The script is weighing in at around a hundred pages. From what I hear, rehearsals are taking place now. We’ve got everything inventoried as far as gear, and I’ve started putting together notes on how to execute various shots. A shooting schedule is imminent.
I’m on a plane to El Paso in 11 days. Cameras roll in 17 days.
The clock is running!
The latest script is clocking in at 89 pages.
I’ve had several people who have never actually produced indie film tell me that we don’t have enough photography days scheduled to shoot all of the script pages. Today, I talked to someone who’s produced a couple of indie films.
She thinks we’ve got plenty of time.
As an aside, if we set the lofty goal of 8 script pages per day, we can do it in 11 days. Of course, there’s going to be days where we only shoot a page.
Scheduling sucks.
Here’s a couple of shots of Brooks and I playing with the camera crane. There’s a couple of crane shots in Whip Cracker, and after playing with this baby, I almost want to go back and add a couple more.
Woo!
Casting for Whip Cracker is going quite swimmingly.
Or so I hear.
This is definitely a new experience for me. I’m used to running the show — I’ve always been “producer” of everything I’ve ever shot, down to the simplest little skits. If I wasn’t in charge of coordinating everything, I was at least around, and had a say. At the very least, I was in the loop.
This movie, though, isn’t being produced anywhere near where I am. It’s out in El Paso, and I’m here in Los Angeles, powerless to do anything. Last week, I turned in my script pages. I didn’t hear anything back. Today, I got some feedback — not much, but some — and watched audition tapes for a few of the principals.
Other than that, I’m in the dark. There’s not much for “Ye Olde Los Angeles Production Office” to do. I inventoried what little equipment I’m bringing out to the shoot: a Behringer mixer, a monitor headset, a lavalier microphone and my grip kit. That took about ten minutes. Weehaw!
Over the next week, I’m going to be working on the “back end paperwork” — templates for call sheets, shot lists, and stupid little stuff like that. For some reason, I like doing that sort of thing, even though I really don’t. It’s a cross-wire in my brain. I enjoy the appearance of having my shit together, but I don’t enjoy the work required to actually have my shit together. Beyond this week, though, we’ll have the shooting script to put together. That should eat up a lot of time, and make me feel like I’m actually still working on this movie.
I suppose I should be grateful for the relief. I’m usually overworked on stuff like this. It’s sort of nice to have the bulk of the “real work” being done by someone else. That is, until I get out to El Paso at the end of the month. We should really kick into high gear by then.
Until then, it’s all quiet on the western coast.
writing: the process of taking thoughts and ideas, and assembling them into a screenplay, while sleeping 4-6 hours per night.
re-writing: the process of revising the original screenplay into something much better than you ever could’ve conceived of intially, while sleeping 2-3 hours per night.
re-re-writing: teh proces of rvising teh revision into soemthing WAY COOL taht may take a little moer money, but will TOATLLY WIN US TEH OSCAR, while not sleeping at all
We’ve been location scouting all over El Paso, Las Cruces and other parts of the area for two days now. We’ve come up with some great, great places to shoot this movie.
And here’s the kicker.
A few of them have actually agreed to let us film there.
LIKE WHOA!
I’m currently deep in pre-production on a film that I’m co-writing/associate producing/DP’ing. We’re shooting in El Paso, Texas and surrounding areas between August 2nd and August 14th. The two-man creative team is new to the El Paso “film scene.” And, before I got to town, the other half of this team put out a call to the local filmmakers for crew.
Among those responding to that call, was “that guy.”
For anybody unfamiliar with that guy, I will explain briefly. That guy ruins your project. That guy knows more than you, and he’s not willing to compromise. That guy doesn’t want to work for you — he wants to advise you. That guy will lower the morale of your crew, and that guy will actually try to steal your crew away from you.
That guy is obsessed with obtaining permits, securing funds, negotiating for locations, acquiring resources, and every other aspect of “independent film.” That guy can light a shot, he can load a tape, he can edit footage. That guy can tell you which microphone is going to pick up the most ambient noise, and which one will work better. That guy ranges from pretty good to amazing at all of those things.
But that guy can’t make a good film.
That guy is, from my personal tally, at least 75-80% of all independent filmmakers out there today. They are wholly uncooperative with other indie filmmakers. They don’t want to crew. They don’t want to act. They don’t want to listen. They just want to do it their way. And their way is being focused on all the wrong things.
You won’t hear anything out of that guy’s mouth about the story. That guy isn’t really interested in knowing the character archetype, or the reason for a certain line. That guy doesn’t want to concern himself with sub-plots, or ensuring that a scene actually progresses the story. That guy doesn’t care about any of that.
There’s this scene about a truck, you tell that guy. That guy moves quickly to counter. They have a conversation in the truck about this or that? Now we have to get a truck. Do we need a permit for that truck? Who’s going to drive it? Yes, these are all problems that have to be solved. But let’s focus first on what the conversation is. Why are they having it? What is it about? Is the dialogue even good? Does it progress the story? Do you know what the story is? Does it matter to you?
We shot a scene that doesn’t work in the movie? The pacing is too slow? The movie grinds to a halt at that scene? Don’t expect that guy to care. He won’t even know. That guy edits his own movies, and he doesn’t let other people near them. That guy is an artist, and he won’t bow to your facist pressures. Every scene is a piece of his larger art; his grand scheme. That guy isn’t making this movie to entertain you, he’s making it to tell a story to the world — and to tell it his way.
That guy doesn’t believe in the audience. He doesn’t care about them. He cares about what people think of him. That guy doesn’t realize that if you make the audience laugh, they will love your film. He doesn’t realize that praise garnered by his film is praise that he and his crew can relish, even if it is not directed at them by name. That guy doesn’t want his film to be praised. He wants to be praised. And not just by the audience — but by the crew. And the cast. And any other independent filmmakers he happens to come across.
That guy doesn’t want you making a film at all. In fact, that guy is threatened by your film, and by your mere existance. That guy wants you demoralized. He wants your crew to fall apart. He wants you to think you will fail. He wants you to cause yourself to fail. And he wants to prophecize it. “That guy was right all along,” everyone will say. And your praise, your potential praise, will go to him. Him, instead of your film.
And that, is why that guy does not belong on your team.