Like Brothers

by Mark Duplass

  But we still had the issue of trying to execute script notes that just weren’t feeling right. Again, these were not horrid notes from stupid executives, but they were just not reflective of the kind of movie we thought we were making. And we began to feel burdened by the script-writing process. The best way to describe it is that it felt like a marriage that was on the rocks. We knew we loved each other, we knew the goal was worth it, but it was a lot of work and it was just really hard at times. So like members of a struggling marriage, we began to look outside of that marriage for inspiration and bliss. And this is where we learned about the “affair movie.”

  The affair movie is that movie you end up thinking about when you are supposed to be writing the one to which you are currently assigned. It’s the easy, fun, “other” one that lingers in your mind while you are hammering away at an annoying detail of the writing assignment at hand. It beckons you like a Siren away from your “marriage movie.” And the good news is, as opposed to actual infidelity, the affair movie can be quite productive and helpful while you are on assignment.

  Our first affair movie was a story idea called Baghead. It was totally ridiculous. It was about four struggling actors who want to make the next great American indie film, so they retreat to a cabin with no skills and a ton of pump to write the script. The script in the film will be called Baghead and will be about someone with a paper bag over their head stalking them. And it’s all fun and games until someone with a paper bag over their head actually begins stalking them. They don’t know whether it’s just one of them fucking with the group or there’s a psycho out there.

  At the time, this was the perfect antidote to the struggle of writing Cyrus. Not only was it a fun escape from the rigor of writing on assignment and pandering to notes we didn’t fully agree with, but it also gave us something to focus on during the long, drawn-out process of waiting for the studio to read, respond, and set a notes meeting. It was so fun, and moved so quickly, that we had a final draft of Baghead done before we even got a response on the second draft of Cyrus. So, we thought, maybe Baghead would be our second film?

  The production process of Baghead was its own interesting journey. Word had gotten out how cheaply we’d made The Puffy Chair, so film financiers were eager to pay for our next movie. However, we were not too excited to take $10,000 from someone and let them own all of our backend. In our minds, Baghead could be made comfortably for about $50,000. This would pay our crew pretty well, make a decent-looking film, and get us to a major festival to sell it for (hopefully) a decent profit. We thought if we could get about $250,000 from a financier to make Baghead, we’d give them a bunch of the backend, pay our crew even better, and walk away with a nice internal profit. Everybody wins!

  As it turned out, almost everyone in town wanted to make Baghead for that price. We set up a week of meetings with financiers, who were all extremely excited to work with us. But what we were too naïve to realize was that they all had their conditions. They wanted to see exactly how the money was spent and have an accountant over our shoulders the whole time (aiming to reduce our budget and salaries as we went). Or they wanted to change the ending. Or they wanted way too much of the backend profit when we sold the film. What we wanted was simple:

  You liked The Puffy Chair. We made it our way. Give us $250,000 and we will deliver you a movie. But you have to let us do it our way. The good news is that you don’t have to do anything!

  But none of them could resist keeping their hands out of our cookie jar. So we thought long and hard about it and decided to take $50,000 of our writing fees and fund Baghead ourselves. It felt crazy—that we had worked so hard in the indie film scene for so long and we were still self-financing our movies—but it just seemed like the smartest and best way to protect how we made films. And in all honesty possibly the best financial move as well. We felt certain we could sell the movie for at least $100,000. It was a risk, but a calculated one, so we turned down all the financiers (who were shocked and offended) and decided to go make Baghead on our own, our way.

  (PART 5)*

  And, just like that, there were only eight films. Because we set aside one hour to finish the list. And promised each other that if we couldn’t figure it out in one hour we would strike the list from the book altogether. So we each, unbeknownst to the other, came to the meeting prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good of these stupid essays (and our brotherhood in general). We each knocked off not one but two films from our personal favorites.

  And, just like that, the entire energy shifted. With two tiny acts of self-sacrifice, we had gone from the process of subtraction to addition. We had changed the energy in the room from compromise to collaboration. We smiled. And within the next six minutes we had our final list.

  American Movie

  Raising Arizona

  Tootsie

  Rocky

  Hoop Dreams

  The Crying Game (MD)

  Dumb and Dumber

  The Cruise (MD)

  Henry Fool (JD)

  The Horse Boy

  You Can Count on Me

  Close-Up (JD)

  * To be continued…

  WE SENT THE following questions in an email to our wives Jen Duplass (Jay) and Katie Aselton (Mark). They sent back the following responses. We haven’t edited them.

  Can you describe meeting the brother of your then-boyfriend/now-husband and what your impression was of their relationship at the time?

  JEN: When Jay and I were first dating, I noticed a CD in his car with “Merry Christmas Boopa Face” scrawled on the front in black Sharpie. I asked Jay what “Boopa Face” meant. He got really quiet, then he said, “I guess it literally means ‘Shit Face’?” And I said, “Your brother calls you Shit Face?” And he said, “It’s a…term of endearment?”

  This was my first introduction to the Duplass brand of creativity, typically laced with levity and insular language.

  When I first met Mark in person, he was sitting on the sofa watching TV. Our exchange was a brief hello. My first impression was that he was the type of person whose trust needed to be earned. After a few weeks, when he knew I was going to stick around, Mark warmed to me. I think things really took a turn after he and Jay made This Is John. When the guys were accepted into Sundance, I made them matching trophies. Extremely large trophies with functioning answering machines, spray-painted gold, for Best Actor and Best Director from the “Answering Machine Association of America,” or something silly like that. After that, I felt that Mark really let me in and acted like the big brother I never had and always wanted (even though he is several years younger).

  KATIE: I met Jay about six months into my relationship with Mark. Mark and I had just completed an epic road trip down the East Coast from Maine to Austin, so I was pretty delirious and don’t remember many details. What I do remember is that Jay was training for a triathlon and was wearing full cycling apparel. He looked like he’d just stepped off the Tour de France. I also remember that, despite being dressed like Lance Armstrong, he was very sweet to me. As if he knew I wanted him to like me and he was going to make sure he gave me that impression.

  As to their relationship at the time, because Mark and I were dating long-distance then, I had more of a secondhand understanding of their dynamic, as told to me by Mark. It was clear that Jay was the person Mark would turn to if we were having problems. Jay was who Mark would call after we fought. Jay seemed to be that best friend Mark turned to for guidance. They were more friends/brothers than business partners during this period, as Jay was running their editing business and Mark was off making music with his band Volcano, I’m Still Excited!! So I wasn’t introduced to the complexities of their “shared creative brain” dynamic till later.

  Was there ever a moment when you were taken aback by the nature of their dynamic and how they related to each oth
er?

  JEN: Early on, Jay told me that even though the guys had separate rooms as kids, they would almost always sneak into the same bed. His mom told me that they knew the boys were doing this but let them think they were getting away with something. Jay told me that they often stayed up late talking about their dreams until they fell asleep. I loved this. I never wanted to interfere with their special bond. I told Jay that if his brother didn’t like me, I couldn’t continue dating him.

  KATIE: I was amazed how these two brothers shared every detail of themselves with each other. How emotionally evolved they were. How they were able to talk about all of their feelings…how creative…how supportive…really, just how much they loved each other. Until you see it personified, you don’t realize how rare it is. But they were also still dude-like with each other in many ways—these uber-sensitive guys who were as obsessed with feelings as they were with burps and farts. Usually those interests don’t go together. Their equal love of therapy and Dumb and Dumber struck me as wonderfully weird and interesting.

  Some people talk about how, through the years, they have had difficulty being around “The Brothers.” How sometimes they can be a bit insular or even exclusive. Have you ever felt this way?

  JEN: I think their creative marriage is just as important as Jay’s and mine. Maybe it’s because I’m an introvert and a bit of a voyeur, but I find the balancing act of their work relationship and brotherhood fascinating. I have two sisters that I love, and I can’t imagine the pressure that a creative marriage would add to my relationships with them. Also, I don’t have to work with the brothers like Katie does!

  KATIE: I could probably write a whole book on the love triangle that was the making of The Puffy Chair. Mark and I were two years into our relationship, starring in a movie together about a couple who ultimately break up, written and directed by Jay and Mark. It was a beautiful experience and also an extremely difficult one. For instance, it was a collaborative process. Until it wasn’t. And one or more of us would get our feelings hurt. And then it would be collaborative again. Sometimes I’d be in on the core creative conversations, and then Mark and Jay would up and go on a two-hour walk without me and come back with a whole new game plan. There were times we were all together as a team. Then it was me against Mark and Jay, them against me, me and Jay against Mark, me and Mark against Jay. It was quite the odd triangle there for a bit. I think I struggled because, ultimately, Jay and Mark’s creative partnership won out (as it should have) and I felt threatened by that at times. In the end we made a movie that we are all really proud of, so I sometimes wish I could go back and do it all over again as a more mature, emotionally evolved human who understands their dynamic more. That said, I really believe that some of that turmoil fed into the energy of the movie…and I love that.

  Anything else?

  JEN: Not many people know this, but Jay and Mark’s secret weapon is their dad, Larry. He’s a trial lawyer and mediator and is integral to helping the guys through times when they get gridlocked. Their mom, Cindy, is also on board to love them up unconditionally and add levity with her endless nicknaming. The four of them are a fine-tuned little ecosystem. Not to minimize our roles as wives; this is just my take on the four original Boopa Faces and the magic that makes them who they are.

  KATIE: There are many nicknames in the Duplass family. It’s a symbol of the unbridled creativity and goofiness that runs rampant in our family. I myself have more than ten ridiculous nicknames (including “Kruge,” which is short for Freddy Krueger). Everyone calls everyone by whatever nickname they prefer on a given day. Except for “Dupes.” This is what Jay and Mark call each other. It seems to be reserved just for them. I love that they still have an exclusive nickname for each other. Even though they are in their forties.

  IF YOU LOOK up the most commonly used adjective to describe Air Supply’s “All Out of Love,” I believe you would get cheesy. Maybe over the top. Maybe melodramatic. Hard to argue with those. But there’s a secret to Air Supply. Depending on the emotional state in which you find yourself, this fuzzy-haired overly sensitive band can be…the greatest band of all time. It can be everything you’ve ever needed. You just have to know when to seek out Air Supply and when to stay away.

  For instance, some days you are at the top of your game. You’re feeling confident. Your brain is vital, inspired, and alert. Your energy is up. You are firing on all cylinders. These are the days when you want to musically challenge yourself with one of the obtuse string quartets from Bartók. Or the twelve-tone compositions of Shostakovich. Go on. Get in there. Get artsy-fartsy. See what you can swallow. Try to make your way through that dense, extremely challenging art into the space of the feels. It’s hard work, but worth it if you can break through. You’ll be proud of yourself.

  But what if you’re having a different day? What if you are feeling particularly vulnerable on an early winter morning, snuggled under a blanket? Or even better…you have the flu and are somewhat dizzy with fever. Do you really want to dig through the B sides of early Brian Eno? I don’t think so. This is the time for Air Supply. Open your arms to their high-pitched falsettos. Embrace their on-the-nose lyrics and lushly overdramatic three-part harmonies. And when the final repeated chorus adds the string section and swells toward that glorious climax, it will make you feel more deeply and profoundly than any restrained, intelligent piece of music will ever have the chance to make you feel.

  We bring this up because it keeps occurring to us how arbitrary our reception of art is these days. We keep saying things like “That’s a good film” or “What a terrible painting,” when in reality our own subjective experience of that thing is really what we’re talking about. And we’re not just talking about the differences in people’s empirical tastes. We’re saying that our very own taste is actually completely subjective and can change on a given day. A good example of this is when one of us went to the movie theater to see a Hollywood film by the name of Titanic. Let’s just call this person Jark to avoid any specific embarrassment. At the time Jark Duplass was already a refined film student and fan of Tarkovsky, Godard, and Cassavetes. He could discern and write cogent essays on the nuances and subtleties of the various eras of cinematic history. But today, Jark was having some relationship troubles and was about to go on a big trip by himself. And Jark was feeling a bit…vulnerable. When Jark saw a bit of himself in a young Leo DiCaprio, he proceeded to cry his balls off for three hours straight in that movie theater.

  Jark knew then and knows now that Titanic is not the greatest movie of all time. But there is no denying that Jark had one of his peak emotional cinematic experiences at the hands of James Cameron. And there’s no taking that back. Is it his favorite film? No. Is it his favorite viewing experience? Well…it’s close.

  So we’ve begun to curate lists for what types of art we should take in depending on our mood. We’ll often see a trailer for a film and designate its viewing for “the next time I get strep throat” (The Blind Side). Cuz Jark now knows that, in his normal semi-cynical pseudo-intellectual state, he might scoff at some of the manipulative cinematic maneuverings of a melodramatic sports drama. But once that thermometer hits one hundred degrees, all bets are off.

  So instead of making fun of Air Supply or films like The Notebook and The Bridges of Madison County, break out one of those suckers on a day when you are feeling “less than” and they just might take you on the very emotional adventure you’ve been waiting for.

  (In Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, Terminal 3, there is a particularly delicious-looking fast food Chinese stall in the mini food court. We are trying to resist its seductive tractor beam. We should be going to Jamba Juice instead, ordering something with less MSG, fat, and salt. But when we are on a promotional tour, talking about ourselves and our “art” for up to twelve hours at a stretch, we develop a particularly low opinion of ourselves. And the Chinese food seems not only comforting and delicious but somet
hing that we somehow deserve…as reward and punishment.

  But then Mark sees something that catches his attention. Two older ladies, likely in their seventies, are eating lunch together in the food court. They are smiling, talking. This feels like the beginning of a vacation for them. Mark pokes me in the ribs to get my attention. The one on the right wears a long-sleeved plain T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She dresses more like a woman half her age. But she looks a bit older than the woman on the left, who wears a matching two-piece casual suit from a place like Ann Taylor LOFT. In this way, these two women are different. But their mannerisms, their smiles, their rhythms with each other, all suggest that they are very close.)

  JAY: (pointing to the one on the right with the T-shirt and jeans) Alice.

  MARK: (pointing to the one on the left in the matching two-piece) Jean.

  (We sit on the names for a bit. They work.)

  MARK: Heading to Florida?

  (It’s winter. A logical destination. But something doesn’t feel right about it.)

  JAY: Palm Springs.