Eight reality checks for low budget horror filmmakers

I have a great love for good horror movies and a great loathing for bad ones. Sadly, my quest for the former has saddled me with a great number of the latter. The problem is particularly prevalent in the world of low-budget productions. Sometimes a movie that lacks professional polish can turn out to be outstanding work that takes the genre in directions Hollywood wouldn’t dare to tread. More often than not, however, lack of polish merely betokens lack of skill.

I understand that there’s a sizable market out there for stupid movies, and far be it from me to deprive anyone of the opportunity to cash in on the demand. But if you happen to be an aspiring filmmaker who might actually want to make something that isn’t a piece of unmitigated crap, a few basic reality checks can solve a lot of problems.

You aren’t funny. This may be the hardest pill to swallow, so choke it down at the outset. The failed horror comedy typically springs from one of two sources: either you think you’re way more clever than you are, or you’re trying to cover your incompetence by pretending that you’re deliberately making a bad movie as a joke. You can detect the first problem by comparing your humor level to the kind of thing you thought was funny when you were 12. Same kinds of jokes? Then you haven’t achieved cleverness yet. And if at any point you realize that what you’re creating sucks, your best course is to stop or at least rethink rather than hoping for a “so bad it’s funny” response from the audience.

Your friends are not actors. I don’t care how many community theatre productions they’ve done. They can’t act, and they’re going to look stupid in your movie. Their stiff, play-it-for-the-back-row delivery of your dialogue is going to ruin any chance that your characters will be sympathetic or believable in any way.

Nor are they musicians. See what your high school drama club buddies are doing to your script? The guys in your garage band are doing the same thing to your soundtrack.

Your effects look bad. If you’re thinking at all realistically about production values, you’ve already accepted your inability to compete with Hollywood’s vast legions of effects wizards. But believe it or not, you can actually turn this one to your advantage. Even a bad monster suit can be highly effective if you employ a little subtlety. Shadowy lighting can help transform cheap latex into a genuine scare. And please oh please don’t overuse your creation. Every shot you include of that carnival-attraction-worthy masterpiece moves your monster away from plausible and toward “Attack of the Guy in a Rubber Suit.”

Boob shots do not supply gravitas. Back in the day when the slightest hint of overexposed cleavage would send the Hays Office censors scrambling for the “Nope” stamp, boobs were a big deal. But in the age of the Internet, pornography is so easy to access that it adds no value to your movie. Not to mention that half your viewers can get the same view by standing in front of a mirror and taking their shirts off. And if you’re shooting a nude scene solely so you can get a woman to undress for you, that’s just sad. Try using this simple test: if the scene wouldn’t be in your movie if the character was a guy, then it’s in there for the wrong reason.

Self parody isn’t wit. Many times I’ve seen characters in bad horror movies say something like “Wow, this is like we’re in a bad horror movie.” Acknowledging that you suck doesn’t make you not suck. Such self-effacing, reflexive nonsense tells your audience that you’re fully aware you’re wasting our time. Don’t rub our noses in it.

I like the rug right where it is, so don’t yank it out from under my feet. If the characters are in a haunted house and one of them starts screaming, the commotion should probably be over something genuinely menacing. You can only do so many shocks that turn out to be bugs or mice or the characters scaring each other or being scared of nothing at all. Once maybe. Twice is pushing it. More than that and you’re seriously cutting into your audience’s willingness to play along with you.

You must actually watch the movie you just made. Seriously, before you show it to anyone else, watch it yourself. Does it look like a real movie or a bunch of kids playing around with a camcorder? Does your editing allow your shots to flow together? Do your characters work? Does your story make sense? Your answers must depend not on “good for a beginner” but by actual, professional quality standards.

This is the most painful part of the production process, because it’s hard to take an honest look at something that’s consumed a significant chunk of your life and tell yourself that it needs more work. But coming to grips with it yourself is a lot less agonizing than showing unpolished work to the public and then living with the sure knowledge that you’re regarded as a talentless amateur.

Stealing from other movies makes you look bad. I’ve got three copies of Dawn of the Dead (four if you count the remake). So if you don’t do anything that George Romero (or John Carpenter or Tobe Hooper or Mick Garris or whomever you’re “borrowing” from) hasn’t already done, all you leave me with is the strong feeling that I should have re-watched a good movie instead of taking a chance on your work. Though this isn’t the worst offense on the list, it can be the saddest because it kills movies that might otherwise have stood a chance. Even good acting, good writing and all-around competent filmmaking can’t save a production that doesn’t amount to anything more than a pale imitation of something else.

Originality is the one thing you’ve got going for you. Writers and directors working inside the system are under tremendous pressure to churn out something that tastes just like every other cinematic hamburger everyone’s ever eaten, because the corporations they work for know that people love hamburgers. You aren’t backed by the studios’ vast marketing machinery, so if you’re going to get noticed at all you should really plan to do something the studios aren’t. The whole point behind independent production is that you can take a gamble on your own voice. Why squander that on a doomed attempt to sing someone else’s song?