Hello. It's been a while, so allow me to reintroduce you to my column. So to speak.
As Cracked's senior video editor lo these brace of years, it's been my privilege to lift myself above the common muck of prose, a mode of communication so outdated that it's a wonder you don't have to stick a crank in it to get it going. So to speak.
My thoughts now operate on a higher plane, rendered at 24 frames a second in lush, color-corrected perfection. Can you doubt that this is the more impactful form of creative human expression? Yes? Well, counterpoint: Here is a video of me jerking off.
So to speak. I guess I was technically jerking off that other gentleman. But more importantly, the point that I've just graphically illustrated -- thereby also illustrating my earlier point about the superiority of video to prose, creating a once-in-a-lifetime double-whammy argument supremacy type of situation -- is that despite their obvious superiority, making videos isn't always glamorous. In fact, sometimes you do stupid things, and everything becomes an impossible clusterfuck until it's miraculously pulled out at the last second.
Case in point: Back in 2010, Abe Epperson and I, and a bunch of our best friends, got the opportunity to shoot a low-budget indie horror/comedy movie of our own concoction called Kill Me Now, with an actual real director (of rap music videos) named Travis Long at the helm. I wrote the script, which shows you how long ago this was, since obviously I don't write anymore except as a flimsy pretext to plug things. This was an exciting opportunity for us, it being the first feature-length movie either of us had gotten to work on.
And of course, by "opportunity" I mean three weeks of hellish, misguided, grueling, ulcer-inducing crises on the order of biblical plagues. Now, two years later (and conveniently enough, just as the movie is about to be released), the true stories can finally be told.
Indie filmmakers, heed my warnings. I have scrawled them here, like a madman's crooked notations on a napkin he hopes to somehow put in the hands of a former self, a younger self or a less-haunted self.
Here's what NOT TO DO. You IDIOT.
5Don't Set the Movie at Night, You Idiot!
Want to see the quickest way to make your indie movie laughably overambitious? It looks like this:
EXT. ANY LOCATION - NIGHT
It's really the first and last words that are the problem, like a shit sandwich with the shit as the bread and the bread on the inside, so you get shit all over your hands.
Shooting at night, outside, means you've got to light your scene with giant red-hot lamps on impossibly tall metal rods, causing the pine needles to smolder if they get too close. Those lights are powered by gas generators, which have to be many feet away and covered in soundproof blankets to keep evil spirits at bay (union rules), so your crew spends a lot of time scrambling through the dark, crab-like, batting away light-drawn insects and maintaining or repairing hundreds of feet of cable. They hate this, and now they hate you, too. Congratulations.
Not to mention that setting your movie at night means asking your entire cast and crew to reverse their sleep polarity and spend a few weeks working through the night and sleeping through the day. And some of them have to sleep in the director's mom's basement closet, which is lined with a high shelf of porcelain dolls. THIS HAPPENED TO ME.
NEXT TIME: Two dudes in a situation with a girl in a house. No, a room! A room in Los Angeles with lighting very similar to the way your living room is lit right now. Sounds funny to me!
IMPROVISED SOLUTION: Three Miller High Lifes can usually force sleep upon you come dawn, and as for staying up through the night, don't worry: The churning nausea will handle that for you.
4Don't Use a Giant Ensemble, You Moron!
Come to think of it, why even have three people in the movie? Castaway got away with one most of the time. Or hell, just shoot it POV and make it about a guy who lives alone in one room in Los Angeles! He could get a crazy job, or think about getting one, and describe it aloud to himself, as well as the ensuing adventures he would have presumably gone on.
Because every character you "breathe life into" for your cheap-ass bullshit is another human actor with a physical body you need to fly to the location, house, feed until they don't die and keep safe and entertained enough that they don't resort to autoerotic asphyxiation (especially the ladies, strangely).
And oh my GOD, the disease. Looking back, perhaps there is no version of reality where you can cram 20 people into a cabin in the humid backwoods of Illinois for three weeks without them all getting sick, but TWO DAYS?! TWO DAYS for 90 percent of the cast and crew to contract the flu? Katie Willert ended up in the hospital, and Nick Mundy ended up vomiting between takes, but you GOT YOUR PRECIOUS SHOTS. I hope you're pleased with yourself, me.
NEXT TIME: During the filming of Kill Me Now, I must have walked past stands of gel-based hand sanitizer for sale at least two dozen times. Next time, I will stop, turn, lift and convey a tub of said sanitizer to the nearest check stand, then slather it all over everyone every hour on the hour. I suggest you do the same.
IMPROVISED SOLUTION: Telling the actors to be hilarious anyway, and then somehow they do it. To be honest, there are some blank spots in my memory. I just recall Beck Bennett falling asleep at the wheel of his character Todd's Corvette literally seconds after finishing a take, only to be woken up by "Action!" The ensuing take is the one in the movie.