horror

9 Things I’d do Differently after My First Film Fest

Posted on by Steve Levandoski

My buddy Lee and I had a blast making our animated film Period last year and attending every film fest within driving distance. Of course, hindsight being 20/20, I make a bunch of oopsies that I won’t make next time. Like Oscar Wilde said, “Experience is the name we give our mistakes.” Keep reading to learn from mine.

Everything takes more time than you think.

If you think something will take one month, give yourself three. Make sure you research the due dates of all the film fests, so you don’t miss your shot. Speaking of:

Get an IMDb page as soon as possible.

This takes a while because an actual human being checks the information for accuracy. Here are the requirements. If you haven’t written a bio for you and your crew, start today. Make sure everyone has their other credits in order!

So many film people have spelled my last name “Levandoski” wrong that “Steve Lewandowski” is apparently my official stage name. 

You will need a poster, a synopsis and a trailer.

Almost every festival requires a trailer, a poster, a synopsis, and picture stills. I recommend making a shared folder so they are always handy for everyone on your team. Some festivals require certain formats and aspect ratios, so make sure you research your favorite festival’s requirements before you export. For review sites, you may also want to make a presskit, but I’ve found that most modern review sites use automated submissions instead of email queries. 

Use JPEG or PGN formats for your images, not PDFs. 

People are wary about opening PDFs because they could potentially contain viruses. Some email providers actually block emails withPDF attachments, so JPEGS and PGNs are the way to go. It doesn’t hurt to export multiple formats and sizes, while you still have the project open.

Remember to budget for review sites.

We blew our whole wad on the film fests when we should have put money aside for paid review sites. I’d say to start sending out to review sites as soon as you get a laurel or two from film fests that you can use as bragging rights when you send your baby off for review. 

Sign up for Film Freeway.

FilmFreeway is the way to go. The interface is really well done, and they keep everything nice and organized for you. Usually, the more expensive the festival, the more prestigious it is. 

I paid for the gold plan for one month and banged out all the submissions in that time frame to save money. You can even print your own laurels (trophies) so they all can all share the same format and size. Here is one from Cologne fest. I also learned that “official selection” means that you made it into the fest. That’s the lowest rung of the awards, the next being “honorable mention,” “third place”, “second place”, and “first.”

Make sure that the festivals aren’t scams.

For every legitimate artist trying to make their way, there are ten con artists putting up fake festivals and charging an entry fee. The best resources for research are Google and Reddit searches. For example, you can google “Is Stevefest Filmfest a scam? Reddit”  and do some sleuthing. Make sure the festival pictures on the sites don’t look AI generated. And just because it takes place in Cannes, France, doesn’t mean it’s legit!

Take your time with responding to every email and make sure you share all your information and social media handles when you respond.

Festivals don’t have time to add your links after they post it. You get one shot for them to post stuff, so include every link you wanted shared and every laurel you’ve won.

Make a designated youtube page for the site.

Make sure you keep it private with password protection before you officially unleash it into the world. Here is a link to our site. For larger projects, I’d recommend shelling out money for a site with the film name as your domain name.

Here is a link to “Period” for all interested.

I’m Never Reading a Real Book on the Bus Again

Posted on by Steve Levandoski

 My bus stop at the corner of 15th and JFK reeked of blunt-weed and car exhaust. Right across the street was City Hall with William Penn perched on top, a classic example of covert phallic architecture. Mr. Penn’s hand transformed into another appendage at a certain vantage point, the same one where I waited for my bus after work every weekday, reading a book or using the Kindle phone app.

Audio Visual Technicians such as myself had to wear show-black in order to fade in the background: a black collared polo shirt, black cargo pants, black sneakers, and black socks. And yes, there were managers who noticed the flash of white socks like a fresh pink mohawk.

When the 27 bus finally snaked around City Hall, I put on my black N95 knockoff mask, climbed aboard, greeted the driver like any good citizen would, and then swiped my pass. 

Bus seats aren’t easy to come by in rush-hour, especially ones that aren’t covered in fluids, bodily or otherwise, so I was grateful that I found one in the back of the bus. I made myself comfortable and pulled the paperback version of The Werewolf by Montague Summers from my black laptop bag. The cover features a medieval drawing of a werewolf holding a damsel in its jaws. The nice thing about e-books is that no one else knows what you are reading. It’s one less avenue for small talk. I’m not trying to make friends. I don’t even like the ones I have. That day, I broke my own rule and broadcast my reading taste to my fellow passengers. 

I was just getting to the good part about the werebadgers when I heard a voice from across from me say, “Hey buddy, are you reading about werewolves?” 

Oh no. I looked up from my book, and saw a middle-aged man, about my average height and pounchy build, staring at me.

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes breaking eye contact and returning to the page as a subtle hint.

Silence.

“That’s some occult shit.” He nodded to himself as if confirming a theory. “That’s crazy.”

 He dressed like he had a loving family member who’d taken him to Goodwill and curated his outfits.

”That’s crazy,” he repeated, irritated this time.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, crazy.” There was a slyness in his eye, like a magician reaching into his hat. “Crazy coincidence that I was just talking to a lady up front about the occult and had to move because I’m a Christian now and can’t talk about that shit anymore. I’ve found Jesus again.”

“Huh!” I nodded. 

As a policy, I rarely disagree with anyone crazier than me, unless they are discussing how spitting on me would be a good time. 

He smiled knowingly. “And who do I happen to sit beside but some guy reading an occult book. Just goes to show you.”

There was an awkward silence before I caved in and took the bait just to end it. “What’s that?”

I never felt afraid of the guy, which was good because I’m about as menacing as celebrity chef Alton Brown in lederhosen. He had kindness in his eyes, but the kindness dimmed with apprehension. The look of a formally gullible person who had been burned before. He reminded me of somebody.

His smile grew as he finally showed his hand. “Just goes to show you. The devil is everywhere.”

Wait. Hold up! Did he mean . . .?  I looked down at my all black wardrobe, like a business casual Johnny Cash. Oh great. This man thinks I’m a demon. Fallen angels tend to be handsome, but to be fair, I had a mask on. How am I going to bullshit my way out of this one? How do you explain that you are not a hand of Satan, but just a nerd reading some book that Misfits/Samhain frontman, Glenn Danzig, said was cool in an interview? 

To get into character I glowered and then smiled a wicked grin beneath my mask as if I were downplaying my anger after his cunning defeated of me. As if I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah,” I said, adding an artificial twinge of disappointment and balefulness to my voice, eyes on fire. 

“Enjoy your book, buddy,” he said to the blue-eyed devil holding the bad book before turning his attention elsewhere, signaling that I had been dismissed. 

And I did enjoy my book. He didn’t bother me again for the next half an hour. I pondered if Philly had wereroaches, because one of those little suckers can carry a whole Italian hoagie away. When I got off of my stop— which in retrospect was stupid, because I should’ve gotten off a couple before or after so he wouldn’t know where I lived— I heard him yell “Hey, buddy!” 

He waved goodbye naughtily and his voice trumpeted confidence.“Have a good one!”

“Have a good one, ” I echoed, but my tone inferred, “I’ll get you next time, foolish mortal!”

I also told the bus driver to have a good one, like a good citizen in my human voice, and then stormed off in defeat with a gait of devilish arrogance, not breaking character until the bus disappeared. 

When I told my coworkers the story the next day, they agreed. “Steve is totally getting stabbed with a curvy knife soon. Something ceremonial looking.”

So far, so good though. I’ve never seen him again.