ANNIE BAKER:

CONSTRUCTING THE HIGH-ACHIEVING STUDENT NARRATIVE

A Thesis

Presented to

The Honors Tutorial College

Ohio University

In Partial Fulfillment

of the Requirements for Graduation

from the Honors Tutorial College

with the Degree of

Bachelor of Fine Arts in Film

By

Savannah Heller

August 2019

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The American high school experience is generally distinguished in popular media by several key characteristics: distinct social groups organized in an internal hierarchy (i.e. jocks and popular kids reigning over theatre kids, nerds, over-achievers, etc.), turbulent platonic and romantic relationships, and widely recognized social landmarks (i.e. prom, spring break, graduation, etc.). While most Hollywood depictions of the teenage experience can be considered superfluous, there will always be certain themes and subtexts that ring true. Not everyone may have feigned illness to have an extravagant hooky day (looking at you, Bueller), but practically every student has faced the prospect of graduating and addressing the daunting question: what next? The initial concepts for Annie Baker centered around this particular period of adolescence and highlighted a few of the different stressors that students face as they approach graduation.

Influences

Inspiration for the story of Annie Baker dates back to my own teenage years; only four years ago, I was right in the midst of the college application process. It was a period of my life where I was forced to take a hard look at my own abilities and desires for the future. Though I had always been fairly confident in my identity as a strong student, the entire process of application and acceptance/rejection challenged that perception and had me considering the qualities that make up a “perfect student”. The inceptive ideas for Annie Baker as a character emerged from this very topic: What are the qualities of a “perfect” student? What drives this type of character? How would they react when faced with absolute failure? To answer some of these queries, I looked for representation of perfectionist characters in other films and TV.

The caricature of the “perfect”, over-achieving, type-A personality who has it all together can be incredibly entertaining or deeply devastating depending on the angle from which you Heller 3 approach it. For example, Leslie Knope, the ever optimistic, but over-controlling Deputy

Director of NBC’s Parks and Recreation, is a model representation of the comedic angle. Leslie may care deeply about the management and success of her department, but her perfectionism presents itself in the form of fierce perseverance, extensive planning, and comically detailed binders for every possible topic and situation no matter how mundane. Leslie’s type-A character quirks are endearing, generally helpful in the pursuit of her goals, and often result in numerous humorous scenes and delightful one-liners.

On the other hand, we can see the darker consequences of the pursuit of perfection in

Nina, the naive protagonist of Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan. As a timid ballerina in the New

York City ballet company, Nina must convince the company’s artistic director that she is deserving of the conflicting title roles in their production of Swan Lake. She naturally channels the shy innocence of the White Swan, but struggles to emulate the dark ruthlessness of the Black

Swan. This film elevates ballet’s inherent perfectionist standards and adds a psychological twist; not only does Nina’s body suffer in her pursuit of perfection (scratch marks, bloody toes, etc.), but her mental health does as well. Her deep seated passion for dance twists into an unhealthy obsession. The immense pressure and expectations that she faces from her mother, the artistic director, and her own self rapidly eat away at her sanity and eventually claim her life.

In the early stages of development of my own film, it was necessary for me to decide which tone I would lean towards – more comedic and light-hearted like the world of Leslie

Knope, or more sinister and psychological like Nina’s nightmare? I ultimately chose to walk down the middle and create quirky film with some moments of dark comedy. In my mind, the film needed to highlight an issue – the mental health of high school students during the transition to college – while still being compelling and entertaining for the average audience. Heller 4

Development

“Without good structure, a good idea is nothing” (Aronson 59). I had the idea – a

“perfect student” faces absolute failure – but now I needed just about everything else. In order to determine what a “perfect” student would consider an absolute failure, I first had to know what they valued. The first few drafts of the script were primarily comprised of scenes of my teenage protagonist, Annie Baker, interacting with various aspects of her world (peers, family, school, homework, etc.). This process allowed me to discover Annie’s voice and personality, and to determine her definition of absolute failure. Annie places a high level of stress on herself to succeed because she believes her worth is intrinsic to her academic success. Anything less than the highest or perfect score, reflects negatively on her self perception so she always strives to be the best of the best. To convey this in the story, I began to contrive situations in which her perfectionist characteristics shone through. Unlike in novels or other written media where it is possible for the audience to gain an understanding of a character via their thoughts and observations, film characters must display their nature through action. In film, “The audience draws conclusions about a character by how the act in any given situation” (Epps, Jr 35). For example, Annie shows her perfectionist streak through her own actions (i.e. waking up early to continue studying, being the fastest in gym class, always first to raise her hand in class), through the reactions of her peers (i.e. praising her for high scoring tests, turning to her for questions about homework or exams), and through the behavior of her family (i.e. complete confidence in

Annie’s abilities and applications, and refusing to allow any feelings of doubt).

Once I had a well-defined protagonist in place, I began to explore different conflicts or obstacles for her to confront. For a few drafts, the main conflict circled primarily around student rivalry; I built a friendly, but fundamentally competitive relationship between Annie and one of Heller 5 her closer peers, Jane. This concept was inspired by the very real culture of “hyper-achievement” that has developed in schools over the past few decades. The concept of competition has always been present in any educational institution, but the sudden cultivation of “hyper-achievement” is largely the result of changing practices and expectations concerning college applications.

The students of today face a much different academic environment than that of their parents. According to the National Association for College Admission Counseling (NACAC), the total volume of college applications has been steadily increasing over the past decade. This increase may be partly due to the increased use of the Common Application – an online platform that allows students to apply to multiple colleges at once – which almost 900 schools in and outside of the United States accept. This streamlined process has resulted in students applying to more colleges each year. In 1995, sixty-one percent of students submitted three or more applications to various colleges and only ten percent submitted seven or more. As of Fall 2016, those numbers have increased to eighty-two and thirty-five percent respectively (Clinedinst 8).

While the ability to apply to more colleges with increased ease may seem like an advantage – as casting a wider net will generally guarantee a catch – it is ultimately creating a burden on both prospective students and the admission offices that must evaluate them. For decades, there were two main criteria that students were assessed on when it came to college applications: their grades and their standardized test scores. However, certain developments are making it harder to rely on these two factors as indicators of a student’s academic merit.

Attending an elite school is the desire of many students and their parents; it is seen as a mark of intelligence and status that will hold significant weight in the student’s post-graduation career. The aspiration to be part of this elite group can be so strong that many wealthier families will begin investing in their children’s future by enrolling their students in the best private Heller 6 schools with access to quality resources. In some cases, this aspiration will even lead parents to pay enormous bribes in order to cheat the system and guarantee their child a spot, as seen in the latest admission scandal lead by college consultant, William Singer (Korte). Among other institutions and businesses such as tutoring and college counseling, private schools are put under notable pressure by well-meaning parents to provide results. As of 2018, around half of

American high school students graduated with an A average (Selingo). However, Jon Marcus argues that this is the result of private schools being incentivized into giving higher grades; the more of their students who secure admission at elite colleges, the more attractive the high school is to parents who want the best for their children. Between 1998 and 2016, the grade-point average of wealthier private and public suburban high school students increased from 3.25 to

3.51 and from 3.25 to 3.36 respectively. However, in public city schools there was only a minimal increase from 3.26 to 3.28. In addition to this apparent difference, standardized test scores are highly correlated to family income as students from wealthier backgrounds generally have access to tutoring or test-prep services (Selingo, Kadynay).

With grades and standardized test scores reflecting in some part a student’s wealth instead of their merit, and with more students presenting similar results, college admissions offices are faced with a problem. They “…are forced to make impossible choices, assigning a fixed number of slots to a growing pool of students who, each year, are harder to differentiate using these two long-standing metrics [standardized tests and GPA]” (Selingo). These two factors still hold notable weight in admissions decisions – eighty-one percent of colleges considered students’ grades to be critical in the decision, and fifty-two percent categorized students’ test scores as considerably important – however, some colleges are exploring other options (Clinedinst 17). In some cases, such as Worchester and Wesleyan, they are no longer Heller 7 requiring test scores and instead rely on more subjective assessments such as personal essays, counselor and teacher recommendations, extracurricular activities, and interviews. Demonstrated interest in particular has become a popular metric, however, even this can correlate to wealth as not everyone has the time or money to travel for campus tours/visits. In addition, while more subjective metrics allow the college to assess the prospective student on a more holistic level, it also puts pressure on students to excel at a wider variety of subjects and tasks. In order to stand out from their peers, students are encouraged by parents and counselors to take on more difficult classes or curriculum (thus requiring longer hours of more challenging homework), to participate in and lead a number of extracurricular activities, and demonstrate significant interest in each college.

This reaction is simply the result of what on the surface appears to be a more competitive environment. For the past several years the parents and students of America have been bombarded with headlines bemoaning the increasing selectivity of our top universities. While the articles are not necessarily incorrect, they are not providing the whole picture. Many of

America’s elite colleges have indeed been lowering their acceptance rate; in 1991 Penn

University accepted almost fifty percent of their applicants, but as of 2018 that number sank to an all time low of eight percent (Selingo). However, the average four-year college has maintained an acceptance rate of about two-thirds of its applicants for decades (Clinedinst 9).

There has been some minor fluctuation over the years, but overall it has remained consistent. The main problem lies with the deep-seated societal belief that attending an Ivy-league or elite school will guarantee a successful, happy life. While university prestige cannot not guarantee a student’s success or happiness later in life, students are given the impression by their parents, peers, and society that success can only come from the best of the best. The pressure to excel and Heller 8 always be above average results in a vicious cycle in which the student’s health ultimately suffers.

Revealing and pointing out the effects of this cycle was one of the original intentions of my script. I wanted to highlight the pressure that many high school students feel during their final two years of high school and underline how learning to deal with failure is often forgone in the pursuit of perfection. In order to find the best fit for the message I was trying to send, I played with several different storylines:

A) In version one, the main conflict took place between Annie and her close friend, Jane,

as they compete for class valedictorian. Their friendship is tested when Jane is

announced as the victor and Annie takes offense. In order to save her friendship,

Annie is forced to take a hard look at how she values herself and relationships with

others. The story focused more on highlighting the culture of hyper-achievement and

less on the process of transitioning to college.

B) In version two, I played Annie up as a “big fish in a small pond”; she succeeded

easily throughout high school and expects to do the same in college. When she is

ultimately rejected by her choice universities, Annie lies in order to maintain her

status and “perfect” image in the eyes of her peers. The stress of maintaining the lie

eventually leads her to come clean during her graduation speech. Following the

release of the truth, Annie accepts the ambiguity of her future and recognizes that self

value does not come solely from outside validation.

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Of these two versions, I originally leaned heavily towards the first. Compared to the second storyline, it felt less cliché and allowed me to play between two perfectionist characters.

It opened up the door for comedic scenes of competition while still allowing for an emotional climax when Annie admits defeat. However, I still felt unsatisfied with the arc of the story. As a filmmaker and avid reader, there are few things I detest more than stale or predictable plot. “A predictable screenplay is a dead screenplay” (Epps, Jr 137); once the audience can anticipate your plot points, you’ve lost them completely.

At this point in the writing process, my creativity also began to stall. Throughout the entire process thus far, I had kept my script fairly close to my chest and was finding it difficult to open it up to criticism, constructive or not. However, seeking and receiving feedback is the key to pushing any script or project to the next stage. After weeks or months of writing on your own, it can be very easy for you to become over-informed and desensitized to your work – leading you to make simple mistakes in plot and character. However, a new audience will immediately be able to recognize unnecessary scenes, boring characters, and dragging plots.

Fortunately, after weeks of remaining at a standstill, I found the courage to share my script and seek out feedback from various professors. During a meeting with Rafal Sokolowski, I lamented about the lack of “freshness” in my script, expressing frustration at my inability to create something engaging, cohesive, and, for lack of a better word, new. After a few moments of quietly listening to my grievances, Rafal paused before suggesting that I explore a plot point that would raise the stakes of the story and bring in another layer of emotion: suicide.

Up until that moment, I had been actively steering clear of any plot that dealt with suicide. In my mind, suicide as a plot point was inherently cliché. I made the uninformed assumption that suicide plotlines were often drawn out with the presentation of the character’s Heller 10 preparations for death often over shown and lengthy – forcing the audience to sit in helpless grief as they easily predicted the ending. At that point in time, I’d only seen a handful of films that I felt used suicide as a plot point in a meaningful or “fresh” way. One of these films was a short project created by one of my classmates, Eric Eldridge, for a class assignment. We were instructed to create a concise “one-shot” film: a short in which the entire story plays out without the camera cutting once. In Eric’s film, the camera sits and watches as a man prepares dinner after being abruptly broken up with by his girlfriend. The audience is lulled into a daze as they watch the protagonist move back and forth prepping dinner before sitting down, putting a gun up to his head and pulling the trigger. The film cuts away to black with the bang of the gunshot, leaving the audience’s imagination to fill in the rest as the credits roll.

When I conveyed my enjoyment of this short to Rafal, he immediately brought another film to my attention. Ida (2013) is a Danish film that follows two women as they road trip through the Polish countryside in search of answers regarding their family fate during the

Holocaust. In a pivotal scene, one of the women jumps to her death from a window after learning of the tragic deaths of her sister and son. The scene plays out in a similar fashion to Eric’s short; the camera simply sits and watches as the woman opens a window and appears to tidy up the apartment before jumping to her death. The similarity of the set up to Eric’s film and the unexpectedness of the jump stuck a strong chord with me and I left the meeting inspired and excited.

Refreshed with a new wave of creativity and possibilities, I returned to the writing process and dove into research regarding student suicides. As I shifted through article after article detailing the sudden deaths of students with seemingly “perfect” lives, I began to notice eerie similarities that linked many of the articles together. The student generally didn’t seem to Heller 11 struggle at school, they were frequently perceived as a popular or successful person that had a bright future, and their friends and family were often taken by complete surprise. I later came to recognize these parallels as the “Penn Face”: a phenomenon originally named for the tendency of students at the University of Pennsylvania to put on a mask of self-confidence and happiness despite however stressed or unhappy they may actually be. It could also be recognized as the

“Duck Syndrome”; on the surface a duck may look calm, serene, and at ease, but underneath they are paddling furiously to stay afloat. This condition became a key plot point for Annie – in order to preserve her self image in the eyes of her peers and family, Annie sacrifices her mental health to put on a façade.

In order to support this competitive, closed off type of culture in the story, I attempted to weave the presence of subtle, but constant comparison throughout the script – the comparison of test scores, class/homework load, amount of sleep sacrificed, and college acceptances/rejections is present throughout the entire film. Neither Annie nor any of her peers ever completely reveal the true depth of their stress. The only hint that the audience receives about how the pressures of school affect the students is in a small scene in which one of Annie’s teammates breaks down after being removed from the volleyball team for failing to maintain her grades. Though the moment is played as comedic, it also serves to reveal the student’s underlying and unraveling mental state.

Pre-Production: Assembling the Team

Following the completion of the script, it was time to begin taking the necessary steps to bring the film to life on screen. Film at its very core a collaborative art – it combines media of all Heller 12 types into one cohesive project. The larger the project, the more important it is to have a talented, reliable crew.

When the time came for me to begin assembling my own team, I immediately turned to two of the most hardworking, talented people that I knew: Carrie Love and Michelle David. Film sets can be exhausting and trying, but both Carrie and Michelle had shown their grit and commitment to excellence on set time and time again. They each graciously took on the role of

First Assistant Director and Director of Photography respectively.

On set, the first assistant director serves as the director’s right hand man. They handle many of the logistical aspects of the shoot such as scheduling, constructing and distributing the call sheets, and coordinating the crew on set. Their work with the practical details frees the director to concentrate on the more creative decisions. Carrie and I collaborated through the entire pre-production process to create the schedule and budget for the entire shoot – the idea being we would have just enough time and money to get the shots we needed. However, if we were to fall behind our schedule, creative and monetary consequences would have quickly followed. A film set is just a large puzzle with lots of moving pieces and Carrie was a key player in keeping the machine moving and maintaining efficiency. She utilized every moment on set; as

I worked with the main actors, Carrie directed extras and coordinated the entire crew through the set-up of the scene. Without her to handle the practical details, I would have spent a lot more time answering questions than directing my actors.

Just as the first assistant director manipulates the schedule by coordinating crew and cast, the Director of Photography manipulates the image on screen by directing the camera and lighting crews. They are responsible for helping the director’s vision come to life on screen. No matter the size of the production, having a positive and communicative relationship between the Heller 13 director and director of photography is key to a smooth set and cohesive film. Though Michelle and I had already established a positive connection prior, I still needed to takes certain steps to ensure we were on the same page in regards to the look and tone of my film. In order to help promote communication on this front, I assembled a list of reference media that conveyed similar tone or looks to what I wanted to achieve.

I first turned to Frank Sinatra’s popular song, That’s Life (1966), in order to convey the tone. Originally written by Dean Kay and Kelly Gordon, this melancholic song was made popular by Sinatra in 1966 and has been covered by numerous succeeding artists through the years. What attracted me to this track was the final juxtaposition of the lyrics and the mood of the song. With phrases like, “I thought of quitting, baby / But my heart just ain't gonna buy it” and “Each time I find myself flat on my face / I pick myself up and get back in the race”, the lyrics seemingly paint a picture of grit and perseverance. Sinatra’s vocals further support this idea; his defiant voice carries us through the song, daring the world to come at him with every declarative, “That’s life!”. The interesting juxtaposition of the song does not appear until the last thirty seconds of the track when he boldly proclaims, “But if there’s nothing shakin’ come here this July / I’m gonna roll myself up in a big ball and die / My, my” (Sinatra). Just as with Eric’s film where the audience is misled by the character making food before his death, this track’s non-despondent melody prevents its listeners from foreseeing the final blow. This was an effect I also strove to achieve in the final scene of my film. As I mentioned previously, many cases of suicide come as a surprise to the surviving loved ones who didn’t realize how deeply someone was suffering until it was too late to help. It was important to me that any signs that led up to

Annie’s final jump only became apparent in hindsight so that the audiences’ emotional reaction would better match reality. Heller 14

To help me convey the specific look I was going for, I also instructed Michelle to watch

Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom (2012) and Grand Budapest Hotel (2014). Throughout his films, Anderson relies primarily on a few key patterns in regards to cinematography: on screen symmetry, a wide depth of field, a prominent color palette, and strict camera movement along the X, Y, and Z axis. I sought to emulate similar patterns in my own film where I felt that the

“strictness” of these motifs would help to subtly support the theme of “perfection” and the boxed in feeling that Annie has throughout the script.

Casting

After solidifying my vision, it came time for me to begin casting; without someone to bring her to life, Annie Baker would remain a lifeless caricature on the page. When I personally am looking for actors, there are a few traits that I value above the rest: punctuality, genuineness in their interactions and acting, and their ability to take notes. The presence of each of these traits conveys to me that they work hard, are pleasant to be around, and are talented enough to carry a film. I also needed the actor to understand and take into account the tone and look of the film; the story isn’t completely naturalistic, but their acting had to seem naturalistic within the entire context of the film.

From the beginning of pre-production, I had already had an actress in mind for my lead;

Sarah Saho, a freshman at the time, had caught my eye during the Fall General Theatre auditions.

Until they audition for the course, freshmen are not yet considered part of the Ohio University

Theatre program and therefore are not required to participate in the general auditions. If they do choose to participate, their audition does not take place until the very end of the program – meaning they must sit and wait several hours before performing their prepared monologues. Heller 15

Their willingness to patiently wait before performing, knowing that their chances of being cast is fairly limited, indicated a perseverance of spirit and desire to succeed. Sarah already had this going for her, but what caused her to really stick out in my mind was her ability to act in real time. Many young actors often come across very stiff and inauthentic; you can hear the memorization in their performance and can see the gears clicking in their mind as they move through the scene. Their facial expressions are stereotypes of actual emotion and they are often so focused on the delivery that they forget to be a living, breathing human. Many theatre actors were easy to knock off my list – since they were trained for the stage where their actions must project to the seats at the very back of the theater, their actions on camera often come across as comically large and inauthentic. Acting for film can be very different; even the smallest of actions – an eyebrow twitch, tightening of the mouth, etc. – can send huge signals about what the character is feeling. Sarah stuck out because she was able to deliver an authentic performance and process each moment and emotion of the scene as it was the first time. Another reason I chose Sarah was because I had the opportunity to work with her on a previous, much smaller project for a directing class. This experience ultimately proved to me that Sarah was someone I would want to work with again. She was punctual, hardworking, polite, and certainly capable of carrying the bulk of the film.

Following Annie, the next key role I needed to fill was that of her detached mother. Unlike with Sarah, I didn’t have a particular actress in mind for filling this role so I had the pleasure of hosting auditions for a number of women. With some assistance from my assistant director, I was able to audition several women who were interested in playing the role.

One of my favorite methods for auditioning is to ask the actor to perform the sides as they originally read them without me giving any additional notes or thoughts prior. This allows me to Heller 16 not only see how the script is being perceived by others, but also allows me to see how the actor’s perspective of the character. Following that, I generally gave notes on what I felt was working and what fell flat. Again, genuineness and naturalness is what I was seeking most in my performances. Based on this, I was easily able to cross some of the women off my list, but others needed more consideration. I ultimately chose Heidi Wilhelm; she was superb at playing a mother who does indeed care about her daughter and want the best for her, but who often shows her love in the wrong way. Heidi also has a family of her own and was able to bring further insight to the character than I could as a single, childless women in her early twenties. An added bonus of casting Heidi was that she and Sarah coincidentally share certain physical characteristics that help sell them as a mother-daughter duo.

Once the main core of the film was cast, I had to turn my energy towards finding the extras that would fill in the blanks. Carrie was once again a boon to this project and was able to get me in touch with the Logan High School Theatre Teacher, Shelly Riggs, via a former contact of hers. Shelly in turn was generous enough to invite me into her classroom to talk to her students about the project and about filmmaking in general. About a week following the talk, I returned to the classroom to conduct a series of auditions for smaller roles such as Jane and

Annie’s other classmates. This series of auditions was much different than the previous primarily due to the fact that these students had significantly less experience, admittedly less talent, and needed more coaxing to bring them out of their shells. With the other actors I could be more obtuse in my notes, but with these students I need to be direct and simple in order to get the emotion I needed from them. I found that it was most beneficial to break the scene down with the students and take it beat by beat. From these auditions I was able to cast Jane, the remaining speaking roles, and all of the extras that I needed. Heller 17

Once every role was cast, I could begin working with the actors on a more detailed level.

At the beginning, we primarily ran through lines to ensure we had the dialogue memorized to the point that everything moved smoothly. There are few things are more damaging to pacing on set than an actor continuously forgetting their lines. Unless the actor is completely comfortable with the material and able to ad-lib based on that, it can be very difficult to recover from a forgotten line. It was important to me that they were comfortable enough with their script that we wouldn’t risk wasting valuable time on set. However, at the same time I didn’t want to over-rehearse and allow the actors to sink into a rut in terms of their performance, thus making it more stale.

Rehearsing prior also allowed me to find the weak points of my script in regards to dialogue.

Unlike certain directors and writers, I am not overly attached to my dialogue – I am always open to suggestions and like to work with the actors to find the most natural conversations. If a certain phrasing of a line kept tripping an actor up, I was always willing to change the wording to help get the best performance.

Location and Art

In each of my films, I have been careful to always pay attention to detail and to give set design the attention it deserves. Time and time again I’ve seen student films with strong scripts suffer because of lack of attention when it comes to props and art. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been taken out of the film simply because the props or set decoration was so poor that everything seemed out of place. In contrast, I’ve also seen the magic that can be achieved on screen with some effort and little creative thinking.

Creative thinking is especially important in a low-budget film where you may not have the money to achieve an effect the traditional way. For example, in Wes Anderson’s Grand Heller 18

Budapest Hotel (2014) there are multiple scenes in which two characters converse in a train car traveling across a fictional snowy country side. From a money stand point, this scene raises several red flags: you must rent an entire train, spend valuable time resetting the train between each take, and you may even have to compensate for taking up an entire track for potentially multiple days at a time. This adds up very quickly and generally results in immense pressure on the director to change it. However, with a little quick thinking, Anderson’s art design and production crew were able to come up with a relatively easy solution that would resolve many of the aforementioned problems; they simply built their own train car.

In actuality, they built what looked like a train car. Using dollies, two-by-fours, some excellent set decoration, and carefully planned cinematography they were able to create the illusion that the scene took place in an actual train car (StudioBinder). By building their own, easily movable/resettable set, they were able to circumvent the financial and logistical nightmare of acquiring an actual train or train car.

I faced a couple of these challenges myself in the planning of my film, though admittedly on a more minor scale. As a student film, I had a very minimal budget and limited time. As a general rule, the longer a film production is, the more expensive it is – time is valuable because on set time is quite literally money. Every day that you are shooting is a day that you are paying your cast and crew, paying to feed everyone quality food, and paying to rent your equipment and locations. As a student film, I was to circumvent a few of these problems as both my crew and cast were made up of volunteers. However, it was important for me to minimize the number of locations so that I could avoid wasting time with company moves (i.e. relocating cast, crew, and equipment to a second or third location during the shooting day). It takes a significant amount of time and energy to pack everything up, coordinate rides to the next location, unpack and set Heller 19 everything up again at the new location. There are many horror stories of company moves gone wrong – crew get lost, cars get in wrecks, equipment is forgotten. It is a necessary evil that is best kept to a minimum.

I kept this in mind when I began location scouting; keeping the number of locations to a minimum would be key to filming the variety of scenes that I needed. Ultimately, I was able to keep the number of physical locations down to two main sites: Logan High School and 35 Park Place, the office of the Honors Tutorial College. It was easy to film a multitude of scenes at Logan High School as that site naturally hosted a wide variety of environments including a gym, classroom, and a cafeteria. I did not have to bring a lot in terms of set decoration or props as the location inherently had almost everything I needed. After confirming the locations at the high school, I still needed to find a kitchen, a bed room, a dining room, and a bathroom. In regards to student films, finding homes are always the most difficult in terms of locations. The amount of time and space needed makes it difficult to locate a suitable space easily. Unlike pre-made sets that higher budget films can afford, most locations are not made to support an entire crew. Films can be very invasive and unfortunately not every production has been kind to the locations they secure. Fortunately, I was able to secure 35 Park Place as my

“home” location, however, it required a bit more planning and creative thinking than Logan High

School. Though technically considered an office and study space, 35 Park Place was originally a home and therefore had the architectural skeleton of one. It is equipped with a traditional looking kitchen, two bathrooms, and several rooms that had been converted into offices. Fortunately, at the time of my production, they had an unused office on the first floor that had the potential to be either a bed room or a dining room. Ultimately, it ended up being both. Heller 20

After scouting all the potential rooms in the house, I eventually determined that the unused office was the most logical and visually appealing location for both the bedroom and dining room scenes. It was an average sized room on the corner of the house, it had two walls with one window on each, a long wall covered by built in bookshelves surrounding a fireplace, and a blank wall with thin double doors (see Fig. 1). In order to transform it from one space into another, all it required was some creative thinking in regards to set decoration and cinematography, and a little help from Wes Anderson.

Besides being attracted to Wes Anderson’s style of cinematography for its aesthetic, I also recognized that it has some practical benefits as well. In order to maintain the “storybook” look of the film, Anderson often films in a very straight-on perspective reminiscent of theater. In any given shot, the camera very rarely pans to reveal an entire room. We as an audience only become aware of the opposite side after a cut that allows us to flip to that side. This approach was extremely helpful in regards to locations in my own film.

In order to to turn a single room into both a bedroom and a dining room, I needed to sit down and create a plan of action. I had fallen in love with the wide fireplace and built-in bookshelves and knew that it would play perfectly as a dining room. In order to highlight my favorite feature, I set up the dining room scenes to play out primarily on that side of the room with the bookshelves creating an elegant backdrop. We opened with a wide shot and then punched in to straight on shots of both Annie and her mother. I chose to entirely ignore the fourth side of the room. This allowed me to preserve the story book nature of the film, to further prevent any similarities between the bedroom and dining room scenes, and to save myself an enormous amount of effort and time in regards to set decoration and lighting set up. By only shooting in three directions, I was able to focus only on dressing and lighting three-fourths of the Heller 21 set. The fourth side was not necessary to the story and the audience would simply assume its existence in the diegetic space (see Fig. 2).

During the transformation from the dining room to the bedroom, I needed to hide or at least disguise the most conspicuous aspect of the room: the book shelves. In order to achieve this, I applied the same three wall philosophy that I used in the dining room scenes and simply rotated the axis of the scene to the left (see Fig. 3). I removed the dining table, brought in a desk, dresser, bed (made up of a futon mattress and two bean bags), changed the window curtains, and re-decorated what was visible of the built in bookshelf and ta-da! I had created an entirely new diegetic space in the same physical location.

Fig. 1. Recreation of overhead view of unused office space in 35 Park Place

Heller 22

Fig. 2. Recreation of shot plot designating set design and camera position for dining room scenes

Fig. 3. Recreation of shot plot designating set design and camera position for bedroom scenes

Challenges of the Production

While there are always a number of challenges that one faces during any given film production, there were a couple unique puzzles that I faced throughout my production process. Heller 23

As on most student films at Ohio University, I chose to be my own producer. Similar to assistant directors, producers generally handle many of the logistical elements of a film shoot, freeing the director to focus on creative aspects. I have always been able to handle most logistical tasks with ease and generally take pleasure from bringing organization to any project. I knew that I would be able to maneuver all pre-production tasks with no trouble as long as I managed my time appropriately. However, I also knew that I would need significant help on set; films sets can be incredibly fast-paced and in order to maintain efficiency I would need someone else to handle certain practical details so I could focus completely on my actors and the scene at hand. In order to achieve this, I invited my close friend and roommate of time, Rebecca Mullins, on as a Unit Production Manager – a role that I believe is not utilized enough on student sets.

Though Rebecca had no film experience and had never set foot on a set before, I knew that with a little instruction she would excel because of her work ethic and attention to detail. With her on set to deal with the logistics of organizing crafty/lunch, paperwork, incoming actors, and the like,

I was able to focus on what really mattered on set – getting the shot and getting the performance

I needed out of my actors.

Arguably the greatest challenge that I faced during the production was figuring out how to achieve the biggest stunt in my script: Annie jumping out the window to her death. While writing the script, I did keep in mind what would actually be achievable on a student set. I knew that some form of movie magic would needed. I had settled on Annie jumping out the window without having a clear idea of how I would achieve this effect – the only thing in my script that I allowed ambiguity on. Everything else had a plan of action that I knew would be achievable. I did know that I did not want to show Annie’s body following her jump – I felt that it would lessen the impact on the audience and open doors for problems regarding how “real” it would Heller 24 look with special effects. However, even with this factor out of the way, I still had to work out how I could safely have an actor jump out a window that appears to be on the second story or higher. I couldn’t have her simply hop out of a first floor window because the perspective would be off and the items outside of the window (such as bushes, cars, buildings) would indicate a low level window. I also obviously could not have her jump out of a second story or higher window because I did not have the money or equipment that would allow me to achieve this safely.

Despite this obvious dilemma, I continued forward with my script as is, confident that I could find a solution. Ultimately, the answer came when I re-watched Wes Anderson’s Moonrise

Kingdom (2012). I had prescribed this film to Michelle to watch as a reference film for lighting and color, and decided to watch it again one night, looking for any last minute inspirations or ideas. In the final scene of the film, a main character hops out a window to join their companion on the ground. I had not noticed until this particular watch through that the audience is unable to see anything outside the window because it is overexposed, result in a white background. It’s not clear if the window is on the first or second floor, but ultimately it doesn’t matter, the audience accepts it without a second thought. The only reason I noticed this particular time is because I was on the hunt for a solution regarding my own window problem. Excited by the sudden new possibilities, I immediately met up with Michelle and began brainstorming how we could achieve the same effect. The solution then came quite easily. Windows on the first floor that were originally off-limits due to outside environmental indicators (cars, bushes, buildings), suddenly rejoined the game. After some finagling and, of course, creative and thrifty thinking, we contrived a solution. We couldn’t simply overexpose the window because there were dark objects that were impossible to disguise. To remedy this, I bought two slightly off-white sheets Heller 25 that we strung up outside the window to obscure the background– now we could safely overexpose the window into a blank canvas.

With this problem solved, I next needed to address how to safely have my actress jump out the window. Though the window was on the first floor, it was still a significant distance from the ground and required some precautions. In order to maximize safety, I needed to minimize the distance she would have to jump. I ultimately reduced the distance to about 2 feet, requiring her to squat just underneath the window sill in order to give the illusion that she had fallen much further. I also padded the area all around her landing spot with crash pads and instated several crew members outside to spot her as she jumped. Throughout the entire process I also encouraged her to voice any concerns that she might about the stunt at any time. I let her know that the choice to continue or stop was completely in her hands and that I would find another way to wrap up the story if needed. Her safety and comfort came first.

The final complexity with this concluding shot was the length. In order to lull the audience into a bit of a daze prior to the shocking conclusion, I wanted to be able to complete this scene in practically one shot. As the scene is at least a minute long and required various choreography in regards to actor and camera movement, everything needed to work together. In more traditional scenes, it is possible to seamlessly cut between different takes of the same shot and construct as cohesive scene using just the very best parts. However, since I made the decision to use only one-take the timing, the acting and the camera had to work at the same time because it would not be possible to cut away in the editing bay.

Michelle also played an important role in creating the scene as it is. I originally intended for the camera to faithfully follow Annie as she wanders back and forth through her bedroom, cleaning and organizing, before turning to jump out the window. However, Michelle inspired me Heller 26 to tweak this slightly when she asked for a simple clarification on set; she wanted to know if she should stop at the window as Annie jumps or if she should continue to pan the camera slightly past the window in order to keep Annie in the same spot in frame. That simple question opened so many doors. By having the camera continue to pan where Annie is expected to walk and then snapping back when she deters from the expected path and jumps, rather than stopping cleanly on the window allows for several side benefits. Not only is the audience completely taken unawares – stopping on the window prior to her jump would have given the audience a subtle subconscious heads up – but it also gives the impression that Annie hide her true anguish so well that even the camera – the third party observer – was taken by surprise. In addition to this creative bonus, this little tweak also had a practical benefit. By having the camera in movement and allowing Annie to go partly off screen for the jump helped to sell the stunt. There is so much movement on screen for the audience to take in that is difficult to spot any inconsistencies as she jumps.

Editing

Completing a film shoot is a monumental achievement, but it is essentially only one half of the battle when it comes to creating a film. The other half is fought in an editing bay by yourself and perhaps a few key members of the production. The true result of your work on set comes to light in the editing room. When you are on set, it can be very easy to settle for easy solutions any time a problem arises. In order to meet your day, you may be willing to succumb to pressure from producers or assistant director to cut a shot or two for practical purposes.

However, if you’re not careful you could end up sacrificing something integral to your film. The Heller 27 easiest solutions on set can easily cause big problems in the editing room. Anytime you deviate from the original plan and make snap decisions for practical purposes, you create room for error.

Once my own film shoot concluded, I chose not to jump immediately into the editing bay, but instead took an additional week off to give myself some distance from the project. I had been so wrapped up in the on set energy that I needed to decompress and give myself a clean slate before diving into the digital work. Once refreshed, I had an additional few days to simply review and categorize all the footage. Unlike with traditional film editing, digital video requires some administrative work before you can begin cutting. Transcoding gave me time analyze the footage from an objective standpoint and allowed me to put all my ducks in order.

I began the editing process by building each scene in big skeletal blocks. Following the script word for word, I took the best moments of each take – which were easy to find thanks to the efforts I put in during the transcoding phase – and placed them in order on the timeline. This gave me an extremely rough outline of the film and allowed me to see it as a whole. I then began working with each scene individually; smoothing the cuts until they blended together and cutting any beats that didn’t land. During this process, I turned to key lessons I learned from Tom

Hayes’ Art of Editing class. I had always instinctively recognized good editing in other films, but wasn’t always able to replicate them until Tom identified specific techniques. With these tips in mind I was able to make smoother, smarter cuts that hide any gross discontinuities or errors.

Throughout the entire editing process there were two main scenes that I struggled with in particular. The first was a small scene that took place in the cafeteria with Annie and Jane. The intention behind the scene was to highlight Annie’s decision to only apply to three schools in response to her mother’s comments. During the film shoot, this scene was scheduled to be shot at the very end of the day. Unfortunately, we fell slightly behind throughout that day and while we Heller 28 were able to get the shots we needed, the scene was rushed. This resulted in poor performances across the board – art, acting, extras, everything. While I had originally hoped that I would be able to scrounge some passing cut of the scene in the editing bay, I ultimately determined that the quality of the scene did not match the rest of the film and that the information presented was not necessary to the story. I trusted that the audience would be able to glen the necessary information from the subtext of other scenes.

The second scene that I struggled with covered Annie’s final rejection from the college that originally waitlisted her. We covered this scene in three shots taken from the same angle: a wide, a mid-shot, and a close up. Throughout pre-production and while on set, I believed that these three shots would be enough coverage for me to work with in the editing bay.

Unfortunately, this scene required a high level of emotion from the actress and we struggled to reach the right expression each time. This combined with my lack of good coverage resulted in me being “trapped” by my own footage. I ultimately had two choices to consider: I could let the entire, rather lengthy, scene play out in one shot or I could use jump cuts to help speed us through the scene while still getting the emotional hits. I eventually chose the latter option, feeling that the lengthier version did not have enough action on screen for the amount of time it took up. I feared I would lose the audience’s attention if I lingered too long on the buildup to

Annie’s breakdown.

Once I had assembled a draft, it was time to bring in another pair of eyes. Just like with my script, I must admit that I struggled with bringing someone else in. I felt that I needed to have the perfect draft prepared before I could share it with anyone else. However, no matter how uncomfortable it may be, having a fresh set of eyes on a draft is necessary to push it to the next level. After spending weeks reviewing the same material over and over, you become desensitized Heller 29 to the footage and may not readily recognize problems in your cuts. Both Tom Hayes and Rafal

Sokolowski were extremely beneficial as fresh sets of eyes – they each gave me feedback that ultimately helped me to trim all the excess from my film and tighten the final product.

The final test of any film is its premiere. While drafts are generally shown to close peers or colleagues, the premiere is usually the films first exposure to an audience with no prior background or info on your film. Watching you film with an audience can be a humbling experience. No matter how confident you may be that you crafted a decent piece of work, all that self-assurance disappears when there is a large, living, breathing audience in the theatre with you. However, this can be an incredible eye-opening experience as well – the audience doesn’t always react as you would expect. All the laughter, gasps, and even silence can be valuable feedback on what your film does well and what it is lacking.

Conclusion

The process of creating a film from scratch is one fraught with challenges and obstacles; it is essentially set up to test your limits and push you out of your comfort zone. It also teaches you to accept failure on a daily basis and move on. In order to make their story better, filmmakers must open themselves and their projects up to criticism every day. If they retreated every time they got negative feedback or were told “no”, stories would never get past the initial idea phase.

Instead filmmakers take that criticism and use it to fuel their creativity to keep going and to keep getting better. Failure is not the end of the road, but rather a building block to lasting success.

Every experience can be a positive one if you learn from it.

Heller 30

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