Broke my tooth.

Dentist said, if I didn’t stop ‘grinding’ my teeth at night, they’d look like Tic Tacs before I hit 41. Well… looks like I’m losing the bet. I’ve just been so stressed, for so long, that I ended up crunching a back molar so hard that it just snapped in half.

Not good.

So, now I have to go back to the dentist and tell him, “Yes sir, the night guard you recommended (exactly six months ago) will be most appreciated. Thank you. But before you fit me for that, why don’t we grind that puppy down to nothin’, then stick a cap on it.”

Cost, $1,500 bucks. Thank GOD Green Shield is going to cover it. (I wonder if I can get Centigrade insurance?)

But it’s a little weird, because it happened over night (unlike my career). Which means that when I woke up, it wasn’t there. Which means, I must have swallowed it. Which means, at some point in time tomorrow or the next day I’m going to poop out my own tooth. (I should be grateful, it could have been the other way around.)

But ain’t that the rub, one minute you’re 1 of 15 films competing out of 3,000. The next, you’ve got a tooth in your turd.

Welcome to my life.

I’m going to be honest here. I make a pretty good living. (Well, for a single guy, no kids, no mortgage, etc.) Problem is, I’m not happy with it. Well, that’s ridiculous of course. I LOVE my life. What I mean, is that it’s almost impossible for me to sit around and stare at a new car or palm tree or condo. I NEED to be doing something that means something.

Now, I’ve got no problem with condos. What I ‘do’ have a problem with, is the fact that anyone can simply go out and ‘buy’ one. And not to take anything away from money earned and invested, it’s a MUST. But… I’d personally get more out of the equation if I could ‘design’ the condo. Have a personal stake in it. Lay something on the line. To see, whether or not my design will hold any merit. Stand the test of time. I don’t know. Something other than simply writing a check.

Call it rebellious. Irresponsible. Jejune. But the one thing you cannot call me is ‘insecure’. There is a voice in me that I suppose will always be there. It is neither a voice of reason, logic or practicality. It simply says that the fruits of ones labor are sure to ferment, therefore… don’t get caught up in the wine. Instead, obsess over the path. The people. The places. And yes, the work.

For unlike the horseshit you’ve been spoon fed your entire life, you ARE what you do. Okay, I’ve said it. I’ve lost half my audience. But it’s true. If you are not what you DO, then what the hell are you? How else are you defined? By what you say?! What you think?! What you wear? Feel?

Bullshit.

My friends, you have roughly 70 to 80 years on this earth and I can sure as shit promise you that NOBODY is going to remember you for what you thought. (Not unless you write it down.) It will be what you DID with your life that will have mattered. How many did you touch? What did you leave behind? Was your life true to who you were? Or did you simply live the lie others found worthy? Did you delude yourself into believing you could hide under a carpet of sacrifice?

Yes? No?

Either way. And at what ever point. Shut up and do the thing you were meant to do. And if that be a parent, be the best. If it be plumber, invent something no one’s ever seen before. And if you happen to be a clerk behind a counter, know that you will perhaps touch more people than I could ever imagine through the medium of short films and second hand television.

Own your life. Own your decisions.

The flak you take will be tough. The successes, bitter sweet. You’ll wonder if it was worth it. Those that love you will tell you it was. People will hate you, others will say you’re a genius. And odds are they’re both totally full of it.

But at the end of the road, neither matter. It was never about them, but what they inspired in you. And what you, inspire in others. It sure as hell ain’t about about getting a ‘better table’ in some restaurant. (When you’ve worked in the kitchen, a table’s a table.)

It’s about taking those fingers you so readily point at the world and making the decision to bend them into a fist, that you begin to live. And yes, people will hate you. And people will praise you.

But who asked them? Not me.

Therefore, I will live my life full steam. And yes, I will wish the forgiveness of those that may have been burned along the way. But I too have been burned. And I will aspire to hold no grudge along the way. (Well, maybe a few.)

‘Success is relative.’ Though be most careful of those who describe it as such. They are the losers. The non participants. The bitter. Sheep hide best behind college educations.

Then again, maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps they are the sages of our time. Therefore, and that said.

In terms of success?

I am.

C.

Palm Springs. Hot. Sunny. Gorgeous. California never ceases to amaze me.

Arrived at the airport, grabbed our bags and raced to the hotel. We had about a 50 minute window to dump our stuff and get to the theater. It was fantastic to see my family again. They’d been out here for two days already. Putting up posters, postcards, handing out key chains and the like. My brother in law, Avi surprised everyone by flying in from Vegas. My sister was wearing a big red cowboy hat with her CENTIGRADE ‘filmmakers’ badge and looked the perfect publicist/producer. My Dad had already done some interviews and Scotland, my 5 year old niece, had little ‘Centigrade’ postcards pinned all over her dress. And it was so, very, exciting. Nobody’s family is better. Nobody’s.

I quickly got a tour from my Mom of the media center and was introduced to a few filmmakers she’d been chatting up over the last few days. I then took a quick peek of the filmmakers lounge. The place was buzzing.

We made it to the theater with about 20 minutes to spare and waiting for me were some of the best friends a man can have. Rob and Brandon Stilson. Mark and Claudia Rickerby. And one of my greatest and coolest friends in the world, Scooby Sorkin.

The theater was 1/10 the size of the theater in Montreal. Perhaps a hundred or so people (I gave my seat up to a guy who didn’t have one. I just sat on the floor at the back).

But be it large or small we were ‘Sold Out’.

The program consisted of 8 films. We were 8th. And once the first film began I felt nervous. Some of them were damn good. And so, I decided then to feel complimented to even be in such company. There are some seriously good filmmakers out there.

Granted, there were one or two that made me wonder who was smoking crack when they were first accepted, but then again, what the hell do I know? As for our turn at bat, well… the sound was a bit of a mess, but nobody noticed but me. It crackled and clicked throughout. Strange. The theaters sound system certainly wasn’t cutting edge, but it played well played enough in spite of it all.

Palm Springs votes by ‘ballot’. Basically, the audience fills out a ballot that’s handed out to them as they walk in to the theater and they check off which film they thought was best etc. And I had to laugh as being the director, I was walking in and out of the theater constantly checking on things, and had to remind the older guy at the door every time, NOT to give me another ballot. I felt like an illegal alien voting Democrat.

Anyway. It was a little unfortunate that a few people left before we even got to CENTIGRADE. I think they felt the ‘Twilight Zone’ program (to which we were a part) may have gone a little long. And so, a some of them began to split. And I was dying because I wanted them to VOTE for my film!! Hell, at least vote for somebody. But finally enough did in fact stay, the whole thing wrapped up and we all headed out for a drink.

I had trouble getting a connection on my cell phone, so I couldn’t call Madison immediately. It was too bad she couldn’t make it to Palm Springs. But the money has just gotten so stupid. Time to reel it back in. She eventually called ‘me’ to say that our 3rd and final screening in Montreal was perhaps the best of the bunch.

She said there were tons of people asking her a thousand questions and that the same day there was a journalist who had mentioned CENTIGRADE as the best film in it’s category. The category of course, WORLD COMPETITION. Cross your fingers.

Anyway. So after the screening we all went out for a bite to eat and had a great laugh. Afterwards we all went to the Hilton and sat by the pool and had another great laugh. This morning I woke up, packed my bags for Vancouver and started cry. Okay. Maybe I didn’t. But it’s just been so much damn fun following this thing around. What a blessing.

And so… Now I sit upon yet another airplane and it’s hot as hell. It’s got to a thousand degrees in here. What the hell is it with these airplanes?!

I don’t believe this. The woman across from me is freezing to death. It’s like krakatoa in here and this gal is bundled up with more cotton than Osama’s granny. She’s got her blanket, my blanket, double socks and a hood. She looks like an Afghani Drivers License.

A fitting end to a fine beginning.

Look out world. Here we come.

C.

MONTREAL -

Hot. Muggy. Raining. Canadian summers never cease to amaze me.

If you like cities, and you’ve never been to Montreal… it’s a must. It simply can’t be touched above the 49th parallel. The people are alive, passionate and (with the exception of the cancerous taxi drivers) very friendly.

The festival, wonderful. No pretense or Hollywood bullshit, just great people with a great love for film. As for myself, Madison and Bri, there was a great love for our beds because the travel and jet lag was absolutely paralyzing. Unreal. The red eye, the time difference. At times I would hit a wall that was un-movable.

But to give a bit of a picture as to the ‘spirit’ of the festival… They have this massive outdoor screen in one of the town squares. At night the screenings are packed with people splayed out all over the square. Numerous ‘park benches’ brought out for the occasion are now lined up like church pews. Though many people were quite happy to stand or sit within the large rise of steps leading up to yet more plastic tables and chairs.

Anyway, what I wanted to mention was that one night it began raining. Only instead of everyone scattering like ants (hell bent on saving their hairdos), instead, umbrella’s just began ‘popping up’ everywhere. Nobody moved. No one made a sound. They just popped open their umbrellas and continued intently focused on the illusion being projected onto the screen.

That’s my kind of festival. My kind of people.

As for ‘our first’ screening?

Fantastic. Full house. We handed out CENTIGRADE thermometers. Basically, a plastic key chain with a real thermometer in it. We brought 500 of these puppies and handed them out to everybody. (The other 500 went to Palm Springs where my Dad, Sister, Mom and Brother in Law are battling 120 degree heat to get the word out.)

Attendance in Montreal? Awesome. Granted, the press and audience percentage that was in the house was primarily there for the feature we were partnered up with, Kuru Obi (Black Belt), but unfortunately I don’t think the the press stayed very long. But it was OUR short that came up FIRST. And it worked.

Very proud.

The house lights dimmed, our opening credits began to roll and Madison, Bri and I all held hands… then held our breath for the next 17 minutes and 40 seconds.

And it was awesome. Remember, this was the first time anyone had ever seen the film. (And our first time in ‘seeing’ people see it.) Add it was great. Everyone responded in all the right places and it looked GREAT. The transfer looked better than ever.

Colin Cunningham and Madison Graie, Montreal 2007. © Turn Up the Heat Productions 2007

Madison and I were especially proud. This began with her. She was the person who said we should try for KICK START in the first place. She’s the one who put together all the paper work. The entire development of the project. If anyone has ever earned the credit of Producer, it is her. That’s why I insisted that her credit be FIRST up. Not mine. One cannot direct thin air. So, it was a great thing. But we also reminded ourselves that this was just the warm up. Our first screening was more of a ‘press screening’. There was the big massive theater to be screened in later that night. Theatre Maisonneuve.

Jonathan Tyrrell was there as well, having flown in from Vancouver the Friday before and we all began the task of getting the word out, finding strategic places for posters, post cards, etc.

Bri had set up a radio interview for me at one of the most listened to radio programs in Montreal. Time? 7am. Ehhh. So, the next morning we were up at 5:30 and making our way to the studio.

Madison Graie, Colin Cunningham and Brianne McQuair, Montreal 2007. © Turn Up the Heat Productions 2007

The shows producer, Andrea, was fantastic, but apparently had a bit of trouble getting me on as a guest. The head jock Andrew, simply felt that there was too little time to do anything. So, she rattled off a few of my credits.

Elektra?

“Nope.”

DaVincis’?

“No time.”

6th Day, X Files, Stargate?

“STARGATE!!!!”

Well, turns out the guy is huge fan of Stargate. Been trying to get ‘Andrea’ to watch the show for months. I had to laugh ‘cause the guy said that anytime he sits down at home to watch tv and that first shot of the ‘gate’ comes on, his wife shouts out, “NO SPACE!”

Anyway. I’ve worked on many shows, a thousand credits. But it was good ol’ Paul Davis that came through for me.

So…

Note that the French are very proud of their culture. (As so they should be.) But what that means to an outsider is that it’s in your best interest to at least make an attempt to speak French. The odd ‘bonjour’ and ‘merci’ never hurt anybody. But the one thing I DID need to pronounce was the name of the place our film was playing at.

The artistic hub of the festival is the Place d’ Arts. (Pronunciation, “Plas d’ Ars”.) So, Bri wrote up the phonetic pronunciation for me and away I went.

Well, apparently in my bid to sound cool, I declared to 150 thousand listeners in Montreal that CENTIGRADE was now playing at the ‘Plastic Arse’. Perhaps not the strongest start to my radio career.

But it’s been work. And that’s why I haven’t written a thing. At times we had to ‘remind’ ourselves to have a little fun. We were in Montreal after all. Speaking of which, our screening at the ‘Arse’ wasn’t technically our ‘first’ screening in Montreal.

Two nights before, Madison, Bri and I went out for a celebratory drink. The place, Bocconcino’s. There, we were befriended by Georgio (bartender extrordinaire) and Jimmy, the restaurants owner. Two of the greatest guys you’ll ever meet. Hospitality off the chart. Anyway, we had a few drinks and promised to come back with a DVD of the film as thanks for such a great night.

So, the next night (late Friday night) we went back and before you know it Jimmy had locked the doors, cranked up the sound and played the film to about a dozen or so people on the 5 jumbo-tron televisions above the bar. Our own private screening at Boconccinos. Unreal.

Jimmy opened some very fine bottles of wine, a few whiskeys were poured and I cannot remember what time we got home.

What I ‘do’ remember was that I was a tad hung over for our World Premiere. Not the most noble beginning I admit, but if it’s not all about the people, then what the hell? The beauty of making something like a film is the experiences that come about because of it. The people. The places. The other filmmakers. The camaraderie. Sure we were there to work, but we were also there to laugh. And we did. Then I took a Tylenol.

Thank you Georgio and Jimmy. Much appreciated.

Palm Springs, here we come.

C.

Vancouver International Airport. 9:45pm - Red Eye to Montreal.

Sitting on the airplane and it’s already hot as hell. Everyone has found their seating assignments, there is a child screaming at the top of it’s lungs and the smell of feet has now begun wafting it’s way throughout the cabin.

Bri and I now sit in an exit row watching the safety demonstration and I don’t get it, I mean when you think of all the incredible technical advances in design/engineering, medical science, etc. that, “In case we ‘lose cabin pressure’” (and you need to ‘breathe’), a jello cup with a rubber band falls from the ceiling.

Man, if a seagull flies its ass into my pretzels at 35,000 feet I don’t want some dixie cup dropping into my lap, I want one of them Blue Angel/Snow Bird jobs with the hoses and bullet proof rubber. Seriously, the cuppy thing looks like something you’d get from a Toys R’ Us. “Sorry folks, we’re going down in a fire ball, but ‘till then, we’re all gonna play a giant game of ‘telephone’.”

Montreal. Oh, Montreal. Always wanted to go. So looking forward to this.

The city that is… Jazz. Class. Culture. Women don’t just ‘dress’ in Montreal, instead they embellish themselves with color. Adorn their frames with the finest of fabrics. I’ve often joked that Vancouver is the only city in the world where you can get ‘vintage fleece’. “Your great grandmother wore that fleece hoodie on her wedding day.”

Anyway. Here we sit. On an ‘air bus’. And it is. Interesting though. From the outside they call it a ‘bus’. But once you get inside, they call it a ‘cabin’. Sounds lovely. Perhaps I should just kick off my shoes and put my feet up? Christ, I think the guy behind me just did.

Anyway, Madison left for Gino Vanelli-land earlier this afternoon and Derrick is kissing lobsters in Newfoundland.

But it’s been a day. Yet another. Posters and fliers, dvd sleeves and dvd cases. 400 bucks to the printer. 450 to the duplication house. 250 to Fed Ex (oh ya). And the train kept a rollin’.

God it’s hot in here. Seriously. What the hell is with that? Maybe that’s why they call it a cabin? Perhaps somebody’s stokin’ a fire in the ‘living room’. My chestnuts are roasting. And I’m not kidding about the kid. You’d think his mother was pulling his finger nails off.

Bri just pointed out a giant moth that’s causing a bit of excitement among the passengers. How cool is that huh? Flappin’ up and down the aisle. And I just keep thinking that once we land 3,000 miles from here, is he ever gonna be in for a surprise.

But such is travel right? Nuts. This trip is going to be a blast. Madison has family in Montreal and she gets to share the whole experience with her aunt, whom I believe is like 90 years old. How incredibly cool is that? Taking your 90 year old aunt to a glitzy movie premiere.

Hope she likes Karate’.

God it’s hot in here.

Stewardess just asked, in the event of an emergency, ‘would I be willing to open the exit door.’ I said, “You kidding? No problem. Just don’t ask me to stick around and hold it open for anyone else.”

Cause I’m out of here.

Palm Springs ranks as my number one favorite place in the world. From the forgotten 70’s when it was an abandoned bomb shelter, to the spring break riots of the 1980’s. I’ve spent 30 years returning to the Aqua Caliente for its tranquility and Peabody’s for their mango salsa.

Something about this little desert town speaks to me and it’s a bias I can’t really describe. I used to hike Tahquitz Canyon with an empty garbage bag, work my way up to the falls, have a swim, then return with a bag full of garbage. Do that today and they’ll arrest you.

Still, we’ve been accepted to the Palm Springs International Short Fest, the largest short film festival in North America and we’re ecstatic. Madison and I had an ‘audience favorite’ there at the Nortel Festival about 8 years ago with our feature Zacharia Farted, and there is nothing better than to mix ones love of film with sunshine and sage.

I mention this only because the last few entries on this blog have carried a more ‘poutine’ kind of slant and it was about time I made an effort to balance things out.

We are having TWO PREMIERES on the same weekend. And we’ve been absolutely scrambling in our attempts to attend both. It’s incredibly expensive, but at the moment it looks possible.

Our first screening is in Montreal, Saturday night at 9:30pm. Later that evening, at around 3am, Bri and I will leave Madison and Jonathan behind and head for the airport to hop a plane to Palm Springs. We’ll make stops in both Chicago and Denver, arriving in Palm Springs at around 2pm. From there we’ll check into our hotel, drop our bags and cab it over for our 2nd premiere at 3:30pm.

Unfortunately, Madison can’t make it to Palm Springs. Just as unfortunate, Derrick Garland (Producer) can’t make either. (In spirit Derrick).

But as for me and Palm Springs…There, I will get to see my family and friends, Mark and Claudia Rickerby (who both worked on the film), Rob Stilson (dear friend) and his son Brandon (fag)… not to mention my Mom, Dad, Sister Lorraine and niece Scotland. Most will have been there days before, handing out fliers, enjoying the festivities and getting the word out.

Best of the best.

It’s the coolest thing in the world to share something like this. Granted, these are the kind of people who would support me regardless (all gold), but it is also kind of cool to give them something unique to take part in. Something aside from their own personal obligatory. That, and what better reason to go to Palm Springs than to see your kids movie, or your buddies, etc.?

Part of the sacrifice in doing this kind of crap is that you don’t get to see the people you love. Friends take a back seat. Girlfriends do their best to understand. ‘Family’ becomes a thing to be scheduled. And at the end of the day, you may actually end up with a movie that blows.

That’s one hell of a gamble.

BUT, if you succeed…

IF you’re able to pull it off…

IF the film is good…

Then their existence. Their memory. Their influence, becomes tribute. A mirror. An explanation. A thank you card. And ALL are able to celebrate together. One and the same.

Vicarious, perhaps. But all guilty… and proud.

As my father has always said,

“You’re dead a long time.”

See you in the desert gang.

CAMELOT Theatres. SUNDAY 26th. 3:30pm 2300 E. Barista Between Tahquitz and Ramon

760-325-6565

C.

A Karate movie. That’s what we’ve been paired with.

A Japanese Karate movie.

‘KURO-OBI’ (Translation: BLACK BELT.)

Here’s the trailer:

Don’t have much to say really. From what I gather from the trailer, it’s about a group of Karate students whose master is killed and they set out to avenge his death.

Perhaps not the newest spin on the ol’ Karate genre’, but hey… the film did play at Cannes.

And it looks pretty good if you ask me. I mean, they were invited to Cannes, right? (Then again, so was ZOO. A movie about gay guys who have sex with horses.) But hey, who am I to argue ‘art’? Perhaps next year I’ll take the Palme d’Or with a film about lighting my own farts.

Rehab.

Anyway. So, it’s CENTIGRADE and BLACK BELT… together at last. And why the hell not? You know, it could have been worse. I mean, we could have been paired with one of those obscure French films where all anybody does is take a bath. Ever notice that? French movies are always the same. Two people sit in a bath. They stare out the window, then take a bath. Stare some more. Take another bath. Stare. Bath. Then they jump out the window and kill themselves.

So all I can say is that you simply got to go with the flow.

Can’t wait to meet my new Japanese filmmaking friends. We’ve got a smokin’ little film to help them kick off their Montreal experience.

(Granted, it may not be as ‘progressive’ as getting buggered by Seabiscuit, but what the hell.)

I wonder if the liquor store will trade a sixer of Kokanee for some sake?

C.

Just got some great news.

Our schedule has been changed. Instead of screening Friday, Saturday and Sunday (opening weekend Montreal). We are now screening twice on Saturday and once on Sunday (opening weekend in). A small bump.

My friends, schedule is everything. A Thursday at 8am, bad. Saturday night at 9:30pm, good.

But dig this, there is a ‘press only’ screening on Saturday morning. That’s press ONLY. That’s very good. So whatever feature that’s playing is getting it’s own press screening. But dig again, after that screening… there is a press CONFERENCE for that feature. That means that our little short is going to start BEFORE that feature and a press conference follows that screening!! Awesome.

Okay. So, plan ‘C’. Find out who the producers are. Find out who the lead actor is. And… ask them if they’ll share a bit of the light and at least mention the short that kicked off their screening. It’s a huge opportunity. And we will do everything we can to attend that press conference. Just to physically be there could make all the difference for this film.

But wait, there’s more. Later that night. Saturday night. The film is screening at 9:30pm. A killer time slot. So, it’s got to be something big. And to top it all off, the film is playing in the big mama theatre. The one where they hold their Gala.

This is good. This is really good.

Madison just told me to check into rehab. No, I don’t have a drug or alcohol problem. She just thinks it would make good publicity. Remember the days when there was a measure of ‘shame’ attached to that kind of crap? Nowadays, Betty Ford is something you put on your resume’.

Anyway. ‘Publicity’ is the days buzzword.

Plan ‘A’. Hire a publicist.

Don’t have any money.

Plan ‘B’. Find out what feature film our short is ‘attached to’ in Montreal, get in touch with their publicist and see if she drinks beer.

If that doesn’t work. Figure I’ll just have to flash my johnson getting out of a limosine.

Brianne McQuair is our Vancouver publicist. She was also the films props person and set decorator. And when she’s not busting her ass on the show, she’s warming the other side of my bed. She’s a great girl and every now and then I cook her breakfast.

But here we are. Montreal. 5 out of 15. That’s 5 Canadian films out of 15 films chosen to compete from around the globe. The World ‘Competition’. Out of 3,500 submissions to Montreal only a couple hundred films were chosen to be screened. Out of that couple hundred, 15 were chosen to compete. Not bad. Especially when you consider the fact that we sent them our rough cut. No sound mix. Temp tracks. Rough.

Bragging? Damn right. And why the hell not. You know how many people have busted their ass’s on this thing? About a hundred. And they all deserve the bragging rights.

And we’ve got the Palm Springs short fest opening the same weekend. Two World Premieres, at the same time!

So, we’re looking for an angle. God knows merit ain’t worth a damn anymore. Gay filmmaker? Nope. Indigenous? Not unless ‘Nanuck’ paddled a canoe to Ireland and snuck into the Cunningham yurt. Black? After a day of listening to Stevie Wonder, baby there ain’t nothin’ blacker. But, no. Child abuse? I’m Irish, I could sue the whole island.

Rehab. That’s gotta be it. We’re all human, right?

So I told a buddy of mine that I was going to issue a press release saying that I’m going into rehab. My problem? The ever popular, “addiction to prescription medication.”

He said nobody would buy it. I asked him why, he said “Laxatives don’t count.”

Real quick, I need to mention something right off the top of this posting. I have mentioned the ‘key’ players above. But I wanted to add a name. Jonathan Tyrrell. AKA ‘The Great Briton’. This poor bastard started out as our editor, then somehow got roped into being our post production supervisor, then color timer and now web master. And all for the price of an avocado roll.

It sucks not being able to ‘properly’ pay people. So many people on this show have literally worked for a bottle of wine or a sixer of Bud. The final shot in the film, a massive piece of VFX work that was quoted at over 20,000 dollars… Well, only one guy stepped forward. Mike Borgstrom, our VFX artist, did the work for a box of Corona.

But even that my friends, adds up. Fifty bottles of wine. 20 bottles of scotch. Countless cases of beer. And things are now, most definitely ‘tight’.

No money.

Tapped out.

The film cost 20,000 dollars to make (THANK YOU KICK START), but because Montréal wants to screen us in competition (and we want to compete) the film ‘must’ be screened in 35mm. That’s an ‘additional’ 8,000 dollars, almost half our budget.

In addition to that. HD to film transfer, 5 grand. Answer prints, 1,200. Optical strip, 1,000. Stills, media packages, HD transfers, DVD transfers, screener copies….

I’m now out 12,000 bucks. That’s… Out. Of. Pocket. Madison’s out at least 5. And all for a film that nobody will ever see.

Seriously. What was the last short you saw? Of course there was that brilliant Academy Award winning short from last year? Remember that? Wasn’t it astonishing? No? Didn’t see it? Really? Me neither. How about the winner before that? Anyone? If you’re older than 30, the last short movie you saw probably starred people with names like Alfalfa and Buckwheat. (God bless you Hal.)

But still. You bust your ass. Flirt with bankruptcy. (Or at the very least say goodbye to the condo.) Sacrifice. You never see your friends. Girlfriends leave you. (They also step up to help you.) Bills go unpaid. ‘Family’ is stretched to it’s limit.

And then should you actually pull the thing off, and SCREEN your movie, some bozo walks out of the theatre and chimes, “Eh… Hey! Let’s go find some pussy.”

But am I complaining? No way baby. Wouldn’t trade it for the world. How many people can say they made a movie? Only a handful really.

And so, if I’m going to ‘count’ anything. Let it be my blessings.

Out.

Colin Cunningham in Centigrade, © Turn Up the Heat Productions, 2007

Hope I don’t screw this up.

Okay. First entry into what I hope will be many. Provided I can actually get my lazy ass to document the coming months (years?). That said, welcome to CENTIGRADE the magical tour journal. A place where one can check in to see how one little short film is doing as it makes the rounds to various festivals and finally takes over the WORLD!!!

Will it be the first short film to break the 100 million opening weekend mark?

Will the film be celebrated and studied by cinephiles and critics the world over?

(Or, will my corpse be studied by med students pondering the physical effects of independent filmmaking and how it can age you faster than huffing glue.)

So, before we begin I should bring you up to speed. My name is Colin Cunningham. I’m the films Writer, Director and Actor guy. Ya, ya. One of those ‘do it all’ idiots. Lord knows, you’d have to be an idiot to think you could actually make a living doing this kind of thing.

That said, myself, Madison Graie (Producer) and Derrick Garland (other Producer) made a movie, sent it off to some festivals and here we go. First one on the list, Montréal International World Festival. And after that Palm Springs Short Fest.

So, this is the blog. The diary. The suicide note.

Hope you enjoy it.

C.