WILL THE MOUNTAIN COME TO MOHAMMED?: A Profile of Independent Filmmaker Russell Rocheleau Part 2 of 2 By: Doug Sparks 6/11/02

After college, Rocheleau moved to New York City where he was one of the first people to intern at Miramax. He dealt firsthand with the legendary rudeness of the Weinstein brothers and was able to see first hand people like Harvey Keitel. He lived in Greenpoint, Brooklyn where, after being mugged at night and after a failed attempt at a relationship with a girl from Poland, he returned to Lowell, feeling defeated and uncertain about his life.

"Film is tough in that it really is all about assembling images in a way that creates the illusion of order. Cuts, juxtapositioning and rhythm convey the order to the audience. It's only by craftily playing with that order, withholding the expected or what may be deemed crucial to the audience, that you subtly disturb them. I don't know if my film succeeds, but I know that I intentionally played with audience expectations by deviating from typical film techniques. For instance, there are no over the shoulder shots, few establishing shots and very little in the way of filler or linking material to ease transitions from one scene to the next. The absence of background sound or any natural sound in certain instances also works at times to add to the 'horror.' Rockwater was always, to me, a horror film in as much as a neophyte could make one. It's about the internal break down. It's claustrophobic and tries to deal with personal chaos."

One night we stood outside a bookstore in Framingham. The night was cold and I remember keeping my hands warm on my coffee cup. We needed to meet to discuss the film and he asked that we meet at a halfway point and suggested Framingham. Not having been there in some time, I agreed. Only after driving over an hour did I realize that Framingham isn't halfway between Chelmsford and Holliston. A little confused, I checked a map. On my map, Holliston borders Framingham. This struck me as odd at first, but I've since chalked it up to something more than what it appears at first. After all, at this point Rocheleau seemed at times to suggest that he's given up on the world, that the world must come to him. This was before his tone changed, when he opened up to me about his family, his new life, when he made clear that much of what he complained about, much of what was a burden to him, also gave him stability and a consistent source for human understanding.

"When I was a boy, my parents made it a point to tell me that all I had came too easily. They honestly believed that I didn't have to study in order to make good grades, forgetting the fact that I spent lonely hours studying and practically cut myself off from the world so that I would make them happy and be perfect in their eyes. My father grunted one time before me that I 'never did a hard days work in your life.' This stuff has left wounds, many unhealed to this day. I'm always trying to prove him wrong. I never want to hear from anyone that I never worked for anything, that I don't know what life is about, that I haven't suffered."

He has a deep understanding of film. In high school, when other future filmmakers were still wondering what to do with their lives, he was writing scripts, making videos, learning to edit. He's a gifted stage actor, and has even made a living doing dinner theater. His teachers, his friends, and he himself all sensed his artistic promise. In New York, his first attempts to make something of his calling ended in frustration with the entire film industry. Then, he spent over four years trying to get his film made, trying to get the finances in order, trying to connect with the right people. In the end, I can see why he almost gave up. But I also see that by the end of our long-term correspondence, this immoveable aspect is breaking down. Coming off of a film about internal breakdown, a film whose title suggests both an island and the deeply personal, I wonder if his work is going to move away from the audience or towards it.

"I think the best films have the ability to haunt us. They stay with us because they manage to slip through our defenses, our logic and cynicism, by working with a consistency of tone and a strength of conviction. They're about the story and are fully committed to its telling. There's a precision of technique: shots, editing, direction of performances, even the music and ambient sound are all combined in a fully dedicated way to telling the story. Everything is refined, almost simple. Sort of like poetry, to use an analogy. No extraneous words -- nothing unnecessary."

Tonight, as I'm finishing up the final draft of this piece, I get an email from Russell. I haven't heard from him in a few months. He tells me that he's gearing up to take another go at the film festival circuit, a route he's never been comfortable with, and that he's working on ideas for a new film. He sounds optimistic, even relaxed. In fact, his whole tone implies an energy I haven't heard from him since we began speaking about Rockwater. He asks me if I've gotten around to writing this article.

"Doug, we've talked about so many things. I really don't know what to say. I'm willing to let you use your novelistic skills to craft a bio that you think will serve me well. Run with it, if you like."

Click to read Warren Curry's review of Rockwater

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