Back to selection
“I Wanted to Make a Black, Gay Paris, Texas“: Shatara Michelle Ford on Their BlackStar-Premiering Sophomore Feature Dreams in Nightmares
Joss Barton in Dreams in Nightmares Three cross-coastal best friends reunite for a spontaneous road trip across the American underbelly in Dreams in Nightmares, the sophomore feature from writer-director Shatara Michelle Ford. Though a significant pivot in theme and scope from their lean yet intense debut feature Test Pattern, Ford’s latest continues to plainly indicts the oppression that finds Black, femme, queer bodies at a stark institutional disadvantage.
After being laid off from their respective jobs in academia and finance, Z (Denée Benton) and Tasha (Sasha Compère) hop on the phone to reschedule a planned trip to the Dominican Republic. Instead of lounging in paradise, Tasha convinces Z to travel from her home in Los Angeles (which she shares with Reese (Charlie Barnett), her dreamy and well-off poly partner, and visit her and their other college bestie Lauren (Dezi Bing) at their New York City apartment instead. After a night of clubbing and general queer debauchery, the trio reveal that none of them have heard from bohemian artist Kel (Mars Storm Rucker) in an alarmingly long time. Unburdened by a day job and fueled by meager savings and severance packages, the friends decide to drive Tasha’s sensible minivan to Iowa City—and beyond—in order to locate the free spirit. Along the way, they encounter a riveting trans poetry scene, simmering familial tensions and rest stops with vaguely threatening auras. More than that, though, they confront various expectations—of themselves, their mid-30s and the mythology of cross-country treks—and the fears that keep us from catering to our fantasies.
I spoke with Ford via Zoom just two days before the BlackStar premiere of Dreams in Nightmares. Below, the writer-director discusses their continued effort to pay off Test Pattern’s debts, working with intimacy coordinators for the first time and how making this film was a constant “exercise in surrendering.”
Filmmaker: You spoke extensively about how you put your own finances on the line to make Test Pattern, and I wonder how that experience affected your approach to financing Dreams in Nightmares?
Ford: I’ll give you a warning: I could talk about that for three hours. I think that the success of Test Pattern didn’t necessarily change my feelings about how movies should be made. The major reason why I put my own money into Test Pattern to begin with is because I knew it was time to make it. I wasn’t invested in waiting for a bunch of people to go through a process that is nebulous and never-ending just because that is how we all get money to make a movie. I honestly thought that I would have to put my own money into a movie just once to be able to have financing for movies going forward. I got agents in 2021, right after Test Pattern was released. A lot of really nice meetings and opportunities came out of that, but [none of them were] necessarily related to me making another movie. No one seemed to have money for the stuff that I wanted to make. There was money for stuff that I didn’t want to make that didn’t come from me, and I was very confused by that. I spent three years trying to make the movies I wanted to make the traditional way, and it never happened. Granted, three years is not a long time in Hollywood, but it is a long time for the evolution of a project, especially if it’s already written.
When I came up with the concept for Dreams in Nightmares, it had been six years since I’d been on a set, which is absurd. Directing is a skill with tools that have to be finely-tuned; you don’t get better at it unless you keep doing it. Those opportunities weren’t happening, so I realized that I was going to have to do what I did [to finance Test Pattern] again. My producing partner, Pin-Chun [Liu], and I have been coming up with this concept of a sandbox model: how much money do we need to spend to actually make a project of scale and scope and still make its money back? (P.S.: Test Pattern has not made its money back. I’m still paying off debt from it, which is okay.) We were looking at the independent sales that were coming out of festivals during 2022 into 2023. Everyone was so scared, and we’re just kind of like, “Hmm, no one’s trying to re-do the model.” No one is thinking about how the model needs to fit the bespoke and specific needs of each individual project. We spent most of 2022 trying to put together a new model, then at the top of 2023 we were like, “Okay, we think we know [what to do].”
Something that works for me with a sandbox model is that we effectively come up with a concept. For this movie, I wanted to make a Black, gay Paris, Texas. We knew it was going to be a road movie, then we worked backwards. We were like, “Who do we know in cities that aren’t LA and New York, despite the fact that we also shot there, where we could use their houses?” I had friends in Iowa City. I grew up in St. Louis, but I know people in Kansas City and the production had friends there too. We have friends in LA and New York. I live in Philly and we were shooting there pretending it was other places. Even [settling on] the location of Iowa City, which is a focal point of the movie, was simply because [Lia Ouyang Rusli]—one of my very good friends, close family and the composer on this movie—was living there with their partner who was in the Writers’ Workshop. I’m from the Midwest, so I was also thinking about the routes that I’ve taken before to visit friends. This kept overheads very low. Once we figured that out, we were all like, “Okay, what’s the base level salary that we can give everyone?” When we have these close relationships, it means that we’re prepared to sleep on the floor in the same room and squeeze together in a car, which is not okay. None of us should have to do all these things to be able to do our jobs.
After Test Pattern, I sold two television shows and was in development. That was an experience I did not love and hope never to do again. But I made a lot of money, and I was like, “I’ll just put it right back into being able to make a movie.” I didn’t have enough to actually make a movie, but I thought, “Okay, if I’m prepared to go into debt again, how do I leverage that confidence to get people to just invest in this?” I went to what ended up being nine different parties and said, “I’m not interested in the development process, because I already know what the movie is and I know how to get it to where it needs to go. I will have only three meetings with you, and if you’re talking to me now, you’re committing to giving me at least a dollar.” The first meeting we had was about this idea and how I know I can pull it off. The second meeting was about the schedule and the budget. The third meeting was them telling me how much money they were going to give me. I wasn’t necessarily interested in them meeting my budget; I was more interested in them giving me as much as they felt comfortable losing. Whatever was left over, I covered. I’m going to make the movie anyway, so let’s just treat this like mutual aid. In some ways, it’s also just crowdfunding with actual financiers.
Everyone was so broke last year. No one’s making money back on the movies that they’re investing in. I think in some ways it was an interesting idea for quite a few of these people because they were like, “I don’t have that much money anyway.” These people never saw a script because there wasn’t one. There was an outline, and I even kept them from that. And my argument is, that’s not what I need from executives. I genuinely just need the money, support and infrastructure. There will be a time when I am interested in their input, and that’s all the way on the other side of the process when the thing is shot and I’m screening it, because that’s just how I work through things. I think that was uncomfortable and confusing for some, but they were down with it and also understood that that’s how Test Pattern was made too. The majority of my money was raised within six weeks, then the strike stopped everything.
I would say that despite Test Pattern not having made its money back, it’s paid me and my producing partner back in dividends in terms of our career and getting us to understand that indie films can be made more frequently than they are. There are ways to restructure the model, and I’m not saying we figured it out yet. Am I now dipping into my pockets on this? Yes, but I’m not afraid of that. Do I have a salary right now? No. Was it in the budget? Yes. Is it gone from the budget temporarily, maybe forever? I don’t know. Did I invest money from a house sale back into this movie? Yes. Will I get it back? I’m not sure, but I’m not mad at it. I don’t want to do it this way forever, but if I have to, I will.
Filmmaker: What I want to ask you a little more about is about the shoot, which lasted for 19 days. You filmed for 15 of those days across Missouri, Iowa, Pennsylvania, LA and New York. Then you also eventually shot for four days in Mexico. You told me about the economic approach behind these disparate locations and this road film dynamic, but how did you prepare for this constant movement of production and what were some of the benefits and challenges inherent to each location?
Ford: Having grown up in this region and done tons of road trips as a kid, I have some vivid memories of being pulled over by cops for no reason as a young person driving to Memphis and as a kid in my parents’ car in the middle of the night. America in general has not gotten better about these things. We were going through states with bathroom bans, with very visible public hostility towards our bodies as queer people, femmes, women and/or people of color. This also segues into a larger conversation about what the great reckoning of 2020 looked like in our industry and how representation—a word I have massive issues with—has manifested. Pin-Chun and I were like, “Okay, this is a project that has to center the bodies that we are featuring.” We didn’t think we could hire only queer people and people of color. We wanted highly-skilled practitioners who are down to do the job. I don’t care if you’re a cis-het or white man, but you need to understand that this production centers my body, not yours. Because of this, you also have a duty of care. So when we’re driving in the middle of Iowa, please don’t yell. We’re going to have to be a little clandestine in certain ways. We’re going have to move with a bit more precision, and we’re also going to need you to put your body in front of us when we need you to.
I’m interested in real, human life, and I want to engage with real things that are maybe only slightly art directed. We were shooting in real locations, the restaurants [featured in the film] are real restaurants run by Black women who have never engaged with film productions before. Our LA, New York film set bullshit does not fly there, so we had to think about how to take care of these environments and engage differently with people who are sharing space with us. It was hard because I’m also needing to direct the movie, so I can’t constantly police how things are being handled. But those reminders help me put my best foot forward.
Filmmaker: There was no intimacy coordinator on set for Test Pattern, but I did notice one in the credits for this film.
Ford: We actually had two!
Filmmaker: Can you speak to the difference that having people in this role provided for Dreams in Nightmares? There’s one great sex scene in particular that I’m curious about the evolution of.
Ford: It was a dream, honestly. I think my whole deal with navigating those scenes on my own was the fact that it was a lot of responsibility and very stressful. I was stressed because I was in a position of power. I don’t care that I’m in this body, I’m still the person that people are coming to work for, and therefore they want to meet the expectations of. As much as I can say, “What do you feel comfortable with? What is going on?,” there’s always gonna be this [imbalanced power] dynamic. The thing I’m most grateful for with the creation of an intimacy coordinator is that it takes that power away because there’s this facilitator. Sasha is an incredibly smart and diligent actor, super talented. But she’s thinking about these things and I don’t know what’s too far. She was so worried about not letting her character do what Tasha needs to do. Savannah Knoop, the intimacy coordinator, was just like, “We’re going to Zoom about it. We’re gonna talk.” There were opportunities for Sasha and Alfie [Fuller] to speak separately outside of me. They talked to each other, they talked with Savannah. On the day [we filmed their sex scene], Savannah was there. They are very calm, very kind of just like, “If at any point you change your mind, I’m here right next to Shatara.” It was also great because Nicole Randall, the other intimacy coordinator we had, helped me with a makeout scene with Danae where I felt weird asking for a certain thing. She was like, “Ask me and I will talk to them.” A lot of OG actors and film people are like, “I don’t know what [an intimacy coordinator] does.” I actually find it incredibly liberating. If done well and with intention, it’s a really wonderful tool.
Filmmaker: Speaking of capturing reality through real-life locations, I want to know about how you first encountered the poetry that you use in the film. Walk me through the process of including these poets and their work.
Ford: I love poetry, so I read a lot of it. But the actress Joss Barton, who plays Tony, is one of my oldest friends. She’s family. I’ve watched her career blossom and evolve, and that performance is not that dissimilar to what Joss is doing in Chicago and St. Louis all the time. I was excited to give Joss resources. There’s this really wonderful push and pull that she flirts and dances with so well as a performer. I also think that there’s this really interesting counterculture of trans poetry and the performance that goes along with it. Again, if I had allowed cis-heterosexual white people—and men, mainly—to develop my movie, maybe this section would be something they wouldn’t understand and eliminate. They’d be like, “What is this?” And I’d be like, “This is a very gay thing.” And they’d be like, “I’ve never seen it before. Let’s have a drag show!”
Honestly, in the evolution of this film, it has been the most controversial element. The final thing that you see isn’t the thing that I intended. I was getting feedback in various cuts where everyone was like, “Get rid of it, it’s too long. I don’t get the point.” I was angry and it made me very defiant. I was like, “Fuck you. I know what I’m doing.” Eventually, I was able to realize, through brilliant friends and collaborators, a way to keep blending in poetic elements. I’m not gonna lie, Lauren is a poet because Joss is a poet, so there’s a little bit of Joss that sits in Lauren. I’ve also admired Joss for so long; we’re both artists, but practice it in very different spaces. I’ve learned so much from her because she gets to do this from a place of pure joy, peace and fulfillment, whereas I’m always reaching.
The other poet is named Tahjia Brantley. They were in the Iowa Writers’ Workshop a year below my friend whose house we shot in. My friend Yasmin connected me to Tahjia, who then wrote that poem for the movie. Originally I was like, “I know you’re busy. Just give me something you already have. We’ll make it work.” And Tahjia was like, “No, like, what’s the movie about? Who’s this character?” Then that’s what we got back. Again, this goes to show the spirit of collaboration.
Filmmaker: All of that adds to the film’s intense realism.
Ford: Honestly, that’s the only way that I want to work. I am so lucky that I have the opportunity to dream up a thing, then find people who are really good at the disparate elements and be like, “I trust you to bring something to me.” That means I’m constantly surprised and people are able to fill in the gaps that I have.
Compared to Test Pattern, Dreams in Nightmares feels like this living organism that I honestly have no real control over. There are so many ways in which that is expressed, even in the production design, camera work and editing, because we were responding in real-time to constraints. I was actually fighting against my instincts: I would ask all of these questions like, “Is that the colonizer in my head that’s telling me that I need to perform in a certain way to have the validation and recognition that comes with being a director who knows what they’re doing?”
Filmmaker: Dreams in Nightmares mimics real life in a way that goes against the narrative structure of a fiction feature. It doesn’t have easy resolutions and the characters have a depth that can’t be unraveled during two hours of a movie.
Ford: It was truly an exercise in surrendering, and I’m grateful for it. If you’d asked me six or nine months ago if this is a movie that I’m excited about and proud of, I’d be like, “I don’t know what I did.” Pin-Chun and I created this sandbox and bled out of it very quickly, because life happens. The first thing that happened in life is that we signed an interim agreement, which means that we were having to pay for things that we didn’t necessarily account for in our initial budget that was made pre-strike. The second thing is that we had a COVID shutdown in Mexico, which meant we had to quarantine. Again, that was something that we could not account for. I grew a lot on this movie because I gave myself more to do than with Test Pattern. I was figuring out what I could get away with on the fly. I was constantly mourning the original idea I had in my head. But after a certain amount of time, you just have to surrender. There’d be moments where I’d snap back and beat myself up. Then I would take a deep breath and look at all of these wonderful collaborators in front of me that keep surprising me. I’d keep listening to my actors, who are having the time of their life and achieving things in their own performances that they felt like they’d not been able to before. We were doing everything in a space that felt safe for them. So yeah, this is an organism that I maybe created the conditions for, but I had very little control over it, and I’m all the more grateful for that.
