The Mania of Independent Film

Lloyd Kaufman and Michael Herz founded Troma Entertainment in 1974, and fifty years later, they still “haven’t sold out, and haven’t made a dime.” Ben Johnson has only been a part of it for half of those years, but during that time, he’s developed his filmmaking chops and fostered a community of other independent artists he can call up to make something new. Nothing is as valuable as experience, and the experiences he’s had working with the company have been enlightening, exciting, and oftentimes wild. This much could easily be expected of the people behind horror-comedy films like The Toxic Avenger and Klown Kamp Massacre. 

Talking to Johnson is an absolute joy, involving tale after tale of filmmaking wins and losses handled in entertaining ways. Interwoven between these vignettes are nuggets of shining wisdom for anyone working on creative projects. At the core of it all is a deep love for the life he’s built and the people he’s found.

LESSONS IN MAYHEM

Troma teams never work with a massive budget. Johnson says the beginning of any production involves a lot of phone calls seeking collaborators who are willing to “sleep on floors, eat cheese sandwiches, and poop in paper bags.” While many will say working on a Troma film was their film school, Kaufman has indicated they should view it more as film “boot camp.” Johnson explained to me that “it’s not really movie-making until you’ve found your day-old bagel spot.” When he tells stories of these productions, however, his tone is unmistakably fond. This is largely because of the creative atmosphere and the people who are drawn to it.

Johnson describes the atmosphere of each production as built on a “we, not me culture,” and that the people working on them are generally “big on murdering the ego and working to see the vision through.” Even Kaufman, one of the company’s two founders, still answers his own emails, responding to questions from aspiring filmmakers and being open to bringing them “into the fold.” The doors at Troma are always open, and they are honest about what they can offer. Kaufman has famously said creators are “guaranteed to make tens of cents.” Many famous actors and writers got their start from this humble beginning—including James Gunn, Kevin Costner, and South Park's Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

The people and experience make it all worth it, says Johnson, and “you can’t equate it to a dollar amount.” He’s made lifelong friends and collaborators through Troma, including Kaufman himself. “If you’ve worked with him, nine out of ten times he’ll do something for you,” he explains. Everyone works for cheap. They work on projects they believe in. Someone’s a writer, someone tells jokes, and “even the pizza guy has good ideas.” Any pretension is kicked to the curb, leaving a collaborative and open creative atmosphere. “If you start looking at yourself as someone who knows what’s going on, you don’t see new,” states Johnson.

The low budgets are less of a worry on set than the more mundane mishaps. “Things on films always go wrong,” says Johnson. “On the last film, people just weren’t drinking enough water.” Locations can be set, but there is always the potential that they will fall through, which calls for a need to “network through town at a rapid pace.” Johnson recounted one dilemma that was solved by nothing less than kismet: the need for an ambulance in a scene. That day, there just so happened to be a $10 open house at the fire station where anyone could come in and get a plate of food. He remembers asking, “Do you think anyone would want to drive to hang out on a movie set for the evening?” Turns out, someone did.

HIS FIRST FEATURE

Last year, Johnson put out his first feature film: Curse of the Weredeer. On the surface, it is a film about a man who turns into a monster and wreaks havoc, but Johnson says that it’s “really a movie about a need for transparency in relationships.” The protagonist becomes the titular weredeer on a bachelor’s camping trip with the “fellers,” and fails to explain his situation to his wife. As a result, she starts thinking he might be gay. It’s important to be open about these things—she only wants him to live a “rich, authentic life.”

Made with a $40,000 shoestring budget, the movie was shot in Johnson’s hometown of Westmoreland, Tennessee. It featured many of the usual suspects, including Kaufman as governor. Johnson's connections provided a lot of free filming locations, and his champion of a wife let eight people stay in the house for longer than most would. Eventually, though, she needed “to be able to walk to the door,” and it was necessary to get a bank of rooms at the Econo Lodge in Gallatin.

My favorite story from the production of Curse of the Weredeer is a pristine slice of B-movie-making life. Johnson had set up the production office in a building owned by his family, where the other half was a laundromat. When he explained this to Kaufman, the film legend was very interested in the availability of a laundromat, saying, “You gotta kill a kid in a dryer, you’ll never have more fun in your life.” Luckily, Johnson’s friend happened to have a 2-month-old baby who was available for the job.

The baby was having a blast, recounts Johnson, and “eating the whole thing up.” Her father put on the weredeer gloves and gently put her in a dryer, and she smiled and laughed for all of that, despite the nearby “horrifying deer monster.” It wasn’t until they gently placed a dryer sheet on her tummy that she started screaming and crying. The team got their shot, and as soon as she was back out of the dryer she was as giggly as ever.

Kaufman apparently gave Johnson a call after seeing this scene in the complete film, chastising him for the choice. Johnson explained the process, saying they “weren’t just throwing kids in dryers willy-nilly,” but Kaufman wasn’t having it. He remained angry and insistent that he couldn’t see how it was funny until Johnson reminded him that it was, in fact, his idea. That’s when Kaufman agreed that “maybe it is funny.”

Troma movies are often cited for their shock value, but just like Weredeer has a deeper message, there’s always more going on. “If shock is your only shtick, you either need to be exceptionally good at it or it’s gonna fall flat,” says Johnson. You can’t do what’s expected—something that becomes more of an art form as time marches on. Johnson says that “Troma leans into the artistry of everything, and leans into the story.” There’s always an in-depth and carefully assembled plot holding it all together, both in front of and behind those cameras.