Drew Pisarra
Drew Pisarra is the author of two sonnet collections (Periodic Boyfriends and Infinity Standing Up), two short story collections (Publick Spanking and You’re Pretty Gay), and two radio plays (Price in Purgatory and The Strange Case of Nick M.). Clearly, he likes to do things in two. You can follow him on Instagram or the site once known as Twitter via @mistermysterio.
Anushka Bidani: Why Fassbinder?
Drew Pisarra: I’m no stranger to obsession. When an author/actor/artist really strikes my fancy, I can get very completist and read/watch/consume everything they’ve ever made. Sometimes, these obsessions become so deeply felt and are so sustained that I create something in tandem to the fixation. Previous examples include a radio play inspired by horror icon Vincent Price (Price in Purgatory) and a one-man show in homage to Jean Genet (The Gospel According to St. Genet). In Fassbinder’s case, the obsession somehow culminated in a collection of poems. Which took me a decade to write! Consistently, undertakings like these feel like posthumous collaborations in which one partner — namely, the dead one — has already contributed their part in full. For his part, Fassbinder’s output was prodigious (40+ movies in 15 years) as well as pointedly, timelessly political, meaning I never lacked for inspiration. And since his work is wildly varied — from arthouse homoeroticism (Querelle) to new wave noir (Love Is Colder Than Death) to tragic melodrama (Veronika Voss), I never worried about getting stuck or repeating myself. In a way, the question for me now isn’t “Why Fassbinder?” but “Who will it be next, meine Leibe?”
Price in Purgatory / The Gospel According to St. Genet
AB: This collection subverts poetry at every turn. Sometimes the visual becomes a part of the reading (“Germany in Autumn”) and other times the poem itself makes room for screenwriting (“Das Kaffeehaus: Director’s Cut”). Was this play a deliberate choice, made to pay tribute to Fassbinder’s filmography? Or was it more spontaneous?
DP: You’re right on both counts. The constant shifts in form and tone are indeed intentional. The styles and concerns within Fassbinder’s filmography changed quite dramatically over time so I wanted the book to be similarly unpredictable, similarly transforming, even mercurial. But I didn’t wish to mirror his artistic evolution directly. I don’t think I could! Instead, with each movie, I’d let myself react whichever way felt right. Sometimes, that meant nodding to the plot (“The Merchant of Four Seasons”); sometimes, the wardrobe (“The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant”); sometimes, a central idea (“Chinese Roulette”); sometimes, a residual feeling (“Katzelmacher”). I also experimented with formal structures periodically — the sestina “In a Year of 13 Moons,” the villanelle “Dear Rainer” — because that seemed appropriate too.
AB: “Dear Rainer.” The poem that this collection opens with – it seems to share a complicated relationship with death / fan tribute. Your thoughts?
DP: The dead — whether they’re people we’ve known or people we’ve wished we’d known — will always be alive to us in some fashion. I still have a relationship with my late paternal grandfather, and with my dear friends Sandra, Doug and Frank; even with my beloved dog Silas. They’ve all just moved to a place unreachable by phone. At the same time, I also have ongoing relationships with authors like Narayan and Mishima, James Baldwin and Gertrude Stein, writers to whom I return repeatedly. The poem “Dear Rainer” is an acknowledgment of those unending exchanges that can occur between artist and audience, or dead artist and live artist, a connection that death cannot terminate, a connection that can stretch across centuries.
AB: You oscillate often between the first person and the third person. As a fan, writing against an idol-subject, how does this complicate your narratorial position within the book?
DP: Isn’t part of being a fan personally identifying with the object of devotion? It’s like they’ve got into our heads. Why not return the favor and get inside theirs? That said, I don’t know if I’ve ever idolized Fassbinder. He’s way too complicated for that. Do I see a bit of Fassbinder in myself? I’m not sure. Inevitably, I suppose. I mean I definitely see my reality reflected in his work. And I love that the most memorable time he cast himself in a leading role, Fox and His Friends, he played a romantic who got duped.
AB: Do you think of yourself as a fan or a critic?
DP: Can we combine the two and call me a critical fan? As much as I adore Fassbinder’s movies such as The Marriage of Maria Braun and Mother Kusters Goes to Heaven, I find other films of his — like Why Does Herr R. Run Amok? and Whity — utterly exasperating. No one makes a masterpiece every time yet, while the critic in me is forgiving, the fan in me gets frustrated as hell. In other words, I’m a fan with standards! The question is, can I trust my initial opinion? Or do I need to see those movies again? And again? Just to make sure. To be honest, sometimes fandom can be masochistic. But I’m sure Fassbinder wouldn’t have it any other way.
AB: “No one makes a masterpiece every time yet while the critic in me is forgiving, the fan in me gets frustrated as hell.” I find this a delightfully curious reversal of the usual order of things – usually, it is the critic who is seen as unforgiving, and the fan as always-already amenable. What makes you see it differently?
DP: On a good day, a critic can elevate a dud into something akin to a stepping stone, something that leads towards a better future or at least helps to define the larger territory. For instance, his last film Querelle fascinates me — as a critic — because the movie suggests a new direction. Was RWF about to smarten up gay erotica? Would his color palate lean into neon, even harder? Who would he cast from Hollywood next? Jane Fonda? I don’t think Querelle ultimately works (whatever that means) but I imagine, whatever would’ve followed might’ve built upon Querelle in an unforeseeable way. As for me, the Fassbinder fan, I’m so entranced by so many of his movies that I’m like a spoiled brat who wants to be pleased every time. And when I’m not, I get petulant. To be a fan is to be driven by feelings. Fandom isn’t a rational realm.
Anushka Bidani is a cultural strategist by day, & a cricket enthusiast rest of the time. You can find her here.