Saturday, December 15, 2018

We'll Always Have Raindance: a Rumination on the Edge of Graduation

The baristas call me "book guy" now when I do homework. 
It's funny how some things stick with you. Rick remembered that the Germans wore gray while she wore blue. Tom Hansen remembered her heart shaped birthmark or cockroach shaped blotch on her neck. Me, well I can't remember the name of someone I just met ten seconds ago. 

No, seriously. Ask anyone that really knows me, and they'll be able to tell you of a time that I was out with them and they asked me who it was I just met.

However, I remember sending an email in May of 2016. I can take you to the spot in my office. I can tell you that it was sunny. I remember stressing about the first line of the email. 

"My name is Raymond Morris, and I want to be a filmmaker." 

I read back over this email just the other day, and it's incredible that they let me in the program. The entire email was written under the guise of asking for more information about the Raindance Postgraduate Program, but in reality it was my covert plea of "look, I know this dream of being a screenwriter is ridiculous, so put me back in my place please. I'm completely ill-equipped for the program, and this doesn't make any sense, so tell me how ridiculous it is." To my credit, I hid it a little better and said I didn't have the right major for an MA in Film, that I liked film a lot but didn't have a lot of experience, and I probably would not be eligible for any financial assistance since they were in the UK and I was in the USA.

Everything I pointed to as reasons for not doing it were really coded doubts: Background that isn't ideal was just me asking "what if I'm not good enough?" Me looking at money being as issue was me asking "what if the sacrifice isn't worth the price?" 

In other words: I was afraid to be me.  

Their response to my email was fascinating. Fully expecting a "yeah, maybe we aren't for you," they replied with one of the more empowering emails I've ever received. Where I found my background to be disqualifying, they found it to "make you a very interesting candidate." Where I found excuses for why it shouldn't work, they informed me that "dedication and involvement you're willing to put in" to the program are just as important as formal experience.

Their response challenged by asking me "are you willing to work for this?" "Are you ok with being pushed outside of your comfort zone?" 

Before now that answer was a resounding no. 

Filmmaking is what I wanted to do since high school, but never thought it was plausible, logical, or sane. I had a chance to have a one week opportunity of a lifetime in Chicago to film a short when I won a chance to be a part of the Sprite Fresh Films contest in 2011. I said no out of fear of not fulfilling expectations of others. 

This felt like my final chance to do what I had always wanted to do, so I remember going into the Skype call feeling like I had nothing left to lose. In doing so, this was the first time I was able to be 100% open and honest about who I was. 

And I got in the program. 

Raindance's approach is really unique in that it is done through negotiated learning (here is an explanation of what that is). This was strange to me. Sure, I had some confidence stemming from the fact I got in, but I could not shake this feeling that I faked my way in. Traditionally, I would have preferred a straight path with classes to take that checked all the boxes to "full-time filmmaker career." 

This isn't that sort of program. 

I wasn't assigned courses that guaranteed I could learn the secrets. My class wasn't a bunch of people with my skills and dreams. It was different. 

But, I was paired with an advisor and mentor that both cared deeply about me, but not just in the program. Professionally, they wanted to hear about my desire to do freelance videography and film editing. They wanted to know all about Red Turbo Jacket and my projects, offering support, suggestions, and ideas that helped me grow. Personally, they checked in on me. One Skype call, I remember talking about my family and how everyone was doing, like I was catching up with an old friend. And of course, academically, they pushed me to go deeper and continually learn not just about writing, but also about myself. 

I was able to choose courses that were outside of my program that would assist me in the program (I'm looking at you, Web Series Certificate class). My cohort? We had directors, writers, documentarians, with backgrounds in science, photography, and even video games (one of my favorite video games, to boot). Eclectic, international, and amazing. 

Through all of this, the pushing through dozens of screenwriting books and screenplays, hours of youtube interviews, and days upon days of working and reworking my own story ideas, I was not just learning about filmmaking, I was learning about myself. Damien Chazelle put it best when he said "if you're an artist, you want to draw from real life; you want to draw from experiences, emotion." This meant knowing who I am, and seeing how my insecurities, faults, personality, and other aspects were super clear in my own work. Facing those fears and learning how to get through them. 

The fact that every module (six of them) required a reflective report to be turned in helped with this. Not only did I learn, but I had to learn how to reflect on what worked and didn't throughout the process. This is something I catch myself doing in all aspects of life now. 

I came in with an idea for a feature film that I had struggled to work through for two years. Two years of grad school later, I'm on the cusp of completing the screenplay, complete with "dream" cast, pitch materials, and an action plan to actually get it made. 

As my time in the program comes to an end, what did I learn? Sure, formatting a screenplay, how to develop characters, study genres, write a feature, pitch the feature, research who to send it to and how, and developing a practical plan to push myself into the industry are all things I learned.

But honestly, I learned about me.

I was pushed out of my comfort zone so many times: reaching out to and interviewing the writer of one of my favorite Netflix shows, calling a working manager in Hollywood for an interview, reaching out to complete strangers for help with my projects and opening myself up to their criticisms of my project, and pitching a passion project to a room of students and professionals (and being told "yeah, I'd watch that. You should make this.). 

They say that the most successful writers are the most stubborn. The ones that push through, that keep writing, that collaborate and put themselves out there despite how many times it doesn't work out. The fears that kept me from doing this for so many years are definitely still there, but thanks the experience I had with Raindance, there's enough there to drown out the fears for the right amount of time. That acknowledging of my fear and the weirdness of myself and using it in what I make may make for some of the more interesting films I want to make. Embracing this unique journey and the excitement of the future are things I learned while learning film, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. 

It's funny how some things stick with you. The memories, the experience, and the inspiration I found through Raindance will stick with me for a long time. I found a deeper love for story and film, and better appreciation and heart for people, and I better yet, I found myself. 

My name is Raymond Morris, and I don't want to be a filmmaker: I am one.