Dog-Eat-Dog: NYU Film School

At 16 years old, I entered NYU Film directly into sophomore classes because I'd fulfilled my freshman requirements making Super-8 films in high school. It was, to say the least, uncomfortable to be amongst students who were 19-20 years old, and I'm sure they viewed me as weird (to put it mildly). I was no fashionista, was not hip in any sense of the word (anti-hip comes to mind), wore thick aviator eyeglasses, had incredible reserves of nervous teen energy and, shall I say, bravura (as in cock-sure egotism that masks underlying insecurity and self-doubt).


I had limited sexual chops acquired through a couple of brief high school flings, and the bevy of young, buxom artsy college gals who strolled the hallowed 8th floor Green Street halls were most evidently repelled by this geeky kid who drove a sh-t brown Caddy Coupe Deville from Jersey every day.

Back in the day, a 2nd year film requirement was "The Language of Sight and Sound", a black and white 16MM production course, and Charley Milne was our teacher. During the first class each student stood up and introduced themselves before the class was divvied up into 4 person crews.

I don't recall what my spiel was, but I was surprised when 26 year old Liv Klavenness, a 5'11" scandanavian blonde amazon fashion-model married to a Norwegian shipping magnate multi-millionaire, walked right up to me and nonchalantly declared, "You sound like you know what you're talking about. I want to be in your group." I was taken aback. This woman was so out of my league, it was astounding.

Equally shocking was another 19 year old young lady, Gail Showalter, wan, winsome, dark-haired dancer-type, also wanted to join my group along with Harold Apter, a Jersey transfer student who would become a lifelong friend and fellow man of letters (Emmy Award winner to boot!). So the high school dweeb finds himself in a film crew with 2, count 'em 2 looker ladies making silent 16MM short films, sometimes accompanied by music on full 16 mag and interlocked during projection.

Each week we shot one 100' roll of B&W film on 16MM wind-up Bolexes (Arriflexes if we were lucky), edited on reel-to-reel Filmos, and the following week screened our shorts in class. The assignments were touchy-feely, like make a 3 minute movie on "loneliness". But, as a Super-8 veteran, they were right up my alley.

Every year, if you should by happenstance stroll through Washington Square Park from September through December, you will see NYU film crews with cameras on tripods (probably video camcorders these days) making their little short films on a rigorous and sleep-deprived schedule, with short tempers and egos flexing like peacocks on steroids.

I doubt the routine has changed much since the 70's, for competition rules the roost and the person with the biggest ego, vision, cajones, and stamina always emerges the victor in these dog-eat-dog training grounds, where the microcosm of film school is crafted to mirror the "real world" of vultures, backstabbing, greedy, double-talking hustlers, cinema pimps, and mogul wannabees.

I think I know what I'm talking about. Producer Joel Silver attended NYU when I was there, as did Marty Brest, Amy Heckerling, Joe Gilford (Jack's son), and a slew of other soon-to-be Tinseltown luminaries.

Gee. Maybe I'm being a bit too harsh. Sounding a bit jaded. But, go ahead, I challenge you to walk up to an NYU Film school grad and ask them for their absolutely honest assessment of their film school experience. I ain't making this up, I swear.