I Made a Movie for an Industry That Didn’t Want It

In preparation for the release of my first feature, Bottom Feeders (now available on Vimeo On Demand), I wanted to write a piece about my experience making the film. As I attempted to hash out a 500-word op-ed about how my cast and crew and I prevailed against all the odds of making a micro budget film, I was reminded that we, in fact, did not prevail in the traditional sense, and a piece of that nature would have been untruthful.

So, I went through an old hard drive and rummaged through some notebooks, and found a handful of guerrilla diaries, written during the production and post-production process, to remind myself what really happened at that time. It was bizarre and humorous to unearth these journals, three years later. Here’s an excerpt from an entry written at 1:37 a.m. on Thursday, April 21, 2022, a few days after the film was officially rejected from the last of the “big” festivals it was submitted to.

“Strange day. Got in the way of myself a bit. Rethinking scenes that I was at once content with. Thinking there is a better version.”

“Better version.” Something I think all filmmakers and artists experience and strive for, but also something that is amplified inorganically by self-imposed pressure. For me, it was maybe stemming from the neurosis caused by funding through Kickstarter, wanting to get the movie made and out there so the backers wouldn’t feel duped, coupled with the fetishization we as filmmakers have put on the preciousness of the first feature and the subsequent festival and distribution process. I am immensely proud of Bottom Feeders and the work all involved contributed, but if I were to do it again, I would worry less about where the film was going and how it would “fit” within an industry that increasingly struggles to acknowledge low-budget filmmaking.

No one said making independent films would be easy, but it is fair to say that festivals and distributors make it increasingly impossible to get them seen. It was made clear to me that Bottom Feeders was going to have a difficult time with programmers and buyers, not only because we were telling a story that was incredibly (and intentionally) abrasive, but also because all I had to my name was a few short films that played at some mid-level film festivals, and our lack of an industry hook – whether that be a known actor or filmmaker, or past festival runs – predetermined that we didn’t have any legitimate chance to be considered in programing and distribution conversations.

At first, the film’s subject matter (it’s centered around a homeless sex addict) was the focus of a lot of scrutiny, affirming my hypothesis that audiences are more comfortable with challenging content when paired with the safety blanket of a familiar actor or brand. You can imagine how frustrating it was to be told my film’s chances to thrive in the indie world were stifled because of its abrasive or allegedly “graphic” nature, when many films and TV shows that were simultaneously being championed in the mainstream were, by most objective assessments, far worse offenders. It felt like a total cop-out, motivated by something other than the raw material, proving the aversion to risk often found in the traditional Hollywood circuit had infiltrated the indie film circuit, and maybe that was because they were, for all intents and purposes, now synonymous with one another.

I realized I had made a movie for an industry that didn’t want it, something that was exposed by the few honest brokers within the festival and distribution world, who finally admitted it was the lack of name talent and filmmaker resume that limited what they felt they could do with the film. I struggled with the idea that institutions I once worshipped as champions for indie film and discovering new talent were now working with a new set of rules, and me and my work, at that present moment, did not fit in.

There was a brief time that Bottom Feeders did in fact have a partnership with a “distributor,” though that term is used rather liberally these days. I was a young filmmaker sold on an extravagant pitch by a company I believed to be more legitimate than they actually were. After this company had shelved the film for the 14 months after I’d signed with them, claiming that time was being spent to implement their strategy, this sophisticated pitch had been reduced to a single AI generated poster, and a late-night “drop” on a handful of streamers. I had lost more than a year of potential exposure, and though I appreciated the film being available, availability is an obsolete concept if no one knows the film exists.

As you can imagine, this was gutting. What I thought to be the white horse of this whole process proved to be just as disappointing as the institutions it claimed to circumvent. The company set unrealistic expectations to secure Bottom Feeders, and afterward, it was impossible for me not to feel used in some capacity. This distributor too was selling what I believe to be the biggest lie in the indie film industry – that films are judged, selected and championed based on artistic merit. This brutal rug pull, though incredibly time-consuming, and at times quite depressing, was absolutely necessary for my growth as a filmmaker, and my understanding of what realistic expectations for the exhibition of my work look like.

Luckily, I was able to part ways with the distributor and declare full independence, committing to a self-distribution process that consisted of getting the film seen by as many viewers and, moreover, as many critics, as possible. A daunting task, yes, and one that involves a lot of emails (and subsequent radio silence). But what has become evident to me is that there is legitimate interest from audiences and critics alike to watch films from new filmmakers, which makes one question who the institutions are serving by sidelining these truly independent films.

Something I’ve thought about often over the past few years is how it’s the easiest time in human history to make a film, and the hardest time to get a film seen. Though availability is easy to achieve (there are a handful of distributors, like the one I briefly worked with, who are happy to acquire films and dump them on a bunch of ad-based streaming platforms), having people see your film is a much different objective. Even if you are lucky enough to secure a deal with one of the big streamers, this idea of “finding your audience” within that streamer is contingent on whether an algorithm matches your work with the viewing habits of one of their subscribers. It is the most random and luck-oriented time for the exhibition of indie film.

So, when I look back at those journal entries, and recognize the pressure I was putting on myself to fit into an industry I had not yet realized was in flux, I’m able to really look at Bottom Feeders as a triumph. It’s true the independent film industry has changed dramatically, much to the detriment of independent filmmakers, but the fact this little movie about a pocket of Americana was even made, let alone had a life at a few cool underground film festivals, and managed to get a Vinegar Syndrome Blu-ray release, is some kind of miracle.

When thinking about the next go-around the block, I’ll maintain it’s important to have a goal of where I want a film to land, but I refuse to let that dictate what defines its success. The industry has moved, and it’s our job as filmmakers to either redirect it, or create a new one entirely. And the only way to do that is to relentlessly keep making films, especially ones like Bottom Feeders, that at one point or another, nobody seemed to want.

Featured image shows writer-director Vincent D’Alessandro (left) with actors Jenny Zwigard, Graham Poore and Will Ehren; all images courtesy Vincent D’Alessandro.