It's one of those college entrance essays from, obviously, when I was applying to college. You know the kind: write about yourself, feel lame afterwards. The first part of this describes the sort of work that goes into our more elaborate movies.
The living room had definitely looked better. Just a few hours ago the couch and love seat had been shoved, dragged, and coaxed into the back room, and the end tables had been crammed in after them. Several lamps were now jumbled in an out-of-the-way corner. The stereo had been pushed laboriously into the kitchen, and the TV, on hiatus from its place of honor, now squatted in the dining room like a disgruntled dinette set. Pictures that had previously adorned the walls leaned in the hallway. My parents had wisely and kindly evacuated for the day, and the amateur production company, the Gosh Darn Individuals, had moved in.
The GDIs are six students including myself who assemble several times a year to produce their own brand of movies. What are GDI movies? In short, they are funny satirical spoofs, reminiscent of Monty Python, whose topics range from local news shows to Superman to fairy tales to political debates to anything else imaginable. Our most recent show--a feature length parody of Star Trek that called for a seventy page script and a five-day shooting schedule--had engulfed my family’s living room and transformed it into the bridge of the Enterprise.
For as long as I can remember, I have been a reader of books and a teller of stories. When, during a phone conversation, my friend Claire and I decided that our next endeavor should be a spoof of Star Trek, it fell to me, as the group’s usual writer, to create the script. After the other GDIs and I finally arrived at a sauitable plot I sat down at the computer, tipped back fractionally in my chair, and, using a satirical eye, imagination, and off-the-wall humor, beat out a template for the next GDI film.
When the finished product was sitting in a satisfyingly thick pile on my desk, the word went out to the other GDIs: we had a script! All that was left to do was to create the sets, props, and costumes and to film it. The Star Trek spoof required the most elaborate set we had ever attempted. Our unorthodox answer to the practical problems of both finance--we have a nearly non-existent budget--and construction--we are not carpenters--was cardboard. After a month of soliciting various appliance and furniture stores for large cardboard boxes, we had a sufficiently plentiful stockpile of cardboard to begin construction of the bridge.
After cutting, gluing, and taping the cardboard into recognizable sets, we were ready to tackle our next problem: making the cardboard look like more than just cardboard. First we painted the sets, but we needed more than an appropriate color scheme. We needed buttons, switches, displays, and other details to complete the effect. But real buttons and other such gadgets are expensive. Instead, we began a collection of bottle tops and nick-knacks. Painted and glued on, the caps and other curiosities made very believable controls. We cut and glued construction paper to make displays for the wall panels, bought bargain bin fabric, sewed costumes, and painstakingly hand crafted props from unlikely materials such as film canisters and packaging foam. Finally, after several months of hard work and organizing, everything was ready. We gathered at my house and began moving furniture.
The living room is transformed. The sets are in place. Everyone is in costume. My video camera is perched on its tripod, waiting. Everything looks great. All that is needed is a director. Having directed-if that’s not too strong a word--each of the GDI productions, I have found that it is a little like going slowly insane. Lisa cannot find her script. Megan has found a quiet place to review her lines--a quiet place that none of us can find. Katie is busy eating carrots. Keith is patting the dog. Claire is adjusting her socks. Everyone must know where to stand, what to say and do; the camera must be in place; Lisa’s glasses must be found; the dog must be sent away...it's a challenge, but also amazingly fun--that’s the essence of a GDI project.
Making anything from scratch has always held a certain fascination for me. There is nothing more incredible or miraculous than to have an idea, to see it in your head, and then actually make it happen. Perhaps this is why our movies are so important to me. They present an opportunity to be creative in many different ways--writing a script, making the sets and props by finding new uses for ordinary objects, and actually filming--and to have fun at the same time. It is a way to express myself, a way to make people laugh, and a way to do things that I would not have a chance to do otherwise.
The people also make the GDIs special. There is something wonderful about a group of friends coming together and creating something enduring while enjoying themselves. I doubt any of us will ever forget the time all six of us invaded a McDonalds in full costume for a bite of lunch, or the French rap, or the time that Megan, while playing a plants’ rights protester, sang the song "Born Free" as she pelted Katie with chunks of lettuce, or the spatula incident, or.... And despite all of our mishaps and hilarity, we have the best products of all: our movies, and all the other things that never got on film stored in our memories.
To me there is nothing quite like making our movies. It’s the experience of creating. The art of seeing something in my head and making it real. The gathering of friends and the rewards of hard work and determination. The opportunity to make someone laugh and to laugh ourselves. The feeling I get watching the finished product and the joy of making it.
It’s magic.
I love it.
I don't believe I let this be put up. Egads!