Eight doors stand along the stage, one for each step of the craft. Walk to a door, answer its questions, and the room prints your take.
It begins with a feeling, not a plot. Sit at the desk and say it plainly.
The wall of faces. Name your people once, so the same person walks through every frame you generate.
Bring the draft as it is, from any tool, any mess. The table reads it twice.
A way of seeing, committed to on purpose. The cart holds one camera, one lens.
The gel rack and the wall. Choose the hour and the hardness, the room mixes the rest.
The corkboard reads your script. Board one scene at a time, and the shots pin up beneath it, in order.
Take it into the tools
Stills learn to move here. One simple motion per shot, and nothing showing off.
Take it into the tools
The booth is quiet on purpose. Say what they should hear, and where nothing should be.
The frame
can't be faked.
Eight rooms, one corridor, and a film that is yours at the end of it. Every answer carries forward, every take prints, and the mentor's notes wait inside each room.