Even actors Lindsay Burdge and Arthur Martinez have trouble separating what’s real and what’s fiction from their new movie Actor Martinez. A documentary-style film ostensibly about Arthur’s life as a Denver-area actor, the plot takes a meta-narrative twist when filmmakers Nathan Silver and Mike Ott interrupt the docudrama – in several scenes with the actors – to nudge the film in more interesting directions. “You would feel like you’re authoring something,” began Lindsay, “but it’s like—I honestly don’t know to what extent they were just manipulating me into thinking I was doing these things on my own. I just don’t know.”

Arthur, supposedly the initiating force behind the movie, often appears to be the biggest subject of the filmmakers’ manipulation. Or is he helping to pull the strings alongside Mike and Nathan? In this sit-down with Way Too Indie, Actor Martinez stars Lindsay Burdge and Arthur Martinez discuss the complex concept behind their new film, the freedom of working without rehearsal and the livewire aspect to its production.

Actor Martinez recently held its US premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival. It is currently seeking distribution.

How did this project first come to you both?

Arthur: I was actually, inadvertently, one of the pitchers. I didn’t know what I was pitching for. I knew I was throwing, but I didn’t expect this weird curveball.

Lindsay: Nathan [Silver] and I had hung out at another film festival shortly before he pitched this to me. Then, we were in New York and he said, “We came up with this movie in Denver, we want to make it soon. Do you want to do it?” He said it was about a man, Arthur, and this woman falling in love. I was supposed to be a gardener or something like that and it was supposed to be a regular movie. Next thing I knew months had passed and I was sent this outline which was not that movie at all.

Arthur: Wow, you got an outline though.

Lindsay: You knew that [Laughs].

Arthur: That still blows my mind [Laughs].

Lindsay: I know! I got an outline and it said, “Arthur does this.” Then it says, “Lindsay Burdge, actress from New York, does this.” I was like, “Oh, this is not the movie that I thought we were making at all.”

Arthur: I still haven’t seen the outline. That’s why I’m amazed at what she’s saying. She’s told me this before and I still have a hard time believing it.

Once you actually got into the production phase, were you anticipating the extent to which this would blend between documentary and narrative? Were you caught off guard when you were actually filming?

Arthur: That whole film is me caught off guard. Yeah, no, they didn’t tell me anything. They went to extra pains to hide what was happening. They would hide me off set somewhere and have somebody guard me so I wouldn’t go look beforehand.

What’s it like going into that situation where you don’t have that safety harness—or a script—to guide you?

Arthur: My classical training got in the way. I had to throw it out. You just have to throw it out. So after the first three days, I figured just throw it out.

Lindsay: There was definitely an adjustment period. I definitely knew more than Arthur did, about how it was going to be this blended thing, but there were a couple layers that I didn’t know were going to be there. I knew I was going to be playing myself. I knew I was going to be playing this character, but then there were these other characters also that I didn’t know I was going to have to sort out.

So the first day was very stressful and the second day got a little less stressful and then it became fun once I understood the rules, but until I knew the rules of the game we were playing it was very stressful and uncomfortable. We didn’t have anything really to hold onto at first. There’s no script, there’s no character, and so we weren’t working on a scene together. It was more like manipulating each other [Laughs].

Arthur: She’s right. They used us as weapons against each other and I’m sorry about some of those things I had to say [Laughs].

Lindsay: You got me once. I was like, “Ah nice, they got me. The tables have turned. Fair enough.”

It sounds a lot like theater exercises, almost more so than the traditional narrative structure of film. Did you find it liberating at all?

Lindsay: Yes, I thought it was really fun. It became really fun for me.

Arthur: Yeah, it was always scary, but I’m down.

Lindsay: Sometimes you had fun, right?

Arthur: Well… yeah. I mean, there’s a reason I did this. It’s like riding a roller coaster, I’ve been screaming the whole time. It’s awesome.

Lindsay: But also, we were playing different games. We had different rules that we’re playing by. Because you were like, “I’m going to know nothing,” and I was like, “I gotta know something.”

Arthur: I don’t remember actually making that rule, I think that was [co-directors] Mike [Ott] and Nathan [Silver].

Lindsay: I remember saying to you, “Do you want me to sneak you the outline?” And you were like, “No no no.”

Arthur: Nah, you can’t mess with the director. Not on set.

It must take a lot of faith then to just throw yourself into that process and trust it.

Arthur: You trust the talent that you’re working for. It was a lot of pressure to make sure if they spent five hours setting up a shot that I actually did my job. Which is difficult when you don’t know what your job is, but that’s ok. You just do it. Hope for the best.

Lindsay: It was mostly just being. At least from watching you, it seemed like just being kind of open and available and reacting, which was cool to watch actually.

There’s a lot of tension though in some of those interactions. How much of that was authentic?

Arthur: You just defined acting. Serious, that’s the definition of acting and if it’s not, you’re not doing your job.

Lindsay: I think some of it was definitely real and some of it was manipulated. And I’m not sure Arthur still knows which is which [Laughs].

Arthur: I don’t know. I’m just going with it.

Lindsay: And I don’t either sometimes. Some of those times, I think we were recreating that tension or the tension was to swerve the plot of the movie, which there is actually a plot. Other times it was real frustration. It was fun kind of fun for me. Sometimes I felt like your advocate.

Arthur: Thank you, I did need that. It was brutal. They just beat up on me until she showed up. They’d got me so far off what I realized center was and she did a great deal to re-center me.

Lindsay: And also just to have somebody else say, “This is frustrating.”

It gave you a partner in the process.

Lindsay: Sometimes they would do this thing where they were like, “I don’t know, I’ve worked with a lot of different actors who don’t have a problem with this kind of work.” And I’m like, “Oh yeah? I know a lot of them, and they do.”

How much of what’s on the screen do you actually feel responsible for injecting into the narrative?

Arthur: This is like taking bunch of colors—everybody who worked on this—and swirling them all together. How much of that is me? I can’t even tell anymore, maybe none of it. Maybe some of it. I don’t know.

Lindsay: Did you even suggest shooting in your apartment?

Arthur: That was a resource, yes. That was the purpose of it. I didn’t know we were going to shoot what we shot.

Lindsay: I still don’t know what he’s… I don’t trust this guy.

Arthur: I don’t trust me either. It’s crazy.

Lindsay: I don’t how much of it is you… because I arrived and it was already underway.

Arthur: You’re right about that. I was part of the early production process, I just didn’t know what was coming out of it. I just made the decision to trust Mike and Nathan. Those guys are crazy.

Now that you’ve had the chance to see the final film, how closely did it resemble what you thought you were making?

Lindsay: Very closely for me.

Arthur: Ok, I’m down with that. It must have matched the outline at least.

Lindsay: It didn’t match the outline. The outline was four pages long and had almost nothing in it, but it matched what I felt like we were making while we were making it.

Are there any things from this experience, the looseness of it, that you maybe miss in other films that you make?

Arthur: I think they all should be different. They’re all very different experiences and that’s ok.

Lindsay: I feel like there definitely was a sort of livewire element to this because we had to be so on our toes and just ready to go with whatever came at us. Nothing ever became polished, which was really nice. Often we would do a scene and I’d be like, “So are gonna do that again?” And they’d be like, “No! We got it, that was great!” And I’m like, “We did it one time! Don’t you want to do it again? It’ll be better.” And they were just like, “No.”

I liked that. I like how fresh it was, and it would be interesting to think about how to bring that to other stuff. We had to be so quick on our feet. But I don’t know how you could bring that to something when you’ve read the whole script and you know exactly what you’re saying.

Is it wrong to think about this film as percentages? As 50% documentary, 50% fiction?

Lindsay: You’d probably be wrong if you tried to divide it. Even if we tried to divide it. I still don’t know how much Arthur knew what was going on all the time.

Arthur: She’s right, I was part of the initial production, but it was definitely different [by the end]. There’s no way to identify what’s real or not in the scene. I can say this part of the scene is real. I’m sure it would be like reading a story about yourself in a tabloid. In many ways, this is a tabloid film.

Go through the massive list of stars that appear in Joe Swanberg’s Digging for Fire and it might be easy to claim that one of the most prolific names in modern indie has “gone mainstream.” But actually watch Digging for Fire (or Happy Christmas or Drinking Buddies), and it’s clear that the mainstream has actually come knocking on Swanberg’s door. This is the same low-key, character-based storytelling Swanberg has been honing for years, only now with a plethora of talent and established names thrown into the mix. And, if anything, Digging for Fire shows Swanberg as a filmmaker in total control, using his ensemble and skills at creating a casual, inviting tone to make a subtle and fascinating exploration of commitment, aging and marriage.

Taking place in Los Angeles, the film opens with married couple Lee (Rosemarie Dewitt) and Tim (Jake Johnson, who co-wrote with Swanberg) taking their son Jude (Swanberg’s own son, stealing every scene he’s in) to house-sit for one of Lee’s wealthy clients. While Lee goes off working as a yoga instructor, Tim—a public school teacher—stays at home during the summer break. Soon after arriving, Tim starts poking around the house and discovers a bone and an old gun buried in a yard behind the house. Tim wants to keep digging, but Lee doesn’t want him messing up her client’s property, and a host of other small disagreements between the two (including Tim’s refusal to put Jude in a private school) leads to Lee taking Jude to spend the weekend with her parents (Sam Elliott and Judith Light).

Tim takes the opportunity to invite some of his old buddies over (Sam Rockwell, Chris Messina, Mike Birbiglia and Kent Osborne, to name a few), and before long he’s convincing all of them to help dig up whatever else might be hiding underneath the property. At this point the film forks off into two narrative strands, one profiling Tim’s weekend with his friends, and the other following Lee trying to have a girl’s night out with her sister (Melanie Lynskey). Both Lee and Tim wind up finding themselves conflicted when they each encounter an opportunity to cheat; Lee meets a British restaurant owner (Orlando Bloom), and Tim makes nice with the young, carefree Max (Brie Larson).

Anyone familiar with Swanberg’s previous work won’t be surprised to learn the film’s central mystery is a nonstarter. It’s more of an excuse for getting characters together to casually chat about the themes Swanberg and Johnson really want to explore. “When did you feel like you got back to yourself?” Lee asks her mom at one point, wondering if marriage and motherhood have removed her ability to live her own life, and Tim admits to Max that he feels like he’s not maturing, he’s just getting older. Their brief exchanges with friends, family and strangers around them reveal that both Lee and Max have hesitations about staying in for the long haul of their marriage, with the hypothetical idea of something “better” existing out there tempting them into seeking individuality over partnership.

What makes Digging for Fire such an enjoyable yet fleeting experience is how Swanberg lets these ideas flow organically into the film through his terrific cast and tight editing. Narrative doesn’t mean much here, as it’s more about how Lee and Tim’s actions reflect their concerns. Dewitt and Johnson anchor the film nicely, and there isn’t a single weak spot in a cast that’s as sprawling as LA itself. Shooting on 35mm with cinematographer Ben Richardson (who also shot Drinking Buddies and, most famously, Beasts of the Southern Wild), the film’s keen eye for composition helps give it a cinematic feel that comes across as a surprise given its dialogue-heavy approach. Swanberg has made films for over a decade now, and at a pretty quick pace too (remember when he directed six films in 2011?), but in some ways Digging for Fire feels like the start of a newer, more refined era for him. It’s exciting to watch Swanberg in complete domination of his craft, but it’ll be more exciting to see what he does next.

In her previous film, A Teacher, writer-director Hannah Fidell examined the unconventional affair between a high-school teacher and her student. The filmmaker continues her focus on forbidden relationships in 6 Years when a long-term romance gets tested by betrayal and a new job opportunity. With an improvised script, small-name actors, and a naturalistic relationship, it’s no surprise that indie gods Mark and Jay Duplass were executive producers on the film.

It’s challenging to demonstrate years worth of chemistry, inside banter, and the subtle cadence between two people accurately on film; Fidell doesn’t seem to have that problem here. The two leads, Dan (Ben Rosenfield) and Mel (Taissa Farmiga), portray convincing soulmates who’ve grown up together since childhood and have been dating for six years. They have the kind of relationship that can sense something is wrong from just a tiny inflection in each others voice. And they can easily tell when the other has had too much to drink, regardless of how much the other tries to deny it.

As young college students tend to do, the couple takes full advantage of their freedom and lack of responsibility by spending most of their time drinking and partying with friends. One night a boozed up Mel visits Dan and tries to get frisky with him. But the mood is killed when an argument breaks out after Dan discovers she drove in this condition. A vocal argument turns physical and puts Dan in the hospital with some minor injuries (a gender role reversal in domestic disputes that’s rarely shown in films).

Dan isn’t portrayed as a saint either. Like many troubled relationships, both parties are guilty of making mistakes of their own. Over some beers one night, Dan leans over and kisses his female co-worker (Lindsay Burdge, in a somewhat reprised role from A Teacher). He realizes his mistake right away and stops before anything else happens. But the damage unfolds a few scenes later when Mel borrows his phone and finds a text message that exposes his incident.

There are a few scenes in 6 Years that feel a bit cliche. In two different parts in the film, the couple inadvertently walk in on each other in various sexual situations; Dan needs to borrow Mel’s laptop and finds she was watching porn (another refreshing gender role reversal) and Mel conveniently catches Dan sleeping with someone else. But these few melodramatic spots in the script are overshadowed by stunning performances from Rosenfield and Farmiga. Rosenfield channels his inner Mark Duplass, capturing his introverted and down-to-earth mannerisms, while Farmiga brings a lot of energy and passion to a less desirable role as the “manipulative one.”

6 Years captures what a long-term relationship feels like when it nears the breaking point. First love is a powerful beast, but its fate is often doomed from failing to accept that sometimes ending a relationship is better than trying to stick it out. Fidell illustrates this powerful realization in the final emotional scene of uncertainty. It’s heartbreaking. 6 Years distances itself from other flawed relationship narratives with its excellent acting and fresh take on gender roles.

A Teacher is in many ways a reversal of the story that is normally told; featuring an older female authoritative figure (a teacher) having an affair with a younger male (a student). On top of that, the adolescent is more rational and stable than the adult. Hannah Fidell’s first feature is wisely not a public service announcement about some scandalous sexual predator, the affair is consensual and presumably even legal. Having said that, everyone (including the characters) knows that the sexual relationship between a teacher and a student is not morally right, and that taboo is what the film is about.

We follow an attractive high school English teacher named Diana Watts (Lindsay Burdge) through her daily routine which begins with a commute to the school that she teaches at. Because she gets along well with her students, she is as in control of her class as any high school teacher can be. But we come to learn that she does not have that same control of herself. After work Diana meets up with her friend Sophia (Jennifer Prediger) inside a brilliant danger-red illuminated bar, where we find out about her dark side. Diana tells Sophia that she is sort of seeing this guy from school, but what she fails to mention is that it is one of her students. This little nugget of information is exposed in the next scene when she seduces a male student that was seen in her class earlier.

Keeping a secret of this magnitude in a setting such as a high school is as difficult as you imagine it would be. This is especially the case when Eric (Will Brittain) stays behind class and goes in for a risky kiss that any bystander walking by could easily witness. But things get complicated when Diana is roped into chaperoning a school dance where she is forced to watch Eric dance with a classmate. The eerie ambient score in addition to Diana’s deadpan emotions suggest that this pot of boiling water is about to overflow.

While the fate of the characters is obvious from the beginning, the actual cause of Diana’s inner turmoil is for better or worse never explained. Her issues are only hinted at in a brief and cryptic scene early on when her brother mentions their sick mother, which Diana clearly wants nothing to do with. Thus, there is no clear explanation as to what she is running from when she jogs down the street in several scenes of the film. All we know is that she is running away from something, which is equally as intriguing as it is exasperating.

Although Diana puts on smiles and a cheerful attitude at work, she is really hiding behind a dark unraveling breakdown of her sanity. Lindsay Burdge does a great job playing the role of a troubled character who has a wide range of diverse emotions. Aiding in the portrayal of her self-destruction is the shrewd paring of the unnerving score and discomforting visuals found throughout the film.

A Teacher is so brief (only runs 75 minutes) that if feels like there is 20 minutes missing from the beginning of the film. Some people could argue that the narrative lacks due to the relationship already in progress from the start. It becomes clear that the ambiguity was Fidell’s intention when you consider the ending continues with the trend. Whether or not Burdge’s performance and the stunning visuals are enough to carry the intentionally obscure narrative will come down to personal preference.

A Teacher trailer