• The creator of the Mothership RPG, Sean McCoy, posted this blog entry last October. It references another blog by Ted Gioia, also called My Favorite Problems, which talks about the scientist Richard Feynman and how he had a dozen or so questions that guided his life’s work.

    Gioia created a list of his own questions, related to the music industry and education, as did McCoy, related to the tabletop roleplaying game industry.

    I’m not in the middle of anything at the moment, I’m still looking for the start line. These are the questions that I have as someone eager to begin:

    1. How do you know what you’re supposed to make?

    “There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”

    – W. Somerset Maugham

    It seems that you are not allowed to know this until you’ve already done it. The only way to figure out what you were supposed to make, is to have already made it so that you can look back on it.

    You can’t see what you haven’t yet done.

    2. What do you do with all the stuff that’s sitting in the drawer?

    “I get ideas in fragments…it’s as if in the other room, there’s a puzzle; all the pieces are together. But in my room, they just flip one piece at a time into me. The first piece that I get is a fragment of the whole puzzle, but I fall in love with this fragment…and it holds a promise for more. I keep it, I write it down. And then I say that having the fragment is more bait on the hook…it pulls in more, and the more that come in, the faster the rest come in.”

    – David Lynch

    Don’t forget it, because it’ll probably come in handy some day.

    I think big projects are really collages of smaller projects. Fragments that don’t make sense by themselves and must be paired with other fragments to make a whole.

    This article by Austin Kleon really goes into detail about filing your ideas for later. It’s important to be able to grab them at a moment’s notice.

    Right now I’m trying to use this method for a larger project. I might write about this more at a later date.

    3. How do you get things done?

    “Write a little every day, without hope, without despair.”

    – Isak Dinesen

    Somehow you have to work a little everyday. Somehow.

    This is where habits come in to play. A page day, a drawing a day, a workout a day. Small and manageable tasks, things that don’t have the potential to explode in a fiery mess.

    I’ve been doing a single sheet of loose-leaf paper, front-and-back, a day. If I feel like doing another, I grab another sheet, but I only have to do the one.

    4. How do you meet new people?

    “… At some point you’ve just got to make the decision, ‘well, no one’s gonna keep up with me. I’m going to a 12:00 show, then I’m gonna go to a 3:00 show, and a 5:00 show…’ You know, and so you just get used to buying that ticket alone, getting your seat wherever, you know, and it’s fun cause you tend to meet those other loners… I got friends with a guy who always sat over there… about six-months later you finally go, “hey man, who are you? I’ve seen you at about seventy-five movies by now.”

    Richard Linklater (on going to the movies alone)

    It seems that you’ve got to go where the people are. You’ve got to go up to them and say hello. You have to make the first step.

    This of course doesn’t answer WHERE you’re supposed to go. I don’t think I’ve figured that out, but I guess movie theaters would be a good place to start.

    5. When do you go for the big project? When do you go for the small?

    “The Muse visits during the act of creation, not before. Don’t wait for her. Start alone.”

    – Roger Ebert

    The project chooses itself. When it’s “done” it is whatever length it is.

    The only thing that likely matters is that you pair your projects to your resources.

    What do you have?

    What can you do?

    I think about these problems everyday, and perhaps I shouldn’t. The answer to all of these is either patience or beginning.

    Make a line on the ground and call it your own starting line. Right where you stand.

  • It’s a great feeling when you’re struck with a very distinct vision for a project right from the get-go. When you can see all of the elements in one clean sweep, like the instructions have just been handed to you and all you have to do now is follow them.

    It can feel special when this happens, and the obsession to get the project made can be really overwhelming, can completely consume you as you put all your efforts into getting it done. It’s like some sort of blessing from the muse.

    The problem that usually arises, at least for me, is that I likely don’t have the abilities, skills, or tools that are going to be required to get some, or all, of the elements complete. And when I realize this, the whole thing can crumble.

    A few weeks ago I was rereading some of my old notebooks and I came across a poem that I’d written and just tossed to the side. Rereading it, I rather liked it, and wondered if I could perhaps do something with it.

    Later that day I was surfing through some old pictures I’d taken and I found a series of photos that I’d taken in an old fort. I thought they were very cool, and I once again wondered if I could do something with them.

    Bam! Eureka! Zing!

    The idea had sparked. I’d put the poem to the photos and create a sort of video collage. I liked it, and I thought of what I believed was a great way on how to incorporate the lyrics as subtitles.

    Rather than simply type the lyrics onto the images, I’d superimpose scraps of paper that had hand-written lyrics on them. This would enable a certain element of collage and texture that I thought was very important to the piece.

    I spent a good amount of time perfecting these little scraps. Making sure the lettering was how I wanted it, that the paper was of the right quality, and that the way each piece was torn would have the right amount of texture to it.

    This is where the problem presented itself.

    I had no idea how to transfer these pieces onto my computer while also keeping the texture and clarity that I had painstakingly worked on.

    I tried various types of scanning – my phone and printer – I tried using Adobe Illustrator to precisely crop out each scrap of paper, I tried simply taking a photo. Nothing looked as good as it did in real life, and I had no idea how to move forward.

    I’m sure there is a way to do this, to get it exactly how I wanted it, but I’m an amateur. I’m learning lots of things, and this evidently was not one of things I could learn to do just yet. I’m sure it’s easy, but my skills just aren’t there.

    I really almost threw away the whole project. It was very close. The vision was compromised, I was pissed off at my computer and at myself, and things just didn’t seem to be working the way I wanted them to.

    But I didn’t. I just made the lyrics regular subtitles and moved forward.

    After I finished the project and gave myself a pat on the back, I wrote “If you want something but it’s not working… move on” on a post-it note and stuck it above my desk.

    If you’d like to see the finished film, you can watch it here.

    Looking back, I can think of a lot of projects that I never finished because some detail, that was apparently critical to the vision, just wasn’t working.

    It seems that no detail is worth that much that an entire project should hinge on its inclusion.

    If you want something but it’s not working… move on.

  • While I don’t play a ton of video games, I am really interested in the process in which they get made as it seems pretty similar to a film’s production.

    Obviously there is a significant computer science background for games, but a lot of the creative and business elements overlap and a lot can be learned from this.

    The Game Developer’s Conference Youtube channel frequently posts great talks from designers, business leaders, and devs that are just plum full of great info.

    I thought I’d link a few of my favorites here:

    There is a lot of great info about how to create a sustainable life out of a creative career without losing hope or your balance when you feel you need to be making giant projects.

    So, the question is, how can I make films that are feasible, sustainable, and creatively satiable?

  • In trying to figure out a way to practice filmmaking in an experimental, fearless, and quantity centric fashion—as in: making many films quickly in order to learn rather than to perfect—I’m building an actionable plan to make a large microfilm portfolio. 

    The thing that often stalls people with short films is that their ideas are usually a little too ambitious for the runtime of a short film. Often, at least for myself, ideas land in the ambiguous plane between the short film and the feature film, which is not what I’m looking for.

    I’m looking for bite-sized shorts that are “simple” and made for the purpose of learning, a sort of microfilm. 

    For a long time my comparison for features and short films has been novels and short stories. But thinking about it, novels are actually more akin to miniseries and short stories are more akin to features.

    You pick up and put down a novel like how you come to a series from episode to episode. Short stories, like feature films, are meant to be enjoyed in a single sitting.

    So where does the short film lie? What can we compare it to? 

    In literature there’s a genre subsidiary of the short story called microfiction, which, compared to a short story’s 5,000-10,000 word length, comprises usually of a 500-1,000 word length. Which is significantly shorter.

    With such a small format, microfiction is forced to focus on extremely specific details. It might be just remnants of a conversation or a single flash of a moment.

    Here’s a link to an example by Elliott Holt called Picnic, Lightning on the Tin House Publishing website. It’s 326 words, and a great little story. 

    Here’s My Microfilm Plan

    1. Spend 30-60 minutes free writing a 500ish word story on the first day.
    2. On the second day, spend an hour or so editing that story.
    3. After that second day, move on to the next story and begin again.

    By writing many microfiction pieces quickly, I’m beginning and finishing tiny projects that can each be used to make a microfilm.

    If you spend an hour or so one day writing a first draft and an hour or so the next day editing that story to completion, by the end of a year-long period you’ll have 182 microfiction pieces. 

    I guarantee you at least ten of those would probably make pretty good microfilms, if not more. 

    What’s important, though, is maintaining a sense of experimentation. Making sure that you don’t get hung up on a single story, and that at the end of the second day you say “That’s it” and move on to the next one, you’re building a sense of discipline. 

    This can be a great exercise that really doesn’t take up too much time. You could start your day with it, or end your day with it, or even do it during your lunch.

    By breaking free from the desire to solely make big things and by actually finishing small things you’re setting yourself up for success when you eventually work up to the bigger projects.

  • Movies can potentially be expensive to make, but they don’t always have to be. You don’t need a few million dollars to get your movie made. In fact, with some stories you hardly need any money at all. Enter the micro-budget film.

    This is a list of 5 fantastic micro-budget movies that absolutely play to their strengths. By understanding their limitations and working to enhance whatever the filmmakers actually have control over, the films reach a new height. 

    By developing strong dialogue, an intriguing mood, and a unique story with individual texture and aesthetics, these films are remembered as cult classics and are enjoyed by a wide audience. 

    If you put your efforts into making sure that things that you can control without spending any money are top-notch, then you’re on your way to making a great micro-budget movie.

    While not “technically” perfect in some regards, these 5 micro-budget movies represent what a little bit of money can produce with a lot of hard work.

    1. The American Astronaut – Dir. Corey McAbee (2001)

    Being a space western musical you might think that this film would have an extraordinary budget, but by cleverly masking visuals with black and white grain and a hefty amount of shadow, a simple bedroom can be made out to be a space ship.

    The American Astronaut uses techniques found in classic noir and German Expressionist films to create an entirely new mood and visual sense to the sci-fi genre. 

    McAbee, an accomplished musician, adds in his unique style of music in order to blend genres in a way that hasn’t been done before. By incorporating musical theater, another layer is added to film making it impossibly more fun.

    The script, which was developed in the Sundance Screenwriters Lab in 1996 and not produced until 2001, is pushed to the absolute limits. By focusing on dialogue, and making it as interesting as possible, audience interest is retained without having to rely on fancy sci-fi visual effect tropes.

    Its unique sense of humor gives it a touch of absurdity making it seem fresh and spontaneous. Its unpredictable nature grants it a timeless quality, thus earning it a cult status that has allowed it to not fall into obscurity more than 20 years after its original release. 

    Key takeaways for burgeoning micro-budget filmmakers are: Use visual limitations to your advantage; Spend as much time as needed to develop a unique and fresh script; Fusion of genres.

    Still from the micro-budget film It's Impossible to Learn to Plow By Reading Books by Richard Linklater.

    2. It’s Impossible to Learn to Plow By Reading Books – Dir. Richard Linklater (1988)

    Before Slacker, Richard Linklater developed the micro-budget film It’s Impossible to Learn to Plow By Reading Books over a 3-year period (1985-88) and used it to hone his skills as a filmmaker. 

    He worked completely on his own using only the tools that he had available to him, and used the film as a personal project rather than a marketable project. The story is purposefully vague and abstract, and an emphasis is put on framing and composition which could be done leisurely as the film was done in a guerrilla-style. 

    In the director’s commentary included in the Criterion Collection’s edition of Slacker, Linklater presses that fact that the film was made solely as an experiment to test what interested him as a filmmaker while making an actual film. By doing this with a low-risk project, his future projects, specifically the phenomenon that Slacker made, flourished and set him up for success down the line.

    Linklater also emphasizes patience as a filmmaker and how important it is to assess that you are ready to begin production before you actually begin.

    When working on a micro-budget scale, you might have the luxury of time. No production studio is on your back about a due-date, because your financing is done independently. With this in mind, it’s important to take your time and make sure everything is right before you choose to release your film. 

    You might have more leeway in regards to writing,reshooting, and editing, so make sure you use that time to its fullest.

    Takeaways: Be patient, use your time to make every element as good as it can be, Composition can be a wonderful tool especially if you have the time to make it just right. 

    Still from the micro-budget film The Caretaker by Clive Donner.

    3. The Caretaker – Dir. Clive Donner (1963)

    Sometimes referred to as The Guest, The Caretaker is adapted from a Harold Pinter play of the same name. 

    The film, originally turned down by all major studios, was eventually made when a number of interested patrons including Peter Sellers, Noël Coward, Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton and a handful of other generous artists, all invested 1,000 Pounds each, resulting in a 7,000 Pound total budget.

    The result is a micro-budget, psychological-drama masterpiece. Taking place almost entirely in a single room and made up of a cast of three talented actors, the story is dark, humorous, and filled with raw drama. 

    By keeping the setting simple and the cast small, caveats of many great theatrical pieces, the story is contained and loose ends are easily tucked in.

    The score, a series of sound effects, is another micro-budget masterclass. The dripping of water and the rattling of pipes being replaced with electronic synthesizer motifs is cost effective and creates a unique atmosphere. 

    When you have great actors such as Robert Shaw, Donald Pleasence, and Alan Bates, along with the writing of a master such as Harold Pinter, simplicity becomes infinitely interesting.

    Takeaways: Work to find actors who know their stuff and are willing to work, there are plenty other than your best friend’s cousin; Music can add a world of difference to atmosphere, and, like actors, plenty of talented composers exist and are willing to work on interesting projects, you just have to find them; and, of course, great deliberate writing will always enhance any story.

    Still from the micro-budget film Coherence by James Ward Byrkit.

    4. Coherence – Dir. James Ward Byrkit (2013)

    So, clearly, writing is important. But what if you have a great story concept for your micro-budget film, but don’t feel confident in your writing capabilities?

    Enter Coherence, a wonderful mind-bending surreal sci-fi film that relies heavily on actor improvisation. 

    The writers, James Ward Byrkit and Alex Manugian, had an idea and a general treatment for the story, but rather than executing a normal script, they decided to instead use improvisation. 

    During shooting, the actors were given slips of paper in secret with prompts detailing how their character should react to certain things. The actors would begin their scene, improvise, and all was captured with handheld cameras by a skeleton crew. 

    The frantic nature of both the shaky cam and the actor’s performances gives the film that psychological edge that makes it a great genre piece.

    If you have a great idea for a story, it might be worth trying an improvised approach. While the improvisations might not be clean enough for a finished product, the experiments are sure to elicit ideas for a conventional script.  

    This is not unlike how Mike Leigh operates, albeit on a much higher budget. 

    Takeaways: If you have an interesting story but are struggling with a script, try improvising with some actors to get some ideas; Handheld cameras have long been a staple of independent thrillers, and for good reason, it adds a certain edge to visuals.

    5. Last Night at the Alamo – Dir. Eagle Pennell (1983)

    Eagle Pennell’s filmography is the reason that Robert Redford began the Sundance Film Festival, as a means of distributing and showing independent film work that would otherwise get lost to time.

    Pennell’s films utilize many of the micro-budget techniques brought up so far, including; a single set, a talented ensemble of actors, harsh biting dialogue, and gritty black and white footage.

    Where Pennell stands out is that he knows what he wants to say. His vision is clear and envelopes the entirety of the film. The characters are blue-collar workers who feel that they are trapped and being pushed out by a new America, a very relatable subject. 

    By having a cohesive, well-thought out theme that is highly relatable to an audience you highlight engagement. The film doesn’t administer any fancy camerawork or editing, and it doesn’t need to.

    By working simply, Pennell creates a great, timeless film on a budget.

    Takeaways: Having a clean, cohesive vision makes your film seem polished; Relatable stories easily hook in an audience; Films don’t need complicated techniques in order to be complex, simplicity also works.

    Conclusion

    Micro-budget films are everywhere and each will reveal different tips and techniques on how to make impactful films without breaking the bank.

    By watching many, and familiarizing yourself with how it’s done, filmmaking can be a much more accessible medium. 

    All it takes is a little creativity.

  • While I do have a “complete” draft of the Ocular Migraine script that has been sitting in a folder on my desktop for the past few months, with this new web-series-esque way of producing it, the script needs some revision and cutting.

    For one, it’s cut into segments now that need to feel somewhat clearly defined, and contain their own beginning, middle, and end. This means I have to define the 12 most important scenes, squish them into 5-page intervals, and cut off any excess fat.

    I’m not afraid of running overtime, more film would be great, I’m just trying to be conscious about production time and how much animating I can possibly do in 5-week periods.

    But besides that, the writing process.

    I’m trying to figure out how I exactly like to work. I don’t think it’s black text on a white background, typing away on a computer.

    I remember a professor saying that linear editing for films, done with the big moviolas or Steenbeck machines, was very physical. You would stand at the machine, work it with your whole body—cut, splice, tape—all these little tools for all sort of jobs. He said it was kind of like a dance.

    I want writing to be like that.

    What kind of machine or setup do I need to create to make writing an almost sport-like process? Or, at least, more akin to working in a toolshed?

    Perhaps the most obvious method would be good old pen and paper, and I think that works to a certain extent. Add some other types of pens and markers, sticky notes, whiteout, glue, paper cut-outs, texture, paint… at this point is it still writing, right?

    Maybe not, I don’t think I’m looking to be a writer. I want to be a visual storyteller who can rely on mood and feeling to convey difficult, complex ideas.

    Simplicity masked with layers is what I’m after. Simple phrases stretched to their limit will do fine.

    But back to Ocular Migraine, how can I input this into what’s already turning out to be a large-scale experiment?

    I’m not sure yet. But I’ll try something and I’ll let you know how it goes.

    Additional inspiration that I’ve thought of, Closely Watched Trains. A wonderful coming-of-age story.

    A few images of notes on the project. I love to see people’s paperwork, hopefully mine gets more and more hectic as things go forward.

  • Made this really quickly a few days ago just to see how drawing on top of one of my photos would look like.

    The model is just a crude thing I could draw many times quickly, don’t expect the characters of the film to look like this—they may have an ounce more effort put into them.

    I really dig the look of the photo, and it may be the way to go just so that I have to draw a lot less and an audience won’t be forced to watch an entire screen of crappy, squiggly lines.

    Problem is, or, at least, a new challenge is, I don’t have photos like this for all the locations that I’d like to have in the film. Meaning, I’m going to have to take more photos.

    This isn’t really a problem, I like taking pictures, it’s just going to be more of a challenge to find places that fit within the picture.

    Just have to do a little bit of exploring, I guess.

    Also, in terms of film inspiration that I forgot to mention in the last post, Don Hertfeldt completely skipped my mind. I don’t know how, his films are pretty ingrained in how this picture will likely turn out.

    If you haven’t seen his films, go watch them. They’re fantastic.

    Although, if you’re into animation, you’re probably already very well acquainted with his work.