cineSOURCE magazine

Dyke Central Takes On the World
by Crescent Diamond

Florencia Manóvil, director, writer AND producer of the new web series, 'Dyke Central', at home with her daily expresso. photo: Tonia Hafter

IT WAS AN UNUSUALLY WARM MARCH
afternoon when I sat down at Berkeley’s Local 123 cafe to catch up with my friend and fellow filmmaker Florencia Manóvil, notably about the long-awaited release of “Dyke Central,” her web series, which will come out on VOD on April 10th, 2015 (see the first episodes or the site).

An Oakland resident and 34, Florencia was born and raised in Buenos Aires but moved to the US when she was 18 to pursue film studies at Emerson College in Boston. After the release of her feature debut "Fiona's Script" (2008), which was shot in Oakland, Florencia began writing a second feature, "Star-Crossed".

When a friend donated $5,000 towards her next project, she decided to put it towards shooting a web series pilot she was also writing. “Dyke Central” is a 10-episode, 22-min. dramedy web-series based in Oakland, centering around the lives of Alex and Gin, 30-something butch roommates.

The series is unlike most other LGBT projects in that almost all of the characters are people of color and the lead roles are masculine-of-center identified.

(I’m going to use terms that may not be familiar to every reader, so please feel free to look them up: Masculine-of-Center, Queer, Trans.)

The main characters live together in a house dubbed “Dyke Central” because of all the drama surrounding it, something I think many queers can relate to.

Indeed, the actual production of the first season had its share of drama, including two different writing partners—also Florencia's girlfriends over the five years—and a very frightening on set robbery during the last week of shooting.

The main cast members 'Dyke Central''s second episode, 'Taboo' (lft-rt): Tai Rockett, Andre Le Blanc, Comika Ashby, Tom Paul, Ashlei Shyne, Amelia Mae Paradise, Carla Pauli, Giovannie Espiritu and Mahasin Munir. photo: courtesy F. Manóvil

It’s been a long journey, especially since the writing and production came in stages due to budget limitations and writing partner changes. To summarize the timeline: Florencia began developing the characters in 2010; shot the pilot in 2011; released it on YouTube in 2013; episodes 2-5 were shot in 2013; and episode 2 was released at film festivals and online in 2014.

Although Episodes 3-5 were screened at some film festivals and given out as Indiegogo donors rewards, they have not been widely available. Finally, in 2014, episodes 6-10 were shot and are now in the final stages of post-production for an April 10th release, along with the rest of the series. Episodes 1 and 2 can be viewed on YouTube here.

I met Florencia in 2009, through my girlfriend (and my own dyke central experience) and we got to know each other at screenings at Frameline, SF's major queer film festival.

Indeed, I've been following the project closely, ever since Florencia asked me to read the pilot's script back in 2010. Although it's been quite exciting to see its evolution and growing fan base, now I needed more info.

I wanted to pick Florencia's brain both about creating a web series and making media with a feminist and queer perspective. Fortunately, I was able to catch a few minutes of her time as she was finishing up her sound mix with Bay Area legend Dan Olmsted at Berkeley’s renown Saul Zaentz Media Center.

Florencia Manóvil directing a shoot at the queer-owned, sex boutique Feelmore510. photo: courtesy F. Manóvil

CineSource: Congratulations on the release of the first season! I’m very curious about your distribution strategy.

Florencia Manóvil: This entire time I’ve been kind of figuring out distribution. I had this idea that somebody, like, an external source, was gonna pick up the series and then fund the rest of it.

Then, at some point, I just realized: the distribution landscape is so shifty right now, it’s ever-changing. All the TV channels and networks are actually scrambling and freaking out and they keep changing what they’re doing.

Through the course of our production, which has been going on for a few of years, TV networks, what they’re showing, what they’re buying, has changed, like, every six months. I had a couple pitch meetings in LA, and I got a real sense that they don’t really know what they’re doing. And I don’t want to compromise what I’m doing.

So long-story short, I realized that I really just wanted to finish Season One and then sell it, figure out distribution to recoup the costs. I was informing myself about all of the self-distribution options; it just keeps growing, that’s where things are growing and developing. I think a lot of these aggregators and new platforms have been really working out their kinks over the past couple of years.

So I was like, OK, OK: we can actually self-distribute and I can have full creative control and full control of when it happens, how it happens. Instead of finishing, waiting around for somebody else to release it on their own timeline, I decided to distribute on a video on demand model as a starting point.

We’re going through Distribber, which is an aggregator, and they just launched a platform for direct sales for features and episodics through CineVolt and Distribber.

We will drive our own fans to watch it through CineVolt and we’ll get 100% of the profits (minus the low administrative fee). Later on, we’ll probably do Hulu and Amazon, and maybe even eventually Netflix, but all of those yield a lot less.

For both Hulu and Netflix, you need an aggregator, so they basically do that and you pay an upfront fee, and then you recoup it, hopefully. Both Amazon and Hulu do ad-based revenue, and Netflix gives a flat licensing fee. That’s why you want to go Netflix last.

Sometimes the cafe and art scene Ms. Manóvil obliges more than her traditional one expresso a day. photo: Tonia Hafter

So I know you had two different writing partners over the course of the production, and you ended up parting ways with them and then writing some of the episodes on your own. What are some of the major lessons that you’ve learned from this process?

Basically, it took me the bulk of that time to realize that I did have the skills to write it by myself. The last episodes, which I wrote alone—completely alone—were just a breeze. They were so much easier to write than the ones that I was trying to co-write with people, really having to edit what other people were writing to fit the narrative, to have the consistent narrative, which really is my voice.

I really cut my teeth on this show, both as a writer and as a director. I’m at a different skill-level and confidence level than I was when the show started. I also had this idea that I had to find a producer and a lot of people sort of stepped in and out of that role for short time-periods, but ultimately I produced the whole thing on my own.

I think I had this idea that this was something I couldn’t do and it turns out that I had more experience than everybody else that had stepped into the role. Once I finally decided to call myself the producer and just own that, everything was just so much easier.

Afterwards, I actually produced two different indie pilots for other people and I was like—‘I completely have these skills’—I’ve been doing this for my own project, even my feature, even though I didn’t call myself producer on my feature (‘Fiona’s Script’).

But I produced my feature as well, especially in pre and post. And I think that is something I also learned. Most indie writer/directors are also producing their own stuff—you should call yourself the producer.

In terms of casting, I know that there are very few queer, trained actors, and especially queer people of color, and especially transmasculine or masculine-of-center folks, what was your experience with that?

I did a casting and just pulled people from the community. Tai Rockett, who plays Alex, she’s the lead; Mahasin Munir, who plays Sol; Andre Le Blanc, who plays Mario; and Tom Paul, who plays Zack—those four actors are queer and masculine-of-center.

That’s how they identify in their real life?

'Dyke Central''s crew shooting at Berkeley's notorious queer bar, White Horse Inn, AC Ericka Sokolower-Shain holds the camera while Gaffer Chris Kurose tweaks lights. photo: courtesy F. Manóvil

Yeah, in their real life, they’re masculine-of-center, they’re queer, they’re part of the community. And they had some performing experience, mostly stage.

Tommy is a drag king and an MC and a musician; Andre and Tai had theater experience, they’d never done on-screen stuff; and Mahasin had done a couple shorts but wasn’t trained. They all had natural talent, and I cast them.

I’m really lucky because of the professionals on the cast: we have basically three acting teachers/coaches. Before we shot episodes 2-5 we had a summer of coaching with Comika Ashby, who plays Jackie. It was great. I think it really helped the untrained cast members become much more confident and trust their natural talent.

Then we had continuing coaching, with Giovannie Espiritu, who plays Gin. It was, for me, a really exciting opportunity to have so much time to work with people and to see how the cast has flourished with the episodes over time.

I know that you identify as a feminist and I’m wondering if you have a feminist approach to filmmaking or making media?

My drive as a writer/director and a feminist is to really represent the way-broader spectrum of female experience, first; and then, queer experience. So having a show that has a majority of female characters, and showing all the different ways that people can be women—you know, butch, gender-queer, kind of feminine—that's very important to me.

That’s my world, that’s my reality, and this is how I am. I do always want to be writing characters that are not the lipstick, highly-feminized depiction of femaleness that we always see on screen.

What about in the process of production?

And if the discussion is really hot, it can be a three-expresso day. photo: Tonia Hafter

Yeah, for me, the biggest thing is: No egos on set! I mean, that’s why I decided to pretty much only work on my own projects and not work in “the industry”. The average film set is so sexist, it’s a waste of time; it’s a waste of energy; it’s really like an ego contest. And I just don’t do that.

Because of patriarchy, or for whatever reason, having a female-dominated set has equated a no-ego set for me. It means everybody’s servicing the project. It’s not about someone showing off or someone being right.

Ultimately, the director is gonna make the call and the less squabbling there is in decision-making, the more efficient and peaceful and positive the film shoot is going to be. I think it really comes down to respect for the chain of command, because ultimately, everybody has to be serving the one vision with their talents and contributions.

The show is based in the Oakland queer community, can you describe how you see that community?

Part of the representation of Oakland to me, is the focus on celebrating. Life for many—and in many ways—is amazing and beautiful. It’s joyous; it’s very celebratory; there’s parties and festivals and also just the interconnections, the small, small web of people.

Just the fact that everybody has one or two degrees of separation from most people in the community—that is something that is annoying, and hilarious, and I really wanted to portray it.

And that’s one of the main themes of the first season?

That’s a huge theme because it’s just such an inescapable reality.

Yeah, what always strikes me, especially when I was trying to do online dating, it’s probably the biggest queer community in the world, the Bay Area, and yet it’s so fucking small that you know one degree for everybody!

Every time a friend says that they started dating someone I’m like: what’s their name and how do I know them. Finding someone that has no mutual friends is like the ‘unicorn search.’

One thing I noticed is that people smoke weed a lot on the show. Is it just because everybody in Oakland smokes weed that your characters do?

A double-date in a scene from 'Dyke Central'. photo: courtesy F. Manóvil

Yeah, I am more of a weed smoker than a drinker. I always notice there is a lot of drinking in media, and normal recreational weed use is something that I’ve always wanted to see more of.

Weed is generally more categorized to guys, like, stoner guys. And my community is not stoner guys. I mean, A: it’s not guys, and B: it’s not stoners.

There are women here who are smart, intelligent, capable and productive who smoke and I’ve found myself many times in those circles and thought, ‘this is beautiful.’ I don’t want to glamorize weed, but I think there is something that is about the culture of it here—as opposed to maybe other places that are creative—just very California.

So how would you describe the community you’re representing?

It’s late-twenties, early-thirties people who are living in Oakland. I would say some are artists and some are working nine to five but none of the characters are rich, you know, they’re all working people.

Because they are all queer, especially being masculine-of-center, there are very real obstacles to economic survival. A huge percentage of people who are masculine-of-center, gender-expansive, trans, have to struggle to make ends meet.

They have a hard time getting jobs and more often than not have to live with roommates, in the Bay Area especially. It’s a very expensive place to live, you have to have multiple sources of income and have to hustle.

I’ve had a lot of people come up and say ‘Oh, I don’t see myself’ or “This is not my reality.’ But this is a specific group of people where there are a lot of creative. Obviously, as a creative, I’m really interested in that. There’s a mix and a kind of tension between people who work nine-to-fives versus people who are in the underground economy, in order to lead a creative life and do art.

That’s something that I started exploring in Season One and will continue to discuss because there’s a real tension. It’s a real struggle, but it’s also a beautiful lifestyle. So that’s another element of it that’s specific to this micro-community that I’m representing.

Do you have advice for other young women who are trying to write and produce and do it themselves?

Shooting Dyke Central exteriors at Oakland's Lake Merritt (lft-rt): DP Kristina Willemse, Sound Recordist Paige Goedkoop, Sound Intern Jenny Franklin McCarty, actor Comika Ashby. photo: courtesy Dyke Central

I definitely have always struggled with confidence. I remember when I was in film school, just being so impressed with how these guys would be like, “I’m gonna do this thing, it’s gonna be awesome,” and I was just like, you’re 19, how do you even know what you want to say, and how do you know that what you’re going to do is awesome?

My recommendation to women is just work. Just write, write, write, write, write. Do your own shorts. Don’t think about the image of yourself, just do the work and the true confidence will arise from developing the skills.

You definitely need people who are gonna hold you up to high standards. I think, for me, having been to film school, the best part about that is that I now have a core group of creative, brilliant friends who give me feedback on everything I do.

Every script I write goes through readers, and every first cut, rough cut, final cut goes through eyes. Having that feedback, scrutiny, from skilled people that you truly respect, who are just about the craft, that is the number one thing.

And people who share your taste. I made the mistake of collaborating with people whose taste I didn’t share and I didn’t necessarily respect, so then we would butt heads because we don’t share the same aesthetic.

So for me, consulting and sharing my work with people who share my aesthetic, who have a skill level and perspective that I really, really, respect and admire, is the key. I think that you find those people by putting yourself in workshops, classes, that are outside your immediate community.

Also, part of the goal, and maybe the feminist and inclusive queer part of our production motivation, was to train people. So during all of our production, we had interns, and we had people who were under all the key crew positions, we really mentored a lot of people that we’ve seen grow a lot over the course of production.

And most of them, they’re drawn to the project because they’re either queer or feminist, and they’re just excited about it and that’s been one of the most rewarding things. Because we always have experienced keys, and maybe this is part of the feminist mentality, that committed to teaching, they’re all about training and teaching the new crop. That’s been very rewarding and I love working with them, in great part for this reason.

And with Lex Sloan, who’s been the line producer throughout, we’ve always discussed that as a priority. Training newbies is something we talk about when hiring people and (telling) people who come on to production, that that is a very big goal. It worked out so great and hopefully they will continue to be on board.

• • •

Alas, by then, Florencia’s phone was blowing up—her friends trying to meet her at a poetry reading—so we said goodbye and she hopped on her bike—off to the next celebration.

Crescent Diamond is a queer, feminist, Oakland-based filmmaker. She can be reached at her site. Posted on Mar 21, 2015 - 04:12 PM