Wearing all the hats is NOT the solution - Symposium Reflections - Part VI

Attempting to create a database—to say nothing of maintaining one—is demanding work. Trying to formalize a “blacklist” of ostensibly suspect filmmakers—in addition to being legally and ethically problematic itself—would not be practical in part because it would always be subjective. Most people in the workforce at large have had enough negative experiences with others in their fields that they probably already have a personal blacklist.

Narrow them down to a selection of filmmakers, picked at random, in a common market, and this author is reasonably confident that their individual lists would be practically identical, consisting of the same “faux-professionals” and “working amateurs” that most in their community already know, have dealt with, and perhaps continue to deal with anyway—better the devil you know.

"Wearing all the hats"
Prompt by the author.
Image by Adobe Firefly

As mentioned in the previous installment of this series, the justifications for blacklisting are varied. Second-hand allegations from disgruntled contractors, unflattering opinions from established and respected professionals, even first-hand testimony, accompanied by verifiable evidence of deliberate malfeasance. Yet, it would have no real effect on those listed because their misdeeds and questionable practices are often already commonly known. It wouldn’t change their behavior or livelihood because they tend to have a loyal—often sycophantic—following of reliable talent that won’t allow themselves to believe that they are not respected or are being regularly exploited.

It should also be considered that there’s a good chance that everyone reading these words—as well as the person writing them—is probably already on somebody else’s blacklist, perhaps even placed at the very top. Were anyone to ask why they’ve been blacklisted, the initial reason may have been forgotten or grossly misremembered. Still, their names will undoubtedly trigger an emotional justification not to remove them from said list.

While legal recourse exists for blatantly illegal behavior, witnessing exploitation and the fear of being exploited can motivate people to try and find solutions to prevent it. Subsequent actions, however, can be subject to implicit biases rooted in local culture, its political climate, personality types, and whether the root cause of a problem can be discerned from its apparent symptoms.

This author believes that the most pressing issue for workers in most sectors is stagnant wages that can’t keep up with a perpetually rising cost of living. Within the context of the film industry, the perception of these issues can vary considerably. A simple “Studios” vs. “Auteurs” or “Above” vs. “Below-the-line” analogy may superficially resemble the conflicts between management and labor.

Like any business venture, the decision to greenlight a film is heavily influenced by its projected return on investment (ROI). While most novice filmmakers tend to limit their budget estimates to the cost of production—i.e., just making the movie—investors require a more detailed and long-term prospectus. A comprehensive budget doesn’t just go beyond the wrap party. It starts with everything from development costs to rights clearances, option agreements, preliminary contracts, marketing analyses, securing distribution, and many other line items with associated costs, salaried employees, contractors, and consultants, all of which must be paid before starting PRE-production.

Another major factor is where production will take place. This is where regional tax waivers and rebates, like Utah’s Motion Picture Incentive Program, come into play. While production incentives are an excellent means to attract feature film and television series productions to markets like Utah—employing local talent and strengthening infrastructure—effectively communicating how it benefits the local economy often proves challenging.

When some local filmmakers have discussed these matters in Utah Filmmakers™’s official forum, this author has noted the use of some troubling talking points and misinformed justifications that—to put it politely—are counterproductive. While the film incentive practically sells itself to prospective film productions, some local filmmakers also emphasize Utah’s status as a so-called “Right-to-work” (hyphenated) state as an additional selling point—often without fully understanding what “Right-to-work” legislation is intended to do, beyond reinforcing the deliberately vague and politically motivated stigmatization of labor unions.

The phrase “Right-to-work” sounds benevolent because one may infer its purpose is defending a right. As if the Founding Fathers somehow neglected to include it in the Bill of Rights.

The concept of “...the right to work”—note the absence of hyphens between each word—as a right of all individuals that should be protected was defined in Article 23.1 of The Universal Declaration of Human Rights by the United Nations in 1948 thusly:

“Everyone has the right to work, to free choice of employment, to just and favourable conditions of work and to protection against unemployment.”

In 1966, the “right to work”—as well as the “right to health,” the “right to education,” and the “right to an adequate standard of living”—was recognized in human rights law in the Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights. An international treaty in which the United States is a signatory but has yet to ratify it.

Meanwhile, 27 out of 50 states in the Union have taken it upon themselves to enact their own “right-to-work” legislation, which—at least superficially—may seem like a noble effort to make up for an unfortunate oversight by the federal government. In reality, all these laws accomplish is codifying an individual’s “...right to refrain from paying or being a member of a labor union.”

They have nothing to do with protecting workers’ rights to employment, protection from unemployment, and their ability to achieve “an adequate standard of living.”

They have everything to do with undermining the effectiveness of trade unions to advocate for workers—regardless of whether or not they are members—without explicitly outlawing organized labor. And yet, its wording creates a false impression that union membership would otherwise be compulsory without such legislation.

With the ability of unions to negotiate contracts impeded—not by the specific wording of the legislation itself but by the confusion it sows in the minds of workers—employers, including film production companies, feel that they have carte blanche to offer lower rates to local below-the-line workers. It’s not even as if the wages offered are only marginally lower than current rates, equivalent to those guaranteed by previous contracts. In the case of entry-level cast and crew—background actors and production assistants—rates can be tied to what any employer can legally get away with paying. In other words, the federal minimum wage, which, as of the publication of this article, has not been adjusted in any way—not even for inflation—since 2009!

Cast and crew positions with greater responsibilities and obligations and require specific skills don’t fare much better. Actors represented by local “talent agents”—operating in a state requiring no training, licensure, or professional oversight—will often agree to predatory rates and terms with little or no negotiation.

These issues are no secret because some of the worst perpetrators are local producers. Suspect business models and ethically questionable practices are regular online and in-person discussion topics in the local film community and film industry. Still, most people feel helpless to do anything about it. They are leery of trusting anyone in a position to affect real change—because systemic reform is needed most, addressing root causes would need to be implemented through government legislation.

This lack of trust and frustration with the status quo leaves some filmmakers believing they must take it upon themselves to change things. They feel that local talent agents can’t be trusted because they’re not accountable to anyone. Still, instead of advocating for government oversight, they think they can fix it… by becoming talent agents—who are also accountable to no one.

Because casting directors work with agents, they can’t be trusted either. So, some of these filmmakers, having also become talent agents, decide to be casting directors. This has resulted in the rise of some “one-stop-shop” production companies/agencies/commercial-semi-fiefdoms, insisting they alone can be trusted to meet all their clients’ needs. Unfortunately, their lack of trust in others and the absence of genuine oversight can blind them to conflicts of interest and the ancillary effects of compromises they make to remain competitive. Their efforts to affect positive change in how their local industry conducts business are compromised by systemic flaws that remain unaddressed. More often than not, they just perpetuate existing problematic practices, albeit with newer, friendlier-looking branding.

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 practices of the Utah Filmmakers™ Association, its Officers and/or Associates.

Movie mogul roleplayers & cannibalistic community films - Symposium Reflections - Part V

The demand for motion picture “content” has never been higher. Traditionally, increased demand means higher prices for what’s being supplied. Still, many people—from business managers needing commercials and other videography services to streaming platform executives looking for new series and features—may assume that since the tools have become more affordable, the cost of acquiring the skills and the labor associated with using them should also cost less. Of course, those who do the actual work would disagree. During the period in which this series of articles was being written, production for many feature films and narrative series had come to a halt because the members of both the Writers Guild of America (WGA) and the Screen Actors Guild (SAG-AFTRA) were on strike. The rapidly changing distribution models, their effect on how residuals are calculated, and questions about the influence of machine learning were among the factors behind the work stoppage. Tentative deals have been reached at the time of this writing, but many still find that some of the minutiae remain problematic.

Source: Economic Policy Institute

Historically, there was a brief period where increases in productivity—an essential metric for gauging the value of labor—were rewarded across all industries with proportionate increases in compensation at every level of employment, from workers on factory floors (think background talent and production assistants on film sets) to upper-office managers (executive producers, studio leadership, etc.). This has changed considerably in my lifetime. Productivity continues to increase, especially with technological advances, but instead of recognizing and rewarding the people who actually know how to use the technology and are doing the work—without whom the increased value of their labor would not be possible—their very humanity is disregarded, as they are reduced to figures in a spreadsheet. Just as a manufacturer might seek less expensive sources for raw materials, the labor involved in production is treated the same way, as an expense that factors into the wholesale price of whatever they’re selling instead of an investment in their capacity to stay in business. This attitude has also affected the film industry, not just in the executive suites of major studios but also in smaller markets like Utah.

When writers and actors took to the picket lines in 2023, I wondered how much it would affect the industry in Utah. With that in mind, I shared the following observation on social media:

“...Anybody with an unapologetic history of paying scab rates and cares more about getting it done than getting it right probably won’t be impacted that much from the strike…”

Unfortunately, amateur habits have become so ingrained in the local industry that cynicism runs rampant among those just trying to scrape by locally. In contrast, several actors and crew members have all but given up on the Utah market. They are relocating to Los Angeles or Atlanta—though often with the hope of returning to Utah periodically if a project seems worth the effort.

In the meantime, working amateurs—acting the way they imagine Hollywood movie moguls would act—continue to lower the professional bar for what it means to be a filmmaker in Utah by underbidding their colleagues for corporate and commercial projects, then preying on desperate actors and crew to maintain some semblance of profitability.

The best example of this attitude is one I’ve shared before of a Utah-based producer of corporate videos and commercials. This is a person who has real talent and produces quality work. While they’ve made a living in the local industry, they cut corners to do so and brag about exploiting others in their community for their own benefit. Primarily through “cattle calls” on social media forums.:

It should be noted that this producer is an admin for several such “necessary evils.” 

Prioritizing short-term profits over long-term sustainability will result in smaller markets like Utah’s, cannibalizing itself to the point where a relatively functional corporate and commercial sector within the state will all but disappear.

Such an outcome can be mitigated here in Utah if more of our local filmmakers would abandon the amateur philosophy of cutting corners and making ethical compromises for the sake of just booking gigs. They must also embrace higher standards when it comes to running their businesses and managing their productions. This should start with understanding the actual value of the required work, budgeting accordingly, and effectively communicating that information to clients and investors. This also means being prepared to temper unrealistic expectations and advocating for cast and crew by holding firm on paying livable wages.

Maintaining the Motion Picture Incentive Program will continue to attract film productions from out-of-state, employing local film industry professionals and enabling the maintenance of our existing infrastructure. There are also incentives for local independent productions. Some Utah-based filmmakers have found sustainable niches, enabling them to make a living in the industry. However, a handful of faux-professionals—who confuse their local notoriety with credibility and still manage to attract a sycophantic following—continue to churn out embarrassingly unwatchable content that contributes little to nothing of value to the art form or the industry.

A colleague once asked me if those films are like the “mockbusters” produced by companies like The Asylum, which has brought work to Utah. However, a realistic comparison between faux-professionals and The Asylum cannot be made because the latter employs a sustainable business model, something faux-professionals can’t comprehend.

Some professional filmmakers produce quality films that do not gain much attention or make much money upon their initial release but still see a return on their investment in the long run. This is because they try to figure out their audiences, calculate budgets appropriate for the stories they want to tell, and work within the established parameters of professional filmmaking, adhering to industry standards, best business practices, and effective due diligence.

Based on my observations over the years, faux-professionals seem incapable of grasping anything beyond locking the final edit, screening their film—typically at their own expense—and basking in the adoration of others for just “making a movie.” To what end do these faux-professional productions serve if there’s no benefit to the art form or the industry—to say nothing of any measurable impact on the local economy? To put it bluntly, the egos of the faux-professionals themselves.

Periodically, someone poses a question in our official forum, wanting to know which local producers and directors they should “avoid.” The initial concern is for the safety of cast and crew—minors in particular—but several other red flags are usually brought up in the comments. Some local individuals and companies have earned unflattering reputations. Thankfully, one or two have taken steps to address those concerns, but others perceive criticism as a personal affront instead of an opportunity to improve their business practices.

One of the group’s rules clearly advises members to “Talk about problems and solutions, not people.” When it comes to identifying perpetrators of illegal behavior within the group, it’s only acceptable if their identities have already become public knowledge—i.e., law enforcement, related news articles, etc., have published arrest records or court filings.

Regarding questionable business practices, unethical behavior, or engaging in malfeasance that’s been directly witnessed but unreported, forum administrators strongly advise anyone with knowledge of such practices to report them to the appropriate authorities. Although not an enforcement agency, the Utah Film Commission does assist individuals who need to address problems with workplace conflict and potential fraud. Utah Filmmakers™ Group policy posts also include information for contacting state government agencies. On more than one occasion, members simply appealed to other forum participants for advice on addressing those issues and received genuinelye helpful feedback.

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 practices of the Utah Filmmakers™ Association, its Officers, and/or Associates.

Economic impact of local productions - Symposium Reflections - Part III

How much of an impact can a film project have on the local economy?

The Motion Picture Association of Utah (MPAU) commissioned an Economic Impact Study of Utah’s film industry, emphasizing the benefits of the state’s Motion Picture Incentive Program (MPIP)—colloquially referred to as the “film incentive.” The MPAU summarized the study in an explainer video.

In short, the state—through the Utah Film Commission—invites filmmakers worldwide to produce their movies and series in Utah by highlighting local resources such as unique filming locations, support services, experienced crew members and actors, etc. The film incentive—a 25% rebate—is available to qualifying productions that spend a defined amount of their production budget within the state. For example, if a film production spends $1,000,000 in Utah—a claim that has to be verified by a third-party audit—they may receive a rebate of up to $250,000.

The impact of money spent on film and television production in Utah is not limited to the local film industry; it’s also advantageous for ancillary industries and sectors as well. Fees for location permits benefit municipal, county, and state governments. Hiring local crew members and actors, catering and vehicle rental, hotel accommodations, renting equipment, and studio space benefit local businesses, enabling them to pay their employees. Employees pay local taxes; they buy groceries and pay for their housing and transportation, and myriad goods and services for their personal needs, benefiting even more local businesses, who have their own payrolls to meet. They may not even realize that the film industry’s economic impact also works to their advantage.

This begs a more specific question: How much do film projects by local filmmakers affect the local economy?

The answer depends on whether or not—and to what degree—those local filmmakers understand and accept that the business of filmmaking cannot be separated from the art form.

As I’ve previously discussed, in the Venn diagram showing how creative industries and their adjacent communities overlap, local filmmakers may find themselves in one of three archetypical roles: Industry professionals, working-amateurs, and faux-professionals.

There are indeed a number of Utah-based film industry professionals. They understand and respect that filmmaking is as much a business venture as it is one of artistic expression. They have established effective and sustainable business models. They understand that prioritizing people with fair compensation is essential to creating a quality film that can see a return on investment. One important characteristic they all share is knowing that no one person can do it all. They know their professional strengths, have the integrity to acknowledge their limitations and respect the varied, complementary talents of those they work with, trusting them to do the same. They embrace the standards and best practices of the industry, maintaining due diligence through all stages of production and effectively managing assets and required deliverables from concept to distribution. This is what professional industry filmmakers do: employing themselves and others, doing their part to sustain the industry, and making a quantifiable difference in the economic landscape.

The working amateurs are those filmmakers who have managed to corner a niche within the local market that’s technically part of the larger industry, embracing business models with a modicum of sustainability—at least for those above the line. Their priorities are in the saleability of the finished product with a maximum return on a miserly investment. They don’t embrace industry standards so much as meet minimal requirements. Best practices will almost always be substituted with whatever they can get away with legally, if not ethically. If a loophole will save them money on production, they’ll find it and exploit it. They understand the business well enough to know that a mediocre film—with a built-in, albeit less discerning, audience—that’s done its due diligence has a better chance at distribution and profitability than an otherwise flawless work of art that can’t produce a chain of title, signed contracts, and/or other deliverables that reputable distributors will ask for.

Faux-professionals are well-versed in the jargon associated with their craft. They take themselves—if not the art form—very seriously, an unfortunate and potentially volatile combination of the Dunning-Kruger effect and unchecked narcissism run amok. More often than not, the responsibility for the unsaleable nature of many local productions—I’ll refer to them hereinafter as “community films”—rests squarely with faux-professional community filmmakers. Having never let go of amateur thinking, they prioritize the completion of a film over its distribution, assuming that the completed project will be so good that it will sell itself—grossly underestimating the importance of basic business planning and the necessity of due diligence. They are so focused on getting to say “That’s a wrap” to the applause of an exhausted and under-compensated crew that every decision they make leading up to that point is rooted in a scarcity mentality. Problems that can easily be avoided by not starting preproduction until proper funding is in place are simply dealt with along the way. Lacking any practical means to hire the professionals needed to do the job right, they cut corners just to get the job done, starting—most often—by requiring most of their cast and crew to waive or defer payment and convincing those above-the-line to accept rates that aren’t just below industry standards but even fail to meet the federal minimum wage.

Faux-professionals like to refer to themselves as “in the industry” because they sincerely believe that they are. Actual film industry professionals may beg to differ. Finished “community films” exist only on the outer-most fringes of the film industry—assuming someone remembered to create IMDb entries for them, as promised to many a cast and crew, in lieu of a paycheck. This speaks to the economic impact of such projects; there is none—people can’t pay rent or buy groceries with deferred salaries.

Despite the excitement they tend to engender in the local film community—I don’t think community films actually benefit anyone. To be frank, I think that they do more harm than good. Exploited actors and crew are prevented from learning the actual value of their time and talent. They become so accustomed to “donating” or underbidding their services and paying the “passion tax” that when they’re presented with an offer that industry veterans would scoff at, they accept it without question or even any negotiating on their behalf by their so-called “agents”—because 15% of a lousy offer is still better than 15% of a client’s “experience” and IMDb credit. This undermines the income potential for other local actors and crew. A desperate labor market attracts predatory employers. While some may be quick to point fingers at incentivized productions hiring local background talent for less than half of what SAG-AFTRA deems as an acceptable minimum day rate, some Utah-based producers, including the working amateurs described above, also exploit that desperation. While it might be good for their bottom line in the short term, the practice is simply not sustainable.

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.