CHAPTER 11 -
The Cold Shoulder
Monday, March 1, 1999
The morning, cloudy and very humid, found the three of us, Victor, Anna, and myself, at the International Press Center just down the street from the Hotel Nacional. We came here to investigate potential spaces and credentials for our students.
The center is on the ground floor of a three-story office building, on the corner of Calle O and Avenue 23. We meet the director and introduce ourselves. He speaks excellent English. In showing us around, he explains the center's mission and the facilities, which include a photo gallery in the lobby and a small movie theater with seating for 125—we can rent it for $50 an hour. There’s film, video, and slide projection; the lobby photo gallery rents for $100 a day. There’s a display there now—100 Years of Cuban Photography. There is an adjacent café for receptions and a place to hang out, as well as a photographic store next door, but there are no classrooms.
“We'll need a few months notice if you intend to use any of the spaces,” he adds.
The one pressing question I posed was about the process of getting our American students to Cuba legally: Were visas required, or were media credentials needed?
Yes, we can issue press passes for approved photographers. They are $60 each. All we need is a list of names, dates, and a rough idea of what each photographer wants to cover.” I’m thinking that sounded too easy, if expensive. I still had to meet with Mario and the people from the Plastic Art Counsel to discuss Fototeca sponsorship and the process for obtaining “cultural visas.”
“Is there E-6 film processing available in Havana?” I ask.
“Yes, there is an E-6 lab in the basement. It is just off the underground parking lot.” He gives us directions. Victor, Anna, and I make our way through the basement garage to meet Hector, the tall, thin, aging E-6 technician. His lab is small but neat, tucked into an abandoned storage space. His equipment includes an old Jobo processor.
He’s meticulous.
We discuss our film processing needs, and yes, he can process up to 100 rolls a night. Cost? The cost per roll is $10 without mounting and $17 with mounting. We’ll have to provide the cardboard mounts. That’s doable. He’ll need to know in advance so he can order chemicals from Mexico.
Digital photography was still relatively new in 1999. Digital cameras were limited and expensive. The technology was still too new, and laptops were expensive as well. Most photographers were still using film.
In the summer of 1989, at The Workshops' annual weeklong festival, Congress, we introduced the public to the first prototype of a digital camera, which operated directly through an Apple computer and utilized Adobe's Photoshop. The gear boys in Kodak's development lab had brought a rudimentary camera with a scanner chip, which could record an image and send it via wire to a Mac. Some at Kodak recognized the potential of digital photography and decided to establish the Center for Creative Imaging next door in Camden, but that's a story for another time.
With the Press Center out of the way, now what?
The Cuban Film School
Victor has managed to get us an appointment with the director of the National Film School, in a village far outside Havana. On our way, we drive through Havana’s never-ending suburbs, out in the countryside. Orderly fields of rich red farm soil pass outside the car window, some green with various crops, and it’s only February. While tractors and trucks emit smoke, oxen continue to plow the fields. We reach the small village of San Antonio de los Baños, looking for the school. There are no signs. People walking along the roads, riding bikes, or waiting for a ride give us doubtful directions, then eventually find the school by hit or miss.
We're nearly on time when we pull into the circular drive in front of what looks like a two-story motel. Hector, the school’s administrator, is there to meet us and show us around. The director is occupied in a meeting until after lunch.
During our tour, Hector informed us that the school has been in operation for 14 years. The facility was built just for this program. From what I deduce, their program is more academic than practical. There’s a lot of talk about film, theory, history, and the cinema’s impact on political thought. I gathered the students didn’t get around to actually creating anything to look at. They hold about 40 workshops a year, each two weeks, with a couple of monthlong residencies; costs are $600 a week, which includes room and board. Enrollment is about 70 people on campus now in a year-long program—all Spanish-speaking. The faculty comes from throughout South and Central America and Spain, but there are two English filmmakers here now teaching—a film director and an editor. After our introductions, they invite us to join them for lunch at the cafeteria. They are as hungry to talk English with us as they are for lunch. The dining hall has about 50 tables, four people each; there are tablecloths and cloth napkins, but the flatware is plastic, and there are only two beverages: water or milk. Lunch is chicken, rice, beans, and a salad of lettuce, shredded carrots, and red tomatoes. The English director previously served as the head of the London Film School, while the editor had extensive experience using the Avid Media Composer, a program for which the school only had one workstation. I would hire either one of them to lead a workshop back in Maine.
The facilities are almost nonexistent. I saw no 35mm film cameras, not even a 16mm camera, but there were video systems present. The students edited using archaic RM 440 systems. I saw three flatbed editing stations and one or two Moviolas. There was a room with a dozen PCs for script writing and internet research.
After lunch, our meeting with the school’s director was brief and perfunctory. I explain why we were in Cuba; Anna translates. We wish to organize an international workshop program in cinematography, feature and documentary filmmaking, and include video and photography. Victor occasionally adds his own unique perspective to the translations. The director sat there, listening, apparently bored. There were no questions, no comments, and no "we'll think about it." It was a cold shoulder. That is the fastest rejection I've ever experienced,” I said to Anna as we departed. Victor noticed the director's disinterest as well and said.
“He’s not Cuban. He's Argentinian. If he were Cuban, he would have at least been more gracious.” We thank Hector for his hospitality and say we’d follow up with a note to him.
At least I did get to see the place.
Although the film school might have been a possible sponsor, the location was too remote. It wouldn't work for us. Havana is an hour away; the surrounding countryside is flat farmland; there's nothing here to photograph. Filmmakers would find the nearby village to be of little interest to film.
“A school like this needs to be in the middle of Havana,” I told Victor and Anna. "They need access to stories, people, actors, locations, and Cuban life."
“I had the feeling the director did not like Americans coming in here and telling him what to do,” I said. Did I come on too strong?" Victor and Anne are silent.
“Hector was nice,” Anna said. “Maybe he learned something from our conversation with the Englishmen.”
“I doubt anything will come of this with this director,” I said.
“Don’t discount this school,” adds Victor. “This is Cuba. Anything can happen.”
Before departing, David confirs with the founders of the Cuban Film School
