Ryan Brookhart is a filmmaker and graphic designer whose latest film, Two Ways to Go West is currently in release. We had a chance to catch up with the director and talk with him about the movie and more. Here’s what he had to say.
Hello Ryan, thanks for taking the time to talk with me about your new film Two Way to Go West. Let’s start by telling me a little about yourself and how you got into the business.
Ryan Brookhart: It’s a bit of a struggle coming up with a concise explanation of my life in entertainment. My plan, originally, if there was one, was to be a writer. I’ve loved books from an early age. Writers were my heroes. I had a parallel aptitude for art, specifically drawing. As a child, I started writing and drawing my own comic books. From there I graduated to film and my taste in movies spanned both the obvious (Star Wars, Alien and the like) to the outwardly odd for a kid (The Exorcist, Reds, The 400 Blows). I eventually started writing screenplays (I’d say starting around 10 years of age).
There was a compression in time between school and adolescence that coalesced into “I want to work in the entertainment industry.” But I didn’t lose my desire to explore all the facets of my artistic interests. I spent a number of years in publishing. I was the Editor-In-Chief and Creative Director for two different magazines: Provocateur Magazine and Go Figure! Magazine. Both of them in separate ways concerned themselves with artistry and were heavily influenced by film, being based out of Los Angeles.
I was still writing stories while I was working on those publications and, when I finally closed shop on the magazine chapter, I had three screenplays (actually books I’d written and adapted into screenplays) ready to go. Suffice to say, I did get a couple movies shot but I (along with fate, to a degree) opted to keep them buried.
One story I was keen on was called Trace, which was a thriller dealing with a group of young people experimenting around with Electronic Voice Phenomenon (EVP). I had written a treatment for it when I was 16 and it stuck with me. I ended up shooting a short based on a scene in Trace as a sizzle reel and it got noticed. That eventually became my first official credit as writer and director.
READ MORE: Our Full Review of Ryan Bookhart‘s Two Ways to Go West
Before I get into your movie, I’d like to ask if you could watch any movie ever made with someone involved in the film, such as a star or director, which movie would you watch and who would be sitting with you and why?
RB: That’s easy. The Exorcist with director William Friedkin. Probably the seismic moment in my artistic awakening that told me films can do more than entertain. They can challenge and confront and enlighten. I actually became friends for a time with William Peter Blatty who wrote the book and screenplay. I have great memories of the times we got to chat about art, faith and EVP. Bill was a film deliver in the science and let me listen to his private recordings. So, yes, William Friedkin. He’s still a powerful, funny and insightful man.
That would be one I’d like to sit in on as well. Let’s shift to your work. Two Ways to Go West is your second feature length release. For our readers, give us quick spoiler-free summary.
RB: Oh boy. It begins as a “rejoining” of three childhood friends on the eve of one of them getting married. But there’s a lot of unseen baggage they’ve each collected through the years. Emotional stuff, resentments, regrets. That’s really the jumping off point, but of course the real journey begins when each friend lets their guard down. I hate to say more than that.
Agreed. Well done. You’re the director of the film. Given its small production, what were some of the larger challenges in getting your vision on screen?
RB: There was a holistic, all hands on deck collaboration with the actors. We all showed up to play, first and foremost. I wanted to attack the script the way you’d rehearse a stage play. I approached it as such. I directed plays when I was younger and I secretly wanted to act on stage, so I knew the two sides of that ambition well. I found a location that was small and could afford me the intimate scale of the story. Also, I tried to give opportunities for the actors to have authentic discoveries and not seem over rehearsed. I created props that are vital to the film but didn’t share them with the cast members until we filmed the scenes that they would be used in. The movie poster that Gavin (played by the film’s writer James Liddell) is presented with, the old homemade board game – I created all those props. Additionally, I wanted my vision (really James and mine since we worked as a sort of a hive mind creatively) to be expressed very specifically in the cinematography. James is an accomplished DP in his own right, but I didn’t want him to have to be a writer or DP on the set. That would have been too difficult for him and me. We lucked out with Elnar Mukhamedyarov, our DP. He’s insanely gifted.
I wanted the film to open with a wide, golden expanse of the west, like what many romantic films do when they’re pushing the idea of fame and promises of wealth. We were able to get aerial shots of the desert to go under the opening credits with Gavin driven towards Vegas, stopping and looking at the faded Vegas Real Estate sign. (That was another element that I created digitally.)
I found the movie felt sort of like a stage play with the minimal sets and often theatrical exchanges among the small cast. Was this your intention?
RB: Yes, that was very much the intention. I wanted it to feel organically stagelike, if that makes sense.
This leads me to actor freedom. As this film is heavy on dialogue, how much did you let the actors shape and “speak” for their characters?
RB: The script was beautiful and James Liddell is a beautiful man inside and out, emotionally naked but still guarded the way a lot of us are. I saw the story as a pure extension of that man that I know very well. I think that the cast always knew that I was potentially going to throw curveballs into any scene – especially if I felt it would ignite the central idea of that moment. All of the actors – especially James – were 100% for that. I’d hate to say what I did and when because I think that can be a disservice to the perception of the script. What I would say is the script stood perfectly on its own and I simply underlined a few things in my way as director to sell it with specific and selective impact.
I wrote in my review how you used purposeful silence in specific moments, especially one very dramatic sequence that mutes words just when they seem the most important. That had to have been a tough choice, yet it very much resonants. Any thoughts?
RB: James and I had worked up the rough assembly together in a few weeks. Once I signed off on that cut, I tried to only give notes once a week. The specific scene you’re talking about was so pivotal in two ways. I wanted to pull as close and intimately into James’ face as he spoke because I didn’t want his confession in that scene to be to anyone but himself. It was written to be spoken to his friends and I loved the words. But those same words could have sounded very theatrical if he had said them directly to the guys. And part of James’ strength as an actor is his ability to externalize internal strife. It gave me an opportunity to have those words be almost a voiceover. And the cut away to his friend smiling (which is a flashback to moments before) hopefully signals we are going deep into his head without the contrivances of that kind of filmic device.
It was James that took all that and when the explosion happened, he pulled out the sound. He sent me that cut and I said IT’S PERFECT! And I love that scene.
It’s a powerful moment. I like further how the story sidesteps many of the conventions of the bachelor-party genre, keeping this about the impacts of long-term friendships. Was there any temptation to give in to some the more obvious tropes or was this always character-driven with its ending already laid out?
RB: Ha! Well, yes and no. I was going through a bad falling out with a friend I’d known for a long time so the emotional radar for me was high and I didn’t want any pat answers to the query of what friendship means. As a culture, we are now and have been for a number of years – COVID-19 notwithstanding – in a crisis regarding genuine human connection, community or tribalism, empathy over altruism. These things are underlying in Two Ways and perhaps some of them aren’t explicit in the film, but they are there. Some of them are baked into the script and some is stuff that I worked out with the actors through improv or what I term ‘uncomfortable silences’. To his credit, James was always pushing me to do that and it was very therapeutic for all of us.
The last scene is the kind of human closure I’ve experienced in my life. There’s empathy and attrition more than victory in our lives and I wanted to make sure we felt that in the end. The long take of them eating breakfast at the end is my hope for us all with our friends. I think of it like a love letter.
Speaking of that ending, and keeping free of more spoilers, there’s a wonderful moment with a new character that sort of resets the tone and direction while giving the others a chance to find their place in the aftermath. I really like your direction here, how it handles the intimacy while pulling back to allow some ambiguity. Not sure I have a question, but would love some insight on your approach.
RB: It’s a clever sleight of hand in the script. For me, it’s about parallels. We all go through a place in our personal journeys where the road just isn’t there anymore. And in those moments we may meet fellow travelers who might not have a damn thing in common with us, but we find ourselves on the same road. And in those moments the journey isn’t so personal anymore, but simply a human and universally relatable experience. That’s probably equally vague but I hope it makes some sense.
It does. Very much so. What’s next for you? Anything we can keep a lookout for?
RB: I’m directing a horror/thriller called The Hourglass this fall. James Liddell is the lead, by the way. I’m also finishing the sequel to Trace called Trace: The Origin, which is a meta take on the first story and goes way deeper into quantum reality than the first one was able to do. And I have three other scripts that are done/almost done, but I’m kind of gagged from talking about those projects.
Busy. Looking forward to giving these a watch. Before we wrap up, our site is dedicated to great movie moments and celebrating film history. Is there a movie moment that has had impact on you?
RB: Too many to count but here’s two: The smiles exchanged between the tall alien and François Truffaut at the end of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Emotional, yearning, beautiful in the idea we all want connection. Also, the scene between Father Karras and Chris MacNeil in The Exorcist. The mother asks the priest if her daughter will die. The priest, beyond afraid, nearly whispers, ‘no.’ But something so subtle and powerful happens. He hears himself and then stands up and says resolutely, ‘NO.’ It could have been so cheesy, but it’s the most human of reactions when you know, no matter what, you will not fail another.
Excellent choices. Wish we could watch a movie together and chat more. Thanks for talking with me as much as you have. Good luck with the film and I hope our paths cross again.
RB: Thank you so much, David. Hope to talk with you again.