Go with the your gut!
By Cruz Angeles

Cruz Angeles attended the 2005 Filmmakers Lab to develop his project Don’t Let Me Drown, which he co-wrote with Maria Topete. Here, he offers a first-hand account of his experience.

My first week at the Sundance Filmmakers Lab was intimidating. Just thinking about the industry heavy hitters who would be watching over me as I directed made me sweat. But all my worries and insecurities were soon quieted by the wonderful words of the lovely Joan Darling who happened to be my first one-on-one advisor. She said, "Don’t worry about it. Go with your gut and do it the way you know how." I had told her that sometimes I really felt like an impostor because my way of directing is not cerebral but intuitive and improvised. I really follow my instincts and the biggest fear I developed while attending film school was from all the questions that people bombarded you with. Why did you shoot it this way? Why did you tell your actors this or why did you make them do that? And sometimes even I didn’t know why I did certain things a certain way. So, it stifled me because as a film student I became too scared to make certain decisions without having a series of answers and I forced myself to always have them. It stopped me from working from the gut. So, Joan says, "From now on if anyone asks. Just tell them that God told you to." She gave me permission to be an artist again. She reminded me of what is important - that my voice and vision is idiosyncratic to my own experience and that you have to defend it even if at times you don’t quite understand the meaning of it yourself.

If this was the only thing I could take away from being at the Lab, that day I thought I had struck gold. But it only got better. On my first day of shooting, I quickly realized that my crew was bar none the best film crew I had ever worked with. My DP Rob Humphreys was a fun guy and we challenged each other throughout the process. But more importantly he is a real ball-buster like me. My AD, Maggie Carey, was always two steps ahead of me on what needed to be done. And there was always shit talking on set, which created my kind of atmosphere but when things got rough and I got serious my crew followed. They were always on top of it. The lab emphasizes process over product and having efficient people on set gave me time to work on what is most important: directing my actors and finding a visual narrative style for the film. Plus, that day I had Joan Darling, Robert Redford, Harold Ramis, and Michael Hoffman visiting my set and advising me. What more can you ask for?

In one of my evaluations (where all the advisors that week watch your scenes and give you feedback) I had Gyula Gazdag, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Keith Gordon, Christine Lahti, Tommy Schlamme, Sally Field, Michael Lehmann, Joan Tewkesbury and they were all telling me to not be too hard on myself. I was really unhappy with one of my scenes and I blamed myself for getting too caught up in the emotion of the scene that I lost perspective both on the performances and the coverage. Anyway, as all this is going on and I’m probably cursing up a storm and in walks Robert Redford in the middle of my rant. So, then Michelle Satter asks him if he has anything too add. And he says that he only has positive things to say. So he says what he liked about the scenes and, using a well-known F-word that I use a lot on my own set, brings me down to earth and allows me to move on.

Everyone laughs and then straight from the gut, as I was advised, out of my mouth comes, "Hey man, same to you!"

And then the laughter ROARS and I’m sitting there regretting it and thinking, "Damn, I just cursed at the godfather of this joint and in front of all these people." But really it was all good. None of it was meant in a bad way. If Robert Redford can call me out like that, with no sugarcoated bullshit, and snap me out of my negativity, then I knew that this place is all it says it is and more.

Other than having a chance to rehearse, shoot and edit scenes from my script, what is incredible about the Lab is that they really investigate and diagnose your needs and help you with what you need help on. I came in not believing in myself and my process and have come out with a fiery confidence. To hear from Robert Redford himself that I had a good grasp on directing actors and that he really liked my demeanor on set was all I needed. It was empowering. He gave me a license to continue. From Joan Darling I learned to be more fierce about the details and to leave a scene alone if it’s working. She says, "If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it." Christine Lahti taught me to not chump out on emotion. If actors get to place where you want them then that’s the time to rehearse even if emotions are high. Tommy Schlamme reminded me to anchor the scene in the POV of the kids. It"s their story. Most importantly he says, "Never lose track of the movie that’s in your head." It’s so easy to get side tracked. Being on set, rehearsals, and lunch meetings with each one of the advisors was invaluable. Their many words of wisdom will be ringing in my head for quite a while.

There is so much I can write about, so many stories. The parties… ahh... the parties. And the friendships that are instantly created on and off set. Everyday was a unique journey. Thanks to Michelle Satter, Mathew Greenfield and Gyula Gazdag, I always felt like I was part of a family. I felt at home. The atmosphere and vibe that they created was one where you feel free to explore, experiment and take risks. It is a nice place to fuel your soul.

Through the Advisor’s Lens
By Michael Lehmann

Although I don’t yet believe in God, in middle age I’ve come to
recognize certain consistencies in life, none more predictable than
the ones I encounter at the Filmmaker’s Lab. Some of these
consistencies are shared by many if not all of the fellows who come
to the Lab:

the filmmakers will find themselves overwhelmed by the magnitude of
the task at hand; they will feel empowered, inspired, their talents
confirmed, their confidence dashed, their process affirmed, their
process dismantled, their process reaffirmed;

they will love their actors, hate their actors, be baffled as to why
the actors don’t do what they’re told, even more baffled as to why
the actors hate them, and then thoroughly baffled when the actors
finally love them, trust them, and will do everything they are asked;

some of the filmmakers will do everything the advisors tell them
until the advisors tell them to stop doing what the advisors tell
them, which confuses them for a moment, until they realize the
advisors don’t seem to have to tell them anything anymore, and they
just go out and do their work;

other filmmakers will be so self assured that they will do nothing
the advisors tell them-- until they break down, blame everyone else,
then admit that they really don’t understand everything about
filmmaking, and miraculously emerge a few days later with a new-found
confidence far greater than what they had before they came to the lab;

most of the fellows will direct their scenes while looking only at
the monitor, and they’ll be furious at the advisor (usually me,
apparently) who points out that they might want to watch the actors,
whose live performance they will never have the opportunity to
observe again;

But there are also many consistent elements of the advisor’s experience:

We will learn insane amounts about the filmmaking process from
discussions with the other advisors; discussions which we can’t seem
to have anywhere else, discussions that happen apart from the
business and marketing concerns which dominate Hollywood and suck the
life out of filmmaking;

We will learn so much about the filmmaking process from observing the
(extremely talented) fellows and trying to help them avoid the
mistakes we make daily in our professional life;

I know that I will get a glimpse into the secret world of actors and
their process, so I can pretend to understand them when I’m directing;

We will make friends with other advisors whose work we admire and
with whom we may never have the opportunity to work;

We will sit in awe of Gyula and Michelle and wonder how they can
continue to be so perceptive and so sensitive in their handling of
all those highly complex individuals who come to workshop their
projects.

This past summer, I decided that because my fellow advisors were all
so knowledgeable about the more refined elements of the cinematic
art, I was going to focus on giving the filmmakers practical
advice. Why not, I figured, offer a few hints about how to cover a
scene, how to block action efficiently, how to provide choices in the
cutting room, how to choose the right lens, when and how to move the
camera? Couldn’t hurt, could it?

One filmmaker pulled me aside and furtively asked me if good
directors ever offered an actor a line reading or gave result-
oriented direction. Being Mr. Practical, I said, ‘It’s true that
result-oriented direction usually doesn’t lead to the intended
result, BUT there are times when you gotta do what you gotta do…We
don’t encourage that here, but…’ The filmmaker was delighted: oh,
so you guys don’t really work this way? I quickly backed down,
explaining that yes, of course, we all aim for purity in our work,
but it’s not always possible to—luckily, another advisor joined us at
that point, and I quickly changed the subject.

One of the other filmmakers seemed ready for my practical advice. He
had a dialogue going with his actors, was making good, if safe,
choices in how to shoot his scene, and seemed to have enough
understanding of the filmmaking process to take my advice without
being confused by it.

So I stood by and discreetly offered a few suggestions: if you move
the camera over here, the shot will be less compromised; you might
think about picking up an extra shot from position C to bridge shot A
with shot B; if you call cut a little later, you will have more
editorial opportunities, and you might get a bit of extra good work
from the actors.

I was about to pat myself on the back for being useful, when the
filmmaker turned to me and said: ‘No.’ ‘No?’ ‘Yes, no. I don’t
want to do what you’re suggesting.’ ‘Ok,’ I said, ‘that’s fine, but
these are just simple practical things you might want to consider.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to consider them. I want to do it my
way. This is how my process is. I don’t want choices.’ Feeling
stubborn as well as practical, I dug in, he dug in, and the next
thing I knew, we were arguing intensely about whether or not he
should let his shot run ten seconds longer before calling cut.
Luckily, Keith Gordon wandered on to the set, moved each of us into
our respective corners, and defused the situation. Keith took over,
engaged with him about different issues, and of course he got in all
that practical advice as well.

I spent the next two days feeling useless. All I wanted to do was be
practical, and all I’d done was alienate a filmmaker and shut him off
from what I was trying to tell him. I had failed as an advisor. I
had allowed myself to get pig-headed and emotional. All because I
wanted to give some easy, practical advice.

I could go on and on, but I won’t. As I said before, there are
certain consistencies at the Lab; one of them is that sometimes
filmmakers dig in, break down, and emerge stronger as a result. I
now realize that the same thing applies to advisors: I dug in, shut
down, and once I figured out what I’d done, I became a better
advisor. I certainly learned, briefly, when to keep my mouth shut
(funny how hard it is to hold onto that lesson). Oh, and the
filmmaker told me later that the experience of feeling shut down led
to a breakthrough for him and was a pivotal moment of his Lab
experience.

Among themselves and somewhat sheepishly, the advisors at the Lab
inevitably confess that by the end of the week they come away with
more than they could possibly give. That, for me, is something that
has held true with remarkable consistency, and I look forward to
having that experience again and again.