More Reflections (Frog Baby / “January” / Film Festivals / “No Deposit, No Return”)

It’s been a few days since the rejection of our film.

I’ve calmed down, since; had my conniptions about the ridiculousness of the judging criteria, and the mediocrity of some of the films that made it in. Some of this scathing incredulousness will probably still make it into this post, because I see many flaws in the way that this “festival” has been conducted. To be clear, I am at terms with the fact that “January” wasn’t right for the Frog Baby Film Festival. The remainder of this post will detail a philosophy that I’ve had reinforced over the past week, along with some of my issues with the festival itself.

I’ve come to the conclusion that the disparity between myself and the judges from the Telecommunications Department stems from a difference in philosophy regarding what is fundamentally important in film, or any narrative medium. While the Telecommunications Department seems focused on technical specifications and regurgitating the same commerciality being replicated again and again in Hollywood, I am focused on three main things: plot, character, and theme. 

There’s a concept my Directing professor has told us about, that of “No deposit, no return.” Basically, this can be summarized by analyzing an audience’s reaction to a piece of work. Audiences will either leave, discussing the deeper implications of the piece, and it will stick with them for longer than until they get to their restaurant and start talking about other things. “No deposit, no return,” comes into play when discussing the opposite of this. Basically, in this scenario, the play/film/whatever might be perfectly fun and light—a “popcorn” movie or similar fare—but twenty minutes afterwards, the audiences are only talking about, “Oh, that was really funny.” “That one actor was pretty good.” “Where are we going to eat?” The audience has invested nothing of themselves into the work (no deposit) and has gotten nothing from it, too (no return).

I appreciate “No deposit, no return” films and plays just fine. I understand that not everybody wants to be challenged or think hard after watching a film. But I also understand that films that aren’t  “No deposit, no return” tend to have greater emphasis placed on character development, plot, and theme. Thus, these are the films I gravitate to, and want to be involved with, because the fact of the matter is that no level of production value will excuse poor writing, acting, or directing.

All of these ideas were reinforced when I received the four judges’ ballots for my film.

We were judged on the following criteria, on a scale of 1-5. The category is written, with our scores from each judge marked next to them.

Camera Work  4 , 5 , 3 , 3   

Lighting   3 , 4 , 2 , 3

Audio   4 , 4 , 3 , 3

Editing   4 , 5 , 3 , 4

Original Story   4 ,  4 , 3 , 4 

Creativity (use of all these elements pertaining to the story in a unique way)  4 , 4 , 2 , 3

We totalled up and averaged these scores to determine the percentages for each element, as determined by the judges’ panel.

Camera Work: 75%

Lighting: 60%

Audio: 70%

Editing: 80%

Original Story: 75%

Creativity: 65%

The judges were also prompted to “PLEASE WRITE COMMENTS ON THE BACK” of their ballots. Of the four judges, only two wrote comments. The following quotes are two of the judges’ feedback on our film:

“This is pretty good.”

“Mostly excellent production value.”

“Focus issues in spots.”

“Drags a bit here and there.”

“It’s an interesting idea that’s a little hard to stick with.”

Awesome. Now I have some information from the “professionals” in this field on campus on how to improve my filmmaking endeavors.

Oh, wait, was my film being evaluated as a narrative story, a work of art, or was it being evaluated for technical prowess and production value? Wait a second, production value? Student films and production value certainly don’t go hand in hand, in my book. But then again, I’m not in the TCOM department, so what do I know?

One more thing, and this is the thing that really pisses me off, because this is the thing that leaves me certain that this disparity in philosophies will be the number one reason my work while in college won’t be recognized by those in the department whose opinions are supposed to hold merit. We were not evaluated on acting, writing, or directing.

Wait, what?

We were not evaluated on acting, writing, or directing. 

Lemme do a quick search…oh, yes. These are the awards given out at last year’s Frog Baby Film Festival, as according to WeLoveTCOM.com:

Wait a second….Best Actor? Best Actress? Best Director? Best Screenplay?

These aren’t the awards that any of the films that made it into the festival were judged on. These weren’t in the judges’ criteria… If anything, the only awards that can be given out should be for “Camera Work,” “Lighting,” “Audio,” “Editing,” “Original Story,” and “Most Creative.” The films that made it into the festival weren’t judged for anything else, and weren’t compared to the other 50 submissions in this capacity, so why should their merit on pure production value be what pole-vaults them into the arena to duke it out for awards they aren’t necessarily even deserving of? 

I am no longer associating myself with any on-campus festival or film event, after this experience. One of the most important things in my work is to collaborate with people who share my philosophies on creativity, film, story, and character, and as it appears that these ideas are rarely even associated with any events put on by the TCOM department or Cardinal Filmworks, I am going to stick to avoiding “No deposit, no return” films, in search of pursuing honesty in my work.

As far as January goes, the remainder of this incredibly-hectic week will be spent polishing it up and readying it for submission to other film festivals, including Heartland, the Indianpolis International Film Festival, the Austin Film Festival, the Chicago International Film Festival, and the Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival.

Wish us luck, and I’m sure you’ll be hearing from me soon!

LOVE,

BRENT

“January” Reflections

It is finished. It is online.

I am monumentally proud of everybody’s hard work and contributions to this film. Now comes the exciting part: submitting it to film festivals and sharing it with friends, family, and strangers online. 

Unfortunately, our first foray into the film festival world did not end positively. Just minutes ago, I received this email:

Dear Mr. Eickhoff,

Unfortunately your film January has not been selected for this year’s Frog Baby Film Festival. We broke previous records of submissions, having over 50 which meant tough decisions. If you would like copies of the evaluation forms from the judges regarding your film, please let me know. We would also love to have you at our festival taking place in Pruis Hall on March 24th at 7pm (doors open at 6:30pm). Thank you for your submission and hard work.

I’m not entirely surprised; this isn’t everybody’s type of film. Our campus does not have a program, or degree, in filmmaking—the closest thing is a Film Studies degree or degree in Digital Video Production. The Telecommunications Department’s emphasis is on commerciality, “the Industry,” technical specifications. These are not the elements that create a great film. “January” does not aim to be a commercial success. It is atypical from many commercial films, because its focus is not on pandering for low-brow humor, or impressing viewers with unrelated action sequences and explosions. “January” is a film about people. Real life. Real emotion. It is dialogue-heavy, character driven, and certainly not everybody’s cup of tea. It is disappointing to me that the judges did not see fit to reward these elements, but I don’t know their criteria. I am meeting with the coordinator for this event to get copies of their evaluations, in order to garner more insight, as well as learn why January didn’t make the cut.

I’m not disappointed, exactly. I don’t think that Frog Baby was the correct venue for the film. But I do feel sorry for those who have dedicated their time and hard work to the film. While, for some reason, the judges did not see fit to reward our efforts, please know that I am incredibly proud of all of you. Evan, Zach, Steph, Lauren, David, Chris, Dan, Natalie, Jack, Eggroll, Graham, Mike: thank you so much for all of your work. You are all incredibly talented people and I would be honored to work with you again.

For those that want to see the film, check out the following:

January from Brent Eickhoff on Vimeo.

LOVE,

BRENT

“January” Production Diary #10

22 minutes and 29 seconds.

The final running-time for “January.”

It is finished.

It’s been written, rehearsed, acted, storyboarded, reworked, filmed, edited, synced with audio, color corrected.

As I think about how far we’ve come in the past few months, I am astonished. Even more so, I am humbled. It has been such an incredible privilege to work with every single individual on this film, regardless of how seemingly-small their contributions have been. I thank all of you from the deepest depths of my heart for all of your hard work, time, and talent. This film would not have gotten off the ground if it wasn’t for your diligence and commitment to excellence.

I also have to thank all of you who have donated to this film—family, friends, friends of friends, friends of family, strangers I’ve never met but who I hope to shake their hands. Thank you all for your overwhelming support. Our goal on Kickstarter was to raise $350. Your contributions totalled $730: twice our goal.

The other thing I reflect upon as I write this final production diary, as tears thinly hide behind my eyes, is how far I have come in just 19 years. I can still remember asking my mom for permission to use her videocamera to make a movie with friends; her showing me how to work it: press the red button to start or stop, this lever zooms, this is the lens cap. Slowly, as I began to monopolize the camcorder more and more, I stopped asking my mom for permission to use the videocamera. When it finally died, after several years of service, I saved up money to buy my very own videocamera. Of course, a digital videocamera was expensive for a fifth grader to save up for, but my parents helped split the cost. My parents have always been supportive, and have made sure that the price of expensive equipment hasn’t held me back from progressing as a filmmaker. Whether it was loaning me money, splitting costs, or coming up with more chores to get paid for, my mom and dad, grandma, aunt, uncle, cousins, and sister have always been supportive of my creative endeavors in film. It was my family that supported me, complimented me, encouraged me, and who were there for me each year I participated in the 48 Hour Film Project. One year, when my grandma asked if I’d rather just work with my friends for the competition, I said, “Of course not. I need you guys.”

And I do.

I really, really do.

What’s more, I want you all to know how much I appreciate your encouragement. My mom could easily have told me, “No, you can’t use the camcorder; it’s very expensive.” But she didn’t. 

Thank you, mom. Thank you, dad. Thank you Maggie and Dee and Ree and Brian and Morgan and Julie and Rachel and Gran and Grandad and Uncle B, and anybody else who I’ve forgotten, and I’m sorry if I have forgotten anybody, and please know that I am thankful, so incredibly thankful for all your support.

The film is complete. It’s taken three months, but it’s done.

I can’t wait to share it with all of you. I can’t wait to show you what you’ve had a hand in creating.

I know you’ll all be proud.

LOVE,

BRENT

“January” Production Diary #1

Short Story—He Sat in the Barn

He sat in the barn. He didn’t particularly like it there, or anywhere for that matter, but it was something to do, somewhere to be.
He contemplated things. Nothing important, he was just fifty-three years old, nothing important to think about at that age, still hadn’t reached his ‘ripeness’ as his mother called it.
His mother. She always said things to him. Not that he listened. “If it’s important, I’ll listen,” he thought to himself today in the barn.

 The cows were mooing. Moo moo moo. Moo moo moo. Moo. Moo moo. He wondered what they talked about so incessantly. What did cows talk about?

His mother. She always told him that cows were as smart as the rocks she painted and tried to sell at arts and crafts fairs in town; they didn’t have brains, didn’t amount to much. But he didn’t listen. He never listened to his mother.
So here he was in the barn, thinking about nothing particularly important, being nobody particularly important, just existing.
And he liked that. Just being.
Unfortunately this changed when his father showed up an hour early from work, his forehead spewing sweat like the patients in an infirmary. Not that he’d ever been to an infirmary. He just sat in his barn all day.
One day his mother tried to send him to school. She rolled him in bubble wrap, stuffed his mouth with packing peanuts, and placed him in a large box with some stamps on it. He was bumped and tumbled all around the town until eventually he returned to his house with “return to sender” scribbled on the box in magic marker.
His mother wasn’t very pleased. Not that he cared. He didn’t care about anything, really. Well, he cared about one thing. But there was no way he was going to get that one thing now.
She, his mother, complained about the status the postal system was in and then ran over their mailbox with a tractor.
The mailman wasn’t very pleased with that. He came up and left notices on the door stating that without a mailbox, there was no way he could deliver mail to them. These notices were left each day, replacing what would have been the mail he would deliver. “Why can’t he leave the mail instead of these notices? He has the energy to walk up and leave this notice but not the mail?”
That was his mother. Screaming, every day getting angrier and angrier, until eventually they moved to an apartment complex to escape the neon green notices.
The first thing his mother did was fill their mailbox with concrete. Then she cemented the mail slot closed.
She sighed with relief. They’d escaped the postal system.
Too bad the one thing he did care about in life was becoming a mailman.