“What if you taught a two week course in which you produce a film together with sixteen students?”
We hadn’t heard of Pingry, and at the time the email came in, we weren’t taking projects. But Pingry was persistent, so persistent in fact it reminded us of our own Alesi. Pingry had their heart set on The Film Guys and they weren’t letting us off the hook. On the other side of the line was Emily Cooke, Director of Communications and Choate alumna. Emily had a mission: get The Film Guys.
After about a year of back and forth, Pingry secured our signature and then in May 2023 we were flying to Newark, ready to start.
To make a video in a two week period is one thing, but to guide sixteen teenagers through the process is something else. They would have to be involved, engaged, included. We are used to working with three people, to grow that to a team of twenty-two (including the faculty) meant a radical shift in strategy.
Or so, you’d think.
Those who know us will attest: The Film Guys love to start with a blank slate, the beginner’s mind. We’ve maintained through the years that we can only tell your story from within your world. Any attempt from without will lack the felt and experienced truth.
We are professional improvisers. We “figure it out”. There are so many ways to reach a finish line, and we’ve done it so many times under so many different circumstances. We know it in our bones, if there’s a way, we’ll find it.
It’s not every day that you tie an Odysseus-inspired cowboy teenager to a golf cart. There’s Alesi on the left side, being a Producer
The two weeks emerged with a film, but the process was messy. It took too long to write a script, and the kids (being day students) could only offer half-day commitments. There were many complaints about the messiness. Turns out we were spread too thin.
A few months later Pingry called us back for a reprise. This time we promised we’d write the script ahead of time. With nine months to plan, surely it was enough time.
But there we were, on day one of Project #2, and no script. Not for lack of trying, but the creative process is weird. There’s an alchemy that only happens when you meet the people you’re working with, and when you have to do the thing now.
I had come up with an elaborate scheme to make the film improvised (perhaps as a way of assuaging my guilt for not having a script). The rationale was that I learned to love filmmaking on tape cameras where I made my films linearly, shot by shot. I believe in this process, it is alive, responsive, and totally creative. Each shot points you to the next one, and before you know it, a film is made. I was very curious to see that film unfold.
Head of School Tim Lear is as good a sport as any Head of School could really be. Here he is mounting the horse from a stone that Pingry’s founder would use to mount his (actual) horse.
But Emily was uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Emily offers us great trust and confidence, typically. Even Alesi, our own magic-making-producer was giving me looks.
I felt the pressure. By the end of the first day, just as a means of getting going, I had said that we could start our film like a Western (if you don’t know where to start, start anywhere). Emily and team immediately began fashioning a jimmy-rigged tumbleweed out of twigs and superglue. It took much more effort than I wanted them to go through. I mentioned that we don’t need a tumbleweed that bad.
That afternoon a message in our group chat with the faculty and Film Guys team, from Emily:
Rob, just an fyi, if we don’t use that tumbleweed…there will be consequences
Alesi pulling late nights. Sometimes I catch her fallen asleep in front of the production schedule.
A brawl scene that didn’t make the cut (it was never supposed to) - But a fun way for the kids to wrap this scene.
Then a thought emerged… well, why not just make a Western? It’s a fun genre, everybody knows it, and there are many tropes to play with.
In eight uninterrupted hours, a script was written. A completed script is always a triumph. I normally have to travel through Dante’s inferno to find that script. Sometimes the muse is kind to me, and I only have to dip my toes in the flames.
Emboldened, the following day I presented the script to everyone as though I’d pulled yer old bait’n’switch. I reasoned after the fact that, because nobody was expecting a script from me, that I could write it freely.
It was a mini movie layered with greek mythology and nerdy humour (much of which gave way to cowboy humour in the shooting script). There were, heroes, outlaws, drama, standoffs, showdowns, resolutions and through it all, a message.
Alesi showing how it’s done
I’m endlessly aware of the scourge of “likes” and “umms” in most people’s speech. As a filmmaker, you do what you can to cut them out in a process we call “like-o-suction and umm-ectomy”. I believe that these filler words limit us greatly.. Your words represent your thoughts, speak and write well, I often say. Almost any success story in history involves a well spoken individual.
As a filmmaker, I’m in the business of representation. Every word I choose to render on screen, every moment that makes the cut, is part of an intentional sequence. Every detail is chosen, the subtle rhythm and cadence of the final product is carefully crafted.
I am intimately aware of the power of good speech. Films are just an offshoot of speech. Speech+, you might say. Speech with all the bells and whistles of filmmaking: cinematography, music, sound effects, costume, performance, stage design, you name it.
A montage makes any movie better, especially a teen movie.
Emily Cooke [Director of Communications] and Edwin Núñez [Director of Admissions] flagging the fire light so we could keep a cool blue ambience.
If it’s brown, lie down. If it’s black, fight back. If it’s blue.. say Miller Bugliari.
With all these tools, you have incredible control of a message. This is an immense power, and more than anything, I wanted to impress that upon our sixteen teenagers. It doesn’t matter what line of work you’re in. If you know how to craft story, you have an advantage. If you know how to speak well, you have an advantage.
The whole point of attending a private school is to confer advantage to the student. But no matter where you’ve studied, if your speech is full of likes and umms, you’re holding yourself back unnecessarily.
So with that message, we went about making a film at Pingry. Having a script so soon meant we could really get to work. Our student and faculty crew outdid themselves, creating elaborate sets in the science lab, the blackbox theatre and in the school’s hardwood-floored “carriage house” guest house.
Rebecca Sullivan [Director of Experiential Education] in her role as de-facto Art Director. Here she is booby-trapping a science lab.
The process yielded a beautiful film which was proudly premiered at Pingry’s end-of-year assembly. Surely, we outdid ourselves. What lingered however, was the feeling of how rewarding it was to host a process like this. The kids all had a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and in the words of Rebecca Sullivan, our faculty Art Director “you made us all feel like artists.”
More than anything, students want to be involved in something that matters. Something real. As a kid I incessantly wondered about my curriculum: why does this matter?
Edwin Núñez [Director of Admissions] in his role as bartender (serving only milk) taking us through our cowboy saloon set. This was the house in which we were staying.
To give kids a big team project to work on that produces a final product that lasts forever is wonderfully rewarding for everybody involved.
There are other schools that host intensive periods, often called J-terms. At the outset of this Pingry project, we are now officially open to this model of collaboration.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for gracing us with your attention.
Sincerely,
Rob
Director of The Film Guys
Here is the film we made:
