There is often a void left behind after a production has completed its stages of pre, production, and post. For me, it's right after we've wrapped that seems to be the hardest. I spend days and days round the clock preparing for a shoot - running around, planning, strategizing, stressing out, anticipating, problem solving, and thinking fast. It abruptly comes to a close and I'm left the next day nursing my body aches and wondering, "What the hell am I supposed to do now?" I long for a back to back barrage of productions so often simply because I manage to work on very enjoyable sets.
This summer was a slow one. We had a couple of our own productions in the music video realm and some random interview and performance stuff but not enough to keep me moving as fast as I like. So, I picked up a couple other odd jobs that had nothing to do with producing whatsoever but kept me around the camera. Then those jobs ended and it was back to twiddling the ol' thumbs.
Voids.
Too many days in a row of not being on set began to drive me a little nuts. I noticed an ad for a PA on a 3 day shoot, in a remote location, staying in a resort, with not one red cent of pay. "Sounds great!" I said to myself and off I went to work on the last days of a really bad sci-fi/horror feature. It was fun. The director had no real understanding of the words 'crew' or 'team' or 'group' so we, the crew, banded together and made it happen. It was the best 3 days of free work I've done in a while mainly because connections were made and there was a set camaraderie that can only be found on a low budget film.
I busied myself with company stuff after that then dove head first into our latest music video. As soon as that was done I came up for air and realized I just wanted to get back to swimming the depths of creative production. Lucky for me a producer/director I work with on and off popped up again. He put together a crew for a 3 day contest and I was to be his production supervisor. I was only needed for one day since the writing had to be done in one day, the shoot the next day, and the editing the following day. We were an eclectic San Diego group of varying age ranges and ethnicities and it was a blast. The rain had been coming down all week but the skies dried up for our shoot day. (Something that had awesomely enough happened on the music video shoot as well, come to think of it.) The clouds offered a natural diffusion for most of the day then spread out to show off billowing patterns against patches of blue. It was smooth and easy and quick. Yet another fine day of free work for me. As we said our goodbyes the sound recordist reiterated my satisfaction by saying, "You spend so much time working on large, stressful sets you forget what
it's like to enjoy your job. Then you get a chance to work with a crew of people who make
films for fun and you remember how great it can be." No truer words
have ever been spoken.
That was the end of summer. Since then things have come to a screeching halt. I've thrown myself into a winter office position teaching me the ins and outs of payroll for both union and non-union commercials. Super informative. Incredibly useful. But oh so dull to be indoors battling paperwork instead of the elements, crew, locations, and budgets. I love being in control of a shoot. I love being in charge. I love being a leader on a production. But more than anything I love being on a set in any capacity. It's proving difficult for me to sit still and learn more of my trade via a 9-5. I just keep telling myself it's winter. It's the holidays. It's relatively slow out there until March again. And who knows? I may come to love the payroll aspect of producing.
What I do know for sure, though...my heart lies in the trenches with the struggling indie filmmakers. Should someone invite me to participate in a low budget shoot, in the dead of winter, on a nearby mountain top, for an 18 hour day, I'd be hard-pressed to say no. - TKS
Showing posts with label producing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label producing. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Pitching to the Most Disinterested Person in the World
Your head is in the minutia, in the scenes, the characters, the dialogue, the setting, the visual charisma of the thing, and then someone asks you "So what's your movie about?"...
For a screenwriter (and just about anyone else hocking their Hollywood wares to People of Influence) the place where unbridled belief in one's self meets the wrecking ball is the pitch. Ask that ultra-confident filmmaker how he or she feels after that pitch. Either the listener was unfair and mean, or that filmmaker is at the onset of an existential crisis... maybe both.
"I know," you console them, "talent is what really matters."
Of course it does. But how does talent help when you're pitching to the most disinterested person in the world? (Who you will inevitably pitch to).
Me, and almost everyone seeking some fated place in the film industry will say talent trumps everything. It relieves the swelling, relieves the itching, and it relieves the pain. It brings a Cinderella element of fairness and order to the process. Here I toil and nobody sees that secretly, underneath it all, I am indeed a princess. The only problem is everyone who says this assumes they have that talent, so in spite of a limiting statement like "talent above everything," everyone must have talent.
We're not walking bags of haloed talent, we're storytellers. Screenwriters, producers, actors and directors alike. Regardless of the medium or the historic era, story-tellers tell stories to people, and fundamentally this takes guts and bravado; interrupting someone's attention and commanding their imagination with the power of your technique, your style and your personality, until hopefully they thank you for the experience. It's an illusion to think that you have the luxury of anonymity in the me-space of the darkened corner of your room behind your desk. You're a storyteller mate, act like one.
So your head is in the minutia, in the scenes, the dialogue, the setting, and then someone asks you "What is your movie about?"
Scenario #1:
Uhhhh... (You're using this time to remember some semblance of a pitch you've put together.). -- ok -- you've got something. And you begin sputtering, but their eyes are already dead. They no longer care. Most of all, you haven't lived up to your image. They see the truth of the thing, and they're wondering if she's such a story teller, why can't she tell a story? -- maybe that's what they're concentrating on while you're playing hopscotch with your plot.
Scenario #2:
You start reading some script you've developed in your head with pinpointed, monotonic accuracy. The listener senses an advertisement and they tune you out. They try to contort their face with half-hearted interest, busier thinking "Holy shit, this person is actually trying to pitch me right now... I can't believe this is happening. Are they embarrassed?" than they are actually hearing anything you say.
A storyteller is a leader, and leaders lead with confidence. If guts and bravado are the traits of a storyteller, confidence is his mark. A lack of confidence distracts attention away from the story. Confidence leads the listener into thinking whatever this guy says must be great.
What do I mean by confidence? Take Scenario #3:
You're prepared and you're not reading a script. Now your listener is the problem, because your listener doesn't give a damn about movies and they really don't give a damn about your story.
Why pitch someone who clearly isn't interested?
--How is it any different than hitting line drives and loading up the bases when you're already down two outs? Or any different than trying or even doing well in the face of a hard or unlikely situation? It's Tiger Woods playing his greatest first round at the Masters when everyone wants him to fail, and everyone expects him to do poorly because he really ought to be playing distracted. But he's not distracted. He's MORE focused. Imagine if that's how you pitched?
That's where impressions are made, where Cinderella stories are born. Embrace the disinterested listener. Lead them. Don't let them lead you to soft spoken timidity, embarrassment, or shamed apologies. Lead with your confidence! They won't do the work for you, nor should they.
Know what movie your movie is. Don't hesitate to be a storyteller. Act like you're in control and they will follow. Leave the talent for everyone else.
Charles Rhoads
For a screenwriter (and just about anyone else hocking their Hollywood wares to People of Influence) the place where unbridled belief in one's self meets the wrecking ball is the pitch. Ask that ultra-confident filmmaker how he or she feels after that pitch. Either the listener was unfair and mean, or that filmmaker is at the onset of an existential crisis... maybe both.
"I know," you console them, "talent is what really matters."
Of course it does. But how does talent help when you're pitching to the most disinterested person in the world? (Who you will inevitably pitch to).
Me, and almost everyone seeking some fated place in the film industry will say talent trumps everything. It relieves the swelling, relieves the itching, and it relieves the pain. It brings a Cinderella element of fairness and order to the process. Here I toil and nobody sees that secretly, underneath it all, I am indeed a princess. The only problem is everyone who says this assumes they have that talent, so in spite of a limiting statement like "talent above everything," everyone must have talent.
We're not walking bags of haloed talent, we're storytellers. Screenwriters, producers, actors and directors alike. Regardless of the medium or the historic era, story-tellers tell stories to people, and fundamentally this takes guts and bravado; interrupting someone's attention and commanding their imagination with the power of your technique, your style and your personality, until hopefully they thank you for the experience. It's an illusion to think that you have the luxury of anonymity in the me-space of the darkened corner of your room behind your desk. You're a storyteller mate, act like one.
So your head is in the minutia, in the scenes, the dialogue, the setting, and then someone asks you "What is your movie about?"
Scenario #1:
Uhhhh... (You're using this time to remember some semblance of a pitch you've put together.). -- ok -- you've got something. And you begin sputtering, but their eyes are already dead. They no longer care. Most of all, you haven't lived up to your image. They see the truth of the thing, and they're wondering if she's such a story teller, why can't she tell a story? -- maybe that's what they're concentrating on while you're playing hopscotch with your plot.
Scenario #2:
You start reading some script you've developed in your head with pinpointed, monotonic accuracy. The listener senses an advertisement and they tune you out. They try to contort their face with half-hearted interest, busier thinking "Holy shit, this person is actually trying to pitch me right now... I can't believe this is happening. Are they embarrassed?" than they are actually hearing anything you say.
A storyteller is a leader, and leaders lead with confidence. If guts and bravado are the traits of a storyteller, confidence is his mark. A lack of confidence distracts attention away from the story. Confidence leads the listener into thinking whatever this guy says must be great.
What do I mean by confidence? Take Scenario #3:
You're prepared and you're not reading a script. Now your listener is the problem, because your listener doesn't give a damn about movies and they really don't give a damn about your story.
Why pitch someone who clearly isn't interested?
--How is it any different than hitting line drives and loading up the bases when you're already down two outs? Or any different than trying or even doing well in the face of a hard or unlikely situation? It's Tiger Woods playing his greatest first round at the Masters when everyone wants him to fail, and everyone expects him to do poorly because he really ought to be playing distracted. But he's not distracted. He's MORE focused. Imagine if that's how you pitched?
That's where impressions are made, where Cinderella stories are born. Embrace the disinterested listener. Lead them. Don't let them lead you to soft spoken timidity, embarrassment, or shamed apologies. Lead with your confidence! They won't do the work for you, nor should they.
Know what movie your movie is. Don't hesitate to be a storyteller. Act like you're in control and they will follow. Leave the talent for everyone else.
Charles Rhoads
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