The Moment of Commitment.

So here’s my dilemma this week. I have a script that I optioned from a writer. I like the script very much. I love it actually. Is it perfect? No. Is it funny? Yes, very. Can I visualize a strong, entertaining finished film? Absolutely. One that will make money? As certain as I can be.

Now, to getting it made. My steps thus far have been to send it to a few producers I know that I think will like the material and are appropriate for the size of the film. This is actually a big thing that’s worthy of it’s own blog, but you save yourself a lot of trouble and wasted energy if you first decide who’s appropriate for your project rather than just sending it to every producer on the planet.

Anyhow. So I have a producer who a) likes me and my work, b) likes this type of material, c) sees the potential in and liked a previous draft of this particular script and d) has the ability to raise the required funds but isn’t so high up the food chain so as to not be interested in making a low-budget film. (I mean DGA-style low, not in my backyard with a dvcam low.)

The dilemma falls within c) sees the potential in and liked a previous draft of this particular script. I turned in a new draft of the script to address her notes (she has great notes that I think will actually make the film stronger so the writer & I are psyched) but she wasn’t floored.

She felt her notes were addressed but not thoroughly enough. As if the writer lost focus pulling the changes through the entire script. A strong start but a murky finish. And I don’t disagree. Another draft is required.

But the writer needs some encouragement. He needs to feel safe that the time he is investing will go somewhere. He wants to know that he’s not about to do a bunch of free rewrites. Aside from that, quite frankly, he needs some dough. He has similar concerns as the producer – this time or money I’m about to commit, will it pay off? All legitimate.

My challenge is to get the producer to take a leap of faith with me to commit. And the first leap is always the hardest. It’s the one where a person must make some actual commitment – of time, money, contacts, whatever. It’s the first leap that says, “I am now making this a priority.” And that is actually much harder to do in this town than one might think.

Because once you’re in it there’s no turning back. Well, no easy turning back. So people like to hedge.

My job at this point is to help everyone clearly see the end result. To get them excited about the film that’s in my head so they can feel comfortable moving forward. So this moment doesn’t feel so much like a leap, but more of a first step towards a clear and positive end.

I’ve proposed that the producer put up a small amount of money as a good faith gesture to the writer. An amount that says, “This is important to me. I want to help you do your job.” It’s small enough that the producer shouldn’t be scared of the investment. But it is enough to get the writer to turn down other assignments, focus solely on this and write quickly. Something that will assure the producer that not only is the risk a small one, but she will know very soon whether or not it has paid off. And at that point we can revisit our situation.

I’ve proposed it. And now I wait. No way to tell how it’s going to go, but that’s my dilemma for the week.

Movie making: One Decision at a Time

Directing is basically about making decisions.  My big decision this week is hiring a casting director.  And I’m in the very fortunate position of having four really great options.  But I still need to decide and it got me thinking about the importance of each and every decision in the filmmaking process.

In this case, I’m making another short.  It’s a very simple film, one day shoot and all about the performance.  When I’m talking to the various people I’ve been considering, there are many questions I try to find the answers to.

Does this person have the right experience?  The contacts?  The taste?  Do they understand my project and do they have a personal connection to it?  Do they get the characters?  Will we get along?  This is a no budget passion project - will they be able to go the distance?  Or do I get a sense they will lose patience and give up?  Will they be able to contribute creatively and help strengthen my project, rather than just do exactly what I say?  Also, I see this as a long term relationship for future projects, do I feel like this is someone I could work with for a long time to come?

No one person is going to score ten out of ten, but each combination offers a different working relationship and, ultimately, a different effect on the finished film so it’s very important to me to discover as much as I can before making this decision.

Since this film is so entirely about the performances this particular hire, aside from the actual actors themselves, is going to be the most important one of the production.  As I make this decision, my goal is the same as in every decision - to keep the picture of my movie clearly in mind and chose based on what is most likely going to get me closest to that image.  After that I’ll commit fully to that person and work hard with them to make it happen.

I think this is why when sculptors talk about their work they speak of revealing the sculpture inside rather than creating it.  They have a clear vision and each stroke is a decision, an opportunity for how best to coax the imagine that’s waiting patiently in their mind from within the block of clay in front of them.  The same is true of directing.  The finished film already exists.  My job is to make sure every small decision I make contributes to exposing it.

The Ties That Bind

Contracts are tricky things.  They are a project’s working relationship laid bare in cold, hard black and white.  They can be uncomfortable and awkward to sort through but are absolutely necessary.

Imagine meeting a man in a bar. You make eye contact and each of you smiles.  Maybe one of you even blushes.  Instant attraction.  He gets up from his end of the bar and comes over to sit next to you.  And that’s it.  Bam!  He’s smart, funny, gets hotter the more you get to know him and the rest of the evening nothing else exists but you and your new beau.  Perhaps at the end of the evening you agree on a second date and, for the sake of argument, each go home your separate ways.

You arrive home buzzing with excitement.  You begin thinking about how lucky you are to have bumped in to this person.  You fantasize about your upcoming second date, your imagination is racing.  You envision a perfect repeat date followed by months of perfection, his friends are great, he loves your family, you both love midget monkey wrestling (How can this be!?!  OMG!  He’s sooooo perfect!), you move in, go for morning runs together and sunset dinners on the beach after work, one day, out of nowhere, as a complete surprise, he asks you to marry him in the most perfect way ever, you say yes, you buy a house, have 2.5 munchkins and a dog and live happily ever after, the end.

But, before any of that can happen, before you can even consider that second date, you each have to propose a list of requests, perhaps even demands, to which you must both agree before moving one step forward.  That, is what it feels like to begin to work through a contract.

Now, if you’ve presented yourself and your goals honestly from the start you are in an infinitely better position than the person who lied about their weight, denied ever wanting to have a career of their own and smiled falsely about the possibility of future threesomes.  That person is either going to end up stuck in a relationship they don’t want or, after a long and tortuous negotiation, one of the parties is going to end up walking away because they finally realize they were never really on the same page to begin with.  Not so unlike marriage, but this is a film blog so let’s stick to that.

Even if you do manage to bare all from moment one, which is not as easy as it may sound – you did want the person to like you, didn’t you? - you still have to get it all on paper and that can be tricky.  For whatever reason, paper makes people nervous.  Any number of scenarios may happen at this point.  Here’s one of my favorites…

You find yourself in a negotiation with a new writer/talent/dancing bear/whatever who has asked some joe-smhoe lawyer friend of theirs who’s “always wanted to be in entertainment” to just glance over their contract.  “Don’t worry,” your potential partner says, “I just want to make sure it’s all good.”  If this happens, take a breath, and find something else to occupy your time with for the next two months because it’s going to get long, boring and very sticky.

Why?  Because that small-town-lawyer-dude is primarily concerned with showing his friend what a tough guy lawyer he is, how he can play with the big boys - an aim that’s difficult for him because he has no idea what industry standard is - so he’ll say things to his client, your potential partner, like “Of course you’re entitled to back end!  Tom Cruise gets it, right?”  And that line of thinking is going to make your life incredibly difficult and could put the project in jeopardy from the start.

Every person involved in an agreement has an agenda, and that includes lawyers, managers and agents.  The goal of working through those sometimes conflicting agendas is to hopefully get to the one that matters most – setting up a relationship that will allow the film to be made well.

There are innumerable other tricky variations on the scenario but whatever happens the important thing to remember is that the process itself will reveal a million useful things – most importantly, how this person is going to be to work with.  Do they freak under pressure?  Are they professional and considerate?  Do you really trust one another?  Are they honest or do they say one thing to you and then instruct their lawyer otherwise?  Do they get greedy whenever they possibly can or are they reasonable?  Are they really concerned about the quality of the project or are they focusing on points that make it easy to hedge their bets?  How committed are they?  Really?

During the process one of two things will happen - you will either feel totally refreshed that you’re starting a relationship with a partner that you are proud to be working with or you will start getting a very queasy feeling in your stomach.  That feeling is telling you what you really don’t want to hear – that you are signing up for something more difficult than just making a film and that to some degree you’re about to get screwed.

That’s the moment to decide what the project is worth to you.  Exactly how much screwage are you willing to endure for the particular project at hand?  And you better be honest with yourself because you’re going to be in very close quarters with this new partner for a long time.

And if you are new to this, you may not know how to recognize or respond to red flags.  Is this little detail of the negotiation that you can’t seem to settle actually a red flag or just something that needs a little more time to figure out?  Are you the one afraid of commitment and presenting abnormally high expectations that no one will ever be able to meet and thereby sabotaging the project?  (Don’t ask my why, but artists are fond of self-sabotage so it’s a good one to look out for.)  Or does this whole contract thing make you uncomfortable because you’re having to trust a lot of things that you just don’t understand?

I’ve been through the long tortuous process of working through a contract with someone that has completely different values than I do and it is no fun at all.  Right now my partner and I are in the process of tying up two contracts for two different projects.  There are bumps to both of them, this is to be expected, but I cannot tell you how grateful I am that I’m not getting that nauseous feeling on either of them.  The bumps are actually revealing that the people I’m teaming up with are going tot be great partners - something that’s making me feel very comfortable.

Here’s the thing, I don’t care if I’m working with my grandma, my preschool teacher or Sister Dorothy from the local church, I get it in writing before beginning work because I want to know exactly what I’m getting myself in to and I want my new partner to know as well.

Relationships change and challenges will arise but one thing is sure – you will never be more on the same page than at the very beginning of a project so it is always the best time to formally commit.  In writing.  In the form of a contract, deal memo, or whatever.  Because when the project gets difficult, that contract may be the only thing that keeps everyone behaving and holds it all together.