READ: (Student) Film Star

Shooting Arvin Bautista's USC short Deer Season (2006) -- it was just the beginning!

 “What are you working on now?”

It’s the oldest question in show business. And one of the first ones you’re asked whenever you run into a former industry co-worker.

And when I reply with something like “Oh, I just finished a USC grad thesis film!” (Or an AFI “visual essay,” or a student film at Chapman University), an odd expression flashes across their face.

It’s a tight, polite smile, or a slightly furrowed brow – an expression that suggests, Aww, he’s still doing student films. At his age? How sad. Hasn’t he moved past that?

And I always stifle the urge to proudly reply, “No! I have not. And why the hell have you?”

Desperation has nothing to do with it. I’ve been around long enough to know exactly what I’m doing, and why!

Here’s a reality check: student films get finished! The film isn’t just a passion project dependent upon investors’ money and the director’s whims. It’s an assignment with consequences. Grades are on the line. The movie gets done, within months (sometimes weeks) instead of years.

And when (not if) it’s finished, you actually get a copy! You don’t have to threaten filmmakers with legal action (yes, I have!), cajole production companies, beg TV networks. Because on “real” shows, content is often locked behind platforms, files are compressed. Access is fragmented across various companies.

Student filmmakers will most often send you their cut promptly. Proudly. Like it’s a cake they just baked, and they can’t wait for you to taste it while it’s still warm!

And just like that, you have new, professional-grade material for your demo reels.

And in that regard, student films can also be a real career saver! For example:

After my series Old Dogs & New Tricks ended it’s run, I stepped away for a few years. I needed break from the 24/7 intensity of the show. I needed to pay attention to my real life for a while.

A lot had changed in the industry while I was playing Nathan Adler. I was returning to a show business I didn’t recognize, and wasn’t entirely comfortable with – the new standard of “self-taping” one’s auditions, for one thing.

What do you mean, I need a studio in my apartment? 

But once I returned, I faced a daunting obstacle. All of the footage on my reels was… archival. Lovely, flattering, but archival. Now, I’m very proud of all my footage from my series, but it said, “Here he is, five years ago!”

I needed scenes that showed what I look like now, gray hair, wrinkles, and the rest.  

Student films solved my dilemma almost immediately. Within 18 months, I had four new film credits, and thus a lot of current footage for those reels.

This is Now: as bad dad in Things Grow Inside Me (USC); as the doomed father in Legend of the Heather Ale (AFI); and evil Dr. Sybill in Death Doula (USC)

But doing these films isn’t just about the end result. It’s about the journey.

Let’s face it, playing with the kids keeps one young! Their enthusiasm is infectious. There’s not a bitter old veteran in the bunch (unless perhaps I fulfill that role!)

There’s no gatekeeping, no “system” that still thinks in categories and timelines. Just: Come play!

Student films do something the “real” industry often forgets how to do: they let you slip out of your assigned lane.

The professional industry loves a label. A type. It’s efficient. They want actors to fit one type, one age range. It’s like being a box of cereal with a barcode. Range? Save that nonsense until you’re famous!

Thankfully, student filmmakers haven’t succumbed to that thinking yet.

They’re still asking the deliciously dangerous questions:

What if we cast against type?

What if we age this character up?

What if we ignore everything that’s “supposed” to make sense?

As a result, I’ve had acting opportunities in student films that I’ll never see in a “real” show. I’ve played some juicy roles – neglective fathers, unfaithful husbands, despicable villains, men from centuries-old fables – instead of “Gay Bank Teller,” “Head Waiter,” or “Gay Guy on Bus.”

In this arena, I’m not auditioning to play yet another slightly tweaked version of myself. I’m somewhere else entirely. Someone I wouldn’t normally be invited to play. A life I wouldn’t normally be allowed to inhabit.

That’s not a step down, co-workers. That’s oxygen!

And it also keeps me performing while the industry itself seems to be contracting following the strikes, runaway productions, and too-many mergers.

And let’s not forget, University of Southern California, the American Film Institute, and Chapman University are three of the highest-ranked film schools in the country! They got the goods!

This was then: (from above) with Beck Bennett & Kyle Mooney in Inside Leo Krempkin's Brain; as a doomed priest in Gabriel; and one of my favorites, Patrick Dawn's aWake

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There’s been another, completely unexpected benefit to being a student-film star.

You see, when I first moved to Los Angeles in the early 2000s, I had another motive for doing student films beyond getting footage for my reel.

My husband Laurence suggested that maybe, just maybe, one of these students I work with will become the next Ron Howard, and would remember me when he/she made it big!

It was a nice theory.

What actually happened was far more interesting.

When I created Old Dogs & New Tricks, I found myself looking around for collaborators I could trust. People who worked hard, who cared, who would embrace working on something out of the “mainstream.”

I sent my scripts to Arvin Bautista, who had directed me in his wildly successful USC thesis film Deer Season.

“Do you know any filmmakers who might be interested in this?” I asked, never dreaming that he himself, a straight man in his 20s, would ask to produce and develop this series about middle-aged gay men.

And some of those former students I had worked for (Derek Stricker, John Cleland) directed episodes of the series. And much of the crew also came from those student film sets where we were all just trying to make something good with whatever we had.

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But back to today’s student films.

They still run on belief. Not money. Not status. Not the strategy of “what does this do for my brand.” Not “box office.” But belief. Everyone is there because they choose to be, fully aware that the reward is the work itself, and whatever doors it might quietly unlock later remain unknown.

It is an atmosphere of kinetic sincerity that’s hard to fake, and even harder to find once budgets get bigger and stakes get more intense.

So no, I will never see student films as beneath me. Or anyone else. (Even as most of the kids are now young enough to be my fucking grandchildren!)

Those films keep me feeling like an artist. And, in my case, they were absolutely essential in bridging the gap between who I was on screen five years ago and who I am standing in front of the camera today.

If that earns me a raised eyebrow or forced smile from actors who think I should have “graduated” by now, I can live with that.

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