| Did
you experience any kind of culture shock moving from
the South to LA?
Moving to Los Angeles from Jackson, Mississippi was
culture shock-personified. I never knew I had a southern
accent until my fellow students at Junipero Serra
High Catholic School in Gardena teased me mercilessly
about it. At that time, my brother and I were the
only black students (there was one “hi-yella”
black who tried to pass for white), and they hated
us like the plague. They figured that when two Negroes
showed up, more would soon follow. And they were right.
When did you become interested in making films?
My interest in moving pictures came early in life
when my parents gave me an 8mm camera for my 11th
birthday. My father and older brother, June, loved
baseball (and all other sports for that matter). I
liked sports, but they could find enjoyment listening
to a baseball game over the radio. I’d rather
watch paint dry. So, I found joy in playing with an
8mm camera. I’d shoot anything that moved—without
film in the camera, that is. Film was just too expensive.
Simply pointing the camera from different angles and
playing with the zoom was enough for me. My parents
gave me money for film when family events were approaching
so that I could memorialize those events. The film
had a very low ASA, so I had to use a tremendous amount
of light which generated an enormous amount of heat.
This occasioned many-a-family-member to run away every
time they saw me coming with the camera.
I read somewhere that your favorite director
was William Wyler and that you were inspired to make
movies after watching Ben-Hur…
That film really touched me. It was the first epic
that I saw which had an intermission; but I couldn’t
wait for the intermission to end. King Kong had been
my favorite film of all time until I saw Ben-Hur.
That film so affected me that I looked up all I could
find about the director of the film, William Wyler,
who to this day remains my all-time favorite director.
You studied film at UCLA in the 70’s…how
was the experience and what was it like there culturally
or artistically at that time?
Things were great culturally and artistically for
[the] black filmmaker at the UCLA Film School. Indeed,
only after I was accepted as a junior student in the
film school did I realize that becoming a filmmaker
was a realizable possibility. It is well known by
now that I was about to commit a stupid felony when
I espied an UCLA outreach sign in a Compton storefront
window. That affirmative action on the part of UCLA
led me to prepare myself for entrance into the famed
film school by maintaining a 3.5 average in obligatory
courses at Compton College.
The atmosphere was absolutely wonderfully encouraging
for aspiring black film students. UCLA provided us
with cameras, lights, and sound equipment---the means
to the production of films that were conceived and
produced by us. And we flourished both culturally
and artistically. The sky was the limit, and our imaginations
were the rockets.
I also read that you were a classmate of [legendary
African American filmmakers] Julie Dash and Charles
Burnett, the latter of whom you worked with on Welcome
Home Brother Charles…
Charles Burnett was my camera operator on [that film],
but I never had the opportunity to work with my friend,
Julie Dash. She transferred to UCLA from the American
Film Institute late in my UCLA career. The 70’s
were the halcyon days for black film students at the
university. At least 25 black film students attended
during the height of affirmative action. Among my
fellow students were Ben Caldwell (I and I), Larry
Clark (As Above, So Below), Billy Woodberry (Bless
Their Little Hearts), Julie Dash, Charles Burnett,
and our then-hero, [Ethiopian filmmaker] Haile Gerima.
And we all were there on our merits.
Like I said, Burnett was my cameraman on my first
feature film that I made as an undergraduate. We all
worked crew on each other’s films and we all
remain friends to this day.
Welcome Home Brother Charles, Emma
Mae, and Penitentiary were all made
while you were at UCLA, right?
UCLA provided me with the means to make cinema history
by writing, producing, directing and gaining theatrical
release for three, count ‘em, three feature
films, as part of my academic curricula.
Was there any time in particular were you were forced
to get really creative, dealing with the financial
setbacks? Being a student filmmaker
has its share of frustration, I imagine…
Besides the loan of what amounted to the life savings
from my wonderful parents, I gained financing for
my films through competitive academic grants from
such great American institutions as the Ford and Rockefeller
foundations, the UCLA Chancellor, the UCLA Black Studies
Center and even the New York State Council for the
Arts. With the succor of MGM’s Roger Mayer,
who then headed that great studio’s physical
plant, including its excellent film lab, I made my
Master’s thesis film, Emma Mae, in part with
an Independent Filmmaker Grant from the American Film
Institute, which at the time was the Holy Grail of
filmmaking grants.
Instead of bemoaning the lack of capital to do my
films, I applied all the wherewithal at my command
to accomplish whatever it was I was trying to do.
For instance, I needed a courtroom to shoot the ‘kangaroo
court’ trial of Brother Charles. Although UCLA
has three excellent sound stages, building a court
room would have been time consuming and extremely
costly. So, citing my credentials as an honor student
at one of the best universities in America, I approached
a judge (my pro bono attorney, Robert Edelen, got
me [the] appointment) at the Compton courthouse and
asked him to allow me to shoot in his courtroom. He
was a black judge and he stated to me: “After
sentencing young blacks to prison every day, I’m
happy to help a black university student succeed.”
The court bailiff who grabs Brother Charles and forcefully
removes him from the court was the actual bailiff
of that courtroom. He was happy not only to help,
but to be in my film. When I first screened the film
in UCLA’s Melnitz Hall, the judge and the bailiff
were there---with their wives.
Would you classify your films as “blaxsploitation”?
No. My films are absolutely not blaxploitation films.
First of all, practically all of those films that
are called “blaxploitation” were directed
by white directors. Legendary white cult film director
Jack Hill directed practically all the Pam Grier films
and I do not even consider them black films. A “black
film” must be directed by a black director.
The director controls the making of a film. My good
friend, director Bill Duke, once did an excellent
film on widowed old Jewish ladies. Not one star of
that film was black, but I consider it a black film
because the director was black. The term “blaxploitation”,
of course, is a combination of the words black and
exploitation. Before the so-called “blaxploitation
films” came about, any low budget independent
film was called an exploitation film. There was nothing
negative about calling them “exploitation”
films. They were shown in neighborhood theaters and
drive-ins across America. Many of us were conceived
to the sound of Tommy guns in the back seats of sedans
at drive-in movie theaters. Only when white directors
began casting blacks in those films did the exploitation
term become pejorative. None of my films are “blaxploitation”
films. They are extremely personal low budget attempts
at using the media of cinema artistically. Black?
Yes. Exploitative? Certainly not! In fact, them’s
fightin’ words!
So, let’s talk a little about Welcome
Home Brother Charles. I’d seen the trailer for
it many times and was always intrigued before I finally
saw it.
[That] was my first feature film and I made it as
an undergraduate. Ben-Hur taught me that you could
make a film with deep meanings and still provide your
audience with entertainment. When I was in the Air
force, I attended a party while on leave in Philadelphia
where two lesbians repaired to the bedroom of a small
apartment in the projects. Pretty soon, the most gloriously
erotic sounds of female sexual gratification undulated
from the room. And, at the tender age of 18, I was
highly intrigued by the fact that such corporal female
pleasure could erupt from a room that contained not
one penis. If, I thought to myself, such pleasure
could be had by women who possessed no penises, then
the size of a man’s penis must be highly irrelevant.
Research at UCLA’s great library revealed that
the myth of black male sexual superiority based or
size came about when, in order to frighten white women
from having surreptitious sex with the slaves, the
slave owners told them that black men has penises
that were not only enormous but prehensile. However,
this despicable slave owner lie backfired when the
white women were not frightened, but intrigued. I
made up my mind to make a film that took this myth
and blew it up to ridiculous proportions for all to
see the despicability of this “great lie”.
Welcome Home has many subtexts but it has
one overwhelming raison d’etre: the enormous
penis in the famous strangulation scene in Welcome
Home is a massive metaphor for the inexorable manhood
of mankind to defend itself against oppression, whether
physical, spiritual or psychological, and to destroy
whatever elements that seek to dehumanize its humanness.
How did you come about casting Marlo Monte
in the lead role?
Besides the writing of the script, my first challenge
was finding the perfect actor to play the lead role
of Brother Charles. That problem was solved when the
black film students at UCLA were invited to attend
a showcase of the Performing Arts Society of Los Angeles
(PASLA). When I observed one of the actors, Marlo
Monte, delivering Hamlet’s soliloquy with power
and idiomatic eloquence, I knew that I had found my
lead.
The penis strangulation scene is probably
my favorite in the movie. Can I ask you how you shot
that, and more specifically, what was it made out
of?!
[That] scene has become quite famous, and many people
are beginning to see the work for the artistic statement
that it was meant to be. To make that scene happen,
I approached a company on Santa Monica Boulevard to
make the prop. They were so intrigued by the boldness
of my vision as a starving UCLA film student that
they agreed to make the prop for free. The fake penis
was made of foam and painted to match the actor’s
skin color. While not in use, it was held erect by
a long rod that kept the paint from cracking. When
I shot the scene, to show growth, I had [Marlo Monte]
sling the prop over his shoulder and slowly push it
down between his legs. The actor who was strangled
made it work because he manipulated the prop, slowly
pulling it around his throat as he pretended to struggle
against it.
I think a lot of what’s appealing about
both Welcome Home Brother Charles (and more
specifically, Emma Mae) is that they’re
also “slice of life” films about 1970’s
Los Angeles…
I wanted to make films on location in the city in
which I grew up, Compton. Indeed, my dream was to
start a film studio in the “Hub City.”(The
fact that this did not happen is my own fault. But
that’s a story for my memoirs.) I shot on the
streets of Watts and Compton, at my own apartment,
the home of my parents, my mother’s sister’s
home. And the penis strangulation scene in Welcome
Home Brother Charles was shot at the apartment
of my younger sister.
This was the 70’s and America was enjoying the
fruits and advantages that flowed from the “Great
Society.” Martin, John and Robert had died to
redeem the soul of our great land, and I wanted to
depict 70’s black culture in my moving pictures.
If I wanted to show life in the projects, I went to
quintessential government projects, the Nickerson
Gardens in Watts. I pointed my camera at our community
and told stories with moving pictures intended to
“move people.”
I heard that there’s also a true life Emma Mae!
There was indeed a true-life Emma Mae in the person
of my cousin, Daisy Lee. Most people think that all
of Mississippi is rural; but Jackson, the capitol,
is a sprawling city. Right outside of Jackson (‘the
country’ as they called it then), is a little
hamlet called Crystal Springs where my mother was
born. Daisy Lee was born and also raised in Crystal
Springs; but every summer she would come to the “big
city” to live with my family. Daisy Lee was
a tomboy. But, she was not the run-of-the-mill tomboy
who tries to emulate the things that boys do. Daisy
Lee was about 11 years old but she could kick a 15
year-old boy’s butt. And I don’t mean
the “close your eyes and swing wildly”
girl fighting. Daisy Lee could punch and she could
move. And when Daisy Lee was visiting, nobody, and
I mean NOBODY messed with June and Bula. (My family
and close friends called me “Bula” after
my toddler brother, June, tried to say “Brother”).
So, how did Emma Mae become alternatively
titled Black Sister’s Revenge and Welcome
Home Brother Charles become Soul Vengeance?
When Emma Mae was licensed to Great Britain,
the distributors asked to change the name for British
audiences. Unfortunately, when the license lapsed
and the masters were returned to me, I forgot that
the Black Sister’s title was on it
when I licensed it for video domestically. By the
time I realized the mistake, a large number of videos
had already been struck. The video distributors of
Welcome Home Brother Charles changed the
name without my permission.
The Penitentiary Series is probably
what you’re best known for, and is seen as very
influential. How did the idea for the film come about?
After finishing Emma Mae, the next thing
to do was register my thesis with the university and
graduate in 1977 with a Masters degree. But, graduate
to what? No one in Hollywood would return my calls.
All the Hollywood agents thought that blacks-in-film
was a fad that faded with the so-called “blaxploitation”
era. They refused to even see [me]. So I decided to
hold off filing my thesis and keep my student status
so I could make another feature film at UCLA, [which
was] Penitentiary.
When I shot scenes from both Welcome Home
and Emma Mae at the old closed-down Lincoln
Heights jail in Los Angeles, the idea [of the movie]
occurred to me to write a script whereby I could shoot
the entire film at that old, funky building. It is
expensive to move about the city when one makes a
film. However, at that old jail, when I called “wrap”
for the night all we had to do was turn off the equipment,
leave it in place, and “incarcerate” the
equipment for the night. One of the male extras agreed
to stay there overnight to guard the equipment if
this female extra that he was hitting on agreed to
stay there with him. Somehow, she agreed.
Did you visit any prisons, or talk to any real life
inmates?
Yes, I had a friend who was teaching drama to inmates
at Terminal Island federal penitentiary in San Pedro,
south of Los Angeles. I vetted drafts of the script
with the inmates and found their feedback invaluable.
Since people find Penitentiary so authentic,
I am often asked whether I have ever been. My stock
answer is, no, but do you think George Lucas has ever
visited outer space?
I love the names of the characters, too…
As I have said, my nickname is “Bula.”
Like “Bula”, many nicknames come about
when toddlers try to say a name or word. Many arise
out of the behavior of the person nicknamed. For instance,
the character Half Dead was inspired because in every
neighborhood there is at least one person whose actions
are so grossly out of the pale that people say things
like, “That guy ain’t gonna live to be
18;” or, “That fool won’t make it
to 21.” I took that to mean the person was “half
dead” already. Thus, the nickname, “Half
Dead.” The character “Do Dirty”
came about because he represents people who are constantly
doing dirty things to other people. “Simp”
is short for Simpson, and so on and so on.
Tell me a little about the boxing scenes…were
you interested in boxing at all?
Some people think the boxing in Penitentiary
was inspired by Rocky. Although I love [the film],
I wrote Penitentiary before I ever saw that great
film. In fact, the boxing scenes were inspired by
my four-year tour in the Air Force. Airmen would join
the base’s boxing team just to get out of ordinary
duty, like KP, so that they could train for the base’s
annual boxing tournament. These guys had no idea about
how rough that sport can be. For me, those tournaments
were the highlights of the year. It was the first
and only time that I saw a boxer actually turn tail
and run, actually run, from his opponent in the ring.
I read somewhere that the role of Two Sweet was written
for Glynn Turman [from Cooley High], but he ended
up not doing the film because he married Aretha Franklin!
Yes, the role was written initially for Glynn after
[he did] Cooley High. When we were about
to start principal photography, Glynn approached me
about delaying the film because he was about to marry
Aretha. I was already mobilized, so I could not and
would not await Glynn’s return from his honeymoon.
Leon [Kennedy], who I had brought aboard as an Associate
Producer, had attended every rehearsal that we had
had in a screening room at UCLA. When Glynn dropped
out, suddenly a _” tape suddenly appeared in
the hand of Leon. This was 1978 and Leon was one of
the few lay people who owned a _” videotape
camera. On the tape, his beautiful then-wife Jayne
Kennedy read the lines of Seldom Seen off-camera while
Leon acted the Too Sweet part on camera. His performance
impressed me so much that I hired him on the spot.
And I have never regretted that decision.
What was it like working with Mr. T in Penitentiary
2?
Working with Mr. T was a beautiful experience. I wrote
a role for Mr. T while we were in pre-production after
I received a call from Sylvester Stallone. [He] invited
over to his editing room and he and his editor showed
me the scene where Mr. T causes the Burgess Meredith
character to have a heart attack. Mr. T was very professional,
always knew his lines, and became a good friend of
my brother and father whose job was to pick Mr. T
up from his hotel room every morning.
Also, is it true there might be a Penitentiary
4?!
Yes. If I tell you more I’ll have to kill you.
I like you too much for that.
I saw recently that the Alamo Drafthouse in
Austin did a double feature of Welcome Home Brother
Charles and Penitentiary, and invited
you as their special guest. Were you surprised to
see that your films are still being celebrated by
cult movie fans?
I first heard about the Alamo Drafthouse after reading
a “customer review” of Emma Mae on
the Internet. The reviewer said she had seen [the
movie] at a Wednesday night screening; and it was
the first time in her life that an audience gave a
film a “standing ovation.” Lars Nilsen
[Drafthouse programmer] invited me to screen Penitentiary
and Emma Mae. I must say for the record that
it was one of the most satisfying events of my career.
The audience was amazingly informed on my career,
and one of them approached me saying, “Mr. Fanaka,
you are the most famous unknown filmmaker in America”.
Let’s talk about your new project, Hip
Hop Hope. It’s a documentary, correct?
The theme of Hip Hop Hope is: from the fertile
welter of self-reliance hope springs eternal. [It’s]
about the underground hip hop movement and I have
shot excellent artists from New York City to Los Angeles.
I understand that Snoop Dogg is a big fan
of yours…
Yes, [he] is a big fan of mine. I’m also a big
fan of his. In my backstage conversation with Snoop,
he stated on tape that my moving pictures are his
favorite of all time. And Doggystyle is one of my
favorite albums of all time. Dr. Dre and Ice Cube
and many other rappers also have told me how much
they love my moving pictures.
…and, I read, Quentin Tarantino is a
fan too.
I have yet to meet [him] in person. However, I have
heard from many people, including Penitentiary
star Leon Isaac Kennedy, that Tarantino is a
great fan of the Fanaka films. Tarantino was initially
scheduled to moderate my appearance at the Alamo Drafthouse,
but in the end it conflicted with his very busy schedule.
I love Tarantino’s films and I believe he is
an excellent director. I am very flattered by his
respect for my work and I appreciate all that he has
done to salute low budget, grunge filmmaking.
What’s your opinion of black cinema now vs.
black cinema of your generation?
I am extremely optimistic about the future of blacks
in cinema. I love the work of Spike Lee and John Singleton.
In fact, I view black cinema in the abbreviations,
BS and AS– “before Spike”
and “after Spike.” Spike is a cinematic
line of demarcation for black filmmaking. And I am
very much impressed and encouraged by the young black
filmmakers in this year 2007. Many of their careers
started shooting Hip Hop videos. For instance, it
is my understanding that Ice Cube gave F. Gary Gray
his first break. And, not unlike the start of hip
hop, there are many aspiring black filmmakers out
there honing their skills with a camcorder as I polished
my camera angles with an 8mm camera back in the 1950’s.
Of course, it is much easier to make a feature film
today. With the advent of You Tube and Myspace, everybody,
it seems, wants to be a filmmaker. But, just like
the ownership of a pen and paper does not a writer
make, the ownership of a camcorder does not a filmmaker
make.
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