Like his 2011 film Take Shelter, Jeff Nichols‘ Midnight Special was born out of fear, specifically the fear of losing his son.

“I think, really, we’re terrified of losing them, so we’re going to try to figure out who they are to try to help them. Help them become the ones who manifest their own destiny,” the director told me during an interview I conducted a couple of weeks back. That fatherly fear is at the core of the film, though the story blossoms into something much bigger, touching on themes of friendship, homeland security, science, and religion, all in the mode of a sci-fi thriller.

Michael Shannon stars as a man escorting his supernaturally gifted son to a secret location, all while evading an armed religious sect and U.S. military forces. Aiding them on their journey is an old friend (Joel Edgerton) and the boy’s mother (Kirsten Dunst); a government scientist (Adam Driver), meanwhile, tries to understand the family’s plight as he tracks their location.

Terrifically thrilling and deeply affecting, Midnight Special is yet another showcase by one of this generation’s very best visual storytellers and opens in theaters this weekend.

Some people consider your movies to be vague or overly ambiguous. That’s maybe the biggest criticism levied against you.
It’s funny how everybody wants to be polite. Obviously, I made the film with an open ending on purpose. It’s like, let’s talk about it! If you don’t like it…maybe, rather than just being entrenched in your position, if we talk about it, you might be illuminated on something. It was funny, I had a good conversation with a lady in Berlin about [the movie]. She had a very specific place where she thought I should end the movie. She was very specific about not liking the end of the movie, and I said, “That’s cool. Where would you end the movie?” She told me, and I thought, that would be a terrible ending! She was like, “Well, it’s right. That’s where you should have ended it.” I was like, I really don’t think you’re right! I didn’t convince her, but it was at least fun to have a conversation.

So you do enjoy those conversations.
I do, yeah.

I do, too. If I meet a filmmaker and I didn’t like their movie, maybe, and I get illuminated by their insight…I love that.
The reality is, making movies is really complex. It’s a strange algebra. There are so many variables that go into them. I would be shocked if you met a filmmaker who said, “My film’s perfect,” you know? I don’t know if I want to be friends with that person.

Tommy Wiseau.
[laughs] It goes beyond ego. I want these films to be conversation starters, so of course it makes sense that I would want to have conversations about them. As long as people don’t ask me too many specifics about things. It’s cool to see how people’s minds work on them and work on the problems I created. It’s cool to hear how people interpret things, sometimes random, sometimes spot-on, sometimes differently. It’s fun.

In some ways, this movie is like the Superman movie I always wanted in terms of tone and taste, do you know what I mean?
I do.

The existential crisis of Superman is something that’s seldom handled well.
That’s very interesting. I think Zack Snyder scratched the surface of it. I think someone—maybe it was JJ Abrams—was talking about [doing] a Superman film and he was like, “I just wonder how he didn’t kill anybody as a baby.” I know that there are other people who have takes on it. I never saw this character as a superhero—I just saw him as a boy. His illnesses I just thought of as being organic, even though they’re supernatural. The same thing happened with

The same thing happened with Take Shelter. To your comment, specifically—wanting to see a certain version of a kind of movie…This is going to sound ridiculous, but Take Shelter was kind of my zombie movie. Take Shelter was my take on all those cool feelings in a zombie film where people are preparing for a disaster or preparing for the zombie stuff. I just wanted to make a movie that lived in that part. Then you start to make it deeper and more meaningful and relate it to your life, but that was very much the case with Take Shelter and here [with Midnight Special] too. I really liked those movies of the ’80s and sci-fi movies from that period. I kind of wanted to live in that world for a little bit, which doesn’t negate, though, my approach to the story or how I broaden its veins into my own life. It doesn’t discount that feeling, that sense you get after having seen stuff like that. I felt that way with Mud, too. I had this notion of what a classic American film was. I couldn’t tell you one specifically, but I can tell you a combination of several. Cool Hand Luke, The Getaway…I kind of wanted it to feel like some of the things I felt during those movies.

Midnight Special applies to that. So many people try to make these one-to-one analogies with these films, especially with the endings and other things. Those are kind of lost on me. That’s not how I thought about them. I just thought about the essence of those films.

Hitchcock’s movies were driven by his personal fears. Would you say you’re the same?
Absolutely. One hundred percent. The interesting thing about Hitchcock is that he chose fear as a predominant format to work in, which makes sense because that’s best for directors.

How so?
The feeling of fear is most directly linked to the toolbox that a director has to work with. This shot plus this shot equals this feeling. This music here, this framing here. I’m not going to give you much lead space in front of your eyes, and that’s going to freak people out. It’s different in comedy or drama…they’re not really genres. They’re these feelings. Fear most directly relates most to what a director does. I approach it a little differently. Definitely in Take Shelter, there are some scary moments, and they’re intended to be scary. I was getting to use that toolbox. I approach fear more from the standpoint of a writer. I use fear as a catalyst. Fear makes for a scary scene—“This is going to be a scary moment”—that’s what I’m talking about with Hitchcock. What I’m talking about as a writer…fear is a catalyst for a bigger idea. It’s a catalyst for the thought that you’re trying to convey to the audience, which for me is always an emotion—it’s not a story. It’s not plot. It’s not, “I’m going to tell you a story about what happened to a guy.” It’s, “I’m going to tell you a story about how a guy feels.”

Fear is a great place to start from. Fear is what motivates us as humans to get out and gather the food and build the shelter. It’s like a foundational element of humanity. But fear is only a catalyst. For instance, this film is about the fear of losing my son. That brings up a lot of emotions and other things, but that’s not a thought in and of itself. I can’t just make a movie about a guy afraid of losing his son. What does he do with that? What’s he trying to do with that fear? I think that forced me to think about the actual nature of parenthood. What are we trying to do? We’re trying to, I think, define for ourselves who our children are, in the purest way we possibly can. Sometimes, our own point of view gets in the way and we project that onto our kids. But I think, really, we’re terrified of losing them, so we’re going to try to figure out who they are to try to help them. Help them become the ones who manifest their own destiny. We have no control over that destiny. We have no control over who they become. At best, we can try to help them realize who they are and help them become that.

That became a thought. Fear produced that thought, which became the backbone for this movie. In Take Shelter, I was afraid of the world falling apart. I was afraid of not being a good provider for my family, or an adult, or a good husband. I was afraid of all those things, and there was a bunch of anxiety that came from that. But that’s not what that movie’s about—that movie’s about communicating in marriage. That movie’s about the foundational principles of marriage, which I think is communication. That’s why I made the daughter deaf. I think, in order to get that, I needed to have fear. Shotgun Stories is about the fear of losing one of my brothers. But ultimately that’s not what the movie’s about. It’s about the fruitlessness of revenge, a revenge that was born out of that fear.

I think there’s a huge misunderstanding among moviegoers in this country. People are obsessed with plot. That’s how they critique movies—solely on the plot! From the stunning opening of this movie, it’s clear you’re not interested in exposition. This is cinema, that’s it. We’re dealing with emotions, images, and sound. I wish more people appreciated that. I think maybe they do, subconsciously.
Maybe they do, you know? It depends on what people want out of a film. At different times you want different things. A lot of people—and I’m this audience sometimes—want escapism. Look at the way people use score. Score, even more than expositional dialogue, is the way to telegraph a pass, like in basketball. You never telegraph a pass—you never want the defense to know where you’re looking, because they’ll know where you’re going to throw the ball and then they’ll steal it. You can telegraph so much by having two characters speak, and then you put this music underneath it. Everybody knows they’re supposed to be scared, or they’re supposed to be happy, or they’re supposed to be sad. When you remove score, which I mostly did in Shotgun Stories, it’s very offputting to people. All of a sudden, they’re having to judge a scene on its own merits, not on this feeling that you’re giving them. They actually have to start listening. That’s just an example of my broader approach: If you remove certain things, people have to listen.

Some people don’t want that experience when they go to the theater, and that’s okay. I’ll catch you the next time, or maybe I’ll catch you on a Sunday night, when you’ve got a little more free time. It’s my job, though, to try and understand the nature of how people receive stories. It’s natural to search for plot. That’s how our brains work. I don’t hold it against anybody, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to challenge them through a new type of organization of information. Because that’s all it is—you’re just organizing information in a certain way so that it lands at certain times. My movies have plot. I just don’t think it’s the going concern. I think writers are so concerned sometimes with just making things clear.

I know that studios are. They test these things to make sure that no stone is unturned and that people are getting what they want. But what people want isn’t always what they need. I’m fascinated by story dynamics. I’m fascinated by what works for an audience and what doesn’t, what keeps them engaged and what doesn’t. If you’re not working on the edge of all that, you’re never going to have a situation where someone says, “My nails were dug into the edge of my chair,” and one person writes, “This movie is boring as hell.” I have to be okay with both of those responses. I don’t think I could get either if I was just trying to walk down the middle of the road.

About the opening, again, which I love so much…
I think it’s the best opening I’ll ever do.

Some people might consider it disorienting, but I think, for this story, you get exactly the amount of information you need.
What’s funny for me is, I think it’s so obvious. I’m wondering, like, will people just know that, once he picks the boy up into his arms in the hotel room, that obviously he’s not a kidnapper? Yes, they do, but since it hasn’t been so specifically told to them, they feel it, but they don’t know it yet. That’s a really great place to be. To me, it’s just so obvious. “That mystery’s solved.” But it’s not yet. It’s not totally solved. I have this line of Sam Shepard revealing, “The birth father, Roy Tomlin.” I wrote that scene specifically to be a surprise to the FBI, because they haven’t had the ranch under surveillance long enough to know that he was the birth father. The thing I’m wondering is, is it a surprise to the audience? That’s what I [mean] when I talk about narrative mechanics. I’m just so fascinated. When did you know? Here’s when I tell you, or here’s where I specifically don’t tell you.

Obviously, Joel Edgerton’s profession in the film—that was really specific. I remember giving [the script] to this young girl who was going to be a PA on our film. I gave her the script, and maybe she wasn’t the sharpest tack in the drawer, but she read it and just so clearly was like, “You have to tell us sooner that he’s a state trooper. We need to know that because I was really turned off when he did what he did at the end of the film. If I had known that, I’d have felt a lot better about his character a lot sooner.” She was so earnest in her argument. But it’s like, don’t you understand that you having all these emotions is part of the process? It’s part of the story. It just made me smile, and she probably thought I was a dickhead.

Joel gives you so much.
He’s a great actor.

In that scene in particular, he tells you what you need to know in how he behaves.
There you go! I thought it was pretty obvious. He walks over to the fallen state trooper and speaks in a way that no normal person would speak on the police radio. I was like, well, I’m just letting people know there. That’s what his character would do. A bad version of that writing would be [for him] to go over and say, “Hey, hey, there’s a police officer shot.” That wouldn’t be honest to him either. He wants that guy to get help. That’s why he goes and does it. He did not want to go shoot that guy. You could have Jeff Nichols the writer brain go, “If I have him speak that way, I’ll show my cards too soon.” But that’s as dishonest as having him explain that he’s a state trooper. Both of those things are dishonest. My fear for this movie…any shortcoming is when I might have been to purposefully ambiguous in a scene. I’ve read that critique, and I’ve gone back in and I’ve looked at it, and I don’t know. I’ve been able to reason out why they would behave that way. Point being, character behavior trumps all narrative desire.

I paint myself into corners all the time. It’s like, okay, I have this very strict rule about character behavior and dialogue, but I need this piece of information in the movie. It’s my job to craft a scene that allows that piece of information to come through, or we don’t get it. Then I deal with that consequence. It’s like an austerity to the writing you have to apply. You really have to stick to it. You really do.

Kirsten Dunst’s character is one of my favorite motherly characters in a while. You don’t see this stuff often. Without spoiling anything, the things she does, the way she reacts to things—it feels authentic, it feels real.
I think she’s the strongest character in the film. I think she’s able to do something the male characters can’t, specifically Michael Shannon’s. I’m not just saying this to gain the pro-women’s lib lobby. Watching my son be born and what my wife did and then what she did the year that followed…there’s no doubt in my mind that women are the stronger sex in terms of fortitude and emotions. I was very struck in high school when I read A Doll’s House by Ibsen. It’s about a mother that leaves her children. I came from a home where that would not be possible. But it is possible. That’s why the mother in Shotgun Stories hates her children. She blames them for her place in life. Their existence lowered her, in her mind. I was fascinated by the idea that there could be a mother character that would come to the conclusion first of what the inevitability of parenthood is. It made sense to me that a mother would be the one to understand the cycle of parenthood before the father, who has undeniably committed his entire life to the safety of his boy. It takes the mother to realize the cycle that they’re a part of.

I don’t think Michael’s character understands it fully or is willing to accept it fully until the boy gets out of the car. I think it’s important, but it’s also a big narrative risk. You’ve built this father-son story, the mother doesn’t come in for the first thirty minutes, and she’s tangential. Then you do this physical handoff where she’s the one who physically represents their position to their child at the end of the film. I had no idea if it would work, and for some people, I’m sure it doesn’t. I reason out, character-wise, why it would work out that way. Like I said, she’s the stronger of the two. I’m glad to hear you say you like her…because I like her.

That moment you mention where the boy gets out of the car broke my heart.
Good! That’s the one. David Fincher talks about how every movie should have an emotional punch in the gut. That was mine. I have one in each of my films. I’m glad you liked it.

Sevier (Adam Driver) is great, too.
Adam Driver is, in my opinion, going to be one of the most important actors of our generation, irrelevant of Star Wars. I think he’s that good. He’s that interesting. I want to make a detective movie with him really badly.

Why a detective movie?
Because I want to make a detective movie.

[laughs]
Because I’m a huge fan of Fletch. I just want to make a private eye movie.

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

At the 2013 Mill Valley Film Festival, I talked to Zoran Lisinac, a first-time indie filmmaker who had just premiered his film, Along the Roadside. It’s a road movie with heart and humor about a young man from the Bay Area (Iman Crosson) and a colorblind German tourist (Angelina Häntsch) who, through unlikely circumstances, end up traveling together from Oakland to Southern California. Their destination is a giant music festival, but the journey that takes them there transforms them in ways neither saw coming. The film also stars Michael Madsen who plays a strange trailer park mafioso mechanic of some sort, because…Michael Madsen.

Since the last time I met with Zoran, the movie’s played at 14 festivals, and last year he signed a distribution deal for both domestic and foreign release. I caught up with Zoran to talk about the long road the movie’s taken to get to this point, what lessons he learned since we last spoke, his new film, Uploading, whether the film has had an impact in his home country of Serbia, and much more.

As a bonus, I also talked to one of the actors from the film, Danny Grozdich, a YouTube star who plays Mitts, a loose cannon method actor the duo meet on the road. At Mill Valley, I met him and wrote in a piece that he was a “charming, goofy fellow.”

Along the Roadside is available now on metakwon.com, VOD, and in select Best Buy and Barnes & Nobles stores.

It’s been about a year-and-a-half since I’ve talked to you about Along the Roadside.
Yeah, man. It’s been quite a ride. It premiered at Mill Valley in 2013 when I saw you, and since then it’s played at, like, 14 more festivals. We signed a distribution deal back in April 2014 for domestic distribution and for foreign distribution last May. We signed with Osiris Entertainment, and they’re taking the movie to Cannes this May, which is pretty cool. What we didn’t know going in was how long it takes for a fucking film to be delivered! We asked if the movie could come out last summer, and they were like, “Ehhhh….depends how fast you can deliver it.” Deliver it? What do you guys need? Then the marathon started. We needed to export the movie in a certain way, they needed seven different tracks, subtitles…and that’s just part of it. There were legal things, fights about the art, lots of stuff. The whole process took a while, and then they needed to find us a slot. It’s been a long stretch, so we’re happy it’s finally out, at least in the US.

Has it screened in Serbia?
It showed at a festival there. It was the very first screening we had publicly, back in 2013. They flew five of us there, including Michael Madsen. It was pretty scary. We had no idea how the people would react. Luckily it was great and they liked it. But after that festival, after every other public screening I would go back and shrink the film, make it shorter. I think I took out about one minute after every screening, so I ended up taking out 15 minutes of film by the end of the festival run. It’s a school for the future. Right now I’m scouting for our new film, called Uploading. It stars Timothy DelaGhetto, who’s really big on YouTube.

Right! You told me about it last time we talked. The one with all the YouTube stars.
That’s right. We’re actually in preproduction now. But my point was, now I know to screen this new film to as many people as possible! [laughs] We’re going to approach distributors before we even premiere it. Hopefully this one won’t take a year-and-a-half to come out!

The last time we spoke you talked about how you wished Serbia were a more progressive country, more open to different cultures. Has there been any conversation going on about your film? Has it helped make any change?
I’m happy that the film recently just showed there on TV in February. It was on national television. Younger kids really loved it and connected with it, whereas some of the older people thought we pushed the envelope a little too far for them. I’m happy that the youth of Serbia are more open-minded and embraced the film. I give the Internet props for that.

I don’t like all these hate crimes that have been happening in the US in the last couple months. It’s really fucking sad. I don’t know how to politicize this film. I don’t know who looks at it that way, but it actually tackles that [issue]. It’s partially a comedy, so I don’t know if people take it that seriously. I remember at Mill Valley we opened a day before 12 Years a Slave, and we were put in a similar category of films that tackled racism. 12 Years a Slave deals with it head-on, but Along the Roadside kinda pokes at it. [laughs]

Tell me more about how Uploading is shaping up.
It tells the story of a guy who becomes a vlogger after all the doors in Hollywood close on him as an actor. He falls back on YouTube and over time builds an audience. It’s kind of a coming-of-age story, but in a modern-day society where it’s that period of waiting for something to happen, to materialize. That’s why it’s called Uploading. It’s that in-between time. It’s really about relationships in modern-day society and how these invisible fans are just as real, or sometimes even more real, than real-life connections. YouTubers’ work affects people all over the world, and I think it’s really special.

It’s a new kind of relationship that didn’t exist ten years ago, you know? You can actually have a meaningful relationship with people across the world through the Internet. It explores that relationship, but also how messy it gets when real life relationships become neglected. The [main character] is broke, so he finds a job being rented as a friend on a company called FriendForRent.com. He rents himself to this socially inept game developer who has money, but doesn’t have real-life friends.

I had not seen Along the Roadside when we last met, but now I have and I enjoyed it. The lead actress, Angelina Häntsch, is very charming.
She’s a theater actress in Germany. There are a couple of people in Germany who auditioned for that part, and one of the people was this huge star. She won Best Actress at Berlin a couple of years ago. She auditioned and didn’t get the part. She didn’t feel right for the character, although she’s a great actress. Instead, we gave it to Angelina because she fit the bill. I’m really happy with what we got as a director. As a producer, my brother will forever scratch his head saying, “Man, if we had that famous actress the movie probably would have killed in Germany!” [laughs] There are compromises you have to make.

What did you think of the guy who plays Mitts?

Danny? I met him while back at Mill Valley and I wrote a piece and called him goofy!
[laughs]

He was so funny when I met him that I called him a “goofy fellow” in my piece, but after watching the film…Okay, I never laugh out loud when I’m by myself for some reason, but he made me laugh in the film. He’s hilarious.
He was hard to control, though. We’re friends, so it’s cool, but let me put it this way: he definitely worked around the lines. His energy comes across, and it works. Whenever we show the film, the scene when he whacks a guy for no fucking reason with a bottle—an innocent bystander—he gets a huge laugh. That’s how I know people aren’t asleep! The funny thing about him is, he graduated from law school and just said, “This isn’t for me,” and became a YouTube vlogger. To this day, his mom isn’t talking to him. [laughs]

After my chat with Zoran, I gave Danny Grozdich, the “goofy fellow” himself, a call to see what he thought of his director’s comments. He’s in the picture below, which I took when I met the guys at Mill Valley in 2013. Guess which one’s him.

I just had a great conversation with Zoran, and I have to say I’m a fan of yours after watching your performance in the movie.
Very cool! It’s better than the alternative, you know? “We’ve got nothing to talk about because you suck!”

We met over a year ago in Mill Valley, and I remember thinking you were a wacky guy, so I wrote a piece saying that you were goofy. I just watched the film recently for the first time, and I never laugh out loud when I’m alone, but you made me laugh pretty fucking hard.
That’s great! You’re feeding an ego that’s already too big. Making the movie was literally the greatest thing that’s ever come my way. I do a thing on the Internet called The Gradual Report, and I basically point a camera at my face and be funny. I have 970 videos online right now. I’ve been going at that since 2007, and I’ve got 147 million views across those videos. I started out as a stand-up comedian and…well, now that’s not true. I started out as a lawyer.

Zoran just told me that. That’s crazy.
Yeah. For a solid week a pushed that ball up the hill, and then I was like, “This can’t be life.” YouTube was invented in 2007, and I started putting stuff on YouTube because I thought I was better than everyone. One thing led to another, and here I am.

How did you hook up with Zoran?
Zoran and I are both Serbian. It’s a really small country, and when you run into someone from there, it’s like running into someone from your own neighborhood. It’s not a deep connection or anything, but it’s like, “Crazy! We’re from that same tiny spot in the world.” Zoran was looking for locations for the scene with Michael Madsen with this guy, Mitch. My mom lives in Palm Springs, so Mitch thought she might know of a place. My mom was like, “My son’s an actor!” Zoran looked at my YouTube stuff, and he said, “You were born to play Mitts.” I think Zoran told me it was the third biggest role in the script at first, and then he told me it was the fifth biggest. Then the sixth. Whatever, man! I come out okay. I’ll be fine.

I love when you smash that bottle over that poor guy’s head for no reason.
That was Zoran’s idea. The guy was an extra, and they told him he’d get a line. He was like, “My moment!” Then they told him he was going to get a bottle smashed over his head. It was made of sugar, so he thought it wouldn’t hurt at all. But apparently it does hurt! They told me the bottles were 50 bucks a piece, and we had two of them. “Don’t hold back, make sure it breaks,” they told me. So I just destroy this bottle on this guy’s head, and he hits the floor! He was really pissed. “You hit me too hard!” It wasn’t supposed to hurt, but he was really mad at me.

The movie got into a film festival in L.A., and the guy came to it. And they cut his line! The one line he had! I see him and say hi, and he just looks at me and doesn’t say a word. Just turns around and walks away. I told Zoran, “That guy’s still pissed at me!” and he said, “Yeah. We cut his line, too, so that probably didn’t help.”