Cheap Movie Tricks. Rickey Bird. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Rickey Bird
Издательство: Ingram
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Жанр произведения: Сделай Сам
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781633535442
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      We recommend securing a back-up location. In the world of indie filmmaking, nothing ever goes exactly as planned. NOTHING.

      DON’T GET ARRESTED

      The real trick is to not get arrested. You think we’re kidding? Here’s a story. One night a few moons ago Hectic Films was filming a shooting scene for an indie feature. We were in a downtown bar and had permission from the owners. Of course the cops showed up. They were being sneaky. Really sneaky. They waited outside, hoping to nail us on some trumped up charge. But as Rickey left to walk up the steps, he was greeted by three cops with guns out. Someone had seen us in the bar with guns, didn’t know we were filming, and called the cops. Once they were alerted that we were shooting a film, they left us there to finish our scene. . . Indie Filmmakers 1, Cops 0. Of course, we’ve seen less careful film teams arrested for stealing on-the-go shots. One group of filmmakers was shooting scenes in a parking garage. No permission. Easily seen from the street. Easy access for cops to bust everyone involved, make arrests, and take their fake guns; they weren’t able to finish filming their project. Tsk, tsk. Cops 1, Indie Filmmakers 0. Let this be a reminder that guns are a huge no-no when filming in a public space. If your character has a gun, then re-write your public scenes so your character doesn’t use or display a weapon. No guns, folks. No one wants to actually get shot. Please remember, you and your small crew will be the only ones who know the guns are fake. Don’t bring real guns on set and respect the police when they come onto set.

      PUBLIC SPACES

      Parks, bus stops, parking garages, even crowds may help your project—and usually require permits. It’s tough to get good audio in them, but they’re great for montage or flashback scenes—pretty much any type of scene that doesn’t require audio and can be replaced with music and or voice over. You didn’t hear this from us, but if you’re low key, then who’s to say people can’t think you were filming some home video while in a public space? Escape From Tomorrow was entirely filmed at different Disneyland parks with handheld cameras and incognito actors reading scripts off their phones. Ever see Lost in Translation? Some of the scenes in the street crowds were shots totally stolen by Sofia Coppola’s film crew. No way could they have afforded that with their budget. Our favorite story is about when Alfred Hitchcock stole a shot of the United Nations building with Cary Grant in North by Northwest after the UN told him he wasn’t allowed to film there. We’re not telling you to break the law. But don’t get caught. And don’t blame us if you do.

      Some of our favorite location cheats

      It’s a good idea to get extra location shots while filming on location.

      Imagine yourself on a scavenger hunt for gold. This “gold” is the really cool images you’re seeking for your film. The shots can be of anything. For example: if you see a fountain in front of the cheap motel where you’re filming, grab a couple of shots. Why not? You might use the footage as an establishing shot of some kind. Maybe the footage will appear in the film for some completely unknown reason! That’s golden!

      Here’s another location cheat: right after filming a close-up dialogue scene with your actors, don’t move your camera. Have the actors leave the frame, then record ten to twenty seconds of “clean slate.” Why? This way you can use a green screen later for any pick-up shots. You never know. You might have another scene you want to film, or worse—maybe something went completely wrong with what you already filmed. Either way, once you have that clean slate footage, you’ve saved yourself from having to drive to get that shot again.

      Chapter Two

      Stories That Don’t Suck

      Story 101

      It’s time to discuss storytelling. Not scripts. Not yet. That’s the next chapter. Don’t you dare jump ahead. We need to talk about story.

      That’s right—the basics. Call it Story 101, a brief lesson so you don’t get confused. Consider this a warm-up, a way to get to know your inner writer self. When you do sit down to write a script, you want to have some idea of direction, where to look inside yourself for that wonderful story you’re going to tell (even if it is about a Halloween clown hell bent on prank calling radio stations while torturing some poor victim. Oh yeah, we did that one). Okay, enough of that. Let’s get down to science!

      Writer Lisa Cron says something remarkable about our DNA. She says our brains are wired for story, that our blabbing to each other about our lives is an inherent human condition. She writes in Wired for Story: “Our brain developed a way to consciously navigate information so that, provided we have the time, we can decide on our own what to do next. Story.” She says storytelling is something our brains do naturally and implicitly. She quotes neuroscientist Antonio Damacio who tells us, “It should be no surprise that it [storytelling] pervades the entire fabric of human societies and cultures.”

      Yeah? So what? What’s he talking about? It means that when the boss isn’t in the office we all sit around someone’s cubicle sharing tales. It’s our default mode.

      It means you’re a storyteller.

      We’re all storytellers.

      It’s what we do.

      Story brain science is in our DNA.

      “We think in story,” writes Cron. “It’s hardwired into our brain. It’s how we make strategic sense of the otherwise overwhelming world around us.”

      And that’s good. Especially if you think, “Oh man, I have to go to school to learn how to tell a story.”

      Nahhhh.

      Think about it. Your BF calls. She’s all about the drama in her life. She tells you a few stories. Guys do this, too. Hell, everyone gets a little dramatic now and then. We share politics, history, who got murdered, and how, or why that local politician is taking bribes, who hates you, and who likely wants you dead (because they unfriended you on social media. Not us, we swear!). And don’t forget all that reminiscing about the time you ran away from a herd of wild poisonous pigs and survived.

      We tell stories. It’s what we do.

      In a way, we’ve already defined what story means—something that’s told or revealed. We can also say a story is an account of something that’s happened, or is happening before our eyes. Newscasters like to tell stories in real time if they can find a juicy car chase or dramatic shooting filmed from helicopters high above the scene. Radio announcers do the same thing. Ever hear the way they dramatically call a game in real time?

      Stories can be about the past, present, or future. Every TV show, film, novel, memoir, short story, poem, history book, diary, text message is a form of story. Those forms can be experimental, like a novel written with hidden notes, or a film like Boyhood shot over twelve years. Did you see that one? Boyhood was a part of writer-director Richard Linklater’s DNA. He conceived of the 2014 film way back in the nineties. It was eating at him. “It happened in stages,” he told Time in 2014. “I felt like I wanted to tell a story about childhood. I had been a parent for a while . . .” So, it just came out of him as he was doing what people do, raising kids, being a dad. Awesome!

      There was a real risk for him to tell the story he was somehow wired to tell. That’s because the film was such a huge experiment. No one had written a story like that before. Piecemeal over more than a decade and shot little by little as the actors aged. Was the story told that way because of his storyteller DNA? Starting to see how knowing you’re wired for story can help you as a filmmaker? Those urges in you grab you. They want you to be creative, and they want you to tell stories that come from a natural place in your core. This is incredible to know! Even if your story is about an alien octopus that time travels!

      But what makes a story worth telling? You share an account of Cousin Larry who works in a county office of boring cubicle dwellers. As it unravels, you desperately want your audience to be riveted to the story. You tell it as if you were there. You explain all the harrowing details. You’re that dramatic. The last thing you