Indie Film Quotes

If there is any indication of how an author and her books can affect change, look at the proof of her works on society. And ignore the critics and the trolls. -Strong by Kailin Gow on How Her Indie Success helped motivate and inspired others to become authors and how her books with strong women leads helped the film industry to portray more strong women leads

There is so much diversity in Indie films and books already. Saying there is a lack of Asians in films or in television is not accurate. It is out there, but not so much on the big screen. Rather than saying let's make more big studio Asian American films, let's say, let's bring more and highlight more Asian American films - indie or big studio out prominently in the press and media so there are more different Asian voices heard. - The Asian American Experience Anthology By Kailin Gow

We knew each other to our fingertips. No, that's not right. We only knew each other in our fingertips, and that was nothing at all, and for a while that was okay. We could have been a love story, a fairy tale, an indie film about high school and selective insanity featuring a boy of angel parts and a girl made of dreaming. We could have been all the best things: bracelets sliding down arms while shots slid down throats, laughter and crashing music in dark and flashing rooms, kisses that started hesitant but didn't stay that way.

We consume indie music and films, and generate our own online content. We “think different” (even if we got the idea from Apple Computer’s famous ad campaign).

Those people who live in an Independent nation should know how important it is to support independence not only in the government but also in arts, literature, films, newspapers, and business. Innovation, growth, and self-motivation comes from independent artists, journalists, authors, and inventors; not from the Big What which has held 90% of the market since the 1900s. Encourage innovation by supporting the Indies. That's where new opportunities are found!

If life is a movie most people would consider themselves the star of their own feature. Guys might imagine they're living some action adventure epic. Chicks maybe are in a rose-colored fantasy romance. And homosexuals are living la vida loca in a fabulous musical. Still others may take the indie approach and think of themselves as an anti-hero in a coming of age flick. Or a retro badass in an exploitation B movie. Or the cable man in a very steamy adult picture. Some people's lives are experimental student art films that don't make any sense. Some are screwball comedies. Others resemble a documentary, all serious and educational. A few lives achieve blockbuster status and are hailed as a tribute to the human spirit. Some gain a small following and enjoy cult status. And some never got off the ground due to insufficient funding. I don't know what my life is but I do know that I'm constantly squabbling with the director over creative control, throwing prima donna tantrums and pouting in my personal trailor when things don't go my way. Much of our lives is spent on marketing. Make-up, exercise, dieting, clothes, hair, money, charm, attitude, the strut, the pose, the Blue Steel look. We're like walking billboards advertising ourselves. A sneak peek of upcoming attractions. Meanwhile our actual production is in disarray--we're over budget, doing poorly at private test screenings and focus groups, creatively stagnant, morale low. So we're endlessly tinkering, touching up, editing, rewriting, tailoring ourselves to best suit a mass audience. There's like this studio executive in our heads telling us to cut certain things out, make it "lighter," give it a happy ending, and put some explosions in there too. Kids love explosions. And the uncompromising artist within protests: "But that's not life!" Thus the inner conflict of our movie life: To be a palatable crowd-pleaser catering to the mainstream... or something true to life no matter what they say?

Yayo better learn quick you can’t be coming to save grown ass men all the damn time,” she ranted on.

Never settle for anything less than extraordinary or else, life will suck. … It might suck anyway, but it's better to suck with integrity, right?" -Ione Skye in the indie film Dream For An Insomniac

We like to believe that we live in a grand age of creative individualism. We look back at the midcentury era in which the Berkeley researchers conducted their creativity studies, and feel superior. Unlike the starched-shirted conformists of the 1950s, we hang posters of Einstein on our walls, his tongue stuck out iconoclastically. We consume indie music and films, and generate our own online content. We “think different” (even if we got the idea from Apple Computer’s famous ad campaign). But the way we organize many of our most important institutions—our schools and our workplaces—tells a very different story.

Jessica Stone. The Jessica Stone. My costar. As in, indie film poster child, beloved by the internet for being sexy and cute and funny, sure to snag an Oscar one day Jessica Stone. I think I saw her last movie in theaters fifteen times, and not just because it was based on a graphic novel. Don’t fanboy, I order myself. Don’t fanboy. Gail looks at me, surprised. “But Dare, we were—” I cough. Twice. Gail looks between Jessica Stone and me, widens her eyes, and finally gets it. Her ears go even redder. “Oh. Oh.” She grabs her backpack and makes a hasty retreat. “I…um. I’ll be around if you need me, Dare.” After the door closes, Jessica Stone turns her eyes—which are super, freakishly, ice-water blue—to me. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” My tongue ties into ten hundred knots. She can intrude as much as she wants. I mean, not intrude—like, let me politely be in her presence for the rest of my life—but intruding works too. Into my life. As much as she wants. Is that weird? It’s probably weird. But it’s Jessica Stone. Damn it, man, don’t fanboy.

I’m thinking about how Ingrid always made huge elaborate plans for everything. One of them involved getting rich somehow and buying the theater and fixing it up and reopening it to show indie films. Instead of sofa, we’d sell tea at the concession stand, and we might even have some photographs or books for sale. It would be more than a theater. It would be a place to escape to when people felt stifled by the chain stores and lonely in their massive houses.

I’ve noticed that ‘news’ is not what’s happened. It’s what’s happened on camera. If a herd of tigers runs amok in a remote Indian village, it’s not news. If a gang of wide-eyed rebels slaughters the inhabitants of a faraway African village, it’s not news. But if it’s a bit windy in America, it is news. Because in America everything that happens is recorded. I find myself wondering if last week’s Israeli raid on a Turkish ship in a flotilla carrying aid to Gaza would have had the coverage it did if the battle hadn’t been captured on film. And likewise the racing driver who broke a leg after crashing in the Indy 500. It only became a big deal because we could watch the accident from several angles in slow motion.

If this is true—if solitude is an important key to creativity—then we might all want to develop a taste for it. We’d want to teach our kids to work independently. We’d want to give employees plenty of privacy and autonomy. Yet increasingly we do just the opposite. We like to believe that we live in a grand age of creative individualism. We look back at the midcentury era in which the Berkeley researchers conducted their creativity studies, and feel superior. Unlike the starched-shirted conformists of the 1950s, we hang posters of Einstein on our walls, his tongue stuck out iconoclastically. We consume indie music and films, and generate our own online content. We “think different” (even if we got the idea from Apple Computer’s famous ad campaign). But the way we organize many of our most important institutions—our schools and our workplaces—tells a very different story. It’s the story of a contemporary phenomenon that I call the New Groupthink—a phenomenon that has the potential to stifle productivity at work and to deprive schoolchildren of the skills they’ll need to achieve excellence in an increasingly competitive world. The New Groupthink elevates teamwork above all else. It insists that creativity and intellectual achievement come from a gregarious place. It has many powerful advocates. “Innovation—the heart of the knowledge economy—is fundamentally social,” writes the prominent journalist Malcolm Gladwell. “None of us is as smart as all of us,” declares the organizational consultant Warren Bennis,

Film producer Samuel Goldwyn said, “The harder I work, the luckier I get,” and that is absolutely how we all feel about luck, publishing, and life in general.

Later film shoots’ casting calls would advertise that they’re “fun shoots” and a “good way to get exposure”—but working in entertainment is not entertaining, even though it is not what’s traditionally thought of as “work.” You know what’s fun, indie filmmakers? Being paid for your time.

His rental SUV moved at a snail’s pace behind a line of traffic that was not at all typical for his hometown. It wasn’t until he crawled around the next curve and saw balloons and banners above the road announcing the annual Indie Film Festival that he realized what weekend it was. He uttered a curse. He

As I write this, I’m sitting in a café in Paris overlooking the Luxembourg Garden, just off of Rue Saint-Jacques. Rue Saint-Jacques is likely the oldest road in Paris, and it has a rich literary history. Victor Hugo lived a few blocks from where I’m sitting. Gertrude Stein drank coffee and F. Scott Fitzgerald socialized within a stone’s throw. Hemingway wandered up and down the sidewalks, his books percolating in his mind, wine no doubt percolating in his blood. I came to France to take a break from everything. No social media, no email, no social commitments, no set plans . . . except one project. The month had been set aside to review all of the lessons I’d learned from nearly 200 world-class performers I’d interviewed on The Tim Ferriss Show, which recently passed 100,000,000 downloads. The guests included chess prodigies, movie stars, four-star generals, pro athletes, and hedge fund managers. It was a motley crew. More than a handful of them had since become collaborators in business and creative projects, spanning from investments to indie film. As a result, I’d absorbed a lot of their wisdom outside of our recordings, whether over workouts, wine-infused jam sessions, text message exchanges, dinners, or late-night phone calls. In every case, I’d gotten to know them well beyond the superficial headlines in the media. My life had already improved in every area as a result of the lessons I could remember. But that was the tip of the iceberg. The majority of the gems were still lodged in thousands of pages of transcripts and hand-scribbled notes. More than anything, I longed for the chance to distill everything into a playbook. So, I’d set aside an entire month for review (and, if I’m being honest, pain au chocolat), to put together the ultimate CliffsNotes for myself. It would be the notebook to end all notebooks. Something that could help me in minutes but be read for a lifetime.

I knew Shelby was a whore. She tries so hard to fit in where she can get in.

Have sex with a man who calls himself straight every other second

No physical connections with, for him to love her the way he did?

Then the five of us talked about junior year and how we felt this looming pressure toward taking the SATs. Afterwards, we somehow got on the topic of artificial intelligence and whether society would become like The Terminator films. You know, typical conversation. It was enjoyable.

KIRKUS REVIEWS BOOK REVIEW A retired professor explores the life and writings of Carl Sandburg in this debut book. “During the first half of the twentieth century,” Quinley writes, “Carl Sandburg seemed to be everywhere and do everything.” Though best known for his Pulitzer Prize–winning poetry and multivolume biography of Abraham Lincoln, Sandburg had a wide-ranging career as a public intellectual, which included stints in journalism as a columnist and investigative reporter, in musicology as a leading advocate and performer of folk music, and in the nascent movie industry as a consultant and film critic. He also dabbled in political activism, children’s literature, and novels. Not only does Quinley, a retired college administrator and professor, hail Sandburg as a 20th-century icon (“If my grandpa asks you a question,” his grandchildren joke, “the answer is always Carl Sandburg”), but much of his own life has been adjacent to that of the poet as well. Born in Maywood, Illinois, a “few blocks” from Sandburg’s home 30 years prior, Quinley would eventually move to the Appalachian Mountains. He lived just a few miles from Sandburg’s famed residence in Hendersonville, North Carolina. As a docent for the Carl Sandburg Home National Historic Site, the author was often asked for literature about the luminary’s life. And though much has been written about Sandburg, biographies on the iconoclast are either out of print or are tomes with more than 800 pages. Eschewing comprehensiveness for brevity, Quinley seeks to fill this void in the literary world by offering readers a short introduction to Sandburg’s life and writings. At just 122 pages, this accessible book packs a solid punch, providing readers with not just the highlights of Sandburg’s life, but also a sophisticated analysis of his passions, poetry, and influence on American culture. This engaging approach that’s tailored to a general audience is complemented by an ample assortment of historical photographs. And while its hagiographic tone may annoy some readers, this slim volume is backed by more than 260 endnotes and delivers an extensive bibliography for readers interested in learning more about the 20th century’s “voice of America.” A well-written, concise examination of a literary legend Kirkus Indie, Kirkus Media LLC, 2600 Via Fortuna Suite 130 Austin, TX 78746 indie@kirkusreviews.com

Producing and directing a micro-budget film is like preparing for a tiny war.

Traditionally, Sundance announces the chosen few the week after the Thanksgiving holiday. It’s generally known that the lucky winners are notified in advance in the three days prior to that Big Thursday. Unfortunately for Bubba Ho-tep, it was not to be. It was a quiet Thanksgiving with no phone call. At the time I thought there was something wrong with my film, but I did not understand how the odds were stacked against all indie filmmakers. It’s all in the numbers. Using their own analytics, the odds are less than 1 percent in being accepted to Sundance. That means that for each film invited to the big dance, more than ninety-nine features—think about that—ninety-nine films that indie filmmakers have slaved over and poured all of their hopes, dreams, and in many cases gone into serious debt for, are not going to be selected.

The movie played to a completely packed house and it was a smash. I was waiting with Bruce and Joe Lansdale up near the screen as the end credits rolled, ready for the filmmaker Q&A afterward, and something incredible happened that cemented it for me. Since the film ended on such a melancholy and downbeat note as Elvis closes his eyes at the finale, to raise the audience’s spirits and give them some hope, I inserted a line in the end credits that read, “Elvis returns in … BUBBA NOSFERATU—Curse of the She-Vampires.” As a kid I always got a thrill watching the James Bond movie end credits where they would announce the next 007 that way, so I figured why not try that with Elvis. As this announcement rolled on-screen, suddenly a guttural roar erupted from the crowd and they burst into riotous applause. Three hundred people wanted a sequel, like, immediately.

Our film had also received rave reviews and many “pull quotes” that could be used for marketing. Nick Digilio of WGN Radio, who also happened to be a longtime Phantasm fan, gave us a sensational quote in which he called Bubba Ho-tep “an important piece of American cinema.” And in David Hunter’s review of our film in the Hollywood Reporter, he celebrated our star’s work by writing, “Bruce Campbell in a performance for the ages.” It all looked quite promising, and then Shultz mentioned just one more item—we would need some money to launch this endeavor. The roughed-up budget for this independent Bubba Ho-tep theatrical release came in at about a hundred and thirty thousand dollars. Yikes! But Dave Shultz firmly believed that if luck was with us, we could easily gross multiples of that number and actually turn a profit. For me it was an extremely tough decision. I had made a huge investment from my savings to pay for the production costs of Bubba Ho-tep. My dad in loyal fashion had also kicked in a chunk of change. With his background in financial planning he had always taught me that the best investments are when you invest in yourself and the principles you believe in.

Even though the cut was about twenty minutes longer than the ultimately released movie, Pulp Fiction was an even better movie than Reservoir Dogs. The structure was not only more audacious; the movie was funny as hell and had some extremely intense suspense sequences. Afterward, when Quentin asked me what I thought, remembering the Reservoir Dogs screening, I demurred and bit my tongue. I didn’t want to make a casual comment that might inadvertently influence this great movie. Even though a scene or two might have been tightened I just told him how much I loved it, which was true. As I was walking to my car I looked over and was surprised to find Dennis Hopper walking beside me. Usually I try to give celebrities their space and not bother them in public, but Hopper’s Easy Rider had made a huge impact on me at a very young age and it was hard to contain myself. I decided to keep it simple and just said, “I really loved Quentin’s film.” Hopper stopped in his tracks and suddenly it was like I was standing beside Francis Ford Coppola’s character the “photojournalist,” right out of his Apocalypse Now. Just him and me. “Yeah, man. Quentin really did it, man. I mean really. He really did it.” We both stood there in silent contemplation for a long moment, then wished each other good night and that was that.

Hollywood keeps recycling what worked back then, what worked back when, but nothing new. I believe their breakout hit has been written. Written either by me? Written either by you? Indie writers, authors, and creatives can, again, be Hollywood's salvation, but Hollywood must first get a fucking clue.

We were feeling emboldened. We were feeling that indie film would take care of us if we stayed true to it. That we didn’t need Hollywood one bit. And then, because life is a strange person with many strange hats, within two weeks of this realization we were offered our first deal to write and direct a multimillion-dollar feature film with a major studio.

Oh I know. He still questioning why I don’t have a wedding ring on if I’m married. I said because I’m married to my man’s soul. Ain’t no ring big enough for that.

The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies.

Never look up, never look him or another man in the eye.

It's a great indy movie with many a spark, Robert Downey Jr starring as Tony Stark. Only that it didn't have the public recognition, Now are the headlines about films in exhibition: Many good movies with no channel to portrait All end up with a few public to its own fate. No need to say who made them obliterate. (AnA Cross+Tic for Iron Man)

You are who you are because you went through what you overcame

Success is in the Context of Time, Space and Scale Pyaasa was a haunting film but unlikely to appeal to a generation that doesn’t think too much of black-and-white photography, poetry and romantic losers. Bjorn Borg could never win Wimbledon with his old wooden Donnay racket in today’s era where over-sized rackets generate such tremendous speed and power. Batsmen who were told to ‘give the first hour to the bowlers’ in a Test match would discover there are only twenty minutes left thereafter in a T20 game. Alternately, sloggers who routinely clobber the ball over cow corner may not have managed too many against the four-pronged West Indies pace bowling attack. Eventually, it is about giving the consumers what they want and those requirements may have changed.

Within seconds he was reading the IMDb profile of this actress, a veteran of numerous television commercials and a few indie films.

several of which are in development as films. His fiction has been nominated for or won an Anthony, Barry, Macavity, Strand Critic’s Circle, Readers’ Choice, Crimespree, Dilys, Crime Shot, Indie Lit, Romantic Times, and ITW Thriller

I raise my voice to get my point across, but when I don’t give a fuck, I don’t give a fuck!

A black man that relies on the insecurities of a black woman, taking advantage of her to survive in life is a threat to us,

The dramatic gasp from the women in the audience almost blew me until I looked at the photo of Hakeem, and another man laying in the bed together.

And I’m the wicked witch of Jersey by way of South Carolina.

I can be your best friend, a shoulder to cry on, your lover… brother, cousin… Family… Whatever you need, I can be that---.

I’ve been in love with you. I sleep in the bed beside you because it's the next best thing to making love to you----.

My baby, my love, my heart...If you knew how much sex I’m about to have with you----.

What’s so great about falling in love with someone who has every chance to break your heart?

Simple. We hate hard, we love harder. That’s just how it is.

Always been the Queen of the Boys,

I never wanna get to the point where I gotta ask a woman to help me, but sheeeit!

Nah, I’ma beat her hearing back into her before I do it so she can hear how she got me fucked up,

And he ate after the pull out… I… I didn’t even have to make him do it… He just…

your heart doesn’t belong to you so be careful who you share it with...for it may break the next.

Nobody else. When I’m done with her, she better not look, blink, think about another man as long as I’m with her.

Read you like the most complicated book, study your body, your movements… He was, and still is a passionate man...