Filmmaker presses the flesh with community
(Editor’s note: This is the second installment in a series following the efforts of local resident Matt Stanton to produce an independent feature film.) OPLIN, TEX. — The towering elk stood steadfast with its steely stare, unmoved by the obvious outsiders causing a commotion just beyond its high-rise retaining fence. The flickering red light of the video recorder only fed into its cool resolve.
As filmmaker Matt Stanton warned the doomed animal to make a break for it, before its fate would be determined by millionaire trophy hunters, it was hard to tell whether the Santa Monica resident was speaking to the animal or himself, now on the precipice of filming an independent feature in a faraway land.
Recently, Stanton and sidekick Wayne Campbell, whom he aptly describes as his “comic relief,” recently completed their second trip deep into the heart of Western Texas, a region of open expanses where Stanton hopes to shoot his script dubbed “North Starr.”
His other hope is that the people will be equally open-minded.
Having already secured numerable locations on which to shoot the project during a three-day blitz in early August, this stop in Bush country was all about the people. Sitting across from a dozen or so local residents in the Oplin High School gymnasium — all that remains of the now-defunct Oplin High School — Stanton laid his cards on the table.
“I have a wonderful story to tell, but I’m not gonna sit here and try to sell you,” he told the collection of ranchers, housewives and students. “I honestly think we can make one of the best films of the year.
“We’re gonna make a winner … because the script’s a winner and your town’s a winner.”
Convinced he needs the town’s approval, as well as assistance, in order to see the production through, Stanton enlisted Campbell’s estranged father, Doug Campbell, to spread the word of the Tuesday night gathering. The younger Campbell, who now resides on the outskirts of Cleveland, Ohio, hadn’t spoken with his father for more than a decade before the film project began to gain some momentum, just one of the many sidebars that makes this decidedly un-Hollywood project an intriguing tale in its own right.
The makeshift production team spent close to two hours explaining the intricacies and necessary sacrifices involved in filming a full-length feature film. Told to expect in upwards of 30 people at the meeting, an unfazed Stanton addressed the handful on hand with equal aplomb and enthusiasm, showing no signs of disappointment in the meager turnout.
“That’s OK, the word is gonna spread,” he said while smoking a Camel outside the meeting place. “Next time, there will be twice as many. That’s the way it works down here … people are gonna want to be a part of this.”
At least, Stanton hopes so. In addition to a short biography, script summary and Daily Press news article detailing his first visit to the area in the summer, his town meeting handout also included a request list seeking contributions such as location use, farm equipment and even meals for a hungry crew.
If the reaction of those on hand was any indication, the fledgling filmmaker can expect to receive considerable assistance from the community, with the majority signing a contact sheet and reviewing the request list as they filed out into the warm autumn night.
Doug Campbell, whose dedication to daylong-cooked brisket and his quasi- Neil Young sideburns make him a natural to portray the film’s bar owner “Slag,” carefully studied the request list overnight, telling Stanton the following day “some of these things might be hard to put together.”
“People are ready to blow your ass away.” — he said, holding still the Sony palmcorder
“Rock-n-roll Pain Train” — On the rock-n-roll pain train After the lights go down I live out in the woods now It helps me keep my feet on the ground — Kid Rock Don’t mess with Texas
“Bless you, bro … I hope you run, run with all your might when they set you out there,”
In Stanton’s eyes, any assistance from the locals is welcome.
“We are so lucky,” he often tells Wayne Campbell.
During the course of the meeting, Stanton repeatedly reassured those on hand that his was not a vanity project, nor a money-driven scheme. In what could be construed as a Hollywood pitch intended to tug on the heartstrings of the local community, he promised they would share in any rewards reaped from the effort, touting the possible donation of such things as a new fire truck.
But the notion was earnest. Towns like Oplin and Baird and Putnam, Texas, are just such places that drip with Americana, the types of towns that do yearn for a shiny new fire truck, the kind of people who will drive 20 minutes to deliver a piece of homemade blueberry pie to a friend.
“Hey, this is gonna be a good time for all of us” Wayne Campbell assured those gathered. “You guys are all gonna be out there watching us, helping out. This is gonna be an experience for all of us.”
“So, is this really gonna happen?” KTXS-TV journalist Joe B. Fry asked Wayne Campbell after an interview with Stanton for his network’s “Entertainment Spotlight” program. The buzz about town has begun to get the hopes up of more than a few area residents, including Paula Windham, who has opened the doors of her massive Sand Hills Ranch to Stanton and company.
Windham arranged the interview with Fry before Stanton had even touched down on tarmac en route from Los Angeles.
Sitting in Windham’s living room between a pair of 16-inch thick cedar posts, Stanton discussed his project with Fry while Wayne Campbell played a steady diet of southern rock and country songs in the background, flipping through homemade CDs emblazoned with the title “Don’t mess with Texas.” The Texas-coined motto was something of a mantra for the crew this trek into rattlesnake country as they worked to ingratiate themselves with a cautious community.
“I just want to get everyone on the same page,” Stanton told Fry during the TV piece. “It’s so important to get the community together, look each one of them in the eye and sincerely tell them what it is we’re doing, and how privileged we are to be here.
“I want them to feel they are helping us and we are helping them. It’s about connecting and feeling one another.”
Fresh off the Oplin-style press junket, it was time to let off a little steam — Oplin-style — by swimming in one of the land runoff collection pools referred to as “tanks.” Avoiding rattlers amid the brush while walking to the tank is supposed to be the greatest threat in one of these swims, that is if you discount the contaminated waters routinely inhabited by cattle and whatever else lies beneath the algae.
However, another native was watching with wary gaze. Reveling in the burgeoning legitimacy of their film project following the interview, the group hadn’t noticed the suddenness with which the nearby cattle scurried off, obviously spooked by something wicked this way comes.
“That Joe Fry’s gonna be a nice spoke to the wheel,” said an oblivious Wayne Campbell, floating belly-up and basking in the positive publicity “North Starr” had just received. “We’re gonna make that wheel and roll that bitch, and look out! … Uphill, downhill — we gone!”
In Hollywood, they often liken wheeling and dealing within the cutthroat “industry” to “swimming with sharks.” But after Stanton and company had toweled off and headed back to Windham’s ranch house, it was obvious that, in Texas, the budding filmmakers were dealing with a different animal entirely. A 5-foot-long black panther emerged from the brush and reclaimed the tank for himself. (For more information about “North Starr,” log onto fatbessyfilms.com.)
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on November 6, 2004. Read the original PDF.