Make Your Movie For an Audience of One

Written by Mark H. Rapaport

During the dog days of COVID, Kimball Farley (who plays the title character) and myself would meet on Zoom from coast-to-coast to write the script for what would become the monochromatic, tragicomic tale known as Hippo.

When we wrote the film, the guidelines we gave ourselves were straightforward: let’s write something we can make right now, with the actors we know, with the money we can get, and for the locations we have easy access to. Oh, and also let’s write something we both feel is an entertaining manifestation of our deepest childhood traumas, without pulling punches or succumbing to the usual formulas or archetypes of mainstream movies. In short, we set out to make something that felt completely unique to our tastes and as a viewer we would love every second of.

The first half of those guidelines are hard enough to follow. We tried our hand twice at this prior to writing Hippo, but we wound up with screenplays that were financially and logistically out of reach for the Duplass Brothers’ ‘make what you can make’ credo which we both subscribed to fiercely.

But the third time was a charm (as they say). Kimball and I got to work late nights under the glowing moonlight of our MacBooks, like millennial Beethovens, and finally churned out our version of a Sonata: an ultra-low-budget chamber piece written for the one place I knew I would not need a permit for—my grandma’s humble house in State College, PN.

Kimball with the finished script which he added some creative annotations toPhoto by Mark H. Rapaport

I have no recollection of the specifics of writing it. Not because I was drunk or anything like that. It was simply a euphoric experience. We wrote what we wanted to see on screen but never have—scenes and characters we not only enjoyed but fantasized about bringing to life. All I remember is leaving our weird hearts on that keyboard. We did not outline the film. We did not make notecards. We did not ask ChatGPT for help, nor did we consult the trades for what loglines were hot sellers at AFM, Berlin, or Cannes. We just wrote and wrote, and revised and revised, until we were happy with it.

We filmed Hippo with the same passion and confidence in our ideas. It was an absolute joy bringing the words to life with such a passionate and talented cast and crew. Maybe it was the COVID in the air, or being at my grandmother’s house for an extended stay, or the lack of oxygen to my brain from constantly wearing an N95 mask, but the whole experience very much took me back to childhood. It did not feel like work, and I couldn’t imagine people got paid to do this. It was more like playing in a sandbox with your friends, a kid again. And I would be remiss to not acknowledge the contributions of the rest of the kids in the sandbox. I try to welcome all ideas during the filmmaking process. If someone suggests building a moat for fortification or destroying a redundant tower, you best believe I will do my best to incorporate all ideas that help our castle become the best version of itself. Knights convene at a round table, after all.

There’s a very Hollywood notion of writing the thing that producers ‘want’ or studios ‘like’—or sticking to genres or archetypes that ‘sell.’ But not for one second did we take any of that to heart in the case of Hippo. And why should we?

Mine and Kimball’s previous collaboration was a 25-minute short film called Andronicus. Like the jockey in Seabiscuit, that film was deemed too big. 25 minutes is “not a short” and “festivals won’t program it” said pretty much everyone in the industry that we showed the film to. And—they were mostly right. But one festival did take a chance on us: Fantasia. “Running time be damned,” said Mitch Davis, the legendary festival director who I owe the start of my directing career to—for taking not only Andronicus but also later selecting Hippo to world premiere in Fantasia’s main competition in 2023.

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After writing Hippo, my manager at the time read the script and asked if I was “okay.” “You’re not actually going to make this, right?” I recall him asking. He thought the story was too insane. Too weird and too risky for a young director launching their career. Now this manager did eventually warm up to the film and championed it, but most in Hollywood are not so accepting of diversions from the “mainstream.” They even have a fancy, horrible, agent-y term for this type of offbeat cinema: “left of center.” Well if the “center” is what Hippo has strayed from, I would like to stay as far away from the center as humanly possible.

Hippo, at its most basic level, reinforces the now-somewhat-cliché notion that anyone can be a filmmaker, all you have to do is pick up a camera (or some version of that, at least, as this was not a zero-budget film). But beyond the nuts and bolts of making Hippo—beyond the ‘don’t take no for answer’—is a deeper lesson in self-reliance that I never wish to forget. And that is: your unique perspectives don’t just matter in filmmaking, they are the film. If a line isn’t working in the script or on set, you will know it. Because it will make you feel either nothing, or very little. On the flip side, when something is working—whether it be your idea or a moment of improv from your cast or crew—you should feel it with every fiber of your being. You should smile. You should laugh. You should feel your senses activating. Because you are your own best audience. Yes, you, the filmmaker. Why else would you want to be in this business if not to enjoy or feel catharsis from your own work?

If you’re writing or making movies primarily for someone else—call it a demographic (such a vile word) or the concept of a human—then why do it at all? With a brain that processes product-market fit so surgically, you could earn more money, with less stress, in a dozen other industries. Now of course I am not saying demographics as a whole are pointless; you should hope to sell tickets or downloads of your work to some group of people. But I believe you should let your work naturally find your audience. Trust in the creation and give it your all, and the universe will sort the rest out.

There’s a strange phenomenon that I’m sure you’ve experienced where you’re recommended a post on a social media platform like TikTok or Instagram that fits perfectly to your tastes. The poisonous effects of social media aside, you watch the strange video and feel like it is speaking directly to you. It might be the funniest or weirdest or most entertaining thing you have seen in months. You think there is no way anyone has ever seen this, and that you have stumbled upon some type of hidden gem buried deep within the Internet. Then you click the profile or the post and see that hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of people feel the exact same way about feeding hot dogs to raccoons, or the simple thrill of seeing a store’s lights turn off at closing time.

While I believe social media is a net negative on society’s emotional development (at least when in the form of the Infinite Scroll), moments like these help remind us that we are not alone in our tastes. The algorithm may be the devil’s work but it is an effective scientific reminder that there are plenty of others who are just as weird as you are. Whose tastes or senses of humor are just as seemingly idiosyncratic.

Left to right: Mark H. Rapaport, Kimball Farley, Eliza Roberts, Lilla Kizlinger, Jesse Pimentel. Photo by William Tracy Babcock.Mark H. Rapaport

We found one such group of kindred spirits in the incredible folks at Rough House Pictures, the Charleston-based company behind such wild creations as The Righteous Gemstones. David Gordon Green, one of the company’s founders, watched an early cut of Hippo and loved it, and so Rough House came on the film as Executive Producers. I was floored. Never in a million years would have guessed beforehand that our odd little black-and-white film would have appealed to such a storied group of filmmakers. But alas, I have learned that the world is smaller than you may think, and that the human experience is less varied than we might imagine.

A lot of people have found our crazy little movie already, through festivals and soon, I hope, through our public release. I’ve been humbled by the outpouring of responses from those who find joy in or relate to the story—a story that evidently is not just my own. The fire signal has been lit and we welcome all to the Kingdom of Hippo. Come one, come all. Bring your friends, or bring your mother—who knows, she might just help you produce your next film, like mine did.

Now go and make your movie for an audience of one. For yourself, the ‘misfit.’ You might be pleasantly surprised to learn how many of you are out there.