Haymaker: The Ballad of Butterfly and Bee

Esteemed filmmaker Peter Jackson, famous for directing the Lord of the Rings trilogy (we do not talk about The Hobbit trilogy), once said, “The most honest form of filmmaking is to make a film for yourself.” Of course, the idea behind this sentiment is the filmmaker's onus to create the film as they imagine it while both honoring their own vision and creating something people will connect with. However, what happens when the honest intent of the filmmaker is not what is best for the film itself? And what is the significance of the butterfly and the bee mentioned in the title?

    Our idea was a butterfly: delightful, pleasant, and floating along on a breeze. A symbol of grace that emerged through metamorphosis. And now, it was time for us to show everyone our beautiful butterfly. When we began making Haymaker, we were in a unique position to create a film where we called all of the shots. From the way the story was written, to how the storyboards were drawn, and especially in the direction of the style, we decided how each part of the film would be presented. As we began to amass a larger team of artists, cut shots and assets to scope down, and tighten up the edit, I felt a sort of nostalgia for the time when Rustin and I had just an idea and a dream for the film. What had begun as an unchallenged creative outlet of expression and ideation soon became a balancing act of managing the relationship between personal and shared vision. Just like that, along came the bee; its pestering buzz an ever-present reminder of the deadly dance it had entered with our butterfly. The bee is doubt and conflict: a challenge to the pure, untouchable, delicate butterfly that was our imagined film. As the bee entered into a ballad with our butterfly, buzzing and stinging, we felt as if we were somehow losing ownership of the film we had poured so much of ourselves into. 

    Day to day, our original idea was changing. The concept, a fight between our protagonist boxer and antagonist, had morphed into a completely different dynamic. Our thematic basis shifted from something inspiring and hopeful to something bittersweet and more rooted in reality. Our original art style had taken on a whole new look. Rustin and I felt like we were constantly compromising on our vision. We became accustomed to being asked for changes and for our ideas to be axed. New expectations and ideas constantly burst onto the scene from the art team, management, and even one another.  Today, reminiscing on some of these changes, denials, and reworks gave me pause: with all the changes being made, was the film still the same as the one we had set out to make? Had the stinging bee chased away our honest and pure butterfly?

    The answer, of course, is yes, it was the same film we set out to make. The film is different now, that is for sure, but its authenticity remains. The butterfly was an illusion, an impossible standard we had set for ourselves. In reality, our butterfly had never been all that pretty in the first place. The rewrites, the substitutions, the compromises: all of these made for a better film, even if it hurt to let go of the butterfly. Likewise, the “stinging” of the bee was a direct result of our defensiveness: it stung not because of our teammates, but because we adulated our own ideas. It is easy to be ensnared by delusions of grandeur as a growing artist; it is only natural to want the absolute best and to want to keep your creative ideas intact. However, there are times when we need to realize that while a butterfly may be pretty to look at, bees are the ones that get things done. Even with their pointy stingers and constant bumbling, bees know how to finish a job. Without them, the flowers wouldn't bloom and we wouldn't have honey: the world would be a much more unsweet place. 

    What we have come to learn instead is that relinquishing a tight grip on a creative vision does not hurt it, but rather, it allows it to be enriched. Had it not been for our team suggesting a different approach to surfacing, we would have never found our visual flair. Without letting our animators give their opinions on character performance, we would have missed out on important subtleties that elevate the thematic statement. Impressionability is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength. Standing up for honest creativity is important, but the value of taking inspiration from other voices is immeasurable. I am in a position now to say that some of the original ideas for Haymaker were, out there, to say the least. The film would have suffered tremendously if it had not been for our artists and our commitment as a team to prioritize creative thinking and artistic opinions.

    There are many times when we have to make compromises, even sacrifices, as artists. However, surrendering our enthusiasm to make something genuine is not one of them. Honesty requires humility, and making an honest film requires a team of humble people. By that metric, I cannot imagine working on a more sincere project than Haymaker at this point in my life. I have the tremendous pleasure of getting to work with passionate and diligent artists who have fantastic ideas and insight on the creative process. It is a privilege to work with them and learn from them as the film's co-director, and I wouldn’t want to make it with anyone else. So even though it hurts to see the butterfly float away, I’ve grown to enjoy the sting of the bee.