THE MEAN GREEN

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.