a BLOG BY CHINONYE: my journey as an emerging filmmaker

“When you walk up to that arena and you put your hand on the door and you think I’m going in and I’m gonna try this, shame is the [thing] that says ‘uh uh, you’re not good enough, [you won’t get it, everyone is laughing at you]’…and if we can quiet it down and walk in and say ‘I’m gonna do this [anyway]’, we look up and the critic we see pointing and laughing, 99.9 percent of the time, is us.” – Brene Brown

I had planned on writing a completely different blog post, a blog post that celebrated the fact that my film, ALASKALAND, was going to premier at a top tier film festival. It’s a lot easier to be reflective and public with your thoughts when you’ve just accomplished a fantastic success. But then I got an email last Saturday that my film was not, in fact, selected into that festival.

The feelings I had at that particular moment were different than when I had received my Sundance festival rejection in November. At that time, I was initially saddened by not getting into that specific festival; but when I got the email last week, I wasn’t necessarily upset about not getting into that one festival, I was ashamed and embarrassed about not premiering my film at any festival, thus far. My thoughts were deeply nestled inside my own pride and ego, and my perceived sense of public failure: I’ve always believed my film was good, but will people think my film isn’t good enough because it hasn’t premiered at a festival yet? Will my film lose its relevancy to the public? All of these immediate thoughts I had were rooted in shame.

Shame, for me, is about the illusion of public failure; it’s about the embarrassment of not reaching expectations I’ve created for myself and that I think others have of me as well. But the thing about shame, as Ms. Brown said in her talk, is that the public failure and critique that we are so ashamed of and embarrassed by is usually self conceived. The world is not laughing at me or judging me about not having premiered at a festival yet, an epic failure has not been made. My thoughts and feelings were extreme, but they were very real and what I think a lot of us experience, in some shape or form. When there actually is external critique about anything that I do or don’t do, I’m sure I will also feel shame and embarrassment; but my experience last week helped me to recognize it and put it into perspective.

I’m not going to shy away or try to suppress my feelings of shame or embarrassment; rather I’m going to confront it head-on, allow myself to feel it, but still keep moving forward. It’s not about being tough all the time or being impervious to insecurity and self-doubt; but it’s about what you do in the midst of those feelings, at some point in time.

After I read the email from the festival last Saturday and texted my friends the news, I laid in my bed for about an hour, disappointed, ashamed, embarrassed, frustrated. But then I got out of my bed, got on my knees and gave thanks. I thanked God for the rejection; I thanked God for my film, for the people who have helped me to create it, for my community of friends and family that show me unconditional love and support; I thanked God for my journey, thus far, and the journey ahead. What I learned from my Sundance rejection is to genuinely remain thankful for all of your successes and failures, for they are all part of your journey and development.

I wasn’t going to write this blog post, because I was too ashamed and embarrassed. But then I felt that by owning up to my own shame, it’d loosen its grasp on my life and, possibly, others.

Check out Professor Brene Brown’s entire Ted Talk, “Listening to Shame”:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=psN1DORYYV0

Sometimes we just need reminders of lessons we’ve learned in the past. In this last month, I’ve been reminded of, at least, one of these lessons, and it all relates to an amazing quote I came across from Andy Warhol:

“Don’t think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it’s good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art” – Andy Warhol

Growing up, I never had a lot of friends. I’ve been depressed, perpetually insecure and generally unhappy, largely because my sense of self was defined by the perceptions and expectations of others. When I was 21, I had hit an emotional rock bottom and needed to make a choice: do I wallow and allow others to dictate how I feel about myself, or do I embrace life and make a conscious decision to be happy? I chose the latter, completely changing the way I live my life and my relationship to the way others see me. In essence, I had to learn how to get my “happy” back.

Little by little, I gained the confidence to walk this Earth with an unwavering amount of love and forgiveness of myself, no matter how much people reject me or celebrate me. I’ve worked so hard to embrace and accept who I am, but I had forgotten that this same kind of “self-work” and lessons of happiness also apply to my relationship to others’ (and my own) perceptions of my work.

When I was editing the ALASKALAND film teaser trailer a few weeks ago, I had sent different cuts of it to various people. I felt so insecure about the work as I was waiting for feedback; I needed these people to tell me they loved it. But that was not the case – at all. The first few cuts of the teaser trailer received mixed feedback and I, as a result, fell into a standstill with the video. I was making changes hoping that some cut would “hit”, until finally, I shut off my computer and decided to do my laundry.

I thought the discontentment I was feeling, while waiting in the Laundromat, was just because I wasn’t satisfied with the cut, but then I realized it was something else: it didn’t feel good to have my productivity so tied to what other people thought of my work. Today, I can barely imagine my personal growth being stunted by what people say about me, so why should I allow my creativity be debilitated by the critique and feedback of others? Feedback is important, but there has to be a balance between being receptive towards feedback and doing what feels right, true and FUN for you.

After processing my thoughts, I released a chuckle and felt ten times lighter. I went back home later that night and turned my computer on with an excited smile on my face. Five hours later, I whipped up a completely different teaser trailer, which you can watch below, and it was FUN.

I’ve always loved filmmaking, but sometimes it’s burdened by pressures to get into certain kinds of festivals, make certain amounts of money, create certain kinds of films. And while it would be great to have levels of external success with my filmmaking, I could only really enjoy those things if I knew I had fun in the process of obtaining them.

I’m in this renewed space of being determined to keep making work, all kinds of work, while really relishing in the craft of visual storytelling and enjoying experimenting with different forms and possibilities of what filmmaking can be for me, whether or not they “work.”

It’s taken me a long time to get my “happy” back in my personal life, and now I feel like I’m reclaiming – and proclaiming it – in my work. And it feels so good.

Two years ago, the seed for ALASKALAND was planted. Thirteen months ago, the first draft was written. Nine months ago, the film was shot. Three days ago, we had a private, first-ever screening of the film. 

Amidst the stress, triumphs, hardships and crises, I always saw this day: the moment where we can all gather and celebrate a job done amazingly well. I saw the beautiful cast, crew and audience, I saw the laughter, the tears and even the sexy venue. And the screening was all of that and even more; it was magical. 

The room was filled with so much love, support and positivity. Everybody was having such a wonderful time. And when the film played, people were hooked. They laughed. They cried. I watched the audience more than I watched the film. As I looked around, I kept telling myself, “be present. be present. you will never have this moment again.” 

When the film ended, it received a standing ovation. “We did it,” I thought, “We really did it.” The cast came up for a Q&A session that was, for me, one of the most moving parts of the night. 

They were asked about their creative process, personal reactions to the film…and what it was like working with me as a director. What was so moving about their responses was, not that they felt I did a good job, but that they were saying things, like ‘I made them feel safe’, ‘I pushed them’, ‘I gave them their space to express themselves’ and spot-on observations about my character and personality. I was moved because I realized how much we had all connected. It wasn’t just an actor-director relationship; but it was really a community.

The night ended with lots of hugs and congrats and a post-screening soiree. I went to bed exhausted, and resisting the instinct to think about the next few projects, and even the journey ahead of getting ALASKALAND out there and building that movement. 

Rather, I turned off my lights, quieted myself and went to bed with a smile.

the cast and myself: (from left to right) Chijike Nwoga, Alex Ubokudom, Leland Bernard Martin, Chinonye Chukwu, Constance Orji, Chibueze Orji

magical.

“After you smash the last ice cube, turn around and give THANKS TO THOSE WHO REJECT YOU, WITH THE SAME PRAISE FOR THOSE WHO ACCEPT YOU.…Individually thank whoever uttered “no”. They too, are our teachers. They too, are helping us get where our film intends to be.”

– Victoria Mahoney (director, “Yelling to the Sky”) , quote from her blog post: http://independentfilmmakerproject.blogspot.com/2010/12/lets-talk-about-trust-victoria-mahoney.html

Today I submitted ALASKALAND to six film festivals, and I feel more ready now to embark on the festival journey than when I rushed to get something in for Sundance two months ago. But my preparedness has nothing to do with the qualities of my film submissions, but rather, the personal and emotional growth that’s evolving inside of me.

When I realized ALASKALAND wasn’t getting into Sundance, I was distraught. And as many times as I read Victoria Mahoney’s 2010 blog on embracing festival rejection (the link is above), I wouldn’t allow myself to truly understand the gems of wisdom she was putting out there. After a few days, my disappointment turned into the “I don’t really care anyway” defense mechanism, to a superficial layer of peace and calm about it all. But it wasn’t until two weeks ago, the morning after I had spent part of the night worrying about getting into other film festivals, when I said “no more.” No more.

I thought back to my freshman year of college when I was sobbing about some cruel things people were doing and saying to me. After my friend had found me crumpled on the floor, I looked at my face in the mirror; it was then I realized I was giving people my power and made a vow to myself to never do that again.

I thought back to my senior year of college, when my film professor refused to write me a letter of recommendation for graduate film school because he didn’t think I would get in or was ready. Instead of wallowing, I got another letter, applied anyway, and the rest is history.

Now, I didn’t recall these anecdotes as some trite victory against my “haters”, but they reminded me of how far embracing, and even being grateful for, rejection and challenges has taken me, which I think is the heart of Victoria Mahoney’s message.

My tumultuous first two years of undergrad were necessary for me to have a much more nuanced understanding of human experience, of pain, of strength, which I use as tools when turning characters into multi-dimensional human beings on paper.

That experience of being turned down by my professor has prepared me for future doubts and denials that have and would come my way, and reminds me that I can persist in the midst of it all.

I’m truly, truly thankful for the Sundance rejection, all future rejections, and all acceptances, because they are all part of the journey of my film and my own personal journey. And if I maintain genuine perspective, gratitude and openness – in all aspects of my life – then I’ll best be able to receive whatever it is to come during this next stage of ALASKALAND and really, the next stages of my life. I forget these lessons sometimes, but I’m thankful there are people, like Victoria Mahoney, to help me re-learn them.

It’s been a few weeks since the release of the ALASKALAND sneak peek, and the response has been amazing! People from different parts of the world have commended the film, and have shared their excitement about watching it in its entirety. I was so nervous a few days before sharing it, because I knew this would be the first – and most lasting – representation of the film and I just had to nail it! I needed to select a clip that didn’t give too much away, but gave enough to entice viewers to see the entire film. And I really believe the clip did all of that. Now, it’s about making sure the entire film exudes quality.

I’m just days away from being able to tell you the film is complete. We’re working on titles and end credits now, finalizing music, and ironing out the nitty gritty details that will take this film to the next level. I can’t emphasize enough how happy I am that I’ve somewhat taken my time during this post-production process. Though my crew and I have a deadline for when this film should be completed, it’s really not going to be done until we’ve created a piece of work that we’re proud of and I feel in my gut is done.

But I gotta tell you, for most of the past weeks, I haven’t directly worked on the film myself, or even looked at it. My post-production team has been tirelessly making this film come alive, while I’ve been working on the next phase of the ALASKALAND journey: marketing (which has really been ongoing), exhibition, and, eventually, distribution.

Now, it has, literally, taken hundreds of people to make this film happen. And in spite of that, there was still a lot of work and responsibility I’ve had to take on. (This tends to be the nature of independent filmmaking, and I’m glad I’ve had this experience). But I’ve just about reached the point where I can’t take on the same workload entering this new phase. Partly because I’m drained, but more importantly because I have to surround myself with people who are trained in this next phase of the journey; essentially, I gotta work smarter and not necessarily harder. So I’ve been assembling this team, and we’ve been coming up with some ways to get the film out there and reach people (although, ultimately, I think it all begins with word of mouth).

I’m submitting ALASKALAND to different film festivals (cross your fingers!), but I’m also thinking about other venues to screen the film in as well.  Festivals are a great way to get the word out and, in some cases, catapult your film (and career) to a certain level of success. But as we anxiously wait to hear back from these organizations and even get rejected by some, we have to also think of ways to be our own gatekeepers.

So what’s next?

Constantly spreading the word about ALASKALAND. Finishing up the film. Polishing up the trailer. And yes, believe it or not, finishing up a few scripts that could be my next feature film.

I’m so excited and anxious, I can’t even sleep at night. It’s been a year since I started writing ALASKALAND, and look where we are now. When the film premiers, I’m sure I’ll bawl like a baby, not just because it’s done, but because we actually did it.

I’m excited, nervous, anxious, relieved….I’ve just revealed the first-ever sneak peek of my baby, ALASKALAND! I’ll definitely post my thoughts about the experience after the fact, but for now, the video has just been released and I can’t wait for the feedback! Here goes…

Check out the sneak peek here.

A few days ago, my editor and I had finally locked picture. There is no turning back now. I submitted the cut to the post-sound powers that be, and work on the musical score and sound design has begun.

I thought I’d be nervous about sending it in, dreaming of shots we should have switched around or cut. But instead, I was so happy and relieved. I had no regrets. And it wasn’t just that I thought the cut was good, but I felt more proud of myself for getting this far, for telling this story. I’m usually excruciatingly hard on myself and not able to watch my work with the slightest bit of objectivity, but this last time I watched the cut of ALASKALAND, I actually felt somewhat like a viewer; there were moments I was totally wrapped up in it and engaged with the story.

I’ve definitely been anxious about getting this film out, but now, thankfully, I’m starting to enter this space of calmness, where I’m able to just have fun and embrace the fact that a gargantuan feat is being accomplished.

This past weekend, for the first time, I gave myself a pat on the back and told myself “you did good.” I had never done that before. In the 9-10 months I’ve been working on this film, not once had I really acknowledged myself in the making of this film. There were a few times I was in awe at all of it happening, but I don’t think I ever explicitly applauded myself and the work I’ve done. It goes back to my very first post, about knowing how to live in an uphill state of constant grinding and stress, without ever looking  behind or around us to embrace how far we’ve come or the quality work we bring to the table.

That’s why it’s so important for me to enter this reflective space now, before the film is released and the balls start rolling and things move so fast; and before I know it, I forget what it felt like to make my first feature film.

Right now, a lot of post-production things are happening at the same time and deadlines are quickly approaching, but amid all the activity, I’m finding moments to take a step back and give myself the validation and acknowledgment I can’t expect from anybody but myself: “Nonye, you did good!”