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From Nick Pobutsky, Motor City Cinema Society Co-Founder

In 2012, Paul Thomas Anderson’s sixth film opened across the world. Following the grand reception of its predecessor There Will Be Blood, which garnered Oscars for both cinematography and its lead actor Daniel Day-Lewis, The Master was an enigmatic and critically successful picture as well as an historic one, it being the first feature film shot entirely on 70mm since Kenneth Branagh’s 1996 screen version of Hamlet.

But, in the time between these acclaimed large format releases, a major change had occurred worldwide. Video virtually replaced film in both motion picture photography and projection. With the exception of movies featuring true Imax sequences (which is 70mm turned 90 degrees), film had otherwise widely vanished. Even though The Master revived unadulterated use of 70mm, it nevertheless had the fate of a mostly digital theatrical run. That is, with the exception of specialty movie houses such as those found typically on the ‘Coasts’ or in select cities; the bastions for camera-to-screen film purists like Anderson and his contemporaries.

Quentin Tarantino took his turn at the format with The Hateful Eight in 2015 and by then persuaded the studio to distribute it as a massive roadshow presentation across the US, with 70mm projectors actually installed (or reinstalled) into many first-run cinemas. Of course, there was also Christopher Nolan’s notorious Oppenheimer rollout last year, which included 70mm screenings within a similar campaign. The Master, however, proves Anderson was ahead of the curve as usual.

Along with his influence on moviemaking and preservation, too many things set PT Anderson apart to suggest he’s an ordinary filmmaker. One might say he was destined for the profession. Born in 1970 to Edwina and Ernie Anderson, Paul’s mother, an actress, when about to give birth to him was driven to the hospital in a sportscar his father bought from Greer Garson. Not a bad way to make an entrance. It was shortly after that Ernie, prolific broadcast recording artist, ‘voice of NBC’ and horror movie-host pioneer, was approached by Ron Sweed to reprise his Ghoulardi television character. Since his family had recently grown with the addition of Paul, and after relocating from Ohio to California, Ernie instead passed the mantle of the character on to Sweed. In other words, Paul simply being born helped Sweed become The Ghoul. All his young life a steady colorful cast of personalities frequented the Anderson household, including Carol Burnett, Tim Conway and Robert Ridgley, influencing the prodigious child, and since before he may remember, he wanted to make films.

When Anderson was still only a teenager, he made the early version of what would eventually become the renowned epic Boogie Nights. Shot with a video camcorder in 1988, The Dirk Diggler Story was his first attempt at the material, drawn largely from his familiarity with it by growing up in the San Fernando Valley (the ‘capital’ of adult films). Its crude production value lent itself to a This Is Spinal Tap-type documentary conceit and featured the distinguished narration of his father. When it was time to shoot Boogie Nights after completing his first major motion picture Hard Eight (1996), he already had nearly a decade of expertise on the subject. He traded its light comedic mockumentary style for a lavish and sweeping classical narrative of a surrogate family in the “exotic picture” business at the end of the 1970s.

A commercial and critical triumph in 1997, Boogie Nights features a superb ensemble cast including Mark Wahlberg, Julianne Moore, Heather Graham, Don Cheadle, Philip Seymour Hoffman, John C. Reilly and Burt Reynolds (in his only Oscar nominated role). Part of what helped make it the “sprawling masterpiece of a movie” Roger Ebert declared it to be is how extraordinarily its many elements were balanced, from script to screen. It’s a very funny movie, but not campy or shallow; it’s also quite a dark cautionary tale, while not preachy or self- righteous. With all of its spectacle, music and style, it’s grounded by a strong moral core and the accuracy of historically-informed research about the life of the real business it reflects.

It may be hard to imagine for some, but during the ‘Golden Age’ of adult films, an era which began in America with Andy Warhol’s Blue Movie in 1969, the boundary separating them from so-called ‘legitimate’ movies was blurry. Both used narrative structure, opened with formal premieres, were promoted on marquees and posters, played in theaters and even got reviewed. This was so because they each shared a vital common element: FILM. Each genre was made for their respective big screens. With this justification, the characters in Boogie Nights thought of themselves highly as film-makers and film-stars, if only for a few years before the advent of cheap video production by the mid ‘80s crushed their loftier dreams.

Boogie Nights is just as much about the glory of film as it is about the characters whose dignity relied on it. It’s partly an allegory, prophesizing years ahead of its time the endangerment of film in our digital era.

Luckily for us, Paul Thomas Anderson works just as hard at preserving films as he does when making his own. He is on the board of directors of The Film Foundation, a nonprofit founded in 1990 by Martin Scorsese, Steven Speilberg and other top tier filmmakers responsible for saving nearly a thousand moving pictures to date. In fact, it was Anderson, Scorsese and Spielberg who also banded together to rescue TCM last year, forging a partnership with David Zaslav, CEO of Warner Brothers, the studio responsible for making this newly all- photochemically struck print of Boogie Nights.

Since The Master, Anderson has made ‘blow-ups’ for every one of his films, and is the one responsible for bringing back this bygone cinema tradition as well. Inherent Vice (2014), Phantom Thread (2017) and Licorice Pizza (2021) all were shot on 35mm; their negatives used to strike 70mm prints. Many big budget releases over the years had blow-ups, such as Star Wars (1977) and Aliens (1986), for not only superior image quality but also for improved sound. The only film of Anderson’s released prior to The Master that received this treatment not surprisingly is Boogie Nights, with its dazzling visuals and soundtrack in full effect on 70mm.

The Motor City Cinema Society is honored to bring you these two very special screenings of the first 70mm Paul Thomas Anderson print ever shown in Michigan, proudly in Detroit (now a select city).

Award winning screenwriter Larry Karaszewski will join us via Zoom for our post-screening talkback. In addition to co-writing Tim Burton's Ed Wood, he co-wrote My Name is Dolemite, The People vs. Larry Flynt, Big Eyes, and Man on the Moon, creating a biopic sub-genre with writing partner Scott Alexander.

Glen or Glenda

Director Edward D. Wood Jr. has been called the worst director of all time and his film Plan 9 From Outer Space is often called the worst film of all time. But while he unequivocally lacked artistic talent, there is no doubt his films were made with a simplistic joy and a unique creativity. His first film, Glen or Glenda was a direct response to the worldwide news of Christine Jorgensen’s sex reassignment surgery in 1952. As part of the low-budget exploitation sub-genre of the early 1950’s, Glen or Glenda would have been pitched as a film about transgenderism, couched in a docudrama or educational style to avoid censorship. What Ed Wood made, however, was a semi-autobiographical film about his own transvestism; taking what was personal and incorporating it into his passion. In doing so, Wood bared his soul, nakedly putting his ‘difference’ out into the world for everyone to see and making a film, while derided by some for its mundane sets, stilted dialogue, and clunky editing, that clearly stands as a plea for acceptance and understanding.

In addition to writing and directing Glen or Glenda, Wood also starred as Glen, a closeted transvestite struggling to tell his fiancé about his secret life. While careful to couch his transvestism in an overtly obvious heterosexuality, the film creates a sensitive case for normalizing his transvestism within his home and in public. His fiancé, played by Wood’s real-life girlfriend, Dolores Fuller, only recently made aware of his transvestism, speaks for many when she admits that she doesn’t understand it, but she accepts it. There is a simple poignance in the scene where she expresses her feelings. Shot in just four days, Glen or Glenda liberally uses stock footage, voice over narration and a framing device of a police investigation to illustrate the societal perception and impact of misunderstanding of what was deemed a ‘deviant’ subculture. Topping the framing device is 1930’s horror film icon Bela Lugosi as a god-like narrator/mad scientist. Lugosi was an acquaintance of Wood’s who hadn’t acted in four years and was addicted to pain medication when he agreed to the part, not knowing what the film was about, but happy to have the $1,000 payday. Lugosi’s scenes were filmed away from the other actors and offer a bizarre and surreal addition to the film itself. While the film was not well received by critics or audiences at the time, Variety noted that “what distinguishes it from other low budget efforts are the occasional mad flights of fancy” (Variety, Dec. 31st, 1952). Not overwhelming praise, but noteworthy nonetheless. Not surprisingly, the film quickly disappeared from circulation and was largely forgotten. It wasn’t until the 1980’s when Wood gained notoriety for the assumed banality of his work, that he became known among cult film fans, enhanced by the bourgeoning home video market and midnight screenings. Unlike Plan 9 From Outer Space (1957), Jail Bait (1954) or Bride of the Monster (1955), Glen or Glenda has been reevaluated more for its social and cultural impact than its cinematic originality, separating it from Wood’s other films. Looking at it with a modern eye, it is apparent that Wood’s beliefs were ahead of their time and have become oddly prescient in today’s culture of intolerance. During his lifetime Edward D. Wood, Jr. never received notoriety, fame or even respect for his filmmaking, but Glen or Glenda proves that in his soul he was a fearless artist worthy of respect, if not praise.