Violent Ends director John Michael-Powell discusses his first day of filming.

      John-Michael Powell is the writer and director of Violent Ends, a revenge thriller that is currently available, featuring star-crossed lovers set in the picturesque Ozark Mountains. In the following passage, he recounts his first day on set.—M.M.

      It’s 4 a.m. on the morning before principal photography kicks off for my feature film, Violent Ends. The cool Ozark Mountain breeze brushes my cheek from a window that has aged enough to not shut completely. As the rain fades, moonlight filters through the clouds—bright enough to cast peculiar shadows across the torn curtains draped from a piece of resin-coated pine fastened to the wall.

      I haven't slept. I'm caught between a state of dreaming and anxiety. This is the moment—one I’ve been pursuing my entire life. In a few hours, I’ll take to the set as the writer-director of a legitimate movie, backed by a real budget and joined by a cast of actors who have collectively been working longer than I've been alive. Waves of fear surge up my spine, radiating heat. The imposter syndrome whispers to me. They will see through you, it hisses. They will detect your fear and fraudulent nature. You’ve tricked your way into this!

      Through my bleary vision, the folds of the curtains begin to resemble Roy Scheider. He scowls at me through gold-rimmed glasses, a cigarette loose in his lips.

      “You're gonna need a bigger boat, kid.”

      “What do you mean?” I murmur.

      Suddenly, my alarm blares. I slap the phone until it quiets down. When I look back, Roy has vanished.

      Minutes later, I’m driving through the Ozarks, pondering Roy's warning—wondering if the people waiting for me on set are the ultimate predators ready to devour me. As dread sets in, Aerosmith plays on the radio. Joe Perry’s guitar roars. Steven Tyler sings, “Some sweathog mama with a face like a gent,” and somehow, I start to feel confident. I can handle this.

      The Shark and the Boat of Violent Ends

      I arrive at base camp—poof, confidence evaporated. There’s a sizable crew and an overwhelming number of trucks! My first film cost about the same as a used Honda Civic and had a crew the size of a basketball team. Here, there are a hundred people. I spot an eighteen-wheeler parked by a gas pump and don’t dare ask what it’s for. Remember the imposter feeling? Yep. I tell myself: if I can just make it to lunch, it will be a victory. I may not be Rocky Balboa, but perhaps I’m Jake LaMotta: “You never got me down, Violent Ends. You never got me down.”

      (L-R) Violent Ends producer Vincent Sieber, director John-Michael Powell, cinematographer Elijah Guess, and 1st AD Jennifer Gerber. Courtesy of the filmmaker.

      Our first scene features Kate Burton, recognized for Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal, portraying a gritty small-town deputy—a part she has always desired. While at craft services, I inquire if Kate has arrived.

      “She’s running late,” someone responds.

      “No problem.”

      Immediately, worry sets in.

      My shot list is overwhelming—too many setups, insufficient daylight. Before I spiral, my production designer, Christian Snell, pulls me towards the Ford Bronco we bought and transformed into a sheriff’s cruiser. It turns out that when you buy vehicles on Facebook for an indie film, you get… character.

      “The transmission’s a bit tricky,” Christian explains. “You need to ease into second to get her moving. Oh—and there’s a minor oil leak.”

      “Is it safe?”

      “Of course, but the cabin fills with smoke if you run it for too long.”

      “How long is too long?”

      He ponders. “Two takes, perhaps.”

      It’s 40 degrees outside, and I’m sweating as if it were August.

      It’s not even 8 a.m., and Jen Gerber, my 1st AD, already has that distant look in her eyes. When she says, “Kate’s having some wardrobe issues,” I know we need to address it.

      I dash towards the hair and makeup trailers, lined up like a circus. As I stomp through, PAs glance my way and scatter like pigeons. Probably not the calm, confident vibe I intended to display. Maybe I should have sent Jen. Too late now.

      Kate bursts out of her trailer, caffeinated and energized. Since we cast her over Zoom, this is our first in-person meeting. She’s gracious but I can sense her nerves beneath the surface. I understand—she just came aboard three days ago after the SAG strike disrupted our timetable. She’s still memorizing lines, and wardrobe is complicating matters.

      My costume designer, Kristen Kopp, presents