An American story

“Clear, concise… it’s dynamite” is a line from Scène. Mémoires, the autobiography of a filmmaker like no other, Abel Ferrara!

Taking on a story by Abel Ferrara, whether it be in the form of a film or a book (the latter in this case) always means knowing that you’re embarking on an adventure where everything will be laid bare, without superfluous embellishment. Scène. Mémoires is divided into “Polaroid” snapshot chapters of an era and all the people who inhabit that era. From the get-go, Ferrara sets the tone by showing the foresight not to follow a chronological order. Instead, he begins with a pivotal moment in his life experienced as a young man: the moment his girlfriend leaves him. A sad fact he doesn’t over-dramatize, though. And you suddenly become aware that, if the opening is this unconventional, then an original, intense narrative is about to unfold, driven by the single impetus that has kept him going despite all his broken hearts: making films!

Feelings and amours are woven throughout the entire narrative, revealing a man of rare frankness who values an instinctive, unvarnished life in the place of psychological mechanisms. Ferrara is a man always ready for action, game for anything. We gleam insight through snippets of his childhood, for instance, regarding his mother, who “was also from the South Bronx but had grown up in extreme poverty,” or his father: “I left home at seventeen and kept enough distance to preserve a somewhat idealized image of him,” or his Uncle Bobbo, who “lived life by his own rules, convinced that the world of dreams was just as legitimate and relevant as real life.” These early memories pop up here and there throughout the book, and it works just fine.

Ferrara’s world is a living one that, ironically, does not seek beauty but finds it everywhere, including–and especially–in impurity. Without regard for conventional niceties, life bursts forth in this book. The style is direct, forthright, illuminating and tinged with humor. “When I was a teenager, upstate, I tried using my go-to pick-up line on a 22-year-old girl: ‘Hey, do you have a boyfriend?’ She explained, ‘Abel, all the hot girls have boyfriends.’”

The hallmarks of the Ferrara universe come to the fore. We are transported to the vibe of the 1970s and 1980s New York, when a certain kind of underground independent cinema was king. “Being alone in New York for the first time is exhilarating, but it’s also excruciatingly lonely. It’s the kind of loneliness you feel when you find yourself in the middle of ten million people, with no friends, no money and a heart that’s still broken into a thousand pieces.” We come across magnificent actors Christopher Walken and his infamous little briefcase, or Harvey Keitel, who will portray the future Bad Lieutenant. The latter tells Ferrara, “Guys, you’ve got a lot to teach me, but there are some things I can teach you, too. Who knows what he learned from us, but from my side, I know what I learned from this ex-Marine Brooklynite with a huge heart.”

We discover to what extent a film buff Ferrara is, expressing his love for Tobe Hooper, then Dario Argento or Pasolini–and, by extension, for Italy. Locations are key to the filmmaker’s work; he detects a unique atmosphere each time, a way of understanding the world according to its eras, which comes through to the audience perfectly.

And yet this story offers just the right amount of truth about oneself–the truth we all owe ourselves, which Ferrara chooses to share fully, without passing judgment…The harsh realities of alcoholism and intense drug binges punctuate his life. “My problem is that I’m an alcoholic.” With a valiant display of courage, the director details the consequences of his actions, without playing the victim, without lamentations, and above all, without idealization. 

This shocking revelation is nonetheless presented in a life-affirming way. After all, the autobiography is deeply rooted in the desire to share with others. The raw, bitter, captivating and even sensual story forges ahead, aided by his uncanny talent for brilliant turns of phrase, perhaps inherited from his mother, who told him when she learned he wanted to pursue a career in show business, “Behind every Broadway spotlight, there’s a broken heart.” We’ve been warned.

Virginie Apiou