Film Festivals Are Just So Analog

With all that annoying Sundance mania finally over with for the year, it seems like a good time to provide some healthy perspective on the relevance (or irrelevance, more appropriately) of film festivals. Because make no mistake, there's a rapidly growing consensus among many filmmakers that festivals have outlived their usefulness.

Originally, events like Sundance and the Toronto International Film Festival provided the only route for independent movies to find an audience. Festivals offered the sole venue where a movie made outside the Hollywood system could generate some press and find a distributor, which was in turn the only means to finding a market and making back some money. There was just no other way that a little movie from Arkansas made by an unknown actor who looked like a cancer-stricken muppet would see the light of day. Ah, but how things have changed in the decade since "Sling Blade" premiered at Sundance.

Based on the incredible proliferation of these events, one might assume that film festivals are more relevant than ever--there are literally thousands of film festivals across the world, some specializing in specific genres and others simply claiming to be the next Cannes or Toronto or Berlin or Rotterdam or Sundance or Slamdance or...you get the idea. The advent of the digital "movie camera" has generated a glut of new films looking for audiences, and greedy opportunists abhor a vacuum: the new film festivals bred like rabbits to satisfy the need, collectively raking in millions of dollars in entry fees from struggling artists in the process. Yes, many of these film festivals are legitimate--they take your hard-earned money with the best of intentions (while offering you nothing in return if they decide your self-financed film isn't "good enough" after watching it for all of 30-seconds). But lots are licences for a few folks to make money by capitalizing on artists' hard work and dreams. And keep in mind that most of the movies that screen at the top festivals still don't even find distribution, as they viciously compete for the all-important buzz.

Still, the problem with even the most reputable festivals is compounded by the fact that so many films accepted for screening find their way there through clubby connections--usually Hollywood clubby connections--resulting in programmes that don't really offer the audiences that "something different," the exotic "I-can't-believe-I-just-got-to-see-that" type of film, the kind of film Hollywood would never make. The line between the "indie" movie and the studio film has become very blurry indeed; so much so that the term "indie" itself is widely regarded as almost meaningless. Which is why many of us prefer the moniker of "DIY filmmaker" rather than "indie filmmaker." "Do It Yourself" filmmaking means just that; whereas "indie filmmaking" means Gwynneth Paltrow cut her salary because she doesn't need another mansion in Malibu.

I guess we can't really blame these festivals for being victims of their own success. The Weinsteins and other Hollywood heavyweights want that platform of a prestigious Sundance premiere, and they're gonna get it. These movies are generally good too. But hey, why see it at a festival when it's going to get released in two hundred theatres across the country six weeks from now. The most original stuff--the stuff that needs to be discovered--is not finding its way to these festivals. And don't just take my word for it. This is what Richard Corliss had to say in a recent Time Magazine article:

You don't find as much originality in Sundance films these days, and for a simple reason. In the beginning, the festival was a home for the homeless, for a rambunctious outlaw take on filmmaking. There was no need to be cautious, since indie films were rarely hits. But as Sundance became the showcase for a form of movie gaining marketplace pull, young directors naturally made films to fit the new mold.... Trying to get your intellectual fill with Sundance films is like choosing homemade popcorn over the concession-stand variety: higher quality, little nourishment.

You can also get a sense of what the grass-roots of DIY filmmakers feel about festivals like Sundance from someone like Steve Balderson ("Firecracker") on his MySpace page where he's written an article called "The Sundance Disease":

The first cases were diagnosed in Los Angeles, leading the CDC to theorize that neither Robert (Redford) nor Park City, Utah, was the source of The Disease. I interviewed a Studio Executive suffering from The Disease. Said individual stated, "You are nothing unless your film is shown at Sundance. If you aren't at Sundance, you must not be a real filmmaker." All other research indicates that most films "accepted" into Sundance have, in one way or another, been financed, produced, or planned by a company in The Industry.

What happens to the real independent film? What happens if one doesn't surrender? The same thing that happens to people in our culture that don't fit the mold! They are exiled! They are called freaks! Which reminds me of the scene in FREAKS: "One of US! One of US!"

Another filmmaker on MySpace says, These days, I would avoid film festivals like the plague. They have evolved into cash cows for the organizers, and filmmakers are getting ripped off with ridiculous entry fees.

Hey, getting a rejection hurts, and making films is largely about rejection. But it's not just fox and the grapes disparagement here. Festivals simply cannot accommodate all the films that should be seen, and as a result often end up accommodating the films they know will get stars on their red carpet which helps the fest's profile in a hotly competitive festival marketplace. Toronto wants to stay number one. And Sundance wants to be the hottest "indie" festival too. I've seen some incredible films that I know were rejected by Sundance. I also know these rejections devastated the filmmakers, as if Sundance alone can determine the filmmaker's worth. I reviewed one such film in this blog: the incredibly innovative Cavite. The directors admit in their own commentary track that the rejection from Sundance was crushing. But their movie should be seen. It's truly a piece of DIY art, and a significant account of a specific time and place. These filmmakers are important to the evolution of cinema, whether Sundance has room for them or not.

In the end, the most comelling reason why I say film festivals are "just so analog"--the reason why I believe they've served their purpose and why they'll probably become less relevant to innovative, groundbreaking cinema while continuing to offer a good party where where you can drink with Julianne Moore--is because the digital revolution (specifically online distribution and promotion) allows the DIY filmmaker to achieve the same intended results as a festival. Rather than paying money to get a few minutes of your movie screened by a selection committee, filmmakers are discovering that if their movie really is any good, they can self-distribute the film online and on DVD. A case in point: we're starting to hear a lot about a little self-financed movie called "Four Eyed Monsters", which is really getting noticed via online marketing and downloads, despite its self-admitted failure at festivals. This is what the filmmakers had to say in a recent issue of Wired Magazine: "Festivals are a dead end. We've found a different way." You can hear more from the "Four Eyed Monster" folks in a podcast from The Workbook Project.

Or read up on The Angry Filmmaker who espouses DIY distribution and eschews festivals in general.

Or check out a website like www.withoutabox.com to (1) get a sense of just how many thousands of festivals are out there, and (2) read the forums which increasingly reveal a dissatisfaction regarding what festivals can do for us as artists and filmmakers.

Yes, I'll admit, I'd like to hang out with Sarah Polley while my next movie screens at Sundance too. Who wouldn't? But the key to remember is that if my next movie doesn't make it there, I might be able to generate just as much success regardless. My career no longer depends on it. And my bet (I'm always making bets on this blog), in 5 years, festivals will not be the place where we discover the next "Sling Blade."

Cavite

Pronounced ca-vi-té, it's the name of a small town in the Phillipines. It's also the title of one incredibly innovative, psychologically sophisticated and brilliantly resourceful digital feature shot almost entirely in that country. I've mentioned in this blog that (a) digital technology will generate a new wave of filmmakers, (b) you can make movies anywhere, and (c) you can make movies, period. Cavite easily proves these points.

Shot on a shoe string, using some incredibly simple guerilla "work-arounds" and ambient light (heck, it even uses "ambient actors"!), with the two filmmakers doubling as cast and crew, this little film exhibits enough production values to elevate "video footage" into a full-fledged cinematic experience. It's substance first and style second (though it does certainly have a consistent and effective style). If you want to make digital features, you owe it to yourself to get a hold of the DVD, just to see what smart filmmakers can pull off when they set their minds to it. Yes, I'll admit the movie lags a bit in the middle, but it starts well, and it achieves almost pitch-perfect emotional realism. Oh, and the final act is truly worth the wait in terms of emotional storytelling.

It's a movie Hollywood would never make. And as small as it is, my bet would be on this film surviving 100 years from now (as a testament to a very specific time and place) over any of the big studio movies I've seen lately.

We Are Not Alone

Or at least I'm not anyhow. I devoted this blog to ruminations about a digital revolution. I'm convinced that artists will come out holding the reins of content in the long run. And just when I start to wonder if I'm wrong--that big studio control is here to stay for my lifetime--I read words like this:

At the moment, the smart money may be going small budget. Just recently, wealthy individuals, pooling their money in hedge funds, have begun setting up deals not with studios but with successful producers like Joel Silver and producer-directors like Ivan Reitman. The production money will go to genre films—thrillers and comedies and horror pictures—in the low-budget (about twenty-million-dollar) range. John C. Malone, the chairman of Liberty Media Corporation, is opening his own studio to make movies on a similar scale. Some of these pictures will undoubtedly be routine, but the relatively low stakes could also allow producers to hire writers and directors who are willing to do more daring work, the way B-movie directors, toiling quietly on back lots, did sixty years ago.

Films made fast and cheap in this way would still need studio distribution and marketing, but once the theatres go digital that may no longer be true. Distribution is the key to freedom. In the future, what is to stop a group of producers, directors, and writers from forming a coöperative, raising money for a slate of films, and hiring non-studio distribution and promotion people to get the movies to digitized theatres—liberating themselves at last?

Check the full article over at The New Yorker.

Successful Filmmaking Is (Not) Always About Selling

Ever wonder how the next guy gets that writing or directing gig when you're pretty sure you have more talent? We all do. Of course, many of us are deluded about our own talents (studies repeatedly demonstrate that most humans tend to rank themselves as being smarter and better-looking than average, when this clearly cannot be the case). But hey, being deluded can also be a tremendous boon to a filmmaker's career, and that's because humans also have a tendency to "believe the hype" even when it's your own hype. So if indeed you are more talented than the gal who gets the gig over you, that's probably because she's a better salesperson. And if you really do have more talent, but you can't convince anyone besides Dad and Auntie Betty of this fact, then I hate to break it to you but you're a terrible salesperson. And in film, as in life, sales is everything. Your career is doomed. Or is it...

Indeed, many of the most successful individuals in the film industry are consummate salesmen. The ironic twist of fate lies in the fact that many of the most original artists are terrible salesmen. They live in isolation, noodling away at their scripts and books and paintings, lacking the necessary guts and gumption to get out there and sell so as to generate some "buzz" for their work. And make no mistake, a person is rarely hired for a filmmaking gig based on a single executive's insightful assessment of that person's innate talents. Fact is most executives aren't going to go out on a limb to hire you based solely on their own solitary judgment of your craft and creativity. The default position for most executives is to rely on "buzz," because humans also tend to buy the notion that when a lot of other people believe something, it must somehow be more likely to be true: the executive simply relies on the opinion of a bunch of other people, who each is in turn also relying on the opinion of a bunch of other people, and that is the magic of "buzz." (A lot of folks tell me that they lean towards a belief in the Bible simply because so many others believe in it too and how could so many people possibly be wrong? I ask them to keep in mind that the entire human poplulation once believed the Earth was flat, but alas, such is a debate for a blog other than this one).

And so what is the artist born without the salesman's gene to do? I'm one of those artists--I hate selling, and I especially hate selling myself. I've scratched my head over it, witnessing my own career take unpredictable twists and turns that seem entirely unrelated to my abilities. But a recent turn of events reminded me of the artist's trump card: talent does tend to rise to the top. But here comes the hard part. As a non-salesperson, you're going to have to put in more hours and take more initiative, because you have to be a "do-er" not a "talker." That means getting out there and making that short film or even that feature without the blessing of any executive. And the simple beauty of the digital revolution is that now you can! Remember that no matter how talented you may be, you'll rise absolutely nowhere if you only think about that movie you want to make and don't do anything about it. Once in a while, the other guy, the salesman, will walk out of a meeting with a deal for his first feature having no prior experience except a mediocre student film. He's a good-- No, he's a great talker. And you're not. Get over it. Because there's one sure-fire way to create buzz without selling, and that's to make a good film. Believe me, there are quirky, shy artists out there who make a lot of money in Hollywood based on the fact that they deliver. The "buzz" has been generated not out of savvy salesmanship, but out of the art the filmmaker has created and that art speaks for itself.

So you non-salespeople, do what I did. Make your film. And in case you're as bad at sales as I am, so bad that you can't even talk anyone other than your boyfriend into working on your film along with you, don't despair--you can do more on your own than you realize. Try checking out this great new guide to low-budget filmmaking (I know there are so many books like this, but this one really is worth it): DV Rebel's Guide. To get a sampling of what's inside, wander on over to The Long Tail.