By Catherine Wagley
By Channing Sargent
By L.A. Weekly critics
By Amanda Lewis
By Catherine Wagley
By Carol Cheh
By Keegan Hamilton
By Bill Raden
The film, she says, has been shown to three potential distributors: Fine Line, Samuel Goldwyn and Miramax, which has handled much of her other work. None has flatly said no, and she still hopes to screen it for Sony Classics and October Films. But, she says with a sigh, "the market is saturated, and he's not economically viable enough for anyone to invest the money to launch him properly." Even Fine Line's Mark Ordesky, who describes himself as a "personal friend," questions whether it's worth the risk.
Glickman moves to the balcony for a cigarette. "It's been a really long haul," she says, taking a deep drag. "We've had to reinvent ourselves over and over again just to hang in there."
The key to selling Donut Men, she's decided, is to pitch it as part of a complete Beeaje Quick package. "In the past 10 years," she says, "we've had opportunities to sell off the art, to reproduce it, and we made an economic decision to try to hold on to everything, the rights to all of the works and all of the metaphors -- to really, when this moment resurfaced, to be in the position to make a deal." In a perfect world, the movie would premiere along with simultaneous art shows in New York and L.A. and the publication of the books. "All at once," she says. "A veritable media blitz."
"The kinetic sculptures are the Disneyland," she says, warming up. "Those would be participatory, with sound and light. The metaphors would be the gift shop. We'd have them printed on T-shirts. And we'd sell the books." The centerpiece, of course, would be Donut Men, augmented by Rambo to Rembrandt. This would give them the chance to, as Glickman puts it, "cross-collateralize all these different modes of expression."
She sits silently for a moment. "There are so many artists who go undiscovered until after their death," she observes. "I don't think that will happen with Beeaje. We're ready this time."