Sick of Love: Interview with Joel Potrykus

by George Louis Bartlett

Punk. To describe a work as punk is to say that the whole process of its creation defies expectations, takes risks and jacks a middle finger up to the status quo. Punk cinema is not to be confused with indie film. Conformists riddle the independent filmmaking scenes in every city and every country on the globe. And Robert Altman, Elaine May and John Waters were some of the finest punks ever to walk the hallways of Hollywood offices. Punk cinema has nothing to do, specifically, with being in or out of the system: punk is an attitude. 

Screenwriter and director of ultra-low-budget feature films such as Ape, Buzzard and The Alchemist Cookbook,  and his latest Relaxer, Potrykus asserts his biggest influence remains Michigan-bread watershed film The Evil Dead. Sam Raimi didn’t wait for validation, he went and fucking did it. And that’s exactly what Potrykus has done – and continues to do – in his films.

Although he embodies what critics might be tempted to label an auteur – a vision-led writer-director, captain of the ship and in some people’s books God himself. When asked, Potrykus constantly maintains that his films are the product of what he calls a ‘film band’: a tight-knit group of individuals, gifted in their own right, that come together and commit to making a film. They call this band Sob Noisse.

Potrykus represents a freedom in an art form that has been reserved for the wealthy and privileged since its conception. His work is loud, biting and rule-book bending. His methods are considered, collaborative and economic. And at a time when British cinema is painfully stagnated and we continue to produce films that lie somewhere in between bad European arthouse and the structural norms of modern mainstream movies, it is our duty, as writers and filmmakers, to write and produce films that, for better or worse, disrupt the status quo.

I exchanged several emails with Potrykus in an attempt to pry into the mind of one of America’s most important contemporary writer-directors.

GLB—What does the term punk cinema mean to you?

JP—Punk really just means going against the status quo, and not being concerned if people like what you're doing or not, just knowing the RIGHT people will like it. The term is thrown around a lot, and I don't necessarily think my work is very punk. I review and hope these films are successful. So, I don't know if I qualify, but again, I don't really care if I qualify or not. After all, true weirdos are the ones that don't know they're weird. I'm probably too self-aware.

If you're asking for permission or not getting final cut, then I just wonder the reason behind the film. I don't understand the idea of making a film for commercial or financial reasons. To me, that feels like painting on a canvas solely hoping to sell it. It doesn't happen often that film turn a profit, and why should they? There's too much stress and time involved to not make a film solely because you have to, not because you just want to. And the thought of making as difficult as a feature thinking it'll be a calling card is completely foreign to me. I make these movies because I'd be depressed if I didn't. Not sure what that means.

When did you know you wanted to be a writer-director?

Like most kids, I had always loved movies, but didn’t know how they were made. Watching Raimi’s The Evil Dead at sixteen showed me I could do it myself. I could feel the people behind the camera. It’s the most important film in my life as a filmmaker. I began making terrible Evil Dead knock-offs a year later, once I saved up enough money from my job at McDonald’s to buy a Hi-8 camera. 

[Evil Dead] is a film made by friends hoping to do something different, and likely to show that you don't need a studio, and essentially that you shouldn't need a studio to make something original. That film would've been watered-down and technically glossy had they been stuck with a contract. You can see the seams in the movie, which is part of the appeal. You can see how they made it, and for me, it was an inspiration because of it.

Do consider yourself a writer before a director? 

I think I like writing more than directing, only because I can do it alone, shirtless whenever I want. Directing is incredibly taxing. I usually have one or two nervous breakdowns getting ready to direct a movie. Zero anxiety while writing.

What kinds of stories are you attracted to?

I feel lucky that I’m attracted to small movies. I’d be frustrated if Michael Bay were my hero. Tough to make something like Transformers for $10,000. After The Evil Dead, it was early Jim Jarmusch films that got me worked up. From there, I found Gummo and Buffalo ’66. These small stories, with clear visions gave me new feelings. They felt real and almost dangerous. I couldn’t feel the people behind the camera anymore. I felt like a voyeur.

What’s your writing process?

I try to write every day. I don’t have a schedule, or wake up early. No page count goals. I like writing, so it’s normally around five hours a day if I’m working on a new feature. I prefer to let the story dictate my routine. If I’m not writing much, it probably means the story isn’t working. But a good story will keep me up all night.

In what way do your scripts influence the style of your filmmaking? 

It’s nothing I think about. I’m directing and editing in my head while writing, but neither influences the other. At least it’s not conscious. I never set out to write a screenplay that fits a certain style or tone. I’m basically just re-writing the same story over and over, just with different character names and different colored walls.

How much of the screenplay is, for you as a director, a shooting document, as opposed to as a selling/pitching document? Who/what purpose does the document serve, in your eyes?

Although I never intend to sell a screenplay, I don’t write them exclusively for me. I don’t include camera direction or side notes. Those usually come once the DP and I start talking about it. Otherwise, since my production band has so much input on the story, I don’t like to dictate everything up front. I want the vision of each scene to evolve without my director fingerprints all over it before people have read it.

While Buzzard is fiercely independent, its structure is pretty traditional. Which, if any, school of screenwriting to you subscribe to? How does traditional film theory fit into your work? 

Good catch. Although people often see my movies as bizarre and original, they’re very conventionally structured. I teach screenwriting, so the three acts are burned into my brain. I don’t want to confuse an audience. I want to just catch them off guard. Part of that is to use a familiar frame. Get them comfortable, then punch them in the nuts. I’m not making hardcore arthouse experiments. My skeletons look like normal; it’s just the skin and clothes that sometimes freak people out. 

Your work has managed to dodge the politicisation most films are now subject to, but remains highly politically charged, reflecting overlooked characters of society. How much does the current political landscape (of the US in particular) consciously enter your process?

The politics of Buzzard are just the politics of what I see around me [and] people I know. It’s me agreeing with them and calling them out at the same time. I never set out to be overtly political, that was, until Trump was elected. I’m writing a screenplay now that is essentially a revenge fantasy for women angry with everything he stands for.

The quirky, somewhat graceless and almost asexual male seems to be a recurring character in your work. Where did he come from and what is his appeal?

I’m just sick of love. I find it boring and played-out. The introduction of the romantic interest is the quintessential moment we subconsciously wait for in movie. When it doesn’t happen, it makes an audience uncomfortable. Same with score. Score lets the audience know how to feel – scared, happy, sad – and not including score forces the audience to interpret the mood themselves, which normally makes them uncomfortable. Plus, my characters tend to be 15-year-olds stuck in adult bodies. So, they’re just as uncomfortable. Sex is icky to them. It’s still kind of icky to me.

Who are your literary heroes?

Kurt Vonnegut, J.D. Salinger, Anthony Burgess, Walter Tevis’s Man Who Fell to Earth, Stephen King, Tom Robbins.

Who are your film heroes?

Sam Raimi, Jim Jarmusch, Lindsay Anderson, Alan Clarke, Harmony Korine, Michael Haneke, Don Dohler, Vincent Gallo, Kelly Reichardt.

Where do Michael Haneke and Kelly Reichardt (two of our favourite filmmakers at Scenes Journal) fit into your inspirational canon?

They’re both huge for me. Haneke especially never gives the audience a break. He’s non-stop uncomfortable. Best working director to me. Pure cinema with zero fears or concern for marketability. Reichardt is the human director to me. She allows her actors to behave like people, never forcing them to be film characters. My DP and I watch Wendy & Lucy before shooting a movie, to remind ourselves of how the camera should breathe. We watch The Seventh Continent for composition cues. Never conventional, never intentionally bizarre. It’s his own world.

What’s next for you?

Relaxer. Coming 2018. You’ve been warned.