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.

Integrity requires owning one’s mistakes

In the late summer of 2019, I contacted a member of our official forum via direct message to clarify some points of confusion in a recent comment thread. Our conversation was mostly productive, but I felt something was missing that couldn’t be effectively communicated online. So, I invited him to meet at a local coffee shop, which made all the difference. Travis Babcock is now one of our Official Forum Moderators and a Utah Filmmakers™ Associate.

One of the topics we discussed was the importance of mentorship for training new filmmakers. At the time, Facebook had implemented a mentorship feature that we enabled for the Utah Filmmakers™ group, and several members, including Travis, were able to get some productive use out of it.

While Facebook offered few tools for moderators to determine who was and was not qualified to effectively mentor novice filmmakers into the industry, Travis and I decided it could still serve as a pilot program for something more formal and organized. This included defining standards and a vetting process. One of the standards Travis recommended is part of our UFA™ Core Values:

Integrity

I asked Travis, “How does one assess a person’s integrity?”

His answer: “A willingness to own one’s mistakes.”

“I’ve made many mistakes,” Travis continued, “but I always owned them, learned from them, and rarely made the same mistake twice. This doesn’t mean that I don’t still make mistakes—because I do—but the ones I make now are much smaller than those I made when I was starting out.”

What I found especially appealing about this simple truth is that one can apply it anywhere: professionally and personally, in one’s work, art, and even in one’s relationships—be they social or in business.

As a filmmaker, every production presents new creative and technical challenges and opportunities to learn—opportunities that usually come in the form of mistakes made. Some mistakes just need a quick adjustment and a second take. Others can be “fixed in post.” Some can cost a shot, a scene, or even a production day. Sometimes, there is no fix, and what may have seemed like only a setback is the first sign of a complete failure.

As a member of the Utah Filmmakers™ group—especially in my role as an Administrator—I’ve made mistakes and tried my best to own them, rectify them, commit to learning from them, and—most importantly—be transparent about them.

The conversation between Travis and myself informed the creation of a mentorship program intended to go beyond what was offered in our Facebook group. Additional advice was sought, other tools researched, and a detailed proposal was written. The program was then presented to the Utah Film Commission, who agreed to help us with our vetting process—with a particular focus on the importance of integrity.

In 2021, the Utah Filmmakers™ Association received a modest grant to help promote this new program to attract mentors in the film industry and mentees committed to learning. We reached out to the local media and other nonprofit organizations. I made a couple of television appearances and radio interviews. Applications for potential mentors and mentees came in, many were selected, but a few were not. Mentors were assigned their mentees and provided with tools to help them facilitate their journeys.

I wish I could say that the program was a success and continues to meet its objectives, but being true to our organization’s core values of Professionalism, Integrity, and Respect, requires acknowledgment that it went nowhere. It was, for all practical purposes, a failed experiment. I wouldn’t call it a “spectacular” failure. It was pretty quiet and unremarkable—but no less of a disappointing experience, which reminds me of an important truth:

So, what did we learn from this failure?

That some things cannot be forced—no pun intended—into existence. We might be able to create and present opportunities, provide tools and make introductions, but we can’t predict what people will do or determine the final outcome. Some things lend themselves well to artificial facilitation, but only under specific circumstances. Others are just meant to happen organically, and that’s okay. It’s true of nonprofit programs, for-profit endeavors, and online communities. What’s important to remember is that one’s mistakes or failures are not an accurate gauge of one’s integrity, but how one responds to them can be very informative.

—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.