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filmmaking

IFH 802: Studios, Scores & Secrets: The Untold Story of Rotten Tomatoes with Patrick Lee

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When the lights of the cinema dim and the hum of anticipation fills the air, something magical happens—stories come alive. And sometimes, the stories behind the storytellers are the most fascinating of all. On today’s episode, we welcome Patrick Lee, a man whose quiet curiosity and geeky love for film statistics helped shape the very lens through which millions of people now view cinema. Patrick Lee is the co-founder of Rotten Tomatoes, a website that has become both a cultural barometer and a battleground for filmmakers and fans alike.

Before Rotten Tomatoes became a household name, Patrick and his co-founders were merely tinkering with design and entertainment tech, creating websites for giants like Disney Channel and MTV. But like many innovative ideas, Rotten Tomatoes was born from a simple question: “What if people could see all the movie reviews—good and bad—in one place?” It was their creative director, Sen Duong, who initiated the project, running it as a side hustle until it became clear they were onto something far bigger than banner ads and online games.

The journey wasn’t smooth sailing. As Patrick explained, the film industry often has a conflicted relationship with Rotten Tomatoes. Studios love it when their movies are Certified Fresh but curse its very existence when the Tomato Meter goes south. “We’ve had studios threaten to pull ad campaigns or never advertise with us again,” Patrick revealed. It’s a fine balance between journalistic integrity and business pragmatism, and it’s one that Rotten Tomatoes walked with surprising grace—largely thanks to the team’s belief in transparency and fairness.

What’s remarkable is how this digital compass evolved into a kind of cinematic moral authority. “The Tomato Meter is basically the percent chance that you’ll like seeing a movie,” Patrick said. And therein lies its charm—it doesn’t claim objectivity. It’s not about whether a film is “good” in a vacuum. It’s about consensus. It’s about probability. It’s about knowing whether you, dear viewer, are likely to leave the theater with a full heart or an empty wallet.

Patrick also took us down a rabbit hole of changing critic landscapes. When Rotten Tomatoes began, the idea of a “professional critic” was easy to define: newspaper columnists, magazine reviewers, or syndicated television film buffs. Today, in an age of TikTok reviews and substack essays, that boundary has blurred. “Anybody can start a podcast or a YouTube channel,” he observed, echoing the democratization of media that defines our era. But for Rotten Tomatoes, quality still trumps quantity, and validation still requires rigorous standards.

Perhaps one of the most unexpected parts of the conversation veered toward China, where Patrick spent nearly a decade after selling Rotten Tomatoes. There, he witnessed first-hand the explosive rise of filmgoing culture. “Even for some random movie, theaters were sold out for hours,” he noted. With state-of-the-art theaters rising from dusty streets and censorship shaping storylines, China has become both a new frontier and a mirror reflecting global shifts in entertainment priorities.

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IFH 792: The Power of the Cut: Storytelling Secrets from Michael Trent

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A film editor’s job is much like the work of a sculptor. You take a massive block of material—raw footage—and with a series of delicate, precise cuts, you shape it into something cohesive, something meaningful. In today’s episode, we welcome Michael Trent, a master of cinematic storytelling who has spent his career assembling some of Hollywood’s most unforgettable films. From the war-torn beaches of Saving Private Ryan to the eerie corridors of The Hatred, his work is the unseen hand that guides an audience’s emotions, turning chaos into art.

For Michael Trent, the journey into the editing room began long before he ever set foot in Hollywood. His father, a sound editor in England, introduced him to the craft at an early age. “I was using a Moviola by the time I was ten,” he recalls, describing the tactile magic of celluloid film. But talent alone wasn’t enough to break into the industry—his leap from England to Hollywood in 1994 was an act of faith, a cold call to the right person at the right time, proving that the universe often conspires in favor of those who dare.

Editing is not merely about cutting and pasting scenes together. It is about rhythm, about knowing when to hold a shot and when to move on. It is the balance between subtlety and impact, between quiet tension and explosive release. “I think a lot of editors cut too much,” Michael Trent shares. “You have to feel the emotion of a scene and let it breathe.” His work on The Hatred is a testament to this philosophy, particularly in its ability to sustain suspense, making audiences feel the presence of something sinister lurking just beyond the frame.

One of the most fascinating aspects of his career was working alongside Steven Spielberg. Editing Saving Private Ryan meant moving between locations, from an Irish field to an aerospace museum in England, adapting to whatever environment was necessary. But beyond the logistics, Spielberg’s ability to visualize an edit in his head was what amazed Michael Trent the most. “He called in from Japan with an edit suggestion, and when we made the change, it worked perfectly. It was as if he had a video camera inside his mind.”

Horror editing, in particular, demands a unique approach. Timing becomes everything—not just in the obvious jump scares, but in the slow-building unease that keeps an audience gripping their seats. A shadow lingering a second too long, a door creaking open just slightly out of sync—these are the choices that make a horror film work. “There’s a scene in The Hatred where Alice walks toward the cellar,” Michael Trent explains. “We held the shot longer than usual, just to build that sense of dread.”

To be an editor is to be both an artist and a storyteller, sculpting not with clay or paint, but with time itself. The true test of an editor’s skill lies not in what they add, but in what they take away. Sometimes, entire scenes—ones that took days to shoot—must be discarded for the sake of pacing and narrative flow. “You have to be ruthless,” Michael Trent says. “If it doesn’t serve the story, it has to go.”

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IFH 791: Beyond the Script: Gordy Hoffman’s Guide to Emotional Storytelling

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Life, they say, is a story we tell ourselves—a script of experience, moments, and emotions woven into a narrative only we can claim as our own. On today’s episode, we welcome Gordy Hoffman, a screenwriter, director, and the mind behind the BlueCat Screenwriting Competition. His journey through the labyrinth of storytelling has been marked by profound lessons in creativity, resilience, and the delicate art of telling tales that move the human heart.

As he shares his insights, one thing becomes evident: the best stories are not formulas but living, breathing entities. Too often, writers are shackled by the idea that a script must be a well-oiled machine of plot points and three-act structures. But according to Gordy Hoffman, true storytelling is about emotional investment. “The only rule of storytelling is getting an audience to care,” he explains. Without that, no amount of structure or technique can save a lifeless script. Whether it’s an Oscar-winning screenplay or a child recounting their day at school, the heart of a story lies in its ability to make someone feel something real.

The conversation drifts into the art of critique—how some script consultants and teachers wield feedback like a sledgehammer rather than a guiding hand. Gordy Hoffman believes in nurturing creativity with kindness, rather than crushing it under the weight of harsh criticism. He’s seen firsthand how a poorly delivered note can stifle a writer, and he champions an approach where constructive guidance fosters growth rather than fear. After all, a writer’s vulnerability is embedded in their work, and the moment they detach from that, their stories lose their humanity.

But what about the battle every writer faces—the looming doubt that creeps in halfway through a script, whispering that it’s all meaningless, that every page is a failure? Gordy Hoffman reassures us that this despair is not a dead end but a marker of progress. “Every screenplay you work on, you’re going to hit that wall where you think, ‘This is awful, I’m bored, and I want to start over.’ That’s when you know you’re halfway there.” The magic, he insists, lies in persistence—pushing through the malaise, trusting the process, and understanding that the creative spirit is not meant to be shackled by self-doubt.

The conversation inevitably turns to Hollywood, that glittering beast that both nurtures and devours dreams. The industry’s appetite for franchise films and established intellectual property has made it harder than ever for original screenplays to find their place. But for those who believe in their stories, avenues still exist—film festivals like Sundance, independent productions, and even the evolving landscape of television. The key is not just writing a screenplay but crafting one so undeniable that it demands to be seen.

And what of inspiration? For Gordy Hoffman, it can come from anywhere—a fleeting moment, a stray observation, or even an index card scribbled with a single thought. Love Liza, one of his most well-known works, was born from a brief encounter at a gas station. “I saw someone near a pump, and I thought, ‘Are they sniffing gasoline?’ That small moment turned into a story about grief and addiction.” Such is the power of storytelling—it transforms the mundane into the extraordinary, giving meaning to even the smallest of moments.

The beauty of storytelling is that it is never truly finished. It grows, shifts, and takes on a life of its own, sometimes in ways we never intended. As Gordy Hoffman reminds us, the path of the writer is one of perseverance, of believing in the story even when the world seems indifferent. In the end, storytelling is less about perfecting structure and more about opening the heart—to others, to ourselves, and to the infinite possibility of what can be created.

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IFH 790: From Short to Feature: The Filmmaker’s Journey with Michael G. Kehoe

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On today’s episode, we welcome Michael G. Kehoe, a filmmaker who turned a whisper of an idea into the resounding voice of a feature film. From Brooklyn to Hollywood, from an eight-year-old boy watching his mother direct community theater to a director commanding his own set, Michael’s journey is one of persistence, heartbreak, and sheer creative will.

In this profound conversation, Michael G. Kehoe shares the winding road of his career, one marked by passion and loss. A pact among friends, the bright lights of New York, and the uncertainty of Los Angeles formed the backdrop to his early years. But it was a personal tragedy—the untimely passing of two close friends—that set the stage for his first short film, Second Dance. With no roadmap but a fierce determination, he crafted a story that not only resonated but landed him in the heart of Sundance, proving that even the smallest project can open the biggest doors.

The journey didn’t stop there. Years later, inspired by his twin boys’ innocent bedtime fears, he penned a horror story that would eventually become The Hatred. Rather than waiting for a green light from the industry, he carved his own path. He created Hush, a short film that distilled the very essence of fear—the anticipation of the unknown. The reaction was immediate. Audiences jumped, festivals awarded, and industry heavyweights, including the producers behind Halloween, took notice. The lesson? The industry rewards those who show, not just tell.

But success in Hollywood is rarely a straight road. Shooting The Hatred on a tight budget and an even tighter schedule meant adapting, improvising, and making every shot count. “Poverty breeds creativity,” Michael says, a testament to the resilience needed in independent filmmaking. Working with a largely female cast, he crafted a horror film that stood apart from the blood-soaked clichés, focusing instead on atmosphere, character, and tension. The result? A film that paid homage to the horror classics of the past while carving its own identity in the present.

Of course, filmmaking is a collaborative art. Michael speaks of the relationships that make the journey worthwhile—the actors who return to work with him time and again, the cinematographers who bring his visions to life, and the producers who take a chance on passion over pedigree. “Surround yourself with people smarter than you,” he advises. A lesson as true for life as it is for film.

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IFH 789: The Indie Filmmaker’s Journey: Curt Wiser on Creativity, Persistence, and Making Cam Girl

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On today’s episode, we welcome Curt Wiser, a writer and director whose journey proves that the path to making movies doesn’t require a New York or Los Angeles zip code. From the sunny shores of Florida, Curt has forged his own cinematic destiny, creating the suspenseful and thought-provoking film Cam Girl—a story of isolation, control, and survival. But as with any journey worth taking, his was not without its trials.

Filmmaking is often romanticized as an artistic dreamland, yet reality demands perseverance. Curt Wiser spent years writing scripts, refining his vision, and navigating the labyrinth of independent film production. He understood a fundamental truth—great stories come from deep within the storyteller. The seed of Cam Girl was planted not in a boardroom or a Hollywood studio, but in the quiet hours of personal discipline, writing at night after long workdays, shaping ideas into something tangible. He described his creative process as a structured yet fluid endeavor, saying, “I outline thoroughly, but when I start writing, it just pours out. I wrote the first draft of Cam Girl in 14 days.” Passion fuels discipline, and discipline, in turn, fuels success.

His film, Cam Girl, takes a simple yet gripping premise—a woman working as a webcam performer who finds herself taken hostage—and transforms it into an intense, psychological unraveling. With one primary location and a tight cast, it is proof that compelling storytelling doesn’t require a blockbuster budget. The industry often pressures filmmakers to define themselves within a niche, to follow trends rather than intuition. But Curt remains steadfast in his desire to explore diverse narratives, aware that Hollywood loves to box artists in, but true creators resist those constraints.

Challenges are inevitable in both life and filmmaking, and Curt has encountered his fair share. Whether it was dealing with malfunctioning equipment, shifting schedules, or the ever-present financial constraints of independent cinema, he never allowed these obstacles to derail his vision. He understands that setbacks are not roadblocks, but rather, unexpected plot twists in the grand narrative of creation. “Filmmaking is like solving a puzzle while the pieces keep changing,” he mused. The lesson? You don’t control the waves, but you learn how to ride them.

Independent filmmaking is a test of patience, resilience, and the ability to pivot when necessary. Distribution, marketing, and audience reception all present their own set of challenges, but Curt embraces the uncertainty, knowing that each project is a stepping stone to the next. Cam Girl has found its way to audiences through Amazon and other platforms, an accomplishment that many filmmakers never reach. His approach to networking, to putting work out into the world, proves a vital point: persistence, not perfection, is what leads to opportunity.

Filmmakers, writers, and creatives alike can take inspiration from Curt’s journey. The industry is a maze, but the way through it is to keep moving. Too many aspiring artists get caught in the paralysis of waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect budget, the perfect conditions. But perfection is an illusion. Start where you are. Use what you have. Tell your story anyway.

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IFH 788: The Unscripted Journey of Steven Bernstein: From Cinematographer to Storyteller

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What if the greatest stories of our lives are the ones we never meant to write? On today’s episode, we welcome Steven Bernstein, a man whose journey through the world of cinema has been anything but predictable. A writer at heart, a cinematographer by accident, and a director by destiny, his career is a living testament to the art of surrendering to the unknown. From his early days at the BBC to the sets of Hollywood blockbusters, his story unfolds like an unplanned masterpiece—one that ultimately brought him full circle, back to the thing he always loved: writing.

In this profound conversation, Steven Bernstein recounts his journey from philosophy student to award-winning cinematographer, where his love of storytelling found an unexpected home behind the lens. He speaks of the curious ways life moves us, sometimes against our best-laid plans. “You tend to go with those things that are providing you income,” he muses, reflecting on how a passion for writing gave way to cinematography, leading him to films like Monster, Like Water for Chocolate, and Scary Movie 2. Yet, even as he shaped light and shadow for some of cinema’s most striking images, the writer within him never faded.

There is an undeniable poetry in the way Bernstein describes his work. He doesn’t just shoot a film; he composes it, layering meaning through framing, movement, and light. Every choice—a dolly push, a backlight, an asymmetrical composition—whispers something to the audience. It’s a language beyond words, one that he speaks fluently. “Everything to do with film is a language,” he explains. “And like any language, it’s made up of two parts: that which we present and that which we mean.”

His journey back to writing was not an easy one. After years of crafting imagery for others, he took a leap into directing his own films, starting with Decoding Annie Parker. It was a lesson in risk and resilience. At one point, he spent five years in poverty, refusing to return to the safety of cinematography. “If you hold out for the dream, maybe you achieve it,” he says. It is a stark reminder that the artist’s path is often one of sacrifice, but those who persist find themselves richer in ways beyond money.

Yet, Bernstein also understands the tension between art and commerce. Filmmaking is an expensive endeavor, and investors want guarantees. He describes the struggle of balancing creative vision with financial expectations, a dance between inspiration and limitation. And yet, some of the greatest filmmakers—Terry Malick, the Coen Brothers, Charlie Kaufman—have defied convention, proving that the most resonant stories often break the rules.

The conversation moves to the nature of collaboration, the unspoken alchemy that happens on a film set when everyone is in sync. He recalls moments from Monster, where the crew, sensing the gravity of a scene, chose to remain completely silent, whispering only when necessary. It was an unspoken agreement, an offering to the art being created. “It was one of the most magical moments I remember in any film I’ve ever worked on,” he recalls. It is a glimpse into the rare, sacred spaces where true storytelling happens—not in the scripts, but in the spaces between them.

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IFH 787: From Ultraviolent Wrestling to Transformative Filmmaking: The Story of Matthew T. Burns

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On today’s episode, we welcome Matthew T. Burns, an individual who embodies resilience, creativity, and reinvention. Known to wrestling fans as “Sick Nick Mondo,” Matthew has transitioned from his legendary career in ultraviolent wrestling to become a filmmaker, storyteller, and advocate for the art of storytelling. His journey is nothing short of a profound odyssey, weaving together themes of passion, pain, and redemption.

The conversation begins with an exploration of Matthew’s early days in professional wrestling. Growing up in Pennsylvania, he was drawn to the raw, unfiltered world of ECW wrestling—a stage of audacity and grit that mirrored his burgeoning desire to push boundaries. This rebellious spirit carried him into the extreme realm of deathmatch wrestling, where stunts with glass, barbed wire, and even weed whackers became his calling card. Yet, this wasn’t just about shock value; as Matthew shared, “In the chaos of the ring, I found a strange, unrelenting clarity.”

Matthew’s career in wrestling, however, wasn’t without consequence. A pivotal moment came during a deathmatch tournament where a dangerous stunt left him severely injured. Despite his physical and emotional scars, he chose to leave wrestling on his own terms, marking the beginning of a profound personal transformation. Wrestling may have been his proving ground, but storytelling became his sanctuary.

This shift led Matthew to pursue filmmaking, where he channeled his experiences into his debut film, The Trade. A blend of documentary and scripted storytelling, the film delves into his wrestling career and the connection he shares with Rory, a younger wrestler who idolized him and even adopted his persona in the ring. Their shared journey—a mix of admiration, mentorship, and cautionary wisdom—forms the emotional core of the project. Reflecting on this, Matthew remarked, “I never wanted my story to become someone else’s pain.”

As the conversation unfolds, Matthew reflects on his time in Japan, where he immersed himself in the film industry. He shares the highs and lows of navigating a foreign culture while honing his craft, emphasizing the importance of adaptability and perseverance. From acting roles to operating cameras, Matthew’s journey in Japan became a crucible for refining his artistic vision.

Now back in the United States, Matthew’s focus is on bringing The Trade to broader audiences while exploring new creative ventures. He’s brimming with optimism and gratitude for the lessons learned along the way. “Every chapter,” he says, “teaches us something vital about the next.

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IFH 780: Unforgettable Storytelling: Phillip Andrew on Creativity, Leadership, and Resilience

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On today’s episode, we dive into the fascinating world of creativity, resilience, and the art of storytelling with Phillip Andrew, a multi-talented producer, motivational speaker, and DJ from Los Angeles. From his humble beginnings in Michigan to his relentless pursuit of opportunities in Hollywood, Phillip’s journey is a testament to the power of determination, adaptability, and the enduring impact of great stories.

Phillip reminisced about his early days navigating the entertainment industry, sharing candid insights about how unconventional networking—like a chance encounter on a basketball court—landed him his first job in production. Reflecting on this pivotal moment, he said, “You don’t always know which door will open, but that’s why you keep knocking on as many as possible.” This philosophy underscores the importance of persistence, even when the odds seem insurmountable.

In the heart of Hollywood, Phillip discovered the transformative power of storytelling. He spoke passionately about the evolution of stories—from ancient oral traditions to modern-day cinematic spectacles. Despite technological advancements, Phillip believes the core of storytelling remains unchanged: creating narratives that resonate deeply with people. He emphasized, “It doesn’t matter how advanced the technology is—if the story doesn’t connect, the audience won’t care.”

Phillip’s journey wasn’t without its challenges. From grappling with personal setbacks to navigating the unpredictable nature of film sets, he revealed how these experiences shaped his outlook. He humorously recounted a lesson from the legendary director Wes Craven, who once said, “Who told you things were ever supposed to go as planned?” This nugget of wisdom became a mantra for Phillip, helping him approach obstacles with creativity and a solutions-oriented mindset.

A recurring theme in the conversation was leadership—on set and in life. Phillip shared a story about a showrunner who inspired him by personally crawling under a table to fix a light. This simple act of humility and teamwork left a lasting impression, reinforcing Phillip’s belief that effective leaders must lead by example. He noted, “When people see that you’re willing to do the work too, they’ll want to go the extra mile with you.”

Phillip also touched on the current “golden age of content,” highlighting both the opportunities and challenges it presents. With an explosion of platforms like Netflix, YouTube, and Hulu, the barrier to entry has never been lower. However, this democratization of content also means creators face more competition than ever. For Phillip, the solution is simple: focus on the power of the story. “If you don’t have a compelling reason for your audience to care, your content will get lost in the noise,” he warned.

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IFH 779: Breaking the Mold: Lily Yasuda and Michael Wolfe’s Journey to Crafting the Anti-Rom-Com

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On today’s episode, we welcome the dynamic duo, Lily Yasuda and Michael Wolfe, two inspiring filmmakers who have decided to take the road less traveled by creating their own feature film, Like Love. Their journey is one of collaboration, determination, and creativity—filled with moments of laughter and the occasional unexpected hurdle.

From the outset, you’ll sense the chemistry between Lily and Michael. They first crossed paths during their time at Chapman University, bonding over vulnerable and humorous writing assignments in a creative writing class. Their shared passion for storytelling sparked not only a friendship but also a creative partnership. This partnership culminated in the idea for Like Love, a project born out of their desire to challenge traditional romantic comedy tropes. “We wanted to tell a story that feels real and honest,” Lily shares, “about friendships and the complexities of human connection.”

At its heart, Like Love is what they call an “anti-romantic comedy.” Drawing inspiration from classics like When Harry Met Sally, Lily and Michael aim to flip the script on the genre. Instead of perpetuating the myth that friendship between men and women inevitably leads to romance, their film explores the beauty of platonic relationships. As Michael explains, “It’s about two friends trying to fall in love and realizing they’re better off as friends. That’s the kind of story we don’t see enough.”

Their filmmaking journey hasn’t been without its challenges. Crowdfunding has been a pivotal part of bringing Like Love to life. Lily and Michael describe the process as “a full-time job in itself,” requiring not only meticulous planning but also a willingness to be vulnerable and open about their creative vision. They’ve leaned heavily on their network for support, finding generosity in unexpected places. “The community in Boise has been incredible,” says Lily. “People here are so supportive, offering locations, resources, and even homemade meals for the crew.”

Despite the logistical hurdles, their passion for storytelling shines through. Michael, the film’s director, admits that directing a micro-budget feature comes with unique pressures. “We’re all wearing multiple hats,” he notes, “but it’s an amazing experience to work so closely with a team that believes in the project.” Lily, who also stars as the film’s lead, balances her roles as actor, writer, and producer with grace, emphasizing the importance of collaboration in every aspect of the project.

As they reflect on their experiences, one thing becomes clear: Like Love is more than just a film; it’s a testament to the power of community and perseverance. Lily and Michael hope their story inspires other aspiring filmmakers to take the leap. “Making a movie isn’t easy,” Lily acknowledges, “but if you’re passionate about your story, you’ll find a way to make it happen.”

Please enjoy my conversation with Lily Yasuda and Michael Wolfe.

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