Filmmaking, Writing, Beer, Insularity, History, and Other Topics More-Or-Less Related to “Beer Wars,” Part 4

Part 1 --- Part 2 --- Part 3 --- Part 4 --- Part 5 --- Part 6 --- Part 7 Part 8 --- Part 9 --- Part 10 --- Part 11 --- Part 12 --- Part 13

NOTE: When I moved to a new site, this "Beer Wars" series was mangled/destroyed during the move. I've reconstructed it by copying/pasting another copy of the original posts. I also lost the comments in their original form. I've copied/pasted the comments, but had to do so under my own name. So although it looks as though I'm the only commenter, I'm not. In each case, I've identified the original commenter.

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Note: This section details the wheres/hows of the technical/backstage aspects of the Beer Wars event, so feel free to skip. The next segment gets back to the mental meat of the matter.

The point is that I knew that the critics would start in even before they’d seen the film. It’s all part of the deal. Fortunately, Anat also knew that would happen, and all she or anyone else could do was try to, well, educate people about how and why filmmakers and writers (and even brewers) make the choices they make. 

So on April 16, Anat and I and others gathered in Los Angeles for the event. I should explain that up to that point, no one had seen the film except Anat, her crew, and Ben Stein. (She hired Ben as moderator because she needed someone who was experienced at public speaking and who was not involved in any way in the beer industry. Ben fit the bill.)

Digression: Anat  hired Ben as moderator because he’s an experienced speaker and, more important, an outsider. He doesn’t make beer, sell beer, or promote beer. No surprise, the crowd of critics were annoyed. How, they demanded to know, could he serve as a moderator when he’s not a beer person? And what about his politics?, of which, apparently, many beer geeks disapprove.

They seemed not to understand his role in this event: He was there to MODERATE. Got that? MODERATE. He wasn’t there to share his brewing expertise (there were four other people on stage to do that). He wasn’t there because he was knowledgeable about the industry. He wasn’t there because he holds a specific political point of view (which, I might point out, was and is irrelevant to the proceedings.) He was there to ask questions and keep the half hour panel on track. End of story.

End of digression. The panelists — myself, Rhonda Kallman, Sam Caligione, Todd Alstrom, Greg Koch, and Charlie Papazian — spent that afternoon in the “green room” waiting our turn for makeup and talking. Those who had cell phones tweeted and blogged the green room activity. Etc.

It’s worth noting that I’d never met Rhonda or Sam or Todd. I’d had one brief conversation with Greg a few months earlier at the Great American Beer Festival, and have known Charlie for about four years (I interviewed him for the book). It was an interesting experience to be, in effect, stranded in the Green Room with what amounted to total strangers, all of whom have what can only be described as oversized personalities. Toss Anat and Ben into the mix and it made for an amazing and memorable afternoon.

(If I were Jane Smiley, I would have been taking notes for a novel titled Five Hours in the Green Room, a riff on her Ten Days in the Hills, which I loved.) (But I’m definitely not a novelist, so that’s one book that’s not gonna get written, at least not by me.)

Another (brief) digression: Makeup. I hate wearing makeup. I own almost no makeup (I keep a bit on hand for the TV gig I do, just in case the studio’s makeup person isn’t there.) But high-def cameras can make a 20-year-old with fabulous skin look like an aged crone. So: makeup. I asked the person doing my makeup (which, no surprise, took a looooooong time; I’m old) if men got as much makeup as women. “Oh, no,” she said. “Men usually only need a light touch. But people expect women to wear makeup, so we always put more on them.”

Oh?

About an hour before the film was to begin, we all trouped onstage for a run-through of the live event. The crew wired us, checked sound levels, checked camera angles, and so forth. Ben ran us through a series of questions (none of which he re-asked during the live event.) We all argued; a minor shouting match ensued (because many of us disagreed about a number of topics). (Not to worry; it was a friendly shouting match.)

(The crew, by the way, consisted of dozens of people. You want to know why tickets cost $15? Staging an event like this requires a HUGE amount of equipment and a lot of highly skilled theater tech people. The satellite trucks were marvels of mobile high-technity, and there were miles of cables, wires, and so forth all over, all of which required a human being to set up and operate.)

Then we went backstage again to wait for the screening to begin. When it was time, we — the panelists, Anat, and Ben — took our seats in the auditorium so we could watch the film. (Again, note that only Anat and Ben had seen the film. The rest of us were “Beer Wars” virgins.)

The lights dimmed. The screen lit up. The film rolled. We watched. Five minutes before the film ended, we crept from our theater seats, returned to the stage (which was concealed by the movie screen), took our assigned seats for the panel discussion, got re-wired, received still more makeup (ugh). The film ended, the screen rose, and the panel discussion began.

Next: You want depth? You're not gonna get it in a half hour.

Now About That "I Am A Craft Brewer" Film . . .

Okay, after being urged by Loyal Reader Dave, I watched the "I Am A Craft Brewer" film. You can see it here.

Nice piece of filmmaking. Lively, well-paced, well-filmed, and well-lit. Music aimed straight at the heart. Did what it's supposed to do: Rally the craft beer troops.

Content? Hmmm. . . . Well . . . . Hmmmmm. Astounding lack of historical perspective -- or, alternatively, "historical perspective" constructed so it matched what the filmmaker wanted to say rather than historical reality.

Once again, the drumbeat of "We are the American dream" (as if somehow the rest of us who don't make beer or earn livings by working for larger companies can't possibly represent that dream).

I was surprised that the film avoided mentioning the Big Talking Point that everyone who's anyone in craft brewing always make: The number of American craft brewers. Craft brewers love to roll out the numbers. "We are 1489 strong!" they say. (Or whatever the current number is. Just under 1500.)

Except, ya know, they're not. Because that number includes every outlet of every chain restaurant that claims to be a "brewpub."

So, for example, every Rock Bottom outlet is counted as a separate "brewery." Every Granite City outlet is counted as a separate brewery. Strip those down to what they are --- a single brewing "company" selling its beer in a number of retail outlets --- and the number of "craft breweries" plunges. I

ndeed, it's not clear to me why those are even counted as "breweries."

But hey, it's not my organization and it's not my turf to protect. And you gotta love the tiny core of "real" craft brewers who are doing just that: honoring and protecting their turf. Now --- what was it someone in the film said about "snakeoil salesmen"?

Dat Stan. He Da MAN! (And Alan, Too)

And he took the words right outta my keyboard. I've not watched the video because frankly I'm too swamped with other things (not least of which is commenting on Stan's post). But, yeah  . . .  will anyone engage in anything but swooning raves? And I would be remiss if I did not also add a link to Alan's lovely, and no, not unexpected, response to the same issue. (And I love that he roams the 'net reciting poetry. I was delighted by his poetry-laced comment on one of my earlier posts.)

Damn! And Here I Thought It Was the Ultimate in Convenience

So I look at Twitter this morning, and what I find are a string of tweets about how annoying it is that many people's Facebook "updates" consist of their own tweets and/or their own blog entries.

Um, that would be me. I thought it was amazing, incredible, and astonishingly cool that I could use Twitter to alert anyone who cared to new blog entries and then use that same tweet to update my Facebook page. So that, ya know, the Facebook page doesn't required much care or feeding from me. Silly, silly me.

Sigh. I'm really never gonna "get it," am I? This brave new world of interconnected connectivity. Must go now. Must wander off to some dark corner and ponder my mental density. Or alternatively, ponder which of the two "connections" to sever: The Twitter connection to Facebook, or the blog feed to Facebook. Hmmmm.... What to do? What to do?

New York Craft Distillers Organize --- In Hopes of Surviving

Craft distillers in New York state have organized a Craft Distillers Guild. Frankly, they have to do something, because that state's legislators are hell-bent on preventing them from doing business. Ralph Erenzo of Tuthilltown Spirits passed along the press released quoted below. I've mentioned him here before because of Tuthilltown's struggles to build a business within the confines of the nearly lunatic alcohol regulations in New York state.

Albany, New York New York craft distillers met at the offices of the NEW YORK FARM BUREAU  on April 21st to organize and launch the NEW YORK CRAFT DISTILLERS GUILD.   The first Guild meeting was organized by the Hudson Valley Agri-Business  Development Corporation. The location of the meeting at the offices of the  NY FARM BUREAU is no accident. We want to make the firm statement  that spirits production in New York is an agricultural undertaking," says Todd Erling, Executive Director of HVADC. Distillers use agricultural products, and craft distilleries have the potential to create  new markets for New York grown fruits and grain while also creating a new  tax source for the State. New York has a long tradition of spirits production, dating back to colonial times. Prohibition killed off the distilled spirits industry in New York and it only recently returned. Changes in the State's Alcohol Beverage Control Law have made it possible in recent years for small agriculture-based distillers to develop and flourish. There are currently thirteen licensed craft distillers in New York and that number is expected to double over the next five years. According to Ralph Erenzo, owner of Tuthilltown Spirits in Gardiner, "A small distillery operating at the limit of production allowed by their license can generate up to $1 million in annual Excise and Sales Taxes to the State; not including the multiplier effect." Nationally, small distilleries are now producing a wide range of high quality hand-crafted spirits of almost every type, from bourbon, to brandies, rum, gin, and vodka. Craft distilleries offer significant economic value to the state. They hire locally, buy local raw materials, and draw tourism dollars to New York. The newly-formed New York Craft Distillers Guild will focus on  advocating for regulations that are responsive to the needs of craft distilleries and on branding and promoting New York-made spirits.

For more information on craft distillers, who, in my opinion, are creating truly astounding spirits, see the American Distilling Institute's homepage. And big tip o' the snifter to Ralph for fighting the good fight, and for keeping me posted on it.

Filmmaking, Writing, Beer, Insularity, History, and Other Topics More-Or-Less Related to “Beer Wars,” Part 3

Part 1 --- Part 2 --- Part 3 --- Part 4 --- Part 5 --- Part 6 --- Part 7 Part 8 --- Part 9 --- Part 10 --- Part 11 --- Part 12 --- Part 13

NOTE: When I moved to a new site, this "Beer Wars" series was mangled/destroyed during the move. I've reconstructed it by copying/pasting another copy of the original posts. I also lost the comments in their original form. I've copied/pasted the comments, but had to do so under my own name. So although it looks as though I'm the only commenter, I'm not. In each case, I've identified the original commenter.

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I was not surprised by this pre-screening reaction. If I’ve learned anything in three years since my beer book came out, it’s that the world of craft brewing is highly insular and short-sighted. Its inhabitants believe that the world revolves around beer in general and craft beer in particular. 

They are so blinded by their insularity that they don’t know that roughly 96% of the beer sold in the U.S. is NOT craft beer. They don’t understand that the rest of the world doesn’t drink craft beer; doesn’t idolize Greg Koch and Sam Caligione. That the rest of the world doesn’t know or care about brewers’ conflicts, the three-tier system, or anything else connected to beer and brewing.

That’s not a criticism. Insularity and short-sightedness enable “groups” to create and maintain solidarity. (People who work in publishing are even worse, frankly, which is why I avoid hanging around with writers, agents, and editors.)

But there’s another reason I was not surprised by the pre-screening dogpile: Criticism is easy. Empathy is not. 

Most people aren’t writers and filmmakers (or entrepreneurs) and they don’t know how hard it is to write a book, or produce a film, or, for that matter, build a brewery. These are activities that require long hours, sacrifice, self-discipline. And in the end, if the writer or filmmaker -- or brewer -- has done her job right, the finished product looks easy. Like something any fool could do.

Case in point: Some months back, a couple of beer enthusiasts asked me for an interview. They run a website and forum and do podcasts about beer. One of them said he liked the book and then said something like: “Well, it was probably pretty easy, wasn’t it? I mean, the story was right there. All you had to do was write down the facts.” Or words to that effect.

Well, no. That’s not quite what happened. The “facts” were scattered hither and yon, buried in hundred year old books and in magazines and interviews and so forth. I spent five years tracking down those facts and then piecing them together into a coherent “story” that I hoped others would enjoy. But I knew that he didn’t know that. Indeed, the fact that he assumed it was “easy” meant I’d been at least a little bit successful: My hard work is invisible, which allows the main event --- the book’s narrative --- to take center stage.

So I understand how hard it is to create something from nothing --- and I know that people who don’t do what I do don’t understand how I do what I do. Again, not a criticism; just a fact. I have no idea how to run a brewery, perform brain surgery, or repair automobiles. (So I try to show respect for those who do.) 

But I also know that because people don’t know how I do what I do (or how Anat does what she does), the critics always want something other than what they got. 

For example: Many people criticize me for not including the colonial period in my book, or for not writing a book that was only about the craft brewing industry. That’s okay. They’re entitled to their opinion, just as I’m entitled to mine. And in my informed opinion, I had good reason to write the book the way I wrote it, not least of which was that, ya know, I wrote the book I wanted to write, not the book that someone else wanted me to write. 

(So to those critics I always say --- politely --- “Those sound like a great topic. I look forward to reading your take on it. Let me know when you’ve finished  your book.”)

(I’m still waiting for those books to appear. . . . )

Next: Showtime!