“DAMN IT, ICARUS!” Stories of Flying Too Close to the Sun.
Theme: RISK (...but mostly failure)
When I think about the creative risks I’ve taken in the past few years the first thing that comes to mind are the failures. In my eyes, the word “RISK” paints pictures of potential danger, humiliation, and disappointment. It’s like streaking naked across a college campus, in the day, at lunchtime. But it also paints the slim opportunity of being an outlier in that wide margin of likely failure. I faced this predicament when I decided to make my first narrative film in college. It was garbage, it pissed me off every step of the way.
Me and my friends, Denny and Joe, had banded together in the spring of 2012 and decided to start a film production team at our college. We made two mediocre music videos, did video documentation for hire, and thanks to Denny's big mouth telling any and every one that "WE HAVE A COMPANY!" we became known as "those video guys". I don't know where we got the gall to think that we were official in any way, but for some reason, we had our heads puffed up by our third gig. We felt like hot shit.
Fast forward to December 2012, it was near the end of the semester and Denny just kept talking about how he wanted to make this movie he’s had in mind for the past seven months. The idea had to do with a young male coming out of the closet to his father. He was super gung-ho about shooting it and creating a story about LBGTQ characters. Although I didn’t connect with the story, the last time I made a narrative film was in high school. I felt this urgency to get behind the camera again and direct something that wasn’t a music video or someone's band in a basement. So I figured with a little common writing sense and empathy I could tell this story. So I told him “Fuck it, I’d be down. Let’s make a movie.” On the last day before Christmas break, I was called in for a production meeting in the school atrium. Before I could even blink, Denny had arranged a small quasi-core production team consisting of a screenwriter, David (who eventually became one of our main actors), our sound guy, Mitchell, and Georgina, our production assistant, Denny who acted as producer, and me as the director. Joe went MIA before the production began. Before the end of that day, I was sent a potential draft of the “screenplay” David had written. The ball was starting to roll a little bit faster than I was used to; this wasn’t all talk anymore. But I had to keep up. Don’t even get me started on the title the producer had in mind.
January was dedicated to editing the script that was written in less than a week. For some stupid reason, I decided to take part in some of the writing duties. For the entire month, I had my stale revisions shat upon by the team who would constantly go back and forth on what it should be and what it shouldn’t. February came and we were casting for each role, finding a cinematographer, setting up our Kickstarter page (we didn’t reach our goal), and trying to deal with our own classes/lives which were crumbling right at our feet due to mounting stress. March arrived. The semester was halfway done; my personal work and my grades were suffering. The cast was finalized, and we were set to shoot during the week of spring break. I felt nothing but tension as the first shooting day drew closer. I didn’t have a decent night’s sleep since January. We reserved every Canon MK II and light kit that the film/animation department had to offer, along with sound equipment, batteries, and CF and SD cards. We had to keep track of all of this stuff. Every employee at my school’s equipment stockroom loathed us.
The first day of spring break arrived, principal photography was a complete nightmare. We had the police called on us for shooting near a restaurant, that wasn’t even on screen. It turns out that you can’t trust a fine art photographer to do the job of an actual cinematographer just because the camera has a video button. It was the first time I ever had to fire someone. The first week passed and we were missing so many scenes, the production dragged on for the remainder of March into April. After the first week, we lost our half of our core team. Our sound guy, Mitchell, was a Berklee student at the time and had to focus on finals (along with arranging our score and doing ADR). Our PA had to continue her own classes and studio work. We were down to a skeleton crew and we had to recruit our other friends who were willing to help out. Because we were using school equipment at the time, we had to keep checking out (and extending, and returning) cameras, lighting, and sound gear constantly. Everyone at the stockroom wanted to kill me.
Because we didn’t have a budget, we poured our non-existent cash into coffee and donuts for every set. Turns out you can’t expect an entire cast and crew to run off of Boston cremes. Nor can a 20-year-old subsist on junk food for a month straight and be a good communicator and college student. My diet for the majority of the semester consisted of Dunkin Donuts, black coffee, vending machine pastries, and Adderall.
(There are only plain donuts left.)
This film was no longer a labor of love and enthusiasm, but a chore. We started off cock-sure of our abilities to make this movie, but the moment we got started we were hit with reality. Each day brought a new plateau of pressure and it was far too late to back out.
Being on set wasn’t an exclusively negative experience. Each day of shooting was a healthy learning experience that helped us understand what it takes to be a make a film. I was learning how to effectively express my needs to the performers and how to really direct a story through enforcing subtle undertones to their roles. Directing for me was becoming an intuitive process that became easier to tap into. Because we let our cinematographer go I took on the role of DP myself. It was rewarding because I was able to achieve the shots I was trying to capture in terms of the look and feel. It was hard, but it felt better shooting it than trying to relay shot ideas to someone who was always in their own head. But figuring out how to properly light a scene was more experimental, which meant using more time on set figuring out the composition. We powered through the month of April to get the final pick up shots that we needed and we completely wrapped by the end of the month.
As soon as the school year ended we were trying to set a hard deadline for the final cut before the screening date. FUN FACT: just because your producer is enthusiastic about being an editor, doesn’t give them the chops to actually cut together a movie. We screened the “final” cut to all of our friends, classmates, crew members, actors, and co-workers at the Fenway Health Clinic screening room. It was the biggest disappointment I ever had to sit and watch. There was audio out of sync, a lot of areas where my experimental cinematography style justed looked tacky and wrong, the stale writing was really prominent. It was a shit-show. Most of my classmates, friends, and other creative contemporaries had to sit through that film and I knew that they felt embarrassed for me. From the time that I saw the first rough cut, I knew that it wasn’t going to be the best thing ever. I was honestly hoping Denny could’ve made my stale shooting into something palatable, I was wrong.
The director is supposed to be the calm face of the production. Every day I brought my anxieties, neuroses, and vulnerabilities with me on set. My fragile ego at the time couldn’t handle outside ideas and criticisms from my producer (or anyone on set) because I felt I was CONSTANTLY RIGHT. The fear of not knowing what I was doing balanced the sting of being told I was wrong. I was like an open nerve of my own exposing. To this day I still think about this project and how I handled myself with the crew and actors. I was struggling to manage as a leader alongside everyone else’s opinion and hurrying the fuck up. A bad day on set is pretty discouraging. But three bad days in a row, including class the very next day, then more filming immediately after, was like shooting my motivation in the face in broad daylight.
It’s been a while since I made something of that scope. Mostly fearing to make the same mistakes I made the last time. But the fear of failure will never justify your losses when you never continued moving onward. That’s a big failing on my part as an artist and storyteller. Virgil Abloh (Founder of Off-White, Creative Director at DONDA, friends with Kanye West) said “Find the domino effect. Create the project that’s latent with intention and see what comes after it”. This slightly justifies the artistic risk in making bad work, learning from it, and continuing forward. Looking back, all I did was think about this project and see it as a critical failure on my end as a storyteller. When what I really should've done is embraced it as a part of the process. All this time I hated myself for how it came out, that I forgot that we, a group of early 20 something's, actually had the audacity to finish an entire movie.
I could go on and on about how the resources were bogus, or the lack of money and manpower held us down. But it’s inaccurate. There was no amount of cash or gear that could’ve saved us from ourselves. We took on way more than we should’ve, didn’t plan each step well, and we failed as a result. I think about the unnecessary urgency we had put on ourselves to get this film made instead of slowing down and using the standard process. The heartbreaking part was the toll it took on my personal relationships with everyone in the project. I wouldn’t have guessed how much the tension would fracture my friendships. If I ever get the chance to make a movie soon (god willing) I’ll walk onto the project with my battle scars from the last time. I’ll use paranoid due diligence to make sure I'm not creating a product that I'll look back onto 8 years and cringe about its inception.
