Gary Dretzka
Noah Forrest
Leonard Klady
David Poland
Douglas Pratt
Ray Pride

..Digital Dretzka Blog ..The MCN DVD Page

This Film Is Not Yet Rated

In the new documentary, This Film Is Not Yet Rated, director Kirby Dick contents that, over the last 40 years, no American institution has been accorded the same freedom to conduct its business as arbitrarily and out of the eye of the public as the MPAA's ratings board … not the Pentagon, not General Motors, not Harvard, not Major League Baseball, not the Friars Club.

The Motion Picture Association of America's classification system -- G, PG, PG-13, R, NC-17 -- not only has been endorsed by studio heads, exhibitors, legislators and parent groups, it also has joined the Food Guide Pyramid and warnings from the surgeon general on cigarette packs and wine bottles as cultural icons. As benign as such trademarked labeling appears on posters and newspaper ads, however, controversy has dogged the parental guideline for nearly all of its 38-year life.

Apart from the discord that routinely follows the awarding of a rating deemed too harsh by filmmakers or critics -- or too lax, by headline-grabbing politicians and watchdog groups -- detractors have argued that the MPAA's Classification and Ratings Administration routinely gives mainstream Hollywood a distinct edge over competition from independent, documentary and foreign filmmakers. In doing so, the organization has willingly handed enemies of free cultural expression a powerful censorial tool, and, itself, a convenient way to pass the buck.

"As I looked deeper into the system, there were two characteristics that stood out: its secrecy and the way it's been sold to the public as a defender of parental protection," Dick argues. "But, if you look at Jack Valenti's past, it all makes sense.

"He comes from advertising, so that's where the spin comes from, and he was a politician in Washington. That explains the secrecy."

Valenti is known far and wide as the longstanding and recently retired MPAA president, or, as his detractors would have it, Hollywood's extravagantly paid chief lobbyist in Washington. Charismatic, charming and a natural-born orator, the Houston native first came to prominence as an assistant to fellow Texan, Lyndon Baines Johnson. His affiliation with and loyalty to several generations of Hollywood movers and shakers -- especially oily MCA czar Lew Wasserman, as witnessed in The Last Mogul -- has made him something of a star.

Over the course of his tenure, Valenti emerged as fearsome foe of movie pirates and other digital deviants; teenagers tempted to commit "copyright infringement"; early adopters of VCR technology; and anyone who dared to use a snippet from a studio-made film, even for an educational or charitable project, without first paying the piper. He also was behind the failed attempt to withhold screeners from awards voters and critics.

"Silver-tongued" doesn't come close to describing Valenti's splendid prowess as a public speaker. If anything, he's a rhetorical bully. Few legislators have been linguistically capable of countering Valenti's elegantly stated arguments, and few have tried. Meanwhile, Hollywood potentates who wouldn't know what to do with a dictionary unless one of their D-girls explained it to them first, pretty much have let Jack be Jack since his coronation in 1966.

Although he could never be confused as a shill or apologist for the chronically greedy Hollywood establishment, Valenti usually was proficient at finding a silver lining in even the darkest of clouds. Neither would he refrain from publicly scolding the industry when he got fed up with the twins "scourges" of wasteful spending and bloated marketing budgets.

To this end, reporters could safely rely on Valenti to provide at least one spectacularly hyperbolic reference from the bible, Homer or Lone Star mythology to spice up the leads of industry roundups or rally the troops at the annual ShoWest gathering. The press was encouraged, as well, to accept at face value every statistic, revenue figure and survey forwarded by MPAA elves.

When it was in Hollywood's interest to feign humility before grandstanding legislators -- in aftermath of the Columbine massacre, for example -- Valenti willingly took up the sword against wannabe potentates until the crisis du jour ran its course. By allowing the politicians their space to stomp and fume before C-SPAN cameras, he cleared the way for the appearance of "compromise" between Congress and Hollywood. Such was the case when Sen. Joseph Lieberman forced the MPAA to draw up a new set of guidelines forcing exhibitors to demand proof of age before allowing teens to buy tickets for a R- or NC-17-rated features. (Of course, 5-year-olds still could see R-rated gorefests if accompanied by a brain-dead parent or a self-appointed "guardian.")

It's one thing, however, to accuse the Classification and Ratings Administration of acquiescing to Hollywood's baser instincts. Proving it is quite another. Even tougher, perhaps, is finding anyone outside of L.A. or Manhattan to give a damn about the problem.

Rather than risk losing the potential audience for his documentary in a semantic quagmire, Dick elected to borrow conceits from a genre mysteries and The Wizard of Oz. His cameras would peak behind the curtains of the MPAA and CARA to reveal the machinations of a body so secretive its members have never before been identified publicly, and whose methodology is as mysterious and seemingly capricious as any used by a federal grand jury or during a papal bake-off.

"I felt it was time to step forward and examine a secretive process that impacts the entire culture," Dick said. "Not only were some filmmakers being censored, but they were censoring themselves from discussing censorship. And, their fears are legitimate."

The MPAA is a trade organization of six major film studios, which, together with their subsidiaries, control more than 90 percent of the domestic film business. The ratings system was implemented at a time when Hollywood's truly censorial Production Code was in its death throes and Congress was being pressured by the Catholic Church and citizens' groups to crack down on the trend toward what they saw as gratuitous nudity, excessive violence, profane language (Ulysses and I'll Never Forget What's'isname both dropped an F-bomb in 1967) and the glorification of drugs and alcohol.

Valenti's first tests came in the form of Warner Bros.' Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf and MGM's Blow-Up. Today's generation of filmgoers might be amused by the heat generated by "screw" and "hump the hostess" in the former, and the peek-a-boo nudity in Blow-Up, a first for a major American studio. Ultimately, "screw" was trimmed from Virginia Woolf and MGM copped out by releasing Blow-Up through a non-signatory subsidiary.

Two years later, the MPAA unveiled its "voluntary guide for parents," and everyone was happy … for about a minute or two. The trademarked designations, G (general audiences), M (mature audiences), R (restricted) and X (no one under 17 admitted) seemed pretty straight-forward at the time, but a semantic firestorm erupted over the relative gravity of the distinctions "mature" and "restricted." Soon, M would be replaced by GP, which, 15 years later, was itself subdivided into PG and PG-13.

For its part, the emerging porno industry saw in the X rating an opportunity to piggy-back on the notoriety accorded such otherwise noteworthy films as Midnight Cowboy, A Clockwork Orange, Greetings, Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song, Fritz the Cat and Street Fighter. To Valenti's chagrin, XXX would became synonymous with X in the minds of many potential mainstream viewers, media outlets, clergy and exhibiters, yet the designation lasted until 1990, when it was replaced by the similarly vague and restrictive NC-17.

And, therein lies the rub. Valenti has repeatedly argued that X and NC-17 were never intended to restrict the production or distribution of movies specifically intended for adult consumption, nor were they to be used as excuses for such censorship. In fact, though, that's exactly what's happened.

Then, as now, such a rating virtually guaranteed that a film would be condemned either to the arthouse ghetto or the cutting room for further editing. Newspapers and other media outlets refused to accept ads for X and many R-rated titles, and mall owners forbade exhibitors to show such material, no matter the critical raves they may have garnered.

If the MPAA and its member studios were appalled and infuriated by such de facto economic sanctions, they rarely made their feelings known to the public. Nor, did they encourage audiences to vote with their wallets by boycotting theaters that bowed to such pressures. Instead of protecting filmmakers, the MPAA turned a blind eye to the cowards who forced directors to nip, tuck and trim their dreams to conform to the sensitivities of anonymous strangers. Meanwhile, Valenti effectively assumed the role of Pontius Pilate by washing his hands of the whole sorry mess.

"He set up a system that no one has questioned for more than 30 years," contends Dick, whose documentary credits include Twist of Faith, Derrida and Sick: The Life & Death of Bob Flanagan, Supermasochist. "The system protects exhibitors and newspapers, not parents or filmmakers. The mere threat of getting a NC-17 is usually enough to keep filmmakers in line.

"Investors don't want the return on their investment limited by a rating, so they force the directors to comply with it."

Indeed, Dick adds, many independent filmmakers have elected to go out unrated, instead of being forced to carry the NC-17 brand. Media outlets have become far more forgiving -- or desperate for revenue -- and this sort of ethical end-run provides them with an excuse to make money while still maintaining the ban on NC-17 movies.

This Film Is Not Yet Rated reiterates the widespread contention that the ratings board is far more kind to studio products than those following the indie route to distribution. All things being equal, a MPAA member's submission wins more of the close decisions, and, when necessary, is provided with specific tips to bring a borderline film up to code. According to Dick, distributors of indie and foreign titles tend to be left grasping in the dark for such clues, which are left vague because the MPAA has no stake in that film's success.

"It's impossible for the board to do such a demanding job without standards, no training and no background," Dick continues. "They're also under a great amount of pressure from (CARA chairwoman) Joan Graves and studio employees."

If one simply considers the cases of Bambi and Old Yeller -- both classics resubmitted for ratings upon their re-releases -- it's possible to assume that Disney has effectively been granted a free pass for G ratings. Both movies are wonderful and perfectly suitable for family viewing, but to argue, as the G designation does, that a child should be left alone in a theater to witness the death of a doe's mother or a beloved pet is ludicrous.

"(Old Yeller) is a film that parents should watch with their children, and talk about afterwards," concludes a review in the National Catholic Register, by Steven D. Greydanus, who also said of Bambi. "We see Bambi makes friends, cower at a thunderstorm, discover girls, and, in a defining, indelible scene recalled by subsequent films from The Lion King to Finding Nemo, face crushing tragedy. We watch him go from perplexed distaste at the mysteries of the opposite sex to falling head over heels, and we see him confronted with the implacable necessity of fighting for love"

In other words, both movies could stand as poster children for the PG rating.

Meanwhile, panelists are only too willing to catalogue the number and length of thrusts and quivers during the course of sexual intercourse; make Solomon-like decisions on the number of pubic hairs allowed in a nude scene; and decide whether "fuck" is being used as a verb, adverb or noun. Their pronouncements are of little consequence to them personally, but any coin toss that goes against the independent distributor likely will cost it tens of thousands of dollars in lost opportunities to market and distributor the film.

The identities and credentials of CARA panelists have never been made known to the public, ostensibly to avoid charges of influence-peddling and bribery. All that we're told is that it's "a diverse group of raters who represent the diversity of American parents, such as parents from different parts of the country, including small towns and big cities. Each member of the rating board is a parent and has no affiliation with the entertainment industry outside their employment with CARA."

According to Dick, "these 'parents' allegedly are protected from influence from everyone except people in MPAA."

Most of this is common wisdom among Hollywood cognoscenti, and debate has raged among critics for years over ways to reform the system. When pressed, Valenti invariably would pull out the latest "scientific poll," conducted annually by the Opinion Research Corp., of Princeton, N.J. Poll results invariably show that something like three-quarters of all parents with children under 13 found the ratings to be "very useful" to "fairly useful" in helping them make film-going decisions. (One would assume that number to be closer to 100 percent, considering how imprecise a category "fairly useful" would seem to be.)

"On the evidence of the polls, the rating system would not have survived if it were not providing a useful service to parents," argues Valenti on the MPAA website (www.mpaa.org). "The rating system isn't perfect but, in an imperfect world, it seems each year to match the expectations of those whom it is designed to serve: parents of America."

This Film Is Not Yet Rated has distinguished itself from other debates over CARA by joining forces with a Los Angeles-based private eye to identify the raters and determine exactly how culturally diverse and geographically representative they are (in short, not very). Dick also has gathered testimony from such aggrieved parties as Allison Anders, Darren Aronofsky, Maria Bello, Atom Egoyan, Wayne Kramer, Kimberly Peirce, Kevin Smith, Matt Stone, John Waters and critics David Ansen and Stephen Farber. Dick's ability to uncover two former CARA members willing to discuss their experiences, likewise, enhanced the film's credibility.

The documentary is liberally spiced by snippets from films that didn't pass the board's sniff test. Typically, the films sampled contained realistic or outrageously comic depictions of lovemaking, fetish play and gay or lesbian sex. By and large, they fared less well than those with extreme and graphically depicted violence.

Bello's neatly trimmed pubies in The Cooler, for example, were deemed to be far more objectionable than all of the gore in the Terminator trilogy. A slight celluloid trim saved Kramer's movie from NC-17 hell.

Dick and P.I. Becky Altringer staked out the MPAA's Ventura Boulevard fortress for weeks in pursuit of the identifications of raters. Using the tools of her trade, Altringer also was able to determine where the CARA members lived and other personal background information. Their findings, while interesting, are something less than earth shaking. The individual raters aren't terribly sinister or inept, and they take their jobs seriously.

"As the holiday season approaches, they're often asked to view and deliberate over several three-hour movies back-to-back, so the distributors can get them into theaters," Pick acknowledges. "In 1999, the junior members were making something like $30,000 a year."

Far more revealing is Dick's profile of an institution that takes itself far too seriously, and uses threats and secrecy to impose its will. Neither can it be bothered with the same checks and balances imposed on similar agencies, whose decisions directly impact the financial security of an entire industry and an artist's expectation of creative freedom.

Come to think of it, the same description applies to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which is as secretive, controlling and petty as the FBI, CIA and the Bush White House.

Will This Film Is Not Yet Rated play in the hinterlands, where ratings make as deep an impression as those health warnings on packs of cigarettes and sugar substitutes. Indeed, the folks most likely to study religiously the ratings tags are teen boys looking for movies certain to contain nudity.

"My hope is that people who have long taken the system for granted will see our film and focus on its inequities and deficiencies," Dick concluded. "A certain amount of antipathy is building toward the MPAA, so there could be a call for change."

In the meantime, however, don't hold your breath. Valenti's successor isn't going to rock CARA's boat when he could be flying off to China, Russia and South America to encourage lawmakers there to crack down on movie pirates. Yo-ho-ho.

September 1, 2006

- Gary Dretzka

.