Most people in their 20s today find themselves in a frustrating, drawn-out transition, especially the artistic types. No longer a child but not fully an adult, with enough creative skills to be taken (mostly) seriously as an artist, but lacking enough life skills to be laughed out of banks and non-creative professional businesses, being in one's 20s at this point in history is an awkward endeavor.
And yet, despite continued economic instability, there are generally good feelings towards artists, and plenty of good will. Many an article and blog argues that artists should be supported and encouraged, and that young people shouldn't give up on their dreams. But there is a great divide between the cultural belief in the work of artists, and an artist's actual ability to succeed.
What most creatives need is not a pat on the back and a thumbs-up -- they need analytic skills. They lack these skills because their brains are wired in a different way -- just as you wouldn't expect an accountant to suddenly know how to be a DJ or a dancer, you wouldn't expect a painter to suddenly know how to file insurance claims or understand the process behind financing a new car. Accounting, DJing, dancing -- these are all skills that must be learned, and most people know pretty early on what type of person they are: creative or analytic. A few manage to be an even mix of both, and the rest of us glare at them with rampant envy. Therefore, most people begin to nurture either their creative talents or their analytic skills, but hardly ever both.
In the past, most people have been forced into analytic work, whether they were wired that way or not. Number-crunching sorts of job pay, and they pay consistently. Besides manual labor, it's the most dependable sort of profession to get into. It's only within the last century that wide-spread professional artistry has been encouraged. While this is absolutely not a bad cultural step, it does present a bit of a problem: most artists aren't going to make money at their art, even if they're extremely talented. This has to do with a number of things: lack of marketing skills, unwillingness to commodify their art, lack of access to buyers, or, sometime, an actual lack of creative skill.
Thus, most artists have to do low-level manual labor or analytic work to supplement their creative work -- or, in some cases, to support themselves completely. Most artists, however, view this supplemental work as short-term, believing (wrongly or rightly) that their creative work will take off any day and launch them to a level of financial success that will allow them to devote the entirety of their time to creative endeavors.
Again, this simply doesn't happen for most artists. Just as few people become the CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, so too do very few artists achieve that level of financial success. The difference (again) is that lower-level employees in manual labor or analytic professions (let's just call them "number-crunchers") still make, if not an impressive, then at least a decent wage: enough to support themselves and live comfortably, if not extravagantly. Historically, these jobs have been portrayed as soul-sucking corporate positions that cost employees their dignity, integrity, and passion. While I think it largely depends on the specific company a number-cruncher works at, it is a mostly an exaggerated view.
Which leads us to a tangential issue: the great divide between creative and analytic professions. There is a stereotype associated with both: number-crunchers often view artists as lazy, unpredictable moochers who don't contribute their fair share to society, especially in terms of things like taxes while artists often view number-crunchers as soulless automatons with sticks up their asses.
While there may be a grain of truth to both stereotypes, they are not useful descriptions of either group. In fact, the great divide between the creatives and the number-crunchers hurts both parties greatly. In order to survive, creatives need analytic skills: they need to know how to do their taxes as independent contractors receiving non-taxed cash payments from clients, how to sign up for the correct health insurance, how to avoid lawsuits, how to follow health and building codes in their studios, how to invest their money so they have savings to fall back on when projects are scarce. Artists need encouragement, yes, but more than that, they need the support of the analytic community. Not as charity, not as hand-outs, but as a give-and-take exchange between creative intelligence and analytic intelligence.
The same goes for the number-crunchers. While there are creative aspects to most 9-to-5 jobs, it can be somewhat soul-sucking to repeat the same motions day after day, week after week, routine after routine, for twenty, thirty, or forty years. Creative expression -- or even simply observing creative expression done by others -- is a necessary spark of otherness in a world otherwise filled with repetition. Analytics need artists just as much as artists need analytics. The problem occurs when one group thinks they are better than the other: number-crunchers for being dependable and disciplined, and creatives for being spontaneous and passionate.
So, if you truly want to support an artist, help them out with their taxes. Tell them what they need to know before they go into a bank to ask for a car loan. Introduce them to financial managers or business consultants to help them cultivate the professional side of their creative work. And creatives -- understand the importance of business, law, and procedure in keeping employees (and independent contractors) safe, accountable, and productive. Give and take. Teach and learn. Grow together, and develop the analytic (or creative) side to yourself you never knew you possessed. You may just find a hidden talent, or find that your creative expression has sharpened with the clarity that comes from analytic process, and vice-versa.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Monday, January 20, 2014
Film Spotlight: "Hadeas"
Supporting emerging filmmakers, a spotlight on the short film "Hadeas"
article by E.R. Womelsduff
In a world where even professional filmmakers cut corners, "forget" to acquire permits, and skirt the law to get a shot, the team behind "Hadeas" is out to do things the right way. Trying to raise most of their capital on Kickstarter, the proposed production budget is $21,500 for a 20-minute film. While much of the budget will be spent on costumes, props, sets, and on-screen elements, the rest will be used for permits, lodging, equipment rental, transportation (they have to truck a crew of 20 from L.A. to Merced, CA), food, post-production, and -- here's where they get the stamp of approval -- actually paying the cast and crew. In a down economy, it's hard to ask for more than the "essentials" to get a movie produced, but the Hadeas team believes strongly in not only encouraging artists, but paying them what they're worth.
Hadeas is not your typical short film. While the synopsis is very cerebral and a little out there (a pitted black rock is a main character, after all), the team behind the concept has an impressive array of film experience, from television (one producer worked on Sweden's Next Top Model), agencies (the other producer works at Worldwide Production Agency, which reps producers, cinematographers, and production designers), and international feature film (the DP has shot on five continents, and lived on three).
Why is a film like this worth supporting? Two reasons:
article by E.R. Womelsduff
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| Concept art by Mark Kopitzke |
In a world where even professional filmmakers cut corners, "forget" to acquire permits, and skirt the law to get a shot, the team behind "Hadeas" is out to do things the right way. Trying to raise most of their capital on Kickstarter, the proposed production budget is $21,500 for a 20-minute film. While much of the budget will be spent on costumes, props, sets, and on-screen elements, the rest will be used for permits, lodging, equipment rental, transportation (they have to truck a crew of 20 from L.A. to Merced, CA), food, post-production, and -- here's where they get the stamp of approval -- actually paying the cast and crew. In a down economy, it's hard to ask for more than the "essentials" to get a movie produced, but the Hadeas team believes strongly in not only encouraging artists, but paying them what they're worth.
Hadeas is not your typical short film. While the synopsis is very cerebral and a little out there (a pitted black rock is a main character, after all), the team behind the concept has an impressive array of film experience, from television (one producer worked on Sweden's Next Top Model), agencies (the other producer works at Worldwide Production Agency, which reps producers, cinematographers, and production designers), and international feature film (the DP has shot on five continents, and lived on three).
Why is a film like this worth supporting? Two reasons:
- The team believes in the importance of the story they are telling.
- The team has a sustainable filmmaking philosophy.
Here's what I mean: there are many films, whether shorts or features, that are produced to either A) cost as little as possible while yielding the highest return on investments or B) show off the filmmaker's autocratic artistry, to the detriment of the story itself. The Hadeas team, while dealing with an unusual story format (again, most films don't have an inanimate object as a main character), are creating the film as a team, and with a story they can rally around and fight for together. This is a far cry from being hired the night before a project goes into production, having no idea what the story is about (or caring much), and simply working the gig in order to network and obtain free food.
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| Concept art by Mark Kopitzke |
This leads us to the second point -- the Hadeas philosophy. It's actually quite simple, and yet not particularly commonplace: work as a team, pay people what they're worth, and create a community out of the filmmaking experience. This goes beyond just the cast and crew and actually incorporates the people who live in the areas that the film is being shot at. As they say on their Kickstarter page, "making Hadeas is about more than just telling a good story with the latest gadgets. It's about creating a good experience for everyone involved. Whether they be crew or someone in the small town of Merced lending a hand, we want to make sure that we leave a good impression."
Director Randy May elaborates, "My role as a leader is very important, but I can't make this film alone. From producers to camera assistants, each person on this film has a vital part to play. With Hadeas, we wanted to create an atmosphere where where each member of the team could take pride in the project." Producer Megan Prescott agrees: "With filmmaking--and work in general--there should be a respect and camaraderie with those you work with. It's something that I have cherished on every film set I've ever been on. The people matter first, the story second. For me it has to be that way to tell the most honest, truthful story possible." Her co-producer, Becky Train, confirms this worldview: "When on a tight budget it's easy to put a priority on equipment or other things and take the artists working with you for granted. My philosophy is service. If everyone serves each other while working, things will work out. Service melds minds, encourages hearts, and pushes people forward."
So just what is Hadeas? The word itself is made up, a play off "Hadean," derived from Hades, the Greek god of the underworld, and also referring to the first geological period of earth's history. In terms of the film, however, "At its core it is a drama. But there are trace elements of horror to be found as well," says May. "It won't jump out and scare you, but there's some pretty intense emotion being portrayed and it really taps into a part of who we are that's terrifying to behold."
Because Hadeas has very little dialogue, an abnormal format, and characters that you may only see for short periods of time, it's a hard film to explain. And making a film, especially with the types of visual restrictions the Hadeas team has placed on themselves (such as never showing a character's face), is difficult. "We’ve all worked on badly organized, underfunded films. They are brutal. We want to make sure we have the resources we need to make this thing happen," says Tuin. "Randy and I were storyboarding a scene in which a conversation is happening between a mother and daughter. They’re walking down a path and having a short conversation. As Randy and I were storyboarding this scene we realized it would very difficult to shoot without their faces. Our immediate reaction was simply to move the camera lower, include their hands and so on. But that choice didn’t actually make sense. We realized we needed to make choices that justified why we didn’t see the characters faces. The audience has to walk away from this film with no doubt that we had to tell it that way."
Tuin recently returned from the Philippines where he was shooting a documentary in the slums of Manila. He's learned to adapt to extreme challenges and unplanned emergencies -- including street riots breaking out while filming. "Randy and I have been able to put lots of energy into planning out each shot and carefully constructing the blueprint of the film. But the main reason we do this is so that we can more effectively improvise when on set. Real life is doing its own thing and sometimes it gets in the way of our plans. Because we know what film we’re making, we will be able to absorb unexpected situations and come out with a film that stays true to the original intent."
The most important aspect of the film, however, are the characters. "The characters are the foundation of Hadeas. Their experiences are reflections of our own. We find solidarity in their struggles, failures and successes," says May. Prescott says the film is, at its foundation, about good and evil. "It's a tension that touches all of us all the time. We want to to tap into this reality in an unconventional way. Randy crafted this story at a transitional point in his life. For Randy, Hadeas is personal. Only he could tell this story and I am happy to be on this journey with him."
For more information on the film, the team, or the Hadeas Kickstarter Campaign, check out the teaser and links below.
Director Randy May elaborates, "My role as a leader is very important, but I can't make this film alone. From producers to camera assistants, each person on this film has a vital part to play. With Hadeas, we wanted to create an atmosphere where where each member of the team could take pride in the project." Producer Megan Prescott agrees: "With filmmaking--and work in general--there should be a respect and camaraderie with those you work with. It's something that I have cherished on every film set I've ever been on. The people matter first, the story second. For me it has to be that way to tell the most honest, truthful story possible." Her co-producer, Becky Train, confirms this worldview: "When on a tight budget it's easy to put a priority on equipment or other things and take the artists working with you for granted. My philosophy is service. If everyone serves each other while working, things will work out. Service melds minds, encourages hearts, and pushes people forward."
So just what is Hadeas? The word itself is made up, a play off "Hadean," derived from Hades, the Greek god of the underworld, and also referring to the first geological period of earth's history. In terms of the film, however, "At its core it is a drama. But there are trace elements of horror to be found as well," says May. "It won't jump out and scare you, but there's some pretty intense emotion being portrayed and it really taps into a part of who we are that's terrifying to behold."
 |
| Concept art by Mark Kopitzke |
Because Hadeas has very little dialogue, an abnormal format, and characters that you may only see for short periods of time, it's a hard film to explain. And making a film, especially with the types of visual restrictions the Hadeas team has placed on themselves (such as never showing a character's face), is difficult. "We’ve all worked on badly organized, underfunded films. They are brutal. We want to make sure we have the resources we need to make this thing happen," says Tuin. "Randy and I were storyboarding a scene in which a conversation is happening between a mother and daughter. They’re walking down a path and having a short conversation. As Randy and I were storyboarding this scene we realized it would very difficult to shoot without their faces. Our immediate reaction was simply to move the camera lower, include their hands and so on. But that choice didn’t actually make sense. We realized we needed to make choices that justified why we didn’t see the characters faces. The audience has to walk away from this film with no doubt that we had to tell it that way."
|
| Concept art by Mark Kopitzke |
Tuin recently returned from the Philippines where he was shooting a documentary in the slums of Manila. He's learned to adapt to extreme challenges and unplanned emergencies -- including street riots breaking out while filming. "Randy and I have been able to put lots of energy into planning out each shot and carefully constructing the blueprint of the film. But the main reason we do this is so that we can more effectively improvise when on set. Real life is doing its own thing and sometimes it gets in the way of our plans. Because we know what film we’re making, we will be able to absorb unexpected situations and come out with a film that stays true to the original intent."
The most important aspect of the film, however, are the characters. "The characters are the foundation of Hadeas. Their experiences are reflections of our own. We find solidarity in their struggles, failures and successes," says May. Prescott says the film is, at its foundation, about good and evil. "It's a tension that touches all of us all the time. We want to to tap into this reality in an unconventional way. Randy crafted this story at a transitional point in his life. For Randy, Hadeas is personal. Only he could tell this story and I am happy to be on this journey with him."
For more information on the film, the team, or the Hadeas Kickstarter Campaign, check out the teaser and links below.
Kickstarter: http://www.
Website: www.hadeasmovie.com
Facebook: https://www.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/
Youtube - Teaser: https://www.youtube.
Youtube - Full Video: https://www.youtube.
Youtube - Full Video: https://www.youtube.
Filmmaker Bios
Randy May - Director/Producer
A native of Merced, CA, Randy first discovered his love of storytelling while pretending to be Luke Skywalker on the playground when he was six years old. Since then, he has spent a lot of time in cold, dark, theaters learning how to make movies. After high school he moved to Los Angeles where he has spent the past several years honing his craft and establishing himself as both a storyteller and director. When he's not working on a film, you'll probably find him playing strategy boardgames, spending time in the library, or even still pretending to be Luke Skywalker. Just kidding. Well, kind of.
theotherrandymay.com
A native of Merced, CA, Randy first discovered his love of storytelling while pretending to be Luke Skywalker on the playground when he was six years old. Since then, he has spent a lot of time in cold, dark, theaters learning how to make movies. After high school he moved to Los Angeles where he has spent the past several years honing his craft and establishing himself as both a storyteller and director. When he's not working on a film, you'll probably find him playing strategy boardgames, spending time in the library, or even still pretending to be Luke Skywalker. Just kidding. Well, kind of.
theotherrandymay.com
Ty Tuin - Cinematographer/Producer
The boy in the library buried in the history section, reading encyclopedias as novels. The one somewhere in the middle of the orchestra busily sawing away at the violin. The one on stage in the hip hop dance. The one behind the camera vigilantly studying the edges of the frame. That was Ty. After acting and musical performance created a solid base of craft, Ty moved to LA to pursue the art of cinematography, but didn’t stay long. After motion picture work on 5 continents, living on 3, he studied the art of capturing and molding a story in an impacting way. Every film is an opportunity to explore the possibilities of telling a story through the light within a frame.
tytuin.com
The boy in the library buried in the history section, reading encyclopedias as novels. The one somewhere in the middle of the orchestra busily sawing away at the violin. The one on stage in the hip hop dance. The one behind the camera vigilantly studying the edges of the frame. That was Ty. After acting and musical performance created a solid base of craft, Ty moved to LA to pursue the art of cinematography, but didn’t stay long. After motion picture work on 5 continents, living on 3, he studied the art of capturing and molding a story in an impacting way. Every film is an opportunity to explore the possibilities of telling a story through the light within a frame.
tytuin.com
Becky Train - Producer
Becky has been an industry professional since 2009. After filming a promo video for a friend when she was 16, she realized she could spend the rest of her life telling stories in a visual format. Since then, she has worked on commercials including the award winning Superbowl commercial “Sling Baby”, on TV shows such as Sweden’s Next Top Model, and on an upcoming feature film at Dreamworks Animation. As a producer, her goal is to serve the crew and make the bumpy road of production as smooth and fun as possible.
Becky has been an industry professional since 2009. After filming a promo video for a friend when she was 16, she realized she could spend the rest of her life telling stories in a visual format. Since then, she has worked on commercials including the award winning Superbowl commercial “Sling Baby”, on TV shows such as Sweden’s Next Top Model, and on an upcoming feature film at Dreamworks Animation. As a producer, her goal is to serve the crew and make the bumpy road of production as smooth and fun as possible.
Megan Prescott - Producer
Megan considers herself a native of both coasts having been born and raised in Richmond, VA, and moving to the San Francisco Bay area in high school. A video camera on her 13th birthday ranks as one of her all-time favorite gifts; a gift that spurred a passion for storytelling. Since graduating from Azusa Pacific University with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in Cinematic Arts, Megan now works as the commercial coordinator at Worldwide Production Agency in Los Angeles where they represent Cinematographers, Production Designers and Producers. She loves the collaborative life of a filmmaker and encouraging others to bring their vision to the screen. When not working Megan enjoys hiking, watching weird documentaries, large dogs and most things non-fiction.
Megan considers herself a native of both coasts having been born and raised in Richmond, VA, and moving to the San Francisco Bay area in high school. A video camera on her 13th birthday ranks as one of her all-time favorite gifts; a gift that spurred a passion for storytelling. Since graduating from Azusa Pacific University with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in Cinematic Arts, Megan now works as the commercial coordinator at Worldwide Production Agency in Los Angeles where they represent Cinematographers, Production Designers and Producers. She loves the collaborative life of a filmmaker and encouraging others to bring their vision to the screen. When not working Megan enjoys hiking, watching weird documentaries, large dogs and most things non-fiction.
Mark Kopitzke - Concept/Storyboard Artist
Having graduated with his B.A. in Theater, and currently attending PCC for further study of visual art, Mark is an artist who is driven to bring another's stories and characters to life, and thrives within this intersection of media we call film. Mark believes that the process of creating the work itself, and the journey of artists collaborating, are both just as important as the finished piece. He has embarked on that journey with short film makers, non-profit-theater-go-getters, opera aficionados, new play developers, and Australia-touring-big-band-wrangling-radio-announcers.
Having graduated with his B.A. in Theater, and currently attending PCC for further study of visual art, Mark is an artist who is driven to bring another's stories and characters to life, and thrives within this intersection of media we call film. Mark believes that the process of creating the work itself, and the journey of artists collaborating, are both just as important as the finished piece. He has embarked on that journey with short film makers, non-profit-theater-go-getters, opera aficionados, new play developers, and Australia-touring-big-band-wrangling-radio-announcers.
Friday, August 9, 2013
The Role of Philosophy in Science Fiction & Fantasy
I remember reading Sophie’s World my senior year of high school. Actually, I remember reading it in 6th grade, except that time I skipped all the philosophical mumbo-jumbo in order to find out what happened to Sophie and whether she was real or not. The question of what is real, how we define “reality,” has always interested me. From when I first began reading, I was always drawn to stories about magic, alternate universes, dreams. Peter Pan used to make me cry because he was able to take his wish and turn it into his reality, and I was not.
As fascinating as the history of philosophy was in Sophie’s World, to this day her story is still what draws me back to the book, because her story is intrinsically tied to the basic human questions of, “Who am I?”, “Where did I come from?” and “Where am I going?” She discovers she is not real, that she came from the mind of a writer, and that she can only continue to exist as the shadow of an idea in the “real” world, which, to us, is not the real world at all, because we are reading about her “book existence” in a book.
This same question, or set of questions, is asked first in the literature and then in the various film adaptations of Alice in Wonderland, and echoed in movies like The Matrix and Dark City. In the former, Neo is told to “follow the white rabbit” (a direct reference to “Alice ”), and when he does, his entire reality, which had always discontented him, implodes. In the latter, John is told that he is special, he is different, and the world as he knows it is not as it seems, and only he can change things.
Whether it is intentional or not, all three of these characters—Alice, Neo, and John—are running away from unacceptable realities. John cannot believe he is a murderer, Neo (to steal a phrase from Beauty and the Beast) knows “there must be more than this provincial [unfulfilling] life,” and Alice (at least in one version of the story) must run away from an unhappily-arranged marriage. They all cannot believe that what they perceive is what is right[1], and so they go in search of the truth—falling down a rabbit hole, drinking a red pill, hacking through a brick wall into the abyss of space. They are driven by a need not only to find out what the true “reality” is, but what their role in that reality is intended to be. In Wonderland, Alice must best the Red Queen. In Zion , Neo must best the machines. In the Dark City
Once they have beaten their various enemies, reality is set in stone and they can continue to exist in relative peace. Alice returns to her normal life above-ground, Neo dies a martyr’s death in exchange for his people’s continued existence, and John fashions his world to the beautiful whims of implanted childhood memories. After coming through the rabbit hole, so to speak, they are fulfilled in a way they have never known before, simply because they know the truth, and the knowing gives them a place to start from, a place to begin to define themselves in order to move forward.
These stories, while set in extremely different settings (a fantastic underground Wonderland, a post-apocalyptic earth, a floating space-city), spring from the same quest for identity, and are therefore applicable to almost anyone from any age or culture. The success of such stories stems from their philosophical roots, because whether we are aware of it or not, all humans are scholars, constantly searching out the answers to the questions of our individual and collective identities.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
5 Reasons to Have Flexible Dreams
An interview with Tom Blomquist: Showrunner / Professor
article by E.R. Womelsduff
Blomquist is currently a professor of film at Cal State Long Beach, and has been teaching full-time for the past eight years. He spent thirty years as a full-time writer and showrunner, and forty years total in the industry. “Since I was an embryo,” he quips. On Rate My Professor dot com, students have a deep and heartfelt respect and admiration for Blomquist that any educator would envy. “BY FAR THE BEST TEACHER AT CSULB,” one student says. “Great class. Great teacher. Great everything. Just take the class,” says another. It is obvious that the passion for writing that allowed Blomquist to have such a successful writing career has transferred to his role as a professor.
Blomquist, without a doubt, is one of those people who is good at everything he puts his hand to, and always has been. “Everything came easily to me,” he says. His first job was as a professional musician. He was a drummer in a rock band and they played dances and parties and events, which ended up paying for his entire college education. In college, he decided to major in film and television and minor in music.
For him, this was knowing that he had an insatiable itch that only writing and production could scratch. While he had planned on being a musician up to that point, he had the wherewithal to realize that something else was in store for him. He remarks that the industry is full of people who either shifted their gears or the industry shifted gears for them: actors who became producers, directors who became executives, agents that became actors. A huge turning point in his life was realizing that just because you don’t end up being the thing you set out to be doesn’t mean you’re not going to be something awesome.
Initially, however, Blomquist admits he wasn’t prepared for his own dreams.
Flash forward thirty years. Blomquist arrives for this interview wearing a palm tree-patterned polo, a shirt that looks like an old favorite. He suggests meeting at the Sportsmen’s Lodge Cafe, a place where the waitress greets him by name, brings him his usual ice tea, and asks him about his daughter.
My first question has never gotten a particularly strange answer before, but with his, the tone for the whole interview is set. “What is the name you would like to be used for the article?” I ask. Without skipping a beat, he replied, “His majesty. Royal highness. Tom Blomquist. Oddly, I’d like it to be Lucinda Jones, but that’s my private life.”
Blomquist has the air of a man who is well-satisfied with his life’s work. He is cheerful, relaxed, free of the tension and stress that so many in Hollywood carry around like badges of honor. How did he succeed--and come out on the other end with what appears to be most of his soul intact--when so many others have failed? He tells me that when he was in a writing workshop, there were definitely better writers than him. “But writing is hard, it’s not instant gratification, and they got discouraged and they disappeared.” Some of them were not very good and you could see it in their writing and the nature of their ideas. They thought they wanted more than they were prepared for. They just didn’t have any special panache. This coming from a guy whose early writing was “pure shit.” And even others had writing that was pretty good—but it was only pretty good. It didn’t “jump off the page, smack you on the face, and demand your attention.” A writer just starting out can’t just be “pretty good,” he says. They have to be great. “This is the major leagues,” he says. “It’s unfair on every level. There were eight of us in the workshop. Five of them were discernibly better writers than me. None of them made it.”
The gist of Blomquist’s message seems to be this: either have the tenacity to stick it out and beat everyone by sheer force of will (and discernible talent), or have the foresight to alter your goal to fit the opportunities that come along. He also warns that you should be prepared for the possibility of actually getting what you want. Once Blomquist made it as a showrunner, he was working a hundred hours a week, often seven days in a row.
He says that learning to manage the workflow and having some kind of down time is imperative. “I missed several years of my daughter’s life. It’s not particularly healthy. I saw a lot of marriages break apart, certainly people got in trouble. It’s just not a normal way to live your life. How do you manage your life when all it is is work?”
With an answer like that, I had to ask, “What makes it all worth it?” He takes a sip of ice tea and thinks a moment.
With the economy still looking grim and parents more and more wary of their children going into the arts, I asked Blomquist if he has reached a place of financial stability, and whether there even is such a thing in Hollywood.
Along with financial stability, I ask him how he balances his family and personal life. With his usual comic timing, he immediately responds with, “Drugs.” He smiles. “All I can say is, aside from the stress management, with family the key is make the time you do have with them count. If you’re not gonna make them count, then spare them. If you’re gonna work, go work. If you’re home, be home.” He points at a formica-topped counter to our right. “I had breakfast at that counter every Saturday morning with my daughter from the time she was two to, well, even now. Whenever we’re in the same city. Even when she was fifteen and I was dad, on Saturdays, it was the neutral zone, she would talk to me. I found ways to make it work.”
I ask him if it’s a good idea to date or have friends outside of the industry. “I think hookers are the best solution,” he says. Noting that I am, in fact a woman, he adds, “In your case, male escort service.” He smiles and, as usual, follows up with a serious answer.
Blomquist was the first person in his family to go into arts, and into the film industry specifically. I ask him for a piece of advice he received when he was just starting out that ended up being totally wrong. “Well they said you shouldn’t sleep with everyone in the business and dammit, I should have! Sleep your way to the middle!” He notices that I am actually typing this down. “Don’t you write that, don’t you dare!” He sighs and settles back into the corner of the booth.
I flip the question and ask about a piece of advice he received that ended up being really helpful.
I ask him what he would tell people who are waiting for their big break, or waiting to be “discovered.”
There are as many reasons to come to Hollywood as there are people. I ask Blomquist for one bad reason and one good reason.
I ask him what writers, specifically, should not do when they’re starting out.
After nearly four and a half hours and three refills later, I finally ask if there’s any last piece of advice he would give to new writers.
He stops and looks at me. “You want an analogy? It’s not original, someone told me this.” I nod.
Bio taken from: http://www.csulb.edu/depts/film/faculty_blomquist_t.html
Music videos Blomquist directed for Kellie Coffeya
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqfGqOx2iDQ&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrCaunRCRbM
Music video Blomquist produced for Mariah Parks
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKofZhsLMlA&list=UUsQRjN9mYoH6dml1Q7xUnyQ&index=0&feature=plcp
IMDb
http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0088981/?ref_=fn_al_nm_1
article by E.R. Womelsduff
- When the bell rings, be ready. Either you deliver, or you’re gone.
- Just because you don’t end up doing what you set out to do doesn’t mean you’re not going to do something awesome.
- A set of basic skills can be applied to many different occupations.
- The industry is full of people who switched careers.
- The first draft is yours. After that, it’s theirs.
When Tom Blomquist was twenty-four years old, he left a lucrative junior executive position with an ad agency in Chicago to come to LA to be a writer. A year of looking for jobs found Blomquist scrounging for pennies in the couch cushions and lying to his parents about how awesome life was in Hollywood. Finally, it came to that terrible, terrible low: applying for food stamps.
You sit in this awful room on this folding chair. This little man with a bad toupee asks me the perfunctory questions. “What is it that you want to do?” I said I wanted to be a writer. He literally took off his glasses, looked at me, and said, “Well that’s never gonna happen. Let me tell you something, kid--I came here thirty years ago to be a writer and it didn’t happen to me, and if it didn’t happen to me, it sure as hell won’t happen to you.”
I was crushed. I was about to throw myself off a freeway overpass. And then I got mad. I vowed in that instant that I was never going to be that man, issuing food stamps in a crappy government office in Glendale. Whatever his problem was, it wasn’t my problem. I’m not going to be this bitter, useless piece of shit little man. That moment defined my life.
Blomquist is currently a professor of film at Cal State Long Beach, and has been teaching full-time for the past eight years. He spent thirty years as a full-time writer and showrunner, and forty years total in the industry. “Since I was an embryo,” he quips. On Rate My Professor dot com, students have a deep and heartfelt respect and admiration for Blomquist that any educator would envy. “BY FAR THE BEST TEACHER AT CSULB,” one student says. “Great class. Great teacher. Great everything. Just take the class,” says another. It is obvious that the passion for writing that allowed Blomquist to have such a successful writing career has transferred to his role as a professor.
Blomquist, without a doubt, is one of those people who is good at everything he puts his hand to, and always has been. “Everything came easily to me,” he says. His first job was as a professional musician. He was a drummer in a rock band and they played dances and parties and events, which ended up paying for his entire college education. In college, he decided to major in film and television and minor in music.
My sense was that I had pretty much piqued as a musician. My prodigy years had run their course and I really didn’t have the depth or enduring need for perfection as a drummer to really go the next step as an adult. It’s like the high school basketball star, he may be the best, but he knows he’s not NBA material. We all have to know where we are in the food chain at various points in our lives and be realistic about it.
For him, this was knowing that he had an insatiable itch that only writing and production could scratch. While he had planned on being a musician up to that point, he had the wherewithal to realize that something else was in store for him. He remarks that the industry is full of people who either shifted their gears or the industry shifted gears for them: actors who became producers, directors who became executives, agents that became actors. A huge turning point in his life was realizing that just because you don’t end up being the thing you set out to be doesn’t mean you’re not going to be something awesome.
Initially, however, Blomquist admits he wasn’t prepared for his own dreams.
I literally didn’t count how many people I was up against. I was wallowing in self pity and confusion and fear and terror. And this was before answering machines, so I would literally have to wait by the phone, because if I missed it, that was it. I’d write all night and work out, swim in the pool, and listen for the phone through the door. I was devastated, because I realized I wasn’t special. And I’d always been special. And realizing that is not a pleasant feeling.
Flash forward thirty years. Blomquist arrives for this interview wearing a palm tree-patterned polo, a shirt that looks like an old favorite. He suggests meeting at the Sportsmen’s Lodge Cafe, a place where the waitress greets him by name, brings him his usual ice tea, and asks him about his daughter.
My first question has never gotten a particularly strange answer before, but with his, the tone for the whole interview is set. “What is the name you would like to be used for the article?” I ask. Without skipping a beat, he replied, “His majesty. Royal highness. Tom Blomquist. Oddly, I’d like it to be Lucinda Jones, but that’s my private life.”
Blomquist has the air of a man who is well-satisfied with his life’s work. He is cheerful, relaxed, free of the tension and stress that so many in Hollywood carry around like badges of honor. How did he succeed--and come out on the other end with what appears to be most of his soul intact--when so many others have failed? He tells me that when he was in a writing workshop, there were definitely better writers than him. “But writing is hard, it’s not instant gratification, and they got discouraged and they disappeared.” Some of them were not very good and you could see it in their writing and the nature of their ideas. They thought they wanted more than they were prepared for. They just didn’t have any special panache. This coming from a guy whose early writing was “pure shit.” And even others had writing that was pretty good—but it was only pretty good. It didn’t “jump off the page, smack you on the face, and demand your attention.” A writer just starting out can’t just be “pretty good,” he says. They have to be great. “This is the major leagues,” he says. “It’s unfair on every level. There were eight of us in the workshop. Five of them were discernibly better writers than me. None of them made it.”
The gist of Blomquist’s message seems to be this: either have the tenacity to stick it out and beat everyone by sheer force of will (and discernible talent), or have the foresight to alter your goal to fit the opportunities that come along. He also warns that you should be prepared for the possibility of actually getting what you want. Once Blomquist made it as a showrunner, he was working a hundred hours a week, often seven days in a row.
There’s no break. If you’re smart, you try to get a Sunday. The problem with being a showrunner is that you’re the head writer and the head producer. Your day is full of writing, editing sessions, casting, staff meetings. They’re paying a premium for your writing. So you have to rewrite other people’s scripts, but if you’re in meetings all day long, when do you write? I wrote between five am and ten am, then worked from ten am to seven or nine at night, then I went home and read scripts for a few hours and made notes on them. Then the weekends you would write all day long. And if you’re on set, you gotta help them get the day started, it’s just endless.
He says that learning to manage the workflow and having some kind of down time is imperative. “I missed several years of my daughter’s life. It’s not particularly healthy. I saw a lot of marriages break apart, certainly people got in trouble. It’s just not a normal way to live your life. How do you manage your life when all it is is work?”
With an answer like that, I had to ask, “What makes it all worth it?” He takes a sip of ice tea and thinks a moment.
The truth is that when you do something and thirty or forty million people are seeing it, it’s very gratifying. And it is a privilege. Someone is giving you an hour of their life every week. If you take that seriously, doing something productive with that hour is very satisfying. Once you realize what an audience wants and you give it to them, it’s very satisfying. When I left Walker [Texas Ranger] we were top ten, it was the third highest-rated show. It started out as number forty. It served me well in validating my work to the network. The cast was happy. To be the architect of that is really satisfying. You did your job, you did it well, and the people you’re doing it for got what they came for. The audience abandoned shows on other networks to watch our show. It makes it worth it to me, a job well done. I was content.
With the economy still looking grim and parents more and more wary of their children going into the arts, I asked Blomquist if he has reached a place of financial stability, and whether there even is such a thing in Hollywood.
Sure. There certainly is financial stability. The truth is, when you’re working at a reliable professional level, they pay you ridiculous amounts of money. It’s absurd. No one is worth what they’re actually paid. So one of the reasons I can afford to be a professor, which is horrible pay, is that I was able to make decent money when I was writing. The word “stability” is interesting because it’s hard to get in and it’s hard to stay in. You get on a show, but then the show ends and it may not be another few years ‘til you’re on another. My pattern was do one or two series in a row, then a year or two off, then another series. When I had time off, that’s when I’d go teach a class at USC or write a novel. If you save and spend your money wisely, you don’t need to worry. The financial stability is threatened by people who think it’s going to last forever. They’re making six figures and buy a house they can’t really afford. I know guys who went from nothing to six figures a year and that can be disorienting. At one point I actually sat them down and said, “Slow down. You’re going to have great careers ahead of you, but you can’t assume you’re going to make this kind of money consistently.”
Along with financial stability, I ask him how he balances his family and personal life. With his usual comic timing, he immediately responds with, “Drugs.” He smiles. “All I can say is, aside from the stress management, with family the key is make the time you do have with them count. If you’re not gonna make them count, then spare them. If you’re gonna work, go work. If you’re home, be home.” He points at a formica-topped counter to our right. “I had breakfast at that counter every Saturday morning with my daughter from the time she was two to, well, even now. Whenever we’re in the same city. Even when she was fifteen and I was dad, on Saturdays, it was the neutral zone, she would talk to me. I found ways to make it work.”
I ask him if it’s a good idea to date or have friends outside of the industry. “I think hookers are the best solution,” he says. Noting that I am, in fact a woman, he adds, “In your case, male escort service.” He smiles and, as usual, follows up with a serious answer.
I think it’s best you find someone who understands what you’re going through. They don’t have to be in the business, but they do have to understand. It’s different than most fields. I’ve seen marriages fall apart because they became resentful of the commitment their partner had to make to their work. You have to be a bit self-indulgent to do this kind of stuff. My wife and I would go to a movie and I’d be so energized and we’d get home and I’d lock myself in my office and write ‘til dawn because I was inspired. Not exactly Mr. Romantic, but it worked because she understood it. She’d ask, “Are you going to work all day?” and I’d say, “Yeah, I’m on a roll.” And she’d say okay. And sometimes she’d say, “Hey, why don’t you stop for a while, you’ve been working for twenty hours.” She just knows when to back off and when to tell me to stop. She can look at me and know if I’m in the zone. If you’re not with someone who understands, they’re just going to get pissed off. They either get it or they don’t. And if they don’t, it’s not going to work.
Blomquist was the first person in his family to go into arts, and into the film industry specifically. I ask him for a piece of advice he received when he was just starting out that ended up being totally wrong. “Well they said you shouldn’t sleep with everyone in the business and dammit, I should have! Sleep your way to the middle!” He notices that I am actually typing this down. “Don’t you write that, don’t you dare!” He sighs and settles back into the corner of the booth.
I was lucky, other than the food stamp guy, because I had people who connected to what I was trying to do and encouraged me. I have heard a lot, though, that there’s a mindset that you can’t do it, it’s too hard. And I’m living proof that you can. If an idiot like me can live every single dream he had, then you can, too. The reason I did it is not because I was the best, it’s because I worked harder than everybody else. Other people said, “Fuck this, I’m out,” That was right for them. But you should be able to invest everything, or you shouldn’t be doing it.
The people that don’t hang in go away with hurt feelings and crushed spirits, but they’ll never know. You can’t know how long it’s going to be or what form your payoff is going to take. So you just dig in every day and invest. But I guarantee that if you keep reaching for a standard of excellence that’s always over the horizon, the perfection of your craft, the perfection of your people skills, eventually it will reciprocate. And then you have to be willing to accept the form that the reciprocation takes. Have a dream, but be open to what comes your way.
I flip the question and ask about a piece of advice he received that ended up being really helpful.
Everything in production costs something. There’s never enough money, there’s never enough time. What I learned is that creativity costs nothing. The writer can think through a problem creatively. I learned this from our production designer. His department was most put-upon by our ambitious scripts. Instead of whining about it, he would think and say, “Yeah, I think I know how we can pull this off.” He would apply this overwhelming creativity to everything he encountered. It would often look like it was fifty times bigger and more expensive than it was. This is a business where people get very used to throwing money at problems. And it was on that show that I realized there everything I could think of (the Old West, Civil War battles) all actually somehow got implemented because we learned, the directors learned, the production designer learned to apply creative solutions to every obstacle.
I ask him what he would tell people who are waiting for their big break, or waiting to be “discovered.”
Be careful what you wish for. They’re not going to coddle you or make excuses for you. Either you deliver, or you’re gone. When the opportunity comes, if you get that meeting, you want to be ready, your skill set, your stamina, your attitude. I had a couple of false starts when I was starting out. I sold a couple stories but didn’t write the script because they said I didn’t have the experience. Then I got a job on a new series as a staff writer, a baby writer, and the show just didn’t work. I couldn’t quite get a feel for what it was they were trying to do. As it turns out, nobody could, the show was cancelled. That didn’t count as anything. It was in and out in twelve episodes. The next time the bell rang, I drilled it right between the eyes. It was the right show with the right guy at the right moment. I was born to write that show. When I read the pilot, I said, “I love this. I can do this.” I wasn’t terrified. They gave me three weeks to write the first draft, and I wrote it in a week. I didn’t know what to do with myself, I just polished it and polished it and polished it. I sent it to a friend and said, “This was too easy, is it any good?” And they said absolutely. The bell rang and I was ready. I had been writing every day for ten years without fail. Being ready and confident is the key. You have to know what you’re doing.
There are as many reasons to come to Hollywood as there are people. I ask Blomquist for one bad reason and one good reason.
A bad reason is money and fame and power. Do not come here for that. Yes there’s money, yes there’s fame, yes there’s power, but they’re residual things that come, they’re not the reason.
A good reason is that you absolutely must tell stories for a living. You are content to be someone with a drawer full of unpublished novels. I’m still gonna be that guy who writes nights and weekends. That’s what I told my wife and she said, “Yeah, I know.” Even if they don’t hire me to do it, I’m still gonna do it. I’m obsessed with it. You will be very smart to have a similar motivation. You understand that you may never sell a word that you ever type, but you somehow have to find contentment in the doing of it, not in the paying of it. Don’t come here expecting that it’s going to support you and your family. Do it because you love it. Like actors and dancers…do it because you have to do it. Mary Tyler Moore still goes to dance class every day. She’s gotta dance. No one’s going to pay a woman her age to dance. And writers have to write. And then one day someone may say, “My God, I need someone just like you.”
I ask him what writers, specifically, should not do when they’re starting out.
They should not look to their family and friends for critical validation, because it’s almost completely useless. Logically, they should find objective, third party, knowledgeable sources for their validation. You want to hear that you’re a genius, but if you want feedback that will actually make you better, that will empower you to learn how to process and take notes on a professional level, then you need someone else. Writers need to know where to get notes from and how to take the notes. The only way to learn how to do that and process it effectively it to do it over and over and over again. It’s the hardest thing to do, when you’re creating something from inside you out of nothing and you put it on paper and you get feedback.
It’s the difference between the disease and the symptoms of the disease. If I start coughing right now, you may offer me a cough drop, but the coughing could be a symptom of a heart attack, and if you give me a cough drop, it’s not going to help my heart attack. Unfortunately, people hand out cough drops to each other all the time. You have to get through to the real cause and find out why you got the criticism you got, and why they’re responding the way they are to what you’ve written. You’re not an idiot, you know what you’re trying to say in your writing, so why aren’t they getting that? Even if it hurts, you’ve got to go through it to eventually become a professional. The professional is equipped to navigate and negotiate. Grad school, writing groups, writing workshops. I got my ass handed to me every week.
After nearly four and a half hours and three refills later, I finally ask if there’s any last piece of advice he would give to new writers.
Everybody is always looking for a reason to say no. When you go pitch a story, that person has to advocate for it to their bosses, which puts them at risk. They have no incentive to say yes to what you’re selling, because it’s easy to say no. Then when they do say yes, it’s backed up by a best-selling title or a star or whatever. You always want to minimize reasons for people to say no to you, and maximize reasons for them to say yes. People can quickly draw an impulsive conclusion. Ideas are a dime a dozen. So, ironically, it’s not an idea-driven business. Newbies think it should be, and they’re right, it oughta be, but it isn’t.
This is where social media is not helpful. People are going to be in a world of hurt if they don’t separate their personal and professional image. Because you don’t want to share with just anybody all the things you think and feel, so that when you do share it with somebody, it is meaningful. This is where the Facebook generation goes way wrong, it’s like good God, save some of that.
Telling stories is very satisfying, you can work out a lot of your demons. We all do that, we act out our dramas in our scripts. Many great writers basically tell the same story over and again. They’re working it out and it’s a really cool thing to get to do, and even cooler to get to do it for money. But then you’re letting people in and they become your collaborator and your boss and that can be hard. Mostly it’s hard. But whatever it is, it’s yours. And then it becomes theirs. And once it’s theirs, you have to respect that it’s theirs.
He stops and looks at me. “You want an analogy? It’s not original, someone told me this.” I nod.
A guy walks into a tailor shop and says, “Hey, I’d like you to make me a suit.” The guy says, “Okay, that’s what I do.” The customer says, “I want the left arm shorter than the other, I want the back to be bunched together and stapled, and I want the pants to be two sizes too small and made with the scratchiest material possible.” And the tailor says, “You sure you want that?” And the guy says, “I just said that’s what I want.” And the tailor can say, “I’m sorry, that suit does not meet my standards.” Or he can say, “All right, sir, if that’s what you want, I am perfectly capable of making that suit.” And two weeks later, the guy comes back and says, “These pants are scratchy.” And the tailor says, “Well sir, you asked for the scratchies material possible.” And the guy says, “No, I didn’t. This is terrible.” And on and on and on. And the tailor says, “No problem, sir, I’ll revise this suit.” And that’s what a professional writer does. Once it’s their money, you make the suit they want. Even if they’re idiots. We do it over and over and over and over and over. Once in a while, the guy’s smart and it’s a great suit and he ends up on the cover of some fashion magazine. You’re a writer on your first draft. After that, you’re a tailor. Figure it out and make it work. Even if you hate it, make it work. Find something about it that you can be enthusiastic about. Yeah, I never made pants out of burlap before, but hey, it could be interesting.
Bio taken from: http://www.csulb.edu/depts/film/faculty_blomquist_t.html
Tom Blomquist is an award-winning Writer, Producer, and Director. His prime time television credits range from science fiction (FARSCAPE, QUANTUM LEAP, SWAMP THING) to action adventure (THE A-TEAM,WALKER TEXAS RANGER, HUNTER) to family drama (FAME L.A., TWICE IN A LIFETIME, CATHERINE MARSHALL'S CHRISTY). Professor Blomquist was also Executive Producer, Co-Writer, and Second Unit Director of the critically acclaimed six-hour network mini-series sequel to CHRISTY, and Producer-Director of the comedy film PRISON LIFE, which was cited by the Houston Chronicle as one of the ten best shorts of the year.
Professor Blomquist counts among his most valued memories the extraordinary opportunity, at the ripe old age of 22, to work with cinema icons Orson Welles and Vittorio DeSica on THE MAN WHO CAME TO DINNER and THE SMALL MIRACLE, respectively. Of that amazing experience, he says, "I had just finished studying CITIZEN KANE, UMBERTO D, and THE BICYCLE THIEF in college only to inexplicably find myself on location in London and Rome three months later engrossed in daily conversations with the two gentlemen who actually made those masterpieces. It was surreal."
A graduate of Southern Illinois University, Professor Blomquist teaches Film and Television Production, Directing, and Media Aesthetics in the Department of Film & Electronic Arts. He is a member of the Directors Guild and Writers Guild of America, and Writers Guild of Canada.
Music videos Blomquist directed for Kellie Coffeya
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqfGqOx2iDQ&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrCaunRCRbM
Music video Blomquist produced for Mariah Parks
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKofZhsLMlA&list=UUsQRjN9mYoH6dml1Q7xUnyQ&index=0&feature=plcp
IMDb
http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0088981/?ref_=fn_al_nm_1
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
3 Reasons to Hitchhike Out of Hollywood
An interview with Ty Tuin: DP / Filmmaker
article by E.R. Womelsduff
- The chances of becoming a director or producer on a $100 million feature are about as slim as winning the lottery.
- 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.
- 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?
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
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