God, Sex & Apple Pie—what more do you need out of life, or a movie!” While that quote from a critic was very nice, I can think of a few things. Distribution, for instance. Distribution remains that manna to all moviemakers; the chance to see your movie received by audiences everywhere, not just confined to the film festival circuit or a makeshift screening room in your basement.

Many of the trials and tribulations of making my first movie are no doubt familiar to the readers of this magazine. But how I actually reached the point of distribution for God, Sex & Apple Pie is a different story. Like many other first-time indies, I didn't have the budget (or desire) to make an action-adventure flick. I wanted to do something with an actual story and real characters. You know, the kind of movie that is typically the hardest to sell. This film was no exception.

Mark Porro and Jerome Courshon; Andrea Leithe, Penelope Crabtree and Katy Kurtzman; Crabtree and Greg Wrangler; the cast of God, Sex & Apple Pie.

It all started a number of years ago, when I wrote a script that just needed to be made. It was the story of a group of friends who got together for a yearly weekend reunion of partying and fun. Only this time, major stuff was going down. This was not Peter's Friends or The Big Chill. This was a take on the current generation—my generation—and an attempt to delve into the psyches of these people. The stakes would be life and death for some, but not without healthy doses of humor woven in.

After many rewrites, I began my search for money. Fast forward several years and still no capital was raised. I then gave myself an ultimatum. I declared that if I didn't have the financing in another six months,
I would pull together whatever I could and just start production. And that is exactly what happened. In preparation for what I might “have” to do, I applied for credit cards—26 of them. Hey, what's life without risk, right? (I do not recommend this for everyone—definitely not the faint of heart.)

I was adamant about shooting 35mm, so we did. I don't regret that decision at all; the movie was shot with a Panavision Panaflex Gold and it looks awesome. But I knew the extra up-front cost meant I would run out of money once shooting was over. And I did. (It was an 18-day shoot, three six-day weeks and shot almost entirely on location.) I now had to go find more money, but this time without my Aunt Visa or Uncle Mastercard.

Eventually I raised enough financing to get it out of the can. Finished and in severe debt, I was ready to embark on the third phase of moviemaking: distribution.

I, like many, naively thought that with a good movie (assuming it really was good), distribution should not be terribly difficult. (Go ahead, it's okay to laugh.) And that if you don't have stars or even semi-names in your cast, it's probably not the end of the world. (Go ahead, laugh again.) Of course, there was a time as recently as the '90s when one did not need stars in a good independent film. But all that has changed. Distribution is no longer a sure thing for good indies.

How then, did I do it?

With the movie completed—and rejected by the top three film festivals in North America—I decided to test the waters and give just a few domestic distributors a look. They all passed, of course. What I kind of knew, but thought I'd test anyway, is whether domestic distributors buy movies this way. They don't. For them to buy, the movie usually needs to premiere in one of the top festivals in North America (or at Cannes), where acquisitions people actually attend in numbers, and then only after a feeding frenzy between their competitors has started. And even this scenario is becoming increasingly rare.

I decided to go to the next level of film festivals. I figured if I got into the right one, there might be one or two acquisitions people in attendance. Not enough to launch a feeding frenzy, but I didn't care. I just wanted to make a deal. Somewhere along the way, I remember hearing someone say, “Now is not the time to relax or slow down, but to work even harder. Now is the really important, crucial time.” I don't remember who said this, but I wanted to shoot them. (And I don't mean with a camera.)

So I sent entry forms and checks to many film festivals and began racking up rejection letters. After about the seventh rejection, I was getting really pissed. My movie wasn't that bad.

“...This resulted in print coverage of the movie in nearly every festival it was in—from a few paragraphs about to full articles. I was shocked that most other moviemakers were not doing this.”

Finally, I got accepted to a festival and was even given the opening night slot. I was stoked. But when the premiere of God, Sex & Apple Pie finally came, it was a nightmare. Projection equipment issues prevented the screening from even happening. The film didn't show until two days later. Any distributors who might have been there (and one important one had RSVP'd), were gone now.

‘What part of Dante's Hell is this?,' I wondered. I must have been really heinous in a previous life. A glutton for punishment, I decided to continue on the festival route and began a strategy of contacting press and building a kit. I reconciled myself to the fact that it was extremely unlikely I would get the movie sold on the circuit, but if I could build a “pedigree,” I may have a shot when done.

At one of my early festivals, I browsed other moviemakers' press kits at the media table and saw one with a separate page of quotes from various press. A brilliant idea, I mused, and began collecting quotes for my own page. Most of the time at festivals no one is going to write a full review of your movie for the local paper, but they may say a few sentences about it. These become your critical quotes.

Continuing on the circuit, I began collecting some awards, which was a nice salve for some of the bloody battles I had fought. It was also validation for thinking my movie was decent and I was not delusional after all.

One vital thing I did before each festival was to call the press in the festival city. You can either get the press list from the festival (many will provide this to you), or research and put your own together. I'd find out who the print media were, who was covering the festival for them and then speak to those reporters or film critics. I would call three to four weeks in advance for two reasons: one, because no one had written anything yet; and two, because I'd be one of the first producers calling and they would usually interview me. This resulted in print coverage of the movie in nearly every festival it was in—from a few paragraphs to full articles. I was shocked that most other moviemakers were not doing this.

Upon arriving at each festival, I would put up posters everywhere I could (ideally before the festival started) and hand out postcards or promos of some sort. Having a presence, chatting with people and hopefully bumping into reporters looking for a story were all crucial to building buzz. I also contacted and pitched the local television stations and got on-air coverage more than a few times.

My next step, after some awards and critical acclaim, was to market the movie to the domestic distributors. There weren't any at most of the festivals I'd been in, so I held a screening in Los Angeles and invited them all. I wasn't expecting anything serious to come of this, but thought I'd give it a shot. I filled the theater with people who were not distributors, and had a full house who had never seen the movie. The result? The screening went great. I got calls the next day from two of the mini-majors. Alas, I wasn't able to “manage” this interest into anything more than that. After all, this was not within the confines of a high-profile, high-energy, festival atmosphere.

With no real bites and on my way to becoming another cynical soul in Hollywood, I continued my festival circuit travels. I won some more awards and got more press, but after more than a year, declared “finito” and no mas. I'd spent a small fortune and enormous time, but now had a decent “pedigree” that I could market.

I decided the next best move was to pitch the home video companies. I also hooked up with a television sales rep who pitched the movie to various cable companies. Nearly everyone passed. They all said they liked the movie, but “there are no names.” Yeah, I know. I produced it. The bright spot in all this?
A couple of home video distributors did express interest, but either their slate was currently full or they just couldn't come to the table right then. “Check back in six months,” they told me.

The moment of truth for me and this movie finally arrived. I knew that if I ever wanted this to not sit on my shelf and collect dust, or be a fond “woulda-coulda-shoulda” memory when I was 80, I would have to open the movie theatrically myself in at least a few cities. And I would have to find more cash to do this.

Despite being told it was a bad idea by some high-level industry people, including one who literally yelled “Don't do it!,” I did it anyway. And after more time and money was spent, the positive news was that I got some good reviews by recognizable critics. Now I had a movie that had screened theatrically. Ultimately, this made the final difference. I was soon able to close a Pay-Per-View deal, and was introduced to a company that had a relationship with Warner Brothers. That resulted in Warner Brothers Home Video distributing God, Sex & Apple Pie on home video and DVD.

Certainly my difficulties in finding distribution are not uncommon. But I believe there are two keys to getting there. One is to build a critical mass of support through reviews, accolades and awards. Then, get some theatrical exposure. Because what one really has to do with distributors—even before “selling them”—is show them they're not wrong if they like your movie. The second key to finding distribution? Have an unending supply of persistence and perseverance and a high pain threshold for when that door keeps slamming shut and breaking your nose. MM

For more info on the film, visit www.GodSexApplePie.com