The old-soul within me loves it a good proverb. In how we often come to discover the essential truths of life, the obscurity is made simple through time, then made profound with experience. One that has most recently served as great instruction for my time here in Los Angeles is, “Show me who your friends are, and I will tell you who you are.” I’ve heard this adage many times over the course of my life, but working in the creative field — where most of one’s “success” is based on the disposition of their own community — gives the added advantage of heightening the metaphysical aspect of reality. The old saying is subsequently refined to, “Show me who your friends are, and I’ll show you your future.”
Around three years ago, I met a woman on the set of a project by another cherished member of my community. She worked as a member on one of the most hard-working/awe-inspiring art teams I’ve ever come across, was diligent, confident, yet so unassuming that one might mistaken this modesty for her being timid. It didn’t take long for us to see ourselves in the other, and to almost immediately sympathize with the errors in how we could be perceived by others.
And so, when this fellow writer expressed an openness to share each other’s works, it came as no surprise that we shared similar interests and intentions with our personal projects. Through encouragement and organic consistency, one thing led to another, and now we both find ourselves in uncharted territory, pushing our creative endeavors to their fullest potential.
I’d like to introduce you all to Kristen Semedo, the writer/director of VERMIN, who graciously allowed me to produce her film. VERMIN follows a man named Taylor who struggles to take responsibility for his failing marriage, mostly due to his lack of initiative. Lost in self-misery, isolated in what was once his marital-home, he soon discovers that he isn't as alone as he thinks. VERMIN is a timely and multifaceted horror short that critiques gender roles and how they negatively affect domestic partnerships for everyone.
I was able to sit down with Kristen and talk more about the film, her own processes and intentions as a creative, as well as what inspired her to push forward in manifesting her dreams:
Tell everyone a little bit about yourself and your creative journey so far. What brought you out to Los Angeles?
I know many filmmakers’ origin stories involve them using an old camera or something at home, and they never stopped filming since they were 8—and that’s valid. For me, I loved the arts and being creative, but it took me a long time to nail down which particular medium I thrived in. There’s no rule against having multiple creative interests, but I seemed to dabble in quite a few. I’d say writing was always my most consistent art form, though. I started writing in journals and submitting to writing contests when I was around 7. I opened a photography studio in my mid-20s after picking up photography a few years earlier.
But movies were certainly part of my life forever. My mom always had something on, and my other family members had stacks of VHS tapes. I enjoyed a few precious years of Blockbuster before they went out of business. Interestingly, though, none of my three siblings took to movies the way I did/do. They don’t sit down to watch them much or get as invested as I do/did. So maybe that’s the true bedrock of my creative origins. It wasn’t until recently, just before I turned 30, that I realized I could combine writing and film. That seems obvious to us now, but I always saw artistic folks as part of an elite society of ultra-intelligent, ultra-powerful people, so to imagine doing any of what they do felt far beyond my realm of capabilities.
I moved to LA from Massachusetts in 2021 when my partner–now husband–got a job offer from a dream video game company. COVID had shut my studio down, which I eventually closed for good. I saw my creative life dying in the suburbs of a small state, one I’d grown up in all my life. I was going back to school to finish a social work degree and try a long-distance relationship, but I realized I didn’t want that or to stay, or to be without Josh. And through the confidence of my friend, Ariel Vida, I was brought onto my first set in the second week of us living in LA.
What does your creative process look like? As a fellow writer, I’m always interested in how diverse this looks for everyone. Do you have a pre-ritual that you like to do? Something that helps you get in the “zone?”
There are a few things. The first is horror movie soundtracks. To be honest, it’s usually the It Follows score. I also have a Spotify playlist called “Spooky Instrumental.” I use it for reading and writing. I can’t sit in silence while doing anything, including sleeping. So, having sounds that help me feel immersed in the genre I’m writing (horror, usually) is a non-negotiable.
I usually have to move around before doing any writing, too. Even just a little walk. It helps me shake out some unfocused thoughts that bang around my head.
After all that’s done, I tend to “pre-write.” Preferably in a notebook first. I’ll just scratch out some general ideas or quick scenes and feelings. I guess it’s like a form of automatic writing, except I believe in this process. There's an added pressure to write seamlessly when we sit down to type without working through some of the chaos of ideas we usually juggle. But I don’t think you can do that without getting the first round of junk out, somewhere visible only to you. We all know our first real draft will have issues no matter what; I see pre-writing as a decluttering process to help get through that first draft and feel a little less precious about it. I feel a lot of safety in the exploratory part of writing, which is important. You don’t want your number one enemy to be the page in front of you (more than it has to be, anyway.)
Which filmmakers or films have influenced you the most? Give me one you don’t know, and possibly one you’ve met during your time here.
I mentioned her earlier, but Ariel Vida is my guardian filmmaker. And now a best friend. I “met” her six years ago after I directed a photoshoot inspired by her work in the Lord Huron music videos. Our production design and lighting were informed by her work 100%. This was in Massachusetts, which was very early in my photography career. I saw her name in all the credits and wanted to ensure she knew someone was recreating her work, mostly because crediting people is the right thing to do. To my surprise, she responded, and we stayed in touch for three years long before Josh and I ever thought we’d move to LA. So when we did, she and I met in real life.
I worked as her set dresser/general art PA on several things in her last few years of production designing before she stepped into directing full-time. I learned from someone who wasn’t just insanely skilled (I’ve seen this woman slide under a broken picture car and fix it in two minutes flat, on top of many other on-set feats) but unparalleled in her kindness and passion. Seasoned filmmakers tend to lose their shine. They become cynics. Ariel never has, and I don’t think she ever will. And this taught me one very important thing: Given the choice between a masterful filmmaker who is an asshole and an amateur novice who is kind and eager, I’m always going to try to be and prefer to work with the latter.
You can teach people new skills, but you can’t teach them how not to be an asshole.
Her films are objectively gorgeous. More than that, you can tell that the relationships she builds with her actors directly impact their performances. She’s given me hours of personal direction as I move into directing and producing, and it feels like cosmic gold.
As far as someone I’ve never met but feel influenced by…it’s more like a handful of indie filmmakers. Jennifer Kent (The Babadook,) Ti West (The Inkeepers, House of the Devil,) Natalie Erika James (Relic,) David Robert Mitchell (It Follows) are a few examples simply because they either jettisoned me into conscious awareness of indie horror or because their style, pacing, and stories felt far beyond anything that bigger horror studios were doing. They also tend to have a ton of subtext in their films, which is my precious bread and butter as an academic at heart.
A big grey area in terms of the process of networking is something that a lot of people find difficult to discern. What would you say to someone who is inquiring about how to build a community around them?
You and I had the good fortune to meet on a set and just click, and you’re one of my best friends here! But getting on a set can take years and years for folks, especially younger folks, and not everyone is the kindest.
My advice for any version of community building, filmmaking or otherwise, is not to go looking for people but to be the people you’d want to look for. You can create a network by DMing someone, sure, or asking them what they do at an event. And those are valid and necessary parts of this industry sometimes. But those who still don’t feel nurtured by a community will find they could ask more of themselves. Is there someone else at the same point in their journey as you? They likely feel exactly the way you do.
The scarcity mentality here is a lie, and notoriety is addictive but not nurturing. When I think of you, Mick, or anyone on our various creative teams, past and present, they’re people I would enjoy seeing in any context. I’d drop what I was doing for you all in need. But that has to be genuine. People can sense when you’re schmoozing or putting on. Realizing that none of us gets anywhere alone will humble you and draw that community to you.
Finally, what we all came here for: talk to us about VERMIN! You have a lot of great themes and intentions with all of the scripts I’ve read from you, particularly in dismantling outdated tropes with character types in the horror genre. Can you give us an example of what this is, and how it’s potentially been harmful to the demographic it represents/portrays?
I think eventually when this film is made and people say it, the first question will be, “Wait, aren’t you married to a straight guy?!” And yes! Yes I am. And I love him to pieces. But when we were dating and first moved in together, we had many arguments about who assumed which kind of work in the house and how often. Luckily, six years in and a marriage later, we’ve hammered this issue out. I don’t have to ask him to do stuff anymore. Which is less about a gold star for him and more about the equilibrium every relationship needs to be at. Sometimes he’ll be sick, and I’ll cover everything, and vice versa. Our ability to move through resentment lay in our ability to talk.
Taylor, our lead in Vermin, hasn’t mastered this. We don’t see the fights happening over time, but we see mutual resentment. And assuming that some people may say this and think it’s a movie about hating men, I’d say it’s equally about men needing to heal and to be vulnerable as much as it is rooting for the righteousness of his ex-wife. We know that male mental health is in the gutter, and why? It’s because they lack connection with others, which often stems from a refusal to go to therapy, to meet their own emotions. In the extreme, this can be expressed as violence. But often, it’s expressed in expectations and stereotypes. Unfortunately, he’s put himself in a box as much as his ex-wife. Men should be allowed and allow themselves to be vulnerable. They’re also required to own their mistakes as much as anyone else. But those two things are incompatible with masculinity as we know it in a larger sense. We have to change that or suffer the consequences.
Pursuing one’s dreams – whether it be filmmaking or what have you – is no small feat. I want to congratulate you, Kristen, for beating the odds and proving that anything is possible with patience and perseverance. I simply want to know where that flame comes from.
I think the longest I had a true office job was two weeks. I don’t know any other way to be, I don’t know what else to do. Film became a language for me. I was alone a lot growing up. A lot. And I used films to fill that void and discovered a language for pain through it. And in that, I’ve seen how speaking that language out loud may reach the ears of someone else who can understand it. That’s sacred. It’s as much for me as any other lonely weirdo out there.
One of the greatest joys, especially post-strikes and during COVID, is being a source for the people I love to be doing what they love. To add another credit, even on a short film by a no-name director, I hope it will lead to the success of everyone on this team. So it’s for all of us.
To close, I’d like for you to say something to your 12-year-old self. What do you think they could benefit from hearing?
Funny; for my 13th birthday–one of only two parties I got to have, the first being my 7th or 8th when the Scooby Doo movie came out–I was allowed to invite friends over to watch movies. I went down to the last rental store in Marlborough, MA, where I’m from, and rented The Grudge and a few others. None of those people that came stayed friends very long. To be fair, we’d just moved to town, and maybe the impression I wanted to make wasn’t that I enjoyed those kinds of movies. Kids are cruel (and have no appreciation for good horror cinema).
I’d tell her to trust her own instincts. I could have done some of this sooner, but I let the expectations of others and the fear created by those expectations control me. The aforementioned loneliness was from a lack of trust in my own interests or intelligence. But she deserved to be herself instead of going through what she did. It’s alright, though. We’re getting reacquainted.
You can learn more about VERMIN and how you can help contribute to the film at its Seed & Spark page here. On behalf of the entire team, we greatly appreciate any funds that are directed towards helping us reach our goal. You’re contributing to more than just this one project, but also providing an abundance of positive reassurance, and that truly is a currency that is priceless.