Remembering Bill Godsen

Together in the dark: Gaylene Preston on film festival virtuoso Bill Gosden

Aotearoa lost a giant of our national culture last month when Bill Gosden, the decades-long director of the New Zealand Film Festival, died at 66. The illustrious NZ film-maker Dame Gaylene Preston pays tribute.

He walked around like he was some ordinary person. Understated. But if you were paying attention, you could notice that his denim shirt had fine leather beading, that he preferred blue suede shoes from Italy, and his jacket had a particularly well-tailored swing.

Understated.

Often to be found in the Deluxe Cafe in the Embassy Cinema building in Wellington, Bill loved a fresh cheese scone for morning tea, and when I had breakfast with him at Capitol, on the other side of The Embassy, his “usual” included a double helping of black sausage.

Bill Gosden was a southern man. Understated.

Born in Dunedin: part of that great, well-educated baby boom that our play-based, child-based education system launched into the stratosphere. Bill Gosden grew a world-class film festival that, over 40 years, shaped the cultural life of this country. His promotional skills became legendary. At Ronin Films in Australia, they called him “Bill Godsend.”

In the early days, Bill and his tiny team delivered unwieldy prints to little clacky projectors of varying age and operation all over the country. Cinema Paradiso meets NZ Railways freight. An audacious idea that miraculously delivered a wide feast and usually an Elvis film.

Before it was remotely fashionable, Bill championed local work – not always easy. Having to watch long cuts of unfinished films (often really unfinished) and needing to turn some down, Bill sometimes had to take it on the chin.

When he refused to screen a documentary I made in 1980, I did what many filmmakers since have done: I saw red and behaved badly. I thundered up the stairs to his cramped, first-floor office at 30 Courtenay Place and confronted him. He was sitting down, I was standing up. It was hardly what you’d call a conversation.

”I’ve spent two years around the corner making this film and if I’d been doing that in Paris, you’d already have screened it!”

“Gaylene, it’s been on television. It’s not eligible.”

“If it had been on television in Paris, it would be!”

I stayed unreasonable. He stayed seated. Bill did not change the rules to make anyone happy.

A southern man.

As is the case with most of Bill’s close associates, our argument began a long conversation. When I later made my first feature film, Mr Wrong, no cinema would screen it. Bill saw the film and wrote a funny, deft piece for the film festival brochure, proclaiming it “a thoroughly spooky good time”. The rest is, as they say, history.

He programmed the premiere for 5pm in the middle weekend, while I believed it should have been an opening night film and, in no uncertain terms, told him so. But Bill knew his audience, and he knew which time would suit what tribe. I was wrong, he was right. The premiere sold out.

In a packed auditorium, they laughed till they screamed. Bill understood the power and thrill of an audience watching movies all together in the dark.

He was, above all, a writer. It was always a pleasure to read the New Zealand Film Festival brochure. There were those of us who would never miss Bill’s opening night speech. It was written at the last minute in his office above The Embassy and delivered with great aplomb. I’ve never known anyone else able to thank the sponsors with such multi-layered messaging.

Cunningly understated.

I’ve had the extraordinary privilege of sailing alongside Bill in this last while. Bill was my friend, my neighbour. Even when he was very sick, he recommended books carefully curated for my reading pleasure. Near the end of his life, he could still beat me to a joke.

We are all going to miss him more than we could possibly imagine.

Moe mai rā e te Rangatira o te au kiriata. Haere atu rā.

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Remembering Bill Gosden, NZ film icon

By Ant Timpson

The passing of Bill Gosden, who died of cancer last month, has left an immeasurable gap in our cultural landscape. As the director of the New Zealand International Film Festival for nearly 40 years Bill championed diverse, unusual and offbeat storytelling which in turn enriched the lives of many and created opportunity for aspiring filmmakers in Aotearoa.

Fellow film fanatic Ant Timpson, husband of Ensemble co-founder Rebecca Wadey, pays tribute to his longtime friend and occasional rival.

Over the decades I’m sure Bill Gosden heard the phrase “Well there’s more to life than movies” more than a few times. Usually from friends or colleagues trying to comfort him over missing out on the latest film from some major filmmaker.

But for a true cinephile and cultural curator like Bill, cinema was life and such off-hand comments were probably seen as condescension. Though he’d never state it out loud, a wry smile and an arched brow were enough visual cues to respond to any such flippancy.

For those of us blessed (inflicted) with cinephilia, our existence has always revolved around the movies. From wide-eyed childhood to discerning adulthood, we prefer to escape our day to day drudgery through the magic of the movies. And we’re usually happiest when immersed and spellbound by whatever tale is being projected.

All the pivotal moments in our lives have been portrayed far more dramatically in cinema. And all of our real-world memories over time have become blended with their fictitious simulacrums from the silver screen. Which is a long way of saying that my friendship and working relationship with Bill Gosden will always be treasured and remembered as something larger than life.

Like many great cinematic narratives, Bill and I began as rivals. Though that term puts us on equal footing, the reality was Bill and his festival (and it really was his festival) were cultural giants on the New Zealand landscape. Before there was throwing shade, I was practically blocking the sun with my non-stop jabs and taunting of Bill and his festival in the early 90s. I called it an antiquated fuddy-duddy affair for art lobsters and snobs. It wasn’t true but it didn’t stop me taking to the streets with a loud haler screeching about the one true film festival. Mine. Smash cut to Bill with arched brow and wry smile back in his office.

When I finally made my first short film Crab Boy, I didn’t programme it in my own film festival - I instead went, tail between legs, to the only show in town - Bill’s New Zealand International Film Festival. Bill not only selected my short, he programmed it to play in front of Abel Ferrara’s The Funeral throughout NZ. I never told him at the time, but Bill’s appreciation and support of my short was ‘the’ revelatory validation for me as a filmmaker. I should have always known we were more alike than I initially felt and his condemnation of the banning of Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer should’ve sealed it.

Over the following decades, I got to see Bill at various events and festivals overseas. His industry street cred was second to none. He was always familiar but it was in these quiet moments away from the hometown fest shenanigans that I got a more rounded picture of the man. Once the professional demeanour was dropped, he was rather cheeky with a wicked sense of humour. We loved talking about certain beloved films nearly as much as we did bitching about certain assholes in the biz. Like I said. Cheeky. Possessed with an elephantine memory of those who had been unsportsmanlike, it was a rare treat to hear him eviscerate some nogoodnik.

He also seemed to know everyone and managed to massage and navigate all the complex egos and personalities to maintain the festival back home as one of the best in the world. Bill kindly connected many industry dots for me and was an open book with his deep-dive knowledge of the scene.

Eventually in 2004 we joined forces - or as history will more accurately record - Bill did me another solid. When I’d hit the wall running my own festival, he was gracious enough to let me continue to curate my own programming strand within the larger event. Things escalated quickly in terms of my relationships with international filmmakers and festival directors from that point on thanks to Bill.

The positive (up for debate by some) spin-offs from my relationship with Bill are just one minor part of the overall impact he had on the New Zealand creative landscape. The profound impact and influence Bill had on so many lives and careers over four decades will always be underestimated but it shouldn’t be, nor the cumulative trickle-down effect that will be felt in New Zealand for decades to come.