When it comes to creative endeavors, certain words make me cringe. “Content” is the obvious one—a not so subtle suggestion that things are only made to fill the holes of some never-ending production cycle. But, the other big one—especially nowadays—is this idea of “brand”: the persona you cultivate…the elevator pitch of “you.” It all feels so disheartening when we try to convey the entirety of ourselves through a 100×100 pixel avatar.
Who am I? The earnest “rah-rah” filmmaking guy? The neurotic and glib depressive who makes snarky jokes on twitter? The fan boy? The motion designer?
In making my latest short film Minyan Duty, I actually put a fair bit of thought into this concept of personal brand, mainly because I don’t really have one. It’s hard to say what attracts me to a creative project. If you look at my portfolio and my subsequent attempts at making films, it doesn’t feel like there’s a distinct throughline among them. There’s the rough-around-the-edges high-concept romantic comedy…there’s the “attempt” (notice the quotation marks) at serious sports drama. There’s my “fan film” phase, where I tried to tackle stunts and VFX. There’s my “parenthood trilogy (1, 2, 3)”—talky, super low-budget two-handers that deal with couples reckoning with having kids (and the aftermath). My genre horror exercise. And, now, there’s my “Jewish film”: a story about two sisters coming to terms with both their personal relationship and their faith in the wake of their mother’s death.
In thinking about these works, I can only come to the obvious conclusion that each film is a representation of the person I was when I made them: snapshots of “me” at a point of time. Granted, this is very bad for brand making, and ultimately, my attempts at a creative career. The internet hates nuance, so presenting myself as a person who makes a random smorgasbord of things doesn’t make me easy to market nor is it an obvious pathway to cultivate any sort of sizable following. But, I like to think that I’ve always been honest with myself and what I’ve wanted to create. It seems so laughably simple when typed out, but I’ve made things because I’ve wanted to make them, and regardless of the result, I’m proud of being true to my own creative impulses.
I like to think of Minyan Duty as a culmination of my interests: obviously, there’s the Jewishness of it. Regardless of my current belief in a higher-power, being raised Jewish has defined (and continues to define) who I am as a person. It also still plays a very large part in my daily life as I raise two kids. But, beyond that, the film explores my fascination with dialogue and how it can flow—the rhythm of language and how actors perform it. It attempts humor and emotional weight in equal measure. Moreover, the film endeavors, on a structural level, to be a “complete” story. As someone who curated hundreds of shorts (and watched thousands more), I’m always more attached to short films that feel like a complete, albeit brief, “meal.” A lot of shorts are very much “first act” ideas. But, that’s always been a cop out to me. First acts are easy. Payoff, though? Conclusion? Catharsis? That’s really, really hard….
As with every project, I’ve learned a lot with Minyan Duty. I learned that good acting and dialogue can often overcome technical limitations (I promise you, nobody actually gives a crap about what your film was shot on). I learned that even ostensibly simple scripts can be challenging on a production level (granted, shooting during the Delta wave of COVID didn’t help). And, with the film, I reinforced my own very strong belief that the more specific a story is the more universal it has the potential of being.
Despite being cognizant of my own limitations as a writer and director, I’m proud of the end result. If you’re judging success on public response, the film has been my most well-received to date. I was thrilled and honored by every festival acceptance. Getting into Palm Springs was a personal milestone for me. Winning best narrative short at my hometown’s major short film festival was incredibly gratifying.
I was rejected a lot too, but, honestly, I think rejection is a good thing: it’s almost never personal, it’s part of the creative process, and it forces you to objectively appraise something without the baggage of personal attachment. Moreover, it just reinforces this idea that there are a lot of very talented people out there making very good things. It’s an abundance of riches right now, and I’m just thankful that I’m able to participate.
Of course, I couldn’t have made the film without some very good people. I know every director says they have the best crew, but I’m indebted to my DC filmmaking family and all their hard work. There’s too many people to name, of course, but I’m ever thankful to my cinematographer John Grove, who has given so much of his heart and soul to so many of my no-budget projects. With this particular film, I was also extremely lucky to work with a trio of amazing actors who proved that the best direction is often just the result of good casting.
So, what’s next? I’m not sure to be honest. Minyan Duty feels like a culmination of what I’ve been attempting as a filmmaker for the past 15 years. It’s the most “me” thing I’ve ever made, not just in terms of literal subject matter, but in the way it uses dialogue and structurally attempts to convey a story. In making the film, I realized I don’t have a “brand,” but, rather, I only have myself: the only stories I’m capable of making are the ones that feel true to me. These are the stories on my mind as I go to bed and the ones I wake up thinking about: the ones that make me want to dream.
And, of course, if you liked Minyan Duty, I’ve got a spec screenplay that you just have to read…
