Coverage?

“Coverage is what you do when you don’t have any real idea about meaning or style.”

Okay, a somewhat strong statement. What do I mean by that?

Of course, it’s useful to understand what standard “coverage” looks like. Two people are seated together and having an important conversation. So convention says to shoot a two-shot (a wide view of the two of them) and then matching OTS shots (over the shoulder of first one, then the other speaker, medium tight on the one facing us). And we mustn’t “cross the line” or our viewer will be confused. And sometimes we push in for a closer close-up on the faces at a critical moment in the conversation.

Shooting that coverage isn’t a terrible idea, of course, other than the need for all the setups and all the takes. (An actor’s time and energy often being the most critical resource on a set.)

But conventional coverage isn’t based on any particular insight about the story, about the emotion of the moment, about the relationship of the two speakers to each other and to the topic being discussed or avoided in this conversation. Nor does it imply anything useful about how such a scene is assembled in the editing process, other than the idea that all of these shots might be useful and therefore need to be used.

Consider this scene. The conversation is between two boys of high school age. They are sitting at a small table in a coffee shop. Aaron is slight and awkward. The second boy, Michael, is older, taller and both self-confident and domineering. In the story, something terrible has happened to Michael’s friend and he’s determined to figure out who was responsible. He normally doesn’t even talk to Aaron, but he happened to see him at the table and decided to quiz Aaron a bit about the whole thing, partially motivated by an unconscious need to be in control. However, unbeknownst to Michael, Aaron was actually a witness to the terrible thing that happened to Michael’s friend and feels he may have been partly responsible. He’s terrified of Michael at this moment and trying desperately not to show it.

Okay, what kind of “coverage” makes sense here? We could do all the conventional shots and certainly put together something. But – this is just me quickly thinking about the scene – I might want to shoot this:

First, a two-shot in which Aaron is alone, sees Michael coming to his table, and “welcomes” Michael to sit down. And then slowly push in towards Aaron until we are in a full face close-up, all the while hearing the conversation. Then, just at the end, a somewhat wide but standard OTS on Michael, who gives up the conversation as useless and leaves. And back to the empty two-shot of Aaron, now alone and shaken. My thinking is that I want the audience to see how shaken Aaron is by these moments and how he is trying to conceal it. So we hear the entire conversation, but we don’t need to see much about Michael; the subtext of this scene is all about Aaron.

A key issue related to coverage is the pace of the final scene. If we use the two standard OTS shots and cut back and forth between the two speakers, it is easy for the pace of that cutting to contradict the emotional tension of the scene.

Consider a different scene. This is a romantic, comic conversation between Grace and Don. Both are in their thirties and have met briefly before and Grace asks if she can share the (only available) table with Don during a busy lunch hour at this café. Don is a bit strait-laced and Grace is quite the free spirit, so their banter is first a bit perplexing for Don and then, delightful. But Grace is called away by a phone call she takes, leaving the table and Don, who wishes she had stayed.

Again, free associating a bit on this scene, my thoughts would be these. First, we might want a long shot of the busy restaurant and Grace spotting the place at Don’s table. A version of the standard two-shot seems natural here to show their relative ease or unease as Grace settles in. I would probably also favor a very tight two-shot of the conversation showing both Grace’s wit and Don’s surprise or misunderstanding in the same shot. Finally, I would want the standard OTS on Grace when she gets the phone call that ends their time together, following her up and away from the table. And a single on Don of his reaction as she gets up and leaves him, the café and the frame.

My point is fundamentally this: doing conventional coverage makes every scene conventional. Style is a question of knowing what you do not need to tell the story. The audience does not feel more strongly or laugh louder because you did “all” the expected coverage. Nor does the production move swiftly through photography (or editing) if you always get the “all coverage you might need.” And while there are always situations in production where it is wise to prepare for problems by shooting a bit more than you need, it is also always wise to conserve time and energy by knowing exactly what you do not need.

A commonly repeated tale is that Alfred Hitchcock photographed only the parts of the scene he expected to use in editing the film, rendering alternative treatments impossible. True or not, it is the approach we should all be following as well as we are able, shooting what we need to tell our particular, unconventional story.

The Value of Filmmaking?

I just finished shooting a short film and, as the holidays settle over us, I’ve been thinking more about the value of filmmaking. Not the value of filmmaking to the world or in the culture, but its value for me personally. Why do I bother to make films? What am I actually getting out of this? Where is it all going?

Barring any improbable uptick in my public film career (you know, that fantasy where Michelle Williams wants to be in your film) my films are not going to be discussed in film classes or shown in retrospectives anywhere. I’m not bound for either fame or fortune at this point.

This post may have the tone of a well-settled academic essay but do not underestimate the many likely holes in my logic. This post is a stab at talking about something important. Please let me know what you think.

Extrinsic value is the “exchange” value of a thing. If someone pays you $25 to work for an hour, that’s the extrinsic value of that work. The work may or may not be satisfying. If you find satisfaction in the work, that’s the intrinsic value.

When we talk about art of any kind, I think there are some clear levels of intrinsic value; different kinds of satisfaction we get from making anything creative.

First, there is the fundamental, childlike satisfaction from simply making anything: a mark on paper for example. This is pretty much something that every filmmaker (and artist) experiences. For your first film, it’s the sheer wonder that you had something to do with creating this luminous wonderful (to you) thing that is a REAL film!

This first level has nothing to do with quality and everything to do with just coming into existence. “We did it!” is enough for all to rejoice. For me (and probably for most of you) my first experience with this kind of intrinsic satisfaction probably came with a coloring book at age 3 or 4. And this kind of satisfaction pretty much happens most of the way through grade school. But with your first film project, there is a renewal of wonder and satisfaction simply because the thing exists now.

The second level amounts to the beginning of craft. My second (or third or fourth...) film now exhibits some aspect of craft that I recognize as “professional” or perhaps just “cool.”  “Look at how I rolled focus from him to her. Cool, hunh?” Perhaps I should describe this as film student satisfaction? We are striving to get beyond the simple “showing up” level of satisfaction by demonstrating the craft that we are able to achieve.

The third level, perhaps only slightly different from the second, depending on your background, is consciously imitating some film or TV show that you admire. This can occur at any level of craft but my point is that the intrinsic satisfaction is linked to the recognition that your thing (a freeze frame, go to black & white) is specifically an imitation of some work you find cool (NCIS act breaks, for example).

These “levels” are obviously not as different or clearly distinguished as my analysis implies. Nor are they immature or unsophisticated in any fundamental way. I’m pretty sure that accomplished filmmakers get these satisfactions from their work. And I am convinced that many indie wannabe filmmakers get much of their satisfaction from these kinds of things.

But, in my opinion (and experience), to go beyond these “levels” requires finding a personal connection to the work. Often the most accessible kind of personal connection is with documentary of some sort. I am attracted to a person, a place, an organization, a problem on a personal level, so I turn my filmmaking to this subject.  I rejoice in the celebration of the subject I care about.

If my form of finding a personal connection flows toward a fictional approach, this leads me to the story. And if telling the story is the satisfaction in making my film, then caring about what it means both to me and to a viewer becomes important.

The above could be thought of as the “fourth level” in my analysis. Whether documentary or fiction, the filmmaker is now driven by a personal connection to the material and by the desire to share this with a viewer.

Which hits the brick wall of filmmaking: finding an audience. Once we care primarily about the impact on a viewer, once we are basing our satisfaction on how successfully our craft supports that impact, we need an audience.

But the problem of reaching an audience is a classic and difficult problem. The most common solutions involve relatively large resources, marketing thinking and access to the public square, access which is typically purchased with celebrity. It’s the fame & fortune problem.

I think that local communities become critical at this point. My audience will never include millions but it could potentially include a community of local filmmakers and film appreciators. This is what motivated me to create a film series whose work was drawn entirely from local filmmakers. (That film series failed to find its audience for a variety of reasons.)

It’s a difficult goal to achieve but one that we all need.

Success? Obstacles?

Robert Hardy, who runs Filmmakersprocess.com recently sent a bunch of folks these questions:

"Hey friend,

I have two quick questions for you...

1. What would being successful as a filmmaker look like to you?
2. What's your biggest obstacle right now in pursuing that success?"

I thought these were good to think about and here's my (relatively quickly composed) reply for him.
Decent questions, though life is complicated.

1.    Success as a filmmaker, for me, at this point, starts with the personal feeling of accomplishment.  On a broader scale, success would initially be success in film festivals.

So if my next film were to be picked up by a variety of the top (Oscar-qualifying) festivals, that would be a great step.  But there are two parts to this.  First of all, there is the simple gratification of being recognized beyond a small circle for some artistic achievement.  Second, however, is the possibility that this recognition could open some other doors.

1A.  I’m devoting most of my “film energy” these days in writing scripts that I will likely not ever produce myself. Success here is a bit more concrete in that the definition of success would be to sell a script.  I’ve been using the pitch opportunities offered by Stage32.com and this has opened some doors. So I think it’s a matter of time and quality (and a bit of luck) to move forward on this.

2.    Biggest filmmaking obstacle is mostly time, occasionally masquerading as money. In this case, time really means improving my artistic ability, my filmmaking “quality” as much as possible.  However, I also accept that the films I find the most rewarding to make may not be the ones that fit with the taste of any festival.
    It would be facile to say that money for entry fees was the obstacle. Theoretically, it would be great to pitch any film into 250 festivals, but that doesn’t really attract me that much. I’m more interested in the best festivals.

2A.    There are two simple steps in the screenwriting success equation.  Many worry at great length about step #2. I’m still thinking I have a lot of work to do to develop my craft.  The rules are these:
    #1. Write a great script.
    #2. Get it in front of some folks who might be interested.

If you can’t do step #1, the next step is unimportant. So the biggest obstacle is "simply" writing a great script.

Love to hear your thoughts about all this stuff.

Learning More About Distribution

I've been daydreaming about doing a feature film lately.  Nope, no immediate plans.  But in the spirit of planning ahead, lots of things touching on finance and distribution are catching my eye. In case I suddenly move something into production, you'll want to be getting my four times a year newsletter.

On May 14th, as part of the Longleaf Film Festival at the NC Museum of History, there was a session on the subject of film distribution.  I found it enlightening and fundamental.  I needed to share my learning with a couple of different folks and as I started to write up my notes, it seemed like a blog post was the best way to do that.

The session consisted of Thomas Varnum, an entertainment lawyer with the firm of Brooks Pierce based in Wilmington, NC and Vernon Rudolph, a filmmaker/cinematographer based in Raleigh and operating as Sky Grass Media.  The two presenters alternated with Rudolph presenting his experience, good and bad, and Varnum commenting on some of the issues raised, and pitfalls to be avoided (or to be fallen into).

Rudolph has worked on several features. He produced and shot Phin (2013), directed by his friend Patrick Chapman. Phin was their first feature film.  Two years later, Rudolph shot ToY, written and directed by Chapman. Rudolph based most of his remarks on this experience with these two films.

Phin was a labor of love feature, shot in six days for a budget of about $30K. After modest festival success, the filmmakers hit the street and contacted every distribution entity they could. They got a lot of rejection! Eventually they signed a deal with a Canadian distributor. The deal, Rudolph lamented, was for twelve years, exclusive and worldwide for all rights. Essentially the film sat on the distributor's shelf and added to the credibility of the distributor's catalog but did nothing else.  In hindsight, even though the deal was a bad deal on the face of it, it still represented a step forward for the filmmakers.

Having gotten the first film out of their system, ToY was calculated to be a moneymaking film. The budget was $110K (but ballooning to nearly $200K to complete all the deliverables in post) and they had two name actors (Briana Evigan and Kerry Norton from Battlestar Galactica) which made a big difference.  Eventually, they were able to pick among several distribution offers, signing with Taylor & Dodge, an international sales agent. This deal was a much better deal than with Phin, with a duration of only five years. So far the film has been sold in South Korea and Germany and appeared on iTunes through Gravitas on May 13th!

Varnum talked about the general issues around the development part of the process. Memorably, he said, "Every film is a startup company, just like high tech. You must have a financing plan, a revenue plan and an exit strategy." First, he emphasized the need to get all agreements for locations, talent, music, use of products, and so on, signed and sealed during production. You will not be able to get the essential E&O insurance without all that paperwork. In effect, the end goal of production is to be able to get E&O insurance. Varnum suggested that the cost typically ranges from $3K to $6K but can be higher. If the film contains a lot of elements claimed as "fair use" for copyright purposes, you will need a written opinion from a lawyer versed in fair use to substantiate the claim for E&O insurance and the cost will go up accordingly.

Varnum also stressed the need for early stage publicity. Rudolph emphatically agreed, citing the moment when they were able to sign known talent to the project. That moment is the only real opportunity to get PR benefit from signing the talent. Luckily, they had a publicist working on that kind of stuff for their second film. Rudolph was pleasantly surprised to see a short mention in The Hollywood Reporter about their signing.

Once a film is complete, there are, of course, several possible ways to try to commercialize the film. You can go the film festival route but they cautioned that this is both unpredictable and potentially expensive. The American Film Market (AFM) and similar film markets are another major avenue.  Emerging in today's Internet environment, both presenters were optimistic about Distribber and Tugg as distribution alternatives.

Varnum made a couple of very valuable specific points about distribution agreements. First, he talked about separate rights. This means separating the various possible distribution modes.  For example, selling worldwide theatrical rights but retaining rights to sell DVDs or retaining domestic theatrical and selling rights for the rest of the world, etc. In today's environment, many different combinations are possible and few sales agents or distributors are good at everything.

Second, he recommended a "reversion" clause, meaning that if the distributor or sales agent does nothing for eighteen months or two years, all the rights revert to the filmmaker. Or, all the rights become non-exclusive, allowing the filmmaker to do whatever might be possible.

Third, he recommended an emerging practice, having a "meaningful consultation" clause in any contract. This essentially means that the distributor or sales agent must consult with the filmmaker, must hear the filmmaker's thoughts (or objections) to any substantive commercial proposal. The decision-making authority remains with the sales agent, but at least the filmmaker must be consulted. Essentially it provides the incentive for a collaborative relationship.

Rudolph stressed the need to conduct due diligence about any organization, especially one making an offer. IMDB Pro is a great resource for networking to folks who have dealt with any sales agent or distributor and most filmmakers are quite willing to share their experience confidentially.

If you like insights in much much smaller pieces, please follow me on twitter: https://twitter.com/turnipvideo

Feature This: a completed feature film script

I just completed a feature-length script.  This blog post is about two things.  First, what does the word “completed” mean here?  Second, why did I do this?

“Completed” is a funny word for any work of art.  We’ve all heard the adage that films are not finished, only “abandoned.” And most of us know the feeling.  Writing is no exception.

What completed means for me, for this script, has to do with fundamental story structure.  I find story structure the most challenging aspect of writing any film, but especially a feature-length one.  So the first reason I call this draft completed is that I think it has all the story structure needed.  I think that characters react to things, do things, create consequences, suffer the consequences and then try to fix their world in ways that hang together. (Notice that I did not say, “in ways that make sense.”)

I seen too many short films that simply duck these issues and few wonderful ones that manage to embrace them.  If there is something fundamentally important about who a character is, I want the film to show me that.  Not just tell me.  And then, if the story hinges on the consequences of that aspect of that character, I’ll understand it and I’ll be ready to move forward with the story.  So story structure is partly about not cheating and no loose ends.

I have arrived at what I think is that fundamental structure.  Except that I’m so far into the whole thing that I probably can’t judge this as well as it needs to be judged.  So that’s where my first round of readers come in.

This draft is clearly unfinished in many other ways.  My initial character descriptions are probably insufficient; my excuse is that scenes have moved around as I wrote.  (Oops, excuses don’t matter!)  My characters are different people but it’s possible that they all sound kind of the same right now, so that’s the subject of a major rewrite pass at some point soon.  My characters reaction to bad things that happen to them might be uneven; too small in one place, too big in another.  That’s a challenge that will need addressing most likely. Some things probably need to become more important and the reactions more significant; others will need to get toned down.

Another, less problematic piece of unfinished work concerns boxing.  The working title of this script is Boxing Lessons and my main character takes up boxing as a form of exercise.  I don’t yet know enough about boxing to populate that world with as much texture as I believe it will need, but I’m okay with the knowledge that this is a known work item.  I may end up taking up boxing myself for this research; we’ll see.  The important thing is that I’m not pretending that I can just fake it based on having watched Million Dollar Baby.

Why did I do it?  One simple reason was to see if I could.  I’ve completed fifteen or twenty short films as writer-director (-editor-producer-casting-craft service-marketing-webmaster).  I’ve always said I would only become foolish enough to attempt to create a feature film if I wrote (or came into some intimate relationship to) a script that I felt passionate about.  Step one has to be actually writing such a script. I am now moving, however slowly, down that road.

But, honestly, even if I actually write a great script, the idea that I would also produce and / or direct such a film seems even more foolish.  The idea that - if it really were great - someone else might want to do those things is fantasy enough for now.  And a much better test of the real value of my script.

Okay.  When the script is truly done, when all the readers have read and commented and all the snags have been ironed out and if what’s left still has juice and fun and a personal point of view, then it will really be completed.  Then and only then will I need Michelle Williams’ email address.