BLUE-GATE: Everafter
*Note: The Following is an essay submitted as part of my Creative Producing application for Chapman University.
I heard a damp thud from my living room window. It was Luis. He had just left my house three minutes ago and was already back. I opened the door, and he laughed painfully, “my car won’t turn on.” We walked out to the driveway. Fifteen minutes of agony ensued with us putting in keys, opening and closing the trunk, clicking every button on the dashboard and scouring Google for help. He repeated that same painful laugh, “it’s been set to drive this whole time.” It was two in the morning. We were coming off a thirteen-hour editing session for our documentary, scheduled to be released in five days. We were braindead.
I had been a part of the Applied Journalism class since its inception during my sophomore year. The class created the student-lead magazine, El 107. Our platform quickly became the main vehicle for student voice at our school by discussing relevant, often taboo, matters which impacted student life. I played an active role within the magazine, as head of our design team, and occasionally writing my own column. However, it wasn’t until my junior year that I finally decided to take on the project our team had been avoiding. The topic in question was our school’s outsourced cafeteria service, Blue Leaf, which provided us with poor food quality, lack of stock, and steep pricing. It had always been a sensitive subject, and while nobody really understood why, we knew there were potential risks behind covering it. I presented the idea to my teacher-adviser and Editor in Chief. We came up with a plan to create an article explaining why, after five years, our school kept renewing its contract with Blue Leaf. The piece would be nothing more than our standard double spread investigative article. Alongside it, we intended to release a short video proving or disproving recent rumors regarding a rat sighting near the kitchen during middle school lunch. The video was part of our recently established digital entertainment sector, Canal 107, built with the aim of creating short, digestible, light-hearted videos for our high school to enjoy.
As part of the Canal, I helped direct our rat video. We started by interviewing teachers and students present during said middle school lunch. What we expected out of our video was a simple debunking: to explain that the citing was nothing more than a false rumor which gained too much steam. However, the rat incident was, in fact, real. While this changed our understanding of the event, we found something far more important. Their opinions regarding the cafeteria were not just about the rodent. They expressed much stronger feelings, all negative.
Once I edited a rough cut of our rat video and read an early version of the upcoming investigative article, I realized these two pieces barely scratched the surface. The subject’s potential was much deeper. So, I spoke with the Canal 107 team; Maruca, a sophomore; Luis, a senior; and myself. We all brought different skill sets but possessed the same drive. We arrived at an ambitious plan: to create a long documentary video surrounding our mysterious cafeteria. Partly inspired by Netflix’s American Vandal, our goal was to inform and make the ASFM community understand the situation while exploring the validity of the negative opinions regarding the cafeteria. We presented the plan to our 107 superiors. They were initially taken aback, given that they’d have to replace the original investigative piece with new content. However, we managed to convince them, and I was finally taking on the project I originally envisioned, knowing this could be a game-changer.
We didn’t know where to start. Our newly-focused investigation possessed no clear outline or plan. We made more discoveries, found new angles, and understood our situation better each day; every class we completely rethought our piece. To begin with, we sent out a survey to all high school students regarding the cafeteria. One thing led to another, and we soon found ourselves interviewing Blue Leaf’s CEO, talking with the cafeteria’s ex-business partners, comparing offerings from local high schools with our own, and summoned the wrath of our school administration. Needless to say, our project became grander than anticipated. We delayed our publication deadline twice and took a total of three months to complete what became El 107’s magnum opus. We accumulated over nine hours of footage, which we compressed into a tight-knit 56-minute package. We presented our final product as a four-episode docuseries and named it BLUE-GATE.
During those three months, our trio faced many hardships. We encountered technical issues: overexposure, color-correcting, finding that twenty-second clip within a two-hour interview, recording our entire narration twice, and most irritating of all, our clips’ uneven sound quality. We shot in different environments with distinct microphones and setups, which produced distorted audio. This led to great suffering during post-production, as we indulged in several ten to thirteen-hour editing sessions. Never before had I experienced such a complex production. We often clashed with our school administrators, who wanted us to exclude, or in some cases add, certain information to our videos in order for them to appease the school’s image. While we often saw their point and updated our videos accordingly, the project created tensions between the school administration and the whole 107 team. The three of us also faced genuine ethical dilemmas. Our investigation revolved around the exposure and betterment of the cafeteria; this inevitably hurt those who benefited from our current state, like Blue Leaf’s CEO.
Through BLUE-GATE, our trio grew closer. We worked well together, and all took responsibility for our actions. If one of us made a mistake, it was always the group’s fault and never an individual’s. We learned to communicate efficiently among the three and keep each other updated. I felt like we were an actual team, and not just three people working towards a common task.
Although I had orchestrated projects before, BLUE-GATE felt like my first real production. Not only was the scale massive compared to my previous work, but our effort, seriousness, and dedication resulted in a product we’d be proud of. It was the first time I used an original score, asking one of my friends to compose. Having music tailored to our videos made BLUE-GATE feel all the more professional. Similarly, we recruited a student narrator who would seamlessly guide the viewer through the docuseries.
For the latter half of those three months, BLUE-GATE consumed me. My energy was not sufficient to fulfill every responsibility, plus this new project. Given that energy cannot be created or destroyed, I had to distribute my current somehow. I was willing to sacrifice some things. I was not willing to sacrifice BLUE-GATE’s quality. This meant I focused majoritarily on this one endeavor. I slacked off in my schoolwork, experiencing my lowest grade average in my ASFM career. I spent my weekends locked up with Luis and Maruca: editing, interviewing, investigating. The project distracted me from other responsibilities, and at times even temporarily strained my relationships. I slept too little and stressed too much. However, in the end, our videos met their goals. The following school year Blue Leaf was gone. Its replacement spoiled us with gourmet chicken tenders and exquisite tacos. Our hard work paid off. I had ignored other tasks and postponed leisure, but I would do it all again if it meant garnering those results.
BLUE-GATE was an adventure. It acted as an incredible learning experience. It showed me how to work more efficiently within a team, managing and delegating great undertakings. It reinforced my dream to continue working on productions like this one while upping the ante. I couldn’t have asked for a more memorable conclusion to my junior year.
