Movie making in 48 hours

The idea originated with two friends in Washington, Mark Ruppert and Liz Langston, who wanted to provide an outlet for creative people to harness the power of digital-video technology. Mr. Ruppert had seen the 24-Hour Plays in New York, and the two hoped to translate that idea to film. So in 2001 they began the first 48 Hour Film Project, which invited teams of people to make a movie in a supercompressed timeframe. To spice things up, all the films would include three specific elements: a single line of dialogue, a particular character, and a prop. Finally, each film receives a screening and a "Best of Show" is announced.

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From six cities in 2002, the project has expanded to 30 cities in the United States and overseas, including London and Sheffield in England, and Brisbane, Australia. Word of mouth continues to build, attracting neophytes and pros alike as cameras and editing software become less expensive.

"The technology levels the playing field for people. It doesn't take money, it takes vision," says Ms. Langston.

Last month, the 48 Hour Film Project returned to its Washington roots. Seventy teams signed on, including No Snoring Productions, Oozing Sarcasm, and The Procrastinators - which showed up late for the opening session - and I See London, I See France, which decided to take the challenge for a second year.

These pages follow the latter team from conception to the delivery of their comic movie.

The roller-coaster ride begins

Representatives from each of the 70 teams wait expectantly at the Warehouse Theater, where each will draw a paper out of a hat with the name of a film genre written on it. This is to ensure no one gets a head start.

Matt Botwin of I See London leans against the back wall talking with Martyn Green of Poolboy Productions. Their voices join the nervous chatter. Like kids waiting in line for a roller coaster, a mix of dread and excitement courses through them. Once each team has drawn, they will be given the three required elements. The groups can reject their initial draw for a wild-card selection. The challenge for everyone is to turn in the work by 7:30 p.m. Sunday. If they are late, their film will be screened but won't be eligible for top awards.

This is Mr. Botwin's second project with girlfriend and executive producer Jennifer Prediger. Last year they delivered their film at 7:25 p.m., and they know every minute counts. Despite the stress of the 2004 project, they decided to sign up again. "It created sense of community and gave us something to laugh and giggle about for months," Ms. Prediger says.

Botwin clutches his cellphone, and waits to call Prediger and Jim Jones, the film's director and CEO of iKoya, a Virginia film production company, at the team's headquarters - dubbed Underpants Central - when he knows their assignment.

A hush falls over the crowd as 48 Hour Film Project executive producers Langston and Ruppert step up to the microphone. "Welcome to the Washington, D.C., 48 Hour Film Project," Ruppert says.

The Draw

		FRIDAY NIGHT: Filmmaker Matt Botwin laughs ruefully when he reads his assigned genre, 'silent film.' After initially drawing 'science fiction,' Botwin opted for a wildcard, hoping to land a genre better suited to his group's interests. ANDY NELSON - STAFF

The film styles pulled from the hat first are mystery, romance, and mockumentary, which the recipients yell out. Botwin snares science fiction. It is not one of the team's top choices. For such a film to be good, it takes technical skills the team doesn't have. He reaches for his cellphone. "What do you think?" he asks. "I think we should go for the wild card. You're sure? OK," he says.

Tension builds as he joins more than 10 others who are taking the wild card. Langston opens an envelope and slowly turns the paper around. Botwin shakes his head and chuckles at his misfortune. "This is the worst possible choice. Is there any way I can trade?" he pleads with Langston. But the draw is final. He calls Prediger. "You're not going to believe this, but the wild card is 'Silent Film.' "

Brainstorming

Jones and Prediger sit on the back porch of the house she shares with Botwin, working through the shock of drawing silent film, but warming to the possibilities. They won't have to worry about dialogue. Botwin joins them.

Around 9 p.m., three other ideas people, Len Schmitz, Brian Levy, and Anna Collins, have joined the trio and brainstorming is in full fury. It is a scene surely playing out among other teams across the city. A consensus emerges at 10:30. The film will be series of vignettes about moments everyone faces - the awkward silence. The film is Charlie Chaplin meets the Farrelly Brothers: No words, but the scenes are meant to elicit laughs by relying on a moment of dishabille, bodily functions, and personal phobias.

The team works to incorporate the required character of R. Moellering, a hypochondriac; the prop, a bottle of wine; and the line of dialogue: "It was like that when I got here." By midnight the first scene is sketched out.

Scene 1
R. Moellering, hypochondriac, goes through his routine of taking a handful of pills. He looks in the refrigerator for milk, only to feel something stuck to his forehead. Looking in the mirror, he sees only disfigurement and, of course, fears the worst. He rushes, screaming, from his house. But a woman sees the "tumor" is only a prune, peels it off his head, and feeds it to her dog. Moellering is mortified.

The final scene comes together quickly. It is the easiest to sketch and draws considerable laughter from the tired crew.

Scene 3
A group of friends are gathered at a table enjoying dinner and drinks. Suddenly, one of the diners experiences an enormous bout of flatulence. Everyone freezes, not saying a word but casting accusatory glances at one guest. He is not the guilty party; actually, it's his date. Her heart pounds with embarrassment as she adjusts her dress. The party slowly resumes.

"[These] jokes never get old. They're universal," says Prediger.

Just before 2 a.m., the group is confident enough about the film's outline that they can spare the luxury of a few hours sleep. Prediger sends an e-mail at midnight for a 7:30 a.m. crew call. She crawls into bed at 4 a.m.

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