After a few minutes of looking at the suit and listing the adjustments that would need to be made to the jacket and pants, Glenda made the executive decision that she would not be able to make the suit fit me without ruining it. I changed back into my own clothes and waited while David had some things fitted. I was immediately drawn to her bookshelves, especially her surprisingly complete collection of hardcover Stephen King novels. I’ve been a “Constant Reader” since I was eight-years-old, and hadn’t read anything of his in a few years.

I pulled down the lone paperback in the collection, Full Dark No Stars, a volume of four novellas published in 2007. I started reading the third story, ‘Fair Extension,’ and before I knew it, David was ready to leave.

“You can borrow that if you want,” Glenda said. “I already have the hardcover and someone gave me that as a present.”

I happily accepted and took the book home. I read the entire thing in a week. For two nights, I stayed up way past my bedtime to get through one of the most suspenseful pieces of fiction I have ever read: the second story in the book, ‘Big Driver.’

I knew about this Dollar Baby thing Stephen King does, after reading about it in one of his many forewords or introductions. As I finished ‘Big Driver,’ I remembered this and thought, ‘Yes, that’s what I want. I want to make a movie of this.’

The next morning I started doing some research, found a way to send him my information, and waited. Four days later, I received an email from his assistant with a contract attached. The contract is very simple: I have the non-exclusive right to adapt a non-commercial film of the story (meaning I can only screen it at festivals and use it for my reel, never sell it), and I have to get it done by September 2013. Despite these limitations, it’s an opportunity I couldn’t be more excited about. The privilege to adapt this surreal, violent, funny and suspenseful story is one I intend to make the most out of and do as best as I am able.

My very first Q&A experience was when I was 17-years-old at the Tower Theater in Salt Lake City, Utah. I had been through the Sundance Youth Documentary Workshop and directed a short 5-minute documentary. The short docs of all the participants were screened one afternoon in July at Salt Lake City’s historic arthouse theater.

The Tower, bless its heart, doesn’t have air conditioning, which makes summer movies there almost unbearable. In the heat of the day, I started sweating when the second film started. By the time we were called up front to answer questions in the packed theater, I could feel the stain on the back of my shirt. I stood there, dizzy from the heat as a series of teenagers babbled on about their films. I looked at the audience, who were also red in the face and ready to rush out the door as soon as this torture ended. The theater staff had thrown open all the doors and were lugging fans into the room, likely to minimize liability for the heatstroke due to hit their patrons any minute.

Someone asked a question about my film. The microphone was passed to me. I asked the person to repeat the question, they did, and I just couldn’t concentrate enough. I felt faint.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and said, “You know I think it’s too hot in here to keep doing this.”

The audience, laughed, applauded, and leapt out of their chairs to stream back outside into the fresh air.

At FilmOut, the San Diego LGBT Film Festival, the audience was curious about the film’s intended meanings and our process. It’s incredibly rewarding when someone who has seen your film connects the dots just the way you’d intended (and it seems this is the constant goal throughout the development of your craft, that more people and more people are able to connect the dots you’ve placed). A gentleman who looked to be in his 50s told me that the experience of watching the film filled him with dread, which was very much the overriding emotion for gay men of his generation about HIV, AIDS, and sex.

At Philadelphia QFest, another older gentleman raised his hand during the Q&A to make a very different comment about the film.

“I’m having a difficult time with your film,” he started, “I just don’t understand how you could make a film like this that mocks the issue of HIV and AIDS. When people of your generation see this film, do they really think it’s okay to laugh at something like this?”

Usually, people ask either a really easy question (“How did you find your actors?” “What did you shoot on?” “How much did it cost?”) or a completely insane, unanswerable question (“Tell us about how marshmallows’ long-term effects on water purification were a part of your process.” “Do you think the film would work if it were made in 1920s Syria?”). I had never been asked a question that was, essentially, asking me to respond to a condemnation of my film’s tone and content. I had no idea what to say and ‘Ummed’ and ‘Uhhed’ for a moment.

Derek, my buddy and co-producer, was standing beside me during the Q&A, thank God, and responded, “There are certainly parts of the film that are meant to be funny, but, overall the movie is about dread and anxiety about sex and disease. Ian wrote it about a nightmare he had, so, I don’t think its mocking anything, it’s actually very serious.”

Later, I received an e-mail from someone else in the audience that night. He wrote, “Just wanted to let you know that I saw the film last week at Philly Qfest… and totally loved it. I can see the concern some of the older generation had thinking it made fun of a bad time in our history… and maybe I just love campy horror films… but this film is totally needed to speak to the current generation about safe sex in a fun way.”

Everyone reacts differently to any film. I’m grateful people have been compelled to feel one way or another. The best compliment I received was from a documentary filmmaker who told me after the screening, “I can’t say I enjoyed seeing your movie, but I can see what you’re doing, so, congratulations.”

It makes it easier to take feedback when you know that what one person hates another loves, and what works for some people fails miserably for others.  I’m not sure what this means for the quality or effectiveness of a film, but it seems to me it must be tied to expanding the pool of people who can connect the dots.

I’m very excited ‘Bug Chaser’ will screen at four more film festivals in September and October: the Austin Gay & Lesbian International Film Festival, the Atlanta Horror Film Festival, Festival Chéries-Chéris in Paris, and the Portland Lesbian & Gay Film Festival. You can sign up for updates and info on our website; if it hasn’t screened near you, please sign up to be notified when we post ‘Bug Chaser’ online.

But today, after fumbling for my toothbrush and dropping my it into the open toilet bowl, I understand now why a closed toilet seat is really optimal.

Dark Carnival Film Festival — Bloomington, IN

Bent-Con — Los Angeles, CA

Fantasy Planet Film Festival — Sydney, Australia

FilmOut San Diego LGBT Film Festival — San Diego, CA

Philadelphia QFest — Philadelphia, PA

Out Twin Cities Film Festival — Minneapolis, MN

Please check out the ‘Bug Chaser’ website for details about screenings. You can sign up for email updates and check out the trailer. You can also read this review from Into-the-Dark.com.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me and this project.

I directed the piece and also play the Narrator. Yes, it was an entirely selfish move, but I wanted to deliver those amazing lines. It’s been a great experience working with the three great actors who took the roles: Tonya Navaraez, Joe Sackett, and Nick Brunner himself. It was also a challenge to myself to force me in front of an audience again and have the opportunity to practice directing myself.

We were reviewed by the Bay Area Reporter, and I’m looking forward to two more weekends of working with my cast.

That’s me in the pic below, with Joe Sackett.

For many people, horror movies exist in the same category as pornography. From that perspective, the films of the two genres exist for the sake of the indulgence: boobs and blood. A litany of films supports this idea. Much of the horror genre is pure trash, just like pornos, with bad (sometimes non-existant) stories, laughable acting, amateur direction, and awful production value. However, like pornography, horror films also make money. Pornography and horror fulfill a need in human beings that isn’t too difficult to discern. Through porno, our sexual desire, fantasies, hang-ups, and fetishes can be explored. Through horror, our most intense fears, phobias, nightmares, and prejudices can be observed from a safe distance.

A lot has already been written about horror movies, how we experience them, and the psychology of their stories. Stephen King’s brilliant tome Danse Macabre illuminates every corner of the horror genre in film, radio, television, and literature. He makes a very incisive and problematic observation that horror, fundamentally, defends the status quo of society, because it depends on the idea of the ‘other’ to induce fear. We are afraid of Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Freddy Kreuger, The Thing, and Dracula because they are alien and abhorrent. Just like Randy in Scream explains in his rules to survive a horror movie, teens are warned against sex and drugs lest they invite death. These devices end up reinforcing the norms of society to induce fear. What that means, is that many of our fears are born from the rules of our society. H.P. Lovecraft, the godfather of horror, famously stated, “Our greatest fear is the fear of the unknown.”

In Jason Zioman’s recently published Shock Value, highly recommended, he writes that fear is the only emotion that fully brings us into the present. All pleasant emotions make us comfortable, lazy, and content. When we are afraid, we are paying absolute, albeit sometimes hysterical, attention to our surroundings, with adrenaline pumping through our veins.

A professor once told me, “I think you like horror movies because they reinforce your view of the world as a fundamentally dangerous place.”

All these are reasons we seek out and enjoy, on some level, the experience of being scared. There are many, however, who never watch horror films. I will acknowledge that many who don’t enjoy horror movies are those who have seen enough real horrors (death, abuse, hunger) and therefore feel no compulsion to open old wounds. On the other end of the spectrum, there are people who don’t like horror movies who are too afraid of what horror they might find in themselves.

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There are three broad reasons why someone is terrible at their job: natural ineptitude, unhappiness in their personal life, or working for a business that does not provide them with the resources to deliver what they promise their customers. There isn’t a lot we can do about stupid people; they’re our brothers, parents, sort-of friends, and acquaintances we do not wish harm but with whom we would rather not interact. Such is life. Which is something those who are unhappy with their personal life need to realize: nothing is ever perfect. Or maybe they just need to leave their job/lover/husband/child, whatever might be making them miserable. Those working for a company that expects them to do a lot with a little, the most we can do is encourage them to quit or demand more (and don’t give up til you get it).

There is a fourth reason we deal with people who are bad at their jobs, and they can be helped in an immediate, effective way: Artists. There is nothing worse than having an artist in a customer service position. They simply couldn’t care less if you get whatever it is you expect from them (coffee, cell phone, sandwich, new tire, anything). Think of an artist you may know, and ask yourself if you would trust them with, well, anything. Whether the brooding loner type or devil-may-care free spirit, would you want either person to be your only hope to get the gas turned back on or make sure a payment goes through?

Artists are put on Earth for one reason—to make their art. I hope you’re not soul-less enough to argue the value and purpose of art in human life. Just as those born with innate argument skills become lawyers, those who want to help people in illness become doctors, those passionate about social issues pursue their work in various ways, artists create art because they don’t know how to do anything else—and doing anything else makes them miserable.

Artists work customer service jobs because employment opportunities for us are notoriously limited. I do not believe the demand and need for our services is absent, but rather that  demand has been co-opted by business people (who are doing what they are passionate about–making money) and corporations (film studios, Target, Blockbuster, allposters.com, etc.) who wouldn’t know art if it fell out of a window and kicked them in the balls.

While we toil away washing cars, steaming milk for lattes, or processing credit card payments, we have only one thing on our mind—our art.

If I’m writing a script for a film, and a scene is giving me trouble because I can’t figure out how to make my character, Alice, appear sympathetic but flawed, that is really all I’m thinking about when you call to tell me about your billing issue. Please excuse that I have to ask you to repeat your problem, twice, but a few lines of dialogue came to me I needed to write down. And don’t be too upset when you receive the same bill with the same problem two weeks later. As soon as I hung up, the solution to my problem, not yours, came to me and I had to get to work.

If I were actually being paid to write this script, my ability to focus and follow through would be praised. You would benefit when you saw the movie and found yourself moved by Alice’s predicament—her human flaws but good intentions. Lucky for me, you wouldn’t pay attention enough to my name to know to yell at the screen, “That asshole double charged me for my phone bill last October!” Even if you did remember my name, what are the chances you would notice who wrote the film you saw?

For your sake, and ours, get artists out of customer service jobs and compel everyone you know to invest in the arts. You want people who are obedient and fear you to work in customer service jobs; that, an artist is not. Artists were made to disobey and challenge you. They ask the difficult questions and toil with emotions so you can drop some money on a physical representation of your feelings. It’s time you fulfill your end of the bargain and compensate others for things you doubtlessly enjoy: music, films, fine art, and interactive experiences. We are waiting to fulfill ours, but we have to help this customer first…

Now, after reading this modest proposal, if you aren’t convinced I shouldn’t be responsible for your travel plans, childcare, healthcare, or anything you deem important, then I hope I get to serve you at my day job real soon.

Here are some places you can support artists and make sure you don’t get one of us on the phone or behind a counter:

Kickstarter

Turning Art

IndieGoGo

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But when I read the title of Woody’s new film, I was nonplussed. What the fuck, exactly, does ‘Bop Decameron’ mean? I could only assume it was another sign the director’s age was catching up with him. He was clearly speaking non-sense at this point. However, when it finally occurred to me to look up the word ‘decameron,’ I was relieved to see that it did refer to something real—a book by Giovanni Boccaccio called The Decameron. However, I became concerned again when I read that the book was written in 1350… medieval times? The ‘bop’ in the title of the film clearly means an updating of the material, but what could possibly translate to the modern age from the time of Black Plague?

A few weeks before this discovery, my roommate placed a paper bag of books in the hallway he intended to take to Goodwill. I asked to rifle through them before he took them away and he agreed. One of the volumes I took was a book that looked fascinating called… can you see where this is going? … THE DECAMERON.

When I remembered this very book sat upon my bookshelf, I snatched it up and began to read. ‘Decameron,’ according to Wikipedia, “is a portmanteau, or combination of two Greek words meaning “ten” (δέκα déka) and “day” (ἡμέρα hēméra).” The book opens in Florence, with a terrifying description of how the Black Plague decimated the population and altered the social landscape, it would seem, for good. Seven young women plot to flee the City for the Country, and enlist the help of three young men. Each night, the group of ten gathers to tell one story each, for ten days.

The first tale concerns what must have been that time’s most egregious example of a despicable human being. Ser Ciapelletto forges documents, lies under oath, swindles his friends, and “was as fond of women as dogs are of a beating with a stick; he was, in fact, more fond of me, more so than any other degenerate.” The man of ill repute falls ill while traveling. On his death bed, he wishes to not be a burden upon his hosts. In order to receive a burial by the parish, Ciapelletto gives a priest his confession and makes himself out to be the most woe-fully ignorant and pious, God-fearing man ever lived. Ciapelletto dies. The priest hails his holiness at a public funeral, consecrates his body, and eventually makes the man a saint.

This story line wasn’t exactly what I expected to read in a book from the Middle Ages. Another story involved a monk taking a woman from the fields into his room where they “amuse themselves” with another. In order to sneak the woman out, the monk sets a trap that involves the head monk stumbling upon the woman alone in the room where they, naturally, “amuse themselves.” The head monk caught red-handed, has to help the first monk get the woman out of the monastery, back to the farm.

What I’m getting at, is that this way old book had funny, raunchy stuff in it. Like almost Apatow-worthy comedic plot twists and flourishes. I’m excited to see a modern adaptation of a few of these tales. There are a hundred stories told in the book, so it’s almost impossible to tell which have captured Allen’s imagination. But their consistent theme of mistaken identity, swindlers, sexual escapades, and fools makes it prime material. Given its public domain status, the stories are also cheaply-acquired source material. I sense mimicry afoot. I’m reading the stories to figure out which ones I want to adapt.

Update 4/3/2012: Woody Allen changed the title of his new film twice since the writing of this post. First to “Nero Fiddled,” alluding to the myth that Emperor Nero played the fiddle as Rome burned; then Allen changed the title again “To Rome With Love.” Comes out April 20, 2012.

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