So things have started picking up and it seems we might actually begin to have a bit of income again. This means we are going to be extremely busy pretty soon, but no matter what, expect a new video every Monday and Friday.

Vicente's music videos on YouTube | Sean's Desert Skylapse in HD

Good morning! Welcome to one of our very first vlogs.

Unlike regular episodes, these are unscripted thing-a-ma-jigs that simply allow us to keep in touch with the internet. If you're expecting self-conscious rants or candid confessions, prepare to be absolutely satisfied. Maybe.

I (Peter) will post every Monday. Sean's day is Friday. Over and out.

Points of interest:

1. The Third Man (out of print) 2. Save the Cat! 3. George Lucas on Campbell

Peter here: sorry kids, no shorts this Halloween. Oh we tried and tried, but our creative juices have all but dried from the well-springs of our minds.

In it's place is an actor reel. Yes, these actors are new to L.A., flavored by European accents; but they ain't bad. From an outline provided by our actress, I wrote the script in three pages; about one page too many. The shorter the reel, the more likely casting directors will bother. I managed to pare down the cut to a swift two minutes. To some agents this is still one minute too many.

The location is a private bar in L.A. We had to wrap in three hours, minus the combined hour it took to set-up and then clean-up. Outside, it was a Sunday night in full swing; if Sean and I had social lives we might have envied the twenty-to-thirtysomethings downstairs in the public bar, busting seams of laughter, flirting and spilling drinks as baseball looped on the screens. We might've, but we didn't. Maybe in another lifetime, when my fixation isn't in the telling of a barfly pimped out by her lowlife boyfriend.

One main criticism I have of the reel is that the exposure is uneven. There's a story to that: as we were hauling the equipment out of the Scion, a block away from the bar, Sean lifted out the pre-assembled softbox and out tumbled the lighting head. It had come loose from the fixture. I heard a sound like crunched glass. Sean muttered "Oh no!" The lighting head had tumbled onto the asphalt and landed on it's fifty-dollar bulb. A minute prior, I was telling Sean how the three-point lighting should be arranged. "Guess we'll have to make due with two," he added, not without a hint of irony.

Thankfully, the reel helped our two actors land an agency.

That's the kind of news you hope for. But enough about boring old actor reels. Bet you're all wondering about Take Zer0. While I'm not typing this from a homeless shelter (yet), we've all run afoul of hard times. (I'm at a coffeeshop typing this on my iPhone, sipping coffee paid with quarters and dimes I scavenged around the house) The autonomy Sean and I shared in earlier times---like a full tank of gas to drive where we pleased---is a liberty we're very, very nostalgic for. Thus we have decided that when we do make videos it will be for professional reasons. Believe us when we say that when we've made a few bucks to get ahead, we'll be sure to cook up a few new videos for you all.

But creativity is king. As Joke and Biagio allude to in their blog, creation is the key to success. Those of you who remember Jaemin Yi will be happy to know that he intends to write and direct a feature film. At least that's what Sean tells me. And Drew (remember Drew?) has finally posted a video after a long hiatus. As for Sean and I, well, the truth is that we did try to shoot a short for Halloween. I wrote it quickly, and regrettably I think it needed at least one revision. And then we didn't have time to finish the shoot. It's a ghost story, of sorts. Here's a screen cap of Anna (that's Sean in the foreground checking his watch, which figures into the story).

Well, I guess this phrase was going to be inevitable: Hope you all had a safe and happy Halloween! What did you all do? I sat around and revisted They Live (what I consider an influential low-budget genre film) and Freaks. And so, until next time...

Making a movie is a lot like learning a language.

Remember Spanish in high school? How much of it do you actually remember now? Or more importantly, how much of it have you forgotten? When you learn a language, if you don't use it every day, you'll forget words, you'll forget grammar, you'll forget conjugation (oh man, I hated conjugation). If you go live in Spain for a year, you'll learn the language almost instantly because you'll be using it every day.

Lesson of the day? You need to keep shooting to become fluent.

That said, I should mention that Peter and I are back. Yes, it's been nearly 7 months since our last episode. Where the heck have we been? It's quite a long story, but here's the gist:

Remember back when we "quit" our jobs? (watch the intro in this episode) Well, we figured that would be a good time to start up our own production company. We were right, though we went through some pretty hard times and ended up having to sell some of our equipment and software. We're almost back on track now. We're shooting actor demo reels and are about to embark on doing music videos with our friend Vicente.

As for our website, we were happy with the way it previously looked and functioned, but we weren't happy with Movable Type. So, I sat down for a couple weeks and designed this new Wordpress theme in my spare time. If you look through the archives, every single episode is now available to watch. Just don't go back too far, our earliest stuff is pretty awful.

It's been a long summer. We got to work with and meet so many great people. Jaemin Yi, Mike Sun, Andrew Oh, and Teri Whittaker just to name a few. As a "practice short" with Mike and Jaemin, we took our 5D Mark II to LACMA and shot "Mike & Jaemin Make a Movie":

Our goal for the summer was for each of us to shoot a short film per month. It didn't end up happening, but we had a goal for ourselves and we pushed each other and had meetings and for a while it really felt good because we were actually doing something.

If you're a filmmaker, the best thing you can do is collaborate with other people. If you already collaborate with someone, find new people to collaborate with. It really gets you motivated. I actually wrote an entire script, cast actors, found a location and shot part of a short film called "Pizza":

Anyway, Peter and I are back for good. But don't expect too many updates just yet. We have a lot going on at the moment, I'm sure you guys understand.

:heart:, :sean:

So our friend Socrates is coming to visit! He works for the Visalia news crew and for some reason wants to interview us (I guess he thinks we're popular or something, heh). Him and his friend will be here this coming Saturday with a pair of Panasonic HVX200's. I guess that means we'll have to see how they compare to our Sony PMW-EX1!

Anyway, if you guys want to have your questions included in the interview send an email to CreativeQuestion@gmail.com with the subject "Question?"

And try and get your questions in by this Thursday, March 12th (we need a little time to prepare everything for the shoot on Saturday).

Everyone wish Soc a good trip! He's coming a really long way just to meet us, Peter and I are very quite honored.

Peter: It isn't for everyone, but this is too unique of an experience to pass up.

More than just a well-behaved "comic book movie," this is a beautiful, go-for-broke experience. Aspects inherently limited, yet hinted at, in the graphic novel, are enhanced in the film with terrific grace--music, choreography, precise editing. Yes, the movie could not possibly be as dense as the source material, but what we have here is a fair trade.

How about that title sequence? Was there ever a moment in the movies where they got it so right? It is safe to assume that, for expository reasons, it was hard coded into the shooting script. This is the most lovingly conceived title sequence I have ever seen in a recent movie; maybe in any movie. The only one I can recall with such fondness is "Once Upon a Time in the West."

Your old road is rapidly agin' / Please get out of the new one / If you can't lend your hand...

That it is purely an invention of the movie, inspired by the comics, is a testament to Snyder's ambitions: he is not content with transplanting a comic book as if it were a cadaver brought to life, ala Rodriguez's "Sin City"--which was more a nod to comics than to movies; and Nolan's "The Dark Knight" was more a nod to movies than to comics. Dissatisfied with the unreal backdrops of Sin City and his own Thermopylae, and abandoning the realness of Chicago's Gotham, Snyder constructs a New York that resides somewhere in the purgatory of our dreams. It inhabits a look both noirish and nostalgic.

Slanted journalism is as brutal as an unfair fight.

The plot, with its flashbacks and allusions, can rub off as emotionally impenetrable. This is not a problem of the movie. "Watchmen" is a true revisionist fable that operates on the abstract level of fantasy. This world reveals itself through layers; it can be excused if individual scenes don't add up to much. That it sidesteps a twisty, literal plot for traditional narrative drive, like its opposite twin "The Dark Knight," is not an oversight. This is a mosaic. If Eisner was correct that comics force the viewer to participate, and that film is merely observational, then "Watchmen" bridges the gap: it is possible to relish each shot contextually. There is, for example, a joy in the movie's set design that captures a history and mood that dialog alone would make redundant.

Consider the ambush in the alley and it's juxtaposition to the television interview. Each punch, each bone-breaking karate chop, is, through skillful editing, delivered alongside nasty verbal attacks in the interview, which is itself a cleverly disguised ambush. This is a visual irony, a sequence lifted faithfully from the comics. In movie form, it returns to its home of Soviet film theory. The swiftness of the cross-cutting between two unrelated events elevates it into montage: without the play-by-play visual ironies, the point would be lost. Snyder handles this translation faithfully, while seemingly improving upon it; a fact the movie gets little credit for.

For those who like to watch: notice the carefully arranged picture on the right. We're so in the 80s.

"Watchmen" is at its most fascinating (and alienating) when it chooses to meditate on its plot rather than telling it. Is this a flaw, as others have complained? Consider the opening shot, which establishes its "point" within a single sweep of motion: it starts out in the gutter with an extreme close-up of the smiley face, then pulls out and up to the top of a skyrise suite, with a detective looking down. That he has a bald spot is a detail perhaps unbeknown to him, but a detail that we clearly see from our (higher up) perspective. Observing the crime scene, his partner mutters, "I think this is way bigger than any of us," and the shot belittles them by zooming out to a panorama of the city. Later on, a god-like character of certainly the highest perspective, remarks that human life is overrated next to the enormity of the universe.

This kind of narrative ambiguity will not go over well with an audience expecting a blockbuster plot with the engine of a hummingbird. Many will feel detached by the film's assault of imagery over cohesion. I suspect the movie, like the novel, contains more ideas than drama. Is this a defect? I can recall Kubrick's response to critics when pressed about the "point" of one of his films, a certain science fiction piece: "It's either obvious or impossible to explain. It's not a message I ever intend to convey in words."

And on and on. The graphic novel, thus the movie, is sequentially constructed as an elaborate visual pun. That it carries itself, elegantly, from beginning to end with hidden meanings and secret symbols is merely a way to enrich the experience. There is a story, a mood, a kind of visceral joy embedded in the movie's DNA that will be overlooked. It is not an intellectual requirement to read the film in this manner; no less is it a requirement to enjoy Macbeth as an indictment on absolute power. Oh, it could exist at face value. "Macbeth is just about this dude who goes crazy, that's all. It was okay. Not enough explosions."

But who'd wanna go and do that?

You're all enjoying the weekend I hope! Now, a word about the totally unrelated video: it sent everyone in our class laughing.

I was enrolled in two very different classes that semester, Advanced Video Production and Field Video Production. This wasn't made for Advanced Video Production. Hopefully the guys who made it don't mind if I post it. It was a relief at the time to sit through something made out of plain fun compared to the art house fare from the advanced production class (though they were still quite good, and all made with considerable skill). The point, in a poetic Sullivan's Travels sorta way, is that people laughed.

We got a B. Is it me, or did my hair look like Anton Chigurh?

So to anyone who saw our recent two-part episodes, what do you all think of them? It was a prototype of sorts, designed to gauge whether not we were being too convoluted (and ambitious) with the filmmaking topics. Weighing the pros and cons, the pro is that this is perhaps the most hands-on demonstration we can attempt at the moment--to discuss storytelling techniques as we employ them. To those who found it to be too convoluted, worry not, for the next episode will be a more straightforward affair.

If we attempt another one these multi-parters, it'll likely be Sustaining a Narrative. So we'd love to hear all your input on the recent two-part "prototypes" before we push forward.

Sorting, cutting, and mixing 270 different clips is...fun.

Checking on Twitter, I see that Sean and Rootclip have now entered the final chapter of The Alien. It certainly has been a unique run so far, with perhaps the most disparate attempts for each chapter; so varied is each entry that the story could qualify for an anthology of sorts. Some look at this as a disappointment. I find it rather risky and refreshing. Sean made the unusual, off-beat story in an attempt to coax that unused, unspent, and otherwise most creative part of the brain into wakefulness. Personally, it's a shame that users have bent the focus of the story from its female protagonist, back to Rootclip's default masculinity. But not even that mindset could shake away the sense of variety at play. My favorite? "Jim's Been Drinking Again." The plotting is ho-hum, but the pacing, editing, and audio are accomplished in spades.

So here's looking forward to Rootclip's next story, the latest evidence of which was alluded to in this now two-day-old Tweet: Back to script writing. This next story on Rootclip is going to be a good one! Yes, Rootclip, I eyeball your Twitter with the profound yearning of an infant for Mother's milk.

In a broad summation of events, Sean has been trying to meet with several local actors and actresses. You know, networking; and, perhaps, a little passive casting for his "Late Morning," I suspect. Offhand, he assures me that the Lessons are not only prepped to be shot soon (meaning more sleepless nights), but that they'll also blow your mind away. Not precisely in those words, mind you. I believe he muttered something softly like "Pretty good."

As for Drew, school and work has been keeping him busy (Take Zer0 is, after all, our full-time job alongside our other full-time jobs). He'll likely make an appearance in future episodes, preferably ones in the very near future. He tells me he pitched his "Father Time" web series to somebody connected up-on-high in the television industry.

Speaking of television, props to John in the forums for introducing me to Garth Marenghi's "Darkplace," a British TV show that spoofs sci-fi/horror shows of the 80s. A shame it was canceled. If the title sequence doesn't convince you that this show is genius...then you probably don't like a lot of things, I guess.

Well, anyway, have a great weekend everybody!

Be sure to watch Sustaining a Story Idea: Part 1 before this one!

Now we all have stories to tell. Sort of. Most of it is a mish-mash of abstract scenes and imagery, stranded in the murky depths of our minds. According to Will Eisner, a story is not a story until it is "told in an arranged and purposeful order." This means that those abstract scenes in your mind are not stories at all; they are just ideas and nothing more. To prematurely call them stories is not only false, but dangerous. It tricks you into thinking that you've overcome the hardest part.

Step 1: Want

No sustained character can exist without a desire, a want that permeates the story. It is the carrot dangling before their nose, and they will chase it till the end. If there is no carrot, there is either no story, or little reason for the story. They must want something; and as a twist, that something will not always be precisely what they expected. There is the external, material Want, which is more obvious; and then there is the internal, personal Want, the discovery of which is usually a major "point" of the story. A summary of the above video would go like this, sandwiched by the external and internal Wants:

A lonely writer who wants to tell a story about love goes on a drunken journey and ultimately realizes he wants the real thing.

The best stories veer toward an unexpected ending. Give the protagonist the present they never knew they wanted...or deserved.

A very old man wants to be left alone after the death of his wife and becomes a recluse. He is evicted and is forced to live with his grown daughter, an executive struggling against the void of a corporate career. Because she inherited her mother's ambitious personality, he begins to enjoy her company. She finds him to be a burden and plans to send him to an old folk's home, the same thing her mother did to her grandparents. Father and daughter squabble. The old man, too proud, stops taking his medication and passes away, to be with his wife.

Regardless of the quality of the story I just made up, notice how the old man's Want (to be left alone) transformed into something far more insightful and less obvious (to literally be with his wife). The "story" is the order of events that took place for him to reach that realization, and for the audience to empathize. Any sub-plots and supporting characters are there to reinforce and justify the main problem. Just remember that what the old man wants is what gives way to the rest of the story. If he did not want anything specific, the story could not easily exist, at least not in such a tight order of events. An unintentionally loose order of events is a common symptom of or being unsure of what your character wants.

Johnny Protagonist must want something, else he will be bored, along with the viewer.

Ah, but you say that this Want = Goal formula is too "Hollywood?" Hold it right there. Even the most rudimentary elements of life are formula. Every minute a person wants something. I want a drink; I want a candy bar; I want to read; I want to listen to music; heck, I want to sleep (it's five o'clock in the morning). Life is a series, a succession, of wants. Good stories are merely more focused, and amplified, than the real thing.

Step 2: Extrapolate

A story is what. A plot is how.

People have this misconception that plot and story are two very different yet still identical things, like maternal twins. They're more like co-workers. Ray Bradbury described it like this: Story is Point A, and Point B, and so on; 'plot' are the footprints in the snow the characters must tread to get there. Don't worry about plot until you have the story. After all, you must know where you are going before you can figure out how to get there.

So if a character wants something, why not just let them have it and be over and done with? Because then there would be little plot and less drama than what a solid story would entail. It would not even be a narrative. It would be a skit. A skit dwells on a single problem and is resolved for the audience's amusement. Sketch comedy comes to mind, as well most of the material on YouTube; though they tend to be mislabeled as short films.

A narrative is focused on the telling of a problem from a reinforced perspective. Whether or not it is solved becomes irrelevant. It is how the problem is solved that peaks our interest. And once you learn to ask why it needs to be solved, why anybody should care, viola! you have a narrative.

Assembling and plotting the story, beginning-middle-and-end.

One mistake is to view your story as a giant slab of concrete. Break it down into blocks to build a structure. "Ah, here is when we meet and get to know the old man." "Oh and here is when he gets evicted and the story really starts." Each part is an individual snapshot that has a purposeful function. None of it is window dressing, and none should overstay their welcome. As a rule, it is said that one scene of conflict should not carry itself directly into the following scene, because the point has already been made. It would feel redundant and used up. So move on. The plot should contribute to a forward-moving momentum. Toy around with the arrangement of your plot and of the events in your story. It is the DNA, and its varied arrangements will yield fascinating effects on the audience. Is the beginning supposed to be fast or slow? Should the audience acknowledge the ominous desk drawer before it is opened, or not? And so on.

In the case of the episode, the plot is constructed of, first, a flashback montage of Sean's problems; then it slows down and takes a detour to review his problems; then we finally see that they were not, in fact, problems. They were his unforeseen solutions. Finally, we learn of his newly solved problems by a second flashback montage that casts new light on what went before. It is a circular plot, structured to recall the beginning.

And So...

The episode scripts were outlined in an hour. They were also written in an hour and shot the next day, off-and-on (we were at the mercy of rain and weather) in a period of five days. I came up with the admittedly shallow story by first coming up with a problem, arriving at a logical solution, and then backtracking for a Want. In the end, it's what led up to the cheesy ending you have before you.

An 8-LED emergency light. There is no such thing as "pro" lights. Only lights that work.

And because someone asked in the last post, the Gazing-Up-at-the-Stars-On-the-Grass shots were lit entirely by this handy little thing (pictured above), twenty bucks at your nearest Target store. As for the majority of the shots, we used natural sunlight with reflectors and diffusers. The night shots at Drew's apartment were lit entirely by two utility clamp lights (the same ones used in the recent Low Budget Lighting episode).

Well, I think that about does it for Sustaining a Story Idea. It's partly practical and partly conceptual. What can I say? It's an idea meant to foster even more ideas. Perhaps next time we'll do Sustaining a Narrative. And so it goes, it is six o'clock in the morning. I better get on to bed. Or you know what? I might as well grab some coffee.

So one night at a Barnes & Noble I leafed through this Will Eisner paperback. You know, Eisner, the guy who helped define sequential narrative. In a single page he had this awfully simple definition of storytelling, illustrated in little dialog bubbles. It went like this:

Caveman: Tell me...Ol' Storyteller, where do stories come from?
Storyteller: Well, have you got something you want to tell someone?
Caveman: Yeah...a couple of things I'd like to tell. But, how?
Storyteller: Well, now...decide if you want to tell it as a joke or an adventure story. Invent a problem to illustrate the point!
Caveman: Okay!
Storyteller: Next you solve the problem, which will give you the ending. That, m'boy, is storytelling!
Caveman: Ahah!

This is what storytelling is, plain and true. I'm no authority to give vindication; but Eisner's telling is so straight-as-an-arrow, it penetrates pretension and arrives at some kind of holistic truth. A story is a problem. The ending is the solution. Got it? In the abstract, even an unsolved, downbeat ending is a solution in the requirements of the story, if not the dilemma. The bad guy gets away and the bomb goes off, but the story still ends.

If you dislike your story idea, you either have a problem nobody cares about, or you haven't the foggiest of how to fix it.

This is about writing, of any kind. Not just screenplay.

Some of you may be nodding your heads, "Of course that's what a story is!" But we all need to be reminded. The disease called Writer's Block is a cancer of thought: the story, when left unchecked, gorges itself into a tumor. Writers have the bad habit of treating their ideas as reflections of their expectations: they focus so anally on what their their story should be, that they don't allow their stories to simply be. The best ideas arrive naturally; as natural, perhaps, as the inclination to solve a nagging problem. Call it the two o'clock revelation. Call it the ego. Or, as Stephen King calls it, call it Pow! Pow is what happens when two polarized ideas collide to form one super magnet of a story. POW! Just like that. One idea is the neutron, the other is the charge. One is the vinegar, the other is the baking soda. Got it? The best way to go about this formula is to use ideas that contradict. They naturally incite conflict, which naturally makes the writer become Mr. Fix-It, and viola! You got your ending. Pow!

Lets take a step back. When is an idea not a story? Well, when it lacks a defining or unifying action. Some people confuse descriptions for stories. "My story is about a blind guy who lives alone." Interesting. But that, sir, is not a story. No doubt it could make a cool skit or an experimental character study; but a story for the sake of beginning-middle-and-end it surly is not.

A story is what happens. Don't worry about how it happens. That's plot. The first ingredient of a story, or at least an idea of a story, is what happens. Call it the problem, the inciting incident, whatever you like. Something just needs to happen that affects the outcome of the story, even if you have yet to arrive at the outcome. The thing that happens will interfere or impede directly with what the protagonist wants or needs to achieve. Discern the difference between an unclear background action (protagonist sees a car accident...perhaps has direct relevance to the story) and a foreground action (protagonist causes the accident...incites the story without a doubt).

Little tweaks in the thinking process, like the one in the above paragraph, can help to overcome writer's block. It may sound like redundant tripe, riddled with clichés, but this isn't in the interest of Hollywood formula. It's human nature. What may seem like a cliché can in fact turn out to be plain common sense. Just remember, a story is a problem.

More on this in the later posts.

The above video is nothing but problem (Sean needs help with a story). That's because it's split into three parts; this is essentially the first act, and so there's really nothing but exposition. The next episode will move it into the second act, which is solving the problem (Peter acts as mentor). It will touch a lot more on sustaining a story idea. And the third episode will simply tie everything up nice and neat (Sean discovers what he wanted).

And to anyone concerned, this is the format for part of the episodes from now on. This one's a little wobbly, like a newborn fawn trying not to fall. There will be more elaborate ones like this, which liberally touch on abstract ideas, alongside the more directly informational types. We wanna spice it up a little.

So, we were in the middle of shooting the next episode and before we could get to the outdoor shots it started raining. And it's been raining the past week. Peter showed me part of what he shot so far (he was directing, I was acting), though, and it looked really good. I think you guys will be surprised. The new format of episodes is going to be quite different than they were previously, but it's definitely for the better.

In other news, I've been working on my short film script. I haven't had as much time as I'd like, but you can check for updates over at my personal blog: esotericsean.com. I'm hoping on showing everyone my final outlined treatment soon.

In other news, we now have a P.O. Box (those of you who were sent buttons or t-shirts probably already know this). I don't know what we're gonna do with it, but it's cool to have. Send us some postcards or letters or whatever you want! We'll write or send something back to you! Just make sure you address it to "Take Zer0" and not one of us (the post office was very specific about this for some reason).

Here's our address (in case you want to copy & paste it someplace):

School just started for me while Sean is hard at work with life in general, I suppose. But no fear; the next episode is on its way. We considered the topic of Japanese lanterns and diffused lighting, and at one point even chroma key---but it occurred to us that all this production-stage mumbo-jumbo is sorta bells and whistles next to a recurring problem: writing.

The writing process is a subjective realm made of opinions and no reliable facts. We've avoided it for those reasons. Technical details, like lighting and camerawork, are far easier to grasp.

So be it, then, that the next episode will dig deeper into the pains of writer's block. It's a little unnerving wrestling this particular topic. Yet who knows. Maybe something useful can come out of this attempt. Plenty of books and tutorials teach structure and pacing, and I've been there and done that. And at the end of it all, I still struggle, just like anyone else (you people do struggle, too, right?).

You see, it's not that I don't know how to build a skyscraper; it's that I don't know what kind of skyscraper I should build. That sums up my stance on writer's block. I'm not sure if you all see it the same way.

If lighting cannot be easy, then surly it can be uncomplicated. Bearing this in mind, anybody---from those with elaborate studio lamps, to those with low budgets and utility lights (or anything else lying about the house, right?)---can light a scene. And light a scene they should.

Because lighting is, ultimately, the heart of a lot of cinematography. If you disagree, well, you gotta admit it's pretty darned crucial. Yes, style does come into play; but for your own sake, figure out what you wanna do first (and don't always rely on Magic Bullet). And most importantly, figure out how you're gonna go about doing it. What makes lighting so time consuming, especially for amateurs, is the guesswork involved. Where does the Key Light go? Where the Fill Light? Where this, and where that? As this video shows, there is no right answer. And neither is this video meant to give an answer. It's more of a loose demonstration.

It is meant to show that custom lighting comes in all shapes and sizes; and unless the shot looks absolutely atrocious, then there really is no wrong way to arrange your lights. However, there are principles that help. The lighting in this video is a dark, Low Key setup (versus bright High Key, which is frequently used in Romantic Comedies). We formulated it on the spot, with modest lights. We decided to ignore our fancy-shmancy light stands and soft boxes, and did our best with these little guys:

One medium-sized utility "scoop," one small-sized "scoop," one utility work light, and one rusty desk lamp with a busted hinge. The small scoop provided most of the highlight on Sean's shoulders and hair, while the desk lamp lit a portion of the background. The medium-sized scoop got to be the Big Boy of the bunch and acted as Key Light, which lit up Sean. A cheap silver-sided reflector was used to bounce extra light onto his face. And way off camera the work light was aimed at the white panels of the garage door, bouncing enough diffused light to act as a Fill for most of the scene. Oh, and they're all nearly the same color temperature.

The resulting shot is definitely more dramatic, if not necessarily perfect, over the use of default indoor lighting. Greater emphasis is indeed placed on the subject/actor (Sean). Now, if only we had two more scoops to light the rest of the background. Ah well. Maybe next time.

Is it a community, a blog, an online film school? Is it spelled with an 'oh' or a zero? (hint: zero) Oh, we could go down that route and proclaim, "Take Zer0 is the hopes and dreams of everybody on planet Earth!"

Even Sean and I are stumped to give an answer. Stumped like a tree. I'm sure that question plagues me more. Or maybe it plagues us equally. With the involuntary free time we've been blessed with (i.e. we lost our jobs), I retooled the episodes and finalized the cuts to our old Halloween shorts. Yes, episodes are well on their way, and they've been retooled to be both faster to shoot and to watch. This is the internet, which is like a burly bigot: it'll tell you to go back to where you came from if you don't learn to speak its native language properly. And the internet speaks proper fast.

I made final cuts to "Thing at the End of the Hall" and Drew's "The Trick of the Treat." They're more polished, and encoded at a huge bitrate (if you're into that sorta thing). Back in Halloween, I had just a few hours to cut both by the deadline. Quality was tossed out the window of a moving car. I recently found it lying in the street (by now swept towards the gutter), picked it up, placed it in my coat pocket, and spent last week revising the two shorts, quality now back in my possession. At least a full minute has been excised from each. It was a Hallmark moment, full of an important life lesson: Less is more.

Yet in revisiting those shorts I found myself both impressed and depressed. Impressed because "Trick" was shot in three hours, all improv; and "Thing" was a last-minute germ of a story that made solid use of digital.

As to why I was let down...

Three months back I attempted something naive: to shoot a fifteen minute short inspired by The Twilight Zone...in one night, without a crew. Starring myself. Yes, through a long process, I managed to focus the camera on myself.

It was only a half-decent, half finished short film. I learned a lot; but I don't think I learned it in the easiest way possible. Yet I learned without a compromise. With each project in Take Zer0, I've come upon the revelation that we are not, in fact, teaching anything. We are demonstrating. We're not here to lecture; we don't know how.

But where would it all go from here? And what kind of content, and for whom?

I suppose for any and everybody who cares. About theory, about film, about random goals and dreams. Maybe our identity crisis is a freakishly good thing; because just like there is "no one way to make a movie" there is, likewise, "no one person to make a movie." Perhaps we shouldn't focus on just one quality.

More and more, I prefer to envision Take Zer0 as the guinea pigs of the online cinema scene. We're not quite the martyrs seen in The Lone Filmmaker; we don't quite know our target demographic like Wong Fu Productions; and we're not quite as all-seeing as IndyMogul. We're simply here to do any and everything all at once. Watch us demonstrate film theory; watch us fail; watch us succeed; watch us do it all over again until you get it yourself.

Ambition and persistence. What better model is there?

So Drew emailed me his first draft of "Father Time" (in Celtx format). That's the pilot for a webseries he wrote with a friend from Wisconsin. I am unsure if he would like the plot to be mentioned here, so I'll just say that the story is inspired from H.G. Welles' "The Sleeper Wakes." That's about the guy who falls asleep for two hundred years and wakes up in the future. Yeah, I know...Futurama twisted the formula. "Father Time" is at least way better than "Demolition Man." It's contemporary, with a sitcom approach; though it is in no way a straight-arrow comedy, with a bit of familial turmoil thrown in. I enjoyed it far more than I thought.

I wonder where he'll take the story arc.

I was inspired to open my beat-up spiral notebook, the one that I use to scribble notes for "Clip Show," my own semi-autobiographical webseries in-the-making. I ruffled through the crumpled sheets and discovered this odd little drawing I made. I can't recall if it was sketched in fun, in some coffeeshop, or if it's a genuine scene I took to heart.

And what has Sean been up to as of late? I think he's pursuing a full story for his short film, "Late Morning." He intends to cast the lead role obsessively. I think it's the real deal. According to his Twitter he purchased an album off of iTunes, as inspiration for writing. Hmmm. Could he have gotten it off AmazonMP3 for cheaper, with no copy protection, and at a higher bitrate? Yep.

S'true.

As for me, well, that drawing certainly gives me an idea...

Peter here. It is two-thirty in the morning.

About, oh, I don't know, twelve hours ago I sat down in the downstairs study, threw down a copy of M.R. James' The Haunted Doll's House and Other Stories, and rotated the spine of my wire notebook to a blank page. Two hours later I made five scribbles and one scratch. Hmph. I wiki'ed J.S. LeFanu, the guy who tailored neo-Gothic horror; and I read 'Green Tea': a man sees a monkey-ghost and seeks psychiatric help. In time the monkey grows more pervasive, and more malevolent.

Yes: I spent the afternoon and the evening pounding out a story, a scary one. Between coffee, a hamburger, and some spaghetti, I scribbled and scratched what I could. But I did not like what I had. Ghost stories are all remarkably simple. Take the story 'Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad' by M.R. James. A young professor finds an ancient whistle while on vacation in the countryside. He blows into it, and soon, from his motel window, he sees a deformed silhouette stalking the beach. What happens next, well, it's implied in the title.

Simple, no?

Yes, all too simple. Much too simple. While I get a kick out of reading the crap out of them (I stay up with them every night in bed, thanks to Stanza and the joys of public domain), the same cannot be said about telling them, let alone writing them. The one thing to know about writing is this: "Write what you know." That's Hemingway. Ray Bradbury would have said a similar thing: "Write what you feel." Well, I did not feel like writing a simple ghost story. That is the reason I did not like what I had. I do not prefer to tell simple stories. M.R. James and J.S. LeFanu did good work, and I enjoy digesting them in bed like a fatty; but, brother, that field just ain't for me.

It's funny. All this talk of sensors and stabilizers and rigs, when the hardest thing to do is write a good script. Writing is about ideas, pure and true; you cannot hide behind technology.

Wait. So what is this crap story for? Sean and I need to be more productive. Those Halloween shorts two months ago got us off our butts and we liked how it felt. It was exercise. Stretching the muscles of our filmmaking calves or whatever. Not that we never wrote or shot stuff before. It was that we never mobilized so dang fast.

Some people sit around at home and say, "Hey, lets go to the mall!" or "Hey, lets go fishing!" Well, we're like, "Hey, lets make a movie!" That's how we roll; that's how we think everybody should roll. Two hours ago (one in the morning) Sean gee-mailed me his story concept:

Okay, so the idea behind "Late Morning" has, no doubt, been done before (kinda). It's about a girl who wakes up to her alarm one morning, except it's not morning. It's still dark outside her window. Her neighbors are all outside in their pajamas, panicked and confused. The news claims scientists aren't sure what's happened. She lives alone and decides to go for a walk. That's the major premise. I'm not sure if I want it to open with this or maybe it happens in the second half. I want it to end with everyone losing 12 hours and they have to switch all their clocks from pm to am. There's also the bicycle story. Maybe it could start with her falling asleep in a restaurant and getting locked in on a night that stays night for 12 more hours. I don't know. Maybe that should be a separate story. We'll see.

An intriguing idea. He is sure that he wants to shoot it, in time. I expressed my concerns over the phone: an entire neighborhood out in their PJs? Do-able, but a big-time idea for a small-time short. Sean made it clear that the story would be a low-key drama, full of ennui (you'll have to look that word up). It will not be a sensational genre piece. "Write what you feel," no?

I felt like writing a story within a story within a story. The "frame" story has a group of people gathered at a table in a dining room. A man tells a story to the group. In this story a young man takes financial refuge in his parent's house. But his parents are away on a retirement vacation, circling the globe. They forgot to pay the electric bill, and so the place is without lights. The young man has a friend come over; they sit around an electric camping torch. In particular, his friend relates a story about a glass jar. That's the setup. The rest is a merging of the three stories, culminating in one climax.

It's far from a complete treatment, but it will be an improvement over The Thing at the End of the Hall. I wrote that little problem child in one hour, because my other script was too long and I didn't expect to finish anything alongside Sean's and Drew's segments. Yes, it was going to be just two Halloween shorts, not three. (And, y'know, maybe all three of our shorts were written, shot, and edited a little too fast. Quality and planning had to be sacrificed.)

I run the risk of writing a convoluted mess, I know, what with three different stories crescendo-ing into one. But I want to accomplish three things:

1. I want to scare people.
2. I want to tell a multi-tiered story about friends and rude confrontations.
3. I want to satisfy this Neil Gaiman phase that I'm going through.

I want to write what I feel. Ironically, all I know are turn-of-the-century Gothic horror and what S.T. Joshi calls 'weird stories.' So there goes Hemingway out the window. I figure I could ask Sean why he wants to do a story about a neighborhood in their PJs in the midst of a chronological cataclysm. Sorta has a 'The Happening' vibe to it, which he liked.

Well, anyway, it's going on four-thirty in the morning. Expect us to mobilize this material sometime in the coming weeks (hopefully), alongside our usual stuff like, you know, episodes and stuff.

"What camera should I get?"

In this day and age, even for anyone who's completely involved and surrounded by the film industry, it's practically impossible to keep up with every single new camera from every single company. It's just as well that many companies release new cameras all the time. And even as much as I like geeking out and doing a bit of research on new products, I really do get asked this question more often than you might think.

So that's why I'm writing this little guide. I'm not going to suggest actual brands or specific models; instead I'll talk about the different new technologies that have come out in recent years, and what to look for when choosing a new camera.

Now, I'm writing this from the perspective (or at least for the perspective) of the amateur filmmaker: someone who'll potentially use it to create "art" in the form of a steady narrative, and nothing too experimental.

Features That You Absolutely NEED

These features are ranked by priority. Flash memory is the most important, manual focus is the least.

Flash memory - Trust me, this might be the most important thing when choosing a new camera. When we switched from our old camera to our new one, the flash memory stick was one of the best new features. We were using Mini-DV for so long that we hadn't noticed the huge amount of time it ate up in post. Flash is as easy as sliding the card out of the camera, plugging it into your computer or a card reader, and dragging and dropping your video clips. You can quickly and easily review what you shot, and delete clips or portions of clips. It's super productive. Once you try flash, you'll never go back.

At least 1280x720 - Standard definition is dead. You want a camera that can record in HD. Even many of the cheapest cameras support at least 720p; even better if you can get one with 1080p. Despite what you've heard, most of the new HD codecs are very easy to work with; or at least they're easy to convert to meet your needs. They're also very good at compressing your footage while still keeping it sharp and at a high bitrate. So at the very least, you'll want HD to future-proof your videos.

24p - If you're serious about filmmaking, you'll want progressive mode and 24 frames per second. This is the closest representation to actual film as you can get in a digital camera.

Manual Focus - Auto focus is bad. Manual focus is at least really, really useful.

Features That Some Of You Might Care About

Focus ring - While many consumer cameras do have manual focus, it can only be accessed via a menu system, or a slider, or something else that's not very intuitive. A focus ring is important if you care about being able to move from one focal point to another, in a single shot. If you can't find/afford a camera with a focus ring, well then, you can always mod your camera:

Photo courtesy of PadawanGeek

Overcranking / Undercranking - Sure, this is only used as a stylistic device, but I've found it to be one that I like to use a lot with our new camera (even if I'm only pushing it slightly faster or slower than normal). Even better would be the ability to ramp your fps during a shot (as in, gradually change from one frame rate to another, thus causing your footage to move from normal speed to slow motion, or fast motion, all in-camera!), but cameras with that ability can be expensive.

Sensor size - This is a big one and definitely a deal breaker for those of you who care about low light, less noise, and higher dynamic range and color space. But this is also one that will cost you money. As a bit of cautionary advice, many lower end camcorders squeeze the same amount of pixels onto a smaller sensor, causing your image to not appear as sharp as it could be.

A new year just rolled in, and so we tacked on an extended title sequence to briefly recap the past few days!

Anyway:

Like paintings and photos, movies are a two-dimensional medium. It can be argued that "good" cinematography is a matter of tricking the viewer's eye into thinking they're seeing a three-dimensional image on a two-dimensional screen. Otherwise, your shots can look unintentionally flat and uninteresting, with little depth and distinction. One easy way to solve this problem is to place an object in your foreground. Because when a foreground is implied, the middle ground and the background naturally follow suit. This instantly creates a sense of depth and dimension.

These tips should be especially useful to anyone without the ability to use shallow focus (i.e. users with lower-end digital cameras), and can at least make a shot look more interesting if not necessarily better.

Hey everyone! Guess what? We've teamed up with the guys at Rootclip.com!

Rootclip is a very original site for filmmaking. They provide a short film (a "root" clip) with a cliffhanger ending. People can participate by continuing the story with their own submissions. It's a really fun concept and everyone over at their community is nice and friendly.

Our partnership makes a lot of sense because while we teach people about filmmaking, they get people to contribute with their own films. Oh yeah, they also give out prizes to the people who make the best continuation!

To start off our partnership, we created our very own "root" clip (I wrote and directed it) with its very own cliffhanger [see included video]. Rootclip's users will be competing for t-shirts, a book, and a few other neat things. And now we want to invite you guys to compete with them as well!

We were about to post an ordinary tutorial this week, but...it's Christmas! What with some of our usual crew visiting family out of town, thus leaving Sean and I all alone, we decided to shoot this saccharine candy cane of a Sinatra song. It's not quite a music video, and it's not quite a skit. It's also not that good (but good enough). It's called The Present.

As to whether or not the present that's shown in the video is real or made-up, well, who knows, yeah? One thing is for sure: that first draft is one thick burger. That'd be one epic, three-hour movie or something; split into a trilogy nine-hours long (and I haven't even mentioned the four-hour Director's Cuts). Mmmmm...

Merry Christmas everybody!

When you make a movie, a big part of it is getting other people to see your vision. You have a story and in order to get others to see it how you imagined, you use lighting and sound effects to guide their eyes throughout the filmed version.

Typically, this means you should use manual focus and iris and gain so you have the most control possible. Unless, of course, you're going for a certain style or effect.

Adobe Soundbooth has come a long way since its early stages in beta (back when it was free), and we found that this CS4 upgrade, on top of giving the interface a tabbed makeover, adds plenty of useful features that edge it closer to being a fully featured pro audio suite.

For now, it's all remarkably easy to use, with enough presets for newcomers, yet also deep enough for those who want to get their hands dirty.