Shooting 16mm was a huge eye-opener for me. I'd been so used to using digital cameras with instant turnaround and loads of automatic settings. Just having to load the camera and painstakingly adjust the focus and aperture for every setup gave me a lot more appreciation for each, individual shot. I was accustomed to running around, pressing record, and shooting random things that I thought would be good. Not anymore. I quickly learned that every shot had to be carefully thought out. I only got a few rolls of film, so I couldn't waste film, either.

My first film was an utter failure. It was disjointed, it didn't make sense, and the acting was horrible. Some shots were out of focus, some were too dark or too bright, and the "story" was just weak. I had some work to do for my next film. Each idea we had had to be proposed in front of the class, which was nerve-racking for me because I don't like public speaking, and I especially don't like public speaking about my ideas. I quickly got over this fear and learned to appreciate the proposal sessions because of all the feedback that I got. I learned that there are some things out there that aren't much fun, but are really beneficial in the long run, and should therefore be utilized as much as possible.

My second film, I decided, would be about a man who got onto an elevator in order to conquer his claustrophobia. I shot the film within the Oakwood apartment complex. Little did I know, this would end up being the shoot from hell.

It began when the front desk refused to sign my permit. I was shooting on an elevator, and they didn't want me to tie it up for as long as I was going to. I walked away not sure what to do. This film HAD to be shot on an elevator. Then I realized that there was another front desk at the other clubhouse. I walked over there and they signed my permit, no questions asked. I shot the film in a three-story building. After a few minutes of setting up, my crew and I agreed that it would be best to minimize the time that we were in the elevator, because people did need to use it. We shot the scenes for before and after the man gets on, and I found out that I had a faulty camera. The roll switch jammed the moment it was flipped, and there was no way to stop the film from feeding through except for unplugging the battery. Then, the tripod collapsed, and I had to shoot handheld with this front-heavy, cast iron Arriflex. When the elevator interior shots came along, I took the light meter inside the car and found that there was absolutely no light in there. There was light, but not enough for the camera. I had to bring another light in there. But where would I put it? And what would I do about the power cord? There was no way I could shoot the interiors with the door open. What I decided to do was send crew members to the floor above and the floor below to guard the elevator and not let anyone on. This was a risk, because if someone got angry and went to complain at the front desk (the nearest one was the one that had rejected my permit) then I would be in a bit of trouble. So, I tried to do it all as quickly as possible. I loaded the camera with a fresh 100-foot roll, and then placed two lights on the floor of the elevator. I closed the door on the power cables and started rolling. I told my actor to just flip out, as if he was having a claustrophobic attack, and to eventually "get over it" and calm down a little. I rolled off the entire 100 feet, some of which while laying on the floor next to the lights, and got off the elevator as soon as possible. In post-production, I found that some shots where out of focus and that I had been using the matte box with a wide angle lens, which distorts the image and adds a skewed border around it. All in all, the film turned out decent considering everything that almost destroyed it completely.