The big surprise to me was just how much the community rallied around us. I figured we’d have decent support, but what we got was an avalanche of love and enthusiasm that really helped turn our modest budget into much, much more. It meant a lot to many of the locals that we thought the region was worth being in a movie. There was one elderly lady—I’ll never forget—who came up and took my hand and thanked me, tears in her eyes, for coming home and acknowledging what a special place the county is. I almost lost it.
One of the things that drew me to the script was how funny yet deeply emotional it was. As a filmmaker, how hard is it to find actors who can do both in one film?
Not every actor can play both, that’s true. But just like casting for any type of film or character, you look for the actor who can do what you need most naturally. Also, whenever possible, having potential actors read together and play off of each other during the audition process is a big help. Sometimes actors just click, especially with humor, and you really don’t want to wait until you’re on set to see if there’s chemistry or not.
You have to keep digging right up until the moment you simply run out of time. To beat the same drum yet again—don’t rush preproduction, especially on a low-budget film. We spent many months auditioning well over a thousand people (both nationally and in the local region) trying to find just the right mix.
When you’re casting a film, what are some qualities you look for beyond an actor just “looking right” for the part?
Above all else, you have to try to find an actor who simply is your character . . . even if that means he or she doesn’t look exactly like you imagined the character in your head.
Case in point: Amber. When I was writing the script, I always imagined Amber with long black hair and dark-brown eyes. Now, one of the very first actresses to audition for the role of Amber was Elizabeth Ann Roberts. No doubt about it, Elizabeth has a great look—but she doesn’t have black hair or brown eyes. So even though I saw her audition and was completely blown away by her talent and how much she embodied the essence of Amber, I kept looking . . . and looking . . . and looking . . . for an actress with black hair and brown eyes who could make the character come alive the way Elizabeth did. No one ever even came close. And the more I searched, the less the hair and eyes seemed to matter. Elizabeth was Amber; she was from the very beginning.
I won’t call the additional casting sessions for that role a complete waste of time because I learned a lot in the process, but it was a long journey to come back around to where it began. I think you have to have an idea of what you’re looking for in a character, but it’s risky to lock into specific physical characteristics in advance—especially if you’re the writer as well. You need to stay open, look for connections beyond just the physical—look for the emotional, the spiritual.
What is your favorite scene in the movie?
That’s like asking which of your children is your favorite. Even if there is an answer to that question, you can’t really give it. And every scene serves a different purpose, you know? A scene that might seem less important or powerful may actually be planting the seed that provides the “great” scene with all its resonance. Take away one piece of the puzzle and it’s incomplete—it’s the whole that matters. Just for kicks, however, I can say this: my favorite scenes in the screenplay are not necessarily my favorite scenes in the movie. But that’s as far as I’ll go.
Which scene was the hardest to film and why?
Again, it’s hard to compare. Some scenes are tricky for emotional reasons; some are more difficult from a technical perspective. Generally, any of the scenes with more people—the bar stuff, the party at David and Lisa’s, the bachelor party—require a little more time and effort. The ending in the grocery store definitely raised the bar for all the departments and had a lot of moving pieces, but in that case, the extra work was more in the prep. The actual production went pretty smoothly.
In fact, to the credit of the cast and crew, there were very few hiccups during production. Outside of the standard production challenges, there really weren’t any major disasters. And that’s a testament to the countless hours of prep and commitment to excellence by many.
On the emotional side, the raw and heartfelt moments with Clay and Amber were hard . . . but not in terms of execution, more in just the process of experiencing all of those feelings. Those were the days when all those hats I was wearing really took their toll on me. It’s not easy to rip open your soul and then immediately shift and go check the monitor for playback.
This is one more reason (of many) that I thank God for Elizabeth Ann Roberts playing the role of Amber. First and foremost, she is a committed actor who does all of her homework and really knows how to dig deep and bring it when it matters most—and that brought out the best in everyone else. The value of that is immeasurable. But equally important—to me, personally—was how supportive she was of the unique and daunting situation I was in as a writer-director-actor. She bent over backward to lessen the pressure and strain I was under. I will always be grateful to her for that.
What prompted the idea for Old Fashioned? And when you get an idea, what qualifications must it pass to get it to the next level of actually writing it? In other words, what do you look for in an idea that makes you more carefully consider it and decide if you want to dedicate the next ten or so years of your life to it?
The writing of Old Fashioned was birthed out of a lot of factors and ideas all culminating at a very specific moment in my own spiritual journey. It covers a lot of years and experiences and could really fill up a book on its own—I will spare you that. Actually, we cover the answer in greater detail in The Old Fashioned Way (yes, that’s a shameless plug for our companion book), but to boil it down to a single idea here—I’d say I believed there was a story that wasn’t being told at all and I felt compelled to try.
Compelled. That’s a good word in regard to the second part of your question. If I can’t ignore or shake loose an idea or a thought or sometimes even just an image—that’s how I know. Usually, I’ll jot down notes on anything I can find. (I have notebooks, boxes, and folders full of scribblings on napkins, old plane tickets, store receipts, etc.) Once enough of those random thoughts start collecting around a single theme or character(s), then I might go away for a few days and see if I can cluster them together into something worth pursuing.
In terms of time . . . as I write this, we are still in postproduction on Old Fashioned, and I have already been through many months of editing, multiple rounds of test screenings, extensive conference calls and feedback sessions, etc. I’m telling you, if I wasn’t absolutely in love with the core idea of Old Fashioned (and surrounded by a committed group of folks who love the idea as much as I do, if not more), it would be very hard to keep pushing forward with the passion and enthusiasm that filmmaking demands.
And of course, as we get a little older, the value and preciousness of time begins to settle on us a bit—at least it has on me. Life is far too short and sacred a thing to exhaust your time or talent—or any gift from God—on something you don’t believe in or is less than the best you have to offer at that moment. So for those projects that we initiate, the ones that we bring into being from the deepest reaches of our souls . . . well, as someone once said, we should consider the cost.
The first time we spoke on the phone was during a conference call with all the parties involved, and I promised you I’d take care of your “baby.” It must be pretty terrifying to trust another writer, in an entirely different medium, to do justice to all aspects of your story. Yet I find filmmakers are way more trusting about the interpretation of their work than most novelists. What makes you so trusting? And what was it about your story that made you think it would make a good novel?
Although I’m not sure if screenwriters are any more trusting than novelists, I do think the collaborative nature of filmmaking helps prepare screenwriters to accept—if not always embrace—the realities of “team” creativity.
Once this idea of a novelization started to gain traction, I remember making the choice to approach it just like production. A screenplay is a template for production—the realities of which all but guarantee there will be changes, adjustments, slight detours along the way. Same thing for turning the screenplay into a novel. You have to maintain the integrity and “blueprint” of the script, but just like production, you have to be open to the realities of the process and accept that certain twists and turns will be necessary.
Having you as a collaborator made all the difference, Rene. And this is another parallel to filmmaking: having the right collaborators is essential. It is much, much easier to hand off a screenplay to a producer or director who really “gets” the material and is committed to it. Same thing with the novelization.
From our very first chat, it was obvious to me that you genuinely understood what we were trying to do with the film and what the heart of the story was all about. You cared about the characters and you had such respect for the interconnectedness of all the elements of the screenplay. I knew you were trustworthy. And your work verified that trust.
And finally, what was it about the story of Old Fashioned that made me think it would make a good novel? That’s a great question. I wasn’t sure at first, honestly. But clearly the folks at Tyndale saw something there—saw the potential. And the more I thought, the more I saw it too. I also saw the possibility of expanding and enriching the story in certain ways—especially in regard to the character of Clay.
Clay doesn’t say a lot. He doesn’t do a lot. His struggle is very internal. These are challenging characteristics for a film protagonist, where visual representation is so crucial. In a novel, since we can so much more easily get in a character’s head and unpack the baggage a little more directly and explicitly . . . that’s a real advantage for a character like Clay.
At the end of the day, Old Fashioned is about ideas, and the novelization was a way to dig deeper and mine those ideas even more. You did so with such precision and artistry that the book really does stand alone and, in many ways, improves and helps illuminate the source material. Thanks again for that . . . for sharing your unique and elegant voice in the telling of this story.
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