Monthly Archives: January 2017

Co-Creating With Your “Audience”

28 Saturday Jan 2017

Posted by in Development

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As we continue to plan our development and release strategy for “Inside-Out, Outside-In,” we are struggling to come to terms with our relationship to the eventual audience of the film. It doesn’t take much reflection to come to the realization that 20th century definitions of the word “audience” no longer apply. So, I’d like filmmakers to consider how greatly things have changed in terms of the audience’s consumption of media and then build your film in accordance with new realities (or at least in awareness of them).

First of all, in 2017, practically every human being in the United States under the age of 50 is a content creator and a content curator, because of social media. In days gone by, people identified with their profession – maybe they were a bricklayer or teacher or doctor or cop – and to a great degree, left art to the artists. They certainly – for the most part – didn’t conceive of themselves as part-artist (perhaps some of them did, who had a painting hobby or the like). But now, almost everyone in America is part-artist. They are part-actor-photographer with the selfies they share on Instagram and part-writer with their Facebook posts. They are part-curator with what they choose to retweet on Twitter and part-filmmaker on Snapchat. And building followings in these various platforms affords status in a similar way that authors used to receive from being on a best-seller list or winning a prestigious literary award. Perhaps it’s a cruder version of that sort of status, but on some level, achieving a higher status and more cultural influence is achieving a higher status and more cultural influence. And now, what anyone expresses may legitimately, in terms that data can measure, accrue status. In 1950, artists and filmmakers and fashion designers might affect how the culture perceived this or that issue or trend. (Think of the style influence of Audrey Hepburn). But now, social media “winning” could easily strike a bricklayer with an iPhone (I have MANY friends who would follow a hot shirtless bricklayer on Instagram), who could accidentally launch a new catchphrase or look. We’re all actors now.

In one way, this is great. Why shouldn’t everyday people have a shot at influencing their own culture through what they express? Why should only elite-level artists have this potential to influence others culturally? Maybe, in the past, artists have abused the privilege and overestimated their insight and observations of life compared to non-artists. So perhaps, the scales are evening up…and for the first time.

Some artists have responded to the democratization of cultural influence by trying to make their work less accessible to the common man. This impulse for abstraction grants the artist the ability to retain feelings of superiority and greater economic power from his creations. Accessibility is all too easy to interpret as the “part-artist” energy of the prosumer, so artists work double time to make their work abstract and intellectual, sometimes for the sake of vanity rather than purity of purpose. After all, if everybody’s expressions are equally valuable, artists would have an extraordinarily difficult time getting paid (which is already happening, of course). Then, there are other artists who pander to the masses even more, by making their content shorter or more shareable, more focused on viral potentiality. This is just base greed, a desire to brazenly profit off a new set-up before bothering to understand the implications of technological change or the purpose of artistic ventures in the first place.

So what is a conscientious artist to do? Some well-meaning artists try to deny the changing landscape and hold onto the past. But this seems foolish – times they are a’changing and denial/obstinance serves no one. Others become so overwhelmed that they retreat from the landscape altogether but this seems like, well, weakness. As artists, we must meet the challenges of our time and, hopefully, provide some insight for others to do the same.

So, knowing all that, I think the best model for the future is thinking of the audience as fellow artists and to see your project as a mission to create something together. This is especially true during the phase of the project when your film touches the audience directly. Their reaction should be incorporated as part of the story of the work itself. We no longer live in a world where people sit in a darkened theatre, let the film soak into them and leave, a grateful and changed audience. So why pretend we do, even if that sort of arrangement used to grant incredible status to the film’s creators? Now, your audience is making the experience with you – and deserves much of the credit, too. Yes, your feature film is the most intense part of the experience created, but it is no longer the only show in town, even in terms of the experience of said feature film.

How do we successfully co-create something with the audience? This is where creativity and ingenuity come into play. For my current film, Guys Reading Poems, we’ve created a series of open mic poetry readings in Los Angeles as a way for our audience to express their own poetry, not just watch the selections we included in the film. And sometimes, we find gems that are superior to what we make ourselves, such as the poem “Millennium” by Elena Secota. So we then double back and use our growing audience to turn a spotlight onto Ms. Secota, a fellow co-creator of the “Guys Reading Poems” experience. This provides a positive feedback loop that truly serves both our film and the community – as equals.

So what’s our co-creating strategy for “Inside-Out, Outside-In”? To be honest, I don’t know yet. They call it brainstorming because it feels like a raging thunder crossing back and forth in your head. But eventually – and hopefully soon – we’ll land on a good idea. And then, you can be part of the film…and share in its accomplishments.

In the meantime, I offer you “Millennium” by Elena Secota.

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Hunter Lee Hughes is a filmmaker and actor living and working in Los Angeles and the founder of Fatelink. His current feature film Guys Reading Poems is touring film festivals and this blog is dedicated to the process of making his second feature film, “Inside-Out, Outside-In.” If you enjoy the blog, please support our team by following us on Facebook, Twitter (@Fatelink) or Instagram (@Fatelink).

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The Voice of Your Film

23 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by in Casting, Development, Pre-Production, The Script

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One of the founding principles of my production company Fatelink is our belief in the organic development of material.

What does that mean exactly and how do we organically develop material in an age when time is a precious and expensive commodity for the higher profile actors who sometimes drop in for only a day or two of rehearsal, if that?

For me, at the core of the concept of organic development of material is an idea – the idea that the material itself has a life of its own. Furthermore,  over time – the film will communicate with you and clarify what it wants to be, much like a child asserting to a parent the profession that suits their personality. I see directing films not so much as a general leading troops to battle to execute a plan, but as a meditator quietly listening to the “voice of the film” that’s already forming itself somewhere beyond our ordinary day-to-day life. Then, it’s the director’s job to support that voice and to encourage it, just as a good parent enrolls his child in karate classes when they express a desire for a career in the martial arts. The “voice of the film” doesn’t scream at you – it whispers, it entreats, it inspires and, sometimes, it vexes you, especially when the “voice of the film” wants to shoot underwater or rewrite a scene to require more speaking parts that will prompt a difficult conversation with the producer. And the “voice of the film” doesn’t speak in a rapid-fire monologue that is discoverable in one sitting. It requires a number of sittings, over time, and there is room for negotiation. Interestingly, if you really can’t afford those other actors and go back to the “voice of the film”, it may come up with an alternate idea. What I’m calling the “voice of the film” also may evolve as you the director gather information through research, thought and rehearsal.

Admittedly, filmmaking in 2017 seems particularly unsuited for this meditative directorial style. In the studio world, hiring a general makes a lot more sense. After all, they have hundreds of people to be corralled to make the film (some of them, quite frankly in my opinion, who are unnecessary). And even when the “voice of the film” begins to call out to the people involved that the plan needs to change, it’s more effective to execute the plan that was drafted before. After all, hundreds of people have committed to it (and in some cases, it seems like hundreds of people had to agree to it, too) and it’s already in motion. Studios feel they must populate their films with actors that drive box office returns, so when a fragile voice expresses, ‘we need someone with XXXX quality to embody this role, not that huge star’, it’s a business imperative to ignore that voice.

The beauty of being an independent filmmaker is that the lower budget and freedom from bureaucratic power struggles mean that the “voice of the film” has a much better chance of emerging. But don’t be fooled – even an independent film has internal political pressure and time is always a factor. So it’s important to set up your process in a way that empowers the “voice of the film” rather than disempowers it.

Here are some simple steps you can take to ensure that your film discovers and heeds its own voice in an organic way.

  1. Don’t be fooled by magical thinking that says rehearsal is unnecessary in film. I’ve heard so many director’s commentaries where it’s said that a chosen moment in the film was “the first take” and that the film did not rehearse the scene whatsoever. I’ve then heard 23-year old directors mimicking that sentiment with broad statements like, “I don’t believe in rehearsing for film.” But it’s dangerous for new and emerging filmmakers to adopt the attitude that rehearsal is something for amateurs and theatre actors. First of all, so often what underlines this attitude in newer directors is hubris rather than a genuine philosophical point of view (The subtext of that previous quote from Mr. Hot Young Director is, ‘I’m so brilliant that I don’t need rehearsal – it would only slow down the magic that is flowing from my brilliance….’). Done properly, rehearsal is a time when the “voice of the film” reveals itself and, if you’re listening, you will find a moment or two that you didn’t know existed when you wrote the screenplay. You’ll discover dialogue that’s unnecessary and other dialogue that can be simplified. You’ll realize that the intricate shot you storyboarded isn’t as important as an ordinary medium or close-up that reveals something more important…and will footnote that moment as a priority for later on set.
  2. Hire high profile actors. But don’t put them in every single role. The economic reality of independent filmmaking is that you must put some high profile actors in your film to increase your chances to sell and distribute the film. But I strongly, strongly suggest you resist the temptation to put high profile actors in every single role. Why? Usually, these actors – even when working for scale – are less available for rehearsal and conversation before the film starts. They tend to drop in on your movie for the allotted amount of time, then go away again. They do what they do extremely effectively, but you don’t want an entire cast that is under that sort of time crunch. If you have an ensemble film of seven main characters, I suggest going for high profile actors for three of the seven roles, at the most. With the other roles, choose amazing working actors that perfectly fit the archetypal quality of the character. And make sure with their agents that they are available for an extensive amount of time for rehearsals. Usually, these actors are extremely grateful to get a leading role, so you will have an easier time going out with them for coffee just to talk about the film and the role. And this time is crucial because, again, it’s simple conversations like this when the “voice of the film” starts to emerge. And you want to feel 100% confident in those conversations, rather than feeling like you owe an agent a favor for an hour’s discussion with his or her client. What I’ve seen is that once the really high profile actors come on set and realize how much development and work has gone into the film and the other characters, they are inspired to dive in and are suddenly on their A+ game, so you end up getting the best of all worlds.
  3. Storyboard the entire film. Shotlist the entire film. Again, related to the point I make in #1, I’ve heard directors as young as 21 insist that they never shotlist or storyboard their films, but rather discover everything on set. Usually, this is accompanied by some sort of statement about shotlists being too “limiting” or a desire to shoot things, “in the moment.” And again, I am skeptical of whether this mentality is hubris or just laziness. Here’s why storyboarding and shotlisting are important, other than their advantages of keeping the crew informed, organized and prepared and just having a plan generally. Storyboarding and shotlisting force a conversation with the “voice of the film” that you might otherwise be too busy to notice. Going shot by shot allows you to organically hear what your film is resisting and what makes it enthusiastic. It’s sort of a boot camp for understanding what type of film you’re directing. If you have enough of these sorts of conversations, you become attuned to the “voice of the film” so much so that if you decide there’s a scene you need to improvise, you will know how to direct that scene without a shotlist. But again, that ability to be “in the moment” can only come from the weeks of work listening and understanding the “voice of the film” through the storyboarding and shotlisting process.
  4. Read. Then Check in. Watch Movies. Then Check in. It can be difficult to separate yourself as a private individual from the film you are serving. So one simple, but effective tactic for developing the “voice of your film” is to check in with your film immediately after reading or watching a film. As an individual, you may have one reaction to a novel, poem or essay, but the film inside you may find something else of value in what you’ve just read. The same concept applies to watching films. So it’s helpful to ask the “voice of the film” inside you, ‘What did you find interesting or useful about that? You might be surprised at what comes back.
  5. Meditate. First of all, let me be honest. When it comes to meditation, I’m like an alcoholic – on the wagon, then off again. However, I have noticed that meditation helps draw up the ideas needed for a film. The process through which that happens is a bit mysterious and also important to keep private, I feel. But don’t take my word for it. Learn meditation from someone who knows what they are doing and you will see results (send a message if you’d like me to recommend someone).

These are just five out of an infinite number of ways you may begin listening to the “voice of your film.” If you have any more methods helpful to directors or screenwriters, please leave them in the comments!

 

 

New Film Distribution Models – 7 Ideas

20 Friday Jan 2017

Posted by in Release

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I’ve talked to a number of filmmaker friends who feel that the distribution phase of a film – even more so than fundraising – is the most challenging part of the process. Yes, it’s extremely competitive to get the attention of sales agents and, in turn, distributors. But even passing that hurdle leaves hard questions: is my distributor telling the truth about these numbers? Are they paying on time? Are they using their leverage on my film or for a different film on their roster? Are they being smart about how they are marketing my film?

So I thought I would swing for the fences and suggest ideas – some quite radical and others common sense – for the future of film distribution with the hope that one or two of these ideas might empower you in the distribution phase of your film. I’ve based my suggestions on the business plan of my first feature film Guys Reading Poems, brainstorming sessions for the new feature Inside-Out, Outside-In as well as conversations with lots of my filmmaker friends about films they’ve sold or distributed.

So if you’re an indie filmmaker looking for distribution options, consider this:

  1. Start a film group, with the intent to buy or build a movie theatre as an extension of your work. I see so many working theatre groups, many of whom own or operate their own small theatre very successfully. I think it’s largely just cultural heritage that actors and content creators feel comfortable with theatre groups, but so much less so with film groups. But I think that in 20 years, every actor will be thinking about which film group they want to join the way we used to think about trying to find a theatre group. And if there’s not a great film group in your area, start one yourself. Bonus: if you can find a way – as a film group – to own and operate a small cinema, it will provide a lot of leverage for you in talks with distributors and sales agents. This is true not only because you can provide a theatrical run for the film you’ve made, but also because you’ll be able to more cheaply provide them a rental space for their other titles. Now, all of a sudden, you look like someone they want to know….
  2. Make three movies instead of one. Making one feature film and finishing it is an incredible accomplishment, but having only one film leaves you vulnerable at the negotiating table with sales agents and distributors. Once you sign the paperwork, what leverage do you have? None, really. So it’s only their integrity and sense of professionalism that will get you paid at that point (and some distributors have more integrity than others….). But by making more than one movie – even holding one or two in the pipeline – you have leverage because assuming you deliver three quality films, they will want the second one…and the third one. So you can use that as a negotiating tactic. And they might be more forthcoming with statements and payments because you now can contest problems with three titles they own, not just one.
  3. Sell a product. Major studios greenlight films, in part, because of the merchandising opportunities that a film might provide. They think of each film as a profit center, not a work of art. Independent filmmakers (myself included) tend to make a film because it’s a story they want to tell and it feels a bit like whoring out your own child to think about the movie as a profit center. And yet, it’s possible to brainstorm products that could go with your film and why shouldn’t you? You’re spending three to four years making this film so why not have something organic that goes with your film to sell? You might end up making more money off this related product than the film itself. That product also might affect how you distribute the film. Perhaps the consumer gets a copy of your film when they buy your product or purchasing the product provides a coupon for the product, etc.
  4. Identify your audience early, then join that community. This isn’t rocket science, but if your film appeals to specific groups, go be part of that group to lay the groundwork for your film’s eventual release. If your target market includes married women with kids in their 40s and you’re a single gay guy in your 20s, then you better go out there and meet some married moms! Former Speaker of the House Tip O’Neill famously said, “All politics is local.” A similar sentiment applies to building an audience for your film. The Hollywood glamour machine does a good job of building the illusion that films become hits because of magic. But if you’re an indie filmmaker, you can’t afford to be fooled by the magical thinking that your film will somehow win over audiences because….destiny. The reality on the ground is that you are forced into becoming a politician to sell your film to the groups that are willing to buy it (and, yes, your inner purist artist will rebel from that ‘politician’ label, but try to convince your inner artist to get over it). If you’re not on the ground mixing and mingling with your target audience, why should they trust you enough to watch your work? How do they know you accurately reflected their lives? If you don’t intimately know people in your target audience, who will your brand ambassadors be? If you can show sales agents and distributors that you have credibility with one of the big target audiences of your film, that will be helpful and just plain smart.
  5. Cross platforms. Be thinking about how your film can be reinvented across many platforms – and select three or four that are powerful to drive folks to you. You can’t just keep sharing the trailer all day long and hope for the best. So think about how you can reinvent your film’s content in a way that would appeal to the users of Twitter. If that platform doesn’t work for you, fine. Then, how can it be reinvented and repackaged for Instagram or YouTube or Snapchat or on and on. It goes back to the concept of making three movies instead of one. You are really never making one singular movie. You’re making an experience that goes across platforms, with the feature film the most intense part of that experience.
  6. Roll the dice and plan for your film to get a major pick-up deal at Sundance or Cannes. Of course, there is a school of thought that says to only focus on the quality of your film, then go sell your film at Sundance and let a distributor deal with all this “political and networking bullshit” that you don’t want to do. Fair enough. Go for it. Just know your odds going in. This year, Sundance had upwards of 15,000 films submitted for around 250 slots. And I think that the interpersonal politics at film festivals is even more pronounced now than 15 years ago because of changes to the distribution model. Even powerhouse distributors are feeling the pinch of fewer dvd sales and an uncertain market and are highly motivated to buttress their films with credentials like Sundance. So, some pretty heavy hitters are out there calling festival programmers to lobby for their film to get one of those slots. That’s not to say that these festivals don’t consider new work from less established filmmakers, they do. But politics is a factor – and I would argue a bigger factor now than ten years ago because the uncertainty in the market motivates the power players to exercise as much power as they can while they still have it.
  7. Forever Theatrical/Films as Precious Art Objects. With piracy of films online so problematic, I could imagine a day when major filmmakers rebel and refuse to allow their films to be released online at all. It’s so very annoying to see your film ripped off and some low grade version of it circulating the internet that I’ve heard at least one indie filmmaker say that he wants to turn his films into sculptures, more or less. He makes a film. It has a festival, then a theatrical run, then he sells 100 encrypted copies of the film to high-end art collectors. Every now and then, he reintroduces the film in a new theatrical run, but it never goes online and never becomes available as a dvd or bluray. This filmmaker felt this was the only approach that held a future for indie artists because it actually allows us to value our work in the same category as others working in the fine arts. Now admittedly, I heard this idea at a late-night party when everybody had been drinking, but you know what? Who knows what the future may bring?

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Hunter Lee Hughes is a filmmaker and actor living and working in Los Angeles and the founder of Fatelink. His current feature film Guys Reading Poems is touring film festivals and this blog is dedicated to the process of making his second feature film, “Inside-Out, Outside-In.” If you enjoy the blog, please support our team by following us on Facebook, Twitter (@Fatelink) or Instagram (@Fatelink).

 

The Duty of the Artist

17 Tuesday Jan 2017

Posted by in Development, The Script

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“I’m dating a musician. He’s in a band that plays every Friday night here in town, but they’ll be headed off to do a mini-tour to support their iTunes album soon,” says a friend of yours. You study your friend, somewhat skeptical…and definitely worried.  The sentence, “Please remember, you’re dating an actor,” is a commonly overheard refrain – and sometimes an exhortation – in Los Angeles when raised voices, sobbing and genuine confusion alert you that two friends at the table next to you are discussing relationships and heartbreak. In fact, I had an acquaintance who developed a sort of cruel shorthand for dealing with his female friend’s numerous complaints about an on-again, off-again boyfriend. When she lamented about the newest strange and unwanted behavior by her boyfriend, he would reply emphatically with a poignant, one-word reminder, “Actor.”

There is a sense that actors, musicians, poets, writers, comedians, artists can be intelligent, sensitive, passionate, certainly sexy, but also dangerously self-centered, not quite a solid bet for forming relationships. In some ways, artists seem the opposite of dutiful, a worrisome thought when pondering a potential son-in-law.

Now doctors, they clearly have a duty – to heal their patients. Sure, some doctors are unscrupulous but those scandals are the exception that prove the existence of the rule. Teachers report to schools to discharge their duty to transmit knowledge to the next generation. New police officers take a “Law Enforcement Oath” at the beginning of their career, outlining their duty as public servants. So do Senators and U.S. Congressmen and our President. Lawyers are bound by duty to represent their clients and that duty swears them to secrecy about the conversations held in private with clients. And members of the clergy have duties defined by their religious beliefs. Many practitioners in these fields fall far short of what their duty prescribes, but it is significant that entire career categories are defined by aspirations towards fulfilling a duty, perhaps ennobling those who pursue them. After all, if your job requires you to serve an ideal beyond your ego, perhaps you start transcending selfish desires in your personal life as well.

In contrast, on the surface at least, artists seem to gravitate towards the “love” in the classic “duty vs. love” theme. The stereotypical artist engages in some kind of rebellion to join the ranks of his profession, against a future safeguarded by more steady and predictable work. (There are certainly exceptions – people born into esteemed families of artists, for example). Like Romeo or Juliet, the artist falls in love…with the pursuit of his or her craft or with the field they aspire to join. And that love is a kind of river that sweeps the artist along – sometimes here, sometimes there. Desire asserts itself as the key component of the artist’s choice to make a career of the creative life. In the best case scenario, it’s an authentic desire of the soul to discover and express something of value; in the worst case, it’s the desire for the enviable results that accompany success at the highest levels of the creative class – fame, money, cultural importance and influence.

But even when the impulse to become an actor comes naturally, out of genuine curiosity and passion, basing your profession on desire is fundamentally different than joining a profession defined by its duty to others.

So that begs the question – is this stereotypical initiation of the artist into his profession a healthy one? Perhaps living one’s life based on desire and rebellion is the source of the accusation that many artists are suffering from arrested development, trapped in an extended adolescence that’s simply not possible for those who serve others as doctors, teachers, police officers and nurses. Have we entered the arts simply to avoid growing up? Or, perhaps, to avoid having to consider the needs and requirements of others, who are, after all, equally human to non-artists? Are we as artists only living to satisfy our own self-centered needs and to express the passion, thoughts, emotions or imagination within us with no sense of duty towards anyone else or anything greater than ourselves?

I don’t think so. Indeed, I think there are many noble artists fulfilling an important duty through their profession, whether they are doing so consciously or unconsciously. But, it is much more difficult to describe what an artist’s duty should be, compared to other professions, and it is easier to set aside one’s duty as an artist precisely because that duty is so much harder and more elusive to define.

Let’s start out with some heavy hitters and see what they had to say about the duty of the artist. Here are two quotes from Marlon Brandon & Robert Schumann:

“To grasp the full significance of life is the actor’s duty, to interpret it is his problem and to express it is his dedication.” – Marlon Brando

“To send light into the darkness of men’s hearts – such is the duty of the artist.” – Robert Schumann

Both statements have a ring of truth to them, although they certainly contradict one another. Granted, Brando is a first-rate actor, while Schumann is a composer. Brando’s statement would seemingly embrace the actor grasping, interpreting and expressing both dark and light, while Schumann sees art (perhaps a la Schopenhauer) as the lightness that illuminates our otherwise dark hearts. Presumably, under Brando’s description, it would be excellent for an artist to bring a hidden dark color to bear in his work so that we may understand the meaning of that darkness, while for Schumann the artist must strive to conjure light to relieve us from darkness.

So – knowing the statements contradict one another – how can I possibly contend that both Brando and Schumann are correct?

Because – unlike police officers and teachers – the artist’s duty is more closely related to the individual self. In the case of Brando, his duty was to ‘grasp the full significance of life’ and he did so, in the process unearthing unforgettable moments on film. But Brando’s mistake here is in trying to imply that EVERY actor’s duty is ‘to grasp the full significance of life’ rather than accepting it as his duty alone.

In the classic SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN, the late Debbie Reynolds, only 19 at the time it was shot, overjoyed a nation with her irrepressible, optimistic performance. I would dispute that Ms. Reynolds’ duty in that role was to “grasp the full significance of life.” No. Her role called on her to do something else, something also very valuable to a nation in need. Her performance embodied the American can-do spirit after a vicious world war through a performance that exuded joy. If Debbie Reynolds’ duty had been – “to lift the spirits of others” – she certainly fulfilled it in that role, just as Brando fulfilled his duty to “grasp the full significance of life” with his own, very different, oeuvre. He saw the meaning. She brought the light into the darkness.

Landscape jigsaw puzzle of a greyscale wheat fieldAnd the variations of duty with regards to artists are not binary, but rather limitless because there are an infinite number of individual variations of important qualities that need embodiment and exploration for the greater good. Artists must just take more time – and indeed walk through a bit of a creative process – to become conscious of their own intrinsic qualities that can be helpful to the culture at large…and how to then formulate those qualities into a sort of vision statement, or duty that serves their fellow citizens.

The problem for actors – and artists – is that because determining one’s duty is a two-step process that requires sober self-reflection, it’s easy to ignore the concept of duty altogether and slip into adolescent thinking and self-centeredness when the nature of your duty is not obvious. And once we slip into a self-centered life without the yoke of duty, we can become “that guy” that Los Angeles friends discuss through tears over cappuccinos.

So maybe it’s worthwhile for all artists to spend an afternoon or two or three asking themselves, “What is my duty? What is the intrinsic quality I have to share that could be helpful to others in need?” I believe that once you figure out your artist’s duty (consistent with the qualities you possess) – and perhaps even just by asking the question – then life may be as meaningful and selfless for artists, as for anyone else doing their part to make our world a better place.

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Hunter Lee Hughes is a filmmaker and actor living and working in Los Angeles and the founder of Fatelink. His current feature film Guys Reading Poems is touring film festivals and this blog is dedicated to the process of making his second feature film, “Inside-Out, Outside-In.” If you enjoy the blog, please support our team by following us on Facebook, Twitter (@Fatelink) or Instagram (@Fatelink).