Chapter | ten

If You Want It Done

Right, You've Got to

Do It Yourself, or Pay

Someone a lot of Money

One of the most interesting pieces of feedback that I've ever received following a screening of one of my films occurred just a few months ago at a Poultrygeist screening at the Avignon Film Festival. I'd done a short introduction to the movie, and then stepped outside to bum a cigarette off an adoring fan. (If your last name is Kaufman and you are my wife or one of my daughters, then I had simply stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air. Hear that, Charlotte?) As I was taking in one particularly satisfying drag of fresh air, I was approached by an audience member who had somehow torn herself away from the chicken carnage inside.

“That is an interesting artistic choice, Monsieur Kaufman. To cut the heads off like that.”

“Oh, yes, thank you. Merci! Chevrolet coup de ville!”

I smiled, and then began to think about the statement. The zombie massacre scene in Poultrygeist had peoples’ faces being ripped off and then eaten like chicken skin. A guy's face was eaten by chicken nuggets. Someone else's face was deep fried. But had I really allowed so banal an effect as someone's head simply being cut off? And she had said heads, as in plural.

“Excusez-moi. Which heads, exactly, do you mean?”

The young woman looked at me and cocked her head to the side. She put her hand up just above her nose.

“The heads being cut off. Right here.”

Confused, and more than slightly concerned, I went back into the dark theater. On the screen, I saw the faces of Jason Yachanin and Kate Graham. Scratch that… I saw their faces from the nose down. The projectionist had somehow framed the film incorrectly or angled the projector just badly enough to almost be humorous. Almost. This soon became a mini-nightmare as we discovered that “le projectionist” had taken a powder and locked the projection booth. Eventually, after a loud sacre bleu! and cinema workers running around like chickens with their heads cuts off, “le projectionist” showed up, puzzled about what all the commotion was about. Three years of making Poultrygeist only to have its French premiere fowled by bad projection was not as serious a matter to him as the jambon et fromage baguette he was searching for.¹ I made him start the film again from the beginning. Not everyone in the audience was appreciative of this. In the middle of all of it, though, all I could think was how oddly that woman must think of me to assume that I had intentionally filmed everyone from the nose down.

CONGRATULATIONS … I'M SORRY (AND OTHER POP CULTURE REFERENCES FROM 1996)

I often get into quite a funk after a film is completed. And considering that I've already admitted that I'm in a funk during much of preproduction and production, it might seem like I spend much of my filmmaking life in a funk. But the truth is, there is nothing much more exciting than watching an audience watch your film — for the first time or the 4,367th time. And even though it becomes increasingly more difficult to get a mainstream publication to pay attention to an independent film, I have had few better days in my life than the day I woke up to Poultrygeist's rave review in Entertainment Weekly.² You made your film so that people could see it, right? So the film is finished and since then you've spent a good three months in your basement crying about the lack of direction in your life. What now?

SNAP OUT OF IT! Get out there and whore for your art. Do everything you, as director, can possibly do to get the media to take note of your film.

FIGURE 10.1 Lloyd Kaufman accepts the NAMBLA Lifetime Achievement Award, 1952.

PUTTING THE “I” IN FESTIVAL

Film Festivals are a great way to get your film out there for people to see. You've heard of the biggies like Cannes and Sundance. But the sad truth is that, unless your film stars Dakota Fanning or Steve Carell and costs upwards of $12 million, the chances of getting your film shown at Sundance are pretty slim. Like, Mary Kate Olsen slim. Back in 1883, two young filmmakers by the name of Trey Parker and Matt Stone submitted their film Cannibal! The Musical to the Sundance Film Festival and paid a hefty submission fee for the privilege. Not only did their film, which went on to become a Troma classic, NOT get into the festival, but they received not so much as a letter, phone call, e-mail, or courier pigeon with a note saying “Fuck You!” tied to its foot. Out of this slight to Trey and Matt, the TromaDance Film Festival was born. Each year Troma holds its own festival in Park City, Utah, at the same time as Sundance. We charge no admission fee for filmmakers to enter their movies, nor do we charge admission to any of the screenings. As such, TromaDance has absolutely no revenue. So take that, Sundance!

FIGURE 10.2 Lloyd Kaufman and Trey Parker, on their yearly pilgrimage to Del Taco.

There are several film festivals going on all over the world at any one time. Do some creative Google-ing and start sending your film out.

WHEN IT'S OKAY TO SELL OUT

When your film does begin to show publicly, which I'm sure it will if you've followed the sage wisdom in this book so far, you should be sure that those involved in the distribution process show as much concern for your film as you have. This includes everyone from the projectionist in the theater to the Troma acquisitions man–boy to the angry exec at Fox Searchlight who pays you a big advance for your distribution rights. Stanley Kubrick actually used to sit in the projection booth to be sure that the fat slob managing⁴ 13 screens didn't play reel #3 before reel #1 or project “à la Avignon.” We at Troma get calls every day from filmmakers whose films we acquired two years ago, wondering when the film will actually be released on DVD. We don't actually answer these calls, but that doesn't mean that I don't encourage you to make similar calls if someone acquires your film. Never be afraid to get in there and make yourself heard. When your film is finally released, talk to the media. Reviewers don't want to hear from a Public Relations guy. If they listen to anyone, it will be you. You are a D-I-R-E-C-T-O-R!

A NOTE FROM SARA, LLOYD'S (UP UNTIL NOW) LOYAL ASSISTANT

Wait Lloyd, what's going on? You're talking about distribution now? Distribution isn't a director's job, is it? I thought this book was supposed to be about directing. Did I miss that part?

    Seriously, Lloyd, so far you've talked about how to be a script supervisor, how to be an editor, how to do PR, and how to blow up a fucking chicken monster, which I swear, if I have to hear about one more time I'm just going to lose it. Have I ever reminded you that I moved to New York specifically to work for you? And not just New York, but to Queens! I'm starting to think that this is all just bullshit. Poultrygeist was shot in, what, 2005? It's 2008 now. That's three fucking years of you NOT directing movies. I expected to be on a movie set by now, sleeping on the floor and eating cheese sandwiches and learning how to defecate in a paper bag. That's what your other books were about. Instead, for the last six months you've been wandering around the office muttering something about “looking for an ensemble piece.” Is there some new project in the works that I don't know about? I kind of doubt it, seeing as I'm the one who answers your phone and checks your e-mails while you're running around France “promoting” Poultrygeist. Well, congratulations. Poultrygeist opened well and still got kicked out of the theater so Indiana Jones Part IV could open on 72,000 screens in New York alone. Oh yeah, we got some decent reviews. And then there was that shitty review in The Washington Post where the guy didn't even watch the movie and still hated it. God, sometimes I come to work and the phone doesn't even ring. Some days I get more comments on my Facebook than e-mails relating to Troma business. And then I finally do find us a deal (with FRANCE!) and it falls through. Why? Because there's no M&E track, which you promised you would make this time. When are you going to start following your own advice?

FIGURE 10.3 Thank God Poultrygeist was kicked out of the theater to make room for Indiana Jones so Lloyd Kaufman didn't feel obligated to spend any more money on ads like this one!

    Even here, in this book, I don't understand you. Here is this opportunity to write a book on directing and secure yourself some kind of legacy in the film world, and what do you do? You spend 200 pages talking about fucking chickens…. Yeah, that's right … 200 pages!

Not 322 pages like your contract said. Nice work.

    Where is the directing, Lloyd? Where's all the advice on seeing through the lens with a poet's eye, or some shit like that! Seriously, does James Gunn need an assistant? I bet if he wrote a book about directing, it would actually be about directing. That guy left Troma and two seconds later was writing Scooby Doo. And here I am, working on writing that introduction to your lesson on fart noises. And to top it all off, I just found out that people who intern on reality shows make twice as much money as I do, and THEY ARE ON STRIKE FOR MORE MONEY! I think you should find someone else to work on this book. I really need to reevaluate my life …

    In fact, you know what? I quit.

A CONVERSATION WITH ELINOR, MY EDITRIX

I am in my office. It's late. Michael is gone. The Troma Team is gone. The neighbors are quiet. Both of my cowriters have abandoned this book. It's just me and my friend Popov. The phone rings.

“Hello Lloyd? It's Elinor.”

“Oh, Elinor. What a surprise! How are you? Good?”

I take a long, burning sip from the vodka bottle.

“Say, Elinor, did you get the last chapter of the book? I think it's pretty good.”

“It's fine Lloyd. I just —”

“Yep, I really think it's done Elinor. I think we've covered it all.” “

About that, Lloyd. We're just a little confused here. You say this is the last chapter?”

“Yep, that's it. All finished! That's all she wrote. I mean, metaphorically. I mean, that's it.”

(Insert pregnant pause here …)

“Well, Lloyd, I'm not sure how to say this, but let me be blunt. Is this book about directing? I mean, if you want to call the book something else, maybe we could find another title, but I'm not sure that directing is really the focus here …”

(I stand up here. I'm not sure why, since Elinor is on the phone and can't see me. Maybe I just feel more authoritative standing up.) “Did my assistant Sara ask you to say that?”

“What? Lloyd, I don't even know your assistant. Maybe you should sit down.”

(I sit down here. Again, I'm not sure why. I also don't know how she knew I was standing in the first place).

“Listen, Elinor. There's a lot of stuff in this book. I know that. But it's all directing. It is! A director doesn't just stand in front of the camera and say “action.” A director needs to know the script. He needs to know casting. He needs to know how to get his movie seen. He needs to know how to make fucking zombie chicken noises!”

“Well, that's the other problem Lloyd. There's a lot of stuff here, but it's only 176 pages.

“Yep.”

“Your contract stated 322 pages. We're not really sure what to do with all of this, Lloyd.”

“Elinor, you don't know what it's been like here. This has been tough. I've been hallucinating the Toxic Avenger and everyone is quitting on me and there was this bookshelf, Elinor … this fucking bookshelf…”

“Okay, calm down. Calm down a little.”

“And I keep getting e-mails from someone working on the footnotes. What does he want from me?”

“Calm down, Lloyd. Are you calming down?”

“Yes, Elinor.” I take another swig from the bottle.

“Maybe you could just do one more chapter just about directing for us. Maybe something artistic, like looking through the lens with a poet's eye, or something like that.”

“Seriously, Elinor, did my assistant call you? Because she's not here anymore, so —”

“Lloyd, can you have that chapter to me by tomorrow?”

(Insert another pregnant pause here …)

“Sure Elinor.”^*

Notes

¹Direct Your Own Damn Movie Lesson #: If it is an important screening, you, as director, should stay in the theater to make sure the projectionist doesn't fuck it up.

²The day that each of my daughters was born ranks up there too, but I've got to admit that the Entertainment Weekly review was pretty nice. Owen Gleiberman gave our fowl movie a B + , and in the same issue, gave Indian Jones: Curse of the Past-its-Prime Movie Franchise only a B-!

⁴And by manage, I mean eat a bologna sandwich in the general vicinity of the projector while chatting on the phone with his pot dealer and watching TV.

^*LONELY FOOTNOTE GUY SAYS: I'm still with you Lloyd. Wanna come over?