John Myrick was born in Kansas City, Missouri and raised in El Paso, Texas. After a super brief college football stint at UTEP ended by a knee injury, he found himself on the El Paso set of Walter Hill’s Last Man Standing, where Christopher Walken praised his ability to convincingly lie dead on a cold, icy car in the desert. John took this as a sign, the cinema gods were calling!
He enrolled into the Brooks Institute of Photography in Santa Barbara, making dozens of emotionally shallow short films and attending film festivals. At one screening, his film print literally combusted in the projector. The audience applauded. John cried. Both reactions were correct.
Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
I was probably exposed to movies a little too young in the 1980’s, thanks to at home cable channels like HBO, Showtime, and Cinemax. One summer it felt like Conan the Barbarian, Mad Max, The Road Warrior, Star Wars, Superman, Jaws, and Animal House were playing on an endless loop. I was just a kid, but I was completely hooked.
In the 1990s, a “guru-type” guy at my local video store told me I had to watch Reservoir Dogs. Back when video store employees had their own curated sections, that recommendation hit hard. The commode story, Tim Roth rehearsing it, then the cut to him performing it in front of the mobsters felt like a flash of brain lightning! That was the moment I realized cinema had a much bigger canvas than I’d imagined, and I was drawn to it.
Tell us about your project “Impacted”.
I walk my two pit-mix rescue dogs, Riggins and Stevie, every morning, usually in Santa Barbara or West Hollywood. One June morning during our signature fog, I was walking them on the beach with almost no visibility. The ocean was completely still and quiet, and it felt like a black-and-white Twilight Zone set. I remember thinking: what if I stumbled onto something strange out here? I was totally alone except for the dogs.
That image stuck with me and became the seed of a short story about a man with a film camera shooting b-roll who captures something unsettling under lonely, low-visibility conditions (The Sanchez Film). From there, the idea expanded into the A-story: a local access TV program called Impacted—”the best cinema appreciation show on local access”—that takes on the restoration of the old black-and-white footage. Thanks to our local sponsors (my real-life SB friends Boss HossBarbeque and Wise Acres Winery and a special nod to Pump and Dump, a parody of a local septic pumping company with Disney-like commercials). Things quickly go off the rails when the intern handling the restoration turns out to be obsessed with horror films and recuts the material to be genuinely terrifying. Since it’s local access, I leaned hard into the low-budget, DIY chaos of it all, which ultimately led to a fun, strange short film that embraces those limitations rather than hiding them.
Which Director inspires you the most?
I’ve been inspired by different directors at different times Milius, Scorsese, Coppola, Tarantino, Peckinpah, Nolan, and more recently PTA and Sean Baker. That said, Christopher Guest had a big subconscious influence on Impacted, especially the love of low-budget chaos and absurd humor.
What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
Ha – honestly, we don’t need any more profit-obsessed shortsighted CEOs! When is enough enough?! We need more artists, storytellers and original voices. People who make the world more imaginative, thoughtful, hopeful and human. That’s the change I’d like to see.
How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
I think passionate stories will still be told, hopefully by underdog storytellers 🙂 Formats and technology are evolving fast. Will IMAX-style screens become the new normal? Will our phones shoot an IMAX type image with an app? Hopefully, all these changes open the door for underdog voices with something amazing to say about our shared human journey.
What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
I’m new to Wild Filmmaker, but I’m really enjoying it! It feels fresh and a great platform for interviews and connecting with like-minded cinema enthusiasts.
I am a sensory illusionist. My technique as a visual artist employs the integration of color, light and texture with many surface variations and includes mixed media. Sculpted Paintings® (my registered brand), uses the texture created by layering canvas on canvas.
The addition of the founding documents of the United States symbolizes the struggle we have endured. The colors that I use in the flag and landscape paintings embodies the beauty and wonder of our spirit and the written words found throughout the work are a testament to the very nature of who we are as a people.
As a filmmaker, Tipping Point has expanded the experience of seeing the images and prose and the impact on the viewer becomes of this moment and our shared experience moving forward.
As an artist, there is an attempt to balance what is stated and what is suggested. I hope to share my work through many mediums, and I aspire to convey personal insight through a universally understood concept.
-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
After watching the Ten Fingers of Dr. T., I became intrigued with the story and its effect on my psyche. Later, I realized the memory of that film had a profound influence on my way of thinking as to what is possible in film, by the telling of the story and what is revealed in the imagery.
-Tell us about your project “Tipping Point”.
I am reminded of the story around The Statue of Liberty. Poet and activist Emma Lazarus wrote the poem “The New Colossus”, as a fundraising effort for the pedestal on which to place the statue.
The sonnet was not originally attached to the statue, but subsequently, became the identifying symbol of liberty.
Tipping Point is the culmination of my paintings and poetic prose to initiate a visual conversation around who we are and what we could aspire to as people living in this nation or any nation.
Everyone is searching for the hero to fix our current situation, but a hero isn’t an abstract concept.
It’s you, it’s me, it’s us, together. We are the heroes we have been searching for. We can remedy this situation that is unlike the very nature of who we are.
-Which Director inspires you the most?
My favorite projects include a bit of magic, the spark of creativity, the inclusion of invention of the unique and a sense of elevated style. I do not lean towards stories that have a literal way of viewing the world. I feel that most sophisticated work has grown beyond that way of storytelling.
-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
I try to work using my insight and skill and endeavor to create the realization of my vision.
This applies to every medium, even film. Yet, if the message is too distorted it will not be understood.
So, there is a need to be practical regarding the interplay between invention and reality.
-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
Our world has become so changed in the past one hundred years; we can only imagine what capabilities might be possible in the future. Surely technological advances will be a factor in what is said and how it is stated. Truly, I hope that we can use technology in positive ways to help all people have wonderful lives, that no one is sick or homeless or hungry. I feel real concern that there is already a battle for resources, but if these concerns are abated, then perhaps many people can use future technologies to create in unimagined ways.
-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
Thank you for using your platform, Wild Filmmaker to gather the thoughts and impressions, insights and creative processes of diverse creatives. It is an essential tool in exposing what is happening in the world of constantly evolving filmmaking.
I’m a French-American actor and producer based in Los Angeles. I was born in France, and I’ve been passionate about acting since I was a kid. Today, I’m focused on film and television projects, both in front of and behind the camera. I’m a member of SAG-AFTRA, and I’ve been fortunate to work on a variety of productions, including TV series and independent films. I’m also involved in producing, which allows me to help shape stories from the ground up. At my core, I’m someone who loves storytelling, collaboration, and taking on roles that challenge me. I’m driven, adaptable, and always looking for ways to grow — both as an artist and as a person.
–Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
Yes, I remember it clearly. I was eleven, sitting in a tiny theater in Orléans. There was a moment in the film when everything went silent, and it felt like the whole room was holding one breath. I’d never felt anything like that. I walked out knowing, deep down, that cinema wasn’t just something I loved — it was where I belonged
-Tell us about your project “FOOLPROOF”.
Foolproof is a mini-series I’m both acting in and producing. It follows two brothers who plan a risky heist to save their father, and the story digs into the moral lines people cross when they’re desperate. For me, the project is about authenticity — keeping the tension real, the emotions grounded, and the characters human. Being involved creatively from the start let me shape a world that feels raw and honest. At its core, Foolproof is a story about family, loyalty, and the price we’re willing to pay for the people we love.
-Which Director inspires you the most?
The director who inspires me most is Denis Villeneuve. There’s a quiet intensity in his work that I connect with — the way he builds tension through atmosphere rather than noise. His films feel alive, almost haunting, and every frame carries purpose. What I admire most is his ability to balance scale and emotion. No matter how big the world is, the human story is always the heartbeat. That’s the kind of storytelling I aspire to.
-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
What I dislike most about the world is how quick we are to disconnect from one another. We move fast, we judge fast, and we forget to see the human being in front of us. If I could change one thing, it would be to bring more empathy into everyday life — not in a grand, idealistic way, but in simple moments. Listening before reacting. Trying to understand before assuming. I think the world becomes a very different place when we choose empathy first.
-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
A hundred years from now, I think cinema will be even more immersive — maybe blending physical spaces, AI, and storytelling in ways we can’t fully grasp yet. But even with all the technology, I believe the heart of cinema will stay the same: a human story that makes you feel something. So in my mind, the future of cinema is bigger, more interactive, maybe even participatory — but still driven by emotion, truth, and connection. That part never changes.
-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
WILD FILMMAKER is inspiring because it champions independent voices and authentic storytelling. It’s a platform that values creativity and merit over budgets or connections, giving filmmakers a real chance to be seen. For me, it aligns perfectly with my approach: raw, human stories that connect with people, not just the market.
A young woman making sense of the world through filmmaking. I direct, write, produce, act, and work in the art department. I have a background in fine arts and have been a performer and an artist in many forms for my entire life. I’ve been a “filmmaker” for 5 years now, and my mission these days is just to write, write, write… write some more, make a feature film, make another, grow, change, build on my skills, and collaborate with great minds. Oh, and I’m from a tiny town in Texas, now based primarily in Los Angeles.
-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
Yes. I used to make only still images… I would paint, create large-scale murals, and get hired to shoot photographs at concerts. The moment I fell in love with cinema was the moment I realized that I could expand picture-making to 24 frames per second. That meant more of what I love, and more of creating an immersive experience for the picture viewer. It was about re-imagining what I myself experienced when shooting concerts: an inseparable relationship between the camera, the subject, the action, and the viewer. When making my films, I can re-create and re-interpret the feeling of a time and place and show it to you through my lens of the world. When that is achieved well, and you know you’re experiencing someone else’s dream or reality re-imagined, you just know it. There are no words for it.
-Tell us about your project “Doll Parts”.
Doll Parts was a tricky project to make because I played the lead as well as directed, and my co-lead Deanna Chukes and I basically improvved the whole thing. I brought my ideas, and since she’s a writer as well as an actress she understood the assignment. Danny Tran, who played all the “Toxic Men”, is a dancer and an actor, and was also wonderful all on his own without a script. My cinematographer Abery Saulsberry and I were working out lighting and blocking in real time which allowed for several sudden and exciting ideas to unfold that we got to execute immediately. We shot and edited it in two days.
The story is important to me because it is a collage of several ideas (and ex-partners) from over the years combined to create a short experience that embodies some of the fears and desires that I feel are rarely discussed. Doll represents more of an idea than a character: she is the idea that we take on labels from others and lose ourselves as nuanced and unique individuals. It is a cautionary tale about conforming to another person’s ideas of who you are, and in turn, losing who you are and finding yourself way off center. I hope that this film encourages people to evaluate their close relationships, their boundaries, their overall sense of self-worth, and to listen to their best friends when it comes to dating! Sometimes they know you, and know best.
-Which Director inspires you the most?
Agnes Varda. She carved her own path in a male-dominated industry in the 1950s with a voice that was distinctly poetic and curious. Her sensitivity toward everyday people and moments is aspirational. Her work is born out of a blend of documentary and fiction, with specific attention to female interiority, which is a similar recipe to what I use in my work. She never stopped evolving and trying new things until the very end – each commercial, film, and video that she made blows me away and keeps me wondering what will happen next. Her work is so unpredictable and fabulous. She lived as an artist for almost a century, which is also an amazing feat, and overall she seemed like a happy, energetic woman who worked alongside many great collaborators.
-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
I dislike very much how powerless people feel today. I wish I could meet with every single person and have a conversation with them about what would make them feel most powerful, and then formulate an actionable plan for each person to achieve that. We all unfortunately have to go on that path alone… except sometimes you see a great film and you walk out of the theater feeling a few inches taller and ready to take on the world.
-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
I believe in the future there will be A.I. films and human-made films, and they will be separated by the fact that the A.I. films are customized to the viewer and the human-made films aren’t. I mean, the human-made films will definitely have the benefit of meticulous data collection to be able to understand what the audiences want and what the market demands (much like we have today, but with advancements in tech and in greater detail). Still, I don’t think science and math can predict art – so only time will tell what the moment’s artists produce. Maybe they’ll make movies in 10D. I hope my kids and my kids’ kids will make movies, too.
-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
I appreciate how active Wild Filmmaker is out in the world as well as online! It definitely seems like the folks at Wild Filmmaker know how to love and support the film community.
I am an actor and director from Cremona, the Italian city of violins famous in the world. The love for acting was born when I was 10 years old, I cultivated it through ups and downs, but since 1995 it has become my greatest passion. After years of comic theater, in 2023 I decided to try to make my dream come true: cinema! Now I’m in the stable of an important agency for film actors, but I have a lot of fun writing and directing short films of which I am (obviously!) the protagonist… and I prefer the thriller genre!! I have made five films, the last one is now in post-production, which I have presented at some international festivals winning several awards, including 5 for best actor, of which I am very proud!
– Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
I honestly don’t remember, or maybe I don’t know. I have always been fascinated by the “magic” that cinema creates, it almost allows us to live in past eras, or future, or in distant places with characters who tell us about them and tell us wonderful stories, with special costumes and lights, sets to make you lose your breath … All this, and much more, has an irresistible charm!
-Tell us about your project “CENERE” (Ash).
I usually start with the desire to play a type of character and I build the whole film around it. It also happened for CENERE. I wanted to tell how a lonely person lives, suffering from depression, who feels rejected by many, and in part she really is; what are his fears, his nightmares and moods, but all this in a thriller atmosphere. I tried to experiment. The protagonist’s face is always slightly blurred, and I wanted to try a solution that I saw in a film by Gianni Amelio: a long sequence, without cuts, on the protagonist’s face, to follow the story and get emotionally involved. I am very lucky because in these adventures I have met the collaboration of very good friends who lend themselves willingly. The musician Paolo Catelli took care of the beautiful original soundtracks, and several talented actors gave life to the characters I imagined. My children acted too! Thank you all very much!
-Which director inspires you the most?
Surely Dario Argento is the one who impressed and inspired me the most. I immediately admired his ability to scare the viewer, to make him restless and to make him remember what he has seen for a long, long time. In my opinion, this is very important. I believe that if you can’t hit the viewer’s imagination with at least one particular element, if you can’t make them remember something after the end of the screening, then maybe you haven’t done your job well. I try… but I don’t know if I really succeed!!
-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
When I was a child or adolescent, the importance that was given to human relationships was absolutely superior to owning “things”. This order is, in my impression, subverted today. I fear that technology is often misused, that we detach ourselves from reality perhaps to the point of losing the lucid perception of it. Is respect for people, for life, for oneself still sacred?
-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
Imagining the world in 100 years is really difficult! Who knows how technology will change everything… However, I like to think that in parallel with the cinema that will be produced in those times, perhaps with immersive effects, there will also be a look at the past, at the cinema of today and yesterday, and I am sure that it will still be able to excite. Who knows if the cinema of 2126 will still be a form of art…
-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
Surely it is a fantastic reality! An international community of filmmakers, critics, and film producers that tells the story of the greats of cinema, but gives authors from all over the world the opportunity to be known, is something extraordinary! I am very proud to have been interviewed by you, thank you very much!
I am a choreographer and dancer. Artistic director of a dance company since 1991. I have created about 15 choreographies (Maison de la Danse, Opéra de Lyon, Opéra comique) creating always with « live musicans » and dancers on stage. As a little girl, I started to learn tap dance with my mother, a music hall artist, and I took Ballet Classes. At the age of 18, I went to New York to study jazz tap dance and performing arts. I studied a lot Jazz Dance with Master Matt Mattox and Gus Giordano to whom I was assistant in 1985 in New York. After a tour through France, Germany as a dancer-singer in the musical « Cabaret », I wanted to express my own vision of dance. So I created my Company, in 1991 with my first création TRANSIT invited by Guy Darmet, the « Maison de la Danse de Lyon » director.
Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
As a child, with my mother who was a music hall artist when she was young, all around me were Hollywood Movies and music: Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, as well as Laurel & Hardy, West Side Story, White Nights, Sweet Charity, Chicago, TAP dance and the Black and White Cinema. And my love for video come from the fact that I always enjoyed capturing and editing my dance creations since 1980, whether with my old camera VHS, H8, Hi8 and now IPhone. Shooting all the time, observing my family, or people with funny way of walking, or special attitudes. I still love to capture the beauty of movement and the shapes in the nature. This way, I can express my own vision of life with sincerity, express my fears, and weakness, even showing one’s flaws, but always in a spontaneous way, with fantasy, fun, lightness, and vibrant rhythms: joy of life. In 2021, after Covid, creating MIX ART, I discovered Igor Dvokin’s compositions: a revelation and the beginning of a real artistic inspiration! I realized many dance film on his music (LE FILM, DREAMS) up to now. His music suggests and stimulates my imagination, opens my mind towards new cinematographic treatments, synthetise memories of my life. In his musical range are symphonic, lyrical, powerful groovy jazz, modern sound with the pizzicato of the wings. All what I love in music! And he wrote « Massive thanks to Sylvie Kay for turning my music into a real art », recognizing in my visual achievements a real original artistic touch and style. In 2022 I started training and creation as « invited artist » in Centre National de la Danse de Lyon. The first day I was standing in this large and white rehearsal studio similar to a blank page, I decided to realize a film, to create an intimate story in this particular atmosphere. Playing with my imagination, fantasy, supported and captivated by Igor Dvorkin musical compositions. I created my first film « Silk ». The main base of treatment was Black and White, referencing to the old movies of Hollywood. In the second film « Sly -Studio 16 » the luminosity, transparency and brightness where the sets of the play. These 2 dance movies won already many awards in many Indie Festivals Paris,Berlin, London, Jakarta, India, Amsterdam…
I am a Woman Conductor and I have different levels of work to manage, but I like it for the main reason: I feel absolutely free to express myself. When I do a film, it’s the same step and evolution than for a creation on stage: writing, choosing the characters, the general mood, the music, where it takes place, which sets, which lights, costume… I composed my story with two swinging doors, two portholes, a lightened corridor, my frame was set, « my stage » born, really minimalist. No extra lights except the effects I add on editing.The wood board placed on the floor allows a « live direct sound » without microphones. I place my headphones for a good and precise reception and balance of music with my tap dancing. Then comes the capture of the images: I do many shoots to get many rushes. I shoot on different axes, far, near, and then I choose. When I record I just put my IPhone on the floor and shoot and at this moment it’s absolutely the same feeling as if were dancing on a stage. I rehearse and then I GO !!!! I feel free like a tagger, I mix styles, I am an unclassifiable improviser choosing a multi disciplinary approach in merging of expressions without style or technical barriers. My planning is very precise, I create during several days so I can choose what is good or not later on. But I have also a dead line through the short limited period of studio occupation. In all my dance movies, I want to be very precise. When I’m editing on my computer, which is the second « big step » to create a visual framework, it takes me hours and hours to recreate the dance, by individual frames of 1/10 second. The music is also very important playing with the movement, the emotional intensity, the crescendo of speed, the legato of light etc… Everything is raw and natural. No IA !! BRUT!
VERTIGO
Vertigo started with an artistic appeal. I have been really fascinated and attracted by a painting of my son Jeremy, resin artist in Australia. Both, in shapes and colors, it turned to be very emotional. I felt excited to give my personal evocation being immersed in this special painting. I wanted to give my own interpretation through the dance. So, I searched through the compositions of Igor Dvorkin the music which could unit and harmonize both, my emotions and my intentions. Vertigo is also between life and dream with mystery, through shadow, backlit, composition and resonance of my tap dance sounds.
There was both, red and purple dominant colors, there was both, great deal of energy, passion for life and, at the same time, a sense a mystery, something very dark by the black and white depth. Unlike dancing on a stage, directing a video allows me to highlight lines, dimensions, dancer’s height and develop the dancer as I see it’s fit: presenting him in different layers. In Vertigo the dancer, who could be any dancer, successively confronts his fears, hesitating in front of the emptiness of the space, before the unknown. She dares to open doors, shadows of her soul just above her. Then slowly appears the art frame. This colorful resin painting, flying over this large room like an angel or a ghost, giving her the hand to immerse in the frame and bringing her freedom of movement and expression. Then it becomes slowly a playful game with the dynamic of the colors, jumping from one to the other, game between 4 best friends, these different elements for the composition: color, shape, dance, tap percussion and the framing the image. The vibrant colors chase the tension away ! All this represents a journey and my own invitation to travel with me in my imaginary world, step by step (tap dancing steps of course !) I choose this frame and called Vertigo because of the two main colors, red and purple, and the alternance between them. For me Red evokes passion, energy, desire, love and everything that relate to « living things ». Like this dynamic dance of the character running on a train station platform (going to meet your sweetheart!).
Purple is the color of Mystery, represented by the whispered or chatter of footstep, that click, prance, slide or crunch. In Vertigo, the color envelops the dancer like if suddenly she changes aspect in a beautiful costume or under a very sophisticated stage light and give her a special emotional aspect corresponding to the movement of the dance and the music.
Which Director inspires you the most?
Busby Berkely, Martin Scorsese.
What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
I hate violence, lies, superficiality, hasty judgments, intolerance. I would like people to listen to each other, compassion ,empathy. The goal in my life is searching creativity everywhere and in every situation. When I was very young I went in the hospital for many weeks and I still remember this transparent white curtain in the oxygen tent… With others difficult moments in my life, it gave me the will to turn towards the celebration of life, of good motivated mind and spirit: Healthy Mind-Healthy Body. I just wish that public can make a journey, feel his own imaginary and emotions, smile with the memory it may evocate for him. It’s like a DJ bringing people together by my own fantasy and imagination.My inspiration often starts from an everyday situation, seeking humor, theatricality, quality of movement and beauty of its staging. Like in a picture book, my different sequences of choreography are like in painting art : impressionist, abstract, or realistic. I just love beauty! May be, the audience will appreciate the fact that I had all directed from the beginning up to the end in a raw aspect of work: simple, original and percussive. The same relation I had with my audience with my dance creations on stage. I would like to take the two quotes from Henri Matisse : « A single tone is just a color, two tones are a harmony, they are life » and « There are flowers everywhere for the those who want to see them ».
How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
Cinema will style be there in 100 years, II hope so but I am afraid it will play a lot with IA, effects…. and I am not really found of it ! it’s not my generation, I prefer a BRUT aspect in movies, playing with deepness of character more than effects. I would like to take the two quotes from Henri Matisse : « A single tone is just a color, two tones are a harmony, they are life » and « There are flowers everywhere for the those who want to see them ».
What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
WILD FILMMAKER seems a professional magazine. I am very new as director in the « movie area » because I started to submit my first film SILK in April 2025. I have realized 4 art dance movies. And I am very happy and surprised to receive so good reactions and prices awards, selections from all over the world.
Today WILD FILMMAKER will have the immense privilege of publishing an exclusive interview with Father Antonio Spadaro regarding the first draft of the screenplay of the new film about Jesus that Martin Scorsese is currently developing. It is a gift offered to the Global Movement dedicated to the promotion of indie cinema, WILD FILMMAKER, and one that makes me particularly happy, especially since the Oscar-winning Italian-American director has stated that it will be a low-budget, black-and-white film, a project that promises to be a true return to Scorsese’s roots as an indie filmmaker.
Thanks to Father Antonio Spadaro, already co-author with Martin Scorsese of the book Conversations on Faith, today WILD FILMMAKER makes a dream come true.
What are the differences between the 1988 film The Last Temptation of Christ and Martin Scorsese’s new screenplay devoted to the figure of Jesus?
The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) is a traditional narrative film set in the first century, based on the novel by Nikos Kazantzakis, which imagines an “alternative life” of Jesus, including the “temptation” to come down from the cross and live a normal life. Scorsese’s new screenplay about Jesus, by contrast, takes a very different form: it is not a linear retelling of Christ’s life, but rather a mosaic of largely contemporary scenes interspersed with historical segments, which, according to Scorsese, “would not be a linear narrative… but a combination of things.” In fact, the director himself is expected to appear in the film as a narrator or witness, pointing to a meta-cinematic approach. This fragmented and reflective structure contrasts with the unified narrative flow of The Last Temptation. Moreover, while the 1988 film followed Jesus’ life chronologically, emphasizing his human-divine inner conflict, the new work is “partly set in the present day, partly in antiquity” and weaves in modern scenes to make Jesus’ message more immediate and relevant. In 1988, Scorsese aimed to present a deeply human and compassionate Jesus, someone approachable even by the most desperate sinner. As he himself said, he wanted the Christ of The Last Temptation to be “the compassionate Jesus that a poor drug addict on his deathbed… might encounter,” a Messiah who rejects no one. However, that film also emphasized Jesus’ inner struggles, doubts, and even earthly temptations, elements that led some religious groups to accuse it of blasphemy.
The new screenplay focuses less on Christ’s personal temptations and more on his core teachings and their relevance today. Scorsese has described it as concentrating on the “basic principles” of Jesus, without any intent to preach. In other words, while The Last Temptation explored the conflict between Christ’s human and divine natures in a dramatic way, the new work aims to reveal the heart of Jesus’ message,love, compassion, forgiveness, stripping it of the encrustations of centuries. Scorsese has explicitly said: “I’m trying to find a new way [to represent Jesus] that makes him more accessible, removing the negative connotation associated with organized religion.” This intention marks a significant tonal difference from the 1988 film, which challenged viewers with a visceral and potentially divisive portrayal of Christ. The Last Temptation of Christ was shot in the late 1980s with a modest budget for the time (about $7 million), but still with the backing of a Hollywood studio, filmed in exotic locations (Morocco) and in color. The new screenplay, provisionally titled A Life of Jesus, will be made deliberately on a very low budget and as an independent production. Scorsese has stated that it will be one of his least expensive projects in decades, signaling a return to a more intimate style of filmmaking. He has also revealed that he intends to shoot it “almost certainly in black and white”—an aesthetic choice that sharply distinguishes it from the warm-toned cinematography of The Last Temptation. This decision recalls an old dream of the young Scorsese: in the 1960s, inspired by Pasolini, he imagined filming the life of Christ in 16mm and in black and white. Now, after 25 years of making high-budget films, he seems determined to recapture that spirit, giving up color and lavish production values in favor of a more essential approach. In summary, The Last Temptation represented for Scorsese a long and troubled attempt to “find a new vision” of Jesus through the lens of a literary novel, whereas the new screenplay is a meditative and autobiographical experiment that combines contemporary images and spiritual reflection, aiming to speak directly and simply to today’s world.
Martin Scorsese is a versatile director in the way only Stanley Kubrick knew how to be; yet, despite the differences in genre from one film to another, a deep spirituality is always present in the characters of Scorsese’s filmography, even in the negative ones. What are the characteristics of the character of Jesus in the new screenplay?
In the new screenplay, the “character” of Jesus emerges in an unusual way: he is not a flesh-and-blood protagonist who acts scene by scene, as in traditional films, but is present as a living spirit and an active principle within the narrative. Spiritually, Jesus is described as omnipresent in human love. A voice-over states clearly that “Jesus contains multitudes. He is constant. He is present in every gesture in which we are moved to act out of love.” This line underscores a vision of an immanent Christ: Christ is there every time someone performs an act of genuine, selfless love. It is not love limited to a person or a thing, but rather “love as a source of power,” universal in scope. From a spiritual point of view, then, Jesus is portrayed as the Logos of love that permeates the world—an image that is strongly positive and inclusive, in line with the theology of Shūsaku Endō. Indeed, Endō, the Japanese Catholic author on whom the film is based, portrayed Jesus as an almost “maternal” figure in his mercy: one who “suffers with us” and forgives our weakness, more like a loving mother than an inflexible judge. This sensibility is reflected in Scorsese’s text: his Jesus is not so much a stern lawgiver as the face of God’s compassion, always in solidarity with suffering humanity. From a psychological point of view, the screenplay highlights the way Jesus touches people’s conscience and hearts. He is described as the one who challenges human beings to look beyond their fears and habits. A famous saying of Jesus is cited, for example: “I did not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matthew 10). The voice-over asks rhetorically: does Jesus perhaps incite violence? And it immediately answers: “Of course not. I believe instead that it is an invitation to look through every doubt and to seek God within ourselves, that authentic feeling that moves us to act out of love.” Here we see the “psychological edge” given to the figure of Christ: Jesus’ “sword” is interpreted as a salutary crisis, a clean cut that forces a person out of apathy or convention. In the screenplay this is translated into an emblematic scene: a young woman on the subway finds herself confronted by an aggressive homeless man asking for alms. At first she is paralyzed by petty hesitations (“If I have to rummage through ten- and twenty-dollar bills to find one dollar for him, what will others think?…”). But then something extraordinary happens: “She lifts her gaze from her phone and looks directly into his eyes… and he looks into hers. We stay on them, inside that exchange.” In that instant of silence, a revelation occurs: the voice-over comments that when you truly see the other and recognize his humanity, there is the sword of Jesus cutting away all ties to habits, excuses, and conventions, and going “straight to the heart of love.” Psychologically, then, Jesus is portrayed as the one who unsettles and converts hearts, breaking the “safe distance” we keep from others in order to make us experience real empathy. We do not see Jesus tormenting himself as a character in his own right (as happened in The Last Temptation, where we witnessed his inner doubts), but rather we see him reflected in the eyes of ordinary people who, thanks to him, overcome their fears and reach a state of compassion and inner truth. Narratively, this representation of Jesus translates into the absence of conventional scenes from Christ’s life in the first part of the work, in favor of everyday situations with a universal flavor. The screenplay does not show Jesus preaching in Galilee or performing miracles in a realistic way; instead, it actualizes his teachings through visual analogies and allusions. For example, the subway episode is itself a modern “parable-story” about the Good Samaritan or about recognizing Christ in one’s neighbor. Only toward the end, it seems, does Jesus appear indirectly in the form of an iconographic image: Scorsese describes his visit to a monastery on Mount Sinai, where he is struck by an ancient sixth-century icon of Christ Pantocrator, whose penetrating gaze prompts in him the ultimate question: “What does Christ want from us?” In that finale, Jesus appears as a silent and mysterious face that questions the soul. Narratively, then, the “character” of Jesus is present as a living idea rather than as a speaking protagonist: he is the thread that binds all the scenes together (from the homeless man on the subway to the mosaic of quoted film clips), he is the Voice that calls from the depths more than a physical body on screen. This unusual narrative choice, punctuated by quotations from the Gospels and images of sacred art—underscores the spiritual traits of Jesus (constant presence of love, source of ultimate questions) and offers a psychological portrait of Christ through his impact on others (rather than through his own introspection). In short, the Jesus of the new screenplay is ubiquitous and multifaceted (“he contains multitudes”), merciful and compassionate (he suffers with the weak, forgives human failings), and radical in provoking conversion (the “sword” that breaks inner chains). He is less a “historical character” and more a vital, present principle, narratively innovative, yet theologically rooted in the idea of Christ’s presence “in every smallest spark of love” in the world.
I greatly admired your book written in collaboration with Martin Scorsese, Conversations on Faith. Are there points in common between your book and the screenplay devoted to the new film about Jesus?
The book Conversations on Faith, the result of my meetings with Scorsese, and the new screenplay share many thematic and expressive turning points, a sign that they spring from the same long interior conversation of Scorsese about faith. A first fundamental theme is the tension between faith and everyday reality, that is, the search for the sacred within the profane world. In the book, Scorsese recalls a childhood memory: as an altar boy, after Mass, he would go out into the street and ask himself in anguish, “How is it possible that life goes on as if nothing had happened? Why isn’t the world shaken by the body and blood of Christ?” I emphasize this “piercing question of a boy who, leaving Mass, wonders why the world has not changed,” a question that in fact has run through the director’s entire spiritual life. The same question is palpable in the screenplay: in the epilogue at the monastery, before the icon, Scorsese, in the first person, feels Christ directly asking him, “But you, who do you say that I am? … What does Christ want from us?”, leaving us with “this fundamental question.” It is the same crisis between the event of faith and the apparent indifference of the world that tormented the young Scorsese. Thus, the motif of a faith that does not leave the world unchanged runs through both the written dialogue and the film screenplay. Both, in fact, do not offer a simplistic answer, but instead relaunch the question toward the reader/viewer. A second point in common is the centrality of grace as it manifests itself among the last and in ordinary situations. In my conversations with Scorsese it emerges how, in many of his films, “grace bursts into the devil’s territory”, to quote Flannery O’Connor, that is, into the most violent or degraded contexts. I note that in much cinema (including Scorsese’s) “a life that appears insignificant can become a place of revelation, and welcoming the weakest is not an optional moral theme but the true center of the story.” This idea, expressed in the book, finds literal confirmation in the screenplay: the subway scene shows an entirely ordinary everyday situation (an ordinary girl, an ordinary subway car) transformed into a place of revelation when that exchange of glances with the homeless man occurs. That man “who counts for nothing” becomes the mediator of an experience of the divine, just like the “poor Christs” in cinema (one thinks of Fellini’s La strada, with its “simple ones” who reveal the meaning of the story, cited in the dialogue). Both Conversations on Faith and the screenplay insist on the Gospel of the small and the lost: in the book, films such as Open City, Umberto D., and Gran Torino are cited, where holiness emerges by sharing the destiny of the most exposed. In the film screenplay, similarly, Jesus is recognized in people on the margins—the drug addict in overdose mentioned by Scorsese in connection with The Last Temptation, or the bothersome beggar on the subway. In both works, narrative and book alike, there is therefore this preferential option for the last as a privileged place of encounter with God. A third shared element is the dialogical, questioning, never doctrinal nature of both the book and the screenplay. Conversations on Faith is, by the authors’ own admission, “the faithful account of a friendship in which faith, grace, and cinema have continually questioned one another.” It is not a treatise of systematic theology, but a series of mutual questions, open explorations. In the same way, the screenplay is not a “thesis film” that aims to provide ready-made answers. On the contrary, it embraces the form of open mystery: Scorsese edits together fragments, cites other directors, shows pieces of stories—from Bresson’s Diary of a Country Priest to his own Silence—and confesses, “We strive to find endings for our stories that give shape to life as we all live it… Staggering forward, I realize that I may be creating images that lead to further questions, further mysteries.” This poetics of asking without exhausting the mystery is exactly what I discuss when commenting on Scorsese’s films: I recall a distinction dear to the director between “a problem and a mystery: a problem has a solution that exhausts it; a mystery never does.” In the Dialogues it is emphasized how Scorsese’s characters often live in a state of insoluble moral conflict, which also involves the viewer in questions without easy answers. The new screenplay, far from preaching or concluding with a single, unequivocal message, in fact ends with an open question: “What does Christ want from us?” And throughout its development it invites reflection rather than the deduction of a single moral. Book and film thus share a contemplative and interrogative approach to faith. Finally, at the expressive level, there is a strong cinephile interweaving in both works. In our Dialogues, we often discuss other films and directors (Pasolini, Rossellini, Fellini, etc.) to express spiritual concepts. Similarly, the screenplay is steeped in cinematic references: Scorsese inserts clips from Le Père Serge (Tolstoy’s “holy fool”), from Bresson, from Europa ’51, and even from his own films such as Silence, The Irishman, Mean Streets, Bringing Out the Dead, Raging Bull, and Casino. This cinematic metalanguage is present both in the written dialogue (where cinema becomes an integral part of the discourse on faith) and in the screenplay (where cinema becomes the very form of meditation on Jesus). In both cases, cinema is seen as a spiritual context: in the book Scorsese says that making a film for him “is like a prayer… an exploration of the soul.” The screenplay is, in effect, a cinematic prayer, where editing and images serve to seek the presence of God in the mosaic of reality. In sum, Conversations on Faith and the new screenplay are united by the same thematic cores: faith as a living search (not a static dogma), the presence of Christ among the poor and the doubting, the surprising grace that can emerge anywhere (in the violent streets so dear to Scorsese since the days of Mean Streets), and a strong awareness that the mystery of God must be told with a new, bold language, including the language of cinema.
In the beautiful and Bergman-esque Silence (2016), Martin Scorsese confronts the theme of courage and the strength of will that faith in God may require under certain circumstances in which life brings extreme suffering. Can the screenplay of the new film about Jesus be considered a continuation of the reflections already explored in Silence?
The connection between the new screenplay about Jesus and Silence (2016) is profound, almost organic: it can be said that the new project arises as a conceptual and spiritual continuation of the path begun with Silence. First of all, both works are born of the imagination of Shūsaku Endō. Silence was the adaptation of his most famous novel, while the new screenplay explicitly declares that it is based on A Life of Jesus, a 1973 essay in which Endō reinterpreted the figure of Christ. This means that Endō’s same perspective on faith in suffering permeates both works. As a Japanese Catholic, Endō sees in Jesus the God who “suffers with us,” the merciful God who does not break the bruised reed—a Christ with a “maternal face,” capable of infinite compassion. In Silence, this idea was manifested in the climactic scene in which Father Rodrigues, forced to apostatize by trampling on the image of Christ, finally hears the voice of Jesus whispering to him: “Trample! I am with you in this pain.” Scorsese explained that in that moment “Jesus accepts even this humiliation… to lead Rodrigues to a deeper understanding of the mystery of divine love.” Thus, Silence subverts the traditional concept of fidelity to God: true Christian love there consists in becoming a sinner (an apostate) in order to save others—a paradox that reveals Christ’s extreme compassion, silent yet present beside those who suffer. The new screenplay takes up and expands this theme. First of all, as mentioned, it is inspired by the same Endō, who in A Life of Jesus wrote that Jesus, living in an age of oppression and God’s silence, “brought the message of love and of a God who shares our suffering,” in contrast to the idea of a distant judging God. Endō emphasizes how Jesus “surrounded himself with lepers, prostitutes, with people who were ignored and ugly… loving even human failures,” and that it was precisely this love without practical utility that became his cross, because people sought miracles and power rather than mercy. Scorsese’s screenplay seems intent on showing that this message of suffering love is still alive today. Where is Jesus in contemporary suffering? In the small and great miseries of modern life—such as poverty, urban loneliness, injustice—Jesus continues to be present. For example, the scene of the beggar on the train highlights how an act of compassion (even just a gaze that recognizes the other) is a way of “carrying the cross” together with those who suffer. The young woman, by feeling empathy for the dirty and intrusive man, in a sense overcomes God’s silence with a gesture of love. This echoes the logic of Silence: in that film, the anguished question was why God remained mute in the face of the faithful’s martyrdom. The answer came in the form of a paradox: God spoke precisely in the silence of the most painful act of love, namely by allowing Rodrigues to betray Him for the good of others. In the same way, in the new screenplay “life never stops” and the world continues indifferently—as that young altar boy observed—but sparks of authentic faith occur in gestures of love that break through this indifference. In this sense, the new cinematic project is a continuation of Silence: it shifts the focus from seventeenth-century Japan to our present, but the underlying question is the same—how to believe and embody Christ’s love amid suffering and the apparent absence of God. It is no coincidence that the screenplay itself includes an explicit reference to Silence: during the montage of film clips in the text, Scorsese cites the scene of Kichijirō—the Japanese peasant who repeatedly betrays the faith—“who returns after yet another betrayal,” placing it alongside that of the veteran in The Irishman who asks for a door left slightly ajar, and alongside other images of characters “on the threshold of redemption, full of fear and trembling.” We thus see that the film places Silence in direct dialogue with the new discourse on Jesus: Kichijirō embodies human weakness and at the same time the hunger for limitless forgiveness, a central theme both in Silence and in Endō’s image of Jesus (a Christ who never tires of forgiving the “weaklings,” as Endō calls the fearful disciples). Scorsese himself has confided that making Silence was a transformative experience for him, “an attempt to understand the mystery of God’s love,” and that it changed the lives of both himself and his collaborators. The new screenplay arises precisely as a response to a spiritual appeal by Pope Francis to artists to “show Jesus with new languages,” an appeal launched in the preface the Pontiff wrote for a book of mine entitled A Divine Plot. Jesus in Countershot. Therefore, this screenplay probably represents the fruit of the transformation that began with Silence. If Silence ended on a note of painful ambiguity yet full of grace (the crucifix hidden in Rodrigues’s hands in the funeral pyre), the screenplay picks up the thread and asks: now, today, how can we bear witness to Christ in human suffering? The ideal continuation consists in “removing the negative aspects” that have made the Christian message inaccessible to many and returning to the essence of lived faith: love that draws near to the suffering person, even at the risk of misunderstanding and rejection. In conclusion, the new screenplay carries forward the reflection of Silence by shifting the focus from the tragedy of historical martyrdom to the daily tragedy of indifference. In both cases, authentic faith is revealed in the gesture of love that entails sacrifice: trampling an icon to relieve another’s pain in Silence; truly meeting the gaze of an outcast in the new film. It is the same Christ at work, “suffering with us,” yesterday in Japan and today in our metropolises—and Scorsese, continuing his artistic pilgrimage, seeks to show Him to us once again, in a different way but one that is spiritually consistent with Silence.
A few months ago, Martin Scorsese revealed that A Life of Jesus, based on the book by Shūsaku Endō, the same author whose work inspired Silence, will be a low-budget film and probably shot in black and white. Can this be interpreted as a desire on the part of the great New York director to return to his roots as an independent filmmaker?
Scorsese has stated that this new film about Jesus will be shot in black and white and with a very modest budget, marking a clear shift from his recent blockbusters costing over $100 million. Speaking at the Taormina Film Festival 2025, he revealed: “I’m still working on it… it will almost certainly be in black and white,” adding that the project will be “largely set in the present and independently financed,” making it “one of the least expensive films he has made in a very long time.” This choice carries a dual meaning, both artistic and autobiographical. On the one hand, the black and white aesthetic and the low budget hark back to Scorsese’s origins as an independent auteur. His early films in the late 1960s and early ’70s (Who’s That Knocking at My Door?, Mean Streets) were made with limited resources but with enormous creative fervor, becoming a manifesto of how “cinema could above all be a form of art,” beyond big means. Returning today to a small, intimate film—perhaps shot on 16mm or in any case far removed from sophisticated digital productions—represents for Scorsese a return to that poetics of expressive urgency typical of independent cinema. Works like Mean Streets demonstrated a “tremendous creative audacity” achieved with scant means; similarly, Scorsese seems to want to rediscover that expressive freedom, unbound from the commercial logic of the major studios. A reduced budget, in fact, allows him to follow his spiritual vision without compromise, in a project he describes as long in the making (“it requires years of study and research,” he has said) and decidedly non-commercial (an 80-minute, experimental religious film is certainly not a blockbuster). It is a countercultural choice that can be interpreted as an act of fidelity to his artistic vocation: having passed eighty, Scorsese prefers to invest time and energy in a personal film about faith, even a small one, rather than chase another major mainstream success. On the other hand, the decision to shoot in black and white also carries a poetic meaning internal to the work. Black and white immediately evokes an aura of essentiality and timelessness, perhaps deemed more suitable for a spiritual narrative. Scorsese has cited Pasolini’s The Gospel According to Matthew as a reference—a black-and-white film that impressed him so deeply that at the time it led him to set aside his own idea of making a film about Jesus, because he felt Pasolini had already achieved an unsurpassable cinematic truth.
Now, choosing black and white can be seen as a tribute to that Pasolinian lesson of rigor and authenticity. Pasolini filmed Christ in a stark, almost documentary-like way, emphasizing the contrast between light and shadow in the Gospel message. Scorsese, in his small film, seems to want to do something similar: to “make the film more accessible” by stripping it of any gloss or chromatic distraction, so as to focus attention on the face, the word, the message. Black and white eliminates the superfluous and “abstracts” the story from a specific present, giving it that sense of timelessness the director desires. He has in fact said that he does not want to rigidly anchor the story to a particular era, but to aim for something “timeless.” Moreover, black and white could encourage bolder and more personal expressive solutions—think of light contrasts that can take on symbolic value. In practice, Scorsese embraces an “indie” aesthetic not only for budgetary reasons, but because it is consistent with the “new language” with which he wants to speak about faith: a visual language closer to the stripped-down truth of experience, far from the reassuring or spectacular colors of conventional Hollywood cinema. Finally, the low budget implies a production outside the major systems, which is also significant on an ideological and poetic level: Scorsese returns as a complete auteur, much as in the New Hollywood of the 1970s, when directors fought for final cut and creative independence. After many films financed by major studios or platforms with high economic return requirements, he likely feels the need for a human-scale, almost artisanal project, where he can freely experiment even with narrative form (he has spoken of “something that is not quite traditional fiction, nor a documentary, but a hybrid”). This freedom is typical of independent, auteur-driven cinema. It is not surprising that, to support the project financially, Scorsese has sought independent backers: this allows him not to be accountable to market logic (short running time, religious themes with little commercial appeal—choices that a studio would hardly approve). Therefore, yes: the new film about Jesus represents for Scorsese a return to indie poetics, both in its minimalist visual style and in its production spirit. It is a return to origins motivated by the urgency to tell something deeply felt (“I’m responding to the Pope’s call in my own way, imagining a film about Jesus”), placing art and faith at the center and relegating business to the background. In an era in which Scorsese himself often criticizes a Hollywood industry dominated by soulless comic-book movies and franchises, this black-and-white film about Jesus can indeed be read as a manifesto—yet another—of his love for a personal, spiritual, and free cinema, born more from the need for expression than from market logic. In this sense, the operation ideally dialogues with the young Scorsese of the 1960s: closing the circle, at the end of his career he returns to that lightweight 16mm camera, to the dreamed-of black and white, to speak about the one subject that has always fascinated and challenged him: “Who is Jesus for us, today?” And he chooses to do so with the purest tools of cinema, almost to remind us that sometimes all it takes is a light, a shadow, and a face—like the icon of the Pantocrator illuminated for a minute at Sinai—to touch the mystery. No grand effects or huge budgets are needed, only a sincere gaze and the courage to use it. Ultimately, the low budget and black and white are more than technical choices: they are a poetic declaration of intent by Martin Scorsese, confirming that his artistic journey has returned to its roots, where making cinema is akin to making an act of faith.
I’m a Canadian mum who discovered a love for writing when I was pretty young. I wrote my first feature screenplay at 14 (looking back it was very flawed but I just knew I wanted to write more). It was during Covid that I finally decided to follow my dreams, went to film school and learned how to put my ideas onto a page. I enjoy writing strong female protagonists and exploring each character’s behaviour in detail. My ultimate goal is to direct my own films and watch my visions come to life.
-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
I think my passion for writing scripts came first. I have always enjoyed watching movies and television, however, I think my true appreciation for cinema developed after film school. I decided to start taking notes on the films I watched and share my opinions by posting my reviews on social media. The first film that really spoke to me, was Past Lives. It truly made me appreciate the entire composition of a film. The artistry of it is something I hope I can achieve in my own work.
-Tell us about your project “AILENE”.
AILENE is a super short script I developed for a 24 hr script competition held by Filmmakers Connect.
“Iris’s only friend is her AI program, Ailene. However, Iris didn’t take into consideration how protective a best friend can be.”
It’s a brief look into the risk that comes with AI if we aren’t careful.
-Which Director inspires you the most?
The director who inspires me… would be Celine Song. There are so many poetic little moments in Past Lives that make all the difference. Things that a lot of people wouldn’t care about but Celine clearly does; The flickers of pure human response that tend to be easily overlooked. Those things can be the difference between a scene being sad or it being heartbreaking.
-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
What do I dislike most about the world? It might sound controversial but humanity. I think people have such profound potential for good and kindness yet so often they choose to live in selfishness and a gross devaluing of others. Luckily, I think art has an innate ability to bring people together, to expose truth and find common ground. So, there is hope.
If I could change anything about the world, it would be getting back to our roots as a species, caring less about the value of a dollar and more about the value of people. Bringing back community and a culture of caring and cooperation. Taking care of the planet we live on, natural foods, focusing on health instead of managing the aftermath. May be a bit naive but maybe someday it will happen.
-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
In 100 years I think 3D physical experiences could exist. A world you can walk around in, interact with, potentially touch, smell, feel. I mean look at how far we’ve come already? But I also think that speaks to how important film and the arts is to people. It’s a lifeline.
-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
I think having a community like this one is so incredibly important for filmmakers to network but also just to come together and share an appreciation of art and stories. It’s exciting and something I look forward to seeing continue to flourish.
I’m a survivor of emotional abuse who, at the age of 45, found herself at a crossroads and chose to do something bold. I moved halfway across the country to a place where I knew no one and decided to reinvent myself. I was no longer willing to be a victim.
The Revenge Club grew out of real-life experiences—my own abusive marriages, as well as the stories friends trusted me with. Writing became a way to process, to reclaim power, and to tell the truth without shame. The project allowed me to take something deeply painful and reshape it through humor, honesty, and perspective.
Music reopened the door to writing for me. While the songs weren’t written specifically for the screenplay, they helped me find my voice again—and one of them, The Road to Hell, may ultimately live within the film itself.
I always look for the silver linings. My faith keeps me grounded and reminds me that anything is possible—that no matter how difficult life becomes, there is always something to be grateful for.
Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
I don’t remember one exact moment, but I remember the feeling. When I was a kid, going to the movies was an experience. The theaters where I grew up still had balconies and showed only one film at a time—and if you missed it, you had to wait a long time to see it, and it was never the same experience on a small television as it was on the big screen.
There was something magical about walking into a theater and being completely immersed. Seeing those characters come to life, falling in love with the stories, and getting pulled into each world. Cinema wasn’t just entertainment—it was an emotional experience, and that feeling never left me.
Tell us about your project, The Revenge Club.
The project began with an idea inspired by a real-life experience of my own. As I started talking with friends about their experiences in the dating world, the story kept growing. I realized how many of us were navigating similar situations, yet rarely saw those stories reflected on screen.
I wanted to tell a story centered on strong female characters in their late forties, fifties, and beyond. Too often, women at that age are relegated to supporting roles—playing the mom or the grandmother—rather than being shown as complex, desirable women navigating love, desire, and power. Dating in my late forties opened my eyes to how rich and darkly funny those stories could be.
Working with seniors, and watching my own mother date again after being widowed in her late seventies, expanded that perspective even further. I saw real romance, vulnerability, and courage—and was reminded that women never stop wanting love or deserving to be the heroine of their own story.
Ultimately, writing The Revenge Club became its own form of empowerment. Telling these stories—giving voice to experiences that are often minimized—felt like the most meaningful response I could have. For me, the real victory wasn’t revenge itself, but transforming something painful into something honest, creative, and alive.
Which director inspires you the most?
Alfred Hitchcock has always inspired me for the way he created suspense and took audiences on a thrilling ride. He understood how to build tension slowly, letting unease grow through what was suggested rather than what was shown. I admire how he trusted the audience and used suspense to reveal character and emotion, not just plot. That kind of patience and psychological tension feels increasingly rare, and it continues to influence the way I think about storytelling.
What do you dislike about the world, and what would you change?
What troubles me most is how ageism—especially toward women—still quietly exists, particularly in film and media. There’s so much pressure for women to erase themselves as they age, through Botox, airbrushing, and a kind of sameness that makes so many faces almost unrecognizable. Meanwhile, men are often celebrated as debonair or distinguished as they get older, while older women are rarely allowed the same complexity or reverence.
I would love to see more honest portrayals of women—faces, stories, and lives that reflect real experience and emotional depth. Women deserve to be seen as evolving, powerful, and worthy of being the heroine of their own story at every age.
How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
I imagine cinema becoming far more immersive—almost like an Aldous Huxley Brave New World–style experience, where stories engage not just sight and sound, but feeling, texture, and emotion. But no matter how advanced the technology becomes, I believe the heart of cinema will remain the same. People will always want stories they can escape into—stories that make them feel something, surprise them, and reflect their own humanity. The tools may evolve, but emotional truth and connection will always be what draws audiences in.
What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
WILD FILMMAKER feels like a space that values bold, honest storytelling and the individuality of a filmmaker’s voice. I appreciate platforms that honor cinema as an art form while still making room for independent creators who are willing to take risks and explore uncomfortable or unconventional ideas. It feels rooted in a genuine love of film and storytelling, rather than trends or formulas, and that kind of space is important in today’s creative landscape.
I am from a small pineapple village in Wahiawa, Hawaii, my creative journey began long before I stepped onto a stage then ultimately as a writer. Growing up, I was mesmerized by the rhythmic precision of Bon Odori Festivals and the craftsmanship of my uncle, who built custom vintage Volkswagen beetles from the ground up. Watching my relatives transform simple ingredients into extraordinary meals taught me that artistry exists in every medium. These early influences ignited a passion for expression that at age 14 I was exposed to creative writing, speech, and drama classes. In 1997, I brought that island spirit to Seattle, continuing my career as an actor in the Pacific Northwe
st. For over twenty years, I have channeled my observations into plays, screenplays, and poetry, capturing the “random thoughts” that define the human experience.
Nowadays, I am 100% dedicated as a screenwriter. My work spans the breadth of six genres: thriller, spy, sci-fi, horror, drama, and romance. An alumnus of the prestigious NYU Tisch School of the Arts, my background as a former theatre writer and actor infuses his screenplays with a profound understanding of character and dialogue.My work has earned myself significant recognition, with scripts accumulating 28 wins across film festivals in the USA, Europe, and Asia. I have also received over 50 official selections which shocked me!. Outside of my writing, I try to balance his creative pursuits with a life rooted in craftsmanship and adventure, working as a skilled woodworker, exploring the open road as a motorcyclist, or finding companionship with the dogs.
-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
My passion for cinema ignited at age eight when I first experienced the Shōgun miniseries. Watching Toshiro Mifune, I was instantly mesmerized by his commanding presence. He epitomized the art of “doing more with less,” delivering an intense, understated performance that has resonated with me throughout my life. This fascination led me to James Clavell’s original novel, which I found equally exceptional. The narrative is a masterclass in political intrigue—essentially Richard III reimagined within the complex social hierarchy of feudal Japan. Mifune’s “badass” portrayal remains the benchmark for cinematic gravity in my eyes.
-Tell us about your project “Wisdom’s Teeth”.
My creative vision was to break from tradition and craft a narrative that unfolds through an unconventional dual perspective, moving beyond a standard script format to immerse the audience in the intimate worldview of each character. The goal was to intricately detail the raw, visceral terror evident in the child’s eyes while simultaneously illuminating her burgeoning courage. This approach allowed for a deeper exploration of the antagonist—a dentist whose every thought, motion, and utterance is meticulously calculated, creating a deliberately unsettling, timeless, and profoundly terrifying presence. The narrative leverages a universally shared aversion to the dental environment, a place of discomfort and fear ingrained in us from childhood and persisting well into adulthood. This personal connection to the setting, this pervasive sense of unease that the mere thought of a dentist evokes, forms the emotional core of the story, making the fear deeply relatable and intensely personal for the audience. The intent was to ensure that the story resonates on a fundamental, human level by tapping into an everyday, yet potent, source of anxiety.
-Which Director inspires you the most?
Lee Tamahori from New Zealand, his intensity whether it’s hate, love, silent communication, or just in the moment has an extreme. Once Were Warriors was an underrated masterpiece in my opinion. Love in many forms, some understood, some frowned upon, but love was the overall throughline in scarred characters maing their way in the world.
-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
I believe society has lost its way, trading genuine human connection for an overdependence on technology. While social media has its uses, it is too often treated as scripture, drowning us in detrimental conjecture and hollow trends. We have forgotten how to simply “be.” What I dislike most is this drift away from our baseline humanity. I would change our obsession with the “trending” and replace it with a return to simplicity. In my screenwriting, I focus on characters who exist in a space of raw presence—they aren’t governed by digital noise or binary notions of right and wrong; they just exist. The world needs a “back to basics” revolution. We should embrace the struggle of falling down and picking ourselves up. True satisfaction comes from enduring failure and developing the thick skin required to create something that is authentically yours. While I am open to innovation—whether it’s filming on a phone or exploring the potential of AI—these tools should never replace our fundamental standards. We must maintain a sense of self and a commitment to high-quality storytelling that exists independently of an algorithm. By simplifying our lives and refocusing on the human experience, we can reclaim the satisfaction of a life truly lived and stories truly told.
-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
I am very impressed, honored and ultimately flattered that Wisdom’s Teeth was selected! I love how Wild Filmmaker has a global and high standard presence in the filmmaking community providing exposure to a wealth of very talented artists! I am so excited to be a part of this journey and can’t see where this takes me!
