111 Cuts A Film Review Cha.-les Gustafson. 1953-'931 I I Alfred Runte Cuts. Directed by Charles Gustafson. (Seat­ tle: Facets Productions. 1980. Color. 40 min­ utes. S650) Alfred Runte. assistant professor of history at the University of Washington. is the author of National Purks: The American Experience (1979) and many articles on environmental history topics. F This tension between pride and saw truly sets the mood of this documentary. "I’ve always lived close to that saw. walked that blade." Oliver Schoonover, one of the workers, re­ lates. "it’s the sharp edge of living. It comes down to this: You cut cedar. You cut shingles. You cut fingers. That blade just don't slop." Gustafson himself a* shingle'null, where he experienced the tragedx that later inspired his film-making efforts. "One da\ a man lost part of his hand to the machine that he worked." Gustafson recalled. ft was not the horror of the cut and the blood, but the way the man curried himself that I have been unable to forget. Me quietly turned off his two saws, tucked his bloodied hand be­ neath his arm. and started down the line past the other sawyers. At first his face appealed impassive, but a closer look revealed on irrev­ ocable sorrow and a sense of loss that was masked and held in check by a stern pride. Cuts is one stunning exception. "I wanted to make a film about work." Charles Gustafson said upon its completion, "and I wanted to make a film about the American spirit, and 1 wanted to make a film about m^n and the drive that's within men to do the best they can. More than anything. I wanted to make a film about pride." Indeed, were it not for Gus­ tafson. the Shingle Weavers Union might also have passed into history before’any of these worthy goals could have been translated into a motion picture. In 1932 approximately 8.000 people still belonged to the union: today it survives with barely 300 members. And like the great cedars that fed the shingle mills, even this number is dwindling rapidly. As a result, if Cuts itself were made today, it too would prob.ibly be a wry different film. By capturing their final days. Cuts undoubt­ edly will become a classic interpretation of the Pacific Northwest, much as The Plow That Broke the Plains remains a standard portrayal of the abuses that led to Dust Bowl America. And Cuis, to our good fortune, is much, much more—more sophisticated, more beautifully filmed, more starkly and convincingly realis­ tic. Indeed, no one who has seen this film will be surprised that it has already captured a string of awards, including a blue ribbon at the 1980 American Film Festival and a first place al the Northwest Film Festival. Beyond its contributions as social and labor history, however. Cuts is a provocative contri­ bution to the history of the American environ­ ment. The denuded hillsides of the Olympic Peninsula add a powerful footnote to scenes of human physical and spiritual waste. In the drive to build the shingle industry, both Even away from the mills, the saw exerts a powerful hold over the lives of its servants. Some drink heavily to escape chilling remind­ ers of its presence: others just stare blankly al their mangled hands, reliving for the camera that moment when misfortune brought saw and flesh together. "In the end. it's just a m«n against a machine," Gustafson noted. "And a machine doesn't make mistakes." cedars and people were expendable. As if lo underscore the point, lhe final scene is not of the mills or their workers, but of a lone, dead cedar, isolated amid an army of slumps. Slowly lhe camera circles the abandoned gi- ■ ant. moving farther and farther afield, until the grim reality of its total isolation fully sinks in. Neither lhe forest nor its conquerors will ever be the same again. A? one example. Cuis has no formal narration: x rather the film depends on lhe people., the re­ source. and lhe sawmills to interpret their own roles and significance. Ten years ago These honors, coupled with Gustafson's de­ termination to launch more projects like Cuts, are all lhe more reason to resist having to con­ clude this review on a sad and tragic note. On June 4. 1981. Charles Gustafson was killed when his motorcycle collided with a pickup truck in Seattle. He was 28. If there is any con­ solation in his untimely death, it lies in this classic motion picture he has left us of a van­ ishing way of life in lhe Pacific North­ west. The Pacific Northwest, with its rich stands of timber, inevitably grew up around the lum­ ber industry. Il is therefore all lhe more re- *••• grettable that so much of that industry’s color­ ful history is now beyond the reach of the filmmaker. Simply, the motion picture came too late on the scene to record lhe virgin trees, immigrant lumberjacks, and logging practices . that earlier still photographers, most notably Darius Kinsey, found everywhere so abun­ dant. '■ JULY'-^si • j • , OCR Text: 111 Cuts A Film Review Cha.-les Gustafson. 1953-'931 I I Alfred Runte Cuts. Directed by Charles Gustafson. (Seat­ tle: Facets Productions. 1980. Color. 40 min­ utes. S650) Alfred Runte. assistant professor of history at the University of Washington. is the author of National Purks: The American Experience (1979) and many articles on environmental history topics. F This tension between pride and saw truly sets the mood of this documentary. "I’ve always lived close to that saw. walked that blade." Oliver Schoonover, one of the workers, re­ lates. "it’s the sharp edge of living. It comes down to this: You cut cedar. You cut shingles. You cut fingers. That blade just don't slop." Gustafson himself a* shingle'null, where he experienced the tragedx that later inspired his film-making efforts. "One da\ a man lost part of his hand to the machine that he worked." Gustafson recalled. ft was not the horror of the cut and the blood, but the way the man curried himself that I have been unable to forget. Me quietly turned off his two saws, tucked his bloodied hand be­ neath his arm. and started down the line past the other sawyers. At first his face appealed impassive, but a closer look revealed on irrev­ ocable sorrow and a sense of loss that was masked and held in check by a stern pride. Cuts is one stunning exception. "I wanted to make a film about work." Charles Gustafson said upon its completion, "and I wanted to make a film about the American spirit, and 1 wanted to make a film about m^n and the drive that's within men to do the best they can. More than anything. I wanted to make a film about pride." Indeed, were it not for Gus­ tafson. the Shingle Weavers Union might also have passed into history before’any of these worthy goals could have been translated into a motion picture. In 1932 approximately 8.000 people still belonged to the union: today it survives with barely 300 members. And like the great cedars that fed the shingle mills, even this number is dwindling rapidly. As a result, if Cuts itself were made today, it too would prob.ibly be a wry different film. By capturing their final days. Cuts undoubt­ edly will become a classic interpretation of the Pacific Northwest, much as The Plow That Broke the Plains remains a standard portrayal of the abuses that led to Dust Bowl America. And Cuis, to our good fortune, is much, much more—more sophisticated, more beautifully filmed, more starkly and convincingly realis­ tic. Indeed, no one who has seen this film will be surprised that it has already captured a string of awards, including a blue ribbon at the 1980 American Film Festival and a first place al the Northwest Film Festival. Beyond its contributions as social and labor history, however. Cuts is a provocative contri­ bution to the history of the American environ­ ment. The denuded hillsides of the Olympic Peninsula add a powerful footnote to scenes of human physical and spiritual waste. In the drive to build the shingle industry, both Even away from the mills, the saw exerts a powerful hold over the lives of its servants. Some drink heavily to escape chilling remind­ ers of its presence: others just stare blankly al their mangled hands, reliving for the camera that moment when misfortune brought saw and flesh together. "In the end. it's just a m«n against a machine," Gustafson noted. "And a machine doesn't make mistakes." cedars and people were expendable. As if lo underscore the point, lhe final scene is not of the mills or their workers, but of a lone, dead cedar, isolated amid an army of slumps. Slowly lhe camera circles the abandoned gi- ■ ant. moving farther and farther afield, until the grim reality of its total isolation fully sinks in. Neither lhe forest nor its conquerors will ever be the same again. A? one example. Cuis has no formal narration: x rather the film depends on lhe people., the re­ source. and lhe sawmills to interpret their own roles and significance. Ten years ago These honors, coupled with Gustafson's de­ termination to launch more projects like Cuts, are all lhe more reason to resist having to con­ clude this review on a sad and tragic note. On June 4. 1981. Charles Gustafson was killed when his motorcycle collided with a pickup truck in Seattle. He was 28. If there is any con­ solation in his untimely death, it lies in this classic motion picture he has left us of a van­ ishing way of life in lhe Pacific North­ west. The Pacific Northwest, with its rich stands of timber, inevitably grew up around the lum­ ber industry. Il is therefore all lhe more re- *••• grettable that so much of that industry’s color­ ful history is now beyond the reach of the filmmaker. Simply, the motion picture came too late on the scene to record lhe virgin trees, immigrant lumberjacks, and logging practices . that earlier still photographers, most notably Darius Kinsey, found everywhere so abun­ dant. '■ JULY'-^si • j • , Granite Falls Historical Society,Library (Books & Booklets),General Library,Searchable Books,shingle mills.pdf,shingle mills.pdf Page 1, shingle mills.pdf Page 1