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The Real St. Valentine Exposed

February 14, 2012 in church, culture, love, meaning, religion, storytelling with 8 Comments

The story goes like this.

It was 269 A.D.

The Roman governor Claudius was seeking a way to strengthen his army. He pontificates that soldiers who have wives at home may not fight as bravely on the front lines for fear that they will not return home to their family. Therefore, he made marriage illegal for soldiers. He believed that loyalty to the state would supersede the natural desire to take a wife, birthing a generation of soldiers completely loyal to Rome.

He was wrong, of course. Many soldiers desired to marry in spite of his decree.

A young priest named Valentine held the firm conviction that marriage should not be denied by the state. He began to secretly and illegally perform marriage ceremonies. More and more Roman soldiers sought him out.

St. Valentine

Valentine’s crime was eventually uncovered. He was brought before Claudius and told to repent. He refused, believing that he must be faithful to his King, whom he claimed to be a resurrected Jewish rabbi named Yeshua, over the King of Rome. He was immediately arrested and condemned to die as a traitor. From his prison cell, Valentine wrote notes of encouragement to his family and friends signed “from your Valentine.”

On February 14th, 270 he was executed.

But not before making a mark on history for standing on the side of love with undying loyalty to his King…

And that is the real story behind why florists and chocolatiers are having such a good day today.

5 Lessons of a Film Director

February 13, 2012 in acting, comedy, creativity, filmmaking, hitting the nuts, improv, improvisational christianity, independent films, leadership, mockumentary, movies, passion, storytelling with 2 Comments

I’m doing a series talking about the lessons I have learned doing various jobs throughout my life. My first article was about being a soap opera actor. This one is about directing an independent feature film.

Directing is different than producing. (I can do those lessons on another day.) The director is the boss, cheerleader, visionary, and motivator on set. I have produced five films in my life, but I’ve only directed one – Hitting The Nuts. HTN is a multi-award winning improvised mockumentary about a small town poker championship. It’s available on DVD now, but we have some exciting news that I will be able to share next month regarding wider distribution. Until then, here are my…

Five Lessons of a Film Director

1. There’s never enough __________.

Fill in the blank. There’s never enough money to do what you want. Never enough time in a day. Never enough experience at key positions. Never enough lights to make a shot work. You have to really want to make a movie to make a movie. That don’t want to get made. You have to methodically pull them out of the mirk of the universe one inch at a time.

Making low budget movies has taught me that you can always do more with less. Sure, there are things you can’t do without money. Bu there’s always another way. Sometimes the other way is actually better.

Here’s a deleted scene from Hitting The Nuts. The scene was set in the interior of a doublewide trailer. We didn’t have one, so we had to recreate one with no real budget. We couldn’t find a room that worked for us. So we bought paneling. We gathered some props from Goodwill. Then we found someone to give us a free room. We made the corner of this room look like the interior of a trailer. It worked. By the way, the free room was the director’s basement. And the paneling is still there. (Don’t remind my wife.)

If you are doing something worthwhile, you will never have enough of something you need to get the job done. That’s ok. Pivot and move on.

2. You can’t make a bad deal with a good person.

This is a favorite saying of Jim Nyberg, my parter at Rebel Pilgrim Productions. He makes deals for a living in various sectors. He knows from experience about how to build the right partnerships to accomplish a common goal. We do our best to only work with good people.

On HTN we tried to only work 12 hour days, but we had a few hit 16 hours. If we didn’t have good people, we would have had a revolt on our hands. It wasn’t good leadership on my part. But they let me learn my lessons. As a result, on A Strange Brand of Happy, our last movie – which shot for twice as long – we never had a day run that long.

Whatever you do in life, you will likely need to ally yourself with someone. My first test in any partnership I make is simple. I ask myself if I would let this person spend the day alone with my wife and kids. If I can’t say yes, I say no to the deal. No matter how good it seems.

3. Serve the story.

The single most important thing on a film set is the story. And the story can be a needy, fragile diva. But she must be served. Without her, nothing matters. Every major decision must move the story toward completion. I can’t tell you how many times I have liked a person or a scene or a location or whatever, only to find that they don’t serve the story. In which case, I can’t let them try to tell it. The above deleted scene is the perfect example. It is one of my favorite scenes in the movie, but it didn’t make it into the movie. Because it didn’t serve the story.

We would do well to think the same way of our personal and business lives. What story are you telling? Is everything aligned to serve it?

4. Manage morale.

By far, the number one responsibility of the director on an indie film is to manage morale. Everyone on set is working for less than their normal rate. Many are volunteering. Maybe on a forty million dollar blockbuster, the director can cocoon and “just direct.” But not on a film with a budget. Happy people do good work. Upset people do not, regardless of how professional they try to be.

Think about the best work experiences of your life. I bet the morale was high. And I bet the leader of your team was the biggest reason why.

5. Always Be Improvising.

The fact that my first feature was an improvised movie was a great break for me. Not just because I know and love improv, but because it set the tone for my understanding of filmmaking. I played an Amish Farmer in HTN. We had arranged to shoot all the exterior scenes on the farm on the last day of shooting at a real Amish farm. At the last minute, the Amish family we were working with us told us that their church found out about the film. They told them they couldn’t participate. It was bad news.

Now we were sunk. Two of the biggest scenes (the first and last) were at this location. It’s harder than you think to recreate an Amish farm. (No light bulbs, electricity lines, farm machinery, etc.) But we found one that would work at the last minute – two hours away. It meant we’d have get our company there in one piece and plan everything on the fly. It was a challenge, but it worked. And it wasn’t all that stressful, because by the last day we had learned to improvise our way through anything.

Good plans sometimes fall apart. All you can do is make another good plan. That’s life.

If you want to see the farm, you can watch the first few minutes of HTN here. It was a perfect location, until we got into the edit bay and noticed a light bulb over my head. But that was nothing a little CG couldn’t erase.

Eleven Ways to Stay Frustrated

February 11, 2012 in creativity, life change, meaning, passion, storytelling with 9 Comments

For a brief time in my childhood, The Road Runner was my favorite cartoon. Then, suddenly as if someone sucked the awesome-ness right out of it, I didn’t like it anymore. I think my five-year old brain correctly concluded that there wasn’t much more to see in the relational dynamic between Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner.

This comes up because I have been thinking of late about the barriers we hit in life.

I think of the Coyote when new barriers constantly spring up out of nowhere.

He was a frustrated fella. I feel that way sometimes.

I came across these eleven ground rules from Chuck Jones that define the world that the Road Runner and the Coyote inhabit. (Some say these rules are after-the-fact apocryphal, but they are interesting either way.)

The Rules of The Chase:

  1. The Road Runner cannot harm the Coyote except by going “meep, meep.”
  2. No outside force can harm the Coyote—only his own ineptitude or the failure of Acme products.
  3. The Coyote could stop anytime—IF he were not a fanatic. (“A fanatic is one who redoubles his effort when he has forgotten his aim.)
  4. No dialogue ever, except “meep, meep” and yowling in pain.
  5. The Road Runner must stay on the road—for no other reason than that he’s a roadrunner.
  6. All action must be confined to the natural environment of the two characters—the southwest American desert.
  7. All tools, weapons, or mechanical conveniences must be obtained from the Acme Corporation.
  8. Whenever possible, make gravity the Coyote’s greatest enemy.
  9. The Coyote is always more humiliated than harmed by his failures.
  10. The audience’s sympathy must remain with the Coyote.
  11. The Coyote is not allowed to catch or eat the Road Runner

From Chuck Amuck: The Life and Times Of An Animated Cartoonist.

I haven’t mined this yet for all of the gold it holds. But I have a feeling this list contains all of the reasons why I first loved the cartoon. And also all the reasons why I stopped liking it.

What do you see? 

What can we learn about overcoming barriers from our frustrated desert friend?

But What If My Work Sucks?

February 1, 2012 in creativity, culture, filmmaking, meaning, passion, storytelling, writing with 2 Comments

My creative partner Brad Wise shared this quote from Ira Glass. It’s good.

Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.

Where Do Good Ideas Come From?

January 30, 2012 in community, creativity, filmmaking, social networking, storytelling, technology with 2 Comments

I spend most of my time dealing with ideas.

Ideas and hunches about those ideas.

When it comes to creating a story, a lesson, a movie, a book, a strategic plan or who-knows-what-else, I find myself dancing between an overwhelming amount of ideas, hunches and data.

Most of my work is done in community. Enter more people’s ideas, hunches and (sometimes conflicting) data.

And we live in a fully connected world. I can flip open my MacBook and have a million opinions on anything imaginable in about 5 seconds.

Anyone in a creative field can start to wonder…

Is this the best way? 

All these ideas. All these people. With all their hunches. It can get frustrating.

Are we just distracting one another?

Steven Johnson says no. He says that this mirky pool we all swim in is actually the birthplace of innovation. Check out the short video below called Where do good Ideas Come From? and let me know your thoughts.

Re-Imagining Genesis

January 29, 2012 in bible, storytelling with 5 Comments

There are different forms of Biblical interpretation. There has always been room for the imaginative retelling or expounding of a story so long as it is framed as such. I have long been struck by the seemingly bi-polar actions of Jacob in Genesis 28. He has a dream that seems to create genuine faith in God. But then he says he will only believe in God if he ends up with everything he wants for his life. When I push into the darker side of Jacob’s heart, there is some warning there for me. Here is how I imagine that morning unfolding. It may not be the main point of the passage, but I think it is worth the effort of re-imagining.

Jacob's Dream by Jusepe de Ribera

For a moment he thought he was in his bed.

Then he remembered.

The morning sun, already scorching his eyelids, reminded him where he was. When he opened them, all he could see was blue.

The sky in the desert can tease a man. It seems so beautiful and harmless. But Jake knew the danger. He had friends who never returned from a journey like this one. He knew the perils that waited for a lonely traveler this far from home. But the dangers in the wilderness were tame compared to what, or more accurately, who he was running from.

He rose to his feet and scratched his neck. He wasn’t used to not shaving in the morning. He hated the stubble. It reminded him of his brother.

He slung his leather satchel over his shoulder. In doing so he noticed the stone on the ground. He stared it down as if it were a coiled viper.

Wait a second? No, it couldn’t be. Maybe…it was…

His hands trembled. He slowly lowered his satchel to the desert floor, eyes glued to the simple stone that had doubled as his pillow throughout the night.

Jake wasn’t the type to believe in the supernatural. His mother had taught him that only what can be seen is real. No need for soothsaying or fairytales or magic tricks. His father was into all that. So was his grandfather. But Jake was the grounded one. He was his mother’s son – the rational one. He was fleeing the ancient myths of his father.

But now the myths were stalking him in his sleep.

He gulped as he eyed that stone.

“OK,” he said to the empty morning sky. “If that was real. If last night really happened, then…prove it. Give me food for my journey…and clothes to wear. Give me success and money and a family. Give me everything I deserve…then I’ll come back here and find this stone. And then, and only then, I’ll believe in you. Hell, I’ll even come back here one day and build you a house if that will make you happy.”

Disgusted, he looked toward the sunrise.

“Then you won’t have to live out in the desert and torment people in their dreams when they walk through…”

Throwing his bag over his shoulder, he turned eastward toward his uncle’s estate. It was even hotter that day than the day before. He shot one last glance over his shoulder at the stationary rock.

Then he mumbled as he walked away…

“Stupid dreams…”

Do We Really Need Artists?

January 26, 2012 in creativity, culture, gospel, Jesus, kingdom of god, meaning, movies, passion, storytelling, writing with 10 Comments

Art is a spiritual transaction. Artists are visionaries. We routinely practice a form of faith, seeing clearly and moving toward a creative goal that shimmers in the distance – often visible to us, but invisible to those around us. Difficult as it is to remember, it is our work that creates the market, not the market that creates our work. Art is an act of faith, and we practice practicing it. Sometimes we are called on pilgrimages on its behalf and, like many pilgrims, we doubt the call even as we answer it. But answer we do.

So begins Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. No other spiritual method/program has weaved into the fabric of my soul quite like The Artist’s Way. At the urging a friend, I am revisiting it again beginning today.

Cameron’s use of “pilgrimage” imagery in the first paragraph has to be part of what initially draws me in. I have self-identified as a pilgrim for years. I have come to view life as best seen through the metaphor of pilgrimage – a purposeful wandering into the unknown – a pursuit of that which we know but cannot explain – a daily, active walking toward the next space we will walk into.

Jesus was a pilgrim.

Both literally as an itinerant rabbi and cosmically as God-man on a journey from heaven to earth to a new heaven and new earth. He wasn’t just a pilgrim though.

He was a profoundly stubborn rebel pilgrim.

It was the rebellious, shocking, scandalous nature of his pilgrimage that tilted the world on its axis.

The church is also a pilgrim.

She is on an eschatological journey from Kingdom Come to Kingdom Fully Come.

Perhaps the greatest role of the Artist is to reflect back the reality of our communal pilgrimage. Many people operate as if they are riding on a lazy people-mover at an airport. They aren’t walking, but they are still moving. We easily assume that the journey of life has a pause button. It doesn’t. Your journey continues whether you know you are moving or not.

So while our legs sleepily atrophy while standing on the moving ground beneath our feet, the Artist screams, “You’re moving! Look around! You will never be here again! This very moment you are letting slide by is a pregnant miracle – ready to undergo the pain of birthing beauty, hope and life.”

Banksy

The filmmaker does this. She holds up a mirror to you disguised as someone else’s story. You look into it and see your own journey. The musician does this. He puts his saxophone to his lips and without a single word reminds you that life is hard, but worth the effort. The novelist does this. As does the painter, the artisan, the editor, the teacher, the dancer, the poet.

If you are an Artist, you are not secondary.

You are necessary.

Humanity cannot be humanity without Artists. We Artists have a calling to explore the fringes of life so that we can translate the not-yet to those who are heading there. We are the scouts. As the throng of pilgrims marches on, we run ahead. We spy on the future and return to speak in parables about what could be if only we would will it to be so.

I believe that a small band of Artists who mature to look past their own self-expression – who see themselves as a community of scouts within a moving pilgrimage – are the catalyst to change the future.

If you self-identify as an Artist, I’d urge you to explore these things with me. Pick up The Artist’s Way if you want and let me know your thoughts.

If you don’t think you are an Artist, then find one to love and support. We are fragile, uncertain, tentative people. There is a dark underbelly to our creativity. We need the others journeying with us to stand with us and for us. We create from our own brokenness. The great irony is that while our art can help other people, it can have the opposite effect on us. So look past our eccentricity, masked confidence and perceived naivety. Tell us we are needed. And help get us ready for our next mission.

For the Love of God, Collaborate!

January 21, 2012 in community, creativity, culture, improvisational christianity, storytelling with 10 Comments

I’m a creative.

And an off-the-chart introvert.

I am constantly tempted to create alone.

This video just shattered any illusions that I can create something better alone than I can in community. 

What are you doing alone that would be better done together?  

How Etta James Changed Me

January 20, 2012 in culture, meaning, storytelling with 4 Comments

I didn’t grow up in a particularly musical household. Music has gradually become more important to me as I grow older.

My music preferences are eclectic, but all my favorite artists have things in common. I like lyrics, probably because I like stories. I don’t like music when I can’t understand the words. (Sorry, Ozzy.) I like tight harmonies, but not twangy country. I love Pandora and Spotify. They have changed music for me. I can experiment and explore artists similar to the ones I already like with no risk.

In 2003 I bought a CD at Border’s Books and Music in Las Vegas. (Back then music came on silver “compact” discs (CDs). They were sold at “book” stores. Bookstores were places where people would buy books and magazines made out of paper. “Borders” was a national bookstore change. Just imagine iTunes as a real place but everything you buy there is made of physical materials. Weird, I know.)

The CD was Etta James’ Blue Gardenia.

Etta James being awesome.

It instantly became the music I listened to everyday – for maybe a year or longer. It was during one of the hardest seasons of my life. Her music was able to tap into the melancholy of my heart while simultaneously giving me a burst of hope. Etta and I made it through that season together. I finally saw her in concert in 2004 at the Las Vegas Hilton. She couldn’t stand up unassisted and would lean against a chair. She had problems breathing at times. Until she would sing…then she was magical. I remember being thankful for her after that concert…in a different kind of way. As if she had actually helped me.

The world lost Etta today.

She never knew me, but her music carried me through and somehow weaved itself into the fabric of my soul.

Do you have a similar story?

What music defined a season of your life?

Why do you think music touches us so deeply? 

Here is Etta James singing This Bitter Earth from Blue Gardenia.

We have to Agree. [Improvisational Christianity #4]

January 18, 2012 in comedy, culture, gospel, improv, improvisational christianity, religion, storytelling with 3 Comments

Improv is play – simple pretending. Think of what works best when kids are at play.

Here are three examples of how little children tend to play together:

Example 1:

Girl: I’m a Princess!

Boy: No, you’re a Wizard!

Girl: No, I’m a Princess. You’re a Prince.

Boy: You’re ugly and stupid!

Girl leaves weeping.

Example 2:

Girl: I’m a Princess!

Boy: Ok, I’m A Wizard.

Girl: No. You’re a Prince. You have blonde hair and green eyes and you live in a castle and you have white horse and…

Girl won’t shut up. The boy grows bored (and annoyed.) He leaves.

Example 3:

Girl: I’m a Princess!

Boy: Yep, and I’m a Wizard!

Girl: Are you a good Wizard?

Boy: Yes, and I’m here to warn you of something terrible.

Girl: Oh no! Quick, come in my castle. It’s over here.

Boy: Ok, but hurry.

They play like this for hours, telling an impossible story, laughing together and becoming friends.

If you have spent time with kids lately, you’ve probably seen a real-life version of each of the three above scenarios. An underlying premise behind improvisation is, not only that play is important, but that there is a better way to play. A certain style of play is more mutually fun and meaningful. This style of play (Example 3) is centered in the concept of Agreement.

Rule #3 – Agree and Accept.

(Late to the discussion? Learn about Rule #1 and Rule #2.)

When I teach kids (or adults) to improvise, this is the biggest stumbling block. Non-agreement is the easiest way to spot an amateur improviser. Here’s an example of a typical scene with two adult students during a first level improv class:

Guy: W’sap?

Girl: Nothing.

Guy: You come here to get your fake ID?

Girl: No. I don’t need a fake ID.

Guy: Yes you do. You called me and told me.

Girl: I don’t even know you, how could I call you?

Oh the agony of bad play! Put me out of my misery… fast.

The above scene tells me that I am dealing with two insecure actors, afraid to trust one another.

Here’s an example of how two professionals might play the same scene:

Guy: Psst. Jenny. Over here. I got your fake ID. (He waves it above his head.)

Girl: Put it away! The cops will see you. (She looks around and walks to him, whispering.) They’re all over the place.

Guy: Uh, yeah. It’s a police station. You got the payment?

Girl: Yes, $20 of Chick-fil-a gift cards, just like your text said…

You get the point. There are some rules at play we haven’t discussed yet in this short scene, like heightening, raising the stakes, etc. But this scene works because there is agreement. The first scene lacks agreement so it, professionally speaking, sucks.

You have to agree and accept to be a good improviser.

The second you don’t agree, you weaken the story and fail your partner. We call this saying Yes.

Yes is always the right answer in improv. 

Saying Yes means that we are constantly affirming the reality that we are creating together. If my partner tells me that I’m a doctor, then I’m a doctor. End of story. I can be any kind of doctor I want to be until one of us specifies, but I am a doctor:

You: Doctor, we have a problem!

Me: Ok, nurse. I’m ready to do brain surgery right this time.

OR

You: Doctor, we have a problem!

Me: Please, my friends just call me Dre. Let’s just get this track down.

Here is a BAD choice:

You: Doctor, we have a problem!

Me: No we don’t it’s all under control.

Or an even worse response –

You: Doctor, we have a problem!

Me: I’m not a doctor, I’m a blind cowboy.

You can’t play with anyone until you agree with them!

As improvisers, we agree. Because it is the best way to play.

Agreement does not mean that we agree that the other person is right.

It means that we agree that what is happening is really happening. We agree on reality.

We may completely disagree what our scene partner does, but it doesn’t matter. To deny the reality of our pretend world makes it vanish into awkward meaninglessness.

There are at least four reasons why people don’t agree in improv (and life):

1. Hidden Agendas.

This is the biggest reason younger improvisers have for disagreeing. An actor will think before the scene starts something like, “I’m gonna be Tarzan.” Then he walks on stage and his partner leads with, “Doctor, we have a problem.” The amateur will instinctively say, “No.” Because he thinks he is Tarzan. But only he knows he thinks that. His partner made him a doctor, so he’s a doctor. The reality we live in is mutually created moment by moment. Nobody except all of us is allowed to be the writer the story.

2. Self-absorption.

If you don’t hear your partner, you can’t agree with her. If you don’t watch your partner, you can’t tell a story together. Your partner matters more than you do in any scene. You can’t play without her. The more fun she has, the longer you get to play together and the better story you tell. In short, it’s never about you. You only exist to serve the story and the other storytellers.

3. Fear.

Unfortunately, we tend to say “no” when we don’t know what else to do. People are watching. Our partner may be struggling. So we take over, ignore everything we have created together and try to save face. It never works. You will look desperate. Better to agree and fail together, then disagree and die alone.

4. Pimping.

The best improvisational comedians aren’t trying to be funny. They are trying to be in the present and tell a story. Funny comes from being real. In every scene, there is always the opportunity to tell a cheap joke at the expense of your partner. (We call this pimping for obvious reasons.) You can pimp your partner by selling them out to get a cheap laugh. And the audience will laugh. Once. But you killed the scene before it started…and you damaged the trust of your partner because you were selfish.

This thinking has gone way beyond a hobby or a job for me. Agreement is my life philosophy. It doesn’t mean that I have to agree with everyone’s opinions. Lots of people are wrong about lots of things.

But it does mean that I have to agree to reality.

Especially in matters concerning God, Jesus and the faith.

For instance, my denominational heritage (Christian/Church of Christ) tends to interpret most all of the Bible “literally.” Let’s take a less controversial story like Jonah. I now think it is clearly allegory. I was taught growing up that if I think that way, I am “on a slippery slope” to heresy. At some point, through study and contemplation, it just screamed out to me that the reality is that parts of the Bible are meant to be allegorical. Do I really think some guy was physically in the belly of a fish for several days – not only surviving, but writing and memorizing Hebrew poetry?

No. I don’t believe that actually happened. The point is that I had to overcome my hidden agenda, self-absorption, and fear to see the reality that was there all along. I was also pimping the book of Jonah – selling it out for a quick and easy interpretation. Now I am free to play with a brilliant piece of literature.

I see a lot of issues boiling up in and around the church that are divisive. Some of them have yet to reach their climax. It’s not going to be pretty when they do. What I see, often on both sides of any given hot button topic, is a lot of hidden agendas, self-absorption, fear and ruthlessness. This makes honest discussion (let alone unity) impossible. Until we can agree on what is actually going on in the world, we can’t work (or play) together. We can’t agree until we shed our agendas, egos and fears. That’s hard to do. It means vulnerability. It means, not just that I might not get my way, but that I certainly will not get my way.

But we could find our way together.

That’s what an improvisational Christianity looks like to me.

Are you ready to say Yes to reality?

Even if it paralyzes you with fear?

Even if it takes away your power?

Even if it is the harder road?

I had planned on sharing my list of the“realities” that I think we are ignoring. But I would love to hear yours instead. I’d also love to see if we can practice respecting each other’s concept of reality within these very comments.

How long can we play together before defaulting to the age-old time-tested Christian practice of the “No” we call excommunication? It will be an interesting experiment to find out. (I was excommunicated again just yesterday on my friend Kurt’s blog - but not by Kurt.)

What do you think? What is the reality we are currently living in? How do we get past our agendas, egos, fears and comfortability to joyfully play together again in the world we all share?

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