The French Connection

One of the bigger events over the past few weeks has been preparing for the Winter International Film Festival of Antarctica (WIFFA).  During both summer and winter seasons, all the outposts of every nation are invited to submit short films for consideration by their peers.  The WIFFA has two categories of films.  The Open Category films can be of any length and display any content.  I have previously noted that several months ago we had a Red Carpet Premier Party for our Open Category entry, but I couldn’t disclose about the film until now.  That celluloid diversion was “Polewatch.”  The first three minutes of the film is the extra-long opening sequence form Baywatch, with any number of requisite hardbodies dashing around the surf; this is followed by three minutes of our…well, bodies…skidding across the ice, capped by a shot of everyone rushing for their Extreme Cold Weather Gear before they die. The former one hundred and eighty seconds hormone-flushing adolescent fantasy is destroyed in a matter of moments.  I can no longer see Summer Quinn as well-developed woman in a tight red swimsuit (in the words of my father, “a real deep breather”), but instead as a balding German engineer in a Catalina one-piece.  It’s more effective than cold shower and thoughts of Margaret Thatcher.

In contrast, the 48 Hour Category has to be a five minute (or less) film on any topic, but incorporating five different elements such as a sound, a person, an action, an object, and a quote.  The elements are sent out at 6 PM (our time) on a Friday, and each station has until Sunday night to submit their entry.  This year’s critical elements included a duck quack, Mickey Mouse, a piggyback race, dumbbells, and the opening line from A Tale of Two Cities:  “It was the Best of Times, it was the Worst of Times. “

I had been talking earlier in the week with Wastie Scorcese, our Esteemed Director and Southernmost Pipeline to the Artistic Muse.  (Scorcese is also the only person I know who carries his own podium with him.  Made out of used cardboard and duct tape, it’s painted black and festooned with the USAP logo.  It adds class to just about everything.)  I thought it would be fun to be involved, and with his initial suggestions as to plot I gave screenwriting a chance.  We started with the premise that we needed to respond to the allegations of Eric Hecker, the plumber-turned-whistleblower discussed in the previous post.  The working title of the picture was “Antarctic Fallacies:  Tales of the South Pole.” 

Here’s a look at the first draft:

DISCLAIMER TITLE CARDS AT START 

The tales you are about to hear are FALSE.

They are intended for entertainment only.

They do not reflect the true state of affairs at the United States National Science Foundation Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station.

We don’t do half the stuff they say we do.

Well, maybe a third.

(Fade into the Generic Authority Figure in the QRR, reading a book about Antarctica.  He/she looks up, closes the book, and addresses the camera.)

“Good day.  I’m a Generic Authority Figure.  You know this because I’m in a room with many leather-bound books and the furniture smells of rich mahogany.  I’m a doctor, but the truth is you have no idea if I have a legitimate PhD or got my degree from an advertisement in the back of a magazine.  It really doesn’t matter because I’m older and speaking slowly with a deep, hypnotic voice (holds up a pocket watch and swings it; repeat the latter phrase x 3).  You are now within my power.

As you may have heard, Antarctica is a harsh continent, where things get worse before they get worse.  It’s a land of triumph (pic of Roald Amundsen) and of tragedy (pic of Robert Falcon Scott), a place of untouched beauty and vast emptiness.  A land where there’s but one day and one night, where no one has seen the true South Pole buried deep within the ice.  It’s a land of joyful ecstasy (pic of happy penguins) and of abject brutality (pic of penguin being ripped up by an orca).  And it’s a land of lore, where every day balances on the knife-edge between legend and reality.  Today, let’s explore some of these South Pole myths and discover if there are icy crystals of truth within the blizzard of confabulation.”

(The GAF pulls down a book with picture of polar bear on the cover.)

“Our journey into mystery begins with the tale of the South Polar Bear.  The scientists tell us that except for the aftermath of the Mid-Winter Dinner there is no wildlife at the South Pole save some tardigrades buried deep in the ice.  Yet the rumor persists of a Polar Bear that roams the frigid landscape.”

(Cut to “Noted Cryptozoologist” against a landscape background)

“The legend of the South Polar Bear says that a bear on the Arctic pack ice near Greenland once ransacked a tourist’s tent and found travel brochures for Miami Beach.  Intrigued by the warm sun and hotter bodies and deciding to go south, he wandered into an Air National Guard cargo aircraft, overshot the mark, and wound up at the here.   They say he survives on food scraps and at night you can hear him wail for the white sands and Art Deco of South Beach.“ 

(Back to Generic Authority Figure)

“To search for the truth of this tale, we’ve sent out a camera crew out to investigate.”

(This is where we insert a hunt for South Polar Bear…looking for tracks, finding them, getting attacked, etc...the “Blair Witch” thing.)

(Back to GAF)

“Unfortunately, the road to knowledge is often paved with hardship and sorrow.  It’s a harsh continent.  Did I mention that? (As an aside to someone off camera:  “Can you send some flowers and a check to that widow?) 

There are also stories of strange gravitational fields that exists within the ice tunnels below the polar station.  We’ve asked someone who used to be plumber about this.”

(Cut to Plumber Guy with lots of patches on his tee-shirt)

“As a member of the plumbing team, I had unfettered access to the entire South Pole Station.  Down in the ice tunnels below the ice is the gravity well.  No one would tell me what it was, but there’s a large red button there that says Do Not Push.  And that plumber thing?  That’s not right.   I’m a scientist now.  I read the first chapter of a book by Carl Sagan even though I skipped the big words.  I also have a junior chemistry set at home.  And see all the patches on my shirt?  What other proof do you need?”

(Back to GAF)

“We were able to speak with someone on Station about this accusation.  He or she has agreed to an interview, but with their face hidden.  Just ignore the accent that would tell you he or she is from some country like Germany or Argentina or Swaziland or something.” 

(Cut to person talking in shadow behind screen)

“The rumor is true.  There is a gravity well deep in the ice.  But it can’t be disturbed.  The gravity well holds things on the planet.  It’s why Australia and New Zealand don’t fall off the bottom of the earth.  And it’s why all kinds of things roll downhill, so you don’t want to stand too close.  It smells pretty bad.  And whatever you do, DON’T PUSH THE BUTTON!”  Got that?  DON’T PUSH THE BUTTON!” 

(GAF)

We were given a map into the ice tunnels by our anonymous source who might or might not be from a country like Germany or Argentina or Swaziland.  We’ve sent a new team into the depths of the tundra to see the site for themselves. 

(Cut to Investigative Team Leader, in full Extreme Cold Weather gear down in the Ice Tunnels)

“We’ve followed the directions on the map and have found the gravity well.  It seem calm here, but you can feel the primordial forces swirling all about us.  And (panning about), wait…here’s the button.  We’ve been told not to push this, so we’ll carefully inch our way around…wait…I’m slipping…arggh!”

(As the Team Leader falls, he lands against the button. Noises go off, lights flash, the camera goes on and off, and suddenly the view flips upside down.  Team Leader continues to narrate.)

 “Oh no!  The button shuts off the gravity well, and we’re drifting away…hitting the ceiling…and what’s that coming out of the well?  It’s all that stuff that rolled downhill…I need more than a two-minute shower…”

(Team Leader voice trails off, camera fades, and it it’s place are photoshopped images of upside down Australia and NZ things like the Sydney Opera House and kangaroos, kiwis, and koalas against a background of space.)

(Back to GAF)

“There are also those who believe that the South Pole is a focal point for faster-than light communication with alien civilizations.  The presence of lasers that point to the sky (pic of rooftop laser) suggests that they act as a lighthouse for interstellar travel.  But are our celestial neighbors friendly or, like European colonists in the Americas, will they take this invitation as an excuse for conquest and give us blankets loaded with smallpox?  After taking several showers from the incident at the Gravity Well, our investigative team sought the truth.”

(Cut to USAP Station Manager)

“As the Station Manager here at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station, we promote American values of openness, inclusivity, and acceptance of others no matter what race, religion, or number of heads and appendages.  So when the aliens drop by, we welcome them.”

(GAF voiceover)

“Indeed, as you can see the aliens have become well integrated into the daily life of the station, and have adopted many human customs.”

(A few clips and vocals of aliens stumbling through the galley getting their morning coffee, playing bingo, watching something silly in the TV lounge, coming out of the shower.)

“We spoke with one of the extraterrestrials through a translator to get their impression of this cosmic friendship.”

(Some kind of mechanical or AI voice over someone in an alien costume/mask mouthing nonsense words?)

We have a great time when we come to the South Pole.  It’s lots of fun.  We can watch all nine seasons of Seinfeld at one sitting and there are the five pound bags of cereal (pics of Seinfeld and Lucky Charms).  And once we fatten up the humans we can barely wait to take them back to our planet for a feast.  They’ll be delicious.”

(Back to Station Manager)

“We’ve really become close friends, and this year some of us are contemplating their invitation to visit their home world.  They tell us we’ll be honored guests.  We know they’re deeply religious, because they always carry around their version of the Bible.  It’s called, “To Serve Man.”

(Cut to the scene in the Twilight Zone where the lady yells, “It’s a cookbook!”)

(Back to GAF)

“One of the most intriguing legends of the South Pole is that allegedly scientific experiments are actually covers for more nefarious purposes.  Rumors have long circulated that the Ice Cube experiment is actually a seismic weapon, able to cause earthquakes in any part of the world.

(Ice Cube scientist…cut to Mutley, one of our scientists who has a high-pitched laugh exactly like Dick Dastardley’s sidekick pooch, standing in front of a control board.) 

“So we were collecting neutrinos but didn’t know what to do with them, and then someone said, “Hey, how about earthquakes,” and we all said, “yeah, how about that?”  So we started some experiments, and while at first all we could do is make some things rattle, now we’ve got it so we can just push a button and cause an earthquake anyplace we want.  Like how do you feel about Omaha?” 

(Gleefully pushes button with that high-pitched laugh of his.  Pictures of tranquil Nebraska farmland, happy families, and the skyline of Omaha, followed by pics of wanton death and destruction.  Back to Mutley, still laughing.)

“Isn’t that great?  Now, do you like Paris?”

(Back to GAF)

“Last, we’ve heard stories about a homeless man who hides during the day but roams the lower reaches of the Station, surviving by eating Vanilla Wafers and rummaging through the trash.  Through diligence and perseverance, we’ve found this elusive recluse.”

(Cut to me unshorn, unwashed, in my Jacksonville Jaguars pajamas, sorting through recyclables on the floor.)

“Hey, what are you doing?  NO PICTURES!  (Looking about furtively, then beckoning the camera closer.) You know, I used to be a doctor.  A real one, not a PhD.  I’ll take out your liver for twenty bucks and a pint of Mad Dog.”

(Back to GAF)

The South Pole.  You decide.  I’m a Generic Authority Figure.  Good evening.  (Swinging pocket watch.)  When I snap my fingers, you will be released.  (Snap!)  Good night, and good luck.

(Fade to credits…)

**********

We had our initial meeting on Friday night, just after the five elements had been released.  Tasks were assigned and the group broke up to being their tasks.  I was sent to the Arts and Crafts Room to work on the script with the Vehicular Punster, our heavy equipment shop foreman who doubles as the reincarnation of “I’ve Got a Secret” panelist Bennett Cerf.  We worked at the craft tables rather than a more scholarly environment because he had been assigned the role of the whistleblower, now named Derek Pecker, and needed to make a large golden key to wear around his neck to demonstrate how he had unlimited access to everything on site.  My carefully written part as the Homeless Physician (a role which matched my current unshorn look) was cut for time.  Instead, I was to play the Generic Authority Figure, which is the worst kind of typecasting because I simply ooze authority.  

Working on the elements was the first task.  We thought the Generic Authority Figure should start the film by gazing down at a book and reading the quote before looking up to address the audience.  The South Polar Bear could be caught doing a workout, dumbbells in hand, and every button push could result in a duck quack.  The aliens would engage in a piggyback race, and after turning a corner one would emerge as Mickey Mouse.

We took out redundant language and inside jokes, the latter because the other stations on ice wouldn’t get them.  Then we inserted the puns.  The scene with the violent polar ursine was unbearable and we wouldn’t share the grizzly details; the folks uprooting Australia at the push of a button didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.  The human-eating aliens gave us food for thought, and the seismic weapon was earthshattering.  As a final nod to our foreign compatriots scattered across the continent, we suggested a final title card explaining that we could have put in subtitles, but we just figured if we spoke English louder and slower they would understand.  That always works, right?

Filming began later that night with the South Polar Bear.  We actually have a Polar Bear Costume in the Arts and Crafts, which was to be donned in all its’ ferocity by probably the Nicest Guy on Station.  My New-Found Son played the role of “Your Boy Chad,” who was searching for the fabled bear, surprised him by the Ceremonial Pole as he was pumping iron, and was subsequently mauled to death, the best shot simply being two large white paws laid over his shoulders as he was dragged away screaming. 

My opportunity for minor stardom came on Saturday afternoon with filming the narration of the Generic Authority Figure.  We shot down in the library (officially known as the QRR, or Quiet Reading Room), with me in an easy chair surrounded by scholarly accoutrements such as a coffee table, desk lamp, pipe, and a glass of scotch.  In preparation, I had reserved one of my showers that week for just this moment, so while still unkempt I could at least feature the “great flow” on my head.  Since I’m bad a memorizing lines I made some cue cards. They worked just fine, but they say an actor is his own worst critic, and in the final cut I can see my eyes darting from camera to cue card and back like a frightened rodent. The scene I’m most proud of is on the blooper reel, where a boom mike gets dropped into my shot and I yell, “This is ponderous, man, PONDEROUS!” in a homage to Casey Kasem, and then complain about craft services before storming off to my trailer.  Nobody knew I had that in me.  It felt good.

The other scenes were filmed that day as well, my sole contributions being to sit passively in the crowd as aliens ran amuck in the galley, and taping a homemade label around a Coke can that said “Neutrinos!  Now in Three Flavors…Try them All!  After wee hours of editing by Our Esteemed Director, our entry went off to Cannes.

**********

The viewing took place two weeks later.  On our long weekends, we take chairs and couches from the library and television lounge and move them into the gym, where a large sheet hung above a wall serves as our Silver Screen.  We gathered on a Sunday afternoon watch over 40 entries from stations all across the continent, and then to file our votes for categories such as Best Film, Best Actor and Actress, Best Sound, and Best Editing.  (Of course, because it’s Antarctica, things are a bit different…a film that featured an overgrown green Claymation piece of krill was designated a candidate for Best Actress.)  Since it was going to be a marathon, I broke out my first Coke since I left McMurdo, as well as one of the last three candy bars I had hoarded since I left New Zealand.  Supplemented with popcorn from the machine in the Fuelie Cloak Room (which is why the popcorn tastes like fuel and the fuel crew smells like popcorn), I settled into a recliner that had seen better and warmer days, the song “Saturday Night at the Movies” by the Drifters on continual repeat in my head. 

(The BGFE and I saw one Roy Hemmings, former member of the Drifters, on a cruise ship last year.  Roy was finishing his show…with the obligatory song “for the ladies”…and said something like, “Thank you, and maybe we’ll see you again.”  To which one of his backup singers replied, “We’re here again Sunday, Roy.”)

 

 

As a self-proclaimed cinemaphile, the first thing that struck me was that every film is absolutely a product of its’ place.  The entries from the American bases were straight-up and in-your-face, devoid of art, subtlety, and the need for interpretation, products which entertained by happily shunning the need for the viewer’s independent thought.  Violence is encouraged but not mandatory.  The French films were works of art, sometimes just two people siting and talking, others filmed from the standpoint of the impartial observer of human behavior, and always with beautiful cinematography.  I’ve concluded that if America really wants to compete, we’ll need to dump some scientists (because we all know it’s not physics, but pixies that run the universe) and send down a film school grad, a Hollywood cinematographer, and sound artist. 

British films are sparse in appearance, with exaggerated accents, accents, clipped speech, and just a touch of both absurdism and post-colonial superiority.  Russian productions tend to be sparse and either starkly beautiful or completely impenetrable.  Our colleges at the Indian Bharati Base seem to be either a minute ahead or behind the joke, but all’s well by the time of the dancing Bollywood finale.  The Koreans are either into self-harm or mythology, while the Japanese are grounded in anime and gaming.  South African clips are, much like the nation, struggling for identity.  The German entry was what you might expect, best summed up in a witticism from the Teutonic King of Flugeyball here at the Pole:

“How many Germans does it take to change a light bulb? 

Only one, because we’re efficient and not funny.”

As a group, I really like the Australian films, which usually have to right balance of American boldness and British cheek.  And the only entry that gave me “the feels” this year was “Home Soon,” a submission from the Davis Station which was nothing more than a camera panning through the station as people held up pictures of loved ones far away.  It was the only time the gym went silent.  We’re all there.

(As much as we’re all different, the films also reveal that in some ways we’re all the same:  Every station has someone who walks around in a penguin suit.)

My favorites this year trended towards French Cinema du Sur.  The first, “Drown Me Like One of Those French Girls,” was a spoof on the movie Titanic.  I bring this up because Titanic movies seem to be a staple of the WIFFA.  I’ve never actually seen the movie Titanic, because I don’t need to.  As my father says, “I already know how it ends.  The ship sinks.”  The Titanic tragedy in my life is only manifested through my delight in quaffing “Carpathia Punch,” an adult concoction served on the Cunard line and named for the ship first on scene to rescue survivors.  But I do know enough about the film to recognize the key scenes, and the WIFFA parodies all use the same tropes.  There’s always a bearded man as Rose, even when an actual woman is available.  The sex scene invariably features a handprint on the fogged-up windows of a piston bully.  And while there’s the inevitable nude drawing scene this particular film was distinguished by Jack drawing a naked Mickey Mouse.   And at the end, there was a brilliant underwater shot as Jack came to the surface and knocked Rose off the door with a dumbbell.  

“Crozetland” featured a station invaded by tourists, but at the end of the day the scientists and technicians invaded by tourists, but at the end of the day the folks take off their Antarctic suits, turn off the lights, and go home.  “The Strange Sound of Love” began with a Grandmere sitting by the fire recalling how she fell in love with a man who made penguins quack by remote control.   

Finally, in “All Quiet on the Southern Front,” two men are sitting on the shoreline, staring out at the water, discussing the depths of their love. 

“Zorgie?”

“Yes, my yummy squashy octopus?”

“Would you still love me even if you met a man carrying Mickey Mouse doing dumbbells on his back while Eaton’s pintail clucks far away?”

As a nascent scriptwriter myself, that last line is why I gave the film my top vote for Best Use of the Five Elements…getting four in a single line was brilliant.  I’m also blown away by the word “squashy.”)

 

 

The other impression while watching these films was pure envy.  If every WIFFA entry is a product of its’ culture, it’s also a product of it’s place.  In Antarctica, only three of the many permanent stations are located inland; the Russian Vostok Station (our closest neighbor at 800 miles away), the French-Italian Concordia Base (reportedly the best food on continent), and Amundsen-Scott at the South Pole.  The view from any of these landlocked outposts is essentially the same.  Gazing outwards, one sees only vast expanses of snow and ice, slightly rippled plains of white with nothing to interrupt the monotony save an odd outbuilding or a storage berm.  While in one way the starkness is spectacular, it is also overwhelmingly as described in the diary of Captain Scott:  “My God, this is an awful place.”  There is no life save yourself, no sound save wind and feet on the ice, nothing but sameness as far as the eye can see, vision burdened with the knowledge that even when reaches the horizon, there is simply more nothingness ahead.    

Every other station is on the coast or a nearby island, at varying degrees of latitude north of where we sit.  The scenery and climate in these locales is much different than outside our windows.  So as we watch our austral colleagues’ cinematic offerings, we’re first astonished and then insanely jealous.  Look!  That’s dirt, and a rock!  Can that be lichen, and maybe even grass?  They have water that’s liquid and moves!  And speaking of moving, what’s that making its’ way across the ice?  Could it be…yes…a penguin?  A seal?  And in the air…is it…I think so…a bird!  I was nearly in a state of agape bliss when I saw an icicle melting on screen.  Melting!  Who ever thought of that?

(We learned last week that the American Palmer Station, situated on the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula as it reaches towards Chile, had a record low temperature of 7 degrees F last week.  That’s nearly 100 degrees F warmer than us.  Whoever would have thought that 7 F was tropical?  And yet we do.  There’s simply no comparison to that in the “real world.”) 

I don’t have a way to find out, but I wonder that as we long for the experience of others, if they long to make it to the Pole.  We’re glad to be here, but I think most of us feel that as a tourist, the South Pole is a “one-and-done” kind of thing…flat, cold, “glory shot” picture taken, time to move on.  We’re here for other reasons (money, science, mid-life crisis) than the scenery. So we long to see things like open water, glaciers, wildlife, and all the other things one thinks of when you contemplate a journey to the Bottom of the World.  But I wonder if those on the coast have the opposite view, if they feel their sojourn incomplete because they didn’t get all the way to 90 degrees South, feeling like they’re forever wearing a tee-shirt that says “I went to Antarctica but not quite far enough.  LOSER.”

**********

The votes are in, and now we await the results.  It’ll be another few weeks before we know who’s won.  In the meantime, our Italian friends have posted the 2023 WIFFA films at www.WIFFA.aq.  C’est magnifique!