The Best Five Years

In 2019, I was one of five producers who pitched their ideas for a new film to be made for the Nauvoo Temple Visitor’s Center of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. LDS pioneers, in the 1840’s, spent five years building a massive temple, which they only got to use for two months, before being forced out of Illinois by angry residents.

I presented an idea, loosely based off A.J. Edwards’s 2014 feature, The Better Angels, a Terrance Malick inspired film about the young life of Abraham Lincoln. When the idea was selected, I was tasked with producing an epic short film, on location in Illinois, with a cast and crew of over 100 people. What seemed like a difficult, but fairly straight-forward piece turned into a five-year journey with more twists and turns than a motocross race track. Thwarted by the COVID-19 pandemic and then squeezed in production by ever-rising inflation and accelerating costs, my fabulous crew somehow pulled it all off. Whether on a ferry in the sweltering heat of Memphis or in the ice- cold winter near the Mississippi River, every person there rose to the occasion, impressing me at every turn.

I’ve never fully believed in the mythos of the “auteur” filmmaker. Certainly, certain directors, such as Malick or Wes Anderson, or Quentin Tarantino bring distinct visions, unique to them, resulting in special and highly-lauded works. But on set, it takes an army of people to bring those visions to the screen. And unfortunately, most cast and crew members, too often, don’t get the praise they deserve. On this film, I remember one day we were filming a shot of an extra pulling water out of a muddy hole with a wooden bucket. He was ten-feet deep in this hole, barefoot, covered head to toe in mud. At first we started the scene with a rain machine, which ended up soaking him to the bone. Then, after we decided to abandon the rain, we filmed another ten takes without it. I felt awful for him, every take. I’d lean over the hole, apologizing before every take. But he’d just look up, grinning with his mud-caked face, and throw me a thumbs up. I was impressed by his resilient spirit, and ultimately, his graciousness in trying to help us get what we needed. And he was just one of many people who showed up each day, willing to give everything they had to make something incredible.

I love making films. But even more, I love getting to work with so many wonderful people who inspire me. I love their great ideas. I love collaborating with them. I love their smiles when things are tough. Without them, the magic of movie making would be lost for me. So, as we finish this film up, five, tough years later, here’s to them. Because without ‘em, I wouldn’t want to ever set foot on another set.

The Raddest of Times

For the past year, I've been writing a feature film script for two, talented producer/directors. To say it's been one of the challenges of my career would be the understatement of the decade.

This is the fourth feature I've written, but it doesn't seem to matter. In the past year, I've studied movies. And I've read every screenplay book I can think of. Twice. And of course, I've spent hundreds of hours sitting in front of a computer, creating this character or writing that scene. Simply put, it's just extremely difficult to write a good movie.

A few years back, I can remember laughing at the movie poster for "Beverly Hills Chihuahua." "What a stupid movie," I thought. "What an easy script." And then when the movie went on to gross over 100 million dollars, I felt jaded. Cheated, even. "How on Earth could such a silly thing make so much money? Meanwhile all these great indie film writers toil on their scripts with nothing to show for it." Well, this year, as I struggled through a myriad of structure sessions and long, difficult scenes, I thought of that yappy dog movie. And the thought occurred to me that it probably wasn't easy to write at all. Through this journey, I'm learning once more that even the things that seem most simple are often glaringly complex to craft. Either that, or I simply have no writing talent.

Currently, there are over 100 hours of content on YouTube for each of the 7.6 billion people on Earth. There is Netflix. There is Hulu. There is Amazon Prime. There are television networks and film studios. There are podcasts, Instagram feeds, books, and magazines. Oh, and Apple is about to drop into the already crowded world of content creation.

Basically, for the first time in the history of the world, there's too much stuff to watch. Far too much to consume.

So how does one write another film that will actually engage someone? How does a creator avoid merely casting another droplet into this massive, international sea of movies, shows, and videos?

Honestly, I haven't the foggiest.

Five years ago, I thought I had it all figured out. I had just finished writing my third feature and thought, "Hey, this is pretty good. There's no reason this can't be made into a great movie." Of course, it never was, but I still believed that I had cracked some sort of ethereal code. 

Well, I haven't. But as the film life goes, you just keep on keeping on. You hope that somehow you can take the impossible and make it possible. That you can suspend your own disbelief just long enough to once again believe in the magic of it all. And that somehow, a year or two from now, four hundred people will sit in a dark theater, with rapt attention, and see something for the first time that you've already seen a thousand and one times.

I still don't have the foggiest how that is going to happen. But I'll let you know if it does.

Summer's Coming!

From summer of 2014 to January of 2017, all I did was work. Film after film after film. Travel. Saturdays. Nights. Weekends. Holidays. Nothing but non-stop cinema.

Finally, in January, 2017, after working through yet another Christmas holiday, I flamed out a bit. Somehow, at only 35 years old, I hit some sort of "20 years in the business thing" and finally fell apart. Physically. Mentally. The whole nine yards. The thought of doing another film made me want to buy a run-down cabin and hide away in the woods.

And so I made a resolution. I committed to working only 40-hour weeks for awhile. Directing less and producing more. Going to bed at 9pm. Eating better. Reading more. It was great. 

Well, that worked until about February. And here I am, sometime in May, at 3:33 am, writing a blog post.

I know a lot of jobs are hard. But there's something especially brutal about filmmaking. Something very addicting, yes, but something also very crushing. 

I've tried this year to reflect over why I make films and why I should continue. And as I've done that, I keep coming back to the magic that happens when people sit in a dark room and get emotional about something you've made. When I made my first film 20 years ago, it was all about making people laugh. And as the years passed, and as I matured as a filmmaker, I started making people cry.

And therein lies the addicting part. That something you made mattered. Even if for a moment. To someone. Somewhere. It's powerful.

And maybe most jobs just don't allow you even that fleeting glory. That release. That satisfaction. That thing. And maybe that's why most jobs are hard, yes, but not brutal. It's that brutal extra 30% that helps create something powerful enough to affect another human being. 

When summer ends, a manic fourth quarter will surely begin. And sometime, after Christmas, which I'll undoubtedly work through, I'll sit by a window thinking about new year's resolutions and wonder for days why I'm still here. 

But then I'll likely remember that moving people, in whatever way, never gets old. It's always challenging, but it's also always fresh. Renewing. Special.

And I guess that's why I'm still here. And I guess that's a pretty dang, good reason.

-b

Wedding with Skyler and Samantha Law!

You know, it's unfortunate that I don't eat sugar, because this reception was loaded with delicious eats.  They had a candy bar, for goodness sake.  At one point, I was filming this guy who was eating an Otter Pop and I just wanted to snatch it out of his hand and gobble it like some sort of deprived monster.  But I refrained. 

Anyway, the day was beautiful, the couple was beautiful, and I frankly, after a 16 hour day, was decidedly not beautiful.  But I think we got some lovely images, and while this was somewhat of a difficult edit, it came together nicely in the end.  To be a good editor, I feel like you have to love puzzles and problem solving. 

Skyler made me laugh at one point.  We're shooting outside and he goes, "Is this good light?"  And I said, "Yeah, it's pretty decent."  And he says, "I've learned so much about photography and lighting today."  Everybody starts laughing.  You forget sometimes as a filmmaker that what you do for a living is kind of strange in a way.  I often find myself on jobs explaining to people why the sun needs to be over there and not here for a particular shot, why we have to wait another 17 minutes for a particular cloud, or how I know exactly how much daylight is left just by putting my fingers up to the horizon.  It's all normal to me, but sometimes I'm reminded how very odd it must seem to the people I work for. 

But Skyler and Samantha were great sports; they really were.  I truly couldn't have asked for a nicer couple, as they were superb to work with and very gracious to let me follow them around all day long, in pretty much any scenario.         

Check out their film in the "Weddings" section.  Here's wishing lots of love and luck their way! 

Time Capsule / Bridal Shoot with Skyler and Samantha

Skyler and Samantha were awesome.  I didn't tell them that before they arrived, I found a snake carcass right where we were shooting, but hey, maybe they would have opted to put him in the shot. 

But a great day was had by all.  We hit Brigham city in the afternoon and tore it up for three hours during golden hour.  The clouds were intimidating, but the rain held off until we had the final word on this shoot. 

Check out their time capsule under the "time capsule" page at the top of the site. 

Enjoy!