An Indie Film Reflection (Part Two)
Cultivating a good beginning to your story means going to the end first.
5 days after the death of our first days on Shutter Punk, I’m standing in the wide open Calgary airport at 2pm with Gerald by my side. We’re waiting for the slow pokes that are my actors to join us for a flight to Los Angeles. Fuck no I don’t have permits for this.
We cross through security with our gear in tow and the man at the security booth raises a good question. “How do you all know each other?” Amen brother, good question. We are one beatnik with pirate tattoos on every knuckle, a young latina woman, a 7 foot tall giant, and a kind Filipino man ten years our senior. How do we know each other?
“We met in a film competition” I say with the confidence of a man hiding a murder. I’m not actually lying, I met a guy during a film competition who several years later introduced me to both Karalee and Nathan. The timing isn’t important, and he actually doesn’t give a fuck and lets us on through.
Imposter syndrome is not a reflection of your abilities, but of the high standards you've set for yourself. The more you grow, the more your doubts may arise, but it's proof you're stepping out of your comfort zone and into something greater.
As we board the plane, all the preparedness I thought I had together started feeling like not enough. This is an incredibly narrow window of shooting time in the grand scheme of things and it is Los Angeles after all. In two previous visits I had encountered bad luck and this time I could not afford bad luck. Everything needed to go perfectly.
We arrive at LAX, get our bags, find us a Tesla uber and make our way to the cutesy little resort town of Long Beach. Population: Nobody apparently. The streets are dead quiet and will remain this way for the duration of shooting. I’ve secured a communal AirBNB - and it was a far better idea than getting individual hotel rooms. We had a joint space with which we could bond and spend time rehearsing, but there is little time for that on night one because we have a date with the punks at Alex Bar and another uber later we find ourselves in the middle of a PACKED locals - only spot and here I am, stealth shooting my actors with an SSD hidden inside my shirt - my bright yellow Hawaiian shirt. I am full stealth mode, baby,
I take in the atmosphere, the loud music, the sticky floor, the graffiti penned on the columns. The band on the stage is singing in spanish, Nate has thrown himself into the mosh pit and he’s smashing into the locals with reverence. I haven’t felt this good in ages and I record every moment I can, all the while this little gremlin has climbed out from the beer cooler and onto my back. I know the crash is coming. My imposter syndrome and my self esteem are horrible. No, like, really, REALLY, bad - and a consequence of this is that I am not allowed to feel good about anything. I’m working on it. I mean I’m working on burying it better but still. I know when shooting is over I am slowly going to sink into two days of depression like I always do after a shooting day. Even if the shooting day goes amazing, I know I have to take the inevitable depression on the chin like a punch but there in that bar I decide, I don’t want it. I’m not taking it, and I’m not letting it have it’s way with me. I deserve a reach around at least.
Oh shit, yeah! Das whas up! - Cello
One thing I was hopeful for, but perhaps not expecting TOO much - was that Nathan & Karalee would absorb California and take in the right energy (if you want a spiel about energy, refer to part one). Boy did they ever. Sitting outside between bands, a pair of Long Beach Local Yokels sit with us. Both are drunk, but both are extremely kind. They make note that they have never seen us before and we tell them we are from Canada. Despite their confusion, they are super welcoming and the spanish woman sat next to me, who is talking to Karalee, has amazing inflections. The way she spoke, the way she moved her hands. I absorbed it like a scrub daddy. This was a real spanish punk seated across from my acting spanish punk. I could not have hoped for a more needed and fortuitous meeting - sitting at a smoky picnic table in a sketchy area of Long Beach, an indie movie was getting better.
Back at the BNB, I take a gander at our amazing view of the back alley from my window just before heading off to sleep. Outside are four dudes in surgical gloves and masks meticulously going through a stolen car filled with garbage. I crawl into bed and sleep, I ain’t no narc. Welcome to Cali.
Here comes the punch.
I ease into my wakeup, expecting that familiar feeling of being unable to get out of bed but it does not come. This is strange. Violently strange. Where is the despair? Where is the feeling of failure? I get up and I get ready and still it does not come. Holy fuckin’ shit, did I just cure mental health?
Quick side note: no I did not. I felt so good the whole trip. When I came home I was hit with the mother of all mental messes. I was down and out for a week and irrelevant memories long since repressed made themselves known. Any outsider looking in likely thought I was stressing over the movie, but that would not come until later. In those post - California days I was being dragged through 15 years of awful and there was no stopping it. My ability to look at the next segment of the movie was gone. I couldn’t even drag myself to the computer to get my next days together. Karalee had the medicine. A timely infusion of photos she took on the trip featuring me in action gave me an experience akin to something out of body. I hate pictures of me with a passion. I wish I could life live invisible most days and I hate recognition - but there I was. I was manning camera, wearing my favourite shirt, and surrounded by supportive people for the first time in…..ever. If one picture is worth a thousand words then perhaps 3 pictures are worth 1000 nut kicks. My positivity came back and a movie about photography was rescued by some photography.
Anyhorse - I wake up in the BNB and rip downstairs. Today we’re headed out to find some street art and some distinctive Cali landmarks to really help establish where Shutter Punk is set. I even got permission to bring my big camera into The Smell, one of the most legendary punk venues in the world. Without a script in hand we board another trusty uber and we make our way into the heart of Long Beach.
Where we find absolutely nothing. We end up on fourth street and the historic theatre is just wrapping up a wake. Yeah. Like, for a dead dude. Would if I could but sadly I did not get any footage in the casket. After a few passes on the sidewalk that could’ve been anywhere in the world we board a REALLY expensive uber for a half our drive to the belly of the beast, downtown LA.
Be prepared for everything, and for the things you can’t prepare for - prepare for them and stop lying to yourself.
Yep. A hugely legendary spot and there it is. The doors are closed. I had JUST talked to these guys about bringing in the camera and I promised it was not for dirty reasons. Maybe punk is dead after all. Actually, that is a good line. My eyes twitch and my sphincter tightens. I kick Nate and Karalee to the curb and we deliver the lines. “Huh. I guess punk is dead after all.” So whilst we may not have gotten in, we got a new scene and it’s a better one in my opinion. A good, funny, and genuine moment for our two intrepid travellers that crossed several states just to be here.
Independent cinema is all about adaptability. You WILL NOT succeed at this if you are married to your own ideas. I have worked as DP for directors who would rather kill 6 puppies than go off script, change locations, or add a new inflection in a character and sadly for my reel and my career - those films and series’ will likely never be released to the public. Adapt. Adapt. Adapt. You are an indie director. You are a punching bag. You are the least important person on your crew. Nobody matters more than your actors. Ego is everywhere, especially in Edmonton and Calgary, but you cannot have it. If you understand at the end of the day that your ideas come second to natural opportunity, you will be just fine. Luckily for me, my self esteem and sense of self worth are so low I would sooner toss my whole script in the bin and shoot this movie live than fume over $200 dollars worth of Ubers to get to The Smell.
