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Complete with behind-the-scenes diary entries from the set of Vachon's best-known films, Shooting to Kill offers all the satisfaction of an intimate memoir from the frontlines of independent filmmaking, from one of its most successful agent provocateurs--and survivors.

So, what do Hollywood producers actually do? "What don't they do?" Vachon responds. In this savagely witty and straight-shooting guide, Vachon reveals the guts of the filmmaking process--from developing a script, nurturing a director's vision, getting financed, and drafting talent to holding hands, stroking egos, and stretching every resource to the limit. Along the way, she offers shrewd practical insights and troubleshooting tips on handling everything from hysterical actors and disgruntled teamsters to obtuse marketing executives.

Hailed by the New York Times as the "godmother to the politically committed film" and by Interview as a true "auteur producer," Christine Vachon has made her name with such bold, controversial, and commercially successful films as Poison, Swoon, Kids, Safe, I Shot Andy Warhol, and Velvet Goldmine. Over the last decade, she has become a driving force behind the most daring and strikingly original independent filmmakers--from Todd Haynes to Tom Kalin and Mary Harron--and helped put them on the map.

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Shooting to Kill Chapter One A Day in the Life: On the way to my office in Manhattan today, I passed a movie shoot on the street, and was hailed by the second assistant director, a hearty girl from the Bronx I used to work with. "It's this nightmare low-budget movie," she explained, and then started the litany: "I mean, it's eight o'clock, and crew call's in twenty minutes, and there isn't any coffee, and everyone is late, and the grip truck went to the wrong location and the APOC just quit, the sides aren't here, and the D.P. wants a light we didn't order..." "Stop!" I said. "I can't hear this!" Low-budget filmmaking is like childbirth. You have to repress the horror or you'll never do it again. I bid her good-bye and continued on my way, past the $800,000 dollar movie set where the crew looked like a bunch of thirteen-year-olds with tool belts and baseball caps. A lone production assistant desperately tried to keep an eye on two open vehicles while homeless people milled around, attentive. The craft service table-the mandated food and drink station -- was especially grim: a jar of iced tea mix, a black banana, a handful of broken chips, some used paper cups. That sums it up, I thought: a pathetic table in the middle of nowhere with nothing on it you'd eat in a million years. This is the romantic world of low-budget filmmaking. It's the world in which I've toiled for fifteen wearisome, exhilarating years, working for little money on the kinds of movies that seldom end up at the local multiplex. And unless someone gives me forty million dollars to make a picture about bisexual rockers, or a sympathetic pedophile, or a woman who wakes up one day and realizes that modem society is slowly poisoning her to death, it's the world in which I'll stay. That I'm forever "independent" makes me a little sad-until I arrive at my office and see the posters for the films I've produced, provacative and risky films, on which I've. felt like an intimate collaborator: Poison, Swoon, Kids, Safe, I Shot Andy Warhol, Go Fish, Velvet Goldmine. Hollywood producers often have to eat worse than black bananas. The office of my company, Killer Films, is packed with assistants and interns and is woefully short on working air conditioners. My desk is a mess, strewn with papers relating to ten or more projects, some in development, some in pre and postproduction, and some on the verge of release. All they have in common is my name as a producer. The job of producer is one of the great mysteries of the moviemaking process. When I'm asked what producers do, I say, "What don't they do?" I develop scripts; I raise money; I put together budgets; I negotiate with stars willing to work for said (generally meager) budgets; I match directors with cinematographers, cinematographers with production designers, production designers with location managers; I make sure that a shoot is on schedule, on budget, on track; I hold hands; I stroke egos. I once had to bail an actor out of jail (for gay-bashing, no less). I give interviews explaining what producers do, especially producers of independent, low-budget movies by directors who struggle to put their singular visions on the screen, however much of a challenge those visions might pose for the so-called mass audience. I sit here at my desk with the phone ringing, the fax machine clicking, the assistants and interns running in and out, getting a buzz from the power. And sometimes I sit here stunned at my powerlessness. Basically, a low-budget movie is a crisis waiting to happen. You stretch every one of your resources to its limit, and then you constantly push that limit. You have to be creative on your feet, because if something goes wrong (and something always goes wrong), you can't just throw money at it. You have to take scary leaps off high buildings, knowing that the landing might be bard. I'm fortunate to have had a miraculously easy landing with the first feature I produced, a movie written and directed by Todd Haynes called Poison. The theme was transgression, and the approach was the opposite of straight. The film consisted of three different stories woven together, each shot in a different style: a black and white horror film, a mock-documentary, and a lush, homosexual prison romance. In script form, it was just tough to read. Half its funding came from Todd's extended family and their Los Angeles friends (among them, amazingly enough, Sherwood Schwartz, the creator of Gilligan's Island and The Brady Bunch ), the other half from foundations and arts agencies, including (and most notoriously) the National Endowment for the Arts. What nearly brought the endowment down would help us make our names. The movie had won a prize at the 1991 U.S. (Sundance) Film Festival in Park City, Utah, and had been picked up by a small distributor, Zeitgeist. We were anticipating a tiny art house release. Then, an amazing thing happened: Two weeks before the scheduled release, the Reverend Donald Wildmon, an antipornography activist and the head of the American Family Association, saw a favorable review in Variety that mentioned the film's homoeroticism and also cited its partial NEA funding. So he sent letters to every member of the Senate and the House, saying, in effect, "Are you aware that this film, which was made with your tax dollars, is filthy, pornographic, and homosexual?" The upshot was chaos. Our phones literally did not stop ringing. We made all the papers. We made Entertainment Tonight. Previously, performance artists like Karen Finley had come under fire for using taxpayers' money to do naughty things with yams and chocolate syrup, but movies capture the public and media's interest in a way that "minority' arts don't. This was the first time the wrath of the Religious Right was being... Shooting to Kill . Copyright © by Christine Vachon. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Shooting to Kill by Christine Vachon All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

This hybrid book works exceptionally well on two levels: as a memoir of an artist and as a brass-tacks instruction manual. In her first book, co-written with film critic Edelstein, Vachon offers insights into her work on such indie films as Safe, I Shot Andy Warhol, and Velvet Goldmine and provides practical advice for aspiring film producers. Excerpts from her diary describe the myriad problems that crop up when shooting on a shoestring budget. But Vachon remains savvy and committed. Her tone is one of determination; in fact, she seems to relish her position away from the bright lights and high-stakes pressure of Hollywood. Highly recommended for most collections.‘Thomas J. Wiener, Editor, "Satellite DIRECT," Vienna, VA (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Publishers Weekly Review

Labeled the "godmother to the politically committed film" by the New York Times, producer Vachon, head of NYC's Killer Films, emerged as one of the key players in the current independent film movement with such movies as Kids, Safe, Go Fish, I Shot Andy Warhol and Velvet Goldmine, scheduled by Miramax for November. For this guided tour through the world of low-budget independent filmmaking, Vachon teamed with Slate film critic Edelstein to "tell you what producers do and how you can do it too." With 15 years of experience, she's writing about what she knows‘the full filmmaking process from the pitch and story rights to script development and financing through casting, costs, crews, computer schedules and storyboards, scouting locations and constructing sets, editing and postproduction, deals and distribution, film fests and marketing. Covering all aspects, she outlines factors that make "the difference between a dream shoot and a campfire-ready tale of terror." This is no dry textbook, since even chapters crammed with facts and information communicate a kinetic enthusiasm. Diary excerpts and 50 b&w photos punctuate the blitz on budgets and breakdowns, and other industry pros toss in short sidebar observations. Entertaining, emotional anecdotes abound, contrasting negotiation nightmares with Vachon's desire to protect her directors, actors and associates. Although the prose style's jump-cut jumble might leave some yearning for a more conventional chronological structure, Vachon reaches readers on such a level of intimate intensity it's evident that her future books will be green-lighted. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved