The last time I was involved in the production of a movie, I was in high school and the equipment consisted of a home video camera and two VCRs hooked together for editing. Since then, I've studied movies in college and reviewed them in print, but I haven't made any of my own in years. At CineVegas in June, my friend Jason Leinwand, who was my collaborator on the homemade high- school films and recently directed a documentary short about street performer Mr. Happiness, saw a poster for the 48 Hour Film Project and suggested we participate. If there's one thing I've learned in the last few years, it's that the only way I can motivate myself to engage in any creative project is with a deadline. A couple of years ago I spent 30 days trying to write a novel for National Novel Writing Month, so a mere 48 hours to make a film sounds like a snap.
Plus, unlike the novel, I wouldn't be working on the film alone. I would be acting as Jason's primary collaborator, co-writing the script with him, co-producing (a large part of which would involve paying for stuff) and hanging out on set to add an extra guiding hand to the proceedings. Jason would direct, since he's got actual experience beyond camcorders and jury-rigged editing bays.
The concept goes like this: You sign up for the Project, assemble a team of actors and crew, and on a Friday night at 7 p.m., each team draws a genre out of a hat. There is also a line of dialogue, a prop and a character that all the teams have to use in their film, which must be written, shot and edited in the next 48 hours. The films need to be between four and seven minutes long, and will be shown at a screening a couple of days later. One winner from each city (in its 11-year existence, the Project has expanded across the country and even to a few cities internationally) will compete for the grand prize, which is a camera and some editing equipment.
I'm not actually a filmmaker, so the prize isn't worth anything to me, and Jason and I both agree that the goal is just to make a movie that we're happy with, and to have a good time. Which, of course, is code for, "We don't want to look like idiots if we crash and burn and don't win."
About a month and a half before the event, which takes place August 5-7, I sign us up, with a team name, Big Dance Productions, that we used to use for our various projects in high school. It seems appropriate.
In the next weeks, we start putting a team together to help us make the film. Since Jason is the one with the contacts, my contribution to this portion of the process is minimal. The first person that Jason recruits for our team is Roger Erik Tinch, a local filmmaker whose most recent short, Cleaning Up Matters, was featured in the Nevada Filmmaking Showcase at CineVegas. We run into Roger at the Project's first mixer at the Ice House Lounge. He expresses concern over art as competition, but it only takes a few minutes to convince him to come onboard as both our director of photography and our editor. In addition to his filmmaking acumen, Roger has items vital to a successful movie: a camera and editing software on his computer.
More production meetings ensue, with Roger becoming heavily involved in the planning process. I start to realize that making a movie, in this serious, semi-professional way, actually involves quite a bit of work. Although we're not allowed to do any creative work on the film before the 48-hour period begins, there is much planning to do, including securing locations, acquiring equipment and bandying about ideas. Apparently some teams will write scripts in advance, and then tweak them a little once they find out their genre. This is, of course, against the rules, but more importantly it seems to me to take all the fun out of the process. Instead, we come up with a few ideas for each genre, figuring we can use (or not use) any one of them when we find out our assignment.
Coming up with equipment is more difficult than coming up with ideas, and once again Jason uses his connections while I just nod in approval. We get some lights from his producer on the Mr. Happiness movie, and are set to get a dolly from a friend of Roger's when we learn that it's broken and we can't use it. Finally, my skills as a producer come into play: I call JR Lighting and ask if we can get a discount on a dolly in exchange for a plug in Las Vegas Weekly. They agree. (JR Lighting is at 9 Brooks Avenue in North Las Vegas! They offer full lighting and grip packages, and much more! Call them today at 649-5555!)
Roger gets us a boom and microphone from friends of his at Stella Productions, who let us use it for free in exchange for, you guessed it, a plug in Las Vegas Weekly. I'm beginning to see what my function in the production team is. (Stella Productions is at 1771 East Flamingo! They are a full-service production and post-production facility! Call them today at 734-0001!) Even with only two lights, a discount dolly and one boom/mic, we are way ahead of plenty of other teams in the competition. At the next mixer event, Jason and I meet another entrant who shrugs that he bought a camera and some editing software and figured he'd see how things go. We are not nearly so glib.
Equipment crises averted, locations secure and ideas percolating, we head to the kick-off event at the Palms on Friday night. Each team has helpfully been provided with a cooler full of Red Bull, the better to stay awake and alert during marathon shoots. There's a lot of waiting and anticipation, and the time gets filled with encouragement from local coordinator Angela Abshier, who's been sending out what seems like an e-mail a day since the sign-up, to buy 48 Hour Film Project T-shirts ($10) and tickets to the screening of the films on Tuesday at the Brenden Theatres inside the Palms. Yes, they are charging us to see our own movies, but only $8 if we buy the tickets now (they're $12 at the door).
Eventually things settle down and Angela gets around to the picking of genres. The 38 teams have been divided into three groups, and we're in the last, Group C (which also means that our screening won't be until 11 p.m. on Tuesday night). I go up to pick our genre, and Jason tells me that if we get Musical/Western, clearly the least desirable option, he will hold me accountable. I root around in the hat and come up with Sci-Fi, which is not our first choice but seems like something we can handle. Angela stalls for a while because it's not yet 7, and then finally gives out the character (V. Kirk, obsessive-compulsive person), the prop (hair spray) and the line ("Looks like we'll have to do it over again") before letting us go.
In the car on the way back to my apartment, I write while Jason drives. We decide to use one of the ideas we'd listed: After the apocalypse, only one man and three women are still alive. The man is elated to see that he's got the world's only women all to himself, but all they do is nag and annoy him. This concept solves a few problems: First of all, it's science fiction that doesn't require we use any elaborate sets or props or special effects. Secondly, it's comedic, so it makes it easier to grab the audience's attention. And thirdly, it's possible to shoot it all in one location. Jason calls his friend Mike Hewitt, who has a cool old house in the northwest part of town, complete with a secret passageway that's found itself into many of our ideas. Mike is happy to let us shoot at his house, but he does want a plug for his website. (Check out
www.thevegashustler.com! It's the underground guide to Sin City!)
INT. KITCHEN. DAY.
Samantha sits reading Us Weekly. Lawrence enters.
LAWRENCE
I'm hungry. What's for dinner?
SAMANTHA
I'm not cooking you dinner.
LAWRENCE
What's your problem, Samantha?
SAMANTHA
You know what my problem is, Lawrence? I'll tell you what my problem is. This is my problem.
Samantha holds up the magazine.
LAWRENCE
You don't know how to read? (beat) You're upset that Brad and Angelina are dead?
SAMANTHA
No, Lawrence. It's this chauvinistic, male-dominated society that we live in. Whatever the man says, goes.
LAWRENCE
Well, I'm the only man left. So fix me some mac and cheese.
SAMANTHA
Make your own mac and cheese. I'm taking a stand for women everywhere!
LAWRENCE
The only women left are the three of you. And you're all here!
SAMANTHA
Exactly.
Samantha storms off in a huff.
Back at my apartment, we scribble down a quick outline and then sit down to write. This is the part of the process that I have the most input on, and I've been worried that I'll cave under pressure. But the writing process goes surprisingly smoothly; we even have to cut one of the scenes in our outline because the script is getting too long. As it is, we end up with eight pages, which means, given the general one-minute-to-a-page rule of thumb, that we'll have to cut something out after shooting it. We look it over, and I'm surprised to find that I actually think it's pretty good. The pacing is brisk. It's funny. It fulfills all the requirements (which, since this is the Project's first year in Vegas, also include showing some sort of identifying characteristic of the city). It even features a part for my sister, Brandy.
Before we're even finished polishing, people start showing up for the read-through. We've got four main actors, plus Brandy in a cameo role, as well as a number of crew members, some of whom won't be showing up until the next day. I'm still printing out scripts as the actors arrive. We tell them about the story, and warn two of the female stars, Theresa and Lori (who's Jason's girlfriend), that they're going to have to share an on-screen kiss. Of course, it's essential to the story, and a good moment of comedy. It's not like we'd throw a girl-on-girl kiss into our movie just to improve our chances of winning.
The read-through goes well, confirming our initial thoughts that the script is strong. It comes in at less than seven minutes, but that doesn't mean it'll actually end up that length when we finish shooting. A little after midnight, we send the actors and most of the crew home, telling them to be at Mike's at 8 the next morning. Jason, Roger and assistant director Jerame stay to work on a shot list.
After a swift five hours of sleep, I'm up and ready for the day's shoot. We plan to do all of our principal photography on Saturday, leaving Sunday for editing and other post-production tasks. Other teams start shooting on Friday night, but with our single location we are confident that we can get things done in a 12-hour shoot, from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. We meet at a Walgreens near Mike's, because his house is tucked away off of a hidden driveway, and Jason wants to lead us there. Once inside, we start setting things up, which mostly involves Roger and his two-man crew setting up lights and putting together the dolly. Eager production assistant Ian, who has happily volunteered to be the set gofer, has brought bagels for everyone.
Ian goes down to meet the main actors at 8:30, when we hit our first snag: Theresa has overslept and won't make it on time. So we move the shooting schedule a little and start with a different scene. Before we do so, Jason makes an important announcement: We have to turn off the air conditioning. The noise can disrupt our sound, and since we won't be overdubbing dialogue later, it's crucial we capture everything as clearly as possible. At first, turning the air off is no big deal, but as the Vegas summer day wears on, the entire cast and crew become sweaty and uncomfortable, which only leads to irritability. We spend the whole day, minus our lunch break, without air.
Eventually Theresa shows up, but we're soon thrown for another loop by a knock at Mike's door. It's a pair of delivery men, and they've got a washer and dryer that Mike and his wife forgot were being installed today. So for 15 minutes we sit and wait as the men install the appliances, watching our schedule slip further and further behind. But the next few scenes go smoothly, and there are no more problems until we get to our centerpiece: the girl-on-girl kiss.
INT. LIVING ROOM. LATER.
Sloshed out of their minds, the three women giggle and enjoy the alcohol. So too does Lawrence. He looks to the sky.
LAWRENCE
Thank you.
SAMANTHA
You know, Lawrence. There's something I've been wanting to tell you.
LAWRENCE
Really? What?
SAMANTHA
You are a such a good ... friend.
LAWRENCE
What?!
SAMANTHA
No. For reals. You are like, my best guy friend. For reals.
Lawrence sighs.
LAWRENCE
Can't we at least make out? Any of you?
There are clearly some bad vibes in the air even before the crew starts to set up for the scene; Lori has been quiet and withdrawn much of the day. As we get ready to shoot the scene, Jason informs the crew that the actresses are feeling uncomfortable, and he's decided to close the set for this scene. That means only essential personnel in the room where they're shooting. He spends plenty of time reassuring the actresses, while everyone else stands around waiting for things to get moving. At this point I realize that it's better that I'm not the director, since I'm used to being in complete control of my creative endeavors, and I have very little empathy. While Jason is in there soothing his nervous stars, I'd be telling them to suck it up and get their asses on set. They read the script and agreed to do the scene, so they should stop being babies and just do it.
Jason's approach works, and eventually the pair take their places and the scene is shot. I'm not an essential crew member (I'm acting as script supervisor while on set), so I don't see how it goes, but when I look at the footage later I can tell that the actresses did not bring their discomfort to their performance. It is, to be honest, pretty hot. The next day in the editing room, Roger is giddy over the scene, and not just because he's barely slept.
As the day wears on, there are no more major hang-ups. We end up breaking late for lunch, but we've managed to shoot all the scenes we had planned to cover before eating. We get a great deal on pizza from Rocco's, who are happy to feed us cheaply if, of course, they get a plug in the Weekly. (Rocco's New York Italian Deli is at 1181 South Buffalo Drive! They offer the best pizza in the city, according to Jason Leinwand! Call them today at 254-4777!) Even with the air on during lunch, people remain hot and cranky throughout the day. When it comes time to put all the actresses in Mike's underground tunnel, Molly, who's playing V. Kirk, balks. Just like her character, she's a bit squeamish about dirty, dark places. After a little back and forth, and more reassurances from Jason, we get all three actresses in the tunnel, along with Brent the grip, who's there for moral support.
By 5:30, we've wrapped Molly and Theresa, and by 6:30, the entire shoot is done. Despite delays, we've come in ahead of schedule, and although we had to cut a few shots here and there, everyone seems pleased. Sweaty and tired, most of us head home to shower, while Roger is off to transfer the footage from digital videotape to his computer.
INT. KITCHEN. DAY.
Samantha, Katie and V. Kirk are all fighting over the Us Weekly. Lawrence enters.
LAWRENCE
What the hell is wrong with you three?
SAMANTHA
Don't you know anything? When women live together, they cycle together. We've all got PMS. Why aren't you sensitive to our needs?
KATIE
I need tampons, Lawrence!
V. KIRK
And I'm out of hair spray. Go get me hair spray. I need hair spray.
LAWRENCE
That's a great idea. I'll just put my coat on and step outside into the irradiated wasteland and walk down to the damn store. Do you want the new Us Weekly, too?
The three women burst into tears. Lawrence looks to the sky.
LAWRENCE
Why couldn't you have taken me, too?
I manage to get a good night's sleep before meeting Jason and Roger the next morning for the editing process. Probably the hardest-working person on the project, Roger has already assembled a rough cut of the film by the time we arrive at 9 a.m. Unfortunately, it's nine and a half minutes long, which means cutting two and a half minutes out to achieve the required running time. We take a look at the cut, and I'm somewhat amazed at how tight and professional it looks. It's much more polished than those movies we used to make in high school.
We make small cuts to several scenes, sometimes sacrificing funny lines, but it's not enough. Eventually we have to cut a whole scene, and with great regret we take out one that involves Theresa licking the male lead, C.J., all over his face. It'll be back in the director's cut. Although Roger is reluctant, we trim the girl-on-girl kiss a little. It still has the same impact at a few seconds shorter.
Next we add music (composed by my brother, Jeff; the movie is a Bell family affair) and do some final tweaks. In only three hours, we've come up with a final cut of the film. Now all that's left is for Roger to render the final product and output it to tape for us to turn it in before the deadline. This is a long waiting process, and it's 5:30 before I'm back at Roger's awaiting the result. With filters and titles added, the movie looks better than I could ever have expected. There's a minor crisis when Roger doesn't think he can output the edit onto tape, but we manage to solve it quickly. A little last-minute panic is a requisite, it seems.
I walk into the Palms with a good 45 minutes to spare, hand in our two tapes and eat some free pizza. I see others walking in with computers or cameras, and I wonder if they had output problems, too. The Project is clear that they will not accept movies that are stuck in your computer or camera. In the end, 34 teams turn in films, which means that somewhere along the line four teams did not make it.
The screening on Tuesday is packed with teams and their friends, and we nervously await our film (which ended up with the title Three Girls, a Guy and an Apocalypse). Roger has just come out of the previous screening, which he says was full of amateurish films. Our group, however, is of a slightly higher caliber, and only one of the 11 shorts looks like it was made by people who didn't know what they were doing. We get a decent audience response and a few strong laughs, although not as many as I'm hoping for. Everyone in our crew dutifully marks us down on their ballot for the audience award, although I have a feeling that another film, 19 Miles to Vegas, which is very funny, clever and well-made, will win that. I have to admit, it's easily the best film of the screening.
It's hard to believe that barely five days have passed since the Project began, and we've already had our star-studded premiere. It'll be weeks before we learn who's won the various awards, and who goes on to the international competition. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't love to win, but the experience has been more than rewarding enough on its own. Unlike my 30-day novel, which lies unfinished almost two years later, the film is a completed product that I'm genuinely proud of, that I can show to family and friends. Best of all, it only took 48 hours.