I. Introduction
So I figured incorrectly I suppose... I enter the Honors office right after dropping
off my film at the film department and submit the culmination of my entire scholastic
career; the final cut of three films I produced, directed, filmed, edited, and performed
in.
"Can I have my degree now?"
"Oh... you have to write a paper," replies Joan Digby, head of the Honors
Department.
"You've got to be fucking crazy... I'm done... Where does it say I ever had to write
a paper?"
As she flicks the pages of the Honors Program Thesis/Tutorial guide, she comes upon the
one paragraph I must have overlooked. Once again the school has screwed me.
II. Overview of Departmental Requirements
Being a film student and in the Honors Program, there are completely different
requirements for me than the average film student. The "normal" film student
must either write a full-length screenplay or direct and produce a 15-minute short film.
The movie must be made on a negative film stock and be basically a professional
production. Luckily they normally have an escape clause based on what I viewed from other
students who have gone this route; they must complete a rough cut of their film in order
to graduate.
Being an honors student I understood the rigidity of the program, I must actually complete
the film. To give a perspective to those who do not understand the terms, a rough cut is
just that; a first attempt at a rough edit of the film. Normally a film will go though
several edits of the film before the movie is locked, which means that the picture element
is now completed and the only additional editing required is sound and credits. The time
involved between these two sections of the filmmaking process varies depending on scope
and involvement of the production. For a two minute film it could be a day. For a fifteen
minute film it could be weeks; at minimum hundreds of hours.
The other factor that must be weighed into this equation is money. It cost no money to
edit at school, well, sort of. First there is a time restraint, for as more students have
films to complete, time is blocked off on who can use the editing equipment. Second, as
the semester ended all of the seniors weren't done with their films and the bare minimums
of editing supplies were depleted, thus out of our own pockets we paid for supplies that
normally would be furnished by the school.
III. A Concept on How Expensive Film Really is
Just how much could these supplies be. Well, if you figure in the editing supplies,
that's two hundred dollars for various pens, pencils, tape, fill (used film stock that
holds soundtracks in sync with the film), magnetic tape stock, etc. Oh, and lets not
forget the film stock that it cost to make the film, mine being a steal at eight hundred
and sixty dollars. That of course does not include lab fees.
Lab Fees? Well, you have to turn your raw film into something usable; you must develop the
unexposed film and produce a work print which you will edit. Not to mention the various
other frills you need to spend in order to get your film finally completed.
I just looked up on my accounting program some figures. Final Editing costs were $1,037.28
and processing at $4,684.28, with the final cost of the film including all at $7,519.03.
IV. The Opus of The Editing Equipment Debacle
This is the section of the story where much controversy resides in the film
department; between myself and the faculty. For two years I had been working at the
department as an employee; projecting films, assisting teachers, signing out equipment,
helping students, general maintenance, administering tests, instructing a class as a
teacher assistant, etcetera. There are two reasons why I had asked for the job; 1. Money,
of course and 2. To obtain the departmental keys.
According to precedent set up by other students who had the department keys, the brightest
of the film department and ones who showed dedication above and beyond the call of duty
would receive the keys of the establishment and be able to open the film department
whenever needed. The prior students who had this privilege would have the film department
open at all hours and work on their theses, also allowing those responsible students other
than the ones with the keys to benefit from the extended hours and work.
Now you have to understand in this context that editing a film is not a quick process, my
first film being at least being a hundred hours of editing. Who knows how my final film
would add up in time invested. Having earned this privilege so ingrained the history of
the film department, you could understand my dismay when this tradition was cut short by
Departmental Head John K.. Perhaps it was his way of enforcing authority on students who
had no respect for his stature. Maybe it was a vendetta against myself, but whatever the
circumstance that occurred this accepted practice was ended.
During one class on a weekend I got into a debate about film student ethos and
departmental procedures with Professor K.. It was privately held in the projection booth,
light conversation turning into heated argument about use of the film equipment. The
debate centered around my friend and Producer Leonardo Alvarez. Leo had been working on a
video project not assigned by any particular class.
K.'s viewpoint was that he was wasting departmental resources by his actions. My viewpoint
was that in no way should the department hamper in students creativity as long as those
projects do not interfere with assigned projects. K. counter-argued that the film
department equipment should be used only for assigned classes. I debated that if the
equipment isn't being used at all by anybody and no student actually needs the machines
for any given reason, then it should be quite fine for a student to use what is not
needed. I then asserted that it should be K.'s job to encourage such projects, for only in
creating works do we learn the process. This makes us better students, better filmmakers,
better craftsmen.
Somewhere in the middle of this exchange a metamorphosis occurred, not that I realized; K.
had turned from friend examining ideas and sharing thoughts into Departmental Head K. who
is being undermined by the prick in the pony tail. He said if I continued to allow Leo to
use the equipment I would lose the keys and have to find a job elsewhere. Just moments
before we were making fun of students, talking about films, music, etcetera. Now I was
talking to an employer.
This sudden change is quite peculiar because K. is not known for his authority or teaching
abilities for that matter, but his lack thereof and friendly nature makes him the students
favorite. Known for skipping class to have a chat with people, saying hello to those
passing through, sharing jokes and such is his forte. Perhaps it is his personality that
wins over most, so this Jekyll and Hyde scenario was out of the ordinary to say the least.
V. The Laudability of the Film Department Bureaucracy
Of course there is more to the story... As age sets in on the Vietnam-era cameras and
flatbeds (the editing tables) more and more breakdowns are bound to occur. Back when I was
starting to make my film two flatbeds worked correctly, the others either ruined your film
by snapping, losing sync with the picture and sound, or scratched the print beyond
recognition. You can see how having the keys have an importance. This equipment was
donated by various organizations that have phased out 16mm film in their productions, so
we can ascertain that the donations were made in kindness and not in their inability to
sell horribly overwrought devices.
The big surprise came when only one key was removed from my possession, the one to access
the supply room. With this key removed I couldn't not get the editing supplies needed to
edit. The reason this came about is unsure, and I can only speculate one reason.
One day a video came back into the equipment room, it was checked in and forgotten about.
It wasn't myself who checked it in, though I was accused of such. Turns out that the lens
had been cracked, and the tape door jammed with some blunt instrument, probably a
screwdriver. Another expensive camera ruined by a student. This caused quite alarm in the
department because failure to communicate happened on two levels; the student confessing
of his utter stupidity and the member of the staff that allowed such a piece of equipment
to be checked in without recognition of its' state of deplorable condition.
The years of service I had implored upon the campus I assumed would be enough to endure
the slanderous accusations that I have often encountered, but wrong was I. Once before was
I at the heart of debate when a copy of Chinatown was missing from the archives. I
was yelled at for my inability to secure a video in its proper place, that I had stolen it
or allowed another student to take it. Maybe I had left it out in the open and someone
then pilfered it. Turns out Professor Lucille R. thought that her tenure meant she didn't
actually have to sign out a film from the film archive and it is perfectly fine for it to
reside in her desk drawer for a couple weeks while I was attacked.
Once again later on the real culprit was found and fired, but I had to come up with an
alternate plan. Intermediate film would be starting and at least fifteen students over the
ten in Advanced Filmmaking would require the two flatbeds that worked, in addition to the
seven thesis students and two production lab films. In case you were wondering that's
thirty-two students working on roughly twenty films. You can see why I would ask around
about renting my own flatbed for my home.
Luckily I had one offered to me for free, by teacher Susan Z., also a very nice friend. It
was set up... I would fix her flatbed and get to borrow it for a few months provided I
pick it up and deliver it back to her apartment in Manhattan.
John K. interrupted the proceedings after it was already agreed upon so Susan changed her
mind. She said that John thought it wasn't a good idea. A friend turned once again into
authority figure. I found it rather odd that somebody not involved in the transaction at
all would somehow interfere. This agreement didn't occur on campus, or within the film
department; it was not mentioned to anyone else involved.
I'm still unsure exactly what bond or level I was breaking by acquiring this piece of
equipment that was unused by Susan, maybe John does.
VI. Beware of Friends That Approach With Smiles
All of this is odd since that John K. is my reader or second advisor and his job is to
help my film. This wasn't the first time a block upon production cause problems. My
original script was very different than the one I ended up with because numerous changes
were required by John. During the middle of the writing he wanted me to completely change
the idea of the film.
The original idea of the story came on a drive in the summer of '94. I was thinking about
a documentary I had just saw on Hit Men and was driving in a suburban neighborhood. I then
saw a garbage man and it was at that moment I came up with the idea; what's the difference
between a garbage man and a Hit Man? They both have the same needs and desires, they both
want a nice house and a wife, kids, a dog, it's just their modus operandi is quite
different, or perhaps it is the same. Let's get this hit man, Jack, and have him kill so
he can live a nice quiet suburban life.
I wrote the script in a few days and was quite happy with it having all the aspects of
film I wanted to explore. The problem with art that is created by more than one person is
that conflicts in what the statement should be cause unrest. It broke up the Beatles, it
broke up The Band, it broke up CSNY; you can see where I am going with this, right? K.
kept on asking me questions on details that I found unimportant but he found paramount.
"Okay.. Okay Kris... Jack, the Hit Man, becomes an accountant. He's contracted to
kill off this guy Richard, but instead double-crosses his boss and works for Richard. But
Richard double-crosses Jack. Jack's friend Mickey double-crosses Jack by trying to kill
Richard and Jack. When Jack realizes that Richard is double-crossing him, he kills him.
Then he transfers the bosses money into an account and makes it look like Richard and
Mickey are double-crossing the boss. How does he do that?"
"Well... what do you mean?," I would ask.
"How does he transfer the money?," the professor retorts.
"I don't know... with computers," I stammer.
"What do you mean you don't know? You should work that out," he says in an
authoritative tone.
"Well, that's a minor point," I sniedly reply.
"Minor... It's essential," he counter-argues.
"If we knew how to commit the crime, would we do it?," I debate.
"Okay.. Okay.. you learned that in my Hollywood Genres class on Film Noir... But, how
'bout his... instead of Jack killing people with guns, he kills them with taxes?," he
offers.
"WHAT!? Are you crazy?," I exclaim.
(note: This sample conversation is mixed-matched from several accounts and is intended as
an illustration, a dramatization if you will, and not a consistent dialogue. The topic
matter and ethos however are factual in content.)
My main problem with my advisors was the level of influence they were able to hold over my
film. As time went by, my defenses weakened and eventually the film became not only my
film; it became our film. The expression of "too many cooks" could not better
crystalize the feeling I had as the semester wound on.
I was now seriously entertaining the idea of my movie becoming a farcical tale of an
accountant who overtaxed people, which was not my intention. Somehow the holy-grail of a
4.0 will drive the over-ambitious student into peril. Perhaps it was my fault, perhaps it
was my teachers, perhaps it was the university who held my scholarship, or maybe it rooted
deep down into being the egghead in elementary school; I was concentrating more on the
grade and the acceptance/recognition of a job-well-done than the statement I had intended.
Before I entered production of the film I managed to swing my script back into focus,
regardless of what my superiors though of the idea. Filming would be mine. John M., my
thesis advisor, would allow me many liberties, such as having carte blanche to the best
equipment for the entire winter break as well as limited involvement in the production. He
would come into the picture in the post-production process. John K.'s involvement would be
cut short due to scheduling conflicts between myself and him. Everything will be great.
VII. We Shall Endure
Filming of Hit Man was rather bland. However, difficult is not even the concept
of what I was dealing with; perhaps impossible is what I am searching for. Ten actors,
five crew members, fifteen locations, two weeks slated for production, and scheduling
around everybody else. The movie's estimated length was forty minutes, and I had limited
funds and resources. The freezing snap of winters breath only made work more difficult.
Equipment malfunctions, bad weather, unforseen scheduling barriers, and constant drop-out
by ancillary character-actors caused a rift in production.
Even with these arduous complications that are standard on student and low budget
productions, there isn't anything too terrible to comment upon; the actors were
extraordinary, always willing to help out, pick up tabs and work around our constantly
changing timeframe. My Producers, Leo and Frederick G., were always a constant support and
amazement, as well as my enduring technical staff.
If I could change anything about the production of the film, it would have been the
script. The heavy-handed, ridiculous-at-time dialogue should have been delivered with more
satirious overtones if I knew that the film that I would have ended up with would have
been a complete comedy; during film I was intensely concentrating on the dramatic elements
of the piece I had created, completely overlooking the obvious dadistic elements I had
interweaved into the story.
VIII. Portrait of an Artist as an Egotistical Whiner
The main problem with all my films is that they are all based upon my own life. My
first real film was called Sterling O. Anderson: Portraits of a New Genre, a
mock-documentary chronologing the life a student filmmaker. In this movie I poke fun at
the seriousness of art students, college, critics, and student films. Little did I realize
until after I completely told my life story through the little cracks in the story; when I
interviewed "Sterling's" parents who were played by my own parents, they spoke
of me and not of Sterling.
My next film Nowhere was a film about a computer programmer who couldn't not deal
with the outside world. He lives in a fantasy world consisting of dreams he acts out in
his own head and believes them as his reality. He meets a woman on the Internet and she
helps him with a project he is working on. She offers to come over to help him finish up
and when she knocks on his door, the main character falls into his own delusional world
where he imagines him dancing with her to an old victrola in a log cabin, dotted with
white snow all around. He forsakes his own reality for his imagination which is much safer
and kinder than the harsh possibilities of the world.
Although Nowhere is a work of fiction, the character I created was a basic amalgam
of my own viewpoints and situations of my life in High School which I was now coming to
terms with; isolated and extremely different from the other students, more content with my
own thoughts than actual people. The film was paid for by the school (actually it was paid
for by the students tuition) and never completed, being misplaced for over a year by one
of the department's employee, found only the last day I completed editing on my thesis.
Miles From Nowhere was a whole other story. It was my advanced film, a simple story
about a couple and the friend from high school, a writer who recently graduated from
college, and their relations throughout a trip. The film faltered during production and
only scraps of what I had intended remained. The plot subtly tells a story of the writers
fascination with his best friends lover and he wins her affection at the end of the film.
When the person who played this character in real life did the same to myself I abandoned
the film, only to intersplice an entirely different film into it about a car trip to the
South with my best friend, David. The final version of Miles From Nowhere is a
disjointed film diary of the movie I was making and the real-life adventures of my own
life and car trip. The final statement of the film is that eventually everybody will hate
their friends.
Hit Man was intended to be a film about double-crosses and gangsters in suburbia,
but two weeks after writing the script I realized it was about my two past relationships,
with a woman who I was engaged to and another who ran off with my best friend. Somehow in
the subtext of a killer accountant was unfolding my love-life. This is perhaps why I was
so serious during the making of this piece. My films always have an absurd touch of my
sense of humor in them and instead of playing up to the goofiness of this, I totally tried
to bury that by concentrating on the subconscious feelings I had.
IX. The Mental Masturbation of the Soul
Part of being a film student is having the ego the size of an elephant; this is the
only way to compete in a field that is filled with so many hardships. You can tell not
only in my films, but in my writing of this paper the snottiness of my persona, the
self-absorbed delusions of a confused filmmaker, the paranoia of authority, and a defiance
to the very system I wish to be a part of. This is common and nothing to be alarmed of.
Many statements that I have made in the past and make in the present are simply my
viewpoints at a given particular time and change as often as the weather and should not be
given perhaps the gravity they seem to have. Often in discussing Hit Man I place my
dissatisfaction with it on the film department, perhaps unfairly, but as my feelings have
not changed, the only regret I have is condemning John M. as harshly as I have.
The problem is as such; John M. and I have opposing viewpoints on what film is. John K.
and I have opposing viewpoints on what film at the school should be. Who is right and who
is wrong is completely up for grabs, and of course I think I am right. This is perfectly
acceptable for my debates are clear to me and my feelings about certain events are colored
by myself. To another these events might seem an overharsh indictment, incorrect in
detail, and an oversimplification of the way things occurred; to me this is the way it
was.
During editing a phenomena occurs, always. Extreme behavior occurs and the most vile
aspects of a personality will creep into being. This is normal and you should not panic.
If somebody is acting like an axe-murder and they are a filmmaker, I can wholeheartedly
empathize with what is occurring; for the only thing that separates you from your film at
that instant is the screen. You live, eat, breath, feel, shit, fuck, and think like your
movie. It's the only way to bring out the true essence of the film's soul.
There is also a very peculiar dualism that exists in all movies; the movie is shared to
many people through one maker. The point of a movie is for people to see and enjoy it, yet
it is a single statement from the creator.
It only makes sense then that critique of the film would take on a personal tone,
critiquing not only the film as a separate entity, but the technique implored by the maker
as well as the artist himself. Constant debates would occur over different viewpoints on
the modality of the piece; whereas I would be supporting the long take, M. would be
ordering cuts to chop up the monotony. This is where critical attention on the second half
of the story takes place.
As time ticked closer to graduation my concentration on the final product became scattered
as varying opinions on how my film should be were interjected. I lost my center on the
vision I was trying to create and slowly started yielding to the direction of others.
Somehow my dissatisfaction with my own life became played out in Hit Man.
X. The Deepest Cut
My thesis advisor has a very narrow view on what make a film good and is not
respectful of any of the influences I drew upon. This alone should have called for
immediate dismissal but somehow I thought the conflict would be a good thing. I was wrong,
for John's will is stronger than my own and I made drastic cuts which only later
disappointed me. The original cut of my film was forty minutes of rambling interludes
which I found intriguing. His cut that he manipulated me into making was a mere twenty-two
minutes into a very sharp, jumbled story that makes absolutely no sense.
When you are so close to a movie, you start making allowances that aren't present; details
that are so obvious from repeated watching makes it seem like scenes drag out longer than
they actually do.
"Cut that scene. Trim that section. Remove that line of dialogue. The chase is too
long."
In a stupor I agreed to trimming out sections of the movie which I had really enjoyed,
other times I would scream at M. for his insistence on deleting other sections I found
essential to character development. I just sort of fell into a trap; often I was
threatened with my grade and the semester was almost ending. It already had been clear
that I was not going to graduate on time, so I just walked away from the project.
Perhaps it was the pressure of always working on the film, maybe it was the current state
of my life leaving school after four years and enduring another lonely summer, or maybe it
was the final straw of being bullied around by the film department. Enough was enough; I
quit working on the film.
So for a month I took off. I enjoyed the summer, worked on restoring my Volkswagen, my
dream car and summer project. John M. allowed me to keep the keys while the Summer Session
continued and finally I decided to resume editing.
I would creep into school late at night and start editing a final cut without the pressure
of a teacher always commenting on my progress. From now on this will be my film. It was
too late to add on the sections that were cut, for now they were little scraps of film and
basically unusable. Somehow the standardness of the cut M. had me working on is not what I
was about, and if the thesis film is to be a culmination of all that I learned, it was
that the film is better left to those who created it. It was my film, not the schools.
To salvage somehow the spirit I wanted, I came up with the idea of adding intertitles to
better link the story together. With M.'s version he had me make the original story of all
the double-crosses turn into a mangled, unfocused melange of meaningless action scenes. I
really wasn't as thrilled with the end-product as I normally would have been, being
upwards of eight thousand dollars spent and a year of my life invested.
M. was leaning towards a more comedic film with an action flare and for this I thank him
for without the funny moments the film falters. I played up to these elements,
accentuating the more zany aspects of the story. When I brought in the final cut of the
film, he told me to edit a few things out. This time I told him that no more cuts would be
made. This would be the final film. I consulted him no longer and did the final lab work
on my own.
XI. The Last Straw
During editing, I get a phone call from Susan Z., the one who was going to lend me her
flatbed editing table, but then didn't, remember? Well, she tells me that I have to
relinquish my keys and hand them over to another student.
"What for?," I asked.
"Well, you have had plenty of time to work on your film and he is trying to finish
the Production Lab film the school paid for and he deserves them. You graduated
already," she incorrectly answered.
"Let me get this straight, Susan. You want me to turn my keys over to Steve because
he is working on a film that should have been completed already and has not paid one dime
for, and for me to give up my keys where I have spent seven grand so far on it. What about
all the other students I let in when I edit? Have you forgotten the fact that I have
worked for the school over two years so far? This is my thesis, and no, you're wrong, I
didn't graduate yet, not until my film is done. Hey, wait a minute, I remember Steve at
graduation, he was sitting next to me. He graduated too, didn't he? It was your Production
Lab class that totally raped the school supplies, causing me to spend even more money on
materials that would normally be at school. You are also forgetting that I have a deal
with M. on using the school during the summer... Just because you love Steve's film gives
him or you no right for me to give up the opportunity to finish my film," I tiraded.
Must have still be angered by her backing out on the flatbed.
"I am NEVER going to forget this, and I will go to John K. about this... this won't
be the last time you hear from me," Susan stated right before she hung the phone up
on me.
After being interrupted as such, after all the shit I got for my troubles, I just couldn't
take it anymore. I have grown so disillusioned at school and its' film department, however
a certain cliche keeps swirling in my head; you get what you pay for.
I have learned quite a bit at the university. M. taught me cinematography. Lucille R.
taught me the history of film. Vivek A. taught me the theory. John K. taught me how to
deal with the processing labs and procedures of going to a final print. Susan Z. taught me
about documentaries. David S. taught me about the foreign and experimental movements in
film.
I also learned quite a bit else at this school. Bureaucracy will hold you down, along with
idiot politics that are only for the benefit of those egos being tested. Film is difficult
enough without having to battle with bullshit from those trying to help you. The
departments position in regards to thesis handling is that it is an independent project
created by the filmmaker and the work invested should be the barometer for the grade.
Dedication and technical ability is the true fulfillment of the requirements. Messing
about within the artistic process is a dangerous and incorrect procedure.
XII. Protest
As I sat thinking about all of the roadblocks I had encountered, there was only one
course of action that I could think of that would be a statement on how I was treated; I
decide not to include my teachers on the final credits of the film. This is a very mild
protest, one that other film schools wouldn't even pick up on; other universities rarely
have their staff placarded all over a student film, a simple "Thanks to" with
the university name is all that is presented.
The precedent is different of course, individually thanking the advisors. I was damned if
I was going to thank two teachers who I felt destroyed my film. Both teachers caused more
problems than they were worth, and didn't guide my thesis; they destroyed it. My final
year at the school was a series of arguments, and physically I had grown systs on my body
from the pressure. My physician will provide a statement upon request.
I had also lost another ten pounds, finding no time to eat while working on my film, often
feeling light-headed during production and post-production. No way was I going to lie to
myself and give credit where I thought no recognition should lie.
I arrive at the school, film costing nearly eight thousand dollars total, and present my
copy of the film on video to John M.. It was an early Wednesday and John goes into the
editing room to watch it on the television. John K. is walking about, greets me, and
watches out of the corner of his eye. As M. views my work I can tell he isn't pleased...
K. keeps piping in about how technically good it is.
I recount some of the events that hindered my production, how my forty-minute film got
butchered to nearly half its' original scope.
"That's all you can complain about? That's nothing," K. snickered.
At this moment I realized that he had absolutely no concept of the original story, and was
not paying attention to my film. As the final credits rolled, I noticed M. was upset by
his name not being present as it was on everybody else's film. K. said the cinematography
was very good. I thanked him, upset by his absence of sensitivity. The cinematography was
good... nothing about the film.
M. and I go into the equipment room, a place I had worked for two years, the stuffy
atmosphere still reminded me of all the events throughout my years at the school which
occurred in that little room. John said he didn't really like the final product and he
would have liked many changes. I said I was pleased with the result of what I had left and
was content with my creation.
"So... that's it right, John... I'm done?," I asked.
"Yeah... I will submit your grade tomorrow and they will mail your diploma,"
John M. replied.
"So... what did I get?," I asked nervously.
"Oh you got an A of course," he responded.
"Oh... okay... well... I gotta go, John... Bye."
"Bye, Kris."
Later on that night I heard from another student how K. was calling me immature and a baby
for not putting their names on the credits. This, you must remember, is coming from a
grown man, complaining that he and his colleagues name isn't on a student film. Neither
commented on the story, just the technique. Their praise was scattered with banter about
other subjects. I felt cheated out of hearing genuine comments on my work as a filmmaker,
final advice, words of wisdom; such is life.
I walk over to the Honors Department. This will be my final involvement with the
university, handing in my final film to be filed along with countless theses of past,
another name and product from another student who inhabited its' halls for four years. I
finally completed all my degree requirements, would graduate, and move on with my life,
perhaps even feeling inclined to look for a real job now that my scholastic career has
ended and my film completed.
(return to chapter one)