Vinyl, Ninjas, and Film School Dreams
How a Fisher-Price Record Player, a Silent Protagonist, and a Battle Against CDs Got Me Into ACCD and changed my life.
The only way to get into film school was to make a short film. Simple, right?
It was 1994—I think???—the height of the indie film explosion. Tarantino, Rodriguez, Wenders, Gilliam, Van Sant. Miramax ruled the world. You get the picture. It was an electrifying time to be a wannabe filmmaker with absolutely no resources
Back then, owning a video camera was like owning a time machine—rare, expensive, and highly coveted. Lucky for me, I had a friend. Remember JH? He worked at a small production studio in Santa Barbara, which meant access to a high-end video camera. Jackpot.
I had my sights set on Art Center College of Design in Pasadena. About a 90-minute drive from SB, but light-years away in terms of accessibility for someone with no money, no connections, and no experience. Still, I wanted in. So, I did the only logical thing—I called up the admissions office, made an appointment, and drove down to find out exactly what it would take to make this happen.
The admissions officer didn’t sugarcoat it: “Demonstrate a strong portfolio. Create an engaging, visual, storytelling short film.”
Cool, cool, cool. Just one problem—how?
On my drive back to SB, I rattled my brain for ideas. I had no budget, no crew, just the unwavering determination of an underdog protagonist in a coming-of-age movie. KL once told me that whether a film is 30 seconds or 90 minutes, it needs a beginning, middle, and end. Oh, and a strong character helps. Also, make films about what you know.
So, what did I know?
I had my motley crew of international and American friends. I had weird, quirky toys. I loved music and comedy. And then, somehow, amidst this brainstorm, the idea for Put the Needle on the Record was born.
TO, my good friend and an incredible dancer, was the perfect lead. He was Japanese—maybe I could use that as a language barrier. He needed a love interest. Enter our friend Lana. There was already a little spark there, so I figured, why not exploit it for cinematic magic?
A Japanese guy who can’t talk—
Wait, pause. We only had a camera. Recording live audio? That would be a nightmare. I needed a workaround.
A Japanese guy who doesn’t talk. Instead, he communicates through music. He carries a backpack stocked with records, always ready with the perfect song for any situation.
I had a vintage Fisher-Price portable record player. TO would carry it around, whipping out records at just the right moments. He’d find a sad girl, play the right song, bust out a killer dance move, and make her smile. He’d woo her at a picnic with the romantic tunes of yesteryear. It was going to be beautiful.
And then—BAM! CD NINJAS ATTACK!!!
Yes, old tech vs. new tech. The battle of the ages.
I had them speak directly to the camera, then dubbed their dialogue like an old Hong Kong martial arts film. It was absurd. It was ridiculous. It was perfect. Just when it seemed like our analog hero was doomed, he remembered something—a strange old sage had given him a mysterious package earlier that day. As he lay on the ground, defeated by the Compact Disc warriors, he pointed to his backpack. His love interest retrieved the package and handed it to him.
A magical album.
I won’t spoil the rest. (But let’s just say, vinyl prevails.)
Recently, while digging through my personal archives (aka old boxes of memories), I found a DVD copy of the film. A relic of my past. Unfortunately, I had locked the disc, and every attempt to extract the footage failed—even with today’s technology. But I refuse to be defeated! I carried that DVD with me through my recent move and will absolutely buy a USB-C DVD player just to record it off my laptop with an iPhone. Because that, my friends, is the indie filmmaker spirit.
Needless to say, Put the Needle on the Record got me into ACCD. I remember opening the acceptance envelope on my way to work at the sushi restaurant, still reeling from rejection after rejection—five film schools had already denied me. Even SF State, my so-called safety school, had passed.
But ACCD said yes.
My life was about to change.
Did I forget to mention that I dropped out of a bunch of classes I was taking at Santa Barbara City College to take care of my dad when he was super sick? That totally decimated my GPA.
And then—I hit a snag. A big one. A bureaucratic nightmare disguised as financial aid paperwork.
FUCK.
And that is how I ended up in Tokyo.
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