The Reformation of a Rebel Without a Crew

Robert Rodriguez (RR): When I first made El Mariachi, I got a deal with Columbia to make more movies. The first project I suggested was a remake of El Mariachi, with Antonio Banderas and music by Los Lobos, for about five or six million dollars. And that was the course we were going to take, until we decided to put it in film festivals to test it with an audience and see how it played before remaking it. It did so well, they decided to just release it as it was. But they said, "No matter what happens with the movie, we would still like to do another one with the same character, but starring Antonio.'' So we ended up doing a follow-up, you know, where it's the same character, just in a different adventure.

MM: So what was the budget? Five or six million?

RR: Well, once we got Antonio we got more like seven. Which is great, which is plenty for me. It's like, I'm there. My real problem is that when you work with a studio, they allocate a lot more money for areas that I wouldn't spend on. So we ended up having only three-point-two million to actually shoot the movie, not counting above-the-line and post-production costs. It looks really big, though. Kind of what I wanted to prove was that I could take their money and make it look like the rest of the summer movies--which are anywhere from fifty to one hundred eighty million dollars.

MM: You made El Mariachi for seven thousand dollars. We all know that part of the story. But give me a quick overview of how the theatrical release came about. You sent the movie to an agent, right?

RR: I shot it for a very particular market-- the Spanish video market. The Spanish video distributors were here in Los Angeles, so Carlos Gallardo and I drove up to Los Angeles to show it to them. The video action movies they make are really, really lame. Just awful. Some of them are shot with video cameras. So we thought, "Well, we can compete with that." So we just tried to make the movie as good as we could, hoping that by having more action in it, we could get them to buy it from us for 15 or 20 grand. That's why we had to keep the budget so low. When we came to Los Angeles, one distributor was getting ready to buy it for 20 grand. They were getting the contracts together, and while we were waiting I dropped a tape off at agent Robert Newman's office [at ICM]. It had a short film on it called Bedhead that had won many film festivals--it was like eight minutes long--and a trailer from El Mariachi that was about two minutes long. And I told him, "If you could watch the tape and let me know what you think--I'm trying to make a demo tape for coming to Hollywood later on." Bedhead had my brothers and sisters in it, but I figured I could get him to look at it if they knew it had won awards. And he checked it out right away and called back and said, "We want to sign you up as a writer/director." I was like, "Wow, I didn't realize I was a writer, but I guess I've always written my own stuff. That sounds cool--writer/director." He signed me up early in January '92 and I started sending out videotapes of Mariachi and Bedhead all over Hollywood, endorsed by ICM. All the studios watched it over the next two weeks. I never could have gotten anyone in Hollywood to watch a Spanish-language low-budget movie like that, but because it came from the agency, they all watched it right away and jumped right on it. I started getting calls immediately from Columbia and Tri-Star and Disney saying they wanted to make some kind of development deal with me--hear what other scripts I had, maybe pay me to write a script, maybe direct it. It was going to be kind of a slow track, but I was going to start getting work. The agency stirs the pot by getting everybody interested in you, and then getting you a better deal. So they started saying, "Well, he won't write for you unless you give him a two-year deal." So Columbia came forth and said, "We'll give him a two-year writing/directing deal to develop pictures with us." The first project was going to be the remake of El Mariachi, and it went from there.

MM: How much money did Columbia put into El Mariachi to release it?

RR: Most people who make a 16-millimeter film will edit on 16 and make a release print. And that costs another 20 grand. What I did was, I cut it on video because that's the market I was selling it to. It was so much cheaper to make copies of videos and send them out. Everyone could watch it right away on a VCR. But when they said they wanted to send it to festival, I told them, "I don't have a film print. You'll have to project it on video." And they said, "We'll make you a film print." The only way theaters will take a movie is if it's 35 millimeter with a stereo mix. So the distributor covers those costs. All you have to do it is get it to a point to sell it to a distributor.

MM.: Were there any movies in particular that inspired El Mariachi?

RR: Carlos and I were fans of the Road Warrior films, and we said, "Let's make a Mexican character that's really cool like the Road Warrior. You know, one of those guys that walks in to town, blows up the town, then leaves. I see a lot of first-time filmmakers who make more of a personal story. I knew that this was going to be my first practice film, and I asked myself, What would I do if I didn't have to send this to festivals--if this is just for fun? Even though we don't have a lot of money, let's just try and make a full-blown action movie. I had this idea for a recurring character, a guy with a guitar case full of guns, walking around dressed like a mariachi. The mariachi is, like, the wimpiest character in Mexican culture. So I said, "We're gonna make an action movie, but rather than making a revenge picture about an ex-cop who's lost his family, let's make him an ex-musician or something really wimpy, and make him really cool." I thought for the first one we'd show how he became that cool character, and then parts two and parts three would follow him on a journey. He no longer plays music, so what happens to an artist when an artist can no longer create? He begins to destroy.

MM: Some of the editing--the slow-motion shots, the quick close-ups--looks straight out of Peckinpah.

RR: It's a funny thing. I'd never even seen The Wild Bunch. My shorter films, like Bedhead, which is on the laser disk and videotape of El Mariachi--when you see that, you'll see what I was really doing. That film is sped up and slowed down a lot. A lot of camera tricks. In Mariachi there are also a lot of shots that are sped up, then slowed down. As a kid I just loved the whole idea of illusions: how to create something out of nothing. I shot some of Mariachi in slow motion because I knew it would stretch the movie out and also make it look more expensive. You take an image of this guy with a guitar, put him on the road and slow it down--suddenly it has this epic feel to it. And the slow-motion for the gunshots and stuff--I had to slow down all the death in order to play the sound effects over it, because the guns had blanks in them and we could only get one burst out of each. Later on I started seeing some Peckinpah stuff because people mentioned it--all that real stylized motion. But I think I mainly got my ideas from people who got their ideas from him.

MM: Give me a brief chronology. After El Mariachi, you shot something for Showtime?

RR: I wrote the script for Desperado in January of 1993. Mariachi was released a couple months later. In the fall of '93, I was doing promotion, and then that Christmas I prepared and started shooting Roadracers for Showtime. It's a remake of the old AIP rebel films.

MM: Roadracers?

RR: It's a really lame title. The only stipulation was that we had to use it. We could do whatever else we wanted, as long as it was about teen angst in some way. So we made, like, Happy Days or Grease--but imagine Fonzie flipping out and shooting everyone in the end with a shotgun and everybody dies. I wanted to feature a Latin actress, Salma Hayek, whom I'd once seen in a television interview saying how she couldn't get work in the States. There weren't any parts for people like her--they would say her accent was too thick. I thought she was really beautiful and really strong and really funny, so I wanted to put her in Desperado. The studio was, like, "We want this blonde actress," but I was able to convince them with a screen test that she was good for the part. Turns out she's the first Mexican lead in a Hollywood film since Dolores Del Rio back in the 30s. It's so hard to change people's minds around here. You gotta show them or they won't think of it.

MM: You took Steadicam classes before shooting Desperado. Why do you operate the camera? I mean, you had millions to shoot this thing. You could've afforded an operator.

RR: Well, it doesn't really save you anything if you know what you want and you really enjoy operating, especially because I do a lot of hand-held and change my mind very quickly. While the shot's going on, I don't have to cut and explain it to somebody else. That's just too much delegation. It makes more sense to operate the camera, get what you want and give it a real energy. I just love that. I would hate to be sitting behind the camera and looking at the monitor. You just don't feel as involved. The Steadicam is an extra step to be able to get smoother shots. I still have the freedom to change my mind and grab stuff as the scene is going, when inspiration really hits. It's fun, strapping that thing on and moving around. People get out of your way and listen to you really closely.

MM: Did you get to edit Desperado?

RR: The studio wouldn't let me edit. They said, "We can't let you edit your own picture." I said, "But I always edit my own pictures. They came out okay before!"

MM: Did you get first cut, or final cut?

RR: Well--and this might be why they didn't want me to edit--if they didn't like something, they would have to tell the editor. And since I was the editor, I could pretend, like, "Oh that footage doesn't exist." So in a way I had final cut--I was the only one who knew where any of the footage was. Fortunately when they saw it they liked it the way it was, so it didn't matter. But I didn't officially have final cut on the picture. If they wanted to change the end, they could have.

MM: Tell me about your new movie.

RR: I'm shooting From Dusk 'Til Dawn. It's a cool horror/action film, a bizarre movie, one of those things people are just not going to believe. It's a Quentin Tarantino script. He's co-producing with me, and it's just nuts.

MM: And you do have final cut?

RR: Yeah, it's cool! They let me edit, they let me shoot, do whatever I want. When people second-guess your instincts, you start questioning your instincts, too. And then you're screwed. Then you need everyone's advice to do anything. That's when everything goes haywire.

MM: What's the budget on From Dusk 'Til Dawn?

RR: I think it's 11 million dollars. A lot of make-up effects, computer stuff, opticals. I figured out a real trick: In order to make a movie look more expensive, you just have to shoot faster. On a Hollywood set they shoot very, very slow. You'll see them getting maybe five or 10 shots a day--15, 20 if they're really fast. If they get shots before lunch they feel good. On Desperado, we averaged 55 a day.

MM: Fifty-five shots or 55 set-ups?

RR: Set-ups. That was the average. It was mostly 60, 70. The record day was 77.

MM: How long a day was it?

RR: Twelve-hour days. I don't like to do longer days. I try to work real hard and finish the day off. We shot for 42 days, instead of shooting for months and months. We're doing that right now on From Dusk 'Til Dawn, getting an enormous amount of set-ups and doing so many things a day. Some of the actors are going, "Wow, I'm not used to shooting this fast. I'm not sitting in the trailer all day...."

MM: Who are the stars in From Dusk 'Til Dawn?

RR: Harvey Keitel, George Clooney from E.R., Juliette Lewis, Quentin Tarantino. Salma Hayek's in it--she's a vampire goddess. Cheech Marin. It's a cool cast.

MM: How do you work with actors?

RR: It's different on each film. On Mariachi I fed them the lines, one line at a time. I'd say, "Say this line. Now say this back. Cut. Forget that line. Here's the next one. Say it like this." I was like the puppet master. On Desperado I told them what I wanted, and they were more trained as actors. They would say the lines, and if I didn't want it said that way I would give them a suggestion. I'd even do it for them, which you're probably not supposed to do. But they didn't mind. They'd say, "Oh, I don't want to do that." You have to direct different actors different ways. With Antonio, I could tell him, "Say the line, and say it like this," and he'd do it. Some actors get kind of p.o.'d about that. You never know who you're working with.

MM: How much rehearsal time do you have?

RR: From Dusk 'Til Dawn is the first movie where I've had real rehearsal time. We rehearsed for two weeks--not bad for a horror film--which helped because we got a lot of the kinks out and I got to see where the shots were going. And it helps to give the actors a little more background. There's one thing I realized. If there's a television series that you've followed awhile, look at the pilot. It's pretty lame. Everyone's stereotypical--they haven't grown into their characters very much yet. But by the end of the first season, everyone's sustained, got their own personality. Rehearsal period helps you do something like that. The actors get to find different ways of doing a scene.

MM: How is Keitel in rehearsal? Do you guys just do the script, or do you do any improvisation?

RR: I wanted him to improvise a lot in rehearsal so I could be ready for it on film. When it came down to film, it went very quickly, and the stuff he does is amazing. I learned so much about directing actors through him. That's a tricky thing, trying to ask another director, "How do you do this?" Because you're not sure, you think you need to find out if there's some trick--but there really isn't. When I was just starting out as a cartoonist, I went to another cartoonist and asked, "What kind of pens do you use? What kind of paper do you use?" "Oh, I don't know," he said. "Find out what's right for you," "Don't tell me that!" I told him. "I don't have money to go figure it out!" But he was right. I tried his method, and it sucked. It took me 10 years to find what paper and pen combination worked for me. Same thing with directing. You're not doing it wrong, you're just not doing it like somebody else. You figure it out. And then your way will be what other people want to do.

MM: I made a short last year. I shot it on Super-16mm and paid for it myself. This very small production and distribution company in L.A. was looking for product, so they're paying me a pretty modest amount to make a full-length feature based on the story. But already I'm dealing with the idea of having to compromise. They're saying, "Well, maybe we should make the movie more hopeful," which is an ominous term. What advice do you have for someone like me? When somebody offers you the money to make your film, should you take it, or should you hold out for that completely independent vision?

RR: I had complete freedom on El Mariachi, but if someone had said, 'Here's 30 thousand dollars--make the ending happy,' I think I would've gone ahead and done it, just to get a movie made. It's good that you already had a short film to show them what you could do. But you have to tell them, "If you want me to make you a movie, you have to understand: I'll listen to everything you say. I will take advice that I feel is worthy. But if I decide to do it this way . . . " I would shoot a second ending, and show them your ending first and say that's the one you want to use. They might read it on paper and say, "That doesn't sound hopeful enough," but they're not seeing what you're seeing. You have to prove it to them. So yeah, keep the vision, but also get their funding. Even if you have to make the ending hopeful, turn it into an artistic challenge--how to keep what you want, and still learn from it, and still be able to go on. I have seen too many filmmakers make one movie and try and shove it down people's throats for years on the festival circuit. Sometimes it's just not good enough to be their big break. So shoot it, cut it, learn from it, put it in the can, go do another one. Because they do get better with time. The best thing I could have done was make a bunch of short movies first. That gave me a lot more experience and a lot more confidence. No matter what you want to do, there's always a different way to do it. You should question everything, every standard, or make up your own way.

MM: You went from making these short films and this quick-and-dirty feature intended for the Spanish video market, to suddenly making studio pictures. How's it been, dealing with the producers and the business people? You know, the bean counters.

RR: Fortunately I've gotten to produce these movies myself. That makes a big difference. The studios are anxious to see how I can make a movie for less. They think, "Hey man, you made a movie for seven thousand dollars." So much of moviemaking is just waste, and there are a lot of crooked people out there wasting even more. Often people don't realize how they can get around things, because a lot of people are very specialized--they only know one job. The sound guy comes up and says, "It's gonna cost X-amount for this." They don't know any better, so they just believe it and they pay it. It's like the Pentagon spending 500 dollars for a hammer. I try to use common sense and not throw money away. Usually what happens is, somebody will make a movie, and when they go on to the next movie they take their old budget from the last movie and just modify that one. So they keep doing everything the same way, being afraid of taking chances. There are such new technologies and new ways of doing things, you don't have to be that old-school wasteful anymore.

MM: Steven Soderbergh said he'd like to have a career like John Houston's, where each film that he does is completely different from the last one. You can't say, "Oh, that's a Soderbergh film," in terms of the subject matter, theme or whatever. Do you aspire to that, or do you think you're more comfortable with a particular genre?

RR: So far I've gotten to do different genres. Bedhead and Four Rooms are my family comedies. Roadracers was my period film, Desperado and Mariachi are my action films. I'm doing a horror film right now, and I'm writing a sci-fi film. But a lot of them have themes that are kind of similar. The style is still very much the same because I don't have a different camera operator, editor, writer for each project. I like for people to be expecting something and get it. Right now I like high-energy films, whether they are comedies or action, because I enjoy editing--putting that stuff together, really staging things. Desperado has some bizarre, really fast, crazy set-ups and situations. It's almost like a series of short films that have their own beginning, middle and end. The way I watch movies now, I don't sit and watch them all at once. I'll watch different scenes. So I try to make my own scenes more complete ideas that can be taken out of the movie and watched on their own, and still make sense in their own context and be entertaining.

MM: I've watched some of the hand-held running sequences in El Mariachi over and over again. There's something about them . . . they're almost abstract, everything's happening so fast.

RR: I told the actors, "I want to get a big chase down the sidewalk. I'll get in the back of the truck and follow you, and make it look like this is a big-budget movie just by running through the streets. If you slow down the tape, you can see my mirror reflection. I'm in the back of the truck with a little Vivitar plastic tripod. It's braced by the spare tire in back. I'm using a long lens, so I've got all my weight on the camera because I'm trying to hold it steady down these bumpy-ass Mexican streets. I just shot Carlos going down one block, then I shot another guy going the same route. I had to put so many cuts in because the shots were so erratic and leaving frame. And people go, "Wow, that's production value!" Most of it was because of the limitations of how cheap I was shooting. That's something I love about low budgets and shooting fast. I'm not a good operator, but sometimes the shots are a little more interesting because they're not so locked down and smooth. A real Hollywood movie would've set up a nice dolly track. And it would be so sterile that it would probably be boring. It's nice--the less money you have, you kind of have more energy. That's something to take advantage of.

MM: You're right. You just make the limitations work for you, and people think you're revolutionary.

RR: People at film festivals would say, "We loved the shots of the dog," I'm listening to them, thinking, I had to cut to the dog. Since I didn't shoot sync-sound, I was syncing everything by hand. As soon as a few words go by, it's slipping out of sync because I taped the sound later on location. I was shooting with this real noisy old camera I'd borrowed. I'd shoot the thing silent, then I'd put the camera away, put the tape recorder close and say, "Okay, repeat the lines in a real natural rhythm. Then I had to take each line and sync it by hand. Watch the lip-sync: it's dead on every time, because two or three words go by, and before they go out of sync I cut to another character or to the dog or something. Then I cut back to him and he's back in sync. So all the dialogue seems to have a really fast energy. Dialogue scenes usually bore me, but I like bouncing around and jump-cutting into someone's face, from a medium to a close-up without cutting away. With the seven thousand dollars I had for Mariachi, I could've just had two people at a dinner table, talking, but I didn't want to do that. I wanted to make an action movie. So, take a small budget and made that big movie you want to make. And you can end up with fun, cool results because you end up using more creativity, which is all a movie is anyway. Instead of washing away your problems with a money hose, do it with your imagination.

Editor's note: Penguin Books has just published Robert Rodriguez's book, "Rebel Without a Crew: The Making of El Mariachi." MM

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