“Film School Follies: Part 1 – Seminole and Void”

Today we start a series written by loyal Commentarama reader ScottDS about his adventures in film school.

By ScottDS
Let us flashback to the mid-90s. The Discovery Channel used to air a weekly documentary series titled Movie Magic in which we were given the opportunity to witness the various exploits of cinema's visual effects wizards. (The DVD format, replete with its requisite “making-of featurettes” was still a few years away.)

Each episode would cover one specific topic: bluescreen photography, matte painting, models, make-up effects, etc. They would usually analyze the effects for one or two current films, and then explain the history of those effects using footage from older films. In one episode, they showcased a group of student filmmakers crashing an airplane model into a miniature desert landscape, à la Flight of the Phoenix. Those students were film majors at… Florida State University! (sorry, Gators)

My reaction was something along the lines of, “Florida?! I live in Florida!”

Sometime in the sixth grade, I realized I wanted to work in the film business. I sort of segued from production design, to visual effects (I even received a letter from George Lucas' Industrial Light & Magic with a list of recommended schools), to directing. Why directing? At the time I figured that, as director, the success or failure of a film would fall on my shoulders. As a set designer or visual effects artisan, I would have no control over the story content of the film itself but, as director, I would. In retrospect, I don't know what the hell I was thinking! Unlike Spielberg, I didn't come out of the womb wielding a Panaflex. I never had a lot of friends, let alone friends that would help me make movies, and I was shy to a debilitating degree.

But I was always interested. I read various film publications, watched all the documentaries I could, but I never shot anything of my own. When it came time to choose a college, I chose FSU. They had this film program and, due to financial considerations, I was forced to stay in the state. Now let me talk to you about that process: at the time, FSU's film school was highly selective; it’s probably worse now. They would take fifteen freshman and fifteen transfers. If I failed to gain admittance as a freshman, I could still go, take my core classes, and get in as a transfer student. I knew the odds were against me from minute one but I had to try, right? I mean, that's what all high school seniors do – they apply to college, and three months after high school ends, they're off and away. (I probably would’ve been better off backpacking through Europe or joining the Peace Corps instead!)

Just to show you how efficient the system was, I applied to FSU online and before I even knew what had happened, I was presented with the “Congratulations! Mail us a check for $25 and your application will be processed!” screen. I did it? There's an entire subgenre of instructional literature based on getting into college and I just did it? (Of course, all I had done was apply; getting in was another story.) In December of 2000, I received my acceptance letter… and I might still have it somewhere! I did not get into the film school but I was officially a Seminole. My family was proud of me and I suppose that's all I ever wanted from them.

Here's the deal: to better your chances of getting into the film school, you had to “make yourself known” meaning take film classes, work on student films, network, the usual. I worked as a production assistant (PA) on a short film titled Homerun, which appeared to be an old-fashioned “ragtag bunch of baseball players win one for home” story. I posted my info on the film school bulletin board (not online, but a real bulletin board!) and someone – probably the producer, I don't remember – called me a day or two later and asked if I'd be interested in working on their little opus. After staying up entirely too late the night before (watching Dr. Strangelove – the ending somewhat paralleling my year at FSU), I got up at the crack of dawn and trudged from my Dante's Inferno of a dorm down to the film building. No one home, of course. Eventually someone saw me and we were off to a local park. I helped where I could: setting up craft services (catering), distributing walkie-talkies, handling paperwork, etc. When you're a PA it is absolutely important that you have something to do. Even if you don't. I once read somewhere that, if you have zero to do, get a rag and start cleaning up a table. At least you're doing something!

My job for the day: human roadblock. That’s right, I was given a walkie and an orange vest and was told to block traffic whenever they were shooting… which was often. (The sound of the passing cars interfered with the audio.) The assistant director would chime in with “Lock it down!” and I'd have to stand in the middle of the street (only two lanes, thank God) and hold up my stop sign. On “Cut!”, I'd retreat back to land. What a miserable day! I've since learned to keep things in perspective. I was not in the Middle East dismantling IEDs. I was not a firefighter putting out a ten-story blaze. I was just a PA, formerly referred to as a “gopher” and by John Landis as a “schlepper.” (As a teenager, Landis worked as a PA behind the Iron Curtain before going on to direct such classic films as Animal House, The Blues Brothers, and Trading Places.)

I was about a hundred feet from where they were shooting so I couldn't hear much in terms of dialogue. I was able to stop a few cars but a couple managed to get through the “formidable blockade” I presented. No harm done. At the end of the day, people thanked me for my help (student and indie filmmakers are truly grateful for all the [free] help they can get) and I was driven back to school where I went back to my dorm and collapsed. I finally saw the film months later… on a three inch black and white monitor with no sound in a dubbing room deep within the bowels of the film building. It looked okay from where I was sitting!

But that's not all. I took two film classes. The first class (the name escapes me and I trashed all my FSU paperwork a couple years ago) was a pure exercise in boredom. The textbook consisted of microscopic print from cover to cover with no visual aids and I can’t even recall if it had an index or a glossary. It was quite user-unfriendly and full of ten-dollar words. I’m not saying the book should’ve been dumbed down; it was simply poorly designed. It was in this class that I realized something: “Are we reading too much into things?” When the teacher would talk about the beauty of a particular shot, I would always ask myself, “What if that was the only place they could put the camera?” Don’t get me wrong – I want to appreciate this sort of thing but my brain seems to value practical considerations over the aesthetic.

The other class was titled “President's Seminar on Film” and it was taught by one of the higher-ups in the film school. It was a weekly roundtable discussion. Each student was assigned a film to present; we'd view the film, and then talk about it – simple as that. I really should’ve asked out the cute girl who, after a screening of Do the Right Thing blurted out, “I think Spike Lee is a racist, egotistical asshole!” Naturally my presentation fell on September 11th and since classes were cancelled, I had to present something else later. (The film I was to introduce happened to be a personal favorite of mine, Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I ended up introducing a couple of Wallace & Gromit shorts on the last day of class instead.)

We were also assigned a report: ten pages on a film of our choosing. Ninety pages later, I had my paper on Kevin Smith's Clerks. Truth be told, most of the material came from Smith’s interview in Stephen Lowenstein's book, My First Movie. One girl eyed the report sticking out of my bag as if it were the chestburster from Alien. The teacher, on the other hand, was impressed. Not enough to get me into the film school. Sometime in early 2002, I received my official rejection letter (which I plan on showing at any future awards ceremony I'm invited to).

At the end of the day, there are no wasted experiences, only disappointments. FSU was a big disappointment. The highlights were the free movies in the Student Life Theater and the Krispy Kreme case in the convenience store. I managed to make a couple friends that I try to keep in touch with (one joined the Peace Corps, the other joined the Navy) but other than that, it's a distant memory. I left FSU in the spring of 2002 and I haven't been back since. On one hand, “Good riddance!” On the other hand, I've always wondered what would've happened if I had stayed there and majored in something else.

Another thing I noticed and I'm sure this applies to other professions as well. Whenever I would spend time in the film building, everyone just seemed so insular. It was as if they didn't want anyone trespassing on their turf. I would overhear the geekiest conversations but who was I to barge in and offer my own two cents? And I've always walked that line between full tilt geeky and the need for a more “normal” life (which is quite paradoxical since no one would accuse me of being a well-rounded guy!). Some of these people lived, ate, drank, and slept film and when they weren't shooting, they were writing or editing. I couldn't do that. I still can't. A friend of a friend got into the film school and went on to win a Student Academy Award. I look at photos of him and his cute (film geek) girlfriend and I think to myself, “That's me in a parallel universe where I'm less lazy and more courageous.”

In my next article, I'll introduce you to Full Sail University where laziness and courage seemed to go hand in hand.

Recommended Reading:

(I’ll be including books and periodicals about various aspects of the film industry.)

Lowenstein, Stephen. My First Movie: Twenty Celebrated Directors Talk about Their First Film. New York: Pantheon Books, 2000.

Rickitt, Richard. Special Effects: The History and Technique. New York: Billboard Books, 2000.

Smith, Thomas G. Industrial Light & Magic: The Art of Special Effects. New York: Ballantine Books, 1988.

Vaz, Mark Cotta and Patricia Rose Duignan. Industrial Light & Magic: Into the Digital Realm. New York: Ballantine Books, 1996.