By KEVIN HOOVER
Sitting behind a desk – behind a screen, as is customary in horror journalism these days – Dallas, TX-based indie creator and jack-of-all-trades Lana Winters recollects the precise moment that she knew she needed to be working in horror. “I’ve always wanted to do film, but what really kind of set things in motion for me was, about four or five years ago, I went to Texas Frightmare Weekend.” It was her first time attending one of the nation’s largest horror conventions, and although she’d dug in with her horror brethren, immersed in the carnival of photo-ops, Q&As, and vendor booths, her spidey sense alerted her that something wasn’t quite right. “Did I miss my ship?” pondered Winters as she entered one of the many grand ballrooms that the convention’s organizers had staked claim to. “I felt that I was supposed to be there, but not as a fan. That’s the God’s honest truth; I felt like I was missing out on something. It was time to turn that around.”
So the wheels were set in motion that would course-correct Lana’s fate. No longer content to merely observe our beloved genre from the other side of the television screen, Winters would step behind the camera and start shooting the type of material that not only did she want to see, but hoped that others would appreciate as well. Currently, Winters has several shorts making their rounds on the festival and convention circuits, along with a feature film currently in the early planning stages. And while her debut effort, Midnight Cinema Hour, may have been her foray into filmmaking, it’s no abecedarian venture: the work has piqued not only the interest of fans but also festival committees. “I wanted to test the waters,” says Lana, “so I submitted to events that weren’t necessarily horror-based, and some of the feedback I got was that they really liked it, but unfortunately it just didn’t fit their theme. They directed me to some of the festivals that were more our crowd. What was nice was that some of them that liked Midnight Cinema Hour didn’t charge me to submit; they gave me a free waiver because that’s how much they enjoyed it. I thought that was really cool.”
The ease of accessibility for all who dare to dream crimson-soaked nightmares tugs at the heartstrings of filmmakers hoping to share their wicked delights, but trying to drum up word of mouth can often be challenging. Win a few festival awards, catch the eye of a handful of convention organizers, and folks will come looking for you. It’s a following that Lana has managed to parlay into her own studio, Buzzard View Manor. What started as a twinkling in the eye of an overwhelmed – and wholly unfulfilled – horror geek nearly half a decade ago has since come full circle. Buzzard View Manor transcends a studio credit affixed to Lana’s films; it’s also a lifestyle brand and podcast that has manifested from her ambitions as a director into a platform that welcomes and celebrate the spirit of independent storytelling. Because, while mainstream cinema is fetishizing its “re” complex – reimagining, remaking, retelling – the canvas of creativity known as indie filmmaking is being splattered with the viscera of creators willing to tap their veins and bleed out to the delight of genre fans on the hunt for something new and different.
However, new and different are buzzword branding. Fail to deliver the goods, and your debut effort may very well be the hill that you die on. The independent horror landscape, for all its allure to the budding filmmaker, is also a vast wasteland littered with the byproduct of poorly executed concepts. As it turns out, ambition alone is not enough to leave a lasting impression (a good one, anyway) and is only one of the many ingredients in the spice rack of moviemaking. Among the others, advises Lana, “You want to work with people that you enjoy. The level that I work on is a skeleton crew, and these people are with you in the trenches. If there’s five or six or seven of you, you’re in it together and the chemistry has to be there. Then there’s hiring capable talent that, maybe not everyone knows who they are, but as long as they can act, that’s important. Also, you have to make sure that your script is feasible for your budget, as well as just being a good story.” To paraphrase Stephen King, “A good writer must read,” and similarly, cinephiles would do well to study the works of those who came before. Lana’s viewing habits have helped to shape her own creations into those offspring she’s proud to play mom to, while also fine-tuning her senses to that which makes a good independent horror film. But, as a caveat for her recommendations for making a good film, Lana adds, “Don’t be afraid to fail. Don’t be afraid to try. If it’s in your heart, go for it.”
For those who the itch is too great to ignore, independent filmmaking provides the space for which to stretch legs and flex creative muscles. And while the finished product may potentially only be seen by friends at a local arthouse theater or nab a few likes via YouTube, that’s often enough to justify the efforts involved. There is the occasional wave-maker, of course; works like Charles B. Pierce’s monster masterpiece The Legend of Boggy Creek and the original The Blair Witch Project, both of which hold box office records that may never be surpassed. Both were also produced without major studio involvement, at least in the initial stages. It’s an indelible fact of which Lana is aware, but not solely driven by. That, she posits while also imploring her filmmaking ilk to do the same, is the realization of individualism within the genre space. “Indie horror is where true art is. It’s people who are unplugged and they’re going to give it all they have. They don’t have to answer to some big studio or big corporate company; they’re doing it because it’s from the heart. When you have that kind of freedom, you can do just about anything.”
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