Bridging the gap between community and industry - Symposium Reflections - Part II

In the years following my efforts to develop a local television series, I continued to moonlight in the Utah film industry, working in front of and behind the camera on feature films, commercials, corporate productions, and reality series. I also remained involved with the local film community—attending local screenings and meet & greets and participating in the 48-Hour Film Project. All the while, I noted very little crossover between the two. The professionals I worked with were rarely seen at community events, and the locals I recognized—actors mostly—were usually spotted among the extras in productions from outside of Utah. From time to time, I was also recruited to work on locally produced feature films. Still, they often lacked the funding, organization, and discipline I had come to expect from out-of-state productions taking advantage of Utah’s Motion Picture Incentive Program.

During this time, I also continued to work with Ben Hawker, developing the Utah Filmmakers and Actors Facebook group into a growing professional resource that remained welcoming and instructive for beginners.

For a few years, starting in 2014, I was hired by Ben Fuller through mediaRif as an Assistant Director for a Utah State Fair ad campaign featuring local comedian Steve Soelberg. During one of our initial conversations, Ben told me that I was one of the few people he knew that has one foot planted in the film industry and the other in the local film community. Having never heard it articulated by anyone else, this casual observation confirmed what I had been witnessing. At this point, a new mission for the Utah Filmmakers™ Association began to crystalize, most easily summarized by what would become the organization’s vision statement: “Bridging the local film community with Utah’s film industry.”

The question remained: how does Utah Filmmakers™ help facilitate a community filmmaker’s transition to becoming an industry professional?

The answer would present itself in the core values adopted by the organization: Professionalism, Integrity, and Respect. These would inform a Code of Ethics & Conduct and become the guiding principles for Hawker’s Facebook group as it was adopted by—and subsequently named for—Utah Filmmakers™, becoming its official online forum.

The UFA™ Ethics Code offers local filmmakers—industry veterans and beginners alike—a standard to strive for. These basic parameters were written so anyone can apply them—in any vocation—to mitigate problematic behaviors and questionable business practices like those I have experienced and observed many others continuing to experience.

There’s a long, sad history of young creatives with a sincere desire to become industry professionals being exploited. The most common unethical and illegal practice they fall victim to is wage theft. Trite justifications along the lines of “paying one’s dues,” appealing to artistic “passion,” and even ham-fisted justifications along the lines of, “If I don’t do it, somebody else will” have proven effective in the short term for the completion of commercial enterprises like made-for-cable movies, commercials, and corporate videos—the latter of which represents a significant portion of Utah’s production work—to mostly unwatchable “passion projects” that are “made in Utah” by “local filmmakers.” The generally poor production quality of these independent films stands out considerably when compared to that of other, more successful films and series that are “made in Utah” by out-of-state production companies taking advantage of the aforementioned Motion Picture Incentive.

The reasons behind the disparity in quality are painfully obvious yet continue to be ignored. Many locally produced narrative projects—from short films to features and series pilots—have developed an unfortunate habit of cutting corners to just “get it done.”  I’ve been involved in several of these projects, mostly in the lower echelons of the production, seeing poor decisions being made, not because the filmmakers don’t know any better but because they feel that they have no choice. Even when I’ve found myself above the line, able to identify potential problems and offer solutions to avoid them, I’ve run into the same problems. Resources that could have been better invested in more comprehensive preproduction and paying ALL cast and crew fair wages are reserved for only the most “essential” of department heads, with the remainder wasted on submission fees to major festivals with little chance of acceptance, and familiar-sounding, online-only “awards” competitions, “geographically” adjacent to—but lacking any endorsement and often even direct knowledge of—the established and reputable festivals whose coattails they’re attempting to ride with their confusingly similar branding. Oftentimes, the most that any filmmaker will get for their trouble is access to festival laurels in the form of digital assets—typically bearing the description “official selection,” which might as well just say “participant.” These graphics are incorporated into amateur-looking movie posters with the interminable false hope of getting a lucrative distribution deal.

Ultimately, many of these films remain unsaleable, lacking the deliverables that serious distributors require—like a clearly defined chain of title, signed contracts, and other industry-standard due diligence. Eventually, they may only be “released” on Vimeo or YouTube or relegated to obscure streaming services appealing to a tiny fraction of a minuscule audience. At best, they are buried along with similar sub-par content on wider-reaching platforms, available to rent for a few dollars—the lion's share of which is collected by the platform, leaving a few cents per view for whichever “creator” signed their virtual signature on the dotted line; but they do so with pride, having achieved something they can refer to—at least technically—as “distribution.” In reality, it’s the film industry equivalent to self-publishing a novel—a service that is also offered by the parent companies of at least two of the larger streaming platforms.

Do such projects ever see a return on their investment? Not to my knowledge, but that doesn’t stop the personalities behind them from launching another crowdfunding campaign with a “flexible” goal, “From the producers of…” that other local film potential backers may have heard of but probably didn’t watch, even if they received an “Associate Producer” credit for their last $100 contribution.

Does anyone actually benefit from these productions?

Any “experience” that’s gained by cast and crew is usually in the form of first-hand knowledge of how NOT to manage a film production. This assumes they’ve had the opportunity to work on a competently produced project to which it may be compared.

Do these projects benefit the local film industry? Are they even affiliated with the industry? The word “industry” is literally defined by economic activity. All industries have a quantifiable impact on the economy. Public and private investments are made in determining feasibility, building infrastructure, planning, development, and—most importantly—labor. The film industry is no different.

The opinions expressed in this blog are those of the authors and—especially where guest posts are concerned—do not necessarily reflect the official policies and/or practice of the Utah Filmmakers™ Association, its officers and/or associates.

Recognizing the "Con" in "Confidence" - Symposium Reflections - Part I

On Friday, October 6, 2023, Utah Filmmakers™ hosted its first Associate Symposium at Publik Space in Salt Lake City—an event specifically for our Associate Members and eligible candidates.

The author, speaking at the
2023 Associate Symposium

The Associate Program was implemented in 2021 to identify reputable, Utah-based film industry resources that share common goals and core values with the Utah Filmmakers™ Association.

The symposium—co-sponsored by Cyclone Spuds, DB Productions Utah, and the Utah Arts Alliance—included a presentation by yours truly, UFA™ Founder Joe Puente. What follows is based on my remarks from that evening, in which I discussed my filmmaking experience in Utah since 1999 and my efforts with the nonprofit organization I started in 2002, highlighting past projects and programs and discussing the mission going forward.

One of the defining experiences of my filmmaking career occurred in 2011 when I sought assistance from more experienced filmmakers to reboot a local interest television series. I had already established a library of short-form episodes produced for CentraCom Interactive a few years prior.

One person responded to my post in the Utah Filmmakers and Actors Facebook group, and we scheduled a time to discuss the project. Upon meeting this individual, who claimed to have experience developing original broadcast programming, I was initially impressed with the apparent knowledge they were bringing to the table. At this time, I was not yet up to speed on how one would go about vetting anyone’s industry credentials. Still, I did see an opportunity to learn more about the inextricable business aspects of film and television production. Concurrent with creating a pilot/sizzle reel, I took it upon myself to seek out additional sources of knowledge on the subject, including an attorney experienced in entertainment law, with whom I had consulted in the past on the subject of intellectual property.

As I learned more about the business side of production—including variations in the practices and vernacular between film and television—I started to note discrepancies between what I was learning about industry standards and how my collaborators were attempting to manage the project. By the end of that year, I came to an unexpected realization—the people I was working with didn’t really know what they were doing. They were enthusiastic; they sprinkled their discussions with industry jargon and spoke confidently. However, by the end of the year, I had learned much more about the business. While I still did not understand all the minutia of developing a TV series, I had learned enough to recognize that the knowledge I had gained over the previous six months had apparently surpassed that of the people who were trying to “help” me.

When they presented a “deal memo” describing oddly specific and largely irrelevant requirements they claimed were necessary to continue with the project, I shared it with my friend—the aforementioned attorney—who advised me not to sign it. From a legal perspective, it was apparent the people I had been working with had only a rudimentary understanding of intellectual property ownership and what amounted to trivial knowledge of how a TV series is produced. Still, they demonstrated no real acumen or practical experience in developing a broadcast television program, to say nothing of getting one on the air.

It was both a frustrating and enlightening experience. I did not consider it time wasted because of what I had learned. Still, I was concerned about what others in similar situations might experience. I would later witness similar shenanigans from people with more interest in play-acting as industry moguls than actually creating something saleable. It’s one thing to recognize an idea with promise and to secure ownership of it, but the potential of a marketable idea cannot be realized without practical knowledge and experience or the willingness to understand when relinquishing control over one’s IP is genuinely in service to that potential and not just one’s ego.

Reflecting upon the personal time, resources, and energy invested in that project, which ended up going nowhere, I’m not angry with those I worked with. Hanlon’s Razor states,  “Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.” To be clear, I did not perceive their actions as malicious, but they were definitely greedy. Nor do I think they suffered from stupidity, just ignorance, but how had they managed to get as far as they did? The same way that others have managed to get even farther. They overcompensated their lack of knowledge with false bravado or what many might label confidence. This is the primary component of some of the worst advice that could be taken to heart in any field: the idea that anyone can “Fake it till you make it.”

Confidence in one’s abilities can certainly be positive if genuine and indicates one’s potential contributions. However, being honest about one’s weaknesses—especially with oneself—and demonstrating a willingness to learn requires self-awareness, humility, and an ability to work with others.

The problem with faking it, pretending to know how something is done to impress a stranger who isn’t as familiar with the subject, or worse, to be hired for a job one isn’t qualified for, is that it requires deception. Faking confidence to inspire others to have confidence in them—or a product or service they are trying to monetize for their personal benefit—is a very old practice, known as a “confidence trick,” perpetrated by a “confidence man,” shortened over the years to simply “Conman.”

Again, I don’t think the people I worked with had the intention to con anyone. They were just “faking” confidence, hoping to “make it” someday. This begs two important questions:

• Does faking it actually work?
• What does it mean to “make it?”

The answers to either question can vary from person to person—which is problematic. “Faking it” leads people to confuse a product with a profession. They point to a film they managed to complete and say, “Check it out! I made it!”

Technically, they may have “made” a film, but if no one sees it—because one can’t fake distribution—can they say they’ve “made it” as a professional filmmaker?

They may claim as much and do so with an abundance of “confidence,” but how many other people are getting conned along the way?

The opinions expressed in this blog are those of the authors and—especially where guest posts are concerned—do not necessarily reflect the official policies and/or practice of the Utah Filmmakers™ Association, its officers and/or associates.

Having integrity above and below the line

Someone who makes a mistake during production may or may not be tasked with fixing it. It might require a filmmaker with more experience to take the lead—thus, a teachable moment presents itself. Whether or not that translates into an actual learning opportunity depends on an individual’s willingness to own their mistake. To do so requires humility, self-awareness, and honesty—with everyone, including oneself. In other words, integrity.

Some people never get passed their own cognitive biases and keep making the same mistakes over and over again. This stems from an inability to be honest with themselves, reinforcing their biases and fueling their egos. Such individuals may become technically proficient elsewhere in the process. Still, their unwillingness to learn from their biggest mistakes and/or acknowledge their own weaknesses gets rewritten in their memories as they continue to repeat them and disregard anyone who dares to suggest a better/more efficient way of doing something—such as an established technical or industry standard. This is the way of the faux-pro (“faux-professional”).

What others recognize as stubbornness and foolish pride is simply rebranded in the faux-pro’s mind as “doing things my own way” or “establishing a new paradigm,” often justified with repeated clichés like, “Sometimes you’ve got to break the rules.” They fail to recognize the difference between experimenting with new techniques within an established framework and trying to cut corners or take shortcuts that will undermine their own efforts.

For example, a scene in a motion picture will typically change shots every five-to-ten seconds. Cutting from one person to another during dialogue, maintaining a consistent angle for each character, never exceeding a typical duration. This is one of those artistic “rules” established over a century of narrative filmmaking—but it isn’t carved in stone, it’s not included in any contract, nor does any union mandate it.

An amateur filmmaker who doesn’t understand that “rule” might break it unintentionally, resulting in a confusing final edit that momentarily distracts the audience and ruins the experience of the film.

A filmmaker who does understand the “rule” may intentionally break it for dramatic effect. Chaotic, emotional dialogue can be well served by randomized, atypical camera angles, heightening the audience’s emotional response to the scene. An extended, single take on a character struggling to concentrate on the events around them can elicit discomfort in the audience.

However, when the “rules” that are being broken are actual rules, like labor laws or the laws of physics, it doesn’t usually end well for the self-styled “rebels” doing their “own thing.”

Faux-pro filmmakers are everywhere. They’re very good at creating notoriety for themselves—typically limited to their own sphere of influence—with a visually impressive resume/C.V. A quote attributed to Stalin—or an American Defense consultant in the 70s, depending on who you ask—seems apropos when taking only a cursory glance at a faux-pro’s IMDb page: "Quantity has a quality all its own."

It’s important to remember that a demonstrable lack of integrity does not necessarily indicate a moral failing—an ethical deficiency, perhaps—but, as stated above, such a deficit goes hand-in-hand with a lack of self-awareness. A personality trait with myriad potential root causes that this writer is not qualified to examine.

However, integrity is vital to maintaining a sustainable career in any industry. Especially one that relies heavily on expansive collaboration between multiple disciplines with time-sensitive workflows. Faux-professionals are quite good at freezing themselves out of such opportunities, but they can still affect others they work with, who—upon breaking an actual rule—may feel the pain of being fired from an industry project because they never learned how to own their own mistakes. This doesn’t mean that they can’t still learn. Breaking bad habits and understanding the distinction between personal and professional judgments is still possible. Opportunities to examine one’s mistakes and failures should not be squandered with self-pity when so much can be gained from self-reflection.

One may even learn to appreciate the “wasted” time appealing to the egos of faux-pros. Not everyone gets a front-row seat to a demonstration of how not to do something. Limiting one’s judgment to the criteria demanded by professionalism can also help put the faux-pro’s unfortunate habits into proper perspective. They may be self-serving narcissists dispelling bad advice and empty promises, but that does not make them quantifiably evil.

In the words of Robert J. Hanlon:

"Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity."

—Joe Puente

Founder/Administrator
Utah Filmmakers™ Association

The opinions expressed in this blog are those of the authors and—especially where guest posts are concerned—do not necessarily reflect the official policies and/or practice of the Utah Filmmakers™ Association, its officers and/or associates.

Filmmaking is NOT a hobby!

The Utah Filmmakers™ Association does not set out to discourage anyone striving to work in the film industry, but one cannot espouse Professionalism, Integrity, and Respect without complete honesty. It must also be acknowledged that some of the terms we’ve used in reference to community filmmakers, while intended to make those lacking professional experience feel welcome and included, may not have been helpful to the organization’s Mission. Emphasis has always been placed on our Vision, yet confusion persists about what “filmmaking” represents within our society and culture.

Is filmmaking an art form or a business?

More to the point, can filmmaking just be considered an art form without all the baggage associated with “business” and “industry”? Our response may disappoint some, but the entire premise of the question is false. It assumes that the “art” and “business” of filmmaking exist independently—they do not.

While some might not like to hear it, the business of filmmaking is a definitive and inextricable component of the art form because of its collaborative nature. When two or more individuals agree to cooperate on a project—regardless of whether or not it’s artistic, commercial, public, or personal—they have entered into an implicit contract and are conducting business amongst themselves. Whether or not it was discussed in advance, the project will create a unique asset that did not exist previously—an idea or an object—a commodity that will have value to someone. As such, an owner—or owners—must be identified and agreed upon by everyone involved in its creation.

Too many community filmmakers have misappropriated the word “hobby” to describe their involvement in filmmaking. Such use is damaging to the industry and the art form. Filmmaking cannot be described as anything approaching the definition of a hobby. It never has, and it never will. It’s certainly not something that’s done to relax—it’s difficult, challenging, and often stressful work. While anyone can derive a great deal of satisfaction from their efforts and enjoy the process, filmmaking is not something that can be picked up and put down at anyone’s leisure; and is rarely undertaken as a solo activity. The collaborative aspect of the art form requires a level of commitment that does not allow for casual participation. No one can be expected to drop by a set when they have a spare minute to help out. While improvisation can and does happen on film sets—in front of and behind the camera—no one can improvise the creation of a motion picture.

One may attempt to counter this point by referencing the 48-Hour Film Project, but that would require ignoring all the logistical considerations required to participate in it.

There is no such thing as a “hobbyist filmmaker”

There are amateur filmmakers, yes. Do some amateurs refer to themselves as “hobbyists”? Some do. The colloquial use of the term “hobby” notwithstanding, anyone self-identifying as a “hobbyist filmmaker” is doing a disservice to themselves, the industry, and the art form. It also devalues the hard work of industry professionals in the public's minds in a way that would be unthinkable in any other line of work.

INT. SUBURBAN COCKTAIL PARTY - NIGHT Two of the host’s mutual acquaintances are making small talk. LAY-PERSON So, what do you do? PROFESSIONAL I’m a neurosurgeon. LAY-PERSON (amused) Well, that sounds like a fun hobby! The Professional rolls their eyes and walks away.

Just as the cliché “passion project” has been abused into a code phrase meaning “unpaid labor,” “hobby” is being similarly shoehorned into an absurd belief that filmmaking does not require any sort of investment. As if hobbyists, in general, don’t spend any money on their leisurely pursuits. Even if one considers meditation or walking a hobby, they still require a substantial investment of time—a commodity typically measured in an hourly wage.

The casual use of leisure rhetoric is symptomatic of amateur thinking. We’ll repeat the caveat above that some might not like to hear it, but those who insist on incorporating these terms into their concept of “filmmaking” may only be doing so to deflect attention away from the actual state of their career prospects.

Perpetual amateurs, unable to quit their day jobs because they are unable to make a living doing what they love, may prefer to think of themselves as “hobbyists” because no one wants to think of themselves as having failed to achieve something—especially something into which they’ve invested so much of their time, energy, and money. Framing their efforts as a “hobby” means they don’t have to think of their time and money as  “wasted.” Rationalizing that one can’t call it an “investment” if one “never” expected to profit from it.

This reasoning is typically applied retroactively but can also be used as preemptive cover by amateurs, mentally preparing themselves for not achieving what they desperately want, an actual career in the film industry.

Hiding one’s resentment for their unpaid contributions to weekend “passion projects” can be exhausting. Especially when they must return to work on Monday morning in some other industry. When a friend shares an article on social media about the importance of paying cast and crew or an opinion about living wages, the self-described “hobbyist” filmmaker may actually want to express their support but may fear that it might be perceived as critical of the person who “hired” them for the “proof of concept” trailer/sizzle reel intended to highlight an uncomfortably modest crowdfunding campaign. So, they do what they always do: hide behind a cheerful façade and the declaration that they’re “not in it for the money.”

Many are attracted to the film industry by the “glitz and glamour” associated with the modern myth of “Hollywood,” outdated and exaggerated stories of independent films produced with “no budget” and getting “million-dollar” distribution deals on the “festival circuit.” No matter how much they might want it to be true, it’s not an accurate reflection of the industry—not even the “independent” niche—and never was.

Amateur filmmakers must understand that it’s okay not to be “in it for the money,” but one has to be in it for a living! At the end of the day, the film industry isn’t that different from any other facet of the economy. Most people in it—even many recognizable names, faces, and voices—are not getting rich. They’re just working. Like any occupation, some enjoy the process, and for others, it’s a grind.

Unfortunately, many amateurs find themselves grinding away, trying to get into the industry only to learn—usually when it’s too late, or they’re too burned out—that they were nowhere near it.

Everyone starts as an amateur; it's not the goal.

It’s generally understood—and accepted—that everyone begins their vocational journey as an amateur, regardless of what sets them on that course. Within that context, as a beginner or novice, the descriptor of “amateur” is apt and can be discarded when one becomes a working professional—which requires time, effort, and commitment. While no one consciously chooses to remain an amateur, many try and fail to become professionals because they never let go of amateur thinking and the habits that become engrained in them because of it. What may have started out as an honest description then becomes the pejorative label of “Amateur!” so familiar to professionals—used more often out of frustration than disdain.

No one can become a professional filmmaker without first letting go of everything they think they know about making movies. An integral part of that means knowing and respecting the value of one’s time and talent and that of others. Amateurs tend to believe that being a “professional” is defined by whether or not what they do pays their bills. Yet, counterintuitively, they often maintain the false notion that they must “pay their dues” by not getting paid to gain “experience.”

Utah Filmmakers™ has developed a flowchart designed to help aspiring filmmakers identify which opportunities—“gigs”—offer real industry experience.

This flowchart can be applied
to almost any creative profession.

This does not mean that perpetual amateurs can’t make a living in the film industry—or at least within some corner of it—they just rarely get very far as “working amateurs.” They may refer to their income and the fact that they write “Filmmaker”—or a similar descriptor—in the “occupation” field of their 1040s as proof of their status in the industry. Still, they undermine it by engaging in amateur practices and behavior, like disparaging the local film communities they came from—and still rely upon for easily exploitable young talent. 

Amateurs who manage to find work in the industry despite their self-sabotaging habits offer cover for even more amateurs to disregard the tools of professionalism—making it appear obvious that one can “still get in” without them. The working amateurs count on this because only new amateurs are willing to work for predatory rates, to suspend their disbelief to accept that what’s happening to them is “normal” and it’s “how the ‘industry’ works!” Reinforced, whenever someone dares to complain, with “That’s how I started out.” Spoken with an odd mix of bitterness and pride, familiar to anyone who has confused exploitation for mentorship. Should anyone outside their sphere of understanding and influence point out unprofessional practices that working amateurs rely on to make their living, they may perceive it as a personal slight and waste little time attacking the messenger, usually by calling into question their professional bona fides.

Actual meme made by a working amateur
(Professionals don’t waste time
making petty insult memes)

Again, despite any personal prosperity they might enjoy in their particular corner of the industry, working amateurs are more than willing to maintain a narrative of a “struggling local market” to justify unfair wages and buyout terms that actual professionals—filmmakers and on-screen talent alike—would scoff at.

Some would insist that low rates are not necessarily an indicator of predatory behavior. Defensively claiming that they “can’t pay more,” referencing having to work within the constraints of a “micro-budget.”

This may or may not be in reference to SAG-AFTRA’s Micro-Budget Project Agreement. If it is, then the producers should be able to provide all of the necessary documentation to prove that theirs is, indeed, a signatory production. If it is NOT an actual signatory—the list of projects that do not qualify is clearly defined—then the producer may be misappropriating the term “micro-budget” as a catch-all excuse to pay their cast and crew as little as possible. Their motives may not necessarily be rooted in greed or shameless self-interest—amateurs will do whatever it takes to just get it done—a practice that always makes itself evident in the final product.

They tell themselves—and others—it’ll be better “on the next one.” Unfortunately, for every lesson that could inform their future efforts, they refuse to put in the work to learn how to get it right and settle for an amateur workaround to just get it done. They repeat their mistakes, confusing an expanding list of completed projects on their IMDb page for evidence of their creative growth. Some people are impressed with long lists of titles, especially if they don’t bother to watch anything on them. In reality, one needn’t commit to watching every title in the catalog of a faux-pro or working amateur to know why all of those “next” projects never pay off for their respective casts and crews. Just watch their first film, then watch their most recent film. Qualitatively, they’ll be almost indistinguishable.

Professionals understand that while getting paid is key to working consistently, how one gets paid for their work—i.e., embracing honest and ethical business practices—is also an important consideration.

Differences between amateurs and professionals

The reader is invited to consider the following juxtapositions of amateur and professional behaviors and honestly consider whether they reflect their own practices. New amateurs needn’t be embarrassed by what they read; they need only embrace some professional humility and apply what they learn.

Working amateurs are not likely to have read this far into the article—or even admit to identifying with that descriptor. On the off chance that this essay has come to their attention, one may hope that they can get something from it.

• Amateurs typically undercut their competition to get the job now, but they devalue the work, making it harder for themselves—and established professionals—to make a living.

• Professionals know the value of their time and talent and respect that of their colleagues.

• Amateurs cut corners and take shortcuts to just get it done.

• Professionals do what it takes to get it right.

• Amateurs are impatient because they think they already know what they’re doing or they can figure it out.

• Professionals know their own limitations and collaborate with others so all can benefit from each other’s unique skill sets.

• Amateurs put a lot of time and effort into making the same mistakes repeatedly while never getting better at what they do.

• When professionals make mistakes, they own them, learn from them, and grow from them.

• Amateurs complain about rules getting in the way of work.

• Professionals know that it’s the rules that make their work possible.

• Amateurs are driven by their egos to reinvent the wheel.

• Professionals will try and improve existing tools until something truly innovative and transformative replaces them.

• Amateurs talk.

• Professionals produce.

• Amateurs get offended.

• Professionals get to work.

—Joe Puente

The opinions expressed in this blog are those of the author(s) and—especially where guest posts are concerned—do not necessarily reflect the official policies and/or practices of the Utah Filmmakers™ Association, its officers, and/or associates.