Jun 15, 2024
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Quest for Heartfelt Film and the Santiago Rizzo Interview
by Doniphan Blair
Gregory Kasyan is masterful as Mills in Santiago Rizzo's autobiographical film 'Quest', shot in and about Berkeley's tough south side. photo: courtesy S. RizzoABOUT HALFWAY THROUGH 'QUEST', THE
freshman feature from Santiago Rizzo (not the acclaimed new documentary by the same name, an unfortunate coincidence), I started feeling sorry for the other indie directors whose films I’d screened of late.
About an abused kid, who takes refuge in doing graffiti (his tag is quest), until he’s “rescued” by one of his teachers, “Quest” is OK cinematographically, decent dramaturgically, but off the charts in personal drama and heart, in part because it is autobiographical (see the film's site).
“Quest” centers on a handsome, highly-intelligent twelve-year-old named Mills, played to perfection by the talented Gregory Kasyan, and a middle-aged, white teacher and football coach named Tim Moellering, an actual teacher at Willard Middle School in Berkeley, California, which Rizzo attended.
Excellently acted by Dash Mihok, Tim slowly befriends Mills and proceeds not to rescue him but treat him as a friend. He stands by him, helps him and his family and takes him out—as one does with a friend. Along the way, on occasion, with subtlety and humor, he drops some words of wisdom and becomes Mills’s “shaman guide.”
Tim eventually goes so far as to invite Mills to move in—entirely platonic, I hasten to add in these supra-sexualized times. Although the film ends at that point, the actual Rizzo went on to be a valedictorian at Berkeley High, attend Stanford University, where he studied economics, and work on Wall Street, albeit returning often.
Indeed, Rizzo bought a house with Moellering and cared for him, when he contracted pancreatic cancer, until his death, age 54, in 2011. A decade earlier, however, they had begun writing the screenplay that became “Quest”. Talk about artistic investment and return!
Santiago Rizzo, after delivering one of his trademark 'lectures,' at the Oldenburg International Filmfest in Germany. photo: courtesy Oldenburg Filmfest “Quest” could have veered preachy, maudlin, over the top, but it doesn’t. It could use better titles, a few cut cleanups and one additional shot—of Mills spraying paint directly into the camera, but that's not necessary. Indeed, unlike so many other indies, “Quest” has sufficient cinema chops to get it off the ground, into the air and soaring.
Ironically, “I am not a filmmaker,” was what Rizzo announced to the audience before “Quest” showed, when I saw it at the Napa Valley Film Festival in October. Nevertheless, “Quest” went on to RULE at Napa, taking home both its audience award AND its juried prize!
It is true that Rizzo didn’t study film and was solely the film's writer/producer until three years ago. As he details in our wide-ranging interview (below), he had always planned to produce the film professionally and hired a friend with directorial experience to direct.
Moellering ordered Rizzo from his death bed not to sell the house to make the movie, but Rizzo disobeyed him (probably not the first time) specifically to have the decent budget (under two million) to make "Quest" with a pro indie crew, although he did bring on a few friends with no film experience.
But when his director-buddy bailed, Rizzo felt the production had started—he had already met with casting director, Deborah Maxwell, who recommended Gregory Kasyan—and that he owed it to Moellering to captain it to its artistic destination.
And so it was that Rizzo rapidly evolved from writing, producing, and co-directing with his buddy (inevitable, since the material was so autobiographical) to directing/producing, a remarkable achievement, considering his lack of experience and "the perils of indie production.” A difficult shoot, "Quest"'s ship of cinema nearly capsized a couple of times (see cineSOURCE article).
Plagued with mishaps, including a three insurance incidents, Rizzo had to learn midstream not just to command a crew of over twenty but deal with the intrigues and issues, many of his own making. Given it covers a traumatic time in his life, making the film naturally became very personal and triggering. Teasing coherence out of the rushes was tricky and editing, by feature-newcomer Cami Starkman, took almost three years.
Mills (Gregory Kasyan) and best friend and graffiti partner, Diego (Lakeith Stanfield) cruise by one of Berkeley's many murals. photo: courtesy S. Rizzo Despite this, Rizzo did a damn good job, aided immensely, of course, by his team of seasoned pros, starting with Scriptwriter Darren Anderson, who created a cogent story arc, and Casting Director Maxwell.
Then there were the two well-known indie producers, Ned Kopp, a Bay Area stalwart, and Debbie Brubaker, who brought on the charismatic Lou Diamond Phillips, as the abusive stepfather. In terms of name recognition, the cast also includes Betsy Brandt, of “Breaking Bad” sister-in-law fame, as Mills's mother.
And there was a slew of excellent crew, starting with assistant director Alex Gilbert—"a rock star," according to Brubaker, "the one battering everyone, everyday, to get the film made!"—but including La Mar Stewart, the second assistant director, Glenn Mack, the film’s transportation coordinator, and many more.
Rizzo also does a good job of expanding on the film’s message when he speaks, critiquing the status quo and appealing for humanist values. After the Napa screening, he came on stage, took the mic and a deep breath and launched into a lecture unlike anything I’d heard from a filmmaker before, and I’ve sat through tirades from Oliver Stone, Kenneth Anger and Rob Nilsson. I wish I had recorded it.
Rizzo said something like: I’m sorry to have to break it to you folks but we are in a very tough time right now. In fact, it is pretty much up to us, all of us—you and me—to start leading with our hearts and doing the right thing by the people, by people of color, by the earth.
As he explained in our interview, it all boils down to love and truth, according to the ethics he learned in large measure from Moellering.
It was powerful performance—the all-white Napa audience listened in stunned silence—but only because so was Rizzo’s film.
What “Quest” showed me, in addition to its story, characters and values, was a shout out to indie film artists everywhere:
"Guess what? All your snappy repartee, your cool crane shots, your unimaginable plot twists—not to mention the transgressive sex and drugs—don’t mean shit compared to heart."
Running into Rizzo in the street, right after the screening, I set up an interview. We met at the café on the corner next to the Berkeley middle school he attended, where many of the film's events went down. I ordered coffee; Rizzo herb tea.
Santiago Rizzo at a cafe across from the Berkeley middle school he attended, which figures highly in his film. photo: D. BlaircineSOURCE: The kid who plays you [Gregory Kasyan], he really personifies a graffiti artist—I guess you gave him some tips?
Santiago Rizzo: If you met Greg, he is nothing like that kid [Mills].
He is a very sweet kid. He goes to church, prays. [But] he had the humanity; he is a great actor; and he works really hard on his craft, so it was easy to shape him.
But some of his moves! Like when he puts up that sticker [with a tag], it looks like he had done it hundreds of times.
It took several takes to get it there.
When I was a kid and I put up a tag, my eyes were on the bus driver. I represent that in the very first scene, where I cut back and forth to the mirror of the bus driver. When the other two kids walk on the bus, they’re not paying much attention to the bus driver. You see Mills in the background. He tells them the bus driver saw them [do a tag].
Mills is hyper-vigilant because of his abuse. He is always watching for danger, while other people are not necessarily aware. Those things were definitely directed. They were Greg taking good direction and understanding intention.
Is this the story you worked on with ‘Big Red’—what’s his name?
Tim Moellering.
We switched it over a little bit. Darren Anderson, the cowriter, took the original draft that Tim and I wrote together to create what it is now. Then I came in and put my own flavor in.
There were a lot of really good things in the first draft Tim and I wrote together—and things in this that were better than that. Most of this draft is better because of the overall arc. We worked on that together in the outline.
When you wrote with Tim, were you trying to highlight both of your humanities?
No. It was mostly Tim highlighting me—the child and his struggles—which is why I had to restructure it. When he died, I wanted to highlight him. Tim was such a humble person. He never would have highlighted himself in that way.
Did you resist his embrace so much, as in the movie—although it creates better drama?
Yes, I did. He didn’t pursue me but he was always available for me—that was who he was—he wanted to make sure I was safe. Even when I pushed him away, he always stayed.
After a few minutes, Rizzo had warmed to his subject. photo: D. BlairHe had real integrity. He understood. He was a lot smarter then I was, as a child. He let me make the decision. [Eventually,] I was the one who pursued him.
Did he do this for other kids as well?
Yes. He helped a lot of kids but he never brought another into his home. A lot of players who played on his teams, they really loved him. He was a very beloved teacher, as well as a coach.
They named the baseball field after him: Tim Moellering Field. I think there was a four million dollar bond the City of Berkeley had to vote on to build it. He clearly left his legacy.
Do you do that performance of lecturing the audience, that you did at the Napa Film Festival, where ever you go? That is an incredible performance. I have never seen anything like it.
I do that everywhere I go. I speak my truth. During the awards speech [at Napa] I didn’t do a great job. My grammar was off; I was feeling pressure. But, yeah, man, I speak my truth. I am not one to back off.
I have seen some of the darkest parts of humanity and I have also seen some of the most loving parts of humanity. I see my shadows and shadows in other people. I see my prejudices and I see the prejudices other people have. I see a bit of myself in everyone.
I don’t walk in anyone else’s shoes—I am aware of that—but, you know, I understand privilege. Growing up in Berkeley there was a lot of privilege; there are a lot of wealthy people; and there is also—where I grew up—a lot of poor people.
Did you ever have the temptation to switch your film’s setting from Berkeley to Oakland?
Well, I lived on the border of Oakland. When I was kid, I grew up on welfare, in a tough neighborhood. There was crack being sold two blocks from where I lived; Section 8 housing across the street.
We shot a lot of film in Oakland. It could be Oakland; it could be Berkeley.
I see all sides. I grew up on the street. I collected cans with the homeless—literally—and I went to Wall Street, where I met several billionaires. So, I’m very privileged.
I met Donald Trump, twice. He was prejudiced towards me; I felt that when I met him. I felt he judged me for being a short guy who is not from his genetic pool. I very much felt that both times I met him.
And even started enjoying himself. photo: D. BlairAnd he said the same cheesy line to both girls I was dating at the time.
Which was?
It was something like ‘how gorgeous or beautiful you are.’ It was two different years. It was a complement but the intention was weird.
Yeah, I speak my truth. I think every human being should speak their truth BUT be open to understanding that their truth might not be the ultimate truth. Just like I need to open up and listen to what other people have to say.
I am pretty confident that the truth is ultimately love and compassion, something we very much need more of in the world right now.
Did Tim teach you that?
Tim didn’t ever say, ‘I love you.’ There were a few times I said, ‘I love you’ to him. Tim didn’t hug. He was kind of a dry guy like that. He was awkward, if he ever did give a hug.
I was much more affectionate: growing up with two hippies as parents, my father being Argentinian. My mom is affectionate and my father used to sing to us as kids. It was just more Latin.
But, yeah, his essence was love. He taught me what status really is. The most powerful status is love. He didn’t care about his clothes, didn’t care about his car—
Never got married.
Never got married, didn’t like drama, didn’t like drama with women. He had a girlfriend, [but] it took me being a grown man to fully understand his philosophy on women. [laughs]
He really embodied what humility is, what empathy is. He understood his privilege. He was very, very smart. I think that had a lot to do with it—genius, in many ways.
I didn’t manage to pull that off in [my rendering of] the character, but that is OK. He was a unique human being.
You have that interesting bit where he is singing—
‘Okie from Muskogee’. He’s making fun of the rednecks.
It also shows a very odd teaching method. The supervisor comes in and says, ‘What the hell is going on?’
That is right. Tim was fun like that. He sang karaoke to his class every once in while. He liked to sing. He listened to a lot of music, all the music that was in the movie.
Rizzo with Lou Diamond Phillips and Betsy Brandt, the actors playing his character's step-father and mother. photo: courtesy S. RizzoThere was a lot more before we had to change it. We couldn’t afford all the famous songs but we got two. Bob Dylan’s ‘It is a Hard Rain That’s Gonna Fall’—I don’t know if Bob himself got to know about the movie, maybe—and then a Pete Seeger song.
So you are going around in an incredible time: of Black Lives Matter and Trump. You must be getting an incredible read on the country?
I think so. I think black people right now are—ahhh—upset! They are teaming up and I understand the frustration. But I don’t think separation is the answer.
I think white people are feeling very defensive [and] don’t want to take the guilt for what other people are projecting. I think there is love underneath everything and we need to come to love, especially for those who have struggled, particularly black people.
I can’t speak for black people because I am not black. I have never walked in the shoes of someone who is black—it is really important to understand and emphasize that.
But all my cousins are black — my aunt, she liked black guys. My oldest cousin had two children by the time she was fifteen and was incarcerated around the same time. I’ve seen real racial prejudice, watching how she’s been treated by the police versus how I was treated, as a kid.
Tim Moellering was the person who helped her get out of jail, by the way. He was a tall, white man who could walk in someone else’s shoes.
I think the only way to teach our ‘brothers’—and I say brothers because we are all the human race—is to teach through love and empathy.
It is going to be hard for racists— with all their hatred—to sit in the face of compassion, and not recognize that there is something off with the way they are viewing things. At some point, they are going to have to reflect [but] not if you give out negative energy. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, they will justify it and continue to sit in their racism.
You have to go higher. The hardest thing to do is to give love to people who are racist, who are being judgmental. I think that is the answer. I need to remind myself of that because I often have a lot resentment towards those who come from privilege, especially the privileged kids who judged me [in Berkeley].
I have been judged by a lot of people and pushed away. And I have done a lot of pushing away, because my reactions are not—quote unquote—healthy or normal. But they were normal to me because that was the energy I had at the time.
My intensity is too much for people. There is nothing wrong with intensity. If you grew up with that energy inside of you, you would have the same intensity. Growing up with trauma is not something every community has had to deal with and they feel uncomfortable when you share it.
Mills (Gregory Kaysan) climbs up the outside of the famous 'graffiti building' of Berkeley and surveys his world. photo: courtesy S. RizzoHaving compassion for that is sometimes difficult. I need to remind myself: the way to deal with that is to give love and to have your own love. And to do that by letting out your pain, by letting out your frustration. But you need to learn to do that in healthy way.
I think prison should do more of that. If you don’t allow the person who is hurt to let it out then it is going to manifest in a very unhealthy fashion later on.
The truth is rising. The truth is: People are in pain. They are letting out their pain in unhealthy ways because they don’t know the right way and society/government doesn’t know either.
The people who are running things are often times coming from a world that is not abused or in the pain we all have. They are often times very judgmental towards those who are suffering. So we are not healing and I keep preaching that.
What do you think is best way to express love? There are the preachers, Martin Luther King, Gandhi, but you have chosen art.
I think you express it by focusing on your shadows, your hypocrisies—that’s a long process. When you do that, I think you come to more compassion. And with that, you can impact the world in anything you’re doing. It is about how we treat one another.
Each one of us has to focus on our selves and our own demons, if you want to call it that, and bring our shadows to the light. You can’t preach it; you have to focus on yourself. You can’t tell someone else how to be, you have to be that yourself.
It’s a long process; it is a process of acceptance. You have to first be aware and then accept and most people don’t want to go through that process. They cover it up. That is why the message of my film is: ‘Trust Your Struggle.’ From there you can take action, from love. The answer is: “Love comes from awareness and acceptance.”
But how are we to express it, just be loving in general? Make movies that deal with conflict and resolve to love?
I wouldn’t make another movie that didn’t preach the message of awareness, acceptance and love. It wouldn’t be worth my effort to go through what I just went through if it is not helping raise awareness for humanity.
Or I would do a comedy that makes people laugh; that is a worthy cause as well. We all need more laughter.
Making this film has obviously been an incredible ordeal for you.
[he nods] Do you think the film gets out, into the world?
The actual Tim Moellering, who taught and coached young Santiago Rizzo, and then took him in. photo: courtesy T. MoelleringI will do my damnedest—I would like to look at it again. The thing that is so interesting to me is when you first got up on stage, you said you weren’t a filmmaker.
I never made a short film.
The heart is where your film comes from. Yours is from the heart times ten. I look at my filmmaking friends and generally their first films follow this pattern. But their second films are often boring—not from the heart.
I would hope my next one would be from the heart, with some comedy. But I wouldn’t want to go through this [filmmaking] process again. It was very painful.
You never went to film school, didn’t take film classes?
No.
As you were starting to make the film, you didn’t, like, research films?
Nope because I had never intended to direct—never! So I never went from that perspective. I just went from working on a good script.
Were there any films you look to for guidance, technique, story?
The answer is ‘No.’ I mean, I love ‘Goodwill Hunting’ [1997]—that is one of my favorite movies—but that is not really this character. I think probably because I am not basing it off of any other movie, it is its own piece of art.
I was supposed to co-direct with a friend and he bailed to do a short film. I never intended to direct it on my own. I was kind of forced to direct it—not forced but, if I didn’t direct it, it wouldn’t have gotten made.
I would have hurt my reputation because I had already built things up to a certain level. I had a meeting with the casting director [Deborah Maxwell], which was so hard to get. I didn’t want to stop the momentum.
You didn’t crack a book or look at some old films—nothing?
I mean I watched movies my whole life, like anybody, so my gut feel is what it is. But I didn’t study camera, I didn’t study any of that. I had a great DP [Florian Stadler] who helped me. The actors on set made sure I had closeups, at times. Maybe I wouldn’t have taken them otherwise.
I have been a photographer so I have a good eye on framing things. I’ve always picked up on art. Having worked on Wall Street, I was privileged to be in certain environments, be at galleries. I was always into art; my dad is artist; I have a good eye.
There were times when I wanted more master shots—‘cause that’s what makes a good photograph—but we needed a good close up. I was reminded of that several times by the cast. They had a lot of experience.
You had a few weeks to prepare?
Yes. I sold my house.
The one you promised Tim you would not sell?
The one I promised not to and I am still stressing on that. It still hurts me. [It was] three blocks away [from here], a beautiful house. It is so painful, still, you know. But I did that thinking that my friend with more experience would co-direct.
You had a bunch of good close-ups. What did you find was the hardest thing about directing?
I had a first AD [assistant director, Alex Gilbert], his first time as first AD. He did a great job scheduling but at times I feel he wasn’t harsh enough to keep things in line. But that may have just been my impression from the stress.
I had to produce it at the same time, so the stress of money, the crew and time. I produced and directed with zero experience.
A lot of indies directors do that but they often go to film school first.
Rizzo (lft) on set with Lakeith Stanfield (rt), who plays Mills's best friend, and another of the film's actresses, Sepideh Moafi. photo: courtesy S. RizzoThat was the most difficult thing, producing and directing at the same time.
We had continuity, I had a script supervisor. I [also] had friend, who was a locations manager, who took care of stuff behind the scenes, who acted like a producer. He’s a smart guy, whom I trust.
But my issues with trust, my own shadows, impacted the production. It was not an easy movie to work on.
Where there any big fights?
Yeah, one time between my cinematographer and me. I wanted something to be shot right away and he wanted the lighting to be set up better. I said, ‘Let’s just take a take right away,’ because I saw the kids were ready. That happened a couple of times. Towards the end, it was getting very difficult.
There were six or seven insurance claims. Our craft services person hit a motorcyclist early one morning, in the fog, and broke his pelvis in two places. I had to pay for the insurance for that.
And you only shot for 25 days?
24. It was not easy, man! Plus I had my house on the line. Plus I was losing money at the time because the savings I did have were all in oil, you know, a commodity that was just hemorrhaging at the time. So my anxiety was just off the Richter Scale.
Sure.
I have lost so much. We will see if the movie sells and gets out into the world—I really hope it does... yeah.
When you meet distributors—
I don’t meet with distributors, they don’t sit down with me, I wish they would. I wish they would come to the screening and hear for themselves what the audience has to say but they don’t.
You have been getting some good reviews. Mick LaSalle, the respected Bay Area critic, gave it a good review.
He said, ‘It is a modern day ‘400 Blows’.’ He wrote an article for Stanford Magazine where it goes more in depth about the story.
I can imagine. And any time a door shuts in your face, it is not just you are the artist, you are the story, you are—
And it has been consistently been shut in my face—consistently.
They say it is too small of a story. They say it is too small of a movie for them—that is the feedback I have gotten.
What does that even mean?
My speculation: I think they see the kid and he is not a name actor. Maybe they think the cast isn’t ‘big’ enough. Maybe they think it is a sweet story but don’t fully understand the depth.
Mills gets in trouble at school—again. photo: courtesy S. RizzoThey don’t understand: it’s the kids that are getting abused, not the adults. If you show it to anyone who has been abused, it’s a huge story. If you show this movie to anyone in Berkeley, it is a big story. If you show this movie to anyone who knew who Tim was, it’s a big story.
But no one knows who Tim was. He was a humble man and wasn’t famous. I am trying to make him famous. I think his spirit deserves it and I met the Dalai Lama twice.
I think Tim had the same character as his holiness himself.
What was your vibe on the Dalai Lama?
Incredibly intelligent, very charismatic, super aware, humble—understanding that he needs to be humble. That was the difference between Tim and the Dalai Lama.
That was my next question.
The Dalai Lama never said it but I know he knew it—whereas Tim just WAS it. He just WAS. Yeah, so—but the Dalai Lama was amazing. He is as good as they get, an amazing example of a human being.
His laughter is highly contagious. Serving others with unconditional love will make you happy.
But Tim was all of that AND he never had to say or preach anything. He just spoke through his actions. He said it in the movie. [The students] asked, ‘Are we going to be graded on this?’ and he said, ‘You are going to be graded on everything from now until you die.’
Were they really going to throw him out of Willard Middle School, right over here?
No, that was part of the drama.
He did break a few rules, though. I worked after school with him, just Tim and me working together. I would clean up the gym by myself at night and he would take me out to dinner, right next door here. He took me to Cal [football] games by myself. I would go to his house. If that is breaking the rules, yeah, he was breaking the rules.
Nowadays, with the whole priest thing, that would be frowned—
Yeah! I was skeptical of Tim at first, too, not sure of what his true intentions were. But he was never inappropriate with me—ever! He was a super-solid, beautiful human being.
Your mom and other people probably were skeptical?
My mom met him and read his energy—I can’t say my mom reads energy that well, since she was with my step-father for a long time [laughs]. But Tim was such a benevolent and humble human being that it was easy to see he had good intentions. As a child, I was skeptical of anyone being nice to me.
I was a cute kid—I was aware I was cute. As a result of that I was a smart, cute kid. I knew enough to know to be careful with people—men in particular.
When I was a kid out on Telegraph [Avenue], there was one pedophile who said a few things to me. I could read his energy and I stayed far away from him. Talking about something sexual with me was inappropriate and I could feel that as a kid. I was like, ‘No!’ I stayed far away.
Rizzo (cntr) and his star, Lou Diamond Phillips (rt) with Torsten Neumann of the Filmfest Oldenburg, Germany. photo: Lawrence DiederichYou were not bothered by the ‘Naked Man’ who used to hang out on Telegraph. You remember him?
Yeah, I remember him. He used to play basketball here, right here in Willard.
Naked?
Yeah. There was nothing wrong with the Naked Man—good for him. I don’t know the guy.
I met him a few times. He committed suicide about fifteen years ago.
Why?
I think he stopped going naked and lost his identity. And he lost his girl friend. Remember ‘Fuck You Man’? He used to yell at people.
Yeah, yeah, his voice was in the movie, what happened to him?
I don’t know. That was a pretty interesting time on Telegraph—a lot of homeless people.
I used to be on Telegraph, hanging out with those guys—a couple of them are still there. I was just at the Ashby BART [station] and saw one of the guys I used to collect cans with when I was nine years old. He is still there.
Amazing.
Me and my friend Toby, we would go around with a shopping cart, all over the city, and collect cans.
For movie money?
Yup. I hung out with homeless people a lot when I was I kid. In fact, because I was a child, they showed me their true selves. Homeless people are just as beautiful as anyone else. If you are a kid and go talk to them, the homeless people will be pretty nice to you.
Probably, they are very resentful of the privilege of other people, who don’t have to be homeless, so they give attitude to most people. We judge them for the attitude and they are giving attitude without realizing it.
Now I understand the judgment towards homeless people. Having the craziness that, often times, homeless people have, I understand where they are coming from. Many homeless people are isolated from society leading them further into their addiction.
They just want to feel safe, too. Many weren’t given that safety as children. We are all judging one another without walking in each other’s shoes. That was Tim’s first principle: have empathy, walk in someone else’s skin for a while.
What pushed you out on the street at age nine—your stepfather?
Yes, I wanted to be out of the house.
I used to wash windows at the gas station on Shattuck and Ashby. You know, if I saw kids now washing windows at a gas station, I would be very concerned. Maybe that is why I got so many tips—one day I made fifty dollars, which was a lot of money for me as kid. It was just normal for me, that is just what I did.
Whenever there was a school raffle or we were selling pumpkins, I would go to the Ashby BART station and I would sell the most amount of pumpkins.
What did you use the money for: movies, weed?
No. I saved it up and my stepfather took it from me. He put it in an account, and I never got to see it.
He was a complete ripoff?
A complete ripoff! Yeah.
He’s not with your mother any—
He died, the same year Tim died.
That is oddly coincidental.
Oddly coincidental, two very different energies. I have come to god, in my own way. I don’t go to church, I am not a religious man, but I believe the universe is in perfect order. Maybe god took Tim and my stepfather away the same year for a reason.
I definitely understand [my step-father’s] struggle. I definitely understand the man was in deep pain. I have empathy for my stepfather. I know that he [waves hand back and forth] regrets what he did. Yeah, I know that.
You were disobeying your mother and hitting you was the only way he knew how to deal with it?
[Waves hand, again] I am not him, so I don’t know. He was 17 years in prison prior to meeting my mother, so he had his demons. He was in a gang at a very young age. He was also a veteran of war.
I can’t speak for him but I can tell you, if I had to psychoanalyze the situation, I would say, he was probably jealous of my father. My father was a good-looking Argentinian man; my stepfather was Mexican. My father was an amazing artist and painter.
My stepfather was also a painter, a good painter. My stepfather may have seen my father in me and may have taken out some of his frustration and jealousy on me.
I was rambunctious and did not like him—I made that pretty clear early on. That was not favorable. I think he may have thought that he was disciplining me and may have justified it, in his head, because he was disciplined that way as a kid.
But he hated me, or at least that was how it felt, when I as a kid. So I tried to stay away from the house as much as I could, which was why I ended up on the street.
When I say ‘on the street,’ I wasn’t living on the street, but I was always out. By the time I was twelve, graffiti was an addiction, a real addiction. You could not stop me from doing graffiti.
I got arrested several times. I remember the police officers and then probation officers telling me to stop. I was just sitting there, being very manipulative, saying, ‘Yes, you are so right. I am so wrong.’ But in the back of my head, I am saying, ‘I am not stopping—you are crazy!’
It was the way I had built my reputation and how I was getting recognition in the world.
How long did you go for?
I don’t know. I started at 11, actually, and went to 14, 15. When I lived with Tim I stopped. But there were a couple of years that I was pretty hardcore, all over the place, at least all over the buses in East Bay, all over the East Bay.
It looks like East Bay Transit let you film on their buses?
Yeah, I don’t know if they knew the whole story. But we got to rent a bus, an older bus.
The second half of your life—going to Wall Street—that sounds like a drama, too.
That is a drama. [But] I am already having a hard enough time getting this movie out, so I am not sure people want to hear the Santiago Rizzo story, part two. [laughs]
Yes, I learned a lot on Wall Street. I think that was why I was able to make this movie and come to all these realizations. Being in the heart of the beast—Wall Street—can corrupt you. It can reduce your compassion; it can make you so competitive, you forget what is most important. It is very hard in a dog-eat-dog world, that is what capitalism is.
Did you see any decency there? Are there good people everywhere?
Yes, there are definitively exceptions.
One of the people I admired most is a billionaire, a very compassionate human being. I don’t know him incredibly well but he seems like a very good father, a good family member and he is humble—he seems humble. Considering how intelligent and wealthy he is, he is the opposite of Donald Trump. So there are good people out there, for sure.
Particularly on Wall Street, where trust is so important, they are successful as a result of their integrity.
So when you are decent among the wolves that gives you an advantage?
I think that is right. It is the outlier, but yeah. Many successful people on Wall Street are a unique kind of addict—money/work being the drug. There are a lot of people there in pain. And that means the possibility of empathy and love is massive.
By the way Toby—the guy whom I was collecting cans with—he was black and he was shot and killed seven years ago. We were best friends growing up.
Diego’s character [in the film] is not based off of Toby AT ALL but there is inspiration: my best friend was black and shot and killed.
He and I had a very different backgrounds. The fact that I wasn’t black and that I do have light skin and pretty eyes did help me, later in life, to get into other circles that some of my friends couldn’t get into. I wouldn’t be making this movie right now had I not looked like the way I look. That is truth.
It is important for all of us to start recognizing how our body gives us privileges that other people [may not get]. Until we recognize that, we are going to continue to live in a world that is resentful and judgmental.
Those who don’t have that same privilege are pissed when other people, who do have it, think they are so much smarter than everyone else. That is REALLY the truth.
Yes, there are certain people who are smarter than everyone else. But there are a lot of people who landed there and get to be there because they look the role. They can play the role because they were given the love or the stability as a child.
But some of the best art comes from struggle, some of the depth comes from pain. Without the pain, you may not be as wise.
There are exceptions to that. Tim was an exception to that. But, you know, maybe Tim was in a lot of pain that no one even knew.
Look he was Scottish—the Scottish are all in pain.
He was German.
Worse.
Yeah.
Are you going to make another movie?
I would like to make another move, although I don’t have the resources now. Right now, all I want to do is work with a team of very responsible people.
You are not going back Wall Street?
I think what is next is: I really want to have a family. I want to be a good father. I have really worked hard on myself to break the cycle, to be a really good example to children. I have worked really hard on that. Having a family is most important. Whatever can help me do that right now is what I would like to do.
I have given a lot to the world right now, with the movie. I have done my giving and, right now, I think it is time for me to give myself some stability. I don’t have that any more.
I don’t have a job right now. My stuff is in storage, so we shall see. But I trust in the struggle.
I have savings. But those savings is going to dwindle at some point, so I really need to figure out what is next.
I keep on pushing on this movie and I am not going to give up on it until EVERY distributor has said, ‘No.’ Very few have actually seen it, but the feedback is that they think the story sounds too small, so they don’t take the time.
I would prefer it they would see it with an audience. Sometimes they may not be able to see something that an audience can see.
What did you think? Did you talk to anyone after the movie?
Not really.
You know it won the audience award?
Did it? That is fantastic.
It won the jury prize in its category and it won best actor. It won three awards [at Napa].
I didn’t need to talk to anybody. I have been publishing this film magazine for almost ten years. When I see a film that is in my ‘pocket’—of what I know to be quality—I simply get up at the end of the film and start yelling, simply because ALL the other films are garbage.
Well, not all. I just saw a masterpiece, ‘The Square’ (2017) from Sweden. But it is so hard to make a heartfelt movie. First you need a heartfelt script!
You just have to be heartfelt! You can’t do something [you are not]! Your intention is going to come out. The truth always rises.
Who you are as a director, essentially, is going to come out, in some way. Unless you are surrounded by a bunch of other people who are more conscious and bring it out. The truth always rises.
Who you are, it comes out. And who you are is also what you attract, because water seeks its own level. You said you loved that movie, ‘The Square’. So the writer is genius, the director is a genius and they are going to put genius people around them.
Water seeks its own level. So you are going to attract who you are: if you are a superficial person, you are going to be hanging out with superficial people. If you are a very intelligent person, like Tim, you are going to hang out with very intelligent people.
You energy is going to come out in your art.
One of your first questions was: How do you show love? Each person has to come to their own self love, and that is a process.
Most people don’t want to feel pain—we avoid pain. As I mentioned, our country has been avoiding pain for a long time now and there are shadows and corruption in that avoidance.
How much longer can you hide the truth? At some point, it is going to come out.
But, instead of coming out with a bunch of ski patrols on a mountain, causing little avalanches, there is no ski patrol any more. Now the avalanche is going to take out an entire village. Cause there has been no one responsible creating the small avalanches that are necessary for the mountain.
But the truth always rises, I am a firm believer in that. I try to preach love because that is the answer. There are lot of communities out there working on their self-love, to create healing, if things go sour.
We all have something to contribute and teach.
There are people working on being the most conscious people they can be, which they learned from their ancestors, who we really screwed over. The natives got it right; the Mayans got it right; they have empathy for the mother.
But we have gotten so disconnected. We no longer have empathy for our mother, who needs us. The only way to become connected with our mother again is by having humility.
In the world that we live in, the ego is so strong. We are competing with each other from a place of ego, not love. We are losing touch with the earth and that is why we are having this complete panic right now.
That is why you have wealthy people killing people in Las Vegas [54, at the concert on October 1]. I don’t know his story but people are very disconnected with earth right now. We all have to get back in touch and that is going to require humility and that comes from starting to be more self-aware.
That is why I preach that on the stage [after showing the film,] because I have been in communities where they are really doing that. I hope that continues to grow.
[Actually] it doesn’t matter whether I hope or not because that is going to continue to grow. Because that is the truth, and people are starting to recognize that.
You are doing a great job, using your soapbox to—instead of be a cool filmmaker—to lay yourself on the line.
Your film does that and I am sure, if you make another film, it will do that.
I hope so.
Doniphan Blair is a writer, film magazine publisher, designer and filmmaker ('Our Holocaust Vacation'), who can be reached .
Posted on Jan 03, 2018 - 06:18 AM
by Doniphan Blair
Gregory Kasyan is masterful as Mills in Santiago Rizzo's autobiographical film 'Quest', shot in and about Berkeley's tough south side. photo: courtesy S. Rizzofreshman feature from Santiago Rizzo (not the acclaimed new documentary by the same name, an unfortunate coincidence), I started feeling sorry for the other indie directors whose films I’d screened of late.
About an abused kid, who takes refuge in doing graffiti (his tag is quest), until he’s “rescued” by one of his teachers, “Quest” is OK cinematographically, decent dramaturgically, but off the charts in personal drama and heart, in part because it is autobiographical (see the film's site).
“Quest” centers on a handsome, highly-intelligent twelve-year-old named Mills, played to perfection by the talented Gregory Kasyan, and a middle-aged, white teacher and football coach named Tim Moellering, an actual teacher at Willard Middle School in Berkeley, California, which Rizzo attended.
Excellently acted by Dash Mihok, Tim slowly befriends Mills and proceeds not to rescue him but treat him as a friend. He stands by him, helps him and his family and takes him out—as one does with a friend. Along the way, on occasion, with subtlety and humor, he drops some words of wisdom and becomes Mills’s “shaman guide.”
Tim eventually goes so far as to invite Mills to move in—entirely platonic, I hasten to add in these supra-sexualized times. Although the film ends at that point, the actual Rizzo went on to be a valedictorian at Berkeley High, attend Stanford University, where he studied economics, and work on Wall Street, albeit returning often.
Indeed, Rizzo bought a house with Moellering and cared for him, when he contracted pancreatic cancer, until his death, age 54, in 2011. A decade earlier, however, they had begun writing the screenplay that became “Quest”. Talk about artistic investment and return!
Santiago Rizzo, after delivering one of his trademark 'lectures,' at the Oldenburg International Filmfest in Germany. photo: courtesy Oldenburg FilmfestIronically, “I am not a filmmaker,” was what Rizzo announced to the audience before “Quest” showed, when I saw it at the Napa Valley Film Festival in October. Nevertheless, “Quest” went on to RULE at Napa, taking home both its audience award AND its juried prize!
It is true that Rizzo didn’t study film and was solely the film's writer/producer until three years ago. As he details in our wide-ranging interview (below), he had always planned to produce the film professionally and hired a friend with directorial experience to direct.
Moellering ordered Rizzo from his death bed not to sell the house to make the movie, but Rizzo disobeyed him (probably not the first time) specifically to have the decent budget (under two million) to make "Quest" with a pro indie crew, although he did bring on a few friends with no film experience.
But when his director-buddy bailed, Rizzo felt the production had started—he had already met with casting director, Deborah Maxwell, who recommended Gregory Kasyan—and that he owed it to Moellering to captain it to its artistic destination.
And so it was that Rizzo rapidly evolved from writing, producing, and co-directing with his buddy (inevitable, since the material was so autobiographical) to directing/producing, a remarkable achievement, considering his lack of experience and "the perils of indie production.” A difficult shoot, "Quest"'s ship of cinema nearly capsized a couple of times (see cineSOURCE article).
Plagued with mishaps, including a three insurance incidents, Rizzo had to learn midstream not just to command a crew of over twenty but deal with the intrigues and issues, many of his own making. Given it covers a traumatic time in his life, making the film naturally became very personal and triggering. Teasing coherence out of the rushes was tricky and editing, by feature-newcomer Cami Starkman, took almost three years.
Mills (Gregory Kasyan) and best friend and graffiti partner, Diego (Lakeith Stanfield) cruise by one of Berkeley's many murals. photo: courtesy S. RizzoThen there were the two well-known indie producers, Ned Kopp, a Bay Area stalwart, and Debbie Brubaker, who brought on the charismatic Lou Diamond Phillips, as the abusive stepfather. In terms of name recognition, the cast also includes Betsy Brandt, of “Breaking Bad” sister-in-law fame, as Mills's mother.
And there was a slew of excellent crew, starting with assistant director Alex Gilbert—"a rock star," according to Brubaker, "the one battering everyone, everyday, to get the film made!"—but including La Mar Stewart, the second assistant director, Glenn Mack, the film’s transportation coordinator, and many more.
Rizzo also does a good job of expanding on the film’s message when he speaks, critiquing the status quo and appealing for humanist values. After the Napa screening, he came on stage, took the mic and a deep breath and launched into a lecture unlike anything I’d heard from a filmmaker before, and I’ve sat through tirades from Oliver Stone, Kenneth Anger and Rob Nilsson. I wish I had recorded it.
Rizzo said something like: I’m sorry to have to break it to you folks but we are in a very tough time right now. In fact, it is pretty much up to us, all of us—you and me—to start leading with our hearts and doing the right thing by the people, by people of color, by the earth.
As he explained in our interview, it all boils down to love and truth, according to the ethics he learned in large measure from Moellering.
It was powerful performance—the all-white Napa audience listened in stunned silence—but only because so was Rizzo’s film.
What “Quest” showed me, in addition to its story, characters and values, was a shout out to indie film artists everywhere:
"Guess what? All your snappy repartee, your cool crane shots, your unimaginable plot twists—not to mention the transgressive sex and drugs—don’t mean shit compared to heart."
Running into Rizzo in the street, right after the screening, I set up an interview. We met at the café on the corner next to the Berkeley middle school he attended, where many of the film's events went down. I ordered coffee; Rizzo herb tea.
Santiago Rizzo at a cafe across from the Berkeley middle school he attended, which figures highly in his film. photo: D. BlairSantiago Rizzo: If you met Greg, he is nothing like that kid [Mills].
He is a very sweet kid. He goes to church, prays. [But] he had the humanity; he is a great actor; and he works really hard on his craft, so it was easy to shape him.
But some of his moves! Like when he puts up that sticker [with a tag], it looks like he had done it hundreds of times.
It took several takes to get it there.
When I was a kid and I put up a tag, my eyes were on the bus driver. I represent that in the very first scene, where I cut back and forth to the mirror of the bus driver. When the other two kids walk on the bus, they’re not paying much attention to the bus driver. You see Mills in the background. He tells them the bus driver saw them [do a tag].
Mills is hyper-vigilant because of his abuse. He is always watching for danger, while other people are not necessarily aware. Those things were definitely directed. They were Greg taking good direction and understanding intention.
Is this the story you worked on with ‘Big Red’—what’s his name?
Tim Moellering.
We switched it over a little bit. Darren Anderson, the cowriter, took the original draft that Tim and I wrote together to create what it is now. Then I came in and put my own flavor in.
There were a lot of really good things in the first draft Tim and I wrote together—and things in this that were better than that. Most of this draft is better because of the overall arc. We worked on that together in the outline.
When you wrote with Tim, were you trying to highlight both of your humanities?
No. It was mostly Tim highlighting me—the child and his struggles—which is why I had to restructure it. When he died, I wanted to highlight him. Tim was such a humble person. He never would have highlighted himself in that way.
Did you resist his embrace so much, as in the movie—although it creates better drama?
Yes, I did. He didn’t pursue me but he was always available for me—that was who he was—he wanted to make sure I was safe. Even when I pushed him away, he always stayed.
After a few minutes, Rizzo had warmed to his subject. photo: D. BlairDid he do this for other kids as well?
Yes. He helped a lot of kids but he never brought another into his home. A lot of players who played on his teams, they really loved him. He was a very beloved teacher, as well as a coach.
They named the baseball field after him: Tim Moellering Field. I think there was a four million dollar bond the City of Berkeley had to vote on to build it. He clearly left his legacy.
Do you do that performance of lecturing the audience, that you did at the Napa Film Festival, where ever you go? That is an incredible performance. I have never seen anything like it.
I do that everywhere I go. I speak my truth. During the awards speech [at Napa] I didn’t do a great job. My grammar was off; I was feeling pressure. But, yeah, man, I speak my truth. I am not one to back off.
I have seen some of the darkest parts of humanity and I have also seen some of the most loving parts of humanity. I see my shadows and shadows in other people. I see my prejudices and I see the prejudices other people have. I see a bit of myself in everyone.
I don’t walk in anyone else’s shoes—I am aware of that—but, you know, I understand privilege. Growing up in Berkeley there was a lot of privilege; there are a lot of wealthy people; and there is also—where I grew up—a lot of poor people.
Did you ever have the temptation to switch your film’s setting from Berkeley to Oakland?
Well, I lived on the border of Oakland. When I was kid, I grew up on welfare, in a tough neighborhood. There was crack being sold two blocks from where I lived; Section 8 housing across the street.
We shot a lot of film in Oakland. It could be Oakland; it could be Berkeley.
I see all sides. I grew up on the street. I collected cans with the homeless—literally—and I went to Wall Street, where I met several billionaires. So, I’m very privileged.
I met Donald Trump, twice. He was prejudiced towards me; I felt that when I met him. I felt he judged me for being a short guy who is not from his genetic pool. I very much felt that both times I met him.
And even started enjoying himself. photo: D. BlairWhich was?
It was something like ‘how gorgeous or beautiful you are.’ It was two different years. It was a complement but the intention was weird.
Yeah, I speak my truth. I think every human being should speak their truth BUT be open to understanding that their truth might not be the ultimate truth. Just like I need to open up and listen to what other people have to say.
I am pretty confident that the truth is ultimately love and compassion, something we very much need more of in the world right now.
Did Tim teach you that?
Tim didn’t ever say, ‘I love you.’ There were a few times I said, ‘I love you’ to him. Tim didn’t hug. He was kind of a dry guy like that. He was awkward, if he ever did give a hug.
I was much more affectionate: growing up with two hippies as parents, my father being Argentinian. My mom is affectionate and my father used to sing to us as kids. It was just more Latin.
But, yeah, his essence was love. He taught me what status really is. The most powerful status is love. He didn’t care about his clothes, didn’t care about his car—
Never got married.
Never got married, didn’t like drama, didn’t like drama with women. He had a girlfriend, [but] it took me being a grown man to fully understand his philosophy on women. [laughs]
He really embodied what humility is, what empathy is. He understood his privilege. He was very, very smart. I think that had a lot to do with it—genius, in many ways.
I didn’t manage to pull that off in [my rendering of] the character, but that is OK. He was a unique human being.
You have that interesting bit where he is singing—
‘Okie from Muskogee’. He’s making fun of the rednecks.
It also shows a very odd teaching method. The supervisor comes in and says, ‘What the hell is going on?’
That is right. Tim was fun like that. He sang karaoke to his class every once in while. He liked to sing. He listened to a lot of music, all the music that was in the movie.
Rizzo with Lou Diamond Phillips and Betsy Brandt, the actors playing his character's step-father and mother. photo: courtesy S. RizzoSo you are going around in an incredible time: of Black Lives Matter and Trump. You must be getting an incredible read on the country?
I think so. I think black people right now are—ahhh—upset! They are teaming up and I understand the frustration. But I don’t think separation is the answer.
I think white people are feeling very defensive [and] don’t want to take the guilt for what other people are projecting. I think there is love underneath everything and we need to come to love, especially for those who have struggled, particularly black people.
I can’t speak for black people because I am not black. I have never walked in the shoes of someone who is black—it is really important to understand and emphasize that.
But all my cousins are black — my aunt, she liked black guys. My oldest cousin had two children by the time she was fifteen and was incarcerated around the same time. I’ve seen real racial prejudice, watching how she’s been treated by the police versus how I was treated, as a kid.
Tim Moellering was the person who helped her get out of jail, by the way. He was a tall, white man who could walk in someone else’s shoes.
I think the only way to teach our ‘brothers’—and I say brothers because we are all the human race—is to teach through love and empathy.
It is going to be hard for racists— with all their hatred—to sit in the face of compassion, and not recognize that there is something off with the way they are viewing things. At some point, they are going to have to reflect [but] not if you give out negative energy. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, they will justify it and continue to sit in their racism.
You have to go higher. The hardest thing to do is to give love to people who are racist, who are being judgmental. I think that is the answer. I need to remind myself of that because I often have a lot resentment towards those who come from privilege, especially the privileged kids who judged me [in Berkeley].
I have been judged by a lot of people and pushed away. And I have done a lot of pushing away, because my reactions are not—quote unquote—healthy or normal. But they were normal to me because that was the energy I had at the time.
My intensity is too much for people. There is nothing wrong with intensity. If you grew up with that energy inside of you, you would have the same intensity. Growing up with trauma is not something every community has had to deal with and they feel uncomfortable when you share it.
Mills (Gregory Kaysan) climbs up the outside of the famous 'graffiti building' of Berkeley and surveys his world. photo: courtesy S. RizzoI think prison should do more of that. If you don’t allow the person who is hurt to let it out then it is going to manifest in a very unhealthy fashion later on.
The truth is rising. The truth is: People are in pain. They are letting out their pain in unhealthy ways because they don’t know the right way and society/government doesn’t know either.
The people who are running things are often times coming from a world that is not abused or in the pain we all have. They are often times very judgmental towards those who are suffering. So we are not healing and I keep preaching that.
What do you think is best way to express love? There are the preachers, Martin Luther King, Gandhi, but you have chosen art.
I think you express it by focusing on your shadows, your hypocrisies—that’s a long process. When you do that, I think you come to more compassion. And with that, you can impact the world in anything you’re doing. It is about how we treat one another.
Each one of us has to focus on our selves and our own demons, if you want to call it that, and bring our shadows to the light. You can’t preach it; you have to focus on yourself. You can’t tell someone else how to be, you have to be that yourself.
It’s a long process; it is a process of acceptance. You have to first be aware and then accept and most people don’t want to go through that process. They cover it up. That is why the message of my film is: ‘Trust Your Struggle.’ From there you can take action, from love. The answer is: “Love comes from awareness and acceptance.”
But how are we to express it, just be loving in general? Make movies that deal with conflict and resolve to love?
I wouldn’t make another movie that didn’t preach the message of awareness, acceptance and love. It wouldn’t be worth my effort to go through what I just went through if it is not helping raise awareness for humanity.
Or I would do a comedy that makes people laugh; that is a worthy cause as well. We all need more laughter.
Making this film has obviously been an incredible ordeal for you.
[he nods] Do you think the film gets out, into the world?
The actual Tim Moellering, who taught and coached young Santiago Rizzo, and then took him in. photo: courtesy T. MoelleringI never made a short film.
The heart is where your film comes from. Yours is from the heart times ten. I look at my filmmaking friends and generally their first films follow this pattern. But their second films are often boring—not from the heart.
I would hope my next one would be from the heart, with some comedy. But I wouldn’t want to go through this [filmmaking] process again. It was very painful.
You never went to film school, didn’t take film classes?
No.
As you were starting to make the film, you didn’t, like, research films?
Nope because I had never intended to direct—never! So I never went from that perspective. I just went from working on a good script.
Were there any films you look to for guidance, technique, story?
The answer is ‘No.’ I mean, I love ‘Goodwill Hunting’ [1997]—that is one of my favorite movies—but that is not really this character. I think probably because I am not basing it off of any other movie, it is its own piece of art.
I was supposed to co-direct with a friend and he bailed to do a short film. I never intended to direct it on my own. I was kind of forced to direct it—not forced but, if I didn’t direct it, it wouldn’t have gotten made.
I would have hurt my reputation because I had already built things up to a certain level. I had a meeting with the casting director [Deborah Maxwell], which was so hard to get. I didn’t want to stop the momentum.
You didn’t crack a book or look at some old films—nothing?
I mean I watched movies my whole life, like anybody, so my gut feel is what it is. But I didn’t study camera, I didn’t study any of that. I had a great DP [Florian Stadler] who helped me. The actors on set made sure I had closeups, at times. Maybe I wouldn’t have taken them otherwise.
I have been a photographer so I have a good eye on framing things. I’ve always picked up on art. Having worked on Wall Street, I was privileged to be in certain environments, be at galleries. I was always into art; my dad is artist; I have a good eye.
There were times when I wanted more master shots—‘cause that’s what makes a good photograph—but we needed a good close up. I was reminded of that several times by the cast. They had a lot of experience.
You had a few weeks to prepare?
Yes. I sold my house.
The one you promised Tim you would not sell?
The one I promised not to and I am still stressing on that. It still hurts me. [It was] three blocks away [from here], a beautiful house. It is so painful, still, you know. But I did that thinking that my friend with more experience would co-direct.
You had a bunch of good close-ups. What did you find was the hardest thing about directing?
I had a first AD [assistant director, Alex Gilbert], his first time as first AD. He did a great job scheduling but at times I feel he wasn’t harsh enough to keep things in line. But that may have just been my impression from the stress.
I had to produce it at the same time, so the stress of money, the crew and time. I produced and directed with zero experience.
A lot of indies directors do that but they often go to film school first.
Rizzo (lft) on set with Lakeith Stanfield (rt), who plays Mills's best friend, and another of the film's actresses, Sepideh Moafi. photo: courtesy S. RizzoWe had continuity, I had a script supervisor. I [also] had friend, who was a locations manager, who took care of stuff behind the scenes, who acted like a producer. He’s a smart guy, whom I trust.
But my issues with trust, my own shadows, impacted the production. It was not an easy movie to work on.
Where there any big fights?
Yeah, one time between my cinematographer and me. I wanted something to be shot right away and he wanted the lighting to be set up better. I said, ‘Let’s just take a take right away,’ because I saw the kids were ready. That happened a couple of times. Towards the end, it was getting very difficult.
There were six or seven insurance claims. Our craft services person hit a motorcyclist early one morning, in the fog, and broke his pelvis in two places. I had to pay for the insurance for that.
And you only shot for 25 days?
24. It was not easy, man! Plus I had my house on the line. Plus I was losing money at the time because the savings I did have were all in oil, you know, a commodity that was just hemorrhaging at the time. So my anxiety was just off the Richter Scale.
Sure.
I have lost so much. We will see if the movie sells and gets out into the world—I really hope it does... yeah.
When you meet distributors—
I don’t meet with distributors, they don’t sit down with me, I wish they would. I wish they would come to the screening and hear for themselves what the audience has to say but they don’t.
You have been getting some good reviews. Mick LaSalle, the respected Bay Area critic, gave it a good review.
He said, ‘It is a modern day ‘400 Blows’.’ He wrote an article for Stanford Magazine where it goes more in depth about the story.
I can imagine. And any time a door shuts in your face, it is not just you are the artist, you are the story, you are—
And it has been consistently been shut in my face—consistently.
They say it is too small of a story. They say it is too small of a movie for them—that is the feedback I have gotten.
What does that even mean?
My speculation: I think they see the kid and he is not a name actor. Maybe they think the cast isn’t ‘big’ enough. Maybe they think it is a sweet story but don’t fully understand the depth.
Mills gets in trouble at school—again. photo: courtesy S. RizzoBut no one knows who Tim was. He was a humble man and wasn’t famous. I am trying to make him famous. I think his spirit deserves it and I met the Dalai Lama twice.
I think Tim had the same character as his holiness himself.
What was your vibe on the Dalai Lama?
Incredibly intelligent, very charismatic, super aware, humble—understanding that he needs to be humble. That was the difference between Tim and the Dalai Lama.
That was my next question.
The Dalai Lama never said it but I know he knew it—whereas Tim just WAS it. He just WAS. Yeah, so—but the Dalai Lama was amazing. He is as good as they get, an amazing example of a human being.
His laughter is highly contagious. Serving others with unconditional love will make you happy.
But Tim was all of that AND he never had to say or preach anything. He just spoke through his actions. He said it in the movie. [The students] asked, ‘Are we going to be graded on this?’ and he said, ‘You are going to be graded on everything from now until you die.’
Were they really going to throw him out of Willard Middle School, right over here?
No, that was part of the drama.
He did break a few rules, though. I worked after school with him, just Tim and me working together. I would clean up the gym by myself at night and he would take me out to dinner, right next door here. He took me to Cal [football] games by myself. I would go to his house. If that is breaking the rules, yeah, he was breaking the rules.
Nowadays, with the whole priest thing, that would be frowned—
Yeah! I was skeptical of Tim at first, too, not sure of what his true intentions were. But he was never inappropriate with me—ever! He was a super-solid, beautiful human being.
Your mom and other people probably were skeptical?
My mom met him and read his energy—I can’t say my mom reads energy that well, since she was with my step-father for a long time [laughs]. But Tim was such a benevolent and humble human being that it was easy to see he had good intentions. As a child, I was skeptical of anyone being nice to me.
I was a cute kid—I was aware I was cute. As a result of that I was a smart, cute kid. I knew enough to know to be careful with people—men in particular.
When I was a kid out on Telegraph [Avenue], there was one pedophile who said a few things to me. I could read his energy and I stayed far away from him. Talking about something sexual with me was inappropriate and I could feel that as a kid. I was like, ‘No!’ I stayed far away.
Rizzo (cntr) and his star, Lou Diamond Phillips (rt) with Torsten Neumann of the Filmfest Oldenburg, Germany. photo: Lawrence DiederichYeah, I remember him. He used to play basketball here, right here in Willard.
Naked?
Yeah. There was nothing wrong with the Naked Man—good for him. I don’t know the guy.
I met him a few times. He committed suicide about fifteen years ago.
Why?
I think he stopped going naked and lost his identity. And he lost his girl friend. Remember ‘Fuck You Man’? He used to yell at people.
Yeah, yeah, his voice was in the movie, what happened to him?
I don’t know. That was a pretty interesting time on Telegraph—a lot of homeless people.
I used to be on Telegraph, hanging out with those guys—a couple of them are still there. I was just at the Ashby BART [station] and saw one of the guys I used to collect cans with when I was nine years old. He is still there.
Amazing.
Me and my friend Toby, we would go around with a shopping cart, all over the city, and collect cans.
For movie money?
Yup. I hung out with homeless people a lot when I was I kid. In fact, because I was a child, they showed me their true selves. Homeless people are just as beautiful as anyone else. If you are a kid and go talk to them, the homeless people will be pretty nice to you.
Probably, they are very resentful of the privilege of other people, who don’t have to be homeless, so they give attitude to most people. We judge them for the attitude and they are giving attitude without realizing it.
Now I understand the judgment towards homeless people. Having the craziness that, often times, homeless people have, I understand where they are coming from. Many homeless people are isolated from society leading them further into their addiction.
They just want to feel safe, too. Many weren’t given that safety as children. We are all judging one another without walking in each other’s shoes. That was Tim’s first principle: have empathy, walk in someone else’s skin for a while.
What pushed you out on the street at age nine—your stepfather?
Yes, I wanted to be out of the house.
I used to wash windows at the gas station on Shattuck and Ashby. You know, if I saw kids now washing windows at a gas station, I would be very concerned. Maybe that is why I got so many tips—one day I made fifty dollars, which was a lot of money for me as kid. It was just normal for me, that is just what I did.
Whenever there was a school raffle or we were selling pumpkins, I would go to the Ashby BART station and I would sell the most amount of pumpkins.
What did you use the money for: movies, weed?
No. I saved it up and my stepfather took it from me. He put it in an account, and I never got to see it.
He was a complete ripoff?
A complete ripoff! Yeah.
He’s not with your mother any—
He died, the same year Tim died.
That is oddly coincidental.
Oddly coincidental, two very different energies. I have come to god, in my own way. I don’t go to church, I am not a religious man, but I believe the universe is in perfect order. Maybe god took Tim and my stepfather away the same year for a reason.
I definitely understand [my step-father’s] struggle. I definitely understand the man was in deep pain. I have empathy for my stepfather. I know that he [waves hand back and forth] regrets what he did. Yeah, I know that.
You were disobeying your mother and hitting you was the only way he knew how to deal with it?
[Waves hand, again] I am not him, so I don’t know. He was 17 years in prison prior to meeting my mother, so he had his demons. He was in a gang at a very young age. He was also a veteran of war.
I can’t speak for him but I can tell you, if I had to psychoanalyze the situation, I would say, he was probably jealous of my father. My father was a good-looking Argentinian man; my stepfather was Mexican. My father was an amazing artist and painter.
My stepfather was also a painter, a good painter. My stepfather may have seen my father in me and may have taken out some of his frustration and jealousy on me.
I was rambunctious and did not like him—I made that pretty clear early on. That was not favorable. I think he may have thought that he was disciplining me and may have justified it, in his head, because he was disciplined that way as a kid.
But he hated me, or at least that was how it felt, when I as a kid. So I tried to stay away from the house as much as I could, which was why I ended up on the street.
When I say ‘on the street,’ I wasn’t living on the street, but I was always out. By the time I was twelve, graffiti was an addiction, a real addiction. You could not stop me from doing graffiti.
I got arrested several times. I remember the police officers and then probation officers telling me to stop. I was just sitting there, being very manipulative, saying, ‘Yes, you are so right. I am so wrong.’ But in the back of my head, I am saying, ‘I am not stopping—you are crazy!’
It was the way I had built my reputation and how I was getting recognition in the world.
How long did you go for?
I don’t know. I started at 11, actually, and went to 14, 15. When I lived with Tim I stopped. But there were a couple of years that I was pretty hardcore, all over the place, at least all over the buses in East Bay, all over the East Bay.
It looks like East Bay Transit let you film on their buses?
Yeah, I don’t know if they knew the whole story. But we got to rent a bus, an older bus.
The second half of your life—going to Wall Street—that sounds like a drama, too.
That is a drama. [But] I am already having a hard enough time getting this movie out, so I am not sure people want to hear the Santiago Rizzo story, part two. [laughs]
Yes, I learned a lot on Wall Street. I think that was why I was able to make this movie and come to all these realizations. Being in the heart of the beast—Wall Street—can corrupt you. It can reduce your compassion; it can make you so competitive, you forget what is most important. It is very hard in a dog-eat-dog world, that is what capitalism is.
Did you see any decency there? Are there good people everywhere?
Yes, there are definitively exceptions.
One of the people I admired most is a billionaire, a very compassionate human being. I don’t know him incredibly well but he seems like a very good father, a good family member and he is humble—he seems humble. Considering how intelligent and wealthy he is, he is the opposite of Donald Trump. So there are good people out there, for sure.
Particularly on Wall Street, where trust is so important, they are successful as a result of their integrity.
So when you are decent among the wolves that gives you an advantage?
I think that is right. It is the outlier, but yeah. Many successful people on Wall Street are a unique kind of addict—money/work being the drug. There are a lot of people there in pain. And that means the possibility of empathy and love is massive.
By the way Toby—the guy whom I was collecting cans with—he was black and he was shot and killed seven years ago. We were best friends growing up.
Diego’s character [in the film] is not based off of Toby AT ALL but there is inspiration: my best friend was black and shot and killed.
He and I had a very different backgrounds. The fact that I wasn’t black and that I do have light skin and pretty eyes did help me, later in life, to get into other circles that some of my friends couldn’t get into. I wouldn’t be making this movie right now had I not looked like the way I look. That is truth.
It is important for all of us to start recognizing how our body gives us privileges that other people [may not get]. Until we recognize that, we are going to continue to live in a world that is resentful and judgmental.
Those who don’t have that same privilege are pissed when other people, who do have it, think they are so much smarter than everyone else. That is REALLY the truth.
Yes, there are certain people who are smarter than everyone else. But there are a lot of people who landed there and get to be there because they look the role. They can play the role because they were given the love or the stability as a child.
But some of the best art comes from struggle, some of the depth comes from pain. Without the pain, you may not be as wise.
There are exceptions to that. Tim was an exception to that. But, you know, maybe Tim was in a lot of pain that no one even knew.
Look he was Scottish—the Scottish are all in pain.
He was German.
Worse.
Yeah.
Are you going to make another movie?
I would like to make another move, although I don’t have the resources now. Right now, all I want to do is work with a team of very responsible people.
You are not going back Wall Street?
I think what is next is: I really want to have a family. I want to be a good father. I have really worked hard on myself to break the cycle, to be a really good example to children. I have worked really hard on that. Having a family is most important. Whatever can help me do that right now is what I would like to do.
I have given a lot to the world right now, with the movie. I have done my giving and, right now, I think it is time for me to give myself some stability. I don’t have that any more.
I don’t have a job right now. My stuff is in storage, so we shall see. But I trust in the struggle.
I have savings. But those savings is going to dwindle at some point, so I really need to figure out what is next.
I keep on pushing on this movie and I am not going to give up on it until EVERY distributor has said, ‘No.’ Very few have actually seen it, but the feedback is that they think the story sounds too small, so they don’t take the time.
I would prefer it they would see it with an audience. Sometimes they may not be able to see something that an audience can see.
What did you think? Did you talk to anyone after the movie?
Not really.
You know it won the audience award?
Did it? That is fantastic.
It won the jury prize in its category and it won best actor. It won three awards [at Napa].
I didn’t need to talk to anybody. I have been publishing this film magazine for almost ten years. When I see a film that is in my ‘pocket’—of what I know to be quality—I simply get up at the end of the film and start yelling, simply because ALL the other films are garbage.
Well, not all. I just saw a masterpiece, ‘The Square’ (2017) from Sweden. But it is so hard to make a heartfelt movie. First you need a heartfelt script!
You just have to be heartfelt! You can’t do something [you are not]! Your intention is going to come out. The truth always rises.
Who you are as a director, essentially, is going to come out, in some way. Unless you are surrounded by a bunch of other people who are more conscious and bring it out. The truth always rises.
Who you are, it comes out. And who you are is also what you attract, because water seeks its own level. You said you loved that movie, ‘The Square’. So the writer is genius, the director is a genius and they are going to put genius people around them.
Water seeks its own level. So you are going to attract who you are: if you are a superficial person, you are going to be hanging out with superficial people. If you are a very intelligent person, like Tim, you are going to hang out with very intelligent people.
You energy is going to come out in your art.
One of your first questions was: How do you show love? Each person has to come to their own self love, and that is a process.
Most people don’t want to feel pain—we avoid pain. As I mentioned, our country has been avoiding pain for a long time now and there are shadows and corruption in that avoidance.
How much longer can you hide the truth? At some point, it is going to come out.
But, instead of coming out with a bunch of ski patrols on a mountain, causing little avalanches, there is no ski patrol any more. Now the avalanche is going to take out an entire village. Cause there has been no one responsible creating the small avalanches that are necessary for the mountain.
But the truth always rises, I am a firm believer in that. I try to preach love because that is the answer. There are lot of communities out there working on their self-love, to create healing, if things go sour.
We all have something to contribute and teach.
There are people working on being the most conscious people they can be, which they learned from their ancestors, who we really screwed over. The natives got it right; the Mayans got it right; they have empathy for the mother.
But we have gotten so disconnected. We no longer have empathy for our mother, who needs us. The only way to become connected with our mother again is by having humility.
In the world that we live in, the ego is so strong. We are competing with each other from a place of ego, not love. We are losing touch with the earth and that is why we are having this complete panic right now.
That is why you have wealthy people killing people in Las Vegas [54, at the concert on October 1]. I don’t know his story but people are very disconnected with earth right now. We all have to get back in touch and that is going to require humility and that comes from starting to be more self-aware.
That is why I preach that on the stage [after showing the film,] because I have been in communities where they are really doing that. I hope that continues to grow.
[Actually] it doesn’t matter whether I hope or not because that is going to continue to grow. Because that is the truth, and people are starting to recognize that.
You are doing a great job, using your soapbox to—instead of be a cool filmmaker—to lay yourself on the line.
Your film does that and I am sure, if you make another film, it will do that.
I hope so.
Doniphan Blair is a writer, film magazine publisher, designer and filmmaker ('Our Holocaust Vacation'), who can be reached .
Posted on Jan 03, 2018 - 06:18 AM
