Page Shields
Julia Mlynowski
Zachary Cook
Christian Hill
Dustin Lohman
Rebecca Murphy Page Shields
Kev Dionysus
Andrew Gum
Becca Nicholls
Rebecca Murphy Rachel Silvey
1901 Productions Marketing Team
Faith Anderson Zachary Cook
Kev Dionysus
Nate Earley Ochwada Faith Fitzsimmons Eric Hector Katie Kocan Nico Mho
Adrian Sanchez Rodriguez Page Shields
Benny Zielke
Kev Dionysus
Dr. Julie Bates
Eric Hector Johnny Power
This publication began in the same way as 1901 Productions — with a couple of passionate students, an idea and no budget.
The 2022 line producer for 1901, Kev Dionysus, approached me in the early fall. With their graduation quickly approaching, and all of the founding members of the production company on their way out of their university years, they wanted to capture the essence of the company as it is now in some physical way. The founding team had learned so much together, and collected so many stories along the way — with a magazine-style publication, they’d be able to flip through these memories post-graduation, and pass them down to the new generation of filmmakers.
Justin Taylor, a 2021 Millikin graduate, created 1901 Productions as a part of his senior capstone project. Now, making a magazine about the organization is mine. Without this project, I never would have had the opportunity to interact with so many incredible creatives, to learn and tell these individuals’ stories. I will never be a filmmaker, but they have welcomed me into their community. Through their dedication, I have been reminded of my love for my field, and reinvigorated in my work.
The Ultimate Guide to 1901 is, above all else, a story about students. It’s about students working together to make their dreams a reality, taking initiative and making their way in the world. And now, it’s a story you can hold in your hands, read and remember. I invite you to immerse yourself in the 1901 Productions journey, the same way that I have over the past few months. Whether or not you want to make movies, enjoy the inspiration that follows — I know I have.
Happy reading,
Editor-in-Chief
In his final semester at Millikin University, Justin Taylorlaid the foundations for what would become an award-winning student-run venture: an entire production company.
As an arts technology major, Taylor loved what the program had to o er but had few opportunities to practice the video production skills he was learning in class. Campus simply didn’t have a space for the interdisciplinary collaboration that filmmaking requires. “Why aren’t we reaching out to the English department for people that want to be creative writers? Why isn’t the visual media side of arts tech reaching out to the video side more and vice versa?” he remembers thinking.
With the help of his instructor, Johnny Power, Taylor came up with a plan: He would found a production company on campus, establishing a space for students to come together, combine their strengths and work creatively on film projects that would exemplify their learning. He just didn’t exactly know where to begin.
“I spent a lot of time looking into other schools’ programs, but there really wasn’t a lot of information given out there,” Taylor says. “I couldn’t get a concrete, ‘How do you do this?’”
One student-run venture at Millikin proved to serve as a particularly good model. Founded in 2010, Pipe Dreams Studio Theatre is a nonprofit arts organization run entirely by Millikin students. The organization is supported by Millikin’s School of Theatre and Dance, and while all of the legwork is done by Millikin students, there is a forcredit class that allows students to budget their time and earn academic credit for the work they do there.
With Pipe Dreams’s example, Taylor and Power began to write a course. “It was a good foundation to start from,” Power says, “as far as structure and who had what roles and what those roles meant.”
Power took on the role of advisor for the organization, teaching the weekly course and o ering advice to its student leaders. He did not, however, dominate the planning process — Power wants the experience to be as authentic as possible, adjusting based on the students’ passions and abilities. “That’s the whole point of it being an entrepreneurial class more than a business class,” he says. “You take risks.”
1901 Productions, named for the founding year of Millikin University, came to life in the fall of 2020.
“It’s exactly what I wanted to see happen,” says Taylor, now a Millikin alumnus of two years. “I want to keep seeing them grow.” ■
Ready to start down their creative path, one hurdle still stood in the way of these students filming the movies of their dreams: money. Production is costly, and the founding students had just about no equipment and no budget when they started o .
Though the organization's purpose was never to make money, a financial component is key for the student-run venture to be called a venture at all. Eric Hector, the 1901 Productions executive board advisor, knew that at least some of their work had to be paid: “To me, ventures are about doing something commercially,” he says. “It doesn’t necessarily have to return a profit, but it needs to be a venture.”
According to Hector, Millikin’s Center for Entrepreneurship is the company’s greatest financial ally. The center provided 1901 Productions with a large grant, allowing them to purchase the technology necessary for them to work. “They have been our partners through this,” he says. “I cannot say enough good things about all the folks over there. They really allowed this to happen.”
New cameras in hand, the 1901 team found their first job: shooting a visual accompaniment
for the School of Music’s annual Halloween Percussion Concert.
They filmed a vignette in the percussion house, a falling apart, out-of-use building on campus. The final product was equal parts eerie and impressive. Former 1901 Productions Line Producer Benny Zielke recalls the project as experimental, but wonderfully collaborative: “All we really had was a loose story idea, a location, two days to film and three actors,” he says.
The job was reflective of authentic commercial work in the industry, and the company succeeded in making a profit. Now, with cameras, a budget and a devoted team, they were in a much better place than where they had started. “It was a little bit of seed money to work with on our own sizzle reel,” says Zielke.
Glitch was the group’s first entirely-independent piece.
Written by Zielke himself, the film
follows a college student, Ana, in her e ort to find the end of a mysterious red twine trail. In the short time from their first film to this second one, 1901 Productions expanded upon their skills exponentially. They shot Glitch entirely in one day, streamlining the production process with their new level of experience. “We learned a lot about working with the actors, about making it really clear because we had a written-out script for that one and a really clear shot list,” he says. “We improved a lot in that way.”
These early films set 1901 Productions into motion. Run by a group of creatives, the company had gotten a taste of making art from their own vision, and couldn’t stop — there was nothing left to do but keep working. ■
Above all else, filmmaking requires adaptability — a value 1901 Productions understood from their very beginning. The company was founded in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, a global disaster that restricted, isolated and froze artistic endeavors all over the world. For the 1901 team, though, this was just another challenge that hard work could conquer.
But the changes weren’t all cruel to these new filmmakers. Founding member Zachary Cook recalls the time as di icult, but also formative: “Suddenly, a lot of people needed someone to make a video for their event since no one could actually be there,” he says. “That’s kind of how we got a foot in the door.”
Hired interdepartmentally, 1901 Productions spent their first active semesters busy — busy filming, and equally busy trying to stay safe. Students’ health was of the highest priority, and all 1901 members were required to participate in industry-standard COVID-19 training. Mask wearing was enforced and appropriate distancing maintained, but they kept creating. They were doing what they loved, and nothing could stop them once they got started.
“My mask would fog up my glasses and I wouldn’t be able to see the screen when I was filming,” Cook laughs. “It was a lot. Fond memories, but also a sad time.”
Producer Faith Fitzsimmons believes that this level of adaptability shaped the company’s growth. College students are busy, and the passionate people that delve into film often have packed schedules. It was a challenge to coordinate times that worked for everyone, but a welcome one — a puzzle for Fitzsimmons to solve. “No one can ever make it perfect,” she says, “but it’s about doing your best to accommodate everyone.”
Member Nico Mho spent his college career juggling the packed schedules of film and soccer. Luckily, the advisors for each program supported Mho pursuing his two passions. “I know at least for soccer, our coaches have always had a
school-first mentality,” he says. “1901 was school.”
One project that particularly challenged this balance was recording The Last Five Years for fellow Millikin student-run venture Pipe Dreams Studio Theatre. The team had a limited schedule to film and edit three versions of the full-length musical. “We were working on [the editing] late at night, but I left first because I had practice early in the morning,” Mho says. “I went straight to the studio after, and Dustin was still up editing from the night before.”
Even during these sleepdeprived moments, the 1901 team is dedicated to finding ways to create a product they can be proud of. “I think that’s just what filmmaking is,” says Mho. “It’s finding good ways to fix things and making it look like it was done on purpose.” With this lesson in mind, there is nothing creative people can’t overcome. ■
Behind-the-scenes work makes a film. Directors, producers, writers, designers, scouts, editors — these are the people that shape stories, the people that decide what’s going to be told and how. But equally as integral are the faces on the screen. Actors step into a script, bringing fiction to life and captivating the audience with their performance.
Actress Julia Budd had never been on a film set before auditioning for 1901 her senior year of college. She was a part of the school’s renowned theatre program, and all of her previous acting experience took place onstage. It didn’t take long, though, for her to grow comfortable in the environment. “They were really good at keeping a professional attitude in the room while also making us feel like, hey, we’re all just people here,” she says. “Everyone’s so kind there.”
Before her audition, Budd prepared in the same way she would for theatre: She read over all the materials, rehearsed her lines and tried to get to know her character. The description characterized the role as “really struggling,” a phrase that made Budd’s creative brain snap into action. “I remember I was just like, ‘Maybe I should make a creative choice and film this one in my pajamas,” she says. “It felt so weird for an audition, because you usually put on your best self.”
The production team was in agreement: Budd got the part, and hasn’t looked back since. Despite her original concentration in theatre, she’s now focused on pursuing a career in film. Executive board member Rebecca Murphy came from a similar background — studying threatre, with no prior film experience. Now, she, too, is fully immersed in the world of moviemaking. Coping with chronic illness, Murphy has found that film is more accommodating to her needs. “For actors in film, there’s this phrase, ‘hurry up and wait,’” she explains. In between scenes, there’s not much to do, and actors have the flexibility to rest, stretch, eat or do whatever they need. But as soon as the cameras are on, they’re focused on nothing but their character.
Even with the intense focus screen acting requires, Murphy thrives in this on-and-o schedule. It gives her time to take care of herself between responsibilities, both in the short term on a single
set and beyond. Actors typically have a waiting period in between projects, which allows Murphy to rest, recuperate and make the preparations she needs to take on another role. When others learn about Murphy’s physical limitations, they are quick to try and change her plans. “They say, ‘She should just do something else. She should go into a di erent career that doesn’t require that.’ But that’s not an option for me.”
Performance is Murphy’s passion, and there is nothing anyone can say will change her mind. “It’s just a matter of figuring out how to make it happen,” she says.
Now, Murphy has signed with two professional agencies, and continues to work on sets outside of 1901 Productions. She, as passionate people do, has fallen in love with her profession, and has no intention of backing down. “1901 kind of changed my whole career,” she says. “I’ll always be grateful for that.” ■
Apart of the 1901 Productions team from its very conception, writer, editor and designer Dustin Lohman has found the key to bringing his artistic visions to life.
Storyboarding is an art in and of itself, and has been a consistent tool in Lohman’s work. As he wrote the script for Dissociate, he at the same time was envisioning how the story would play out onscreen. Through his storyboards, Lohman was able to then visually communicate how exactly he wanted the film to look, resulting in a final product that is a near perfect match.
“Storyboards are an important part of filmmaking because you're piecing apart the film before we start the production process,” says Lohman. “When production starts, the crew looks at them to keep a fluent vision throughout the process.”
Working in film requires long hours of collaboration, often late into the night or during morning early hours. The result? The most rewarding moments, ones 1901 Productions members will recall for the rest of their lives.
“I will always remember when I made dinner for the entire cast and crew after a long day of filming. We were all so tired but it was fun to sit down with everyone, hangout and admire what we had accomplished that day.”
- Faith Fitzsimmons“When everything comes together, it’s all worthwhile. I’ve only been here for about five years, but I get to see some of these students go from freshmen all the way up to having their film on a 40-foot screen. That’s something they’ll remember, and I really like seeing it.“
- Professor Eric Hector“At first, the Darkroom daily calls were in red. Zach Cook did not like the daily calls. He was kind of grumpy about it. So one day we decided to change it to blue, and he was like, ‘The daily call looked so nice today, guys!” Working with people is funny.”
- Rebecca Murphy”“We’d have all the vending machines on campus pinpointed because we needed co ee every second of the hour. We’re tired college students, and then we’re up doing what we love with our friends at two three in the morning just having the time of our lives. We’re making super serious films but everyone is dying laughing.“
- Nico MhoWe collaborated with Dr. Corey Seapy and with Anna Corvera to have film, live dance, recording that with the wind ensemble all onstage in [Kirkland Performing Arts Center] on the mainstage. That was a super fun experience. It looks really good.”
- Professor Johnnyhindsight,
funniest
a director and a first AD. We were in a house filming in the kitchen and the living room, and all the actors were sitting around the kitchen table. They went to leave the room, and one person turned around and dramatically slid shut the barn doors behind them. It was the most cinematic moment I have seen in my entire life.”
- Zachary Cook“One night, we got the van stuck in my backyard because it was muddy. It was the van with all of our equipment, and we couldn’t get it to move. There were eight of us pushing it, and it finally moves, and it just showers me with mud. I just stood there for a moment, and couldn’t speak to anyone for like an hour. I needed to recover.”
- Benny ZielkeAnd, what seems to be everyone’s favorite 1901 story: Production for Glitch had already begun, and the classic red door from the end of the film was not yet built. For hours, as the rest of the team filmed the short, Dustin Lohman was trying to get the door to hang properly. They’d check in between scenes, but, no, the door still wasn’t ready, and soon it was time to film it opening for the short’s protagonist. Their solution? Rather than hinges doing the work, it’s two 1901 Productions students swinging the door open and closed. Next time you watch Glitch, watch closely—can you tell? ■
“One of the really cool experiences was working with the wind ensemble.
Power
“In
one of the all-time
moments was during an argument between
Katherine, a college photography student, embarks on a dark journey after discovering disturbing photos in her school’s photo development room. She and her best friend Mia go down a terrifying rabbit hole of investigation, suspense and fear that puts a serious strain on their relationship. Will they be able to find the source of the photos, enact justice and maintain their friendship? Darkroom is an intense thriller that explores the ways in which individuals react to violent traumas.
Sonder: An Anthology of Loss was 1901 Productions’ first feature-length film. What an accomplishment.
When I think of Sonder, the first thing that comes to mind is how proud I am of all the students who participated in the project. It was Johnny — that is, Professor Power — and I that first brought up the idea of creating a full-length feature. I was happily surprised by the enthusiasm the students showed for the idea. They approached the project with a can-do attitude, along with a realistic understanding that they were taking on quite a monumental task.
very start, they embraced the challenge with dedication and perseverance.
Filmmaking, even under the best of circumstances, is a di icult and demanding job, and Sonder did not begin under the best of circumstances. The project had little to no budget, a very limited amount of time and an ambitious goal. By tackling this challenge head on, 1901 Productions really learned what it means to run an independent film company.
To make the film more manageable, we suggested an anthology approach — breaking the length down into four separate stories. As the class discussed ways to connect the individual stories into a thematic whole, everyone had creative ideas to contribute. I believe it was
I don’t think the class fully realized the enormous amount of work that they had committed to, but from the 1901
Johnny who suggested the idea of “loss.” I was fascinated and surprised by how quickly the students coalesced around that concept.
Upon reflection, I think the choice of loss was a reflection of the world in which their first feature was being made. The pandemic was in full swing, and an exploration of loss seemed a fitting subject indeed. I really do think that the film is a touching, artistic commentary on the times these students were living through.
This international crisis not only influenced the theme of the film, but added to the challenges. In a time when many major international film companies had slowed down or stopped production completely, 1901 Productions was determined to make their
movie. They figured out ways to work through the pandemic, continuing to move forward while following national, local and school guidelines, always focused on keeping people safe.
I think it all became real for them when they committed to the May 15th premiere at the Lincoln Square Theater. (Thanks again to LaVelle Hunt, a great friend who really made the scale and community involvement of the Sonder premiere possible!) Once that date was set in stone, the pressure to hit their deadlines increased exponentially — a motivating factor that professional filmmakers face every day.
I really believe the premiere was a moment that many of these students will hold with them for the rest of their lives. It was an amazing success. The students really outdid themselves. The photo line, the red carpet, the pomp and circumstance of the evening was really all of their own creation. They built a real sense of celebration around the event and I was astonished by how truly wonderful it was. It was a joyous celebration made all the more exuberant by how richly deserved the recognition was.
They say there are two exclusive clubs in film making. Exclusive club number one: you actually make your movie. Many movies are planned or started each year, but never actually get made. Then there is club number two, the most exclusive club of all: you make a movie that actually makes a profit. The amazing thing is that the
1901 students who produced Sonder will graduate college as members of both: Sonder: An Anthology of Loss made more than four times its cost in one night of ticket sales. When 1901 students graduate from Millikin, they will not want to be filmmakers. They will already be filmmakers. I wanted them to have the experience and the confidence to go onto a professional movie set and say, “Oh yeah, I’ve done this before.” Filmmaking is creative problem solving, and the way you learn to solve creative problems is by facing them and working through them. Experience teaches you to trust your instincts, how to forge teams and why moving forward is worth it, despite any di icult circumstances. Every student who participated in the creation of Sonder has gone through this film and come out on the other side with an expressive and profitable piece of quality cinema to be proud of.
It was hard work, and literal blood, sweat and tears went into the project. But from that crucible, relationships were formed that I believe will last lifetimes. I expect many of these students will continue to collaborate long after they have graduated, and I know I will see several of them in the credits of major feature films very soon. I have seen firsthand what they are capable of accomplishing, and I expect nothing less.
I know that my pride will only continue to grow as they continue in their careers. No matter where life takes them, they will all move on from their time with 1901 Productions knowing that what they did was truly di icult, and that they succeeded enormously. Together, they created something they could all be proud of, and really, that’s all I could ever want for them. ■
Iwish that I could say that Loss of Self came from some deep, unexpected or noteworthy place, but honestly, it just came out of a class assignment.
We’d had a rough start to 1901 that first year and were burnt out from doing projects for other people. Before summer break, we set the (honestly ridiculously lofty) goal of making an entire feature film by ourselves. We agreed on the throughline “loss” and then we were sent o to enjoy a summer full of friends, sunny days and no assignments — other than to come back with scripts, of course.
I went through a lot of genres conceptualizing this film: Was it comedy? Horror? Action? But above all else, I
By Benny Zielke
kept coming back to wanting to explore more visual ways of storytelling. Film is a visual medium, and I wanted to make my character’s inner conflict more visually compelling — perhaps by somehow taking the voices in their head and putting them on the screen.
At the same time, I was researching an acting technique based on determining whether characters are led by their head, heart or gut. I thought it might be intriguing to write a character whose head (logic), heart (emotions) and gut (instincts) were physical characters debating their decisions amongst themselves, characters that only they could see. Originally, I was just going to send that character and the three people in their head o on some quest — o to find a ring,
meet a friend, one of those classics. But then a much more intriguing question hit me: What happens if one of those three core components is lost, leaving the other two reeling in their absence? Thus, Loss of Self was born.
I intentionally never specified what traumatic event causes the main character of Loss of Self, Avery, to become disconnected from her heart. This is not a story about causation, or about harm.
Rather, I set out to take the audience along on her journey of struggle, healing and finding herself again. These parts are named as characters, not as concepts, in the interest of giving the creative team room for interpretation.
Sophie (head), Hope (heart) and Jolene (gut) all make up
Avery’s mind for the entirety of the film, but never once is it explicitly stated what they’re meant to represent.
My goal with these two remaining parts of Avery’s inner self — Sophie and Jolene — was to visualize why it is so hard for us to reach out and ask for help. These characters, with their knowit-all logic and stubbornlyindividualistic instincts, are constantly butting heads. Only Avery’s gentle heart is able to unite them. When this part of her is lost, I intentionally left gaps in their conversations, gaps where each character expectantly turned toward Hope so that she could guide them to a peaceful resolution — only for them to remember she’s gone, and become paralyzed by conflict and grief.
When you’re a writer, part of yourself just sort of makes it in naturally, whether you like it or not. As a trans person
who was assigned female at birth, college was ripe with traumatic experiences for me that I had to learn to grow through. I definitely see myself in Avery in that way — in her coping mechanisms and grieving processes rather than her struggles.
Seeking professional help and opening up to my own incredibly supportive best friend were the two things that got me through some of the toughest moments of my life. I wanted Avery, too, to be surrounded by a team of genuinely good, caring friends who tried to help her any way they could, but I also wanted to show that ultimately, no one could fix her problems but her. Avery finally faces her fears and finds herself again, reminding the audience that no one can help you until you’re ready to help yourself. The most emotional scene for me to write was when
Avery finally reunites with Hope — the lost part of herself. Hope is at the scene of the crime, bruised and frightened but still patiently waiting. She speaks maybe two lines in the entire script, but her absence is felt in every scene. Avery’s full self-reuniting is a moment of forgiveness, and it really hit home as I was writing.
I will never forget the first time I saw the scene shot and edited together. The actors brought to life all the grief, pain, relief and joy I had felt at my own writer’s desk. I cried when I watched it, as I was writing the score and every time since. It was moving not only because it’s personal, but because it’s important. My hope is that others, too, are able to find themselves in Avery, and feel that same catharsis I did in finally seeing themselves come home. ■
As someone who identifies as not entirely creative but not entirely logistical, I came to college looking for a creative and collaborative space that I could thrive in. Producing became the perfect outlet for me, with organizational responsibilities but also the freedom to give creative input and help out on set.
I have loved film from a young age, and always knew I wanted to work in the industry. With hard work, I knew I could bring visual stories to the screen, inspiring people the same way others have done for me. Film is an escape from whatever may be going on in life, and immerses the audience in a completely di erent world. Being part of 1901 Productions gave me the opportunity to make this happen, and I am thankful to have had that
experience before I entered the professional world.
Naturally, when 1901 decided to create a full feature anthology made up of four short films, I immediately volunteered to be the producer on the first.
I was nervous because 1901 Productions had never done a project of this size, and I would be setting the tone for the rest of the films. However, once I got to work, the nerves faded almost immediately. I was doing the job that I had always dreamed of. Don't get me wrong — it was stressful, and it was time consuming. I was in charge of thirty plus people, both crew and cast. I was responsible for scheduling all shooting days, solving any obstacles we faced and being the person that everyone was directed to contact with any questions or concerns.
I would spend hours crafting my
daily call sheets — I wanted to do the best possible job.
Not only did I learn about being a producer, but I also learned to be comfortable on a film set. Just by being there, I picked up on how to use di erent film equipment, how to set up lights and light a scene, how to interact with actors, how to visually achieve what a director wants a shot to look like and so much more. The best producers know how to do every job on set — a lesson I’m grateful to have learned early on.
Producing is a lot of hard work, but it’s more than that, too. My work with 1901 introduced me to some of the best people I have ever met, people that shared my passion for film and would become my friends and co-collaborators on many other projects in the future. Even today, they are my film family. Looking
back, volunteering to be the producer on that first film was one of the best decisions I have ever made.
Little did I know that this first film, Loss of Self, was just the start of a much bigger project. I enjoyed the production process so much that I went on to assistant direct the following two short films and to take the job of executive producer for the entire anthology. I felt like I was truly working as a professional producer. Everyone in 1901 dedicated their school year to creating something that Millikin had never seen before, working from as early as 5 a.m. to as late as 3 a.m. no matter if it was a weekday or a weekend. We loved it. We pushed ourselves because we all wanted to be able to say that we made a 90-minute feature film before we had graduated college.
Our anthology, Sonder, quickly became more than a
way to get film experience — it became our passion project. Everyone poured everything they had into this piece, and it made me fall in love with film even more.
The premiere of Sonder was one of my proudest moments. On that screen, I saw something that all college students could connect with, but it wasn’t just a student film; it was something that could have been played in theaters or on streaming services. The stories and the visuals were beautiful, and it was only a preview of what the company is capable of.
The anthology also launched 1901 into a new era. When 1901 first started, we were just a handful of young adults who loved film and wanted to make something. I didn’t even know it existed until it was in its second semester. Now, 1901 Productions is one of Millikin University's biggest draws for incoming students. I
consider it to be a legitimate and professional production company — something we never even dreamed of in those early days.
I graduated in 2022, and it was the experience I gained through 1901 that made me confident I was qualified to work in the film industry. I am forever grateful, to 1901 Productions itself and to those who I worked on Sonder: An Anthology of Loss with, for the lifetime of knowledge, inspiration and connections they have given me. ■
During my many long nights in the Aston studio, I worked to compile the stories we wanted to tell. Post-production, in my opinion, is one of the most important parts of filmmaking for this reason—it determines how a story is told. I took on the role of head of postproduction during my senior year, overseeing the edits going into each film and giving advice as to what might look best in the final product. I was able to work with so many talented individuals through this role, and hopefully rubbed o some of what I learned onto the newer students—especially the lessons that I learned the hard way.
One of the most educational pieces I worked on with 1901 was Dissociate. This film needed visual e ects to help explain the story, and I was part of the team assigned to create them. One character in the film, the Mass, is depicted as a person wearing white mask, but also as a shadow at di erent points throughout the film. He represents the darkness within, and as VFX artists we were in charge of making his shadow (in reality, footage of a young child) come alive.
One weekend, I sat back from the computer and had a realization that my hard work had paid o : everything had finally come together. It looked just as we had imagined, and I couldn’t have been more proud.
To this day, I swear I remember putting the drive on the corner of the desk when I finished that night, but when I came back, it was gone.
We were all running on so little sleep, there were limited supplies and anyone could have taken it or moved it. But there was no time to sit and wonder where it went. We were on a tight deadline, and I had to somehow recreate the entire project I had been working on.
Luckily, I had finally figured out how to make the shadow
look good just before we lost the drive, so I knew the basic steps I needed to recreate the e ect. It took another week or so to make the do-over, and I easily tripled the hours I had spent on the first version. The VFX were complete. They looked fantastic!
This experience was terrifying, but it’s a perfect example about how studentrun ventures taught us through experience. If I could only give one piece of advice to the 1901 students of the future, it wouldn’t be hard to decide what to say: DUPLICATE YOUR
PROJECTS!
If I would have backed up my project on the hard drive in the studio, none of this would have happened. I would have gotten those extra hours back to work on other exciting things. You would think that after four years of doing this, I would’ve learned my lesson… but nope! So please learn from my mistakes and back everything up. Pretty please with a cherry on top!
After all this mess, the drive has still (to my knowledge) never been found. So, if you find a 2TB Sandisk SSD with my first project on it, put that thing in a museum or something because it deserves to be locked away forever. ■
Igot a bit lucky in terms of landing my composition job with 1901 Productions. Lucky in a good way, as in lucky I like doing the things I do and lucky I have the creative friends and musical family I have.
When the Dissociate team approached me, I was taking an intro to screen scoring class. Millikin faculty from both the School of Music and School of Art and Creative Media had been trying to coordinate a collaboration between the class and 1901 Productions, but time got away — as it often does — and no one had decided the how of the matter.
One of my best friends, though, was involved with 1901 and knew I was interested in screen scoring and was taking the class. They
pitched my name in a meeting, and soon reached out to ask if I wanted to take on the project of composing the music for their new film. Lucky me!
It was the best example of performance learning, as I got to put all of my new skills to the test right as I was learning them. I did most of the scoring toward the end of the semester, but I do remember days when I found myself leaving the lab and thinking “I could use this in Dissociate.” Still, I learned more with the practice than I would have from only taking the class — there were technical aspects of the art that I just had to figure out along the way.
Working with the director and other members of the production team was also super fun and
valuable. I remember meeting with Benny Zielke to discuss how we wanted to approach the music, and leaving full of cool ideas. I was able to grasp onto more of that inside perspective that makes creative people like Benny able to put a story on the screen. Being able to get a glimpse of their brain to understand the characters, scenes and story was probably one of the most important, and fun, parts of the project.
Some inspiration for the score and instrument selection came from Hildur Guðnadóttir’s Joker, as she features string in a prominent way, especially the cello. Our story similarly explores the psychological aspect of the main character’s journey, and so Benny and I settled on natural string sounds to represent the struggles
of our main character.
Once we had decided on style and instrumentation, we just needed musicians. Technology has come a great way with digital sounds and samples, but real players are able to bring emotion and depth to a story much more accurately than a computer can. My mom plays in a string ensemble back in Venezuela, where I grew up, and she and her group agreed to be a part of the film. We were going to be able to include actual recordings of real instruments!
This was such an interesting part of the process, as the recording happened exactly 2,423.2 miles away (according to Google Maps). I still had to somehow integrate it into the overall score though, as it was mixed with digital elements. Having re-written and rerecorded segments a couple
times, we managed to come up with a product that would fit into the media in the way we wanted. I am so thankful for my mom and her amazing group who were able to play this music for us, as well as for my dad who was in charge of the technical side of recording and editing from Venezuela. Truly an international feature!
Working on Dissociate left me with experience in more areas than I was anticipating. As a Windows user, there were late nights where I had to spend hours on the Mac computer just trying di erent key commands to try to get programs running. Other nights, I’d leave the music building at 4:00 a.m., or sit on my friends’ couch trying to come up with ideas or editing parts to send to South America for recording.
I am no John Williams, and Dissociate in no way or shape
has the best film score ever written. But for my first time scoring for visual media, I’m proud of my work making Dissociate sound just as good as it looks. ■
I've always been fascinated with the aesthetic of cities at night, how places of high tra ic and population during the day can become quiet and empty at night. That feeling of late nights on campus, roaming through the dark and never really being safe in a place meant to protect you, turned into Darkroom, a film that is both empathetic and empowering.
At first, Darkroom was no more than a vague concept of an aesthetic: something tense, suspenseful — maybe a thriller with a cat-and-mousetype game. Over the course of a few months, this abstract idea solidified into an actual script. I'm not a great writer by any means, and I think I tried condensing a feature-length idea into a thirty-minute short.
The first draft of the script was forty-five pages — way too long for what we were attempting to do.
Cuts, reworking and replacements helped me recognize a fundamental issue in my story: I didn’t even really know what it was about. Some elements we cut just weren’t feasible for our level of production, while some just weren’t coming together. I knew, though, that Darkroom needed to be personal, and in that understanding, I found an opportunity.
My friends in 1901 Productions became the first friend group I had at Millikin that really connected me to the campus. Through these people, I started hearing about a lot of issues I hadn’t been previously aware of, issues both on campus and in
By Zach Cook DARKROOM
the world in general. Sexual assault was happening everywhere, and I was angry and frustrated with the things my friends had gone through and at how helpless they were made to feel when those things happened. I felt I needed to say something, to make some statement about it. Darkroom became a vehicle for that statement.
It was very late in the process, but the whole idea was suddenly very clear: The film would be about sexual assault and it would end in justice.
That meant, though, that I had to fit this focus into the script I had already written. It wasn’t easy — one character, Mia, appeared in an entirely di erent light with the context of such heavy subject matter. Her actions didn’t seem
justifiable anymore. It seemed unlikely to me that she would shoot Katherine down from investigating when there was this serious threat involved. From the beginning, the core of the story was that the events of the film put a strain on their relationship, but I didn’t want to turn Mia into an antagonistic sexual-assault apologist. That wouldn’t work at all.
Eventually, enough ideas melded together and this duo stuck through it to the end. Only after the events in the darkroom does their relationship finally reach that breaking point. It isn't that either character does anything wrong; I just thought about how, realistically a friendship may not be able to go back to normal after something like that. By the end, it’s clear a permanent change has been enacted on both.
Even after I’d identified the heart of the story, I had yet to resolve its greatest issues. The conversations throughout were exposition-heavy to the point of being problematic: Katherine would ask question after question to try to move the plot forward, and it just didn't feel right. These were the big, heavy personal scenes that carried out the film's message, and I was utilizing victims as plot devices. It felt gross, and it became clear to me that in my enthusiasm to tackle the subject matter,
I never stopped to consider if I was the right person to take on such a task. I realized that these characters were basically just extensions of myself, and I haven't been through anything like what I was writing about. I didn't have the knowledge or experience to tell their stories. I didn't have the perspective.
With this understanding, I asked our wonderful line producer Benny Zielke if he would help me write those scenes. I knew from the subject matter of Loss of Self, which Benny wrote, that he had an understanding he
could share with me. I was shocked to see that he didn't really change that much. By adding in a few key changes to dialogue here and there, a phrase, an idea, it really elevated the ending. I couldn't be more thankful because his perspective is what made those scenes so powerful.
Each of the victims have a di erent instinctual reaction to the trauma: Lennon wants to forget and have the evidence destroyed, Hannah wants revenge and Emily (the most tragic character, in my opinion) didn't even know anything had happened to her. It was
important to me to explore the di erent ways sexual assault can a ect people, and Benny loved that approach. Together, we handled this sensitive matter in a way we’re both proud of. And that brings me to Katherine.
Spolier: the final twist is that Katherine is a victim, and that the photos she finds are mostly photos of herself. This was the last addition to the script. I realized that Katherine didn't really have any motivation to go as far as she does, to do what she does, aside from wanting to bring justice to a predator. That's
how the story was originally written, and after that final scene was added, I didn't have to change a single line of dialogue. This element of her identity was there all along, just so implicit that even I as the writer didn’t recognize it. It’s the last puzzle piece that tied these characters all together.
No one needs to see what exactly is in the photos. This film is dark, but in subject matter and tone only. I wanted to avoid anything too graphic because I felt it would detract from the sensitivity of the topic. I struggled with even
showing the burning of the photos but thought that the symbolism of that was empowering enough. It’s disturbing through suggestion.
I wanted Darkroom to be especially watchable for people who could relate to the subject matter. It's uncomfortable, but the only explicit content is enacted on the predator. The characters don't beat around the bush with their dialogue, but never have to specifically say anything that could be triggering. It was all about showing as much as we could, without going too far — your imagination fills in the gaps.
The audience must pay extra close attention to Lennon, Hannah and Emily for context clues about what happened to them, just as we all should in real life. Darkroom is about giving a voice to people that feel they don’t have one. I feel proud that it was received so well, but even more so, I would love it if one day people can’t relate to this subject matter anymore. Until that day comes, I hope it can help people feel the courage to speak up, speak out against violators and predators and feel like they're not alone. At the very least, I hope some can find comfort in the dark revenge fantasy that is Darkroom. ■
As a kid, I would read books and imagine what a film adaptation would look like in my head. My favorite part of creating these mental movies was picturing the characters come to life. I would dream of my favorite books becoming movies and look at lists of celebrities to pick out which of my favorite A-listers would make the cut, as if twelve-year-old me had any say. When I realized it’s someone’s job to make those decisions, that was when I realized what I wanted to do.
My first real experience
with this dream was during 1901 Productions’ Darkroom, a short film written and directed by Zachary Cook and featured in Sonder: An Anthology of Loss. I’ve been a part of 1901 Productions since spring of 2022, and in that time, I’ve gotten the chance to try my hand at many di erent behind-the-scenes aspects of film. This, though, was the first time I got to be a casting director, and suddenly my middle school career interest was a reality. Seeing my name in the credits of our feature-length anthology was even more surreal. In that process, I learned so much about what it takes to find the
right talent to bring a creative idea to life.
Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, we accepted virtual self-tape auditions for Darkroom, with in-person callbacks to test chemistry between the actors. Typically, virtual auditions are only done in extreme cases (like a pandemic) or on major productions that accept a massive number of auditions, as they are easier to go through and make cuts. On a small scale, like for 1901, in-person auditions are preferred.
Too much goes into the casting of a project to base the entire decision on a video: technical
skills, how one looks on camera, chemistry, vision and more. On the technical side, you have to cut people due to things such as lack of availability, if their physical appearance does not match the overall theme or message of the story or if they lack the ability to perform certain special skills that cannot be handled by VFX. On the creative level, you have to see who really brings the script and the character to life, whilst also working with other actors to create realistic and believable relationships.
Actors must be able to perform in front of a room of people, because when production begins, that’s exactly what they do. Many believe that acting for film is just a camera and a director, but the crew is integral to the filming process. Performances take place in the presence of the director, assistant director, camera operator, audio recorders, grips and more — and are done over and over again. Casting with other people are in the room can give us a sense of the actors’ comfortability in performing in front of us, a skill they’ll need to have to take on months of filming.
Every actor brings life to a character in a di erent way, which can even influence the director’s vision. I’ve seen firsthand how directors can be charmed by how an actor reads a line or performs a scene and change their vision to accommodate the choices they loved. Seeing what each actor
brought to the characters was a wonderful experience, and I did a lot of talking with the director to decide who was the right fit for their vision. It is truly magical to see what talent does with the script, but in the end, you have to find people who work with both the vision and other actors to bring the ideas o the page. You can have the most talented actor who portrays a character exactly as envisioned, but if they don’t mesh well with actors being considered for other roles, they might not be the best choice. There is a level of unity that must be met when you’re filling in a fictional world.
We met a lot of people while casting Darkroom. Deciding who was best for roles like Kat and Mia depended on the creative choices and aura each actor gave their character, as well as how well they worked together to create a believable chemistry. We were lucky to find such talented actors who brought strength and independence to their characters but could come together in a scene and believably rely on one other.
Casting is a hard job in that someone will always be disappointed in your final choice. Everyone has their own opinion, and a team member may wish you had chosen one person over another or had someone in a di erent role. But as much as casting is a casting director’s job, it is the rest of the team’s job to trust that you have the best interest of the film in mind.
The biggest joy of doing what I do is telling cast members they got the job. As the film begins to piece together, I get to see the actors I chose find joy in every shot we complete. They become fully immersed in the set, costumes and makeup, and I know I’ve made the right choices. And, of course, there is no better feeling than seeing my name roll past in the credits. ■
Pre-production for Sword and the Stone opened up a whole new world, one with a role I didn’t realize would fit me perfectly.
I started o in charge of locations. I was a little apprehensive; I had never done it before, and wasn’t super familiar with how to secure spaces or how to pick ones that would match the director’s vision. When I saw one of my friend’s houses, though, I knew it was perfect, and having that personal connection helped me to secure it. As time went on and we made further progress with the film, finding locations and communicating what we needed from them became much easier. I learned to trust my gut — something that would prove incredibly important later on.
With this newfound confidence, I was more excited than ever about the work I was doing. This role was perfect.
But when an emergency arose and the line producer could no longer continue in their position, I was asked to step up. I knew just how much a line producer does,
and the opportunity seemed super daunting. At the same time, though, I felt equally prepared for the job. I had seen my friend Kev Dionysus produce Darkroom, and was there every step of the way. I watched them create schedules and communicate between teams and was naturally drawn to and fascinated by the work they were doing. I had been preparing long before I knew I would have to.
I was honored to be o ered the position, and stepped right in. The work was nonstop and full speed ahead — an environment I actually love. It was during this time that I realized how much I love working with scheduling and communication. I learned what I am capable of, how well I handle being under pressure. Management is a whole new side of my artistry that I had never touched before, and it’s perfect for me.
The production process was a roller-coaster. On low
days, it could feel like the whole world was caving in. On other days, though, the best days, I would breathe in that lovely soy-smelling Decatur air and remember why I was there.
The one thing that has always stuck out to me, though, is the fun memories I made with my fellow crew members and the actors. What makes the movie-making process so memorable is being able to remember these o -screen moments while I’m watching the final product — it’s like watching two movies simultaneously, but one of them you lived and one of them you created. It’s wild.
Even during the stressful and infuriating moments on and o set, it was always worth it. I made art and I made wonderful, life-long connections. Even more than that, I really got to know myself. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
In October of 2019, during my senior year of high school, I decided to pick up a makeup brush for the first time ever. And so my journey started. *Cue dramatic music and coming-of-age title card.*
I had worked (and still work) at a haunted house back at home, and thought the special e ects makeup there was really cool. Watching other artists there, and countless online videos, taught me everything I know. But outside of performing at the haunted house, I didn’t have much of an opportunity to show o what I’d learned. Yet.
Sword and the Stone was the first 1901 Productions film I auditioned for. I didn’t expect much — especially not a big role — and was surprised when I was o ered the lead. I accepted it without a second thought. I didn’t really know what to expect, but I was really happy to have the opportunity to act in a film. It’s the field I want to go into, and I was excited to dive in, both as a performer and as an SFX artist.
Typically, makeup planning is done during the pre-production process, but I wasn’t enrolled in the class so I wasn’t part of that stage. Luckily, when I read
through a script, I tend to visualize the scenes in my head. The table read of the script also helped me understand the director’s goals, which ultimately led me to bring his vision to life.
Doing my own SFX makeup was really challenging. Normally, I wouldn’t have such a di icult time, but I had to apply the makeup on my own hands — meaning I had to try and not smear it all o during the application and filming processes.
That’s to say, I was in a sticky situation. Ba dum tsss.
Just a few things I learned while working on Sword and the Stone:
1.
Only bring the makeup you need to set. You don’t want to wheel a huge kit a quarter of a mile through a park just to use one part of it. Trust me: It gets tiring after a few days.
Plan ahead. If there’s a prosthetic you’re going to need, think about how you’re going to apply it and how you’re going to make it, if you need to. Yes, I’m speaking from experience.
