Self-Pity

by D.H. Lawrence

I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.

Four

A bit more than four years back, I got a message on Friendster (a Facebook predecessor that was both cooler and far less cool, all at once) from a girl named Jess. The message was long and rambling and said that she didn’t really write this sort of email (as cliche as she knew that sounded), but that I kept showing up on her home page as part of the ‘singles near you’ feature, and that she had Googled me up and found my website, etc., etc.

Ah, I thought. A crazy girl.

So I deleted the message.

Then, a few hours later, I got another message. This Jess girl had shared the first message with her younger sister who had said that you absolutely couldn’t just send that kind of thing to someone you hadn’t met, because they would think you were totally insane. So, to prove she wasn’t nuts, she then proceeded to essentially do a deep reading of her own first email, explaining jokes, etc., in a message even longer than the first.

Due to apparent technological ineptitude, she sent this second message three times.

By now, I was intrigued.

So, after much back and forth, exactly four years ago today, we met for drinks at Russian Samovar.

I was smitten. After that date, I was the one sending long messages (or, as previously discussed, faxes). And, long story short, Jessica Gold Newman is now sitting next to me as I write this on laptop on a flight back from Portland, Maine, where we celebrated our four year date-iversary, with huge amounts of foodie eats (a win for me), equally large amounts of terrifying vintage stuff and antiques (a win for her), and some time at the beach getting our first sun of the season (a win for both of us, though somewhat reduced for me, as she tans and I [after a solid twelve months locked indoors] hop straight to medium-well done]).

To which I say, god bless the internets. All my love to Jess, and looking forward to another four and four and forty and forty.

Making Movies: 4 – Get to Work

Sure, it’s great to keep an eye on your long-term goal. But, as your parents are doubtless constantly reminding you, you need a job far more immediately. Unless you intend to live in their basement.

But what kind of job? Keeping with our functional approach, let’s think for a minute about what a job can give you:

1. Money
2. Experience
3. Connections
4. Credibility

Let’s look at each of those a bit more in turn:

1. Money

Unless you were born with an extensive trust fund (in which case, come talk to me about investing in movies), you’re going to need to make money to pay for your life. The tradeoff, though, tends to be that as you maximize how much you earn in any given job, you tend to minimize your returns in the other three categories. Make sure any potential gig pays well enough to cover low-cost essentials (an apartment shared with roommates, vodka that comes in plastic bottles, etc.), or you won’t be able to sustain yourself moving forward. Then, beyond that, focus more on the intangibles you can get out of a position, at least in the near term.

2. Experience

Looking back to the three-leg theory of filmmaking, there’s a fair amount of technical expertise involved in aligning each leg. If it’s raising money, are you familiar with PPMs, pitching investors, operating agreements, or the laws regarding accredited investors? Or, if it’s attaching cast, do you know how to make offers, draft deal memos, or figure out the finer points of a most-favored-nations deal?

And, of course, especially if you’re looking to produce or direct, would you actually be able to make a great film after the three legs are in place? Are you familiar with tech scouting, storyboarding, or how a shoot day runs?

There’s a lot of stuff to learn, and you can probably only pick it up by doing. So, ideally, a job helps you start filling the void in some area of your expertise.

3. Connections

All three legs of a film have at least one thing in common: getting them in place is far easier with an excellent Rolodex.

On the money side, for example, there’s a old adage that investors pick jockeys, not horses – they’re betting on you as much as on the project. Which means a cold-call is nearly always doomed to fail. Whereas a pitch to someone who knows you, who’s been actively following your career, and who is waiting for you to put something exciting in front of them, has an incalculable leg up.

A job, then, is a great way to start building your network. Perhaps it gives you the chance to meet agents, established producers, writers with interesting spec scripts, or entertainment bankers. All people you’ll need to know eventually. And all people you can meet far more easily if you’re in the context of an established company.

4. Credibility

People are like sheep – they love to follow the flock. If a number of name actors are attached to a film already, for example, it becomes increasingly easy to bring in more.

Eventually, to direct, write, or produce, you’ll need a lot of different people to place bets behind you. And the more you can provide social proof, evidence that other people have already bet on you in the past, the easier that will be.

That’s one more thing a job can potentially provide – a stamp on your resume indicating you’ve already been picked as smart and savvy by a decision-maker at some organization.

Here, too, there’s often a tradeoff. Working at a small literary agency, for example, you’d likely get much more hands-on experience, get to build many more outside relationships directly. Whereas working at CAA might leave you literally delivering mail, but provides a far more impressive piece of resume padding.

So, how to balance those four factors? And what kinds of jobs, specifically? In our next several posts, we’ll look at a number of possibilities, and the upsides and downsides of each, through the lens of those four factors.

Making Movies: 3 – Triangulating

So, here we go. The most important, though possibly most obvious, thing I can tell you about making movies:

Essentially, getting an indie film – or really, any film – made is building a three-legged stool:

You need a good script. You need a strong cast. And you need the money.

Once you have those three things, you can start production.

And, interestingly, if you have two of those things, the third quickly falls into place.

Get a script and attach some name actors, and you can easily raise the money.

Get the money and that same script, and suddenly actors (and their agents) will come on board.

The challenge, then, is when you have only one of those three legs. When you have, say, just the script. That’s the position that most young directors are in – they have a script, perhaps even a very good script. But they don’t have either financing or stars.

At which point, putting together the film becomes a giant game of chicken. You have to bullshit the cast about the money, and the money about the cast, and then hope it all comes together.

It works, sort of, sometimes. But not consistently or repeatably. So, while next up, we’ll be looking at jobs – and at what you should be trying to get out of them – keep in mind that, atop the list, is developing the ability to bring those three legs together on film after film. Because if you can do that, congratulations: you have a career.

Making Movies: 2 – Off-Roading

Any doctor in the US became a doctor in roughly the same way: pre-med coursework in college, then med school, boards, internship, residency, maybe a fellowship.

But any two directors or producers or screenwriters likely took completely divergent career paths to their current jobs.

Which, essentially, is both the good and bad news.

On the plus side, in a world like film, you can get where you want to be much sooner. There’s no way to circumvent a decade of medical training, but a lot of brilliant features are made by early 20-somethings.

On the down side, you can also end up never getting to where you want to be at all. While the vast majority of med school grads go on to practice medicine, the majority of film school attendees never make even a first feature film, much less a career’s worth.

So, in such a nebulous world, how do you carve out a plan?

First, you need to look at what it takes to get a movie made. In the next post, I’ll lay out the three-leg stool theory of greenlighting films. Which, in short, says there are three things you need to somehow line up on every single project you do if you want to roll camera.

Then, you need to look at potential jobs as ways to build your experience with and access to each of those three legs. It’s a functional approach, and one that may lead you to jump around from company to company, job type to job type. And it also may dictate that you should be spending nearly as much time and energy pursuing side projects and networking opportunities.

But, first and foremost, you need to accept that figuring it all out is your responsibility. There isn’t a straight line you can default to, or a job you can take now that will take you to where you want to be just by putting your head down and working hard. Instead, you need to think, to carve out a path of your own, with the end in mind, and with savvy decision-making along the way.

Making Movies: 1 – What do you Want?

The first thing I ask young film people is: if you could wave a magic wand, and be doing anything in the film world right now, what would it be?

Writing? Directing? Producing? DP’ing?

A surprising number have absolutely no idea.

Which makes things very easy. As the Cheshire Cat observed, if you don’t know where you’re going, any road will get you there.

If you don’t know what you want, I don’t know what I can do to help you. The only advice I’d have in that case would be to get on any sets you can (short films, student films, gonzo porn) in any capacity you can (PA, POC, fluffer), and then watch and listen and watch some more. Get a sense of how films work. Of what the jobs are. And then come back here. [Or don’t. I’m not your mom.]

This guide, then, is for people who already know what they want. Say, you want to direct features. And the purpose is simple: get you actually doing that job, in a sustainable, career way, as quickly as possible.

Making Movies: 0 – Introduction

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve been deluged by emails from young filmmakers, direct out of film school or college, looking for guidance as they try to figure out their next steps.

And while I don’t know how helpful what I’ve passed along to them has actually been, I figured I’d replicate it here nonetheless, in case it might be at least somewhat useful to you readers, or to folks you know.

So, coming up, a Making Movies series of posts. Let’s get to it.

Just the Fax

In the wake of yesterday’s post about the magic (to me, at least) of the fax machine, Jess reminded me that, early in our courtship, we actually flirted by fax.

Below, a cover page I made up for the Newman / Gold Paint-by-Numbers Gallery, an inside joke I can no longer recall nor explain:

Print.jpg

And then, a good illustration of why we ended up together. Inexplicably, Jess apprended this to one of her counter-faxes, with the caption “I couldn’t leave this out. I just love a good mugshot.”

Print 2.jpg

Innovation Overshoot

Among the laundry list of other features Steve Jobs demonstrated this morning on the brand new 4G iPhone was a secondary, front-facing video camera, allowing users to video-chat with each other.

Amazing! Straight out of the Jetsons!

Or, honestly, not so amazing. At least not to me. While I appreciated the wow factor intellectually, Jobs’ demo didn’t leave me much viscerally impressed. After all, Jess and I already video chat whenever one of us in on the road, using Google Video on our respective MacBooks.

This afternoon, however, I was truly bowled over. I sent a two-page fax. And, as happens each time I use one of those machines, seeing paper going in one end of a fax machine in my office and knowing that a copy was coming out the other end of a fax machine somewhere hundreds of miles away completely boggled my mind.

Obviously, as compared to even plain-text email, the fax machine and its simple transmission protocol is roughly akin to cave painting. Which, perhaps, is why it so impresses me. I can just barely comprehend the engineering involved in faxing, the difficulty of somehow turning my paper into a series of screeches that another machine can translate back to scribbles on a page.

Whereas by the time I think about email – or certainly video conferencing – my mind can’t even begin to grasp the complexity.

As Arthur C. Clarke famously observed, any sufficiently advanced technology is indestinguishable from magic. Which, perhaps, is the problem.

Growing up, I loved magic – learning tricks, watching magicians on TV. But magicians like David Copperfield, whose tricks (I recall seeing him walk through the Great Wall of China) were completely inscrutable, never really stuck with me.

My heart, instead, belonged to Penn & Teller. The plucky pair would gleefully give away the secret to their tricks, then re-perform them. And, the second time through, I’d be doubly impressed, marvelling at the skill and dexterity I suddenly realized that pulling off the tricks required.

So, perhaps, to really appreciate that 4G video chatting, I’d simply need to spend some time puzzling through the technology involved. Apple engineers, if you want to send along a crash course, feel free. And if you really want to wow me, you can send it via fax.