The entertainment industry is in serious flux right now. No one seems to know what’s going to happen next. Traditional ways of bringing films and television shows to market are still alive and kicking, but there’s a deep nervousness that’s taken hold. Will Gen Z consume media the same way? I think that’s been established with an emphatic “no!”
The democratization of who can be a creator has opened the playing field to anyone and everyone with a phone and an idea. But within that same dynamic, the flood of creators has created a sea of noise—one that’s almost impossible to break through without an incessant dedication to daily videos and a focused niche. It’s overwhelming. It would be easy to throw up your hands and give up—unless, as creators, we’re able to get back to basics and remember why we do what we do.
Since I was a kid, I’ve been in love with performing. It wasn’t about making a living. It wasn’t about gaining followers. It wasn’t a vanity project. It was about expressing myself through story—to unabashedly inhabit a character, be someone I’m not, and explore the complexities of being human.
As I grew older, commerce got in the way. The need to provide became more of a focus and, as most of us ultimately find, making a living in the arts is a near-constant struggle. That said, I’ve never given up—because I can’t. If I were told I could no longer create, I’d be rudderless. So I forge ahead.
Some days, I feel like I’ve made the best career choice. A creative life is my only life. But many days, I feel alone and foolish. Is it normal for a 50-something to still be making art for art’s sake? I’m old enough to know the cavalry probably isn’t coming. No one’s beating down the door with a contract or the green light to pursue what often feels like childish ambitions.
And yet, here I am again—pursuing those childish ambitions, which waver between foolishness and an absolute necessity for living.
Four years ago, tired of waiting for opportunity to knock, and tired of waiting for chances to perform and grow, I embarked on creating a show called Manhammer: Rebirth of the Darkhorse with a dedicated group of friends. We had made short films before, but I wanted to do something more ambitious. I didn’t have the money to make a feature, but I thought maybe I could cobble together enough funds to film a scene from a larger serial project every couple of months.
From the start, even the name gave me pause. It was an old joke—a proposed band name from a friend. It either reeked of the olden days of accepted misogyny or sounded like a website you’d immediately delete from your search history.
The first scene we shot looked amazing, but I hated my tropey performance and my character’s unlikable tendencies. Six months later, after licking my wounds, I was ready to try again. While it went better, I was still unsure if this was something I wanted to keep doing.
Over the next few months, with a couple more shoot days in a friend’s borrowed house, I realized that to make this worth doing, I had to fully invest in the character. Jack Michaels couldn’t just be a typical one-hit has-been, angry at the world, jerk-just-becasue. He had to be me—a sometimes overly sensitive, sometimes uncomfortably insensitive guy (my wife calls me “Landmine Landis” for a reason) with unstoppable drive.
That’s when I started to enjoy the process. By reflecting a real, flawed, and complicated person, the story became more honest—and therefore more interesting. Our skills as filmmakers grew. I won’t lie—it was hard. The sleepless nights worrying about props, feeding the crew, or making the right casting choices kept me on edge. But still, we persevered.
The more we did it, the more we wanted to do it. And the more we did it, the more we realized that the process itself was the gift. We became closer friends, developed a common language as filmmakers, and created something we’re all proud of.
Ultimately, this show will be posted online, where it will most likely get a handful of likes, a few pats on the back, and struggle to break through the noise, but in the end, it was worth it. I couldn’t do life without it. And that, my friends, is why I do this—why we did this.
Manhammer: Rebirth of the Darkhorse premiered at The Byrd Theatre on Saturday, May 17th. The Virginia Film Office generously supported the show, as they are among the greatest advocates for Virginia film. Tickets and other nonsense are at www.Manhammer.net, if you’d like to witness the Jack Michaels train wreck.