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Project Forte: Sofiya Ballin

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Welcome Back!  Maestro Filmworks is proud to open the fall season with a new monthly installment of Project Forte featuring Sofiya Abena Ballin (she/her) a compelling storyteller across multiple mediums, thriving right here in Philadelphia.   Sofiya has evolved through creative writing and journalism, to production and editing, taking fierce care of the valuable human stories she excavates.  Her project, Black History Untold, was born to print but has since blossomed into film, immersing the viewer into an intimate sharing of experience.  Sofiya and her team gather raw perspectives tied to unsung ancestry, bringing the suppressed influences and inspirations of Black lives to us in a full, compelling and emotive way.  These stories, as well as Sofiya’s own journey, create opportunities for empathy amongst us and refresh our understanding of how lush Black history is.  She fought to see her vision fulfilled, overcoming outdated barriers that stifle the change we hope to make in our society.  Work like this encourages new growth and conversation, which we know is a grand beginning not only for our communities but for Sofiya Ballin.

 

 

Written and Edited by Kate Feher

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Kris Mendoza:          So how long have you been writing? Can you give me a little bit of background on your work?

Sofiya Ballin:    Growing up, acting was always my passion and my love. I was able to stay involved in drama by taking acting classes but sort of moved that creativity to the back of my mind because, as a child of immigrants, there was an expectation to gear toward becoming a doctor or lawyer. But I did start writing poetry in high school as an outlet when I was being picked on and that medium stuck for me. I joined the Newspaper Club and garnered a friend group that supported what I was doing: kinda trying to figure out why we think the way we do and using journalism as the method to explore and investigate that.

I went to Temple University, majored in journalism, wrote for a local music magazine, ran a blog for Huffington Post, and freelanced here and there while going to school. I was interning at the Daily News when I got hired by The Philadelphia Inquirer. It’s funny though, I actually cried my first day because, as much as I love reporting, I still didn’t know if it was what I wanted. It felt a little stuck behind a desk and not as creative as I wanted to be.  Despite being worried that I’d get too comfortable,  I stayed with the Inquirer, and benefitted from a whirlwind of experiences. I got to interview everyone from Tyler Perry to Whoopi Goldberg and Tamron Hall. And of course, while I was there, I started one of my most important projects centered on Black History.

Essentially,  I was asked by my editors to produce a few write-ups for Black History Month . I just remember it centering on the same figures we typically discuss around February, Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, etc. These people are all prolific. But part of me was like, “Really?” 

Kris Mendoza:           This is stuff we learned 20 years ago in school, right? That’s nothing new.

Sofiya Ballin:    Exactly, right?  Black history is treated a lot like the plastic Christmas tree you have in your basement that you just dust off like, “Oh, it’s Christmas.” But what I know about Black history and Black culture is so vibrant and so colorful. I said to myself, “You know what? This year I’ll do it their way. But next year, I’ll do it differently…” And that eventually became Black History Untold

I got inspired by my own experience growing up in a Jamaican household where I was learning so much about Black American history, African history, and Caribbean history. And then when I went to school, I wasn’t getting that. I was getting those same four or five figures, right?  It wasn’t as comprehensive, and I was seeing the impact of that on students and especially Black students and how they saw themselves. How does it impact your psyche when you’re taught that your legacy, your lineage began in shackles?

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I realize the impact of losing parts of your history.  It affects what you know about yourself, how you view yourself, and your level of confidence, especially as a Black person in this world. How does a queer Black kid feel like they’re seen and accepted if they don’t know about Bayard Rustin, who  wasn’t  mainstream news coverage until now.  He was a queer civil rights leader working alongside Martin Luther King? 

So that next year, I decided to interview Black people, and investigate their untold Black history. I think there have been many half-truths spread in schools, but we learn it outside in our communities and from our families by hearing the personal histories that changed them. We live in a very anti-Black world. And then this is a very anti-Black country, where every day you’re told overtly or covertly, that you’re not good enough, that you’re a criminal, that you’re too much. We are consistently told these lies about ourselves. So I wanted Black people to share the stories that changed how they viewed themselves, and how it got them where they are.

Kris Mendoza: Where did you start looking for those stories?

Sofiya Ballin: So I put together a dream list, and pitched it to the Philadelphia Inquirer, and they loved it. We kept it Philly specific with a mix of celebrities like Jazmine Sullivan and Marc Lamont Hill and also  everyday dope people. I don’t know if you know the actor and activist Jesse Williams..

Kris Mendoza:           Yeah, I do.

Sofiya Ballin:    A lot of people don’t know he went to Temple and he taught in Philadelphia schools, so he was perfect. I said, oh Black Thought, it’d be great to have him…. and all of these people said yes!  Black Thought talked about reading Cheikh Anta Diop’s work and realizing, “I don’t come from a ‘dark continent’. I come from a continent where math and science was innovated.” Jazmine Sullivan talked about Negro Spirituals and how the messaging and music impacts her, not only as a singer but as a songwriter, to be intentional about the messaging she puts in her music.

Kris Mendoza:           That’s inspiring, is there a repository where all these exist?

Sofiya Ballin:    You can find the independent installments at blkhistoryuntold.com. Those first two installments would be on Philly.com. That year I produced it with The Philadelphia Inquirer and it had a great response. I was getting letters from the penitentiary to the nursing home. Second year, I introduced themes… I did it through the lens of Black joy. That’s when I had Malcolm Jenkins, a former Philadelphia Eagle, and Sonia Sanchez

At the time, this was 2016, I was one of the few young Black reporters at The Inquirer.  I had to compromise, ask for permission, explain things, and create a vision that, to me, didn’t fit how I wanted it to be or how I, as a Black person, felt that Black people would want to be depicted. I wanted to get out from under the restrictions and focus on the work, so I aimed to introduce film and produce independently down the line. I think film is so incredible, just capturing the emotional attachment we have with our history and our identity. It’s so sacred.

Reginald Cunningham + Brittney Cunningham – Black History Untold: Love (2020) photographed by Emmanuel Afolabi

A lot of these revelations and these interviews are very emotional, and I wanted to capture that and show the beauty of that.  There are so many times when I’m interviewing people, and hear, “For the first time I saw myself as someone to be revered  – For the first time, I saw myself, my people, in a different light  –  For the first time I feel like I have a better sense of who I am.” 

Kris Mendoza:           It’s interesting you say that, right? Because some of these people, they’re already celebrities, and influencers and politicians in the limelight. So for them to share those moments for the first time is very telling as to who’s controlling the narrative and what’s out there; not only for the general public, but for fellow Black folk to consume.  It’s very important work, what you created, can you tell us about getting it to video?

Sofiya Ballin:    So after the second installment in 2018, as the project began winning awards, the newsroom became more supportive of the project and wanted to plan for the next year… And I said,  “I quit.”

Kris Mendoza:           What did that feel like?

Sofiya Ballin:    It was the scariest, boldest thing I’ve ever done, but I wanted to protect the project. Also, I was growing, myself. I wanted to introduce video work,  and that wasn’t where The Inquirer was at that time.  I managed, by the grace of God, to produce the project independently, still as portraits and text but without the salary I had, and fully self-funded. 

Sofiya Ballin
Sofiya Ballin photographed by Rian Watkins

For my second independent installment, I linked up with the Brooklyn Nets to do a New York specific series. It was so wild. I got an email at 5 am.. And when I tell you, I read this and I thought I was going delusional. It was an email from the former  CMO Elizabeth Brooks, writing to say she has been googling untold Black history, and wanted to tell Black History in a more intentional way.  Similar to the Christmas tree analogy, she didn’t want it to just be the same thing, every year. 

The Brooklyn Nets had the capital for me to bring on a photographer I really admired, Joshua Kissi, who then brought on a DP, Emmanuel Afolabi, who I now still have a  working relationship with.  And once I saw the stories expressed with emotion, through music and video, I couldn’t go back. I think the medium just complemented the project so beautifully and the audience was able to connect better.

So that’s how I got into the film industry – I had no experience or academic background in film production. It was a challenge. I had a larger team of people behind the project at The Inquirer, a 200 year old company with wide reach and resources and when I left, it was just my photographer, myself, and my friend (Temi Oyelola) was a graphic designer.  As the project gained more support, I started slowly building my team up to 13 people.  I learned how to produce and direct, made some expensive mistakes but I also know I have great instincts. I think that it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. It’s really, really beautiful work. 

Jeffrey ‘DJ Jazzy Jeff’ Townes + Lynette Townes- Black History Untold:Love (2020) photographed by Emmanuel Afolabi

Kris Mendoza:           Hearing about your trajectory is so important, because the value of storytelling – whether you’re writing for a newspaper or teasing out for video – is preserving the voice and experience of a person.  A large part of Project Forte is telling your story as it connects to the ones you are working to tell, like every story is important and adds to the fuller understanding of the human experience.

Sofiya Ballin:    Yes, sure the project has some household names, but I’ve also had everyday people. It’s important to treat the story as valid no matter what your tax bracket is.  No matter what your visibility level is, the purpose is to show that though we are different  we also share similarities that are part of the Black/African experience. 

It also helped that we were a young Black crew, and I do think people felt more comfortable sharing their stories fully in that space. 

Kris Mendoza:           I’m glad you bring that up because there’s a question, not only around which stories are being told, but who is qualified to tell them. There’s no shortage of Black people, Asian people, or Brown people in this field, they’re only lost in the sea of the status quo, which just so happens to be very White-male driven, not even in an anti-White or anti-White-male approach. It’s present in examples of big budget Hollywood films coming out about Asian experiences: the cast may be billed as an all-Asian crew and maybe it’s filmed in Asia, but when the director at the top is “someone-Goldberg” it seems like they completely missed the point.  What if Do the Right Thing was made by a White director and not by Spike Lee, it’d be completely different, right?

There’s a respectable way to tell stories of other cultures without having to be in that culture, so I’m not saying these films fail to make a difference, but I’d certainly like to see change reach the more powerful positions. 

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Afaq photographed by Emmanuel Afolabi

Sofiya Ballin:    Yeah, I’m always shocked whenever I see these documentaries with “White hipster guys” going to Haiti or Thailand-

Kris Mendoza:           “White Savior” tropes

Sofiya Ballin:    Yeah. I’m like, “Why are we still doing this?” It’s upsetting. With Black History Untold there have been really powerful moments shared because our crew created such a welcoming and comfortable environment just by being Black and open to hearing the story. We interviewed a man for our Revolution Series who was wrongfully convicted of a crime and spent over 20 years behind bars.  He said, “Some people get caught with drugs and all they get is a slap on the wrist, but if you or me …”  And when he said “you or me” he was acknowledging us behind the scenes. That we too could have been in a similar situation. It was a simple acknowledgement  that expressed that he knew we understood him. It was something really small but I took note of the fact that he felt he didn’t have to explain too much.

I can’t speak for everyone, but I’ve noticed that people hold back in certain ways if there isn’t that level of familiarity and understanding.  You feel like you can’t be fully transparent. There’s a direct link between the environment and crew, to the raw, honest material we get.   

Kris Mendoza:           That’s a huge point.

Sofiya Ballin:    When I did pitch the project the first time, I had a hard time with The Inquirer… I said I wanted all Black people on the project and they were like, “Great, and we can add white people and Asian people and have them talk about Black history…

I had to be more specific and make it an identity series. Black history impacts Black people in a very specific way, and that’s what I want to explore. For some reason, when it comes to discussing our culture and our history there’s this need to diversify it. I think it makes it feel like less of a threat to people who are caught up in their white guilt.  But that’s not my business. 

Historically in the press, Black people have been misrepresented or underrepresented so at  the very least, let Black History Month be a time where we hear Black voices. Oftentimes, when our stories are not told by us, you can tell. It feels like an outside gaze. It can present as exoticization. The stereotypes and sensationalized versions of Black people are what’s presented. It’s an idea of us. But it’s not us.  When we tell our stories, with full agency, it feels like home. For some people, these stories are home. When people watch our work, it hits a chord in them, it speaks to a place inside that only someone who is of that experience can understand.

Blair Imani – Activist- Black History Untold: Future (2018) photographed by Shawn Theodore

And again, it doesn’t mean that someone who isn’t of a specific culture can’t help create something great. Especially if they’re intentional and do their research. I think that different people have different perspectives.  But we have to get to the point where we have all those seats at the table,  before we can really have that conversation. Because right now, only white people have had that chance in America. It’s mostly white men in the director’s chair, right? 

Kris Mendoza:           I dig. You mentioned the word exoticize, and I see that as connected to another issue.  For corporations, it could become performative and miss the point.  Having a diversity division makes a company look good, but once they push all our people of color to the forefront and take all their photos, posting everywhere… Will it continue every day or will it become another Pride Month or Black History Month?  Will this behavior be sealed off into the realm of “special occasion” which we forget during the “normal” day?

Is it the lesser of two evils, to see it as performance and accept it anyway because of the good it still does? 

Sofiya Ballin:    That was a big motivator for my project, because the way we celebrated Black History Month, felt very much like, “Oh, the time has come. So let’s just put this up so the coloreds can be happy.” It doesn’t feel intentional.

Kris Mendoza:           It becomes a Hallmark holiday.

Sofiya Ballin:    Yeah, it doesn’t feel real.  It doesn’t feel personal. And therefore, it defeats the purpose of helping others learn what really happened in this country and is still happening. Personally, I don’t do something just to do it. I’m very intentional about every decision that I make. And when you talked about performative actions and the lesser two evils, it reminds me of something Martin Luther King said, It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can keep him from lynching me, and I think that’s pretty important.”

Sometimes, unfortunately, it becomes this thing where you have to mandate it before it becomes natural for future generations. I still think in many ways we’re in a place where inclusivity has to be mandated and is treated as an obligation at many companies. Something I heard in the journalism world a lot when people were talking about diversity, I’d hear “We can’t find them. We can’t find them.”

Kris Mendoza:           Like there’s not enough?

Sofiya Ballin:   “There’s not enough!” (they say) And yet I know so many of them! And they are so ridiculously talented, right? And overqualified! 

A lot of these newsrooms can feel like a white boys’ club. And I think that people just look for people with backgrounds like theirs.  What J school did you go to? Or what film school did you go to? Instead of realizing one, not everybody has all those resources… 

Sofiya Ballin behind the scenes on Black Love Untold (2020)

Kris Mendoza:           It becomes very homogenous very quickly if you’re not trying.

Sofiya Ballin:    Yeah. One: not everyone has access to those universities, to those networks. And two: culturally, different people have told  stories and passed down history in different ways,  you know what I mean? And just because it may not be an important story to you or it’s not told in the way you’re used to, doesn’t mean it’s not a story within a community or that it’s not told well. Space needs to be made for that.

Kris Mendoza:           Exactly.  Let’s transition into some of the stuff you’re working on now and what’s next for you. I read your bio and loved that line – a dose of trap and a sprinkle of Black girl magic. We’ve talked a lot about your project and your approach to winning space for Black people, but you have not once really mentioned even being a woman in the midst of all this. What’s that extra layer like?  There’s a quote I’ve seen a lot recently, stating “The Black woman is the most disrespected person in society.”  Can you unpack how that relates to you and how does that reflect in your work?

Sofiya Ballin:    That’s such a deep, deep question. And that’s a Malcolm X quote.I think that I’ve realized more as I’ve gotten older, through the many ways that I am treated, that there’s a sensitivity growing within me over this. Especially when it comes to directing. That is the big one, because not everyone takes well to a woman leading. 

Kris Mendoza:           Black or not, just women in general.

Sofiya Ballin:    Women in general. And being a Black woman adds an extra layer.  I have to get myself out of it and remind myself, “Sofiya you can’t be mousy. When you want something done, say it… be firm about it.”   But I have such a great team because they encourage me.  My camera ops, Lou Peluyera , who’s a good friend of mine, will be like, “Sofiya, it’s okay. You’re good at this. You know what you’re doing. Just be confident.”

Sofiya Ballin behind the scenes on Black Love Untold (2020)

And then I think when you add being a Black woman as your leader, especially on the business end, people will really try to take advantage of you. And people will really try to low ball you for your work. I have a lawyer friend who I’m constantly having to reach out to, to work with me on contracts, or to make sure I get paid because I have, in the past, done work for someone on good faith that they would pay me or pay me my worth.

So I’ve learned that doesn’t always happen, right? And I’m like, this is what I learned in my African American studies classes. This is what I’ve been writing about. But I’m living it, right? I’m actually watching people tell me they want to pay me nothing or a really low rate, but then in the next breath telling someone else they’re going to be paid more. That is disrespect.

We produced Black History Untold: Love , our 1 hour and 10 minute doc and interviewed 13 couples, and we did it in three or four days. It was a lot, but it was planned to a T.  So it was very exhausting production, but also exhausting because of the mental demands of “bracing myself” sometimes for how people would combat or communicate with me… people outside of my team. 

Behind the Scenes of Black Love Untold (2020)

To be honest I might have to take a break this year, because it was just so much. We saw what happened May through June with George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. It pushed me that year because I was like, “People need to talk about Black love.” But also with Breonna Taylor specifically, I was reminded of this woman named Oluwatoyin Salau. She’s a Nigerian-American woman I wrote about in the Washington Post, who was kidnapped, sexually assaulted and killed. I did so much research involving how many Black women and girls are missing, it’s this trajectory of… 

Kris Mendoza:           It’s a pattern.

Sofiya Ballin:    Yeah, it’s a pattern of erasure and disrespect. And it’s not because you don’t have a voice, but because people don’t want to listen to you. Oluwatoyin Salau said she needed help, before she was kidnapped.  Breonna Taylor was killed in her home. And the reason why people kept pushing her name, is because so often when Black women and girls are killed in general and by the police, people don’t really rally around them the same. And why is that? 

Brittany Cunningham : Black Love Untold (2020)

It’s a lot to be thrown into the understanding of this bigger picture and suddenly see my place in it, noticing how people are talking to me.  I’ve become more and more sensitive to it. 

Being a Black woman is an absolute gift, especially as a storyteller. Ava DuVernay has a quote about how as a Black woman you can… It’s almost like you see everything, right? I know what it’s like to be a woman, I know what it’s like to be a person of color.  And that finds its way into my stories.

I wouldn’t trade being a black woman for anything. I hate the way the world treats us, I think we deserve better. We do a lot of incredible work, and we don’t get paid for it. We don’t get recognized. But I think that it’s truly been a gift to my storytelling and my life, especially the way that it’s made me really see the world. What I’ve experienced behind the scenes, I can take that and put that in my work, creating something specific to that.

Kris Mendoza:           So, as you were saying in the beginning, this is where you draw your strength from. This is what motivates you. But I do see, when you talk about that Black girl magic, this is the source… It’s kind of like your blessing and your curse of what drives you, why you are so outspoken.

As an artist, and as a writer, as a filmmaker, I definitely think that identity as a Black female can certainly be a thumbprint all over your work. There’s no separating your identity from your work. No matter what, if it’s very culture focused, female focused or not, I feel like everything is very strongly through the lens of what only you can tell. 

Sofiya Ballin photographed by Rian Watkins

Sofiya Ballin:    I think as a Black woman in this industry, in journalism and film, in any industry, shit, it’s so important to be confident in yourself. And it’s so important to trust. And I say this all the time but trust your vision and trust your voice. And it’s something that I’m still working on because the world won’t validate it, right? Even with this project in the beginning, I was told, “It’s not going to work. It’s just not.” When I left my job, the first thing one of the editors told me was, “I think this is a horrible idea.” I have to constantly push and prove my bankability, prove the value of my work.

Kris Mendoza:           You’re wearing a weighted vest with everything you’re doing. A double weighted vest even – when everyone else is running.

Sofiya Ballin:   Exactly, exactly, exactly. And that’s why Black women get the title of strong all the time. Because they’re carrying around that extra weighted vest. But every time someone compliments a Black woman on her strength, I’m like, “That’s a time that she’s struggled and you or someone else didn’t help carry the load.” 

And that’s where I think the ally-ship comes in. And I think Black women try to do that for each other. 

Sofiya Ballin photographed by Rian Watkins

Kris Mendoza:           Last question here, what’s next for you? What’s on the slate for Sofiya?

Sofiya Ballin:    Yeah. I’m in such an interesting place entering this film world. I’ve mastered writing and I still want to keep doing this project. I’m just trying to solidify the system, if that makes sense. I think that I’ve been very integral to all of the pieces and I want to get to a point where it kind of runs itself. So for the future, I think that I’m going to be refining Black History Untold.

I’m also  writing the script for a short film that I’m really passionate about. It goes into Jamaican culture and being first generation. I really am a storyteller of all the mediums. And now I think the next step is figuring out how to become an octopus, and how to do a little bit of all of them. Because that’s when I feel my happiest and that’s when I feel like I’m living my true purpose.

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Project Forte: Hector Tapia

Portrait Hector Retrato Bco Y Negro

 

Hector David Tapia (he/him) has been working as a Director and DP in Philadelphia for over two years since moving to the United States from Mexico City.  This month on Project Forte, he sheds light on the uniqueness of Mexican cinema as it hinges on the idea of a compact, multifaceted crew who thrives by innovating and problem-solving out of creative necessity.  This is slightly different from the larger American machine, which can afford increased specialization due to enormous budgets and crews; and therefore, less departmental interrelationship. As witnessed by Hector, many who contribute to Mexican cinema are rewarded with resourcefulness in exchange for the passion they must pour into overcoming each obstacle.   True to that experience, Hector brings every skill to bear when on set, trusting in his fellow filmmakers and inspiring camaraderie.  It takes a connection, an opportunity, and a yes to open doors, and his story is no exception.  Read on to hear more about Hector’s journey so far!

 

Written and Edited by Kate Feher

 

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Kris Mendoza:           Welcome to Project Forte, Hector.  Let’s begin with how you got your start in the industry.

Hector Tapia:            It was probably 15 years ago, when I started out as an editor for a TV network. I was mainly editing live concerts, documentaries for bands and stuff like that. I was really focused on the indie scene back in the days, probably 2005 to 2010. I was in Mexico City at the time, focusing on editing those kinds of projects and it was like a full five years of just sitting and editing.

Kris Mendoza:           What drew you to the profession? What were some early influences other than the music scene which led you to understand you wanted to pursue this? Were you a big moviegoer growing up? 

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Hector Tapia

Hector Tapia:            That’s an interesting question because throughout the years I discovered it really goes back to my childhood.  I always saw my dad grabbing the camera, like all the time. For example, at Christmas, he would wake up really, really early and wait for us with the camera ready to see that Santa Claus had come and then he would capture our reactions.  That was a constant image that I’ve had stuck in my mind since my childhood. But, my only dream and goal at that time was to be a professional soccer player. I had tunnel vision for the sport until high school. Eventually, things with soccer got complicated and I lost interest in pursuing a professional career when I was in my senior year and it’s funny cause that’s exactly when filmmaking entered the frame for the first time when we had this final project assignment to craft a video. I think that was my first official approach toward this passion. 

There were three or four of us on a team and we could do anything we wanted, we had complete creative freedom. So we filmed at a friend’s place and I remember recording and somehow “directing” him. It was like an “I’m having a nightmare” kind of scene. I remember saying or feeling like a really interesting exercise to me. To be honest, I didn’t pay a lot of attention to it but it didn’t matter because I think I internalized the main message: “I enjoyed filming a movie”.  Back in 2002, we didn’t have access to nonlinear editing software like today and we figured out a way to edit that piece. I think we just recorded the TV screen and then we would basically edit on camera. That part was really tough and tricky for us, but in the end, we delivered the final product so it was a success. 

Moving forward, I went on to college and studied engineering for a year.  Just as I was realizing that was not for me at all, my older cousin was also switching from his engineering major into communications. He said to me, “Why don’t you try this too? Maybe you like photography.”  I was really frustrated with my engineering major  and that question really inspired me to look back at the camera and that previous experience of making a film made all sense, it was like: “Yeah, I think that’s what I was looking for this whole time.”

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Hector Tapia

And I really liked the program and what the career offered at the time, cause it’s always changing. The only thing I regret is the fact that it was going to be a huge extra cost for my parents, a whole year of tuition to the trash but they were really supportive as always. They made me and helped me feel comfortable switching to a creative career. Then, within the first two years, I met a friend who needed me to edit and retouch photos for her, and I realized that I really liked that creative process as well. She connected me to her boyfriend who was a producer at this TV network and luckily they were recruiting. He interviewed me, it was like a quick stand-up interview, I remember him saying “You seem like a good fit” and then he walked me through the door of the Executive Directors. I was so nervous but that second interview went well and the next day I showed up and started editing my first TV show. I was really lucky to get that job.

Kris Mendoza:           Nice. What was the industry like in Mexico City at that time? Is it a totally different animal from the United States?

Hector Tapia:            I mean, some people say that it’s really a closed circuit –

Kris Mendoza:           Tight-knit?

Hector Tapia:            Yeah, like a tightly woven industry.  It is very large, although I was really lucky it is indeed hard to find an opening. I remember one of my post-production teachers explaining communications as a broad spectrum. He said “In this major, you basically have these options: Radio, TV, Commercials or Cinema. And more sad news… he said, you will only have one or two opportunities in your lifetime to get into the industry. So, don’t waste them. That was like the word, the clear message. 

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Hector Tapia pictured right

Kris Mendoza:           It sounds like you were doing a lot of Post at that point, but as far as Mexican, the U.S., or even global filmmakers, who were some folks that you were following and being inspired by?

Hector Tapia:            I know it’s gonna sound cliché but definitely one of my main influences was Alejandro González Iñarritu when he released his first feature: Amores Perros, in 2000. It was very impactful to me. I remember watching that movie 10 or 15 times with one of my best friends in high school and it just woke us up. We thought, “Wow, this is something new. This is amazing. This is Mexico.” We memorized almost entire sequences, dialogues, and scenes.  It had such a raw texture, visually innovative, super complex scriptwriting, and great performances. It was a complete boom and success in my country. That movie revolutionized and changed Mexican cinema forever. Because, back to my childhood again, in the early to mid-’90s, Mexican cinema was garbage, I remember going to the theater with my family to watch “La Risa en Vacaciones 5” a prank movie saga, they made like eight movies, all exactly the same: actors, jokes, pranks, places, and songs. At the time we laughed a little, but now I look back at that era and it’s like: “What the hell happened to those Mexican filmmakers? Then, a few years later, we all saw Iñarritu, Arriaga, Cuarón, Del Toro, Lubezki, and many others raising their hand and the rest is history.  

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Hector Tapia pictured right

Back to Amores Perros, at the time I was just a pure viewer, you know what I mean? I didn’t have this bias of being on set or of being a cinematographer, yet. I wasn’t analyzing the technical aspects of the movie. I was just like into-

Kris Mendoza:           – Drawn into it?

Hector Tapia:            Exactly. I just let myself absorb it. That was my first big impact and big influence. Then also, I really liked Y Tu Mama Tambien from Alfonso Cuarón and Emmanuel Lubezki. Those guys were my biggest influences starting out and still, they are.

Kris Mendoza:           Very cool influences and I should say even without knowing too much about Mexican cinema, it was very clear to see at the time that they were inspiring and inspired by a global zeitgeist.  I know Iñárritu did Babel in the early 2000s, but I feel like it wasn’t really until 2014 when he did Birdman that he became a household name.

So, using this as a jumping-off point, let me ask you: what makes Mexican cinema unique? Are there some elements or approaches within Mexican storytelling that differ from other cultures in terms of filmmaking?

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Hector Tapia:            I would say first that Mexican filmmakers are great problem solvers and they are driven by their passion, so they always find a way. The budgets for Mexican films also tend to be smaller which encourages a lot of multi-tasking and creativity.  That’s one of the main differences between U.S. and Mexican filmmakers. For example, in Mexico, most of the time one person will cover a lot of roles while here in the US it’s really uncommon to see that, it is definitely more structured here at all levels of production cause everyone has a specific role. I think it can be seen as an advantage for a Mexican filmmaker, because if you don’t have the budget, you are going to try a thousand different ideas to get your project made and learn so much from each experience.

Kris Mendoza:           Yeah, you get resourceful very quickly when you don’t have the budget.

Hector Tapia:            Exactly.  And we are like that, we don’t let any obstacle stop us. And you know, we have this beautiful ability to connect, and that aids in our resourcefulness. Sometimes you have to make friends get the shot, whether that just means talking to the police in a hectic and crowded location to get them on board, knock doors to see if the neighbors allow you to come in to get the shot from their balcony, or even helping someone in the crew solve a problem. 

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Hector Tapia pictured right

Kris Mendoza:           When we talk about resourcefulness and smaller productions with really high value, the first person that comes to mind is Robert Rodriguez. Obviously, he’s American-born but of Mexican descent, and shot a lot of his early work, like El Mariachi, in Mexico.  He did a lot with very little.

Hector Tapia:            Exactly.

Kris Mendoza:           It’s really interesting to see how restricted access to X, Y, or Z inspired a creatively stimulating environment, where you were forced to think outside the box.   I read Rebel Without a Crew, which was very insightful in its approach and reminds me of this, but I never thought of the cultural fingerprints involved. Thinking about Robert Rodriguez (Spy Kids) or Iñárritu (Revenant) you can see that moment when you do finally get access, in this case, to all these toys and all these resources – you are unleashed and your creativity can be fully activated. Is that what brought you to Philadelphia?

Hector Tapia:            Actually, I made that decision out of love, really.  About 3 or 4 years ago my wife was given a really nice opportunity to work here and took it because it was a good financial decision for us.  It was rough on our relationship, but I traveled back and forth as much as I could, especially to see my daughter and Melanie (my wife) flew back to Mexico sometimes for vacations.  She has a really good relationship with my family so we got through it in the end.  

Finally, she did say, “I’m not moving back to Mexico. The only way you can stay with us is if you move to the U.S., to Philly with us.”  So despite the fear of moving, love definitely won that battle and things have really been working out well since then.  

Kris Mendoza:           That’s amazing. You know, I didn’t realize until recently that your wife is Melanie Silva!  I follow each of you separately and it finally clicked when I saw you both post the trailer for the really touching piece about your daughter.  

Hector Tapia:            Oh, that’s awesome!

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Hector Tapia drone operating

Kris Mendoza:           What’s it like being in a relationship where you are both in the same creative field? I’m so curious to know what it’s like to live and breathe creativity, art, and film production at home and even work together in some regard.

Hector Tapia:            That’s a very interesting question because it was really hard at the beginning, but we evolved and balanced.  We met at this TV channel in Mexico City. She and my sister were both editing and they became best friends.  That was how we connected and then we started spending more time with each other.  

Melanie is a very talented filmmaker and storyteller, while I’m more focused on the visual realization.  She’s always telling me, like, ” You have to focus more on the story.” Then I say, “You have to focus more on the visual ” [jokes] I think we push and also complement each other really well, but in the beginning, it was a little bumpy trying to meet halfway.

Sometimes when we’re together, there’s a little healthy competition, and I have to remember that one is not better than the other, we only have different styles. Also, when I started focusing more on cinematography and directing, she started to focus more on producing.  She and one of her best friends and colleagues have now founded their own media company here in Philly and our talents and styles can be combined and complementary. 

But it’s also really nice to see that we can accomplish and deliver projects of our own. It’s not, like, all wonderful. Obviously, we have some friction sometimes when we’re stubborn about our approach.  But we’ve arrived at something really really sharp and true to what we want with this project you mentioned earlier, Dear Sofia, which is about our daughter.  

 

Kris Mendoza:           I bet it would be totally different if you were both directors or both DPS. Your nuanced differences mean you can complement each other and also enrich each other’s work in terms of open constructive critique. 

I know personally, I would have a tough time opening up my creative vulnerabilities to my significant other, let alone wearing two different hats with them.  When you’re working on something as personal as Dear Sofia, how do you switch on work? Any advice for couples in the same field?

Hector Tapia:            It’s really tough because sometimes, for example with this project, we’re spontaneously being inspired by something interesting that Sofia is doing.  I have to follow my impulse to just grab the camera and start. It’s a matter of seconds to switch the hat, being a parent and then a filmmaker. We do like to keep our work separate for some of our other projects.  

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As far as advice, I would say probably the word would be humbleness if that makes sense from both sides. It’s important to set aside your egos. Rather than battle, you listen and ask questions out of love and respect for the other. You have to be open to hearing them and learning them, which helps you to know each other’s weaknesses and talents in terms of storytelling.  When you can share like that first, you find out that you really can have some separation and be in charge of one part of the process while they are in charge of the other.  You trust each other with the talents you see in them.

It really helps to always approach the other with a respectful suggestion, and not tell them they can’t do it.  I find myself asking “What do you think about this mood for the scene?” or “What do you see if this is the direction I want to go?” 

Kris Mendoza:           I watched the trailer that you both posted and was very moved by the visuals and the story, so I can see each of you in it already. Just to touch on your daughter’s personal experience a little, I’ve had experience with the diagnosis of autism in the family and what that can mean for your relationship with your family, especially your wife. Talk to me about how that project came to be and how it’s evolving.

Hector Tapia:            We’ve been filming for almost a year, because it’s entirely dependent upon Sofia’s mood, and some days we only shoot one or two scenes.  It’s been a learning curve, and of course, we have two different processes regarding Sofia’s autism. Melanie has her own way and I think I go a little bit slower than her. My acceptance of the diagnosis, I mean.  It’s going to be almost two years now. She was diagnosed back in September 2019, and for me, it was really tough to understand because my daughter is so wonderful. 

I began processing by minimizing her behavior. I was in denial, saying “no, to me she’s, like, a neuro-typical little girl.”  I wasn’t embracing her difference, but Melanie helped a lot with my process. She did a lot of research, read books, and subscribed to Autism groups on Facebook with other parents who were sharing their experiences and knowledge.  While she did that, I was mainly focused on my work but then I realized that it was not going to be good enough for me and for Sofia. I started to get more and more involved and then I suddenly became inspired to use my camera to help me see what I needed to see: Sofia. 

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Hector Tapia

 

I told Melanie that it will be really helpful to me if I just start filming her, just be with her on and off camera and explore what happens.  She agreed and so we talked with Sofia. She loves to watch videos. Actually, I edited a video for her every year for her birthday and it makes her so happy. She always likes to watch them a thousand times and memorize her words or “dialogues” in each video. In terms of filming the movie, which is more of a docu verité, we always ask her first, because sometimes she doesn’t want to film and isn’t in the mood and we must respect that. It all started a healing process, working on this film with my family. I’m always editing some sequences and going through the footage and then I see things, looks, reactions, and behaviors about Sofia that I wasn’t aware of, so shooting this movie has been really insightful in terms of that and also therapeutic for me. 

It’s important to ask yourself what your motivations are when you do something like this.  Personally, I’m always checking in to make sure I am doing the right thing or asking if I’m being selfish by making my daughter a subject. Do you know what I mean? It’s a very difficult situation, internally for me. But Melanie, our parents, and our family, have all been really supportive about that because they can see we are doing this out of love for Sofia.  We don’t want to expose her. So far, we’ve agreed that we would not show tantrums or expose her to ridicule because she wouldn’t be able to say that is ok to film. 

Kris Mendoza:           I can see you’re concerned about exploiting your daughter’s story and situation, but at the end of the day, I think it sounds like your hearts are all in the right place. You’re really documenting for her, and for your family, which is something I’m totally used to. My dad documented every waking step of our lives growing up and always had a camera.

 I think you are blessed with the opportunity that you are actually a professional in the industry so you can capture these moments and turn them into art. I think if other parents and families can get anything out of your message, it would be hugely impactful for those who are experiencing their journey of acceptance with an ASD diagnosis. I am looking forward to seeing more of it.  

It seems like you’ve really sunk your teeth into the Philly scene, working with a couple of different production companies.  What makes you do what you do? Why do you love it? And what’s next around the pike for you?

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Hector Tapia pictured left

Hector Tapia:            What’s next?  I want to film and film and keep filming for the rest of my life. That’s what I want. Regarding Philly, I love working with Kyra Knox, a very talented emerging director and producer. We are actually shooting her first documentary feature and also I really enjoy working with you and your team at Maestro.  I’m so happy that you consider me for the work you are doing. I’m excited to see what Philly has to offer this year and as I expand my career. Also, I’ve been shooting documentaries in LA and would love to shoot more in New York. I’ve been pretty lucky. Obviously, I want to keep filming in Mexico. I recently sent one of my latest short films to top festivals around the world, it was proudly shot and produced in my country.  I really want to be like I am now, you know, filming, editing, applying to festivals, traveling, filming again but this time more and more interesting projects, better stories and characters. I get a sense of belonging just from grabbing the camera. It is my vehicle and my key to knowing the world and to connecting with more people. 

That’s what I dream of. That’s my everyday obsession and it’s happening. I’m living that dream one day at a time, one project at a time. 

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Project Forte: Amanda Mazzone

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Amanda Mazzone is courageously embracing a rapid shift toward the creative industry as a writer, producer, and actor.  Undeniably suited to these arts, it is surprising to know that Amanda is only newly inspired, particularly by her experience working on Block, with Carrie Brennan – a Project Forte alum. Understanding the power of telling one’s story, both Carrie and Amanda have risen to the challenge of sharing their experiences, not only for their own expression but also to help others find company and closure.  Tune in below to hear about Halfway to Fifty developments and to share in Amanda’s history and humor.

 

Written and Edited by Kate Feher

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Amanda Mazzone:    Hello, I’m Amanda Mazzone, but in the creative space I go by Amanda Francis. I am a writer, creator, producer, and actor…always last. I’m whatever I need to be. I like to think of myself as an Asian Phoebe Waller-Bridge [Fleabag] in the creative space, writing my own stuff and collaborating with folks along the way.

Kris Mendoza:           Tell me a little bit about how you got started in this industry, where you’re at now, and what you’re working on.

Amanda Mazzone:    I am currently in New York. I moved here to work in foster care, which is just completely outside of the film industry. But along my way, I met Carrie Brennan, who’s from Philly, and a brilliant and amazing queer filmmaker. When we met, she was still in the writing stages of Block, and I was immediately drawn to her story. I’m queer. I hadn’t come out to my family at the time, so the story especially spoke to me. But more impactfully, I befriended Carrie, and if I’ve learned anything in this industry, it’s the importance of having a wonderful support team and I knew that I wanted to be a support for Carrie in that space. I was able to help her by embodying that hype man, the T-Pain, of production, and worked alongside her as a production assistant, mostly, and just by being a good friend along the way.

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Amanda Mazzone and Carrie Brennan

Block inspired me into action. I’d never thought of myself as a creative person, though I was always assumed to be – I had friends and a community in the space – but I was always way too scared to dive in. Being on that set changed everything for me. A few months later I decided to write my own story about being queer, being Filipino, and to focus on mother-daughter relationships, which all meant that her story inspired me to tell my story. 

We’re currently in post-production for that web series so, that’s how I got started in the industry: through an inspiring, supportive, and creative friend community.

Kris Mendoza:           What was it about Block that attracted you to the project?

Amanda Mazzone:    I always joke about that but it really was just… Carrie, you know? She’s effervescent. She knows how to connect with people. And when she first pitched me on the story, I thought, “You’re bizarre. Is this going to be an animated block following you around? Like, is it its own character?”  But lo and behold, it is its own character: an actual, physical block, which really demonstrates Carrie’s humour. And it’s something that I think a lot of people can connect with, even if they don’t necessarily have a coming-out or coming-in kind of story. It’s just that heavy weight on your chest which a lot of people have a hard time talking about. Block is starting conversations and allowing people to see themselves within a narrative, making their own stories feel finally relatable. Of course, as soon as I understood the whole narrative of Block and what it could do for folks, I was 100% on board. I knew it could change people’s lives.

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Amanda Mazzone on the set of Block

Kris Mendoza:           You know, that’s the power of the film medium.  It creates empathy and brings people together. So many people have their own personal stories and think they’re alone, like what they are feeling is concentrated only within themselves and that “No one else is really going to care”. When you put yourself out there in this kind of medium, making yourself vulnerable, you start to realize so many other people connect and resonate with your story. And the hope is, I noticed for Carrie, to inspire others to feel comfortable and live their own truths. 

You’re doing that now with your own project, are you able to tease that a little and talk to me about the approach?

Amanda Mazzone:    Oh yeah, it’s not top secret! And you know what? You’ll learn more about me, Kris, there’s no secret in my life unless it’s about my mom [jokes].. then it’s always a secret to her. 

My story’s called Halfway to Fifty. It’s a mini web series, so five episodes, each around five minutes. I began writing in March at a time I was feeling super inspired and creative so I was able to get it off the ground fast. I formed a skeleton team from some folks who worked on Block, actually. Talk about having friends in the industry and being on that set… I was able to collaborate with so much of the Block crew.  We got Hillary Hanak to DP, Heather Monetti on sound,  Kelly Murray directing an episode, and Sierra Schnack directing the other four.  It was a really cool collab.

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Amanda Mazzone pictured right

Halfway to Fifty is about a woman named Amanda, loosely based on me, and her relationship with her mom. The two are exactly 25 years apart. It kicks off with Amanda realizing that her mom had her when she was 25, a child. And Amanda’s living in New York, exploring her queer, bisexual identity in a very whitewashed purview, while her mom, who we call Mother Gothel, is in the Midwest (Wisconsin), and has this relationship with Amanda where it’s mostly on the phone or on Facebook, monitoring her every move. So the subjects involve being queer and Asian, but also touches on social media, the autonomy of having to be an adult, upholding family values, and finally “self-realization.”  There’s a lot to resonate with, hopefully.

Kris Mendoza:          There are so many important notes to unpack. Let me start with something I can easily relate to myself, being Asian and Filipino, because that presents the lens through which these subjects are approached, right?  That’s sort of your first identity. I don’t know how it is in your family, but I know it’s a very Asian and Filipino thing to just never have the sex talk with your parents. You don’t talk about things like that. So I’d imagine coming out and announcing that… is maybe harder to communicate in this culture than others. Is that something you focus on in the story?

Amanda Mazzone:    Yeah, a hundred percent… Those conversations aren’t familiar, I can definitely say, in my life. I can’t tell you the last time my mom and I had ever gotten close on that subject. In this web series, it jumps right into the middle of all of that. Amanda has already tried coming out, is in that stage of, “I’ve told you a thousand times, and yet you still cannot hear me” kind of space. And Amanda’s mom is very much like, “I’ll pray for you, Ging. I’ll pray for you”. You know? Amanda never asked for those prayers, but she still thanks her mom for them. So there’s a kind of reverence and respect that you need to have toward what your family does understand.

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Amanda Mazzone

That’s kind of what we sit on in this web series, what I focused on, is that respect. But also again, where’s the limit according to your need to be heard? Just because you’re family doesn’t mean you need to bend to every will and uphold every value, especially if it collides with your life. Another aspect of my history which plays out here is that my mom remarried. I’m a first-gen Filipino in the U.S., but my mom remarried to an Italian white man who is now my stepdad. I call him Papi, Kevin, but he’s from an Italian, White, Conservative family in Wisconsin. So over the past year with Black Lives Matter, coronavirus, there were some-

Kris Mendoza:           Stop Asian Hate.. Throw all of these things into a bucket.

Amanda Mazzone:    Yeah, no rest… A lot of stuff just came up with family, I’m sure a lot of people can resonate with that right now. I found that the white side of the family was, in person, so polite. Conversations were so like, “Oh, how are you? How’s New York? Blah, blah, blah”. But on social media, it was nasty. People were commenting with guns blazing, showing angry emoji faces as if that was a threat. I wanted to take that and write about it. So you’ll see similarities in the series loosely based on my life where I had my white grandpa, the “patriarch” of the family, coming at me on Facebook, which is just crazy. I didn’t mean to put my grandpa on blast for calling me, a brown girl, a racist, but that was just fundamentally not possible in the context that was going on, so I called that out.

And it involves my mom, who grew up in the Philippines, moved here when she was 23 and assimilated into an American culture. She accepts and acknowledges the fact that I grew up American, but I still have her cultural roots. She couldn’t step up and defend me in that space because her voice was being drowned out from the “patriarch” of the Mazzone family. That put a strain on my relationship with her. I didn’t feel like I was being supported or backed up. It was less about my own queer identity, or my political views, or my personal life at that point. We were on two completely different planes, and we can build a bridge somewhere, but we’ve got to start having conversations about that. And even if it’s a sex talk or anything like that, it’s just so hard to bring that up in Asian familial spaces.

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Amanda Mazzone

Kris Mendoza:           And it’s tough, too, because a lot of the negative stereotypes exist concerning female Asian immigrants that come to the U.S., specifically speaking about your mom’s generation and my own parents’ generation here. The stereotype that they’re submissive because they are soft-spoken and things like that. It’s almost like she feels she doesn’t have a voice, even though at the end of the day, I’m sure there’s a large part of her that disagrees with a lot of the other side of your family. The pressure  blurs lines in terms of what you believe in, what you want to just make peace with, and ultimately what you’re going to speak up for.

All those things swirl about before even injecting gender identity, being queer, or even the kind of creative work that you do. It’s definitely a divisive climate these days. 

I guess I’ll turn to a more hopeful, positive question now. How do you feel film, media, and television spans this conversation? Do you make a point that you can build a bridge, or that there’s no convincing someone, especially your grandfather who’s probably lived his entire life believing certain things… Is there no changing his point of view?

It’s hard to accept that someone in their 60s and 70s is prepared to turn 180 degrees unless there’s some crazy life-changing event. Can your story build a bridge? Can his love for you help him to better understand, at least a little bit? Is that effort the saving grace amidst the turmoil we’ve gone through recently? How is film helpful in approaching, softening these conversations, and opening doors?

Amanda Mazzone:    Ah, those are good questions. I think film provides a space where you can find community and visibility where you want to. That’s a double-edged sword though, right? And the way that media and film and all the ways that we’re able to entertain, it’s like a science now, right? To mess with algorithms and kind of manipulate what you see. But if you’re not manipulating any of that, and you’re just kind of interacting with the things that interest you truly and genuinely, then I would hope that you find folks, people of like-mind, who can inspire you and make you feel heard and seen. I think that’s the most positive, uplifting thing that media can come to. It’s just such a tricky landscape still. As a younger person, I thought I could change everything through social media. I thought I could inspire my grandpa. I could teach… “Are you telling me, Mom, that if I don’t comment, or if I don’t respond to him, he won’t learn something?” But lo and behold, kind of holding true to what you’ve mentioned, Kris, it is hard to talk to anyone who’s sedimented in their ways. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, especially when an old dog gets on a new social media platform, like Facebook. 

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Amanda Mazzone center

And my Lola, it was really funny, she’s not on Facebook at all, but she heard what was going on. She’s in the Philippines now, she Facebook Messages me and she goes, “Ging, why would you trade in your dollar for a white man’s two cents? Mathematically, that doesn’t make sense.” And I was like, you know what, Lola, you’re right. I’m going to take a step back, and only interact with the folks that build me up and support me, and pick my own battles. You don’t have to throw yourself at every divisive comment or post that is out there. And yeah, I think, again, the hopeful positive piece is that you find folks that believe in you, support you. And even if they don’t agree with you, they are able and open to having conversations. 

Kris Mendoza:           I think oftentimes the written communication is more effective than a verbal one, because in a moment of heat you have so many feelings about X, Y, and Z, that all of the logical facts don’t come out. Instead, you can take an expressive medium, like film and television, in which you’re able to carefully plot all these points and carefully express emotion. It may be a better medium to sway someone’s opinion, or at least get them to think outside their boxes. I think two people shouting at each other or commenting on social media, putting each other down, that’s not going to change anything.

I saw a funny meme that was like, someone’s Facebook rant changed no one’s political view ever, right? People rant all the time, but it’s not going to do anything. But watching a piece of film or hearing someone’s story, that’s the kind of authentic, real-life relationship that’ll expand my mind or make me think differently. If its a well-executed story that sticks with someone for just a day, whether that’s someone who’s been living in their own way for years and years or someone that’s on the fence to being like, “I believe in this, but I’m conflicted because of religion or culture to believe this,” I think film storytelling is a good way to shed a light in someone’s mind. You say it’s a double-edged sword and it is, absolutely. You’re making yourself vulnerable and you’re putting yourself out there in a vast landscape. You’re telling your story in a place where it can be equally rebuked or accepted, but the latter is too valuable to forsake.

Now, I have seen Hillary Hanak and Kelly Murray posting about Halfway to Fifty. So, I see that production is happening on this. What’s next for the film?  What’s next for you?  What are you looking forward to?

Amanda Mazzone:    Yeah, so right now, interestingly enough, I’m dubbing myself a creator, writer, and editor. Production on Halfway to Fifty is wrapped, it’s fully out the gate, kind of in record timing. We’re currently in post and I’m editing it. My goal is to get this out in July, probably hit YouTube mid to end July, which is a very fast turnaround. And after Halfway to Fifty’s out and the world can see it, which I’m beyond excited for, the next thing on my brain is moving. I’ve lived in New York City, Brooklyn specifically, for the past four years. And Halfway to Fifty is kind of my kiss, and nod, and gift to New York while I’ve been here. Being here was meaningful because it took me a really long time to find myself in this creative space.

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Amanda Mazzone

I’m very, very proud of my team, myself for once, for writing this, and getting this through production. It’s truly magic, what film and crews like this can bring to a project. And so, yeah, it’s my kiss goodbye to New York, and the next adventure is Los Angeles. I’m moving out there with my partner and we’re planning on making another web series. I’m currently in the writing stage, it’s called Friendly. It’s about queer relationships, because after three months of being together and now moving somewhere totally sporadically, it’s kind of playing on lesbian relationships that move way too fast.

I’m also setting into stone my first short called Lola, about a Filipino grandma and how she plays such an important role – Filipino grandmothers always play such under-appreciated, heartbreaking, or hilarious roles. I want to tell a story for all Lola’s out there. And so, those are some big upcoming projects after this that hopefully will keep me busy for the next year or two.

Kris Mendoza:          Those are super exciting projects you’re working on. It’s definitely great to see you tackling all this head on and I’m sure it’s certainly not easy telling these stories and opening yourself up. But in terms of writing what you know, what’s true, and expressing yourself, I think there’s no better way to do it and share your story with the world than the way that you’ve approached it. I wish you the best!

Amanda Mazzone:    Thank you for listening. You’re such a grand listener! Having this opportunity is really, really cool. I appreciate it.

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Project Forte: Carrie Brennan

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Carrie Brennan

 

       

 Carrie Brennan is a filmmaker working in New York and Philadelphia, who got her start exploring stand-up, but her chops in storytelling through writing, acting, and producing her own experiences.  Carrie’s golden rule is to tell the truth and in doing so, model its possibilities for those who struggle to find their own.  This month on Project Forte we look to LGBTQ+ stories, of which Carrie is a valiant protector, and the parade couldn’t have come at a better time!  This community has experienced many evolutions of persecution and Carrie reminds us all that we can be proud of the progress seen today, while constantly pushing forward.  Her message is one of hope for all communities to feel safe in their expression, their identities, and their future.

 

 

Written and Edited by Kate Feher

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Carrie Brennan:         My name’s Carrie Brennan. I go by the pronouns she/her, and I was the writer, producer, and actor for Block, the film.

Kris Mendoza:           Could you tease Block a little bit, talk a little about the project? What did you set out to do and where are you now with it?  It seems like you’re premiering in two weeks! 

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah! Okay – I will try to be succinct with this, just give me a hand if we move onto hour two. [jokes] But anyway, so Block is a coming-out LGBTQ story that I wrote. It’s a 43 minute featurette, and the mission for this story is to inspire people to see the best in themselves and to love themselves. 

Kris Mendoza:           Oh, I didn’t realize it was that long. Nice.

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah. Yeah. I wrote it about my life, my experience coming out of the closet, but really, it’s just a story about what it means to struggle with something that other people might not know about and the good stuff that comes from loving yourself and expressing your truth. I wrote it in 2016 as I was coming out, writing as I experienced, and then we filmed in 2019. Classic indie post-production took a year, which led us up to 2020. Like I said, the mission of the film was always to bring it to the people. Of course I always wanted to do the film festival route, but also bring it to therapist organizations, schools, high schools, parent/teacher meetings, places like that – grassroots stuff.  We had a pretty nice lineup planned to target that for 2020, and then COVID happened. So, we put a pause on everything and instead, put together a virtual premiere in March of 2021. We just thought at that point, the community had been suffering and needed it. We hadn’t had our people together in so long that it just came down to – we want the people to have this story now.

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Carrie Brennan in BLOCK

We are actually hosting our first in person premiere this Pride month on june 22nd! We’re going to show the film, followed by a Q&A with the cast and crew, and we’ve got a DJ lined up as well, so we can kick off pride and dance the night away.

Kris Mendoza:           And where can people buy tickets, or is it open to the public?

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah, absolutely. Absolutely. Tickets are on sale! Blockthefilm.com/tickets, and It’s on our Instagram Bio.  I’m just really grateful that you gave me the opportunity to talk about a thing that I love. I love this stuff so much –

Kris Mendoza:           I can feel it! I feel the passion coming out… It’s infectious!  So now, tell us how you got started in this crazy industry?

Carrie Brennan:         Good question. I started off wanting to do stand-up comedy, actually. I quit business school my sophomore year of college and did a bunch of stand-up around the philly area- just hustling to as many open mics and student films as I could. I was out in California for a little bit, graduated college, and then went to an acting school called Playhouse West Philadelphia, and that’s when I fell in love with storytelling. It really kicked off from there and I started studying the craft of acting and just really fell in love with the production process and what stories could do to people… how it could make a difference in their lives..

Kris Mendoza:           And you are a champion of telling LGBTQ+ stories! Can you tell me a little bit about why and how you’ve made that your mission?

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Carrie Brennan:         I think that my specificity comes from having experienced the pain of living in the closet, and the sense of realization and security that I felt from seeing people that reflected who I truly was on screen. When I was in 7th grade, I sort of started getting inklings that I might be gay, and with that realization came SO much anxiety. And terror. And fear – fear for mostly, what is my life going to look like? I couldn’t see a future for myself. I felt so trapped by this thing that I never asked for or wanted, and felt like there was no way out, really. Until one day, I saw these two characters on Grey’s Anatomy finally understanding their love for each other . And it was so visceral for me, because not only were they gay characters, but there was a woman on screen who looked like me. Blonde, blue eyes, long hair… I had never seen a lesbian that was feminine before. I just about spit my drink out. And in retrospect, that’s really the power of showing characters on screen who truly express how beautiful and diverse our world is. Right? So really, that changed my life. That was the first time that I realized I could be okay. I mean, I didn’t come out for like 10, 15 years, but I always had that example. It was this thing that I carried with me. I was just really moved by it, honestly, and so, when I did eventually come out at 23, I wanted to just tell stories that would inspire people like I was inspired in seventh grade. I think that’s where it comes from – wanting to tell the truth.

Kris Mendoza:           That’s amazing, in terms of seeing something of yourself on screen. Just last month we were talking to a lot of Asian American filmmakers and, yeah, we didn’t have a lot of role models ourselves. To find a handful at that age like on Grey’s Anatomy… And if I remember correctly, she wasn’t a lesbian in the beginning of the show, right? She came out halfway through, so it’s incredible that her character was given the safe space to realize a fuller, more honest version of herself and to be celebrated for it. For that to be depicted on screen for someone in grade school to see as, I would say normalized, right?  It’s probably very empowering and validating.

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah. And actually, you hit on something so important, which was not just a gay couple, but a lesbian couple that looked like me in a way that modelled a future for myself. Because in seventh grade, I couldn’t picture a future for myself past 30. 

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Carrie Brennan on BLOCK

I remember my friends wanting to go to a fortune teller in that year – This is such a random thought – but I wouldn’t go because I was so scared on a very deep level that the fortune teller would say, “Oh, apparently reading your palm, you’re going to be gay. You’re going to marry a woman and you’re going to have this number of kids.”

Kris Mendoza:           Haha, You didn’t want them to be there for that.

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah, exactly. I’d be like ohhh no I wasn’t ready for that, but that’s why it’s so important not only to have LGBTQ films, but make those films with LGBTQ+ characters who are not just white. It’s not enough to just to make a white male lead gay in a script, and call it a day. We’ve got to create LGBTQ+ films that actually represent what we actually are, and how diverse and beautiful our community really IS.  

Kris Mendoza:           Absolutely. Can you talk about why it is so important that folks within the LGBTQ community be the ones harboring this narrative and telling it themselves as opposed to people who aren’t in the community?

Carrie Brennan:         I think the best storytelling hinges on telling the truth – the ugly, messy, embarrassing, vulnerable truth. It’s not to say that straight people can’t tell LGBTQ+ stories, but what’s the intention behind it? Are you trying to check a box? Are you trying to be “good?” What about this story is personal and important to you?  Why do you really want to tell it? 

I’ve met straight people who have told incredible LGBTQ+ stories, and straight people that have absolutely butchered LGBTQ+ stories and hurt people along the way. It’s so delicate because these are  people’s lives you’re dealing with. Just as much power as responsibility, or whatever that spider man quote is…but the people who work on LGBTQ+ films and do a great job always have some sort of very very deep personal connection to the struggle, or the celebration, or the community. Without it, there’s no motor. 

Kris Mendoza:           Absolutely. Can you tell me a little about your personal work? What are you most passionate about in terms of approaching a project, collaborating with people, and sharing it with the world?

Carrie Brennan:         I love writing slice of life LGBTQ+ stories that ultimately inspire people to see the best in themselves. That is my motor, that’s my north.  I’ve always erred on the side of writing from my own experience or from stuff that has happened in my life too..  

Kris Mendoza:           You write what you know.

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah! Exactly. And I’m really inspired by slice of life movies. I love when everyday things are cinematic like, for instance the shows Fleabag and Broad City. You get to open up someone’s brain and see, “Oh yeah, this is what’s going on” and recognize how relatable it is to your own experience.

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Carrie Brennan on BLOCK

How I choose movies and projects  usually goes like… If I know in my gut it’s something that will inspire people to see the best in themselves and love themselves and it’s queer and it’s personal, AND got a great crew, then I know it’s something that I’m going to work really hard on because I care about it. 

Kris Mendoza:           I don’t know if it’s happenstance, but it seems intentional that you choose to work with.. not only other LGBTQ people but a lot of… well, the most women I’ve seen on a cast and crew, which is just amazing for a project. What are your thoughts on the current representation you see in this industry, not just behind the camera, but also in front, as a producer, writer, and actor? You see both sides of it. 

Carrie Brennan:         I think we’re “good, getting better.” I think the progress that we’ve seen in the past, even just two years, is good.   I have definitely had more people asking for female crew members specifically, which is great. But I have friends directing commercials who are still, 9 times out of 10, the only women on set of more than 100 people. I think the biggest room for growth is the intention behind WHY we want to see more women on set. I think real progress will be made when people realize that certain stories are actually meant to be told by a woman not to check a box, but because the female eye might elevate the story.

Monica [O’Hara] and I wanted women on our crew because it was the best way to tell this story.  We found our crew naturally. These people were in our lives and as I would tell them about this project they’d come on board saying, “this is something that I resonate with on a personal level, on an emotional level.”  I would meet with a friend, and she might tell me about going through this really tough time – so I’d share – “Here’s what I’m trying to do with this story.” Those interactions came from the heart. Those women shared emotions or feelings about it, and it just came together that way. 

Kris Mendoza:           I definitely stalked you prior to this interview, and you posted recently about your aunt in terms of… I don’t want to take your story away from you, but in terms of someone who helped navigate and help you find a community. I think you said when you were seven she was going to… well, she knew she needed to be around for you at a certain point in your life. Unfortunately, I think there are some people that don’t have someone like that in their family or a role model at all, so can you talk to me about this person being, not only a family member, but also just being someone who helped you navigate that part of your life?

Carrie Brennan:         I love that you saw the pride people story. I think that’s awesome. Growing up, it was always just “Aunt Mary Ellen and Amy”  – my family wasn’t so pride-forward in the sense that we were marching in parades, but it was what it was. I think towards the later years, I knew, in a way – on a very deep level, that she knew, and I was like, “I think she’s on to me.” She would ask me things like, “Oh, anyone new in your life?” instead of saying, “So, any guys-

Kris Mendoza:           Do you have a boyfriend? Yeah.

Stroud Preserve

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah. So on this very deep level, I was like, “Oh my God, she knows.” And I didn’t even really know at that time. There was a consonance. It showed me the importance of having a role model who is not only like you, but also who has a loving relationship themselves and normal ups and downs like anyone else. I think you just need one person to show you that you’re not alone. It’s astronomical what it can do to a kid’s life. I think I would be a lot worse off had I not had my Aunt Mary Ellen and Uncle Paul to just show me the way without showing me the way… without saying, “Hey kid-

Kris Mendoza:           This is how you’re supposed to do it.”

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah. And “I think you’re gay.” And when I did eventually come out to her, it was just a, “Great! amazing!” – such a positive thing. It was like, “now you’re going to be able to be a deeper level of yourself, a freer version, and I’m so excited for this and for you.” It was like a celebration versus a death. And that’s what I think scares so many people about coming out: they think all they know is this life, and it’s frightening to give all that up for a hope that it could be better. When you have someone to look up to, and just to know that hey, this is possible, it can make all the difference in the world. 

Kris Mendoza:           That’s empowering. So, you posted that she said, when you came out, “Pack your bags, you’re going to P-town?”  What is P-town? What happens in P-town? I want to know!

Carrie Brennan:         Yes! P-Town, it’s called Provincetown, P-Town for short. It’s just a very gay beach town. And they have this one event every year called Baby Dyke Weekend, and it’s where all the young lesbians come down for a beach weekend. It’s literally like Mardi Gras. It’s like gay Disneyland. At the time I was still living in West Chester and I didn’t really have many gay friends, and she just said, “Get your shit together. We’re going. 

We’re doing this. We’re going to go down to the beach. I’m going to introduce you and to just get you into the community.”  And it was amazing to just be surrounded by people that were like me. She knew from the time I was running around in my backyard as a kid -I had a snapback hat and my brother’s Jordan Jersey like a huge dress on me. She literally leaned over to her girlfriend and was like, “Someday, she may need us.” And her girlfriend was like, “Yeah, maybe.” And it was like this joke, but however many years later, it was true. And I always say, like, my mom gave birth to me, but my aunt gave birth to my soul. She’s like my soul mom.

Kris Mendoza:           And this is your mom’s sister?

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah. My mom’s sister.

Kris Mendoza:            Yeah. How fitting!

Carrie Brennan:         I know, right?

Kris Mendoza:           Are there people in the film and television industry that are, whether they’re loud voices or not even in the LGBTQ scene, is there anyone who inspires you or you aspire to?

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah. I would say off the bat, Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer inspire me so much, even since I was in the closet during college. They’re the writer/ producer/actors who started this TV show called Broad City, which began as a web series. They just put it up on YouTube and the community grew from that seed. They didn’t have a lot, but they were so resourceful with the things that they had, and they paid people in pizza –  like classic – just pulling stuff together to tell stories. They’re hysterical.

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It was picked up by Comedy Central where they played larger than life versions of themselves and they just used what they had. They are role models to me in the sense that they work their asses off and they tell the truth. Abbi actually did an episode towards the later half of the series in which she came out, but she did it in such an off the nose way, talking about hats like, “I always thought you were a hat girl.”  It was just so great the way they did it. I’m so inspired by them.

I’ve met Abbi a couple of times just in book signings and stuff like that. She is exactly who she is all the time. She doesn’t change for anyone, and I just think that’s really hard to do – especially when you have such a big following – to not lose yourself or get overwhelmed. It’s a dream of mine to work with her some day…of course gotta just throw that out there right into the universe.

Kris Mendoza:           I don’t think people realize that this is not just on the LGBTQ side, but ethnically and gender-wise too. I’ve been talking to a lot of different folks who say, “I didn’t have anyone to look up to when I was younger in the industry,” or “I didn’t see myself in it.” Now they are, themselves, in the industry, realizing maybe it’s not just kids, it could be peers also who are looking to you for inspiration as a role model. It’s good that you’ve made it part of your mission, part of who you are. 

So let me turn it around full circle here. You’ve been doing this for a little bit now, telling stories you’re passionate about, telling stories that you know, writing things that are near and dear to you. How often does it cross your mind, the responsibility or maybe privilege that you are a role model, not just for a young, aspiring filmmaker, but for any young person who may not know how to navigate this new part of their life?

Carrie Brennan:         I think about it all the time. I think about it every day. I will stop when every kid born into this world no longer has to hide who they love or question their self-worth based on who they love. That’s where I’m at. Whether it’s 2020 or 2080, whatever. That’s my motor. That’s what keeps me up at night. That’s what I’m working for.

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Amanda Amazzone and Carrie Brennan

So, I feel really honored. I feel hella privileged. But I’m still trying to navigate it myself. It’s still a struggle for me. After I came out, I was like, “Oh, well, I’m good. I made Block. I’m not going to have any blocks in my life now.” And I remember my therapist laughing and being like, “Oh honey, you haven’t even started dating. Get ready.”

Kris Mendoza:             Ha, that’s so great. I can sense your passion, your pride in finding yourself and moving on to help others. It’s inspiring for me, so what does this month mean to you? How have you seen it evolve and become more visible? Has it become a hallmark holiday? 

Carrie Brennan:         It’s definitely changed over the past few years, turning away from a corporate check about history. The coolest part about this pride is that it feels less like a season, like Christmas where we all see green and red for a while. It’s not like rainbows start shooting out of places just because it’s June. This year feels a btt different. like everyone is taking a second to understand the why of what we’re celebrating. That’s what’s made this pride month feel richer, in a way, because people are taking the time to learn about Stonewall and what people went through in order just to love, just to experience what it’s like to love without fear. 

Kris Mendoza:           Can I ask you why there’s a difference this year, in your opinion?

Carrie Brennan:         I think a lot of it started with the Black Lives Matter movement last year.   People were looking at their privilege and saying  ” ok,There are other people here, and look how far ahead I am just because I’m White or just because I have money or just because I don’t look like this person.”  There’s a deeper richness that comes from trying to unpack that and realizing the world isn’t just straight white men.  There are a lot of layers to it and I’lll be the first to admit im on step 1 of a thousand ringed ladder though, but working towards it.

Kris Mendoza:           I’m glad you made that connection because I’ve listened to a lot of diverse stories and there’s definitely a binding struggle. I do think Covid and quarantine brought a lot of people silence and the opportunity to question life and look for more meaning. Me Too, The Black Lives Matter, and Stop Asian Hate movements have all come to the surface in recent years, so that silence became a tipping point. I think that’s ultimately where we are, and I hope it’s just the beginning in terms of people being really intentional and conscious of it. The next step is what communities, companies, and politicians do about it.

Carrie Brennan:         Yeah, that’s really what’s important. It’s a wild, wild west right now in all aspects of life, but we needed to shake things up so, so badly. 2019 was like… everyone was on a hamster wheel, refusing to slow down. It’s like trying to get someone’s attention, but the world was not stopping for anything. And then COVID hit and we were quarantined, with all the variables of life held still and it’s just like you’re floating in space, Right? We suddenly had time to look at what was really going on.

I think The point of understanding our history in pride month is not to shove it down people’s throats and not to show straight people that they’re bad.

The point of it is to say, “Look at how beautiful this LGBTQ community is – how bad things were that the Stonewall riots had to happen.”

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And look how far we’ve come even in the midst of all that noise. These people were willing to risk their whole lives just because they knew their truth. Their hearts were so strong!  That’s an amazing thing, and that’s worth celebrating. So, hell yeah, we’re going to celebrate! We’re not going to do it just because it’s June, we’re going to do it because WOW!  And I think that’s a passion that comes from learning and understanding, so potentially – everyone can join in with pride, and celebrate that progress, but also join with us in continuing to fight for progress as well!

Kris Mendoza:       And with that, I want to wish you a Happy Pride Month!

 

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Project Forte: Cal Woodruff

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Calvin Woodruff

 

This week’s Project Forte continues a celebratory Pride Month with Calvin Woodruff (he/they), an editor and camera assistant currently living and working in Philadelphia.  Our City of Brotherly Love boasts many unique communities and it remains imperative, especially in the face of exposed animosity around the globe, that we provide support and safety to the menagerie of folk and their stories.  Calvin has been working to do just that for their community, creating safe sets which relieve anxiety and build confidence.  As our industry grows right here in Philly, we all have an opportunity to support this initiative and grow a different kind of set from the ground up.  This is a time of great reform and recognizing someone’s identity must change from a tactic of weaponization to one of love and celebration so that we can better relate to one another and serve each other.

 

Written and Edited by Kate Feher

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Cal Woodruff:           My name’s Calvin Woodruff. I am an editor, assistant editor, and camera assistant, and I use he/him or they/them pronouns.

Kris Mendoza:           Cal, thanks for taking the time, officially kicking our relationship off with Project Forte. Can you tell me a little about your story, how you got into the film industry?

Cal Woodruff:           I really developed a passion for editing, to start with, in my teen years and instantly knew what I wanted to do because I just loved it, so I went full-force into that. I ended up going to Temple University for film and psychology. My parents are both psychologists, so I had a nice little backup plan just in case. But I feel like learning about psychology has also really helped on film sets and within the industry in general, because you have to deal with so many different personalities. I began my career freelancing, mostly as an editor and also as a script supervisor. 

Kris Mendoza:           What kind of projects do you find yourself working on, and what do you enjoy working on?

Cal Woodruff:           I did anything I could get my hands on while I was in school, but aimed for shooting a lot of queer events, drag, theater, and those types of shows. One of my mentors, Kelly Burkhardt, is an executive producer and was the photographer for a drag troupe I filmed for. She took me under her wing and led me to co-producing and script supervising on my first feature, which was a gay-themed drama called Beautiful Something. She used to work for TLA Releasing, which did a lot of queer films, so I had someone modeling that you can be LGBTQ and be successful in this business. 

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Calvin Woodruff

I explored script supervising, and already knew I loved editing, but one day our camera assistant didn’t show so I gave it a shot and fell in love… It was just such a great skill to learn.  So far, my career has consisted of both camera assisting and assistant editing for documentaries, a few features, and commercials, as well as some TV shows like Queer Eye. I’ve had the pleasure of working on a lot of great short films, mostly queer-related. 

But you know, when I started, I was not out as a trans man. I worked through college and got my name on projects but at a certain point, I had to put those on a shelf because the name wasn’t correct. I transitioned, and going through that process meant I had to reenter the industry at a later age and as my true self. I had to start over because the people I had worked with before didn’t really know who I was. I think that’s definitely a big struggle for a trans person in the film industry. Being out … can be a gamble. I’ve faced bigotry, judgment, assumption… especially looking young as well. There were a number of years where I experienced employment discrimination and I didn’t get called for work because of who I am. But that inconsistency actually led me to carve out my own community within the industry. I consider myself lucky because I was forced to pick up the work that existed on the margins, but those were the projects I cared about and really wanted to work on.

Kris Mendoza:           It sounds like you get to pick and choose projects that are related to the theme of identity, the subject is specifically queer-related, or even just projects where set community involves folk who just share your views… Do you specifically pursue projects to maintain a certain level of comfortability for yourself or are you working to highlight these stories and further them for your community? 

Cal Woodruff:           I think it’s a mixed bag because, on the one hand, there are projects that I’m getting called for because I’m a trans man working as a crew member who shares the identity, and that feels great. I’ve learned so much from those opportunities. Those in the LGBTQ community don’t often have the same privileges and opportunities offered to others, so we create our own. And, yes, I’ve spent most of my career creating my own opportunities because of the lack of comfortability and safety on set.

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Calvin Woodruff pictured second from right

When someone says something derogatory about your gender or your presentation, and you know that you’re not going to get called for the next job, where does that place you?  I’ve spent a lot of time looking at those patterns and creating better opportunities on the sets I’ve worked on. I have found such an incredible community of queer and trans filmmakers and there are a lot of us out there. We know how to create those safe spaces so we can make projects that are important to us and build our careers.

Kris Mendoza:           Within minority groups there can be an array of compounded diversity, for example, I’m Filipino but often get lumped into a blanket “Asian” identity with countless other cultures, from Taiwanese to Chinese to Japanese, etc. In the LGBTQ scene, obviously, there are complicated identities even separate from race, but they tend to place, all gay, lesbian, trans, queer people, into one bucket community. How do you navigate that, in terms of visibility and getting hired, and how does a lack of education keep others from navigating it?

Cal Woodruff:           Some people certainly see that you are in the LGBTQ community and want to take advantage of your identity so they can get brownie points for hiring those people. That can be really dangerous. Yes, the hope is you are called for that job because you fit in that community and there’s a certain responsibility to tell those stories as genuinely as possible. 

But you also hope to be called for work simply because you are a skilled camera assistant or editor who only happens to be a trans man and in fact, that is of no consequence. My community often loses when it comes to open opportunities because they simply are not thought of and so there’s no invitation to the table.”

Kris Mendoza:           It seems like whether it’s racial, ethnic, or gender inequities, folks get “othered.” You will be another if you don’t belong, in terms of a majority point of view. Can you unpack what that means for your community? Do you find there are similarities in what people of color go through on set, or any minority clamoring for opportunity and visibility at the same time?

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Calvin Woodruff pictured right

Cal Woodruff:           I’ve noticed something happening in the industry, which is that people are beginning to think about who is on set and how it represents them as a production company. My fear is that at that point, companies are thinking about identity over skill-set and the point is to consider skill-set without excluding a person because you don’t identify the same way. People can use identity as a way to get a sense of who you are before you walk on set for the day, and to me, that can sometimes be dangerous. 

Kris Mendoza:           Yes, It’s hard to really know or trust people’s intentions. It’s also difficult to separate ignorance from racism, bigotry, and sexism. But once an education is offered, the hope is that person will simply hire folk because they’re good at what they do and they’re a pleasure to work with.

And I do think you’re right, people are very aware and becoming intentional of who’s on set now, and I think that’s a good first step. We do need loud voices in all these communities, to be activists and fight for a lot of this representation, but in your opinion what happens next?  What has to happen for us to not even have to have this kind of conversation?

Cal Woodruff:           I think we’re a long way away from that. A lot of our communities are being attacked every day, and we still have to be careful about where we are and what we do. If you’re always thinking like that, you’re not really able to focus on the work that you’re doing, on the career that you’re building. And I think that’s one thing a lot of cis-people don’t understand – when you’re sitting there trying to build a camera, you’re also thinking, what are they saying about me and how I present?

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Calvin Woodruff

Kris Mendoza:           You are so aware that they are watching you because of the threat you’ve been under in the past. 

Cal Woodruff:           They’re watching me.

Kris Mendoza:           They’re waiting for me to make a mistake.

Cal Woodruff:           Exactly, exactly. And I know I’m not … LGBTQ people are absolutely not the only minority that feels that way. I think productions need to have an environment where you can focus on your job, and that’s something that I have had the privilege of creating with my friend, Easton Carter Angle, who is a cinematographer. We have done a lot of projects, and it’s all about safe sets, about …

Kris Mendoza:           Not COVID-related safe sets? Just safe sets in general?

Cal Woodruff:           No, no, like safe sets so that you’re not looking over your shoulder, and you’re able to grow your skills and make projects that matter to you. Because as we form the future and recognize that we need to be the ones to tell our stories, the ones behind the camera, the ones making the decisions, it’s not just about calling a trans person to be on set because they’re trans.

Kris Mendoza:           Yeah. And you made a good point. It is about having trans people and other minorities in leadership positions. It’s not like, hey, our PA is an LGBTQ, or we have a Black PA. Check.

Cal Woodruff:           Yeah, yeah. We’re not checking boxes here.

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Calvin Woodruff pictured right

Kris Mendoza:           I think a big part of the solution is certainly placing folks throughout the decision-making process. I think that’s the … I don’t want to say “ultimate solution,” but it makes a huge difference when someone does trust you to basically head the department and to hire other folks. I think that is one of the big first steps necessary in terms of getting more minorities and folks of the LGBTQ community on set. They don’t necessarily have to be the loudest activists, so to speak, but if they are the ones hiring, making calls, creating culture, and setting the tone for set that day… it’s only going to, A: open doors and provide opportunities for filmmakers that are already feeling marginalized, and B: encourage other LGBTQ folks to pursue film in general. 

If you’re considering a career in film, it’s huge to see not only a DP or Producer like you but also the general crew – to see a gaffer or another department director making decisions.  That kind of visibility offers the idea, and then young folk can begin to even just consider this field and aren’t immediately edged out.  It’s a big part of the reason why I’m doing this – it was not a career path that was expected, at least of me, as an Asian American. And I’m sure there are a lot of very talented Asian-American filmmakers in high school who don’t think it’s for them, just because of what they see or don’t see. 

Cal Woodruff:           Oh, yeah, absolutely. There’s a yearly Trans Wellness Conference that happens in Philadelphia, and I had the privilege of setting up and running a workshop panel with Easton for trans filmmakers and trans cast. I was shocked by the interest in it. We had a panel of trans filmmakers, and I realized in that moment, someone might see us and say, “I can do that, too.” 

And I think that’s the point. While visibility can be a trap sometimes, because you put yourself in danger, it’s also necessary because the next person will see that you’re doing this, and will feel empowered to do it themselves.

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Calvin Woodruff

It’s a challenge today, to be recognized as a trans person in the film industry, or to be recognized (in my positions) for my talent.  If I can use my identity to my advantage at this moment, then I have to, because it will get me in the room. But then, once I’m in the room, other people will see that it’s possible. And I think it’s just … it’s about possibilities because I don’t think, as a young person, I really saw those opportunities at all.

Kris Mendoza:           Did you have any role models in the film industry or anyone to look up to as you were transitioning? Or even now, as a trans filmmaker, are there people you look up to in the trans filmmaking community?

Cal Woodruff:           I definitely have a lot of mentors, people that I look up to. I also think it’s incredible that, as I’ve grown in my career, I’ve noticed more and more queer people to admire in the industry. They showed me that there are opportunities for people like me. I think of Sam Feder and Laverne Cox for their Disclosure documentary. I got the privilege of working with director Chase Joynt, who did a documentary about Billy Tipton, a trans jazz musician. And there are people that worked on Transparent, like Zackary Drucker. It’s kind of incredible how many trans people are in the film industry right now that you can even point to because I think 10 years ago, I was like … maybe Chaz Bono was the one and only person that I could think of. And now I think, oh god, there’s a whole list of people to be proud of and to work with, even locally!

And I’ve had the privilege of working with trans people in Philly, New Jersey, New York, and all over the East Coast and the West Coast. Just even being able to look up to my friend, Easton, as a trans cinematographer. It feels great to be proud that we’re all sticking together to make it in an industry that can be really cutthroat, even if you’re not a minority.

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Calvin Woodruff pictured center

 

Kris Mendoza:           This is a bit of a side question here because you mentioned Transparent, and it made me think about the bit of a backlash that it got, with Jeffrey Tambor not being a trans actor. I find this interesting. It’s happening in a slightly different way, but on the Asian side, this Marvel actor, Shang-Chi, he’s from Canada and considers himself Taiwanese Canadian, but he’s playing a Chinese-born character. People in China are freaking out, being like, “This guy’s not even Chinese. He’s Taiwanese, and he’s from Canada.” 

I’m curious, because a lot of the people that were getting mad about the Jeffrey Tambor thing were not even part of the trans community. They were just people on social media who were angry. So I’m curious about your own perspective … Because I agree that, yeah, the character should that have been played by a trans actor, because there are plenty of trans actors. But is it damning that he is not trans, at the end of the day? Or is it just better that there is even a show about the subject matter which became commercially viable and popular?

Cal Woodruff:           Yeah, I go back and forth about this because I know how hard it is to get greenlit on anything.  I think when I first saw that news, I was furious. I said, “A trans woman needs to be playing this role. There’s no way that a cis man, especially him, will know what it’s like.” And then I found out that there were trans people in the writers’ room and on the production team, who were leaders and made this happen. And at first, I was a little taken aback by it, but then I thought, as long as a trans person is telling those stories, then it feels somewhat acceptable to me. Should it be a trans woman in that lead role? Absolutely. But my thought is, if a trans person is in a leadership role for this, then it’s just one important step toward creating the next project, in which you have better facilitated an opportunity for the right person in that role. 

Kris Mendoza:           First you have to prove that people are going to watch this, and next you get to replace him with someone-

Cal Woodruff:           Right.

Kris Mendoza:           Exactly.

Cal Woodruff:           In my mind, I would say, sure, get it greenlit with Jeffrey Tambor. Get people excited about it, and then do better. It’s about taking your privilege, knowing where you are, and then pushing it to the next step. You can make a show about trans people, but don’t exploit us and our stories. I always say we should be the ones telling our stories. And yeah, I think it is hard because, on the one hand, as a viewer, as an audience member, it’s infuriating to see somebody play a role that has nothing to do with them. And then, on the other hand, it’s hard as a filmmaker, knowing how hard it is out there to even get these stories told. And I go back and forth between being thankful that this story exists, and upset that it’s not the right person that’s telling it.

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Calvin Woodruff

Kris Mendoza:           You brought up a really good point right of just how hard it is to get something greenlit. It goes back to what you said earlier, it’s like … yes, Jeffrey Tambor is an amazing actor. You can package him with a good director, a good script, and that will get greenlit, right? But a talented trans woman who no one knows yet, will that get greenlit? Probably not. You do what you can and then focus on what you can do next to push it, building trust and using privilege to do better afterward. 

On the other hand, I’ve seen executives in studios just go for it, right?  If they have a really good story, a really good director, but they don’t know the trans-woman who was casted, they might still take a chance and it should be considered exactly the same amount of risk as taking a chance on an unknown white male or white female cis actor.  People get discovered all the time. You may not know who the star is. So it’s no different. I think executives should get over that hump, that it’s all the same, giving someone a chance, and that studios make enough money at the end of the day to take chances here.

So let’s touch back on having representation in the writers’ room. I’m also conflicted in some regards when you see a film and recognize: this was not an authentic story because the director or producer, whoever put this together, clearly was not of this background or ethnicity. But if you find out that the actor who, let’s say, was playing someone with AIDS – actually spent years with AIDS patients and researched with them, listened to their stories, and befriended a lot of people – really took this role seriously. You think a little differently about it because that is the role and the opportunity for a performer. A good actor needs to be trusted to empathize and reflect real life.

I’m conflicted. There are some instances where that’s okay, and others where there were dozens of people you could have hired for this role who probably didn’t even get auditioned. It’s like they didn’t even have the privilege of getting declined this role. They never got called. Those situations are nuanced, of course.

Cal Woodruff:           Yeah. I think you make a really good point about taking chances because there’s so much money and stress behind every choice that you make, every casting choice, every crew choice. And I think that, as we go into the future, people need to stop being afraid to take chances. Take something like Pose:  many of those performers had never had acting experience, and just look at what happens when you take chances and you allow those people into the room. They will surprise you.

Take chances on the people that you’re most nervous about, because – and I speak from experience – they are the ones who will be most excited and ready to be in the room and take on the work. Especially with some of these big indie projects, you can take a chance on an unknown trans actor and really surprise everyone.

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Kris Mendoza:           Let’s talk about what happens after an opportunity. I always say there’s internal validation and external validation, speaking on what people know you as, not even exclusive to gender identity, etc. I know people that are known as a PA or known as, say, an AC, and then all of a sudden, they get an opportunity to DP, and all the people that knew them as an AC begin to meld their identity.  They’re kind of like, “Oh, so-and-so is an AC but kind of a DP now,” but all the people that met that person on the set as a DP only know that person as a DP.  They don’t know them as anything else and that DP has a right to assume the identity because they have gained the experience.  All they needed was the opportunity to prove themselves.

So from that point on, there’s this external validation of, “Oh, I know … yeah, or I know her. They’re a DP.”  But a person won’t know them as an AC, they don’t know what it was like prior to that. So how does that apply to how you present on set and how people know you, going forward?  If you’re not outwardly presenting as a trans man having, in fact, completed your transition, do you find that people speak freely and differently around you?  

Cal Woodruff:           Absolutely. And I think you’re hitting an important point on the head. On one side, it’s how you identify yourself. “I am a trans man who is a camera assistant and editor.” Or, “I am a camera assistant and editor who is also trans.”  

I am a passing white trans man and that has definitely put me in situations where I’m able to defend others. I feel lucky that I’m even in a position where I’m able to defend someone … if there’s another queer person on set, you better believe I will be defending them. I’ve been on sets where I don’t get defended by other people, and I would want someone like me to be that on set.

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Calvin Woodruff

But I certainly don’t hide my trans identity, because it’s important to just allow other people who are queer know that I am a safe person in that community. I choose to be out.  What is difficult and unfair is that sometimes it’s safer to hide that part of my identity.

Kris Mendoza:           That’s so unfortunate that you have to navigate it at all, right? Like, do I feel safe to say this or not?  To not have to constantly assess and reassess even how you introduce yourself is, quite frankly, a privilege other people take for granted.

Cal Woodruff:           Right. And I think I mentioned it before. I am unabashedly myself, and people know that … people find out that I’m trans, and then I don’t get a call for the next shoot because of it.  I choose to take chances on that because I don’t want to hide that part of myself.

Kris Mendoza:           Do you also find yourself questioning if you’re not getting called because you said you were trans, or because you messed up in some way? Do you think,  am I just focusing on this as the reason, or are they just not busy and don’t have work to offer?

Cal Woodruff:           Yeah. 

Kris Mendoza:           The fact that you have to reconcile all those thoughts takes your focus away from your actual work. And it’s hard to not have insecurities when you have all those conflicting thoughts inside. 

Cal, this has been great. I think, to wrap up, let’s talk about what you’re working on now. I’ve seen See Us in the Wild‘s cut and it’s looking sharp. Ayumi Perry and Sophie XU actually came by the office and screened it. 

Cal Woodruff:           I feel really, very privileged to be able to edit that piece. It’s beautiful and I always love working with Eurica Yu. I’m really excited for that to come out.  I didn’t realize you got a little private screening, that’s exciting!

Kris Mendoza:          You were working on another trans project?

Cal Woodruff:            Oh, yes, Trans in Trumpland was the most recent film I worked on, which was a feature documentary that I AC’d on all last year and then was an assistant editor on. And that was a great chance to travel and capture stories of people that are like myself. 

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Kris Mendoza:           Absolutely. What’s next for you? Anything cool you’re working on that you want to tease, or next steps that you’re looking at?

Cal Woodruff:           So the biggest thing is that I’m leaving Philadelphia.

Kris Mendoza:           Oh, man.

Cal Woodruff:           I know. My partner, her name is Ariel Mahler, she got into AFI‘s directing fellowship program for next year, and so we are leaving Philadelphia in late July to move to LA for a time. I plan to continue freelancing as an editor and camera assistant, and trying to work bicoastally as much as possible. Ariel already has an east-coast based project called Bad Ally, which is a web series we just shot an episode for on Sunday, and-

Kris Mendoza:           I heard about this!  You posted something about it I think –

Cal Woodruff:           Oh, yeah. That’s Bad Ally, it’s been a really fun project to work on! They’re doing a whole section of quarantine chronicles because they can’t shoot a whole second season yet. So that’s probably going to be ongoing, and there’s another short film that I’m working on in June for Morgan Sullivan and Noah Schamus who are trans New York filmmakers. I’m excited to go to LA and enter a new community of trans filmmakers, some who I already know and some who I’m anxious to meet. My biggest dream is to have this coalition of trans filmmakers that can all work together and support each other, uplift each other, learn from each other. I talk a lot about the niche Philly filmmaker scene and to have our own community where we all lift each other up and give each other opportunities… I can see it happening, and I can see that as a driving force for my career and my life, as well.

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Calvin Woodruff

Kris Mendoza:           That’s awesome! First off, congrats on the move and to Ariel with AFI, that’s huge. You’ve got an exciting future ahead. As the world is opening back up, it seems like no better time to embrace a new city, new excitement, and new beginnings. Good luck to you there!  I really enjoyed this conversation. Do you have any parting words for us?

Cal Woodruff:           Thank you. Yeah, I just want to drive home the point that, if you are in a position of power in the industry,  allow yourself to take chances on people that we both know have incredible stories to tell and also have incredible skills that they need to develop. I think that’s just the most important thing that we can do, as a community and as an industry.

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Project Forte: Aly Spengler

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Aly Spengler

 

Aly Spengler (she/they) is a Philadelphia-based Director of Photography, MoVI Pro Operator, and Post-Production Editor. They have led full-scale departments and used their skills, technical and social, to overcome enormous obstacles with grace. Having taken an open stance on supporting their LGBTQ community, Aly is able to speak confidently when it comes to creating an open and safe environment for folks of manifold backgrounds within our industry. This week on Project Forte, we recognize that maturity comes from taking responsibility for your own growth and education, but without an experience or exposure to diversity we can remain unaware of our own ignorance. In these cases, allies can help breach the expanse that separates us. They navigate difficult conversations and usher our peers into a more respectful and inclusive brotherhood.  We are, after all, in Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love! Read on to learn how speaking up can eventually dissolve animosity, creating empathy and community by illuminating areas of naiveté amongst us.  It is a crucial act, bravely but simply done, which will break down the walls that keep us from working together. 

 

 

Written and Edited by Kate Feher

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Kris Mendoza: Can you tell us a little bit about who you are and what you do? How did you get started in the industry?

Aly Spengler:            My name is Aly Spengler. I began my career shooting behind the scenes fashion editorial films and small-scale documentaries in 2008 with one of my childhood friends. Since then, I’ve grown and expanded my expertise in the various areas of production, but I’ve always called the camera department my home. I’ve participated across a broad spectrum of projects – I’ve been invited to travel the world to film radical movements and document humanitarian efforts, shoot national campaigns and commercials, hung backward off the back of motorcycles with a Mōvi strapped to my chest for large motorcycle and automotive brands, collaborated with non-profits and independent artists, and more recently have been trying to break into the larger film sector. 

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Aly Spengler

I am a non-binary LGBTQ filmmaker, and I aim to bring other LGBTQ, BIPOC, and historically marginalized filmmakers, creatives, and individuals to the forefront any way I can, whether it be on set and throughout production, or in front of the camera telling their story.

Kris Mendoza:          This is exactly what Project Forte is about, I knew you would be a great fit!! What pushed you to be an advocate for LGBTQ and BIPOC filmmakers beyond supporting your own community? Was there something that happened that spurred you to take a stand? 

Aly Spengler:            It’s always been at my roots, a sort of yearning and heartache for wanting more, wanting to fit in while also not. Queer people don’t grow up as ourselves, we grow up playing a version of ourselves that sacrifices authenticity to minimize humiliation and prejudice. The massive task of our adult lives is to unpick which parts of ourselves are truly us and which parts we’ve created to protect us. It’s massive and existential and difficult. But I’m convinced that being confronted with the need for profound self-discovery so explicitly, and often early in life, is a gift in disguise. We come out the other end wiser and truer to ourselves. Some cis/het people never get there. 

I grew up in a very rural, conservative town in central PA, home to about 7,000 people. Everyone knew everyone’s business. I was closeted, and then I was outed. I went through a really difficult process of trying to hide myself while also trying to understand who I was. My two dearest friends growing up were two gay men. Needless to say we all shared similar experiences of verbal and physical bigotry from our peers. Being a direct target to hateful individuals and watching friends of mine be ridiculed for being themselves fueled a fire in me that burns today, and continues in the same way for any other group or individual who is treated like they are the lesser.

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Aly Spengler

After moving away to pursue a career in filmmaking, developing my career and myself at the same time was the focus of my life. But it can definitely be a double-edged sword in terms of speaking up against injustice or against people who are outwardly bigoted and or racist. I’ve found myself coming toe to toe with some of these individuals, both on and off set, and although it’s uncomfortable, I think these conversations are necessary.

Kris Mendoza:           Can you expand on the double-edged sword metaphor? Is it in balancing how much to speak out and how much to blend in at the same time?

Aly Spengler:            I’m honestly tired of trying to blend in. I mean, it’s definitely a delicate dance. No one wants to start a ripple that’ll get them fired or X’d out of a future gig because someone thinks they “speak their mind too much” but also, would you even want to work with individuals who felt that way about you, to begin with?  That answer is simple, and the answer is no.

I only recently came out as non-binary, so for the longest time I was just “the only female on set.” Navigating that alone had it’s challenges. Prior to 2017 I was strictly a freelancer. In fall of that year I started working a 9-5 corporate job as an in-house DP for a local Philly moto giant. There, I worked with predominately straight, white, cis-male individuals, and in my department specifically, many narrow-minded and outwardly biggoted and vocal personalities. Most, I’m sure, would call their actions cute and harmless, but I tote that up to them not being a part of the community they were making caricatures out of. It’s plain ignorance to a group of people you know nothing nor care to learn anything about. It just became overwhelmingly exhausting and difficult working with this certain group who would behave outwardly sexist, bigoted, and racist through seamingly off-hand comments. And like many companies, these individuals were always protected from being held accountable. Which can be the most damaging. 

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Aly Spengler

I eventually found myself pretending to joke back with them as a means to make them question their initial statements, which forced them to continue the conversation. It clearly made them uncomfortable once they realized what they were saying. Never once did I feel comfortable coming out as non-binary in that place of employment. Suggesting to a host to try and phrase a sentence in our scripts using “they” instead of “he” produced eye-rolls and sighs. Like I was talking to a 30 or 40-year-old child. 

It’s a delicate dance, trying to talk to individuals operating from a place of ignorance like that. You honestly want to get through to them, but it doesn’t always work. Now, I just don’t feel a need to put up with it anymore. And I don’t put up with it when I see it happening to other people in similar situations either. It’s something I’m deeply passionate about and it can’t be separate from the work that I create.

Kris Mendoza:           So there are boldly racist, sexist, and bigoted comments, but then also, these microaggressions which, as you said, people sometimes just giggle at and let it pass thinking it’s harmless. That’s another double-edged sword because defending against a microaggression can make you look like you’re blowing up about a small thing. You’re damned if you don’t say something because it makes that seem ok to the team, and damned if you do say something because you get labelled as someone who’s hard to work with, right? 

Aly Spengler:            Exactly! And I’ve gotten that before, but it’s more important to remember: microaggressions are never small to the receiver. Sometimes the person making that comment has no idea what they are saying and how it affects other people long-term. Mental f***ing trauma is real. I would be in our production studio predominantly by myself, every day, for almost three years – my own AC, G&E, audio tech, etc. Then my hosts would roll into the space and just outwardly sling microaggressions like a performance because it “riled” each other up and it got laughs among them, even while the camera rolled.. and that was just really difficult to-

Kris Mendoza:           Stomach.

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Aly Spengler

Aly Spengler:            … stay silent. And yeah, stomach. And that right there was a difficult dance because I was doing something I loved, I had a weighted position, and I was thriving. I had a department of almost 20 people, we had five full-time editors, multiple producers, a handful of hosts, etc, and only one shooter. I was the camera department. We were creating so much, but with the weight of-

Kris Mendoza:           Verbal abuse.

Aly Spengler:             … it was a lot. I eventually spoke out to HR and sought guidance on what was being said. I let them know what was happening and that some people were making puppets out of these marginalized demographics and that I was a part of this community so I was finding it very difficult to be around those people. I was let go two weeks after going to HR. I had gone in the hope that they would help me talk to these individuals and let them know that this wasn’t okay. I had just gone through my yearly review a few months prior to visiting HR and that had gone very well. I had never been put on any type of probationary period about my performance in my role. They also did not disclose with me their reason for letting me go. Enter, “the queer in a corporate setting” experience.

Kris Mendoza:          That’s really a shame. It’s hard to say if they cited your visit to HR or told you why you were let go, but obviously, that sounds highly illegal.

Aly Spengler:            Being in that studio, with no windows and only one door.. people came in, made their little comments, and of course, HR never heard about it. It was a place that addressed me as, this female.. non-binary.. this queer… this non-straight individual and by stating the problem, I was seen as the problem. I feel like it put an X on my back and they basically found an easy way to eliminate the-

Kris Mendoza:           Friction.

Aly Spengler:             Yeah. So, that’s what I mean by a double-edged sword.

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Aly Spengler

Kris Mendoza:           It doesn’t sound like you were disrespectful in how you spoke up. It wasn’t like you barged into HR and yelled and complained. It sounds like you composed yourself and figured out a way to report it.

Aly Spengler:             Yeah, it was a pretty emotionally draining and vulnerable one-on-one with her. I feel like that’s something a lot of people still have to put up with, whether you’re in a corporate setting or not. Whether you’re a female, a person of color, or any historically marginalized individuals, it’s sadly always something that you carry and I question if my straight, white male counterparts ever feel it.

Kris Mendoza:           Sadly, I think that’s the privilege they enjoy, having never been made to feel like the minority in the room in any way, shape, or form, right? It will take initiative and time for the general establishment to be more open and accepting. 

Project Forte is all about allyship and it’s not just necessarily about a friend speaking up, but how important is it for victims to share.  Maybe it is a straight white male that hears it and is not okay and says something, how powerful is that?  How important is it to have other people stick up for you on these instances?

Aly Spengler:            It’s incredibly important because it will make that individual, who’s made to feel like they’re just complaining, feel validated. It’s sad that it’s been constant decades of yearning to simply feel accepted by your peers, to feel like you need permission to be

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Aly Spengler

Kris Mendoza:           I spoke to another Director of Photography who is a part of the LGBTQ community and wears it loud and proud as part of her cause. I expected her to say she experiences a lot of discrimination but was actually very much surprised to hear that her experience was in favor of the film community, noting that it is more diverse and accepting than corporate industries. From your experience, what is it like to navigate as non-binary and wear this cause on your sleeve and advocate within this industry?

Aly Spengler:            Don’t get me wrong, this was one huge, long experience with one specific company. I love the film world because it can be a super diverse group of people and harbors many creatives and artists, who tend to be really open-minded people. I have noticed, however, that some departments repeatedly have the same demographics of people being hired in them, like the camera department, or G&E for example… have a lot of white cis-men. For some reason I still mostly see women being hired as makeup artists and stylists when I happen to know plenty of women, non-binary people, and trans individuals who are exceptionally talented in these other departments. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve only recently come out as non-binary but for years I identified strictly as a gay woman. Being nonbinary doesn’t exclude your very real gay or lesbian experience. I feel like, on certain sets, men have let their hair down around me and have gotten really comfortable with their vernacular – basically what I’m getting at is I’ve had men say really sexually explicit things about other women to me, because well, “we’re on the same team, right?”.

I had a producer quote to me, “Wow. It’s so cool to have a lesbian on set because it’s like having one of the boys.”  This was my first time working with him. On a travel shoot. 

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Aly Spengler

Kris Mendoza:           I would assume that as an off-colored compliment, a clumsy attempt to find common ground, right? He’s trying to build camaraderie with you, but it has the exact opposite and, incidentally, negative effect, of making you feel even more uncomfortable when maybe he was trying to make it seem like, “We can be cool. We’ve got this thing in common.”  And I think it seems rooted in ignorance at the end of the day. People are sometimes taught that men and women are so different they can’t relate. I don’t think they mean to create exclusion, but maybe they’re trying to preempt it – though it’s coming from a lack of understanding, and not necessarily animosity. For him, this is cool and novel because he just hasn’t had that much exposure to it and it’s almost a neutral level of ignorance. In terms of that, how often do you find yourself having to educate people?

Aly Spengler:            It’s not my job to educate people or be their encyclopedia but I often find myself having to stop my job of creating in order to do that, to address that ignorance. My problem is when people don’t want to educate themselves by absorbing or staying open on their own. It’s when you introduce these new ideas like, “Hey, that person goes by they/them. You should use those pronouns.” And then they roll their eyes and sigh. Those are the people I will go a little more toe-to-toe with because it’s just pure stubbornness. 

Kris Mendoza:           Absolutely. As the head of a department or a leader on set with other folks under you, do you constantly have to gauge the team’s sense of credibility or validity to what you’re saying and your position because of your gender or your age? Do you ever find yourself having to prove yourself more when you’re in a leadership position?

Aly Spengler:            At times, yes. Anticipating having to prove myself and my worthiness within my department position is more of a mental hurdle than anything, but once I’m actually working and leading, I’m thriving, and I feel confident. I feel like I was brought there for a reason, so I try to hope and trust that it wasn’t just to check a box or to meet a quota, but that I was brought on because the team was excited about what I can contribute. I decide to trust that we have like-minded goals and views on what we want to create together. At its core, that’s still one of the biggest things that draw me to this industry, when people who you meet, may butt heads with, or find you are vastly different from, come together to make something. We’re all there for the same reason because we love this work, the creativity, and the camaraderie. I live for and love crew camaraderie.

Aly Spengler BTS 04
Aly Spengler

Kris Mendoza:          Have you been able to work on a project with LGBTQ subject matter and have the right crew and people telling all these authentic stories in front of and behind the camera? Have you ever been able to bring your love of filmmaking and advocacy for the community together in a project?

Aly Spengler:            I’ve never truly been able to bring it all together fully like that – where crew, talent, and content are in line authentically. Damn, wouldn’t that be amazing? I’ve yet to have the opportunity to bring it full circle. 

Kris Mendoza: What needs to happen for this acceptance of non-binary people, LGBTQ community, not just on set, but in general?  You might look at the film or television community as a microcosm of the larger society, but obviously these microaggressions, these scenarios are happening elsewhere and almost more aggressively outside of our industry now. So at least in terms of the language of film and being on set, what needs to happen to have more inclusivity and diversity on set?

Aly Spengler:            I think it all comes back to the hiring process, and then truly listening to the people who you hire and their experiences. The people who are in charge of creating these crews and bringing people together maybe need to expand their Rolodex a little bit. Don’t just always go to the white guy with the most expensive camera because you know he’s going to crush it, but if you also know that you have other people who can build this department who haven’t had the opportunity who are equally as talented, take a little more chance.

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Aly Spengler

Hire us because you know that we’re talented and you feel confident in what we can contribute and don’t default back to the same choices because it feels safe. Don’t perpetuate the cycle.

Kris Mendoza:           Take a risk and get out of your comfort zone.

Aly Spengler:            Have difficult conversations. And more importantly, listen to other people. Accept their stories, learn from them, and grow together. 

Kris Mendoza:           I really want to thank you for your time. It’s been very, very insightful.

Aly Spengler:            I really appreciate you reaching out to me, especially with us never having worked together. I don’t know if you’ve worked with a lot of the people that you’ve interviewed.

Kris Mendoza:           Not necessarily, and this has been a great experience to meet people that we haven’t worked with yet. I hope to have the opportunity to work with you now that we’ve connected and follow you more closely. I hope your story is not just relatable to those that have gone through similar experiences, but for those that haven’t. It’s eye-opening for folks who want to become good allies, develop a little intentionality with hiring, and have insightful dialogue like this. That is crucial.

Aly Spengler:            It’s only going to make people feel a little more welcome wherever they are. 

High Hopes

Project Forte: Mel Soria

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Mel Soria photographed by Kate Feher

 

Mel Soria (he/him) is a two-time VMA winning director now living and working outside Philadelphia.  He cut his teeth in Hollywood, assisting directly to filmmakers who would provide mentorship and mastery over the craft.  Taking that rare and hard-won education, he branched out on his own, developing a niche in music video as a challenge in short-form storytelling.  This week on Project Forte, Mel shares that wisdom of experience with us, along with some chilling anecdotes which diagnose the stark truth behind industry “norms” and how they are perpetuated.  Mel has faced the challenges of immigration with ambition, discernment, and hope.  He has maintained an exuberant charm throughout these hardships, bringing only positivity to set and demanding that the industry recognize excellence over race and gender.

 

 

 

Written and Edited by Kate Feher

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Mel Soria:                  My name is Mel Soria.  I’m known as the greatest… Nah, just kidding – I am a director, primarily in music videos, with a lot of experience in narrative.

Kris Mendoza:         World Famous! How’d you get your start in the industry?

Mel Soria:                   Well, it was kind of accidental even though it makes a lot of sense now…  So, of course, I’m Filipino American. My family immigrated to the States when I was five from Manila. We lived in Queens, New York and as a child, we would sometimes go to this Wendy’s in town where they shot Coming to America – the McDowell’s place. They had a long hallway with photos of stills from the film, and I was like, “What are these?” When my dad told me, it was the first time I understood, A: people actually make movies in real places, and B: we were now living where people made the movies. Cuz when you’re a kid living in the Philippines you always think movies were made in faraway places.

Kris Mendoza:         “Hollywood”

Mel Soria:                    Exactly. I realized, “Oh, America is the place where they make movies. We now live in America.” Later, I learned to love Coming to America because I was old enough to finally understand the satire, and of course, it reminds me of New York – which represents my family’s immigrant story.

Happy Song
Mel Soria

I was very artistic growing up. I could draw, and I assumed I was going to be an architect because that was the ‘legitimate’ job you could do with drawing. I really wanted to be a comic book artist, but I’m sure my parents, being Asian immigrants, thought, “Yeah, we didn’t sacrifice so you could draw comic books.”  So, I went to Virginia Tech which has (I’m wearing the hoodie right now) one of the best architecture schools in the country. I was pretty ambitious and took all the architecture courses ahead of schedule, but eventually, my advisor said, “You can’t take any more classes in the program. You’ve got to catch up and take some of these foundation classes like math, history, and art electives…”  But because it was so late in that semester, there was only one available class that I could get into which fit my schedule, and it happened to be a film class. 

It was the only film production class that the university offered, taught by a man named Jerry Scheeler. He was a National Geographic cinematographer who retired and moved to Blacksburg – where Virginia Tech is located. He was like a real-life 6’3” Indiana Jones.  During his career, he traveled to exotic locations and filmed some groundbreaking wildlife footage. He was so cool. One day he was showing us different film stocks: 16mm, 75mm…  and while we were looking at a strip of 35mm, someone noticed, “Oh, there are some boats in these frames, what movie is this from?”  He said, “It’s a short end from TITANIC. One of my former students is now an assistant editor in LA, and while he was working on it [Titanic] they were throwing these out so he sent me a few feet…”

When we heard that, my classmates and I…well, our brains exploded! We were in the middle of nowhere in western Virginia thinking, “Wait, so you’ve got a direct line to Hollywood? We thought working in movies was impossible unless you were born into the industry?” Even more amazing was that Jerry was so practical and matter-of-fact about it…he gave it to us straight, “Filmmaking is like any other job. You go, you start at the bottom, you apprentice, you work your way up.” 

But growing up outside of Philadelphia, and in New York, you don’t think Hollywood or filmmaking is an option because you don’t live near LA. You’re from an immigrant family. You have no contacts in the industry, so you don’t think it’s a plausible, practical thing, but having that instructor encourage us, saying, “If any of you want to move to LA and make movies, that is 100% doable. You just execute these steps,” so well, that changed everything.

I thought, “Forget architecture. I want to make movies.”

Ted Talk
Mel Soria

Of course, I called my dad later that week and he said, “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. You’ve got to finish your degree. You’ve always wanted to be an architect since you were a kid, that’s what you should be doing.”  But I was already hooked. I started planning to go to film school. I switched my architecture degree to industrial design so I could graduate earlier, and then I went to Florida State for film school, which is a graduate conservatory program. From there I moved to Los Angeles and started my career. 

For a person who didn’t even know filmmaking was a possibility, the minute I found out, I was all-in. I didn’t want to design bathrooms for skyscrapers…I’d rather get coffee for producers, as long as I was on a movie set.

Kris Mendoza:          Once you landed in LA, what was it like starting your career?  LA is a pretty diverse city in terms of the film scene, so what was it like making connections, breaking in, and being kind of a young gun-hungry for work there?

Mel Soria:                   Well, I’ve always believed in the idea of apprenticeship, to learn by the side of a master, someone with experience…I think it’s because I have a background in all these art forms like architecture and martial arts – I know it’s a cliché – that have traditions in passing on knowledge directly from master to student. But to me it makes so much sense, you work with people who have experience and they teach you the ropes so you don’t make their same mistakes. It gets you to where you want to be faster. I was a child of immigrants, so I knew I wasn’t just going to LA and the doors were going to just swing wide open for me – I instinctively knew I needed help. I actively decided I was going to be “an apprentice” and that the closest equivalent for that on a movie set was an assistant to the director – like a personal assistant, not an AD, but a person who got them coffee and drove them around and handled their schedules. With that job, I knew that eventually, whether that director liked it or not, I’d get to know the ins and outs of their process.  As a director’s assistant, I would be a fly on the wall in meetings and rehearsals – learning.  

But let me make it clear – there isn’t a big demand for director’s assistants in the industry, I just told myself, “This is what I’m going to do. This is how I’m going to do it,” and so I started looking for that job to apply for. 

Irresistible
Mel Soria pictured Left

Luckily, my best friend from Virginia Tech called me after I graduated from film school to say,  “My cousin, who’s about 10 years older than us, he’s a Hollywood screenwriter and now he’s shooting his first movie. Maybe he can help you out.”  So, I got an interview with the cousin just for a meet and greet. We got along well and he was like, “I think you’re cool and your bros with my cousin so that’s a plus. But this is a low-ish budget movie, so there’s no money for a director’s assistant. Which I totally understood – I was just happy to meet someone actually working on a movie.

That same day, after our meeting, the director and I were making our way out to the lobby when in walks: the movie’s producer. The director introduces me and as we were chatting one of the office PAs comes in late with everyone’s lunch order, like 30 minutes after lunch. He walks over, gives the producer a sandwich and says “Sorry I took so long, here’s your lunch,” but it was the wrong order. The producer scratches his head and says to me, “You know what, I think I can find the money in the budget to hire you.” The PA comes back out and the producer says, “FYI, man, you’re fired,” because he messed up so badly.  I know this isn’t the nicest story – that I got my first job through someone losing their job – but it also kind of taught me the lesson: Hollywood is “the pros”.

Kris Mendoza:          There’s a very slim margin of error.

Mel Soria:                   Yeah. It’s the equivalent of being in the NFL. Even for the scrubs on the bench – nobody’s slow in the NFL, no one is weak. It’s the best of the best. There’s a baseline standard of excellence, and I guess that ingrained the idea that I have to perform perfectly at minimum and then all these other things will have to build on top of that: friendships, connections, and talent development. 

That’s how I started, and so for two or three years, I was an assistant to five different directors, three women and two men, which also showed me a lot of gender dynamics and what it meant to be a minority as a female in the industry.

Hollywood is run by assistants. Being one taught how the whole industry worked, warts and all. It was a perspective you never learn from film school. That’s how I cut my teeth.

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Mel Soria

Kris Mendoza:           So, talking about apprenticing under someone else, what’s that like in terms of your own development as a director? At what point did you start working on your own projects?  Did other working styles help shape your voice as a director?

Mel Soria:                    So, for three years I was just happy to be going from movies to television shows, then to more movies. I would be assistant to a director while in production, and then when the movie was in post they didn’t need me but would pass me to another director once they were self-sufficient.

That’s really your “in” when a fellow director recommends you.  You get to be known as someone who knows what they’re doing and knows how to act. But after three years I realized, “Oh shit. I haven’t directed anything. I haven’t shot anything in three years.”

I was at a family holiday, I think Thanksgiving or Christmas, and an Uncle asked what I was doing –

Kris Mendoza:           – What are you doing with your life, Mel?

Mel Soria:                 Yeah! And I said, “Oh, I’m a filmmaker,” but my younger brother immediately cuts me off and says, “That’s not true. He doesn’t make any of his OWN films. He helps other people make THEIR films.” And as much as I was annoyed I thought, he’s right… Like I said, at the time the last thing I directed was three years old on Super 16 and all of a sudden everyone was shooting digital on RED cameras. So, that was an impetus to start making my own work again. 

I always had a nagging feeling in film school that they were teaching us how to make movies, but not how to make careers. I knew there were things about the politics of show business we didn’t know…soft skills about navigating the industry which we should learn. By working with those directors for years, I learned those skills and I felt more confident. I got to take a peek behind the curtain, and I understand, Oh, this is how the sausage is made but also, and more importantly, the stuff I know foundationally is, in fact, accurate.

So, I took the leap and decided to stop taking jobs for assistant work, which was maybe super ignorant. It was like I stepped out saying, “Oh, stop the presses everybody. Mel’s ready to direct. You can start hiring me,” which wasn’t happening. Just crickets, you know?

FSU
Mel Soria

Luckily, at the same time, my younger brother was in a rock band that got signed to Columbia Records. They needed a music video but they only had $500. Initially, I was unsure, but my girlfriend at the time encouraged me saying, “If you think you’re good enough to make a full-length movie, then you should be able to do a tiny music video. Like, If you can’t do a music video then you really don’t know what you’re talking about.” That became the challenge and so then I wanted to do it – besides it’s not like I had any other offers lined up.

That was my first music video, and I shot it all myself on rented gear, documentary-style on the road with the band. And from then on, things snowballed and I got other music video gigs because bands know each other, so they see one band do something and if it’s a great video they’re like, “Who the hell did that? How did they afford it? Who directed it?” 

Incidentally, one of my brother’s bandmates, a guitarist named Brendan Walter, retired from music to become a filmmaker.  We teamed up and now we co-direct a lot of music videos together. He has all of the instincts needed to work with musicians and over the past six, seven years, we’ve balanced each other out, learning from each other.

Kris Mendoza:          Who are some of the artists you worked for, and where has that led you?

Mel Soria:                 We’ve made videos for bands like Train, which is contemporary rock, and then for younger audiences, bands like New Politics, Panic! at the Disco, and Fall Out Boy. In 2015, we won Best Rock Music Video at the MTV Video Music Awards for a Fall Out Boy video. And in 2019 we won another Best Rock VMA with Panic! at the Disco for their track “High Hopes”, which was the song of the summer back then. We’ve been pretty lucky. We’ve been nominated for four VMAs, which are kind of the industry mountain top for music video awards, and we won two. The first time we won I was like, “Okay, we’re done!”

Kris Mendoza:          We’ve made it.

High Hopes
Mel Soria directing “High Hopes” with Panic! At the Disco

 

Mel Soria:                 Not only that we made it, but we thought, “We can’t top this. We’re not going to get this lucky again.” But music videos are too much of a blast to give up and each one has its own unique set of challenges – you can never completely master the art form. More importantly, you realize music videos are one of the most difficult forms of filmmaking to consistently get right. It really is a test for the director. Music video filmmakers are like the Navy Seals of film because compared to movies or TV you only have half the time to shoot twice the amount of content, but also at a fraction of the budget from what it was in the ’90s.

You and I, Kris, we grew up in the ’90s. If we were music video directors in the ’90s it would be way more dope. Back then, music video premieres were more of an event – you got to go to TRL at Times Square…

Kris Mendoza:          Make $100,000 for a video.

Mel Soria:                 At least. Back then rates were so much higher – not so much today. But I still love making them [music videos].

Champion 2
Mel Soria on the set of “Champion” for Fallout Boy

Kris Mendoza:           Where do you draw your inspiration from, whether it’s for music videos or narrative?  Is there one source of inspiration or many?  How do you get these concepts?

Mel Soria:                 For me, the secret weapon – which maybe I shouldn’t be saying, though it is kind of obvious – is that I moved back to suburban Pennsylvania and it put me in a different creative mindset. If you’re not living in LA, then you don’t out driving in Beverly Hills seeing Ferraris, you’re seeing mom & pop shops and watching families go to high school football games.  It was a shift back to normalcy from LA, to ‘Americana’.

Being here makes it really easy for my imagination to get back into a “hopes and dreams” mode  – like when I was in high school. This is really helpful, especially since I have a lot of clients who cater to that demographic: high school, early college.  My concepts are heavily influenced by living in suburban America and that sense of place makes it easier for me to connect to them. Sometimes I’m asked to come up with a concept for a song about “leaving the nest, going on some grand adventure, or meeting the love of your life.” And Bucks County is a romantic place, like an Andrew Wyeth painting – amplified by the fact that I first felt those hopes growing up here as an adolescent – – it’s easy to bring myself back to that emotional space and come up with ideas.

Bulletproof Picasso
Mel Soria directing “Bulletproof Picasso” with Train

Also, when you direct multiple videos for a band, you build a relationship with them and get in sync. You get the vibe they’re interested in and meld that to what you’re interested in. So in that sense, coming up with ideas is a lot easier with musicians you’ve worked with a lot.

Maybe it was hard for me to come up with ideas living in LA because it’s a place where people make movies, so your ideas tend to be less about real-life things.

Kris Mendoza:          To an extent, you have to take yourself out of the industry environment to recognize or expose yourself to things you wouldn’t normally see throughout the course of your day or week.

Mel Soria:                 Right. Exactly. They don’t shut down your suburban neighborhood to shoot a film in PA. In the past 15 years I’ve seen a lot more content, be it Film or TV, where characters are actually filmmakers, and I think it’s just because writers in LA see other writers in LA and that’s where they get their ideas from. Here in PA, my neighbor is a long-haul truck driver. My other neighbor is military. Another neighbor has kids in middle school. These are real stories, all around me. They remind me what it was like to play football on Friday nights. It’s all that stuff I think Springsteen still pulls from, you know he still lives only 20 minutes from where he grew up-

Kris Mendoza:           Asbury Park, New Jersey. You dropped a big name, so I’ll drop another: What was your relationship with Ridley Scott and his production company like?

Mel Soria:                 Oh. I was an intern at RSA, which is Ridley Scott and Associates, their music video and commercial arm. In LA, RSA was the building directly next door to Scott Free which is Ridley Scott’s feature-length television arm, and because of that, the interns were just interchangeable. They’d tell us, “Go next door and serve lunch, the intern there is on a run.” I was only there for a couple of months in 2008, but it was my first introduction to how a top-tier production company operated.

Ridley was like this mythic figure.  He would walk by and all the interns would whisper… it was like seeing Dumbledore… 

I remember at the time he was in pre-pro for Robin Hood and as an intern, I was going to different rooms stocking water bottles and cleaning up after meetings or whatever, and upstairs they had this massive model of one of the castles in-

Kris Mendoza:           Nottingham.

Mel Soria:                  For Nottingham, yeah! Because I studied architecture, I was also really interested in the production design, and recognized Arthur Max walking around. He also production-designed Gladiator and a lot of Ridley’s stuff, so I was like, “That’s the production designer!”  in a hushed tone and people were like, “Who?” [jokes]

Production designers don’t have groupies, so he was super accessible to talk to, it was great. But of course, I had to move on because companies like that have such deep benches and just being an intern there didn’t mean they would ever offer you a job. 

Kris Mendoza:           You were almost just as excited when we met, I think you said “It’s refreshing to meet another Filipino in filmmaking…” I share the same sentiment. There are more of us out there than you think. What’s your opinion in terms of the level of diversity, not just on the Filipino end, but how the industry is seeded? How does that affect the product we put out? 

Mel Soria:                 I never saw the hurdles within my education and my career as being linked to race heavily. Actually, I thought of it [my race] as an advantage just because I was raised understanding how competitive I would need to be – that’s just how immigrants think. And that practical mindset is really helpful when you’re dealing with so many dollars going in and out of the bank and that’s what really drives the industry. For a regular Hollywood set it’s 100k a day to operate – just to have people show up, have catering, and to shoot. Whether you get all your shots or not – you still burn 100k. So the ability to be excellent at your job is your most valuable commodity. Whether you’re black, brown, or whatever, you have to be excellent.

Young & Menace
Mel Soria directing “Young and Menace” with Fallout Boy

Now, that being said, I may have been drifting through the world rather naively because I didn’t want to believe that race was so much of an issue – although, we now know through study after study, that it actually is. From my experience, it’s more complex than that, you see a lot of the time it’s not just about race —  the film industry is very old school in the sense of it still being about “who you know.” Not necessarily because they’re trying to exclude people, but because the stakes are so high you hire people who you personally know and have experienced production with.  You trust them because you’ve worked with them before, and there’s not much incentive to risk a job on someone unknown. You think, “Okay, if my head’s on the chopping block this person isn’t going to let me down.” 

And that, in my view, really explains why a lot of past Hollywood seemed to be one color: white.  They were the people from affluent backgrounds, (filmmaking isn’t a cheap sport) who got fed jobs out of film school. They came from families that had the money and security to send their kids to an arts college – or at least they came from backgrounds that were more forgiving if they initially failed at whatever creative endeavor they chose to pursue. It all perpetuates from the socio-economic stratospheres of the privileged – which of course is related to race in this country.

That’s what I saw in LA. You know, interestingly enough, LA has one of the highest concentrations of Filipino in America so I saw a lot of us on the street, but on set, I was like the only brown person.  

Champion 1
Mel Soria pictured Left with Fallout Boy

In truth, I wasn’t aware of any biases until I started working for female directors in the early 2010s. I was an assistant to three female directors and I understood then, just by being a fly on the wall, that they were being treated differently than the male directors. I remember working on a movie, I’m not going to mention which, but I was the assistant to a female director. The producers for that film were these Old Hollywood cats who made all their movies in the ’70s. They were producing this one as kind of a last hurrah, something they thought they’d do with their buddies one more time and “let some broad direct,” you know what I mean? 

Well, during principal photography we would wrap for the day and those producers would go get drinks at a restaurant like in Once Upon A Time In Hollywood and invite me to tag along. At the time I thought it was great until they started discussing which scenes to cut or why they shouldn’t spend extra money on a set, and I thought  Wait a minute. The director needs to be in these conversations. They’re not even considering her. It occurred to me that when I was an assistant to male directors, those men would be invited to these outings. 

At the same time, being an assistant to the director, I understood that power meant you could enact change. One or two of my bosses would specifically say, “We’re going to hire more of a minority group,” and nobody would challenge them. All anyone would care about is “Can they do their job? Are they excellent?” 

In America, racism has been one of our biggest legacies. But ironically, if you talk to any soldier who’s fought in combat, race doesn’t fucking matter. You just need someone to cover your back or have a sharp aim. I think that’s true in almost any industry…especially when there’s stress and the stakes are high: color fades.  The problem is, once that stress dissipates, do we continue to see the world with the same sense of egalitarianism, meritocracy, and equality in our hiring practices so those we work with when times are tough are diverse? Probably not. 

Death Of A Bachelor
Mel Soria directing “Death of a Bachelor” with Panic! at the Disco

Once I became in charge of my own sets and my own stories – I mentioned co-directing a lot of these music videos with my friend, Brendan – well, we actively try to layer in diversity with our cast and crew hires, but we just never use it as a rule. Our litmus test is: Is the person excellent at their job? If they are then no one’s going to complain or question why that person has been hired.

Now, I’m going to say something but it’s kind of terrible, still, this really happened so it’s important.  We were casting for a video and a lot of these conference calls at the time were just audio, so you couldn’t see anyone’s race on the call… My name is Mel Soria and for most people, that name has no ethnic associations, so you can’t tell I’m Filipino.  Well, on one particular call we were casting for a Western-themed video, and the female lead we cast was of Indian descent, as in the subcontinent of India, not Native American.  Then one of these executives says, “Hey, Mel. We’re really excited about this video. You’ve got a great cast. It’s going to look amazing, but it’s kind of funny because you picked the wrong kind of Indian for this Western.”  

I asked, “What are you talking about?”  and he said, “You picked an Indian with dots, not feathers.” 

We were just so shocked on the call that when we hung up we were like, “Did we just hear what we heard?” And then I realized this guy didn’t know that I was brown. 

So of course, a week later we get on set. I’m directing this thing and I tell my AD to let me know when the label people show up. They arrive and stand over by craft services wearing suits or whatever, of course. I walk over and I start picking up food and it doesn’t even register in their brains that I could be somebody. I just look like one of the grips or PAs.

Then the AD walks over and pulls us together saying, “Oh great. We’re all here. Here’s our director, Mel…”

I’m like, “Yeah. Remember me? I was on that call,” and I could see their faces go white. They realized they were talking to a brown person on the phone…

Kris Mendoza:           They were like, “Oh shit.”

Mel Soria:                  Yeah. But I did that on purpose because what really has to happen is that they recognize they fucked up and behave better.  I also set up that moment because a lot of times record execs will show up and want to tinker with shit on set by making “suggestions” but this guy just wanted to get out of there. So it was like killing two birds with one stone. Racist exec shits his pants and leaves my shoot alone.

Kris Mendoza:           Hopefully those folks have evolved. For the industry, I think there’s still a long way to go.

Mel Soria:                 Most definitely.

Kris Mendoza:          What are some things that need to happen in order to have more diversity on set, in front of, and behind the camera?

Mel Soria: The one thing I would say is key is: cultivate young and new diverse talent. It’s not enough that you just hire someone who is of a diverse background that you kind of don’t know and put them in charge of a set or department out of nowhere. My life experience in this industry is all about mentorship and being ushered in, and I think that’s really what we should be doing. It might not happen overnight, but the truth is minorities are going to have a much more stable foundation where it’s almost impossible to remove them because you’ve been building them up for a long time throughout their careers.

So, it’s all about hiring a diverse PA and then also making sure that they don’t stay a PA. They need to get moved up to a second assistant or a first assistant or an operator or a production supervisor, and that builds the ranks. More importantly, what matters most to anyone looking to hire a skilled person in the industry is that they/their crew has experience.  You can’t argue with that. They can’t afford to not make money, and they can only make money with people who are excellent at what they do.  The only color that matters onset is green.

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Mel Soria

Mentor and promote from the bottom up, because as you know, for a lot of minorities, there’s nothing worse than when you hear about someone from your minority group that drops the ball because they were probably brought up too quickly and expected to do way more than they should have, where their white counterpart would have never been forced to grow up so quick. How many times have we heard about a white-straight-male director who’s made flop after flop and they’ve been given chance after chance and they’ve gotten better and better? I think for minorities you can’t have a flop first movie, but if you’re a white person who’s spent years working up the ladder and making friends in powerful places you can-

Kris Mendoza:           There’s a very small window for failure because we’re still proving ourselves in our market.

Mel Soria:                 Proving ourselves. Right. Yeah. So, you can help that by just cultivating the talent for a longer period, and it gives them so much more advantage: knowing how the system works, how to build their strengths and maneuver. Part of cultivating your excellence in the industry is building Institutional Know-How. It’s about maneuvering your way through the network by using soft skills and leveraging social connections you’ve established over time to capitalize on your actual hard skills or talents. 

Kris Mendoza: Thank you for joining us, you did a very good job sharing your experiences.  Those anecdotal stories give us a nice slice of what is out there on bigger sets, smaller sets, and the lack of level of diversity.

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Project Forte: Jason Chew

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Jason Chew photographed by Kate Feher

 

Jason Chew (he/him) is a Director of Photography from Brooklyn, New York who studied at Carnegie Mellon and NYU, completing a Master of Fine Arts in Film Productions from the Tisch School of Arts in Singapore.  This week on Project Forte, Jason talks about the importance of operating outside a comfort zone to achieve goals and being open to growth within those zones and communities. He shares a valuable experience, suggesting that life within the United States may offer one way to understand yourself, but opening yourself up to more cultures and experiences can broaden your perspective even to your own identity.  Dive in with Kris Mendoza as he and Jason also discuss the evolution of APA and what distinguishing changes motivate both filmmakers to look to the future with a little hope. 

 

 

 

 

Written and Edited by Kate Feher

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Jason Chew:              I’m Jason Chew (he/him) based out of Brooklyn, New York. I’m a Taiwanese-American Director of Photography.

Kris Mendoza:           How’d you get started, Jason?

Jason Chew:              I think the main starting point for me was this 72-hour shootout in New York which was specifically for Asian-Americans.

Kris Mendoza:           Was this with Asian CineVision?

Jason Chew:              It was with Asian American Film Lab.

Kris Mendoza:           And did you have any film background prior to that? Or did you just sign up for that and get right into it?

Jason Chew:              Yeah, I was interning at DCTV which creates documentaries in New York, and I had a few friends from high school who were into filmmaking, so we rented cameras [from DCTV] and shot the 72-hour shootout. And actually, we won that year, which really kicked us off because we were like, “Oh, shit, maybe we—-“

Kris Mendoza:           “Oh, I think we’re good at this!”

Jason Chew:              “Maybe we’re awesome!”  Then, obviously, you realize that there’s so much more to learn and that’s such a little tiny competition. But it was great to have that much encouragement right off the bat.  I started checking Mandy and Craigslist and working on independent sets. People would post a job for a gaffer and I’d be like, “Yeah, I’m a gaffer.” I just wanted to keep doing this work, however I could.

Kris Mendoza:           Fake it till you make it.

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Jason Chew pictured left

Jason Chew:              Fake it till you make it, yeah. I’d be on set, and someone would say, “Hand me a Kino.”  I’m like, “All right, I’ll be right back.”  – No idea what a Kino was. 

I just found out that I really loved on-set collaboration, and that led me to apply for the NYU program in Singapore.  I knew at that point that this was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

Kris Mendoza:           That’s awesome. I didn’t know NYU did a program out there … Is that an MFA in Singapore?

Jason Chew:              Yeah. It was such a weird program. It was only alive for two years before I got there, without an undergrad supporting it. All the funds were coming from New York, and they just started this graduate film program in what people consider one of the most censored countries in the world. But still, we had all this freedom.. all these cameras. People had this attitude, “Hey, you’re from NYU, come film.” 

There wasn’t a really huge film market there, so we were welcomed. We did what Americans do, we came in and did whatever we wanted and they let us.  It was a great conservatory to be a part of.

Kris Mendoza:           How long was that whole program?

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Jason Chew

Jason Chew:              It was a three-year program 

Kris Mendoza:           You lived in Singapore for three years?

Jason Chew:              Yeah and I met my wife in Singapore. It was really one of the most eye-opening experiences of my life because other than growing up in New York and going to Pittsburgh for school, I hadn’t experienced a lot of travel.

Kris Mendoza:           Gotcha. And I’m sorry, what’s your ethnic background?

Jason Chew:              So my family’s Taiwanese.

Kris Mendoza:           And in Singapore, they speak pretty good English, right? It wasn’t that hard to get around?

Jason Chew:              Yeah, perfect English. It was very easy to get around.

Kris Mendoza:           In terms of living there for three years, well, it’s interesting, it leads to my next question but totally puts a whole new spin on it because I was going to talk to you about the approach to Asian-American filmmaking and Asian cinema or Asian-American cinema in general, kind of those two banners. But it’s interesting because you cut your teeth and learned filmmaking in Asia as an Asian-American and came back. You seem like you might have two perspectives on what that’s like in terms of Asian cinema and Asian-American cinema. I guess, first off, how do you think those two things differ in terms of subject, genre, approach, style, etc?

Jason Chew:             In terms of my Asian-American identity, I didn’t come to terms with it until I went to Asia. I thought I was finally going to fit in because everyone looked like me, but that’s when I realized, “Oh, I’m actually super American.” 

In America, people are so adamant that because you look Chinese you must be Chinese. Not realizing that culturally you’re American just with a Chinese upbringing. 

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Jason Chew, Director of Photography. Photograph by Kate Feher

I’m that hybrid: made up of what and how my parents taught me mixed with the American culture and society I was raised in. I think it really helped me get closer to understanding who I was, and that, of course, affects what you do in filmmaking. Originally I thought “I don’t need to represent Asians. I want to represent everyone.  Why does it need to be about the Asian-American identity?”  But, now, and I think we both realize this, I understand no one else is going to represent us if we don’t.  

Kris Mendoza:           Yeah, if we’re not telling these stories, who is? The people who have started telling our stories aren’t doing it super authentically or giving it justice.

It’s interesting to hear about the path you took to Singapore and back. I had no idea about that. Since you witnessed story-telling there, could you share how you have seen Asian-American cinema evolve thematically?

Jason Chew:              Back in the day, the types of films I watched were Asian-American, like Better Luck Tomorrow. I think that’s just a matter of who was creating the content because for me, growing up on the East Coast, there were very few people telling those stories. 

Kris Mendoza:           When I was in college going to APA classes, there were a lot of “Asian-dash-American” people asking themselves what that dash meant for their identity. I think we’re evolving away from that … and, interestingly, you mentioned Better Luck Tomorrow which I think was ahead of its time. Being Asian had very little to do with that plot, and it showed where we were heading.  In today’s cinema, we’re seeing a refreshing shift of Asian-Americans working in front of or behind the camera… Asian-Americans who just happen to be doing regular things. I think that’s the kind of representation we’ve been pushing for. It’s not so much these stereotyped deli owners or math whizzes or silly sideshow comic relief type characters, which were our roles relegated in cinema for decades.

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Jason Chew pictured right

Jason Chew: I think back to Ang Lee with Wedding Banquet telling his Chinese story in American, but it wasn’t a Chinese-American telling a Chinese-American story. 

Kris Mendoza: Hearing you say that makes me think about the broader picture, the larger problem of the recent uptick in hate crimes against Asians and the rise of the Stop Asian Hate movement.  With everything that’s going on, even as an Asian, we can’t help but look at Asians as a monolith.  We’re thinking, “Here’s Ang Lee, his story represents everybody,” and it doesn’t even seem to represent Chinese-Americans in general, even less so Taiwanese, Korean, Filipino, etc.  So understanding the true diversity within one assumed monolith broadens the scope. There are just so many different immigrant stories rich with the struggle of diaspora, you can’t just look at Better Luck Tomorrow or even Crazy Rich Asians as representative of the Asian or Asian-American experience. The diversity is not even nuanced, there are very black and white differences from culture to culture that you don’t really see from the outside looking in. You just see Asians on screen, right?

Jason Chew:              You just need to see Asian-Americans doing normal-ass-shit, and maybe then people will understand we’re just normal people. Do you know what I mean?  So we don’t have all that stereotype behind us – 

Kris Mendoza:           – Like when an Asian guy walks into the scene and there’s a gong sound

Jason Chew:              Yeah, there’s that book- It’s called Chinatown Interior that I’ve been reading. It talks about roles that Asian-Americans have played throughout time, and I think it’s “why did we need to be all these characters?”  Why enforce a stereotypical accent when I speak perfectly fluent English?  Of course, many other cultures have gone through that, too.

Kris Mendoza:           These spaces, these pigeonholes, we’ve been corralled into were really created by very white-driven perspectives on Asians way back in the day. Whether it was intentionally racist or not, it grew and perpetuated racism by providing the caricatured stereotypes.

Jason Chew:              It happens similarly when men write female characters, which has been detrimental for a long time, because they’re only talking about certain things that men want women to talk about. There’s definitely room for all these more nuanced stories.

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Jason Chew behind the scenes on “Feeling Alive”

Kris Mendoza:           Yes, we can see now how important that authenticity is, people telling real stories of what they’ve come to know and understand in their lives as opposed to someone else just filling in the blanks there like Mad Libs. 

Jason Chew:              Well, Asian people are getting more roles but I still see them as sort of “kung-fu” roles.  Warrior, Mortal Combat and Shang-Chi are all coming out. Those stories are great, and entertaining, but we also need, I think, the other side of that. More dimensions.

Kris Mendoza:           So speaking of another side, we’re talking a lot about representation in front of the camera here. What is your perspective on behind-the-camera Asian-American representation?  And I’ve noticed, you sometimes choose to work on very Asian-American-driven sets, and then some work opportunities are not so diverse. What have you noticed about the  divergence between Asians choosing film as a career path versus other avenues which seem more “Asian-parent-approved?”

Jason Chew:              Asian-parent-approved, Ha. I think it’s really about who’s giving us the opportunities to work our way up or to learn more? I’ve spoken with Union camera operators who say, “Yeah, it’s mostly old white guys in that union.”  And it’s cyclical because if you want to be nominated as a future member, you need someone in the industry to back you – so who is doing all the backing?  I’ve been fortunate to get work on a lot of these sets, but production companies like yours, are the key. You have the funding and the freedom to put together a team of diverse, talented, and hard-working people.  Yeah, it’s really about opportunity, I think.

Kris Mendoza:           Is there a limited amount of opportunities and a seemingly endless supply of people trying to get into film?  I’ve had a couple of these conversations, and it seems like there are no shortage of Asians or Asian-Americans out there trying to stay busy and be on set and work on films, but they’re just a very small population compared to the larger population of filmmakers. It’s always refreshing to me when I meet other Asian-American filmmakers. It’s like, “Okay, cool, so you also defied all the odds of cultural expectations and here you are doing it full-time and doing it successfully.” What are your thoughts on that upbringing and those expectations of what a typical Asian-American career path should look like?  Do you think that will be pervasive in the generations of our future children? 

Jason Chew:              I don’t know what a typical path will look like, but I know that media is constantly changing, and I see a lot of talented people on YouTube, making their own content. There will be different paths, maybe not necessarily as narrative filmmakers but as content creators. Those ideas are changing, too. Maybe our generation thinks, “We need to make movies, we need to make TV,” but this next generation thinks, “We’re making TikToks,” and some of those people are already making a lot of money doing what they’re doing.

Kris Mendoza:           That’s true.

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Behind the Scenes with Jason Chew. Photograph by Kate Feher

Jason Chew:              Being on set as a PA and falling in love with it, that’s already ingrained in me. That’s the kind of stuff that really gets my juices going.  Seeing actors perform on set, or for me to be behind a camera: those are magical things. The way to go is creating plenty of opportunities for people like me to explore those worlds, even just to see if that’s something they want to try out. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s different for the new generation.

Kris Mendoza:           It’s a balance of accessibility and exposure, without sharing the idea or the possibility of filmmaking, you don’t even know it’s a viable career opportunity.

Jason Chew:              Right. Coming from my background, nobody said, “Hey, did you ever consider filmmaking?” No parent said that. They were more supportive after I got into NYU because they thought, “At least you could teach afterward, you know? … if you really screw it up.”  There was a fallback option in their minds because of the quality of my degree.

Kris Mendoza:           What does it take to be successful in this career path and have longevity in the game?  You’ve been doing it for, it sounds like, at least over a decade. But what are some thoughts on how to break into the industry and also stay in the industry, whether that’s through the lens of being Asian-American or not?

Jason Chew:              Yeah. I’ve definitely taken all kinds of jobs because, obviously, some gigs pay better than others. You have to be able to find something you can do well … I started out ACing a lot, and doing branded content –  I don’t know if you know The Kitchen or Apartment Therapy.

Kris Mendoza:           Yes, I do.

Jason Chew:              One classmate pulled me into some work creating food branding videos. Together we climbed our way up. At Apartment Therapy, we worked with brands like Target, Pier One, and Walmart. We got a good sense of the client-side and how to really tailor a good product. Building relationships, I think, is key. I was really lucky that my friend pulled me into those jobs, where I could start supporting myself in a way that allowed the opportunity for other more fulfilling work.

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Jason Chew, Director of Photography

Kris Mendoza:            What’s the biggest hurdle you’ve encountered or mistake you’ve made that has really defined who you are today? Or really, what’s one of the biggest lessons you’ve learned?

Jason Chew:              Understanding yourself, determining what you want to make has been both a hurdle and a lesson to learn. One of the most challenging things is understanding what your opinion is but also creating the self-security to put it out there without being vulnerable to rejection.  Being confident enough to think, “This is what my opinion is, and hopefully people are receptive to it.”  Let people know who you are so they can be honest and open about wanting or not wanting to work with you… because that’s fine. And that really is one of the hardest and most important factors, finding relationships in which you really connect. Only then can you make something that’s better than both of you and more than what you could imagine alone. Also, at the same time, you have to have a good time while doing it. You know what I mean? 

Kris Mendoza:           It’s easier said than done, right? Not only finding people in-line with yourself, but also finding people who challenge your thoughts in art and subjectivity.  You don’t want a group of friends that are all exactly the same and who just agree with everything you say. You want them to challenge your ideas, make them better, and improve your art through debate. So that’s also the tough part, too, right? You want someone to vibe with but also challenge you.

Jason Chew:              Yeah. Like you said, it’s an art and it’s all subjective, so everyone’s going to have different ways of making a film or telling a story. But to want to help another person tell that story or make it the best it could be without replacing it with their vision… that’s where love comes in. When you can say “I want to support you and make this better.”  No, that’s not easy to find. I’m lucky to have found that on some projects.

Kris Mendoza:           Is that what keeps you coming back, what keeps you passionate about making films?

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Jason Chew pictured right

Jason Chew:              Yeah. It’s the process of collaborating. This pandemic has obviously made it very difficult to do some of that work, but being on set and talking about ideas – whether you’re discussing a way to light a scene, establish the mood or the tempo – those are the things that really excite me.  I love to bounce ideas.

Kris Mendoza:           As a DP you are in a position to hire folks and give opportunities. Through what lens are you able to focus on the right people? Are you heavily considering age, race, gender, etc?

Jason Chew:              I definitely now lean more towards hiring people of color or LGBTQ people, because if I can give that opportunity, I will. 

Kris Mendoza:           And do you find it hard to find qualified people?  How much harder do you have to dig and look?

Jason Chew:              I think it’s become less and less difficult as I get more experienced myself.  You don’t get to be on bigger sets unless you’ve proven yourself, so the people I work with now are up to caliber. 

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Behind the scenes with Jason Chew

 

Kris Mendoza:           Did you have any early role models even just when you first started? In terms of aesthetic or style, was there any Director or DP whose movies inspired you to further pursue this as a career?

Jason Chew:              Yeah. Back in the day, it was probably Spielberg. But later, once I went to school, I discovered more Asian directors. Oldboy, Park Chan-wook. And Bong Joon-ho did Memories of Murder. The Coen Brothers were a big influence. I felt like you could basically learn something from every director, but I especially liked a lot of thriller-style directors.

Kris Mendoza:           Bong Joon-ho won best director last year and this year we have Nomadland, which is not an Asian-American story but, heralded by Chloe Zhao. Minari  is doing so well too, and for me that goes to show that we must be putting more Asian-Americans and Asians in leadership positions. How is the future looking to you?  You came into this field with very few Asian-American or Asian influences and now there’s more. What do you think the next generation looks like for Asian-American cinema and filmmakers?  They have a new jumping off point which you and I didn’t have 10, 20 years ago?

Jason Chew:              Hopefully what will happen is that younger people will be inspired to not just emulate these directors and writers but be motivated to create something for  themselves. They might take what these directors did and actually find something in themselves that they can bring to the world. Think about Wong Kar-wai. Everyone was just copying Wong Kar-wai all the time, and eventually stopped to think, “Okay, we got to stop making knock-offs of all these other films and just start to learn how to find our own voice.” I think these directors have.

Kris Mendoza:           I love that, it’s very hopeful in terms of the next generation of filmmakers and how they could do even more.  What’s next for you?

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Jason Chew on the set of A Father’s Son

Jason Chew:              Oh, I want to talk about A Father’s Son. It’s a short film by Patrick Chen, based on Henry Chang‘s novel, Chinatown Beat. Basically, he got Henry’s blessing to take the characters in that world and made an adjacent short film. It wasn’t based on any specific story in the novel but involved the detective Jack Yu, who is searching Chinatown for the family of a young hoodlum who was murdered. 

Kris Mendoza:           You worked closely with Pat, can you say anything about his approach to that story?

Jason Chew:              Maybe not specifically the approach, but my experience goes back to the subject of opportunity. When I met Pat, he was doing a screening of three films at the MOCA, the Museum of Chinese-Americans. I’d met him there, so when this project came up, A Father’s Son, he took me on as the DP. For him to reach out to me was obviously a huge pledge to me, and not even once, because after other people found out about the project, he didn’t push me aside.  He could have easily thought, “Oh, I could get all these other DPs now, maybe more experienced…” but he stuck with me. Giving me that opportunity to shoot this film, that was a big thing.

Kris Mendoza:           What kind of circumstances.. What kind of stars need to align for things like that to happen? Is it the catch-22 of this entire industry: you can’t get experience without a job, you can’t get a job without experience? There’s a certain level of trust you need to create instantly for someone to offer an opportunity like that. 

 

Jason Chew:              Yeah. I had been making short films already, but being in the community, being visible definitely helped. Go to events and talk to people, and show them you can bring something to the table.

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Jason Chew

Kris Mendoza:           Be visible but then make sure that you’ve delivered on it at the end of the day in order to move on to that next step. You can only fake it till you make it so much, I guess.

Jason Chew:              Yes. I worked a long time making these underground, low-budget short films. But there was a little bit of chemistry with Pat, and that was the final spice I needed. We talked a lot about Hong Kong cinema and ideas he had for the films and those things also got me excited. We quickly built up that relationship. At a certain point,he must have known, “Okay, you have to be the person to make the film. You were there from the inception, and we’ve been talking about it all this time.”

Kris Mendoza:           I’m excited to see it, I watched the trailer. It looks like very high production value and packs a lot of punch, so I’m very much looking forward to it. You’ve got a lot of good buzz coming off of this project, anything else to look for in the near future?

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Jason Chew

Jason Chew:              Yeah. There’s going to be some documentary work, maybe with Patrick again. I work a lot with an artist called Treya Lam, and we’re doing a visual album with her. I think, for me, one of the other most important things is just writing your own content, like being the seed of the content by finding more time to just work on yourself and your stories. I think that’s important.

 

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Project Forte: Erik Lu

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Erik Lu photographed by Kate Feher

One goal within the Project Forte initiative is to cut through the noise of the status quo, amplifying the voices of creatives within our industry who might not raise themselves aggressively above the clamor.  One such filmmaker is Erik Lu, a director whose presence reaches from Philadelphia to LA, and whose influence settles deeper and wider than that, without ever the need for raising his voice. His body of work digs into human psychology, history, language, and behavior with vignettes that feel determined yet respectful.  To imbibe a tale from Erik Lu is to be a ghost within the world he has built, skillfully and fully – more present than a viewer but less than a character.  When experiencing them, one feels that no detail is out of place, nor is it added or subtracted without device, giving these stories and characters purpose and dimension.  Always questioning the decisions made in film, whether those worlds are his own or his contemporaries, Erik Lu stays hungry to be aware and to understand.  These considerations prove a fuller grasp of “story” and that roundness is seen and felt within his work. He creates relationship as a personal art and as a relatable experience for the viewer.

 

Written and Edited by Kate Feher

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Erik Lu:                      My name is Erik Lu (he/him) and I am a Taiwanese-American director.

Kris Mendoza:           You and I met through mutual friends and started talking about Asian film festivals, so let’s begin there, with Asian cinema overall.  I know you to be very intentional about the crews you work with, not necessarily exclusively, but at least largely composed of other fellow Asian filmmakers who together carve out a community for telling Asian stories. My first question for you is what is the status of Asian cinema right now from your perspective? How has it evolved since you first encountered filmmaking in grad school? In other words, where are we in terms of Asian stories, and how far have we come?

Erik Lu:                      We are making great strides, but we still have a lot of work to do as far as Asian representation goes within cinema. I remember one of the earlier shows I had seen growing up was The Vanishing Son with Russell Wong. It was inspiring because I hadn’t seen somebody on-screen that resembled me like that before, and I felt it gave us a voice. But in the end, to me, it was like kicking the door open, without really walking through it.

The next film to make an impact on me was Better Luck Tomorrow, which pretty much did the same thing but it was the first time I’d seen that in the theaters and on the big screen, which was such a great representation for us. The only problem was, half of my friends couldn’t completely relate to it.  As I remember, it felt more like a West Coast kind of story, and a lot of us East Coasters couldn’t identify with it. But still, it was extremely inspiring.

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Behind the scenes with Erik Lu, Director

I believe the reason why we have a lot of work ahead of us is because of our place in America. We’re fairly new to the American historical timeline. Most of our parents immigrated from Asia recently so most of us grew up as second-generation kids. We’re often living an Asian lifestyle at home and have to adapt to an American one at school and at work. As young kids, identity can be confusing for us, and many of us have just become successive versions of our parents just shooting for a safe, stable, predictable living. Entertainment and the arts aren’t encouraged. This will take time to change.

The other point I would want to make is that jobs beget jobs. The more jobs we get, the more experience we get, the more we can work on our craft, the better we become, the more exposure we get, and the more influence we have to make this world a better place. And it all starts with Asian-American screenwriters writing great stories and creating jobs.

Kris Mendoza:           I agree: 10, 15 years ago, a lot of Asian-American cinema (I call it APA cinema) focused on the question of “Who am I? Where do I belong? … How Asian am I? Vs How American am I? …”  and that emphasis has shifted to Asian representation within everyday American life.  An Asian man or woman can be a leading performer in a film because … they can, right? We shouldn’t have to ask “But why are they Asian?”  and we’re slowly getting over that hump.  We are walking through that door, but how do we build on that?  

You and I have had spirited conversations about films like Crazy Rich Asians...  Much of Hollywood is saying, “It must be proven that there’s an Asian-American population who will pay to go see those movies. We have expendable income, and the box office will define it.” Does that matter?  And by that question I mean, with the success of a lot of recent, bigger, wider releases of Asian-American films or Asian films in the mainstream like Minari and Crazy Rich Asians, is it more important to prove there is a market or to prove that our stories are relatable to Americans, Asian or not?

People are focused on a very particular initiative:  “We have to support this film and show that the Asian community is going to represent a lucrative patronage for Asian film.”  What will motivate Hollywood to invest in Asian stories more?  The promise of expendable income within Asian communities?  Is that what’s important?  Or is it more important to tell good stories that will not just pander and speak to the Asian crowd but be more inclusive to anyone and everyone who watches it?

Erik Lu:                     Who knows what exactly Hollywood will do. But we as artists know what we want to do. We can choose to be authentic and tell a real Asian-American story, hope it gets traction, and that Hollywood loves it. That would be the best case scenario. Or we could not. We could sell out and do what Hollywood wants. To me, at this point in time, it just matters what you do at the end. For example, Jay-Z’s early hip-hop stuff was really great. Then he ended up selling out and going very commercial, and his lyrics got lazy. He ended up getting a lot of money and a bigger name but I never got a sense he used his name and money to go back to his roots and showcase and develop similar underground artists.

Do I think everyone should sell out a bit to help out in the end? Of course not. It’s controversial. To me, if an actor accepts a job to do something stereotypical, and it leads to a lot of exposure and power, that actor could use it to give back to the Asian-American community. I can see it as a necessary evil. Three steps forward, two steps back. Slow progress is still progress.

Kris Mendoza:           Yeah. Jay-Z began as underground hip-hop and he had a lot of lyrics that spoke to the streets… then he commercialized, got very successful, and was able to do whatever he wanted. This connects to Asian-American filmmaking because we are part of a very independent  community on the APA side but also need these big blockbuster films to do well in order for people to trust us with more big studio work and bigger stories. Then once we have that trust, then the door is wide open for us –

There’s a lot of conversation about authenticity lately, in terms of story-telling. There are good stories and good Asian-American stories that are not told by or written by Asian-Americans, a lot of conjecture amongst folks who, even within businesses, are calling cultural appropriation left and right when you’re using a particular culture or background to push an agenda, push a product, service, or business forward. Whether it’s Asian-Americans or any other culture, why is it important that we are the ones telling these stories?

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Left to Right: James Chen, Erik Lu, Michael Rosete

Erik Lu:                     Obviously, growing up in an Asian community or an Asian family, you absorb things via osmosis. You absorb the Asian-American community. Living your life is doing your research. There are little things, for example: how you would eat dinner or the subtle placement of chopsticks on the table, little minute things that you already know as an Asian-American writer that you wouldn’t need to do the research on. Even though a lot of Asian families are different, coming from that point of view, there’s a natural authenticity to it. That’s not to say a non-Asian writer cannot write an authentic Asian story. They can. It’s just that if they never lived in that community, they will have to spend a lot of time researching it.

There is one director that I really admire, Cary Fukunaga. He goes out of his way to research the world he’s filming. That’s what separates a good writer/director from another. Doing research. For example, when he wrote Sin Nombre, he went down to Latin America for a couple years, learning about the gang MS-13, putting himself in dangerous places in order to understand how they really operate. Failing to do adequate research is a problem many novice writers have. That’s where the adage “write what you know” comes from. I’m guilty of it myself at times of not doing enough research. When non-Asian writers don’t do their research and write Asian-American stories, its inauthenticity is very apparent.

It’s kind of like the humorous idea we have that you can tell an Asian restaurant is good by how many Asian people are in there.  If there’s a lot, it’s probably going to be pretty good and authentic. If you see all non-Asian people, then you wonder, “okay, maybe the food is good, but is it authentic to that culture, or is it just catering to the mainstream?” 

Kris Mendoza:           Your allusion to restaurants made me think of when, say, a white male chef opens up a Thai restaurant, no one really says anything except maybe “Congratulations, you’re doing this cool cultural restaurant.” 

But if a Thai chef tries to open up a French restaurant there’s a double standard. I do think the same thing applies to filmmaking. Right now, I think there’s a propensity to write what you know, tell our stories, tell authentic immigrant or Asian-American stories, but, at the end of the day, it’s got to evolve past that. An Asian-American writer or director can tell a non-Asian American story and still do it well. Take Chloe Zhao as the first female director to win a Golden Globe and, I think, is also nominated for an Academy Award for Nomadland. It had some star power with Frances McDormand but at the end of the day, that was not an Asian story. And you can’t take that away from Chloe Zhao, she’s still at the top of her game and her craft as a director, but the conversations around it suggest a double-edged sword presenting a question of “what types of stories can we tell and what we are qualified to tell?” 

Erik Lu:                     I have no problem with a non-Asian person writing an Asian story, as long as they do their research: they live somewhere, they spend time absorbing the culture, and they communicate with the people there.

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Erik Lu directing

Kris Mendoza:           As media-makers and storytellers, we have the ability to help shape perceptions of Asian-Americans in a positive light. Given this current climate of Asian hate and violent hate crimes against Asians, how did this evolve and what can we do as media-makers to help shift and change those perceptions?

Erik Lu:                     You mean why are we in such a hate-crime-filled environment?

Kris Mendoza:           Yes. Has it always been like this? I have spoken to you before about my experiences with hate crime, 15 years ago now.. has it magnified?  I mean, if you’re Asian in America you know this is not new. You, yourself, told me a story once about being on the hockey team, being the only Asian, and getting a lot of backhanded racist remarks in that regard. Can you tell us about that?

Erik Lu:                     I agree. I don’t think the resentment against Asian-Americans is new. Maybe in our current situation with COVID and the hostile political climate, people feel more justified in attacking or assaulting Asian-Americans. And you know what, I don’t think it’s solely non-Asians hurting us. Asians are also hurting us, in a way. For example, yesterday I saw an Asian woman who was eating a cooked turtle, chomping the turtle’s head off and just tearing it apart in a very barbaric kind of way. She was disrespecting the animal. It was gluttonous and revolting. It was a fairly new video that just came out, and it made me angry. And people attach that kind of content to all Asian-Americans, who have nothing to do with it nor want to be associated with it in any way.

About the hockey incident, when I was in high school, I was competing in a play-off game against another local team. This was about 1995. I was one of the better players on our team and the opponent high school knew that I was an athletic threat. Any time I touched the puck, the audience of fans from the rival school would chant, “USA! USA! USA!” 

The first time I heard that, I thought, “That’s so strange because… I’m American. Why would the other team’s spectators be chanting for me?” They were trying to get under my skin. They were trying to alienate me in a racial way, and even my teammates knew that was really messed up. 

My father, who had no idea what was going on, was also chanting, “USA, USA.”  He didn’t understand. Kind of funny, kind of sad. That really shows the difference between our generations. The first generation came here to make a living and go about their business without bothering anyone, and the second generation is learning to speak up more and fight that not-so-subtle racism, recognizing the language and the intention better. 

Even now, my father, and this was just a couple weeks ago, he bought a pizza and they charged him almost double the price. My dad just paid for it.  I asked him, “Why didn’t you argue with them?” And he said, “Well, I didn’t want to cause any trouble. It’s okay. They’ve been nice.”  But that’s a big issue for our generation right now because if there’s an injustice, whether it’s small or big, I think it’s something we have to speak up against.

It’s going to take a many generations to get to some point that resembles some kind of racial equality for Asian-Americans. It might even take longer. African-Americans have been at this for much longer than we have, and they’re still working at it. And I do think it’s a possibility that this may never fully end. But it could get to a point where the underlying racism could be suppressed enough that we can maybe get a good night’s sleep for once.

I have a bit of a cynical view when it comes to humans. I think that any time something different is introduced, people get scared, and they retaliate because of their own ignorance. Think about it. You don’t have to spend time and understand what you’re scared of. It’s much easier to retaliate and hate. It’s the path of least energy and consequently, the least rewarding. Learning about someone else and learning to love, it takes time, and patience, and being open-minded, but in the end is most rewarding. Sadly, humans tend to take the easy way out. So, the day when attacks on Asian-Americans goes down, another minority group is going to be targeted. Rinse and repeat. All we can hope for is to create a world where our loved ones can feel somewhat safe and protected. But I don’t think we are ever really going to get to a point where everyone is super happy and collaborative and in complete harmony.

Kris Mendoza:          You hit it on the head – the first generation of immigrants in this country were just trying to fit in, and the second is trying to make their voices known, be less passive about fitting in, be more vocal about belonging here.  Our parents made sacrifices for us to live the American life at the end of the day, and I think there is a tension between the two generations, with one being very passive and disapproving, when the next generation is more vocal and more advocate, whether we’re filmmakers or not. 

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Erik Lu

Do you feel that other media-makers, content-makers, scriptwriters, etc have a certain level of responsibility to push the envelope which keeps the Asian portrayal contained?  Asians have been portrayed as passive, deli owners, dorks, non-sexualized male characters… I’m not saying you have to make an Asian gangster film or even that you shouldn’t,  but do we have a responsibility to portray Asians in a certain light, more indicative and representative of what and how we really are?

Erik Lu:                     My view on this has changed over the years, to be honest. When I was in college I felt it was more important to make a good story and just have an Asian-American as the lead without making any references to being Asian-American. Now, my view is that you really don’t want to give studios, these powerful producers, a reason or excuse to cast a non-Asian person instead.  I believe there’s a reason why a character is written as, say, Taiwanese, Chinese, or Filipino. As a writer, you have to successfully justify why your character is that ethnicity and make sure you stand your ground.

I believe that Asian-Americans can play all types of roles as long as the characters on screen reflect reality. We have Asian-Americans who are leading men and women and some who are actually computer scientists or who do martial arts. For some people it is. I don’t shun an Asian-Amerian writer making a kung fu story set in America. That’s completely fine if it is their reality. Maybe if we just inundate the market with leading Asian character roles, that might push the needle for us way far forward. Some films will succeed, and some will fail. And then we’ll see how much the needle falls back and much progress we make. Again, three steps forward, two steps back.

The reason I chose filmmaking versus painting, music, or any other creative medium is because I’m a soft-spoken guy. I’m not very vocal. I don’t get into huge debates. I’m not confrontational. I’m not a big public speaker. I’m also not as auditory as I am visual. So filmmaking, for me, is the loudest voice I have. I feel I can communicate to a large audience more effectively in this form than any other form. 

Kris Mendoza:           Are you able to be loud while using film as your means of communication?  I mean, even though you personally feel like you’re a little softer-spoken, do you feel like you are able to use filmmaking as an  amplifier for your voice where you wouldn’t otherwise communicate those ideas?

Erik Lu:                     I do feel like I’m louder in filmmaking. I could be in a room where nobody agrees with me, but when you believe in something so strongly, you have to go for it and, at some point, stop listening to the other people. You can get too much advice where it will confuse you. Of course, it’s important to consider everybody’s ideas. That’s just being respectful. And also recognize that you don’t always have the best ideas. But ultimately, when there are things that I feel have to be a certain way, I’m going to do everything I can to make it that way. Film allows me to express myself, and the more adamant I am about my vision, the louder the volume is on the metaphorical megaphone I’m holding. I’m not going to always succeed. More often than not, I’m going to fail. But there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.

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Kris Mendoza:           You talked a little about Cary Fukunaga, Vanishing Son, Russell Wong, etc. Who are some early influences and inspirations for you as a budding director, young Erik Lu of the USC MFA program?  Who did you look up to and maybe model your work after in terms of inspiration?

Erik Lu:                     I grew up doing a lot of art when I was young. I drew a lot. In elementary school or grade school, during math class or whatever academic class, I would actually be drawing portraits of my friends. So I was always interested in art. Then, in 10th grade, my parents said “You want to go to art school? You’re not going to make any money doing that. You should stop taking art classes and take some computer classes.” So I ended up taking some programming classes, though I don’t think my heart was in it. By the end of my junior year, I ended up getting an editing program and I made a music video to Mo Money Mo Problems by B.I.G. I was just fascinated by the process.

I had one friend at the time who wanted me to help her with a student project, and I did. She was a bit of an aggressive girl, kind of violent. One day, she slapped me on the back, literally slapped me on the back, and said, “Hey, you should do this for a living. You should go to film school.” I was like, “Nah, I’m not going to do that.” But I think a good idea sticks with you, and after a couple days or a few weeks, I felt I wanted to go to film school.

At that time, one of my friends, James Chen, who is an actor, had gotten into the Yale School of Drama one year before I got into USC. We were college friends at the time. He was inspirational to me because he’s got extreme ambition, is extremely hard-working, and very talented. He was super supportive of me in a lot of the things that I did. I was pretty new to film, and we would talk about filmmaking and theater for hours and hours. We keep each other going, and he’s one of the people in film I look up to.

Another strong influence for me is Michael Rosete. He’s an actor I had met in New York, and we did a lot of short films together. He is also extremely talented, super passionate about the craft, and truly dedicated. We share similar sensibilities, and he taught me a lot about the actor’s process and how to talk to an actor. We’ve been through crazy late night shoots, horrible weather, dangerous location shoots, and both of us have been battered by production together, but I enjoyed every single minute of it. He’s a great partner in crime and that’s what makes me admire him. 

I really like David Fincher’s work. He’s a master at everything. It seems like he knows more about cinematography than the cinematographer does and more about coloring than the colorist does. He’s an expert at all trades, and I really look up to him.

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Kris Mendoza:          Were you also pre-med at Penn?

Erik Lu:                     I was pre-med. I was a double major, Biology and Asian/Middle Eastern studies. I didn’t do so well my first year at Penn because I was just partying like crazy. I didn’t find film until the start of my senior year, and at that point I started shooting weddings. I decided I wanted to get away, as far away from my parents as possible.  My fine art teacher encouraged me with a list of schools and I wanted to go to LA so I took the summer session at USC.  Then I took a couple years off, I worked as a Lifetouch photographer and was shooting 300 school portraits a day. I was still shooting weddings. Then when I found out I got into the production program at USC, I committed. USC is an interesting school because it has an established name, it’s extremely competitive, and you can make a few really good friendships, but then you can also make a lot of difficult ones because-

Kris Mendoza:           A lot of competition.

Erik Lu:                     Yeah. I mean, because people are-

Kris Mendoza:           I’ve heard.

Erik Lu:                     They’re so career-focused.

Kris Mendoza:           I was going to ask you about that because I don’t know many people that have academically gotten an MFA in film. I think a lot of people either didn’t go to film school or undergrad or technical school, like a Full Sail or New York Film Academy or something like that. I think very few of my friends and colleagues did go on to an MFA level. What was that experience like for you, and how did that mold you into the filmmaker you are today?

Erik Lu:                     So I don’t think film school is necessary to be a successful filmmaker anymore. You can honestly learn everything online. I think technically, there are so many things available to you resource-wise. What film school does do for you is it gets people in the same mindset. For example, USC is a very studio-based film school. It gets people ready for the studio system, where, as I understand, and you know better than I do, NYU is more of an independent film type of school. Obviously, students from both schools cross paths and work on the same stuff, but film school teaches you specific grammar, whether it’s how to talk to a crew member or how to talk to a fellow artist. You spend a lot of time in class getting feedback and it gives you structure. It doesn’t necessarily unlock your talent. It just gives you a platform for structure, and it gives you some discipline. I can usually get a feel for people who went and who didn’t, but I love working with both types, and you don’t need to go to film school to be successful. It’s huge for networking purposes. But the landscape has changed so much since then, the industry has evolved. Back then, when you and I were at school, editing programs cost $30,000. Now, you can subscribe for $50 a month or something like that, maybe $20 a month.

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The other thing I think is funny about film school is that I feel that you will find the 5% of professors in film school to be brilliant. They’re absolutely brilliant and inspiring. Then the other 95%, you might not get that much from them, but that 5% was worth going for.

Kris Mendoza:           In terms of the particular work that you pursue, stories that excite you, where do you see your work heading? I know you’re writing right now, and you have a bunch of work in pre-production… You and I have spoken about a slew of projects you’re trying to get off the ground. What’s a through-line that you see within your own work, whether that pertains to character, genre, mood …

Erik Lu:                     I respond to drama. Drama is where I want to be. I don’t think comedy is really my thing though I’ve done some comedy, and I tend to be better at dry comedy than slapstick. But drama is most important to me. It’s naturally a very powerful medium. And movies that I respond to most are character-driven. I’m not so much of an action guy though I can enjoy an action movie.

Lately, I’ve been getting into horror. My friend Bryant Jen is a big horror fanatic, and, also my friend Kris Mendoza used to talk to me a lot about horror. The best horrors are actually just good dramas, but they take you to a place you can’t normally go. 

Kris Mendoza:           In terms of what drives you, where and how do you see your own identity, not necessarily cultural, but it could include your upbringing or your background. How are you able to inject your brand of identity, you as Erik Lu, into the kind of art that you make?  Where do you see your personal artistry injected into the stories that you create or direct?

Erik Lu:                     That’s a difficult question. Honestly, I’m still learning about myself and still trying to discover myself. I think in order to find my voice, I need to fail, which is a huge part of being an artist. If you never fail, you’re not learning. A lot of that is being open to being criticized and humiliated. Yeah, some people might be mean and they just want to cut you down, but, a lot of times, they really just don’t understand what you’re doing or they’re confused, and you have to be open to discussing that with them and with yourself. You don’t have to necessarily take all of their feedback, but you have to be open.

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Erik Lu photographed by Kate Feher

For me, listening to criticism, it’s never easy. Even constructive criticism. I don’t like it, but it’s like getting a shot. You don’t want to get a shot, but it’s going to help you in the end. Bryant Jen, for example, makes a lot of YouTube content, and his stuff is great. But he has a couple videos where people review bombed him. They might not like him, but he allows people to comment, and he tells me he reads every single comment. I feel that’s important. As long as it’s not a cyberbullying tone, I think harsh feedback can make you grow as a person. That’s something that I want to be able to do. As far as artistry goes, I don’t always know what works. I just try to do it, and I put it out there, and I hope it does well, but if it doesn’t, it’s a learning experience for me, and I try to go from there. That will become part of my identity. 

Kris Mendoza:           In terms of being an artist, I think that’s probably one of the biggest things, right?  There’s a certain vulnerability about making something and sharing it with the rest of the world. In our working together, I can see that you are fairly comfortable knowing what feedback to take and how to maneuver around criticism. If you’re just creating something to please other people, it’s empty. Ultimately, this is a business, right? If you’re in the filmmaking business, there’s got to be a certain number of people that like it in order for you to continue doing what you’re doing, but putting your all into it or contributing a certain amount of sweat equity is important as a creative. 

You were talking about failing… What is the greatest failure you’ve learned from at this point in your career?

Erik Lu:                     I don’t have a single momentary failure that I can think of at the moment, but maybe it is not putting myself out there enough. I get so self-critical sometimes that some ideas never see the light of day. I think people who are able to show their heart and how they feel and accept that people might not like it, to me, those people grow the most. I could have grown more if I were not as critical of myself.

I was watching a Twitch streamer the other day – and this is a really small thing – but the Twitch streamer was talking about some kind of sushi. It was inexpensive sushi, and she coined that as “poverty sushi.” She and some of her friends were laughing about it, but later that night, some of her fans were upset and she felt awful. She responded to all her fans with an apology.  She learned that it was insensitive and that those kinds of jokes are, maybe, not acceptable. 

She apologized to her audience when she realized that and grew from the moment, becoming more aware and more considerate. I admire people who are able to go out and show themselves to the world. My biggest failure is not putting myself out there enough because it means I am not exposing myself to criticism as much, where I think I could grow more as a person.  That’s me in particular and concerning my work, too. 

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Erik Lu photographed by Kate Feher

Looking back to my college-level maturity, I said a lot of dumb things. I think I was arrogant, and I thought I was a lot better than I actually was. I wasn’t careful, and I heard it from a lot of people, which helped humble me.  It helped me to slow down and think about what I say before I say it. That was good for me. I’m embarrassed to admit how I was and I regret that I was like that, but that’s just the way I had to learn. I’m not naturally a smooth talker. I had to get beat down a little bit to understand the importance of slowing down and thinking things through. That’s just a human experience. That’s just part of learning. That’s part of growing up. I’m still making mistakes. Everyday.

Nobody’s perfect. You just need to acknowledge your mistakes and realize that you failed. It’s okay to mourn, but pick yourself back up and keep going. That’s the most important thing to me, as an artist and as a person.