THE ART THEATER

A lot! First of all, I'm editing a mini-docu-series on regular folks living these really unique, intentional lifestyles. Like your next-door neighbors but with amazing secret lifestyles that benefit the community. It's called The Road Less Traveled and it includes a dumpster diving CFO who's mad about landfill diversion. Or an Executive Director who feeds her family through urban foraging. Or a marketing manager who rents his house out at cost to artist while he lives in his converted tool shed so he can host these amazing backyard community events. I get to play host in these super kinetic, 10-minute episodes. Living a day in the life of awesome people. So I'm done with 2 of 4 episodes, meaning that'll be out late this year.

I also just joined the producing team for another docuseries highlighting the resilience of Altadena residents rebuilding after the Eaton fire. That's incredibly humbling, inspiring work. We're in pre-production now, talking with residents, strategizing story and tech and scheduling. I can't say much more at the moment, but it's an exciting project.

I'm also on the producing team for One But Many, a feature documentary that just premiered at the TCL Chinese Theater as an official selection at Dances With Films (June 29,2025). That's a very visceral film that leaves the viewer with reason for optimism about human-wildlife conflict in Africa. Follow for updates on that getting distributed after a little screening run. 

And I'm working on editing Who Wants to Be a Millennial? from a pilot into a short documentary to share on streaming. I'm hoping to make that available late this year as well. 

Meanwhile, I have two narrative projects coming up soon that I can't say much about yet. But one is a sci fi project in the vein of Red Earth, and another is a novel little horror project that I'm excited to be a part of.

It started as a poem. I wrote it during a dark time. I was working through incredible loss--a child, a relationship. A friend, a veteran who took his own life. It was a hard time. A lot of grief. I'd taken a break from creating films for a while. So I was driving to work, listening to a Max Richter score, of all things. And the poem came to mind. How well it fit the tone of the piece. I'd been watching some cine-poetry at the time. Including this YouTuber, @Ilneas, who makes these videos matching movie footage and scores with poetry read by this mysteriously wise and grizzled actor who goes by the name Tom O'Bedlam. No one knows who that guy is, by the way. But his voice! Anyway, it hit me, driving to work that night, that I had to make a cine-poem of my own. But with original footage. An original score. And of course that poem. Not for anyone, really. Just for myself. As a way, I guess, of creating something beautiful out of that darkness. 

Carpe diem, man. Just do it. We're all so afraid in our lives, of one thing or another. We let too many things pass us by. But we have so much more agency in our lives than we give ourselves credit for. You gain the most when you're vulnerable. Brene Brown, in one of her talks or in her writing, says that vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation. The Unknown Depths is raw and personal. But it's esoteric, enigmatic. It doesn't resonate with everyone. I knew that going in. I could forecast the critical reviews. But that's just it--the film is exactly what I wanted it to be. I didn't concede a single facet of it. But if I would have let the fear drive me, I never would've made it. Instead, it's the film for which I've experienced the most gratitude. Which is an amazing gift. Especially considering the film's beginnings.

Oh man. It was a trip. Creating a sense of place for film is so crucial. Particularly an esoteric, emotionally driven piece like The Unknown Depths. The film is a journey through a character's  kind of fugue state fever dream. So we wanted to juxtapose a warm, inviting home-space with the big, bad urbanscape, with her leaving both--symbolically and literally--for this haunting but natural landscape. And that was the crux of the production, this nightmare scene. A kind of flooded, lunar landscape. I knew better than to write it into the script. Where in Southern California are you going to find an endless landscape of puddled craters? It was mental. But I got this idea in my head and I'm a stubborn bastard. I dug around for hours. Days. Thinking I'd have to raise money to fly us up to the Pacific Northwest to make this cine-poem. It went against everything I've advised about indie filmmaking. But then... I found the La Jolla Tide Pools in San Diego. It looked perfect in pictures. Vast and haunting. I couldn't believe it. I was working that night. Bar shift. Late. But I couldn't wait. I drove down to La Jolla after my shift, slept in my car. And woke up to this beautifully haunted landscape that was exactly what the film needed. Two hours' drive away. It was one of the more satisfying victories in my filmmaking career. Fulfilling this seemingly impossible vision. And doing so affordably. 

*see photos here

I love this question. Yes! Location scouting is one of my favorite aspects of filmmaking. I'm really proud of what we achieved in this realm with Red Earth. The film was born almost purely from location. Our director, Georg, created this diary narrative of a post-apocalyptic Earth, after humans colonize Mars and destroy our home planet. Ironically, we wanted a landscape that resembled Mars itself. Georg lives on the East coast, so finding locations fell to me. We had a limited budget. And the plan, originally, was to shoot a short. So I planned for a lean production--two guys, a Sony As7, shooting MOS in the field with a homemade astronaut costume and a dream. 

I scouted with all that in mind, figuring we could achieve all footage in 5 days or so. I used my hiking and roadtripping experience to create a few production options. centering each in a "basecamp" town. (See below PDF for an excerpt of one of those proposed production itineraries.) The idea was to provide a variety of barren landscapes--urban and rural--to portray a post-apocalyptic world. We honed in on what was right for the film, arriving at Kanab, UT, as our base of operations. The footage was so good, we developed the film into a feature. And that feature became Red Earth, which went on to win a Special Jury mention for cinematography at the Oscar-qualifying Atlanta Film Festival. It was the landscape that clinched the award. It was a little batty, shooting in some of those remote locations. That included a nervy drive through miles of narrow-road sugar sand to White Pocket in the Vermillion Cliffs National Monument. We were lucky to make it in and out of there. My truck was Tokyo drifting left and right. Which seems fun until you realize you have no cell service, limited water and no one for miles. But the shots were incredible. The sun careening off of these impossibly picturesque windswept cliffs. My character stumbling around in an astronaut costume in the desert sun. Filmmaking as sport. But it was shrewd, in a way. A very efficient, very effective production.

*see photos here

Okay, I would never recommend this. But another rule I broke in creating The Unknown Depths was the low-budget rule of writing for the simplest possible production. But this film is about the universality of existential questioning, of the encroaching pressures of modern life. Not just in LA. Everywhere. The film's A-Story follows a young woman and her significant other. But I also wrote in these interstitial segments. These fever dreams. Cutaway moments of other folks experiencing similar sentiments. Urban chaos. Unrequited joy. Endurance. Bittersweet existence. And I wanted these clips, brief though they were, to represent everywhere on Earth. So I conscripted a handful of "remote cinematographers" to capture slice-of-life scenes from around the world. Nairobi. Hà Nội. London. Springfield, Illinois! It was definitely an overly ambitious effort. But I am proud that we strove, at least, to capture that universal sense of longing and existential questioning to the piece. The human experience. 

That film's budget was under $15,000. But it packed quite the punch. The original score (composed by Grammy-award winning Markus Illko). The production value (led by NAACP award-nominated Carl Reid). The cinematography (Dalton Gaudin of Westworld and Covert Affairs). Not to mention the cast. As a Director, I learned so much from these amazing talents.

*see photos here

Finding affordable locations and permitting in LA can be challenging enough! But Probably the toughest that comes to mind was shooting Loa in Haiti. This was an incredibly challenging production to coordinate. First of all, our airplane to Port-au-Prince just didn't show up. The airline was Dutch Antilles Express. The person who chose to fly them will never hear the end of it from me. Not only was there no plane. There was no attendant at the airport. No desk. No one answering their phone lines. A bad omen to the start of a doc on vodou. The people of Haiti were great. We had cultural guides and, among our crew, had done our research on the history and Kreyol language, doing our best to work through the understandable barriers of trust. A lot of listening. A lot of letting our own guard down. If that meant carrying camera gear through Port-au-Prince, letting local men and women voice their opinions. And actually listen. Or sitting in the back of an open-air pickup truck on bumpy rural roads for 6 hours to reach our destination village. At 55 miles per hour. Or lugging gear through miles of lush forest to arrive at a sacred cave. With complete strangers. All in the heat of July. While trying to protect our equipment from the elements. You're fighting an unreliable power grid for charging batteries. Missing meals to grab stories. Fighting heat exhaustion. Mosquitoes. No air conditioning. No services. No law enforcement. But guess what? Everyone else there is dealing with this stuff, too. You don't complain. How disrespectful would that be? How can you gain the trust of someone to be vulnerable with you if you're disrespecting their lifestyle? We gained the trust of a lot of people by just making an effort. You don't need a big budget to do that. 

Always. The Unknown Depths called for a scene with actor Leland White in a gurney. But we were shooting sans permit on a not-to-be-named campus, very much guerilla style. Skeleton crew, in and out. Doing our best to shoot surreptitiously. As much as you can with a Red Komodo and full production lights. We figured a gurney would garner too much unwanted attention. So we borrowed a wheelchair and I fashioned a gurney-like half-platform out of plywood, foam, bike rack hanger and a bedsheet. We outfitted the wheelchair with the gurney "extension", tilted Leland back, and got ourselves an amazing shot. And no unwanted interruptions. 

You asked earlier about attempting a comedic documentary on an illegally inhabited sailboat. So yeah that was a challenge! For Who Wants to Be a Millennial? we had a two-camera setup on an aging 26' sailboat. Sourcing the boat wasn't the issue. Taking it on the ocean with an amateur crew? Let's just say the biggest budget items were lifejackets and insurance. Obviously every filmmaker would prefer to work with a big budget. But solving problems on a low-budget is part of the charm of low-budget movie magic. 

Aww, thank you! That's very kind of you to mention! Loved ones who see me around the house would have a good laugh at this one. I dress horribly around the house; "vintage", in my home context, is translated more to "why have you not thrown that ripped shirt from 30 years ago away yet?"! But yes, I do love a good thrifting find. Our disposable economy gets my goat. Fast fashion, hype trends, luxury branding. It's lazy to me. So much is communicated through wardrobe. Directly or through juxtaposition. Vintage. Grunge. Goth. Even vanilla. So yeah, I very much enjoyed assembling wardrobe for my own film work. So far nobody's approached me about assembling wardrobe for their film or editorials. Would I be down to do it if someone did? Yeah, I most definitely would consider that.  

Ah! You know, I tend to think about that time as when I was taking a break as a filmmaker. But I appreciate the shout because those videos were really fun. And the messaging was important, for sure. I just have this "it's complicated" relationship with social media. I love the interaction. But we're living at a time where putting out lighthearted content can feel tone-deaf to what's going on in the world. There's a lot of noise lately. Before getting back into making those videos, I want to be clear about having a positive, meaningful place among that noise. That said, I am mulling over a return to those videos. The Road Less Traveled, which I mentioned earlier, will be a part of that. Believe it or not, I often forget my lifestyle is so different. It's not everyday someone gets to see an off-grid, porta potty home sitting in a budding urban food forest. Yeah, maybe there's a reason to share more of that.

Thanks! As an artist, being recognized for your work, knowing that someone has interpreted what you communicated in the manner and depth you intended, is always humbling. Official selections themselves are an honor. As someone who cringes at having to self-promote, awards and nominations are valuable snippets of evidence that, yes, your work has value. To strangers. Project-wise, awards help distributors pitch to networks and streaming platforms. Recognition legitimizes your reputation as someone who can deliver quality work. Recently, I was on a call for a docu-series I'm producing, hoping to secure a key participant for our production. The guy was open, but ambivalent. My producing partner introduced me, mentioning some awards and accolades. Instead of convincing him to participate, the conversation quickly moved to the guy opening up about some really sensitive stuff. Things that will make the project more powerful, more inspiring. So yeah, it's a mitigating factor. Recognition opens doors. Little by little. 

I'm most natural in front of camera. As a host or actor. I'm very comfortable scoring a script or working with a director on interpretations. I enjoy pulling the best out of people, fellow actors or interviewees. The interplay is fun. Exploring. Heightening. It's funny because I thought I quit acting a decade ago. But the offers came back around. And the roles were good. I'm glad to be in front of camera again. I think it was a source of stress in the past, trying to "make it". I'm much calmer about it now. My life is good. Every new role is just icing on the cake.

As a filmmaker, the most exciting element--aside from location scouting, which is amazing--is directing talent. I've had a chance to do this a little in both narrative and documentary and, man, there is nothing like it. Obviously, working with talented actors is incredible because their tools are polished and the adjustments are that much easier. But even less experienced folks. Or documentary participants. Or directing voice-over. How do you pull a great performance out of someone? For one person, it might be using the right language to evoke a specific idea. For another, it might mean delving into the fiction with them to evoke a specific emotion. For another, it might mean just listening and giving permission. Overall, I believe the key is creating a safe space for folks to be vulnerable with their craft. Because that's always going to translate well.

Secretly? I'm a comedy guy. I like satire. Spoof. Mockumentary. Deadpan. I eat up anything from Leslie Neilsen, Lloyd Bridges. Randall Park. Aubrey Plaza. Kumail Nanjani. Constance Wu. Who Wants to Be a Millennial? was the first original work where I dipped my toe into that genre. Ever so slightly, with that Daily Show segment twist. I've had a few roles that flirted with that style. It's something I'd like to delve deeper into over time. Meanwhile, my recent roles have all been deeply serious, if not a little unhinged. My role as the conspiracy theorist Kenny in Skyforest was the most intense. I don't think a single scene cut without me cracking a joke to cut the tension. The outtakes of that film were probably my best deadpan performance on-camera. As a filmmaker, I'm most drawn to doc. Unearthing unusual stories in novel ways. I'm working on four separate documentary projects at the moment, in various stages of development. I didn't plan it that way. I just seem to have a knack for carving a story from clay, versus constructing one from ground-up. 

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