Showing posts with label victoria mahoney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label victoria mahoney. Show all posts

Friday, June 18, 2010

YELLING TO THE SKY director Recaps the Narrative Labs

The most common song sung throughout cineland the past few years is how"excessively difficult it is to get an Indie resourced and released in this climate." Ask anyone, two decades thick into Indie and you'll hear, long-ago-era-of-abundance stories.

Putting us, up and coming filmmakers at an anemic crossroads of [what once was] and [what isn't, just yet].

People often react to members of our production team as if we're aiming to build the Taj Mahal upon three melting icicles and a strand of retrofitted dental floss. Since hearing countless experiences on forty layers of nonconventional choices from our IFP fore-filmmakers and peers all last week, I now feel a buoyant sense of one [single] buck solid absolute.

I am absolutely, to the core certain that the old rules forever drummed into celluloid's "how to" lexicon, no longer dictate a film's platform or shelf life. The paradigm of yester-decade is not today's rule. More excitingly, this very second in time, there-are-no-rules! How rejuvenating, to be walking within the precise moment where a shifting industry, has yet to take shape. The worldwide web has miraculously leveled the playing field, decimated the platinum curtain and reinstated the long lost nectar of an almost deceased term; I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T.

YELLING TO THE SKY is jumping off in a time where there's no playbook. There's no sole structure, fold out, process, formality or convention to define film or to exhibit media.

For every one of grandcinema's decaying "must", there are twenty-two thousand present day, counter success hymns.

It is the wild wild East, and as such the only viable requirement for flight, is a willingness to play.

Not play along, not play by ideas, not play accordingly or fitfully. Just schoolyard-proper, sleeves up, love of the game "play".

That ripe smashing of old law, is taking shape as my entire team and I, continue walking thru post. As Billy and I, proceed to pick sales agents, navigate our launch, seek support and more crucially as we demand visibility.

(I'm sitting on a plane next to BIlly Mulligan, my producing partner; Billy, what's the strongest component you are leaving the lab with?

BM: At my fingertips, I feel empowered by the knowledge that was bestowed upon us. In the more micro sense, I can't stop thinking through what we learned about the ever growing and expanding opportunities for distribution and how the distribution landscape is changing at such a fast pace. I am surprised at how much, theoretically, I am embracing it.)

During such a crucial stage of our film's maturation, it's impossible for he and I, to sum up all the moving parts of this lab experience. To have the IFP team roll out point by point discussions on every single tiered aspect of post production is the filmmaking equivalent of Wonka's golden ticket. Entry in this case, seems based upon a healthy ratio of talent, discipline, sacrifice and isolation.

It's not possible to cohesively sling consonants, vowels and syllables into quantifiable expression; mirroring the density per battle, per month, per week, per day.

How do we t h a n k y o u; Amy Dotson, Scott Macauley, Rose Vincelli, Susan Stover, Tricia Cooke, the hourly speakers, the year long staff, the fellows, past and present...

How do we "self starters" thank you insightful few, for generously offering a post-pro home with which we may f i n i s h.

-Victoria Mahoney

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Undiluted Inspiration - Day One of IFP's Narrative Film Labs

Blogged by Victoria Mahoney, Writer/Director of YELLING TO THE SKY

Sound the alarms, talent is alive and well. We saw it; morning to evening. One behind the other, behind the other; in [nine] brave, unique, holy wow filmmakers' offerings as we each gained insight and support from the entire IFP team, mentors and advisors. More about that in a minute...

Because the bumpy ride getting there is worth telling--literally &metaphorically.

I went to bed at 10:30p (everyone who knows my nocturnal ways might respect this feat) but don't cuz I could not-could not fall asleep. Kept rolling and tossing with the most tender curiosity and excitement.

Next thing I know, I'm awakened by the phone buzzing to then hear Billy Mulligan's voice. (Please, don't tell him) but I genuinely have no idea what he said. I was so acutely panic stricken thinking, "Oh no, I've overslept for school, wait, what year is it? Didn't I finish High School? Yes, yes, I remember finishing High School and dang I really wish I kept my punk rock prom dress, it's back in style, I could've given it to my niece for her prom. Focus daggit, jump out of your sleepy haze. I know, I must be late for work. Wait no, that isn't right, we finished principal photography awhile ago. What day is it? A lil' help. Few hints. Couple clues. Above all, what's my name and what time is it?".

I hear something about "it is 8:01". Like 10 gallon paint cans to the back of the skull, I remember; Billy and I were to meet at the circle, equidistant from our apartments 7:40a, for our first day of the lab.

I dress with my eyes closed and jam downstairs.

We foot-race to the express train and spend the 20min ride, chatting and bursting with enthusiasm. So much so, that we miss our exit!

I've woken up late AND now my chatter has us missing our exit. Comedy hour, amateur central. Dodo bird on rinse cycle.

We hop out and begin willing the next train along (of course, we know that doesn't actually work, we just use it to sedate the "please don't let us be late on our first day" over-excessive adrenalin surge.)

We jump the train back uptown; one stop and arrive at our destination, in far more ways than one--with minutes to spare.

Meeting 2xdozen new people at once is odd no matter how you slice it. The warm bit is; knowing everyone feels uncomfortable. The kind bit is; we're uncomfortable--together.

Here's the thing; I love film. I could subsist on film for breakfast, lunch, dinner, midday snack and late night treat. It has something to do with the purity of a filmmaking team's need to share, reflect, communicate and offer.

I could care less about grandstanding. I'm on the hunt for specified moments when a person's desire to communicate, overrides their life. You can visibly detect a sort of "come what may, hell or high water, I will go down with this ship howl!" between pages, between financing, between set ups, between frames, between scenes, sequences, cuts, angles and breaths.

If you're reading this wee blog and are also walking through life--feeling invisible, aching for a chance to offer up a portion of your point of view, begging for inspiration and a call to play at your highest capacity; I beg you, nah scratch that "I dare you" to enter a realm of people bursting with talent, intellect, skill, will, wisdom, wit, kindness, awareness, insight and active instinct. (Whatever context or variable that translates into).

Go find the place where they keep the ones who have -- unequivocally fought for their seat.

They exist. Whatever field. Whichever profession. They exist.

The unspoken challenge isn't finding them. The challenge, is rising-to-meet-them.

Rising, late and disoriented.

Rising, lost and discarded.

Rising, light and determined.

Rising. No matter what. Rising.

Billy Mulligan and I, rode our train home; quieted by the nourishment. The gift. (After an extended stretch of brutality protecting our film from a percentile death.) We were silenced by the undeniable level of raw unconventional groundbreaking talent amongst our peers combined with the precision and forward moving communication of IFP Heads/Advisors/+Mentors.

I am excited for when the films we saw today reach you...that they may inspire you to endure the multifaceted madness of indie-filmmaking.

Until then, if you also spend nights tossing and turning with the wish and wonder of exploration. If you're going the course with bare minimum, purposefully restrapping your laces before bandaging your wounds. If you repeatedly find a portal when all the doors are closed then worry not, race not, we'll be here scattered about the Earth, in rooms labelled "Independent Filmmaker Project".

Walk strongly, without carelessness or rush, we shall save a seat, with-your-name-on-it.