmmaker-artist who hangs in New York's MOMA.
If the Mafiosi had insisted on a new logo, perhaps we could have found a more simpatico designer in our community, certainly one who would have given us some sort of input. "No!" was the Mafiosi's considered response.
In fact, they soon approved a spanking new—if utterly idiotic—logo, a "c" within a "c," that looked very much like it was for the Chicago Cubs or Capitol Records.
I could "c" the end coming: Commercialization had reared its ugly head—not that I have anything against modernization or improvements. Indeed, the next imbroglio emerged when I proposed Canyon start streaming films online.
Admittedly many alt-filmmakers, like the community's most famous representative, Stan Brakhage (1933-2003), rejected digitization, and it does produce an inferior product, but by the late 2000s the time had come.
"No," said Slippery Shelly, with Francophile Silicone Head bobbling her head in agreement, "because Canyon has neither the inventory nor the volume to make streaming feasible."
Three months later, they suddenly changed their minds, having deprived Canyon of three months of revenue and me the kudos for coming up with the idea in the first place. Next, Da Playful One thought it might be fun for Canyon to become a non-profit.
I tried to explain that nonprofit status involves an immense amount of paperwork and CC had tried three times, in the '60s, '70s and '80s. We were rejected because film is considered a taxable commodity, and its sale or rental, which is how our artists are remunerated, had to be taxed. In fact, the IRS contacted us, essentially asking Canyon not to apply again.
When I responded I wanted nothing to do with this foolishness, I was branded a reactionary while the Mafiosi proceeded with their plan. They pinned their hopes on "The Mystical Friar", another Mafiosi associate as well as a lawyer with an inside track, who claimed he who could do it easily and quickly.
Well, guess what? The application process started in the fall of 2011 and now, nearly THREE years later, Canyon has not received its 501(c)3 from the feds. Although the Canyon Cinema Foundation did become a non-profit in the State of California, benefits are almost meaningless without federal approval.
Still from Angerame's 'Work in Progress, due out late 2015. photo: courtesy D. Angerame
Then came Slippery Shelly's lunch invitation. Once seated, she started to outline the new direction Canyon Cinema was going to take. After a couple of glasses of wine, she produced a paper saying I would be given $15,000 retirement pay if I would agree.
Actually the $15,000 was merely the bonus I requested after securing the $100,000 Stanford deal. I felt I was entitled since I saved the company at least that much in taxes, although when I first made that request, some of the Mafiosi insisted it was time to take out a contract on me.
In addition, Slippery Shelly's paper stated I was not to take a public stand against the Film Mafia and their accomplices and activities (such as writing this article) and that I would resign as Executive Director. In fact, in becoming the Canyon Cinema Foundation, the organization would no longer have an executive director, just a fundraiser.
As an afterthought, she noted, if a small, very part-time position could be found for me, I would get it.
Yes, I went along, accepting the proposition, but only verbally. (My alcoholic mind was already future tripping, "Ah, retirement. God knows, at 62, I am tired.")
We left the restaurant with a handshake, my mind whirling as I walked back to the office past the gangster pot stores and tattered guy asking for a buck to buy a burger.
"What a day," I thought, "but at least the sun was shining." The corner bar looked tempting, but I waited until I got home to go to Spec’s and contemplate the problems befalling me.
As it happened, at that time, I had been working very hard. Job one was to get Canyon off skid row and nicely ensconced in a new location, in San Francisco's Bay View (1777 Yosemite Ave), which could accommodate its SIX-TON inventory of films.
Since Canyon had no credit rating, I used my personal credit to sign a three-year lease in my own name, thus becoming responsible for fulfilling its terms, despite the vicious attacks and imminent firing by the Film Mafia.
Did the Film Mafia help at all during this major move? Although Francophile Silicone Head did stand guard during some of it, she spent most of her time talking on her cell, didn't lift a single film can and abruptly exited for a two-hour lunch.
That left me and The Beautiful and Devoted Linda, my associate at the time, at the new location's loading dock without a key, waiting to unload because Francophile Silicone had told the movers to take lunch. In the end, no one carried any film except me and my associates.
That was the summer of 2011. I had already, against my better judgment, signed the papers to start the non-profit process. Legally, I was the only person in the organization responsible for any activities, from paying taxes to signing legal documents.
My dad had warned me about accepting this responsibility back in 1980. A major change was coming for Canyon Cinema but it took about a year before the Mafia's machinations started hitting the fan.
Angerame shooting San Fran's skyline from the roof of his North Beach apartment building with his beloved Bolex. photo: courtesy D. Angerame
We were coming up to the long Fourth of July weekend in 2012 and Beautiful and Devoted Linda was handling a last-minute shipment to Canada. The renter, wanting to make sure the films would arrive on time, had called but, due to an answering machine malfunction, thought they were being ignored.
Calling to complain, they caught at home one of the Mafiosi. Although the shipment arrived early, in fact, that didn't save me from attack. Then I had to stay out of the office for another two days due to car problems, although Beautiful and Devoted Linda was there, reaping more approbation.
In August, when I mentioned I might take a vacation (I had four weeks and some sick time coming), the Mafiosi asked if I could sign over the bank accounts and financial reports, just in case something happened to me (accidentally, of course!). At a hastily-called Saturday meeting I stupidly signed.
The following Monday, I was to train DeeDee to fill in for me but I arrived late due to the extensive roadwork and the longer drive to the new location. "It is easy for me to get here," DeeDee proclaimed (yes, from where she lived, but not from my North Beach residence at the opposite end of town).
Then in danced Francophile Silicone Head with her cell phone on speaker in a conference call to the Devoted Buddhist Prophet, Famous Archivist of the Undead and Da Playful One.
I was terminated, effective immediately, Da Playful One told me. No notice. No mention of the $15,000 I had been promised nor of any compensation whatsoever. I had ten minutes to gather my belongings and vacate, lest they call the police. DeeDee would take my place, albeit with the title of Operations Manager.
Aside from abrogating various labor laws, as well as the spirit of the '60s in general and Canyon in particular, the Mafiosi trashed a bunch of ongoing projects about to come to fruition.
Indeed, I was working out a deal with a trustee of the San Francisco Art Institute to relocate there the company and its archives. I was also talking to the Hollywood Foreign Press Association about a no-strings-attached grant for 2013.
I had been working with Scott MacDonald again, on a plan for universities to sponsor Canyon Cinema by donating $1,000 a year in exchange for Canyon making our film archive available to them. Of the above, only that project would continue.
In a state of shock, I signed the papers proffered by Francophile Silicone Head. One stated I had resigned; the other, I backed the Film Mafia one hundred percent.
When I realized what I had done, I withdrew my films from Canyon and emailed as many filmmakers as I could to explain the situation and rescind my signature of cooperation. Written in a rush and a rage fired by Russian fire water, however, I wish I had not sent it.
Of the more than 200 filmmakers I had helped to get income and screenings over three decades, I heard back from about a half dozen. Two months later, I tried to re-enroll my films for distribution by Canyon (I normally grossed about $1,000-$2,000 per year for the rental and sale of my work).
Although flaring tempers and film removals were a fairly regular occurrence at Canyon, I was informed by Francophile Silicone Head and DeeDee that my films would not be reaccepted. In fact, I was no longer welcomed as a Canyon Cinema member and even my presence on the premises would be forbidden, by court order if need be.
About a month after I left, the Film Mafia turned on Beautiful and Devoted Linda, one of the most committed people to ever grace Canyon's hallowed halls. They even blocked her unemployment and, by the time they realized that was too terrible a thing for even them to do, they tried to reverse it—but it was too late.
DeeDee still runs the show. There are no more elections. From what I can see on the website, they haven't raised much if any new money. And when Canyon's filmmakers agreed to dissolve Canyon Cinema and join the Canyon Cinema Foundation, they signed away their rights.
Yes, I made mistakes. Yes, I'm bitter at having been terminated with no retirement, bitter that they never sat down with me to talk about their concerns, bitter about not being able to say goodbye to the scores of filmmakers I worked with for three decades.
But many good things have happened since my termination in 2012. I forgave the Film Mafia their trespasses; I was treated for alcoholism and am in recovery; I started to collect Social Security; and I am teaching, as an adjunct professor, at two universities.
And I'm wrapping up three new films and looking for a distributor, since I no longer have Canyon. I'm also available for lectures, about the old Canyon, and screenings. Anyone wishing to contact me should write me .