From festival circuit to the shoe-leather one

“Knock knock.” “Who’s there?” Forget the usual punch lines. This is Los Angeles -- perhaps the only place where you may answer the door to find a director pushing VHS copies of his movie.

You probably won’t find Steven Spielberg on the other side of your peephole, but there’s a reasonable chance you may one day encounter Jon Stevens.

Stevens, 52, wrote and directed a film, “Irish Whiskey,” and he’s trying to get it into theaters. Like many independents, he first went the festival route, racking up more than decent notices everywhere from the New York Independent Film & Video Festival (best director) to the Temecula International Film Festival (best feature film). But like many independent films, even those with plenty of critical praise, “Irish Whiskey” did not land a distributor.

With no buyer in sight for a theatrical release, many filmmakers would have opted for a quick sale to home video and cable to recoup some of the costs.

But Stevens, who says “Irish Whiskey” was shot for about $30,000 in cash and an additional $700,000 in deferred costs in 1996, wasn’t ready to give up.

Which is how, in an indirect fashion, thousands of Angelenos have responded to a knock at their doors to hear the following: “I’m Jon Stevens, I’m a filmmaker. I wrote and directed a film, and I’m trying to get theatrical distribution for it.”

A reporter and photographer followed Stevens around Toluca Lake one recent morning. He removes his watch (“So I don’t look at the time”) and pulls a backpack on wheels holding press clippings and videos. No one comes to the door at the first house he knocks at that day. Stevens estimates that at 80% to 85% of the homes he approaches no one answers. At the next house, a woman speaks to him through an opaque metal screen but declines to open the door. He stands a few feet back after knocking. “I don’t want to be in their faces when they open the door,” he later explains.

She’s not interested but wishes him, “Good luck,” as he walks away.

He sees somebody enter a house across the street, so he quickly crosses to talk to her. She’s distracted, but receptive. “I will buy your movie if you will keep your eye out for my dog,” says Linda Staum, a musician whose Wheaten Terrier, Seamus, has wandered off.

Not a bad start: one tape sold to the second person of the day, after just a few minutes. And she offered encouragement as well. “People just have to go out and do it themselves,” Staum says.

It’s surprising to an observer how many people, including women both young and elderly, open their doors to talk to Stevens. They usually ask what the film is about, and Stevens has a set response: “It’s an updated ‘All in the Family,’ ” he says, referring to the classic ‘70s sitcom with a curmudgeonly, if lovable, bigot at its center. It has a very positive ending, about learning to live together.”

The next couple of houses are empty, or the residents decline his offer. How does he cope with rejection? “Some people,” he says, “are rude, mean and condescending. But there are a lot more people who are nice. If I get a lot of ‘no’s’ I chant spiritual stuff for tenacity. One thousand ‘no’s’ are not as powerful as one ‘yes.’ I try to keep it fun, laugh to myself,” Stevens says. “Otherwise, it’s too excruciating.”

Long after Stevens has rung one doorbell and moved on, the owner, John Mekrut, comes out and speaks to him over a fence. Mekrut is in “the biz” -- he’s a personal manager, with rock star Flea among his clients.

“So what are you charging?” Mekrut asks. “Fifteen bucks,” Stevens says, “and if you don’t like it, you can return it.” Mekrut hands over the cash. “I know what a struggle this is. I produced a small film. It’s easy enough to walk away. Anybody who can walk around door to door -- God bless you,” he says. “Good luck.”

Jennifer Barry, a publicist for travel and restaurant clients, heard a knock on the door at her Venice home. “I wondered what he was selling, because he had a rolling briefcase behind him. There was an initial feeling,” she admits, “of ‘go away,’ but it was broad daylight and he was well dressed, and he told his story well.

“He started telling me about his film, about his experience trying to get distribution and about positive critical feedback. I was thinking it was interesting, and that I would give him an opportunity to state his case. I have something of a soft spot for a guy trying to get around a tough system. But I never buy videos, and I don’t collect movies.”

Barry ultimately purchased a copy, at least in part, she says, because the family in the film, like hers “is Irish from New Jersey.”

Stevens, who has worked as everything from a script reader and screenwriter to production manager, sets out weekdays for a full day’s work, half-days on weekends.

Born in Israel, Stevens came to the U.S. at age 13. His initial dream, to become a comic-book illustrator, soon gave way to an interest in film and television. Acting classes led to the study of film production, which led to a succession of jobs in the industry. As many people do, he turned to writing -- scripts as well as for industry organizations -- and was able to raise enough money to make his film.

But by April of last year, Stevens was broke. He took a telephone sales job with Rhinotek Computer Products in Carson, where he was required to make 130 calls per day. After a month and no sales, he was let go.

But what some might consider a disaster, Stevens found inspiring. “If I could make 130 calls a day to strangers to try and sell them a product I can barely pronounce and have no passion for,” Stevens reasons, “why couldn’t I go knock on 130 doors a day and sell something I do believe in -- my film?”

Although many of his friends considered the idea nothing short of insane, it made perfect sense to Stevens, who had heard that MC Hammer launched his career by selling 5,000 CDs from the trunk of his car before landing a label deal.

Stevens had eight VHS copies of “Irish Whiskey” on hand and sold them to neighbors in just a couple of hours. Since then, he’s knocked on more than 5,000 doors and sold almost 1,800 copies of his movie, and he claims no one has taken him up on his money-back offer. He hopes to hit 3,000 by June.

Persistent filmmaker

Why does he persist? “I know the film will perform well,” Stevens asserts, “because it drew standing-room-only crowds at festivals.” And he believes that selling 3,000 copies will attract the attention of a distributor and finally get his movie into theaters.

Stevens hasn’t completely neglected other options. “I have been writing and rewriting, and working to get another film off the ground. Had [“Irish Whiskey”] been a success with theatrical distribution like I want, it would have made it a lot easier to get my next film off the ground.

“One of the reasons I’m so determined to make it successful,” Stevens explains, “is so I won’t have to beg anymore, make films guerrilla-style.”

Even if he meets his target, will it help land a distributor?

“It could get my attention to get a tape to see,” says David Koh, head of film acquisitions and production for Palm Pictures, Chris Blackwell’s film and music company. “I would be really excited and inspired and blown away to find something, a gem, from someone who came from nowhere and with nothing. That’s what we’re all looking for.

“But it’s rare. I would be impressed more from a PR angle, but I would be more impressed,” Koh says, “if he sold 100,000 copies.” Media consultant Rob Aft isn’t convinced that Stevens’ efforts will secure a theatrical release, but he thinks the effort is far from wasted. “The direct connection between filmmaker and public is often lost these days. He’s getting a lot of direct feedback from the audience, so his next film can be even more popular and interesting for audiences. Hopefully, that will lead to distribution of his films in the future.

“He needs to take the focus away from how important it is to get this 1997 production distributed and how important it is to focus on the future.”

Will Stevens be dissuaded? Anyone who has opened the door to him over the last few months can tell you where Stevens will be tomorrow: back out on the streets somewhere in Los Angeles, going door to door, trying to sell just one tape at a time on the way to reaching his goal of selling 3,000 copies.