The F3ar
Two artists. One driving force.
I met Chris Raffaele in the fall of 2011, at our mutual friend James Madio’s place on Montana Avenue, in warm and pleasant Santa Monica. I bummed a cigarette from Chris, a Parliament Lights, telling him it was my stepdad’s cigarette of choice. We smoked together in Jim’s back alley. Both of us had come 3000 miles — he from the Bronx, me from Brooklyn — chasing similar dreams, smoking familiar cigarettes. We hit it off immediately. A couple of straight-shooters from New York City doing the Hollywood thing; we had a shared energy. He was taking meetings for the distribution of his first feature film, The Grasslands. I was staying with Jim, in the early days of peddling and developing our own feature film, Pep. It was a good cigarette and a better chat. To this day we remain friends and supporters of each other’s work.
Fast-forward to January 2018, a little over six years after our initial meeting, when I attended the premiere of Chris’ third feature film, The F3ar. The F3ar is a sci-fi thriller, a dystopian tale of a United States under invisible siege, the attack credited vaguely, through obscured radio broadcasts and disjointed dialogue, to our longtime nemeses— ISIS, China, and Russia. With little to no communications and a dwindling supply of bare necessities, fear settles in and subsequently, a desperate quest for answers and a struggle to survive. Central to the story is a relationship between husband and wife that has deteriorated, culminating with the revelation that the wife has been unfaithful. This B storyline plays throughout, as omniscient forces are moving in on this sleepy Long Island enclave, and it’s only a matter of time before our protagonist must face these looming dangers, all the while trying to come to terms with his wife’s infidelity. It’s a tale that says more about the inner state, the state of our modern-day collective psyche, rather than the outer, physical state of today’s society, though before long it becomes clear the two will meld and become one. Negative thoughts — about our world, our nation, our community, our neighbor — threaten to manifest itself in physical form, ushering in the end of life as we know it.
The F3ar operates from within, tantalizing our imagination— we never do see the forces threatening the relative peace and tranquility of our story’s setting, nor are we privy to the nature and tactics of their offensive. The worst fears of our protagonist, Mark — who’s agony and confusion forcefully pull us through the film thanks to a great performance by neophyte Joe Diaz — drive his every action. In this sense, the plight of Mark is akin to artists like Chris and myself, storytellers who work against the odds, or more so, in spite of them. We are driven by fear — of failure and rejection, of no longer having the will or capacity to create — and it is because of this fear, the fear that our time is up and the dream has died, that we continue to tell our stories. Every creation is willed to life against invisible and opposing forces, with a desperate intent to keep the end at bay, and fight off our death as artists. And while we often create with great hope, we also do so for the simple, vital sake of creating, and nothing more.
Rewind to somewhere in between Santa Monica and Pelham Park. Though we didn’t see each other for almost a year after our initial encounter, Chris and I kept in touch via email, phone, and social media. I was interested in his journey to distribute The Grasslands, as I had just completed a micro-budget feature of my own, Desert Rain. The Grasslands eventually found a home with Matriarch Multimedia and though it would likely come with little monetary return, the film was out there for all to see, and that mattered to Chris. It mattered to me, as well, so rather than go through the rigors that Chris endured in securing distribution for his film, and knowing that my micro-budget indie with no recognizable cast and little buzz would have even more trouble finding a home than The Grasslands, I uploaded Desert Rain to YouTube so that like The Grasslands, the film was there for those who wanted to see it. As I write this, it has been viewed 7,000 times in about three and a half years. I’m OK with that. I created the work and I’m able to share it with the world. To the storyteller, that counts for something.
I saw Chris again in August 2012, at a script reading for Pep held at the Tribeca Screening Room. Jim Madio had asked him to read with us and Chris didn’t hesitate in accepting the invitation. The Pep reading stands out because here we are in 2019 and still trying to produce the film, but also because I remember being nervous that night as the crowd filed in, and I remember Chris making wisecracks and yucking it up with the other readers, keeping it loose. His presence and spirit helped put me at ease. He seemed to understand my anxieties better than anyone. At the conclusion of the reading, I hopped up onto the stage for a Q&A session and Chris, who was sitting stage right, did not hesitate in giving up his seat to me, as all the other seats were taken by the readers. Chris was still having as good a time after the reading as he was before, to the point where he was joking with someone off-stage while an audience member was asking me a pointed question about the script, and without looking I shushed him. That became “the time I shushed him” and we had a few good laughs about it after. I was thankful it was Chris; only someone with his grace and understanding could have brushed it off so easily, made light of it. It was rude on my part and I felt bad about it. But Chris made it easy for me to feel otherwise. It only endeared him to me more.
In July of 2015 we’d meet again at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe in the East Village, Chris reading for another spec I wrote, Red Hook. He was running late that night, giving me a heart attack in the process. I hadn’t seen him in some time and I remember thinking I’d have to jump on stage and take his place, or send someone else up there (with already 20 readers packed onto the modest sized stage!). He was still MIA when we started, but he arrived not more than two minutes later. He looked a little anxious but we exchanged a knowing smile, both quickly set at ease, and the show went on. He was doing me a favor, coming a long way (from Long Island) and I understood that. His support meant the world to me. Any support means a lot to us storytellers. We do our work in a vacuum, alienated from most of the people in our lives who don’t fully understand what we do. We keep this personal journey to ourselves until we’re amongst like minds, when we can share ideas, and talk craft and business, hopes and dreams. And when we’ve done the work and need someone to help with a reading, or with finding an actor or a prop, or anything else related to the work, we turn to each other. Family is family, but only an artist understands another artist. Our relationships are invaluable. Such is my relationship with Chris.
Chris’ next film after The Grasslands was The Dash, about a dying mother and the dire effect on the entirety of the family. The Dash was filmed in 7 days with a cast of 33 actors! Chris had a rough cut and called me to see if I’d watch it, offer notes. I thought the film had a lot of heart and it was all Chris, willing the thing into existence like he had done with The Grasslands. He took my notes, gracefully, and though it took me many hours — to view the film TWICE and write detailed, time-coded notes — it was no skin off my back. Chris didn’t have to do anything more than ask. And I just did, same as he would do for me.
I was inspired to write this Medium entry after seeing Chris again at the premiere of The F3ar. It had been over 2 years since I’d last seen him, but as always, the time between us didn’t matter. It felt like yesterday. He had the glow of a filmmaker about to premiere his movie in a real theater. It was a great turnout. I was happy for him. And I was wowed by the work. The heart and soul in every frame. The guy writes, produces, directs, shoots, edits — on The F3ar, he did EVERYTHING himself. He shot 12 days over 3 months. And he gets quality actors to work with him every time. Actors like Mike Starr and Saul Stein and Peter Greene and Arthur Nascarella and Louis Vanaria. James Madio, of course. Even Chuck Zito (!!) took a turn in The Grasslands. He’s able to couple these pros with good performances from non-professionals and first-timers, like Joe Diaz and Courtney Sturm in The F3ar. His (sometimes twisted) imagination never fails to make me see that he is a visionary at work. But what really impresses me about Chris is that, like me, he hasn’t had that “big break” yet. But that doesn’t stop him. The artist works, regardless. He or she hopes for great success, success where we can make a living off the work, not have to take odd jobs to get by. But we also know the simple act of doing the work — that in itself is success. The ability (the gall?!) to put years of mostly unnoticed work behind you and go right back in and do it again and again — that’s what makes someone like Chris amazing. That’s the part of Chris that inspires me, that I can most relate to. That’s what I’ve been doing all these years. If one spec script doesn’t blow the door open, while it hurts and you never get back the time spent (a year, 2 years, 3 years…), you put it behind you and write another. And then another. Endeavor to persevere — nothing more. Resilience. It’s not easy, but that’s our lot. That’s what we do. And nobody does it better than Chris Raffaele. A true artist.
After going “oh for 18” on the film festival circuit, The F3ar recently found a home on *Amazon Prime. The process for releasing on Prime is complex and tedious but not impossible. Chris said it was like anything else we do as independent storytellers. “You walk through a mile of shit and then you know everything.” He also says as a filmmaker, “It’s the best of times. Now I can be me, and not chase the magic dragon that is theatrical release. Amazon Prime has become my studio. Now I have a home for my thought-provoking, meaningful films. I’m not chasing the limelight or fame or fortune or anything else. I can simply create and share those creations with an audience of 100 million.” Amazon Prime is the perfect home for filmmakers who produce at regular intervals and are looking to find an audience for their work. A welcome path for storytellers to share their stories.
The F3ar was thoroughly entertaining from beginning to end. Chris had a vision and went for it — and he succeeded in capturing that vision. It’s fresh, eerie, and disturbing. He uses uneven camera angles and jump cuts and distorted dialogue and creepy effects and oversaturated frames and colors, tremendous sound effects and design…all of it to paint this picture of a world coming to an end, about a man’s fear coming to its climax. The world ending, a marriage ending — violent, scandalous ends — a man’s worst fears realized. At its core, The F3ar is about conforming and giving up our true selves — a fear that we as artists fight with our every breath. That fear drives us, keeps us telling our stories in whatever format — film, paint, music, writing. The fear that it’s over, that we have to pack our bags and move onto to the next phase in life, “be more practical,” that is something we can never give into. That “thing” inside of us will never die. And that is our bond. That is mine and Chris’ bond, the foundation of our friendship. And that’s why when my wife (mildly) complained about my going to a screening in Pelham Park on a Thursday night, far from our home in Bay Ridge, I made her understand that I had to be there for my fellow artist, as he’s been there for me. And she could sense it was a real thing and she didn’t press. And it was a thrill to be there — not only to see the film, but to support this kindred spirit. I was moved by The F3ar. I hope others will be too. Regardless, I know Chris will be moved to make another film, to continue telling his stories. Because that’s what artists do, for better or worse. It’s our gift and our curse. It’s how we overcome our own fears. It is our calling. It is our life. And we keep going. Not that we have a choice.
*The F3ar is now streaming on Amazon Prime.
