"Interesting..."
That's the first thing people usually say to me after they've seen Troubadours. After an awkward pause and some laughter concerning a few of the moments they enjoyed, the next comment is almost always, "So, what does it mean at the end?" I can't answer that question. It's to each individual to make as much or as little of it as they choose. But I can tell you what it meant to take the journey to create Troubadours.
The day after graduating from film school, I packed my things into a truck (Art Stone's in the movie) and drove from Chicago to Los Angeles. I was born to make movies, and everyone knows you do that in Hollywood. Here's how I saw it at the time: I'd probably have an agent in a month or two, a script in development by the end of summer, and my acceptance speech ready for the Academy come February. It didn't work out that way. I heard a lot of promises, worked on a few reality television shows, and by October, had my truck re-packed and traveling home to Illinois.
Back in a familiar setting, I figured things would soon improve. A year later, I didn't have a job, my ex-girlfriend had a new boyfriend, and when looking out the window of my dark coffin-shaped garden apartment, I found myself staring at the shoes of passing pedestrians.
There was a lot of drinking in that apartment.
It was a couple more months before I realized that my place was around the corner from Blue Man Group theater; which was, as my mother thought I should know, where the Galassi brothers worked.
The origin of Downstate Productions belongs to the country surrounding the Sangamon River of central Illinois. It's there, hidden between cornfields, that Adam and Tom Galassi grew up utilizing their backyard as a backlot, and their parents' camcorder to create movies with their friends. This was their shorter, and much cheaper version of film school. Though we grew up in the same small town, and knew many of the same people in high school, Adam, Tom and myself were practically strangers. Seven miles separated our childhood homes, yet it took moving to a city of millions (and in my case, a few other places) to finally connect.
Sharing a need to do something raw, immediate and unabashedly honest, Troubadours grew out of a desire to express a very simple yet often elusive truth: no matter how lost we become, it is never too late to re-connect with something positive. It's easy to let fear and the cumulative guilt or regret or frustration of the past herd us into the machinery of the "real world," where the rules will keep you safe and secure. But it's a fragile bubble, that "real world."
This is where the Galassi brothers’ time at Blue Man Group proved to be invaluable. A lead performer for the show and veteran of BMG’s Complex tour, Tom’s primary role was to guide the audience on a journey of discovery, urging them to let go and lift the veils and masks we collectively use to shuffle through our daily grind.
A man behind the scenes, Adam worked video and stage production for the show, which gave him a crash course in resourcefulness. An instinct you must have if you’re going to make an independent film.
While Tom was on assignment in Berlin, Adam and myself set about constructing the script for Troubadours. The disillusioned young artist part was easy to write. The hard part was sending him on a journey that didn’t fall into Hollywood cliché. Enter the actors, who in many cases inspired us to create the roles they would soon inhabit, infusing their own experiences into the story. If it’s still a secret, let me put an end to it right now: Chicago is an amazing hub for diverse and incredibly honest and talented actors. If you live there and want to make a movie, casting will not be a problem.
A lot of money has been made on the rules and guidelines of moviemaking. Textbooks and teachers insist that you have to use certain equipment, union credits, permits, hall passes, and on and on and on until you think that only a studio or rich uncle can afford it. Too much energy is spent defining what we can't do, instead of encouraging the exploration of what we can. You don't have to raise a million dollars or move to some manufactured moviemaking Mecca to make a film. To me, the spirit of Downstate Productions is held in the soda machine scene from Troubadours. Let's take this old rusty machine, unplug it from this useless outlet, and drop it off out in the middle of nowhere. See what happens. Troubadours was meant to be an experience more than an end product. For all of those involved in the production, it was a shared experience of letting go and coming together to release a battle cry amid the static of confusion surrounding this country. It felt that way when we finished principle photography in the fall of 2004; it feels even more so now.
No matter what you call it or what form it takes in your life, all of us deal with anxiety and the daily disconnect in our own way. Instead of trying to run or hide or foolishly attempt to escape the past, I try to face it. Accept it. Realize that it's all a part of being human. Laugh, process, and keep moving. Keep creating. And even though the fear and despair of it all will undoubtedly work its ways on you again down the road, remember that it's alright. Remember you are not alone. There might be some friends just around the corner that you never knew you had.
