Crowdfunding – Page 4

Kickstarter: ‘Yeah Maybe, No’ Questions the Meaning of Rape

While women are generally underrepresented in the media, stories about domestic and sexual violence overwhelmingly place women in the roles of the victim. In a world where men play the heroes and villains, the damsel in distress is an on-screen role where women are positively overflowing. Breaking that stereotype with strong women is crucial, but for true gender equality, men need to be seen in vulnerable positions as well.

Kickstarter photo of Yeah Maybe, No — Kickstarter photo of *Yeah Maybe, No*

This is a guest post by Kelly Kend.

It is with this in mind that I’m making Yeah Maybe, No, a documentary about a male survivor’s experience with sexual assault. Our story centers on Blake, a student at Reed College in Portland, Oregon, who had found himself in a “crappy situation” with his first boyfriend. In a story that any survivor will recognize, he was hesitant to immediately call it a rape and still doesn’t love using the word. He feels that because his attacker used coercion rather than brute force, it somehow doesn’t really count.

Popular movies about female rape victims don’t particularly help with this situation. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo has a particularly violent rape where Lisbeth Salander ties down and brutalizes a man who brutally raped her. In the more recent Divergent, Tris is tested through a simulated rape and applauded for fighting back. While this might be great wish-fulfillment for many survivors, it creates an unrealistic picture of what rape looks like in the real world. While some rape is very violent, many more women report being scared and lying still, waiting for it to be over, and having a hard time speaking. These reactions are the body freezing up in response to a traumatic situation. This is a biologically normal and potentially life-saving response, but one that we don’t see very often, likely in part because it is much less dramatic on-screen.

Rape scene from Girl with the Dragon Tattoo — Rape scene from *Girl with the Dragon Tattoo*

In Yeah Maybe, No, Blake says that a lack of awareness about non-violent rape is a reason why he didn’t immediately recognize this assault for what it was. But this isn’t the whole story. Due to feminist activists, the definition of rape has shifted over the last century. In 1920, it was defined specifically as something that happened to a woman, and necessarily used force. In 2012, the FBI defined rape as any unwanted penetration, of any orifice, with or without force. According to this definition, what happened to Blake is a crime. However, Blake has no intention of reporting. He calls his experience an assault so he can get support and understanding from his peers, not so he can bring anyone to justice.

This situation is what some might call a “gray rape.” It is different from a “rape rape” in that it’s not a “forcible rape,” but more like “date rape.” Feminist activists would counter that it’s just a rape because “rape is rape.” The truth present in all of these terms is simply that people don’t really know what rape is. For Blake, he stays out of it as much as possible and generally avoids using the word altogether. Instead, he says it was an assault, a crappy situation, or a bad relationship. It’s a situation where he kind of, maybe gave a silent-implied yes to, but inside it was definitely a no. There was no enthusiastic consent, but there was no fighting either. Blake is left with emotional scars, but he doesn’t want to press charges.

So, is it really a crime? As an activist and a survivor, I want to tell him that yes, yes it is. But as a filmmaker, I need to ask harder questions. Am I really seeking justice for Blake, or for my own unresolved experience? Who am I to tell someone else how to interpret one of the most intimate and emotionally charged experiences of his life?

Through asking these questions, Yeah Maybe, No tells a story of ambiguity in one survivor’s experience. By looking at research and talking to experts, we can establish that yes, his experience was a rape, but by also looking at his struggle with what that means, we can learn so much more. Please join us at KickStarter to help tell his story.

Kelly Kend is a documentary filmmaker living in Portland, OR. She has a background in anthropology and has worked on educational and research-based projects for higher education and government agencies. Her work tends to be focused on the details of human interaction and seeks to amplify quieter voices. Yeah Maybe, No is her first independently produced documentary. Her website is www.kellykend.com or you can follow her on Twitter. https://twitter.com/projectid

Seed & Spark: Don’t Let Me Off the Hook

I try to be a decent person and a thoughtful film artist. I frequently write films with complex female protagonists, attempt to defy expectations and stereotypes, and cultivate a team of collaborators that both is diverse and thinks diversely. A huge reason I choose to work with Seed & Spark for crowdfunding my first feature, ‘If There’s a Hell Below,’ is because of the awesome team of women running the show there.

This is a guest post by Nathan Williams.

I’m a white, straight, cisgender male. There is no more over-represented perspective than mine. So what are my words doing here?

I’m writing today to ask you not to let me off the hook.

I try to be a decent person and a thoughtful film artist. I frequently write films with complex female protagonists, attempt to defy expectations and stereotypes, and cultivate a team of collaborators that both is diverse and thinks diversely. A huge reason I choose to work with Seed & Spark for crowdfunding my first feature, If There’s a Hell Below, is because of the awesome team of women running the show there.

I am immensely proud to be working in the Pacific Northwest, a filmmaking community where our biggest success stories right now are women (Lynn Shelton, Megan Griffiths, Dayna Hanson, Tracy Rector, Mel Eslyn, Lacey Leavitt–not to mention the dozens of super-talented women who are on their way). I consider myself a feminist, and strongly support women’s legal, social, and economic rights. And I passionately believe all of us–especially us straight white males–benefit when our community of film artists is comprised of a richer, stronger, broader spectrum of voices.

Tracy Rector - Northwest documentary filmmaker — Tracy Rector – Northwest documentary filmmaker

But I’m asking you not to take my word for it. Too often people in positions of privilege are given a pass because they seem to have the best intentions. And I don’t just seem to, I really do have the best intentions!

But the fact remains that I have worked exclusively with white male cinematographers since leaving film school and will do so again for my first feature. The cast of my new movie is 60 percent male and (so far) entirely white. My producers are both men, as is my co-writer (my brother).

Director Nathan Williams with DP Chris Messina

Now, I can offer all sorts of justifications–my relationship with my present cinematographer, for instance, is a long and fruitful one. But that’s the thing about internal biases–you can find plenty of perfectly rational explanations for your biased actions.

I don’t forsake responsibility for doing the right thing–it’s my obligation, of course, not yours–but I’m asking you to help hold my feet to the fire. Please, ask me: did you seriously consider other DPs for the job? (No.) Did you audition actors of color? (Yes.) Why didn’t you cast them? (Good question.) Did you consider the impact to your story if you changed male characters into women, and vice versa? (Yes.) Does your movie pass the Bechdel Test? (By the skin of its teeth). How about the way you treat the threat of violence towards women in the film–are you sure you aren’t indulging in objectification? (I hope not.)

I am acknowledging these flaws and my struggle to improve not to earn your validation (until my actions merit it, I don’t deserve it), but because I want to be your partner in making this medium better for all of us. I am not asking you to make me better, I am reaching out to tell you I want to be a part of making what we all do better.

Because I look forward to the day when I don’t see the the ranks of “Great Directors” filled with old versions of my face, when Netflix carries as many films from Nigeria as from France, when entire departments on film sets aren’t completely homogeneous, when great lead roles for people outside of my demographic don’t draw amazement, when the voice of my own films isn’t one of power and privilege but instead is just another diverse voice in a vibrant crowd. Because I think then our great democratic art form will start fulfilling its promise.

Nathan Williams is a filmmaker based in Portland, Oregon. He’s currently raising funds to make his first feature film, If There’s a Hell Below.

Seed & Spark: The Naked Truth: Stripping in the Movies

We all know that women simply are not put on screen as much as men are. This is partially due to the fact that there are fewer women creating films than men and partially due to the beloved foreign sales model in the film industry that seems to reflect that men create more of a return at the box office. I have been on calls with producers where we could make the overall budget of a film lower if we cast a woman instead of a man because simply, we didn’t have to pay her as much.
The other element worth noting in today’s films is what women are given when we finally make it to the silver screen. 28.8% of women on screen wear sexually revealing clothes as opposed to 7% of male characters. 26.2% get partially naked as opposed to 9.4% of men. These numbers all but continue to increase.

This is a guest post by Mara Tasker.

We all know that women simply are not put on screen as much as men are. This is partially due to the fact that there are fewer women creating films than men and partially due to the beloved foreign sales model in the film industry that seems to reflect that men create more of a return at the box office. I have been on calls with producers where we could make the overall budget of a film lower if we cast a woman instead of a man because simply, we didn’t have to pay her as much.
The other element worth noting in today’s films is what women are given when we finally make it to the silver screen: 28.8 percent of women on screen wear sexually revealing clothes as opposed to 7 percent of male characters; 26.2 percent get partially naked as opposed to 9.4 percent of men. These numbers all but continue to increase.

So since Hollywood likes to undress us, let’s peel off the industry’s clothes in return and look at how nearly naked women in films get to live compare to the more rarely seen nearly naked man. On the male side, let’s look at the The Full Monty and Magic Mike, two completely entertaining and hilarious films where guys get to let loose in one way or another and genuinely enjoy the absurdity of their time as male strippers. In Magic Mike, Mike Lane has bigger dreams than his stage life would suggest. He’s not a career stripper but he definitely gets a kick out of what he’s doing. He gets to party and he loves money, drinks and women. While there are certain complications that arise in the film, he never quite doubts what his life choices have led him to and when he does have a change of heart, there is no sense of shame, no emotional disaster below the surface. When Mike ultimately decides to leave the business, we feel that he is fully capable of another life.

Mike Lane fearlessly working the stage as "Magic Mike" — Mike Lane fearlessly working the stage as *Magic Mike*

The Full Monty comes from a slightly less sexed up, six-pack ab packed perspective, but this one, like many, uses a downtrodden town and crushed economy to force its crew of misfit male characters into a temporary life of stage nudity. As much as I did enjoy The Full Monty for all of its quirky humor, I also find it frustrating that we can’t seem to find any humor when we put women on that same stage. Hell, we never really thought twice about Dirk Diggler in Boogie Nights and his business was far grimier. We laugh because these adult males, who we’re used to seeing occupying positions of power, are putting themselves in absurdly powerless positions where they have to dance around for their female counterparts.

The gang finally giving us THE FULL MONTY

It’s not so funny when we switch gears to female strippers – the tragic, weather-beaten, emotionally tormented, broke and destitute – female exotic dancer. In Gaspar Noe’s haunting film Enter the Void, Linda, our protagonist’s little sister, has turned to a life of prostitution in the neon lit Tokyo. But from her mumbled, seemingly drug induced words to her devastating circumstances of being stuck with the wrong man and despondent post abortion, it’s hard to find any levity in her circumstances as compared to the above mentioned films. There is a sense of finality to her situation. That everything has led to this and now it’s over, she’s trapped,

In Michael Radford’s Dancing at the Blue Iguana, the women featured are largely propelled by their addictions, their desperate situations, or their general outlook that life can’t be anything more. Not one of them has a future to really grab ahold of. Striptease – Demi Moore’s character uses dancing as a way of getting funds to reclaim her life. She was broke, so she danced. While Striptease and The Full Monty share a downturned economy as a narrative driver, one is treated with absurdity while the other is treated as a desperate attempt to survive. One reads like prostitution while the other reads like a night out.

Sandra Oh's standard expression from the stage in Dancing at the Blue Iguana — Sandra Oh’s standard expression from the stage in *Dancing at the Blue Iguana*

Daryl Hannah's solemn stage expressions mid dance — Daryl Hannah’s solemn stage expressions mid dance

Think quickly about the female strippers you have seen in films. Generally, they are depressing, defeated, and done-for characters. Think about who directed the above films. They’re all men. Think of the male strippers. They are generally funny, cocky and have a life at the end of the film that takes them out of the bar. So, what are our options? It seems that women who have to turn to these jobs never find their way out of that trap and yet men love to see us there. So where does that put us on screen and who is controlling it?

Marisa Tomei as the tormented Cassidy in The Wrestler — Marisa Tomei as the tormented Cassidy in *The Wrestler*

Now let me introduce you to another kind of female stripper. Her name is Sheila Johnson – the tempting, murderous and alarmingly audacious title character of a short grindhouse film called Sheila Scorned, which I wrote and am directing. We’re currently crowdfunding at Seed & Spark (link below).

Sheila Scorned movie poster visually designed after Coffy and Faster Pussycat Kill Kill — *Sheila Scorned* movie poster, visually designed after *Coffy* and *Faster Pussycat Kill Kill*

Sheila is a dancer at a divey gentleman’s club. And she’s there by choice. It’s a means to an end that she is in control of. She is well aware of the fact that her sexuality could entice someone to not only pay her, but to follow her into a rabbit hole. In the opening scene, Sheila locks eyes with one particular patron. As the soft lights dance against her soft skin, she nods at his hungry expression, cueing him. The next moment we find Sheila, she’s in a back room at the club, climbing off this patron’s lap–revealing our man with a knife in his side. As he grabs at his ribs, blood leaking between his fingers…

“Do you remember me Charlie?”

His eyes bulge and he grips his side. Choking on his words…

“You bitch”

She stabs him again. Freeze frame on Sheila’s face. Cue “Bitch, I Love You” from Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears. She walks off, fixing her hair, leaving the strip club.

Storyboard from the final scene of the film -- Sheila and her bloody weapon of choice -- the metal pipe — Storyboard from the final scene of the film — Sheila and her bloody weapon of choice — the metal pipe

Sheila is in complete control of her sexuality. She is a reaction to standard practice tropes. She goes against everything we’ve seen on a Hollywood screen. She’s not fueled by a broken heart or economy; she’s fueled by revenge. While her patrons are staring at her boobs, she’s planning their death. It’s a revenge grindhouse thriller about a woman who doesn’t give a shit and whose main goal, is to get even with one particular person.

She’s a pistol modeled after the sirens of the 70s grindhouse classics and Blaxploitation films. But she doesn’t exist on screen yet. If you like the sound of this woman and you like the sound of a female director, AD, producer, stunt coordinator, production designer and of course, leading lady, we ask you to please check out our site below. Sheila is a woman on stage, written by a woman who has studied real women on stage. She’s here to reclaim power. Sheila and women like Sheila need to exist on screen to challenge the status quo. It’s the start of a much larger conversation. And we’d love to have your voice behind us.

http://www.seedandspark.com/studio/sheila-scorned

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Mara Tasker is a screenwriter and filmmaker whose current project, Sheila Scorned, is crowdfunding at Seed & Spark.

Seed & Spark: If I Can Be as Kick Ass as THAT Girl, I Will Be Free

When I started in the business, the saddest thing, looking back on it now, was that there were things being said (and written) that didn’t feel right but that I just accepted. I didn’t even really perceive how male driven things were; I just accepted it. It was just understood. I spent the greater part of my late teens and my twenties and even into my thirties feeling shame for not fitting into some mold or box that women, in television especially, are somehow supposed to fit into. Or at least that is the perception, and it’s hard not to be affected by that perception. The truth is that the images, stories and characters that touch us are full and flawed and human and grand and all of the rest of it. I am not sure where the disconnect is, but we have been talking about this for a long time. Progress has been made. I’m looking forward to a time where this imbalance is something that we don’t need to talk about anymore.

Gabrielle Miller on the left with the all-female Jury of the 2012 Oldenburg FF. Photo Credit Jorg Hemmen

This is guest post by Gabrielle Miller.

The first movie I remember seeing was a Shirley Temple film, the name of which I forget. I was really little, and they were playing old movies at the local theater, and my dad took me to see it. It was the first time I had seen a MOVIE-movie and her character goes through some great crisis and I had, what felt like to me at the time in my little body, a soul shaking experience. I just couldn’t stop crying and I remember my father at the time saying to me, ‘Gabie, we can’t take you to see films if they are going to upset you this much.’ I think he felt badly that I responded that way, but the truth was that it was the beginning of films, and film in general, really shaping my life. Although I was always very loved, my early childhood was by and large uncomfortable, and I was particularly uncomfortable in my own skin, and movies really brought me to a place of comfort. It was something that I could do with my dad, too. As a result, Flashdance was my reason for wanting to be an actor, and Ben Kingsley (as Ghandi) was my first crush, and Hal Hartley was the reason that I always wanted to direct.

Jennifer Beals in the 1983 film Flashdance — Jennifer Beals in the 1983 film *Flashdance*

In the case of Flashdance, for example, I was probably around nine years old when it came out. After the lights came up, I couldn’t contain myself. I ran to the theater bathroom, closed the door, locked it and just danced. In the public bathroom. Just thinking, ‘Oh my god, if one day, if I can be as kickass as that girl, I will be free. That’s what I want.’ I know that’s ridiculous, but that’s what that character did for me, what that film did for me; it transported me. Those films brought me to another life. Literally, now, they brought me to the life I have. It all started with those films.

Hal Hartley was the beginning of my understanding of what it was to be a filmmaker. My dad would always get excited when a new Hal Hartley film came out. This, of course, meant that we weren’t going to see Hal Hartley as an individual. We were going to see Hal Hartley as a character that was embodied by his entire film, whether it was Simple Men or The Unbelievable Truth. All of a sudden I had this understanding of the whole. Story, actor, director and cinematographer, all from the position of a spectator. I suppose it was just a matter of time, then, before I stopped spectating and started acting.

Claudette Movie Poster — *Claudette* Movie Poster

I am about to direct my first project, Claudette. It’s a narrative short. We have been raising our budget through crowd source funding on Seed&Spark.com. It’s an awesome site run by these really intrepid young women, Emily Best and Erica Anderson. I am excited about the path that platforms like this are creating for us because it’s a way to take back the independent process from the studios. I am excited to have the chance to make my own first little movie. And now, if you will excuse me, I am excited to go and dance in my bathroom, and I think this time, I will leave the door open.

Gabrielle Miller has appeared in over 75 productions in the past two decades. She is best known for her lead roles on two television series: the runaway hit CTV series Corner Gas, and the critically acclaimed dramedy Robson Arms. In 2013, Gabrielle was nominated for a Canadian Screen Award for her role in Mike Clattenburg’s feature film Moving Day, the opening film for the Canadian Images Program at VIFF in 2012. Combined, Gabrielle has garnered 12 Gemini and Leo Award nominations and five wins. In 2012, Gabrielle had the honor of being a member of Oldenburg International Film Festival’s first ever all-female jury. Gabrielle can be heard this fall in the City TV/Hulu adult animated series, Mother Up!, and her most recent foray in the world of independent film, Down River, can be seen in theaters in the Spring of 2014. Gabrielle splits her time between her residences in New York and Toronto.

Millenials These Days

Masthead for Chicana From Chicago, Christine Davila’s blog

This is a guest post by Christine Davila.

If you hear someone utter, “Kids These Days,” it’s usually in a disapproving tone toward the younger generations’ fresh attitude or their breaking with tradition (or their tendency to speed while driving). When I think about Kids These Days, though, it is in sheer awe. I am so impressed by their confidence and transcultural expression with which they carve out their bold self-individuality. I don’t remember ever being that loud and proud in my teens. I, like most, just wanted to fit in. But the Millennial generation has spoken: Assimilation is out; non-conformity is in.

As a first generation Mexican-American I’m naturally drawn to bi-cultural narratives because they relate to my own culture dash – American clash. Speaking Spanish at home, making tortillas with abuelita, and my parents’ late night dance and Tequila parties, blasting Sonora Santanera or the passionate cries of Vicente Fernandez, all formed a very specific childhood. There is something really powerful about seeing a reflection of your roots in a contemporary context in the biggest form of entertainment: the movies. You may have read the numbers; there are 55 million+ Latinos in the country, making us the fastest growing and youngest demographic. Brands clumsily chase after this market and miserably try to coin terms to define us like New Generation Latino, Young Latino Americans, Hispanic Millennials. The term Latino attempts to encompass far too many diverse ethnic and social cultures that it is a useless denomination, a limited view failing to recognize the fluidity of our social zeitgeist in the 21st century.

It is critical to adapt with the changing times and engage the new generations of our immigrant nation. It’s time to reframe our notions and classifications on race and identity. Más American is my humble attempt of doing away with outdated and ill-defined terminology like Hispanic or Latino. It is meant to convey the real, inclusive and radical reflection of society’s eclectic fabric found in fiercely independent filmmaker voices. More aptly, it speaks to the transcultural identity and non-conformist spirit of today’s characters and narratives. It’s not necessarily confined to speak about people of “color.” It is about all kinds of shifting identities, from conventional, traditional and sociocultural norms to a more progressive evolution. It is about gender – equality, reversal of roles, gender variant. Filmmakers are out there telling these unique perspectives through independent film. These stories are out there. I can attest to that with some authority because of the volume of screening I do for film festivals year round. Films from underrepresented communities usually have an outsider/insider perspective, which in turn provokes highly original and compelling narratives by its very nature. This emerging class of individualism is what embodies American spirit.

Más American also speaks to the influence Latinos have on non-Latinos. You don’t have to have the blood in order to appreciate or acquire a sensibility of the Latino experience. Many non-Latino filmmakers have made extraordinary films capturing the US Latino experience. It’s only natural considering the countless generations who originate from before the Hidalgo treaty was signed. We are your neighbors, friends, colleagues, lovers, wives, husbands, in-laws, in each of the 50 states. Indeed, a long time ago my mom and I learned to stop talking trash when out in public about non-Latinos in proximity realizing that many people understand some Spanish.

Más American

And so it is with much pleasure, and gratitude toward the filmmakers, the Más American conversation on Seed&Spark is rolling out. These films purely conceive of characters and a world more reflective and authentic of our reality. Perhaps the freshness comes from a subconscious in which they derive and embody a defiant individuality, outside of any identity politics. Más American hopefully is a starting point for a more forward and richer conversation toward genuine, original and underrepresented narratives. I hope to add more titles to the mix in this Conversation, championing filmmakers who get America’s evolving sense of cultural self-identity and who are on the pulse of the rapidly shifting zeitgeist.

In THE CRUMBLES, written and directed by Akira Boch, the acting talent naturally inhabit LA’s Echo Park hipster artist scene in such a sincere and rocking way. The lead happens to be a Latina and her co-lead happens to be Asian. Their color is so not the center of the tragicomic slice-of-life. Yet it does make them who they are: badass rock ‘n roll girlfriends who resist quitting on their dream of hitting it big with their band.

In THE NEVER DAUNTED, writer/director Edgar Muñiz explores the toll and cross a man must bear who can’t conceive, in such a profound, heartbreaking and uniquely creative way. The film explores a modern masculinity more open to vulnerability, clashing with the Western stoic cowboy machismo image imposed on men from boyhood.

GABI – director Zoé Salicrup Junco’s impressive NYU thesis film – centers around its titular business-smart, sexy and confident 30-something woman living an independent and successful life, whose main conflict is the reminder that, in her hometown, her success represents a failure within the context of the marriage, kids and housewife model.

Seed&Spark logo

In all of these stories, new definitions of traditional norms are celebrated, and scripts are being flipped. I’m thrilled that with Seed&Spark the public at large can discover these rebellious voices.

I want to thank the filmmakers for sharing their inspiring non-conformist narratives on Seed&Spark and for, whether they know it or not, breaking type.

Christine Davila is film festival programmer, festival strategist, script consultant and blogger (chicanafromchicago.com). As a first generation Mexican-American from Chicago, she loves multi-cultural stories and has the privilege of screening hundreds of US Latino and Spanish language films throughout the year as a freelance programmer for film festivals like Sundance, Morelia, Los Angeles Film Festival, San Antonio’s CineFestival, among others. In her blog, Chicana From Chicago, she focuses on the diaspora of American cinema made by people with roots/origin/descendant in Mexico, Central & South America, Cuba, Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico. You can follow Christine @IndieFindsLA.

Unconventional Women

Screening of Like the Water in Rockland, Maine

This is a guest post by Emily Best.

I am lying on the floor of a small bedroom in an East Village mansion in New York City. It’s the holding room of a site-specific production of Hedda Gabler in which I am playing Thea, and Caitlin FitzGerald (who is soon to co-star in Showtime’s Masters of Sex) is playing Hedda. We have been playing for about two weeks to sold out, packed crowds of 28 people who sit around the living room while the show happens so close to them they can feel us breathing (and we them).

We are warming up. I am reading over some sides that Caitlin is preparing for an audition the next day–for the role of a chronic masturbator. The dialogue is trite, the character non-existent. This woman who stands across from me every night in full possession of the force of her intelligence, complexity, delicacy, beauty, humor, and wrath is auditioning to play a trope.

Director Caroline von Kuhn on set with Like the Water cast

I remember that day as the deciding factor for me. For Caroline von Kuhn–who wrote a piece for Bitch Flicks about directing Like the Water, the film we would eventually make together–I’m not sure what it was. Or for Caitlin, who was perhaps tired of being asked to audition for parts like that. Or for the other seven women who would join the production of our film, all of whom I count as dearest friends. But somehow, together we decided we would attempt to make a film about women we recognized. We would attempt to make a film about women who do not fall into one of two categories we typically see in films: the mouthy, too-smart for her own good teenager, or the emotionally stunted 35 year old for whom the solution to the world’s problems is a man. (You could add to this perhaps the oversexed Other Woman and the mean mom/stepmom.)

We wondered what it would be like to make a movie about situations familiar to us, with characters who react the way they do in life: imperfectly. But it was also important for us to include something about the nature of our friendships: funny, challenging, loving, and absolutely necessary.

DP Eve Cohen — Like the Water and Mana O’Lana: Paddle for Hope

We made Like the Water to lean against what we felt like were the conventional portrayals of women in their 20s and 30s. Until we made the film, I hadn’t gone out of my way to seek out the ways other directors were pushing the boundaries of female characters. It was only through my own experience producing Like the Water that I realized just how difficult a task it is to fund and lock down distribution for a film that bucks these conventions. So when we started Seed&Spark, I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that most of our early submissions both for crowdfunding and distribution were from women. It’s so exciting to be able to bring together a slate of films that I hope adds to the conversation about those conventions, and also what it means to be unconventional.

My good friend Anna Kerrigan made her directorial and acting debut with the film Five Days Gone, an exceptional screenplay she wrote which she turned into a feature film about family, sisterhood, and the subtle complexities in relationships between men and women. In The Sound of Small Things, Pete McLarnan found an actress who possessed so much of her own life, he turned the camera on her and for the most part, stayed out of her way. (This film has one of the most beautiful, intimate scenes of a deaf woman finding an unconventional way to connect to her musician husband.) In Café Regular, Cairo, Ritsh Batra trains the camera on a Muslim woman testing her relationship by playing with taboo. In I Send You This Place, Andrea Ohs opens her creative world to the audience as she explores her relationship to her brother’s schizophrenia. And in Mana O’Lana: Paddle for Hope, documentarian Eve Cohen enters into her mother’s story of arduous ocean paddling with a group of determined breast cancer survivors.

Film posters and stills

None of these women can be put in a box or labeled, reduced or diminished. In many ways, all of these films are political acts, though I am sure few intended them to be. I look forward to adding films to this conversation and learning from the discussions that ensue. Hopefully those teachings will filter back up through the chain, and the next generation of studio writers will give us new, broader conventions–ones we will happily defy with the next generation of independent films.

Like the Water, inspired Seed&Spark. Before producing Like the Water, Emily produced theater, worked as a vision and values strategy consultant for Best Partners, ran restaurants, studied jazz singing at the Taller de Musics, tour guided and cooked in Barcelona, and before that, was a student of Cultural Anthropology and American Studies at Haverford College. Recently, Emily was named one of the 2013 Indiewire Influencers, dedicated to 40 people and companies who are asking the big questions about what the independent film industry is today (and why) and, more importantly, what it will become. Emily is touring film and tech festivals around the world, Sundance and SXSWV2V to Sheffield and Galway, to educate filmmakers and learn their best practices in connecting with their audiences to build a sustainable career. Emily founded Seed&Spark to make a contribution to the truly independent community in which she would like to make moving pictures. In 2011, she had the great fortune of producing her first feature with a remarkable group of women. The spirit, the community and the challenges of that project.

The Answer Is in the Questions

This is a guest post by Erika McGrath.

I do not have all the answers. Or should I say, I do not have all the right answers. Maybe there’s no one with the right answers? Ahh, yes. That’s it. Nobody has all the right answers.

I am days away from beginning principal photography on Half Life, my first go at directing a narrative. And just in case I forgot that I was making an independent film, the universe was able to drum up two significant and totally unrelated events in the past 48 hours just to remind me. First, one of our crew members was arrested. Second, we were sold down the river when our equipment rental house completely backed out on the production. While getting arrested is no barrel of laughs, being three days from getting the first shot off and suddenly having no equipment lined up has been the real catastrophe. Just to put any producer who might be reading this at ease, the tough got going and in less than eight hours we were able to set up accounts with three new vendors, adjust our insurance, secure all the equipment we needed, and lay out a new travel plan.

That said, I find myself back inside a truth I came to know several years ago, which is, the best and most important thing you could do in any given situation is listen with vigilance and ask all of the right questions. However, more often than not, I find myself pursuing the right answers—the clear and exact opposite of said lesson I fought so hard to learn. Solving problems, finding solutions, fixing anything, making everything OKAY—all seems to be in the “Answer” business, don’t ya think? Well, not really. No answer will fit just right until all the questions have been tested. The answer is in the questions.

We find Gary, the lead character in Half Life, in a similar position–pursuing a path toward something he can’t quite get a grip on and along the way he is thrown up and down and then straight into living his way through all the questions. This is an experience commonly referred to as “being tested.” At the beginning of the film, Gary seems content; everything in his life is pretty peachy. Little by little, he starts to see fractures from his past, new ones creeping in, each one unto itself not so damaging, but all together, they break his world wide open. Now, Gary is standing in the middle of a wide open pile of broken pieces, staring at it saying, “What the hell? Where was the wrong turn? How do I put it all back together and make it work again? Is there a different way to do this? A better way? A truer way?” Well, my advice to Gary—Go climb a tree.

There are many different ways to climb a tree. As a kid, I took every chance I had to get up in one of those beasts. The thing to remember as you climb, no matter which way you take them on, each branch and each step will have its own set of challenges and its own set of consequences. Standing around staring up into the leafy green unknown, trying to figure out which combination of challenges and consequences will be the least damaging or difficult, just keeps you on the ground. You’ll never get anywhere by trying to figure it all out before you start. And, as my grandmother always reminded me, if you stand there looking up at the sky with your mouth hanging open, a sharp shootin’ bird will probably come along and poop in it.

Some of you might be saying, “Girl, get real. Clearly you’re up in a tree right now and too far off the ground to see what is really happening.” Okay sure… you might be right. But I’ll say this, the tree I’m climbing is an ancient oak and its roots are deeper in the ground than any of us probably ever will be. The tree will let you know what you need to know; you’ll feel it every time the wind blows. Yes, the climb is dangerous and scary—at times you’ll feel lost and unsure of your next move, your feet will slip, your hands will lose grip, you’ll get a few cuts and take a few knocks. But, if you keep your head up and remember what you’re there for, listening for signals each step of the way, you’ll find what you need and you’ll make your way to peer out over the tippy, uneasy top. What that looks like? Well, I don’t know; I imagine it looks different for everybody. I’ll let you know when I get there. And if I do, you’ll see it in Half Life.

To come out of this analogy and into real tactics, the message I want to share with you here is that the answers are relative and none of them are stopping points. Every answer you land on will still contain questions, whether or not you acknowledge them, that will lead you to your next step. The experience of making a movie is bigger than the sum of its parts. As a director, I think we have to accept that the film is bigger than us; most everything is beyond your control after a certain point. At that turn, it’s our job to listen to the film and let it become what it wants to be. The right questions are your guideposts. They will save you in times of reeling panic and maybe keep you from passing out. My wise assistant director, Chi Laughlin, reminds me daily, “Whatever your movie needs will happen… just maybe not the way you expected.” And that brings me to the last piece of advice I’ll bother you with—Nobody can make a movie alone. So, I say, gather around people who will work hard, tell truths, make you laugh, dance a little—And listen.

Erika McGrath is currently developing her first feature length picture and is in production for her short film Half Life, which was successfully crowd funded on Seed&Spark this summer. When not making movies, she is also an active dog lover, motorcycle rider and pie enthusiast. Born and raised in Ohio, McGrath now resides in New York City.

Our Stories: ‘Babylon Sisters’

Writer Pearl Cleage and Filmmaker Ayoka Chenzira

This guest post by Yvonna Russell previously appeared at The Huffington Post and is cross-posted with permission.

New York Times bestselling author (What Looks like Crazy on an Ordinary Day, Some Things I Never Thought I’d Do) and playwright (Blues for an Alabama Sky, Flyin West) Pearl Cleage has teamed up with filmmaker (Alma’s Rainbow) Ayoka Chenzira to produce the feature film adaptation of Pearl Cleage’s novel, Babylon Sisters.

Single mother Catherine Sanderson has her hands full with her job helping immigrants and a college-bound daughter, Phoebe. But when news journalist Burghardt Johnson blows into town, she finds her world turned upside down. Catherine, impassioned, asks,

I wondered if it was possible to be in love with a man and develop a vocabulary free of the responses that make every conversation a minefield of hurt feelings, half-truths, and dashed expectations.

Not only do they have history, BJ enlists her help in a story on a female slavery ring operating in Atlanta. Pearl Cleage fans agree with director Chenzira:

I love the flaws in the romance — it’s so human. The romantic leads have personal struggles but also understand that they are also fighting for something greater than themselves. Rarely do we see this in American cinema.

The story casts light on the fight against human sex trafficking. USA Today reported, “According to the U.S. Department of Justice, human trafficking has become the second fastest growing criminal industry — just behind drug trafficking — with children accounting for roughly half of all victims.” Atlanta Fox 5 reporter Tacoma Perry uncovered, “Atlanta is a hub for human trafficking — where sex or labor is forced, and it’s not just a city problem.” Chenzira echoes the condition of modern-day slavery in Metro Atlanta exposed in the plot by the lead characters Catherine and BJ:

Babylon Sisters honors the everyday heroes in the fight. There are people dedicated to rescuing those who are being exploited, abused and held captive by modern day slavery, and despite their own personal struggles they manage to make a crippling impact on sex trafficking … Atlanta is one of the largest sex trafficking cities in the country, and Babylon Sisters is centered in metro Atlanta — this brings a focused light in exposing this international criminal activity by unearthing the real tragedies taking place under our noses.

The film project has a platform on Junto Box Films. Junto Box Films, the brainchild of Oscar winner for Best Actor (The Last King of Scotland), director (Waiting to Exhale) and producer (Fruitvale Station) Forest Whittaker has established a social media platform to fund, produce and distribute films. Chenzira chose Junto Box Films over other crowdfunding platforms because,

The Junto Box platform allows people to support Babylon Sisters from the development process by signing up to follow, rate, and share the project through social media. Substantial support translates into a real chance of being green lit and fully funded through Junto Box Films. Junto Box allows supporters of Babylon Sisters to hear why Pearl and I decided to collaborate. It also allows them to hear from notable people about their support of this project through video. From the legendary Susan Taylor who served as editor-in-chief of Essence Magazine for twenty seven years and who is considered one of the most influential African-American women, to Broadway stage and film director Kenny Leon who produced Pearl’s plays. Junto Box uses a democratic process that gives people a voice to determine the success of a film about people with little or no voice. It is important for women in the film community to come together to tell the stories of women who donʼt have a voice.

The film project Babylon Sisters deserves our support for a master storyteller’s passionate and compelling voice on the inhumane issue of human trafficking today.

Follow Yvonna Russell on Twitter: www.twitter.com/StilettoFilms.

Like the Water

Like the Water, DP: Eve M. Cohen, Dir. Caroline von Kuhn

This is a guest post by Caroline von Kuhn.

Artists in every discipline play out our personal neuroses in our work, but there are few outlets as indulgent a playground as film.

My most pleasurable experience of a contemporary film in a theatre last year was Leos Carax’s Holy Motors, which I saw twice on the big screen. It raises the ultimate question of identity near and dear to my heart: is human existence a truth formed through an evolution of identities building on one another until we are whole? Or merely a series of empty performances conformed to our given circumstances? Do we evolve, dropping deeper into our Self with each relationship we enter or instead chip away until only an empty shell remains?

Carax houses these dark, looming questions in a delightful succession of dream-like vignettes. The film transpires over the course of one day in which M. Oscar (Denis Lavant) takes a series of appointments, each a distinct, if not surreal, homage to film and literature. We, like M. Oscar, get lost in the act, re-emerging to digest the one and prepare for the next: left to return to the question of his, of our, identity.

My first attempt at filmmaking was a collective autodidactic pursuit of the medium with a team of five other female artists. We set out to tell a story of self-identity and the even bigger struggle of self-acceptance in one’s 20s. We set out to tell a story of the imperfection of the Female. We set out to tell a story of that first taste of a contemporary’s mortality, which leaves youth grappling with grief in its rawest, ugliest, truest form. We set out to teach ourselves the craft of filmmaking through this story.

What results is our Like the Water.

Caitlin FitzGerald in Like the Water, DP: Eve M. Cohen, Dir. Caroline von Kuhn

The inspiration for our film stemmed from a deeply formative shared experience Caitlin FitzGerald, my lead actress and co-writer, and I had of losing childhood friends in our early 20s. We both found that encountering death at a young age – especially that of a contemporary – provoked a seismic shift in the way we came to understand the world. We not only shared experiences of grief but had turned to writing in a therapeutic attempt to capture and express something ultimately inchoate: the memory of a life.

The 20s prove to be a time of extraordinary growth – a fuller awareness, a deeper appreciation, of the world and the self. It was more or less around this transitional chapter that we six artists met and committed to exploring, perhaps exploiting, iterations of our story. One of the universal feminine, in a way that film never allows the feminine to be portrayed. The film that results is a product of this particular chorus of women’s voices. We discovered a shared urgency for us to tell this story with these women that summer because our voices were right for it at that moment.

On the set of Like the Water, photo by Lori Traikos

So we wrote a script, raised some money, cast our friends and family (yes, my parents are in my movie, as are many of our parents), assembled a great crew and went up to Maine. A very generous community of Mainers welcomed us into their fold and set us up to pull off this adventure. Within 16 months we had conceived, written, funded, shot, edited and premiered our first film – most of us first-timers in our positions.

With age does come wisdom, or, at the very least, a more weathered, cynical perspective. Maybe it was exactly this naivety that ultimately allowed us to pursue such an ambitious endeavor with such uninhibited sincerity and gusto. For the gift of directing my first film, I will forever be indebted to this group of women – for indulging me in the pursuit of our story.

And I look forward to this continued pursuit with the next.

Like the Water is written, produced, directed, stars, shot & edited by women. It can be viewed on Seed&Spark.

Caroline von Kuhn works as the Managing Director of the Camden International Film Festival and is producing The Fixer (Dir. Ian Olds).

[Photo Credit: Frances F. Denny]

When Opportunity Knocks

Shooting Fog City

This is a guest post by Liz O’Neal.

I am not a traditional filmmaker, and to be honest, I was not an experienced filmmaker until I produced Fog City. I moved to SF a year ago to manage a video studio – from operations and client services and video production — for a large corporation. At one of those too-large-and-somewhat-dull conferences that we’ve all been to, I serendipitously stumbled upon the Seed&Spark team. They were amazing to meet, and within several days of meeting Liam Brady, we knew that we wanted to work together. He brought the creative energy, and I brought the focus and project management.

Liam and I have been on an extraordinary journey together.

Our first Seed&Spark campaign went toward pre-production. In the first 30 days, we raised $6K from our friends and family members; it’s hard for them to say no! The development was moving along as planned. We used the funds carefully, printing postcards and hosting local script workshops.

When it came time to create the production budget for our second campaign, the goal was much larger: $50K.

On the set of Fog City

Quickly realizing that the budget and timeline were incompatible with each other – an important lesson that should be learned by all aspiring filmmakers – we did what no filmmaker should do when crowdfunding: in order to stay on schedule, we slashed our budget without fully considering the consequences. The final numbers: we raised $32K in 30 days, but inevitably our film still cost us close to $50K. We are now backfilling with personal funds and hoping to raise enough in our next campaign to reconcile the difference.

To gain followers for our crowdfunding campaign, I carefully developed a social calendar – tweets, Facebook posts, video updates – to include all-things SF, baseball and war veterans. I assumed that we could rally support through hash tags and local associations but severely underestimated how challenging it was to translate support into donations (we needed $1K per day).

Halfway through our campaign, we hadn’t even hit 30%. I went into full-blown panic mode. Why hadn’t I organized a live auction or a fundraising softball tournament? The clock was ticking, and I was running out of options. Through a series of desperate tweets, Facebook posts and personal phone calls to friends and family members who had “always wanted to support our film” but hadn’t yet, we gained some late momentum and, thankfully, finished the campaign with enough funds to shoot the film. Phew.

I learned that you need to spend your money wisely, and some things are worth splurging on. For example, we flew a steadicam operator and his gear out from NYC because he had worked with our crew before, and I was told he was a rockstar – I was hesitant to spend the money on this, but he made all the difference in the caliber of our film.

As a student project, we were fortunate enough to have insurance from NYU and were given student rates for all of our locations. NYU wanted us to have signed location agreements before they would issue any insurance, and our SF locations wouldn’t consider signing any forms without seeing proof of insurance – I ended up in an endless cycle of Catch 22 with 8 locations. Several emails and phone calls later, NYU begrudgingly issued insurance on the promise of location agreements ASAP.

Still from Fog City

The most bizarre part about this is that we received insurance that expired on July 1st, 2013 (our shoot was June 28 – July 8); we learned that NYU’s policy expires over the summer and was being renewed in the middle of our shoot – a strange and awful coincidence that has probably never happened to anyone else because students tend to shoot during the year. So now, I have void insurance for more than half of my shoot, my locations will not give me permits, and the rental houses will not rent us equipment. One of our NYU team members sent a very stern, yet pleading, email to the insurance department explaining that they were single handedly derailing our entire production and that they needed to help us. Meanwhile, I scrambled to take out my own insurance policies for each location and rental house (something we did not have the budget for). 48 hours before we were supposed to start shooting, we were notified that NYU had taken out temporary insurance policies from another company to backfill our gap. My rental houses and locations were confused by the hubbub but accepted the dual insurance policies.

We survived a series of crises throughout our 8 day shoot: our Red Epic broke on Day 1 and had to be replaced overnight – pushing our entire schedule and robbing us of a day off on July 4th. I had to let go of a crew member, and we were nearly kicked off location for not following the location agreement (note: don’t drink bottled beer on a beach!). With each unexpected incident, I had to be a calm and confident leader. There were times that I panicked in front of crew members, but I quickly realized that spreading my anxiety was damaging and counterproductive.

By the end of the week, I had learned to take a deep breath and take my triage center (i.e. laptop and cell phone) to another room. I would have private conversations with one person who could help, without letting everyone know that we had a big problem on our hands; isolating the chaos is just as important as finding the solution. I learned that being a producer is like being a perpetual problem solver; it’s never easy but always necessary. I’m happy and proud to say that we wrapped last week and have stunning footage that I couldn’t be more proud of.

Filmmaker Liz O’Neal

I now know that things happen for a reason. It’s important to trust your gut, to seize every great opportunity, and to know that you can, and will, overcome any obstacle that comes in the way of your film. Liam and I will soon begin phase two of our journey: fundraising for post-production and festival submissions. I will be better prepared for fundraising this time and can’t wait to see our final product in the fall.

Liz O’Neal is a Connecticut raised Syracuse Grad living in San Francisco. She recently accepted the role of Creative Director at Six Spoke Media and is in post-production for her first short film, Fog City. To find out more about the film, please visit http://www.seedandspark.com/studio/fog-city and follower her @LizONeal.

Travel Films Week: Finding a Brave ‘New World’

Still from There Is a New World Somewhere

This is a guest post by Li Lu.

It’s quite serendipitous that May is “Feminist Travel Films” month here on Bitch Flicks. My film, There Is a New World Somewhere (TIANWS), is exactly that. We are crowdfunding on Seed&Spark, a platform exclusive to truly independent films and filmmakers. We are midway through our campaign, and my team and I couldn’t be happier with how it’s going thus far.

Our film is centered around Sylvia, a troubled young woman. Sylvia struck out from her small town roots in Texas to try her luck in New York City. Why New York? Well, I think E. B. White said it best:

Many of [NYC’s] settlers are probably here to merely escape, not face, reality. But whatever it means, it is a rather rare gift, and I believe it has a positive effect on the creative capacities of New Yorkers – for creation is in part merely the business of forgoing the great and small distractions.” –from E. B. White’s Here Is New York

Still from There Is a New World Somewhere

Her “creation” comes in the form of painting. Sylvia strives to achieve success as an artist, but after years of rejection, the honeymoon is over. Now, the city is oppressive rather than inspiring. When an old friend invites Sylvia back to Texas for her wedding, Sylvia jumps at a chance to escape her diminishing self to find the confidence she’s left behind. But on the night before the wedding, she meets Esteban, an electrifying drifter. He dares her to join him on a roadtrip he plans to take through the Deep South. On the morning of the wedding, the two strangers speed off toward New Orleans, leaving the wedding party behind.

Sounds like a dreamy escape, doesn’t it? Travel, for most, is the highest form of escapism. Vacations take you away from the monotony of the daily grind and are the only allotted times when we are allowed to shut that phone off 100%.

This kind of “escapism” is tied to a kind of forgetting or relaxation, but what happens when the act of letting go becomes a euphemism (or “excuse” instead of euphemism) for burying deeper problems at bay? Sylvia, our heroine, takes escapism to the absolute extreme – she literally runs away into the unknown to avoid facing her own shortcomings. It’s an intimate portrayal of a young woman at the sobering, pivotal moment when she must choose to continue to try or to retreat completely. I’m sure everyone has had that moment when you ask yourself: At what point do my dreams begin to hurt me?

Still from There Is a New World Somewhere

Esteban isn’t a perfect man either. He’s a failed musician and has refused to let music become a source for third party pain. He drifts from one place to the next, and seems to kindle a true lust for life. Sylvia admires him and attaches herself to him in hopes of emulating his free spirit. The two find each other at different points in their lives, but they are both just as lost.

This is where the road comes in. Roadtrips are amazing. They give the explorer the freedom to experience and connect with different people and places along the way. There is no itinerary other than the time you allow yourself to become lost within it.

So is this kind of escapism “bad”? Is it selfish? Why does this term connote a negative, judgmental tone?

Ultimately, no. I think it’s necessary to detach from our obligations and get lost for a while, even if it hurts the ones we love. As human beings (let alone professional creatives), we forget that inspiration is the key element to everything that we do. In all honestly, forcing creativity is the crux of the problem. I recently picked up a book called Daily Rituals: How Artists Work to try to see how my heroes did it. The ultimate conclusion? Practice makes perfect, but you can’t rush it. Although Sylvia ditches her friends for a random stranger, she is choosing to embark on a journey of self-discovery, even if she did so unconsciously. And she has to hope that her friends can understand and love her all the same.

Still from There Is a New World Somewhere

What makes this a feminist film? As a female filmmaker, I want to tell this story because it is so intensely intimate to Sylvia’s point of view. I relish the intimacy of films such as Oslo August, 31 or Lust, Caution, and I want to make a film that doesn’t shy away from hard or complex issues. The love scenes will be scenes, not flashes of toned muscles and fluttering eyelashes. Yes, you can call it a coming of age film, but please don’t expect quirky shrugs or one-liners. This is a film about the fight, and all the beauty and ugliness it can contain. I’m not shying away from the hard stuff. I’m not making a self-important film either. I think anyone who has tried to express anything creative can relate to Sylvia’s fears and can take away something meaningful from the film. As Wim Wenders said, “I want to make personal films, not private films.”

All in all, the story of TIANWS and its journey to getting made has clearly been an introspective one. Putting this process out there for all to see is scary as shit. But when I feel this vulnerable, it usually means I’m doing something right.

Here’s to going for it.

To all the roads ahead,

Li Lu was born in Suzhou, China & raised all around the US. She is an alumna of USC’s School of Cinema-TV. Her narrative work has played international festivals and screening series. Her music videos have aired on MTV, Nickelodeon, and YouTube, with some surpassing 1 million views. She loves Siberian huskies.

Mixing Business and Pleasure: Making ‘Movement + Location’ and Staying Together

Bodine and Alexis Boling

This is a guest post by Bodine Boling, originally published at Bright Ideas, the Seed&Spark blog.

Here is the synopsis for Movement + Location, a crowdfunded independent science fiction film currently in post-production that I am making with my husband, Alexis Boling:

Kim Getty is an immigrant from 400 years in the future, sent back in time to live out an easier life. It’s a one-way trip of difficult isolation, but in the three years since she landed, Kim has built a life that feels almost satisfying. She has a full time job, shares an apartment with a roommate, and is falling in love.

But when she stumbles on a teenage girl who is also from the future, Kim’s remade sense of self is tested. After the girl leads Kim to her long-lost husband, now 20 years older than her and maladjusted to this time, Kim’s carefully designed identity begins to unravel. Kim finds herself having to choose between two entirely different lives. But once her secrets are exposed, she realizes that the real decision is what she’s willing to do to survive.

I want to say first that it was a gift to make a movie with my husband. I came back to that thought a lot when we were in the thick of production, both of us feeling misunderstood and unappreciated. Gratitude is a good way to find center when all else is cratering. It bailed me out of stress-induced derangement more than once.

If you find yourself about to get into something similar, I’d warn you that production with a loved one feels a bit like the worst parts of getting a tattoo. It can be painful, enormously so, and you’ll question whether you’ve made the right decision, and well-meaning friends will be like, No, but really? You’re sure you want to do this?

But if you get the chance, take it. Sharing what matters most to you with the person you most love is something almost no one experiences outside of parenthood. And the end result could be something you’re proud of for the rest of your life.

I have three pieces of advice:

1. Bring in an outside producer who can break ties. You need to trust this producer and they need to feel comfortable saying no to both of you. This is the person you’ll call when your spouse hasn’t responded to an important email even though he promised he would and you don’t want to be accused of nagging. This is the person you’ll pull aside on set so you can vent while the next shot is being set up. It will feel like this person is saving your life, but they will actually be saving your marriage.

2. If something is said to you that can be interpreted two ways, assume it was meant in the way that doesn’t offend you. This is hard advice to take but will make your life ten million times better.

3. Making a movie requires a level of confidence that is brutal to maintain. Remember that the person in the room it’s easiest to get mad at is also the person best able to help you cope. You both understand how hard what you’re doing is and how much it matters. Give the support you want to receive and watch it come back.

And look forward to production ending, which it will, because that’s when people will start telling you how cool it is that you were able to make something with a loved one. This sentiment will be absent on set, but trust that it’ll come. What you’re doing is wonderful, all difficulty aside. Enjoy that if you can.

I promise it’s worth it.

Bodine Boling is a writer, actress and editor based in Brooklyn, NY. You can find her on Twitter and follow her process of making the film at http://movementandlocation.com.