I

            As I scrunch an eye against the view finder of my camera to take a picture of George Marshall, founder and executive director of the Rhode Island International Film Festival, I bend and swerve to get the right composition among the spicy décor, catching a stare from a portrait on the wall of the Istanbul Coffee House in Newport.

George Marshall, Executive Director of the Rhode Island International Film Festival meets with IMAGINE’s Vin Fraioli for an interview in a casual café environment. Photo by Vin Frioli.

            The Film Festival has grown gigantically in the past nine from a small film festival called “Flickers” in Newport to an international event with over one hundred volunteers, multiple locations, celebrities known and soon to be known, “sidebar” mini-festivals, workshops, the restoration of an opulent 1920’s theater and much more.

            All of this, the animate projection of this quiet man before me. Soft spoken, reserved, yet he has cracked more than a few eggs to make this expansive omelet.

            Just then, Ahab, the owner of the restaurant comes over to us. He holds a tray above us forming a metal flower.

            “What would you like, gentlemen?”

            “Just tea for me,” says George.

             “I’ll have the tray of hummus, olives, pita,” I say and consider the Circassian Chicken with that seductive walnut sauce.

            “That is wonderful” I say to George. “Takes a lot of time to prepare. Will you try some?”

            “No. Just tea, thank you.”

            I get the kofte sandwich instead, not caring that the creamy tzadiki sauce smothering this Turkish version of a flattened meatball will make my face contort and nose white with creamy cucumber sauce.

            “So, how can I help you?” he says. I will soon learn this is characteristic of him.

            “Tell me about opening night,” I say.

            He folds his hands. He takes a breath.

            "Opening night is always my favorite. It sets the tone for what happens during the week and has its own energy. As it happens, we will feature short films, drama, animation, some experimental, with a VIP reception at the newly opened Villa Toscana off of Atwells Avenue in Providence with its courtyards. We expect about 300 people there given the community support we have there. And there will be trolleys donated by the Atwells Avenue Merchant Association and the Federal Hill Gazette. The food served comes from numerous restaurants on the hill and reflects a taste of the Avenue. It should be absolutely wonderful!

John Berberian, owner of the Columbus Theatre in the lobby of this 1920’s architectural gem. Photo by Vin Fraioli.

            “Filmgoers should expect an eclectic evening, something of a hallmark for the RIIFF. We have never been known to do the expected. We will be presenting eight short films from across the globe, which reflect a mix of genres. Most will be world premieres. Also, Senator Orin Hatch from Utah is slated to be there to support Rhode Island’s own country singer, Billy Gilman. Yes, we will be screening a music video, too, on opening night…”

            Ahab places a tea in front of George.

            “Thank you,” says George. “This is truly the only statewide festival in the country taking place in six different locations. Most focus on one city, as does Tribeca.  We can do this because of the size of the state. You couldn't have enough money to do this in California, for example. In this regard, the RI Film Festival is unique. We actually bring films to different communities, to people who normally don’t get a chance to travel to see film of all ages. We even have a history of providing work to nursing homes and high rises for the elderly so they can participate in the festival.

            “We are also the only festival in New England that is a qualifier for the Oscars in the short film category. Not bad, since there are forty-seven festivals which qualify out of 1,950 world wide.

            “The difference, too, with us is that we discover works, not picking them up from other festival, or from distributors. We support first time directors. We prefer that filmmakers hear their own voice. There’s no hard core sex, no censoring, but freedom of speech, of thought, of not me telling you what you have to think. I’d like to think that we are a beacon for freedom of speech, giving the audience a chance see things not anywhere else, uncut, unfettered, uncensored. Our program director developed packages that have themes with a thematic thread.

            “And we are still getting entries, even though our deadline was June 15…”

            My plate appears in front of me. A burrito sized wrap, the brown rolled kofte peeking out from it, a rivulet of creamy tzadiki.

            “Sure you don’t want something to eat?” I ask George.

            “Tea is fine. Thank you.”

             His voice seems that of a late night radio announcer. Controlled, calm and calming. If he fenced, he would have a strong parry.

            He folds his hands and waits for my next question.

            “Where were we?”  

            "This year, we’ve gotten 1500 entries, as compared to 1326 entries from last year. We will show 229 titles in six days, though we’ve scaled back a bit since last year, which will allow for repeat screenings. Our programming is different, too, this year, with a new Program Director on board, Lori Donnelly. What I like is that we are experimenting with the festival format. We are not static. We are taking risks. Yes, we are shaking things up a bit, but that’s what people should expect from us, the unexpected,” George tells me.

Members of the RIIFF Board at a planning party at the Newport, RI home of Executive Director, George T. Marshall and his partner, Lawrence J.Andrade. (From left) Jim Barfoot, Larry Andrade, George T. Marshall, Nancy Nicholson and Joce Donaghue. Photo courtesy of RIF	George Marshall with his companion Larry Andrade who provides caring and support for Mr. Marshall. Photo courtesy of George Marshall.

            “What is the mechanics for judging your entries?” I ask

             “Basically, our system for judging is this: Those that judge are an eclectic bunch of people from all walks of life. They come in, take a film off the shelf take it home, and rate it according to a set of criteria on our scoring sheet. I wanted a broad background of people as judges. If they all came from academia, like myself, for example, then the choices would be so bloody esoteric no one would want to watch them!

            “What is unique, though, is every film we have is screened and judged by 3 separate judges who can’t be in the same industry. This year we are getting so much response from around the world, at least 60 countries and counting. For example, we have this director from Nepal who has been working with my Assistant, Adam Short. He wants to observe and to be a part of our Festival. We are helping him to get his visa and introductions through the U.S. Embassy. We’re also very excited the New Zealand film commission sent twenty-three films to us, many of which will be shown in a special sidebar.

             “And this year, we have a summer camp for young film-maker from seven to fifteen years old, running at URI (University of Rhode Island). Thirty five kids are enrolled. Other people have copied us, but that’s okay….  We are the original camp with educators and industry people as teachers. Some are Emmy award winners. They just love the idea that they can help kids. Last year, one of our kids, a ten-year old, Joseph Procopio, won the Sprockets Children Film Festival. Imagine, ten-years old!”

            “I am really intrigued by this 1916 film which you are screening. What about that film, THE LADY OF THE LILACS made by a woman filmmaker from Rhode Island in 1916? It is closing the Festival isn’t it?”

            “Let me tell you about that! It was discovered by the Rhode Island Historical society, but in restoring it, the film became so badly deteriorated that we have just 17 minutes of the original that we can screen. We have taken an active interest in the restoration, though. It’s an ideal tie-in with our efforts to save and restore the historical Columbus Theatre.

            “As a close to the Festival, the last event will be the film, THE BLACK PIRATE with Douglas Fairbanks with live music provided by the Alloy Orchestra. It’s summer fun, and I wanted to end on an upbeat note.”

            “What’s so special about this film? Is it also a premiere?

            “No, but it is a swashbuckler, and after all, we live in Rogue’s Island and it was made in 1926, the same year as the Columbus Theatre.”

            Now I have to stop him. That association is too creatively far reaching, I think.

            I look down at my plate. I consult the culinary rubble in my dish, a few grains of rice, a swirl of yogurt.

            I lean over, folding my hands in front of me.

            “George…I have to ask…This variety and magnitude of the festival, in all of its component and ancillary parts, your involvement with the Columbus Theatre, the Franco-American Festival, Opera Rhode Island, the restoration of the Columbus Theatre, summer camps, the Mini-festivals, such as the Horror Film Festival in October, the German one with the collaboration with the Goethe Institut-Boston, the Newport Jazz Festival, they seem so much a projection of you, your interests, your imagination. How do you connect all of this to film?”

            Again, a calm parry and a wry smile.

            “I do,” he says. “It is all connected. It’s all how we stitch things together. (For instance, take) our most recent project to restore the Columbus Theatre to its former grandeur. John Berberian, the building’s owner, is such an amazing human being. RIIFF would not be where it today if it were not for his guidance, support, and huge heart.”

            “What about your involvement with Opera? How does that connect to the Festival?”

            “That was with Opera Providence in a piece called “Murder and Mayhem,” also at the Columbus. The singers sang opera arias behind of projections of silent film. Basically, I took silent movies, stitched the stuff to get-together to match singing, it was not a hodgepodge. I edit and create things. Editing is like writing. It’s creative. I love it.”            “Another thing, all these projects, including the Film Festival, are under the umbrella of “Flickers”. We are like Gypsies, traveling all over the place. There are about fifteen people on the board. It’s all how we stitch all this together, keep to the goal of turning all this into a media arts organization, all age groups, year round, all niches. That is my vision and it is shared, thank god, by the people who work with me. I couldn’t do this by myself, if I didn’t have them, as friends. They not only support me, but they love me, I will always be there to support them and I will put my money and my physical being there to protect them.”

            Ahab the owner looks at us from the counter. He doesn’t want to break this thick stream of consciousness floating over our table.

            “Dessert?” he mouths.

            Me, I will have the sutlac, the vanilla rice pudding which calls to me.

            Sweeter at the bottom, as the Latin goes.

            “George, I must ask you,” I say. “There are…You have…You have certainly broken a few eggs to make this expansive omelet. As it seems to me, all a product of your impulse and imagination. What I hear is that you are difficult to deal with sometimes…”

            Ahab stops in his tracks. My pudding hovers over my head.

            George looks at me

            “The perception about my being difficult is that I’m passionate about what I do. I am pretty much the same person I always have been. I cannot stand people who are disingenuous and when you are at the top of the heap, the bricks and bats are thrown at you. If everybody loved me, you got to ask yourself, where did I screw up? We would not be here where we are, if I didn’t stand my ground, we wouldn’t have the academy stuff and all the respect that we enjoy. We would not be getting 1500 entries. That says a lot about an organization that’s been undercapitalized. I’m not Mother Teresa and I don’t know anyone who is. Look, I stand up for the people who work for me. And if I didn’t, what kind of leader would I be?

             “I was a Teacher, then did commercial work as the principal consultant with Brooks Pharmacy. Did radio, their web site, PR work for them and won several awards. I have a musical background. In high school I was the lead baritone in Chorus, played bar sax, guitar. In college, I paid my own way, and at Brown, I was a Teaching Assistant and I graduated in Political Communication.  I built my own degree. My thesis: the Political Ramifications of the Mass Media in a permanent file, is in the Rockefeller library…”

            “But you say you are so passionate, but you are so reserved.”

            I look at the lone cup of tea before him.

            He smiles

            “That is because I was brought up by Japanese. Didn’t I tell you?  It comes from my training. I was taught to think before I talk. My father was in Japan in the early 1950’s post occupation. So I was there. Everybody, not just rank, had Japanese maids, servants, busboys. So I had all these Japanese people all around me all around me. That’s all I heard. Oh, yes, when I got home in the early sixties, this little blond haired kid, looking like Timmy in “Lassie” with a thick Japanese accent, I was dumped in speech therapy for years. So, that’s why I am like I am. I’m pretty poker face. And you won’t get a rise out of me, unless it’s personal stuff. That’s why I don’t get overly animated.            My Father taught me your name is all you got. My dad, he’s not doing so well. He’s in a nursing home. My mom, I lost her in 2002. Truthfully, she was my best friend. My only regret is that she’s not around anymore.”

            The restaurant now has that feeling of a theater long after the audience has gone and the guys with the brooms push those invisible rivers between the aisles of chairs. Ahab, always busy scrubbing or preparing something stops and calls from over the counter.

            “Thanks, guys,” he says.

            George and I shake hands. He goes to another meeting.

            When I get in the car, I take out my camera to re-check the picture I have taken, to see if it has captured what I have come to learn about George Marshall.

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Vin Fraioli, born in Providence, is an author of numerous articles and the book, “Change of View.” He still lives in Rhode Island with his wife and two kids when not traveling around the world giving lectures and concerts as a classical guitarist. He’s also a sometimes actor.