//

Interview: Alex Karpovksy on Red Flag and Rubberneck

This living, breathing, low-budget seal of approval has kept busy bringing dramedic street cred to numerous projects.

Interview: Alex Karpovksy on Red Flag and Rubberneck
Photo: Tribeca Film

Even the most passive indie buff is surely familiar with Alex Karpovsky, who, in the last half-decade, has appeared in everything from Beeswax and Gayby to Sleepwalk with Me and Codependent Lesbian Space Alien Seeks Same. A sort of living, breathing, low-budget seal of approval, the wry Brooklynite has kept busy bringing dramedic street cred to numerous projects, including Tiny Furniture and HBO’s Girls, the brainchildren of Karpovsky’s friend and collaborator Lena Dunham, whose hip ubiquity the actor and filmmaker is starting to mirror himself.

In addition to starring as the somewhat rudderless Ray on Girls, a show that, in its second season, continues to prove era-defining, Karpovsky has a string of new films to offer, two of which see him credited as actor, writer, and director. Already in limited release are Almost In Love, a reportedly two-take New York story co-starring Alan Cumming, and Supporting Characters, a deftly involving and intimate moviemaking tale that casts Karpovsky as a conflicted film editor. And this week marks the debuts of Red Flag and Rubberneck, Karpovsky’s own alliterative double feature. As both mastermind and star, this alternately funny and melancholic art-house talent displays a striking range, specifically with the latter two movies, a meta-existentialist comedy and brooding psychodrama, respectively. In the heart of Tribeca, home to the company and festival that have championed much of his work, Karpovsky sat down and got real, chatting about life, death, his relationship with his audience, and where he fits in the filmmaking food chain that’s given us the likes of Woody Allen and Judd Apatow.

With Girls, Supporting Characters, Rubberneck, and Red Flag, you certainly kept me busy leading up to this interview. Did you know all these projects would be coming out at once? Was it planned? Or are you just having a Jessica Chastain moment?

It’s a Jessica Chastain moment. On a much smaller, indie level. It was never really part of any grand scheme, for the large part. Tribeca [Film], luckily, was interested in both of my films and Supporting Characters, and they’re just all being released now, by happenstance, I think.

So, let’s work our way through the films in the order that I saw them.

Okay.

In Supporting Characters, you play a film editor, and the movie highlights the divide between editors and other members of the filmmaking team. How much of what’s in there do you find to be true of your own experiences?

A lot of it is true, in the sense that there are often competing notions about the future of a film between the director and his editor. There’s a lot of tension there. I also worked as an editor for about four or five years before I did any of my own movies. I never edited films, I edited other things, but there were definitely a lot of, um, heated discussions, and differences of opinion between the editor (myself at that time) and the director or producer. So those type of discussions, specifically, are stuff that I can relate to. I’ve also edited things with other people many times, and the difficulty of balancing personal relationships with business relationships can be very challenging. I can definitely relate to putting up firewalls, so one thing doesn’t affect the other, and just how porous those walls can be is something I definitely have a lot of experience with.

The movie also addresses the relationships between editors and actors, which it claims, at one point, is often nonexistent. As someone who works on both sides of the camera, what sort of insights do you gain by bridging that gap?

Advertisement

Good question. Let me say that I don’t think that most editors don’t know who their actors are, at the indie level. We all kind of cast our friends, usually. For the most part, there isn’t this sort of unknown person we only see cinematically. I’ve never experienced that. I think most of my friends have never experienced that. So I can see how you could create this sort of fantasy projection of how someone may or may not be, but I personally could not relate. But then, I never edited big-budget films, only my own small movies. As for insights gained from bridging the gap, again, because I work on such a small level—or because I work with most of my friends, I should say—I feel like there isn’t really any gap. Even being on both sides of it, I’ve never really felt like I’ve had to negotiate by going on both sides of any wall or fence, the way that [my character] Nick does.

Moving on to Rubberneck, the film has drawn some Hitchcock comparisons, and the slow-burning way in which it darkens is indeed surprising and evocative. Was this possibly the result of two separate film ideas? Because while the whole thing coheres, there’s a sense that both the adult-drama end and the psycho-thriller end could be sufficiently, individually stretched out to feature length.

No, that was never the plan. My favorite genre to watch is psychological thrillers, particularly slow-burning, character-driven psychological thrillers. And the intention was always to try to make a movie in that vein, where we really explore the character, his motivations, his purpose, and, in this case, his relationship with his sister, and how the element of that relationship is repressed, varied, and secretive, and how that all comes out. And we slowly deepen the relationship, and it’s realized that there’s much more beneath the surface. That’s what we hoped to achieve—that we could take it all the way to the very end of this journey.

There’s a character in the film who, in passing, mentions that “talent plus persistence equals luck.” Are those your words? And has that been your experience?

Those aren’t my words. I got that from a book that Steven Soderbergh wrote about his experience making sex, lies, and videotape. He may have even been quoting someone else. I don’t know if he came up with it. But I read it in the book, and I’ve always liked it, and I believe in it. I feel like a lot of people who are very talented bow out early. They bow out after the initial wave of obstacles, which will definitely be there. So I think you absolutely need to be tenacious, and diligent to present opportunities for yourself. And sometimes, people will get lucky and the opportunities will present themselves very quickly, but for many others, for the vast majority of us, we have to kind of keep overcoming many, many obstacles before we’re able to take advantage of an opportunity. In retrospect, it will resonate as luck, but the outcome is the result of drive and natural talent, I think.

Before watching Red Flag, I was going to ask you about any trepidations you might have had about all this ubiquity, and whether or not that might cause certain viewers to see you and not your characters. But you squashed that question with this film, because you essentially play yourself anyway. Red Flag sees you starring as Alex Karpovsky, and discussing Alex Karpovsky’s filmography. Where does the meta line end?

[laughs] I’m not sure that I’m the person who should answer that because I might be too close to everything. Look, I’m basically playing a caricatured version of myself. I’m trying to amplify my own shortcomings and fears and insecurities for comedic effect. And then, I hope that I’m adding new character traits and personality aspects that are completely fictitious, just to round out the story and tie everything together. So somewhere in there, there are parallels that I can draw between the character and myself. Obviously there are meta reverberations. But a lot of it is really just fictitious, in service of telling a story that’s hopefully engaging, and hopefully comes with a sort of resolution at the end.

Red Flag is a road-trip movie, with stops in Louisiana and Georgia, and Rubberneck takes place in Boston. How much of these films was shot on location?

Rubberneck was shot entirely on location in Boston. The laboratory was set in Medford, which is just north of Boston near Tufts University, and a really nice guy who runs a lab there opened his doors to us. We shot the whole film, pretty much, around there. And then Red Flag, as you said, is sort of a Southern story that spans six states in total. We shot Red Flag during the tour for [my 2008 film] Woodpecker, so our production schedule for Red Flag followed the itinerary of that tour. We started in North Carolina, and then it went to South Carolina, then to Georgia, then to Alabama, then Mississippi, then Louisiana.

Advertisement

So all of the venues the characters visit in Red Flag are also the same ones from your Woodpecker tour?

Yes.

One of the themes linking Red Flag and Rubberneck concerns the lies we tell ourselves and each other.

I think there’s a whole constellation of deceptions that we nurture everyday, just to get through the day—just through our lives without having existential breakdowns. And I think most of those things are effects of the way we deal with a death anxiety. I have a fear of death, I think a lot of people do, and I think for most people it’s buried deep in their subconscious, because it has to be. Because the thought that we’re going to die, pretty soon, and that there’s probably nothing afterward, can be a very crippling and anxiety-producing notion. And so we have our different self-deception mechanisms to ease that anxiety, and be a functional human being. One of the devices in that constellation, one of the deceptions, is something that makes us believe that we’re going to live forever, and that death isn’t imminent, or permanent, which, of course, it is. And sometimes, that immortality deception mechanism can break down, and I believe that’s when epiphanies can happen. So, the underlying fear of death, I often think, is the root of secondary fears, like commitment phobia. Regarding my character in Red Flag, it remains to be seen whether he, with all of his problems and insecurities, can deal with his epiphany moment in a healthy way or in a way that’s counterproductive. And I want to leave it to the viewer to see how that question will be fully answered.

And both Red Flag and Rubberneck feature a needy character who pines for a lover who won’t reciprocate, with you getting to act on both sides of the equation in the respective films. What drew you to that dynamic?

I don’t know if I can answer that. [laughs] The easy answer, and there’s a lot of truth to this, is that in life experience I have been on both sides of that equation and there’s a lot of texture there. There’s a lot of insight that fosters interpersonal psyche, and how [the rejected lovers] deal with this pain, and if they’re able to move on or if they get stuck in a very dangerous and destructive sabotage campaign. I’m very interested in character-driven stories of very troubled, conflicted minds, and I find that obsession, specifically one-sided obsession, is a very nice theme to explore in these types of stories.

I don’t want to pigeonhole you, but you’re part of a burgeoning group of seriocomic talents whose tone and content reads as sort of a product of our post-mumblecore, post-Apatow-heyday world. And yet, in Red Flag, there’s a very strong Woody Allen vibe, suggesting there are much more classic influences at work here. Can you discuss where you feel you fit in all of this? Perhaps I’m off base?

I don’t know if I fit anywhere there, to be honest. There’s such a wide spectrum, and it goes back to my metaphor of constellations. The stars in this constellation—Judd Apatow, the word “mumblercore”—I feel like there are so many light years between these things that I don’t know how to make sense of all of it. It’s all so very different. I love all of those things that you mentioned. I don’t understand the notion of post-Apatow, because I think he’s still very much doing extremely interesting work and I loved his last film. He’s definitely been a huge influence on me, telling stories that are once really funny and also having a lot of dramatic resonance. I’m a big fan of his comedic influences, too, which I understand include Hal Ashby. Woody Allen is also a huge influence for me, especially older Woody Allen. I mean, any writer, director, and actor who plays self-deprecating versions of [himself]; I’m almost always a fan. That’s certainly the case with early Woody Allen, and what Larry David has done with Curb Your Enthusiasm. I love all that stuff. Those are all influences.

You also star on Girls, of course, and you clearly have a kinship with Lena Dunham as someone at least somewhat representative of the millennial generation, a group that’s often identified as one with a lot of people who are educated, but don’t necessarily have the means, will, or funds to channel their potential. There’s been some coverage of a possible hazard of someone like you, or Lena, gaining a lot of success—as if you can’t remain a voice of a struggling generation if you continue to do well for yourself. What do you think about that?

Advertisement

That’s seems like more of a question for Lena than for me. I feel like her work is always really honest and unaffected, and I don’t think she’s going to have any problem continuing to entertain her audience. As for me, the notion of losing any audience or fans that I think I have from working on different scales is kind of preposterous. I mean, I think we’re talking about 200 to 300 people [laughs], on the whole planet. It seems silly for me to even think of it that way. For Lena, of course, you can definitely say, you know, a million people watch her show every week, and Tiny Furniture is part of the Criterion Collection, and people can definitely try to assess how she may or may not be drifting from an indie, $20,000 movie to this grander scale of new-found fame. I mean, people can debate that, and have a legitimate discussion because of her stature, but the thought of that same thing in regard to me is comical.

There’s a running gag, or, perhaps motif, in Red Flag about no late checkouts, a rule that infuriates your character while he stays in hotels. Do you often feel like your scrambling for more time?

[laughs] No. I never thought of it that way. I’m glad that it could play that way for some people, but I can’t take credit for it. The idea was to playfully put out a litmus test of how much kindness is pulsing in the world around this person in this moment. [Asking for later checkout times] is his way of seeing if there’s any wind of generosity blowing around him. And the answer for him is always no, and he keeps asking with more and more desperation. The harder he tries to get what he wants, the less likely it is to happen. But it was never about him wanting more time. As for myself, I don’t feel like I’m scrambling for more time. I feel like there’s enough time in the day, and I don’t feel like I’m wasting it. Except, it’s kind of like that when we’re promoting movies or promoting releases. But they’re only spells—a few weeks here and there and then it’s months of isolation and loneliness. [laughs] And then you come out of your cave to promote another film.

R. Kurt Osenlund

R. Kurt Osenlund is a creative director and account supervisor at Mark Allen & Co. He is the former editor of Out magazine.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.