Do Not Manufacture Story

Typically, I shy away from lists or steps that lay out the perfect way to make a movie, tell a story, write a paper, etc. Those lists have merit, but I'm the type of person who will adhere to the list and not try to find my own way. I need to find my own way when telling a story. It's more rewarding for me that way. Then I read How to Make the Perfect Sundance Film and I immediately disagreed with its premise.

To be fair, I do agree with the ideas that the author, Ted Hope, is suggesting. As story points, yes, they work. And if they're executed well, they will bring in that audience and create a connection between the story and the viewer. So yes. If you follow those steps, and do the well, you will manufacture a good movie.

And that's my problem.

These are steps to manufacture a movie designed for the purpose to get yourself into a film festival. Is that why we make movies? To get into Sundance? We are in the business of telling stories. Yes, we can absolutely follow this instruction booklet and put together the pieces of a script together. An erector set screenplay. We can construct our story, but it's lacking heart. No matter the genre, our goal is tell our story. To share with the world a piece of our inner thoughts and feelings. This is what all filmmakers do. (Of course, on TV right now is Beverly Hills Ninja and I have no idea what people were thinking when they made that one. Moving on...)

Once we put the destination of our script ahead of the journey and its creation, we are failing our story. We are trading in our sincerity for a dream of rubbing elbows with fellow filmmakers and influential producers. And we will always lose with that trade.

Of course, I'd love to get into festivals! Of course, I'd love to see my work alongside other professionals! But that will NEVER happen if I'm more concerned with how to get my story there rather than how I'm going to tell my story.

For my last production, my vision was more along the lines of a slight homage to the comedies of Billy Wilder or Preston Sturges. Watch The Front Page. That's the one I keep thinking about. I didn't write the short because I thought the Winnipeg Comedy Festival was looking for dialogue-heavy comedies for their 2015 Winter Fest. I did it because it was a story I wanted to tell. I wrote a comedy with the influences of Wilder and Sturges in mind.  If the short gained attention, it would be for the work and effort put in by the cast and crew and not because I followed the ten step program designed to gain me an elusive entry into a festival.

Tell your story. Make your movie. Focus on that. True success is determined by your effectiveness in storytelling. Not how many festivals you get into.

One small note: The author of the article, Ted Hope, is someone I follow. He's got great insight into storytelling, filmmaking, producing, marketing. All of it. Everything indie, he knows. If you're one who is interested in that field, devour his writings and teachings. He is very wise and has been there and back again.

Feed Your Cast and Crew

"The quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Ignoring the chauvinistic undertones of that idiom, the takeaway is that a good meal pleases everyone. Your production cannot survive without a cast and crew that is fed well. Many of these people are working for little or no pay. That comes with an expectation of a decent meal for lunch and dinner. They should expect this. You should, too.

It's not enough to provide food for your cast and crew. You need to feed them well. This is how I felt from my first production in the early 90s. The Thing in the Cellar. It was adaptation of a story I was told as a cub scout every time we went camping. The shoot was one weekend. It was a great learning experience. It's also where my addiction to coffee first began.

Before I knew what a good meal meant, we would run out to Subway, the local pizza place or Dunkin Donuts for a variety of times. Anything the cast and crew wanted, we made a list and someone went and got it for them. No questions asked. I've asked people to give up their weekend to help me and I would return that favor any way that I could.

Personally, I don't eat when I'm on set. It's not because I don't want to, but rather I don't remember to eat. Too many thoughts run through my mind: The shot we're working on, the next scene on our schedule, tomorrow's first scene, the amount of coverage we need, the location fee, why are the cops here, etc. It's a seemingly never ending thought trail that does not include any worries on how my people will eat. That's the first problem I solve in pre-production.

The first day of pre-production should have time devoted to craft services. How will you feed your people? What will you feed them? When will you feed them? You may not have the answers yet, but asking the questions should be a day-one event.

Feed your cast and crew. Feed them well.

The C-47

C-47

A C-47 is an essential tool on most film and television sets. Its uses are numerous. It is often regarded by film and television professionals as the most important piece of equipment on set. Also known as 47s, CP47s, bullets, ammo, pegs. [1]

Design

In the late 19th century, David M. Smith developed the design of the C-47 to be two interlocking wooden prongs in between a wedged spring. The lever action this created added to the C-47's gripping strength.

First C-47 used in early 1900s

Years later, this design was improved by Solon E. Moore who created a coiled fulcrum which wrapped around the wooden prongs, holding them together and thus increasing the rate of strength.

Today, C-47s are manufactured with stainless steel coils that prevent rust and decay, a key attribute when used outdoors.

Origin

There are many disputed origin stories about the C-47, but the one that is confirmed by all to be untrue is of famous director George Méliés fashioning the first C-47 from a block of wood while filming "A Trip to the Moon" in 1902.

According to lore, Méliés whittled the entire time of production and created the C-47 at the exact time it was needed to fasten a drop cloth along the back of the set. The story has been refuted by many who knew Méliés personally.

Other rumors are below:

Douglas C-47 Skytrain

During World War II, the C-47 Skytrain was a versatile and essential aircraft used for troop transport. The C-47 was rumored to be named after the Skytrain to honor it's versatility during the war and make the comparison with the C-47's versatility on set. [2]

Patent Number

C-47 from set of "The Village" (2004)

C-47 is often thought of as the patent number that was used when the first C-47 was created by David M. Smith. Smith applied for the patent in 1854 after creating the C-47. There has been no such patent found. [3]

Hollywood

In an effort to provide as many C-47s on a set, it was common practice for productions to find mundane, yet important sounding names for essential tools on a film set. This practice would fool studios into allowing the bulk purchase of these items. The C-47 was given this name for this very purpose. [4]

Uses

Set Design

C-47s are used to keep cloth backdrops from falling. They help fasten fabricated works of art on the walls during period dramas. They are used by set designers to clip notes on sets warning crews of a "hot set."

Grip and Electric

C-47s in action

Members of the crew that are known as G&E often will have a stash of C-47s attached to their clothing ready at a moment's notice. Uses for G&E include: electrical cords that need to be kept out o sight, blackout paper on windows, filters and gels on lights.

Film Editing

Film editors, using a linear editing machine (or flatbed editor) for editing film, will use C-47s to hang strips of film from above to keep track of splices and cuts during the process of editing.

Other Uses

Laundry Drying

The C-47 has been adapted by people for home use as well. People will hang their wet clothes on a piece or rope. which is suspended between two fixed points, known as a clothesline.

Resources

1. ^ "It's a C-47" http://www.scoutingny.com/. Retrieved 2014-07-15.
2. ^ "It's a C-47" http://www.scoutingny.com/. Retrieved 2014-07-15.
3. ^ "It's a C-47" http://www.scoutingny.com/. Retrieved 2014-07-15.
4. ^ "It's a C-47" http://www.scoutingny.com/. Retrieved 2014-07-15.

You're Never Alone

One of the misconceptions of independent cinema is the idea that independent means you do it on your own. It does feel like that at times, but you're never really alone in your endeavors.

As a writer, I am alone in front of that computer screen. I'm there with my notes, my thoughts and that keyboard trying to fashion a story together. I may ask for feedback from trusted sources, but no one is writing the story for me.

But after that screenplay is written, I cannot continue without the help. When I step back and look at the actual act of creating a short film, I'm always amazed at the willingness of so many people to help create my vision. The passion of others to make something I've written into a reality is as surprising as it is powerful.

I should've recognized this earlier in my indie career.

In mid-2002, myself and a few of my friends had already formed a small production company. The idea, not a new on, was to work on short films and support each other through the process. We did a variety of commercials for the production company, which all participated in, but the majority of the short films were written and directed by me and I was done with short films. I wanted to do a feature.

We had a meeting. I stated my intention. And I added an escape hatch for my friends, because I didn't want to impose my desire to shoot a feature. I offered the chance for my friends to not be involved in the feature. I knew it would cost money and time, and I didn't want my friends to feel like I was demanded that from them.

I wanted all of us to be independent in our work. I didn't want the production company to be just about me. To my own career detriment, I cared too much of the success of my friends. I wanted them to be as passionate as I was. Looking back, knowing what I know now, of courser they would say yes.

We were in it together. We did shot that feature in the summer of 2003. It was a great experience. We had some disagreements and it was a challenge to finish, but finish we did. I couldn't have done it without them.

I'm never alone when I make a movie.

How-To: Paint Your Own Green Screen

This post is an old one from a few years ago, while I needed to shoot season 2 of a web series, which I'll change the name of. I'm keeping the original posts as well as adding my How-To points.

Prologue: The Failed Attempt

Pre-production is rolling along for Season Two of Scenes. Props are being located and obtained. The cast and crew are falling into place. I have a new location for the shoot, but it's not a studio. I have to build it out. Which means I need to create the green screen. Lucky for me, I have a giant wall to work with. So I decide to go the paper green screen route. Our plan was to tape over the duct tape with Chroma Key tape, but we had not yet purchased it. The problem was the upper right corner peeled off and everything came down. Granted, it wasn't exactly the flattest surface, so it probably was already a failed option.

1. Get Your Supplies

You Will Need: Ladder, Paint Rollers, Painter's Tape, Plastic Drop Cloth, Sheet Rock Putty, Putty Knife, Chroma Key Paint

What to do. Time to paint the wall. I hop onto Amazon.com and find some Chroma Key Paint. $50 a can? (Price went up!) After cursing to myself, I click "purchase". Then I realize I need to get this paint to me ASAP. Overnight, please. (I cursed aloud when I saw the shipping fee) Nothing I could do about. Purchase!

Wednesday comes around. 12pm. I begin.

2. Spackle and Tape

Notice the bordered paint tape. The first thing I did was spackle a ton of holes in the wall and then sandpaper those bad boys flat. Then came the primer. After 15-20 minutes waiting for the primer to dry, because I'm impatient, I taped the box on the wall. I wasn't real confident about painting the entire wall, so I created a giant box. And I didn't want to mess with painting to the floor, so there will be some space on that bottom. Honestly, it won't be a big deal come shoot time.

3. Paint

Simple enough. You will need to fill in the painted box that you have already created with your painter's tape. Look at those rolling strokes. It's a work of art. This location is actually a space used by a local theater group, but before that it was used by an artist in the area. While working on this, someone asked me if I was creating a canvas. In way, I guess I was.

4. Paint Again: The 2nd Coat

You may have noticed that I did not use a primer coat. You can, if you'd like. I chose not to here because the wall was already a white color and the chroma key paint is so bright and solid, I didn't think I needed a primer coat.

First coat (above). Look at those wet blotches! Awesome. I wasn't freaking out, but I did want it to dry fast because I needed to see a closer to a finished product.

5. Paint Again: The 3rd Coat

Second coat. I sent this pic to a few people, to which I received one response of "It needs another coat." This, of course, I figured but I was hesitant to tap into the second can of Chroma Key Paint. So far, we've been on one can. But I knew that second can was calling my name. At this point, I talked fantasy football with a friend of mine on the phone and then I grabbed a late, late lunch.

Looking back, if I did a primer coat then maybe a third coat wouldn't have been needed. Then again, doing a primer would've made the 2nd coat of chroma key paint a third coat of painting the surface anyway. I'd rather have three coats of chroma key paint. then 2 coats and a one coat of primer.

6. Shoot Your Content

Done! Look at that neat green screen box! So pretty. I didn't have much faith in my painting abilities and as my wife can attest to, I was a bit frantic in making sure I was able to get this done correctly. But I'm proud of it. We have our location. We have our cast. We have our crew. We have our equipment. We're ready to rock and roll on Season Two.

We still have some other things that need to get done. Notably those windows on the right will be blocked out and those lights won't be on. We'll have our own, of course. A green screen needs to have an even light spread in order to have an even image projected on its background in post-production. But we're good to go otherwise.

I was told I might have to paint this back over white, but let's hope I don't. I was thinking I'd drop a black circle in the lower left corner and a white circle in the upper right corner. Attach a golf club to the wall and call the whole thing an installation. A work of art that will never be removed!

Lo/No Pay Is The Way to Go

In a perfect world, we’re all getting paid to do this work. The tenets of independent cinema are based on a system of “lo/no pay work”. It’s a rite of passage for anyone looking to break into industry, much like an unpaid intern starting at a brokerage firm down on Wall Street. The world is run on the backs of the unpaid intern. Why should that be any different for indie film?

Movies like “Clerks” and “Slacker” aren’t getting finished if Kevin Smith and Richard Linklater are paying for every single person working on their movies. The world would not have performances from Bill Murray in “Rushmore” ($9000) or Ryan Gosling in “Half Nelson” ($1000 a week) if we’re making sure everyone gets paid what they deserve when it comes to indie film.

Movies cost money and post-production costs eat up most of the budget. If it’s down to paying all the grips and electric their regular, industry standard rate versus the finishing funds needed to have the best color-correction and audio mix available, I’m sorry, but I’m finding a crew who will work for copy and credit. The final product is more important than who works on the set. All I really need is one solid person, who can wear multiple hats during the production to drag along those less experienced.

And isn’t that what working on a crew for lo/no pay is all about? The experience.

Understand that I’m not advocating not paying anything at all. Aside from the food that would be provided, there could be a small rate offered to those in key positions of the crew. With the alternative of getting paid nothing, a small rate would go a long way to helping shape a more interested crew. A cinematographer getting $75 a day is less likely to walk off set over a disagreement about lighting placement, as would one who is working for no money at all.

Let’s look at the genesis of most indie films. A few friends, all in the industry in some form or another, are hanging out one night bemoaning the state of movies. They complain about how the productions they work for are generating terrible movies.

Why would someone like this?

This isn’t funny!

We could do better than that movie.

Boom. An indie film is born. Most of these independent productions are filled with friends looking to create something special. They’re looking to put their stamp on modern cinema with their story. It’s about the story. It’s about the craft. It’s about the art. As soon as one starts wondering about getting paid for their work, the magic dies. It becomes a job and not a calling.

Telling a story with your friends is special. Looking to get paid to help friends is petty. When people start getting paid what they think they should be paid, it has now become a job and the inevitable complaining about the job begins. The work suffers. The movie suffers. The relationships suffer. What once began as a chance to experience something unique with friends is now tearing those same friends apart. It happens all the time. As soon as money enters the picture, it ruins the specialness of the movie-making experience.

Money ruins everything.