In today's Arkansas Democrat Gazette is an another indie-film horror story. Written by composer Jason Morphew (who made it into our "Super 8" last year) about his ill-fated experience on Tim McCann's Runaway (which premieres this week at the Tribeca Film Festival), the piece details what happens all too often when budgets are low and the lines of communication between the producer, director and financier are less than transparent. Since the piece will go off-line within the next couple of days, I've posted it in its entirety below. Read and weep.

"Just Dying to Score"
By Jason Morphew

It took an hour and two ink cartridges to download and print the Runaway Boys screenplay.

Once done, I realized the pages weren't numbered. I had placed the hundred-plus sheets, about five at a time, face down on the table next to my girlfriend, Krissy's, computer, assuming I could easily collate later.

So I read the screenplay out of order on my back patio, in the squint-inducing summer sunlight of Los Angeles. Again, I had assumed the author's intended sequence of scenes would manifest itself to me as I read. Unfortunately, this screenplay contained several near-identical scenes featuring the same two boys saying similar things to each other in a motel room. It was an accidental-postmodern reading experience.

My old friend Bob had e-mailed Runaway Boys to me earlier that day. He was producing the small-budgeted film for a small New York production company with only one other theatrical release to their credit, something relatively well-received featuring Robert Wagner. Bob wanted me to write some songs for the film, songs that sounded "rural." He suggested that I use accordion and harmonica; he even threw out some guitar chords for consideration.

I disregarded his suggestions because rural comes naturally to me, without coaching. Besides, the production company wasn't offering me any money yet. Bob was in charge of the budget, however, and he assured me that if I "threw my hat in the window" soon, the money allotted for the film's music would be mine.

He added, "And let me know if you think of a better title. Runaway Boys sounds so sissy."

This was in late August. I had scheduled a performance at Lyon College in Batesville for mid-September, so I knew I would be in Arkansas then, my pockets full of gig-cash as I rattled down the highways of my home state. I called my bass-player friend, Rod, in Little Rock and asked him if he'd be interested in collaborating on the project, if we could record it in the tool shed in his back yard. I offered him all the money I was to make from the Lyon College show.

He agreed and suggested a friend named Zach should play drums. When my guitarist pal, Alex, agreed to record with us, the band was in place. Bob had only asked for four or five songs, but I wanted to record an album's worth, so I made the two-day drive to Arkansas planning to record at least five more numbers than the film needed. I had written the film songs quickly, inspired by descriptive phrases in the screen play and the tones of my favorite scenes. All of these inspirational phrases and scenes would be removed during the filming process, but I didn't know that then, as I blew through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and Oklahoma in my '92 Chrysler New Yorker, J.J. Cale and The Magnetic Fields pouring out through my open windows.

We began recording a few days before my show at Lyon, starting with the songs I'd written in the screenplay's margins before moving on to slightly older material..., me singing into an antique Dictaphonestyle microphone that Rod had bought for less than a dollar at a south Arkansas yard sale. I strummed along on a 1950s-era Silvertone classical guitar that only has five strings. I liked the weird, broken chords I'm forced to play with the D string missing.

"That guitar sounds like gravel shaken in a plastic cup," Rod said of my Silvertone. We broke for the weekend and my gig at Lyon, agreeing to reconvene early the following week.


NO "TRIUMPH"

Moments after I'd finished my show at Lyon, the nervous, red-haired undergraduate who'd been charged with paying me said the college had either already mailed my fee to L.A. or would do so on Monday. This delay frustrated me, but I didn't imagine it would result in the desperate tug-of-war I found myself waging three days later with Rod in his Stifft Station record store, each of us red-faced and grimacing as we pushed each other out of the way, scrambling to grab the tapes we'd been recording the new songs on.

You can have 'em when I get paid!" Rod growled.

I managed to escape Rod's store and Arkansas with the tapes in my bag. The Lyon check was in my mailbox the night I returned to L.A. The next morning, after I'd mailed the money to Rod, Bob phoned. He said that he and Tim, the film's director, had begun to edit the movie, and they didn't think the film had any room for songs now. I looked over at the stack of tapes on the kitchen table.

"But," Bob continued, "This guy Drew who was supposed to do the score ain't cuttin' it. We're thinking that maybe you could give it a whack."

This combination of bitter disappointment, followed closely by a vague sense of hope, came to characterize my experience of working on this project.

"Sure, of course, I'll score it," I stammered.

I'd never scored a film before, but was eager to try. Eagerness and Hollywood is a poisonous cocktail. If you insist on persevering, you drink it down again and again, hoping you survive long enough to let go of one or the other. Several days later, director Tim called from upstate New York, where he teaches a college course in filmmaking.

"I'm thinking there should be three themes -- no, four themes," Tim said.

He proceeded to name five, all of which, though "hopeful," weren't supposed to sound "triumphant" or "fulfilled." The music should suggest "potential," should be full of a "shyness" that conjured the atmosphere of recurring nightmares while also possessing a "minimalist," "abstract," "subterranean" quality. The music must be "inconspicuous," Tim said, but it should also sound "like a disease that's eating" at the main character. He wanted lots of "pulsing" and "humming," too.

So of course I told him I knew just what he meant and asked when I could see the film.

"Soon," Tim said. "The editor's in the middle of a new cut right now."

A DVD copy of this new version of the film -- the name now vastly improved to Runaway -- arrived at my house several days before I was booked to fly back to Little Rock to record the film music with Alex, Zach, and a keyboard player named Aaron. Along with the DVD came a small check from the production company, which I would soon spend on traveling to and from Little Rock and paying the musicians.

I watched the film with my old Silvertone in my lap, experimenting with chord progressions, getting a feel for the movie. Filmed on digital video, the colors looked washed out, with watery red dominating the claustrophobic interior scenes.

I associate red with the musical key of A, so I instantly decided to compose all of the film's music in that key. I composed five themes and felt sure that if the musicians in Little Rock and I recorded enough good versions of those themes for Tim to choose from, we'd easily complete a score he'd like.


NO INSTRUMENTS

This time the guys and I would record at guitarist Alex's house, with his pug, Hankie, snoring at our feet and his roommate, Adam, politely enduring our conspicuous din. Adam owns a harp, and I thought that decorating our work with that oft-employed film score instrument would make our music more movie-esque.

We taped close to six hours of music over the course of a week, playing my five themes repeatedly -- sometimes we all played at once, sometimes two of us would drone along together, and sometimes one of us would earnestly pluck out the tune alone. Sometimes the music sounded organic, natural, and at other times we ran every instrument through as many effects pedals as we could find.

The keyboardist, Aaron, with whom I'd never played before, seemed the most bored, banging out the same four chords hour after abstract hour. From time to time, Aaron would jump to his feet and pace around the room, massaging his neck, seeming to long to be back at his job in west Little Rock, or at the dentist's office, or picking up trash on the freeway -- anywhere but in Alex's living room, playing the same strange chord progressions for days.

When those long, minimalist-music days were through, I flew home to L.A., pleased with the music we'd recorded. I booked time in the Writers' Studio at Sony -- which I was relieved to learn that I could still use for free -- in order to mix the music, and I asked Bob to meet me at the studio to listen to what I now proudly referred to as "the score."

Bob loved what he heard, which gave me the confidence to overnight Tim the rough mixes of what I was now convincing myself was an uncommonly clever little score, rich in suggestion, somehow bold in its restraint. My only real gift is fantasy, and I was putting the finishing touches on a vision that contained droll acceptance speeches.

But then Tim called the next night to tell me that the film's editor had been fired, thus making the DVD to which I'd composed obsolete; that the music I'd mailed to him was too "busy" and "musical" for him to use; and that I shouldn't listen to anything that Bob says, since he's not the director and Bob has no idea what he's talking about.

I've endured some hard phone calls in my time, but this one was especially difficult, not only for the information it contained but also for the awkward silences that punctuated that information. Tim and I hardly knew each other.

"Can you make it sound, ah, less melodic?" Tim asked.

"Of course. I can isolate a note and loop it, make it sound distorted," I assured him.

"Well, I don't want it to sound too space-agey. This isn't Blade Runner."

"Yeah, 'rural.' Right?" "No," he said, without following it with a suggestion.

I rushed to fill the silence with, "Something more neutral ?" "Yes."

Another long pause. Then, almost comprehensibly, "I don't want to be able to tell what instrument is being played."

"Well, there's a synthesizer at Sony I can use," I tried.

"Great. Do that, and put lots of pulsing underneath it," he said in an almost excited tone, having found a path that led out of the call.

"Can I see the new edit of the film?"

"I'll send you something soon," he said, like it didn't matter whether I saw it or not.


NOT A NAME

Thus began months of more recording at Sony. I abandoned the key of A, along with my fantastical optimism. Now I only had a job to do, and I was determined to struggle through it, even if it required writing and recording the score to a film I couldn't see.

The struggle seemed to be drawing to a close in mid-February. Tim, though unwilling to praise my ever-devolving score, at least had been saying of the new music I'd been sending to him, "I think I can use some of this." Coming from him, this was ecstatic.

So I felt relatively confident as I boarded the plane in Mexico, coming back from a vacation to return to Los Angeles. I decided to phone Bob to see if he wanted to get a beer. We met at a bar around the corner from my house, I told him about my vacation, and I asked him what was happening with the film.

Bob looked over my shoulder, toward the jukebox, and said, "Well, the production company hired this music supervisor who worked on their other film, and she wants to put her imprint on the project, so she's brought in some guy named Anton to do the score."

"Wait. What?" I asked, not attempting to temper the panic in my voice. "What did Tim say?"

"Tim quit the film three times while you were in Mexico," Bob said. "They keep changing the edits from the way he wants them, and then this Anton thing pushed him over the edge. I had to call him and say, 'OK, take your head out of the oven...'"

Bob was being funny. I didn't laugh.

"So what happens now?" I asked, somewhat afraid to hear his response, briefly reflecting on the fact I hadn't yet been paid.

"Well, if this is gonna be a contest, I wanna win. I say we go over to my editor friend's house by UCLA -- you remember Sven -- and hammer this thing out. Let's put your music in, wall-towall, send it to New York, and say, 'Here you go -- top this.'"

Over the next two days we made our own version of Runaway, with my music in almost every scene. It was long, tedious work, and I was grateful to Bob and Sven for doing it.

New York didn't like our version. They didn't not like my music -- it was just that Anton had scored several semi-successful independent films before and so he was more of a "name." Tim didn't like our version, either, but when he heard Anton's ideas for the score several days later, he liked those even less, and Anton didn't get the job.

When Tim called with more instructions for revising my score, soon after rejecting Anton's work -- which was also shortly after the film had been accepted into the fast-approaching Tribeca Film Festival in New York -- I felt I'd weathered the last, most humiliating storm of this journey. Bob told me to expect a call from my mysterious nemesis, the music supervisor, soon, and to keep my schedule open, because the production company would probably need to fly me out to New York to help them put my music in the final edit of the film.

As I write this, Tribeca is three weeks away, and New York hasn't called. I've kept my schedule open, which is its natural state. In passing the other day, as if I wouldn't find the information remotely interesting, Bob mentioned that the music supervisor had hired yet another film composer -- named Robert Miller -- to write the score.

"She took the Anton thing personally, and she's trying to save face," Bob said.

Once again I helplessly asked, "What did Tim say?"

"I sent him an e-mail about it, and he just replied, 'Whatever, dude,'" Bob said, and laughed.

When I didn't laugh, Bob said, "I wouldn't sweat it. They're mixing the film in three days."

"There's no time for this guy to write and record a whole film score in less than a week."

"Exactly."

"It was my music in the version that got accepted to Tribeca !"

"Tell me about it. Hey, we're looking for a song to go over the last shot of the movie. Something rural. What do you think of Patti Griffin?"

Runaway -- featuring a score by Robert Miller -- premieres at the Tribeca Film Festival on Tuesday.
.

# posted by Matthew Ross @ 4/24/2005 04:01:00 PM

Comments (2)

 
After posting this entry, I received a response from Tim McCann, the director of Runaway. I've posted the unedited text below. -- Matthew Ross

Tim McCann's Response to "When the Music Stopped":

I read with interest Jason Morphew's piece entitled "When the Music Stopped" describing his experience as a composer on my film, Runaway. While much of what he says is accurate, I feel the need to correct a few misimpressions he may have left.

-- I would not characterize this as "an indie horror film story." A horror story is when you don't get paid, which of course happens all the time in the indie world. It's true that Jason was not paid top dollar, but I have to say, on two of my three previous films, the composer was paid less. Second, while it's true that Jason composed some beautiful music for this Film, there were other problems which ultimately kept us from going with his score. The difficulty of him being in LA, and we in NY, was the biggest of these, but the Producers' feeling that certain tracks could be improved upon was another.

-- As I said, it was not my idea to look for another composer. While the Producers and their Music Supervisor liked Jason's score, they had some concerns and insisted they wanted to try someone with more experience and make a final decision between the two versions at the end. Somewhat nervously, I went along with their decision to open a second front. Robert Miller had several weeks (not one) to compose a score. Despite my skepticism, what he produced is brilliant, and lifts the film.

-- I never "quit the film three times". I didn't have time to. We had 36 hours of footage, and the editing was a bear. It's true that as deadline approached, things became hectic and anxiety ridden, for all concerned. But film is a collaboration. I remember that in production, occasionally an actor would have an "idea". Oftentimes, in the frenzy to meet schedule, I would rush through their idea, just to humor them. But you know what? Many of those "ideas" are in the finished film. And they make it better. And I am thankful as hell they spoke up. Truth be told, in hindsight I feel the same way about the producers' comments during the editing process.

-- Lisa Barnable, the editor of the film, was never 'fired'. She was a rock during the long post production process and we couldn't have gotten through it without her. I don't know where this idea came from.

-- I never said Bob Gosse "has no idea what he is talking about". Bob is a director himself, and is quite capable of managing a score. But he was a producer on this film, and he and I have different styles. A composer on an indie film should talk to the director about score, and not get input second hand.

-- The first composer on the film, Drew Stiles, still has music in it. He has an "additional music by" credit. Jason insisted that if he were not to receive the main composer credit, all his music be withdrawn from the film, and that his name not appear in the credits.

Tim McCann
Director, Runaway
# posted by  Matthew Ross @ 4/27/2005 1:05 AM  

 
After posting this entry, I received a response from Tim McCann, the director of Runaway. I've posted the unedited text below. -- Matthew Ross

Tim McCann's Response to "When the Music Stopped":

I read with interest Jason Morphew's piece entitled "When the Music Stopped" describing his experience as a composer on my film, Runaway. While much of what he says is accurate, I feel the need to correct a few misimpressions he may have left.

-- I would not characterize this as "an indie horror film story." A horror story is when you don't get paid, which of course happens all the time in the indie world. It's true that Jason was not paid top dollar, but I have to say, on two of my three previous films, the composer was paid less. Second, while it's true that Jason composed some beautiful music for this Film, there were other problems which ultimately kept us from going with his score. The difficulty of him being in LA, and we in NY, was the biggest of these, but the Producers' feeling that certain tracks could be improved upon was another.

-- As I said, it was not my idea to look for another composer. While the Producers and their Music Supervisor liked Jason's score, they had some concerns and insisted they wanted to try someone with more experience and make a final decision between the two versions at the end. Somewhat nervously, I went along with their decision to open a second front. Robert Miller had several weeks (not one) to compose a score. Despite my skepticism, what he produced is brilliant, and lifts the film.

-- I never "quit the film three times". I didn't have time to. We had 36 hours of footage, and the editing was a bear. It's true that as deadline approached, things became hectic and anxiety ridden, for all concerned. But film is a collaboration. I remember that in production, occasionally an actor would have an "idea". Oftentimes, in the frenzy to meet schedule, I would rush through their idea, just to humor them. But you know what? Many of those "ideas" are in the finished film. And they make it better. And I am thankful as hell they spoke up. Truth be told, in hindsight I feel the same way about the producers' comments during the editing process.

-- Lisa Barnable, the editor of the film, was never 'fired'. She was a rock during the long post production process and we couldn't have gotten through it without her. I don't know where this idea came from.

-- I never said Bob Gosse "has no idea what he is talking about". Bob is a director himself, and is quite capable of managing a score. But he was a producer on this film, and he and I have different styles. A composer on an indie film should talk to the director about score, and not get input second hand.

-- The first composer on the film, Drew Stiles, still has music in it. He has an "additional music by" credit. Jason insisted that if he were not to receive the main composer credit, all his music be withdrawn from the film, and that his name not appear in the credits.

Tim McCann
Director, Runaway
# posted by  Matthew Ross @ 4/27/2005 1:05 AM  

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