Atlanta documentary maker Gayla Jamison says the formula for a successful project is very simple: Equal parts "passion, patience and perseverance." In the course of making an independent documentary, one not commissioned by a broadcaster or major production company, those qualities will be needed in large amounts.
The project might be years in the making, with crews changing from one shoot to the next. The road to completion will be filled with delays, often caused by needing to raise the necessary funding to move to the next segment. Production values might need to be compromised in order to achieve a finished product.
Once completed, the road doesn't get any easier. The outlets for showing the project are limited, usually to festivals, college campuses, and small cinema-centered organizations. Although there has been a growth of cable networks showing documentaries, most of these are either dedicated to nature, historical themes, or biographies. Only a few public television venues exist that broadcast the riskier independent documentaries.
Then why spend great amounts of time, energy, effort and money on such projects? The answer lies in the motivation of the filmmaker to share with the world his or her passion for a cause, issue, or subject. More often than not, a documentary is truly a labor of love.
David Zeiger, agrees with that assessment. Zeiger, who now lives in Los Angeles, achieved a degree of success with his documentaries Displaced in the New South , about the influx of immigrants into the South, and The Band, which chronicled a year in the life of his teenage son and other members of the Decatur High School Band. The latter was broadcast on the PBS documentary showcase series P.O.V.
"It's accurate to call it a 'labor of love,' it's damn sure not a labor of money," says Zeiger. "I get a huge amount of pleasure out of being able to take pieces of reality and forge stories from that. As a filmmaker, I feel more connected to documentary work. It feels more organic and more connected to my life and life in general."
In some ways, documentary might be called the first cousin to propaganda. In both situations, the goal is to inform people of an issue or educate them to what actions can be taken. The goal is to excite and create passion. In both cases, the pretense of a balanced presentation is dropped in favor of demonstrating a particular point of view.
"The best [documentary] work engages people's thoughts and inspires them to action," says documentary maker Carol Cassidy. "But, even if it just creates conversation, the highest thing that I can do is inspire people to talk to each other."
While each filmmaker shares a passion for their work and has to go through the difficulties of financing their project, the documentaries themselves are as unique as the people making them. Although there is a certain liberal slant to the filmmakers' philosophies, it's not a strident militancy or ideological orthodoxy. Rather a feeling that the messages they are proclaiming are not being disseminated by the "mainstream" media for a variety of reasons and deserve to be heard.
"I got into the media business because I wanted to change the world in some way," states George King, who has made about 40 documentaries in the course of his career. "The only way I figured you could do that was through politics, or the media. I got into media because I couldn't figure out how to get into politics."
Gayla Jamison believes that documentaries help further understanding of social issues. Her recent work focuses on how Spanish-speaking people are living their lives in the Americas, and includes such films as Approach of Dawn, about Mayan women in Guatemala; Scraps of Life, on how Chilean women have made artwork out of cloth, representing family who disappeared during the era of dictatorship rule in that country; and Living In America: 100 Years of Ybor City, on the Hispanic-Italian community that grew out of the cigar-making industry in Tampa.
"I feel that it's what I can do with whatever gifts and experience I have to get across a message," says Jamison. "I feel my documentaries can be a vehicle for allowing people to get their message to a wider audience."
For some, making a documentary represents an opportunity to do a purer kind of filmmaking, removed from the restraints that are a part of such assignments as features, commercials, and corporate films.
"I have more fun doing a documentary," says filmmaker Jay Brown, who is trying to expand a piece on folk artist Howard Finster from a 15 minute film, seen at Finster exhibits at museums into a feature-length documentary. "You don't have some corporate entity stamping your time card. You're on your own and making creative decisions."
In a number of cases, the documentary form is a chance to capture something that is close to the filmmaker's heart that can then be shared with an audience.
Laura Kab and her husband, John, are in the process of making a documentary titled Our Life Force, on the subject of spirituality and healing. Kab says she's undertaking the project because of a personal interest in the topic.
"It's nice to be able to do something that you personally enjoy that's not just a job you're hired for," Kab explains. "It's a subject we're passionate about, and you really have to want to make something you're passionate about, and put out a message you feel is important to other people."
Cassidy sees documentary as an outgrowth in her background in journalism. Her work includes the films Baby Love, about teenage girls who had babies; and she is currently involved in the American Girls documentary series for public television.
"I see a lot of this work as an expansion of my interest in real stories and characters," Cassidy explains. "For me, emotional involvement in the characters and their stories is a huge payoff. I'm interested in stories and what it means to be human, and talking to people about their lives, listening to them and watching them work things out."
Those who enter the documentary world don't do it with the expectation of achieving great riches. Indeed, it's the rare documentary that turns a profit.
"Documentary is probably the hardest of the film mediums to find funding , and find a steady paycheck," says Brown. "When you're looking for funding, potential investors might feel better if there is a script with something written happening versus a documentary. When you're asking people to invest money, you almost have to say they'll never see their money back."
The rise of conservative and religious right politicians over the past decade has impacted negatively on independent documentary. Conservative leaders like Newt Gingrich found organizations like the National Endowment for the Arts and National Endowment for the Humanities inviting targets. Whether it was due to political philosophy or moral reasons, such organizations, and their equivalents on a local level, have had to deal with funding cuts. Now, individuals cannot receive any direct grants, no matter how meager, and only organizations can obtain funding from governmental bodies.
"It's become a very difficult world to work in," says King. "The monies that enable you to make this sort of project without any sort of commercial attachment to them have dwindled to zero. The right wing has cut funding to organizations to quiet people who would critically examine society. People like [North Carolina Republican Senator] Jesse Helms have hurt the National Endowment for the Arts enough so they no longer give money to individuals."
No matter from where the funding may come, Zeiger says it influences what gets shot. "Just like any other filmmaking," he explains, "money has a huge impact on both your ability to make a film, and what kind of film you make. It forces you to be very creative and use resources in ways you didn't necessarily think you could use them."
Some foundations have tried to make up the shortfall caused by government cutbacks, but Jamison says, "Foundation money is hard to come by, and it's extremely competitive. There are more filmmakers competing for a smaller pie."
For those filmmakers who choose to seek out grants, the Atlanta branch of the Foundation Center offers important resources. The nation-wide, non-profit organization's mission, according to Atlanta Director Pattie J. Johnson, is to "educate the public about foundation and corporate giving. We collect, organize, analyze, and disseminate information."
The Foundation Center provides a research library, where filmmakers can investigate which foundations might give grants to individuals and how to write a proposal. Johnson stresses, however, that it's "easier from a legal perspective for grant makers to give grants to non-profit organizations rather than individuals. It makes it harder for them to get grant money."
Anne Hubbell, Executive Director of IMAGE, says that her organization has used its tax-exempt status to help documentarians receive the foundation funding they need. "It's mostly the responsibility of the filmmaker," says Hubbell on criteria for helping artists. "We look at their track record, if their budget is viable, and if they have a good outline. We look to see if it's a good risk for us, that the project will get done, and be done professionally."
Zeiger says that grants also influence the type of films that get made. "Grants have their own agenda and esthetic," he explains. "The money goes to films and filmmakers that meet that esthetic. You have a choice if that's what you're going to do."
A number of documentarians finance their projects out of pocket, shooting when they have the money in hand. The Kabs have self-financed their projects, as has filmmaker Eric Gustafson, whose first documentary Finally Legal, took a look at a tattoo convention in New York.
"As an artist in Atlanta, it's difficult to get funding," says Gustafson. "I'm not a businessperson, and there's so much paperwork you have to do. I'd rather work, refine my skills, and fund my projects through the work I get as a videographer."
However the project is financed, documentary makers need to rely on a good crew to help them capture their story. In many cases, the crews will ask for less money than they would for more commercially-oriented projects, in order to work with the filmmaker, or defer their payment until some later time.
"If you look at the credits on documentary films," says King, "there are a lot of people. That is a testimony to how these films get made. Lots of people help. Lots of favors get called in. They're like community efforts sometimes. It's very seldom that the same crew will shoot the whole piece because people aren't available. A lot of projects get made that way."
Cassidy says that if people are inspired, they will go to great lengths to see a project through. "You'll always find people who share your passion and interest," she explains. "If you can communicate to them why the project is important, what is exciting and wonderful about it, you can get people to collaborate with you on every level."
Along with crews, many documentary makers find support for their projects from the Atlanta post-production community. Many post houses will offer greatly discounted rates, or let filmmakers use their facilities for almost free, if they come in at off-hours.
"You can usually get a break from post houses," says Jamison. "People have this idea that documentaries are somehow more high minded. People who spend time doing commercials or corporate pieces feel they want to put their talent into something they feel helps make the world a better place, or gets a message out that needs to be heard."
One of the ironies of the documentary world is that although the explosion of cable television has spawned a need for programming, very little of this demand is for the edgy, issue-inspired fare created by independents. Channels such as Discovery, A&E, and the History Channel seek documentary content. Unfortunately, what they seek are pieces on famous people or events, social trends, or what some have dubbed the "fur, fin, and feather" school of wildlife documentary.
The major outlets for viewing independent documentaries remain college campuses, film festivals, and media-centered organizations like Atlanta's IMAGE film and video center.
"We have great audiences for documentary films here," says Hubbell. "One of the strengths of our Atlanta Film and Video Festival is the amount of documentary work. They don't get much opportunity to see this work theatrically, so they look forward to the Festival. We've opened the festival with documentary work, which is rare in festivals, but Atlanta audiences are supportive and enjoy them."
A recent addition to the venues exhibiting documentary work is the MediaHead film collective's monthly show at the Fountainhead Lounge in East Atlanta. "We wanted to get the local film community going in Atlanta," says Britt Clark, one of the organization's founders. "There's really no forum for individuals putting pieces together in Atlanta. Documentaries are an important part of filmmaking, and we want to provide a forum where people can see the work."
Public television has become the best national showcase for independent documentary. Such PBS programs as Frontline and P.O.V. have allowed filmmakers to let their personal vision reach a mass audience. Zeiger's The Band was one of this year's P.O.V. entries, which raised awareness of his talents.
"Historically, we've been friendly to the documentary format and remain one of the few outlets," says Kent Steele, Director of Television for GPTV, the state's public television network. Along with showing PBS programming, GPTV has also shown the work of local documentary makers, and encourages submissions for consideration.
Like the filmmakers, public television has been affected by cutbacks in government funding for the arts, and while it can't help finance projects, it can assist in other ways. Although GPTV's staff and resources are limited, Steele says that his organization serves as a consultant to filmmakers, offering advice on how to make a project broadcast ready.
"One of the dilemmas of the independent filmmaker is they want to make the film they want to make," he explains. "Which is fine, but it does not guarantee broadcast. They have to be aware of what broadcast television means ,versus cable, versus art house. A lot of independents make films that are cutting edge, but for broadcast, they have to be within certain boundaries, and meet both technical and broadcast standards."
Nonetheless, Steele says, "Georgia Public Television wants to remain and will remain in the documentary business. We're proud to be associated with P.O.V. and Frontline, and proud to be associated with independents from throughout the South."
Another local organization that supports the documentary world is Ted Turner's cable empire. Turner has long been a supporter of the documentary format, and while not strictly a presenter of independent work, his cable channels have helped whet the public's appetite for documentary programming.
Pat Mitchell, President of Turner Original Productions, CNN Productions, and Time, Inc. Television, oversees Turner's documentary programming. While her unit will review submitted ideas from filmmakers, she advises that, "We are very hands-on from day one. I personally sign off on every frame of film we commission. We have final editorial and creative control over everything that goes on the air."
Although changes in network strategy have necessitated a shift for documentary programming from the TBS and TNT networks to CNN, Mitchell says that the Turner organization still strongly believes in the format.
"The documentary is one way we can tell important stories in a compelling, dramatic, and entertaining way that can compete with movies and dramas for an audience's attention," she explains. "In doing so, we add value to a viewer because we're bringing them a perspective on the world they otherwise won't get on television."
When independents make a documentary, they many times sacrifice production values just to get the project completed. They can't rely on such things as props, music, set, or even large lighting packages to give their film a top grade look.
"On a documentary, you have to find what's already there," says Brown. "You may be lucky in that what you're filming already has built-in production value."
Cassidy says that by working without a net, production values are almost a luxury. "You're working with reality, and real life is tricky," she explains. "It's unpredictable. That's what I love about it, but it's also the thing that makes it hard. You make trade-offs in sound quality very often, and sometimes in image quality. You need to shoot more, and when you go into edit, you can mine those things more carefully."
One such trade-off is shooting video instead of film. While most would prefer to achieve the more outstanding look of film, budgets often dictate that video be chosen. Video is not only less expensive, but also today's video technology allows for smaller crews. In addition, filmmakers can shoot longer with video than film, allowing greater depth in interviews. Video, however, requires more expensive postproduction to bring it up to acceptable viewing standards.
Kab says that her project's budget dictated video. "We would prefer to do something on film," she says. "But because it's our first project, that's something that's not feasible until financing comes through. You do need to have trade-offs. You need to work with what you've got and make the best of it."
No matter which technology is used, or how large the budget the filmmaker is working with, Jamison says there is one indispensable tool the documentary maker needs to complete the project, and share his or her vision with the rest of the world.
"If you don't have the passion," says Jamison, "you'll never be able to stick with the project for the years it takes to raise the money, do the research, do the shooting, get it edited, and see it through distribution. It's a long, arduous process, and if you don't have the passion, you'll never make it."