Film and music were my first loves. As a kid, I went to the movies constantly and would often watch the same films multiple times in the theater. Movies like Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and Star Wars made a huge impression on me at a very young age. They did not just entertain me; they really hijacked my imagination and created a sense of wonder that stayed with me.
When home video became widely accessible, it only deepened that obsession. I was watching everything I could, over and over again, films like Evil Dead II, Apocalypse Now, Aliens, Vertigo, Edward Scissorhands, and The Shining, absorbing images, moments, and performances. I really lived and breathed film.
That said, it never felt like a realistic career path at the time. Growing up near Philadelphia, Los Angeles felt very far away, almost like another world entirely. It was not something I thought I could realistically step into.
In high school and college, I started experimenting with cameras and making short films with friends. Those projects gradually expanded into feature-length efforts. I was a Communications major in college, so I did not formally study film. Everything I learned about filmmaking was self-taught. A lot of trial and error, with a strong emphasis on the error. But that process of figuring things out on my own became an important part of how I approach the work.
What really shifted things was a trip to Los Angeles during my senior year of college, where I had the chance to meet people in the industry and share some of my work. It was not a clear path, but it was enough of a thread to follow. It made the idea feel just tangible enough that I decided to take the leap after graduating and give LA a real try.
When I arrived, I was honestly a bit intoxicated by it. My first job was as a production assistant on an ABC sitcom at Paramount Studios. Just walking that lot, you feel the history. You feel the weight of everything that has been created there. I remember having a very clear realization in those early days that, whatever the reality of the industry might be, I had found my place in it.
What did you learn in your first few weeks that completely rewired that perception?
I wouldn’t say my perception was rewired in those initial weeks, however, my existing perception was fed and stimulated. My understanding of the industry very quickly grew through experiencing a crash course in its complexity, and I was eager to learn more about it.
Those initial jobs were really my education. I was exposed to the full fabric of a production – the layers of roles, the leadership structure, the coordination required just to make something function day to day.
Working on a sitcom gave me the opportunity to observe and assist across departments, which was incredibly valuable. It expanded my understanding of the industry very quickly and helped me begin to figure out where I fit within it.
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Who were your earliest mentors, and what did they teach you that wasn’t written down anywhere (the “unspoken rules”)?
No doubt my career has been deeply shaped by working closely with Tim Burton. Being witness to his creativity and being part of his filmmaking process has been tremendously rewarding and influential. He has a remarkable ability to protect a creative vision while still navigating the realities of the studio system. That perspective has been hugely valuable to my approach to filmmaking, both from a director and producer standpoint.
What I learned from Tim goes beyond process or technique. It is really about instinct and approach. He has an incredible clarity about what something should feel like, even before all the pieces are fully in place. He trusts that instinct, and that trust becomes a kind of compass for the entire production. It gives everyone around him a sense of direction, even when the path forward is not entirely defined.
I also observed how he surrounds himself with gifted collaborators he trusts, and then gives them the space to contribute meaningfully. There is a real sense of creative freedom in that environment, but it is anchored by a very specific vision. That balance between openness and authorship is something I have carried with me.
Another important lesson was how to communicate with a studio without losing the core of what you are trying to make. Tim has a way of engaging with the business side that never feels compromised. He understands that filmmaking is collaborative at every level, including with the studio, but he never loses sight of the emotional and visual identity of the piece. Watching that interplay up close was incredibly valuable.
I also learned a great deal from a number of incredible producers I worked with early in my career.
Tim Steele, who produced The Faculty, the ABC sitcom where I had my first job as a Production Assistant, was a seasoned, grounded, and deeply respected producer. He had that roll-up-your-sleeves mentality and knew how to build strong teams of people who trusted him and wanted to work hard for him.
On Mars Attacks!, producer Larry Franco (The Thing, Escape from New York, Batman Begins) was another great example of that same ethos. He was incredibly supportive and a real advocate for me early on, helping guide me through my first feature film experience.
And then there is Richard Zanuck, who was a tremendous mentor. Richard was truly Hollywood royalty, the son of Darryl F. Zanuck, Founder of 20th Century Fox, but what struck me most was how grounded and approachable he was. Here was someone who had been behind films like Jaws, Cocoon, and Driving Miss Daisy, someone who had seen every phase of the industry, and yet he carried himself with humility and generosity.
I feel incredibly fortunate to have worked alongside him on multiple films. What I observed was not just his experience, but how he operated day to day, very much in the trenches with the rest of us. He was always present, engaged, and deeply committed to the process.
From Richard, I learned what it truly means to be a filmmaker’s producer. He knew how to stand with a director and fight for a vision while also understanding the needs and concerns of the studio. He could bridge those worlds in a way that felt seamless, and that is something I have carried with me ever since.
And his work ethic, first in and last out, was not something he talked about. It was simply how he approached the job. That kind of leadership leaves a lasting impression.
Did you have a mentor who challenged you in a way you didn’t appreciate at the time, but later realised it shaped your career?
Yes, many of them did, though not always in an obvious or direct way.
Producers like Richard Zanuck and Allison Abbate (The Iron Giant, Corpse Bride, Frankenweenie) trusted me with responsibilities that I probably would not have stepped into on my own at the time. It was not that I was incapable; it was more that I was still finding my footing and did not always feel it was my place to take on that level of ownership.
They had a way of quietly pushing me forward. Sometimes it was through a specific task, sometimes it was simply an expectation that I would step up and handle something. Looking back, those were the moments where I grew the most.
What I came to understand is that they were not just assigning work, they were building trust. They saw something in me before I fully saw it in myself, and they created opportunities for me to rise to that level.
Those experiences helped shape how I approach leadership now. I try to do the same for others. To recognize when someone is ready for more, even if they are not quite aware of it yet, and to give them the space to step into that responsibility.
In the moment, it can feel like pressure. But over time, you realize it is actually a form of mentorship. It builds confidence through action, and it teaches you that growth often happens just outside of your comfort zone.
What was the steepest learning curve? The technical side, the culture, the hierarchy, or the ethical complexity of the work?
The learning curve is constant, especially as a producer.
Every project brings new technical challenges, new workflows, and new creative demands. You are always adapting. No two films are the same, even if they appear similar on the surface. Each one requires its own language, its own process, and its own way through.
A film like Alice in Wonderland is a great example. At the time, the hybrid approach we were taking was incredibly complex. We were combining live action with a largely digital world in a way that had not really been done at that scale before. In many ways, we were inventing the process as we went, guided by people like Visual Effects pioneer Ken Ralston (Star Wars, Forrest Gump, Who Framed Roger Rabbit) and the broader team at Sony Pictures Imageworks. That kind of experience teaches you how to stay flexible and trust the expertise around you.
But the learning curve is not just technical. It is also about understanding the culture and hierarchy of a film set, and how to operate within that. As a producer, you are constantly balancing different perspectives. You are supporting the director’s vision, working closely with department heads, and staying aligned with the studio. Each of those relationships requires a different approach, and learning how to navigate that takes time.
There is also a creative instinct that develops over the years. You start to recognize when something is working, when it is not, and how to help guide it without disrupting the process. That is not something you can really learn in a classroom. It comes from experience, from being in the middle of it, and from making mistakes along the way.
At the end of the day, each film requires its own solutions. There is no one size fits all approach. The challenge, and the reward, is finding the right way through each time.
What’s a misconception outsiders have about the industry that you wish more people understood — not to defend it, but to see it clearly?
One of the biggest misconceptions is that making films gets easier.
There is a perception that once you have had success, once you have built a track record or have films that perform well, projects start to come together more easily. And while experience and relationships can certainly help open doors, the reality is that every film is still incredibly hard to get made.
Each project is its own battle. You still have to package it, pitch it, secure financing, get a greenlight, and align a lot of different voices creatively and financially. That alignment is not something you solve once. It is something you are constantly managing throughout the entire process.
I think what is important to understand, not to defend the industry but simply to see it clearly, is that it exists as both a creative space and a business at the same time. Those two forces do not always align. You are trying to protect a vision while also navigating practical realities like budget, timelines, and market considerations. That tension is always present.
Once you are actually making the film, a whole new set of challenges begins. Every project brings its own technical, logistical, and creative obstacles. You are constantly adapting and solving problems in real time.
So in many ways, each film feels like starting from scratch. You bring your experience with you, but you still have to prove the project all over again. Why it matters. Why it should exist. How can it be realized? It’s these challenges that I embrace.
That is something people do not always see from the outside. But it is also what defines the process. You get better at navigating it, but it never really becomes easy.
What were the biggest challenges you faced coming up in the industry, and how did those challenges change the way you lead or collaborate today?
Early on, one of my biggest challenges was learning how to manage workload and responsibility. I have always been someone who leans in. I like taking on a lot, I enjoy the pressure, and I probably have a bit of a people-pleasing instinct. That approach served me well in the beginning. It helped me grow quickly because I was willing to take on more and prove I could handle it.
But over time, I realized that what helps you rise is not always what helps you lead.
As a producer, you cannot do everything yourself. You have to trust the people around you and delegate effectively. That was something I had to actively learn because it runs counter to my natural instincts. Leadership is not about carrying the entire weight. It is about building the right team and empowering people to do their best work.
Another challenge was finding the right voice within the creative process. When you are working with strong, visionary directors, your role is not always to lead creatively, but you still have a responsibility to the film. You learn when to speak up, when to hold back, and when something is important enough to stand behind. That sense of timing and judgment really develops over years of experience.
There is also the constant evolution of the industry itself. The tools, the technology, the workflows, they are always changing. What worked on one project will not necessarily work on the next. A big part of the job is staying adaptable and surrounding yourself with people whose expertise you can rely on.
All of that has shaped how I collaborate today. I try to create an environment where people feel trusted and supported, where strong ideas can come from anywhere, and where everyone is aligned in service of the same goal, which is making the best possible version of the film.
Looking back, what did the industry teach you about ambition, and what did it cost you in terms of time, relationships, identity, and peace?
The industry is demanding. It asks a lot of your time, your energy, and your focus. It can take over large parts of your life, especially when you are deeply involved in a project.
At the same time, for those of us who truly love filmmaking, it is incredibly fulfilling. The people you work with often become like family. You spend so much time together, working toward a shared goal, that those relationships take on a deeper meaning. The process itself becomes a way of life.
There is no question that it comes at a cost. Time is probably the biggest one. Time with family, time for yourself, time to step away and reset. There are also moments where your sense of identity gets wrapped up in the work, and that can be challenging to navigate.
But there is also something about the intensity of it that is hard to walk away from. The unpredictability, the pace, the creative problem solving. There is a real energy to it that keeps you coming back. Even when it is difficult, there is a sense of purpose in what you are doing.
In terms of ambition, one of the biggest lessons is that success is rarely overnight. It can happen that way for some, but more often it is built slowly over time. It comes from persistence, from continuing to show up, to learn, and to adapt.
For me, the value has always been in the journey itself. Taking the time to absorb as much as possible, to grow with each experience, and to build something that has longevity. That kind of approach creates staying power, and I think that is ultimately what allows you to have a lasting career.
Was there a point where you started questioning your own definition of success inside that world, and what triggered that shift?
Yes, definitely over time.
Early on, it is easy to look at success through a more traditional lens. Box office numbers, reviews, and the scale of a project. And those things do matter to a degree. But the longer you work in the industry, the more you realize they do not always align, and they do not tell the full story.
I have been part of films that were not critically embraced but found a huge audience and really connected with people. And I have worked on projects that I felt were tremendously rewarding creatively, and were even well reviewed, but for whatever reason did not find that same audience. You start to see that success is not one thing. It is a combination of many different outcomes, and sometimes those outcomes do not reveal themselves right away.
Over time, my perspective shifted toward something more personal. I still very much believe filmmaking is an art form, and like any art, its impact can evolve. Some films are not fully appreciated when they are first released. They find their audience later, sometimes years down the line, and take on a different kind of life.
For me, success is when something resonates with people. When it stays with them, when it reflects something in their own life, or means something on a deeper level. I see that even with smaller, more personal projects. You can feel which ones connect, which ones people return to, and which ones spark a genuine reaction.
That kind of connection is what lasts. And when I look back at my career, that is what I hope defines it. A body of work that people continue to discover, revisit, and carry with them in a meaningful way.
When did The Current State of the Backyard Pool Industry first appear as an idea?
It really grew out of my long collaboration with The Minor Prophets. We have been working together for over 20 years now across a number of projects, and there is a shared sensibility in that work. We tend to find the dramedy in real situations and in people we know. There is often something slightly absurd on the surface, but it is grounded in very human, relatable experiences.
After Viaticum, which was very contained, intense, and intentionally claustrophobic, we made a conscious decision to go in a different direction. We wanted something more open, more vibrant, something where the camera could move and breathe, and where the tone could expand outward.
At the same time, we were all going through similar life changes. Our kids are getting older, family dynamics are shifting, and the things that once defined our day-to-day lives are starting to evolve. There is also the growing presence of technology competing for attention, pulling people away from those shared, real world experiences.
The idea for The Current State of the Backyard Pool Industry really came out of those conversations. It became a reflection of where we are now, both personally and creatively. It is about looking at those familiar moments in life, finding the humor in them, but also recognizing the deeper emotional undercurrent that sits just beneath the surface.
The title suggests satire, but also something oddly serious. What does the “backyard pool” represent to you in terms of status, identity, or the performance of having “made it”?
The title definitely leans into satire, but like a lot of the work I’ve done with The Minor Prophets, it is rooted in something very real and personal. We tend to find humor in situations that feel familiar, even mundane, and then push just far enough to reveal something a little more uncomfortable or revealing underneath.
The backyard pool, on the surface, represents a certain idea of having made it. It is tied to this image of family life, success, and togetherness. It is something that, at one point, feels central to your identity, something you build your life around.
But over time, that meaning starts to shift. As kids grow up and priorities change, that space can take on a different feeling. What once felt essential can start to feel a bit empty or disconnected from where life has moved. There is something both funny and slightly melancholy in that transition, and that is really where the film lives.
On another level, it also reflects where we are as creators. The Minor Prophets and I are very aware of how the landscape is evolving, how attention is divided, and how storytelling continues to change. There is a question underneath the film about relevance and staying power, about how you continue to find your voice and connect in a meaningful way as everything around you shifts.
So the pool becomes a kind of stage. It is a place where identity is performed, where people project a version of themselves, but also where those performances can start to crack. That tension between the surface and what is really going on underneath is what interested us the most.
For audiences coming to the premiere, what do you hope they laugh at, and what do you hope lingers after the laughter fades?
First and foremost, I hope people laugh. That is always the entry point, and I think the performances really deliver on that, especially Gil Damon and David Amadio. They have worked together for years, and that history and chemistry really come through in a way that feels natural, lived in, and very engaging.
I am also incredibly excited that we are premiering the film at the FirstGlance Film Festival in Philadelphia. I have a long history with the festival going back over 25 years, and this will be the ninth project I have had screened there. To bring this film home, to premiere it in the region where The Minor Prophets and I grew up and where we have made so much of our work, is really meaningful. There is something special about sharing it with an audience that includes longtime friends, collaborators, and people who have been part of that journey.
Beyond the humor, I hope something lingers. It is not a film that reveals everything immediately. It is a bit of a slow burn, and there are layers that unfold as you sit with it. There are moments designed to catch you slightly off guard, where the tone shifts and you realize there is something deeper happening underneath.
Ideally, audiences recognize something of themselves in it. Whether it is a memory, a feeling, or a moment in their own lives that connects to what is on screen. And hopefully something stays with them. Not just a reflection, but a reminder of why those moments mattered in the first place. What we are really holding onto, what we may have drifted away from, and what is still worth reconnecting with.
What are you currently working on?
I’m currently developing a range of projects across both live action and animation. These include The Photographer’s Assistant, a gothic thriller written & directed by iconic British filmmaker Tim Pope; New Dog City, an animated supernatural mystery with Moonheart Entertainment; Pangea, a stop motion sci-fi series with the Spain-based Inspira animation studio; and the indie horror film Die in the Dark, written by Michael Greene.
I’m also developing Operation Hoodwinked, a limited series written by Cara Salmeri, inspired by true events and centered around a covert post World War II effort that intersects with the cultural impact of Superman in America.
In addition to that, I’m working on a couple of projects based on the works of esteemed British writers. These are stories I’m particularly excited about and are offering a dynamic creative space to explore genres I adore.
Across all of these, we’re in various stages of story and visual development, actively seeking studio partners and financing. And of course, I’m always looking ahead to the next collaboration with The Minor Prophets. We’re already throwing around ideas for something to film before the end of this year.
Where can our readers find out more about you?
You can find more about my work at www.derekfreyfilms.com.
It’s really a one-stop shop where you can view my films as well as behind-the-scenes material, and an archive of interviews that give a full picture of my work and the process behind it.
Social Media & Misc. Links:
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/derek_frey_filmmaker/
Facebook: https://www.instagram.com/derek_frey_filmmaker/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DerekFreyFilms
IMDB: https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0294553/
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/derekfreyfilms/
The Current State of the Backyard Pool Industry – Official Site: https://www.thecurrentstateofthebackyardpoolindustry.com
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