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When I went to NYU in the early 60s--

1960 I think it was--

it certainly wasn't the NYU we know today.

It was Washington Square College which I enrolled in.

It was quite small, and the introduction to film

really wasn't a film school so to speak.

There were film departments along

There were film departments along

with radio and television, but the introduction to film

was split into--

the first two semesters, and they

were called History of Motion Pictures one and two.

This along with all the other required courses

for the first two years of the school.

Our teacher was a man named Haig Manoogian of Armenian descent.

And from the first class he talked very, very, very fast,

almost like a drill instructor, and he covered a lot of ground

very quickly.

And I remember sitting there just taking

And I remember sitting there just taking

endless notes, endless notes.

He'd show a film, and if he thought

a student was just there for--

to waste time, just take it easy and watch movies,

he would throw them out basically.

So he weeded people out.

And in our second year we took an introductory production

course.

We had 16 millimeter cameras, and it

was called sight and sound.

And we learned the very basic, the rudiments of film

making, the very basic elements of lenses,

making, the very basic elements of lenses,

using 16 millimeter black and white film.

We did little exercises.

And by the end of the semester, by the end of the year,

I think it was, we were able to make a three to four

minute film based on what we had learned about the equipment

and lighting and that sort of thing.

In those classes, more people were weeded out.

What Haig focused on ultimately, and he was heavily

What Haig focused on ultimately, and he was heavily

influenced by the Italian near realism and new wave

filmmaking, but he really focused

on the individual voice, the individual stories that you

felt that you had to tell.

And he wouldn't let anyone direct

unless they had written the film themselves.

Separate from a nonfiction film, I'm talking about.

And if you didn't write it yourself,

basically you were out of the class.

I remember one student telling him, "I want to direct."

I remember one student telling him, "I want to direct."

And he says, "OK.

Where's your script?"

And he said, "Well, I need a script.

I'm a director."

He said, "No.

Go write your script.

Otherwise, you can't do it/"

He also-- we found ourselves at odds because, I mean,

he hated melodrama.

He hated-- he said I don't want to see

any of you kids going for a shot where somebody picks up a gun.

He was encouraging everyone to express themselves and protect

that spark in themselves, and not be influenced

by other kinds of filmmaking.

If they wanted that sort of thing, then go into television

or go into another--

go to Los Angeles was a different situation.

go to Los Angeles was a different situation.

It was a little different for me,

because I grew up in a world where at times people

had access to guns, and that was part of life

or a fact of life at times.

So melodrama would turn out to be drama to a certain extent.

And eventually that led to Mean Streets and other films I made,

but that was in the early 70s.

He was really developing individual voices

that would make very, very different kinds of film.

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What he was finally getting to his the understanding

or comprehension of cinema itself.

He never used that word.

Motion pictures, you know?

You could say film, cinema, movies,

but he always said motion pictures.

He was trying to get for us to understand,

what is the potential of the moving image and the cut

so to speak.

Now, what that means is a kind of immersion in the process--

Now, what that means is a kind of immersion in the process--

an immersion in the process--

which means not only the writing, the working,

or the script and the page, or--

a paragraph could be a script, of course.

But one would have to work it out

in the shooting with non-actors, with actors, or simply images

without people in the frame.

It comes to the point of where you take the images

and you're in an "editing room" quote unquote,

and you're in an "editing room" quote unquote,

or computer these days or whatever,

and you put it together to tell a narrative.

Now the narrative can be about the color of blue.

It could be about the color red, you know?

It could be about music.

It could be music itself.

The nature of the actual moving image,

even if it's a still image, has another quality

which is different from a still photograph and a painting

and a piece of music.

and a piece of music.

So all of this is about understanding

the value of cinema itself and recreating it constantly,

recreating constantly from yourself, OK?

And that even deals with narratives cinema, of course.

So what he talked about was always the value

of a shot, a value of a shot.

And I didn't understand until we were

in the editing process of--

a number of us, we'd shoot something

a number of us, we'd shoot something

with the intention of using it one way or in one

section of the film, let's say.

And then at some point where we'd really

get into the editing of the picture,

and because of so many different changes

and so many different decisions that

were made that you don't expect, suddenly you

found yourself using a shot that you thought

was meant for one place.

And you're using it in another place and it makes sense.

And I remember him becoming very excited when one or two of us

did that, and he goes, now you understand the value of a shot.

The shot is a value in and of itself.

The shot is a value in and of itself.

No matter what you shot it for, it may not matter.

It may not matter ultimately.

It takes on its own life.

It takes on its own intention, and it takes

on its own essence in a way.

And this is something that you can't teach.

You have to just do it.

But this was the excitement I saw him--

the way I saw he was so excited when the student or one of us--

the way I saw he was so excited when the student or one of us--

I forget who it was now--

when we stumbled on this.

He goes, now you get what I've been talking about.

And we'd mentioned, yeah, but professor,

when Truffaut said that when he was editing a film

and it's going one way, he would tend to want

to cut it to go another way.

And he said, I don't believe that.

And he said, that's part of the process.

He thinks he's doing that, but he's going to a final point

somewhere in the telling of the story,

somewhere in the telling of the story,

whether it's Jules et Jim and whether it's the La Peau Douce,

I mean, it's going somewhere.

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The essence of what he gave us was the essence, the spark.

He was the inspiration.

He was the one to give me the confidence

to become a filmmaker, to come from this other world

to become a filmmaker, to come from this other world

and suddenly be able to express myself

with film that might even be shown

in theaters at some point, or might be shown to an audience.

You can't learn to make a film in school.

You can have the opportunity to make the film in school.

You have to learn it yourself.

Great thing about the film school

is the inspiration and the ability

to give you the confidence if you have something that you

really feel passionate about.

And I think that's the greatest thing any teacher or any guide

And I think that's the greatest thing any teacher or any guide

could give a student.

That is, the confidence and the inspiration

to make you think, well, you know it's crazy,

but maybe I can do it.