Harm On Me: Korine
â€œArt needs structure.â€ Says independent film protagonist Harmony Korine. He was responding to a comment I had made on an art school I recently attended and had come to believe the curriculum entailed too much structure; this coming from a man who dictated schizophrenia with ease like no other in his 1999 release Julien Donkey-Boy. Standing at no more than five foot five, I coddled his attention while listening to the sound-check before the Empty Bottleâ€™s grand opening for Aquacade I. He is sipping on a
glass of rum and coke and his eyes are impartial to the surroundings, yet seemingly empirical when he looking at me. The intensity of his dark-eyed glare has the capability to make any admirer of his work shudder, yet simulates a sense of reassurance that he is open with anyone who may approach him.
I began to inquire about his most recent endeavors, seeing how he hasnâ€™t been in the spotlight for an extended period of time.
â€œIâ€™m living in Nashville, working on a screenplay.â€ He openly admits.
Iâ€™ve come to realize that he is very discrete and very brief, almost as if he may be trouncing all truths. I look at him with a sense of despair, hoping I wasnâ€™t prying too much. Then again I question that this could be another act, but his eyes are growing dim, quietly begging for sympathy. He gives me a gestured smile, tapping his head in the direction of the other room for the reason that the band had become rather loud and distracting.
I pace myself behind him as we toddle into the poolroom. He lights a cigarette, looking over at a couple that was playing pool, I arrest my feet to a single space.
â€œAre you a pool shark?â€ He calmly asks.
â€œDo you gamble?â€ He calmly asks.
I look at him in utter confusion.
â€œHow about with your life?â€
It felt as though my questions, which were obviously much too personal, were being transformed into one of his stories. I became insecure about the conversation, realizing that the writerâ€™s tactic was abroad. He searches my face for news of his fate and I agree to continue the discussion post his reading.
I leave the Empty Bottle only to return in less than an hour to a sold-out venue. I had become nostalgic after a few drinks from a bar a block away, and at this point it has become clear that Harmony Korine as himself, not as an actor or a director, with absolutely no power is a typical, exceedingly protective artist whom of which is still exhibits no power over his male anatomy. And it seems as he read later that night the impression was unaffected.
His performance was a brief and intimate focus on two characters, St. Lafayette
George and Uncle Adams as characters who had influenced his life. He mainly touched base on ideas of rape, sexual perversion, as well as self-restraint, which perhaps would make him the Anti-Christ to feminists everywhere.
â€œWhat it means for a man to love a woman also means being able to kill her.â€ He clearly stated.
He exits the stage with a sense of accomplishment, laptop under his arm, however he slips away unnoticed. He beckons to me in the direction of the VIP area as he passes, his hand gracing my arm. I receive the intuition that the character portrayed in KIDS, Telly, was Harmony Korineâ€™s alter ego. It came to be that as he was shielding his personality, brief stints of insecurity wept out in between his words, Harmony had become less than the martyr I had made him out to be. In attempt to negate any sort of emotion that I had once felt I found myself needing to differentiate the admiration for his work and the realization that he is a ordinary guy, but an artist.