You might consider this to be my “Director’s statement.” Let me start with the simple hope that you might consider it.
The Glass Slipper will not titillate you. I showed Hell Is Other People to a festival programmer whose tastes, judgments, and feedback I respect, despite how what follows might sound. He felt disappointed not to have seen crusty cocks, because crusty cocks were mentioned in the dialogue. I refrained from showing you crusty cocks because the dialogue and situations were smarter than an image of a crusty cock. Picture your own crusty cock. If I picture the crusty cock for you, I’m making porn. And then what are you doing? There was no more need to see a crusty cock in that film than there was need to see a Jew’s guts in Shoah.
I tell stories. Stories without cynical hooks. If I needed to “buy” your viewership, these days, I admit, it would take more than titties or crusty cocks. I’d need Paris Hilton boinking Kim Kardashian with a metal dildo while dancing the tango with Gary Coleman’s corpse atop a masturbating Kanye. And that might, if anything, get me on ABC at 10:30.
I’m going to be a grown-up, no matter how unfashionable that might be. And I expect you to be a grown-up, no matter how unfashionable a respect for your intelligence might be.
You see, people go through things. Hard things. Nuanced things. We are idiots, but we’re also savants.
I like you, and that’s why there are no crusty cocks in my films.