Issue link: https://digital.copcomm.com/i/1536017
By Julio C. Perez IV I never had an inordinate fear of dark rooms as a child. Although the night has its secrets — and a child of anxious disposition might struggle with unpleas- antly over-vivid dreams — the blue pulse of a TV in a den or the dance of light on a movie screen provided ample sanctu- ary for a nervous kid named Julio in 1980s Marietta, Georgia. I craved escape from the pressures of familial expectations for high performance in school, sports, soci- ety, and fitting in with the other kids, many of whom seemed to think I came from an- other planet because of my funny name. I distinctly remember the wonder and joy of dark rooms with glowing rectilinear por- tals whisking me to galaxies far, far away or to Southern California suburbs with extra-terrestrial pals that just wanted to phone home. Movies were my windows to more magical, adventurous worlds. Sure, I knew I loved movies more than your average kid, but I never once thought they were something I could actually craft, much less make a living at helping to shape them. But that didn't prevent me from shooting silly "SNL"/"Kids In The Hall"- style sketch shows with my high school friends. We made short copycat parodies of televised sketches. The most advanced technique we utilized was in-camera edit- ing on my friend's dad's VHS Camcorder. It was all very derivative and silly and, at best, we proved that imitation is not always the ultimate form of flattery. COMING OF AGE HOW A PAPER ON BUBONIC PLAGUE LED TO A 'EUPHORIA'-FILLED CAREER The filmmaking bug really bit me when I attended the University of Georgia, where I studied history. My thesis paper was on "The Bubonic Plague in 14th Century Catalonia" — so yeah, I felt like maybe going forward. I wanted to choose a path that wasn't so much of a downer. I took a film survey class as an elective. It blew my mind that movies were a thing that people crafted, wrote, and read about with such in- tensity and passion. It felt so alive and vital, unlike the unending litany of dead people in my history books. I remember the film professor playing a clip from the opening of Fellini's "8½." A thrill shot through me like a lightning bolt and my insides screamed, "THAT'S IT!!!" I started going to the student cinema with a vengeance, seeing my first films by arthouse giants and Hollywood stalwarts alike. And after graduation, I ultimately decided to apply to film schools. The first time I truly edited a full project — non-linear, digital, Avid — was on my "Di- recting 1" short film at Florida State. After spending 12 hours in a dark room, abusing and achieving (some) continuity, shaping performances, and using wild lines as a sad substitute for real ADR, I emerged from that dusky suite not only thoroughly satisfied, but elated, even energized, ready to go another 10 rounds with the spotty material. When I got to Los Angeles, I picked up any odd f ilm/TV job I could: visual effects house errand boy, PA, even script supervisor. It was a humbling stretch, doing anything I could to stay afloat, and then I got my first TV series assistant editor job. Thanks to my classmate, Eric Sievering, I was hired at Hearst Entertainment by Wes Irwin to be an assistant to a wonderful SEE PAGE 48 Julio C. Perez IV. 20 C I N E M O N T A G E U N I O N M A D E 'Fellini's "8½" shot through me like a lighting bolt.'