Last time I talked about the dangers of letting your wild enthusiasm get the better of you. OK then, you’ve tempered your passion for your amazing idea, you’ve developed the hell out of it, you’ve hired the best story editor in town, attached a producer, have the best script possible and miracle of miracles- you’ve got funding! Now what? Well, if it’s like the majority of projects at this stage, you dive into production!
It’s an exciting time, gathering together the people who will help realise your masterpiece. Sadly, at this crucial stage, your idea - that has, up to this point, only existed on a collection of wrinkled pages held together by a gold brad - often turns into something of a Frankenstein’s Monster. It’s a fact of life that as soon as you have the money to move ahead, you no longer have your best friend, Time, standing beside you. Quite the opposite. The further you get, the less time – it’s like trying to fit a very large, multi-sided mass (your production) into a very small, perfectly shaped hole (also known as a shooting schedule). Welcome to the next stage of filmmaking… Blind panic!
I’m going to talk a little about “Fast Filmmaking”. There are a plethora of contests available locally that have sprung up over the last few years (e.g., Reelfast 48hr Film Festival, 24 Hour Film Contest). Indeed, it seems there’s a new variation on this theme on a monthly basis. These competitions are a microcosm of the filmmaking process with one very important difference. One does not have the luxury of Time at any stage in the process, and so one might see these competitions as leveling the field in terms of process. I’ve had the pleasure (!) of participating in the Reelfast 48hr Film Festival four years in a row. I’ve also been a judge for the 24 Hour Film Contest. There’s nothing quite as exhilarating as sitting in front of your computer trying to reboot your editing software and getting nothing but a sad-faced Mac icon (also known as a system crash beyond repair) and knowing you have less than 30 minutes to deliver your film!
Every production has its problems. Every production will have its unmitigated disasters. But there is no reason to run around shouting and throwing apple boxes/cameras/hard drives across the room. With every film I have made I’ve learned a new lesson. My first film was a Drama Prize film called “The Fare”, which I was wildly enthusiastic about at the time. Which is probably why I thought it was a great idea to shoot a script with two kids (aged 6 and 9), taking place entirely at night and with a period look (note to self: Vancouver is sadly lacking in “period”…). If I was panicking when we were shut down on Day 2 of shooting because we were missing a crucial permit (second note to self: the seemingly least important piece of paper can be a deal-breaker…), that was nothing compared to how it felt shooting the final and most important scene of the film.
Picture, if you will, the middle of the forest in Stanley Park on a freezing cold, very wet October night. It took us six hours to get a single light turned on (third note to self: just because the equipment house has donated thousands of dollars in gear, does not mean it will actually work…). Lights finally on, knowing I had only one take to nail the most important shot (a huge master of the entire scene) and knowing that my lead actor had to be off the clock in ten minutes, we rolled the camera. I was going to be giving all the various cues for the complicated scene and was crouched down in the bushes off-camera with the script in my lap. I called “Action!”, looked down to the script and realised with horror that the rain was coming down so hard the script was disintegrating between my fingers and I would have to recall the entire scene from memory (fourth note to self: always memorise every single detail of the script, just in case). I finally called “Cut!” and my immediate reaction was to throw up (fifth note to self: always carry a bag…). It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was making my first movie. I was living the dream! I was later told that it was all “part of the journey” and that it was healthy to “suffer for my art”. Know that no matter who tells you these things, whether it’s a family member or a professional film mentor, it never makes you feel better, and at the end of the day, you have it all on film to remind yourself of the experience forever…
A few years ago I was developing a project called “High Incentive”. Initially it was merely a curious idea I was intending to explore with some actor friends through filmed improves, which would form the basis of a future script. Somewhere along the way (I’m guessing in the “wild enthusiasm” stage…) the idea mutated. It became, “Hey, let’s shoot a feature in three days!” I suppose one could call “High Incentive” the ultimate in “fast films” and I’m sure at some point there will be a competition to make a feature in a suitably short time frame. If there was an exercise in blind panic, this was it.
As we planned for the massive undertaking (29 local actors, 19 locations, two crews) the more people told us it was impossible, the more determined we were to prove them wrong. Crunch time. We had to put our money where our mouth was (not easy when you have no money…) and so “High Incentive” became an unstoppable freight train roaring across the city. I’m still not quite sure how we pulled it off, but we did, and boy, did I learn a lot. This is a prime example of blind panic turning to on-the-spot inspiration. The film is full of risky moments where, at times, we were so caught up in events that actors and crew alike were running on pure adrenaline. At times like this, the fruit of a fast decision is infinitely better than anything one could have come up with, had one had months of preparation.
This kind of “by the seat of your pants” filmmaking can be dangerous, however. Outside of the standard problems of continuity errors, technical glitches (SOUND!!!!) and being thrown out of locations we had no permits for (ah, the thrill of the guerilla film!) the greatest casualty was story. “High Incentive” is a film where the greatest element (i.e., adrenaline), was ultimately the greatest problem. With a picture cut of 80 minutes, the film absolutely flies by as we follow the misadventures of Brandon Foss, desperately trying to get his company back in one business day. The story is in and of itself an enormous excursion in blind panic, and it was here that I learned my most valuable lesson. Just as a roller coaster must have its peaks and troughs, so too must a story flow from high to low, from fast to slow. It’s vital that an audience has those moments where they can catch their breath, moments where characters sit silently pondering. “High Incentive”, put simply, can be exhausting!
Having worked on a multitude of large scale U.S. productions in town, I’ve seen my fair share of multi-million dollar blind panics. No matter how much money you have, how many experienced and talented people you have working for you, there will always be those “Shit, we’re screwed!” moments. What sets the true filmmakers apart from the hacks is understanding when the train has lost its brakes, and what decision is quickest, safest and truest to the material.
Many crew people don’t give a rat’s ass about visual metaphors, counterpoints or central arcs; they are there because it’s a job and it pays their mortgage. When the shit hits the fan they will do their job to the best of their ability, but they’re not going to walk on water for you. Unless you have the skill of turning blind panic to gold…
A couple of years ago, I had the privilege of work-shadowing an actor turned director on a tv series. This in itself created a certain amount of cynicism amongst the crew, but what really did it, and this is very sad to say, was that the director was a woman. Two hours after lunch and production was what’s known professionally in the business as “in the toilet”. Drastically behind, a large action scene still to be completed and a complicated camera car rig still to shoot before the sun went down. Practically the entire crew were shaking their heads and muttering, “what a hack… she’s gone after today… she’ll never direct again…” especially when she announced that we would be completing the remainder of the action scene in one, very complicated, ambitious crane shot. It would be perfectly understandable to expect the director to panic and completely lose control of the production at this point. However, she kept her calm and at the very least, gave the impression that she knew exactly what she was doing. We blocked out the shot, and more people shook their heads. “Who the fuck does she think she is? This is tv, not Lawrence of Arabia.” We rehearsed. “Well, I guess that wasn’t awful…” And then we rolled film - and nailed it in three takes. Suddenly, the entire crew were shaking their heads and saying, “That was incredible! What a great shot!”
Let me just say, rarely have I seen a crew work so efficiently. A fire had been lit under their asses. The day’s shooting was completed before the sun went down, and the director got a big pat on the back. She achieved her day because in the face of adversity she tempered her wild enthusiasm, refused to panic and inspired her crew to great things. It’s an important lesson. Yes, many crews are there just for the money, but at the end of the day, even the least creative of us love to be inspired.
NEXT WEEK: PLACING THE BLAME…
Neil Every is a writer/director and professional story editor (and is trying to maintain his youthful good looks by not panicking…)
