Movie Magic, Movie Tragic

By Mark Kalbskopf

“Movie Magic, Movie Tragic” recounts the story of a novice filmmaker making his first and potentially last feature film. With a mixture of bitter sarcasm and upbeat humor, he recounts the highs and lows of making a “perfectly good” low budget romantic comedy and what you should do if you’d like to lose money just like him. It’s a real-life tale of practical lessons learned and comic observations; a story of what happens when you wake up one morning with no job and declare yourself a Film Producer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483577593

Book preview

MOVIE MAGIC, MOVIE TRAGIC

Mark Kalbskopf

Pine Road Pictures

Copyright © 2016 Mark Kalbskopf. All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-48-357759-3

ASIN: B01K2GHZH2

Cover photo: Rhiannon Kalbskopf

MMMT

Pine Road Pictures

Chantilly, VA 20151

http://MovieMagicMovieTragic.com

To Gill who’s magic

Introduction

R

unaway Success?

Ilooked up to see our large white prop van reversing slowly away from the stables. Instead of turning onto the gravel road, the driver held a steady robot-like straight line across the road. Then abruptly the van tipped over the verge and accelerated down the grassy slope. What on earth was the driver doing? I heard some panicked yelling, and then I saw the driver, sprinting frantically after the van.

That day had started like any other on our film set, and the relaxed warm summer morning gave no hint of the pending emergency. The English summer sun had been trying to break through hazy cloud cover. I sat on a low stone wall outside the village cottage with my lead actors, Ed and Annabelle, perusing the scenes for the day. The set photographer crouched under a nearby apple tree and took a couple of shots of our rehearsal. The video monitoring crew had already set up their blacked-out tent 30 yards away on the lawn next to the pond. It’s called Video Village with its mass of cables and video screens connected to the set, and with its crew all enclosed by a tent of darkening duvateen to keep the monitor picture viewable in the daylight. Inside, in the cottage kitchen, the lighting and camera crew were busy running cables and taping windows, trying to be on time for our first setup. Earlier that morning, all two dozen of our film crew vehicles had trundled into the back pasture where the catering crew had set up tables on the grass for our 7:00 a.m. breakfast. The art department had left their van on the slight slope in front of the horse stables. I’m not sure why we needed 24 vehicles. Maybe it’s because it requires at least 12 to film an actor blink (and that’s just his right eye). The smell of bacon and toast drifted over the subdued but mostly cheerful mix of cast and crew. Afterwards, I walked back to the cottage, past the horse stables, while trying to resolve a dozen issues that had already arisen for the day. Despite all that, this was an excellent day to be making a film.

This was the life, doing what you love, everyone having a good time, and everything going to plan. After 10 days of shooting, about 50 cast and crew had settled into a daily rhythm of living and working together in the rolling hills of South Western England. With about one quarter of my romantic comedy screenplay already captured to tape and disk, our confidence was rising. This idyllic cottage, set in horse country not far from Lacock Abbey, was selected for its superb kitchen with stone walls and exposed beamed ceiling. This was day three of five at this location. I stood up, checked my notes and began directing Ed into position. Ed focused on his script. Annabelle focused on who knows what. Laura sat on the wall looking pretty, something which she’s very good at, and waited for her entrance. Laura is Irish. She played the part of a visiting American upsetting the village equilibrium. A duck waddled through the long grass towards the pond. Off to my left, a gravel track climbed up away from the house and skirted past the stables where the property owner was now leading out a horse. OK Ed, you’re looking down when you suddenly hear someone on the stairs. Laura, you enter over here by the geraniums. Ed, my Hugh Grant-like character, switched promptly into his role, staring at the imaginary table, waiting for Laura to interrupt him. Where is Laura? Something is moving off to my left. It wasn’t Laura. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a large white shiny van rolling very slowly backwards down the hill. This was not in the script. My actors stopped and looked up to see why I’d paused. The van crunched across the stony track, passed the stables, flopped onto the sloping lawn, and picked up speed towards the guys in Video Village down by the pond.

Watch out! Then there was more shouting. Matt an assistant in the Art Department, sprinted around the end of the stables, running after the van like something out of a Bourne movie. He lunged desperately for the driver’s door. It was a great scene, only no one was filming, and no one was paying or going to pay but me. The van accelerated, heading for some trees. Matt, racing alongside, reached desperately trying to grab the driver’s door. He swung the door open but he was too late. He had to choose between getting in and potentially being smashed against the tree or jumping for safety. He opted for safety. Like breaking a bone, there was a horrible crunching, grinding noise as the tree bent the door back unnaturally. This was followed by more crashing and crunching as the kamikaze-van disappeared from view followed by dull thuds, a large splash and then silence.

Thirty minutes later, we were confronted by the enraged cottage owner who, together with her horse, just happened to have had a grandstand view of our ineptitude. I want you all out of here! . . . NOW!

‘M’ is for Magic, ‘Tr’ is for Truth

I lost three hundred thousand dollars of my savings on producing a perfectly good movie. Now I will show how you, with little effort, can accomplish a similar feat. How can I make this promise? Because you’re ordinary just like me. Tom Cruise is not your uncle, because if he was, you wouldn’t be reading this book. I have zero celebrity connections, well almost zero. In the interests of full disclosure, I have a very horsey cousin in England, a pretty and earthy farm girl. It turns out that her husband occasionally plays (or played) polo with Prince Charles, who is apparently quite well known. However, even if I had realized this before starting to make a film, old men cantering around on horses with tight pants (the men not the horses) would hardly make a good movie. You’re probably wondering, How bad does a movie have to be to lose money? or I’ve seen some really terrible movies, and they were even broadcast on regular TV. Did you know you it’s possible to make a perfectly good movie, and no one will even care to give you $2.99 for it? I’ll prove it. Take a look at the movie website. Check it out. Then join the three other people (as of this writing) who have seen it and written reviews. Will you do it? I didn’t think so. I rest my case.

So, withdraw your savings, refinance your house. It’s time to realize your dream. This book is divided into five main sections. The first section, The Path to Filmmaker, describes my childhood and other significant turning points like meeting Barbara in the stage wings of my high school play . . . no wait, sorry, that was a memorable moment not a turning point. Turning points like getting laid off and going to film school which properly set the stage for the tragedy. Film school is like playing filmmaker and only losing one tenth of the money. You should emulate my path as much as possible but probably try to find your own family. An important fundamental decision will be what kind of movie you should make. I like romantic comedy, and I figured that, at least, I’d have an appreciative audience of one, so that’s what I made.

Section two dives into the exciting anticipation of production. You will learn how incredibly easy it is to set up a film company and to attract all kinds of people soliciting you for the smallest role in your film or to just polish your shoes while on the film set. You will also learn how to handle the numerous, unsolicited, awful screenplays, most of which include a rickety old house late at night, a chainsaw, and three teen-aged girls whose Jeep breaks down at the bottom of the driveway. Usually, this will occur after most of humanity has been wiped out by a deadly virus which, unwittingly, is now being carried in one of the girl’s backpacks. This is why you must have your own screenplay with disinfected backpacks and regularly serviced Jeeps. It is an exciting time, giving you an intoxicating taste of fame and fortune which easily obscures the warning signs of bankruptcy.

Section three covers the five weeks of shooting and the crazy madness of fighting tooth and nail to film everything in your brilliant screenplay. This is the most unreal phase as you bite your nails through extreme tension, self doubt, and monotonous re-takes. At this point, you will have bet the farm, and with no alternative, you will learn to do whatever it takes to reach the final wrap. All moral perspective you once possessed will be quickly lost, and when the devil offers the next critical scene for your soul, you strangely will actually consider the offer and counter with a proposal for a short-term lease.

Section four, Post Production, is full of surprises. The tension of the whole project has evaporated, and you’re surprised, no, shocked that spending has to continue at the same rate as during production. Everyone who knows you, and many that don’t, will begin every conversation with, So, how’s your movie doing? Is it out in theaters yet? Secretly, they all considered making a movie and are feeling like big wussies for never doing it, so they want to make sure that yours is going to be an abject failure and thereby confirm that they, indeed, made the right choice staying at their exciting job at the DMV. I have tried various responses to this question, but probably the best is to look over to your right while shouting Hey what’s that?, then briskly continue your walk to the pawn shop. At this stage, you will already have an inkling of the trouble you’re in, and should you make the mistake of continuing the conversation, the delight with which you once answered this question will degenerate into some mumbled explanation about how the edit system keeps crashing and how movie distribution is not what it once was.

Section five is about selling the movie and, of course, doesn’t really exist, but I’ll include a short paragraph or two to maintain the illusion. OK, now on to section one . . .

1. The Path to Filmmaker

To lose a lot of money in film making easily, it’s probably better not to have any film making heritage at all. In this respect I was well qualified.

Growing up in rural England, we had no TV in our house. Ever. I realize this is hard to imagine for some of you, but my parents, resolute in their principles to protect us from an insidious corruption, had ruled that no altar to the BBC would ever grace the corner of our living room. Television was ‘worldly’ and a gateway to all kinds of lusts and other unmentionable things. Having a radio was OK, though. Apparently, lust didn’t travel so well through the radio waves. Without a TV, I was left in a social vacuum when it came to pop culture. Friends at school would look at me incredulously when I had never heard of the most famous celebrities. One summer, I took a job in a local factory. I was in the men’s room staring straight ahead at the tiles, like my neighbor, and as he finished and put everything away, he commented, Hey! The king is dead. The king? I responded, quite convinced that we still had a queen. You know, Elvis! I gave my best, Really? How interesting! look, having vaguely heard his name but not really having any idea exactly who he was or what he’d done. In our house he’d not only left the building, he’d never actually entered it. Yes, you may well be incredulous, but I could bring up some significant Biblical character like Joash, and unless you went to Sunday School as a kid, you’d know him about as well as I knew Elvis. With no TV at home, I was forced to wander up the road to my best friend, Leigh, and watch his black and white TV.

At first, I was fascinated by any program that was being shown: news shows, cooking shows, or political broadcasts. It was all equally amazing to a TV-deprived kid. Sometimes, I ended up watching shows when Leigh wasn’t even there. His parents were really friendly, and I’d sit in his front room enjoying the program until I felt too awkward to continue. Knocking on his door and asking Can Leigh play? came to mean Hi, can I come in and watch TV? Leigh’s father tried to guide my tastes a little by letting me know about