Advice

About a Donkey Festival Rundown (and the Reality of Festival Submissions)

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We had a wonderful festival run for our feature film About a Donkey. I like to be fully transparent with audiences and other filmmakers to make my personal learnings useful to others. So I’m sharing a full rundown of where the film screened and where we didn’t get a chance to.

Festivals where the film was accepted:

  • Georgia Film Festival. My favorite moment was chatting with two girls around 12 & 15 who are aspiring filmmakers & were really excited to meet me & Kelsey after watching About a Donkey.

  • North Carolina Gay & Lesbian Film Festival. One of my favorite festival experiences. It was so cool hearing from the head programmer that all programmers loved our film & fought over who would get to do the Q&A.

  • Austin Revolution Film Festival. I loved this trip because we all got to explore Austin. Favorite festival moment was winning Best Produced Screenplay.

  • Buffalo International Film Festival. My mom, Kelsey and I had a blast roadtripping to Buffalo. And I enjoyed a bonding moment on the red carpet being interviewed by a fellow vegan.

  • Adirondack Film Festival. Our favorite festival experience overall! It was especially touching when a woman came over in tears after our screening and thanked us for just making her feel so good.

  • YoFiFest. It was nice having a very thoughtful Q&A despite technical mishaps during our screening.

  • Flathead Lake International Cinemafest. We also loved this festival experience. My favorite moment was when an older straight couple seated behind us debated leaving after a romance between two of the women in the movie is alluded to, but then they decided to stay through it all.

  • Cambria Film Festival. Have you seen the elephant seals on the beach in Cambria? Haha, it was just so wonderful seeing some of the California team again after so long!

  • Queens World Film Festival. One of my top festivals forever, and one of our favorites with this film. Having a sold out screening of locals and a lovely Q&A conversation were so fun for us.

  • Capital City Film Festival. A final goodbye to seeing it on a big screen. I was touched when a woman spoke about how the film reminded her of how her dog helped her get through her husband’s passing.

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We made a feature on under $23,000 with no name recognition and not in any of the genres that typically get buzz on the festival circuit. I'm proud of what we accomplished, but the film’s not without its flaws. It's a quirky, sweet, talky but quiet, thoughtful and fun little film that really resonates with some but couldn't possibly appeal to everyone's style & taste. We didn't expect to even get into some of the festivals that we did, so we consider our run a success. But since I'm an advocate for transparency to benefit my peers, here's a list of the festivals that we submitted but didn't get in to.

  • Atlanta Film Festival

  • RiverRun Film Festival

  • Cleveland International Film Festival

  • Sedona Film Festival

  • Phoenix Film Festival

  • Oxford Film Festival

  • Oak Cliff Film Festival

  • Julien Dubuque International Film Festival

  • Stony Brook Film Festival

  • Newport Beach Film Festival

  • Lighthouse International Film Festival

  • River Bend Film Festival

  • Woods Hole Film Festival

  • Women Texas Film Festival

  • Sidewalk Film Festival

  • Indie Street Film Festival

  • Rhode Island International Film Festival

  • Moving Parts Film Festival

  • Cinema Diverse: The Palm Springs LGBTQ Film Festival

  • Citizen Jane Film Festival

  • Seattle Queer Film Festival

  • Indie Memphis Film Festival

  • Hell's Half Mile Film Festival

  • BendFilm Festival

  • Twister Alley Film Festival

  • SENE Film Festival

  • Twister Alley Film Festival

Many of these were long shots. If you don’t know, you should know that festivals as a whole are a borderline scam when it comes to features (some are completely in general, but that’s a whole other conversation). In the world of features, the films that get into top tier festivals are largely coming through labs or connections, even if they don’t have obvious names attached. Read this article, if you haven’t. And so you’d think then that regional festivals are truly indie friendly since they’re also the smaller fish in the pond. But there’s this whole world of monetized festival runs where films that have enough buzz (star-power or extreme social relevance with the right PR) can get represented by festival distribution companies and get their film invited (with screening fees and accommodations) to fill feature slots at festivals. And even without representation, premiere at the right festival and a film could get invited to all regional festivals around. Some festivals are transparent about this (about what percentage of features come from submissions vs invitationals or programmer connections), most are not. For this reason, a truly independent feature filmmaker could waste a ton of money submitting to festivals without ever standing a chance of actually getting in to any because all the feature lineups are filled with invitationals (and the submission fees are essentially bankrolling the ability for those festivals to pay those invitationals). I don’t mean to be bitter or hate on festivals (I love festivals, I’ll get to that in a bit), but this is very much a reality that filmmakers need to know about.

For this reason, I tried to be very strategic about where I submitted. We didn’t get any invitationals; all our screenings were through cold submissions on FilmFreeway. For festivals that interested me, I looked up past feature lineups to see if any of the acceptances seemed to lack the budget and industry access my film lacked or if most were top tier festival premieres who had clearly been invited. I also asked other filmmakers I could reach how they got in; if they knew a programmer or really submitted through the same channels as the average submitter. From there I decided to submit to those two lists above. That said, I did submit to some festivals knowing our odds were extremely low. I submitted to those because I had many fee waivers (15 to be exact) via Seed&Spark's Filmmaker Rewards, which is a benefit of being a successfully crowdfunded project with over 500 followers; so I could make that gamble. A few of the smaller ones that I did pay for, though, I was bummed to see that even they invited a lot of their feature in-competition lineups. There's a lot of debate about the reliability of Vimeo analytics. I used a different file for every festival, and I tested the analytics in a lot of different circumstances, so I feel confident that the ones I believe never watched, really never did. However, I do understand that the analytics could be off for any unforeseen reason. I won't publicly call out the festivals that I believe didn't watch my submission at all. From the rejections, though, I'd like to positively shout-out some that I feel fully considered my film. Oxford watched a few times all the way through and gave us excellent feedback. Same goes for Cleveland, they watched 3 times and gave good feedback. Julien Dubuque was super communicative and watched our film at least 7 times all the way through before deciding. Moving Parts watched all the way and made us a Finalist before personally notifying us as to why we weren't quite the right fit for their festival. And Newport Beach, Hell's Half Mile, Indie Memphis, Seattle Queer, and SENE all watched a few times.

For anyone just starting out in the world of festivals (features or shorts), please do your research and really know if a festival is right for your film and if your film is right for the festival. This applies not only in terms of what gets programmed from submissions vs invitationals, but also in what they program overall. Does what you’ve made suit the mission of the festival and their intended audience? Festivals have their own agendas, and are often focused on what will make them most buzz-worthy and sell the most tickets to their local community. Also, human biases skew the programming decision-making. And I've seen enough festival directors screen (sometimes even award!) their own films in competition to know that sometimes it’s so not about your film at all and all about the ego and taste(s) of those involved in the festival. But even when a festival is operating with integrity (which I like to believe most are), they probably only have the space, both in terms of venues and runtime, to program at most 30% of what's submitted; and themes (thus programming priorities) change from year to year. I can say this with confidence from experience of running my own local-filmmaker focused screening series. So, you want to be sure that your film is really what each fest is looking for (genre, target audience, local interests), so that you position yourself to standout amongst the likely thousands of submissions they're getting. And know what your goals are, truly. I think filmmakers often focus on what would be most impressive within the industry or where they’re supposed to submit to look successful. But I can tell you from my goals with About a Donkey for instance, I wanted to reach people who don’t work in the industry, would never know about our film from our limited marketing efforts, and who wouldn’t typically seek out inclusive content in their own movie theater or home viewing. With that in mind, even if I had the connections to get this little movie into a top tier festival, where everyone in attendance is part of the industry and there isn’t room for locals to come out and catch a screening if they wanted to, screening at any of them wouldn’t actually achieve those goals I mentioned above. So starting at the top and working down the tiers of festivals, as most filmmakers tend to do, was not my strategy for submitting this film — not just because realistically it couldn’t get in at the top (I definitely don’t have those connections), but also because it wouldn’t really make sense to. I instead set out to screen at festivals in smaller cities with good word of mouth marketing where people come out for festivals because there’s nothing else to do in their area for that particular week or weekend. We largely targeted festivals that were either in destinations we wanted to visit or right-leaning politically so that we could reach more conservative viewers and hopefully spread some empathy. Based on all that, I consider our run a super success and I’m really proud of what we pulled off and thankful to the festivals that programmed us.

For anyone in the early stages of notifications where you’re probably only getting rejection after rejection, remember that a festival rejection doesn't invalidate your film and all the work you did. And honestly, a festival shouldn’t validate it either, or at least not be your main qualifier of success… you’d be setting yourself up for unnecessary disappointment if that’s your barometer. I love festivals for their ability to bring audiences together for communal conversation (see my linked recaps above for Adirondack, Flathead Lake and Queens World as examples). The real gems out there are run by genuine film lovers & sometimes makers who have a mission and are doing their best with limited funding to create a platform for independent creators where there isn't currently one. However, the circuit as a whole is a very flawed, and often exploitative, system. Some see an opportunity to profit off of hopeful filmmakers just trying to reach an audience. People like to say, "it's a numbers game." And it is, but you have to have a certain amount of privilege to be able to play the odds. I submitted to what many would consider a modest number of fests for the "numbers game." I had 15 waivers, 7 discount codes, and the other 15 were early bird deadlines (one of which only cost $1). And I still spent $750 just on submissions (over 70% of which were rejections). That's a month's rent for a lot of struggling filmmakers. So please, please, don’t blindly submit to every festival you could and think you should. Really make conscious decisions about what makes the most sense for you and your film.

I hope this has been helpful!

We released About a Donkey on Vimeo on Demand this week. It’ll be streaming on Seed&Spark in early June, and then Amazon Prime later that month. It’s $4.99 to rent or $12.99 to buy on Vimeo, which comes along with exclusive access to Special behind the scenes features that’ll only be available on that platform. Seed&Spark has a pay what you wish model, starting at $3 per month. It gives you unlimited access to over 300 films and series in their cinema, and they pay the filmmakers per minute watched. So the more you spend on your subscription for the month that you watch our film, the more we stand to make per minute. And Amazon will be included in their Prime offering, so if you're already a Prime subscriber it's great for you -- but they do only pay filmmakers $0.04 per 60 minutes. We'd love for you to watch and review it on Amazon once we're live in order to help us reach strangers who’ve never heard of the movie; but spending the money on either of the other two platforms for your first view would be the most financially supportive of us! That said, ultimately, we just want you to see (and hopefully enjoy) the movie. So please support About a Donkey's VOD release however you can. Thank you!

-Christina

Community-Driven Filmmaking: About a (Second) Micro-Budget Feature & How We Did It

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We filed our taxes last month for the LLC we created for About a Donkey, which means we had to get all our bookkeeping perfectly in order. This inspired me to share some numbers with our peers. I believe in transparency as much as possible, and offering other filmmakers context to know what is possible - and where the sacrifices lie for such possibility. So, here's how things shook out. After all fees were taken out, we received $17,671.02 from our Seed&Spark campaign. The film in its entirety, production through post-production, cost $22,485.96 to make. Kelsey Rauber and I made up the difference out of our personal funds. We'll have to do the same for festival submission costs (which I'm determined to keep under $500 via super selective submitting and having access to waivers through the Seed&Spark Filmmaker Rewards), and for deliverables to whichever fests we get into. I'm hoping we'll be able to recoup those funds when the film is eventually streaming on platforms. Regardless though, we made an entire feature for under $23,000, and didn’t break our own banks doing it. I made a film in this range before, with my first feature, Summit. That was made on $21,000 when all was said and done with it. I advanced in many key ways this time around, though. 

For one, with Summit, I raised just under $12,000 (after fees) via a crowdfunding campaign. The film was supposed to cost $15,000. I set a goal I felt I could achieve and would make production possible, knowing I’d have to self-fund $3,000 on a credit card. I did not know I would take out 2 additional cards to cover the amount we went over the $15,000 budget, though. I was in debt for a few years because of it (which I’ve only recently recouped via streaming revenue). With About a Donkey, the projected production budget was $20,000. We anticipated self-funding post-production for around another $2,500. We didn’t have confidence in the timing of our campaign to incorporate platform fees, potential declined charges, and contingency funds into our goal, so we decided to just shoot for our $20,000 production budget with the possibility of stretch goals while knowing we had enough personal funds set aside to make up the difference out of pocket, if needed. All of that considered, we actually came in $14.04 under our projected costs for completing the entire film! And while no one was paid for Summit (aside from Sound, who mainly worked for the cost of renting his equipment, and later our DP, deferred), everyone was paid for About a Donkey. (Not much, but something - I'll come back to this.) I learned a lot making Summit and was able to stretch a dollar further while increasing the production value and standards for About a Donkey. And lastly, I finished the film in half the time! Summit was shot over 11 production days during 16 consecutive days on location. We knocked out the intense principal photography quickly, but the film was in post for two years. About a Donkey was shot over 12 days for 4 consecutive weekends (Friday through Sunday), and was in post for nearly 9 months. Both times around, our sound mix took the longest - largely due to our lack of budget. But at the end of the day, About a Donkey is a more polished film, and that (among other things) makes me proud. 

A lot of people ask how I do it — make the films I make on the budgets I work with. I explored that a bit with my #ShootingSummit blog series years ago, which you could read. I can sum it up, though, in saying that that time it was a sort of naive experiment that had no business working out but somehow (luckily) did. This time, I actually kind of knew what I was doing. We had what I would call a successful shoot that resulted in a solid film. We made our days, often early. We spent the amount of money we intended to. There were no major setbacks, like getting a DIY process trailer stuck between two ditches on an icy road in the middle of the woods in the dead of night (seriously, #ShootingSummit). Shooting About a Donkey was a lot of work; but I imagine it looked easy from the outside. (Not hashtag worthy.) And that's largely due to the experience gained from the first time around and the preparation taken in pre-production to accommodate the constraints of little money and little time but a lot to do. So below is a breakdown of how we did that.

Before I get there, I should say that this script was written (by Kelsey) in 2012, and we’ve been talking about making it since then. We initially imagined a $250k budget where we could pay everyone well and collaborate with a robust producing team. However, when it became clear that we don’t (yet) have access to acquiring that kind of money but no longer wanted to just wait for some opportunity to come knocking because the story felt timely and necessary and worth making NOW, we set out to figure out how we could just do it, and do it well, and all on a budget we could raise via crowdfunding. What we figured out is what I call Community-Driven Filmmaking.

 

Wearing All the Hats. 

I directed About a Donkey, but I was never just the director on set or off it. I was also the lead producer and handled most of the prep before each shoot (budgeting, scheduling, contracting, communication, shopping for wardrobe, securing locations) that would normally be executed by other paid producers or crew. And on set, I was responsible for making a lot of decisions not just related to the creative direction of the film. It required a lot of forethought on how I would handle certain situations, like should director-me want more time or to experiment creatively but producer-me needed to keep moving or solve a logistical problem. (And then throw in needing to simultaneously direct scenes with a donkey in them while safely managing a set with donkeys on it, and you get some interesting hat-balancing tricks.) It was not easy, but necessary in order to get this film made -- and also how I think I function best. I'm a creative person, but I can't shut off the operational and hyper-organized part of my brain -- it wants (needs) to be in the know, even if it's focusing on or prioritizing the artistry in any given moment. Doing this and being able to do this is key to working in this (no)budget range.

 

Not Wearing All the Hats. 

But I wasn't doing all of the above alone -- not this time. For my first feature, I was the sole producer, as well as the writer & director. I spent much of the shoot anxious and overwhelmed, and constantly playing catch-up with a poorly planned shooting schedule (I had never made a feature before and didn't employ anyone who had). The conditions were more grueling than anticipated, which slowed us down and added obstacles only experience could've prepared us for. With About a Donkey, I had not only Matt Gershowitz, again as my AD but this time not a novice, having taken on more responsibility as an associate producer in pre-production, but also Kelsey as the writer and my co-producer for the film. Kelsey doesn't fully have the production experience (yet) to always be able to answer the questions or solve the problems on set, but she's an excellent project manager and communicator, and was there by my side to be point of contact where possible. And as the writer, having her on set created the opportunity to go to her and say “this isn't working,” when needed. With Summit, I’d have a feeling in my gut that a line wasn’t sitting right or a story element wasn’t adding up because of changes that needed to happen in the moment. I’d need to make quick fixes to the script, but my brain was so weighed down from the stress of the shoot and finding the right words and ways to work with the actors under the circumstances. It was nearly impossible to go into writer-mode and come out with anything but something lazy. With About a Donkey, while I participated in the revising of the screenplay with Kelsey before production, I never had to try to turn into a writer on set. I could instead leave her to do what she's best at, while I worked with the actors or the camera a bit, and then come back to brilliant options to choose from. Ultimately, film is all about collaboration. Just because you can do all the things, doesn’t mean you should - and often you’ll end up with a stronger film if you don’t. That’s something I’ve had to learn over time. 

 

Film-Family, Literally. 

I like to think of my collaborators as family. We’re all in this together, every single person is a piece of a puzzle that wouldn’t be complete without every single piece. Being professional and getting the job done is important, but I like my sets to also be fun and supportive. I tend to bring on the same crew members again and again, not just because knowing how each of your team members operates and handles situations leads to efficiency, but also because I like them, as people! We enjoy each other’s company. We respect each other’s skills. We love making cool stuff together. I always aim to create an environment where every person has a voice, feels appreciated, and knows they matter no more or less than anyone else. Yes, there is above and below the line in roles. But there is no above and below the line in treatment. I once had an actor on set who felt they were above speaking to or eating meals next to the below the line crew. That actor never ended up in any of my future work. That crew that the actor refused to acknowledge as equal human beings has been part of all my latest projects. When I say #filmfamily (see instagram), I mean it and want my team to feel it. 

My family showing up to be extras.

All that said, I did write “literally” in my header. Aside from the budget being raised through our audience via crowdfunding, we also received an abundance of in-kind support from family and friends. All our locations were loaned, from using my extended family members’ houses to turning the front of my apartment building into the front of a news station to getting my cousin's firefighter friend to allow us access to his firehouse's event space for a prom set. The crew and much of the cast bunked together in our locations (and watched movies each night!) to save on commute costs and get the most out of our turnaround time. Food was made by my mom & cousin for free (we covered the ingredient cost but they volunteered their service). I borrowed cars from family to transport people, never having to rent a vehicle. Props were largely derived from scavenger hunting through relatives' homes and through the creative eye and interesting knick knack collection of our Art Director Nicole Solomon and Post-Production Associate Producer Sean Mannion. And even the donkeys were free! We covered costs to house and feed them for the weekend they were on set (in my mom’s backyard), but the owners of the Donkey Park Sanctuary, Steve Stiert and Larry Futrell, allowed their appearance in the film for free; and Steve & Larry themselves volunteered their services as caregivers/trainers on set. Our story about a donkey creating positive change resonated with them. Our mission aligned with theirs. We made it clear that we cared about taking care of the animals on set, and we included them in the storytelling process. I think that passion and inclusion attracted good people who wanted to help us out and be part of this special thing we could make together. (Truly, check out the good people behind Donkey Park Inc.)

The lovely people and donkeys at Donkey Park Inc.

I’m privileged to have the supportive family I have; but my point is that this kind of “family” support can come from anyone in your community. People don’t have to be filmmakers to be part of making a film. Allowing people to participate in the creation of a project, and making them feel recognized and appreciated, and giving them a sense of ownership in the role they played is how we got this film made (and how I think all films should be made, regardless of budget).

 

Alternative Compensation. 

As I said earlier, everyone was paid, but no one was paid what I would call well. ( Kelsey and I weren't paid, of course; but everyone else was — even down to our one PA.) This is ultimately where most of our money went - to paying the nearly 30 people who worked on the film (followed closely by the cost of production insurance). But even so, in order to do that, everyone worked for below standard day rates. To make this work (paying everyone), we created no hierarchy in pay. Everyone received the same day rate. The hierarchy was created via titles or screen time. For instance, maybe a job that would've been lower in the credits on a bigger set was considered a department head on this one. We made it clear to everyone, our usual collaborators included, that they could say no to the project. We couldn't go higher but would understand if anyone needed to pass. Everyone we offered a cast or crew role to, though, agreed to come aboard. Everyone did so enthusiastically. They cared about our story and our mission and the opportunity to play a role in that.  Our crew was made up of mostly our core team of people who we'd worked with many times before. They knew we take care of people on set (feed them super well, don't overwork them (not since the crazy Summit learning experience) always reimburse costs, recommend them for paying gigs regularly) and that we make sure the work gets finished & seen and their contributions recognized. Many said they would've worked for free. And honestly, it was almost like they did. But we offered what we could to show we respect their time and talent, and I think that was appreciated — even if this project didn't pay their rent alone. (Part of our reason for only shooting on weekends was to make this project doable with other gigs and/or a day job.)

The same way the WHY of your film (why it matters and why people should want to be part of it) can get you free locations, donated food, and loans of props, the WHY can also be what makes other filmmakers/creatives join your project regardless of the pay. Don’t get me wrong; filmmaking is work. It is physical labor. It is mentally taxing. It requires unique skills and talent that need time (and money) to acquire. I believe in (and hope to one day be able to) paying people what they’re worth. But when only the people who have access to capital in a biased and inequitable system are the ones making content, then we end up where we’re only now starting to break out of in Hollywood — where everything that gets made is from one perspective and only represents one kind of experience. I grew up with a single mom who often had two part-time jobs on top of her full-time job, with zero access to the film industry. I’ve only been able to make content by approaching my career in this way. I’m so appreciative of the people who have chosen and continue to choose to offer their time and talent towards my projects because of the non-monetary benefits I try to make possible. 

 

Shooting by Location & Rotating Personnel. 

The day with our most crew on set.

You should always shoot by location, that’s filmmaking 101 (unless you have a good reason not to follow that rule, which is also filmmaking 101). However, locations really guided our shoot with this film. It’s an ensemble piece with a lot of locations, but many recurring. I’d say, it feels a lot like a TV series in that way. We tried to balance the production value of having multiple sets with being economical of our time. We found a way to shoot a 105-page script in twelve 10-hour days (many wrapped at 8, only one hit 12) largely by finding creative ways to shoot by location while limiting the amount of days each actor (in a core ensemble of 9) had to be on set. I wanted the actors to always have each other to react to, but there were a couple times where we shot one side of a scene on one day when we had one actor at a location and then the other side of the scene when we had the other actor(s) at that location. We never did this with scenes with only two actors, but definitely did it with some of our more light-hearted, donkey-centric scenes. We also had a rotating crew. Kelsey, our DP, our sound person, our makeup artist, and I were the only staples on set every single day. A couple days we rolled without an AD. We almost always had at least one AC each day, but that was split between 3 or 4 different people across the shoot. At our most hearty crew day, we had 11 of us behind the scenes; but most capped at 7. Having a skeleton crew meant we moved slower, but we compensated for that with decisions made in pre-production.

 

Shooting for the Edit. 

This one is a no-brainer and should be done with any budget. However, it was extra imperative for this project. We knew we’d have limited time on set and fewer hands. We wouldn’t have the body count for running cables, moving lights, and swapping lenses swiftly. So we set out to make aesthetic choices that would minimize the need for all that. The film was shot with a natural look balanced by a touch of warmth. The lives of the characters at the start of the film are a little mundane. This paired well with shooting with mostly natural light. These people leave their curtains open and just kind of be. So, a lot of the time, we set up more flags and bounces than actual lights (of which we only had two most days anyway). It’s a dramedy, so high-key lighting was usually the way to go. And I prefer letting the actors find the blocking, so the more natural the set could feel and the less constrained they and the camera were by light placement and needing to avoid casting shadows, the better off we were. Peter Westervelt (our DP) did try to add texture with things like shades and interesting practical sources, but the goal was often for depth with consistency - not drama or overt contrast. Both Peter and I had seen the film Loving right around the time we started shot-listing and we both loved the look. We felt like the style really suited our film, where everything was shot in medium shots with medium lenses. Natural daylight played a big role. All the framing gave you a sense of the space that surrounds the characters. The drama was driven by the performances, not by the lens choices. So we decided to go in that direction. We chose one lens and essentially shot most of the film in mediums. Our objective was to make the framing reflect the relationships (who shares frames/who’s isolated, who feels tied to their surroundings/who feels free and loose), while still getting enough coverage to make performance and pacing decisions in post. We shot on a (Cooke Panchro) 40mm lens and never really had to swap it out. Only a couple days did we require a wider lens, and I believe only one day did we decide to go a bit tighter as an aesthetic choice for a scene. Most days, though, we didn’t even rent another lens and committed to our plan. Now, this definitely came with some limitations in terms of getting more varied angles and levels of closeness to be able to keep the cutting from feeling repetitive. It felt warranted considering the fact that the characters in this film are all kind of stuck in a way; so static, medium shots suited the feel of the film. But it was undeniably limiting and wouldn't work for all film styles and paces.  (If you have more tech questions, hit up Peter. But if you’re curious, we shot on the Arri Amira at a discounted rental rate, initially courtesy of a filmmaker friend of a friend who owned the camera and then eventually via the cool people at Abel Cine after that dude bailed on us.)

 

Directing is in the Casting. 

I had a directing professor in college who said that she was the kind of director who believed that 80% of directing is casting. I’ve met directors who don’t believe that, but I stand by it. I follow my gut and a big part of directing for me is in the audition room when I see what an actor brings. Maybe my professor and I are just those kinds of directors, and there are other kinds of directors that find success differently. But I can say, from running IndieWorks (watching hundreds of submissions) and attending countless film festivals per year, sometimes I find myself in conversation with directors that are super micro-managey and talk about pulling performances out of their actors, and then I watch their film and I’m like, “that’s what they pulled out?” Any actor that’s worked with me will likely tell you I’m a pretty hands off director on set. I’m decisive. I’m opinionated. I’m collaborative. But my notes are minimal. My takes are minimal. Maybe it seems like I’m holding back (sometimes that’s a strategy), but often I’m not giving a lot because I’m getting what I want. If I cast you, I have faith in you and I already believe you as the person you’re portraying. (This is why I have no interest in directing for hire unless I’m on board early and have final say in casting.) I’m a big believer in trusting the actors. I won’t take credit for someone’s talent. I will take credit for recognizing that talent and creating conditions to allow that portrayal to come out authentically. 

I’m maybe going off on a long tangent here, but this is my last element, and maybe my most important of this post. Without the performances, About a Donkey wouldn’t be anything special. It’s a character-driven, dialogue-driven, ensemble piece about growth and relationships. We had quite an endeavor on our hands in terms of casting because we needed to find non-union actors who had the skills & suited the roles individually but also looked and had chemistry like a real family. For this reason, we started casting nearly a year before production and devoted a lot of time to meetups and getting the cast to bond before we began rolling. Now, while my focus was on the performances most of all on set, my time simply could not be. The way I worked with this fact, and how I work in general, is in the prep. I’m not gonna take an actor’s job and break down all of a character’s motivations and intentions for them. What I am going to do is talk to them about who a character is. I love backstory. I love psychology. I love exploring how this person got to where they are at the start of the film and what they want in the big picture. But the moments onscreen — the ways they bring out this person — those are the actor’s. I’m not trying to imply I don’t do any directing. I’ve been on sets where directors give the actors no feedback and also did no prep with them beforehand, and you can see that lack of direction in the acting too. With me, it’s about the conversation before getting on set, where it’s “this is what this means” or “this could mean this, what are your ideas?” I never tell an actor how to do a scene. I like to see what they just do. What is their gut go-to? What is their choice? Is it what I wanted? Did they surprise me and give me something I didn’t know I wanted? I feel, if I got to cast they way (who) I wanted and we talked about who this person is and why they are the way they are, 99% of the time they give me what I wanted in that initial choice on set because we’re on the same page. And then from there, it’s just “quicker” or “softer” or “hold that longer” — brief adjustments to make sure it’s translating. I know some actors like to explore on set — try something a few different ways per take. That’s just not an option with the kinds of productions this post is about. So, that exploring needs to be done on their own before the shoot. I trust my actors to make a choice, but I expect them to make a choice. We can dissect a scene off set, if that’s the way they like to work; but when they show up on set, I want them to know their character and how their character feels about something - which their reaction (choice) would inherently reflect.

With this film specifically, an ensemble talkie where the average scene has three characters (many included five or six, plus sometimes a donkey!), I had both a challenge and a gift on my hands. A challenge in that I needed to pay attention to so many performances all at once and try to know/meet the individual needs of each actor; but a gift in knowing that as long as I had my edit in mind, a perfect take would not be the priority. The priority was on getting the scene as a whole for the desired cut, and making sure the dynamics between characters felt authentic and the deliveries felt natural, even if a moment was off here or there in any given take. Maybe a character said the line right but it wasn’t quite there in their eyes — but I already know that I loved the other actor’s reaction to the moment in the reverse shot and that’s what I’d cut to there anyway, so I can confidently feel that I got it. It’s about that super sharp focus and anticipating the edit. In a punchy ensemble piece, staying on one character for multiple lines in a row is just not a thing. In comedy, it’s largely about the reactions. And so, on set, my mission was to follow the performances in a way where I could know I got it, even if not all in one take. Now, if the actors requested one more take, I always gave it to them. But sometimes, they’d ask if that last one was okay even though they felt like "maybe that one part wasn’t great," and I’d say “yes,” and I’d mean it because I knew that bit was great in a previous take. It’s that kind of attention (and memory or note taking) that a production schedule like this requires. This is something I’ve gotten good at with experience. Most of my work is ensemble-driven. The more I work this way, the better I get at identifying what I can and cannot cut around, and what I can create with the right coverage.

Now, I’m not perfect. There are times where I don’t give each actor what they need in every moment. It’s a process. I’m always learning — getting better at communicating and finding the right balance for each particular project. But it constantly goes back to the casting, and that was definitely the case with About a Donkey, where even if there wasn't the time to be super attentive with each actor on every day, they were talented actors who were the right fits for their roles and were on top of their stuff and knew who their characters were. So I had confidence every day that we got something great with every scene. 

WATCH THE TRAILER

A Case for Test Screenings

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As I'm in post-production for my second feature (About a Donkey), I've been reflecting on post-production for my first (Summit). There are a lot of differences between then and now, largely related to my skill and experience as a filmmaker and the unique conditions under which each film was made. (Though there are similarities too, like who my collaborating editor is and the (lack of) budget for both projects.) But the biggest difference I've noticed is my strong desire to share the rough cut of the film with a broad audience before locking picture. 

Four years ago, I honestly didn't see the point of test screenings. I understood why people do them from an objective standpoint. But, to me, it kind of felt like pandering or like it would just result in a bunch annoying comments about what was yet to be finished with the film. I did show it to a few people, of course -- those who worked on the project or very few other filmmakers whose opinions I trusted. But I felt that getting audience opinions wouldn't mean anything because I had a vision (and a limited budget that left limited options) and I didn't need outward input clouding my perspective. But I later realized that my aversion to showing it to a wider audience was more rooted in insecurity than practicality. Part of my desire to keep objective eyes off the film was because I knew a lot didn't go as planned in production, and I wanted to maintain a bit of a bubble around it so that I would feel compelled to finish it and deliver on what I had promised people. I suppose I feared that getting enough potentially lukewarm reactions would be discouraging in a way that would rob me of my motivation. (It's important to note that due to budget constraints, we had only 3 people working on the film in post-production (one person even did everything in terms of sound, including the score), around full-time jobs. The film was in post for a year and a half.)

That decision not to share (through not only picture lock but also through color grading and sound mixing) was a mistake, though. After my experience of screening Summit for an audience, I slowly started to see the value of test screenings. I may have been keeping it under wraps because of the big things I couldn't change. But when I screened it for an audience, I would cringe realizing there were little things I could've changed if I had just shared it and seen how they were interpreted. (I'm including a list of some of those things at the bottom of this post, if you're interested.)

As a director, it's definitely important to have a vision and follow your gut, but we're making films for an audience because we want to share a story that presumably is meant to say or affect something. So, while it's just as important to make choices and feel confident in those choices, I believe you should also make sure that what you're trying to say translates to your audience. I find it interesting that we workshop our screenplays like crazy, but there's this kind of auteur arrogance about the final directed product. Since I started running IndieWorks (which I started after I made Summit), I've realized this more and more. I often see films that are so obviously too long or contain shots or moments that are independently beautiful but don't serve, and sometimes even detract from, the story. And I often say to my programming colleagues, if only someone had told them before they locked picture -- or maybe, if only they had asked and been open to that kind of feedback. Sometimes films are so personal or the choices made all the way back in the screenwriting process have been with you for so long, that you simply need someone to help you see through fresh eyes. And from my own experience and what I see daily screening submissions, I wish more directors were as collaborative in the post process as they are building up to it. (Side note, test screenings and cultivating a broader, more informed perspective on your work before you lock it are especially pertinent if you are not an individual of a marginalized group of people but are (rightfully) choosing to be inclusive in your work. You'll want to run your depiction and choices by individuals who do identify with your portrayal to make sure you're capturing authenticity and empowering voices rather than perpetuating stereotypes.)

In my more recent work, I've been much more open to feedback during post-production. I believe I've always been a collaborative director, both in pre-production and on set. But I feel I would often go into the edit married to what I originally wanted it to be rather than letting it become something new. Even when working with other editors (which I mostly do), I was still fairly tied to the script or the modifications made to it on set.

However, my last two shorts, I edited myself. And ironically, I've always said I prefer not editing my own stuff so that I could have a fresh perspective on performances and pacing; but it was through editing my own work, specifically my latest short "Enough," that I realized I really needed to deviate from my own script. After playing around with options and feeling like some things weren't translating when all assembled together, I eagerly started showing rough cuts to people -- people I trust but still people outside my usual small circle and more in my target audience. I checked my ego and actually relished in hearing interpretations, even when they weren't my intention. Though I didn't end up following every piece of advice, I took it all in and allowed it to affect the way I see the film. I earned a stronger perspective on what I wanted the end product to be. In fact, hearing from a diverse grouping of people confirmed some things I had been feeling; I gained the confidence to throw out an entire sequence from the script that we had shot. Originally, the film was meant to cross cut between three characters before they are brought together. Instead, I had it cross cut between two before shifting the narrative to the third. The substance and purpose are still there, but the execution has changed for the better.

Between this latest experience and the rewatching of some older work with an audience recently, I've grown to fully accept that, generally speaking, the film that was on the page simply will not be the film that is edited, which will also likely differ from the film that was shot. Even when it's a writer/director, or in my case, writer/director/producer/editor, the vision and execution will and should change along the way. I now embrace this process and appreciate how the viewer's experience informs the work. This shift in perspective and willingness to be more vulnerable and less precious has been beneficial and helped me grow as a filmmaker -- which for me is the goal, to always be growing and becoming a better, more effective visual storyteller. 

We're only in the very beginning of post-production for About a Donkey, but I'm already looking forward to and planning our first test screening. In this first rough pass, I'm making the choices I feel are right to convey and elicit what I'm going for. But I'm also keeping flexibility in mind. I'm looking forward to asking an audience if any given joke lands or if a line or moment feels too longwinded or abrupt for the subtext underneath. I really just can't wait to consume diverse experiences of the film to make sure it's as strong as possible while accomplishing what my collaborators and I want it to. I'll, of course, keep my vision and preferences in mind, but I'll also listen and be open to finding creative ways that could possibly better execute that vision.

-Christina 

Some of my observations after releasing Summit, many of which I could've realized from test screenings before release:

I'm gonna spoil my film a bit here, so skip this whole section if you have any intention of watching.

  • A moment that pains me every time I watch the film (which is lately never unless I have to for some deliverable reason or if it's screening and I need to attend), is one in which a character is insanely searching the house for someone or some evidence of someone after the death of one of the characters. His character insists someone is in the house and then storms off ripping the place apart. The last thing he checks is a dresser, pulling out all the drawers before slamming his fists on it in frustration. There were lines scripted immediately after that, that referred to there being no one and no clues in the house. The actor dropped the section of the line about clues (this was a particularly stressful production day for everyone and we all struggled and had to make creative sacrifices). In post, I was so concerned with the technical things wrong with the scene and also certain aspects I felt were lacking performance-wise which I was trying to fix in nuanced ways, that I overlooked a very logical flaw. I assumed (really hoped) people would infer that he was mad with grief and just searching for any minuscule sign of someone hiding in the house. But when the film first screened in front of an audience, many people in the audience laughed when he was looking through the drawers. (A viewer from a later screening specifically tweeted about my movie and mocked "stupid characters in a horror movie searching for people in tiny dresser drawers.") In hindsight, yeah, if you're not onboard with his crazy erratic behavior, if you're not going along with his grief, if you're a skeptical viewer, or even just a super logical one, it is pretty silly that he says he believes a killer is hiding in the house and then searches in spots only mice could fit. A test screening would have allowed me to see the way it was perceived and found a way to cut it or cut around it. I was too married to the intention and didn't have the distance to have an objective perspective on the execution.

  • There are two POVs in my film, one when a character goes to pee in the woods and gets spooked by hearing cracking branches around her, and one when two characters have sex and are being watched by someone unseen. I was definitely playing with the POV trope as alluding to the killer in horror films. The first POV scene was, in hindsight for the viewer, meant to be symbolic of said character cracking in her own mind -- like her need to consume & kill was coming back even though she was trying to suppress it. But, after screening it for an audience, I realized that literally no one got that symbolism. I was trying to ground it in reality with a certain hint of surrealism. But it blended too much with reality for anyone to read into it. It apparently just read as a weird (possibly poorly directed) moment, not as a clue. I wish I had known that while there was still time to heighten it. And then the second POV, very few people interpreted it as a POV at all. There was no heavy breathing, maybe the camera wasn't shaky enough, maybe the audience just wasn't expecting for the film to go in that direction. I don't know because I didn't get a sampling of feelings. It's very possible I would have kept it as ambiguous even if I got feedback that stated it wasn't translating as a POV, but I still would've loved to know how that moment was being interpreted just for the context of the choice I was making before I locked that choice.

  • There are lines in the film that directly reference obscure horror movies and pretty much tell you who the killer is while still making sense in the context of the conversation. Only hardcore horror fans ever picked up on those. I was definitely playing with a lot of references in the film, trying to achieve the duality of being enjoyable for horror fans and non-horror fans alike. But I never did see how the film played and was interpreted differently by those different targets until it was done and out there. In post, I was always unsure of whether or not the clues to what the film was really about were too subtle or not subtle enough. I was making a lot of choices while attempting to look at the film as if I didn't know what the twist was to see if I was treading the line effectively. But I could've answered my questions if I had been less precious about protecting the twists and my choices and, ultimately, my ego.

  • And beyond the horror clues, a unifying factor of viewing the film was definitely supposed to be the commentary. There's stuff embedded in it regarding gender and race tropes in horror films as a reflection of gender and race expectations in real life. I was also going for a bunch of subtle commentary on how people use each other in relationships (romantic and platonic) to validate or appease ourselves. I found that while some other filmmakers and a more analytical subset of my audience got the the general commentary, most viewers did not. I had to accept that most people won't think deeply about the intention behind something when it's alluded to but not overtly stated; and while I may not necessarily care whether or not those people get it, I do want my vision to be effectively communicated and consumed. Along our festival run, I had to contemplate whether or not the film and the story worked independent from the commentary enough to encourage rewatch from people who wouldn't immediately pick up on the subtext. But this reflection of mine was long after the fact when the film was done and when there could be no revisiting of the execution. In hindsight, I feel I could have balanced it better with all that in mind. That said, there are people who enjoy it as just a slow-paced, character-driven, horrific story with no sense of the intended commentary. Some others enjoy it largely with the commentary in mind. Some just hate it, and it varies whether or not that's in spite of, in ignorance of, or because of the commentary. Some are just bored and confused by the film and wouldn't even watch long enough to notice the commentary. I accept and appreciate all those things now. But the point is, I feel I could've made stronger decisions if I had allowed them to be more informed decisions.