Hiring When the Pay Is Sh*t

Speaking of side hustle… My interview with David Gordon Green about his new film Nutcrackers is out. He reverse-engineered the idea for this movie after meeting the four brothers who star in the film. The boys are adorable, and David had great advice that transfers to microbudgets.

I’m heading to an off-the-record Netflix holiday party with Ted Sarandos tonight. The dress code is smart casual/holiday chic. What do you think he will wear?

Onto today’s topic: Hiring.

I asked folks on Threads—which is my favorite public space to talk about microbudgets—what they wanted to learn about in the newsletter, and Tanner posed a topic that I’m still working through myself.

I’ve only hired a handful of people in my career — for my own microbudget film and a few shorts. Outside of that, I’ve either been hired onto a team (corporate life) or cobbled together friends to make a sketch. Hiring the right people is truly an art form, and I wanted to talk to someone with experience both in and outside of the film industry.

I met Alex Hanno on the plane back from the Austin Film Festival. I usually do my best script writing on planes, but occasionally you sit next to someone, start talking and suddenly it’s 3.5 hours later and you’re landing at Burbank.

He’s currently in post on his second microbudget feature, which immediately piqued my interest, but it was his experience outside the film industry — running a construction company — that made me want to learn about how he hires.

Alex is a writer-director who embodies the ethos of this newsletter. He creates community, running a screenwriting organization called Deadline Junkies. His credits include the apocalyptic thriller A Social Contract starring Sean Astin, the romantic dramedy Elephants, and the award-winning TV show Served.

In our interview, Alex shares insights on how creating a strong culture isn’t just about making your set “fun” I’m guilty of being in the detrimental party-host mode). He highlights the importance of follow-through, transparency, and setting expectations — not just for hiring but also for gauging how excited someone is to actually be there. He also talks about his motivation for making a second microbudget feature, emphasizing that as a director, you need to make stuff.

This will be our first Work in Progress interview, a segment where we talk to microbudget filmmakers who are in the middle of making their movies. Huge thanks to Alex for being our radically honest guinea pig.

Work in Progress feat. Alex Hanno

You’re currently in post-production—editing, I believe—on your second microbudget feature. What inspired you to take on a second microbudget feature, and how are you managing the day-to-day process of keeping the film moving forward?

After my first microbudget feature, I made a promise to myself: NEVER AGAIN! While it was by far the most rewarding thing I’d ever done, it was also the hardest, and I walked away utterly exhausted in every way. I also anticipated that the film would act as a springboard and launch me into the studio system in some way, providing me with a genuine budget for my next project so that most of the financial challenges I’d experienced in the microbudget world would simply… fade away. 

The problem here was that time passed, and the money never came. At a certain point, I realized that no matter how badly I wanted to level up in terms of budget, that just wasn’t on the horizon, and as a director, you need to make stuff. To flex that muscle. If you don’t, you’re not going to get better at your craft. It’s as simple as that. 

So, I went on to make a handful of shorts, challenging myself with each one to try something different, but shorts are a very specific format, and they don’t make you money. Anyone who says differently is probably lying… or extremely lucky. Eventually, I felt like I’d more or less mastered the short format and I didn’t really want to sink additional funds into something I knew would never provide any sort of ROI. I started to feel the itch again, to make another feature and this time, to use everything I’d learned over the past few years to improve my final product. 

At the time, I was waiting on financing for a few larger features (I still am, which is a reality most filmmakers are probably used to), and so my options were either; make another microbudget feature, make more shorts, or do nothing. The answer, despite that promise I’d made to myself years ago, suddenly seemed very obvious. I’d also put enough distance between myself and my first feature to forget about the thorns of micro budget filmmaking. Call it “baby brain effect”, if you like. 

I dove headfirst into my next feature, a meta-thriller called Bravado, and have not regretted doing so for a second. There still wasn’t enough money. The days were always too short. We were pulling favors left and right. But the lessons I’d learned through the years served the production well. 

We’re in post now and given our financial constraints, it’ll be a steady and methodical process from here on out. Fast, good, cheap: you can only pick two. That’s a film adage I wholeheartedly agree with, and since I’m a perfectionist with not enough money, you can imagine where I stand. I try to do at least one thing for Bravado every day to ensure things are always moving forward, even if it’s just an inch. That might mean reviewing the edit of a scene, meeting with my producing team, building out our marketing package, making inroads with film festivals, or seeking out additional finishing funds. As long as we’re making consistent progress and we’re not sacrificing quality, I’m content.

You've achieved many milestones as a filmmaker — you've sold scripts that are now movies, both completed and in production. But you've also maintained jobs outside of the industry, specifically co-owning a construction company; and also, you've greenlit yourself, directing not one but two microbudget features. Can you speak to how you’ve balanced your film career and your other work?

If you’re a creative in the indie film world, you’re always juggling your art and your work, and very rarely are these two things one and the same. The reality is, it’s extremely hard to make a living as a filmmaker — don’t even look at the statistics, they’ll just depress you. And that means artists often have to work a job (or jobs) they may not love in order to afford themselves the time and financial flexibility to bring their creative endeavors to life. 

Of course, everyone’s version of this balance is wildly different. In my case, the path to finding “balance,” if you can even call it that, has been anything but stable. After realizing my way “in” wasn’t going to be as an assistant or a PA — I never really had the patience, if I’m being honest — I embarked on an ill-advised entrepreneurial endeavor in the food truck industry, an industry I can now say is even harder to make a profit in than entertainment. 

My goal was to amass a quick fortune so that I’d be able to ride off into the sunset and make the types of movies no one else was lining up to pay for me to make. Unfortunately, the food truck went belly up in under a year, squashing my big plans before they ever really took off. 

In the aftermath of that though, learning from my failure as best I could, I pivoted into the construction world and spent the better part of a decade in that space, helping to build a company from the ground up. It was essentially a blue-collar start up, and that meant crazy hours and a lot of work I absolutely hated (I am a writer, after all), but eventually, it afforded me that financial flexibility I mentioned earlier, allowing me to make my first feature, Elephants. 

Now, I didn’t have a ton of time for my art in those days, but I was diligent about carving out a few hours every week to ensure that my art-work balance never completely tipped one way or the other. For me, that meant dedicating all of Saturday to writing, as I genuinely didn’t have time to put pen to paper during the week. 

I don’t subscribe to the adage that if you don’t write every day you’re not a writer. In my opinion, that comes from a place of extreme entitlement and financial security that most writers don’t have. Find me a writer who hasn’t “made it” that can say that in earnest and I’ll give you $50. However, I do believe that you need to find time to write, in general. Whether that’s an hour a day or eight hours on a Saturday, as I used to, that time is as essential to perfecting your craft and propelling you forward in your journey as any job ever will be.

I’m interested in learning how you hire people for your microbudget projects, given your extensive experience hiring folks outside the film industry. How have you approached building a team for your films?

I don’t actually think hiring outside of the film industry is all that different to hiring within it. In my experience, the most important thing to consider when building a team is whether or not the people you hire genuinely want to be there. I realize this may seem obvious, but it’s actually not. 

Often, applicants are applying for a job they don’t love simply because they need a paycheck, and while I understand that need (see my above answer), not everyone puts in the required effort when they’re working a job they dislike. 

When I’m building a production team, I’m looking for folks who are eager to dive in headfirst, who are going to give it everything they’ve got, and who are happy to be there, regardless of what they’re being paid. This is especially important on a microbudget set, where no one is being paid what they deserve to be paid, including the folks at the top, like your director, producer, and writer, let’s not forget. 

If your creative collaborators tick all of these boxes, then you know that no matter what, your team will support your vision, maintain those all-essential “good vibes” on set, and — if you afford them the creative flexibility — offer ideas that will ultimately level up whatever you initially imagined. If they’re miserable being there, you — the director or producer, AKA their manager — will end up spending most of your time micromanaging and/or reprimanding instead of creating meaningful art.

Can you describe your process for interviewing people for your microbudget films? How do you find people who are willing to show up and give their best on an inherently constrained production?

This question builds on the previous one, and the answer all comes down to one word: transparency. When you’re dealing with a limited budget, or even better, no-budget, being transparent about what you can offer employees is the first and most important step. 

Yes, that means letting them know what you can offer financially (which is usually the bad news, so to speak) but also being vocal about what you can offer outside of that. Can you offer someone their first HOD credit? Points on the backend? Tickets to the premiere? Excellent crafty on set? Healthy meals for lunch? Involvement in hiring crew members who work beneath them? Creative agency to make some big choices, artistically, on set? There are so many ways to entice someone to join your team — earnest ways, assuming you actually follow through — that if you’re frank about your limited budget and folks still seem excited to jump on board, you know that they’re going to tick all those boxes I mentioned earlier. 

What this tangibly looks like is usually an artist who is trying to make that next big jump in their career; from PA to coordinator, from 2nd AC to 1st AC, from assistant to HOD, etc. I’ve found that if you take a risk on someone looking for that first big credit, they’re usually willing to go to battle for you. 

Beyond that, do your homework. Review their work. Ask for referrals. Call those referrals. Interview folks in person, if possible (you learn a lot more about a person face to face than you do over Zoom and don’t forget, you’ll be working alongside them). 

Lastly, don’t be afraid to post an ad online! Yes, recommendations from friends make you feel safe and they sometimes pay off, but you’d be surprised how much harder folks tend to work when they have to apply for a job, rather than simply being referred. If someone goes through the entire application process and comes out with green lights on the other end, it means that person really, really wants this job and is going to bust their ass when they get it.

What’s the biggest mistake you’ve made in hiring? Have you ever had to let someone go, and if so, what was that experience like?

I had to let a number of people go when I was working in the construction industry, but I’ve been fortunate enough that I can’t say the same when it comes to film. I’ve certainly been close, but the truth is: filmmakers, no matter their role on set, tend to care just a little bit more about their jobs than employees in other industries do. Working in film is an unequivocally insane thing to do. There’s no security, the hours are exhaustive, and you know you’re not getting paid as much as you should be getting paid, which is a byproduct of the fact that the capital-A “Arts” aren’t funded like they should be. (I’m not talking about the studio system here, which is a whole other kettle of fish). 

Given these realities, anyone working in film has to genuinely love it, at least a little bit. Having said all that, my biggest hiring mistakes have all been one and the same: not being crystal clear about my expectations for an employee and in turn, failing to ask the necessary questions to glean what their expectations truly are. This circles back to my previous answers and again, comes down to transparency. The few times I’ve failed to really reinforce what I expect from them and what they can expect from me – hours, pay, drive time, tasks on set, hierarchy (or lack thereof) — are the few times folks have come on board one of my projects and ended up with a sour attitude, likely because they anticipated something the project couldn’t deliver. 

In terms of tangible advice here, when hiring for a micro budget film I would say watch out for someone who is overqualified and taking the job for no other reason than a stop-gag paycheck. They might feel like the project is beneath them, try to control the set, or nickel-and-dime the production because they’re used to a certain union standard that your production simply can’t meet because of budgetary constraints. This won’t always be the case. 

Sometimes you’ll find amazing and experienced artists willing to go indie simply because they love the project, but I can’t stress enough how important it is to speak to references in a case like this. It will illuminate the candidate and help you avoid a situation where everyone on set is pulling in one direction aside from your most experienced crew member.  

How do you motivate any team of people working for you?

There are a ton of small things you can do on set to motivate folks — providing daily accolades in a unique way, surprising your team at the end of a long day with a kick-ass dessert, letting folks go home early one day — but the most consistent way to motivate them is to build culture. If you can create an environment where people enjoy being there, where they actually look forward to showing up and working, you won’t need to do a whole lot of the stuff I just mentioned. 

This comes down to following through on what you promised when you interviewed folks — paying them what you said you would, paying them on time, supplying the crafty they desire, ensuring lunch isn’t the same drek day after day, etc. — and also ensuring the vibes are indeed strong on set. Do you start the day with some upbeat music? Do you remember every crew member’s name? Do you compliment folks on the small things? Do you encourage people to voice their ideas? Do you listen? Do you lead with confidence and passion? Do you instill a policy of openness and positivity, rather than one where it’s more common to shut ideas down before they even come out? 

No one on an indie set expects a director or a producer to be perfect or have all the answers; that’s unrealistic, and every indie filmmaker I’ve ever met has way more grace than that. However, they do expect you to protect them from abuse, to affirm them when it’s earned, and to bring a little joy into their lives. After all, that’s why we do this crazy thing called filmmaking, isn’t it? 

The last thing I’ll say here is that creating a strong culture isn’t just about making your set “fun”. I’ve seen fun sets end up producing absolutely shitty final products, and in my opinion, that trade off isn’t worth it. People put way too much work into making a movie to walk away knowing it sucks, and those folks who had fun on set are going to be extremely disappointed when they sit in the theater and watch that thing they worked on bomb. 

Yes, there have to be moments of fun and overall, folks need to enjoy being on set, but it’s a delicate balance. Don’t forget that working in indie film is still work; the hours will be long, the pressure intense, the expectations enormous. Find the crew members who thrive in that environment and are excited by the challenge, rather than daunted by it.

What’s your biggest piece of advice for someone setting out to make their first microbudget film?

Prepare. Prepare. Prepare. Things will go wrong on set, they always do, but the more you prepare, the easier it will be to adjust to those hiccups. Plan your shot list meticulously. Storyboard in whatever way you can. Rehearse with your cast, even if it’s just on Zoom. Meet with every HOD and lock in as many design elements as possible. Do all of this before you ever step on set, because once your production starts, the minutes will fly by — and I mean truly fucking fly — and at that point, it’ll be far too late to address most of these things. 

What’s odd is that I find that newer filmmakers sometimes feel constrained by this level of preparation, as if it’s stifling their creative energy, but they need to remember that when you get on the field, you can always change the play if it doesn’t feel right. Hell, you can throw out the entire playbook if you want to! It’s still much better to have it in the first place, just in case you need to refer to it, which, for the record, you absolutely will. 

Mistakes cost money, and when you’re shooting a microbudget film, you literally can’t afford those mistakes. The only way to avoid them is to prepare for every possible eventuality and to have a solution ready to go. I realize this isn’t entirely achievable — just look at how often huge Hollywood productions have to do reshoots — but you can absolutely minimize your risk by investing time on the front end.

Watch Alex's microbudget feature, Elephants, and his short, Detox on Omeleto.