MM Notebook

by Timothy Rhys | Published January 30, 2004

Summer, 2003: Shannon, Brick and Nick

Has it been 10 years? Yikes. That's roughly equivalent to a decade, isn't it? Or 120 months, 520 weeks, 3,650 days or 87,600 hours. A good chunk of a life, no matter how you slice it. I'd say we've worked like dogs for the past decade to bring you the best independent movie magazine on the planet, but as I look at my two dachshunds lying here, I don't think that analogy quite does it justice. So I've decided that if a dog year is equal to seven human years, then an independent magazine year must equal at least 10. No wonder it sometimes feels as if I've been publishing MovieMaker for 100 years.

But it's been an exhilarating hundred years. In December, 1993, when our first issue (16 pages of black-and-white newsprint) hit stands in the Pacific Northwest, we were based in Seattle, where I had settled after graduating from the Vancouver Film School. The country had been in a recession and I couldn't get an industry job no matter how hard I beat the streets. So I borrowed $5K (thanks, Mom) and, relying on my journalism degree and my new moviemaking knowledge, dove into the abyss of independent magazine publishing. As anyone with half a brain can tell you, that wasn't the safest thing a penniless single father of a one-year-old boy and a two-year-old girl could've done. But even if that weren't my personal situation, independent magazines “just don't make it,” everyone told me. And told me. And told me.

I soon understood why, because despite the fact that the magazine was growing with each new issue (we were monthly in those days—talk about blind ambition), so did my expenses. The first couple of years were very, very tough. At one point I walked into a pawn shop with my Hi-8 video camera because I couldn't afford milk for the kids. I hesitated, walked back out, and later that day some checks came in. But that's how things were in those days. Many times I didn't know if I'd be able to hang on.

MovieMaker's prospects began to change for good when I took a gamble that readers all over the country would like what we were doing—creating a new kind of special interest consumer magazine that I hoped would appeal to both moviemakers and their audiences. It did. The magazine sold very well nationally right from the start. And then everything changed for the better once again when, on his way back from Asia in 1995, Oliver Stone decided to land his plane in Seattle specifically to allow MovieMaker to interview him. (That's what he told us, anyway. I think he might've wanted to check out the strip joints, too, but regardles...) I'll always be grateful to Mr. Stone for talking with us for a couple of hours and letting us photograph him. That opened the door to many other high-profile interviews and word soon got out that MovieMaker delivered.

In 1997, I moved our offices to Los Angeles and our distribution and advertising really picked up steam. I made a feature film that year, too, and it taught me a lot about the business of making movies. I built on those experiences and the relationships I made to take us to the next level. Just this year we opened editorial offices in New York City, and I was able to come back east, where I grew up. In many ways the magazine feels all grown up now, too, and it's a very good feeling.

Besides Oliver Stone and so many others who have gone the extra mile for this magazine over the years, I'll always be grateful to the hundreds of writers and staffmembers who have been so much a part of this enterprise. Only a few current longtime readers will remember these names from our pages, but I'll never forget them—because without them, this magazine wouldn't have developed the way it did. In some cases, it probably wouldn't even still exist: Tim Gabor, our first designer and art director, who gave so much of his time and love to my little dream; Tom Allen, an editorial tour-de-force in our early years who was instrumental in securing that Stone interview and many others; Mike Doane, who convinced me that we needed a Website back in 1995 and then got it started for us; Brian O'Hare, who contributed some passionate articles and a bit of cash; Duncan Price, our first and still best photo editor, who did the same; the late, great Herman Sandler, who contributed some priceless advice and a lot of cash; Dominic Bonuccelli, our most creative art director, who toiled many a long night in my little shed of an office in Seattle; Rus Thompson, for his years of editorial wit and wisdom; Greg Evans, our terrific LA art director who put so much thought into his designs; and Charlie McEnerney, our loyal managing editor who guided the magazine so competently while I was off shooting my movie.

I also want to thank my current staff, who have helped shape this magazine into what it is today: Jennifer Wood, our managing editor for the past three years and nothing less than my right arm on a daily basis; John O'Brien, our art director who has gone to war with us in every production battle since 1999, and who has given us the clean, classic graphic style readers enjoy; Ian Bage, our stalwart publisher's rep who has been with me since those dark days in Seattle; Susan Genard, our other amazing rep who has been instrumental to our growth in the “modern era,” and who changed my life in so many ways when she came aboard in 1998; Karen Holly, writer, cousin, lawyer, friend and source of so much support; and Adrienne Grzenda, our insanely reliable and innovative Webmaster. I also want to thank the hugely talented battalion of freelance writers, photographers and artists who have contributed to this publication over the years. Finally, I'd like to thank my family—especially my children, Shannon, Nick and Brick—for bearing with me all the times when work called. And, as I do every year in this column, I'd also like to remember my friend and brother, Matthew, to whom this venture is dedicated.

I want you to know that after 10 years, this journey continues to inspire me. I sincerely believe that the state of independent film could not be more exhilarating than it is today. To be creating and enjoying the magic of cinema in this time and place is to be fortunate beyond our wildest dreams. I hope you realize that. I hope you're as excited about the next 10 years as I am. And I hope you enjoy this 10th anniversary edition. Happy moviemaking—we'll see you in Park City! MM

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