First Person

Aspiring screenwriters often ask whether making a short film will help their careers. I believe it can. In terms of exposure, it’s easier to get someone to watch something than to read something. More importantly, the process of making a short film helps screenwriters understand how words on paper translate to the screen.

That said, making a quality short film is a huge investment of time and money and stamina, all of which might be better spent writing. Nick Rheinwald-Jones agreed to write up his recent experience making a short, providing useful illustrations of what happens when screenwriters get behind the camera.

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1997 was such a hopeful year. The dot-com bubble had only begun to inflate, the TSA didn’t even exist yet, and as far as anyone knew, the Star Wars prequels were going to be amazing. Even the famously Eeyore-ish world of screenwriting was much more upbeat back then, buoyed by continued reports of million-dollar spec sales. And I, a happy-go-lucky college sophomore, had just decided that I was going to hop aboard that train as soon as I graduated. I’d move to L.A., work my way up the entertainment industry ladder, and let the magic unfold.

(If you’ve ever watched VH1’s Behind The Music, you should have a pretty good idea of what’s coming in this next paragraph. Heartbreak. Disappointment. Abject misery. And that’s just The Phantom Menace; I haven’t even *gotten* to Attack of the Clones yet.)

Dissolve to 2013. I’d been calling myself a screenwriter for over fifteen years — accurately, I should say; I’d certainly been writing all that time — but that all-important sale or commission that would allow me to call myself a *professional* screenwriter? It still hadn’t happened. There had been a few inklings of encouragement (for example, a pilot script of mine was a quarterfinalist at Slamdance), but no money, no representation, not even one actual meeting.

In other words, it seemed like a good time to re-evaluate things. At some point optimism becomes delusion, and pessimism becomes rational thinking. I didn’t want screenwriting to be a hobby, because heaven knows there are better hobbies than staring at Final Draft all day. But if I wasn’t getting paid to do it, if nobody was even *reading* my scripts, then that’s what it was going to be.

As I saw it, then, there were two options: Either come up with a new approach to my career, or change course altogether. The latter was certainly tempting; I knew I was smart and hard-working, and why not put those attributes to use in a field where I’d actually be appreciated? But even after all that time, I wasn’t *quite* discouraged enough to give up my Hollywood dreams: I’m nothing if not stubborn.

So I opted to go with Plan A and take a different tack.

I decided to make a short film — a resumé piece, essentially; something I could easily pass around. Most people will come up with any excuse not to read a 120-page script, but a 10-minute video would be less likely to be automatically ignored. (Or so I hoped.) Although I wasn’t really looking to get into directing, I figured I needed to direct my short so nobody else could take credit for it. I’d also need to fund it myself, and on this point, thankfully, my wife was very supportive. (Actually, she was more than supportive; she pretty much insisted that I do it.)

And so I began.

Step one: write the script
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Somehow, I thought this would be the easiest part. I mean, I’ve been writing screenplays longer than some pop stars have been alive. Problem is, I’d never thought much about doing an entire filmed story in ten to fifteen minutes. In a feature screenplay, that’s just when things are starting to get going.

Beyond that, all my previous material was written with a studio budget in mind. Things would have to change a great deal if I was going to be the one writing the checks.

Fortunately, the budgetary constraints actually helped me with finding the story. I decided to write something that could mostly be filmed inside our house, so I’d have more money to use on other aspects of the production.

Genre-wise, I didn’t want to do a straight-up comedy, since that’s not what I typically write, and I wanted the short to serve as a good representation for the kinds of scripts in my portfolio. I opted for an action-comedy instead. A spy-action-comedy, to be specific. That was going to be a challenge, but it also focused my thinking. (For example, I didn’t have to spend a lot of time deciding what country I’d set it in, or whether the climax should take place on an aircraft carrier or a bullet train.)

Reading John’s [short script for God](http://johnaugust.com/library) was also helpful, in that it reminded me the needs of a short film are very different from those of a feature. You don’t need a lot of characters, you don’t need subplots, and you don’t have to turn the world upside down by the end of the movie. You do, however, need to be efficient and get to the point quickly. Luckily, I’ve always been pretty strong in those areas.

Step two: hire a producer
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Here is yet another situation where luck played a huge part. I asked one friend (a writer/director) if he could recommend a producer; he had one producer to recommend, and she was available. I sent her the script and we met up to discuss it.

I figured there was no reason not to be completely frank with her, so I told her I’d never done anything remotely like this before (shooting some videos on a Hi-8 camcorder in college was about the closest I’d come) and that I needed all the help I could get. Although I knew a fair amount about most areas of filmmaking, I was fairly clueless about the actual process of, you know, putting a movie together. Scheduling? Budgeting? Renting equipment? Hiring a crew? Permits? SAG? Big bowl of nothing, as Jeff Garlin would say.

But by the end of our conversation I felt like I was in good hands. She had plenty of experience on movies of various sizes, not only as a producer but also as an AD and even a director, so I wouldn’t be throwing her any challenges she hadn’t faced before.

Step three: pre-production; or, is it too late to change my mind?
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Our shooting schedule allowed for about two months of prep. I’ll be honest: I spent much of that time freaking the hell out. What was I worried about? Hold on a second and I’ll get out the list.

I was worried that my LLC paperwork wouldn’t be filed in time. (You have to form a corporation if you’re funding a movie, for a whole variety of reasons, and this entails working with California’s legendarily crummy bureaucracy.)

I was worried that we wouldn’t find a decent location for the opening scene. (The movie only needed one location other than my house, but it had to serve a pretty specific purpose, and it also had to be fairly cheap.)

I was worried that I wouldn’t get a decent cast. (Low-budget equals open calls, and also I couldn’t afford to use a real casting agency.)

Oh, and then there was that small matter of *actually directing the movie* — working with real actors, keeping to a (very brief) schedule, and surviving it all without an Apocalypse Now-level meltdown. In all my years of work experience I’d never managed a single person, and now I was going to be managing an entire cast and crew, all of whom were a good deal more experienced than I was.

But it wasn’t *all* nail biting and night sweats. A lot of it was pretty great: Meeting a real stunt coordinator; working out the shot list with my DP; even casting, one of my biggest fears, turned out to be a ton of fun (and quite successful).

(I should also note here how helpful it was to have a good producer at my side for this part of the process. Yes, I was freaking out on a regular basis, but I never actually had to worry about which forms I needed to sign, which checks I needed to write, or how I was going to find a cast and crew. She was taking care of all of that, and I am eternally grateful, because otherwise I probably *would* have gone insane.)

Step four: let’s shoot this thing
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This is where I learned that adrenaline is a wonderful thing. Didn’t sleep for days before the shoot, definitely didn’t sleep during the shoot. And yet, while I was on set I was more upbeat and alert and on the ball than I’ve ever been in my life.

It probably helped that shooting a movie was easily the most fun I’ve ever had. It also helped that my cast and crew were superb — fast, efficient, professional, and generally just great people to be around. The cliché about a movie crew being like a family really holds true; even after a three-day shoot there were hugs and heartfelt goodbyes.

Of course there were frustrations, difficulties, unexpected obstacles, and more than a few I’m-in-over-my-head moments. But there was nothing to do with those moments but overcome them, push past them, keep things moving. Because if there’s another cliché that’s 100% true, it’s that the show must go on. There’s no time to complain, dwell, or retreat into your self-doubting cocoon when everyone around you is ready and waiting. And that’s a little bit terrifying, but it’s mostly exhilarating.

Also, this happened in my living room and it was pretty cool:

Step five: how does it end? I’ll keep you (ugh) posted
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Long story short: “Movies are made in the editing room” is a cliché because it’s 100% true. Certainly the process of going from a rough cut to a final cut is every bit as challenging and labor-intensive as actually shooting the film — except the timetable is far less constrained. And you’d think that would make things easier, but… remember how I just got through saying how great it is that when you’re on set, there’s no time to second-guess yourself? In post, there’s plenty of time to second-guess yourself. Plenty of time to tweak the stuff that doesn’t work, and to refine the stuff that does. The goal is no longer to get everything shot so you can pack up and send the crew home; the goal is to produce a good movie.

Luckily, my editor was a jack-of-all-trades-and-then-some, handling sound, visual effects, and coloring in addition to the already-punishing workload of cutting the picture. And one of my best friends, who has worked for many years in the music business, hooked me up with a great composer who delivered a great original score in record time. Now it’s in the hands of the festivals, so my job is pretty much crossing my fingers.

What I learned
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Making a film — even a ten-minute one — completely changed my perspective on my career and my identity as a creative person. Although I absolutely intend to keep writing, I no longer think of myself as just a writer: I know now that I can do more than that. I’m excited to look for more opportunities to direct, and maybe I can even make some money at it someday (since self-financed shorts are not quite the golden goose that I wish they were).

I’m not holding myself up as some special case, either; I’d wager that a great many people who see themselves solely as writers could do an excellent job of directing. It sounds scary, and sometimes it is, but being a screenwriter is fantastic preparation for it. As John often says, when you’ve written a script, you’ve already seen the movie in your head, and that’s at least half the battle. The other half is being able to explain it to your collaborators, but if you pick talented people — and Los Angeles is positively *teeming* with them — it’s not really that hard.

I think people write spec scripts for two reasons: (1) They want to see their scripts made into movies; and (2) They want to get paid. And I think that for most people, the priorities go in that order. Getting a paycheck is great, but the *dream* is seeing your words and scenarios brought to life. You don’t need to sell your script to a big studio to achieve that. The only difference between the biggest studio movie and the smallest self-funded independent movie is money. (A lot of which is often wasted, as demonstrated in [this piece by Gavin Polone](http://www.vulture.com/2013/10/polone-why-studios-should-act-like-indies.html).) Money is the only thing hiding behind those studio gates — not ideas, and certainly not talent. Great actors, great crew, and great equipment are available to everyone (and you’ll pay far less for all three if you’re *not* part of a giant expensive production).

You can spend your entire career waiting for permission to see your work brought to the screen, and you can give up if it never happens (and, like I said, I was very close to giving up). Or you can jump the line and do it yourself. Instead of being the person desperately trying to get hired, you can be the person doing the hiring. That’s a pretty nice ego boost.

*******

So things are going pretty well these days. I’m still writing specs, but I’m working with a manager now, so my scripts are getting some exposure instead of languishing in the void. (Funnily enough, I got the meeting with him not because of anything to do with making my movie, but because I had a script hosted on [The Black List](http://blcklst.com/) that he liked. Thanks, Franklin Leonard!) I’m also having a great time writing for [Previously.TV](http://previously.tv), a new online venture from the creators of Television Without Pity. The inside of my head is starting to look more like those upbeat days of 1997. Optimism is back in town.

And the Star Wars prequels might have sucked, but those sequels are going to be great!

Right?

*You can find Nick Rheinwald-Jones on Twitter at [@rheinwaldjones](https://twitter.com/rheinwaldjones).*

(Photo credits: David T. Cole)


Doug Karr’s new film Art Machine is available on demand and through iTunes. I asked him to write up a post about his experience finishing it.

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Nearly three years ago John watched my ambitious and rather complicated short film [Ten for Grandpa](http://vimeo.com/26271710) and liked it enough to not only post it, but also ask me to write a first person for the blog.

This was mid 2011 and I had just gone through the roller-coaster ride of having that film premiere at the Sundance Film Festival, go on to screen at 50+ international film festivals, win multiple awards, and ultimately give me the juice to finish an achievable feature screenplay and finally crowdfund and source private equity to get it made.

That film was Art Machine, which I co-wrote with my friend and collaborator Nuno Faustino.

With the script finished and our financing in place, our rollicking crew of filmmaking maniacs went into production at a lightning fast pace for what I can only describe as one of the best directing experiences of my life. Thanks to the encouragement of my then girlfriend (now wife) Aimee Karr, who is a producer on the film, and the trust of a handful of amazing investors and producers, we undertook 18 glorious days of production. I got to work with some of the most incredible actors I’ve ever had the pleasure of sharing a set with, including, but not limited to, Joseph Cross, Joey Lauren Adams, Jessica Szohr, Christopher Abbott, Lucas Papaelias, the list goes on and on.

I quite literally had the best crew money couldn’t buy, and, hell, we even got to blow shit up and light a stunt person’s hand on fire. Sure there were complications, splitting time between living in a closet and a woman’s empty house who had recently died during the production to save money, the five hit and runs that occurred during the shoot that impacted our crew. Our favorite was when one of our own interns hit one of our other production cars…and then ran. Gotta love shooting in New York City!

And of course I didn’t sleep for three weeks. But that was all part of the crazed rock-and-roll caravan that is film production.

This was late 2010.

###How three years vanish.

Post-production was magnificent at first. After a quick holiday I jumped into the edit suite with unparalleled enthusiasm. Editing has always been my first love. I learned how to edit on a pair of three-quarter inch tape-to-tape decks when I was 13, a quick progression after falling in love with the whole idea of becoming a filmmaker after seeing a 65mm re-issue of Lawrence of Arabia on the Champs-Élysées as a nine year old growing up in Paris.

Here I was, cutting my first feature. The dailies were terrific. I couldn’t have asked for better performances, the cinematography looked amazing, even the physical effects were working exceptionally well (from the explosions and flame gags to the grand finale).

What I hadn’t accounted for is the grueling drudgery that a long editorial process can bring on.

I’d had a flavor of it when I returned from a year in Africa back in 2001 with nearly a hundred hours of documentary footage to cut together (a process which ended up keeping me in dark room for over a year), but that was a documentary. This was narrative — my dream job no less. This was different.

A year later we were still tweaking, shooting little pickups, endlessly pushing the boundaries of our tight post budget to craft visual effects we were dreaming up after every screening.

Somehow, as that first year of post wore into the next and then some, the air deflated out of my tires, and I started to wonder if there would be an endgame to this process at all. And once you start allowing yourself to go down that mindset, everything around you starts to justify it.

– The film industry is overwrought.
– There’s nothing left to say.
– The rungs on the ladder just keep getting father apart.
– How can movies make money anymore?
– All anybody wants to watch is dirt-cheap serialized drivel.
– Cinema is dead.

I even wrote multiple drafts amounting to a 70,000 word document that some might consider a novel, hoping to find a way clear of the dreaded film industry. That’s how bad it got: I nearly wrote a book.

Luckily somewhere in there, the latest cut of Art Machine (the 12th? 15th?) was accepted to premiere at the Woodstock Film Festival, and distributors immediately began taking notice. We had six offers, and by the time Art Machine was the Closing Night film of the GenArt Film Festival a year later, we had a deal in place with the wonderful FilmBuff.

So now I’ve finally fulfilled my childhood dream, I’ve completed my first feature and it’s launching out into the world. Today the film becomes available to the public at large on [iTunes](https://itunes.apple.com/us/movie/art-machine/id794840957?ign-mpt=uo%3D4) and ON DEMAND. If you like it, throw up a review on iTunes, it would be a huge help.

Perhaps the splashy blanket-theatrical prize was elusive, but screenings were set up in NY and LA. Most importantly, the film is finally out there in the world.

—
Doug Karr is a New York based writer director. His twitter handle is [@doug_karr](http://twitter.com/doug_karr)