Someone to Watch Over Me: An Interview with Ondi Timoner

Director Ondi Timoner talks to PopMatters about her new film, We Live in Public, and what one-time media mogul Joshua Harris' story reveals about our current obsession with social media and its potential consequences.

We Live in Public

Director: Ondi Timoner
Cast: Josh Harris, Jon Harris, Tom Harris, David Amron, Alex Arcadia, Zero Boy
Rated: PG
Studio: Interloper Films
Year: 2009
US date: 2009-09-24 (Limited Release)

A bunker deep beneath New York City. A self-contained world financed by a newly minted millionaire who may be a visionary, a madman, or both. Dozens of inhabitants, living under constant surveillance, on film while they’re sleeping, showering, having sex or squeezing off a few rounds in the eerily well-equipped firing range.

Director Ondi Timoner's (DiG!) latest award-winning documentary, We Live in Public, revisits this singular environment, which was arranged and overseen by one-time media mogul Joshua Harris. But with thousands of hours of footage on her subject (a man once known as “The Warhol of the Web”) to sift through, and seemingly no thread to bind them all into a narrative, We Live in Public almost didn’t get made -- until one night, everything fell into place for Timoner.

“When I saw Facebook status updates in 2007, that’s when I was motivated to finish the film, because up until then, I didn’t see a context for the bunker that would apply to all of our lives,” Timoner says. “I felt like I was back in the bunker again. Even though I was comfortable and at home at the time ... people were acting similarly to the way they had acted in the bunker, with this desperation to be noted or to connect or to somehow have their lives matter...” Through the compelling, if frequently unsympathetic, figure of Joshua Harris, Timoner weaves a deft, powerful, and often unnerving history of the modern social media revolution, exploring not only how we got where we are, but what it may ultimately cost us.

Joshua Harris was a pioneer of streaming video on the web, broadcasting not just web-based shows but whole channels of media before the technology had caught up with his vision for what the Internet would become. But Harris didn’t just want to be an entrepreneur. Unsatisfied with merely being the next Bill Gates or Steve Jobs, he wanted to be the first great artist of the 21st century. To him, this meant using his then vast personal fortune to finance projects exploring the way the Internet would transform human interaction.

To Harris, the best way to explore that was to organize a massive underground bunker, where participants would live for a month under constant surveillance. Uniforms were handed out, interrogations were performed, and cameras and sleeping pods were installed throughout a space that became equal parts sensory deprivation chamber and prison, home, and gallery for the dozens of creative types that Harris recruited for his project. Timoner was among these figures, one of many living in a space replete with all-you-can-eat breakfast cereal, open bars, firing ranges and Orwellian interrogation rooms. But the more things change, Timoner found as she assembled and edited We Live In Public, the more they stay the same.

What happened in the bunker -- breakdowns, fights, public sex, and intimate taped confessions, all too often punctuated by the troubling ring of gunshots -- is obviously not what’s happening on Twitter or Foursquare right now. But the spirit, as Timoner points out, is very much the same. The unheard of interconnectedness of the digital age has also served to make us that much more dependent on others. We’ve become desperate not only to know that other people are out there, but also that they know we are out there too. “In the bunker, everyone traded in their privacy, traded in their freedom even, for uniforms, to be interrogated, to shower in public, the whole bit, to be where it mattered at that crucial moment in history where the millennium was turning,” Timoner points out. “And you can see how they paid the price, even in a short thirty-day experiment.”

While updating your status on Twitter doesn’t have the same sense of profound imprisonment as the projects that Timoner explores in her film, the principles are closer than we might like to admit. After all, something that looks crazy when a hundred artists and hipsters in a Manhattan basement are doing it doesn’t feel nearly so insane once you and everyone you know get used to doing it everyday. “I don’t think we feel it quite as acutely now. When we accept the terms and conditions of a site like Facebook, we don’t feel like we’re trading anything in, but we are.” It’s a point driven home brilliantly at one point in We Live In Public, when one participant asks another, very casually, “Well, do you want to go get interrogated?” as if putting yourself on display at your most intimate is a perfectly normal thing to do with one’s evening.

Later in the film, in the midst of another experiment/project that finds Harris and his girlfriend fighting bitterly in their apartment (an argument that is broadcast live to thousands of onlookers), one gets a sense of how ahead of his time the man really was. After all, it has taken most of us another decade to start scrapping with our significant others on the Internet, in front of friends, God and everyone else. What Harris did was bring a phenomenon to its logical conclusion ten years before it even existed -- a feat that is, in final analysis, as impressive as it is ugly, especially considering that the latter project led to a severe mental breakdown for Harris. But with streaming video and social networking so thoroughly intertwined into most of our lives, it is a peculiar sort of ugliness, one that’s hideous not because it is abnormal, but because it already seems familiar, already passé.

But as sad as it may be that we’ve finally caught up with the obviously troubled Harris, it’s not unexpected. As We Live In Public demonstrates in shocking relief, the growing importance of social media in most people’s everyday lives is a recent phenomenon, but one that has its roots in our most basic feelings, a particularly effective way of addressing an age-old human drive. The need to feel welcome, to be wanted, to belong, to know that someone cares is the product that Harris explored as art, and that Facebook has expertly commoditized. “One thing that I think that everyone, everyone, everyone feels at some point in their lives if not most of the time is that they don’t want to be alone,” says Timoner. “We want to be alone sometimes in our physical lives, but we don’t want to be alone, unconnected, unloved for long periods of time. And the Internet gives us this ability to never feel alone.”

By providing an unmatched avenue for the social drive, social media technology encourages its expression exponentially. The ability to be constantly connected makes it easier for us to feel lonely, amping up the drive to be known by others just as being known comes to matter less and less. Being known by our friends is no longer enough -- we need to be known, or at least known of, by strangers on Chatroulette and Twitter as well. “The Internet has come along and given us this 24/7 opportunity to connect or, as Josh Harris would say ... to be famous,” says Timoner. But Harris and his raison d’etre don’t exist in a vacuum. They are, rather, products of their environment, and also of ours. “The media certainly has propagated the idea that fame is a cure all, and that somehow by being famous you will never be alone,” says Timoner. “We will always be surrounded. Our lives will matter, and everything will be fun and everything will be great.”

In the end, this may be what We Live In Public speaks to -- the danger of becoming too connected, of completely erasing the line between a private life and a public one. “He was raised on technology, his whole life is a show, those people in the bunker signed on for that experience, and as far as he was concerned, they were just pawns in this game he was playing, in this show he was putting on,” Timoner says of Harris, whose story she describes as “a walking cautionary tale.” But focusing on Harris does Timoner’s excellent work here a disservice. As intriguing a figure as Joshua Harris is, and as apt an avatar as he is for the story, We Live in Public is ultimately not about Harris, or any of the people dragged into his initial experiments at the turn of the millennium. It is instead about a world he helped to create, a world he saw before perhaps anyone else. As Timoner puts it, it is “about us, ten years later.”

In the wake of Malcolm Young's passing, Jesse Fink, author of The Youngs: The Brothers Who Built AC/DC, offers up his top 10 AC/DC songs, each seasoned with a dash of backstory.

Editor's Note: Originally published 30 July 2014.

10. “Bedlam in Belgium”
(Flick of the Switch, 1983)

This is a massively underrated barnstormer from the boys off the much-maligned (unfairly, I think) Flick of the Switch. The album was missing Mutt Lange, but the Youngs did have his very capable engineer, Tony Platt, as co-producer in the studio at Compass Point in the Bahamas. Tony’s a real pro. I think he did a perfectly fine job on this album, which also features the slamming “Nervous Shakedown”.

But what I find most interesting about “Bedlam in Belgium” is that it’s based on a fracas that broke out on stage in Kontich, Belgium, in 1977, involving Bon Scott, the rest of the band, and the local authorities. AC/DC had violated a noise curfew and things got hairy.

Yet Brian Johnson, more than half a decade later, wrote the lyrics with such insight; almost as if he was the one getting walloped by the Belgian police: He gave me a crack in the back with his gun / Hurt me so bad I could feel the blood run. Cracking lyrics, Bon-esque. Unfortunately for Brian, he was removed from lyric-writing duties from The Razors Edge (1990) onwards. All songs up to and including 2008’s Black Ice are Young/Young compositions.

Who’ll be writing the songs on the new album AC/DC has been working on in Vancouver? AC/DC fans can’t wait to hear them. Nor can I.

9. “Spellbound”
(For Those About to Rock We Salute You, 1981)

"Spellbound" really stands as a lasting monument to the genius of Mutt Lange, a man whose finely tuned ear and attention to detail filed the rough edges of Vanda & Young–era AC/DC and turned this commercially underperforming band for Atlantic Records into one of the biggest in the world. On “Spellbound” AC/DC sounds truly majestic. Lange just amplifies their natural power an extra notch. It’s crisp sounding, laden with dynamics and just awesome when Angus launches into his solo.

“Spellbound” is the closer on For Those About to Rock We Salute You, the last album Lange did with AC/DC, so chronologically it’s a significant song; it marks the end of an important era. For Those About to Rock was an unhappy experience for a lot of people. There was a lot of blood being spilled behind the scenes. It went to number one in the US but commercially was a massive disappointment after the performance of Back in Black. Much of the blame lies at the feet of Atlantic Records, then under Doug Morris, who made the decision to exhume an album they’d shelved in 1976, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, and release it in-between Back in Black and For Those About to Rock.

In the book Phil Carson, who signed AC/DC to Atlantic, calls it “one of the most crass decisions ever made by a record-company executive” and believes it undermined sales of For Those About to Rock.

8. “Down Payment Blues”
(Powerage, 1978)

This is one of the best songs off Powerage -- perhaps the high point of Bon Scott as a lyricist -- but also significant for its connection to “Back in Black”. There are key lines in it: Sitting in my Cadillac / Listening to my radio / Suzy baby get on in / Tell me where she wanna go / I'm living in a nightmare / She's looking like a wet dream / I got myself a Cadillac / But I can't afford the gasoline.

Bon loved writing about Cadillacs. He mentions them in “Rocker” off the Australian version of TNT and the international release of Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap: Got slicked black hair / Skin tight jeans / Cadillac car and a teenage dream.

Then you get to “Back in Black”. Bon’s dead but the lyrics have this spooky connection to “Down Payment Blues”: Back in the back / Of a Cadillac / Number one with a bullet, I’m a power pack.

Why was Brian singing about riding around in Cadillacs? He’d just joined AC/DC, wasn’t earning a lot and was on his best behavior. Bon had a reason to be singing about money. He was writing all the songs and just had a breakthrough album with Highway to Hell. Which begs the question: Could Bon also have written or part written the lyrics to “Back in Black”?

Bon’s late mother Isa said in 2006: “The last time we saw him was Christmas ’79, two months before he died. [Bon] told me he was working on the Back in Black album and that that was going to be it; that he was going to be a millionaire.”

7. “You Shook Me All Night Long”
(Back in Black, 1980)

Everyone knows and loves this song; it’s played everywhere. Shania Twain and Celine Dion have covered it. It’s one of AC/DC’s standbys. But who wrote it?

Former Mötley Crüe manager Doug Thaler is convinced Bon Scott, who’d passed away before the album was recorded, being replaced by Brian Johnson, wrote the lyrics. In fact he told me, “You can bet your life that Bon Scott wrote the lyrics to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’.” That’s a pretty strong statement from a guy who used to be AC/DC’s American booking agent and knew the band intimately. I look into this claim in some depth in the book and draw my own conclusions.

I’m convinced Bon wrote it. In my opinion only Bon would have written a line like “She told me to come but I was already there.” Brian never matched the verve or wit of Bon in his lyrics and it’s why I think so much of AC/DC’s mid-'80s output suffers even when the guitar work of the Youngs was as good as it ever was.

But what’s also really interesting about this song in light of the recent hullabaloo over Taurus and Led Zeppelin is how much the opening guitar riff sounds similar to Head East’s “Never Been Any Reason”. I didn’t know a hell of a lot about Head East before I started working on this book, but came across “Never Been Any Reason” in the process of doing my research and was blown away when I heard it for the first time. AC/DC opened for Head East in Milwaukee in 1977. So the two bands crossed paths.

6. “Rock ’N’ Roll Damnation”
(Powerage, 1978)

It’s hard to get my head around the fact Mick Wall, the British rock writer and author of AC/DC: Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be, called this “a two-bit piece of head-bopping guff.” Not sure what track he was listening to when he wrote that -- maybe he was having a bad day -- but for me it’s one of the last of AC/DC’s classic boogie tracks and probably the best.

Mark Evans loves it almost as much as he loves “Highway to Hell". It has everything you want in an AC/DC song plus shakers, tambourines and handclaps, a real Motown touch that George Young and Harry Vanda brought to bear on the recording. They did something similar with the John Paul Young hit “Love Is in the Air”. Percussion was an underlying feature of many early AC/DC songs. This one really grooves. I never get tired of hearing it.

“Rock ’n’ Roll Damnation” was AC/DC’s first hit in the UK charts and a lot of the credit has to go to Michael Klenfner, best known as the fat guy with the moustache who stops Jake and Elwood backstage in the final reel of The Blues Brothers and offers them a recording contract. He was senior vice-president at Atlantic at the time, and insisted the band go back and record a radio-worthy single after they delivered the first cut of Powerage to New York.

Michael was a real champion of AC/DC behind the scenes at Atlantic, and never got the recognition he was due while he was still alive (he passed away in 2009). He ended up having a falling out with Atlantic president Jerry Greenberg over the choice of producer for Highway to Hell and got fired. But it was Klenfner who arguably did more for the band than anyone else while they were at Atlantic. His story deserves to be known by the fans.

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