I’ve long been fascinated by writer-director Dax Phelan, whose debut feature, Jasmine—starring Jason Tobin—was an award-winning hit on the festival circuit. Ten years after its premiere, I’m excited, as a fan, to catch up with Mr. Phelan about what he’s working on now.
Following your directorial debut Jasmine, what feature are you working on now that we can look forward to?
DP: It’s complicated. Since finishing Jasmine, I’ve been chipping away at a slate of features, a handful of limited series, and several PSAs for causes close to my heart. My original plan was to write, produce, and direct my sophomore feature, Kirkwood, in my hometown of St. Louis, Missouri.
Kirkwood is a Hitchcockian suspense thriller about Joe Dolan, a former police detective, and his estranged teenage son, Max. Their strained relationship is put to the test when they’re forced to work together to cover up an involuntary manslaughter. When the deceased’s family hires a ruthless private investigator who starts to suspect the Dolans, Max’s sanity frays and Joe must take extreme measures to keep their secret. I remain very excited about this project—it’s deeply personal. The idea came to me in a dream; my dad, a former police detective, and I fleshed out the story together; and I wrote the screenplay. It doesn’t get more personal than that.
In 2017, not long after Jasmine’s theatrical release, I moved back to St. Louis to begin pre-production. It wasn’t meant to be. Missouri’s tax credit program had ended after Gone Girl and hadn’t yet been reinstated (it has since). Two investors reneged at the last minute, which cost me matching funds. My executive producer passed away unexpectedly. Then my producing partner was hospitalized with life-threatening pneumonia. It was one thing after another. I pushed as hard as I could but finally had to throw in the towel in late 2019 for my own sanity. That was a very hard stretch, and I wish I’d handled it better. Still, I learned a lot from that seemingly endless series of disappointments, and that knowledge has informed my process ever since. The experience even inspired a recent PSA for Mental Health Awareness Month titled “Break the Silence.” So, something good did come of it.
By early January 2020, after my partner recovered, we decided to focus on an LA-set idea and revisit Kirkwood later. I began writing Claudia Durant, based on a concept I’d been nurturing for over a decade. It follows a haunted sex-trafficking survivor turned by-the-book DCFS caseworker who embarks on a rogue investigation when the LAPD fails to solve the murder of her teenage client—unraveling her life and exposing a conspiracy tied to her own past trauma. I finished the shooting draft on March 6, 2020, raised the first tranche of financing, took a brief R&R in Santa Barbara after two intense months of writing, and returned to LA… to lockdown. All that momentum—gone.
During the early days of the pandemic, COVID-19 took a relative and several friends. When my partner suggested a PSA, I jumped at it. “Final Moments” was well received worldwide—so much so that a government agency I won’t name even ripped it off. We ultimately produced three PSAs during the pandemic. I’d never been interested in commercials or PSAs before, but the 30-second format became a unique creative challenge and a welcome outlet. It was refreshing to shoot, edit, and release something within days. We still make PSAs: “Break the Silence” was released this past May for Mental Health Awareness Month and is now on most platforms; I hope it helps people.
During lockdown I also discovered Journeymen by British author Mark Turley. I’ve been a boxing fan my whole life and was shocked by how little I knew about journeyman boxers—veterans paid under the table to lose to prospects so the latter can pad their records. I’d always wanted to make a boxing film—my Rocky, if you will—and finally found the fresh angle I’d been seeking. Turley and I wrote the screenplay together, and I couldn’t be happier with the result. It follows Kenny Breen, an alcoholic, drug-abusing, past-his-prime journeyman who continues fighting on the small-hall circuit after a diagnosis of neurological damage, risking everything to land a bout with a former rival who’s now a divisional star. UFC Hall of Famer Michael Bisping is attached to play the lead; Mayling Ng (The Suicide Squad) will play the love interest. We plan to shoot in Manchester, England, as soon as we complete financing—the 25% tax credit there helps.
Most recently, I finished an original neo-western in the Cormac McCarthy/Taylor Sheridan tradition titled El Vaquero. It’s about an elderly, undocumented Mexican cowboy who becomes homeless, jobless, and penniless after the ranch he’s served as foreman his whole life is sold to a developer—forcing him to survive in a modern world where he doesn’t belong. The idea came while I was volunteering for Meals on Wheels near my new home in the Santa Ynez Valley (I relocated in 2021). I delivered food to an old Mexican cowboy who’d lived and worked on a horse ranch like generations of his family. I wondered what would happen if the ranch were sold. I tried to return to interview him—Tuesdays with Morrie-style—but couldn’t locate him or the ranch. Meals on Wheels had no record; to this day, I can’t explain it. My friend Benjamin Cheek came aboard to executive produce, and I spent about a year on the script. It received a 9/10 on The Black List, which isn’t easy. I turned fifty in July and have been writing seriously for over thirty years, so it’s a pleasant surprise to have an original script so warmly received. We’re working toward a completed schedule and budget. We’re out to Edward James Olmos for the lead; he’s been directing a film, so we haven’t heard back yet.
I have a few other projects in the contract stage, but it’s too early to discuss them. Maybe next time—if you’ll have me back.
Having been in Hollywood for decades as a filmmaker, can you comment on the current climate of the industry and how you’re feeling about it?
DP: “Decades”—has it really been that long? I guess it has. Oddly, I feel like I just graduated from AFI and have barely accomplished anything since. I wonder if that feeling ever goes away.
As for the current climate: a lot has changed in the past five years. The business has always evolved in cycles, but recent changes feel exponential—the pandemic, the dual strikes, inflation, a lack of work, the rise of AI (“second-hand thinking”). I know many people with 20–30 years in the business who simply can’t survive anymore. Many left California, some moved back in with their parents, others quit the industry entirely. I don’t see it improving soon, which is scary. This may be the new normal. The business has always been hard, but it’s become much harder. I especially feel for recent film-school grads whose industry changed between enrollment and graduation.
When faced with daunting challenges, my instinct is to treat them as a character test and ask, “Dax, how badly do you want this?” Apparently, I still want it pretty badly, because I’ve never prepared a backup plan. I put my head down and work. Even if I became extraordinarily successful—Spielberg-level—I doubt I’d retire. I’m probably destined to die in the saddle.
Ironically, despite these challenges, it’s also easier than ever to make films. All you need is an iPhone and some imagination. Orson Welles would have killed for an iPhone. Imagine what he—or John Cassavetes—would’ve done with a lightweight, high-quality, easy-to-use digital camera (or two). With access to cameras no longer the primary barrier, the real question is: Why do you want to make films? If your aim is to express yourself and maybe effect meaningful change, then grab a phone and get to work. I’m not saying you’ll become the next Welles or Cassavetes, but if you truly love movies, you don’t have a choice but to make them, do you?
That said, social media has created a new dynamic. Increasingly, I meet people more interested in using the medium to become celebrities than filmmakers. That’s their choice, and I wish them luck. Just be honest with yourself about your intentions. End of TED Talk.
What is the biggest challenge for you as a filmmaker, and how do you push forward every day?
DP: The biggest challenge? Easy: money. Always money. My team and I are great at stretching a dollar—we shot my first feature in Hong Kong for the price of a used car—but even if you’re thrifty, you still need funds. Not just to make the film, but to survive while making it, which can take two years if you’re writing, producing, and directing, as I often do. Unless you’re independently wealthy (many indie filmmakers quietly are), you must learn to raise money—a crucial skill most film schools don’t teach sufficiently. Frankly, it’s irresponsible to graduate filmmakers without training them in this part of the process. If you take anything from this interview, let it be that raising money is an art unto itself and its importance can’t be overstated.
For a deep dive into financing and grants, I highly recommend producer Tara Ansley’s online course (she co-owns Fangoria Studios and is on Facebook). I forget the cost, but whatever it is, it’s worth it.
How do I push forward daily? I’ve always been a self-starter. Leave me alone with a blank page and I’ll write. Leave me with a camera and I’ll shoot. It’s meditative—maybe even self-soothing. It feels like a need, not a want. If I don’t create, I feel “off”; after a day or two, moody. A good therapist helped me recognize that.
So pushing forward isn’t the problem; choosing the right project and advancing it smartly is. Filmmaking is millions of decisions over time. To make a good film, you need to make good decisions—starting with the first. And you must surround yourself with people who excel where you don’t. I’m fortunate to have an A-team I’ve worked with for years. When they win awards, I’m thrilled, because I know how much they gave.
Finally, pushing forward is about how you handle problems. Movies are a list of problems solved (I think I stole that from Jerry Weintraub). Eliminate as many as possible before they happen. When one does, manage it before it derails you—know who to call. There’s always a person who can help (credit to my long-suffering publicist, Lon Haber).
Example: During Jasmine in Hong Kong, our only RED camera crashed. The film was in jeopardy. We had to ship the camera back to the U.S. for repair—an expensive, uncertain delay. I called my friend and local fixer, Berton Chang; he dropped everything, came to set, took the camera to FedEx, and handled the customs paperwork. Meanwhile, producer Jen Thym made calls and secured another RED to use—for free. We were shooting again in hours. This was when there were maybe three RED cameras in Hong Kong, including ours. Like I said: A-team.
In Hollywood there’s a lot of talk about the devaluation of writers, and many screenwriters have moved from features to television. How do you see this as a screenwriter?
DP: Given that TV is largely a writer-driven medium—and one of the few places where writers have real power—it’s easy to see the appeal. TV also offers more “real estate” to explore character arcs in depth. Storytelling is more cinematic, characters are more complex, and production values are higher than ever. There’s a lot of upside to participating in this “Golden Age of Television.”
The downside: streaming oversaturation is real, and many shows—even great ones like Mindhunter—struggle to find audiences large enough to justify their budgets.
Personally, I don’t have a hard preference for features versus TV; it depends on the story. Stories tell you the format that best serves them.
Do you like AI? How do you feel AI influences you as a filmmaker?
DP: It’s a mixed bag. I like that I can tell AI, “Give me an idea for a Dax Phelan film,” and get a logline, synopsis, themes, etc., in seconds. That’s impressive. The content of those ideas, however, usually wouldn’t make a very good story or film. The tech will improve, but I’m confident I’ll always have a few storytelling tricks AI won’t. I’m not worried about losing my day job—yet.
A friend, Josh Karp, said, “AI will never write The Big Lebowski.” He’s probably right; the AI version might end with Walter and Jesus facing off in a bowling tournament. Despite reservations, I’m a fan of emerging tech in filmmaking. Many writers fear AI will make them obsolete. I understand the concern, but I see AI as a tool—like a Steadicam. Kubrick used the Steadicam brilliantly in The Shining, but it’s not the right tool for every shot. Most of the time it’s overused. Finding the right application for AI is the trick.
What do you see as the future for Hollywood—or for indie filmmakers in Hollywood?
DP: Hollywood will endure; audiences will always seek entertainment. The delivery device will change. I think movie theaters will mostly disappear, and brain-computer interfaces like Neuralink will take over. Hard to imagine now, but it’s coming. This dates me, but the first time I saw a camera phone I asked, “Why would anyone need a camera on their phone?” I was dead serious. Funny now.
Many old-school filmmakers wax nostalgic about the theatrical experience. I don’t share that. I’m perfectly happy watching at home: no driving, no exorbitant prices, no bad seats, no blocked views. If I miss a line, I rewind; if it’s not good, I change the channel. I don’t need a crowd to enjoy something.
For independent filmmakers, I suspect things continue as they have—but to a lesser degree. A small few—the Chloé Zhaos, Sean Bakers, Ari Asters—will keep making features for companies like A24. Some will survive (even thrive) directing television. Indie films will continue to do well at the Oscars. But—though I hope I’m wrong—a lot of indie filmmakers will be in real pain. It’s getting harder to make films and survive simultaneously.
What’s the one project you’re most excited about right now?
DP: I’m excited about the whole slate, but I’m usually most excited about whatever has the best chance of getting made soonest. Projects come together at different times for different reasons; it’s hard to predict. I’d love to detail some new projects on the horizon, but NDAs prevent that.
One I can discuss is another PSA I wrote and plan to produce and direct in time for Mental Health Awareness Month next May. It’s titled “The Battle After,” and it’s designed to reach veterans suffering in silence. It was inspired by two Navy vets—twin brothers—I went to school with.
Do you have any advice for newbies who want to start writing or making films in Hollywood?
DP: I could write a book, but here are ten tips on my mind lately—no particular order:
- Timing over “luck.” The cream—talent, intelligence, work ethic—rises, but only if you’re in the right place at the right time with the right skills. Be ready for a long, painful wait. How much pain can you endure? Brace for it.
- Never stop learning. A BA or MFA doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing. Chances are you don’t yet have something to say—or the skill to execute it. I’ve learned more since film school than in it, and I keep adding to my bag of tricks.
- Send the elevator back down. If you succeed—especially as a director—don’t forget the team that helped you rise. You’re not obligated to use the same people forever, but don’t abandon them.
- Accept unfairness. Life and this business are unfair. Accept it, put your head down, work. (I struggle with this; my therapist calls me a “justice seeker.” There will always be someone less qualified landing “your” job.)
- Under-promise, over-deliver. Be that person. Everyone loves that person.
- Own your mistakes. If you wrong someone, take responsibility and apologize. If they wrong you but apologize, accept it and move on. I once failed to properly introduce a key collaborator and her role—an unintentional but disrespectful lapse. She confronted me; I apologized; we cleared the air. I won’t make that mistake again.
- Treat investors and donors like gold. Don’t disappear after the check clears. Keep them in the loop. Include them where possible. Too many producers burn relationships this way, making it harder for everyone.
- Send handwritten thank-you notes. Not email. Not text. Handwritten, by mail. It’s a lost art and it matters. I’ve hired people because they sent one.
- Read every contract. Don’t sign until you’ve read and understood every word. Don’t start work until the check or wire clears—no matter how well you know the person.
- In the immortal words of Commander Peter Quincy Taggart: “Never give up! Never surrender!”
Watch Jasmine on Apple TV now!
