Produce Your Own Damn Movie!

Lloyd Kaufman, Ashley Wren Collins

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2012
• eBook ISBN: 9781136059414
• Topic: Mezzi di comunicazione e arti performative
• Subtopic: Film e video

Often low-budget filmmakers get thrown into the position of being not only the director, but their own producer. Using tips from the finest washed-up has-been producers in the business, this book will give the low-budget filmmaker practical tools for getting a movie shoot started, and keeping it going until it is supposed to end. From budgeting concerns to production-damaging acts of God, all will be discussed.

Penniless in Pittsburgh Asks Lloyd

Dear Lloyd,

How do you get people motivated when you aren’t paying them ?

Penniless in Pittsburgh

Dear Penniless,

• 1. Fear.
• 2. Guilt.
• 3. Threats of suicide.
• 4. A demonstration of how much you believe in the project.
• 5. Alcohol.
• 6. Yelling.
• 7. Fire the naysayers.
• 8. Lips.
• 9. Campfire sing-a-longs.
• 10. Repeated viewings of Poultry in Motion: Truth is Stranger than Fiction, the documentary chronicling the making of Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead.

xoxo,
Lloyd

Chapter | one

Producing Models and Car Models or Producing America’s Next Top Tromodel

When I married my amazing and adorable wife Pat, she came with a 1969 Ford Mustang convertible. Of course, that's not why I married her, mind you, but I won't deny that it sure did sweeten the deal. When your two great loves in life are musical theatre performed by young hairless boys and a Southern belle with a kickin' car, a decision must be made, and I made it. Ten years after we tied the knot, however, I was inspired by a Sally Struthers commercial late one night, and donated the kickin' car for a giant tax deduction to an orphanage to help the poor orphans. Pat did not agree with my benevolent decision to donate her car to get a giant tax deduction help those poor, less fortunate souls. I stood my ground, and for the last 20 years, I have lived with her endless scorn. So, a few months ago, I decided to do something about it. I made a few calls¹ and arranged to buy a 1969 Mustang to replace the one that I had so graciously given away 20 years earlier.

The dealership was in Indiana, so the entire deal was conducted over the phone² and essentially in good faith. When I finally arrived in Indiana to pick the car up, I was in awe of the beauty before me. The car was perfect. The red paint glistened under the neon lights. The rims of the tires sparkled. A tear formed in my eye as the jovial midwestern used car salesman handed me the keys and title. My marriage would be back on track in time for me to retire and die peacefully. With nothing between me and the open road ahead, I slid into the sweet-smelling leather seat and began the long drive back to New York.

The next several hours were spent in a haze of self-congratulation. The engine purred like an alley cat in heat. The sun smiled at me, just like Pat would be smiling at me in about 14 hours. Everything was going well, but because I'm Lloyd Kaufman, something of course had to go and get fucked up.

The moment came just as I reached my first traffic light. Suddenly, the engine's purr shifted from that of an amorous kitten to something resembling an 800-pound man with bronchitis, as if he were choking on a wiffle ball. Smoke appeared from beneath the shiny red hood, and the arrow on the engine thermostat, which had been resting comfortably between "Cool" and "Hot," swung definitively toward "Hot." My instincts—as well as my eyes and ears— told me that something was wrong. I pulled over, jumped out of the driver's seat and opened the hood. All around me, cars began honking at the billowing smoke coming from the engine. Once it cleared, I could see exactly what the problem was.

The problem was that I didn't know anything about cars.

I tapped on something with my finger and pounded something else with my fist, a fine strategy that usually worked well when my TV screen turned to snow. I closed the hood and kicked a tire, just for good measure. I got back in the car and, lo and behold, it was working just fine again. In fact, it worked all the way to the next traffic light, where Mister 1969 Mustang and I repeated our Smoke Gets in Your Eyes tango. In fact, we continued to tango like this for the next 14 hours. Along the way, I also discovered that the passenger side door refused to open and the glove compartment flat out refused to stay shut.

But still, nothing could bring me down! Who cared if I had just purchased a car that broke down in traffic? Everyone knows that there is hardly any traffic in New York City! And so what if the passenger door didn't open? Once I handed the keys over to Pattie-Pie, I probably wouldn't be allowed back in the passenger seat anyway! I had set out to buy a car, and dammit, nothing was going to ruin my high!

You may be thinking to yourself right about now, "Gosh, I've read only a few pages of this book, and already I've learned so much about film producing!"

Of course you have, but fasten your seatbelts, because you are about to learn even more! You see, film producing models are a lot like a 1969 Mustang. What worked in 1969 might not work as well now, 40 years later. Producing models are in constant flux. And always remember, as Marie Curie was fond of saying, "You can't fuck with the flux!" To be a great producer, one must keep up with the times.

PRODUCER VOCABULARY LESSON #1

When it comes to defining the term “producer,” things can get complicated. There are many titles, responsibilities, and people involved in a film production. Throughout the coming chapters, in the spirit of learning, I will provide detailed, scientific descriptions of different titles commonly used in production. That way, you can pretend you’re a big shot by showing off your new vocabulary. You’re welcome. Let’s begin:

EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: This can be anyone from the CEO of a major studio to the Estonian owner of a chain of dry cleaning stores to the schmoozer in the apartment next door who can sucker some poor saps into funding your movie. These guys are the Harvey Weinsteins, the James L. Brooks, or, if your karma is down the shithole, the Kaufmans and Herzs.

Synonyms: The Money Guy, The Big Cheese, The Guy You Want for Your Best Friend.

Example: “Today the Executive Producer called and told me that we were $80 million over budget, and he sounded a little upset.”

OUT WITH THE OLD...

For more than 40 years, I've been able to produce, direct, write, and make my own damn movies in 35 mm with almost total freedom. I've also been able to produce each one, with a few exceptions, for roughly the equivalent of $500K, including all production, marketing, and distribution costs. Several of these movies have gone on to receive worldwide acclaim and a loyal fan following, and all of them have gone on to break even—sometimes even making a few bucks.

Under the Hollywood producing model, this is nearly unheard of. Studios spend millions of dollars—sometimes hundreds of millions of dollars—on a single film. And although a handful of these films are remembered 10 years later, most will be forgotten like last week's leftover egg salad, slipping into film limbo along with unbaptized children and Times Square pickpockets.

Troma films compete with the giant studio films by containing commercial elements like a cool gun, a monster, or a naked person while still retaining their edge, whether it be satire, horror, or even both, as with my latest fowl movement, Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead. Although some people may not "get" the movie, there is at least one thing in it that will appeal to a wider audience, such as large amounts of naked people. This appeal allows the film to be at least somewhat entertaining to everyone, and with a little luck, it will make some money over time. This is the model that has always worked for me, but with Poultrygeist,³ that model may be like a 1969 Mustang.

...AND IN WITH THE WHO?

The films that we see in theatres today are all owned and controlled by five or six megaconglomerates.⁴ These companies own and control not only the movies, but also in many cases the theatres that play them and the television stations, newspapers, and magazines that review and advertise them. With that type of industry consolidation, even independent theatres are scared to take on a film not supported by a kabillion dollar ad campaign. Even though Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead is usually the highest-grossing film in each city in which it is allowed to play, we are still turned away by theatres unwilling to take a risk. We have reached a point where unless a film is released through a major distributor or studio, it is economically blacklisted and therefore unable to sell tickets, much less make a profit. Even direct-to-DVD is no longer much of an option, as the mom-and-pop video stores that flourished in the 1980s have been hijacked by corporate chains, which are, oddly enough, owned or controlled by those same five or six megaconglomerates.

So the reality is that Poultrygeist —although it was the highest-grossing "screen" in the United States on its opening weekend and received the best reviews in Troma's 35-year history—will most likely not make one cent.

And that is the end of this book.

THE END

Well, not quite...

This change in the industry could be the end, but it doesn't have to be. After all, not all of that 1969 Mustang is bad. The car is beautiful to look at. The tires don't leak air and the windshield isn't cracked. It's great for picking up young boys at the 7-Eleven, and on a short drive around the block, it drives like an absolute dream. The trick is to take the parts of producing model that work in the current industry and make them work for you. Then maybe someone will someday pay thousands of dollars for the privilege of driving you home from Indiana to pre...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Produce Your Own Damn Movie
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Table of Incontinence
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction : Charlie Kaufman Is My Doppelgänger or Why I Want to Blow My Fucking Brains Out
• Chapter 1 Preamble: Penniless in Pittsburgh Asks Lloyd
• Chapter 1: Producing Models and Car Models or Producing America’s Next Top Tromodel
• Chapter 2 Preamble: Nervous in Naples Asks Lloyd
• Chapter 2: How I Got a Rabbi to Hate Jews or How I Let Oliver Stone Beat the Crap Out of Me to Hone His Producer Skills
• Chapter 3 Preamble: So Close in So. Cal Asks Lloyd
• Chapter 3: Film School or Porno? Taint No Difference or My Dinner with Louis Su
• Chapter 4 Preamble: Losing It in Las Vegas Asks Lloyd
• Chapter 4: Producing Movies Inevitably Gets You Stoned (And Is Really, Really Hard) or A Union Dose of Some Shirley Jackson Optimism Goes a Long Way
• Chapter 5 Preamble: Eager in Erie Asks Lloyd
• Chapter 5: Is There a Business Plan? Is IMDB Ass? or Secrets of Financing and Producing from the Pickled Brain of an Elaborate Non-pyramid Schemer
• Intermission : Andy Deemer’s Production Diaries
• Chapter 6 Preamble: Starstruck in Starbucks Asks Lloyd
• Chapter 6: Pre-Sell Your Flick in a Game of Five-Card Stud or Go For a Straight Flush
• Chapter 7 Preamble: Anxious in Anchorage Asks Lloyd
• Chapter 7: Fuck Me Jesus on a Pogo Stick! Where Am I Going to Produce My Own Damn Movie? or The Secrets of the Location Vocation
• Chapter 8 Preamble: Pumped Up in Peoria Asks Lloyd
• Chapter 8: How to Do It Hollywood-Style or I am the Herpes of the Film Industry: I Won’t Go Away
• Chapter 9 Preamble: Frustrated in Frankfurt Asks Lloyd
• Chapter 9:Face the Music : Post-production and Distribution or Pump Up Your Production to a Higher Level
• Afterword Preamble: Frugal in Fargo Asks Lloyd
• TromAfterword : Dammit! Why Are You Reading This?!
• A Trio of E-mail Exchanges Among Ashley, Elinor, and Lloyd, and A Final Final Ending to This Book About Producing
• Index Gyno’s Bitchin’ Index