Though best known as a freelance writer covering the culinary and cultural scenes, J.R. McMillan has also worked as a script consultant, featured columnist, photographer, publicist, and public radio producer.
From local beloved to nationally renowned brands, he applies his background in film and television to create compelling and persuasive narratives. His immersive research and in-depth interviews reveal the hidden story, and his insights and expertise are featured in multiple mainstream and industry publications reaching a wide range of audiences.
He is an alumnus of the W. Page Pitt School of Journalism and Mass Communications at Marshall University and lives in Columbus, Ohio.
Originally published in the July 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
Photo by Brian Kaiser
If an upscale deli sounds like a half-baked idea, you obviously haven’t been to Harvey & Ed’s.
The latest creation from Cameron Mitchell Restaurants combines Jewish comfort food classics with artful execution in a Short North space that evokes the unpretentious ease of an East Coast eatery. Named for best friends and brothers-in-law, Harvey and Ed are the father and uncle of CMR President David Miller, with many of the menu offerings inspired by his childhood and the familiar fare of the family kitchen.
But noshes and nostalgia aren’t enough to build a cohesive brand that carefully couples corned beef with a cocktail bar. That’s why it took a team of talent to craft a dining experience new to Central Ohio, yet still unique among the establishments from which they drew their influence.
“We wanted to do something that felt East Coast,” revealed General Manager Jill Armstrong. She and Executive Chef Jonathan Basch traveled to New York and Philadelphia to find the elusive balance between uptown appeal and downtown authenticity. Both hail from Ohio and started relatively recently with Cameron Mitchell, and in the Short North — Armstrong as a server at The Pearl, and Basch as a prep cook at Marcella’s — affording the first-hand insights necessary to connect with the neighborhood and the clientele.
“We went to Katz’s, which is ‘go-go-go’ and not quite fine dining. We really loved Russ & Daughters and Sadelle’s, which have great vibes,” Armstrong noted. “In Philadelphia, we went to Abe Fisher, which is a high-end, more polished version of what we liked, all the way to Zahav, which is more critically acclaimed with a lot of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern influences.”
“That’s how we wrapped our heads around what Harvey & Ed’s was going to be, the difference between being a delicatessen and deli-inspired, a concept that didn’t really exist in this market, but would fit well in the Short North,” she explained.
The location was already a done deal, though the updated deli counter and dining room bear little resemblance to Rigsby’s Kitchen. Amid construction hassles that abound in the area, foot traffic is brisk, even if parking is still a mess. Despite the newness and faint echoes of the former Italian eatery, the restaurant feels like it’s always been there, or always should have.
“Some people are just excited about the new concept, but we also have people who moved here from New York,” explained Armstrong, noting the table where we were seated served a couple originally from Brooklyn the evening prior. “It’s a mix of adventurous eaters who want to see what we’re all about and transplants to Columbus from the East Coast.”
It’s an easy oversight for ambitious restaurateurs to focus first on atmosphere and aesthetic, and let the menu evolve over time. But Harvey and Ed’s is in many ways new for Columbus — built around a pent-up demand for delicatessen delicacies for some, yet having to essentially introduce ingredients and entire entrees to many. Even I didn’t know Columbus had a dearth of pickled herring until a friend was unwittingly pinched by the TSA trying to bring back a small jar from Russ & Daughters in his carry-on and made him toss it. He still can’t stop kvetching about it.
Though the capital city’s Eastern European roots are represented in the restaurant scene, and with a Jewish community among the largest in the Midwest, some dishes may still require a little deciphering for the uninitiated, offering a new appreciation of why Mrs. Maisel deftly described pot roast as “Methodist for brisket”.
“Not everyone knows what a knish is,” confessed Basch, charged with keeping the menu traditional, approachable, and innovative — which is a tall order for any chef. “We use chicken livers in our chopped liver. Some use beef livers, but there’s a little less iron and they’re sweeter, and we sweat the onions down in schmaltz”.
Bubbe’s Matzo Ball soup is far more familiar, even if it’s the size of a fist, just like Miller remembers them as a kid. Egg Creams are my own long-awaited soda fountain staple, despite the misnomer, containing neither — just Fox’s U-Bet chocolate syrup, milk, and seltzer in perfect proportion.
“Then we got more creative, from the Knoblewurst, which is beef sausage made at The Butcher & Grocer in Grandview, to the Pomegranate Braised Lamb,” he revealed. “Our brisket is confited. It’s so tender, you can cut it with a spoon.”
Purveyors were thoughtfully curated between authentic brands and local sources, a deliberate mix of homage and in-house. Block’s Bagels were a given, with Matt’s Bakery and Orlando for challah and rye, and Turano potato buns from Chicago rounding out the rolls. But the babka and pastries on the deli side are all baked in the back. After some trial and error, Basch decided his Columbus kitchen could hold its own preparing almost all of the fish you’ll find on the menu, from Kippered Salmon to Gravlax. Detroit’s Sy Ginsberg is synonymous with corned beef, closer than Katz’s, and for my money, just as likely make Meg Ryan writhe in her seat.
More sophisticated tastes won’t feel shorted either, from the Latke Royale (with crème fraîche, cured salmon, caviar, fennel, and green apple) to the Seared Seabass (served with vegetable goulash, spatzle, and cucumber yogurt), or keep more Midwest with a Pastrami Burger (aged Havarti, horseradish pickle, tomato, and brown mustard). They’ll even put a fried egg on it if you ask.
Adding a fried egg isn’t the only nod to Columbus culinary expectations. Their brunch expands the menu even further, while their deceptively simple cocktails are the thread that ties the days, nights, and weekends together.
“We don’t serve cocktails with a giant garnish and ten ingredients. We’re more spirit forward, with three or four high-quality ingredients,” explained Armstrong, with the Boozy Egg Cream served in a milk bottle with a metal straw offered as an example of the more playful, less stuffy, cocktail philosophy. “Our seven-day happy hour also includes wine and beer specials, with half-off craft cocktails and noshes as well. We wanted to be sure we reach the bar crowd and keep that a focal point. It balances the restaurant. We want Columbus to know we’re more than just a deli.” ▩
Harvey & Ed’s is located at 698 N High Street. Reservations at harveyandeds.com.
Originally published in the Summer 2018 issue of Stock & Barrel
Photo by Brian Kaise
When the beloved Blue Danube abruptly announced they were closing after 78 years, the news nearly broke hearts and local Facebook feeds. But early reports of their eminent demise were perhaps a bit premature.
Yes, the most recent operator Bob Swaim had planned to hold on into June. And the Margetis family, which has actually owned the building for decades while retaining rights to the name, quietly revealed plans to remodel and reopen the restaurant in the coming months. No one has offered much in the way of details or assurances, not wanting to become the victim or villain in this story. And neither narrative would likely allay fears about possibly losing yet another Columbus culinary landmark to a pretentious gastropub or gaudy watering hole with no soul.
Rather than dwell on what we don’t know, let’s celebrate what we do know about the Dube, hoping that a people’s history might sway both sides into preserving part of what makes The Blue Danube unique, instead of letting a cloudy and contentious transition turn into an excuse to sabotage or abandon what folks love most.
Gaye Spetka’s story stretches back to the early years, when her parents first got together following WWII. “It was more posh back then when my parents had their first date there. My father went to OSU after the war, and my mother was shocked when he ordered a beer,” she laughed. Spetka became a regular herself in the ‘70s. She was thankful for the chance to pass on the legacy before it may be lost. “It was a treat to take my niece and her now husband there to share the story of how her grandparents met. But so much of what I remember of the campus area isn’t the same; it’s ticky-tacky steel and glass structures and asphalt parking lots.”
Colin Dearth is among four generations of faithful patrons, marking family milestones at the Dube for decades.“My grandfather was an Army medic who came to Ohio State and met my grandmother. My parents were both juniors at OSU in the ’60s when I was born and lived right around the corner,” he recalled. Dearth grew up to serve in the 82nd Airborne and Special Forces, but didn’t forget simpler times as a teenager spent scarfing down fries smothered in chicken gravy with friends. “I’d come home and spend 20 minutes going over the menu, but still ordered the steak and eggs every time for like 10 years. And PBR pints for a buck-fifty? They may as well have filled up my trunk.” Now a father of three, he orders the vegetarian chef’s salad and hasn’t had a beer in years. “I’ve celebrated too many birthdays there to count. All of my daughters sat in highchairs at the Dube.”
Natalie Thomson was a waitress there in the ’80s, when the Margetis family previously ran the place.“My father played saxophone and we’d walk from Dick’s Den down to the Dube for a bite to eat afterward. I started working there when I was 17. Some nights, I was the only waitress working as we got closer to close,” she revealed. An anachronism in the age of the smartphone, Thomson also remembers when tenants from the adjacent apartments used the payphone as their personal phone number, and waitresses would run next door to let folks know when they had a call. The experience was a far cry from her eventual occupation as a chef, though formative and unforgettable. “I’ve worked in fine dining restaurants, but I still love a greasy spoon.”
Rico Sullivan also discovered the Dube in the ’80s as a teen, when he and his brother used to sell hot dogs during game days at OSU. “After the game, we’d all go to the video arcade, then The Blue Danube and try to act all hip like the college students we saw there. I fell in love with the fish platter back then,” he recalled. “We loved the atmosphere of the place.” Sullivan went on to teach martial arts and took his students there as well. His wife is originally from Pakistan and still considers it her first true taste of America. “My wife and I eat there and always get nostalgic about our first date. It was heartbreaking to find out they are closing. I have a lot of great memories invested in The Blue Danube.”
Dawn Chapman used to sneak into bars and clubs with her fake ID, but actually came to the Dube when she wanted to be alone. “Sometimes, you just need to escape everyone. I was very shy, so I’d go there to write, smoke cigarettes, and drink coffee. It’s also the first place I ever had a gyro,” she recalled. But it proved difficult to be alone for long at The Blue Danube, forging friendships that endure to this day — and others just for the night. “I always hoped to paint a ceiling tile. ‘Paint a tile and we’ll add it to the pile,’ they said, but I never got around to it. I used to make jewelry, and a few of my designs were inspired by certain ceiling tiles. Tile 32 is still my favorite.”
Mike Cavender found something strangely familiar at The Blue Danube since moving to Columbus in the late ’90s. “There are so many places where we used to go that are gone now. Places like North Campus Video and the Dube weren’t homogenized and still seemed a little rougher around the edges. That’s how I felt back then — rougher around the edges,” he explained. Though a “committed carnivore,” Cavender admitted their black bean burger was his first, and a pleasant surprise. His wife was already familiar with the Dube, particularly its infamous jukebox, when they met. But he’d long considered it a litmus test for whether a date was the right fit. “If you go there on a first date and are both into that kind of place, it’s probably going to work out.”
Despite the brisk bump in business, as the days slipped toward the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next, the Dube’s most recent incarnation just couldn’t hold on any longer. In fact, the Friday after the initial announcement, they had to close early because the kitchen ran out of food and had to restock — perhaps a hint in hindsight foreshadowing the final week. As for the iconic neon inside and out, that Grilled Cheese and Dom Pérignon special, and the fate of those famous ceiling tiles, no one seems to know for sure what will stay or go. When asked prior to the unexpected last call, a bartender simply replied, “Bob’s got a lot on his plate.” ▩
Originally published in the June 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
When Garrett Dutton was eight years old, it was the Beatles who prompted him to take up the guitar. After learning to fingerpick Blackbird and adding a harmonica to the mix, by fifteen he was writing his own songs. But it wasn’t until he asked the owner of his local record store who else besides Bob Dylan and Neil Young played solo acoustic guitar and blew the harp that he was handed his first John Hammond album.
Though his stage name and notoriety were still years away, that was the moment Garrett became G. Love.
“When I heard his rendition of Statesboro Blues, my whole world changed,” G. Love recalled. “I was used to people strumming the guitar, and this was an entirely different sound — holding the bass, playing riffs, playing melodies, all at the same time. That sound guided me toward Delta blues.”
Faithful execution of traditional blues standards probably would have been enough to make a white kid from Philadelphia stand out amid aging hair bands, the grunge craze, or waning days of power pop. Free style rap was becoming as much a part of the emerging Philly music scene as Hall and Oates had by repurposing R&B in the 70s and 80s, or the defining influence of the Delfonics decades earlier. G. Love turned something old into something entirely new, a nod to the past with the pulse on the present.“
The hip hop side of what I do was just part of growing up in our generation and the music we listened to with our friends,” he explained. “I never really thought of myself as a rapper until one night when I was still a street musician, I finished one of my tunes and started singing Eric B. and Rakim’s ‘Paid in Full’ lyrics over the blues riff I was playing and it was like a light shown down on me. It was something no one else was doing.”
That reference to “our generation” wasn’t just a generalization. G. Love and I have some shared history, though our paths had never formally or formerly crossed. We’re the same age, and despite being unapologetically the product of urban, East Coast upbringings, our formative musical influences run a remarkably similar range from the Beastie Boys and Run DMC to Big Bill Broonzy and Robert Johnson. Just as his genre-defying debut album released, I happened to be the blues producer at a tiny public radio station that either didn’t mind (or didn’t know) how often I brought in milk crates of my own vinyl and patched the board into the only studio left that still had a working turntable. That’s when I first dropped the needle on “Cold Beverage” and the sound was unlike anything else on the air.
What easily could have been another catchy one-hit-wonder seemed to stick. Back before Spotify and SiriusXM, the way most musicians found new audiences was through independent radio and the small club circuit. That’s where G. Love and his Boston-born band, Special Sauce, won fans and defied critics. Though it’s been his enthusiasm to collaborate that continues to find new followings with albums and appearances from Ben Harper and Lucinda Williams to Keb’ Mo’ and Citizen Cope constantly redefining his raconteur style.
“Collaboration should be natural and sincere, but you don’t have to be best friends to cut a song together,” he noted. “Most musicians love to get that call to work on an album together. I know I do.”
One such call came from the Avett Brothers, who produced “Fixin’ to Die”, as well as backing G. Love with enough layered harmonies and bright banjo licks to create a credible Appalachian-inspired album of back porch blues.
“The Avett Brothers were huge fans when they were in high school. Seth had a broken cassette deck in his car that had my album ‘Yeah, It’s That Easy’ stuck in it, playing for a year,” he laughed. “They were already big when they took time out to do my album.”
Despite these seemingly unlikely musical alliances, his most well-known and enduring collaboration is probably with Jack Johnson. The two were introduced by a mutual friend and fellow surfer while G. Love was in L.A. working on an album.
“We came back to my little hotel room and traded songs after surfing all afternoon,” he revealed. “Basically every song he played went his first album, Brushfire Fairytales.”
G. Love championed Johnson’s music, even including an early bluesy release of “Rodeo Clowns” as a duet on that album, Philadelphonic. By the time Johnson was coming into his own, G. Love’s label was cutting smaller bands. Brushfire Records picked up G. Love, where his loyalties and royalties remain to this day.
It’s been a winding road, but not a weary one for G. Love and Special Sauce, celebrating the 25th anniversary of the release of their self-titled album this year with a tour of venues and cities large and small. But it’s those cities in the middle where he expects to keep finding ways to stay new and true to the music he admires and aspires.
“Twenty-five years later, I’m still finding new ways to do the same old thing. I used to get chased off the corner as a street musician, but now Philadelphia is exploding because New York has priced people out,” he explained. “Musicians, artists, and actors are going to thrive where they can afford to live, and get a little steam going. Places like Philly, Baltimore, and Columbus are where I think we’re going to see a wave of creatives over the next ten years, cities with scenes small enough to stand out, but still big enough to make an impact.” ▩
G. Love and Special Sauce will perform at the Columbus Arts Festival on June 9th. For more, visit columbusartsfestival.org
Originally published in the June 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
Bryan Michael Block wasn’t surprised when the phone rang, but it wasn’t the call he was expecting. The conversation was short, but sufficient. He opened the door to his closet and grabbed a gray-striped tie and weathered leather jacket to make sure he looked the part of a police detective. There was a serial killer, it was his job to stop him, and the clock was ticking. But this wasn’t any ordinary case. The murder he was called to solve was his own.
Block has an unsettling stature when the situation requires it. Imagine the disheveled understatement of Harrison Ford in Blade Runner amplified
by the ominous presence of Vincent D’Onofrio on a bad day. That grim
and gritty look is the reason he was originally cast as the lead actor
in the ambitious and acclaimed science-fiction series Aidan 5, which recently returned with its long-awaited second season after starting as a short nearly a decade ago.
“We didn’t know what genre was going to
get pulled out of that hat. It could have been a western or a romance.
With the 48-Hour Film Project it could have been anything,” recalled
Block, whose impulsive and intuitive wardrobe selection set the tone for
the lead character. “When they pulled sci-fi, that’s when they decided
to make a futuristic film noir.”
Professional and lifelong friendships often intersect with
the 48-Hour Film Project, an international competition where local
teams squeeze the entire motion picture production process into just two
days.
“After the acting was done against a
green screen, the backgrounds were drawn and scanned in,” Block
explained. “It was really just pen and pencil on a sketch pad, cut up in
Photoshop, and dropped into a timeline.”
The finished film was low tech, but high concept — a composite comic book look more akin to Sin City than
an A-ha music video. Audiences and the industry took notice, making the
rounds online and at larger festivals, eventually making it all the way
to Cannes. Even William Shatner tweeted his approval of its innovative
techniques and technology with the envious interrogative, “Why aren’t I
in it?”
“Ben Bays, who is also a producer here in
town, approached us after the 48 about turning it into a web series,
how we needed to take this world and expand it,” he explained. “That’s
when we started to explore the details and fill in the blanks on the
future we’d created.”
The original series opens in 2064 with
Detective James Aidan standing over his own corpse, one of several
clones with which Block appears on screen simultaneously, stitched
together digitally in post-production. A world where cloning is
commonplace was a crucial creative device and plot point that propels
the now 30-episode series. The entire production was created and
executed in Columbus essentially as a community film project, with a
cast and crew too numerous to name.
“Season One was shot for no money and was cobbled
together. But we had a lot of help between favors, friends, and
filmmakers willing to show up for several Saturdays,” Block noted.
“Season Two is three and a half hours. Add that to the three hours of
Season One and we have four feature films worth of finished content.”
The new season is still set in the same
dystopian future, and also employed the signature green screen meets
black box theater approach. But unlike the original short or the first
series that followed, Season Two took several years to complete, funded
through Kickstarter to build interest and cover incidentals.
Filming took place in Columbus as well,
minus one notable cameo that was almost too good to be true — Richard
Hatch, best known for roles in both the original and reimagined reboot
of Battlestar Galactica, but also a passionate supporter of streaming series, podcasts, and similar emerging storytelling platforms.
“We reached out to him, but knew it was a long shot. Even
though his scene was small, it was pivotal. We sent him the script and
he said he really liked the series and the part,” revealed Bays,
showrunner and executive producer of Aidan 5. “He specifically
mentioned one of the reasons he was doing it was because he was so
impressed with the production and performances in Season One and liked
working on projects with up-and-coming talent.”
Schedules didn’t align to shoot Hatch’s scene here. But a
green screen can be anywhere, so you’d never know Hatch was in L.A.
while Bays directed remotely.
“I just Skyped in and directed over a laptop,” Bays added.
“There is even a cast photo of everyone in the studio with Richard and
someone is holding up a laptop with my face on the other end.”
Aside from consistent studio space, the
second season also piqued the interest of local talent, with more than
40 speaking parts and dozens of extras populating their imaginary world.
Even the late John Kuhn, artistic director of the Actors’ Theatre of
Columbus read for a role.
“It was the first time we’d ever met him
and his voice captivated us. He had such gravitas we decided to create a
villain around it,” recalled Block, whose contributions also included
casting and helping to create the series backstory. “His performance and
reputation gave Aidan 5 a lot of legitimacy in the local the
theater community, and the episodic nature allowed us to feature local
actors in scenes where everyone felt like a guest star.”
As for the final fate of James Aidan and his clones, Bays
confirmed the series was always intended to be a trilogy — but we may
have to wait a while before the next installment of episodes, just so
everyone can catch their collective breath.
“One of the things about Aidan 5 that we love most is that it is so collaborative. It really is a group of friends working together with the local acting community to create something greater than any of us could do on our own,” explained Bays. “Whether it’s someone like Richard Hatch from L.A. or someone local like John Kuhn, the series creates an outlet for filmmakers, writers, and actors to be a part of something that puts Columbus on the map.” ▩
Originally published in the April 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
As counterintuitive as it sounds, the greatest challenge any city has breaking into the film business isn’t film anymore—it’s bandwidth.
Motion pictures, as they’re less commonly called these days, are no longer a succession of still images deceiving the eyes at 24 frames per second. They’re a stream of encrypted elections protected like state secrets. The online release of an early edit of X-Men Origins: Wolverine (minus most visual effects) not only hurt the theatrical release, but was a warning shot felt throughout the industry. Hugh Jackman’s cigar-chomping alter ego may be bulletproof, but his box office appeal remains very mortal in the age of file sharing. Television isn’t immune either. A couple of years earlier, one of the best pilots never to make it into production was Global Frequency. Based on the comic book series of the same name, Warner Brothers execs were so perturbed by its leak through then-new torrenting technology, they put a swift end to the show before it even started.
That’s why Ohio Film Group is very particular about their post-production. Their local studios offer unmatched speed and security through their own secret internet of sorts, easily integrating studio quality capabilities into productions often thousands of miles away — all in an instant.
“We’re a hub on Sohonet, which is a private internet media-based company that allows us to move dense, heavy data from our facility all over the world securely and quickly,” explained Leonard Hartman, president of Ohio Film Group. “We can move a feature length film — hundreds of terabytes — to New York, L.A., or Paris as fast as walking it across the hall.”
Ohio State football fans may recognize that name. The former offensive lineman turned educator and coach launched his second act in Los Angeles at the American Film Institute, eventually establishing himself as a screenwriter and producer. But after starting a family, the practical challenges of life in L.A. and frequent trips back to Ohio to visit extended family made moving back here and occasionally flying there a better option. It’s a long commute, but one that keeps getting shorter thanks to technology that helps him to be there, even when he’s not.
“It allows us to stay connected to a community of creatives in a way they trust. It’s best in class, and we’re part of the network,” Hartman explained. “It allows us to stay connected with decision-makers in New York and L.A. in a way we couldn’t even a few years ago. It makes us relevant.”
Ohio Film Group’s start was as cinematic as Field of Dreams. It may have seemed like a crazy idea to build a production facility in Ohio, especially to studio executives who probably presume Columbus isn’t far from that fabled cornfield. “Build it, and they will come” wasn’t their strategy, but that’s exactly what happened. Projects that easily, if not surely, would have gone elsewhere landed here—including Aftermath, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. The speed and security of Ohio Film Group’s “big pipe” made a big difference in the decision to shoot here and stay here.
“We had 20 producers watching the dailies all over the world, watching what was happening here—giving notes, giving feedback—involved in the process from afar,” recalled Hartman. “They could watch the film being made and interact with the team on the ground. That’s just how it’s done now. If you can’t do that, you’re not part of the game.”
That’s not hype or hyperbole. Hollywood has quickly become a shell of its former self, much like the fake city streets and storefront facades that are all plywood and paint, but empty inside. Even those have become ghost towns as actual production has all but left California for tax credits elsewhere. It’s a gold rush in reverse.
“I was at Paramount not too long ago working on a film talking to one of the producers there who said they had a film shooting on the lot for the first time in five years,” noted Hartman. “They’d had a couple TV shows, but they hadn’t shot a movie on the backlot at Paramount for five years? That’s telling. Tax credits are entry-level. If you don’t have them, you’re not in the business. Canada started it years ago, and Georgia has figured it out for sure. Ohio has them, but the way they are structured could use some work.”
The trick with tax credits for film projects is that they are intended to create jobs, but often those jobs don’t last. They tend to be turn-and-burn positions instead of the ongoing ground-level gigs that are the foundation of a persistent film industry.
“If you’re looking at how you develop an entertainment community, it has to be more than productions that fly in for the tax credits, then fly back out. The real advantage is when those productions stay here, when people live here—buy houses, buy cars, buy groceries,” he explained. “Building facilities is how that happens. That’s a much better return on investment for Ohio taxpayers.”
That’s also why would-be film cities set their sights on television instead of just films. Having a TV series creates jobs that stick around long after the blockbusters close up shop. It may not seem as sexy, but it’s steady work.
“Hollywood isn’t just directors and actors. It’s the people who do all of the other stuff. It’s the grips and the carpenters, the set and costume designers—the worker bees. The only way you entice those people to uproot their families and move to Columbus is to have jobs that don’t go away in 30 days,” noted Hartman. “That’s what Atlanta has done; that’s what Vancouver has done—and there are people leaving L.A. everyday because there’s more work in cities that have that permanent creative class.”
Sadly, Columbus is sort of its own secret, and that’s still a challenge. Whether it’s our modest demeanor or Midwestern work ethic, we don’t brag about ourselves often enough. That’s the trouble with branding. You brand yourself, or someone else will.
“When I talk to people in the industry who have never been to Columbus, they don’t get it. They worry about whether they’ll be able to find anywhere to eat, or cows walking down the street. But if we can get them to come here, then they get it,” he explained. “When you show them the city, they’re surprised. They see the development in and around downtown, how we’re a vibrant city, a vital city. They start to see us like they used to see Portland or Austin just a few years ago. We’ve had clients in from Toronto who remark how much Columbus actually reminds them of Toronto.”
That’s why Ohio Film Group is recruiting technical talent from both coasts and abroad back to Columbus from heavy-hitters like Disney, Rhythm and Hues, and Industrial Light & Magic.
“One thing that makes Ohio more attractive is our cost of living is at least 30 percent less than New York, L.A., or even Atlanta. Every day I get a call from someone in one of those markets who says they’d love to come back to Columbus because of the quality of life and the bang they get for their dollar is so much better,” he revealed. “If we’re serious about the creative class and supporting a local film industry, it’s going to take creative thinking. You can buy all of this—the equipment, the fiber runs, all of it—but it still comes down to people. We’re always looking for the right projects, but we’re also looking for the right people.” ▩
For more about the OFG’s team and their projects, visit ofgpost.com.
Originally published in the Spring 2018 issue of Stock & Barrel
Philadelphia has the cheesesteak. Boston has clam “chowda.” And New York and Chicago are forever at odds over whose style of pizza is superior.
But did you know Columbus has its own signature dish?
Once an outsider from the East Coast, I thought Johnny Marzetti sounded like someone who might play shortstop for Reds or halfback for the Browns. Despite this lazy lasagna’s legendary following, the uninitiated often learn about it first from new friends and neighbors who eagerly share childhood memories of the dish and its local origin. That doesn’t mean everyone from the Wall Street Journal to Saveur hasn’t reheated the same tale of Teresa Marzetti naming the unassuming entrée of pasta, ground beef, tomato sauce, and cheese after her son-in-law, and how she served it in the family restaurant decades before the name Marzetti became synonymous with salad dressing. Even the Ohio History Connection seems to support the story.
Unfortunately, there’s very little meat to the myth. Though the restaurant was real (two of them in fact, run by two families both named Marzetti) not a single advertisement or menu from either over the better part of a century mentions the dish. Teresa was also very real, though the company that still bears her name is equally adamant that any relation to Johnny Marzetti is likely more folklore than fact.
But that doesn’t mean folks love it any less. It kind of makes it a legit urban legend. An Italian matriarch, fresh off the boat from Florence, pulls together some modest ingredients and creates a sensation so deceptively simple that more than a hundred years later petite cuisine and molecular gastronomy still can’t beat it? Who wouldn’t eat up that story, even if the details are still suspect? It sure beats calling it the long-lost cousin of Hamburger Helper.
Finding the truth behind Johnny Marzetti is nearly as tough as finding it on a menu, unless you know where to look and who to ask.
“We usually have it on Mondays. That’s how it’s been for 29 years,” recalled Kathy Pappas, whose husband, Tommy has been dishing Johnny Marzetti at his eponymous westside diner for nearly three decades. “Our specials are ready to go, for people who don’t have much time for lunch. Johnny Marzetti is perfect, so we make enough for about 50 orders and we always run out.”
At Tommy’s Diner, like most places that secretly serve Johnny Marzetti, even though it’s not on the menu, it’s not exactly off the menu either—nor is there just one recipe. Most often macaroni, rotini or bowtie also work just fine. Vegetables include onions, green pepper, and mushrooms. (Though I highly recommend throwing in some zucchini.) Choice of cheese seems to fall into three schools. Cheddar is the most popular, but mozzarella makes a strong showing as well. Tommy’s tops theirs with a generous portion of grated parm. Opinions also vary on whether it goes into the oven for a quick brown and a bubbly finish, or straight to the plate with shreds or just a sprinkle. Whether original or avant-garde, everyone seems to agree it’s not exactly a chili mac or just another name for goulash.
Nancy’s Home Cooking in Clintonville actually does have it on the menu, but only makes the comfort food classic on Tuesdays. Paul’s Fifth Avenue, India Oak Bar and Grill, and German Village Coffee Shop quietly rotate traditional, yet individual, versions through their daily specials. Kolache Republic sometimes stuffs it into their savory pastry to make it more portable, and Columbus newcomer ClusterTruck will even deliver it to your door. None of them have it on the menu. Service Bar in the Short North does, offering an upscale variation for $21. (That’s quite the price hike from the 45 cents Teresa used to charge at the restaurant back in the 1920s—maybe she did, but probably not.)
The genius and longevity of Johnny Marzetti comes from its easy and adaptable recipe. A quick Facebook query in advance of this article unleashed a flood of photos and fond recollections. People actually sent me pictures of their leftover lunch, or a casserole dish fresh from the oven, previous dinner plans scuttled and inspired by the passionate conversation and competing recipes. From grins to groans, even its detractors shared cafeteria cautionary tales and school lunch lore with a smile.
Perhaps the most telling story about the enduring popularity of Johnny Marzetti came by way of a neighbor who revealed her mother regularly makes enormous batches of it for her church, as well as gatherings at the Westgate Recreation Center.
“What’s great about it is that it’s inexpensive. You get a lot for your money, and you can add to it or leave things out,” explained Tasha Corson. “My mom used to put just hamburger in hers, but I add sausage to mine, and sometimes some chiles, to give a little kick to it.” Corson also uses a blend of cheddar and Monterey Jack along with seasonings that lean more Southwest. “The largest batch I make feeds 30 to 40, and I make it in a big stock pot. That way people can put cheese on it if they want to, or not,” she explained. “I’ve made it in the oven too, to melt the cheese. That’s why I like it, because you can really make it your own.”
Corson was actually generous enough to invite me over for dinner, along with my editor and a photographer, eager to share her take on the dish that was part of her childhood, and in turn her children’s, with total strangers. Even if the recipe and mystery surrounding it are still uncertain, the power it has to create lifelong memories and bring people together with a familiar flavor isn’t. Whether it’s served at a lunch counter, a kitchen table, or a potluck dinner, the most important ingredients they all share are creativity and community—and that’s what makes Johnny Marzetti uniquely and unmistakably Columbus. ▩
Johnny on the Spot
These joints still serve up the city’s elusive culinary creation—but days and times vary.
· Tommy’s Diner 914 W Broad St. · Nancy’s Home Cooking 3133 N High St. · Paul’s Fifth Avenue 1565 W Fifth Ave. · India Oak Bar & Grill 590 Oakland Park Ave. · German Village Coffee Shop 193 Thurman Ave. · Kolache Republic 730 S High St. · ClusterTruck 342 E Long St. · Service Bar 1230 Courtland Ave.
Teresa Marzetti’s Original Recipe (Maybe, MAybe Not)
Sauté onion in oil until limp, about 3 minutes. Add mushrooms and fry until juices are released, about 5 minutes. Add beef and cook, stirring, breaking up clumps, until no longer red. Remove from heat and mix in tomato sauce and all but 1 cup of cheese Transfer to greased 9 x 13-inch baking dish and add macaroni. Toss gently to mix. Scatter remaining cheese on top. Bake, uncovered, in 350-degree oven until browned and bubbling (35 to 40 minutes). Serves 10 to 12.
A freelance writer for the Chicago Tribune liked this story so much, she practically plagiarized it, right down to the headline and adding “her own” recipe at the end. You can find it here. Compare for yourself.
Originally published in the Spring 2018 issue of Stock & Barrel
Before Columbus was nationally known for its neighborhood haunts and dinky little dives, we spent decades as an incubator for fast food fads that came, cooked, and conquered.
Not all went on to become household names. Some struggled to fend off their restaurant rivals. Some were unable to adapt to changing tastes and trends. Some simply spread themselves too thin. Inevitably, their franchise empires fell.
Loyal locals have helped a few far-flung outposts of these once thriving Columbus culinary colonies survive long after the clown and the crown conspired to kill anything original about fast food — and four are still just a road trip away.
G.D. Ritzy’s
Despite a deeper menu than its contemporaries, the pop shop nostalgia was perhaps ahead of its time. Their thin, crispy-edged burgers and ice cream parlor vibe are strikingly similar to Steak ‘n Shake, founded in Illinois nearly a half century earlier. But Graydon Webb, a former Wendy’s exec, was all in on the idea of premium sandwiches and sundaes under one roof. For a while, it worked, and not just with unexpected flavors like French Quarter Praline, Amaretto Cherry, and Kentucky Fudge Pecan Pie. People Magazine once declared G.D. Ritzy’s had the best chocolate ice cream in the country.
But the early ‘80s were a fickle cultural concoction for more than just fast food, and a throwback joint that was more Frankie Valli than Flock of Seagulls was a one hit wonder with the kids. Most of the remaining G.D. Ritzy’s locations in Columbus became Rally’s, many still sporting their distinctive tin awnings. But Graydon is giving it another go in Clintonville with a new “Ritzy’s” scheduled to open this spring featuring a lot of ‘50s fare and flare.
If you can’t wait, or just want to see how it all started, the nearest original G.D. Ritzy’s is going strong in Huntington, WV, offering the same menu of signature burgers, well-dressed hotdogs, thin-cut fries, Cincinnati-style chili, and those famous scoops that still have a faithful following. Not far from the campus of Marshall University, the kids finally figured out what their grandparents knew all along, but their parents didn’t — everything really does go better with ice cream. ▩
1335 Hal Greer Boulevard, Huntington, WV 25701
Frostop Drive-In
From American Graffiti to Dazed and Confused, the drive-in restaurant is still a cinematic experience. Though Sonic seemed to reintroduce the concept in recent years, Frostop was one of the first, founded in Springfield, Ohio in the 1920s before moving to Columbus. The checkerboard facade and neon sign define the era, but the giant rotating root beer mug on the roof remains as iconic as any golden arches.
Built around the same soda stand standards G.D. Ritzy’s echoed decades later, Frostop is the real deal. So it should come as no surprise the nearest one is also in Huntington, WV — in fact, about a hundred yards down the road. Teenagers and old-timers still flock there in hot rods and station wagons for footlongs and a frosted mug of sweet suds. Though the retail brand has been revived and expanded to include cream sodas and sarsaparilla, nothing beats grabbing a cold growler to take home from one of their few surviving root beer stands. ▩
1449 Hal Greer Blvd, Huntington, WV 25701
Rax Roast Beef
You wouldn’t expect a western-inspired, meat-themed monopoly to emerge in Ohio — much less two. But on the heels of Arby’s 1964 launch in Boardman, Jack Roschman answered with Jax Roast Beef in 1967. Several mergers later, the Rax brand was born in Columbus. Unlike Arby’s, whose phonetic name is an abbreviation for roast beef (R.B. – get it?), Rax was all over the map opening new locations and trying to find a broader appeal in a crowded fast food field.
They added baked potatoes as an alternative to fries. The salad bar didn’t seem that silly. Even Wendy’s tried that gimmick for a while. Rax also added pizza, pasta, and tacos to it, not unlike Wendy’s short-lived “SuperBar”. Both ideas met a swift and similar fate. But the redhead rebounded, and Rax never did. They refocused on their core menu at the handful that remained, though they never quite escaped the appearance, or actuality, that if you’re going to knock off an idea, you’d better to it better or not at all.
If you still get an occasional hankering for a Mushroom Melt and a little cup of cheese to dip your fries, there are still two (of the remaining eight) fairly close. ▩
800 E Main St, Lancaster, OH 43130 23923 US Route 23 South, Circleville, OH 43113
Arthur Treacher’s
A fish and chips franchise seems more like an import than an export from Ohio, but in 1969, a handful of Columbus investors (including Dave Thomas) took a hint from Bob Hope and recruited British character actor Arthur Treacher to be the face of their new seafood venture. Founded the same year as Long John Silver’s, in equally unlikely Lexington, Kentucky, Arthur Treacher’s was decidedly more London than Robert Louis Stevenson in its aesthetic. In their heyday of the late ‘70s, the restaurant was fast approaching a thousand locations. Today, there are just seven.
Though the three on Long Island are essentially Nathan’s hot dog stands that also sell fish and hush puppies, the four in suburban Cleveland are time capsules of what once was. The Garfield Heights location still has a sign with the actual Arthur Treacher, whose face and fish are even less familiar to millennials than Bob Hope. But if you’re looking for your malt vinegar fix a little closer to home, follow the familiar looking lantern to Marino’s Seafood Fish & Chips in Grandview where the tradition lives on under another name. ▩
926 E. Waterloo Rd, Akron, OH 44306 1833 State Rd, Cuyahoga Falls, OH 44223 2 Youngstown Warren Rd, Pinetree Square, Niles, OH 44223 12585 Rockside Rd, Garfield Heights, OH 44125
Originally published in the Spring 2018 issue of 614 HOME
Photo by J.R. McMillan
Buy cheap, do-it-yourself, and make more money in a few weeks than you’d otherwise make all year. There are entire networks of flippers and fixer-uppers pushing the premise like televangelists — the new prophets of profit.
Don’t let those episodes that finish everything in an hour fool you. Rehabbing a house isn’t quick, cheap, or easy — it’s slow, expensive, and painful. And yet, we decided to do it anyway.
We weren’t idealistic urban pioneers determined to reclaim a small square of the city. Suburbia had simply lost its allure amid busybodies, constant construction, and a well-heeled school district that suddenly hit the skids and started slashing programs affecting our kids.
After enumerable open houses that never panned out, we kept coming back to the same dilapidated home on a double lot that was clearly vacant, but never for sale. A real estate agent in the neighborhood tracked down the out-of-town owners and found the right person, on the right day, in the right mood to consider a cold offer.
We already knew it needed a lot of work. Here’s what we didn’t know about Rehab Hell: Everything will cost more and take longer.
Unlike the typical flip, we actually planned to live there — maybe forever. So we didn’t mind spending a little more to make it what we wanted instead of what it was.
But moving a sink and knocking out a wall to connect your kitchen and living room is a lot less complicated on paper than it is once permits and engineers are involved. Add the AC unit, electrical wiring, and copper plumbing that had been pillaged before we bought it and it adds up fast.
What was supposed to be a 12-month rehab is approaching two years, which included months with two mortgages, plus rent and storage. We eventually had to realign the “fix list” to just the minimum number of projects to make the house habitable, then leave the rest for later. It’s a strategy that would have saved both time and money had we started there instead.
Referrals are important, but imperfect.
The place had been home to a fair number of felines during the two years it was empty. We literally bought a cathouse. Every window was broken or wouldn’t open. (Never mind the smell. If there were a fire, everyone would die.)
After combing through lots of online ratings, we selected a local window company we hoped would replace the fire hazard and foul odor with some fresh air. The sales guy was as slick as their receptionist was sweet. But that all changed once they had our money. Months of excuses turned to silence. Calls and emails were ignored. Only after threatening to come to their office and throw a rock through the front window just to see if anyone would show up to fix it did they finally schedule the installation. With the wisdom of hindsight, some of those swelling reviews now seem highly suspect.
It’s okay to be thrifty, just not foolish.
There are actually plenty of repairs the average homeowner can handle with the right tools and YouTube. I don’t mind admitting I’m slow and sloppy at just about every task I’ve taken on, or that I essentially learned to tile floors and shower walls by watching The Vanilla Ice Project.
But sometimes you bring in a pro just to keep your new home from blowing up or burning down. I can sweat pipes and swap light fixtures just fine, but when it comes to breaker boxes and things that go boom, better to be safe than dead.
We asked around and found a quasi-retired electrician to make sense of our mess, and a former plumber who still likes to get his hands wet and runs gas lines on the side. They were both willing to supervise my work or assist for far less than an ordinary contractor.
Always work from the inside out.
Every instinct suggests fixing ugly first, but resist the urge. We started down the wrong road by lining up exterior improvements, when we should have stayed focused on the less sexy projects inside. I should have pulled off the aluminum siding earlier to discover solid cedar underneath before wasting time shopping for new siding only to end up restoring what we had. We should have replaced the water heater and finished the bathroom first, not last.
Fortunately we found a guy who was able to repair and refinish the floors and feather in new wood so well a hummingbird couldn’t tell the difference. But it would have been much easier to tackle the plaster and painting first. Ideally it should have been windows, plaster and paint, then floors. Now we’re doing it in reverse, having to cover up the floors to keep from screwing them up.
Know your neighborhood and your neighbors.
I still joke that I went out for a beer and came back with a house, but that’s not far from the truth. We were already looking for a new place to live. But while writing a story about a group of Westgate homebrewers who get together every few months in someone’s backyard or living room to share and compare, I realized what I’d overlooked entirely in our search — genuine community.
That’s the real reason why after months of frustration with few prospects we decided to make an offer on a rare pre-war ranch, despite its many faults, even though it wasn’t for sale.
Since then, this gathering of former strangers has eagerly offered their tools, time, and talents to make this long-neglected house a home. The guy around the corner is redoing the roof, a dude on the other side of the park helped hang the kitchen cabinets, and those floors were saved by someone from down the block.
This is the most important advice, and probably the only thing we did right from the start. You’re not just buying a house, whether you’re flipping it or moving in. You’re buying a neighborhood and the people who live there are the real investment, and what ultimately determines whether it’s all worth it. ▩
Originally published in the March 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
Aftermath, 2017. Photo By Brian Douglas/Courtesy Lionsgate Premiere
It’s no surprise action heroes are Hollywood’s single greatest export.
Amid wildfires, mudslides, drought, and rolling blackouts, it’s a wonder the filmmaking capital of the world has survived any better than its on-screen alter ego, regularly ravaged by everything from earthquakes to alien invasions. The cost of living is untenable, the traffic is intolerable, even the most groundbreaking feature film of last year was titled simply Get Out — and like most movies and television series these days, it wasn’t filmed there either.
California has in many ways become the star of its own disaster film. How can you tell? After years of economic malaise and mismanagement, the voters there actually asked Arnold Schwarzenegger to save them, and maybe we in Columbus should too.
This year marks the 30th anniversary of the Arnold Sports Festival, held the first weekend of this month. What started three decades ago as the Arnold Classic, the former bodybuilding championship has ballooned into a four-day health and fitness expo celebrating more than 75 established and obscure sports, from fencing to axe throwing.
But Schwarzenegger’s ties to Central Ohio run much deeper than just a long weekend once a year.
Back in 1970, Worthington Mayor Jim Lorimer invited a 23-year-old Austrian bodybuilder to the World Weightlifting Championship’s new Mr. World competition in Columbus to vie for the title and a cash prize of $500.
Arnold passed. The three-time consecutive winner of the Mr. Universe competition was already scheduled to defend his title in London, but Lorimer wasn’t taking no for an answer. He offered to fly Schwarzenegger back from London to Columbus immediately after the event there so he could compete.
Outside the then close-knit bodybuilding community, Arnold was just some guy who struggled to shop off the rack. That was all about to change. He won both Mr. Universe and Mr. World in the same weekend, a feat that was featured on ABC’s wildly popular Wide World of Sports, introducing him to his largest audience to date.
Schwarzenegger confided in Lorimer his dream of sponsoring his own tournament after he retired from the sport, and a seed was planted. After hosting several successful Mr. Olympia competitions here in the ’70s, and a brief acting hiatus in the early ’80s, Arnold ultimately launched his own competition in Columbus 30 years ago this month.
So what does that have to do with our fledgling film industry? More than you think.
Arnold has become an ambassador for Columbus for more than just sports. His annual health and fitness expo celebrates the city as much as the events and athletes. His own celebrity doesn’t just rub off on us; he’s helped introduce us to new audiences, just like we did for him with that first Mr. World competition.
He could have talked his action hero buddies Sylvester Stallone and Bruce Willis into opening Planet Movies anywhere on Earth, the motion picture rival to Hard Rock Café that coupled a Planet Hollywood restaurant with an upscale movie theater complex. But he chose Easton Town Center, and even though the concept was short-lived, the investment and effort shouldn’t be forgotten.
Action heroes also have a reputation for formulaic personas from one film to the next. Schwarzenegger is the exception, never afraid to try something unexpected or face the critics if an endeavor falls flat.
Yes, he’s been a barbarian, a commando, a spy, a hitman, and a killer cyborg from the future. But he’s also been a kindergarten teacher, Danny DeVito’s genetic better half, and even pregnant. His blockbuster appeal hasn’t stopped him from making fun of his own typecasting or being cast against type. Recent performances in Maggie as the protective father of girl slowly succumbing to a global pandemic that turns victims into zombies, and in Aftermath as an anguished survivor determined to avenge his family’s death from a mid-air collision, show an unexpected range and depth.
As soon as you think you know Arnold, he’s going to do something to prove you wrong.
How did your experience with the Arnold Classic influence the decision to shoot the film Aftermath here? What makes Columbus ideal as an emerging film city?
Columbus is a fantastic place for anything and everything. I’ve spent time in Columbus for 48 years through our bodybuilding championship, that then developed into the world championships in many different sports through our sport and fitness festival. It’s a perfect place that I use as an example, where the private sector and public sector work really well together. They’re very well coordinated. There’s no “we” against “them.” It’s always “us,” and it’s always what is best for the community. It doesn’t matter if it’s Republicans or Democrats in office, they all know they ultimately have to serve in a way to bring more businesses here. I have seen the great growth of the Arnold Classic and how dedicated the city officials are, and also the people at the state level. They’ve helped us every step of the way to make the Arnold Classic Sports and Fitness Festival successful. This is how it became the biggest in the world. This year we have 20,000 participants from 80 different nations. It’s gigantic, and we wouldn’t be able to do it anywhere else than Columbus.
When I did the movie Aftermath, I told the production company when there was a debate about should we go to Atlanta, or New Mexico, or Cleveland, I said to them, “Look, let me explain to you a little about Columbus…”. I told them basically what I told you. It’s an extraordinary place, and that I’ve talked to the mayor many times, the governor many times, and they all said if you come here with a production, we will help you because we want to establish ourselves as a city where you should go to shoot movies. Big movies, small movies, documentaries, whatever you want to do. So I took the risk. I said, “I’m not going to do the movie unless we shoot it in Columbus.” They decided to investigate, to check into it, and this is why after looking around, talking to the film commission, they realized this is a very friendly place where they are opening up their arms to productions. So we shot the movie here and the producers walked away absolutely delighted with one of the best experiences they’ve ever had.
My idea was that this would be the opening, and those production people would go to Hollywood and tell others about it. That’s exactly what happened.
This is why I think it’s a great place. Because people work together, they work tirelessly. People are talented here — the stage crew, the people who build sets — they’re energetic, they’re passionate. This is something you cannot buy. It’s not just tax credits. I made this clear, Columbus maybe doesn’t have the best tax credits, but you will get your money’s worth in many other ways, and it paid off.
Why is it important to take risks in film? Why do actors need to take risks, why do filmmakers need to take risks? Why is it important to get out of your box?
I don’t think there’s a difference from one field to another. One cannot say, why do you need to take risks in movies, why do you need to take risks in the parts that you play, what genre of movies you make? There are people who love to take risks, and there are people who like to play it safe. I think I’ve always been a person who thrives on risk. When I started in bodybuilding back in Austria they said, “You’ll never be a bodybuilder. Austrians are known for soccer and skiing. But bodybuilding? Forget it.” But I took the risk. It’s no different than taking the risk of running for governor. In movies, you have to take risks. Hollywood is a place that loves to put you in a box. You’re the action guy. You’re going to make action movies, and you’re going to do one script after the next — which I did, and that was very successful during the ’80s and ’90s. But there’s a time when I’ve done enough of that, after I’ve satisfied the studios’ needs, to show that I can do other things, that there’s a different Arnold in there than most people know. So I take the risk.
When I did Twins, I said to the studio, I know you don’t want to put much money behind this like an action movie. They said they wanted to make a minimum amount, and I said, “Then, don’t pay me? I’ll take the risk. It’s my first comedy. Why don’t you not pay me or the director or Danny DeVito, and just give us the back end?” We took that risk and it was my most successful movie at that time in my life, and I had a backend of 20 percent.
You couldn’t ever get that deal today. It was all about being able to take that risk.
When you get to be more mature, with age you’re much more believable to play a father in Aftermath or in Maggie, with more acting than action. When you’re younger and an action star, they won’t write material like this for you. They write scenes with great action, but they won’t write scenes with great dialogue and great character building. That’s just the way it is. For me, it was great to take those risks whether it’s Aftermath and Maggie, or Twins and Kindergarten Cop and Junior. I wanted to branch out because there is a side of me that is also like that. So I think taking risks in which parts you take and which productions you choose is absolutely essential.
Typecasting is tough to escape, with studios and with audiences. Is there a role or genre of film that you haven’t done and would like to?
We’re putting together a western. I’ve never really done one, and I’ve always wanted to do a western. It’s being developed with Amazon and it’s going to be eight segments, like a miniseries. It’s a terrific project — very intense, action-packed, great characters. We’ll most likely start shooting next year. It’s being written right now. This year, I’m going to be shooting Terminator in Spain, and Budapest, Hungary. We’re finalizing the script for Triplets, which will be a sequel to Twins with Eddie Murphy as the third twin brother.
The industry and audiences are still divided over the use of computer generated versions of real actors and actresses. As someone who has starred opposite a CGI version of his younger self twice, what’s your opinion on the use and future of computer generated actors?
I want to see movies that are thoroughly entertaining. I don’t look at it as whether it’s computer generated or not. Wise directors like James Cameron who use visual effects will make sure those things he can do in real life, he will shoot in real life. I think if it is well done, it’s okay to use the technology because that’s why it was developed in the first place, to be able to entertain people better. If the script says the Terminator looks exactly the same as he did in 1984, the reality is that my body doesn’t look the same as it did in 1984. So whether you computer generate it, or use someone else’s body, or they enhance your body, or use someone else’s body and put your face on it, depending on what the script says, it may be the only way you can do it. In Conan the Barbarian, I had to fight a giant snake. You could tell that it was mechanically operated, and people didn’t mind because it was the only technology available then. Computer generated technology has a very important part in movie making. I don’t mind it at all if I get enhanced one way or another to look younger — like if my character is supposed to be 50, instead of 70 — any help I can get, I’ll take it.
Speaking of reboots,I’d be remiss not to ask if King Conan rumors are true. Is there another Conan installment we can look forward to with an elder Conan?
That is correct. Those movies were really big hits way back when. It’s a theme in Hollywood, to come back to titles that are well-known. Independent companies take risks with production titles no one has ever heard of or that are new. But studios like recognizable names. That’s why Twins is becoming Triplets, it’s why they’re now writing King Conan, which is why there’s a Terminator 6 — which is all good for me, to keep those franchises alive.
Some parents push their kids into their own profession. Others push them away. The upcoming release of Midnight Sun is your son Patrick’s first starring role. How do you feel about him getting into the family business?
I never discouraged him from going into the movie business. I think it’s a great business to be in. But I also make it clear to all of my kids — no matter which field they get into — they have to be smart with business, and they have to be smart with money. My son is very serious about acting, but he’s also very serious as a businessman. He’s always been entrepreneurial. While I’m proud of him and his work in the movies, I’m also proud of him and his work outside the movies — so that he never ends up being vulnerable. It’s important to have a passion for acting, but it’s also important to be financially independent — not having to sell out and take a role just because they offer good money. He’s really serious about acting, but he’s also really smart about it. I was so proud when I saw his movie, and I think people are going to be surprised by his performance.
As a Midwestern city, Columbus can pretend to be anywhere on film, but many filmmakers don’t realize it. How practical is it to shoot here instead of more familiar film cities?
Columbus has so many different sides to it. When we shot Aftermath, we had no problem finding any backdrops whatsoever. The plane crash site was done a little bit outside of Columbus, we shot in a jail and had free reign over that location. You can find government buildings and high-rises, dangerous looking alleys. If it’s a modern looking shopping mall, there’s Easton Town Center. If you want to find a nice Spielbergian kind of community like you see in many of his movies, you have that in Columbus. You literally have everything that you need. I don’t think there is anything anyone would say you don’t have. If you’re shooting a movie that takes place in New York, I would highly recommend you shoot 95 percent of the movie in Columbus. Five percent of the movie — all of the exteriors, walking on 42nd Street or Broadway, or Central Park or aerial shots of the city — you go to New York to shoot that. But the rest it? You can shoot it all in Columbus. ▩
The 30th annual Arnold Classic will take place March 1 – 4. Aftermath is available for rent on iTunes, Amazon and YouTube.
Originally published in the March 2018 issue of (614) Magazine
I Am Wrath by Brian Douglas
A rare mix of quintessential and gritty interiors and exteriors, and accidental advantages of geography, should make our city ripe for the red carpet. Creating a permanent production presence in the heart of Ohio is fundamental to attracting the caliber of projects and professionals necessary to escape the cycle of movies that blow through town, but are out in 30 days or less—spending welcome dollars for sure, but not exactly adding to our capacity or credibility as a “film city.”
Atlanta has recently reinvented itself as a production powerhouse, rivaling Los Angeles and New York last year for films and television series both within its municipal borders and throughout Georgia. It was an investment years in the making that required a fair amount of faith and financing from the public and private sector to achieve. Just like the latest breakout stars on the big screen, overnight success is hardly ever so. Perseverance, pluck, and a lot of luck play into landing that one big role that suddenly changes everything.
Maybe our time as well has finally come.
“It’s surprising how many people there are from Ohio, and even from Columbus, who are in the industry and want to bring projects back here,” explained John Daugherty, executive director of the Columbus Film Commission. Facilitating production is the primary charge of any film commission, but Columbus is committed to tapping into the collaborative spirit and creative connectivity that distinguish the capital city even from nearby rivals Cleveland and Cincinnati.
“That’s what makes us unique—we bring people together. When someone calls me with an issue in the middle of production, I can usually get on the phone and have a solution in ten minutes because everyone in the industry here wants to help us succeed.”
Columbus also has the benefit of being a burgeoning locale for filmmaking, not one that has been exhaustively overshot for decades. What we may lack in iconic landmarks or familiar facades we more than make up for in backdrops that have yet to be discovered. We may not have the Statue of Liberty or the Bradbury Building, but we also don’t have the baggage that comes with them.
“There’s a lot of newness and freshness, vibrancy to the city. When we talk to producers about shooting here, there is some initial vetting to determine what they want and need,” Daugherty explained. “Then they come in and we show them the locations we have to offer. Once I get them here, it’s a pretty easy sell.”
Often described as a city of neighborhoods, the distinctive style from one to the next allows us to easily pose for another time or place. Period pieces and contemporary stories share the need for immediately transporting an audience. Communities of craftsman homes, quaint 60s suburbs, and more modern urban row houses are all within minutes of each other. From stately Victorian homes on both sides of downtown to picturesque country manors an easy drive away, there probably isn’t another city in the country with a better or broader range of residential architecture. German Village’s narrow brick homes and cobblestone streets could easily pass for Germany itself.
As evidenced by I Am Wrath, even our old barbershops look badass with the right lighting—decidedly, and ironically, unfamiliar. Though impressive locations are only part of the package.
“Because Cleveland, Cincinnati, even Pittsburgh are just a couple of hours away, we can pull crew and gear to Columbus when we need it,” he said, noting that our proximity creates the potential to tap into more robust film resources in surrounding cities, but also to lend our talent and tools as an interim step toward building our own sustainable industry. “If you’re shooting in Cleveland and have to drive to Cincinnati for a piece of equipment, that’s an all-day trip. We use our central location to market Columbus over both as a built-in benefit.”
Though there is certainly rivalry among the big three cities competing for productions, there is also common cause when it comes to tax credits. A staple for states like California, New York, and Georgia (and all of Canada), legislators hoping to create work in motion pictures and television offer various incentives for projects tied to the jobs they generate.
“I keep mentioning Cleveland and Cincinnati because they have their own film commissions that have been around longer than ours, and we all compete for the same pot of money,” Daugherty admitted. “But that’s also one of the areas where we’ve been working together, to raise that tax credit. We’ve increased it from $20 million to $40 million. However, because of the way the tax credit is structured, one production can come in a wipe that all out.”
Daugherty is advocating a restructuring of the program to ensure that doesn’t happen. He’d like to see something more in-line with what other states have done to protect their incentives and prevent huge projects from tapping the entire fund, thus cutting out smaller productions that really rely on it. Capping the maximum amount of credit per project, creating an earmark for Ohio-based productions, or pinning payouts to the number of permanent jobs created are all means used elsewhere to achieve the intended effect.
“Attracting film productions is fine, but that’s not all the tax credit was for. I think most legislators would agree it’s for cultivating and building businesses and production companies that live and breathe in the state,” he explained. “But that’s a process that takes time.”
Sometimes it’s the little things that impress. One concept created to help make Columbus more inviting for filmmakers is a simple card good for discounts on dining and transportation for visiting productions. Daugherty credits the “crew card” for recently drawing at least one producer’s attention away from Cleveland toward Columbus. Hospitality matters.
Investments aren’t always economic. Maintaining relationships with those working in the film industry with Columbus ties is also a long-term proposition, but one that Daugherty hopes can create a recurring series of projects.
“Growing relationships takes longer than landing one film. I’d like to see producers return with future films as well,” he said. “We’re also considering options for an expat incentive to lure filmmakers with local ties to return to Columbus—moving expenses perhaps, enough to give someone that last push they may need to move back.”
Closing the crew gap is a key concern for the Columbus Film Commission. It’s difficult to attract and retain talent without enough work, and challenging to attract enough work unless we already have the local talent required.
“We can still supply smaller productions in Columbus, and larger ones by borrowing crew and equipment from surrounding cities,” he noted. “But a lot of our crew are also working in the commercial industry, which sometimes limits their availability for visiting film projects.”
Much like photographers who shoot weddings on the side so they can afford to follow their passion projects with less pressure to pay the bills, commercial filmmaking is the proving ground and steady paycheck for a lot of local filmmakers.
“That’s how we increase our pool of technical talent. I’d like to see more commercial work staying in Columbus instead of leaving,” Daugherty suggested. “Can you imagine the impact on the local film industry if Nationwide, Wendy’s, and Huntington all agreed to keep just one percent of their commercial business here in Central Ohio—the number of jobs that would create and freelancers that could support?”
Columbus is increasingly ready to jump from supporting character to starring role when the right opportunity comes along. Measures of success in film and television aren’t easy to pin down, but Daugherty has distilled all of these individual efforts down to a simple strategy.
“My goal is to get four films a year and a series of some sort. Between that and more commercial projects, we could keep 300 to 400 people working year round,” he said. “After that, there’s enough experience, equipment, and momentum to bring in bigger projects. That’s how you become a film city.” ▩
