Hello Seattle Film Institute class of 2020! What a surreal time it must be to be turning this corner—but what a perfect time to be leaving behind one chapter of your life and beginning a new one. 2021 is bound to be a year of renewal.
I’m here today to talk to you about what you’ve just gotten yourself into by choosing this line of work. The film industry is one that is constantly evolving. It keeps you on your toes in the best of times, and I don’t think anyone would define 2020 as the best of times. I’ve been a part of this business for 20 years now and have spent the majority of that working in independent film—first mostly as a crew member, and eventually directing my own work. I have watched the industry evolve from inside the trenches and there are two things I can tell you: 1) it has never been easier to make a film and release it, and 2) it has never been harder to get anyone to notice or care.
According to a quick Google search, in the year 2000 approximately 350 films were released. In 2018 that number was almost 900. The number of studio films released has remained almost the same in that period—about 100 per year—so it’s independent releases that have exploded. Meaning, the competition between small films is getting steeper all the time. On top of that, due to COVID’s impact on brick & mortar cinemas, the future of theatrical distribution is on very tenuous ground. People coming out of lockdown may not return to their pre-COVID viewing habits. The kind of communal cinematic experiences that drew many of us to filmmaking in the first place have been put on pause this year, possibly never to resume.
The monumental decision of Warner Media to release their 2021 slate of films, including massive tentpole releases, on their streaming platform HBO Max signals a future where the vast majority of films will be seen primarily on home screens (or, shudder, phone screens). This shift has been happening for a while, but theater owners and some of the most powerful directors and their agents have flexed their muscles to keep theatrical experiences alive. Before COVID, they had managed to keep the dam from breaking completely, but it is uncertain how much longer it will hold. We are looking at a strong likelihood that, as creators, we’ll be releasing our films on streaming platforms alongside a growing tide of other films, including many with multi-million dollar advertising budgets.
So, what does all this mean for you, class of 2020? Personally, I’ve always found it to be more productive to look forward and try to navigate the landscape in front of you instead of looking over your shoulder to the past--so let's talk about how to proceed. When it comes down to it, I think finding success comes back to what has always mattered most—knowing exactly who you are, how to infuse your personal voice into your work, and how to convey to an audience that what you have to offer is unique, special and worthy of their attention. You also need to proceed with your eyes open and with a plan. Ask yourself some pragmatic questions: What will I do to generate income until my film work can sustain me? How will I maintain a creative practice that will fulfill me and keep me sharp even when it’s not my primary work? What will I do each day to forward my ambitions so that eventually I will achieve my goals?
It also behooves us to study our industry, to pay attention to what is working and not working for other filmmakers, and to look at our own habits as viewers. What drives your choices? We are creators but we are also audience members. I’m sure you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the intricacies of production and what stories you want to tell--as you should, those are excellent things to be thinking about. But don’t forget that the work does not end when you lock picture, and that reaching an audience is its own steep climb. I encourage you to consider what it is about your work that would drive you to seek it out if you had nothing to do with making it. Listen to how people respond to your work and never stop challenging yourself to get better. You aren’t done learning just because you’re graduating. In fact, if my experience is any indication, you’ve only just begun.
Consider your destination—in an ideal world, what is the career that you want? Keep that destination in mind, and don’t let a day go by where you aren’t working towards that in some way. These days I can often be found directing television shows, but I continue to develop features and episodic ideas because I love telling stories in which I can have a true authorial voice. When I started out, the work I did on my own creative projects happened in between day jobs at a variety of tangentially film-related places: a film lab, a corporate video house, a negative cutting facility, taking pictures of kids with Santa Claus at Nordstrom, even a short stint teaching production here at Seattle Film Institute almost 20 years ago. As I got a bit further into my career, I wrote my own scripts in between jobs shooting, editing, assistant directing and producing other people’s films. Most of these other jobs sustained me financially and all offered opportunities to learn from others’ mistakes and be inspired by their successes—but I never got too comfortable, because I knew I hadn’t yet arrived at my destination.
It's also important to recognize and be open to opportunity. When I was at film school I wanted to direct but I focused on cinematography as well, thinking that it was a more practical path to pay my bills as I worked to get my own films made. After graduating, I had a respectable reel and was able to get some jobs shooting shorts and features, but cinematography is a glamorous role and competitive enough that it was a challenge to find a real foothold and enough work to keep my rent paid. About five years into my post-academic life a friend from film school, Todd Rohal, asked me to assistant direct his feature THE GUATEMALAN HANDSHAKE in Pennsylvania. I hadn’t AD'd before, but I understood the basics and wanted to be part of the project--and he had no better options--so I figured why not? It was a hugely challenging job, but we got it done, and I found that there was a big part of my brain that truly responded to this work of keeping the set running smoothly and being part of getting a film I loved across the finish line. When I came back from that job I noticed that there were very few people AD’ing on an independent scale in Seattle. I saw a niche that I could fill and ended up working as a 1st AD for five years after that. It was the role that finally allowed me to quit my many day jobs and spend my days on set, it was the vantage point that taught me more than I’d ever thought to ask about the way a production operated, and it was the avenue through which I was able to become a true part of my city’s film community and meet the people who would make my directing work possible.
One of those people was Seattle-based filmmaker Lynn Shelton. In 2005, she made her first feature film, WE GO WAY BACK. It happened soon after I had returned from Todd’s shoot in Pennsylvania, so I was a newly minted “experienced 1st AD”—and one that was still willing to work for cheap. I was hired to work with Lynn and we quickly found common ground in terms of how we believed a set should operate. We both prioritized treating people well, inviting collaboration, and creating a safe space so that everyone could do their best work. We continued to collaborate in various ways over the years—I worked on HUMPDAY, $5 COVER: SEATTLE, and YOUR SISTER’S SISTER, she acted in a few of my films, she was a consulting producer on my film THE OFF HOURS, we co-wrote a feature based on a This American Life story and sold a show to HBO (these latter two were sadly never made). She was a few years ahead of me in her career, so our professional relationship always hovered somewhere in between mentor and peer. She was unselfishly supportive of me in my ambitions, recommending me for jobs and vocally shouting out my work, but we also relied on each other for feedback on every script and rough cut. Lynn was an excellent audience—her notorious burst of laughter following every joke, audible gasps following every twist and turn, and an ability to help illuminate areas where I could push farther and dig deeper. Most importantly, she was a true and wonderful friend—always eager to hear about my life and share her own. She was a person I was happy to see every time I saw her.
In a year of high highs and low lows, Lynn’s loss was the most devastating low. The shock of it leveled me and so many others. In the weeks following her death I saw an outpouring of grief from not only her family and friends, but from people far and wide who had known her through her work. She made eight features and directed dozens of television shows, and in doing so, she made an indelible impact. She used her work to explore, to learn, and to find humanity, and that resonated for people all over the world. On a local level, she raised the bar for the work coming out of Seattle. She allowed so many of us to see our aspirations played out in real time. She showed what kind of art was possible if you led with love and a genuine curiosity about your fellow humans. She inspired us and forged a path for the rest of us to follow.
Graduates, you are entering this industry at a volatile, challenging time, but I hope you can take some inspiration from these words, and from filmmakers like Lynn. Lynn brought herself into her work, she trusted her instincts, she fought for her vision, she worked tirelessly to achieve her goals, she rolled with the punches, and she did it all while treating those around her with respect. As we emerge into a post-COVID landscape, we will all be reaching out to an audience of people who have been altered in deep and inextricable ways. In a time where tragedy and turmoil has scorched the earth, filmmakers can provide a great service by trying to make sense of it all through our work, by centering the complexity of human experience in our stories and probing challenging questions. As it always has, stepping up to this task will take a good dose of tenacity and positivity and grit, but the soil is rich and new things are ready to grow.
