Kickstanding — I mean, Kickstarting

We’re live on Kickstarter! We’ve raised a little money. Not that much, but a little! Go here to check out American Breakdown on Kickstarter. And remember, in the world of finance, nothing matters but cold hard cash. Please support indie film!

American Breakdown on Kickstarter.

American Breakdown

At long last, Harrow Beauty Motion Pictures’ new project, American Breakdown, is ready to launch it’s Kickstarter fundraising campaign. About a crisis-ridden country musician who literally breaks down in a small nowhere town, the film will star Frank Mosley, Rebecca Morris, Henry Rojas and Mondy Carter.

We’ll be launching our Kickstarter in November, 2014, with a March, 2015 production start date!

The Black Curtain has risen

Last year, I went on an epic, several-day journey with Ben Lovett and his cohorts in filmmaking adventures. I directed the fifth video in his series of collaborations with various directors.

So take a gander at Black Curtain here.

Black Curtain from Harrow Beauty Motion Pictures on Vimeo.

You can find an in-depth look at our process here.

Like a Grain of Sand

So, if you’ve read this blog at all (and don’t feel bad if you haven’t), you know that I’m gearing up for my third feature — a small but noble project called Rods & Cones. It’s been an interesting process of development — collaborating with the principal actors and crew to create a story in which our characters can roam free.

In the time-honored tradition of Robert Rodriguez, we crafted a tale that fit our available locations, talent and general story-world, and worked hard to fill in the details. One decision led to another and suddenly a full-fledged saga emerged — one which is hopefully as rich and compelling as any big-budgeted drama.

In a recent interview with Shane Carruth, the mastermind behind the very interesting low-budget indie Primer, he mentioned how many folks would tell him how good his movie was — for the money in which he had to make it. It was almost as if they were patting him on the back, telling him, “Not bad — for a person with developmental issues.” Carruth wisely made a decision: All of his budgets would now be a secret, because in the end it wasn’t about the money — it was about the ideas and the execution. “This thing about the budget,” he said, “I never want to hear those words again.”

What’s really interesting, though, is how much the world around us seems to rise to help us once we get going and gain momentum. A location scout with several crew members recently ended up fortuitously solving several problems at once — some with near complete randomness. It’s almost as if the world around us wants us to make a creative project come to fruition. People sense our drive and our commitment and want to help; they admire our energy and want to be involved.

But just as important is how a project accretes positive attributes like a pearl forming around a grain of sand — little by little, bit by bit. One decision leads to another, which in turn affects the whole, leading into yet another generation of decisions and positive developments. Flexibility is key, of course, as is a team of dedicated people you trust. And a little luck. But ultimately a story and a project develops that is as strong — or perhaps even stronger — than one which is toiled over in isolation for years.

In the end, it’s about the drive, the energy and the desire to get something done. “Enthusiasm,” William Blake once said, “is the all in all.”

Rods & Cones

Sometimes creative projects crop up out of nowhere. Steven Soderbergh recently said his action movie Haywire came about because he was fired off Moneyball, and suddenly found himself with nothing to do. Well, I wasn’t fired off anything (as a matter of fact, I seem to have a pretty cool project coming up this summer), but a wintertime creative endeavor did indeed spring out of nowhere for me.

It’s a feature film called Rods & Cones, after the mechanism of the eye, and is a collaboration with one of North Carolina’s best (and busiest) actors, Rebecca Morris. I’ve been wanting to work with Rebecca for eons (she had a supporting part in a short film I directed a couple years ago) but this is our first chance to work together as a creative team. The movie’s about a recently-divorced woman who reconnects with her very odd brother in wild, woolly Western North Carolina. She learns he’s embroiled in some significant and nasty trouble, and in the process of helping him she discovers a bit about herself, as well. It’s a bit like Nancy Drew crossed with Terrence Malick.

The fun thing for me is that the crew is very minimal: I’m the co-writer, the camera op, DP and director. Production designer extraordinaire Shane Meador, among others, will be there as well. So much time on a film set is spent explaining ideas to people — and sometime re-explaining — that it felt good to set out to do much of this stuff myself. In my day job running Harrow Beauty Motion Pictures, I’ve gotten very good at being what we call a ‘one man band,’ and so Rods & Cones is an experiment to see how fast we can move when there’s no team to whom I need to explain. Much like the brilliant French New Wave filmmaker Eric Rohmer, who in his later films eventually pared down from a full crew to just a camera and an audio guy, we’ll just … get to work.

When you take this sort of pared-back approach to filmmaking, certain rules apply: rather than create a space, you look for a location that really is what you’re looking for. In this manner, locations rise to the level of production design — rivers, cabins, train bridges, horse farms and small towns that seem to exist outside of time. The story should be modern-day, however, so there are no costumes or period cars. And the drama is better served when it’s less about external issues, and more about personal discovery.

In other words, if you’re smart about the way you approach storytelling, anything is possible. Working with a crew of 60 is a collaborative thrill, but it can also be painfully slow. A small film can be a nice little chamber piece that is as good at what it does as Django Unchained is as what it does.

So wish us luck on this admittedly modest but very noble endeavor. For myself, I can’t wait to get started.

Love and Theft

As artists, we’re constantly on the lookout for new inspiration. Sometimes that inspiration comes from other art, and sometimes it comes from odd places — an aging house cat, or a grocery store display, or a particularly terrible car commercial. But most often, it’s the artists who came before us that we look to take from and emulate.

Bob Dylan famously said, “Good artists borrow, but great artists steal.” At least he was said to say that. Most likely he stole it from someone else.

Artists do steal. The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin stole from countless bluesmen. The classic early 20th Century blues belter Ma Rainey stole from the raunchy vaudevillians that came before. Bruce Springsteen stole so completely from Dylan that he made it his own. Stanley Kubrick stole from filmmaker Max Ophuls, and Stephen King stole so exhaustively from Ray Bradbury and HP Lovecraft that he is himself now being taken from. Paul Thomas Anderson started his career by imitating Scorsese and Altman; nowadays, with his films taking on a more elliptical and mysterious approach, he’s claimed to be taking from any number of black and white films on Turner Classic Movies.

In my own artistic career, I’ve learned it’s best to steal from the best — to go back to the first well. If you steal from a secondary source, you’re basically regurgitating already chewed food. You want primary sources … or at least as primary as you can get. Shakespeare, of course, stole from everybody in his day, but is considered a fairly reliable primary source. And James Joyce is a reliable primary source, even though he was in turn influenced and swayed by any number of writers that came before.

The point is, of course, to not rely on secondary sources of inspiration. Don’t steal from Green Day — steal from The Sex Pistols, or better yet, Muddy Waters. Don’t take from Patty Smith — or even Jim or Van Morrison … visit Rimbaud. Don’t write a Brett Easton Ellis kind of book, write a Saul Bellow kind of book, or maybe, if you’re feeling randy, even a Balzac kind of book.

Try to steal from — to be influenced by — the things that became iconic in their time. It matters. Your own voice will be so much more vital, so much more necessary, than if you look to watered-down and anemic sources of inspiration.