The New Gorilla: How to Make a Feature Film for Under 25K by James Savoca: An Intimate Sit-down with (and Kick in the Ass from) One Who Knows

I really could’ve used this book.  Back when I was a young man who entertained that glimmer of a thought to be the Next Big Thing in Filmmaking.  Like Savoca, I am a lover of film; we share many of the same influences – Cassavetes, Scorsese, The French New Wave. 

Unlike Savoca, I failed to do the work necessary to make a film happen.  And that’s essentially what The New Gorilla is about:  the WORK.  Yes, the title does suggest a “bottom-line” financial approach, and Savoca does discuss the ins and outs of the business side of making your first film.  I’d argue, however, that the real message to be taken away here is simple (“keep it simple, stupid,” as he says on numerous occasions):  DO THE WORK.

Savoca himself is very much present in the book.  He is the voice in the reader’s ear, reminding him or her, again and again, to stick with it, to keep going.  I had the impression at one point that Savoca was in the room with me, encouraging me and not letting me settle for mediocrity.  In this way, The New Gorilla is intimate.  Yes, the conversation is one-way, but Savoca has been there, and he knows the questions that dog the mind of aspiring filmmakers who fight that nagging voice inside their heads. 

A play, I’m guessing, on the French word guerilla (warrior), the “Gorilla” of the title is that unstoppable force that will get this film made by doing the work and never veering from the path set out by Savoca.  The author goes to great pains never to be the distant intellectual.  His voice is real; he’s your uncle, not the Dean of the Visual Arts department at your university.  He is nudging you – not always gently.

In one interesting turn, Savoca acknowledges that filmmaking has become totally and completely democratic.  You, the reader, the prospective filmmaker, have every right – even, he suggests, the right to suck, as he defends his argument about the importance of going step by step when laying the foundations of your film.  Here, he responds to that imaginary impatient reader, who’d rather just skip the preliminary steps and jump right into writing the screenplay: 

You can just begin to write your awful script at your desk anytime you like.  I say awful because it will be complete garbage if this is the route you decide to take.

The New Gorilla is not for the faint of heart.  You’ll get no-nonsense advice like this throughout.  But if you’re someone who is serious about breaking into film in this world of sometimes confusing new media, it’s worth it.  Savoca’s experience as both a filmmaker and teacher of filmmaking give him the authority to kick his readers in the pants now and again.  He’s been through the fires and has come out with films that are uniquely his and true to his vision. 

If being able to make films that are uniquely yours, true to your vision and cost-effective is an idea that appeals to you, then this is the book for you, as they say.  Just be ready for the occasional good kick in the ass and constant reminders to do the work it takes to get there.

In Savoca’s own words, “Don’t just try.  Succeed.”  Buying The New Gorilla would be an excellent first step towards that success.  

Twenty Years

Twenty years ago, I made a choice to become a long-term substitute teacher at Satellite Academy High School, where my college friend, Sonia Murrow, taught at the time.  In making the decision to accept that job, I sent my life on a certain trajectory, moving away from the path of material wealth, and towards a more modest existence.

But I also joined the ranks of the Truly Fulfilled.  We walk with a lighter step, and we sleep a more peaceful sleep.  You can see it in our faces; when we come home at night, after a difficult day at work, there's a "lightness" about us that comes from knowing we've helped another person, despite the sometimes considerable challenges it may have entailed.

I tried my hand at a potentially more lucrative position, in a different line of work, just about midway through my career.  That lasted all of about two weeks, I'd say.  I knew almost immediately that selling things to other people was something I wouldn't be very good at, and I couldn't get used to the heaviness I felt at the end of the day -- a weight to which I was unaccustomed.

I'm a buttoned-down administrator now, bald and gray-bearded.  "Seasoned" is the euphemism we tend to use in education.  I've landed at a school I love, and although the days are sometimes stressful, and people, being people, are imperfect and annoying at times, I've finished my twentieth school year filled with the same sense of purpose, and the same lightness, as ever.

To all those of you who read this with whom I've crossed paths in those twenty years -- as your teacher, co-worker, supervisor, teacher of your kid, or friend -- thank you.  Thank you for being a part of my life, and for making these twenty years so special.

Here's to the next twenty!

The Reports of Reading's Death Have Been Highly Exaggerated

Years ago, as I was having lunch with one of those few elders who I consider my true "mentors," she made what I thought was an unexpected observation.  She was in New York only briefly, stopping to work with a set of schools in peril, before moving on to Philadelphia or Jerusalem, or wherever her next gig was.  

"I love riding the subway when I come to New York," she said, her eyes wide with wonder, "because it restores my faith in humanity!"

"Really?" I said, nearly choking on my salad.  "I can't say I've ever heard anyone say that before."

"Because there's so much reading going on!  Despite what all the spoiled-sports are saying about the so-called 'death' of reading."

Pleased with her observation, she chortled her rather awkward giggle and went about eating her meal.  

It was one of those observations that stuck with me.  On my way home to Brooklyn that afternoon, I did my usual people-watching, this time with the specific purpose of verifying, or debunking, my friend's thesis regarding reading.  There were the usual sleepers, bee-boppers and gamers.  But there were, indeed, a good number of people with their noses pressed into books, newspapers and Kindles.  They were reading a great variety of materials -- from the Bible to comic books --  and I have to admit that, like my mentor, I was heartened by the realization that reading was in fact alive and well and living underground in New York City.

That subway ride occurred back in the days when you knew a Kindle when you saw one, and you knew that a Kindle meant the person was reading something.  I'm sure that if I visited the F train today, I'd see fewer print and more devices.  The Kindles might be playing music or movies, and people might be reading books on their iPhones.  The data might be more difficult to gather now, but I'll bet you dollars to donuts, or iBooks to Tablets, that many of them are indeed reading something.

Now I am about 1,800 miles away from the nearest New York subway station, but if I want to be reminded of the fact that reading is alive and well, I need only open my gmail account and look at all the updates Goodreads automatically sends me, via Facebook.  Many of my Facebook friends are voracious readers (you know who you are) and this app makes me instantaneously aware that they have read, made progress in, or reviewed a new book.  

Now I know there's someone out there reading this blogpost (reading again) who knows a lot more about publishing than I do.  If you've got your eye on the balance sheet and are watching for industry numbers, then you could probably tell me that Publishing (capital P) is in the red.  

Be that as it may, Sally Brown (as another mentor used to say), I am, as always, an optimist, and yes there really is "a lot of reading going on."  And to my English teacher friends whose hearts drop every time a young person groans at the novels you assign -- do what I used to do:  Put your hands in the air like an orchestra conductor and make a big show of it.  Here's the script: (don't forget the hands in the air part) 

Ah, yes.  Because you are teenagers, you must groan at the prospect of reading a WHOLE BOOK.  But that was some of the most pathetic groaning I've ever heard.  Now when I give you the signal, I want you to groan so loudly that the principal will hear you in his office.  Ready?  1, 2, 3, [conductor hands for duration of groaning; then "cut" groaning with conductor hands.]

Much better.  And now that you've got that out of your system . . . START READING.

They're teenagers and it's their job to resist stuff like reading.  Once you give them the right to have the reaction, they can actually read (and ENJOY) great literature.  Just be that crazy lover of words.  They'll thank you for it one day.  And they may even read your book on the subway.  And post their review on Goodreads.  

Who knows?

Getting the Call-Up

For whatever the reason, Jeanette and I were slow in getting our boys signed up for Little League baseball this year.  By the time we finally got it together and made our way over to East Metro Park in our town of Manor, we had missed one practice.  Not so bad.  Unfortunately, the "kid pitch" team of kids Diego's age had already filled up, so his only option was to be on the same team with his little brother, Jackson.  "Coach pitch" was a step down for Diego, but, to his credit, he took it in stride.

Needless to say, I benefited from the arrangement -- in my role as chauffeur, I had only one stop to make on game and practice days.  Last year, when Diego was on the Manor Red Sox, and Jackson was a Manor Hellcat, it was not unusual for me to be expected to be in two places at once.  Somehow my wife and I made it work, but it wasn't easy.  So for Mom and Dad, this new deal was a cake-walk.

Statistically, Diego thrived among the younger kids.  He hit the ball hard, and ran fast, and he made some good plays in the field.  Sitting on the sidelines in my folding chair, my heart always swelled when my son came up and I heard the opposing coaches yell to their fielders, "Move back! Big hitter! Look alive!"

As for Diego, he was his usual nonchalant self, playing off the cheers and pats on the helmet as he made his way back into the dugout after hitting a home run.  He never got too up when he did well, and he tried to hide his disappointment when he didn't.

After the last game of the season, one of his coaches asked me if Diego would be interested in playing in a post-season tournament with other boys his age.  His eyes lit up, and he said "Kid pitch?"

Now we're back to two separate schedules, as Jackson is also playing the tournament for his age group.  It's worked out well so far, with their practices being at the same time, on adjacent fields.  I'll spend some time watching and encouraging one boy, then swiveling over to do the same for the other.

Suddenly, Diego is no longer the biggest or most confident boy on his team.  The coaches are more seasoned and work them harder than he's been used to.  As always, he's taking it in stride, and I'm careful to check in with him, and make sure he's still feeling good about baseball.  So far, he's playing his cards close to his vest, which is kind of how he lives his life as a whole.  He says it's fine, and that he's getting used to it.

My tendency is to want to protect him, but I have to remind myself that life is a series of challenges.  Sports mirrors life in this way.  There is no greater feeling than thinking you can't accomplish something when you first look at it, and then going ahead and overcoming what you thought you couldn't overcome.

Whether Diego puts up good numbers or not, he'll learn something about himself as he faces the challenge of this call-up.  I suppose that as his father, it falls on me to be there for him, in whatever way he needs me to be, regardless of how he does -- in this circumstance, and all others.

How Our Garden Has Grown: A Chronicle in Pictures

Clearing out the space for one of two raised-bed gardens.

Putting down cardboard, a barrier for weeds.

Smoothing out the soil and mulch.

We made it a square foot garden, using twine.

Our original plantings:  beans, lettuce, eggplant, tomatoes and marigolds.

Lots of Central Texas rain = a bumper crop!

Judd Apatow: Chronicler of . . . ME

I know it's a bit trite for a 40-something, upper middle class white man to say it, but I'm going to say it anyway:  I see myself in Judd Apatow's work.  Consistently.

And I just realized, watching a DVR'd episode of Freaks and Geeks, which the Sundance Channel thankfully shows every morning at 5 am, that I've been seeing myself in Judd Apatow's work for as long as he's been doing that work.

With Freaks and Geeks, Apatow arguably gives the most honest portrayal of high school that has ever aired on network television.  Actually, I need to be more specific.  He provides a perfect picture of high school in the late 1970's and early 80's, when I was a suburban lad, growing up on the outskirts of New York City.

The show takes place in Michigan, I believe -- a place where I also spent a portion of my adolescence.  As the title suggests, Freaks and Geeks is about cliques and the stringent social structure in high school.  Perhaps because I moved around a bit (I attended three different high schools), I was able to move from clique to clique, as well.  For a time I was a geek, and a freak, and a jock.

I remember hanging out with people who looked like the characters in Freaks and Geeks, having the kinds of conversations they so awkwardly have, about love and fitting in, wishing to be considered an adult, while simultaneously lamenting my childhood, as it faded into the distance behind me.

The series only lasted for 18 episodes, suggesting a short-sightedness that some network executive fell prey to.  I can picture him now, shaking his large head, jowls frothing, as he wonders why he didn't foresee the stardom that was in store for so many of the people involved in that little show.  He must kick himself every time a new Apatow hit comes out.

A more recent Apatow-produced hit was a kind of spin-off from his very successful 2007 film, Knocked Up, called This is 40.  My wife and I saw it on a date night, and we laughed.  A lot.  We whispered, "Oh my God, that's us!" and punched each other in the shoulders.  It was a great time, and Mr. Apatow once again proved himself the chronicler of my bourgeois, suburban life.

It leaves me wondering:  Will there be a This is 80?  I just hope I'm around to see it.  If I am, I have no doubt it will make me laugh and think, and see myself, the way both Freaks and Geeks and This is 40 have done.

Review: Drinking with Men by Rosie Schaap

Drinking with Men: A Memoir by Rosie Schaap
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I've been a lover of bars for many years, so I went into this book suspecting I'd like it.  I bought it after hearing Rosie Schaap interviewed on NPR's Morning Edition, where she'd read a segment that hooked me.  Something in her tone sounded familiar, and I knew I had to read her memoir.

If you've ever been a regular at a bar -- and in my twenties and thirties I was -- you will recognize yourself in this book.  As it turned out, Rosie writes about a couple of places I frequented in New York, so that I found myself scanning my memory, wondering if I'd ever met her.  I was a regular at Puffy's Tavern, a TriBeCa bar that figures prominently in the book, where my fellow teachers and I wound down each Friday during "F Slot," as we called it.  (The final period of our school day was E Slot back then.)  This was in the mid-to-late 1990's, precisely when she drank there.  I recognized her descriptions of certain regulars, and half-expected her to describe the rowdy group of high school teachers from the alternative high school a few blocks away on Chambers Street.

She never did make that mention, but I wonder.  Surely we must have crossed paths -- if not at Puffy's, then perhaps at Milano's?  Or Tom and Jerry's?  Whether we ever did meet or not, after reading her book, I felt like we had.


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