ANYBODY Can Make a Feature Film in 5 Days
The reason I know this is true? I did it and it was … well, it was not so good.
I love telling stories. I mean …
(for those that can’t see me, I’m gesturing generally at the screen)
I’ve worked on a ton of short films, web series, online shorts, live streams, and the like. I’ve only attempted a feature once. It was 2006—perhaps the worst time in history to attempt to make a feature film, especially when you have no idea how to make one. It was a grand transitional moment for the industry after a number of strikes, the birth of digital film as a medium, and the celebritizing (did I just invent a word?) of film festivals.
At the time, I was a graduate student in an MFA directing program for theatre. I was drawn to the playwrights. I wasn’t interested in working on something that had already been done, trying to sprinkle my own special sauce all over it. I thought—and still believe—that the work of a director (especially in the theatre) is to serve the story and the playwright’s vision in a way that’s best for the audience. Plus, I’ve always liked to go first because then there’s nothing else to compare it to.
By working with playwrights, I got to help shape their stories in space. It was a great partnership that allowed them to play with words and immediately see them on their feet. We took the good and the bad. I worked outside of my comfort zone on things I didn’t understand or even like, but I always wanted it to be amazing. I was rooting for the writers. I wasn’t there to add my personal shock and awe, but to bring their vision to the stage.
Shock for the sake of shock has always run dry for me. I tend to see through the bullshit that all too often people label as “artistic expression.” My favorite memory of this was while working on a production of Buried Child by Sam Shepard (one of my writing icons). The director decided the best way to open the show was with an absurdly loud version of Zero by The Smashing Pumpkins. It was 1999, so it was still relatively mainstream, and they were from Chicago, where the production was being staged.
Sure. Fine. But I didn’t get it. I was a scenic artist on the show, so I didn’t have the agency to weigh in on the creative decisions, but I couldn’t help myself. It was probably because I had spent three days building and painting a large projection screen that matched the set thematically. The screen allowed the director to project the opening lyrics of the song.
If you’re unfamiliar:
My reflection, dirty mirror
There’s no connection to myself
I’m your lover, I’m your zero
I’m the face in your dreams of glass
So save your prayers
For when we’re really gonna need them
Throw out your cares and fly
Wanna go for a ride?
She’s the one for me
She’s all I really need, oh yeah
She’s the one for me
Emptiness is loneliness, and loneliness is cleanliness
And cleanliness is godliness, and God is empty
Just like me
It’s a minute and 20 seconds to the double tap Jimmy Chamberlin makes on his drums, which then echoed, fading to silence for the opening of the play. The opening is supposed to be near silence, except for the pattering of rain. Dodge, an elder man, sits on a couch watching television while sneaking a nip of whiskey from a hidden flask.
The director, as it turns out, just really liked the lines: “Emptiness is loneliness, and loneliness is cleanliness, and cleanliness is godliness, and God is empty, just like me.” For what it’s worth, there’s certainly some thematic tie to the script here—but isn’t that the point of watching the play?
I had another director tell me once, “I put running water in all my productions.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because it symbolizes life, and all theatre is about living,” he said. We were in a seminar in graduate school. This is where I learned to question everything, and so far, that’s worked out for me.
“What if the play is about death?” I’ll admit I’ve always been a bit of a smartass, and I wasn’t really digging what this guy was dishing out. Why shoehorn in an idea because it’s flashy if it doesn’t serve the story? Well, this is why I found myself primarily working on original works.
As luck would have it, one of those original works was a tight little three-person script that I thought would make a great feature film. We already had the actors. I had a friend with a camera and experience shooting. I figured we could raise a little money, and spring break was less than a month away. How hard could it be to shoot a feature in five days if everyone already knew their lines?
As it turns out … it’s hard. Very hard.
However, we did it. I lost my voice on the third day. I think I only slept ten hours the whole week, and I was certainly not alone. I remember setting up a generator in the woods next to an old oil tank that had long since been abandoned. We had a generator, and I had purchased some par cans and a pole to string them up. It was 3 AM, freezing cold, and I was completely drained. But I climbed that ladder with a smile on my face because I love telling stories.
You can still watch it on Amazon with its 1-star
That movie wasn’t so good. I still love it, though and all the people that worked on it. It was fun to make, but it wasn’t what I had hoped it would be. We were all young, and none of us really knew what we were doing all that well. There was little to no coverage, so editing was a nightmare. Also, plays don’t translate all that well to screen. Who knew that six 15-minute scenes weren’t all that interesting when you weren’t in person? I guess a whole lot of people.
Well, here we are now, twenty years later, and this time there’s an experienced team on the scene. We are dripping in creatives with experience, awards, trophies, and fancy titles.
Now, will there be some flash? Yes, but it’s our flash.
Will there be musical numbers? You bet your sweet ass there will be. But they will be our musical numbers.
Will there be running water? No. There will be no running water because I’m not a pretentious weirdo who wears scarves in the spring.
Okay, there may be some running water.
Most importantly, with this team, everyone loves to tell stories.
Can’t wait to share more with you soon.
Running water and the Smashing Pumpkins may forever make me think of you now. Thank you.