Chapter one. Producing Models and Car Models or Producing America's Next Top Tromodel
When I married my amazing and adorable wife Pat, she came with a 1969 Ford Mustang convertible. Of course, that's not why I married her, mind you, but I won't deny that it sure did sweeten the deal. When your two great loves in life are musical theatre performed by young hairless boys and a Southern belle with a kickin' car, a decision must be made, and I made it. Ten years after we tied the knot, however, I was inspired by a Sally Struthers commercial late one night, and donated the kickin' car to an orphanage for a giant tax deduction to help the poor orphans. Pat did not agree with my benevolent decision to donate her car to get a giant tax deduction help those poor, less fortunate souls. I stood my ground, and for the last 20 years, I have lived with her endless scorn. So, a few months ago, I decided to do something about it. I made a few calls1 and arranged to buy a 1969 Mustang to replace the one that I had so graciously given away 20 years earlier.
The dealership was in Indiana, so the entire deal was conducted over the phone2 and essentially in good faith. When I finally arrived in Indiana to pick the car up, I was in awe of the beauty before me. The car was perfect. The red paint glistened under the neon lights. The rims of the tires sparkled. A tear formed in my eye as the jovial midwestern used car salesman handed me the keys and title. My marriage would be back on track in time for me to retire and die peacefully. With nothing between me and the open road ahead, I slid into the sweet-smelling leather seat and began the long drive back to New York.
The next several hours were spent in a haze of self-congratulation. The engine purred like an alley cat in heat. The sun smiled at me, just like Pat would be smiling at me in about 14 hours. Everything was going well, but because I'm Lloyd Kaufman, something of course had to go and get fucked up.
The moment came just as I reached my first traffic light. Suddenly, the engine's purr shifted from that of an amorous kitten to something resembling an 800-pound man with bronchitis, as if he were choking on a wiffle ball. Smoke appeared from beneath the shiny red hood, and the arrow on the engine thermostat, which had been resting comfortably between “Cool” and “Hot,” swung definitively toward “Hot.” My instincts—as well as my eyes and ears—told me that something was wrong. I pulled over, jumped out of the driver's seat and opened the hood. All around me, cars began honking at the billowing smoke coming from the engine. Once it cleared, I could see exactly what the problem was.
The problem was that I didn't know anything about cars.
I tapped on something with my finger and pounded something else with my fist, a fine strategy that usually worked well when my TV screen turned to snow. I closed the hood and kicked a tire, just for good measure. I got back in the car and, lo and behold, it was working just fine again. In fact, it worked all the way to the next traffic light, where Mister 1969 Mustang and I repeated our Smoke Gets in Your Eyes tango. In fact, we continued to tango like this for the next 14 hours. Along the way, I also discovered that the passenger side door refused to open and the glove compartment flat out refused to stay shut.
But still, nothing could bring me down! Who cared if I had just purchased a car that broke down in traffic? Everyone knows that there is hardly any traffic in New York City! And so what if the passenger door didn't open? Once I handed the keys over to Pattie-Pie, I probably wouldn't be allowed back in the passenger seat anyway! I had set out to buy a car, and dammit, nothing was going to ruin my high!
You may be thinking to yourself right about now, “Gosh, I've read only a few pages of this book, and already I've learned so much about film producing!”
Of course you have, but fasten your seatbelts, because you are about to learn even more! You see, film producing models are a lot like a 1969 Mustang. What worked in 1969 might not work as well now, 40 years later. Producing models are in constant flux. And always remember, as Marie Curie was fond of saying, “You can't fuck with the flux!” To be a great producer, one must keep up with the times.
Producer Vocabulary Lesson #1
When it comes to defining the term “producer,” things can get complicated. There are many titles, responsibilities, and people involved in a film production. Throughout the coming chapters, in the spirit of learning, I will provide detailed, scientific descriptions of different titles commonly used in production. That way, you can pretend you're a big shot by showing off your new vocabulary. You're welcome. Let's begin:
EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: This can be anyone from the CEO of a major studio to the Estonian owner of a chain of dry cleaning stores to the schmoozer in the apartment next door who can sucker some poor saps into funding your movie. These guys are the Harvey Weinsteins, the James L. Brooks, or, if your karma is down the shithole, the Kaufmans and Herzs.
Synonyms: The Money Guy, The Big Cheese, The Guy You Want for Your Best Friend.
Example:“Today the Executive Producer called and told me that we were $80 million over budget, and he sounded a little upset.”
Out with the Old…
For more than 40 years, I've been able to produce, direct, write, and make my own damn movies in 35mm with almost total freedom. I've also been able to produce each one, with a few exceptions, for roughly the equivalent of $500K, including all production, marketing, and distribution costs. Several of these movies have gone on to receive worldwide acclaim and a loyal fan following, and all of them have gone on to break even—sometimes even making a few bucks.
Under the Hollywood producing model, this is nearly unheard of. Studios spend millions of dollars—sometimes hundreds of millions of dollars—on a single film. And although a handful of these films are remembered 10 years later, most will be forgotten like last week's leftover egg salad, slipping into film limbo along with unbaptized children and Times Square pickpockets.
Troma films compete with the giant studio films by containing commercial elements like a cool gun, a monster, or a naked person while still retaining their edge, whether it be satire, horror, or even both, as with my latest fowl movement, Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead. Although some people may not “get” the movie, there is at least one thing in it that will appeal to a wider audience, such as large amounts of naked people. This appeal allows the film to be at least somewhat entertaining to everyone, and with a little luck, it will make some money over time. This is the model that has always worked for me, but with Poultrygeist, 3 that model may be like a 1969 Mustang.
…And in with the Who?
The films that we see in theatres today are all owned and controlled by five or six megaconglomerates. 4 These companies own and control not only the movies, but also in many cases the theatres that play them and the television stations, newspapers, and magazines that review and advertise them. With that type of industry consolidation, even independent theatres are scared to take on a film not supported by a kabillion dollar ad campaign. Even though Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead is usually the highest-grossing film in each city in which it is allowed to play, we are still turned away by theatres unwilling to take a risk. We have reached a point where unless a film is released through a major distributor or studio, it is economically blacklisted and therefore unable to sell tickets, much less make a profit. Even direct-to-DVD is no longer much of an option, as the mom-and-pop video stores that flourished in the 1980s have been hijacked by corporate chains, which are, oddly enough, owned or controlled by those same five or six megaconglomerates.
4I am referring, in no particular order, to evil corporations such as Sony, Viacom, Time Warner, News Corporation, and Disney. Their mere existence is why we are force-fed so much shit in the entertainment world today! Actually, they have so many marketing dollars that they make us think we need their crap.
So the reality is that Poultrygeist—although it was the highest-grossing “screen” in the United States on its opening weekend and received the best reviews in Troma's 35-year history—will most likely not make one cent.
And that is the end of this book.
The End
Well, not quite…
This change in the industry could be the end, but it doesn't have to be. After all, not all of that 1969 Mustang is bad. The car is beautiful to look at. The tires don't leak air and the windshield isn't cracked. It's great for picking up young boys at the 7-Eleven, and on a short drive around the block, it drives like an absolute dream. The trick is to take the parts of producing model that work in the current industry and make them work for you. Then maybe someone will someday pay thousands of dollars for the privilege of driving you home from Indiana to present you to his wife and finally get out of a 20-year exile in the doghouse!
Five Producing Models
1. The No-Budget Model
For the first time in history, filmmaking has been democratized. Sure, I just spent a whole paragraph telling you why your movie might never see the light of day, but that's a question of distribution. When it comes to actually picking up a camera and making a movie, things have never been so easy! When cars were invented, you had to be a millionaire to own one. In fact, back then, a car cost around the equivalent of $500K, which is how much it cost Pat and me to make Poultrygeist. But along came a guy named Henry Ford, and the rest is history. All of a sudden, Joe the Plumber could own a car without selling his children on the black market. The same has happened with filmmaking. Whereas only giant studios could once afford the equipment it took to make a feature film, now the medium has opened up to everyone. It doesn't take your life savings to swing by Best Buy and pick up a digital video camera and some DV tapes.
With the no-budget producing model, the goal is to get a movie made. If it looks good, great! If not, that's fine, too. What matters is getting it done. To do this, all you really need is a great script, some actors, a camera, and a few accessories. You can produce a feature-length no-budget movie for less than $10K—even for as little as a few hundred dollars.
2. The Credit Card Model
This model closely resembles the no-budget model, but with a few ideological differences. Primarily, your goal is not only to get the movie made, but also to make it look good. To do this, you might spend a little more money on equipment, maybe pay your actors and crew a small sum (I emphasize the word “small,”5 as it's a word I am very familiar with), and spend a little cash on props or location rentals. You may end up borrowing some money from family or friends, but this will all be on an unofficial basis, and you will retain all the rights to the finished film. The actual budget can be higher or lower than the figures in the No Budget Model, while elements from each model can be applied to any of the other models. I don't think it makes sense to spend more than $50K on this model.
3. The Troma Model
In this model, everyone hates you. Other than that, it has some very useful elements. At this stage, your budget will be high enough that you have an opportunity to create quality on the screen to the point where you can compete with the major studios. Most of the time you will still lose this competition, but at least you can enter the race. Your film can play in independent theatres with a little effort, but without any guarantees of whether it will continue to play from week to week. Troma films are financed entirely through our company, either through investors, or—more often—with our own money, using limited partnerships, LLCs, and so on. The Troma movie probably won't have any stars6 and is not sold to investors based on a package. 7 The budgets are usually around $500K.
6Well, folks like Lemmy from Motörhead, Ron Jeremy, and Trey Parker have acted in my films (for free), but they are not used in films as stars; that is, people do not buy tickets because these celebs have cameos. Some of the young leads in Troma movies have gone on to become stars, which later adds value to our films when they are reissued—Vincent D'Onofrio, Samuel L. Jackson and Jorge Garcia are a few examples.
4. The Presale/Cross-National Model
Another option is to sell a film before it's even made, based on the “package”—this is basically the combination of director, stars, script, and so on. If you line up Steven Spielberg to direct the film you're producing and Julia Roberts to star in it, chances are pretty good that someone will see a moneymaking opportunity and give you all the money you need to do the film. What they will receive in return are the rights to your film, whether for a particular country or for television, and so on.
As with the Credit Card Model, don't let the budget here fool you. If you know Julia Roberts through your cousin's best friend's babysitter's sister and you can somehow convince her to star in your film based on your amazing script, your budget could be as little as 200 bucks. But the Lord of the Rings films were produced under this model, and they each had a budget exceeding $200 million. What distinguishes these models is not the budget as much as the way you raise that budget and what you use it for. So budgets under this model usually range from under $500K to $10 million. Sometimes they're a lot more.
5. The Big Hollywood Movie Model
In this model, a giant studio puts up all the money to produce a film. The studio retains all the rights, and the producer is in many cases expendable. If you have reached a point in your career where you are making these types of films, stop reading this book right now and give me a call. I'd love to work with you!
Avi Lerner
Who is Avi Lerner?
Avi Lerner is an independent film producer; throughout his career, he has graduated from producing B movies to A movies, although he does not like it when Lloyd makes jokes about him being a “fast lerner.” Recent projects include Major Movie Star, Thick as Thieves, Brooklyn's Finest, Vampire in Vegas, and Rambo IV. Avi also built his own studio in Louisiana to take advantage of the wonderful tax incentives available to filmmakers in that state. 8
8More on these tax incentives in Chapter 7… I hope.
As an Executive Producer, I am the person who says this is your time frame, this is your budget, and you cannot get out of your time frame or go over your budget. This is the number of days you get the movie, this is the number of extra days we've built in as a contingency, this is the number of cameras you can use every day, and this is the number of hours you are allowed to shoot per day.
So now you may have a slightly better idea of what a producer does. Or you may still be scratching your head wondering why there are 20 producers in the credits of Martian Child. Actually, I wondered that myself. So you see? You and I are on the same page. And speaking of pages, let's turn to the next one and talk a little more about me. 9
9A NOTE FROM YOUR FIERY INDEX GYNO:* Hey, Lloyd, big boy. Since we're talking about being on the same page, I wanted to go ahead and introduce myself to your readers. I have a B.S. in Categorization from the Micronesia College of Fine Print, and I'll be preparing the index for your book. Elinor, your editor, called me last night and asked me to get an early start. She said something about your coming up short on pages last time and wanted to be sure we had a lengthy and comprehensive index prepared. The index is that enormously helpful and important reference material at the end of a book that no one ever pays attention to, unless it's a book about showbiz, in which case people want to see whether their names appear in the book!***“Gyno” is the politically correct term we at Troma use to refer to a member of the female sex. “Girl” is taboo and “woman” has the word “man” in it … you get the idea.**FOOTNOTE GUY: Hi, Index Gyno! Nice to see you! You have a nice set of colons! I'm so happy we'll be working together. I'm really enjoying Lloyd's book so far, aren't you?