This Film Brought to You by Credit Cards and a Dream

They dream of a glitzy premiere in Westwood, but their movies are more likely to end with a scene in bankruptcy court downtown. Yet, lured by the promise of Hollywood, many first-time filmmakers choose to finance their own movies, borrowing heavily from family and friends and sometimes going into massive credit-card debt.

When “Tribute,” a documentary about rock tribute bands, premieres Saturday as part of the American Film Institute festival in Los Angeles, it will be an atypical happy ending to a self-financed movie. The AFI showing doesn’t guarantee profits, but director Kris Curry hopes it will lead to a distribution deal that could eventually help pay off some of her debt, spread across a dozen credit cards.

Curry, who co-directed the movie with her husband, Rich Fox, doesn’t want to reveal the dollar figure of the debt, but said the money “could have easily bought a house, and we’re not even done counting.”

Many aspiring moviemakers, unwilling or, more likely, unable to sell their scripts to studios, resort to self-financing. Success stories such as “Clerks” and “The Blair Witch Project” fuel the dream, and with credit card companies offering easy-to-get credit, using plastic to make film is easier than ever. The self-financed movie, however, often turns into years of credit-card debt, sometimes even personal bankruptcy, according to several filmmakers, bankruptcy attorneys and entertainment industry experts.

For Curry, managing the many rotating credit-card balances became so complicated that she had to keep track of balances, payments and introductory offers on an erasable board. “I don’t think one card is enough,” she said. “You have to continue to apply for new credit cards.”

Her story is not unique. Consider Michael Meredith, who juggles about a dozen credit cards, keeping track of payments on computer spreadsheets. His feature debut, “Three Days of Rain,” will have cost $450,000 before--if ever--it hits the screen.

Meredith estimates it will take him at least 10 years to pay off his debt if the movie does not find a distributor. “It’s almost like Las Vegas,” Meredith said. “You lose your concept of the value of a dollar. You go to the set, and you wake up four days later and you’ve spent $40,000.”

And then there’s Mark Wilkinson, who describes himself as “more than completely broke.” He used his own and others’ credit cards, sinking $500,000 into his debut feature, “Dischord.” He doesn’t anticipate the movie will ever make a profit. In fact, “we’re completely confident it won’t,” he said.

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Borrowing heavily on multiple credit cards to finance a film is a well-known phenomenon to bankruptcy attorneys, who caution against the temptation to finance movies using plastic.

“They run up their credit cards, trying to be independent filmmakers, easily spending $100,000 following that dream,” said Linda Chu, a bankruptcy attorney who has handled personal bankruptcy cases for several aspiring filmmakers. “They put their emotions and finances ... into that dream.”

American Express tapped into that dream a couple of years ago, creating a campaign with billboards across Los Angeles advertising: “See a movie. Heck--Make a Movie.”

Harold Ackerman, an assistant professor of screenwriting at UCLA who has produced the school’s student film festival during the last decade, said he has seen many aspiring filmmakers go into to debt.

“Moviemaking is a very expensive proposition,” Ackerman said. “These kids are extremely committed ... there’s so much passion behind it. They’ve got so much invested, not only emotionally but financially.”

Movies financed on credit cards are “more rampant than ever,” said John Pierson, author of ‘Spike, Mike, Slackers & Dykes: A Guided Tour Across a Decade of American Independent Cinema.” Added Pierson: “It’s as common as the common cold.”

But with thousands of non-studio films currently in production, competition is tough--and getting tougher.

The AFI festival, where “Tribute” will debut, has received 25% more entries this year than last, from about 1,300 to about 1,750 submissions. (Fewer than 10% will be shown at the festival.) At Sundance, the number of entries have gone up from 1,950 in 1996 to almost 4,000 in 2001.

And during the last decade, it has become harder to find an audience for these movies as festivals and distributors have “grown up,” Pierson said. “They don’t quite have the open door they once had for the guy with a dollar and a dream.”

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Meredith and his wife, Suzanne, had the dream but not the dollar.

She sacrificed her British vintage convertible after reading his script for “Three Days of Rain.” In exchange for her 1965 Sunbeam, she got a beat-up Volkswagen Fox and $5,000, which she gave to Meredith. It became the first capital for his movie.

The feature, four years in the making, recently got out of post-production. It is based on six Anton Chekhov stories set in modern-day Cleveland during a three-day rainstorm. Meredith submitted the movie to the Sundance Film Festival last month.

The first part of the movie cost $7,500 to make. After shooting about 18 minutes, Meredith had “enough to show Grandma,” who contributed $3,200 on her credit card to become the second investor in the movie. With money from his wife, grandmother and the credit card company, Meredith was able to finish the first of the six stories.

Then Meredith’s brother-in-law, Bill Stockton, chipped in. He agreed to put the next story--about $30,000 worth--on his credit card. With that money, Meredith finished the first 36 minutes of the movie. By 1999, he was more than $40,000 in debt.

With the two finished stories in hand, Meredith could show prospective investors his product. A friend created Three Days of Rain LLC, and Meredith began selling shares in the project to raise about $100,000 for the next story. The shares were bought by 40 shareholders, mostly friends, family and acquaintances. (Even Stockton’s dentist bought a share.)

“Slowly the checks started trickling in,” said Meredith, adding that it took two more years to finish the film.

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Today, with the addition of a variety of post-production costs, Meredith and his family are about $100,000 in debt. The Volkswagen Fox gave out, and he drives his mother’s car. He wears Salvation Army clothes and, with his wife, shares a free room in their friends’ New York apartment.

He recently completed the final shot--what he calls the “martini shot.” Except, he quips, there was no money for martinis. And there won’t be for a while.

“Dischord’s” Wilkinson is a little more optimistic. He calculates it will take him three years to become debt-free, if he keeps everyday expenses to a minimum. “This is the kind of debt that could get you a Porsche, free and clear off the lot,” Wilkinson said. “They don’t even make a Mercedes this expensive.”

Instead of a luxury car, he has a movie about an artist and a murderer set on Cape Cod, which is currently making the festival circuit. It has won several prizes but has yet to find distribution.

Raising money for the movie, Wilkinson went on a cash stomp, pitching the movie to family and friends who ended contributing about $60,000.

He approached his uncle, Lee Wilkinson, six months before he began filming. “I knew he would max out every credit card he had and eat ketchup in hot water before abandoning his project,” said Lee Wilkinson who contributed about $20,000--money he doesn’t anticipate seeing again.

Despite the crowded market of independent movies, a few million-dollar success stories keep aspiring filmmakers going.

“You have to be a lunatic and have out-of-control optimism,” said “Tribute’s” Curry. “Everybody hopes they can do it, but, realistically, how many are really a Kevin Smith or a Spike Lee?”

For most, the self-financed movie often ends up as a nothing more than a resume piece.

“A very expensive resume piece,” Wilkinson said. “But half the battle is just getting them to look at your resume.”

For Curry, it looks as if “Tribute” could have a happy ending. At least Saturday’s premiere will be glitzy--Steven Soderbergh and Heather Graham are scheduled to attend.

But even if her movie never turns a profit, she’s not bitter.

“We found a project we really, really love,” Curry said. “I’d be spoiled if I was complaining about it.”