The Crack of Dawn #762

5/2/2055

5/2/2025

Newsletter #762

The Crack of Dawn

My film, If I Had a Hammer, has finally been transferred to video properly, meaning it’s a 4K transfer off the 35mm negative (instead of off a print, which is the cheap way to do it, and it looks like shit). Now it looks fabulous; the lighting is brilliant and colorful, and the period details—the cars, the costumes, the hairdos—are terrific. Sadly, I don’t know when it will be released, but since Synapse Films (who have already released the “restored” versions of TSNKE and Running Time) forked out the dough for the transfer, which wasn’t cheap, I’m sure they will now release it.

I shot the film in the particularly hot summer of 1999. It took over a year to complete the postproduction, so the film was finally finished in 2001. The final film came in at about $350,000, and I put a third of it on ten credit cards. I was paying something like 27% interest on $100,000. Quickly, I could not afford to pay down any of the principal, only the interest (which is why I ended up getting a cheap, shitty print transfer to video, because I couldn’t afford a proper negative transfer).

When it was clear that no distributors were interested in a period folk musical, and treated me like I was insane, I left town. I moved to Jacksonville, Oregon, to a single-wide trailer, a mile up the road from Bruce Campbell and his wife. During the course of the year I lived there, I did nothing but pay down the interest on the credit cards, month after month.

I moved back to Michigan, where my father still lived. Everyone else in my family had moved away. As much as I didn’t like it, I went to see my father and explained my situation. My dad said, “Are you crazy? Declare bankruptcy.” So I got a bankruptcy lawyer, and he filed the paperwork requesting a hearing in Federal Court. Federal Court is located in downtown Detroit. I had been there many times when I was a process server years before.

My lawyer was a serious, no-nonsense, white-haired man of sixty-five. Attired in a suit and tie, I met the lawyer in the hall outside the hearing room. Before we went in, he explained, “We’re going in front of a magistrate and he decides who gets to go the next step, meaning whether or not you go to bankruptcy court.” We proceeded into the hearing room. There were 25 chairs on the left, and 25 chairs on the right, a large desk at the center of the room, and a small desk beside it with a stenographic machine (known as a stenotype). The lawyer and I took the last seats on the left, near the window. Slowly, the room filled up. This being Detroit, it was all black people. Me and my lawyer were the only white people. In walked the white magistrate, maybe 55, straight posture, in a suit and tie, with white hair cut in a flattop. He seemed like former military. Following behind was a white female stenographer.

Upon the magistrate’s desk sat a stack of bound cases, that looked to me like a stack of screenplays. People’s names were called, and they came forward with their lawyer and sat on chairs in front of the magistrate. Then the magistrate would flip through 100 or so pages of the case file so quickly that it seemed impossible that was really reading any of it. Then he’d stop and ask, “Who owns the house? You or your son?” An old black woman said something like, “It’s my house, but I gave it to my son, then he moved out and I moved back in. Now he says it’s his house and I should move out.” The old woman’s lawyer was given back the file and told, “Work that out. Who owns what? Next.” All five cases ahead of me were tangled stories of houses and cars and boats and businesses. In every case, the magistrate handed the file back to the attorney, meaning, it’s not right, do it again.

My name was called, and me and my lawyer took the seats in front of the magistrate. He speedily went through my case file, but slowed down, then stopped and asked, “All of your debt is to credit card companies? Nothing else? No houses, no cars, no boats? Just credit cards?” My lawyer said, “Yes.” We’re talking about $78,000 in credit card debt. The magistrate nodded, continued to slowly go through the paperwork, then asked, “Under assets, you have, ‘Feature film, Thou Shalt Not Kill…Except.’ What is that?” I said, “It’s a full-length movie, in 35mm. It came out theatrically in 1985 in eighteen cities, with twenty-five prints. It’s now out on VHS and DVD.” He asked, “Do you make money from it?” I said, “I haven’t made any money from it, but I’ve paid off the investors. Presently, I have possession of the negative, all the sound elements, and four 35mm prints.” He nodded, kept reading, then asked, “What is, ‘Feature film, Running Time?’” I said, “It’s a black and white feature movie. It’s also out on VHS and DVD.” He asked, “Have you made any money with it?” I said, “No. It hasn’t broken even yet.” He asked, “What is it worth?” I said, “I don’t know what it’s worth. It cost me $90,000 to make it.” He nodded, “Huh.” He kept reading, then looked up at me in astonishment and said, “You directed Xena: Warrior Princess?” [Keep in mind that this was 2003, when Xena was relatively new]. I said, “I did. Quite a few episodes. In all six seasons.” The magistrate said, “No kidding? My kids love that show.” He tossed my case file aside and said, “Go on, get outta here. My kids are going to love this story.” My lawyer grabbed my arm, and we skedaddled.

Outside in the hallway, my lawyer turned to me shaking his head and said, “We’re done. Case dismissed.” I said, “What do you mean?” He said, “You saw how he handed back everyone else’s case files, but he didn’t hand back ours. He tossed it aside. We’re done. We’re dismissed.” He shook my hand and walked away. Like that, I was out of debt. $78,000 in credit card debt gone in an instant.

I couldn’t help but think, “Why didn’t I do this two years ago?”

It’s indeed the crack of dawn.