Tuesday, August 7, 2012

3 Reasons to Hitchhike Out of Hollywood

An interview with Ty Tuin: DP / Filmmaker
article by E.R. Womelsduff



  1. The chances of becoming a director or producer on a $100 million feature are about as slim as winning the lottery.
  2. Hollywood isn’t the only place to make films, it’s not the best place to make films, it’s not the most creative or well-resourced place to make films; it’s just the American place to make films.
  3. You can be Indiana Jones.

I met Ty Tuin four years ago when we were placed in the same crew for a 48-hour film festival.  He had wild hedgehog hair, perfect teeth, and a creepily good “Joker” voice.  I soon learned that he’d lived overseas with his family as a child and could speak some German, Japanese, and Hebrew.  He was an incredible actor, but preferred to be behind the camera fiddling with lenses and aperture and framing. Every girl that met him was instantly besotted, and he was charmingly oblivious to it all.

Six months out of college, Ty was asked to move to Australia to work as a filmmaker at the Australia Studies Centre in Sydney.  He had committed to being the DP on the film of yours truly, and it would mean leaving the film in the lurch a month before it was set to film.  When we learned he wanted to abandon us for Australia, however, we gave him a shove out the door and told him to send us postcards.

Because the interview was conducted via e-mail, this article will take the form of a Q&A.




What is the future of international filmmaking?
The chances of becoming a director or producer on a $100 million dollar feature film are about as slim as winning the lottery. Most people assume that to be a filmmaker they have to move to Los Angeles, get into the culture, become “Hollywood,” suck up to everyone with money and fame and then, one day they might have the chance to make the film they want to make. They will finally get their shot at those elusive 15 minutes.

In fact, the world is becoming burned out on the same films told in different packages. We are a generation that has grown up with motion picture in many forms from such a young age. We are experts in movies, stories told through moving images. There is nothing new for us. We are bombarded by images all day, everyday. We spend more hours looking at screens than we do engaging with actual human faces.

What do we do about this?  As those attempting to become creators of that visual content, how do we stand out? How do we tell stories that people will engage with? How do we rise above the clutter?





The important thing is to think outside the box of Hollywood. New places of motion picture are popping up elsewhere in the world. Nigeria now makes more films than the United States. India makes the most, by far, but even China is becoming a new center for cinema.

To assume that our only hope for making a living is in Los Angeles, California is simply not true.
With the changing trends in production and distribution of films, the possibilities are endless. Instead of being a consumer, become a producer. Even as filmmakers we can easily become blind consumers. We simply follow in the footsteps of other filmmakers that have created a pathway to the “dream.” Now more than ever we have the ability to create our own path. There may even be positions and industries waiting to be invented.

Most importantly, there will always be a market for stories that move us. Whether they are 30-second vignettes designed to attract us to a product or if they are feature length films we watch in our home theaters, people will always be taking in stories that hit us where we feel it and ask the tough questions we ask.

The parameters of how those stories are told and how they get distributed are completely up to the imagination of anyone willing to explore the possibilities.

What is your favorite job or memory from a work experience?
I worked as a camera assistant on a shoot in the Redwoods near Monterey, CA. The crew all got in a van and drove up from LA, swapping stories, complaining about the politics of the industry, the usual. We bunked in these cabins in the forest and got up each morning with that campfire smell on our clothes and this magnificent fresh air in our lungs. The shoot involved us romping around one of the most beautiful forests I’ve been to. Not a bad job to get paid for.




What is your worst job or memory from a work experience?
I worked as a photographer/videographer for the father of my girlfriend (at the time). He had this non-profit that he ran and I was brought on to work and get to know the family. Not a good mix. If you ever get an offer like this, don’t do it.


What was your first industry job?
I worked for a few years in high school with a production company in Chicago. The work involved lots of traveling and learning. I was like a sponge at every shoot we went to. Every piece of equipment was new, every story we were telling was new and every director/client relationship was new. It was fantastic; long hours, hard work, and I usually felt like I was always doing something wrong. I gradually learned how to become more assertive and more useful as a part of a crew.


What’s one of the worst mistakes you ever made, professionally?
I got a job as a 2nd AC working on a music video that was supposed to be a “big deal.” There were lots of names involved and so, naturally, I was excited to be a part of it. I soon found out that this was a badly-produced project. There was a lack of order on set and the odd scheduling caused us to rush through half of the day. These are things you can’t control if you aren’t in charge. My mistake was letting the stress of production get into what I was doing. I started feeling rushed and stressed out and at one point I picked up a $9,000 tripod head by the pan handle. Of course it was loose and it fell on the concrete and snapped like a Dorito. I just wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing. Not only that, I wasn’t thinking of the people I was working with, I didn’t have a good attitude on set, I was just adding to the annoyance of everyone else. I didn’t realize that sometimes the presence of even one level-headed, respectful person can turn things around.


What kind of hours do you normally work while you’re on a project?
There is a strange phenomenon that happens when you are passionate about a project. Obviously I can work a 16-hour day and not feel that tired by the end of it. As humans we’re made to do work of various kinds. Our bodies like it. But when I’m not passionate about a project, a 5-hour shoot feels like eternity and I’m drained by the end of it.

I think it comes down to knowing why you’re doing what you’re doing. I’m always asking myself, “Why is this important?” Sometimes I don’t know the answer and I’m just counting down the hours to go home. Sometimes the answer is clear and I’m right where I want to be.


At the end of the day, what makes it all worth it?
The ability to create new worlds, tell stories, engage with characters and work together as a team is incredibly rewarding. The jobs that stand out to me are the ones that involve those elements.





Have you reached a place of financial stability, or is it always up in the air where the next paycheck is coming from?  Is there any financial security?
This question could warrant someone much smarter than me writing a book or giving a TED talk. For my specific type of work, paychecks are like those little mushrooms in Super Mario; you just jump on them when they come and then you try not to get eaten before you find the next one. Financial security can be a bit of a misleading concept. In the US, at least, image is everything so we tend to spend money we don’t have on things we don’t need. You can’t live a life of creativity and passion and a life of lavish luxury. You can, however, be smart with your money, save, invest, and simply buy what you need. The focus is on what you’re doing, not the money you’re making. So be smart with what you have, that’s all you can do.


How do you balance your personal and professional life?  Is there time for family?
Currently, I’m working in a job that has set hours. Personal life easily fits around a steady schedule. However, when I was freelancing, time outside of work was spent sleeping and doing laundry. This is a predicament that is still frustrating.


Is it a good idea or a bad idea to date or have friends that have nothing to do with the industry?
It is important to have a diversity of friends. Obviously there are your film buddies; you sit around and talk movies and then you make movies together and then you e-mail each other late at night about film ideas. These are important, but you also need friends who you can be real with and talk about real life. The industry can be a tough place to have deep relationships. A connection is not a friend, they are just friendly business.  You need people you can be real with, it doesn’t matter what they do for a living.  As for dating, I suppose they have to respect what you do, but they also have to have the opportunity to know you well.


Was any of your family in the industry before you?
I come from a long line of educators. My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles are almost entirely in education. My uncle on my dad’s side is an illustrator. He’s very talented and has worked many years in that industry. I’ve learned a lot from him in terms of how to navigate an industry while still being an inspired artist. But overall I feel that I have blazed my own trail, often taking on projects without knowing exactly what I was doing. I just have this hunger to learn and tell great stories.


If not, were they supportive of you going into it?
My entire family has been very supportive. I mean, they’re teachers, they love seeing people reach their potential. They challenge and inspire people for a living. That was just the kind of encouraging environment I lived in.


When you were a kid, what did you want to grow up to be?
Indiana Jones.





What is one piece of advice you received when you started out that ended up being totally wrong?
Someone, at some point, tried to convince me that Hollywood was a dark, evil place. First of all, “Hollywood” isn’t a group of people who sit around a table and think up ways to destroy the fabric of society.  It is a group of creative people trying to make a living doing what they love, as well as an industry constructed to bring in dollars.


What is one piece of advice you received that ended up being really helpful?
Someone told me that the industry is first and foremost an industry; its sole meaning for existence is to make money. So you have to coax it into thinking that’s what you’re after, too, then you can tell the cool stories you want to tell.


What are some of the stereotypes about Hollywood that ended up being true?
Hollywood is a fast-paced place for people with fast-paced lifestyles. I don’t think I realized it until I was working here in Sydney, Australia. My whole time in Hollywood seems like a crazed blur.





What upsets / angers/ depresses you about life in Hollywood?
The frustration ranges from big to small. Parking is unreal, so is traffic. But more than that, this is an industry that runs solely on making money. It’s tough when that industry also happens to be the “arts and cultural” center of the US, and in many ways, the world. Sometimes it’s really depressing that so much money goes into mediocre art, all for the purpose of making more money to make more mediocre art to make more money and so on. It can be draining to think about.


What makes you hopeful about living in LA?
Getting to know certain communities within LA that had really inspiring motivations made me very hopeful. There are groups of artists who are genuinely talented and inspired and they are trying to support each other and get work while still remaining true to their calling of telling stories that matter. Every once in a while you meet people like that and they just make the world seem a bit better.


Can you tell me about some of your recent projects?
Currently I’m working in Australia on a documentary series that is in pre-production. I’m so interested in exploring how being globally minded/educated can help someone be more effectively involved in a local community. Travel can easily become yet another commodity to be consumed. What if we saw travel as a way of preparing ourselves for what we were really designed for: community? The stories in each documentary would be of locals who are engaging in community in an educated, globally minded way.


What are some hobbies? How do you unwind or “get away”?
Getting out into the mountains, hiking, climbing, running. I find that the city can be an inspiring place as well as a draining place. Its so great to get a change of scenery. I also try to read as much as I can get my hands on; fiction, non-fiction, anything interesting to me.  I also find great satisfaction in building with my hands. Currently I’m attempting to build a camera rig from the ground up. I just thought it was a good idea.
 



What would you tell people who are waiting for their big break, or waiting to be discovered?
If you’re planning on waiting, you might want to make yourself a cup of tea, you’re going to be there for a while.  Your life is now. Create.


What would you say is a “good” reason to come to Hollywood?  And what reasons would you say are “bad”?
I can honestly say that I’ve been to the far side of the world and back and the problems are always the same with minor differences. You can’t actually run away from yourself, and that’s where the problems usually come from.


What should independent filmmakers NOT do?
I suppose it would be a very tragic thing to get lazy. When I feel that I am falling into an unhelpful routine sometimes I’ll literally rearrange my bedroom, or take a different route to work.  Sometimes you just need a change of scenery, or a change of routine. You just can’t get stuck.


In your personal experience filming internationally, what you have been able to do that you could not do in the US?
I guess the obvious things are the people and places you meet while working overseas. I think Americans generally have a view of the world where it’s the US and then everyone else. When you work with people elsewhere you find that there are all these different locations, vantage points, ways of life, and they are different from each other. Hollywood isn’t the only place to make films, it’s not the best place to make films, it’s not the most creative or well-resourced place to make films; it’s just the American place to make films.


Do you think making a film internationally is an experience every filmmaker should have?
I can’t say that I woke up one day and said, “Gee, you know what, I’m going to get a plane ticket and make a movie somewhere else in the world.” For me, travel was important. Not tourism, but travel. Having contacts in many countries was helpful, I would meet people who had non-profits or companies in other countries and I would ask if I could come work for them and shoot video for their operation. I was also just open to opportunities when they came. I just wanted to make movies, tell stories, and see cool places. I think it is especially important for people born and raised in the United States to travel outside of their country. Most people don’t realize how much cultural impact the US has on the rest of the world. This is especially true of cinema.


How do international filmmakers view American filmmakers and/or films?
It’s hard not to speak in generalizations, and it’s hard to speak for millions of people all over the world. Because larger-budget, blockbuster films are the ones most exported, they drive perceptions of American cinema. Films from the US are known for being large-budget, mindless commercials. The better films usually don’t make international distribution. There are some exceptions, but overall this is the sad truth.  

I think there is a huge opportunity for development of film industries, even small ones, in many places of the world. There are plenty of stories, ways of telling stories, and creative storytellers in the world to sustain some great films. The possibilities of building something new, a studio, a production company, even a small one, are endless.  There is a great Australian film called Ten Canoes (2006). This film was shot in Arnhem Land by a community of the Yolngu people. Most of the people aren’t actors and all of the props and set were constructed by the people of the village. It is such an inspiring story of a community coming together to tell their stories in their style, in their language and on their ancestral land. I’ve never seen a film like it, but I hope to see more. The possibilities are endless.





Is it harder to make films internationally, or has the digital age made it possible to make a film virtually anywhere?
With cheap production and instant distribution, there has never been an easier time to create motion picture content. Whether or not people see your film is entirely up to how well it is made and how well it is marketed, but production is easy.




Ty Tuin currently resides in Sydney, Australia. His IMDb page can be viewed here. His Linked In profile can be viewed here. His blog can be viewed here. His stock footage can be viewed here.

Examples of his work can be viewed here:

Portfolio 1
Portfolio 2


Saturday, July 28, 2012

12 Things Every Aspiring Actor Should Know (and stop calling yourself “aspiring” — you’re either an actor or you’re not)

An interview with Troy Rudolph: Actor
article by E.R. Womelsduff



The Don’ts

  1. Don’t tweet privileged information about the show you’re working on.
  2. Don’t give yourself a time limit after which you’ll give up and get a “real” job.
  3. Don’t go into an audition without your sides.
  4. Don’t piss off the people who do your lighting or your make up.
  5. Don’t leave everything to your agent.

The Dos

  1. Respect the crew.
  2. Pick an eye and stick with it.
  3. Hit your mark without looking.
  4. Use every moment on a project as a learning experience.
  5. Let the director direct you.
  6. For the love of God, tell someone if you’re leaving set.
  7. Understand that everyone in the audition room is on your side.



Troy Rudolph
Rudolph is, in his own words, “a clichéd struggling actor who pays the bills working as a background performer.”  His first industry job was as a locations production assistant on the show Viper in 1996, although when he was in high school his aunt got him a job working as a greensman for a commercial (basically he had to mow the lawns and tear down a barn house, but hey, it was technically a gig).  In college, he studied film production and dealt blackjack during the summers, but his first love was always acting.  

Actually, his first love was space and he wanted to be an astronaut, but his second love was definitely acting.  “I don’t understand why everybody doesn’t want to [act].  You get to be other people and exist in other places and live in other times and on other planets and do things no one gets to do in real life.  It’s the most completely fulfilling thing I can imagine doing with my life.”


His favorite memory is the first day he worked on Battlestar Galactica.  “I grew up watching the original series, so putting on the uniform and stepping onto the deck of the ship was one of the most exciting things I’ve ever done.”  There is a pause as he thinks about it a moment longer.  “I guess working with Halle Berry was cool, too.”  This last in reference to the scene he shot with her in Frankie & Alice.



Rudolph opposite Halle Berry in Frankie & Alice

His worst memory was from his time working on a show that he’d prefer remain unnamed.  
I had the opportunity to audition for the show and I booked the role and there was some indication that the role might recur, nothing was said for sure, but there was the hint that it might.  A couple months later I was brought in to audition for what appeared to be a completely different role.  A few days later I’m doing my regular background work and I see the call sheet and my character’s name and another actor’s name next to it and I realized that they’d auditioned me twice for the same role and then cast another actor.  I didn’t find out ‘til I was on set.  I had to continue working on the show that day with the other actor there and try and bottle it up as best I could.

I ask him about the worst mistake he ever made on set.  I can hear the bark of laughter over the phone.

Oh that’s easy.  When I was working on Smallville as a stand-in I was tweeting about it, and I was trying to be very careful to never give anything away in regards to plot or story.  Every time I posted about Smallville I would gain 30 new followers, it was strange.  And I guess I said a few things that I possibly shouldn’t have and it came to the attention of certain people in power and I got in trouble for that.  I could have been fired but they fortunately liked having me around and I owned what I did and apologized, so I ended up getting suspended for a week, and really it was just me using poor judgment.  It was probably the stupidest thing I ever did, professionally.  I’m a lot more careful with my Tweets now.   Nobody was really prepared for how to handle this new social media phenomenon.  We didn’t really have a lot of rules in place for it.  I probably became a case study.  I’m sure I come up in meetings for other shows when they talk about confidentiality.


Troy Rudolph watching Bella Swan receive her diploma in Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part 1

As a veteran of background work, extras work, and the endless audition process, Rudolph tells me of a piece of advice he got early on that ended up ruining his shot at a few roles:
My friend once told me, ‘When an actor goes into the room to audition, they shouldn’t have their sides.  You should go in there, you should know it, and you should impress the hell out of them.’  I made the argument that in DVD extras, actors like Guy Pearce have their scripts.  He reminded me that I’m not Guy Pearce.  So I felt that I had to go in without the sides, and it...well, it backfired.  A friend of mine who is a well-known, established actor told me he goes in with his sides all the time.  So now whenever I go into an audition, I always have my pages with me.

When I ask Rudolph what upsets him about the film and TV industry, he laughs.  “Oh so many things.  It can be so frustrating, especially as an actor, trying to get your foot in the door and break in and you keep seeing the same people over and over and over again getting these opportunities and you cannot for the life of you seem to break in no matter how hard you try.”

But perseverance seems to be Rudolph’s middle name.  In addition to his usual round of background work (“apparently I’m going to be on Fringe a lot this season”), he is tentatively attached to a science fiction series that is in development in Vancouver.  “I can’t tell you a lot yet, it’s in the very early stages.  I’m just hoping it happens.”  He has also written several features and is currently working on two separate web ideas, one an original and one a six-part Dr. Who series.  In his spare time, he makes elaborate costumes.  “My mother taught me how to sew because she didn’t want to make anything for me anymore and I took to it like a fish to water.  I’m working on a renaissance costume, a Death Eater costume from Harry Potter, and a Batman costume.”  He has promised to Tweet a picture of his living room for me, which doubles as a sewing room.

Rudolph wearing his Battlestar Galactica uniform on set.

When I ask him what he would tell people who are waiting for their big break, he gets serious.  
If this is the only thing you can imagine doing with your life, you have to be patient.  You have to self-promote.  Your agent can only do so much.  You have to be very hands-on. Keep trying.  I honestly believe that people who give up on their dreams were never really that serious about achieving them. I had a friend recently ask me, ‘Have you given yourself a time limit?’  And I said no, I’m going to keep trying ‘til I make it or I’m dead.

And he has kept this promise to himself. From 2007 to 2012 he worked on Battlestar Galactica, Smallville, Defying Gravity, Eureka, Psych, and Fringe, not to mention the dozens of films and shows he's worked on as crew. He’s quick to remind me that actors like Alan Rickman didn’t get their big break until they were 45.  But a big break doesn’t just “happen.”  When people tell him they’re “aspiring” actors, he asks, "So what restaurant do you wait tables at?" I can almost hear his smile turn serious over the phone as the real issue surfaces:
Honestly, though, what are you doing to be an actor?  Are you doing student films, webs series, stage, classes, are you getting an agent, are you watching movies and studying performances, what are you doing to better yourself?  Or are you just sitting on your ass and every now and again calling your agent to check in?  If you don’t actively pursue it, it’s not going to happen.  No one is going to do for you what you cannot do for yourself.

Rudolph also believes that every moment is a learning opportunity, even when you’re on set for twelve hours a day as background.  
It’s important to know what the camera guys do, what the grips do, because everything they are doing affects what you are doing.  Everyone is on a film set to capture what the actors are doing. Don’t be a diva.  Don’t be a dick.  Respect the crew.  Respect the other actors.  Respect the background.  It’s a team effort.  You spend more time with these people than you do with your own friends and family.”


Smallville season 8

When I ask if there are any practical tips he can give to new actors, especially those coming from a theater background, he says, "Learn how to hit your mark without looking at it,” but quickly laughs as he thinks of a better, if more bizarre piece of advice.  “When you’re doing a scene with another actor and if it’s a two shot and you’re both in profile (or any shot when it’s on you) pick the eye of your co-actor that’s closest to the camera and stick with it.  Otherwise it looks like you have crazy eyes."

Having a degree in film production, Rudolph has also worked as an assistant director on shows.  I can hear the capitalized letters when he says, “If you leave set, LET SOMEBODY KNOW.  If you walk away from anywhere, let an AD know, for the love of God, where you’re going.”  He recalls times when production was held up because an actor had gone to the bathroom and forgotten to tell anyone, and the entire crew went looking for them.  He adds, “When you get called to set, go to set, don’t sit in your trailer for twenty minutes.”  That is, assuming you’re important enough to have a trailer.

He thinks for another moment.  “What I really hate is when the union background make it really obvious to the non-union background how much better they have it.  Because everyone starts out as non-union background and they know how much it sucks to sit there eating a hot dog when everyone else is eating steak and prawns.”

He stresses once again to use every minute on set as an opportunity.  
Watch other actors, watch them on screen and on set and how they go through their process.  I have learned so much from watching other actors making certain choices that may not have occurred to me and trying to figure out why they made that choice.  Or if they’re not doing well, how I would do it, how I would fix it.  I worked on a movie with Al Pacino once and seeing him deliver these amazing performances, it was like a year’s worth of acting classes.


LEFT: Clark Kent (Tom Welling)  MIDDLE:  Lex Luthor (Michael Rosenbaum)  RIGHT:  Jonathan Kent (John Schneider)
LEFT: Boomer (Grace Park)  RIGHT: Green Arrow (Justin Hartley)

Having worked extensively as a crewmember as well as an actor, Rudolph has no tolerance for ego.
Be open to what other people have to say.  Never take direction personally.  Sometimes the actor will be correct.  But y’know what?  Sometimes you’re wrong.  And you have to accept that maybe somebody else has a better idea how to do it.  I worked on a film where I was the most experienced person on set and nobody knew how to say no to me and I had free reign and sometimes it worked and sometimes it was a steaming pile of crap.  Let people help you mold a good performance.  That’s what a director is there for.

He also says to make friends with the script supervisor and the AD, as they can “insulate you from all kinds of crap.”  As always, don’t piss off the make up artist or the guys who light you, for obvious reasons.  But the biggest revelation for Rudolph was not about set protocol or crew interactions--it was about auditioning.  It finally dawned on him one day that 
when you go into an audition you’re nervous and scared, but everybody from the casting director to the reader to the producer, they all want you to do your best, they want you to get this part. You wouldn’t be there if they didn’t.  That can be so liberating.  Because if you do an awesome job you make them look good.  They want you to succeed.  Casting directors are so awesome, they’re not going to try to make you look bad; they’re going to do everything they can to get you that role.

In the end, Rudolph asserts again that you have to love what you do.  “Whenever I hear that people want to be an actor, I always ask them if there’s anything else they’d rather do, because they should do that instead.”  He points out that corporate work has both structure and security, whereas the arts have very little structure and no security.  But for the people like Troy Rudolph who can’t imagine doing anything else with their lives, who find purpose in their work, who constantly push themselves to learn more and hone their talent, it’s the most rewarding career in the world.

Rudolph on Battlestar Galactica, Fringe, and Once Upon a Time



Troy Rudolph lives and works in Vancouver, Canada. His IMDb page can be viewed here:

His acting reel can be viewed here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMR8mX5FnO4

www.erwomelsduff.com

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

5 Addictions That Will Make You a Better Writer


Jack Kerouac.  William Faulkner.  James Joyce.  F. Scott Fitzgerald.  Ernest Hemingway.

Brilliant writers. Raging alcoholics.

I’ve always wondered if I should cultivate an addiction—sex, gambling, cocaine, or the classic alcoholism to which so many great artists have surrendered.  The Libertine is a film entirely devoted to the drinking habits of 17th century poet John Wilmot, and how he couldn’t write a single word while sober.  Perhaps I should buy a bottle of Jack Daniels and get to it, then.

Unlike these men of renown, however, I can’t hold my liquor.  When I drink, I just get sleepy and tend to find a dark corner to curl up in.  What then?  Even if someone handed me their life savings, I wouldn’t know how to gamble (card games are pretty much math puzzlesmath and I don't get along).  I could start a string of passionate affairs, but then there’s STDs and babies and I’d have to shave my legs.  There’s always drugs, but which one to choose?  It would take far too much research to test them all, and there’s always the off-chance I might die, which would sort of negate the purpose of finding an addiction in the first place. 

What is left?  I could become obsessed with cooking, I suppose, but I don’t think that’s destructive enough to count.  It’s got to be really dark to make me a better writer.  After all, I must be unmade, broken down—I must despair, if I am to write anything worthwhile.  Because everyone knows that despair is the only emotion that makes writers honest.

In all honesty, though, do we need to be tortured?  I doubt these men sought self-destruction consciously, or for the purpose of improving their craft.  I glorify their addictions despite myself, and wish I could be as lonely and tormented as they so that I, too, could be a truly great writer, an artist above all others; my insanity praised as poignant truth!

But that’s stupid.  In the end, it is not the substance coursing through our veins that pours words onto pages—with or without a stimulant, we write what we know and we write who we are.  Addiction is a red herring—truth comes from pain and pain comes from love and love comes from us.  Alcohol is the smoke and mirrors distracting our eye from the source of the magic—the magician.  Alcohol does not wax poetic about the mysteries of life—writers do.

So writers, try not to pick up a bad coke habit or Chlamydia while you’re writing the next great American novel.  Maybe try some fresh air and sunshine.  Hug your nephew, climb a mountain, ride a bicycle naked through the streets of your hometown.  There are far better stimultants to prod your creativity to the surface.  And don’t forget: just because you’re a serious writer doesn’t mean you can’t love life.

You may well look back and regret those nights cooped up in your room wracking your brains for an original idea, or the holidays you missed with family, or the things you thought you had to do to succeed.  You may regret the lies you told and the promises you broke to yourself .  But you will never look back and regret having loved.  Anyone who tries to argue that doesn’t understand what it means.

Addiction and despair may make you infamous.  But love makes you (and by extension, your writing) worthwhile.



 www.erwomelsduff.com

Monday, July 23, 2012

10 Ways to Love Your Work (and if you don’t, quit doing it)

An Interview with Lauralee Farrer: Writer / Filmmaker
article by E.R. Womelsduff



  1. Be calm and orderly in your life so you may be violent and original your work. [Flaubert]
  2. Do not allow bitterness into your work, because your life will inherently become bitter.
  3. THIS IS YOUR DAY.  These are the hours that comprise your life.  Love all of it.
  4. Do hard work, and lots of it.
  5. Be willing to do work that the dominant culture may consider valueless because it is unlikely to make money.
  6. Understand that a personal career is worthless if it is not meaningful to you.
  7. You must love in order to do great work and in order to survive. No other fuel is enough.
  8. Do not forget that money is a tool for art, not a validation of it.
  9. Don’t waste time sharpening pencils.
  10. Don’t feel like you have to work “in the industry.”  That’s why there’s a thing called independent filmmaking.


Farrer describes herself with brutal honesty in her article “Armor Up, Get On Your Boots”:

My personal life has shipwrecked not once but twice. I have been married for 20 years and divorced, found true love and lost it, been pregnant and am childless.  All who were on the inner circle of me are either dead, gone forever, or never born. I am over half a century old, I am a miserable sinner saved by grace, I have nothing to lose and am not afraid to die.


Lauralee Farrer
I order a raspberry Italian Soda at a coffeeshop called Coffee By the Books, a cafe frequented by the staff and students of Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena.  Moments later, Farrer arrives dressed in her iconic black dress, her white-blonde hair short and wavy and--I can think of no other word for it-- sassy.  

I’d first met Farrer a year before when I was going through a crisis of vocation, doubting my talents, my business savvy, and my will to constantly wade through the emotional abuse that Hollywood is famous for.  A film professor of mine had the wherewithal to notice my depression, and set up a meeting between Farrer and I, since we were both women, both Christians, and both writers and directors.  We talked for over two hours about my anxieties and fears and when I left, I felt more hopeful than I had in months.

When we get to her office, it is filled with abstract paintings done by friends of hers.  One wall is full of books and journals, which only makes sense as she has been the editor of publications for Fuller for the past nine years, the Artist in Residence at the Brehm Center for Worship, Theology and the Arts for two years, and the president and principal filmmaker for Burning Heart Productions for five years.

Before I can even ask a single question, she looks at me and says, “I’ve been thinking about what I want to say for this article.  It should be called ‘10 Reasons Why You Should Love Your Work, or Quit Doing It.”  For the next three hours, all I can do is try to type as quickly as possible to catch every drop of information she pours out.  Her passion is incredible, but understated, and I soon understand why:  “Be calm and orderly in your life,” she says, staring me straight in the eye, “so you may be violent and original your work.”

This isn’t just a pithy saying--for Farrer, it’s how she has structured her life.  “I know how to live simply.  I am pleased to live simply.”  She tells me that David Lynch once said that he had a certain amount of energy, just like everyone else.  He wore the same things and ate the same things every single day so he didn't waste energy on non-creative pursuits, and Farrer instantly recognized this mindset.  Like many independent filmmakers, Farrer has a full-time job.  She just happens to write, direct, and produce feature films on top of a 9-to-5.  Seated across from her, she has the look of someone who has been pushing themselves not just for years, but for decades.  



Farrer on set.

But she wishes she’d known earlier on that it was okay to have a non-demanding day job.  She would spend so much creative energy at work that there would be nothing left for her own projects.  The balance that she has found now seems to be a delicate one that not many could maintain for any length of time.  But Farrer isn’t your average filmmaker.

And she stresses that she is a filmmaker.  She does not work in Hollywood, in the industry, or in the system.  She began working in the medium of film in 1999, but says that she’s been writing since she was a child, folding up text and drawings and stapling them to make “novels.”  In fact, she wrote her first real novel when she was 11.  It was 300 pages long.  At nineteen she got her first paid writing job doing an article about the Salvation Army.

She spent the next few years traveling the world writing for humanitarian agencies “back before it was popular and hip.”  Although she knew she wanted to be a filmmaker, she ended up being in “circumstances that were as far away from the film business as you can get.”  Despite that, she describes those experiences as seminal--opening up a wealth of stories and relationships and ways of thinking that were beyond anything she would have been able to expect in Hollywood. “I was in Germany when the wall came down, in Spain when Franco died, in Somalia when the war broke up, in Kenya for the two bad droughts in the ‘80s, in Leningrad when it became St. Petersburg again, in Moscow when the coup happened."

Working for humanitarian agencies, her travel expenses were barely paid for, and she thought that what she was doing wasn’t as important as writing for a company like National Geographic or Time Magazine.  She was almost embarrassed of her work because it felt like “getting a job at the local church.  It felt unprofessional.  But it was awesome work; I was just too ignorant to know it.”


By the time she got into the USC film writing department, she found that the classes "weren’t that helpful because I’d already had those experiences.”  I smile, knowing exactly what she means when she says, “That being said, I had a mythological idea of being 'discovered' as a filmmaker the way we used to think actresses were discovered."

It was at this point that Farrer had a vision and talent, but no idea how to get her foot in the door. It was decades before technology would make it possible for people to cheaply and easily make films.  So she wrote dozens of screenplays and waited.

But she didn’t spend twenty years twiddling her thumbs.  Not knowing a soul in Hollywood, she began to research her favorite films and filmmakers, reading everything about them that was in print.  She laughs. “I was at the AFI library so often that the librarian asked me where stuff was because she thought I worked there.”

After doing her homework, she wrote letters, asking filmmakers to give her an hour of their time.  Out of 20, 15 said yes.  Farrer has a deep respect for people’s time, and made sure to only ask questions that could not be found out any other way.  “In every case,” she tells me, “I left the room with them saying they’d work with me.  But I was shy and had a huge ethic about not taking advantage of them.  And I couldn’t fully take myself seriously in that field. The one person that I did follow up with was Sydney Pollock.  He extended his generosity clearly enough that I said yes.  But it was bad timing; the film he was working on at the time crashed and burned and his studio contract with it--so we lost touch."

Farrer says her greatest regret is that she didn’t know how to take advantage of those opportunities.

She has tried to make up for that in the latter half of her career.  “I’m never not working,” she tells me.  “It’s not a very healthy answer, but it is always either in my head or I’m writing it down or shooting it or editing it or working on the next one.”  Oddly enough, there’s not much about the filming process that she likes to do in a vacuum--and she actively dislikes writing.  “I don’t like writing, I like having written.”  She’s the kind of person who must work, or else wonder “why I’m here at all.  The angst of that is intolerable.  Learning that was very destructive to me when I was younger and I lived closer to the edge of sanity than anyone should.”  

She says she must go somewhere deep to get material for writing.  “You can’t dive deep in the shallow end of the pool.  If you only have two hours at the end of the day, you’re not going to be able to get there.  It costs more than that.  Some material requires you to be in an altered state.”   


Farrer and her crew.

She says it is not her goal to stand in the back of a theater and watch a film of hers and say, “I did that.”  It’s too inconsequential.  She wants to see something happen in the audience that she can’t account for, that is beyond her, and to know that whatever it is going on in that moment, it’s transcendent, and she transcends with it.  “The hard work is worthwhile because life is worthwhile.  Therefore it must be worth it to grab your work by the teeth and drag it into existence.”

This seems to be the core of Farrer’s message: that a person’s work and a person’s art and a person’s life are their own responsibility.

“I’m not going to wait for anyone to give me permission or fund me.  I don’t have contempt for the idea, but I’m not waiting for it.  If a project doesn't resonate with me, I won’t do it just for money.  I don’t want to spend my life in pitch meetings.  The odds are too great against it for it to be responsible.  When I meet with God, I don’t want to say that I didn’t do my job because no one empowered me or funded me.  I am not going to spend all my time sitting in Starbucks talking about being a filmmaker.  Making films makes you a filmmaker.”





QUICK ANSWERS

Was any of your family in the industry before you?
I was the first person in my family to be a filmmaker; no artists.

If not, were they supportive of you going into it?
I was such an anomaly in my family that I often heard my dad say, “I have no idea where you came from.”  But they loved me unequivocally, and made me feel there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do, which for the most part was a great gift.  But I grew up and realized there were forces out there that didn’t believe the same.

When you were a kid, what did you want to grow up to be?
When I was little I read in Ecclesiastes that the greatest thing was wisdom.  I thought that if I could get wisdom, I would “win.”  I was really young.  I always knew wisdom was more important than writing or art.  Took me a while to discover that love trumps even wisdom.

Brecht said, “Art is not a mirror of society, but the hammer with which to shape it.”  My dad was an English teacher and he loved his work.  I learned a love for that, too.  I knew that that kind of art was a vehicle for something else, it wasn’t a thing unto itself.

What is one piece of advice you received when you started out that ended up being totally wrong?
What I received from the American culture I lived in, and the religious culture, is that women played a certain role in society.  It wasn’t advice, so to speak, but more the zeitgeist.  I didn’t know how anything different could occur to me.  It didn’t even cross my mind.  There were eventually a series of “ah has” as I got older.  I had no role models that were women when I was growing up. I was 40 before I met someone who was a Christian and an artist.  Back then connecting art and faith was confusing to people.

What is one piece of advice you received that ended up being really helpful?
Sydney Pollock told me not to spend too much time sharpening pencils, by which he meant, “get to the writing, don’t worry about the rest.”

What are some of the stereotypes about Hollywood that ended up being true?
I remember the first time I heard that Hollywood was the only industry that eats its young.  There is an animosity towards the young, a competition; never let them see you sweat, don’t let people see you as human.  Luckily, that way of thinking is going the way of the dinosaur nowadays.

I also thought when I was younger that I had to be accepted into the halls of power in a completely different way than if I wanted to be in any other industry.  I had to be “discovered” – in a way that was beyond my ability to achieve, it had to be done to me.  It’s not true anymore.  It’s a business like any business where you can start at the bottom and work your way up.  Be consistent, reliable, confident, show up, do extra work, learn, expand your network.

What upsets / angers/ depresses you about life in Hollywood?
What I hear from friends about how they feel about working in the big machinery of the studios.  They feel like they have lost their first love, like they’re working on shows or films the only saving grace of which is that people have heard of it.  They feel demoralized working on something that is not only meaningless but in some ways humiliating to them.  I have friends who started out with the idea that they had a love for art and storytelling that felt communal and exciting and they thought that was where they were going and now they just feel sad and bitter about the idea that any of that can come true.  “Why am I spending 80 hours a week away from my kids working on a show that I wouldn’t even want them to watch?”  It’s disturbing how much I hear stories like that.

What makes you hopeful about living in LA?
The capacity for the same bitter / repressed full-hearted person who wants to believe in community. It can be reactivated like a dried sponge meeting water.

People involved in industry films who want to do something with substance.    People that truly believe in the possibility of things.  It’s wrong for people to believe that people can be treated cruelly for the sake of creating art.

Can you tell me about some of your recent projects?
Not That Funny is in festivals right now.  Praying the Hours is in active production but will take another six months to complete. It’s not even on IMDb yet.

What would you tell people who are waiting for their big break, or waiting to be discovered?
Don’t wait.  There’s no such thing as a big break.  There’s no such thing as being discovered.  Just do it.

What would you say is a “good” reason to come to Hollywood?  And what reasons would you say are “bad”?
Bad reasons are fame, money, or running away from something.

Good reason: if being in Hollywood furthers your calling as an artist to contribute meaningfully to the culture, to your own life, or to your family.  If this industry is the way to do that, then come here, because there isn’t any other place in the world to do it.  Yes, you can make a movie anywhere you live, but LA is the place to be.  Resources are here. People are here.  Cameras and lenses and special effects coordinators are here. Everything you need. Times ten.

What would you tell independent filmmakers?
Don’t stop making films.  Keep doing the work.  You will get to an age where, when you look back, your only regret is that you did not do more of your art.  You will not regret that you didn’t get a yacht.  The thing that tyrannizes me most is that I don’t have enough years to accrue the experience to make films as I envision them, as fast as I would like. Ha. There's the tyranny at work right there.

What would you tell aspiring directors?
It’s important to know whether you’re a director or not.   In our hierarchical way of thinking, being the director is being the president, and we give it a value over other jobs that it doesn’t deserve.  Being a director is a set of skills akin to  someone being born a tenor or a soprano or a bass.  You either have that set of skills or you don’t.  And if you don’t that’s fine, there’s no point in you trying to acquire them. Find one of the other six thousand things needed by the process of filmmaking and learn that. Then come work with me.




As president and principal filmmaker of Burning Heart Productions LLC, Director Lauralee Farrer is the creative energy behind the award-winning documentary Laundry and Tosca (2004) and the feature-length documentaryThe Fair Trade (2008)—launch film for the Film Baby, Ryko, and Warner series of “Powerful Films.” Farrer is currently writer/director on the feature narrative Not That Funny (2011) starring Tony Hale (www.notthatfunnymovie.com), and in development on narrative features Regarding the Holidays (2012),Praying the Hours (2013), and others.

Farrer was co-producer for Lovestruck Pictures’ award-winning feature romantic comedy The Best Man in Grass Creek and has been writing and producing professionally for over thirty years. Her first personal film project was Laundry and Tosca, which investigates the life of soprano Marcia Whitehead, and explores the idea of whether simply following a dream can be enough to build a meaningful life. An event combining the film screening, Whitehead singing, and Farrer speaking has been presented in the years following its completion; similarly, her feature documentary The Fair Trade has continued to have a rich life beyond festivals and international distribution. Events with various combinations of film screenings, music, social activism awareness, and Farrer’s public speaking have been presented in recent years at film festivals, panels, conferences, colleges, summits, churches, and professional and private environments which has increased the occasion for her public speaking.

Much of the material from which her directing and screenwriting voice emerges comes from Farrer’s freelance work for humanitarian organizations. This work took her to Spain when Franco died, to Kenya during the droughts of 1981 and 1991, to Somalia when the war broke out, and to Uganda to write about early outbreaks of AIDS and the plight of its orphans. She wrote of the Sisters of Charity in Ethiopia, was in Moscow when the 1991 coup took place, and when Leningrad became St. Petersburg again. She was in East Germany before and after the wall went down, in Mexico City to write about cultures of poverty, and in U.S. cities like Philadelphia, Houston, Washington, D.C., Chicago, and Boston to write about American life. She lived in a Benedictine community in Denver, Colorado for three years—a providential experience that formed much of the basis for her current book Praying the Hours in Ordinary Life (Cascade Books, 2010) and feature film, Praying the Hours. She is the editor of journal Theology, News & Notes of Fuller Theological Seminary—a graduate institution for the study of theology, psychology, and intercultural studies. In 2011 she was named Artist in Residence for the Brehm Center for Worship, Theology, and the Arts.


bio taken from http://www.burningheartproductions.com/people/

Farrer’s article “Open Call for a New Amateur” can be found here:
http://cms.fuller.edu/TNN/Issues/Spring_2012/Open_Call_for_a_New_Amateur/


Websites for Farrer’s films:
www.burningheartproductions.com
www.prayingthehours.com
www.laundryandtosca.com
www.thefairtrademovie.com
www.notthatfunnymovie.com