Behind the scenes, doling out fellowships to filmmakers.

BY THOM POWERS

Staring at four proposals on a conference table, I start to sympathize with the jurors at all the festivals I’ve attended and the foundations I’ve applied to. I’m a filmmaker, and here in St. Paul I’m sitting opposite two colleagues, independent producers Amy Hobby (Secretary) and Geoff Stier (Forty Shades of Blue). Together we’re the jury for this year’s McKnight Artist Fellowship, grants that come with cash prizes of $25,000. We have spent the last two days winnowing down 44 proposals spanning narrative, documentary, animation and experimental film. The first cut was the deepest, but the last cut — selecting a single winner — would be the hardest.

Usually, in this process I’m the applicant — or perhaps I should say supplicant. Producing documentaries for PBS and HBO, I’ve supplicated for countless grants, fellowships and sundry funds. These days the money chase is so competitive it’s become a spectator sport. Festivals such as Amsterdam’s IDFA and Toronto’s Hot Docs host pitch forums where audiences watch filmmakers hawk their projects to commissioning editors. Instead of crafting reality television more like real life, we’ve made our profession more like reality television.

I’ve had successful pitches and proposals. But I’ve lost out on plenty more, always vowing next time to keep my hopes under control. Filmmakers can be like gamblers, dwelling more on the stakes than the odds. And now, as a juror looking at application after application, I can’t help but imagine a filmmaker’s hopes to quit a miserable job, surprise a skeptical spouse or vindicate past disappointments.

If any readers have, at this point in the article, perked up at the mention of a $25,000 fellowship, I hasten to add that only Minnesota residents are eligible for the McKnight. Our jury was imported from out of state to avoid conflicts of interest. One joy of participating was to observe how much promise comes from a state seldom recognized for homegrown film. The Independent Feature Project Minnesota (IFP MN) administers the McKnight fellowship. Other regional film centers would do well to study IFP MN’s growth. Eighteen years after the group’s founding, they’ve just moved into a new facility with eight full-time staff and myriad volunteers.

On a sunny Thursday in June, Hobby, Stier and I traveled to IFP’s St. Paul office for a marathon screening session. Since the three of us were strangers, I wondered what kind of alliances might form: Hobby and I as New Yorkers against Stier the Californian? Men against woman? The fiction producers against me?

Apparently, we were walking stereotypes. Arriving at the IFP office, Stier and I were greeted by executive director Jane Minton, dragging on a cigarette outside. Never having met us, she said to Stier, “You’re the Californian,” and to me, “You’re the New Yorker.” Perhaps the giveaway was Stier’s tan, gym-toned body contrasted to my pallid, pint-lifting physique. Other regional clichés held true in our deliberations, as Stier exhibited a laid-back openness in contrast to my quick sarcasm. Hobby, a spitfire with a generous laugh, managed to express her points in a way that was both resolute and easygoing.

IFP’s William Kruse, who oversees the fellowship, warned us that last year’s judges were debating their final choice all the way to the airport home. We were determined to conduct ourselves with a better give-and-take. Our shared goal was to finish the job with enough time left to visit Minneapolis’s avant-garde citadel, the Walker Art Center.

As someone who writes a lot of grants, I was fascinated to observe the good and bad examples of others. When it comes to writing the dreaded Artist’s Statement, many applicants resorted to telling stories of youthful trials and epiphanies. (“My mother freaked out when she saw that I had stacks and stacks of spiral notebooks under my bed.”) While any one of these coming-of-age tales might sound valid on its own, reading several in a row made me sympathize with the discouraging parents. I became equally impatient with filmmakers who blamed their lack of funds on industry contacts for their creative impediments.

It came as a breath of fresh air when one director wrote, “I use whatever tools are given to me,” then proceeded to describe his experiments creating moving images with everything from contact printers to Xerox machines. The proposal was like enjoying a date with someone who becomes more attractive for not being so needy.

Following Kruse’s instructions, our jury watched each filmmaker’s two work samples (totaling 88 films) for as long as it took for us to form an opinion. On average, that was five minutes per sample. If that sounds brief, at least everyone got equal treatment. With documentaries, I tended to level the axe first while deferring to Stier and Hobby for fiction. The process enabled us to separate the candidates into three categories of high, medium and low interest. Then we went back and screened the most promising samples at greater length. By Friday evening, we had taken a longer look at all of our short list, except for one narrative director whose features we saved for Saturday morning.

So far, four directors had emerged as favorites. By chance, each one represented a different genre.

Documentary maker David Eberhardt submitted two works from his 12 years of following train hobos. His 90-minute film Long Gone (2003) weaves together fascinating character studies with poetic imagery shot largely on 16mm, accompanied by an original Tom Waits score.

Animator Tom Schroeder displayed versatility in two shorts. Bike Ride (2001) renders a hapless story of unrequited love in simple B&W line drawings. A Plan (2004) employs rich colors and skillful sound design to evoke a boy’s fantasies during an afternoon boat ride.

Narrative director John Hime offered two short comedies shot on DV. Both featured winning performances by Peter Barrickman and Didier Leplae, who previously collaborated with Hime on skits for www.zerotv.com. Second Place (2003) depicts two roommates in a series of ridiculous competitions — from balancing teacups to muffin eating — ending in a twist. In Computer Puppets (2005) Hime continues his themes of petty rivalry, doing wonders with the low-budget set design of a futuristic space station.

Experimentalist Scott Coleman Miller reedited and falsely subtitled a 1959 Mexican narrative in Uso Justo (2005) to create a hilarious 22-minute spoof of melodrama and avant-garde filmmaking. Miller, who has been making films for at least 20 years, also submitted Fixed Whereabouts (1983), inspired by the filmmaker Bruce Conner.

Choosing between these four filmmakers was going to be tough enough. But before ending our Friday session, we reflected once more on the other applicants we graded at high as well as medium interest. There were two doc makers whose work was tailored to the formats of cable television and PBS. But those achievements didn’t fit the McKnight criteria of a unique vision. There were several emerging filmmakers who showed promise but lacked the sustained accomplishment of our short list. Wary that no women were in contention, Hobby went back through the 12 female applicants for one final reevaluation. Our consensus remained the same.

That night, our gregarious hosts Kruse and IFP MN’s executive director Jane Minton took us out for dinner with film locals who weren’t applicants. Sipping mojitos and contemplating artists’ fates on the sidewalk of St Paul’s artsy Uptown district, Stier queried Minton about the names on our short list. Could she give us any background to tip our decision? Should we be concerned that Eberhardt had a co-director on Long Gone? She assured us that his contribution was major. She had only warm things to say about all the finalists. That didn’t make it any easier.

The next morning, we filed into a windowless room for our last round. The remaining narrative director for us to consider wrote persuasively in his artist statement about his dedication to Midwest characters. Having grown up in Michigan, I had an affinity for those aims. I suspected that Stier and Hobby were predisposed to his feat of pulling off two features. He might be a shoo-in.

After watching a good chunk of the work, I took little pleasure from it. Stier and Hobby had poker faces. When the tape came out, I prepared for battle. “What do you think?” I asked. They both concurred. We were sticking to our four.

We recapped our views on each applicant. Eberhardt’s documentary was distinguished for tackling difficult subject matter and sustaining a feature length. Schroeder’s animation exhibited multidisciplinary skills and relied on less collaboration than the rest. Hime’s direction of actors and comic writing stood out among so many mediocre narratives. Miller’s experimentation was full of ingenuity and showed gumption for pursuing the least commercial genre.

Our appreciation for each was virtually equal. So we resorted to another factor: time.

Our first fellowship went to Eberhardt because he had invested 12 years in his subject and accomplished the longest work of our finalists. His written proposal described plans to complete a documentary about traveling down the Mississippi River with a group of river punks, called Burn This Boat.

The second fellowship went to Miller because his career stretched back the longest. His next work, according to his proposal, will satirically take on the health care system through footage culled from hospital films. “Those with the best health care” he wrote, “get quality production values. Those without health care get low-budget production values.” When I read that before seeing Uso Justo, it seemed like a crazy scheme. Afterward, I had complete faith in the plan.

Hobby, Stier and I spent the rest of the day sightseeing in Minneapolis with no regrets or second-guessing of our choices. Back in New York a few weeks later, I heard that Eberhardt was back on the Mississippi to finish shooting his river punks while his producer continues seeking distribution for Long Gone. If that wasn’t enough testimony to the power of a fellowship, I got a second helping in a thankful e-mail from Miller. “With this much cash,” he wrote, “I won’t have to take as many construction/demolition jobs this summer.... In fact, I think I’ll take NONE of them and simply work on my next project.”

This will come as small consolation to the 42 filmmakers we had to disappoint. But, trust me, I know how you feel.