During a Screenwriters Lab at the Sun Valley Film Festival, Mark Duplass was introduced to the stage by a moderator as (what Variety calls) a hyphenated individual: Writer-Director-Actor-Producer. Mark’s story begins as many filmmaker’s do—grabbing his parent’s video camera and “fooling” around with his brother, Jay. Eventually, they shot what Mark calls a “Five Dollar Short,” called This is John, and submitted to festivals. The film was well received, so the two brothers went on to make their first feature, The Puffy Chair, which premiered at the 2005 Sundance Film Festival, and the rest is history.

Or is it…

Mark Duplass exists—no, thrives—in a realm many indie filmmakers dream to be: making the movies he wants to do (often with his inner-circle of friends). People respect him for it. More importantly (though some in the indie world may disagree) he makes good money doing it. What is the secret? How does he succeed where so many fail? While luck and abilities certainly play in, the real answer is economics and Mark’s ability to make films frequently and on the cheap.

Many filmmakers who grew to fame in the 90’s have been forced to adapt to the model Mark was brought up under. There is a strong parallel between Mark and Edward Burns (The Brothers McMullen, Saving Private Ryan). Ed Burns rose as an indie writer-director-writer-producer. He had huge hits in McMullen and She’s The One. He went on to act in studio films—however, production woes forced Ed to make a jump from $3 million films to the world of $125,000 nano-budgets; the world Mark grew up in. Both—after mastering this low budget field—now produce and star in their own network TV shows.

Ed was able to adapt—realizing that if a film can be made on the cheap, but maintain its quality in story and character, there is a stronger likelihood of walking away with a few dollars in the bank and a body of work to be proud of. Afterall, if a film only earns $600,000 on iTunes, but only cost $150,000 to make, that’s about as close to a home run as you can get (as opposed to a $3 million earning $600,000 and suddenly careers are on the line).

This is by no means a new approach. It’s the Roger Corman model, and has allowed Roger to produce over 300 films in his career—with nearly every single one turning a profit. A track record that is almost unheard of in the studio/low budget realm ($1.5-$10 million), but thrives in the micro-budget world.

But in the world of nickel and dime filmmaking, the million dollar question remains: “How do I do it?”

Here are some excerpts (paraphrased and reworded) from Mark’s talk at Sun Valley. You can hear the entirety of his 50-minute talk at the bottom or listen to it here.

#1 Write. Write Anything. Just Write.

We all have that idea in our minds that is sure to be the next big thing. It’s big though, and bound to be expensive. If you are a first time filmmaker (or even a veteran), how can one possibly attain the funding and crew to bring the idea to life? After all, a wartime drama on the new frontier of Mars can’t be made for money in the piggy bank without looking like a poorly executed homage to Ed Wood.

Mark’s solution is to JUST WRITE. Just write it! Get it out and on paper. Give it life—understand what it looks like—and then put it away and write the version of the story that can be shot in your friend’s mom’s kitchen. The root of any story is character, followed closely by conflict. If you understand these two elements within your writing then the story can be produced anywhere. Make it real—make it YOU. Setting is a luxury you can work towards later, but there is a reason Shakespeare can exist anywhere: from the moors of England, to the African safari, to the halls of an American high school; it’s because the characters and conflicts are strong and timeless (and he wrote it instead of thinking about it).

#2 Practice is Cheap

It’s scary to think the words you write can only be tested when executed. Words on a page are very different from words on a screen. Mark’s advice for getting started is to find a scene from your life—something personal that you respond to—and write it. Real moments play out, and provide a means to invest yourself into the words. Write a 3 or 4-minute scene and shoot it on your phone. Show the scene to people you trust for feedback. If it sucks, it’s fine because it cost nothing to do and you are not out anything. Take your notes from the scene, rewrite for the notes, and shoot it again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Practice will never make perfect (there’s no such thing as a perfect film), but it will always may you better. Eventually, understanding how to write for the screen (sometimes known as screenwriting) will come as second nature once you have the chance to see the words performed as often as possible.

#3 Short film or Feature?

Again, this is a matter of economics. Do you have $5 or $10,000? These were the numbers most often referenced by Mark. We live in a world of incredible technology, which truly puts the tools back into the hands of the artists. You can make a film on your phone (or a very good camera for a couple hundred bucks). The road to longevity in this field is through finding a way to stay profitable (which making money is strangely similar to not losing money). If you are going to do a short, don’t spend a lot of money on it. Use the short as an opportunity to hone your storytelling skills.

This is a very bold statement: $10,000 isn’t that hard to get. That can be covered by a credit card, or by borrowing/begging from people you know (or not buying a cup of coffee every day for 5.4 years). IF/WHEN you are able to get that 10 thousand, do a feature, because you can easily earn it back through transactional VOD outlets. A 10k feature will also showcase your abilities as a storyteller and filmmaker much more than a 10k short, plus it offers you the ability to earn it back.

#4 Get Good People

$10,000 for a feature? Really? Yes. The secret to anything—especially film—is to surround yourself with good people. Mark runs in a very tight group. He works with his brother, his wife, his friends. He works with people who believe and support him, and who also strive to do good. Having people like this onboard with you will make a $10,000 feature very do-able.

Another great solution is profit sharing. When the people you work with have a vested interest in the project, they are more willing to be working on the cheap. It is also the right thing to do. Many of Mark’s film have cost peanuts to produce and no one got rich making them; however, when the returns came in and the crew was able to share the profits they all made more than they would have had they been paid a standard wage. When this happens, they will also gladly return for the second round.

Beware of empty promises, though. There is no guarantee in this business, which is why a profit-share model can really only function within a collaborative group of friends—friends who are happy to work together even if the film never sees a dime.

#5 The Cost of Throw Pillows

Mark is a funny guy. So funny he’s a professional at it. He is also very sincere and knows drama. In his talk, Mark shares a story about working with studios. One blessing to making a film for no money is that you have more freedom. The more that is at risk, the more people will work to mitigate that risk, including requesting prettier throw pillows.

On the set of Cyrus, a studio film, costs of production were significantly higher than Mark’s earlier productions. As costs climb, producers understand their need to sell the film. Some producers believed the key to selling Cyrus would be to make it look “prettier” for the trailers. The discussion came around to the throw pillows in a scene, and producers pressured Mark to reshoot for the throw pillows. In a world (no pun intended) where a detail like throw pillows take precedence over performance and scene execution, an independent director and writer is bound to lose their cool. This is the cost of doing business with the studio and playing with other people’s money, which may be reason enough to happily put the “blockbuster in your mind” on the back-burner in favor of that $10,000 feature where throw pillows can live in the trash can.

The point, understand why you want to write and make films. Knowing this of yourself will make the journey much easier.

For filmmakers, Mark is the older brother some hope to be. He is killing it, and is very fortunate to be working under his own terms. He has come a long way and has even further left to go, but at the end of the day—and I take liberty speaking for Mark—if it meant having to bow down to throw pillows, he would still be just as happy stressing out over an answering machine greeting while his brother hits record on their parents video camera.

Mark Duplass Talks Indie Filmmaking

As a filmmaker myself, I appreciate the execution of experimental filmmaking. Crafting and producing a film–any film–is no easy task and is a feat in and of itself. Even if it’s challenging to enjoy every aspect of experimental films, you can often find some appreciation whether it’s the brilliant cinematography, vibrant colors, interesting sound design, or bizarre acting. While experimental films aren’t usually my favorite kind of film as a member of the audience, I certainly found beauty in Celia Rowlson-Hall‘s acclaimed indie drama, Ma, which played at this year’s Sun Valley Film Festival.

Ma opens with a gorgeous silhouette of a desert landscape. Our lead (played by Hall) is found wandering the desert with nothing more than a long, ratty tee-shirt, and a pair of bright red cowboy boots she may have stolen from Teddy “West-Side” Mosby. Eventually, this woman emerges from the desert to a road and is met by Daniel (Andrew Pastides)—who stops for her. She climbs atop his hood and the two drive to a dumpy motor lodge where “Ma” is raped while her driver sleeps in the car. The next morning, the two continue to drive—this time with our leading lady riding in the car with the driver. The two then travel without a destination and spend their nights in a new motor lodge. We are faced with great metaphoric imagery—sand pouring out of paintings and sink faucets—and some wonderful choreography from the writer/director/lead Celia Rowlson-Hall.

Ma is absolutely beautiful. The sound design used in the film is incredible considering it contains almost no dialog. As an experimental film, it knocks it out of the park in many ways. With its slow pacing, difficult narrative, and often confusing visuals, the film may be a bit too surreal for the average movie-goer. As a piece of art and a specimen of visual poetry, Ma is a welcomed addition to the cannon of the medium.

I decided to write this series right in the height of my final push in post-production for my first feature film, Almosting It. Throughout that process, I found myself scrambling to make deadlines in a myriad of different locations and situations. With regard to the prehistory of this film, I feel every location I have written in has a story behind it:

• The McDonalds in Potsdamer Platz during the Berlin International Film Festival: I wrote the short film that led me to this feature.
• The plane ride down to LA for my first meeting with my mentor: I wrote the synopsis for Almosting It.
• The lunchroom of the cafeteria I cashiered at before quitting to work on the film: I wrote the first draft of my script.
• The lobby of my first exhibiting theater during the first theatrical run of my career: I wrote this article.

Almosting It premiered just a couple weeks back to a nearly sold out crowd of 676 people. Two days later, we were in the premier art house of Idaho, making a real run at it. I’m still numb thinking about it. We sold out all five shows of our opening Saturday—then moved to a larger auditorium (from 44 seats to 197) and continued to turn good numbers. On Monday I was informed we were booked for a second week, and our gross earnings were higher than several of the larger studio films over at the cineplexes.

I have worked to make as many screenings as possible to host a small Q&A sessions between shows—which is why I currently find myself in the lobby of The Flicks Theatre. I was asked, “What has been my favorite part of this process?”

I have to say, this is it.

Presenting Your Film

Presenting your work—especially after 18 months of sweat, struggle, and self-doubt—can be both terrifying and exhilarating. Fortunately, the experience has been made easier by the fact that audiences seem to genuinely enjoy the film.

I made the decision months back to self-release the film first before festivals. I think it is a shame that so many films, after getting their supporting fans excited, disappear for a year to make a stab at the festival circuit, leaving their home base of fans behind. I wanted to get this film back to the people who helped create it as soon as I could—meaning I set a release date months prior to the film’s actual completion (the film was actually finalized and reassembled only a few days before our scheduled release).

There’s nothing like watching a film in a theater. Emotion is energy, and energy is contagious. Whether you are laughing, crying, or screaming, when others are around you to share that emotion, the energy is amplified tenfold. That is the theatrical experience. I know VOD/DVD release is profitable and inevitable, but I hope to keep the film running at this level for as long as possible.

I’ve referred to Almosting It as a dramatic comedy from the start. What has been fascinating is that—while both elements are present—depending on the mood of the audience, one genre plays out more than the other. There are certain jokes and moments that always play strong and others that pop more depending on the tone of the room.

It’s fascinating to witness, but it’s also fun. I have watched the film so many times through the various edits, revisions, sound mix sessions, and color grades that I truly thought I would never be able to enjoy watching the film again. I was dead wrong, and there are certain screenings I sit in on where—depending on that audience energy—I have just as much fun as the rest of the crowd watching for the first time.

Pre-Release or Festival Premiere?

Several people argue that a pre-release will exclude you from festival play. This is not entirely true, as there are several high-profile festivals that allow distributed films to play (Austin, New Orleans), and several festivals claiming “premiere status requirements” will still allow you to exhibit, just not compete.

But should that even matter? Was your film truly made to only be enjoyed by a select few who can brave the snow and staggering lines/prices of a Utah ski town? I think the general population loves a reason to see a movie, especially a hometown audience, so I took the chance of releasing it locally first.

Writing these articles has been a great way for me to reflect over the process that brought me here. It’s been pretty crazy, and the 30,000 words I have written total for this series seem like an inadequate summation of 18 months. During my post-screening Q&As, I find myself breaking it down even tighter, but again—these Q&As have been a super way for me to reflect on everything.

A question that never fails to be raised is: “What’s next?” or “Will I ever do this again?”

I cannot wait to do it all again. There is still a lot of road ahead for Almosting It as we chase a legitimate distribution deal—though, $21,687.36 on five screens is nothing to sneer at. (Kirsten Wiig’s drama Welcome to Me brought in $32,000 on twelve screens—just to give a comparison.)

There is nothing I want to do more than make films, and having gotten the first one out of the way, I look forward to slightly smoother sailing—as far as not having to worry about the virgin status holding me back. That was always one of the larger hurtles, which I realized during one of the Q&As: it’s tough getting people to take you seriously when you are new in this field.

What’s Next?

As for what’s next, I have a few ideas I am kicking round—and one in particular I am fairly set on. I’d like to have a script done by the end of the summer. If Almosting It reaches the elusive and prestigious realm of a profit break by then, I should be at a point where I can go into development.

Nerves will definitely be involved. As huge as the first one is to get out of the way, it is the second one that really decides your longevity and place in this track. Almosting It brought the spotlight to us, now we have to actually perform—and with people watching! I learned so much over the last 18 month about things I didn’t know I did not know. I am excited to put these into play. For me, going into number two feels like taking a test you were given a copy of the night before.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t anticipate it being any easier—just a little less messy. There has been a lot of help, and it’s very flattering to know who is there and wants to see you succeed. This is wonderful world to work in. Not to get too cheesy, but literally anything is possible with film. If you can imagine it, it can be done.

I’m not entirely sure why most folks are stopping in to read these articles—for advice, pure enjoyment, or camaraderie—regardless, I wanted to close with the advice I got before making this film:

You will never be ready. There will never be a perfect moment to move forward. You can sit forever waiting for that magical missing element that is holding you back. But you can’t let that happen. Just go for it, and know that—while it won’t be perfect—it will be the best you can do. Surround yourself with good people, and just move forward.

• Marketing, Distribution and Film Release
• Shooting Pick-Ups
• Post-Production and Editing
• Production
• Development and Pre-Production
• Script Writing Process
• Financing Legalities
• Casting Talent

Distribution is weird. It’s complicated and ever-changing. It’s also something few filmmakers ever find themselves having to deal with, so it’s very difficult to find succinct information and/or advice on the topic. I’ve looked. I’ve asked. I’ve dug deep. Yet, for the most part, the best information you can find about distribution ranges from 500 word articles stating brainless bullet points:

Step 1 – Make an awesome movie (really??)
Step 2 – Get someone’s attention (sounds simple enough…)
Step 3 – Don’t get screwed (Well duh.)

The next best advice I have gotten (and coming from experienced indie producers and distribution reps) is to hire a consultant. Even the folks I know working with the studios have little help to offer since lack of distribution is never an issue at that point.

So what the hell can you do?

What I’m going to talk about might not work for everyone. The route I have decided to take is something I have more or less made up as I go, consisting of all the little tidbits of information I garnered from all my searches and inquiries on the subject. My film, Almosting It, premieres in less than a week. On June 26, we open in a select number of theaters in the state. After our initial limited run we will continue out of state. Our goal is to build our assets, seek a break-even point, and get ourselves into a position where we can nearly guarantee a sale/deal in the fall of this year.

Looking above at the “3 steps,” I’m going to use that model to really break it down—since it seems to be the “web approved model”—except that this is the von Tagen take on things.

Step 1 – Make a Good Movie

This really means, “build your assets to make you a purchasable entity.” Even though this is my first time out of the gate, I believe there are three levels to a movie’s success and quality, which are directly drawn from 3 specific aspects:

1. Critical Approval (what you care about) – This comes from a solid script.

2. Audience Approval (what your friends care about) – Same as above, plus strong production value.

3. Financial success (what distributors care about) – Same as above, plus star power.

If you have these three things in place (all of which we have discussed in previous articles) you will have a good movie.

Next are the other assets you need in place, primary of which being web presence. When I decided to spend the summer running a limited release, I set goals for this. By the time November comes (when I plan to make the final deal) I want the following:

1. 10,000 Facebook Followers (presently at 1, 417)

2. 5,000 Instagram Followers (presently at 1,223)

3. 1,000,000 trailer views on YouTube (presently at 44,678) Filmmakers: even though Vimeo might be higher quality, general users—and therefore, distributors—don’t care at all about your presence there.

4. 5 articles published by a high-profile like Huffington Post (presently at…let’s say we’re a Way Too Indie exclusive for now)

5. Solid website (check) Note: Facebook does so much, but in a meeting with professionals, you must have a real website.

6. Five higher profile festivals (largely because it assists in building the above mentioned assets)

All of this should be started in pre-production. I made the mistake of discounting it all until I began prepping for the release (simply because no one told me how important it all was until after the fact).

The point of the assets is that they prove to a buyer people are aware of you and that there’s potential for them to make money off of you. With all of this in place, you should be what a buyer would consider a “good movie.”

Step 2 – Get Someone’s Attention

Ideally this means “be amazing.” For most of us, it really means “be annoying.” Seriously, become that girl/guy. If this was dating and not business, you’d be considered a stalker. Call until they answer. Show up unexpectedly. Do what it takes, and remember: emails are for chumps (it’s too easy to ignore an email).

Whose attention? Depends on the task. When booking theaters, it was the owners. Coverage, the local reporters. Premiere plans, the local players. If you are willing to take no for an answer, make them say “no.” Don’t let silence speak for them.

Step 3 – Don’t get screwed.

The trick to this is to not be desperate. You will never get a good first offer. I know: we are all anxious to do good and begin earning. But if these offers come before you have finished building your assets, you will always get a better offer later—so hang tight! If you have name talent and are already listed on IMDB without a distributor or sales agent listed, the emails from hungry sales reps will flood you surprisingly quick. What to watch out for:

1. “We represent over 1,000 titles!” aka, “we have little time to spend on you.”

2. “We can get you on Netflix!” Streaming or DVD? Most Netflix deals are a one-time payout, and for maybe $1,500 (or worse, you pay Netflix). Without high “queue demand” (aka: what your assets do for you), you will never see another dime from Netflix.

3. Refusal to share hard numbers for the titles they represent or share with you an actual game plan. To most of these guys, your films are like penny stocks. They scoop them up with zero risk or investment on their end. And with 1,000s of titles, it never matters to them if your title turns much of a profit; they will do just fine.

Seriously, just don’t be desperate. You have what THEY want, not the other way around.

Building Assets

So maybe now the thought on your end is, “Great, I’ve been told what to do, but not how to do it!” Steps 2 and 3 are entirely dependent on step one, so that’s what I’ll focus on.

Much like financing, I’m very old-school in my approach to a lot of this. Assets are built by getting in the public eye, which pretty much means releasing/screening the film.

With so many DIY avenues in video on demand (VOD) platforms such as Vimeo, a lot of people think this is a good route to go for exposure, web presence and maybe make a few bucks. I disagree for the same reasons I disagree with crowdfunding: unless you have a large viral campaign or make it your 25-hour-a-day job, the only people who will watch the film are your friends. It’s also unsustainable because it keeps people contained. My approach is a theatrical release. Also, no filmmaker ever sat on set thinking, “boy, I can’t wait for people to watch this on their iPads!” Movies belong in theaters.

“But isn’t that distribution??”

I call it “pre-distribution,” and 2015 has made it so unbelievably easy to do that it is stupid. All you need is a finished film, the internet, and maybe a few thousand dollars for micro-marketing. (Even without the marketing, you can still get a theater for less than $100 a pop.)

dcpomatic.com – There, you can print your own DCP (digital cinema print-required for digital projection theaters) for free. Boom! Done! I have obviously tested it and the quality is phenomenal. The final DCP for the feature is also only 120GB, which fits onto a 128GB thumbdrive, which can be bought at Best Buy for $35.

gotprint.com – They have you covered for all your print needs. For $750 you can get 250 full-sized One-Sheets (not bad, considering the local print shop wanted $900 for 25). You can also get 1,000 full gloss, double-sided lobby cards for $44. What?! I’m not trying to promo these two entities, I’m just saying they have made it so cheap to get it out there at the basic level. Here’s a break down for 1 theater.

1 DCP – $35
2 One Sheets – $6
100 Lobby Cards – $4.40

Okay, I lied above. Minimum cost for a theater run without big marketing is $45 a screen…

For anyone who wants to argue the replacement of film with digital beyond the preference of a studio auteur…stop. This revolution has just made it possible for you have an unrepresented theatrical run. Just for a comparison, a 35mm print of a feature film probably runs close to $40k a piece these days. And after 4 weeks of play it is close to destroyed. Love digital; it will open doors.

Beyond that, it’s back to basic selling. Look online for a list of privately owned, independent theaters (non AMC, Regal, etc., though those are still an option) in your area or beyond. If you have the three elements—Solid Script, Solid Production Value, and Star Power—you should have little problem convincing the small private theaters to give you at least a week. Done-zo! Ride it as long as you can, use it to build your assets, and get ready for market. In the meantime, you are legitimately in a theater.

Other Tips

-Cut a fantastic trailer. This is an art in itself, but it is soooo important. All of our theaters were booked off of the trailer alone. The theater will also use it for marketing, so get them a DCP of the trailer as well. It’s the best and cheapest marketing you can do, because it is hyper focused on the demographic: theater goers to that specific theater.

-Learn the Lingo. Know what a one-sheet is (and have a good one!). When a theater asks “what are you paying?” they mean, “What percentage of ticket sales do we keep?” Hint: Studio first-runs pay between 20-30%, depending on the size of the film and the release. Since I went in as an unknown and unrepresented, I paid between 60-65%. This works so well, because it rewards theater for taking a chance while decreases risk, since they only have to sell half the tickets to make the same amount as they may have off of a larger film. On the filmmaker’s side, it’s all profit since you aren’t paying to be there.

-Four-walling is always an option, but I have chosen to avoid it. Again, if you did your due diligence in making the “good film” that we described above, you should have little trouble convincing a theater to exhibit you the normal way.

-Research the current trends and upcoming releases. Know what you are up against before you speak to the owners.

-Get creative with your marketing. Get people excited. TV ads are expensive, but radio is cheap and always willing to do on-air promos or give-aways. Radio is also on 24 hours without network programming. Get the press to love you from the start.

-Most important, be confidant. Again, give the impression that this is the film to screen, and they will be losing out if they don’t.

I am just beginning this process. I have my screens booked, and marketing is under way, but it is still anybody’s guess if it will actually work. So far, everyone seems receptive, and it is reassuring to know we are about to jump straight into a profit turn while still maintaining all the sales rights to our own material, which will be key later on down the line. There is really no way to lose at this point, and at the end of the day, no once can ever blame you for not trying since there is no higher privilege in the film world than legitimate theatrical exhibition.

I’m excited to see where things go. After 17 months of working on Almosting It, it feels wonderful to be spending time focused on another very important angle of the filmmaking process. Selling the film gives you an excuse to be excited again; that is what will move the product. I consider myself very fortunate to live in a time where all of this is possible. Just remember: sky’s the limit. Nothing is impossible. That’s what film is all about: bringing life to things that could only once exist as a dream. I can’t wait to share the stories after our releases. Even if we don’t open as well as we hope, we are still doing it, living the dream without the worry that we should have dreamed bigger.

• Marketing, Distribution and Film Release
• Shooting Pick-Ups
• Post-Production and Editing
• Production
• Development and Pre-Production
• Script Writing Process
• Financing Legalities
• Casting Talent

In November of last year I flew to LA with a 92-minute first cut of Almosting It. I returned with a much tighter version, running at a solid but vastly insufficient 61 minutes. The narrative was still intact—that’s the effect a good editor can have on a project. We had tightened the pacing, trimmed the fat, enhanced a few performances, but came out well under a respectable run time for a feature film. I was instructed by my mentor to do one of two things: shoot 25 minutes of fluff, OR return to the earlier drafts of the script, find a plot line or two I had cut because I felt we wouldn’t have the time to film it, and write the scenes back into the story.

I decided to go for the latter, and prior to leaving LA for Boise I sat in a room on the studio lot for three days with my editor and new associate producer and re-outlined the film. One of the larger aspects of this was to take a character who was originally present for only one minute of screen time in the original cut and turn her into a supporting role. Another addition—which was also pulled from the original scripts—was to make the lead character, Ralph, more of a writing enthusiast. While doing this, the idea was brought up to film cut-aways, through which the audience visually experiences Ralph’s writing. Ralph being an aspiring sci-fi writer, this led to several ideas of scenes in other worldly environments.

I returned to Boise ready and determined. I wrote the added scenes in about two weeks, and hired a transcriber to re-adapt the shooting script to match the “November edits.” After writing the scenes, basic shot storyboards were drawn, photographed, and the dialog was recorded to accompany. Together, the boards and audio were inserted into the cut to see how everything flowed.

Pick-ups, as it turns out, are a very normal part of the filmmaking process. Most films require them. Some directors will shoot multiple endings; others require a few inserts, and some simply re-shoot scenes or grab additional coverage. I, however, decided to shoot an additional 20 minutes, which seemed daunting but doable until a few revelations came to light.

1. There was next to no money. Really. In all, these remaining 20 minutes were shot on the equivalent of 1% of the films original budget.
2. Nearly all of the new scenes had to fit around existing material shot in August. It was now mid December in Idaho. Temperatures were in the teens and snowfall was common.
3. Crew contracts had expired. While I had flat rated everyone for the project, our production manager mistakenly had all terms set to expire in October. Most folks interpreted “pick-ups” as re-shoots, assumed the film was flawed, and decided to not be a part of the December shoots. While we had a crew of 40 in principle, we were lucky to pull 7 in December, with some scenes photographed with just myself and the talent, or completely alone (setting up my own shots, hiding the mic and delivering lines to a chair or bush).
4. Our rental house was in the midst of a revamp, and there was no gear available.

I have always believed limitation incites creativity.

1. The crew who returned were some of the hardest working and most dedicated individuals I could have hoped to surround myself with, including a few new faces.
2. A production house with whom I had my first film internship decided to take 2 weeks off from shooting projects for the Christmas season, and agreed to let me use their gear, free of charge.
3. We returned to previously established locations that were season-proof, such as our green house and retirement home. There were a couple of days where snow had melted and concrete dried. By framing out the dead trees, we were able to cheat our exteriors.We always had an issue expressing passage of time towards the end of the film. On days it DID snow, we used it to our advantage and now had a solid way of telling the audience that 6 months had passed without blatantly stating it via expository dialog. INSTANT production value. (We also used the snow for one of the “sci-fi” scenes.)
4. The forced limitations on space and crew led to some of the more creative set designs, again yielding the successful creation of the surreal sci-fi scenes filmed around Ralph’s writing.

Here is where things got Way Too Indie, if you’ll pardon the name drop. Falling back on all of the tricks I used back on my earlier short films—which also carried no budget and crew—I was surprisingly comfortable with what I had to work with. Granted, the comfort of a full crew and extra dollars would have been great, but after accepting what we had, we navigated the pick-ups with surprising grace.

Best of all: what we walked away with—the additional 20 minutes—ended up being the best stuff in the film, and fit seamlessly with the scenes shot during principle 4 months earlier.

Not without frustrations, I do have a story or two about some of the craziness we endured. One of the sci-fi scenes (yes, these three scenes probably carry the most stories) was written to take advantage of the snow-filled, rocky reservoir that was drained each winter above Boise. The ground at the base of the dam is fully exposed and extremely eerie this time of year. This is also a sight rarely seen, let alone photographed in Idaho. At elevation and on the second to last day of December, the outside temperature was 12 degrees in the sunshine. We filmed in the shade.

To preserve the surrounding snow, building the set required hiking a ways out around the site, fatiguing the small five-man crew. Annie, our 5’3” little actress was feeling the cold especially bad, and with the cars a quarter-mile away, she was forced to endure. We were able to get one take on our master set-up before the camera locked up in the cold and stopped working. But that one master take was all we needed.

The following day, Annie and I went to a nearby park. The snow-covered hillside was just rocky enough to work, and by keeping a very shallow depth of field, we were actually able to shoot her coverage of the scene and have it fit in seamlessly with the master. My coverage was less convincing, especially since my eye line was horribly off and the sunlight was beginning to change. I went out once more, this time alone. Beside another hill on the side of the road I got the coverage I needed (as much as the occasional traffic tried to impede). So in all, the scene is shot on three different days in three separate locations and varying crew sizes. But everything cuts together perfectly, and it is a scene I am very proud of.

Other cheated shots included a vast infinity room—ala THX 1138—in which we used a simple photo-studio backdrop, blasted the highlights, and cropped the shot onto a white matte in our basic editing program.

Turning to an old Hitchcock trick, we used glasses of milk, waterproof LED bulbs, and a trick of exposure to transform my parent’s living room into a dark, haunting, futuristic void for another scene.

Then there were easier gets, such as the green house and an independent bookstore.

Having already gone through such an extensive picture edit—and learning what I did—I felt I had a much better grasp on the filming process during these pick-ups, saving us time and headache while also “cutting the fat” in the writing as opposed to in the edit.

There were some obvious headaches, such as the struggle to match hair and wardrobe continuity. Though our Hair/Make-up and Art Department Heads did a terrific job photographing all the various set-ups for each scene. I still am not as good at doing my own hair as Lana our Make-Up head.

The house I lived in at the time—where Ralph lives in the film—was also in the early stages of a remodel as my roommates prepped the place to sell in early spring.

Needless to say, we navigated through all of the obstacles. It all falls back to what I have relayed in previous articles: flexibility is key, and your ability to roll with the punches and think on your feet will save you in a pinch. We all have something to be very proud of. With the micro crew, limited resources and truly no budget. We brought a lot of new depth and high production value to what was an already very well-shot and produced film.

Everything we added carries a lot of weight. Had I not worked with such a skilled editor, we never would have trimmed the piece to a point that these very necessary pick-ups could have been added. It is a very bizarre yet engrossing chain of events that brings you to this point, but the more I speak with seasoned filmmakers, the more I see this is a normal part of filmmaking. Granted, it would have been wise to have known this ahead of time and budgeted so to avoid the chaos (and certainly 20 minutes of new material isn’t entirely normal), but it was the right decision for the film.

At the end of the day, you learn a lot making a film, particularly your first feature. You walk into it not even knowing what you don’t know, and leave feeling worn and beaten, but alive and educated. For Almosting It—a title that now carries an added meaning after the process of making it—I have very few regrets. It has really been the perfect first-feature experience. I had the chance to work with a wide variety of actors, crew, equipment and resources, some limiting, others limitless. I learned a great deal about myself, about others, and about the overall process of making a movie, the stuff you can’t read or learn about on YouTube.

I am writing this article exactly 3 weeks before our premiere date. I would be lying if I didn’t say I was very nervous about the upcoming release. By the time the film hits the screen for the first time, over 18 months of my life will have been spent working solely on this movie. A lot has happened, both to me and to the project itself. The premiere will be a very exposing and revealing moment, and 2 days following the premiere, the film will be on another 10 screens around the state before expanding even further.

Next week: I’ll talk about the process of getting it from the edit timeline of the computer to the projection booth of a theater. Anyone can make a movie, but selling it proves to be another obstacle all together, one I saw coming, but never assumed I would be tacking alone.

• Marketing, Distribution and Film Release
• Shooting Pick-Ups
• Post-Production and Editing
• Production
• Development and Pre-Production
• Script Writing Process
• Financing Legalities
• Casting Talent

We’ve wrapped. The crew has gone home. Cameras have been returned. For many it’s a big sigh of relief: we made it, we’re done, we shot a movie! Then reality sinks in. All you have is several hard drives of raw data and files; hours upon hours of material and hundreds of variations in which this can be assembled to actually create said film. The first cut is the deepest, and as you toil away at this you realize the work has really just begun.

We wrapped initial principle photography on August 18th. On September 30th I had completed my first cut of the film. Though I felt I had a good grasp on the edit/revision process from my experience on other projects as well as the script, I had no idea what was about to come my way through the post production process of Almosting It.

There is no part of production that is more important than the other, but post-production is the time when you really get to polish out the blemishes and make your film into a movie. Through editing, color grading and sound design, you will find a way to better enhance the overall sensual experience of the story you are working to tell. It’s incredible how each of these aspects of post serve to enhance the audiences’ experience, and will buy you a trust that will make the next 90 minutes of their lives more engaging and memorable.

Editing

I feel very fortunate that my time in the English program at my college broke me of the angst of having my work viewed and critiqued by others. Having spent hours in writing workshops and one-on-one sit-downs with my professors—forcing myself to embrace feedback and beatings over words I thought were good and was quickly told otherwise—I have no problem “killing my darlings” for the greater good of the overall narrative. I know how hard this is for creatives. I’ve had peers ask me how I handle it so well, and my only response is that I have grown to like it. Having been through it all, my time in an edit or critique is my own “fifty shades of red ink.” What I don’t like, is having my feelings spared. Nothing irritates me more than knowing or finding out that someone refused to speak out because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings. There can be no growth in that approach. The best thing you can do is seek and accept criticism. You don’t have to be a masochist about it, but understand the importance of the process because you will never grow without it.

Editing embodies this, and it is why it is so important to have an editor on your project. Sure, we have all spent years having to “assemble” our own material because no one else was around or we had no budget for it; but this does not make us editors. Editors don’t simply stitch together the takes of a scene to match continuity and get us from start to finish. An editor will find ways to enhance pacing, manipulate tone, bring out performances that were not initially present, and trick the eyes of the audience. They will also have the balls to tell you if something you thought worked, in fact, does not.

I learned more in the 11 days spent in the editing room on Almosting It than I did on the pre-production and production of the film combined. I showed up to my editor with my “assembly,” and together we stripped it down to the core, rearranged the entire work, trimmed the fat, and walked away with a completely different film—one that worked in a way I could not have imagined.

I spoke before in the article on writing that a lot of my mistakes in shooting—which were resolved in the edit—can and should be taken care of at the script level. Notions like starting the scene on the first line of dramatic dialog, not setting the scene, showing over telling, putting an emphasis on keeping scenes around the one minute-or-less mark when ever possible. I agree with what I stated, and the next script I do will reflect this—however, it took going through the editing process for me to truly understand the difference it will make later.

I think it is very important for the director to execute the first cut or assembly of their film. This will get the ballpark vision and potential of the film onto the page (or timeline). It is also a huge load off the back of the editor, who would otherwise have to rely solely on a script (heavily fractured) or storyboards (irrelevant). This will also get the director familiar with the project and workflow so he can better communicate with the editor. When Taylor asks, “is there a take where _____ happens?” I can say, “Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s around take 7 of set-up C. The notes from your script supervisor can also be very helpful here as well.

After your first assembly, let your editor do his job. They know it better then you do. And TRUST them. At this point (for me at least) you are likely so saturated by the material that it becomes difficult to have a clear perspective of it all. Remain accessible to answer questions, and certainly sit in on as many sessions as possible, but understand that there needs to be a level of trust between the two of you. Stick to your guns, sure, but know there are likely variations and decisions you wont like but are necessary.

I trust my editor wholly. Like any other skilled specialist you bring on to help you make a film worth watching, you need to know enough about their job to work together—but at the end of the day, they are the one who knows how their craft works.

Get an editor. Trust your editor. Let them help you tell your story in the best visual way possible.

Color Grading

I know a lot of other filmmakers who are not fans—and actually avoid the color grading process. I used to be one of them, before I understood that this is likely the most visually imperative cue for audience reception there is—especially if you did not shoot natively on film and are chasing a “cinematic” look.

To be clear: color grading is not the same as color correction. Color correction is simply bringing uniformity to each image—making them match one another’s Kelvin temperature to achieve true white. Color grading is manipulation of color and light to achieve a visual aesthetic.

All the recent advancement in camera sensor technology (4K, RAW, high dynamic range) has not been created to help you achieve ultimate laziness as a filmmaker by knowing you can re-frame a shot in post, or get away with less lights on set. The entire point of this technology is to give you latitude in color grading, allowing you to make use of one of the greatest tools in modern filmmaking.

If anything, with RAW and 4K it is more important than ever to have good lighting and framing, because it means anything is possible once our colorist gets his hands on the material. You can accent mood by building greater contrast ratios in your lighting. Depth can be added to a shot that was otherwise slightly flat. The color palettes you meticulously selected and built your entire set design around can now be accented to an even greater level. Most importantly, you can fine-tune it to a point that you get to really put your own unique stamp on your vision. Working together with your colorist, you can build a feel and aesthetic that no one else has ever used, tell the story more visually, and really give an added cinematic depth to the film.

“Real” movies don’t look like “real” movies because they visually mirror reality, they appear that way because it is what we have come to expect from high production. They are heightened reality. They are vibrant and full. I found a great groove with my colorist. It’s incredible the options there are, so don’t be afraid to push the limits, but understand that this is a very important part of the process, and if you skip it, you may as well have had your mom shoot the movie on her phone (which you might have to do on the next one because your cinematographer will never forgive you if his images are presented to the world flat and colorless).

Sound Design

Post-production does a lot to fill in gaps that help build audience trust. “Sound isn’t that important,” said nobody ever! The only problem is that a lot of folks only follow that advice during production—which is a good start, because good sound begins at the source—but as we all know, good sound is only appreciated when it is no longer present.

A lot can be said in silence. More can be said through what fills the silence. A breeze. Distant cities or suburban life at work. A sound designer will find a way to make both your spoken and unspoken interactions resonate and carry weight within the scene. The addition of scoring and Foley will obviously add to the equation as well.

This is another example of an area where I don’t know need to know how to do the work, as long as I trust my sound designer to work his magic. Which I do. I understand the significance and have learned a lot thus far, but mostly look forward to sitting back and supervising the final mixes before we master all the tracks, knowing my sound designer has already done his job.

Post-production for me has been a very weird process. It requires extreme specialization from individuals, and a great deal of trust that they understand their craft better than I do. It’s sort of the final let-go before you regroup once more for the final assembly and exhibition. It’s the last coat of paint, the taper before the big competition. Here, a film can be saved, lost, enhanced or marginalized. Fatigue has set in on everyone, but the end is so near that there is no choice but to be excited for what will come.

Each step and each day yields a better and cleaner product, and when the final track is finally laid—and the last layer of color has been applied—you know what you have is what will forever be your film, and will be seen and heard as is. Unless you’re George Lucas, and decide twenty years later that everything was wrong. Good luck, and keep plugging away. It can all only get better and better from this point on.

• Marketing, Distribution and Film Release
• Shooting Pick-Ups
• Post-Production and Editing
• Production
• Development and Pre-Production
• Script Writing Process
• Financing Legalities
• Casting Talent

I’m not entirely sure what I can say about production that hasn’t already been said in hundreds of other articles throughout the web. For me, the most important thing to keep in mind is sheer flexibility—staying mindful of your end goals as well as the restrictions and actualizations of “doing it.” Rolling with the punches is key, as is looking ahead and calculating what might be an upcoming issue. If you did your due diligence in pre-production with hiring your crew, you shouldn’t have to worry too much about problems in the functionality of set operations. Just keep a finger on the pulse and stay prepared should a problem arise; otherwise just focus on the larger picture.

Rather than a step-by-step description of our production, I’m going to share a few vignettes that best represent the sort of problems, solutions and decisions that were a part of making the film.

SCENE 26. INT. SCHOOL – NIGHT

Around the twenty-minute mark of the film, the protagonist, Ralph, and his friend attend a speed dating event at a local elementary school. It is during this scene—though she is not a part of the dating event—that Ralph meets the love interest, Quinn. Initially the scene was written with Quinn (who works as a caterer) working inside for the event.

This night ended up being one of those shoots I was warned about, with a slew of extras needing to be wrangled and more setups than initially expected. We decided to film the “meeting” of the two towards the end of the night. To this day I am not sure what was off, but nothing seemed to work—which was unfortunate because our art department did a great job building the set. We ran into multiple issues with our 180. Geographically the space felt weird, and to get the coverage we needed we had to cheat open to the camera more than felt natural. Performances were off. Lights flickered. The extras were a distraction. I should have called it, but needed the scene, so I didn’t.

After reviewing the dailies, it was obvious the recorded product was just as bad as it had been in my mind. I knew it had to be re-shot, but there was no way we could get the location or extras back, which was likely okay since that was part of the problem. I poured over the script and found a scene that was scheduled for the following day, and decided that we could do without it. I called up my AD and told her we would cut the scene, rewrite the “Quinn Meeting,” and film it outside the school, adjusting the script to allow it to work. We made it happen and had a company move late in the day to accommodate.

It ended up being a very smart move on our end. Though the set might not have been as large, it added a lot to the production value to change the scenery. The scene also worked better having the two characters meet away from the rest of the group. Everyone relaxed, and the end product was a fantastic replacement scene. Never let scheduling inhibit your decision-making process. If your gut is telling you something, follow it and make it happen. I only wish I had made the call before we wasted several hours on a scene we didn’t use, but the lesson was learned: if a scene does not feel right, STOP and figure out a new plan.

SCENE 76 A-C VARIOUS – DAY a.k.a. “Mystery Day”

This batch of scenes that I created in the middle of production became known by the crew as mystery day. A couple of weeks into filming it became apparent to me that we weren’t showing enough of Ralph and Quinn’s relationship outside of her apartment. Everything else we knew was more or less from other people discussing it in other scenes. Again, this time looking at the schedule, I found a day filled with scenes at a single location that—in a pinch—I knew I could live without. They were good scenes, but really did nothing to drive the narrative. I decided to cut all the scenes that day in favor of spending the day shooting new material with Ralph and Quinn to better show their relationship.

I caught a lot of flack from several folks on this decision. My co-producer was worried that the actors we had lined up that day would be upset that their scenes were being cut. The actors WERE mad. My AD was irritated by the scheduling changes. The location’s manager was upset that he had to cancel on the original location, as well as find new ones at the last minute. The art department was upset that we only had two days to figure out what the set design might look like for three different locations in one day.

Before I wrote the scenes, to expedite the process, I decided on the locations: a wine shop, an outdoor café, and a yoga studio. I had no clue what the scenes would be about, what would be said, or why the characters would be there when I selected these scenes, and they weren’t written until late the night before—hence, “mystery day.”

All three scenes turned out great. And while it would have been better to have planned things before, we did ourselves a huge favor by allowing ourselves flexibility. The scenes we ended up with helped the flow and pacing of the film immensely—and as all three were conducted as stand-alones we had a great deal of freedom in the edit room to place them wherever the scenes were needed to help the narrative advance.

Never let the unpopularity of a decision stop you from following through on it. Trust the gut; it got you this far. Even my AD now admits “mystery day” was one of her favorite days on the shoot.

SCENE 1 – WEDDING – DAY

The scene was initially written to take place at a farmland venue. As the original opening scene of the film (now fifth scene after editing), we wanted to start things off with a bang. We (I) wanted extras, a band, lovely decorations, vast space. Fortunately, we scheduled the wedding later in the shoot, a solid week after the epic “Gala” scene I discussed in an earlier article. Big lessons were learned the night of the gala with regards to filling space, wrangling extras and managing multiple set-ups. We survived Gala night, and the next morning I called my AD and said we should reconsider the large venue we had lined up for the wedding scene. She wholeheartedly agreed.

We ended up taking the show to a very easy-to-secure location: the backyard of my parents’ house, where my sister and cousin both held their wedding receptions. Not only was it a much easier to manage location—being significantly smaller—but it also allowed us a great deal of freedom to set up, block and plan ahead of time. Having grown up there, I knew exactly where the light would be at what part of the day, so the abundance of trees—which also added a lot of depth, production value and free set-dress—were not expected to be an issue with regards to blocking light or casting shadows. When in doubt, always go with a location you know you can control.

The point of these short narratives is flexibility, as I’ve stated several times. After good communication, flexibility is probably the most important on-set skill you can have. Always know there are other options, and regardless of the decision being popular or not, never be afraid to make a call if something doesn’t feel right.

I could go on for days about other issues that arose during principle: crew vehicles being towed, scheduling and location conflicts, blocking and lighting issues, fire alarms, spending hours in a cold pool for a 45-second scene because you anticipated your camera mobility incorrectly. The point is, as long as you are willing, able and ready to deal with these issues, in the end they are nothing more than good stories to talk about later on down the road. Take things as they come, and understand that the film you make is likely the one you were meant to make. Besides, everything will likely change in the edit room anyway! Good luck and happy shooting.

• Marketing, Distribution and Film Release
• Shooting Pick-Ups
• Post-Production and Editing
• Production
• Development and Pre-Production
• Script Writing Process
• Financing Legalities
• Casting Talent

> ]]> http://waytooindie.com/features/inside-indie-filmmaking-production/feed/ 5 http://waytooindie.com/features/inside-indie-filmmaking-development-and-pre-production/ http://waytooindie.com/features/inside-indie-filmmaking-development-and-pre-production/#comments Thu, 14 May 2015 17:44:08 +0000 http://waytooindie.com/?p=36115 Our series on the inside perspective of indie filmmaking continues with advice and guidance on the pre-production process. ]]>

Development and pre-production. I know for many of my peers this is the most dreaded and dreadful phase of the process: having to sit, plan, and assess all the variables before the “fun” can begin. I’ve actually grown to love these parts of the process. Making films is chaotic and messy; and for me, pre-production is the only time I have complete control over everything—including the pace. Sure, momentum is key, but learn to love this phase of production, because it is the last chance you’ll have to catch your breath before the next several months line up to take turns beating you to a pulp. The quality of work you do now will dictate just how well you can take the impending beatings.

I’ll try and keep this as focused as possible. Like all of the topics I’ve discussed up to this point, I could talk about pre-production endlessly–but don’t worry, I won’t do that to you.

Legal and Contracts

You should have your legal support in place at this point—since you needed them to help in the fundraising process. While there are contract templates all over the web (and most of them should work just fine for your production with regards to location releases and background talent) if your end goal is sales and distribution, be sure you have your ass covered.

Most importantly—and I cannot stress this enough—do not begin any official work with any crew without a contract signed and in place. It’s to protect you as well as the person you are dealing with. If they are working for you and working on production, a gentleman’s agreement will not be enough. Make it official.

I fired a number of people on my show. I wasn’t popular for it, but it was necessary for the overall integrity of the project, and to protect what my investors had put their money towards. One individual was a producer I brought on very early in the process—before I was even set up to have a contract prepared. After four weeks, I decided it wasn’t working out and removed them. Though we never had a signed contract, we had discussed terms and made a verbal agreement. After I fired them, I offered to pay out the amount discussed up to that point, acting as though a contract had been in place.

The individual decided that wasn’t good enough, and demanded $15,000 in compensation for their time. I refused, and was eventually taken to small claims court over what was initially a much smaller amount, and ended up paying more than what was originally agreed on. It got pretty ridiculous—I even received several offers to appear on a number of court TV shows, including the honorable Judge Judy—but we eventually settled the matter in our county court 6 months later.

If you don’t have the official contract papers, at least put everything in writing. Protect yourself, and keep things transparent.

Here are a few elements I did not have in place in my original cast and crew contracts that I will make sure I have in all future contracts:

• A termination clause.
• A ‘no-compete’ clause for larger talent (within a reasonable span of time).
• Appearance and promotion agreements.
• Obligatory task stipulations and terms for above-the-line crew through the entire duration of production.

Wisdom I am happy to pass on. Don’t be unreasonable, that’s why unions exist, but protect yourself and your crew.

Crewing up

This may be geographically dependent, but only in regards to experience and abundance. In Boise, Idaho, my options were obviously going to be a lot different than in LA, Seattle, or Austin. Regardless of where you are, do not hire someone just because of their work or reputation—get to know them on a personal level. This is a relationship you will need to maintain for several months and in varying degrees of stress and turmoil. The number one thing to consider: Is this someone you COMMUNICATE well with? I said it before—filmmaking is nothing more than a giant exercise in communication. It doesn’t matter how much money you have, how great of a script you wrote, or how many times you have seen The Godfather. If communication fails among your crew, everything will go to hell. Fast.

For me, the four most crucial roles in terms of set operation and overall execution are the director, assistant director, production designer, and cinematographer. If all four of these department heads are grooving and in good synchronization, you are going to have one hell of a shoot. Every time I had an issue with a scene or set-up, or needed to decide about blocking and execution, there was never a decision made without all four of us working it out together—even if it meant sending the rest of the crew to break or an early lunch. (Avoid wasting other people’s time or cluttering your decision-making process by trying to work things out in front of the crowd.)

Allow each department head to manage their own department and you will have nothing to worry about. Approach your crew-hiring process with the focus of these department heads functioning as a solid unit—not as individual elements. Make sure you all COMMUNICATE well as a team.

Oh, and spend the money for a good script supervisor. I love you, Lisa!

Locations

I learned a lot about cinematography and scene structure through location scouting with my DP. A location may look really great through your eyes, or have the ‘character’ you pictured, but that does not mean it will photograph well or be a good place to assemble a G&E crew. Once you have your DP onboard, include them in all your decision-making processes about locations from the start. Again, also include your production designer and AD. If a set is un-dressable, un-lightable, or un-accessible, you aren’t going to achieve the cinematic depth needed to have it look, you know, cinematic.

Here is where negotiating will save you big. (Take this approach to all elements of your pre-pro). Never approach a location or deal asking for a favor. Take the stance that you are doing them the favor by being there. As with investors, be respectful, and when the deal goes through, be eternally grateful. In the approach, let them know the film is being made regardless, but you would love to have them be a part of it all. If it isn’t meant to be, it isn’t meant to be; there are other options for you. (If you have a name talent attached, now is the time to start dropping that bomb. Again, people like having something to be excited about.) The only locations we had to pay for were city owned properties.

Script Breakdown

Not that you’ll have a locked script at this point—or possibly ever—but it will be close enough that you’ll be able to get the basic elements squared away. You should go through this three times: once with your art director, once with your AD, and once by yourself to know where you all stand.

Do an art direction breakdown. This goes beyond the typical necessities of wardrobe pieces, props and basic set-dress elements. Identify the sub-elements, and the moments in the script where character arch begins to impact the visual aesthetic of the film. Of course, for that to happen you need to identify the initial aesthetics: color palette, subtle wardrobe cues, and other telling visual details.

In the beginning of my film, Almosting It, the protagonist and his friend live in a world of red and brown. His place of work, a retirement home, is filled with yellow and green. Quinn, the love interest, dominates her realm with blues. As Ralph, the protagonist, begins to fall for the girl, his palette shifts from red to blue. (This moment is literally depicted with a scene of red balloons being released into the blue sky). At the climax of the film, when big decisions are made and conflict resolved, Ralph’s wardrobe is white and grey.

Identify not only what is needed with the art direction, but where in the story these elements need to subtly shift.

Breakdown with the AD. This is the more technical breakdown. Scheduling: What/who needs to be where/when. A well seasoned AD will have this covered, and you are mostly present to answer practical questions, not creative.

Your own break down: It’s just good practice so you can confidently answer any question.

Shot-lists and Storyboards

I’ll be honest, I’m probably not the person to take advice from on this one. This is another area where it works for me, but likely no one else. I’m sure in another year or so—after I’ve done a few more films on a larger level—I’ll travel back in time to this moment and tell myself to “shut the hell up,” but for now this is how I feel.

I don’t really believe in shot lists or storyboards. I do them to force myself to think about each scene ahead of time, and to keep my AD happy, but I eventually go into every setup knowing all the boards and lists will get thrown out the window. It’s inevitable, and has always proven to be the case. You show up, get set, then immediately realize what you planned for isn’t right or isn’t going to work. Accept it. Be ready to think on your feet. Be sure you get coverage, but the shot list you had in mind is now worthless.

This turned out to be the case on the biggest scene of the film. I wrote a typically outlandish Will von Tagen-scene. The kind my DP makes me swear I will never write again, but always do. It was the climax. It involved boats, multiple cameras, difficult re-sets, tracking gimbal shots, stunts, a duck—it was as if I watched The Making of Jaws and thought, “Oh hey! That looks like a good idea!”

We meticulously planned it out. Blocked it. Prepared for every thing. When we showed up to shoot, the second boat we planned to use for half of our shots was inoperable. We only had enough wardrobe for two re-sets. The second camera wasn’t calibrated. The location wasn’t aware of the stunt work we had planned. Other than our on-land camera positions and basic action, all our prep was next to worthless. We no longer had a shot list for the day.

Your Cinematographer/Director Relationship

What’s more important than shot lists and storyboards is establishing a shooting style with your cinematographer. Established aesthetics are what will carry you through in the end. I knew I wanted long-take scenes that could potentially play out in just the master take. I wanted interesting and interactive blocking. I knew I wanted as much natural light usage as possible. We had limited means to move the camera, so we had to come up with ways to engage the actors. If both the actors and camera weren’t movable, we move the environment instead (hence shooting on boats). These are the conversations we had ahead of time as opposed to planning a shot list for each scene.

We both knew the look we wanted, what we had to work with, and how our locations would help or hinder this aesthetic. When a planned shot didn’t work, we had enough awareness of our assets that we were able to figure things out on the spot, and still stay consistent with the ‘look’ we planned out.

Discuss your lens option. We only used three different lens sizes on this shoot, and almost lived exclusively on one.

The 35mm was our number-one go-to. All our master-takes and establishing scenes were done on this lens. Even a good deal of coverage. It just worked.

We used our 50mm sparingly for basic, typical coverage.

The 85mm was brought out only when we really wanted to make a moment stick.

That was it. We realized early the 35mm was our guy, and we ran with it. Supplemental light was used to build depth in a scene where it was needed, or add contrast to evoke emotional response—largely subliminally and without drawing attention to itself because that’s what good lighting is supposed to accomplish.

Again, I feel I would be doing a disservice to recommend this style, and maybe one day I will feel opposed to what I have just said. This is how I work for the moment, and it works well for me. I think endlessly on blocking and how I want my shots to feel, but I know that on the day, I need to know I can work with whatever limitations or spur-of-the-moment ideas present themselves on set.

Post Pre-Production

There are infinite areas I could continue to discuss, but a process spread out over months is difficult to break down. The most useful thing you can do is learn to negotiate and think on your feet. Learn to protect and cover both your ass and assets. Know your script, even if it will likely change another 20 times before you are done. Have an idea of what is required to visually show your character arcs and transitions, and be aware of any set or resource limitations.

Most importantly, build a good team of people you trust. In the end, they will make sure you all come out with something to be proud of. Finally, learn to love the process. As much as things will change between now and final cut, this is where the seeds are planted—and without a sturdy foundation, even the most gorgeous house will collapse in the fury of the storm. (Or when communication fails. Did I mention communication is important?) Have fun and take a deep breath—it’s the last one you’ll get for several months.

• Marketing, Distribution and Film Release
• Shooting Pick-Ups
• Post-Production and Editing
• Production
• Development and Pre-Production
• Script Writing Process
• Financing Legalities
• Casting Talent

I had drinks the other night with my cinematographer because, well, it was a Tuesday. Over glasses of wine he commented on the insane diversity of acting stock I worked with in my first feature film as a director. From a veteran of several hit television shows—who has probably read more lines in his life than are in the entire encyclopedia Britannica—to a classically trained British actress, to a professional ballerina who had never acted before in her life—the variety of experience on set was astounding.

Early on in the process I tried working with a casting director. After a few weeks, I wasn’t thrilled with the direction things were going, so I cast the leads myself. I don’t really recommend this—a good casting director will make a world of difference in a film, but for our budget and schedule I felt it was better to go alone. My co-producer cast minor rolls and the extras were coordinated by another crew member. Both did a fantastic job.

The two questions I am asked the most about casting are 1) How did I get Lee Majors to be in the movie, and 2) why did I decide to fill so many of the other lead roles with non-actors, like a ballerina?

Accepting the Need for Name Talent

I really wish I had a sexier story about getting Lee on the project. Everyone seems to expect one, and are oddly disappointed when I don’t deliver. As much as I’d like to say I rescued his cat from a burning tree, and in return he offered to be in my movie…the reality is the process was purely systematic—which is good, because it means anyone can do it.

I think getting name talent is crucial for the success of a film. I realize this isn’t the most popular stance to have in the indie world, but it is true nonetheless. Throwing back to the article on financing, the longevity and sustainability of your career as a filmmaker is highly dependent on your ability to deliver something back to the financiers of the film. Money supports art—that’s why we’re always asking for it—and while it is extremely difficult to turn a profit on a film, attempting to do so without a recognizable name involved makes the process next to impossible.

Face it, runners want Nike, club-goers want Grey Goose, movie audiences want Bradley Cooper. When cruising Netflix and someone has a choice between a film with an unknown and a film with someone they recognize, they will always go for the latter. Producers know this. Distributors know this. You need to know this too if you want the film to move beyond the festival circuit.

True, there are a few exceptions; but again, not enough to tip the odds in your favor. The good news however, is the system is highly structured to allow anyone to make this happen; so it’s totally realistic to plan on getting that name in your project as long as the script works and there is money backing you.

Crafting an Offer

The best thing you can do to facilitate this process—especially if you aren’t working with a connected casting director—is sign up for an IMDB-Pro account. It’s $20 a month and will give you everything you need. With this, you can see what projects actors are currently filming and are already booked for, preventing you from wasting time chasing talent that isn’t available. More importantly, you get the name and contact information of every single actor’s agent and representative.

Seriously, all you have to do is call the agent at ICM. The direct line will likely be provided on IMDB, or you ask the front desk to connect you to that agent’s office. An assistant will answer; so simply tell them you have an offer you wish to send for the agent’s client. The assistant will give you the agent’s email address, and you can tell the assistant to expect the offer in the next 30 minutes. Then, hang up, craft a simple email restating who you are and who the offer is for, attach a PDF of the offer and the script, and hit send. Follow up in a couple of days over the phone to be sure the offer was received. Then wait.

If the agent likes the offer and the talent likes the script—you will have a deal. It’s that simple. Some negotiations will definitely take place—and questions about the production will be raised.

Your offer must fit on one page.

1. Introduce yourself.
2. Introduce the project.
3. State what is offered: the pay, the points given, travel accommodations, per-diem, set treatment and meals, transportation, SAG or no SAG, shoot dates, and anything else you are able to provide.
4. State why you feel the client is a good fit for the part. Don’t show all your cards, i.e. state how desperately you want the client, because you then open yourself up to lose the negotiation. However, do be respectful by stating the privilege it would be to work with the client.
5. Close by stating how long the offer stands and when you will follow-up. If you are able to find the information for the manager of the talent, let them know an offer has been sent to the agent.

After that, it is a waiting game with lots of following up.

People have told me to only make one offer at a time. I’m going to be bold and say at this point it doesn’t matter. My mentor once gave me some advice—and this applies to multiple areas—“get the job first, then decide if you want it.” If multiple offers are accepted, go with your first pick and tell the others the offer is no longer available. Trust me, this won’t burn any bridges. If you are at a level where you make your own phone calls, you’re not a big enough deal for CAA or ICM to remember you once pulled an offer from their client. However, if you only make one offer at a time and wait a month for multiple no’s, you’re going to be wasting a lot of time.

I closed my deal with Lee in under 48 hours after sending him the offer. He has an excellent agent who always takes and returns calls. There is a lot to be said about working with the smaller agencies, but don’t be afraid to approach the big dogs either.

I also learned from my mentor that actors want to work—especially more established talent, as they are more concerned with performing good material over earning a large paycheck. The studios have currently bottlenecked themselves—putting so much money into the blockbusters that there are fewer projects available; forcing many talented actors to look elsewhere for work. There is a reason so many are turning to TV drama, and why more celebrities are appearing in advertising. These folks want to work, so never feel they are unapproachable.

Professional actors of this caliber bring a great deal to the table. On an indie set, they are likely to be the ones with the most experience in-tow, adding to the overall tone of the set. Suddenly, the crew feels this is a bigger deal than they did the day before the big-talent arrived. These are professionals who show up on time, know their lines, hit their marks, knock it out and make everyone look good. Knowing you have this to work with day-to-day is a huge relief for you as a director. Apart from giving your film that name appeal, they are worth the extra buck to give you the piece of mind only a professional can bring.

Working with Non-Actors

I won’t go too into detail on why I decided to bring on non-actors to play some of the larger roles in the film. It is largely a personal preference, and is not for everyone. I’m not a director who likes to direct performances. I never want to tell an actor how to voice inflection, or what their motivation in a scene might be. As a writer, I am happy to explain elements of a script, and how a character might fit in their environment, but I feel it is up to the actor to know who their character is and why they might behave the way they do in a scene.

I think many actors show up looking for this sort of direction. A non-actor—in my experience—won’t, because the idea is foreign to them. They are more concerned in being believable, will try to understand the character in a way that is familiar to them, and as a result, exude an extreme amount of honesty into the part.

For the lead-love interest in the film I cast a very talented dancer from Ballet Idaho named Jessica Sulikowski. My DP spotted her during a book-trailer he was filming in May of 2014. She had no lines, but my DP felt she had the ‘look’ I was after. We met for a drink, and I decided to do a screen test with her. Jess nailed it, and I offered her the role. A lot of folks had strong reservations about the choice; but I knew it was the right direction to go, and it definitely paid off.

I was most interested in her background as a dancer for the following reasons:

First—in my article on writing the script—I brought up my interest in blocking and moving the actors around in a scene. A performer who is not as accustomed to spatial relevance within a set might have issues with this. When you are intensively interacting with the environment, paying attention to continuity and hitting marks on top of delivering lines can be very difficult. For Jess, this was already second nature, and had been drilled into her since she was six. She never missed a mark and her body placement or interaction with props never varied from take-to-take or between set ups. For a scene with heavy blocking this is a dream.

Second, I wrote the script with an existing soundtrack—provided by a local band called Edmond Dantes. There are two songs in the film that were the inspirations for the character Jess portrays—right down to the name, Quinn. When working with Jess to prepare for the role, I had her listen to these songs repeatedly. Since ballet is so reliant on music as a means of character exposition, I was anxious to see if she would be able to embody the music the same way it had inspired the writing.

Professional dancers are extremely committed and hard working individuals. They are artists who work insane hours to improve a craft, which—by its nature—can never be perfected. When Jess returned from vacation after receiving her first copy of the script, the thing was so worn and full of notes that her second copy had to be professionally bound and backed in vinyl.

Jess and I spent a solid two months before production working on her character. We worked to put as much of her into the role as possible—helping her find an honest way to connect with the part. We discussed how she would act and react in specific scenes, as well as what she might say. There are even a few pages I let her write herself. When we finished, she had a hard time telling the difference between herself and the character. On set, she needed next to no direction. The performances were honest, provoking and organic. No one else could have possibly approached that part, because it was 100% her.

Photo Credit: Mike Reid

Directing as an Actor

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this very much in these articles—since they are more focused on the production side of thing—but another atypical decision I made in the film was to cast myself as the lead. I never fully intended for this to happen, but it ended up occurring for the same reasons I mentioned with Jess.

When I wrote the film, I assumed I would be shooting on weekends with a volunteer crew and no money. I wrote the lead with myself in mind because I knew it would be impossible to find an unpaid actor with that much availability. (It’s the same reason why Jess’s character was originally four characters.)

After the budget expanded and Lee got involved, we did look for someone else to play the part, but I had written myself so much into the role that it was very difficult for any of us to see someone else as “Ralph.” The options presented to us weren’t super promising either. I was scared to death—fearing I might end up like Tommy Wiseau from The Room, and have people think I made a film just to be in it.

Directing and acting wasn’t as much of a problem as I feared. My DP and I have an excellent rapport and a very similar vision, so I was never worried about the frame. As for judging performances, having spent so many years as a news reporter I am very self aware of my own voice and facial patterns; allowing me to focus more on the actor I am working with. Since I typically won’t mess with a performance, I am generally just looking to get the best take. Blocking is done before hand and we roll on rehearsals—allowing me to take one last look at everything on a monitor. After that, I discovered acting was more-or-less the only time I got to relax and enjoy a moment on set; once I called cut, it was back to hustling around.

I don’t know if I will ever direct myself again. While I found I enjoy acting, I also want to have the opportunity to stand beside my DP during takes, so I will likely keep the two crafts separate from here on out.

The Importance of it All

I don’t want to sound like I am marginalizing the casting process. There is more reason for experienced talent to be involved than to simply sell a poster. Cast is huge, and having actors who can carry the parts is the most important element of a film after the script. A good casting director will be able to recognize talent, but it will take good direction and writing to allow it to come to life. On an indie project where money and resources are limited, it can be very tough to get the talent you need, so know your options and be openminded.

I didn’t just pull Jess out of a hat. I saw and I knew she had what it took to play the part. Lee wasn’t just a name on a list of recognizable actors. I understood he had the presence and the gravitas required to play the role of a suave, retirement home playboy. Don’t simply cast someone because you know they can act, do so because you know they can confidently embody the character you envision.

I fully intend to have a strong casting director for the next film I produce, and I am excited to see what options are out there. I also plan to continue working with Jess, as well as several of the other actors I had on this film. I know we are just scraping the surface with our abilities—both theirs as performers, as well as mine as a writer and director. Good talent—and recognizable talent—is out there and available. Don’t be afraid to take a chance, it’s what can, and will, make your film a body to be proud of.

• Marketing, Distribution and Film Release
• Shooting Pick-Ups
• Post-Production and Editing
• Production
• Development and Pre-Production
• Script Writing Process
• Financing Legalities
• Casting Talent

Disclaimer: Film financing is the topic I get asked the most about, and therefore, I anticipate this being one of the more-read articles in this series. That being said, it is also the subject that seems to upset people the most. Money is emotional, and the moment it comes into play (especially other people’s money,) the way you approach every issue in the process changes. Where many other directors find this to be a bad thing, I see it as good. I won’t get too into finance-based decision making, but hopefully by explaining the process—what it takes, and what it means for your longevity as a filmmaker—you’ll understand why allowing funding to be a part of the decision making process is beneficial, and in my mind, essential.

The state of Idaho does not offer film grants or incentives. Almosting It was funded 100% through the sale equity shares in the film’s LLC to private investors–as well as several generous in-kind donations from private individuals. No public or tax payer funds were used, nor was any crowdfunding involved in the making or marketing of the film.

Basically this article is about being a producer, and how to produce as a director–because, love it or hate it, I believe that is 100% the direction the industry is moving. P.S. This might get long.

Let me preface this with a story that won’t make a lot of sense at first:

When I was 16-years-old I decided to re-earn my Mile Swim badge at a scout camp a few miles north of Yellowstone. It was early June, and the snow runoff was still making its way down into the lake—resulting in a water reading of 56 degrees and the cancellation of nearly all waterfront activities. After convincing the camp to let me swim my mile, one of the scoutmasters agreed to row the support boat alongside me.

Unlike running, with cold water swimming the harder you work the colder your core temperature will get—so all you can do is just move gradually and tell your mind to deal with it. The swim was the lake and back, twice, with plenty of chances—and encouragement—to just climb out and stop. After an excruciating 45 minutes—a personal worst time—I dragged my quivering self back on to the beach. I was hypothermic (purple never was my color) and was quickly taken to the showers where I sat and recovered for over an hour.

So what’s the point of this story? Is it a metaphor for the process? Am I looking for cyber-high-fives to my past self? No. The point of the story is that ten years later, the man who rowed the support boat was one of the first investors to cut a check toward my film. He didn’t invest because he loves movies, or because he loved the script, or even because he thought he could make some money off the endeavor (you are legally required to inform your investors of all the ways they can lose money on film investing). He invested his personal property because a decade earlier, he saw something that gave him reason enough to believe in me.

That is the key to all of this. Producing is all about selling, but you aren’t selling the film, you are selling yourself. You are giving people a reason to believe in you, and then following through on what you say.

Who to Approach

Everyone knows film is one of the riskiest investments to make. People will literally laugh at you when you bring it up. So you might think: “I’ll get people who understand film! People who are part of the community!” Don’t do this. Especially for the real Indie Auteur out there. While you will (and should) be responsible to your investors, you never want anyone involved who will feel they have any sort of creative pull because they gave you money and are industry savvy. If you think your potential investor will be swayed with the promise of an Exec. Producer credit, that is the last person you should sign. For the sake of your sanity and artistic license, only sign people who understand little about film, and therefore accept you as the boss. (No, you’re not tricking them. Again, be responsible, but people need to trust you to be in charge for this to work.)

There is no great mystery as far as finding individuals to get involved in funding a film. There’s no secret conspiracy, there’s no special in. “It’s all about who you know,” is a common excuse. Sure, that’s very true, but chances are you already know them, and if you don’t, go out, find out who they are, and get to know them. Network.

Start with anyone you know who may have connections, a sound business mind, and who could help you—but DO NOT try and sell to them (at least not yet). Present what you are offering, your plan, and ask for advice and references. Then follow through with a phone call.

“Hi, this is Will von Tagen, I got your number from Mr. X. I’m working on a project that he said you might be interested in. I’d love to set up a time to meet and speak with you more about it.”

This is my script, verbatim. See? Nothing that secret. Allow for three attempts at the phone call, but only leave a message after the first two—otherwise you become a pest. If you don’t get someone the third time, then you need to devise a plan to track them down in person. Okay, it might sound a bit stalker-ish, but how badly do you want to make your movie? Also remember that only a firm, vocal “no” means no. Until then, everything is still on the table and should be pursued. Get the meeting, make the pitch and close.

No matter how your meeting ends, always ask for feedback on how you could have presented things better, and ask if they would be willing to refer anyone they feel might be interested or have ideas for you. This will keep the ball rolling and also make every meeting at least a minor success.

In all, I had about 137 face to face meetings and signed 14 investors–including one investment group. Sure, that’s a ton of time in meetings, but it’s also a 10% success rate, which isn’t bad at all.

Hint: If someone asks you to email them (unless it is to send over the documents) it’s over. This particular world revolves around physical interaction, and emails are too easy to ignore. So push for that phone conversation or physical meeting.

How to Prepare

Here, I again seriously advise purchasing Maureen Ryan’s book, Producer to Producer. It is illegal to just go out and start raising money. You will need an attorney who understands small business start-ups (that’s essentially what you are), SEC regulations and investment law. They will need to help you draft a PPM (private placement memorandum), an operating agreement for the operation of you film-as-a-business, and a subscription agreement to sell the share subscriptions to your investors. Maureen goes into detail on all of this, so seriously check it out, because it has to be done.

A lot of folks (Maureen included) will recommend structuring you film as an LLC, and each investor you sign becomes a co-owner. This is what I did, though after speaking with an Angel Investment Group, next time I will structure the film as a C-Corp. With an LLC, all members are taxable, where in a C-Corp only the business entity itself is responsible for the taxes on profit gains. This is apparently a big deal for many seasoned investors, and most Angel groups will not get involved with an LLC purely for tax reasons.

Physical presentation is huge. Have all your documents organized and easily transportable/transferable. Put only the necessary items in your portfolio, with easy breakdowns up front. My entire PPM portfolio was about 160 pages—with the first three providing all information they might need at a quick glance: personal resume (you’re selling yourself, first), one page synopsis, and a one-page summarizing the offer. The remaining 157 was the detailed breakdown of everything—with the final 50 providing information on the film industry: distribution, exhibition, gross numbers on comparable films, etc.

Get this all modestly bound at the office supply store, and always have two copies—one for you to reference and one for the prospect to look at. (Only give them the copy if they are interested–these cost about $7 a pop to make.)

How to Pitch

The two most important things in the pitch are to be prepared and to be excited. Excitement is contagious, and people want something to be excited about. If you come into a meeting full of that energy, your prospect will sense it and will immediately sense how passionate you are about the project, saving you the time of having to tell them, and letting the meeting stay focused on the business part of things. (Filmmaking 101, right? Show, don’t tell.)

The biggest thing I learned from all my pitch meetings is to actually spend very little time talking about the film itself. Generally, a 30 minute meeting is standard, but plan for 20 minutes total. The opening five is always lost with formalities—finding a seat, getting a coffee, waiting for them to finish up a phone call, etc.—and the closing five should be left as buffer, and for asking for further references and advice.

Spend no more than five minutes talking about the film (plot, inspiration, character, etc.) Your prospect wasn’t chosen because they are film savvy. Have a solid one liner, a good selling paragraph or so, and in that pitch find a way to relate the project to the prospects life. Then move on.

Take ten minutes to talk about the numbers and have a one-sheet available to help break it down. Talk budget. Explain the return on investment—what percentages they stand to see back, when that will happen, and how that will happen. Pick a larger and expected number and run it through the ROI you just explained. Tell them the minimum buy-in cost per share. This is where you really need to have the pitch down and do your homework. This is the real reason they are sitting with you, and if you do not convince them that you know what you are talking about, then even the sweetest deal won’t sell.

Take five minutes for questions and re-explaining what ever part of the pitch got their attention the most.

Finally, ask if this is something they are interested in, and what more they need to come on board. Try and set a second meeting in person right there—ideally within the same week.

You likely won’t close on the first meeting, but you can easily get a commitment. If they want a copy of your PPM (Private Placement Memorandum) give it to them to take and read. It’s also good to have a full-page synopsis printed and placed in your PPM.

Standing Out

The toughest thing to face going into this for everyone is the lack of a track record. So how do you put a potential investor’s mind at ease, since this is your first go and you haven’t proved you can make them money on a film yet?

1. Excitement. I kid you not, this is huge. Be excited and sell it.

2. Let them know this film is happening no matter what. They can be a part of it, and you would love to have them, but it’s coming regardless, so look out.

3. Never look desperate. It’s just as huge of a turn off in courting an investor as it is in dating. You see this all the time in crowdfunding (I’ll touch on that in a bit), but so many crowdfunding campaigns say things like, “please, please help us. It won’t happen without you!” This is a horrible thing to say, and no one with money will want to get behind that sort of appeal because it already sounds shaky. Rather, say “this is an amazing opportunity that is happening, I would love to have you be a part of this with us.”

4. Escrow. None of the money raised can or will be touched until the minimum amount needed to make the film is in the bank. This is good security and insurance for your investor that the money won’t be lost without a final product. (Budget about $100 for an escrow holder)

5. Name talent. I promised every one of my investors that I would not shoot the film without a recognizable name attached. Name talent is the biggest selling point in funding, filming and distributing a film. (Don’t be daunted at the prospect yet, I’ll get into this when we talk casting.)

6. Write a good return of investment. Don’t be greedy. This is your first investor-backed film. Make sure they are well taken care of for handling all the risk on this. I wrote my investors 175% return before any profit could trickle down into the producer/cast/crew shares of ownership.

7. Realistic share minimums. I’ve spoken with a lot of indie producers who expect a minimum $25k buy-in for one share. I know another who had $50k. Forget about it. Think about this: even the richest person alive will look at that number and say, “hmm, new car I can buy and drive today, OR one share in an extremely risky endeavor that IF I see anything back on, it won’t be for at least a year or more.” They will always buy the car. I had two investors buy in for over $10k, and one of those was after the film was shot and they liked what they saw. If I had followed a $25k model the film would still only exist on paper.

Our shares were priced at $2,500 a unit, and there were options for partial shares. That’s a risk most people in the minimum income range (yes, that is part of the SEC regulations you have to follow) are willing to take. Plus, they might be more willing to come on for more later on.

Pitfalls and What to Watch Out For

1. Close as fast as possible. The longer the offer lingers and the more time that elapses between meeting, the more likely they are to decide it isn’t for them. Don’t waste time with meeting after meeting, hoping they will just write the check. Ask for it. They are expecting it. That is why they met with you. This did cost me big early on. Close and get out.

2. It isn’t closed until the check is in escrow or the bank. A signed subscription agreement—though legally binding—isn’t enough. A week and a half before my final payroll I had an investor forfeit on his agreement of $30,000. My entire payroll was suddenly non-existent. If you want to learn what true stress and turmoil is, put yourself in that situation. Two weeks in production, with very little sleep, stressing out daily over rewrites, focusing on directing crew and talent (in my case, also trying to focus on acting), and now you have a week and a half to find $30,000.

I made the gutsy and probably idiotic call to continue production as opposed to stopping until the money was in. I believed I could do it, and knew if I broke production we might never finish. Schedules, locations, talent, rentals—everything would have to be rebuilt and would probably cost even more. I somehow managed to sign a few new investors while in the middle of shooting and we were able to pay everyone. It was a week late—checks that big take time to clear accounts—but we made it and the film was in the can.

These are the type of decisions about responsibility I was talking about. When it is other people’s money you are the guardian of, take everything very seriously. Protect the investment at all costs.

Don’t account for the money until it is physically in the account. Don’t count on a subscription agreement. It isn’t closed until it’s closed.

3. Don’t waste time or money. Again, no duh, right? You’d be surprised. I mentioned modestly binding your PPM. Look professional, but skip the frills. You are being judged from moment one on how you manage money. I know a few producers who waste resources on full color, professionally bound “pitch books” that highlight elements of production—key players, concept art, script excerpts, etc. There is not a word about the numbers inside. That’s a great souvenir to hand out in line at festival, but not to an investor. They shouldn’t care about your ideas on wardrobe, and when they see this, they know what it probably will cost and immediately think you are wasting money. You are also wasting their time because they show up to a meeting for facts and they don’t get them. Order basic black coffee. Keep the expensive gadgets hidden. These folks are in their position because they understand money management has less to do with what you earn and more to do with how you spend.

We’ll talk contracts etc. when we get to development and pre-production in the next few weeks.

Crowdfunding

Here are my thoughts on crowdfunding, because I get asked a lot why I chose not to do it. I think crowdfunding can be great—I’ve run a successful campaign myself. My issues with it is that it is a money-losing model. I was just directing traffic. Unless you have huge resources, a huge social media platform or web presence, you are likely directly reaching out to people you already know—very few strangers will stumble upon you and give you money. So essentially, what you get is money you could have raised without the site.

Now factor in that the sites involved take a cut (7%). The money raised will also be taxed. You will also have to spend the money on the reward incentives for your backers. For what you could have raised without the site, you are already losing money that could be spent on the film.

Let’s say this isn’t the case. You go viral. You make it your full time job. You raise your goal to fund a full feature. What happens next time you want to make a movie? You start all over.

By finding investors, you are likely doing the exact same amount of leg work as you would with crowdfunding, BUT if/when you turn a profit on the film, they will be there willing and ready for the next one. And since they didn’t lose, they’re going to give you more…and tell their friends about it. The added responsibility of your investors’ involvement as opposed to “free money” will also spur you to finish the project at all costs, and make the smarter decisions to make your product more viable in the long run.

I DO see a huge advantage to crowdfunding as a means to build an audience—we are currently working to expand our own social media presence. If you can do that in advance of the project through crowdfunding and make a few extra grand for marketing, that is fantastic; but I don’t think it is a good model to use to fully fund your film.

Last Thoughts

I’ll end with this confession. I didn’t come from money. Growing up, the big splurge at our house was when my mom drove through McDonalds and bought us 75 cent burgers. To save 15 cents she put cheese on them at home and re-microwaved the meat. I got through college by taking 21-23 credits a semester, enrolling in summer school, and working a demanding/demeaning job in broadcast news. I took one business class.

Again, I’m not looking for a cookie or a cyber-high-five. I’m saying this because film financing is something anyone can do. You don’t need to be privileged, you don’t need to be a genius, and you don’t need to be the next Kubrick. There is no trick or secret. All it takes is a lot of confidence, some homework, and a lot of bugging the hell out of total strangers. But it is worth it. Feel free to contact me with any further questions. Good luck.

• Marketing, Distribution and Film Release
• Shooting Pick-Ups
• Post-Production and Editing
• Production
• Development and Pre-Production
• Script Writing Process
• Financing Legalities
• Casting Talent

INT. My Bedroom – 4:13 am.

I throw a glance to a clock across the room to be sure the one on my laptop wasn’t lying. Damn. Call time to be back on set was in two hours, and I still had at least three pages to write. Saving grace: these new pages weren’t set to be shot for another three days.

I turn back to the screen, the glare of the screen burning my exhausted eyes. The scene was a nighttime bar interior with QUINN and her friends. (Hint: don’t write nighttime bar scenes… More on that later.) The unavailability of a location and the addition of a new subplot was the cause of this revision. I tap the keys and wonder how many more times I’d be rewriting this film. SPOILER ALERT: at least fifteen more times.

Writing the first draft of this film took place over the course of 5 sleepless days in January, 2014. I spent two months outlining the piece prior to committing it to print; but, for one reason or another, I am unable to write over an extended period of time. Rather, the deed has to be done during a woeful binge of coffee, skittles and late-night jogs. In all, the script would undergo 5 complete rewrites and 27 lengthy revisions. Even as I write this article, certain scenes are being rewritten/structured as Taylor our editor finishes the final cut.

I wrote in the first installment of this series that, while making movies was always the goal, I made the decision to pursue an English-Writing degree instead (as it is just as lucrative a career choice..). Story is paramount, telling it right is a must, and a strong script is absolutely the most important element for a film.

I’m going to say that again, because it’s surprising how often it is forgotten: Script is the most important element of a film. And while rewrites/revisions/last-minute-changes are all a part of the process, (even once filming has already begun…) entering development on a film without a super strong script in tow is asinine and a recipe for disaster, a disaster I very narrowly dodged.

It wasn’t initially the plan to begin working on a feature—it was sort of a back-up. I returned from a year in Germany in July, 2013 with a short film I had shot, and was in the back-half of the edit. Like all short film directors, I knew the film would most likely win Sundance and my career would be in the bag (Slamdance would be an acceptable alternative). To ready myself for this propulsion of fame and fortune—you’re only as relevant as your next project—I decided to begin writing a feature to have in my back pocket once the offers and deals started rolling in.

Brace yourselves. The film didn’t win Sundance. In fact, it only screened at one festival (Indianapolis), and was also snubbed by the local festival here in Boise, ID. I accept now the main issue: the 21-minute “short” German language film was just too damn long to be programmed anywhere. (Hint: let’s keep our shorts in the 8-12 minute realm).

The short did, however, help me acquire a mentor who knew a thing or two about the biz. After having the chance to pitch him the script on the Fox lot in late January 2014, he inspired me to pursue the project regardless of any outside backing or support. After giving me a few story notes, a copy of the Hollywood Screenwriter Directory and advice on casting name talent; he sent me back to Idaho to begin the seemingly endless process of rewriting development of the film.

I can’t speak too heavily on the writing/rewriting processes of others. Hemingway says it best: “writing is easy, all you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” I for one do not dislike the writing process—but rather, I dislike the process of writing. I am inexplicably jealous of other writers who enjoy laying down print, because I just don’t feel it.

Don’t get me wrong! I love HAVING written—the planning and then seeing what I’ve accomplished etc.—but for me, writing is like going on vacation. It’s fun to plan where you want to go, and once you’ve arrived it’s a good time; but finding a cat sitter, putting up with the gropers at TSA, then listening to a crying baby for ten hours on a crowded plane is just part of the horrors between coming and going.

So why do it then? Because for me, like anything this difficult, realization of the finished product is rewarding and contagious beyond compare.

Between the completion of the first draft on January 15, 2014 to the first day of principal photography on July 22, 2014, the script went through 3 complete rewrites and about 19 revisions. About 85% of the story from the original draft had been removed or altered. Initially, the main love interest in the film was comprised of four sub-characters who were eventually combined to create the lead role of Quinn, played by Jessica Sulikowski. (More on working with Jessica to create Quinn in future article.)

Later—after the first few rounds of editing the actual footage—we went back to some of the earlier drafts of the script and re-inserted characters, plotlines and scenes that were tossed months before production. We then produced these new script pages four months after principal photography, and brought the story back to about 60% of the original draft.

I’d like to say this is unusual. While it certainly is not the most efficient way to write and produce a script, there is a lot to be said for being willing to make big changes when you realize things aren’t working. James L. Brookes is notorious for rewriting and reshooting endings up to eight times after the fact. While my push to set and keep a shoot date may have put things in a pinch time-wise, there is nothing like a hard deadline to make sure things are done—because honestly, you’ll never be fully ready for it when it hits.

In hindsight, after going through development, pre-production, production hick-ups, hours of editing, and the pick-up process, here is a light listing of things I learned and will take with me into the next script. Especially if we are talking low-budget. Some of these may seem obvious now, but during the first few drafts my mind wasn’t even thinking this way.

1. Have as many scenes take place in the daytime as possible. The first draft of the script was night-shoot-city. In Boise during the summer, the sun sets at 11pm and rises at 5:30am. It’s stressful, wears out your crew, and you have very little control and options over your environment. Even if you are shooting interiors and are faking day-for-night, the lighting scenarios will eat up your set-up times. What’s worse, when it’s 99 degrees outside and you have all your windows blacked out with 4000 watts of artificial lighting and the AC turned off for sound reasons… You can imagine the enormous discomfort of your crew—especially when you have to cut mid-take because sweat is pouring down the actors’ faces.

2. Don’t set the scene. Turns out there is nothing more boring than watching the characters walk into an empty room, sit in their respective seats, then banter for a moment on non-plot related subject matter before getting into the juice of the scene (same goes with exiting). I made the mistake of both writing and shooting several scenes this way, and after my editor had his way with it, turns out a total of 10 minutes of precious screen time had been wasted on this. TRICK: Find the line of dialog where the drama starts, and cut immediately to that. Your audience will fill in the gaps for you.

3. Don’t write scenes that take place in cars. They are boring, unoriginal, and nightmares to shoot. You have very little control, the sound quality will be terrible, and there really aren’t that many ways to get an interesting shot of the actors.

4. Don’t write scenes that take place in bars. Or at a wedding. Or at a gala. Or at a funeral. I did all of these, and while it seems so glorious on paper, these shots were inexplicably difficult to pull off. On the production design side, yes, they are large locations that need to look interesting and real. But the real challenge is filling the scene with extras, because that is what will really sell or destroy the reality of the scene. It’s an indie, so there is no budget to hire professional extras, and until someone has set experience, they will never understand exactly how long everything will take. Three hours in, extras begin dropping out like flies, and you aren’t even half-way done. These extras also have to be directed , because surprise!—people actually move around in bars and at galas. They also have to do so the exact same way for every take, and aunt Carole can only pretend to bump into uncle Bob so many times. Also, all these venues typically call for nighttime. I think you get the point.

5. Keep it moving. I came to learn there is rarely a need for a scene to last longer than a page and a half at the most. Keeping the things I mentioned in #2 in mind, it tends to be the case. Sure, it doesn’t apply to ALL scenes, but generally if it feels too short when you read it back, it isn’t.

6. Write for an environment that will allow for good blocking. For me as a director, blocking is everything. Especially if the scene is dialog heavy, the last thing I want to shoot (or see as an audience member) is a boring space with the camera simply cutting back and forth on the coverage of the actors sitting and yacking. This is why I love Woody Allen so much—his blocking is phenomenal, as are his ‘oners.’ His films are generally very heavy in dialog, but allow for a space in which the actors and camera can dance about, letting the scene stay physically and visually active. So again, avoid writing scenes in a bathroom, or on a roof, or any other restrictive environment.

7. Workshop. Have someone else (the more the better) read it and actually listen to their feedback. This is so important, especially several drafts in when you might be becoming oversaturated by the material and risk losing perspective. This is a tough one, because it will take you a while to find people you can trust to give GOOD advice, but I would definitely run by past as many eyes as possible, and the sooner you allow yourself to accept criticism, the better your craft will get. This is probably where my writing degree has helped me the most—after hours and hours of reading and listening to your peers’ criticisms, you really lose your sensitivity towards the process.

Writing Almosting It was a fantastic learning opportunity for me, one that really began with a 30 page short story I wrote at the University of Nevada in my Junior year. To see a character I created become embodied by The Six Million Dollar Man and locations I grew up in become the venue for a make-believe-world-made-real has been incredible.
When I write about keeping things to scale—not shooting in bars, etc.—I mean more so that one should write with budget in mind. Should you not write that scene because I say so? No way. Would I do it again? Absolutely. But understand the consequences for what you put to page, and be prepared to deal with it. Much of the revisions of the initial draft came about as a way to bring the picture to a more manageable production.

I held on to my gala scene, as well as my wedding scene, but these were really just the tip of what the first draft called for. These scenes—in theory—should not exist for reasons I mentioned. Our budget should not have permitted it. It was because I had such a fantastic crew of irreplaceable talent—all found locally here in little Boise, ID—that allowed the vision to come to life. I am grateful to have had the team I did. I hope they can all be as proud as I am—that together we gave birth to words I once slapped furiously on a keyboard late one night with hot coffee by my side and a fist full of Skittles keeping me going.

• Marketing, Distribution and Film Release
• Shooting Pick-Ups
• Post-Production and Editing
• Production
• Development and Pre-Production
• Script Writing Process
• Financing Legalities
• Casting Talent

Scene 36. INT. Gala – Night

Fumbling with my tie in the mirror of the borrowed motor home, I threw glances down to the three pages of sides for that nights shoot. Having spent the last six hours working with the art department building the set, mapping out the final blocking with Lincoln the cinematographer, and helping Celeste our producer figure out last-minute parking—I was just now finding time to begin learning my lines for the scene.

“Who wrote this crap?”

A knock at the door from Mikel, my 2nd AD, told me time was up. Together we walked up the stairs of the Adelmen Building and I tried not to think about how much it would cost if we didn’t knock out all our shots within the next 6 hours.

McKena, my 1st AD (and constant lifesaver) was somehow bringing order to the set while directing the extra talent. I thought back to exactly one-year prior—on the set of what-was-then my largest production. (A crew of three—my bank teller, a family friend and myself—with a principle cast of 6 and 14 extras making due in a tiny East German village.) Before me now was a crew of 40 and close to 50 extras. Across the room sat my lead actor and co-star, Lee Majors. He stood up as I approached.

“You ready for this?”

“Let’s do it.”

Meet an Indie Filmmaker

My name is Will, and I just wrote, directed and produced my first independent feature film called Almosting It. For the next 9 weeks I am going to share that process with you from start to finish. It’s been a wild ride—one what is still not yet over—but it has been the best ride of my life.

This first entry is simply meant to introduce myself, my background, and preview what will be covering over the next several weeks. I don’t pretend to be an expert. A lot of great people have helped me along the way, and if I am able to pass along any of what I have learned, I will feel like I have given something back.

I first wrote for Way Too Indie in February of 2013 while attending the Berlin International Film Festival. It feels poetic that I am back here now—over two years later—as I attribute my time at the festival as the genesis for the approach I now take to film production.

Pursuing film is a choice I made eight years ago, but in the three years leading up to Berlin I got distracted—having paid my way through college working as a news reporter for NBC affiliates and as a wedding videographer. At this point, I began leaning towards documentary work. The spirit of Berlinale, and the reviews I wrote for Way Too Indie, reminded me of the real reason I wanted to make movies. I began to sprint back to the realm of narrative work—culminating that summer in a short film, Johanna: Unplugged, and the need for me to develop a feature-length script.

I made the decision to study Creative Writing over Film after watching an interview with Francis Coppola, in which he stated “if you really want to direct, you have to learn to write.” So I did. My abilities in film production came about by stumbling blindly through 20 short films, 56 news reports, an internship and a couple of small documentary projects. I also read a great deal and watch as many movies as possible—thanks to the great catalog carried by my university in Reno.

Almosting It is my first full-length feature. What I thought would be a small, 30k, likely crowdfunded picture—to be shot mostly on weekends with available crew and talent—grew rapidly into a ULB/SAG production with a full crew, name-talent, epic locations, an original soundtrack, and shot on cinema-grade cameras. In between was a lot of hard work and even harder lessons learned. I was sued, lost friendships, lost more weight than I could spare, developed new friendships, and developed a nasty teeth-grinding habit.

It’s safe to say things are shifting rapidly in the industry—both at the studio level as well as for indies. No one really knows where things are headed, or what the best method is when it comes to development, production and distribution (especially distribution). It’s an interesting and exciting time to be making movies, and while my insights to the process might not be the best, they managed to get the job done—at least this time around. With everyone running around trying to figure it out, I think it’s important to try and learn as much from each other as possible—which is why I decided to write this series.

When coming up with what to cover, I thought back to the questions I am most frequently asked. Here is a look at what we will discuss over the next nine weeks on Way Too Indie:

Upcoming Topics For This Series

1) The Conception and Script Writing Process
2) Film Financing and Legalities
3) Casting (both Name Talent and non-actors)
4) Development and Pre-production
5) Production
6) Post-Production and Editing
7) Shooting Pick-ups
8) Marketing, Distribution and Release
9) Where Things Go from Here

I wore a lot of hats on this project, but in today’s film world I don’t think there is another choice. You have to be a producer if you want to be a director. You need to understand distribution and the legalities of production if you want to see your project get out of the can. The stork doesn’t deliver movies. It’s a dirty, difficult, yet extremely enjoyable and rewarding process that gives life to your creation. I’ve come to learn that I write for fun, produce out of necessity, and I direct in self-defense. Thanks for reading, and I look forward to sharing this experience with you.

Lastly, I am by no means paid or sponsored to promote any entity or product, but here are a few resources I found invaluable to this process:

Producer to Producer by Maureen Ryan
The Every Frame a Painting channel on YouTube
On Writing by Stephen King
Woody Allen’s Manhattan
Steven Soderbergh and Mark Romanek on filmmaking

• Marketing, Distribution and Film Release
• Shooting Pick-Ups
• Post-Production and Editing
• Production
• Development and Pre-Production
• Script Writing Process
• Financing Legalities
• Casting Talent

For me personally, Andrew Bujalski’s Computer Chess was one of the most anticipated films at the Berlinale festival. What made this film so great was the tremendous callback it makes to independent film prior to the DSLR era, when not everyone had access to the “film look,” and made due with whatever they could get their hands on. In the case of Computer Chess, the decision to not go after the coveted film feel was most made likely for aesthetics, but was enjoyable none the less in this quirky comedy about computer programming in the early 80′s.

The film plays out at a small motel, which serves home to an annual tournament in which computer programmers–working at building chess programs–meet to battle their machines against one another to see who has created the best chess program. The style used to tell the story is partially mocumentary, and partially fiction feature. What is most engaging is that the director decided to film the movie on vintage Sony, black and white video cameras in an effort to truly capture the period. The medium does a tremendous job in bringing the audience into the moment. The main character is a young grad student named Peter, who is concerned that his computer is throwing the tournament. In his search to diagnose the problem, he learns that his quest to bring artificial life to a machine may, in fact, be the key to bringing real life and understanding into his own experience.

Computer Chess is full of memorable characters, most notable for me being the character of Michael Papageorge, who is unbelievably reminiscent of an early Chevy Chase in both appearance and antics. Papageorge is one of the more confident members of the tournament, but also one of the least prepared and biggest moochers–he spends much of the film looking for an extra room to stay in and eating from the ice machine.

Computer Chess feels very authentic to the time. The period fits, and the characters function wonderfully within the time. Plenty of old technology will satisfy the analog junkie in all of us, including a vast array of early model computers and the hilarious banter of early speculation as far as the roll computers will play in the lives of future generations. For me, the film held a lot of hometown, old fashion humor and chemistry that I haven’t felt in a film since Napoleon Dynamite. A lot of parallels can be drawn as to the sort of quirky humor, characters, and situations that occur in both films.

Towards the end of the film, a few issues start to arise as far as the technical execution of the presentation. A cut away scene of Papageorge suddenly changes format from the Sony video to 8mm reversal stock in which the audio sync does not match up. The scene plays out for a few minutes before falling back to the video. Other clips in the end also take on a bit more of an avant garde quality, and don’t seem to fit the smooth, quasi-documentary style of the rest of the film. Some of this might be fall on the issues of using such old equipment to make the picture, but it really does give an almost “rough cut” feel to the end of the film, which seems to break up what would have otherwise been a nearly perfect indie period comedy.

In all, I still loved Computer Chess, regardless of some of the jostles towards the end. The characters are refreshingly original and diverse, and the story is exceptionally engaging with wonderful comedic breaks and asides. The style in which it was shot was genius, and I think it can serve as an example to anyone looking to make a period piece on a small budget. By having strong characters, and engaging story, simple locations, as well as equipment you know and trust, you can really accomplish anything.

In 1993, director George Sluizer ended production of his film, Dark Blood, when the lead actor died unexpectedly. I’m too young to have much to say about River Phoenix. I was five when he died, and I don’t remember the media rampage that followed. I grew up knowing him as the rough kid in Stand by Me, and as young Indiana Jones in The Last Crusade. My strongest opinion about his acting career was that, as a kid, I wished he had also played Indy for the TV show that aired in the early 90’s. Later I saw more of his films, and learned a bit more about his life and tragic death. He falls in the catalogue of other talented artists whose time came to an end far too soon. When I heard Dark Blood was showing for the first time before a public audience, I knew I had to be sure to see it.

George Sluizer made an effort a few years ago to save the footage shot for Dark Blood after hearing it was to be destroyed. After his own brush with death, he made it his mission to try and put the film together as best as he could. The film works well considering there are large scenes that were never shot. George Sluizer makes up for some of these scenes by inserting still images from the set and narrating the scrip’s dialog and scene direction. The result is like finding an old childhood toy you had long forgotten about. The film is haunting–old and new at the same time. Exactly what you would hope it to be, and calls back on a form of thriller genre that we seem to have forgotten how to make.

The film tells the story of an actor and his wife on a road trip, looking to escape life for a moment before Harry begins work on a new film. The Bentley they are driving breaks down in the middle of the desert, and Buffy, Harry’s wife, sees a light in the distance that brings them to the house of Boy, a young widower with Native American roots whose wife died of cancer. The surrounding dessert is downwind of a former nuclear test site. Boy, who is pained with loneliness, falls for Buffy. The couple stays with him, believing he will help them get their car fixed. Eventually, the couple fears he will never let them leave because of his love for Buffy. The heat of the desert and the desperation of the situation sink in on the two, and they start to fear for their lives.

Dark Blood is an experience that unfortunately most people will never get to see because of legal issues regarding the films ownership. Technically, the footage belongs to the studios insurance company, who knows–nor cares–about the importance of piece. They are likely familiar with the films value on a monetary sense, and since the film is now more of an artist rendition, it will likely be impossible to secure the funds that would be required to garnish distribution. Topics addressed about death and loneliness are chilling, knowing what fate falls on River just a few days after the scenes were shot. Dark Blood is a movie that will stay with you; not only because of the extreme situation surrounding the film, but because it is an exceptionally visualized film, well produced with a captivating story. If you ever have the opportunity to see it, it is worth whatever effort it might require.

A highly anticipated screening I attended here at Berlinale was Ulrich Seidl’s third installment of his Paradise trilogy, Paradise: Hope. I have only seen one other film in the Paradise trilogy, which was Paradise: Love, but this did not impact my reception or understanding of the film, as Paradise: Hope is perfectly capable of standing alone because it runs parallel to the other two films.

I have always appreciated the efforts of taking traditional story-lines and presenting them in exceptionally non-traditional ways. Paradise: Hope tells the usual story of desire for a love unattainable and the potential security that might come with it. This desire, however, is found between a thirteen year-old girl, Melanie–at a diet camp in Austria–and the camp’s fifty-something year old doctor. It is a coming of age film, and a journey of self-discovery for both sides of situation. In between the camp’s strict regimen of exercise and nutrition classes, hilariously presented, the youth of the camp spend their time being curious and frustrated pubescent teens. The film keeps a steady pace, splitting its time between the love story of the doctor and Melanie, the antics of being in the camp.

Paradise: Hope is very minimalistic. This is accented in the fact that the entire camp, consisting of twenty-four kids, is held on a massive campus. Seidl succeeds in keeping the story on track, regardless of the extreme nature of the setting, by ignoring societal norms that would otherwise carry issue. The doctor is never demonized, and the question of age is never addressed; to the point that when Melanie asks the doctor why they cannot be together, age is not brought up.

Aesthetically, the film takes advantage of long takes, as well as owning the silence that often falls between the doctor and Melanie. Both actors are brilliant at expressing themselves without words, and when they do speak the words are simple and short, further adding to Seidl’s minimalism. Repetition and patterns in action mimic the diet camps call for discipline, which serves as an overall metaphor for shaping youth to fit into an adult world.

The film also has an exceptionally organic feel to the image with natural light elements, diffusion, and stark film grain. This organic feel adds to the idea of adolescent growth and development. I found Paradise: Hope to carry a powerful voice in telling a rich and involving story about life, love and growth. However, I will add its minimalism, symbolism, and foreign nature might not please everybody, but I would definitely say it is worth a look.

And so the 63rd Berlinale is at a close. Over the past week I have been having the time of my life, and I hope I was able to share some of that with all of you. Through my writing, I have talked in length about the experience of going to the movies, because while it’s great to get technical, talk shop, and give awards, in the end movies are an experience. Movies are a moment to step back, get a different view on the world, and hopefully learn something about ourselves in the process.

I just stepped out of the Cinemaxx, and was met with the disassembly of the festival grounds. I am sad to see it all go, but am inspired to try my best to make it back next year. Inspiration might be the perfect theme for me to end on. I know I have told you all I love movies, but what I have not mentioned is that I hope to one day make them. For the time being, I am a journalist, and have been for the past three years. I love stories. I love hearing stories, and most of all I love telling them. While I have enjoyed my past works as a news videographer, reporter, and editor, I have let myself get a bit distracted in the form. It put me through college, and I think at one point I was convinced it would be the launch pad to get me into film–that I would, at some point, have the chance to simply transition into film production.

During the Press conference for Don Jon’s Addiction, I had the opportunity to ask Joseph Gordon-Levitt a question. I asked him, as a first time director who just finished his debut feature film, what advice did he has for the others out there looking to make it. “Don’t wait for someone to give you permission,” he said. “Don’t wait for the moment. Go out and make the moment.” This really was not new advice, in fact, I may have offered it to others myself, but for some reason, in this context–coming from him in a place where everyone’s dreams and ambitions are finally coming to fruition–it really sunk in.

My final film screening at the festival was Some Like it Hot. This is one of my favorite films, created by my favorite director, Billy Wilder. Coincidentally, the title was also the theme of this year’s Talent Campus–the portion of the festival that offered all the filmmaking lectures and panels of which I attended six sessions. I hadn’t seen the film in years, since about the time I decided to actually get into media. I forgot how good it is. I forgot how original, and just plain fun of a movie it is. I am leaving this festival with a new drive. I have a box full of scripts that I have written over the years. What English-Writing graduate doesn’t? My sights are set, and I’m done finding distractions and reasons to wait. It’s time to just say “go.”

Dark Blood (Capsule review)

In 1993, director George Sluizer ended production of his film, Dark Blood, when the lead actor died unexpectedly. I’m too young to have much to say about River Phoenix. I was five when he died, and I don’t remember the media rampage that followed. I grew up knowing him as the rough kid in Stand by Me, and as young Indiana Jones in The Last Crusade. Dark Blood is an experience that unfortunately most people will never get to see because of legal issues regarding the films ownership. Technically, the footage belongs to the studios insurance company, who knows–nor cares–about the importance of piece. Topics addressed about death and loneliness are chilling, knowing what fate falls on River just a few days after the scenes were shot. Dark Blood is a movie that will stay with you; not only because of the extreme situation surrounding the film, but because it is an exceptionally visualized film, well produced with a captivating story. If you ever have the opportunity to see it, it is worth whatever effort it might require.

Full Dark Blood review

IN CLOSING: Tomorrow morning I leave Berlin to continue my work in the Harz Mountains of central Germany. I hope I have succeeded in giving you all an adequate glimpse at my experience here. I have had a great time covering this festival, and sharing my observations with you. It has been a privilege. We’ll see you at the movies!

I have some very unfortunate news; the general theater audience that I have been ranting and raving about over the past few posts has let me down. Let me clarify this. Remember the first time you saw Fonzie jump the shark, and then the episode ended with no one getting eaten? That is a comparable sense of disappointment that I experienced in the audience during my latest screening. I’m not sure where they came from, or if this was an anomaly of jerks that just happened to all attend the screening, or what, but it was a very telling moment; and this moment actually served to enhance my experience of the film I had just seen.

I attended a sort of double feature. Or more accurately put, a simultaneous screening of a long short and a short feature–the films being Chiralia and Die Wiedergänger respectively and both being German films. Chiralia only drew a few impatient grumbles, proving to be somewhat experimental, but beautifully shot telling a story that depicts the same event of a child nearly drowning three times, but in parallel universes and done such that you never know that the universes have changed. I only came to this conclusion after learning that the writer and director had a Ph.D in Physics. The film was certainly very difficult to decipher.

The second film was extremely experimental, narrating a story that didn’t even come close to matching the images presented. This is where everything went to hell in the theater. The film was only 60 minutes, but nearly half the theater emptied before the lights turned back on. People just couldn’t handle it. I’m ok with this, I suppose. If you are willing to pay full price for a ticket and then leave before the end that is your prerogative. What I was not ok with, was the behavior during the Q and A with the crew after the film. People boo’d. People accused the team of a lack of vision. One man had the audacity to actually tell the director that he wanted to take a poll to find out how many other people in the theater thought the film was “complete shit.”

I’ve expressed my own opinion during this coverage about experimental film. I do have a hard time with it, but I also seriously respect it as an art form and this response was uncalled for; not to mention completely rude. My end opinion? The audience behavior told me perhaps more about the people than all my travels to date. Though I hate to generalize the world on this one international audience, I think such a conclusion can be made; and it is in the audience reaction that I truly experienced something from the film. Many people, when confronted with something they do not understand, will simply turn and run away. Others will stand up and declare it “complete shit.” And many who may have the opposite opinion as the popular group will simply remain silent in their seats. As for me, I might not understand it, but I trust the artist and his personal vision. On the festival level, I trust my programmers when they select such a piece and deem it worthy of presentation. Die Wiedergänger ended up being a living piece of art, and I would like to urge people to take some time and have patience with what they do not understand.

Moving on…

Interior: Leather Bar.

On the topic of experimental film comes James Franco’s third project to be presented at Berlinale–though in one of the press conferences he couldn’t help but note he had submitted four, and one was “deemed not worthy.” I think we can all imagine his tone as he expressed this. Interior: Leather Bar is not what you expect it to be. Initially billed as a recreation of lost footage from the Al Pachino film Cruising, Interior: Leather Bar was assumed to be an artistic rendition of the scene, or of the creation of the scene, as well as a statement against censorship. Rather, what we have is more of a quasi-documentary/mocumentary/behind-the-scenes film about a personal project of Franco working on recreating the making of the scene. Essentially, it isn’t entirely clear what the approach is, since we do not know if Franco was honestly working to recreate the scene from Cruising, if the film we get is scripted, or if it just a display of the artistic process.

Interior: Leather Bar is extremely raw, and in this way makes a good stance against censorship. Be prepared to see a good amount of explicit sexual content, and if this makes you uncomfortable, I would say do your best to bear it because the film is exceptionally intriguing. For me, the most interesting part of the film was hearing the varying reasons the extras had to try and be in the footage Franco was supposedly working to recreate. Some were there to try and get an “in” with Franco, others were there just for the subject matter, and some truly believed in Franco’s project. The dialog between all characters in the film is very poignant. From Franco trying to come to terms with what it is he is trying to do, to the individuals “getting to know each other” a bit right before jumping into a scene of hardcore, leather clad sex.

The film for me was really a look at the artistic process, and the emotions and struggles we go through to bring our visions to life. There are moments of tremendous doubt, but Franco pulls through with the help of his friends who believe in him and what he is doing. It makes a statement about the need to surround ourselves with those who want the best for us, and will be the voice of support when we are ready to give up. Whatever Franco was trying to accomplish with this project, I would say he was successful. I really enjoyed it, and found myself really wishing it was longer than 60 minutes. The method of shooting the film interested me on a journalistic level, and this is certainly not your average film. The real reason behind how this film came together may always remain a mystery to me, but I am fine with that. I think it is best to not know sometimes and just trust the vision of the art.

RATING: 8.1

James Franco at a press conference for his film Interior: Leather Bar

COMING UP: With the festival coming to an end, I am enjoying the time I now have to relax a bit. I have seen nearly all of the bigger name films I was hoping to see, and am now branching out a little bit more–attending a few screenings at random just to get a look at some films that I may never have another chance to see. The awards will be occurring soon, and I am really anxious to see the jury’s impression of the films that have been screened throughout the week.

The festival is in a state of transition. Much of the international press is beginning to leave the city, and as the weekend nears, they are replaced with more general audience members looking to enjoy the scene. Nearly all of the films have now played at least once, meaning the press has gotten what they came for, and there are now more films in screen circulation for the general public to see. As the press events begin to wane, I find myself making the transition myself; though I plan to stay for the entirety of Berlinale, as there are still several films I want to see. There are no longer any screenings that are press only, and the theaters are taking on a more organic feel with the presence of general movie goers filling the seats around me.

I’m one of those guys that has to have a snack with a movie. I’m not sorry about this–for any of you who cannot stand the popcorn crunchers or mid-show pop-openers. And of course, I never buy from the theater concessions, choosing, rather, to collect my goods from the grocery store on the bottom floor of the neighboring mall. I’ll never forget the time I managed to sneak a whole 16 inch pizza into Rocky Balboa. Europe is ideal for bringing food into theaters because everyone carries a backpack with them where ever they go, so no one questions its presence. During the press screenings I always felt out of place with a Coke and a Mounds bar because I was one of the only one indulging. I’m sorry, but a movie isn’t a movie without snacks–especially ones you sneak in.

Now that I am back with the general audience, I am home again. I don’t have to take three minutes to quietly open my soda–which is exceptionally pressurized after bouncing around in my bag. I can pop that baby open and go to town. Same goes with the candy bar wrapper. After all, going to a movie should be an event. Even if you are hitting three or four screenings a day, this is a time to kick back, have fun, and get lost in a story for a couple of hours. I think if anyone forgets this side of cinema they are really missing out.

Prince Avalanche

I like going into a movie not knowing much about it. Knowing too much sets expectations, and you can fall victim to distracting yourself during a film waiting to see if your predictions prove true or false. For this reason, I will usually follow the recommendations of friends more than I will a review. Sometimes, however, I don’t always manage to steer clear of a review or trailer if my anticipation is too hot to handle. I am, after all, only human.

Because Prince Avalanche was one of the films in which the press was combined with a general audience, I decided it would be a good idea to show up to the theater earlier than usual to ensure a good seat–and by good seat, I mean a good place in line. I showed up to the Berlinale Palast about fifty minutes before showtime, and a thick line was already forming. The group beside me had apparently partied too hard the night before, and weren’t feeling sociable, so I pulled out my phone and decided to entertain myself by reading the reviews of my colleagues. In this process, I stumbled upon a review of Prince Avalanche from Sundance, and decided to break my rule and give it a look.

As usual, it set an expectation. However, I found that the critic in this case was very off base. He declared the film to be a serious role for funny man Paul Rudd, and noted that the pacing was incredibly slow, since much of it is just the two main characters out in the woods. My perception proved otherwise.

Prince Avalanche tells the story of two men, Lance and Alvin. Lance is the little brother of Alvin’s girlfriend, which is the only reason Alvin hired him to help repair the forest roads in a fire scarred region of Texas. The two have nothing in common; Alvin prefers solitude and self-reflection where Lance craves social scenes and partying. The film plays along the usual lines of a buddy film, where the two characters eventually find fulfillment in the character aspects of their foil. It is a bumpy road, but the two reach it ultimately and the ending is very satisfying.

For those Paul Rudd fans out there who have read reviews like I did, and are upset that he will not be providing his usual antics, forget it. Prince Avalanche is hilarious. At times the humor is subtle, but you will find it there none the less. Writer and director David Gordon Green said his script for the 90 minute film was only sixty pages long, meaning he left plenty of room for improvisation of the actors, which is one of Rudd’s strong points. The banter is wonderful between Alvin and Lance, and I couldn’t help but watch the film and, at times, see the characters as children in adult bodies. Not that the humor is childish, it is quite the opposite; rather, the speech pattern is simple and poignant. Rudd commented that he felt the dialog was similar to that of a foreign film, but spoken natively in English. (It should be noted that Prince Avalanche is a remake of an Icelandic film called Either Way.) The film is engaging and keeps a solid pace. With only four characters in the entire film, the actors do a great job to carry the weight for the full 90 minutes.

Apart from the press conference for Prince Avalanche I also made it to a Talent Campus presentation on crafting emotion in screenwriting, in which David Gordon Green was a part of the panel. He gave some interesting introspect on his script for Prince Avalanche, as well as his writing process in general. According to Green, his first task is creating a cohesive story, with a solid arch and a beginning, middle, and end. This first draft story might be bland and hyper-straightforward, but he says that once he has this in place, it gives him freedom to get as weird or offbeat as he wants. Green stated that too often writers will try and write all the quirkiness into the very first draft of a script, and try to make this quirkiness an integral part of the story and characters. He warns against this, as it can create serious challenges in telling the initial story. “Once you have your solid script, your solid story,” he says, “you will never lose it, and that frees you to wander later as far as you want.” Using this process also allows Green to get the actors involved to develop their own characters, which leads to some really unique and entertaining performances.

Greens methods definitely play out in this excellent addition to his work as a fairly prominent director and screenwriter. Green noted that he managed to keep his efforts on this film largely unknown to Hollywood and the press. It was just “friends going out into the woods and making a movie.” This privacy freed Green of expectations and gave him true creative license to do what he wanted, away from external eyes. Prince Avalanche is a fresh, fun comedy that carries a solid message and story at the heart of it. I thoroughly enjoyed the film, and I hope it achieves fairly wide distribution as I think it offers something for everyone.

RATING: 8.6

Director David Gordon Green and lead actor Paul Rudd at a press conference.

COMING UP: As I mentioned, things are beginning to slow down a bit here at the 63rd Berlinale, but there are still plenty of films to see. Later this week is the screening of Dark Blood, the last–and never fully finished–film with River Pheonix. Also, a gold rush American western with a German spin.

I was finally able to attend the lecture on short films presented through the Berlinale Talent Campus. The forum was moderated by the curator of the Berlinale Shorts Program, with the panel consisting of shorts programmers from festivals throughout Europe. The discussion was very interesting, and really told a lot about not only the process, but also just how diverse the selection process can be from festival to festival. One in Sarajevo only has one person on the selection committee, where others functioned as teams in completely different ways. Certain festivals have restrictions on premiere status, or the time frame when the film was produced–like Berlinale–where the festival in Finland welcomes everything and anyone.

What was most enlightening, and something that all of the programmers agreed upon, was that they did not necessarily select what they felt to be the best films; rather, they try and build a program that shows new directions in film, diverse ways of telling stories, as well as just plain good shorts. They build a diverse program that offers a collective pool of the type of talent that is out there, and then allow the juries of the festivals to decide which ones are the best. This does a lot to explain why, at times, a shorts program might not meet the standards of most viewers as far as representing what they might consider to be “good cinema.”

I was able to make it to another program of shorts before the attending the panel. What was apparent at this screening, and further emphasized by the programmers, is that typically the programs are made of groups of film that seem to draw on a similar theme–be it alternative storytelling, stories based in reality, or young and upcoming film makers. I will say I enjoyed the second program of shorts better than the first one I attended. The first program fell along the lines of alternative methods to bring a true tale to life. The second program was more along the lines of traditional short film. If you attend a festival where the shorts are divided into separate programs, try and attend a number of them to get a feel of the overall diversity.

The Broken Circle Breakdown

As Americans, we sometimes tend to believe that Europeans can have a fairly negative view of us. The fact is, for the most part they only take issue with our politics, but absolutely love our culture. This idea is clear in Felix van Groeningen’s The Broken Circle Breakdown. The Broken Circle Breakdown tells the story of Didier, a Dutch bluegrass playing atheist who loves America; and Elise, a tattoo artist and catholic. The two fall in love and have a child. At the age of six, the daughter of Didier and Elise begins a battle with cancer. Didier ends up taking strong convictions that religion is to blame for the fact that better medicine is not available for his daughter, which causes friction between him and Elise. To avoid spoiling the film, I will leave out the details of this friction, but the struggle pushes both characters to the very edge of their relationship.

The story is not told in chronological order, with regular jumps back and forth over the span of seven years. The story has a strong presence of American cinema, even though it takes place in Holland. Didier lives in a very “country” setting, with horses and a pick-up, and the soundtrack is made up of lively bluegrass. Even the love between Didier and Elise has a very American feel to it, which ends up taking the focus of the film over the initial story of battling cancer. This is the idea that our convictions are often all we have in a crisis, but that–in the end–we really have no control, regardless of what we believe.

The Broken Circle Breakdown is a beautiful picture in both appearance and story. Van Groeningen uses the presence of harsh light to present a strong and telling image throughout the film, both in the fields around Didier’s house as well as on the stage when he and Elise are performing bluegrass, and it works to draw comparison to the two facets of their lives together. The film received tremendous audience approval during the Panorama screening, and–while the story deals with some very serious issues and moments–there are comical elements that often help to relieve some of the tension.

RATING: 8.7

Concussion

Concussion is a love story, beautifully told by director Stacie Passon. The film opened big at Sundance, and was snapped up very quickly for future distribution by the Weinstein Company. Concussion plays on a lot of themes: self-discovery, love, age, and forgiveness–not just forgiveness of others, but of ourselves as well. While it is considered Queer Cinema, it is universal to anyone who has ever known love, which I believe to be the overall point of Queer Film.

After suffering a concussion, caused by getting hit with a softball accidentally by her son, Abby is left feeling as though she is missing something in her life. First she decides to go back to work flipping apartments. Next she visits a prostitute. Then she decides to become one herself, using the newly renovated apartment she has been working on as her place of business. She decides to service only young women who are looking to better understand themselves and their lives, and later she works with women her own age who are also at a point of confusion in their lives. Through helping these women, Abby is able to get perspective on her own life and what might be missing. In the end, she gives up the practice and returns to her life as a wife and mother with a new sense of drive and determination.

It is no mystery that the concussion in the beginning is a metaphor for a midlife crisis, and Abby’s actions that follow are those that could accompany such a turning point in one’s life. Abby’s prostitution is never seen as a bid for independence or money, as she already has both. In a Q and A following the screening, the director made the statement that–though they decided to leave the notion somewhat ambiguous–each of the women Abby helps is really an extension of herself, and by showing these women the way to understanding, she is showing herself the way. The overall idea that the film wishes to show is that it is possible to have these crisis’ in the midst of our lives, and they can serve to change us, but they do not have to destroy us–as is so often seen in films that tackle this subject matter.

Concussion is a wonderful and engaging story that anyone can learn from as well as enjoy. It is a genuine slice of life that feels true and whole, and was brilliantly executed. I felt engaged throughout the entirety of the film, and have a feeling this is just the beginning for Stacie Passon. I would not be surprised if she becomes a mainstream filmmaker within the next couple of years, and I cannot wait to see what else she has to offer.

RATING: 9.2

From Left to Right. The Curator of the Panorama Program, Producer Rose Troche, Writer/Director Staci Passon, and Actress Robin Weigert, who portrayed Abby in the film.

COMING UP: Tomorrow we will get a look at the serious side of Paul Rudd in Price Avalanche, the latest film from David Gordon Green. I have not seen much billing around town for this film, but the press screening is occurring in the Berlinale Palast with the presence of the Grand Jury, so I think we can expect something great from this film.

A couple of days ago, I mentioned the comments of my professor regarding his feelings on the feature of movie theaters. Today, I heard a few of his concerns confirmed by a panel of distributors. The Berlinale Talent Campus is a wonderful additive to the festival, and professionals of the industry do a spectacular job discussing the ins and outs of independent film—from conception to production to distribution. In the digital age of and the death of the DVD market, distributors of both big budget and art house films are not entirely sure where the future lies, but with more independent film makers working on a digital platform—thanks to the presence and availability of DSLR cameras—there are more than enough options to compensate the death of DVD, such as Netflix and iTunes.

A general consensus among the panel was that although the technology is moving ever further, the tactics of distribution are returning to a state not unlike that of the 1980’s. They were not able to elaborate on this idea a whole lot, and I am not very familiar with distribution of the 80’s, but what I got out of the discussion is that traditional cinema—as in going to a theater—is here to stay. What’s more, thanks to digital projection, the technologies surrounding VOD, and the ability to digitally transfer films across the world, it is likely more art and independent films will make their way to general audiences. For many of us out there—including yours truly—the loss of celluloid projection feels like a loss of aesthetic, and sometimes the imperfections of a film reel that has been played too many times and is covered in scratches is half the fun, and if I wanted a digital picture I would watch from home. This will likely be the decision we will actually make for ourselves very soon.

The fact is—as much as some of us might not like to hear it—this industry is all about money and film is expensive; so much so that it deters certain distributors from purchasing films because the possibilities of breaking even are less when the cost of distribution includes the hundreds of thousands of dollars it takes to make print reels. With digital projection, the return of investment is higher, meaning more films are purchased, and we are now able to see more movies on the big screen than ever before. International distribution means import taxes, and when a movie is contained on in a digital file that has next to no physical value—as opposed to film—the taxes are removed from the equation, meaning more foreign films will make their way to the screen. The point is, the digital age likely has more to offer the art than to detract from it; and as such, we can expect to see a rise in foreign and independent distribution around the world.

Computer Chess (Capsule review)

One of the more anticipated films of the festival–and for me, certainly one of the most–is a film by Andrew Bujalski called Computer Chess. What made this film so great was the tremendous callback it makes to independent film prior to the DSLR era, when not everyone had access to the “film look,” and made due with whatever they could get their hands on. In the case of Computer Chess, the decision to not go after the coveted film feel was most made likely for aesthetics, but was enjoyable none the less in this quirky comedy about computer programming in the early 80’s.

Full review of Computer Chess

COMING UP: Things continue to progress here in Berlin, and I find myself becoming more and more engaged, as well as inspired. I took some time between screenings to stop in at the European Film Market, and I hope to make it back for a better look tomorrow. This is such a great opportunity to learn anything and everything about the independent film industry, and because the Film Market is present, towards the end of the week there will be a few screenings of newly remastered Hollywood Classics that the distributors are hoping to have re-released. Hopefully I will find time to make it to a couple of these screenings and see some of my favorite old movies on the big screen. Until then, I will continue enjoying the regular program with a Dutch film with southern American flair called The Broken Circle Breakdown, and my first look this festival at some Queer Programming with the Panorama presentation of Concussion.

When attending a festival, the town in which it is hosted comes alive to match the draw of the event. All across Berlin, the presence of Berlinale is felt: shop windows are decorated with film reels and retro cameras, subway stations play the scores from Hollywood classics, and local bars and coffee venues host movie themed events. Sometimes it’s nice to get a break from the rush of the fest, and retreating to such venues can provide a lot of culture that you might not find next to the red carpet and hot press lights.

I came to the festival because I love movies. Obviously, the films that screen at Berlinale come from some of the most promising and talented individuals in the industry. As I mentioned at the beginning of my coverage, up until this point the majority of my festival experience comes from a much smaller, more localized scene. I enjoy these sorts of fests just as much as I have am enjoying my experience here in Berlin, and the reason is because there is nothing like seeing the raw and innovative ways the “little guy” comes up with to bring their vision to the screen. Sunday night I took the Subway across town to a little bar called Prince Charles, at 85 F Prinzensrtasse by way of the U8. Prince Charles, in conjunction with the Berlin Film Group, hosted an open mic screening–advertised via Facebook–inviting anyone and everyone in town to come with a film they had created to play for the audience in attendance. The event was a bit of a “stick it to Berlinale,” which is an unfortunate attitude to take, but it proved to be very fun and well attended with some surprisingly well produced short films.

What proved to be more alluring than the films themselves were the networking opportunities. I am not sure how many of the readers here at Way Too Indie are interested purely in viewing indie films and how many are interested in making them, but if you are an ambitions filmmaker looking to make it, such an event is a possible dream come true. Amateur cinematographers, producers, screenwriters, and actors were all in attendance, and all with the same goal of finding someone to collaborate with. If you have the opportunity to attend a festival of any size, and are interested in networking, keep an eye out for bulletin boards and pamphlet tables around the festival venues for smaller events like the one at Prince Charles. You may find the opportunities and experiences there are on par–if not greater–than what you may find on the festival grounds.

Maladies

James Franco was involved with a total of three projects in this year’s programming for Berlinale, and Maladies was the second to screen at the festival. The film brings together a powerful cast to tell a story of mental illness in a time when such a thing was still very misunderstood. The press screening was surprisingly empty for a film with such a high number of fairly mainstream actors involved, which shows how difficult it can be to balance the films we choose to see at a festival. Often screenings overlap by just enough to make it impossible to get everything in, or a press conference runs long. Luckily, all films offer multiple screenings, and I hope for the sake of the rest of the press they will find a way to see this film.

Maladies tells the tale of James (James Franco) and his struggles with mental illness in 1963. James’ specific illness is never stated, though he hears voices and fixates on minute details. It is alluded that James–who used to star on a soap opera–lost his job due to his inability to cope with his affliction, and he now spends his time working on a novel; the subject of which is never stated. Living in the same house as James is his sister, Patricia–who also has a mental illness–and his friend Catherine. The film takes us inside the mind of James as we hear the voice he hears and see the hallucinations James sees. The voice inside James’ head serves the role of a quasi-narrator for the film, which I found to be a very unique use of its presence. As James slips in and out of his spells, he is at times a very lucid character and at other times very grounded. He fixates on his book, while also making statements on the creative process. In all, Maladies uses mental illness to tell a universal story of allowing distractions to keep us from accomplishing our life’s ambitions. For James, he continuously finds reasons to delay finishing his novel, and his commentary about his reasoning behind the delay (often absurd because of his illness) parallels his struggles with the life of anyone chasing a goal or dream.

As a period piece, Maladies does a great job of setting the scene of a seaside town just outside of New York in the early sixties. The set design is perfect, and the look of the image does a fine job of putting us in the mindset of the era. The film almost always maintains a very shallow depth of field, as though to make our minds feel the the same short-sightedness as the characters. There are several dreamlike qualities to the film, but never to the point that we lose touch with reality, and we are always grounded once more by the harsh realities that surrounds the story. The film keeps a steady pace, and the chemistry between the actors is beautiful and engaging.

Because the topic of mental illness can be so foreign and confusing for a lot of people, much of the press I spoke with afterwards did not feel as engaged as I did. James Franco does an incredible job in this film, and the look and tone of the picture do a lot to really help you level with the experience of the age. The message is one that I feel applies to everyone, regardless of where your focuses lie.

RATING: 8.4

Coming out of the first weekend, Berlinale is in full swing. I have found my footing in navigating both the festival and the city, and I am really finding the enjoyment of the event outside of the cinemas. The folks who wait in line for hours in the cold hoping to get an autograph from someone leaving a press conference show the true dedication of a fan and movie goer. Outside the theaters, individuals not involved with the festival flock to the scene just to be part of the excitement, and the lights strung around the festival grounds give life and glamor to the square once the sun goes down.

COMING UP: Tomorrow comes a film I am very excited for called Computer Chess, a comedy about computer programming in the early 80’s; a German drama about the struggles of loss; and the third festival film from James Franco, this time as director, called Interior: Leather Bar.

I learned pretty quick the importance of showing up to the press screenings early. I’d heard this advice shortly after checking in and receiving my credentials; but, for my first screening of the festival–after arriving to the theater a good forty minutes before the film–I was told by the door manager that they probably wouldn’t open up until just before the show, and if I got in line five minutes before I would be fine. I half trusted her, went to grab a snack, and returned fifteen minutes before curtain time. The theater doors had already been opened, and nearly all of the seats were occupied. I managed to find a place in the front row, which was far from ideal, but at least it was a seat. Since then I have made a point of arriving a solid thirty minutes ahead.

Sometimes the press is let straight into the theater, but often there is a screening going on prior and we have to wait. Generally I’m not a fan of lines. I doubt if anyone is. However, in an international setting with so many people sharing a common interest in one place, I have yet to find the time spent in line at all terrible. Norwegian journalists specializing in American Pop Culture, German media students, and the occasional Canadian blogger are all just a shout away. Conversation isn’t difficult to initiate; simply turning around and asking where someone is from, if they were at this-or-that press conference, or if they are excited for the screening usually does the trick. The next thing you know you are discussing, debating, and critiquing film with someone from an entirely different corner of the world with a totally different outlook on cinema.

I have made a point of making my program selection as diverse as possible, while still attending the bigger film screenings. Because not everyone is as interested in the big name films from the US, it is typical for conversation to rapidly drift to the smaller, less known films in the festival line up. Coming from the US, I take as much as I can from films that depict a culture I am unfamiliar with, but having the opportunity to discuss the technique and story of a French drama with someone who is more than familiar with the director’s work and the social commentary surrounding a film brings about a whole new understanding and experience from what I initially left the theater with. This being said, if you ever have the opportunity to attend a large festival, pick a film or two that you might not typically watch, and take advantage of the other attendees, because there is always more than one way to experience a movie.

Lovelace

As I mentioned in the last post, the festival this year is presenting a surprising number of films that deal with issues of sex and pornography–more so than ever before, according to one of the festival programmers. Lovelace is one such film that takes a critical look at the porn industry by telling the story of the first real porn star, Linda Lovelace–star of the first real mainstream porn film, Deep Throat; portrayed by Amanda Seyfried. Lovelace takes place in the early and mid–seventies, when the porn industry was just beginning to really take off. The director of the film, Rob Epstein, commented in the press conference on the significance of the time period, stating it was a new age of sexual openness, but sometimes there are unintended consequences that can arise from this new openness.

The story is told twice from two perspectives. First is the story as seen from the outside, as Linda meets, falls in love with, and marries Chuck Traynor–who is responsible for getting her involved in the making of Deepthroat. The story is typical, and while moments might feel somewhat tense or uncomfortable for the characters, the world shown is full of glamour and success. It is an outsider’s view. The story then jumps ahead six years to Linda preparing for a polygraph test, per request of her publisher as she is about to release a book on her experiences. The story returns to the point right after she marries Traynor, and the glamour is replaced with scenes of abuse, domestic violence, and Linda’s struggle to escape the world she has been forced into.

Amanda Seyfried commented that the production of Lovelace was the most fun she has ever had on a set. While the film is serious in nature, it’s not hard to see how she came to this conclusion, as she totally breaks her typical character caste. The blonde, wholesome, heartthrob we typically see her as is replaced with a freckly, brunette, girl-next-door who is forced to function in extremely trying circumstances. The film brings out the full flair of the seventies, including high contrast, high grain film stock, great costumery and set direction, and a fantastic soundtrack. The film also stars a very dark Peter Sarsgaard and a cameo of James Franco as Hugh Hefner.

RATING: 8.7

Amanda Seyfried and James Franco

The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman

The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman is the feature debut of Fredrik Bond, who–before this point–has made a name for himself directing Heineken commercials. The film is fairly grandiose in production scale, and features a big name cast including Shia LeBeouf, Evan Rachel Wood, and a post-Harry Potter Rupert Grint.

Filmed on location in Romania, the film tells the tale of Charlie Countryman, who–after the death of his mother, and on the request of a drug-induced vision of her postmortem–takes off for Eastern Europe to find himself. After a passenger on his flight dies, Charlie decides to deliver a hat to the daughter of the deceased passenger and immediately falls in love. Unfortunately for Charlie, the now girl-of-his-dreams was once married to a dangerous killer, who recently returned to the country. In his adventure, Charlie faces death around nearly every corner, experiences a fancifully wild Eastern European party scene, and enjoys a crazy drug trip or two–all in the name of love, of course.

Charlie Countryman is a very typical love story–verging on the traditional chick-flick format, but set in an extreme, action adventure wonderland. Where a typical romance movie about new love might show a man concerning himself about simply losing the woman of his dreams, for Charlie it involves getting beaten to a pulp and possibly meeting a violent end. The film opens, closes, and in brief interlude features a faceless narrator who turns out to be not very reliable. The film works to creat many visual spectacles–usually drug induced–and makes use of typical hollywood action sequences we are used to seeing in contemporary films of this genre. In all, I found Charlie Countryman a bit over the top, unreliable, and had difficulty believing in the characters. However, if you are just looking to have a good time and enjoy a fast paced action adventure, it might be right up your alley.

RATING: 6.7

I ended my day by attending one of the five short film programs. I have always loved short films, and admire the ability to tell a solid story in a brief period of time. Unfortunately the shorts program I saw was very disappointing. I can appreciate a film as strictly an art piece, but if they too avant garde to tell a cohesive story I do not believe they belong on such a prestigious stage as Berlinale. During the festival’s Talent Campus–a lecture series featured throughout the festival–there is a presentation by the short film programmers, in which they discuss what they look for in a short film. I will make sure to attend this, as well as a few more short programs, and maybe they can explain their approach a bit better.

COMING UP: As for day three, Maladies with James Franco and Catherine Keener is on deck.

A professor of mine once made a startling statement. He believes that the current generation is the last that will experience movies in actual theaters. He has some good reasoning for this claim: the fact that instant home entertainment is becoming more and more available, the fact that technology is leading to better and better home theaters for the average individual, and–most significantly–that social interaction is now achieved without physical contact.

Seeing a film in the theater is a very social thing, regardless of how frowned upon it is to speak once the lights dim. Being part of an audience totally engrossed in a film is powerful. There is energy. There is presence. There is a sense of community involvement, as hundred of us gather to spend two hours of our lives in a dark room together, experiencing a story, told by people we do not know, but somehow seems to speak to each of us individually.

What marks a film festival as a truly unique cinematic experience is the audience. Each morning when get off the S-Bahn in Potsdam Hof, I exit the station via the Arkan Galaria–directly across from the Cinemaxx and Berlinale Palast. Every morning the same scene meets my eyes: hundreds of people camping out in a line spanning the length of the mall. Some in sleeping bags, others in fold out chairs; but each with a copy of the program open upon their lap, pen in hand, circling the screenings they hope to get tickets to. This is not a line for the midnight showing of some highly anticipated blockbuster hit. This is not even a line for a festival premiere, as most–particularly for the big name films–have long been sold out. This is a line for the 5:15pm showing of an Indonesian drama by a director no one has heard of. This is the line 10:00am screening of a documentary concerning an issue many never knew was an issue. People are here just for the chance to participate. This is dedication to the art, and brings a whole new energy into the theater. This is cinema.

Don Jon’s Addiction

I had the opportunity to attend both the press screening and the festival premiere of Don Jon’s Addiction. Because of the energy of the general public–enhanced by the fact that the director, Joseph Gordon-Levitt was in the theater–I had a much better time in the premiere screening. This being said, there is a reason I chose to view this film twice. Gordon-Levitt’s feature directorial debut with this film was nothing shy of brilliant.

The character of Jon Martello comes from what would be the typical caste of a Jersey Shore Guido. He is a lady killer, obsessed with appearance, and ends each night out with his boys by taking home an 8 or better. He doesn’t hide the fact that he is in it for the short haul with these ladies (which makes it a surprise to his friends and family when he decides to take a break from his “streak” to focus on just one girl). “The most beautiful girl in the world,” according to Jon. When Jon is not fulfilling his life with his girls, family, boys, body, and car, he spends his time focused on his other true passion: pornography. Jon loves pornography better than actual sex, because he is able to “lose himself” in it. To him, it is perfect satisfaction without work or expectations. When his girlfriend discovers his hobby, she leaves, and Jon is forced to cope with the fact that his need for porn is a result of an inability to truly connect within a relationship.

There are several cinematic elements Gordon-Levitt uses to present his original story in a satisfying and memorable way. Moments of repetition in both sound and image–used to identify patterns and habits in Jon’s life–juxtaposes starkly against the meticulous shot diversity that makes up the most of the movie. In the first half of the film, the same shot is never repeated, and the camera is always in motion via pushes, pulls, quick pans, and steady glides within dialog, evoking a feeling of calm. Everything is new, and everything is smooth–like the beginning of a new relationship. The music is intentionally overly romantic in a fairy tale manner. As the story progresses and conflict is introduced, the style of shooting transitions to shaky, handheld shots that hold much longer within each scene, and the moments of earlier repetition (such as Jon’s experiences in church and at the gym) begin to vary more and more as the character begins to transform.

In all, the film tells a great, original story that is both humorous and critical. Don Jon’s Addiction makes a statement about allowing media to set unrealistic expectations in out lives, and the dangers of allowing these expectations to dominate our experience. The film managed to pull a great deal of laughter from both audiences I experienced, and in a press conference following the film, Gordon-Levitt said he believes the best way to tackle difficult issues is through humor, citing films like Dr. Strangelove as his inspiration. As stated, a brilliant debut from a very talented individual, and I think we can expect great things to come as Joseph Gordon-Levitt begins to branch out in work.

RATING: 9.8

Paradise: Hope (Capsule review)

The other highly anticipated screening I attended was Ulrich Seidl’s third installment of his Paradise trilogy, Paradise: Hope. I have only seen one other film in the Paradise trilogy, which was Paradise: Love, but this did not impact my reception or understanding of the film, as Paradise: Hope is perfectly capable of standing alone because it runs parallel to the other two films.

Full Paradise: Hope review

COMING UP: The theme of sex and pornography is proving to be a overarching theme in many of the films in the festival, having begun with Don Jon. On Saturday the film, Lovelace, a story about the making of the 1970’s porno Deepthroat, will screen and continue to examine this topic. The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman, as well as a shorts program and a British film called The Look of Love will also be on the Saturday agenda.

This is my first time at a large film festival. I honestly arrived not knowing what to expect. Albeit, I have been in and about the independent film community for several years now, and have had my taste of low profile, fledgling films on a local and regional level; but nothing like this.

What I have always loved about independent film and those who are involved with the art is the energy. The excitement. Sure, it can be glamorous, and everyone dreams of red carpets and photo backdrops, but in the end we are here because we belong. It’s a convention of the craft. Everyone here is present to either hear or tell a story, possibly–and likely–both. The film festival is a stepping stone. Whether it is the first or the last depends on the artists dreams and ambitions; but for everyone here, this has been a goal at one point or another and we are here to celebrate the accomplishment of ” getting there.”

Berlin brought me on board in a pool of sunshine–a welcome in the midst of the typical cloudy German winter. I walked to my hostel from the Bellevue S-Bahn station loaded with gear and clothes to last the 11 days of the festival, checked in to my modest 15 Euro a night room, and made my way to the press center at the Hyatt Berlin right across form the Berlinale Palast where many of the films will premiere. Having been a journalist for the past two and a half years, it is a warm welcome to finally enter a media circus that has a positive focus.

After receiving my credentials, I spent much of the afternoon getting my bearings. Certain press screenings require nothing more that a flash of the credentials, while other higher profile films require you to obtain press tickets a couple of days in advance, and certain tickets are only available at the specific venue on the day of the screening. Fortunately most of the venues are all centered around the Berlinale Palast and press center. I grabbed my tickets for the the red carpet events I wanted to attend between Thursday and Friday–most notably being Don Jon’s Addiction, the feature directorial debut of Joseph Gordon-Levitt–and made my way to the theater.

The regular program for the first day of the festival only included three films in the regular competition, and much of the hubbub was for Wong Kar Wai’s film, The Grandmaster, a Kung Fu epic. Visually breathtaking, the film juxtaposes the external actions of the characters with their own internal struggles.

I Used to be Darker

My first press screening for the festival was for the film, I Used to be Darker from Matt Porterfield. The film tells the story of nineteen year old Taryn, who ran away from her home in Ireland to work the boardwalk in Ocean City, New Jersey. After discovering she is pregnant, she rushes to Baltimore where her aunt, uncle, and cousin live. Upon her arrival, she realizes this family–which she has always pictured as ideal–is in the midst of being torn apart. Her aunt and uncle are in the beginning stages of a separation, while her cousin, whom she has always been able to relate to, is rejecting her parents and the lie she feels she has been told all her life.

The film strives on long takes, which is fun to see after years of fast cutting films. The pace brings a powerful sense of melancholy to the film, and gives the audience the time to reflect on the moment along with the characters. Profoundly long periods of silence also add to this effect, some lasting nearly 10 minutes without a word of dialog as the characters interact with their environment and emotions. Original musical interludes serve as soliloquy, as well as providing an enjoyable soundtrack.

In all, not much is resolved in I Used to be Darker, and the piece serves more as a “slice of life” style of portraiture. The audience is able to poke their heads into the world of the characters, witness this period of conflict, and then return home. We are not left with unanswered questions, because no real questions were raised. Well produced and finely executed, I Used to be Darker is an enjoyable film on a technical level, though I would have liked to have seen more epiphany within the characters.

RATING: 6.8

COMING UP: Friday, things really take off at Berlinale with the screenings press conferences of Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s Don Jon’s Addiction, Gus Van Sant’s Promised Land, and Ulrich Seidl’s Paradise: Hope. All three are much anticipated films from familiar faces on the film circuit. It will be great to see what direction these filmmakers are taking to define themselves in early twenty-first century cinema.