Nathan Silver's New Film 'Stinking Heaven' Reeks of Cynicism and Kombucha

There's no main character in Stinking Heaven. Instead, the characters of the micro-budget narrative stumble in and out of the main story arc, which involves them recovering from their various addictions in a self-run sober-living home that sells kombucha out of a van. The film reeks of honest cynicism and features visceral performances from its intergenerational cast. Especially affecting are the scenes in which the characters reenact their lowest moments in videotaped living-room therapy sessions.

The film's director and co-writer is Nathan Silver, who talks rapidly and has a Cheshire Cat–like grin. His energy is somewhere between hyper and psychotic. I knew what to expect before I met him, though, because he's performed as fitful characters in his in films Uncertain Terms and Exit Elena.It was no surprise to me that he described his need to make movies as "compulsive." He's already made five features in the past six years, and tells me he has three more on the way, including one ominously titled The Perverts and another that is being shot in Denver later this year.

Silver and I talked about ashrams and the impending end of the world before he made his way to the Rotterdam Film Festival for Stinking Heaven's premiere.

VICE: Like some of your other films, this is about unconventional domestic situations. What makes you interested in people living together?
Nathan Silver: Hell is other people. I think that's something that I'm constantly thinking about. But on the other hand, I can't be out of the city for longer than a week without going crazy. There's just something about being in tight spaces with people. I'm an extremely anxious person and it grates on my nerves, but I need it.

What made you interested in the communal-style living that's in this film?
There's a whole side of my family that was involved in an ashram for 30 years or so. They were involved in communes beforehand, and then they ended up on this ashram. Two uncles were there, along with their families, and it was sort of a messy affair. I'd heard stories, and I visited the ashram a couple of times when I was younger. It was so bizarre to me.

Where was it?
Upstate New York. My uncle was the president of the ashram until a few years ago. Now he's just a grandfather. The ashram is much more corporate now. It got taken over by these young sharks.

What were your impressions when you visited as a kid?
My mother always hated it and blamed it for a lot of disasters that occurred in the family. I remember thinking, It's nice. These people believe they can all live together in harmony. When it's obvious there was all this hatred and tensions and people fucking each other over in the name of spirituality. It was a mess.

When I was younger and I'd have a terrible time at Christmas, I'd think, You can't choose your family. But then you get older and you do choose who your loved ones and family are, and, as it turns out, they are also petty and angsty.
In the end, everyone's terrible—in a glorious way. You choose people you can hopefully fight with and survive those fights. It's funny, because making films is like having a family for a time. I started off as a poet, and I went into playwriting, and I just got so sick of being holed up in my apartment writing. I like the whole aspect of being forced to be around other people. And now I think my whole social life comes from being involved with films. I have no life outside of films. It's this weird thing where you are constantly being surrounded by people.

And I heard you filmed this all living in the house that it's set. Did it ever parallel the dramas that happen in the film?
It was actually the least stressful shoot I'd had in a while. Of course there were minor dynamics that I think came from everyone being together. But it didn't turn into anything that it does in the movie, where people are screaming at each other.

Where did you get the idea for the reenactment therapy that the house members do in the film, acting out their lowest moment?
I don't remember exactly, but I talked to some of the actors who had been through some strange forms of psychotherapy. The scene with Kevin's reenactment was the first one we shot. He had done some psychotherapy stuff in the past. He said he had an idea, so we just shot. What's in the movie was basically the first take and it was a rehearsal take. It was kind of crazy. He burst through that door and it was like, What the fuck is going on? I was just laughing my head off. When something clicks like that, you can't write that. I don't know what that is.

You use a lot of improvisation, right? And, you work quite collaboratively?
Yeah. [The actors] Keith Poulson, Deragh Campbell, and Hannah Gross spent a lot of time in the beginning meeting up and talking about what this would be. And that set the groundwork. Then I wrote the story with Jack, who I met at the New School when I screened a film there.

On this one, there was tons of improvisation. No one in the cast had seen the entire outline so they would show up to set and I would hand them a sheet of scenes we were shooting that day. We would talk about it a bit and then I would let them just go for it. Eventually we would find things that worked, and if they weren't working, I would go and talk to jack about story things that were perhaps not clicking. It was great to have him on set.

So the actors didn't know the end of the story for their characters?
Yeah. We actually ended up putting what was supposed to be the end—that lake scene—at the beginning of the movie. It's funny how these things occur and that can only happen when you know its not locked down in any way. I didn't want people to think of this text as something holier than thou. I think thats just bullshit. A script should be something you use to wipe your ass. It's just to get people involved and some sort of insurance.

So there a few actors who show up over and over again in your film, like the grocery-store clerk in this one.
That's my mother.

Does she like to be in your movies?
No, I force her into them. But she was really pissed off that she had no lines in this one. So she hates being in them. But I think she secretly likes it. She's a pain in the ass to work with, but she's going to be the narrator of my next movie.

She's been the narrator in your head your whole life, I'm sure.
Exactly. It only makes sense.

What did you shoot this one on?
We shot on an Ikegami—a news camera that I think was used in the early 80s. We tested out a bunch of different beta cams, but what this one does with light is so beautiful. I just loved it. I just needed to escape from HD. I usually try to fuck it up in post because the cleanliness drives me out of my mind. I just want to kill myself when I see it.

What made you set the film in 1990?
I was watching all of these documentaries and any clips I could find on YouTube from the late 80s and early 90s. I just remember that time in my life as one of being full of this constant anxiety and dread. I was a very anxious child and I was always worried about being kidnapped or the end of the world. And again last year, I started feeling this way. So I started thinking about this time period and I think that really informed the movie. This was trying to capture that feeling of anxiety through the textures that I associate with the 90s.

Was it cathartic to get rid of some of that anxiety?
No, because I think if you are a sane human being, the world is a disaster and you're constantly trying to come to grips with that. All you can do is choose what to focus on. I like making movies—just to be able to focus on the characters in my movies, rather than the disaster that is life.

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