My Tired Eyeballs + Rough Cut Feedback

Up at five in the morning. This seems to be the only time when I can write in my blog anyway.

Stephen the Fantastic Editor suggested I get feedback on the short film over the Labor Day Weekend. Most of the feedback has to do with the music not working in some way. I am in trouble.

I had felt strongly, from the beginning of making this short, that I had wanted music in this film pretty much the whole time, not only as something the characters are listening to, but as something that makes the movie an emotional experience. It seems that in all the criteria I used in picking tracks, I missed an important one, which was making sure the music has to do with what’s happening in the story/scene.

I picked music that added ambiance, emotion, set a tone, and was realistically what the characters were listening to while doing an activity, but not tracks that had to do with what was going on in the story. What…just what the hell was I thinking. I think this was a case of directorial vision blinding me to the reality of what the scene needed. I guess I wasn’t really serving the narrative in my choices if the music doesn’t work.

When screenwriting, I’ve had a vision in my head for what happens in a scene, that sometimes turns out to be totally wrong. The characters perform an action that doesn’t take into account the reality of what’s happening — where you’ve set the scene, the circumstances of the characters, so you have to rewrite it. And that’s fine.

In this case, hiring a composer means more money spent. For a short film. When I’ve already spent a substantial amount of money already, and we can expect this probably isn’t going to get into Sundance anyway. What is the point in making this perfect? Should I try and integrate the music the way I had envisioned it, cut my losses, and hope I can make another, better film?

The only reason I’m even considering this is because one person out of the few I asked for feedback mentioned the music works. One person. And maybe if it worked with one person, maybe it’ll work for other people. On this short film — since it is a short, and I’m not bankrolled by a studio — maybe I should cut my losses and go with the music I have if it’ll work for some people, even if it’s not everyone or the majority. I don’t think I was completely crazy when picking the tracks. If the pieces of music aren’t the right choice, do they still add something to the film that’s worth it to experience?

I want to mention that I had a bad day over the weekend where I just…I got really discouraged by my prospects, and time out of the weekend was spent dealing with my feelings until I reconnected with who I was and realized that making good movies is incredibly important to me, and that I have to keep inching forward. The thing about feeling bleak in this case is that you have to remind yourself it isn’t true. They’re only feelings, not surefire predictors of the future.

But when you weigh the odds, the chances of this actually happening, it’s almost like they dictate the path for you, whether that’s a wall you can’t scale, or a path over an interminable canyon with no rails. And things become really, really scary, and you can’t tell the difference between what’s true and your feelings. And I think in these moments you have to realize that you set the path too, through your actions. Filling out that grant application, continuing to work on that script, working a full-time job for two years to get that short off the ground could ultimately be the difference maker that leads you to somewhere really fulfilling.

I’m not big on generalized lessons. What may apply to me, may not apply to you. I don’t want to say something like, “guess you just have to keep going.” But I know that’s what I’m going to do.

Editing Observations From Someone Not an Editor

Hey look, a breadbasket!

Sweet baby goats, I am tired. I’ve been trying to track in my journal what I’ve been doing every single day. All I know is that the time has whizzed by and I’ve been going to bed between one and four a.m., pretty much every night. My circadian rhythm is totally shot, and last night I only got up and worked on some writing after being unable to sleep for an hour.

This is a problem in and of itself, because I should be writing every day. For some reason, how to carve out the time to do so has been an absolute mystery. I’m starting to think the most successful people are able to do what they want to during the day because they have concrete routines. They don’t have to think about when they’re doing something; they just know that this is the time every day that they do it.

I’ve been editing between 10:00 - 3:00 p.m. every day with Stephen the Fantastic Editor, after which my brain devolves into a complete puddle. Monday I took a nap after editing, and I think that was what led to me getting three hours of sleep last night. Tonight I was planning to go to bed around 12:30 a.m. so I could get a decent amount of shuteye. After exercising I’m now getting a second wind, and I’m not tired at all. I’ve been meaning to write in this blog for two weeks about my experiences editing, which may possibly prepare me for the next project, and will hopefully help newer filmmakers in the future.

This is probably going to be a LONG post, so here we go:

In my elective drama class at college, I was taught a concept called “The Moment Before.” It’s basically, whatever emotion you’re acting at the start of a scene usually has to do with how your character was feeling BEFORE the scene actually takes place. I have learned over the course of editing on this project that the same concept really guides me in which takes to pick in the edit. I usually don’t pick a selection from the performance takes on the timeline without considering what’s shown/felt/performed in the previous shot that makes it in the cut. The best performance take from an actor may no longer be the appropriate take to use, if it’s not the appropriate reaction to what’s in the previous shot. And it’s all a puzzle piece — editing isn’t a collage of best performance takes. It’s genuine actions and reactions. It’s building mood and drama. When editing, you have to consider (in addition to The Moment Before):

• matching shots

• pacing of the shot (how long it lasts)

• timing of the cut between one shot and the next

• performance takes

• facial expressions, hand movements, eyelines (if you have a great performance from an actor who crosses their eyes accidentally in the shot, you have to use a different take…unless it’s on purpose)

• overall mood you’re trying to convey with a full sequence* (*this may be optional, but I’m suspecting good editors think this way. I am not skilled enough to do this yet in conjunction with Stephen the Fantastic Editor. I can barely think one cut ahead. However, I’m reminded of two sequences in Jaws after seeing the movie last Saturday. The first has to do with (SPOILER ALERT) when the dog and the kid get eaten by the shark, and the next sequence has to do with the false alarm of the two kids with the fin in the water. Both sequences feel EXTREMELY different from each other, and I’m pretty sure that’s due to the editing. I’m wondering if Verna Fields and Steven Spielberg had the overall pacing picture of these sequences in mind when cutting them, or simply figured out the pace as they went).

Let’s remember that the pacing of shots is measured in FRAMES, and if the cut is one frame off, it affects the emotional and temporal experience of your story. Thanks to Stephen the Fantastic Editor being so accommodating, and recognizing that even one frame affects the rhythm, fluidity, and emotional experience of the story, I do not fucking settle when it comes to cutting the film. Frances McDormand, who is married to a Coen brother, has said film is an editor’s medium, and I believe she is absolutely right. Sorry, directors! But after watching many, many movies over the course of the past decade with a critical eye, and after editing a couple of extremely modest shorts on my own, I have seen the power of a good edit and how it can affect the viewing experience. I think a good cut is probably the most pure way to communicate a feeling in a particular scene. I’m not saying it’s the only way, or the best way, but I’m saying it’s the purest.

Film may be a visual medium, but I feel like you have to absorb a lot when experiencing visuals in a scene. Editing just is, man. That cut is where it is, and hopefully it means something. Without being super pretentious about it, I strive for every cut to mean something. If the cut is where it is, it’s because I’ve considered any or all of the bullet list above, and made a choice. Sometimes I’ll make an edit because it just works; other times not getting the right coverage in a better take and having to settle for an alternate choice makes the decision for you. But my approach to editing is never, “yeah, let’s put the cut here and move on because I want to go get lunch.” I am absolutely ruthless when it comes to editing. Not in a way that sucks the magic out of the film, but in a way where I want you have the best storytelling experience possible in a visual form.

And yes, editing takes an absolutely long time. If an editing choice doesn’t immediately stand out to me, and I am struggling to piece two shots together, I will try every way possible to eliminate everything that doesn’t work until the choice becomes clear. Sometimes you don’t know what you’re working with until you take a frame off the ending of one shot and add two frames to the beginning of the next, and it just feels right. Sometimes you abandon the pacing approach that comes with cutting or adding frames to a shot, and simply go with making one shot match to the next to achieve fluidity, because that becomes the priority to facilitate a mood or energy depending upon where you are in the story.

Anyway, for me this process is a mixture of instinct and craft. Sometimes the choice is initially apparent, and sometimes it isn’t. But it is always, always a choice. I can’t speak for other filmmaking crafts, but directing, editing, and producing is about making decisions. If you usually have trouble picking where or what to have for lunch on a given day, I would reconsider choosing these lines of work. I have seen people take twenty minutes to decide such things, and I think if they were faced with a bunch of different editing choices to make for one shot, it would be a mental overload. I say this not to be mean or condescending, merely as an observation.

And now that I think about it, I’m sure there are great filmmakers out there who would have trouble deciding where to eat, but would have no problem deciding where to edit in a movie. This is why generalizations are to be avoided!

Now screenwriting, I don’t know what the hell it is. I feel like with screenwriting I’m fumbling in the dark more than I am with any other medium of filmmaking that I’m capable of. For me, editing, directing, and even producing really come down to matters of taste, as well as my decision to be ruthless and tenacious about my choices (keep in mind I haven’t had to answer to anyone as a director and producer, which might affect what decisions I’d make and how I’d make them). My initial lead actress for the C.R.T. project walked, and while I was terribly worried that I wouldn’t find the right choice before the person actually showed up, I also was not going to do the picture until I got someone who I knew was the absolute best I could possibly get either.

I went through hundreds upon hundreds of songs for the music in this film. I knew I didn’t want to pay for a composer that would add to the already obscene cost of this short, but you bet I was going to pore over every song in the database that I’m using until I found something that worked. Anyway, taste, tenaciousness, and an unwillingness to settle are what really drive my creative decisions as a producer, director, and writer.

As a screenwriter, I feel like what I’m most thinking about is how to be true to myself and the spirit of the story, partly because everything I write has a strong personal connection. Yeah, I’m trying to write visually, and not make scenes too long, and use less words to say more in the dialogue and consider the subtext of each scene, as well as how to incorporate tone and mood in the action lines and how to not overwrite anything. So I guess there’s some level of craft there that I’m not thinking about as consciously as when I’m editing or directing, but in screenwriting, I just want the story to feel organic. This probably means I’m relying on instinct a lot more, but maybe this is why I feel like I know far less about what I’m doing.

One last thing, for baby filmmakers: when starting C.R.T., I had completely forgotten you can take an audio from one take and match it to a visual from another take if it better fits the mood you’re trying to go for. It has saved my butt on this picture, numerous times. If you wanted to for one piece of spoken dialogue, you could isolate single words spoken in all different takes and put them in the mouth of the actor in yet another take. Now this would probably sound terrible, but my point is that this is yet another tool you have in crafting a performance and mood in a scene, as well as the overall narrative as a filmmaker. Even on set, knowing that you have a good spoken performance as a director could be a factor to help you decide more efficiently whether you want to move onto another shot or not.

Super tired. 1:30 now. Glad I got all this down. Here’s hoping I fall asleep right away after taking a shower so I can wake up refreshed tomorrow and start establishing a schedule.

P.S. Saw Sometimes, I think About Dying again today and forgot how beautiful it is, in a host of ways.

Vampires and Boogie Nights

22 pages of notes on a feature I’m trying to write involving vampires. It seems like questions about the who, what, where, when, and why of the story are sprouting faster than I can answer them. Answering a question about plot leads to five more questions about character, setting, and theme. And so it goes. Should I start writing the screenplay now? Probably not.

I heard an interview with Matthew Lieberman where he said that he takes a story as far as he can go with his eyes on it only before he gives it to outside influences, like his peers, for feedback. I think I can take things further in the outline stage. I know I can come up with more solutions that will provide me with a more solid foundation when I eventually do write the story. I feel like all the work I’m doing is necessary, but it’s getting to the point where I want to put what I have in screenplay format so badly that I’m half-expecting the story to shoot out of me like a cannonball when I do eventually get there.

There’s this other story that I’m working on that’s less high-concept, and that seems to elude the traditional screenplay narrative whenever I try and outline it. For example, no concrete antagonist, no explicit goal from the protagonist. What’s connecting everything is a subculture I’m passionate about. Now, this doesn’t equate to a good story, but I think it’s good that I’m getting the sense that the story isn’t quite fitting into traditional narrative conventions of screenwriting, but still needs to be told. If all good screenplays needed to have an identifiable protagonists with a specific goal, as well as a concrete antagonist, and big set pieces — you know, we’d never have movies like Boogie Nights or Almost Famous.

John Logan mentioned in his BAFTA lecture to study Shakespeare. And he’s right. I watched the four hour cut of Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet because of him, piecemeal. I’m no Shakespearean expert, but now I feel like I understand more about why the story works. The qualities that define Hamlet for me involve a very driven protagonist that pushes forward the plot in a high stakes situation. Obviously, if you can create a story out of these elements, you’re on your way to something very compelling (for some reason, the first movie that came to mind from this combination was Dirty Pretty Things, which was also nominated for a Best Screenplay Oscar). But that doesn’t mean that stories that don’t follow this narrative paradigm aren’t successful.

I’ve seen Boogie Nights before. I think it still holds up wonderfully. I think the screenplay is actually its own achievement, separate from the visuals. My questions for the screenwriting gurus has to do with Dirk Diggler’s goal. Is it to make the best porno picture ever? Is it to keep his job? Is it to continue to make money? Is it okay if he isn’t working toward an explicit goal in the movie? Why does the movie still work? From what I’ve heard, and obviously I’m a skeptic about this, is that if your movie doesn’t feature a character with a strong goal, it falls apart.

I’m unsure what Dirk Diggler’s goal is. I don’t even know if I want to look up the answer from somewhere else, because to me the movie still works even if I can’t identify it. The scenes that take place in the movie, often between two or three characters, are really well-written. There’s a lot to cut your teeth into with the dialogue, which reveals so much about the characters’ personalities and shapeshifting intentions in one or two lines. Also, the scenes in this movie seem very innocuous. Like, if the characters were real people, none of them but Dirk would probably remember the day he was introduced to Jack Horner’s crew, so why is it featured in the movie? Why are Buck Swope’s conversations about stereos featured in the film? Why the attention given to Dirk Diggler’s name, and what about the conversation about video versus film in the Colonel’s office? What about the scene with the Colonel in jail?

I feel like these exchanges are somehow really significant in the characters’ lives and to the story itself, even if they seem pretty casual in the moment. Maybe it’s like — if your character’s seen in the movie getting a soda from a fast food restaurant, if it’s not a really important moment in the life of your character or the story, does it need to be there at all? What’s this moment showing?

Am I stating the obvious again? Maybe. But I feel like I’ve read enough amateur scripts where nothing happens in a scene. Within professional scripts, something is always happening, the story is never in stasis, and it’s partly due to the fact that the moments featured in the script matter to the characters and story. They’re significant in some way. My unsolicited opinion — if you want a scene in a screenplay but can’t justify it within the context of the narrative at the time the scene is shown, it doesn’t need to be there.

It Happened.

Watching dallies now. Seeing the footage feels like experiencing images from a dream, rather than real-life staged action actually captured with a camera on the day. I didn’t sleep the night before the first day of shooting, and I’m sure the production suffered. I think the only way I got through it was thanks to a great team around me, including Charles Liu as Director of Photography and Lena Krivosheyeva as the 1st Assistant Director. We accomplished so many setups in such a short time, including shots that we took off our schedule initially and put back on because time allowed. I’m extremely grateful for everyone I was fortunate enough to work with on this short film, but I would be remiss if I didn’t credit Charles and Lena especially. I could not have made my days as successfully as I did, without their efficiency and skill.

I learned many lessons, some harder to swallow than others, but I’m grateful I had the opportunity to learn what I did, and hopefully there will be more opportunities down the road where I can put this knowledge to good use.

One thing I can say I learned has nothing to do with directing. Please fellow filmmakers, if you get a chance in pre-pro, think about your set design. It was only by luck that I was able to pull together some props that infused a meaningful splash of color into the important final scenes, but I had completely neglected the look of the kitchen, our primary set. Because of all the utensils we had in there and how much counter space was taken up by functional props, I figured that we had everything we needed to make it look like an actual kitchen. Instead I’ve wished so many times while watching dallies that I had focused on putting something around the stove to make it look more lived-in and homely (ironic, considering we shot in my parents’ actual kitchen).

I’m writing down all the filmmaking lessons as they come to me. This will help me remember what I need to do for next time, but I don’t know if there’s going to be a next time. It’s incredible hubris to think I’ll be able to do this again. The impracticality of financing a short film, without favors called in or adhering to a stringent budget, has hit me over and over again during the producing process. I wrote a ten page short film with three actors to be shot in my kitchen, that still required a cast and crew of eighteen total to be lit and shot properly, not including the personnel that will be required in post. We still needed a pile of lighting and camera equipment to get all the shots I’d envisioned, which had to be paid for. We still got a permit, even though we shot in my own house, to protect us in case the neighbors complained. Additional costs included the expense of feeding the production team for three full days — crafty and lunch.

How do people do this with low overhead? I feel like there’s some big secret to this that I haven’t figured out. Am I just an idiot? Possibly.

Anyway, with the footage now shot, Stephen and I are in the process of editing. There’s something I’ve forgotten about the editing process, which is probably fundamental to most experienced filmmakers. When you watch a shot and a cut that made its way into the film, you don’t think about the following:

• the ten takes of that particular coverage

• the five takes you liked that made its way to the timeline

• the frames you added and removed from the beginning of that take as you conjoined it with the previous shot, and the frames that you added and removed from the ending of that take as you conjoined it with the next shot. You don’t think about all the times you replaced and removed frames to find that correct cut point. You generally have to experiment, by adding and removing frames at the beginning and end of a shot. You could do this five or six times for one shot, which could change again when you combine this footage with the next shot.

• all the decisions that go into how and why you chose to conjoin the footage the way that you did. Was pacing the biggest influence? Capturing the essence of an actor’s reaction? Matching eyelines, hand movements?

Again, I am stating what is likely the obvious to experienced filmmakers. To some, this is probably the fun part. Stephen and I are about to tackle the meat of the dramatic portion of this movie tomorrow, and I am nervous as hell. I’m not even sure what I’m nervous about. We’re obviously going to get it done, but I think I forgot how this process sometimes becomes like looking for a portion of pencil lead in a pile of sand with a fine-toothed comb. It is a painstaking process, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but I’ve forgotten how long editing takes. Mass respect to the Thelma Schoonmakers of the world, who used to do this on film, as well as the editors working for people like Fincher and Kubrick, who often request a ton of takes during shooting.

This film has caused me anxiety that I don’t remember happening with PreGame. Part of this is due to the financial cost of the film, and knowing now that very little is likely to come of this film after going through the festival circuit already. I also think this is due to the fact that this movie is incredibly personal on a level that PreGame wasn’t, and I’m going to feel like I let myself down if I don’t get this right when I have the chance to in the editing. I do know deep down that my only goal should be and is to make the best film possible. At the end of the day, it’s been a privilege to have this opportunity to direct again, and as a filmmaker, I don’t know if I really care about anything but making the best film I possibly can. That’s all I can really control, anyway.

One more thing: I still need to find the music. I don’t know what I was thinking with picking the music before we actually shot the film. Now that I’ve seen the footage, the music no longer fits and I have to somehow find new songs. If they don’t exist, I am screwed, though Stephen seems to think I’ll find something, and I take consolation in his faith when I get discouraged.

I’ll probably write more tidbits on the movie page later once the film gets released, but that’s all for now. Here’s hoping I get to do another one, but if I do, it would be so nice to have some help on the producing end. I was way, way off-base to think that producing this film would be similar to producing the last one. Every film has unique challenges that you can’t anticipate, and I was blindsided by problems that arose that didn’t happen on my last project. Not sure what I was thinking, but this was also a hell of a lesson to learn, and I’m only glad that my baseline health was enough to prevent a heart attack during the constant surprises that happened during pre-pro.

C.R.T. Pre-Pro: Producing Trenches + Directing Lessons

The goal was to write in here after every day. But for practically the last week I’ve been so tired at the end of every day that I’ve been some kind of mindless zombie. I seek sleep and that’s been about it.

On the directorial side of things, they’ve been fine. Charles came over and we hashed out the blocking and coverage in my kitchen. Another lesson learned: do the rough storyboards with your DP first before sending them to a professional. A lot of the storyboard ideas I had and that JJ drew with my input had to be chucked, or we had to input new storyboards. I didn’t think of the right amount or correct coverage we’d need for a particular scene. For example, with the shots I designed, the three actors or the whole scene couldn’t be lit properly. We couldn’t get a shot from the corner of the kitchen where we’d need the necessary wide that shows the characters moving from different parts of the kitchen, so we had to reverse it from the other side of the kitchen, and think of other angles from which to get the characters that would work in the cut.

I was trying to think of the most effective and simple way to cover a scene, because I remember seeing that sort of coverage in movies, where a two shot or an establishing shot of characters in a living room speaks more than I thought single coverage ever could, and being like, yeah — that’s a good idea. Sometimes there doesn’t need to be all this coverage or editing in one scene. But it’s not like directors only shot the scene from one or two particular angles — the scenes I’m seeing are what made it to the edit. In production, the director(s) probably shot from all the coverage they’d need first: the establishing, the over-the-shoulders, the singles, etc.. Maybe you should think of what coverage you need first, rather than trying to simply the coverage from the very beginning, as that’s probably essential to blowing your foot off.

Another example: I designed going from an over-the-shoulder into a two-shot from behind the stove in a crucial moment. But Charles was like, in this two-shot, you’re not going to be able to fully see the faces of both characters anyway, because you’ll be behind them and their hair will be partially blocking their faces. And you desperately need this coverage of this other character’s reactions. So we had to break the two-shot into two over-the-shoulders. And I was like, duh.

Another thing — Charles knew what could be seen properly from the lens, and from where. I had thought of inserts and close-ups for a key item that would need to be seen clearly in a scene. But Charles thought of a shot where the item could actually be seen from behind the two characters, at waist level and from the back of the kitchen, that encompassed the moment in that scene and their relationship between them far better than the insert every could.

If you’re not a director of photography already, do your rough storyboards with the DP before getting a professional artist involved. And again, this is only if you’re really shooting for the stars with your short film and want it to look polished. This would probably be a really good learning lesson if you weren’t paying anyone, and just shooting a short film in a tight space in a more informal collaboration, say, with friends. But because I’m making a noticeable financial and temporal investment in this project, this would be too expensive of a learning lesson for me to realize in post.

This is somewhat hilarious in hindsight, because I was so ecstatic to be getting what I thought were better storyboards. After eight days, I can’t remember what I thought was better about them. All I remember is that a good portion of what I drew, and what I gave the artist to draw, didn’t work.

This is naturally adding more work to my plate, nine days before we’re supposed to be shooting.

And producing. I don’t remember feeling this stressed when I produced last time. It sometimes feels like I am coordinating or communicating for eight hours out of every day, when I need to be devoting more of my energy to really connecting creatively with the film itself. I am coordinating with actors and agents, hunting down casting spaces, securing a makeup test, filling out payroll, for sometimes what seems like eight hours out of every day. And I don’t understand where the time goes. I think last time I was like, “f- yeah, I’m making a movie!” And everything I did in any capacity, whether interacting with the location manager or booking food, was the best.

Now it’s like, I don’t want to be doing this. I don’t want to be asking or answering questions for eight hours a day. Casting actors has also added a considerable amount of work to my plate, with looking through the hundreds of applications, watching the self-tapes, interacting with agents regarding auditions. Last time, the quality that the candidates needed to play decent basketball really made my search easier. If you had the experience, which most candidates didn’t, I auditioned you.

For this project, you needed to be of the right age range, and have a demo reel so I can see you can at least act. And there were a lot of women who fit those specifications for one role; now multiply that by three.

We also had a lead actress — I should say, the lead actress, drop out due to scheduling conflicts, after I had casted her and began talking to her agent. And I was having several miscommunications with the lead actress I had asked to fill her shoes over the role, which siphoned away an additional amount of my time and energy, so then I chose to go in a different direction. By this point, I was so stressed that I didn’t know which was worse: the considerable investment I was putting into the production, only to have an actress that couldn’t do this very big part justice. Or, the considerable investment I was putting into the production, only to possibly have the production shut down, because I wouldn’t be able to find her in time. Because if the lead’s acting is going to be wooden, what’s the point of putting all of my resources into the project?

Charles actually had to tell me to calm down. And I got through it. And now we have a Carol, and it looks like we’ll be shooting in nine days. But man, this whole time, what I really should have been doing is reading the screenplay, visualizing the scenes and performances, and figuring out ways to better connect with the actresses as a director. Which are all stuff I’m going to have to do anyway, in addition to everything else.

I’m a little grumpy, right now. But I do want to say, that when I picked up Charles from the airport and drove him back, and the day was sunny and we didn’t need to say anything to each other, the fact that I was actually going to make a movie, with someone I had worked with before and had a good relationship with, was the most pure feeling in the world. And thinking of this, it’s like, all that nitty gritty stuff seems less important and wearisome. I just have to try my best to get through the next eight days and figure out what I need to do, from a directorial and a producing standpoint, so this production can go as smoothly as possible.

C.R.T. Pre-Pro: There’s Always Something to Do

After basically a week of doing a million things at the same time for this short (including writing the screenplay and storyboarding simultaneously, ugh), I was like “it’s been a long week. I want to relax.” I played some videogames for a while, and then sat down to watch a movie, but some anxiety started kicking in, and I realized I couldn’t watch a movie. I had already spent the time I had relaxing to play videogames. I had too much stuff I had to do for a short that’s shooting in sixteen days.

My jobs for this short include: producer, director, writer, casting director, location scout. Over the course of the next two weeks, I have to get insurance, buy enough crafty to feed a crew of 15, book the meals, begin payroll, and get a film permit. It feels like I am in constant communication with people all the time, partly because there’s always questions that come up that you didn’t expect, and you have to reach out to the right person and ask.

“Oh, looks like we’re using props in this movie. Mr. Script Supervisor, can you tell me how much food I need to have ready for this particular scene on the day?” “Looks like we’ll be using music in this movie. Mr. Sound Recordist, how would you recommend recording a changing list of songs for the film?” “Dear Actress, are you available for a makeup test on this day?” And so on.

And yes, I am still in the freaking process of storyboarding this screenplay. There is one line I can’t figure out, but it’s the line that stitches together the emotions and mood from one section of the film into the final section. And I feel like I can’t storyboard the shot until I have the line right, because the shot framing I choose next will be affected by whatever framing I pick for this particular piece of dialogue.

I mean, screw it. I can’t do anything about it now. I’ve got to move forward. I really don’t know what the heck I was thinking. This kind of poor planning could really screw up a film, and with the rates I am paying everyone, I could potentially be a heck of a lot poorer, with nothing to show for it.

And listen — I think I need to remember, who cares if it’s wrong? I mean, I can only do what I can to the best of my ability at this point. I’d rather try and be creative than attempt for perfection and stifle my productivity.

C.R.T. Pre-Pro: The Past 72 Hours…

It’s been a rollercoaster, let me tell you that!

The stress of wondering whether you’ll find the right crew once you’ve put out the crew call? Bummer!

You end up finding candidates that seem enthusiastic, passionate, and capable? Awesome!

You have to go through six hundred applications for one role because you’re also the casting director? Bummer!

You start finding the right actresses and can’t wait to audition them? Awesome!

You’re spending hours slicing away as much of the budget as you can when you should have invited actresses to audition already? Bummer! (This part sucks.)

Future filmmakers should have spotted something in the last sentence. Why the hell am I going over my budget at this stage in pre-production, while hiring crew and asking for auditions? EXACTLY.

Forgive any attitude on my part. Please understand, it’s been a stressful couple of days.

There’s clearly a process to filmmaking, but especially pre-production, which I’m finding out. You get the screenplay absolutely ready (how you know whether it’s ready or not will be a topic for a future post). You hire a producer and make a budget. You do your own storyboards. You then may possibly want to put them away for a couple of days, and see if you can come up with better shots. You then hire someone to do the storyboards, unless you can draw really, really well. Once you have these things in play, you put out an audition notice and a crew call.

You don’t do all these things at the same time, like I am doing. Due to some feedback I got on this screenplay last minute, I have been making a choice to rewrite half of the screenplay and completely redo my storyboards, since the old storyboards no longer apply to the scenes in the new screenplay.

Whether or not I decided to rewrite the screenplay, I still would have made the choice to redo my storyboards. This I don’t regret. I feel like overall, the framing choices I’m making now are better and get the audience more invested. In my previous storyboards, I had barely any shots where the three leads were in the same frame, when this was important to visually communicating their dynamic as a family. I also drew shots that were really far away from the main characters, in over-the-shoulders or in wide framing, when a medium close-up would have made more sense, considering the importance of what was being said in the scene and the emotion behind it.

If you can as a filmmaker, do your storyboards, put them away for a couple of days, and do them again. I’m not saying it will always be feasible to do this, but damn if this isn’t a helpful exercise.

C.R.T. Pre-Pro

I spent most of the day re-storyboarding this short. The very nice remote storyboard artist needs thumbnails within a few days. I had most of the storyboards done but have decided to go over them again in the course of my notes to him and see if they’re the right ones, if I need them all. I eliminated a few shots. I’ve found that if I can combine three shots into one, it’s usually the right choice, at least for an independent short film. Keep in mind I’ve only directed one.

Someone said something to me the other day, who looked this script over. They said there’s too much talking, and that with the ending, I’m not showing enough. While I think they’re right about the ending and I should go back and fix it, I think part of the implication with what they were saying was “nothing’s happening in the script.”

Look, there’s conflict, and I think this short will connect with people who see members of their own family on screen. I’m aware of the power of representation, and I think this short features members of female generations bonding, bickering, and being nuanced if not complicated (due to my limitations with creating characters) in a way that needs to be seen more, somehow, just in case it connects with somebody and makes them feel less alone in the universe.

I have to have more conviction in my vision as a director. If I’m lucky, this is only the beginning of people questioning things before something gets off the ground, and me developing the confidence to see an idea through if I believe in it and feel it’s important. This is something I have to do. Writing this makes me feel better. I was storyboarding all day, and contributed to a weird hour of productivity while trying to finish The Nothings outline. I’ve spent the past week or so trying to hire crew (hoping to God someone comes along and fits within my budget) and look at actresses’ applications for the short film (over 800; yes I’m the casting director), and all of this activity has me a little frazzled. I’m going to exercise after this, and I’ve been making the time to read and sleep at an appropriate hour, which is good.

One last thing: I am currently without a full-time job. Maybe I’d be able to do all of this with one. Either way, I’m exhausted. The location’s available at the end of the month and I have to shoot the film then, so I’m on a deadline.

Watching: Dreamland (Miles-Joris Peyrafitte), Sundowners (Lisa Steen). Filmmaker: Lynne Shelton

Emerged from the Black Hole

I’ve been in a funk this past month. And I say this because it’s important for any aspiring artist who might read this to know that down periods will likely happen. Maybe you’ll be able to avoid these better than I did. Laying in bed helps no one. Get up, take a shower, do something nice for yourself. Much of this is mental, you have to push through that voice in your head saying that it’s all for naught, the odds are too great, the work you do doesn’t matter. If it matters to you, then it does.

I don’t think anyone can really know what these funks are like until they go through it themselves. If you are going through one, whoever reads this, just remember that it’ll pass, but that the desire to write/take pictures/dance/film/whatever will still be there when the cloud lifts, except two months have gone by and that’ll be time spent without making art. You know, after the funk is over, you’ll be feeling better, but it’d be nice to have that section of the script completed, especially as you can’t get that time back.

At least, that’s my perspective. Maybe the funk lifts for others, and they realize that their life is much better with or without those extra pages in existence. And while I am feeling better now, I wish I could have had those pages written.

Again, the primary purpose of writing about my funk experience is to make other artists aware of the nature of such a depressed state, so they can hopefully get through it with a certain amount of grace and dignity when the time comes, as well as a minimum amount of sadness felt and work lost.

• Working on: The Nothings, storyboarding a short

• Watching: Stoker (Park Chan-Wook), I’ll End Up in Jail (Alexandre Dostie)

• Filmmaker: Eve Symington

• Update: Swing Away progressed to the semi-finals of the Screencraft Screenwriting Fellowship, and no further. I am still very grateful.

Back Again

Some updates since last time:

Finished Feedback and Static. First draft, will hopefully come back to it in the future, because I think there’s something there in terms of the elements that work — I just don’t have the skills to make them work together.

Somehow, Swing Away placed in the quarterfinals of the ScreenCraft Screenwriting Fellowship, which is kind of cool. I’ve never placed in anything competitions with my writing before. The screenplay is far from perfect, but it has a lot of heart, and I’m glad that something I put out into the universe came back recognize in some way.

I got waitlisted to a Top 5 Film School. The interview didn’t go well. I’m considering applying again in the future.

Writing has been slow. I have a ton of time on my hands lately, and my anxiety has just been off the wall. It will have to be a topic for a future post.

I’ve been looking up images to create some kind of lookbook for a short film I hope to shoot this summer, if lucky.

A Little on Outlines

This blog needs some photos.

I’m working on the outline for this latest feature. And already, I know I’m going to mess up my story in the outline. I’m getting through the basic events okay, but the information I’m putting on the page is a mess. I’m just trying to create enough excitement in this phase to get from page 1 to 120, but there’s no organization in what I’m putting in this document. I’m basically word-vomiting all of this information, which tracks the momentum of the story yet somehow feels very haphazard. This was the way I wrote my last screenplay, and it’s been so long since I created my last outline that I forgot how scatterbrained I am in this particular part of the writing process.

The goal is to go in after I nail down the plot and add the emotion to this movie, and I think what’s stopped me in the past is that organizing pages and pages of thoughts has seemed intimidating as hell. But I just have to dive in and do it, and right now I don’t feel intimidated. Right now I’m like, “please let the execution of this story be better than last time”.

I’m not sure if I’ve said this before, but I feel like if I can nail down a process for how to execute my ideas and turn them into complete, coherent, viable stories, I’ll be one step closer to being ready for this industry.

Writing Again

Ups and downs. In the third act of this latest screenplay.

I have an issue where I’ll outline from start to finish — at least the basic events of what will happen — but instead of sticking to the outline (in which I’ve invested several pages), I’ll go in a different direction when I actually write the screenplay. This allows for some wonderful moments to happen that I wouldn’t have conceived in the planning stages, but then I’ll have an ending that’s not consistent with the tone or the themes I’ve established in the previous two-thirds of the movie.

What I wish I could do is somehow leave room for all of this magic to happen in the outline. I’d rather rewrite in that stage, than try to rework themes, ideas, and characters after writing 120 pages of a screenplay. If it’s not evident by now, I don’t know how to do a proper rewrite. The only thing I’ve ever rewritten was the first draft of Swing Away, and that involved writing a draft, then writing a second version of the screenplay that was nothing like the original thing — I essentially wrote a second movie of the same idea.

I’m reading The Wrestler right now, and it’s unbelievable. It’s the kind of story that inspired me to write movies in the first place, about human beings and their “ordinary” lives, but that somehow feels so Shakespearean that you wonder how a movie about real people could grip you the way it does — I mean, what’s so exciting about a washed wrestler who’s estranged from his daughter and works at a deli?

Anyway, Robert Siegel’s script got to its current version after going through fifty drafts. And I’m like, life is short. Do I even have that long to polish off an idea? I need to get good at writing as a whole, and I don’t know if that’s going to happen through developing one thing (maybe it’ll happen if given the chance to develop a multitude of ideas? That could take years!). I feel like my execution is never going to be on point though if I can’t fully realize these germs of creation that I plant in the screenplay. I’m not going to be able to pay my bills with a screenplay that’s a half-baked soufflé of ideas, but I need to figure out a process where I can develop them fully without spending an exorbitant amount of time rewriting.

Struggles

I’ve been having problems getting it together. Writing consistently has been a challenge, for no other reason than I’ve been feeling discouraged. About Swing Away, I entered it in a competition and it seems I was absolutely right — it didn’t stand out from the pack in any way. And I’m starting to doubt myself about this current screenplay I’m working on. I used to think the personality I wrote with made it pop, at least distinguished it from other scripts in some way, even if the craft could use some work. But now I’m wondering if what I’ve been building is just average. And the thing is, I’m not sure how to get better. I guess continuing to write is the only way forward, but there’s no indication that I’ll actually be able to have what it takes to elevate my screenplays to where they need to be.

I guess I really shouldn’t worry about it. Believe me, if there was some magic potion to become a better screenwriter, I’d take it.

Reflections

At some point next week, I’m going to have to do a recap of all the amazing short films I saw while on the festival circuit this year, and thanks to some moderation gigs I got volunteering for an Academy-Award qualifying festival. Films like Charlie Schmidlin’s Gossamer, and Shanrica Evans’ Clarissa, and Tomer Shushan’s White Eye. On the comedy side, How to Fire Someone (with Jules and Jonas) by Mike Lars White is a stroke of brilliance, and Chris Elena’s Audio Guide is a perfect mix of the charming and surreal. It was a privilege to come upon such a high quality of shorts over the past year. Hopefully by the time someone else stumbles upon this blog, all of these shorts will be widely available online.

Right now, my current screenplay is getting excoriated in my writer’s group, which is a bummer because it’s a highly personal screenplay. It doesn’t have an active enough protagonist, it’s not “happy” enough, the character motivations are unclear — but I feel like there’s some meaning in it, something of value, and I’m going to continue to write it anyway.

Despite my chosen career path, I’m still filled with enormous fear at my prospects. It’s anxiety-inducing. My experience with my writer’s group has me rethinking my entire career, but even with this feedback, I still want to get up and write, and research projects, and study movies, and make films. Even without support, I’d still be doing these actions anyway. So it’s like, now I have to put myself in a position — financially, socially, emotionally — to be able to do these actions, so I can feel fulfilled. If I couldn’t write consistently, if I was too tired or busy or whatever, I don’t know what I’d do, and a lack of reception isn’t going to stop me from doing so.

Submissions

Today, PreGame received a rejection from a big festival today, and for some reason although it had no chance of getting in, this rejection hurt me more than the others did. During this whole process, it’s like my entire self-worth is distilled down to this one moment of “no”, which completely eclipses everything else I am and that I’ve done in my life. That’s not a good way to look at things, but instead of letting this rejection roll off my back, I was bummed about it all day.

A friend texted me to tell me she was a quarterfinalist in a Stage 32 contest, which is amazing, and if she hadn’t texted me, I don’t know if I would have been motivated to go through Swing Away today and ready it for the ScreenCraft competition. I went through the entire draft, making sure the sluglines and character headings were consistent, cutting out extraneous words in the action lines, adding details in certain scenes my writer’s group said they needed (and I agreed).

Do I think this draft is good? Yes. Do I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever written? Yes. Do I think this screenplay is going to stand out from the thousands of entries that are going to be submitted? Probably not. The storytelling in the screenplay makes sense, but I’m not sure anything about it pops off the page to a reader that’s looked at ten other screenplays that same day. That thought makes me cold. But am I going to keep writing, filming, and submitting to contests and festivals anyway? Yes.

Updates

Tonight, I finished a draft of the best thing I’ve written thus far. All that’s left to do is go through is make sure my action lines are tight, there are no spelling errors, and that the action lines are all consistent. The draft took me five or six months — I started working on it in June, and I would have finished it in less time had I not had that mini-crisis about what I was meant to do with my life after PreGame got twenty-six festival rejections in a row (only to get two acceptances in the same week). If there’s anything I’ve learned from this, it’s do the flipping work regardless of the wave I’m riding at the time. Lord knows where I could be in my projects had I decided to keep working during that difficult time instead of getting majorly discouraged. A good lesson to learn.

Anyway, after doing a final pass, this will be the first project I feel comfortable showing to representation and submitting to contests. I’ve written six previous screenplays (four of them where I was actually trying something with an emotional and cinematic intent, not just trying to get from point A to point B) and this is the first thing that I feel is good. If the average screenplay is 120 pages, that’s 720 pages of crap I had to get through before writing something I feel shows real ability. And this doesn’t mean I’m done writing crap either — I haven’t written enough good screenplays to know if my success is due to the idea, story points, writing ability, or a combination of all of these. Anyway, I feel like creating a good story depends successfully executing the project/idea itself, which requires its own treatment independent of other projects — the story points aren’t going to be the same, for example — so I feel like with every new idea, I’m always starting over. This is a wonderfully freeing thing, as I don’t feel I have to live up to past successes, because I can’t.

Anyway, it’s not like this thing is produced, but it’s the first thing I feel comfortable having in my portfolio, and I’m pretty stoked. I was trying to figure out what to do after I had come down a little from my sense of accomplishment, and the only thing left to do was get back to work. I’m working on a treatment/script for one project, and I need to start developing my other idea after this next draft gets done. And watching movies, reading scripts, analyzing Shakespeare, writer’s groups, and storyboarding are other activities I’m doing to try and develop my storytelling abilities. Some days it feels like a lot, but I feel like this is what’s necessary to help me in a very competitive field.

It’s just one of those things…

Still in the habit of watching movies and writing. I’ve all but stopped reading professionally produced screenplays — I get how to format the words on the page and how to do action lines now, more or less. What I’m trying to do now is develop a process that allows me to make the story as tight as possible when it gets into screenplay format. I used to write first drafts of the screenplay without planning the beats out first, so threads would show up on page 10 that I eventually realized had no place in the narrative on page 75. I’m trying to plan this latest story ahead of time by writing a treatment (and a second treatment after that), so that when I do get into writing a draft, I can focus more on the organic interactions between characters, and do less hard thinking between the lines since I’ll be coasting on the strength of the story that’s been ironed out ahead of time.

The virtual film festivals were really cool, even with Covid; it was nice to feel included into a community of filmmakers and film lovers that had gathered together to appreciate independent cinema. Very grateful for the opportunity to participate in Indie Memphis and Tallgrass.

The thing I’m learning as an aspiring professional: whatever effort I’m putting in on a particular day is great, but once the day’s over, the same effort is required again the next day, and the day after that. To do this consistently is a hallmark of professionalism, which turns this endeavor and investment from a nice idea or a recreational hobby into a commitment and a lifestyle. Sometimes it’s not always the most fun thing to have to wake up and iron out the kinks on another project, especially after making such progress with another the previous day. For me, good writing is really, really hard. I haven’t quit yet because when I do write I feel I’m constantly on the precipice of something, one chisel away from understanding how the pieces of a particular narrative fit together — and I can take that understanding to help me on future projects.

Man, I should probably get writing now.

It Has Been a While

That title is an understatement, for sure! The intent really was to write in here at least once a week, but man, I had a bad month after getting rejection slips from all of those festivals. My first experience with the festival circuit was pretty brutal, and if it wasn’t for the film’s first acceptance into Indie Memphis, my funk could still be going on today (sorry for that poorly-worded sentence).

Anyway, I’m very excited to report that PreGame will be playing at Indie Memphis and Tallgrass 2020, along with many other great films (I’m especially excited to see White Eye, Waffle, and In Sudden Darkness). Actually, I believe October 11th last year was the film’s very first day of production. Pretty nuts. I feel like so much has changed over the past year, and not enough. I’ve finished two screenplays since then, and am currently working on two more. I’ve written two other shorts. According to my Letterboxd, I’ve seen around 100 additional movies.

But it’s like, I don’t have much of a portfolio to speak of, in terms of screenplays or films. My whole goal, which really ignites my being most of the time, is to just make another film, to get another screenplay finished. And I’ve been trying to work a little towards my goal every day, but it’s very hard — writing especially. I’m really a perfectionist when it comes to my words, and I should be cranking these screenplays out so I can get better. At this stage, no one’s going to care what I produce — the whole point is really having something to show and getting out all of my mistakes.

Anyway, since day jobs have been hard to find, I’m about to go return an interview call to a pizza place so I can still make money that I can save for more short films.

Thanks for reading.

Rough Stuff

Some updates for the inquiring fans:

My short that I shot last year is not doing well. Thirteen straight festival rejections, and two additional ones from online platforms, including Short of the Week. From writing the script to post, I put over a year of time and over $30,000 into the short, and for it to get nowhere (so far) is just — well, it’s pretty demoralizing. The good news is that rejections that would knock me out for weeks and discourage me from doing any work are now nothing more than sustained, shoulder-shrugging bummers. To be perfectly clear about this, I open my email, feel bummed about a rejection for a few hours, but the rejection no longer gets me to where I wonder what’s the point of putting in the work. I still managed to write today after my volunteering and before my writer’s group (and after getting around two hours of sleep last night).

Onward.

Yesterday and Today

Yesterday I:

• Watched Light From Light (Paul Harrill)

• Worked on Swing Away (Draft 2)

• Read 25 pages of an amateur screenplay — it’s very good.

Today I haven’t done much, except for watch John Gudasz’s Place twice. I think it’s become my favorite Sundance short film.