Everyone's Going to Sundance Except You. Now What?
On rejection, Harvey Weinstein, and finding your own mountain
Hey filmmaker friends - I know for many of you, this was the year you thought you’d finally be headed to Park City. Instead, you’re scrolling through news of other people.
I used to do that. Here’s some tips on a better way.
The 1:00 AM Execution
It's been five Sundance rejections for me since Adventures of Power premiered there. And that premiere was its own kind of disaster. It was a whirlwind of snowy streets and the dangerous feeling that I’d finally Arrived. My twin brother was terrified I was about to become a star, and he’d be forced onto the ride with me. He needn't have worried. Reality was more brutal.
My midnight premiere was pushed to 1:00 AM for tech reasons. A certain kingmaker named Harvey Weinstein showed up drunk. Ten minutes into the movie, he loudly walked out. Wannabe filmmaker bloggers immediately clicked their Blackberries from the bathroom to gloat that my three-year passion project was DOA. One said I had the charisma of a bowl of cottage cheese. Another that he hoped my sister would get cancer. (This is not hyperbole. Human beings actually wrote this.)
After the credits, the big agent who’d just signed me and called me a “genius”… slipped out of the cinema and dropped me from the agency.
Never mind the Audience Awards that came at the next festivals: the gatekeepers had spoken, and the road to employment in Hollywood (or even a future return to Sundance) was barricaded.
Neil Peart, the drummer of Rush who’d acted in the film, kindly reminded me that if you listen when people praise you, you’ll listen when they hate you. As he wrote in “Bravado”: If the moment of glory is over before it’s begun - If the dream is won though everything is lost - We will pay the price, but we will not count the cost.
Why I Sucked at Softball
A “No” from Sundance taps the feeling of standing on a dusty fourth-grade field, waiting to be chosen for the softball team. At age nine, was I rarely picked because I wasn’t what they were looking for? Or did I suck at softball because I didn’t really love softball?
We often beat ourselves up for not being allowed into spaces that don’t actually fit our souls. Maybe I wanted the affirmation of being on the team more than I actually wanted to play shortstop. The rejection forced me to look elsewhere - though it took years for me to figure that out. So you… do it now!
What brings you energy? For me, I discovered the untrammeled energy of drums and the freedom of cycling. It's no accident my favorite screenplay was Steve Tesich’s Breaking Away, about ditching the quarterback fantasy for the freedom of the bike. Now bikes are woven into my work: In Helicopter, I’ll be riding my mom’s bike to the top of our “holy mountain” to free her spirit. In Fogtown, which I tested in Brazil, the bike is the engine of a high-stakes action-adventure. Now you get to ask where your joy is, and go that direction.
The “Punch in the Nose” and the Danger of Desperation
When you’ve been rejected - by a festival, a studio, a mate, or a drunk mogul - there’s a dangerous instinct to fix it too fast. You feel blood in your nostrils, and you’re tempted to take any deal just to feel chosen again.
Don’t do it. When you’re looking for the next partner or project, listen to your gut. Never sell yourself short because you’re hungry for a “Yes.”
A bad deal (or a bad relationship) is just a slow-motion version of that 1:00 AM walk-out. If collaborators don’t love your vision as much as you do, they’re just another set of softball captains who’ll keep you out of the game.
To the Class of “Not This Year”: Find Your Holy Mountain
Rejection is a brutal diagnostic tool. It asks: Do you actually love this, or do you just want to be told you’re special? If your work feels like play, then rejection isn’t a wall, it’s something to dance around.
I’ll admit that sometimes loving something isn’t enough to get you a golden ticket, but the love is the only thing that gets you through the “No” anyway. Acknowledge the pain and find a path the gatekeepers don’t own.
For years, I was told I couldn’t direct television because I was just an “interesting” (that’s a slur) filmmaker with a track record of being unemployed. Brother Verses Brother was born directly out of that frustration. If they wouldn’t let me onto the field, I had to excavate my own. (I can thank Francis Ford Coppola, Werner Herzog, and my sister for reminding me with their work.)
Resilience isn’t about standing up in the same spot where you were knocked down. It’s about having the courage to crawl to a new path that nobody can see but you.
The most profound art isn’t made in the spotlight, it’s made on the long quiet climbs where nobody’s watching, and you’re pedaling only because you have a hunch the mountain might look pretty from another angle.
I want to hear from the outsiders today. What’s a project you’re working on right now that was born because a door was slammed in your face? How are you turning that “No” into your own path? Let me know:
Thanks, Ari. You have a knack for helping people REMEMBER… we have other fish to fry (or bikes to ride). I’m making a trilogy. Working on #2 now. it’s my first time really (and I mean really) asking people to support my work (and yeah… I’m talkin’ about money). Big learning. Big growth… no matter what comes of it. I’m here for it. Beginner’s mindset and all that jazz. Man, is it uncomfortable at times! A lot of deep breaths required along with faith/trust in myself. My deep KNOWING that… THIS is the sandbox I wanna play in. So, I’m IN it for the duration of my time in this dimension. :) Weeeeeeeeee! (Hands in the air. As the bike flies down the hill)
Great story Ari, and that night sounds like pure hell. You may have just inspired me to write about my own greatest failure. Not an artistic project really, but it did involve bicycling. It was all the way back in 1984 when the 27 year old me set out on a cross country bike ride to raise awareness for the Nuclear Freeze campaign along with another 15 or so riders. I got the backing of the national group, including a sagwagon, official sponsorship, and all that. Talked my troubled, drug addicted girlfriend into joining, thinking it would really cement our relationship. It all ended up in tears, as I was abandoned on the trail in the middle of Missouri by the organization over essentially creative differences, lost the girl, and had to crawl back home in disgrace. I've forgotten - or repressed - a lot of the details, but maybe I'll just let my imagination fill in the blanks.