Insomniactive Productions, 1630 Cullom Street #2, Birmingham, AL, 35205
"If reality can destroy the dream, why should not the dream destroy reality?"
That's a quote from George Moore. I saw it in an issue of (of all things) Moon Knight, something like forever and a year ago. It stuck with me, enough that I eventually wrote a short story inspired by it; the story was called 'Tears In The Moonlight,' if memory serves. I say that because the story itself is lost to the shadows of memory, which is really unfortunate. It was a good story, well written (I had a much better grasp of language in high school); it got me an 'A' in my advanced English class.
The story was about a man named Thomas who watched a woman jog past his window every night. In this respect, at least, it was a love story of the most tragic variety: Thomas would never find happiness in her arms, would never even be rejected, because that was the extent of their relationship. He watched while she ran.
I wrote this about myself. I didn't do it consciously; I only realized that just now.
Thomas had some problems, though. Among these problems was a nice dose of schizophrenia, which caused him to hear voices and see things. (I've always been fascinated with mental illness, you see -- my first long-form screenplay deals with it, as do a lot of my short stories.) Mostly, he saw and heard his father, brother, and best friend; sometimes he saw his mother. His brother and father were horrid and awful; his best friend was only bad in a dream; and mother, as always, stood for comfort. Thomas became torn, with angels on one hand telling him he might one day be noticed, and devils on the other telling him to stop watching his 'little whore.'
That part wasn't about me. At least, not as far as you know.
At the end, he had a gun. He never shot it; he chickened out at the last minute, watching the jogger disappear into the city night, standing at the off-kilter window of his filthy apartment, crying. The full moon watched.
The moon was his mother; when it was gone, she wasn't there. When it was full, he was safe. I'm pretty sure that at least some small part of him knew that.
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How I spent my Spring Break: working twelve to sixteen hours a day on making a movie. Should anyone ever try to convince you that filmmaking is easy, tell them that eating glass is, too. Not that it's not fun, or ultimately rewarding, mind you; but easy it ain't. Especially as you approach the sixteenth hour.
I wouldn't trade the experience for anything, except maybe a paying gig as a filmmaker. To some extent, though, I had to do what I did. The script, a ten page revision of 'Tears in the Moonlight' called Goodnight, Moon was my baby. I raised it from infancy, watched it grow, and if it was time for it to spread it's wings, then by the saints I would be there to see it off. I wish I had more experience; I think it would have been easier. But this was my first time directing a film, and I'm sure that I made mistakes here and there. On the flip side, I learned a lot, from my cinematographers Chance Shirley and Chuck Hartsell, and from my lead actor, Jonas Grey.
Next time the ghost of filmmaking inspirato comes knocking, I'll be a bit more prepared.
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I was smart enough going in to admit that I didn't know everything, and so I asked some of the best people I know to come in and help. Chuck and Chance were my eyes, largely. Daniel Farris acted as my ears. Kevin Finney was kind enough to let us overrun, rearrange, and otherwise make a nightmarish mess out of his apartment for two days of filming. Stacy Sessions and Kevin also acted as production assistants, and honestly, you couldn't ask for two more able people on any endeavour. And Ed Easter did the basic make-up, as well as creating a gorgeously nasty head wound that shocked the hell out of the Burger King drive-through workers.
My job as director, then, was largely limited to directing people. Jonas needed very little directing; on many levels, he knows more about Thomas than I do. Ed played Franky, the best friend; my folks came in to play Mother and Father, I covered the abusive older brother (note: never act in your directorial debut; talk about a logistical mess!), and Bronnie Cox was the object of Thomas' obsession. Fellow screenwriter Lance Lyle even has a cameo -- maybe the most inspired moment of the film. My mom has a lot of stage experience, as does Ed; I did some theater in high school and college. Dad and Bronnie were acting virgins. It all came off without a hitch.
The beauty of it all was that, in the end, this film will be a truly collaborative effort. Every opinion was welcomed; a lot of them got used. I get irritated at filmmakers that put "A Joe Shmoe Production" at the front of their films, because no one is capable of creating a movie on their own. You hire people you trust and respect; if you trust and respect them, shouldn't you welcome their creative input?
That's my thought, at least. To all of you who helped me on the set -- and off, supportively -- my endless thanks. I can't say that enough.
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There's still quite a bit of work to be done. Chance is working on the editing as I type this; as soon as that's done, Daniel and I will begin the work of cleaning up the audio, adding in sound effects, and composing the score. Jessica Grant and I will write the main theme to be played over the opening credits. Then Chance will put the audio with the video, and the film itself will be finished. In the meantime, I'll start working on the press kits and posters and promotional materials, registering it for festivals, and otherwise tooting my own horn incessantly.
Filmmaking: fun, rewarding, and a huge pain in the ass. That's my new saying.
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The script came about because I lost the story, which in the end is kind of nifty, since I got to make a film out of it. Along the way, some things changed, though. I had to lose a scene in which Thomas is 'attacked' by a car that becomes a dragon (CG doesn't fit into a zero-budget film), though I think we replaced it with something just as frightening. There's less symbolism -- or maybe I should say that the symbolism is less apparent, which I suppose is okay.
Thomas' character, and much of what happens to him through the course of the story, became more ambiguous, as well. I decided that I didn't want him to have to be crazy -- better to allow him to be a victim of abuse, or imginative, or autistic, or maybe crazy after all. His hallucinations may be that simple -- but they might be ghosts as well. Hell, the entire thing might be nothing more than a bad dream. I really wanted to leave that up to the viewer, though; too many films leave nothing to the imagination.
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The heart and soul of the story is still the same, though. While the surface says that it's about not having the nerve to talk to a girl -- and that's always been an issue with me -- there's another layer beneath the skin. That layer -- the skeleton -- is about letting your past chain you down and keep you from moving forward. It's about learning to let go of the pain, about taking a chance, no matter how much it might hurt.
In the spirit of taking a chance, I did makeone final and fairly significant change. I don't feel bad about spilling the plot here, because there's something new that will hopefully encourage you all to see the movie at your local film festival.
This time, the trigger gets pulled.
Kenn McCracken just wants one of those nifty chairs with his name on the back..