A Note to the Insane
It’s been suggested to me that independent film making is really hard. First, you have to go out there all alone and find the money and if you do find it, figure out a way to make your movie for next to nothing. Finally, the hardest part of all, you have to sell the thing. So, why in the world would anyone want to be an independent filmmaker when taking the more traditional route to getting movies made is so much easier? The answer is actually fairly simple—we’re crazy.
As independents, we choose not to do things traditionally or take the easier path. We don’t want to be part of the mainstream with everyone else—it doesn’t offer the same opportunities to be creative filmmakers and after all that’s who we are—the creative ones. We’re not normal. We answer to the beat of a different drummer and being different is at the core of who we are. It’s the raison d’être of our existence—our very reason for being. We’re mountain climbers and no peak is too steep, no summit too high. Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah. If you believe any of this fodder, I know a bridge that’s for sale in Manhattan. The bottom line is that to be an independent filmmaker, you must be loony. Not just a little, but all the way to Toontown.
What attracts people into the insane world of independent film making? What lures them into the vortex? The answer is ego. The fact is, most independents got that way because it seemed like a cool thing to be. “What do you do for a living?” your friends would ask you at parties. “I make independent films,” you’d reply, and like a famous line from a movie, you had them at the word films. It’s a sexy word the average Joe doesn’t get to use every day. You do and that sets you apart from the others. You represent that rare bird who flies into the flock and freezes the feathers of those around you. How grand it is to call yourself a filmmaker. Oh, happy day when you get an audience who wants nothing more than to be in the same room with you. It’s the adrenaline rush you wished for from the time you learned to say the word movies.
Once there was a day when filmmakers were born storytellers. These muses discovered the medium of film and made it their instrument of creativity. Look what a camera can do—light shines through a lens and burns into a roll of film speeding along at 24 frames per/second—a wonder to behold. What genius came up with this idea? Almost immediately, motion pictures, the moving of film through that wonderful camera, became a device that could be used to tell stories. We could record the day’s events and the people in them. We could make up events if we wanted to and that’s what we did. The flicker of light in the projection room would tell us what we saw that day. And it would be there forever. Others would watch those images when we were dead and gone. Our children would know how we lived—they could see it with their own eyes. Sexy, sexy, sexy is the shear idea of it.
So what happened to the storytellers? New technology came along and made every story recordable. There was no need to invent them anymore, because they were happening in real time. Or if you did invent them, you could do it on the fly. The cherished filmmaker lost his identity—it was swept away by the tides of change. This is what happens when the tools of artists are made available to everyone. It’s inevitable. And it turns normal people into lunatics. It makes everyone believe they have a right to be crazy, when being crazy was once reserved for the chosen few. How dare they usurp our insanity. It was all we had that set us apart from the pack. Now we’re just one of them and there’s nothing crazy about it. Being a filmmaker is like being told to go down to the corner grocery and buy a loaf of bread—anyone can do it. I’d love to be an astronaut, but shooting bottle rockets out of my back yard doesn’t make me one.
Independent film making is really hard. It’s not only about financing and producing—it’s about seeking out truth. Yesterday, I spoke with a dear associate who is one of the most talented filmmakers I know and we spoke of what makes a good film, what we like and don’t like about the process, about festivals and parties, etc. Two years running he had been to Sundance, first as an observer and this year as a filmmaker. “I had a V.I.P. pass that got me into all the parties this time,” he told me. A V.I.P. pass? As if the party were for us. “Come on down, everyone’s invited!” ought to be our industry’s mantra, but it’s far from that. Independent film making is really hard. It excludes the observer, and that’s a shame. Such stories make me want to run from this business and as fast as I can. The adventure of film making has vanished—it’s disappeared and I want it back. I want to be crazy again.
Okay, settle down. You’re still in control of your destiny. You still have people who want to make films with you. You still have access to money, so what’s the problem? You’re riding on easy street and shouldn’t be complaining about anything. Unless you’re Prufrock and growing old before your time. But you’re not. Relatively speaking, you haven’t yet reached the apex of your career in film. There’s still time to make movies and be crazy again. There’s hope for you and for so many, your career represents an unsolvable puzzle. You get to actually make movies and call yourself a filmmaker. Quit your bitching and get on with it. Make a movie that matters, one that will be here long after you’re gone. Make a dozen if you can. Keep climbing that mountain. It’s not as high as you think it is.
