I'm Brian Alan Gibson, Air Force brat and movie-phile. I remember being a young lad—I don't know for sure, maybe six or seven, when my older brother took me to see "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." Remember that scene when Gene Wilder first opens the door to the chocolate room and you see the chocolate waterfall and all of the edible flowers and trees and the mushrooms filled with whipped cream? Yeah, that's when I first decided I wanted to make movies!

That was the plan: all through high school, I was going to be a director. I was even accepted to Cal State! But... I got concerned about the expense and the distance from home (I grew up south of Fargo, ND), and I let fear prevent me from making the leap. As one compromise led to another, I ended up with a degree in economics and a career as a mid-level government bureaucrat. Wheee!

Luckily, the dream never died. It just simmered on the back burner. When my daughter was about 8, her mother and I took her to an audition for a production of "The King and I." After her audition, the director called out, "Okay, mom and dad, get up there." We tried to say no, but he insisted that they didn't have enough adults for all the parts and he was desperate. I think I sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" (badly). All three of us landed parts and we did the production as a family.

In community theatre, generally the more people you know, the more work you tend to get. Six months after "The King and I," the assistant director of that show was directing a show of her own and needed a couple of actors. My phone rang. Which led to another and another—and another. I was even able to direct a few shows.

About four years ago, I was taking an acting class when the instructor made an impassioned plea.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" he asked. "It's never been easier to make a movie. Go down to Best Buy, buy a $200 camera, a recorder and a microphone and go make a movie. Stop waiting around for someone else to call you because it won't happen."

At that moment, "I got religion." I went to Best Buy and bought my first camera. That led to my first experience acting on camera, an agent, and even a few paying jobs. Now I'm just trying to improve my skills and become a better on-screen actor. Since practice makes perfect, I audition a lot...which led me to Mr. Christopher Mihm.

Working in...well, how should I say it? Amateur films? No. Small-time films? Whatever you call it, you experience a wide-range of people and varying levels of professionalism—from semi-pro to downright awful. Fortunately, I met Mr. Mihm after he had already made a good number of films, so he has a well-developed process and knows what he needs at each step. How refreshing! I'm also fortunate to work with a group of actors (which also come in all flavors from professional to awful) who are a hell of a lot of fun to work with. No egos. No prima donnas. Just a group of instant friends who enjoy hanging out together on weekends and only really get serious when that director guy interrupts by yelling "action!"

What makes me most nervous is trying not to suck. That's always my goal: don't suck. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I do not. It's important to me because when an actor sucks, the story doesn't get told. A bad actor gets in the way and stops the narrative and emotion. I've seen enough crap as an audience member to know how disappointing it can be. So, my great fear is being "that guy." To make matters worse, it's almost impossible for me to know if I'm sucking when it happens. Judging the "suckiness" of a performance requires a certain objectivity. But when I'm the actor, I'm totally subjective. I can't see myself from the outside, so I have trust that my director will say something and correct me if my suck-level gets too high.

What I'm most excited about is the potential to create the magic—that threshold that can be crossed when the audience gets lost in the story and no longer sees actors, but instead sees the people we are trying so hard to bring to life. They don't see props, they see ray guns. They don't see sets, they see a cave or a forest or a conference room. It's the same magic I experienced when Gene Wilder opened that door 40 years ago in Wonka's factory—and it doesn't begin to compare to any accomplishments I've achieved as a government bureaucrat!

A life lived in fear is a life half-lived. What the hell are you waiting for?

Night of the Demon (1957)