MOST student films, mercifully, do not get theatrical distribution. Certainly not 30 years after they were shot or with the combined efforts of crack film preservationists and a most persistent specialty film distributor. But "Killer of Sheep," which will open Friday at the Nuart, is not an ordinary film.
The UCLA film-school thesis project of Charles Burnett ("To Sleep With Anger," "The Glass Shield") is instead a cinematic tone poem, an elegy, perhaps, or an ode to a certain time and place. Set in Watts during the mid-'70s, "Killer of Sheep" refers to Stan, the main character, a husband and father trapped by his job in a slaughterhouse. There is a loosely constructed plot, but the film focuses on the quiet beauty of the mundane: a group of kids throwing rocks in a train yard, a young woman announcing her pregnancy, a couple dancing in their living room.
The message that emerges life is difficult but lovely just the same is as understated as it is heroic, and in a sense, applies to the man who made the film. Shot on 16mm film, using mostly nonactors friends and neighbors and kids "Killer of Sheep" was Burnett's response to the era's blaxploitation films, his attempt to show life as it really was for many black families. "Hollywood, I don't think, tries to portray things realistically," he says.
"When they make movies about the community, you only see drug movies or violence. That perception of black people," he adds, "still exists." He went into Watts and used regular people rather than actors, he says, because he wanted to demystify filmmaking for members of his neighborhood.
"When I was growing up," he says, "the idea of becoming a cinematographer was like going to the moon. Kids came up to us, they didn't even know what the camera was. Spike Lee has done a great job since then.
He's pretty much a household name." Burnett, however, is not, unless your household includes one or more dedicated cinephiles. Then his name evokes reverence; bring up "Killer of Sheep" and reverence turns to awe.
WITH its almost palpable tenderness and artistic imagery, the film became a film-school favorite, used in classes as an example of an exemplary student film and making the festival rounds until it won an award in Berlin four years after it was made. The Library of Congress chose it as one of the first 50 films on the National Film Registry, and the National Society of Film Critics selected it as one of the "100 Essential Films" of all time. Meanwhile, the world changed, not only in Watts but in the film industry, where film school became too often a mere steppingstone to the studios and independent film took on a brand.
But Burnett remained as he was devoted to telling stories from real life. "To Sleep With Anger" (1990) considered the impact a sweet-talking con man has on a family, "The Glass Shield" (1994), often cited as a precursor to the more over-the-top "Training Day," takes on fear and racism in the Los Angeles Police Department. Burnett, a soft-spoken man who looks years younger than his age (60), is best known in the film community as a man of reserve and integrity.
"Charles is often called the best black American director," says Ross Lipman, a film preservationist at UCLA. "I think he is simply one of best American directors, and 'Killer of Sheep' is one of the best American films ever." Lipman is the man behind the film's theatrical release.
Seven years ago, he was part of a team that received a Sundance grant to restore eight films, including "Killer of Sheep." Although the film reels were deteriorating, Lipman and his colleagues were able to painstakingly pull out the quality of the original and blow it up to 35mm. Lipman was so impressed with the finished product that he called Dennis Doros at Milestonefilms.
But quality is not the only reason student films are not distributed theatrically Burnett had used a lot of music in his film, and none of it had been through the licensing channels. It took Doros six years of nagging and persuasion and $142,000 worth of check-writing to get the necessary permission. "I just couldn't give up on this film," says Doros.
"Charles is one of the most humane directors in cinema," Doros says. For Burnett, the process has evoked, understandably, a good deal of nostalgia. "Seeing it now," he says, "it's more emotional.
It's a community that doesn't exist, a place that doesn't exist. Now there is so much violence, so many drive-by shootings." But if being seen as an underappreciated artist bothers Burnett, it doesn't show.
He is working on "Nujoma: Where Others Wavered," a feature film funded by the recently formed Namibian Film Commission about the life of that country's first president. After that, who knows? "I've had chances to make commercial films," he says, "but I have an attitude problem.
" It's not that he's arrogant or belligerent, he says, he just doesn't want to do films that exploit people. "One time they wanted me to do a film but concentrate on the drugs and violence in the African American community . I said, 'People have already seen that, and it doesn't reflect necessarily the whole picture.
' That," he adds with a rueful smile, "doesn't go over well." After 30 years in the business, he says, he still doesn't understand why people talk the way they do in meetings. "You have to really sell your projects, and I'm not good at that.
It's like they're speaking a different language. Sometimes," he says with a laugh, "I don't even have to say anything to get in trouble. They can tell by the look on my face.
" He remembers a time, he says, when people made films to make films, not to make money. "Not that there aren't people doing that today," he says. He cites the Pan African Film Arts Festival as a refuge for filmmakers telling real stories.
And every year a few righteous movies go mainstream. "I think it's good that independent films are being recognized," he says. " 'Brokeback Mountain,' 'Little Miss Sunshine.
' All films that deal with social issues are good, they just take a different angle." Over coffee at the corner of Motor and Venice, Burnett radiates a calmness that borders on serenity. He is, as they say, very real.
He lives with his wife and two sons in Viewpark. He answers his own phone, sets up his own interviews. There will be no industry air-kisses here.
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