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The Cold Realities: Producer Kurt Ravenwood on Hundreds of Beavers
Ryland Brickson Cole Tews and Mike Cheslik Visit the website of Emmy-winning Milwaukee-based advertising and marketing company SRH, and you’ll be presented with a graphic extolling the firm’s concept of “empirical marketing.” In return for a mailing list signup, a free ebook download promises to teach you how to “burn fat & grow muscle” and to “trim flabby, underperforming campaigns.” And while many of the clients listed on its site hail from the health and wellness space, the lean, low-fat philosophy suggested by the company’s branding can extend to film as well, as Kurt Ravenwood—the “R” in SRH—has proven with the independent adventure comedy hit Hundreds of Beavers. In this interview with Doug Dillaman, Ravenwood explains how he partnered with SRH’s Matt Sabljak and Beavers star and co-screenwriter Ryland Brickson Cole Tews to produce the film, and then how, when satisfactory distribution offers failed to materialize, he became a self-distributor, launching the film with a “Great Lakes Roadshow” in January 2024 that took the film from Minneapolis to Toronto.— Scott Macaulay
Ravenwood: I’m a big fan of Guy Maddin’s films, and I saw this movie, Lake Michigan Monster, that was pulling from all these high cinephile references but was laugh-out-loud funny. I just knew I wanted to be in business with these guys. I produced four independent feature films beforehand, but I’d never seen such a combination of craft and humor sensibility as in Lake Michigan Monster. Also, it’s a producer’s dream to find filmmakers who are such self-starters. They don’t wait for anyone—they just do it. So, my business partner Matt Sabljak and I raised a lot of the money from local friends and businesspeople in Milwaukee [to make Hundreds of Beavers]. I don’t come from money, so I had to build a company in [a field] that’s a little easier, like advertising, to [be able to produce films]. And it helps that we have infrastructure. We have an office and an office manager who could help. We could store all the beaver costumes in our storage unit. And then, shooting in Wisconsin, well, it’s not like trying to find an [affordable] diner in L.A. There’s a beauty to being in Wisconsin where people are just excited that you’re shooting a movie and want to help out.
Filmmaker: So, were you blind producing it in the sense of, “Here is some money. You guys go off in the woods. We trust you”? Or were you more involved across all the details? Or some point in between?
Ravenwood: Somewhere in between. At that time, our agency was growing, so I was just really busy doing advertising. I wouldn’t say it’s running itself now, but I have more time to pursue this stuff. We have about 20 folks, and we do digital marketing and advertising, and all of that turned out to be extremely helpful in doing a self-release. There are three “produced by” credits. There’s Matt, my partner. He raised the money. Ryland was more or less the “line producer.” He really produced the shoots and was the one pulling favors all over town, although we all did our fair share of that. And then I came back to drive the closing salvo, which was the release, getting press and trying to figure out our distribution strategy.
Filmmaker: How developed was the film when you came on?
Ravenwood: It was just this idea. The guys thought they could make a funny movie centered around Ryland, and they wanted to do it in Wisconsin. He’s a great physical comedian, and they put the concept together [based on] available resources. It was very much, “What do we have around us, and what kind of concept could work for that?” and, “[We] really love old silent films and slapstick, and we haven’t seen slapstick in a long time.” It was just a collage of ideas. There was no script, and the storyboards developed as we were going along.
Filmmaker: Having produced other films that were more conventional, were you worried about not having a script?
Ravenwood: Ryland and Mike were so assured and clear on what the tone of the movie was going to be, its creative engine and what was going to make people laugh. All they had to do was put together the concept poster of a guy running away from hundreds of beavers. Mike and Ryland are so good at being, like, “What’s the poster? What’s the concept?”
Filmmaker: So, the It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World-style poster existed well before the shoot?
Ravenwood: No, we made that later, but we had a shitty mocked-up version of it earlier. Mike convinced me to invest in a hand-illustrated [version], a Jack Davis-kind of thing with the artist Kyle Hilton whom we met along the way. People love the poster. It’s probably our number one merch seller—that’s my job as producer to say things like that. Then, Mike cut together a sort of trailer of mascots falling on ice, but also clips from silent films and cartoons, and you could tell what the tone of the movie was going to be by watching that mood trailer.
Filmmaker: And this is something that you showed investors?
Ravenwood: Yeah, we did. We got them laughing in the room. You know, in the grand scheme of things, you’ve got some responsible guys who made this one movie for seven grand and then got everyone to laugh in the room. The stakes weren’t that high—$150,000. I wasn’t that worried about it. If it flops, it’s not the end of the world. So, we were just comfortable as producers completely putting our trust in them and letting them rock and roll.
Filmmaker: What’s your background?
Ravenwood: I was born in a small town in northern Wisconsin, then moved to Milwaukee. I went to film school at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and was two years ahead of Ryland but never met him. Milwaukee is the only true film school in the state of Wisconsin. Other schools have film studies programs, and you do a little production, but UWM is like an avant-garde sort of approach—there was a lot of experimental film, you still got to shoot 16mm, but there were a lot of us trying to do more traditional narrative films. And somewhere in that weird gonzo mix you get guys like me and Ryland, who want to make Hollywood movies but make them super weird.
Filmmaker: And are you trying to make your own films as a director, as well? Or are you focused on the producing side?
Ravenwood: Like any white male film school student, I was like, “I have to be the director.” But I learned pretty quickly that I don’t have the detail persistence, the ability to just sit down and be obsessed with a story. My bigger skills, I learned, were orchestrating the whole ecosystem of a movie, so that’s where I’ve landed.
Filmmaker: I know the shoot didn’t happen continuously. Can you walk me through the calendar of how everything unfolded?
Ravenwood: We didn’t raise all the money right away, but we raised just enough to shoot the first act in 2020. That shoot was maybe three or four weeks. They came back with the first act roughed out; then, that helped us get a couple other [investors] off the fence and into the movie. Then, the pandemic hit, which slowed things down. The following year was still the pandemic, but they shot again—an outdoor shoot with six guys—in early 2021. Then, there were pickups in between, so overall it was shot over the course of two years. Some of the supporting cast was there for just three days. That’s how it was so cheap. Everyone was like, “Oh, you didn’t pay everyone,” but we did pay everyone a very fair day rate. It was just a seriously small crew with a DSLR camera, and everyone except for Ryland just had to show up for a day. And because all of the villains are people in mascot costumes, you don’t need the same actor [for every shoot day]. Then, post took a long time, a lot of 2022. What’s not reflected in the budget is the extra work of just Mike at a computer cranking out effect shots.
Filmmaker: I’ve watched a couple interviews, and he often says, “There are 1,500 shots, so you just have to knock them out in a couple hours instead of a couple days.” But that’s still 3,000 hours minimum. And [to hire] a good After Effects person, that’s probably about the whole budget.
Ravenwood: Absolutely. If Mike would have charged a corporate client the same rate…. But filmmakers always do this—don’t pay themselves enough. [Instead of] raising more money, it’s, “Let’s go make the movie.” Which I respect, but we won’t do it again. So, maybe it’s a $300,000 or $400,000 film. The cash outlay was $150,000, but there were in-kind services.
Filmmaker: There’s a whole “put on a show” kind of vibe that they seem to have as filmmakers which can’t be faked. They are able to create a sense of event. Ryland, obviously, in particular.
Ravenwood: And Mike, too. Mike was amazing at his Q&As, which are almost stand-up comedy routines. They always say, “No matter what anyone says, just believe you’re making the greatest movie. Act like it in your heart, and don’t be embarrassed.” I’m a more introverted and shy person, and those two really helped me be like, “Fuck it. No matter how many distributors say they have no idea what to do with this movie, how to market it, we’re just going to believe in it and see how far we can push it.”
Filmmaker: Let’s dig into your distribution strategy. What did going to market look like for you? Did you foresee this long of a fest run, or did you hope to go to a couple of A-list genre fests, get picked up and a distributor would worry about the rest?
Ravenwood: That was exactly what we hoped was going to happen. We debuted at Fantastic Fest, but because of COVID, and because we were a little bit of a late addition, we were a virtual premiere, so we didn’t have much of a splash. Then, we weren’t getting accepted to any other major ones, so we just started going to the regional film festivals. I have a picture somewhere of Mike giving a talk at Beloit International Film Festival with six people in the audience, five of whom are his family. Bless these guys, they went to so many festivals.
For all of 2023 we were doing that, and while that was happening I was on the phone talking to distributors. We talked to Oscilloscope, we talked to IFC, and they all really liked the movie, but [the people watching it said], “We don’t know how to market this. It’s black and white, there’s no dialogue, it’s 15 minutes too long.” Eventually, we did get some offers, but they were not amazing offers. But that’s OK—it’s a tough market out there in general for any filmmaker. But I think what really bummed us out more is it seemed like most distributors wanted to put it in theaters for a week and then put it right on video on demand. We just didn’t believe that that was going to help this movie out.
Fantasia in 2023 actually felt like our premiere. I hired a press agent, we signed with the international sales rep [Raven Banner Entertainment] and we got an audience award. We had a really great time. Then, we got into Sitges, which was also the same thing. I took my family to Europe for three weeks, and Mike and Ryland went, too, and we went to all these European festivals. We still didn’t have any distributors—even after Sitges, they all passed. We were at a decision point, so I sold AVOD, SVOD and certain streaming rights to Fandor, who are part of Cineverse and have been a great partner. We kept the rights that we thought we could DIY ourselves based on what we learned on the festival trail: theatrical, physical merchandise and transactional video on demand—renting or buying on Apple [iTunes], for example. We are working with Filmhub. They’re great—you basically just upload your film and say what rights you want to make available, and for, I think, 20 percent, they just put your stuff up on all the platforms and make it available for sales. So, all these digital platforms that have Beavers, it’s just Filmhub turning those on. It’s kind of like FilmFreeway but for distribution.
Filmmaker: And then tell me how the theatrical release happened.
Ravenwood: There are a lot of companies that are actually just content companies who say they’re distributors. They’ll buy your rights for a long period of time, but they’re not actually trying to get your film into the culture. They tie it up and hope that down the road you direct a Marvel movie or something; then they have your first feature film. They don’t do the marketing, and it’s so important to do marketing for a movie. So, I raised a little more money to start a marketing campaign, then strategized the Great Lakes Roadshow with Mike and Ryan. I personally called a lot of the theaters, but I also hired a theatrical booker who had been introduced to me along the way. She’s been in this business for 40 years and loved the movie. She used to work at Kino, and she has personal relationships with all the historic indie theaters in America. She was like, “I’ll do my best, but I don’t know if anyone’s gonna want to book your movie.” And I was like, “Let’s do this roadshow, and if we can show that it’s a success and get some press and buzz, maybe more theaters will pick it up.” And now we’re nearing 200 total cities, always one or two nights only, even if we’re not showing up.
Filmmaker: You started the roadshow with personal appearances, but that’s stopped?
Ravenwood: A lot of people still think we show up everywhere, but we don’t. [laughs]. But I’ll give you an example: We showed up in Los Angeles and did a few of the “beaver wrestling” roadshows, but [theaters] are still playing it in L.A. two months later. It played for three months in New York. It really has had its own legs, and I owe it to our theatrical booker. Then, when we started getting enough money, I hired a PR guy to really help me talk to critics and get our Rotten Tomatoes reviews all up. It worked really well, and now we’re signed with agents and managers who have a track record of making artist-driven films.
