Simply put: Making a film is akin to going to war.

The way I see it, everyday you suit up prepared to do battle with whatever unforeseen problems arise. There is a fair amount of planning, you strategize your attack but often, even the most veteran generals are met with defeat. At the end of the day you count the casualties, and even on the days you log as a victory the body count is pretty high. I suspect that in making a studio film, the same analogy applies, just with better uniforms and newer weapons.

Why then go into this arena? I guess, because when all is said and done, it’s fun as hell. About a year ago, David Mitchell and I made the decision to take one of his scripts and make it independently. This column aims to inform and entertain as we battle through the process of making The Myth of the American Sleepover, thereby documenting our struggle as we attempt “putting the Myth to bed.” This would naturally be the place where I tell you a little bit about the story. However, the director, true to his overly paranoid nature, has asked that I skip it for now. I’m willing to oblige, seeing as he was gracious enough to allow me to include the title of the film so that I might make a semi-clever pun out of it for this article. (My apologies to any of you to whom this is terribly off-putting.) Moving on...

It wasn’t until this past July that development officially got underway. And eight months later, we’ve come to accept that the time-cost-quality triangle is a frustrating reality. Highlights from the past eight months include: hiring an attorney (who we cannot afford), forming the LLC (Roman Spring Pictures based out of my Brooklyn apartment), getting a crash course in writing a business plan, drafting numerous versions of the budget (which we fondly refer to as the dream budget, the bad dream budget, and the nightmare budget), and my personal favorite, begging friends, family, and strangers for money.

Unfortunately, the bulk of these things was never really touched on in school, and attempting to gain such an extensive amount of knowledge in a limited amount of time has proven to be both a difficult and rewarding task. It began with an amplitude of reading, countless trips to the library, Internet research and talking with people who had more experience.

The Margaret Herrick Library in Beverly Hills was one of the better resources available; their hours were a bit dodgy, but the librarians were top notch. On my first visit to the library I was greeted by a security guard who confiscated my license in return for a ‘library day card’ and provided me with a locker for my things, since only paper, pencil and laptops were allowed in the Cecil B. DeMille reading room.

I did as instructed and headed upstairs. Over the course of a week, I found most of the information I was looking for, thanks in no small part to the librarians at the M.H.L. Actually, it was the librarians who left the most lasting impression. I got the feeling that they were part of an elite squad, members of the upper echelon of librarians, if you will. I’m not sure how to put it into words; they had mastered the intricacies of an already highly specialized collection, and even though I was clearly clueless as to how to utilize this system, they were very kind to me and never let on that they knew that I understood nothing about their world.

In addition to library research, I sought out ‘filmmaking guides’. Ultimately I found that most of the books available on ‘producing’ offer generic advice and no real solutions. I think just about every book elaborates on fundraising by citing the same standards and staples (ie. foreign pre-sales, gap financing, etc.) all of which are very difficult for true indies. The point here being that books on filmmaking, much like panels on filmmaking, are fairly predictable. Once you’ve read one, the chance of finding new and inspiring information is slim. This doesn’t stop me from reading books or attending panels however as there is always the hope of a new discovery.

One such discovery was Christine Vachon’s Shooting to Kill. My favorite film book to date, it provides a broad oversight without promising to do more, and is, at the same time, entertaining. In fact, I still frequently recall her anecdotes when I try to imagine what we are going to encounter during out production cycle. Her stories serve as a great reminder of how difficult this process will be and eventually, how rewarding.

First hand accounts serve as a close runner-up to actual experience, and while I have yet to have the pleasure of conversing with Ms. Vachon, I was able to speak with other industry ‘veterans’. I found these conversations very helpful, as they provided an opportunity for a two-way dialogue with someone who had, on some level, done it before. This aspect of the learning curve never stops. I talk to everyone I encounter in the hopes of hearing some new information. The trick here is just remembering that everyone’s opinion is slanted to his own experiences. Often times one ‘expert’ will contradict another - or better still – contradict me. By which I mean, I disclose an idea for how we envision production and they tell me I’m insane. For example, everybody has their own idea of what happens at different budget levels. Once producer I spoke with was certain that at 500K we would be shooting on video, but having just finished editing a film which was shot on 35mm for less than half that amount, I know that not to be a hard and fast rule. I see little sense in arguing, though (at this stage anyway), so I default to their opinions and experiences. Apart from the embarrassment of instantly losing a stranger’s respect through the relaying of some aspect of our production strategy, I get over it, take their advice and add it to the collective pool of information.

Here, I feel I should also introduce my co-producer, who will at times be relating our misadventures, John Taylor Feltner. Feltner brings to the team his experience as line producer on The Book of Caleb, his--at times--overly zealous attention to detail, and his impressive ability to crash the most elite parties--a skill that proved useful when he and I traveled out to Sundance in January.

The culmination of indie filmmaking, Sundance seemed like an appropriate way to kick off 2007, so off we went with our business cards and party list in hand. My generic Sundance summary goes something like this: lots of movies, lots of partying, little sleeping. If you’re on a no-money job, I think the Sundance strategy is as follows: sign up as a volunteer (because you could never afford that condo on your own), start smoking (since all the deal making happens outside of the party), grab your party list (the one your friend over at UTA so graciously smuggled to you) and begin crashing. Seriously.

Since returning from Park City, Feltner and I have been working closely with Mitchell in an effort to refine our no-budget strategy. The purpose of this first column, more or less, has been to lay the foundation and get everyone up to speed on where we are at in our process. Presently, we are trying to align ourselves with potential investors for the project. It seems like there are countless ways to fund a film, and at the same time, only a few that are available to first time filmmakers. We try to stay open to the possibilities, though. When a distributor called recently to discuss foreign pre-sales, I did my best to entertain whatever possibilities he threw out. It seemed his company had read the script and really liked it. The question was posed whether or not we could shoot the film outside of the U.S.

“What, like Canada?” I asked.

“Yes, Canada...or...Bulgaria.” was the reply.

Bulgaria? I called Mitchell. “Do you think the Dead Sea could double for Lake Michigan?”