Ansyl Carpenter is an independent student filmmaker at Georgia State, but his work predates college and high school.
Carpenter laughed and shook his head when I asked him how he’d begun his film career.
“I was seven,” he said. “And I was following around my older brother to his friend’s house to play—or do what little kids do.”
He and a childhood pal trailed after Carpenter’s brother Anthony and his friend John. Carpenter unfurled the scene like a director.
They crept into a neighbor’s backyard. The gate was open but the fence was blocking part of the view.
“We saw John and his brother running into the opening in the backyard,” Carpenter said. “And John was like ‘Ahhhh!’ and he just falls.”
Carpenter scuttled closer, wondering what was going on. He saw Anthony creep up slowly. Then Carpenter could finally see. His brother cradled a camera in his arms.
“And…cut,” Anthony said.
“What are you guys doing?” Carpenter asked.
“We are making a movie,” his brother responded.
Carpenter went into the house to watch what Anthony and his friends had made. It was a “movie” by ten-year-old standards, but it sparked something in Carpenter.
“We were so into the idea that we started filming ourselves,” Carpenter said. “I was a little more passionate about it than my older brother, so I’ve stuck with it throughout the years.”
Dream Big
I was expecting it to be bigger. The camera, I mean.
I marveled at the grape-fruit-size piece of technology as Ansyl Carpenter lifted “Nexus” from its bulky leather bag.
Carpenter nimbly fastened the Sony Nex-5N camera to the top of a towering tripod. I admit it looked a bit funny all the way up there, like a ball on top of a flagpole.
“One thing I love about this camera is it gives you really phenomenal pictures,” Carpenter said. “I’ve had people look at my stuff and they’re like ‘Aw, man! What were you shooting on? A Merc-3?’ And I’m like, please, that’s a $2500 camera. Then I pull out this tiny thing.”
Carpenter chuckled as he played with the settings on Nexus. “I’ve been able to get some professional quality results on a college student’s budget.”
A Passion
Carpenter sat across from me at a tiny table in Reuben’s Deli on Broad Street. We stuffed ourselves in a corner. Camera bags and tripod bags and a tote filled with filters and mics encircled us.
The 22-year-old filmmaker—with 15 years of experience and three film festivals under his belt (Sundance Film Festival, Gwinnett International Film Festival and Georgia State’s own Campus Movie Fest)—furrowed his brow when I asked him how he’s fostered that “spark” for all these years.
“It’s just honestly something I enjoy doing,” he began. “If I don’t film for a certain amount of time—which I haven’t because of finals—I get restless. And I get this itchy feeling.”
The film-junky admitted to skulking about in a terrible mood for the past few months. He attributed this unease to the fact that he has not shot a short film since the beginning of March.
“It’s hard to describe,” he looked out the window. “It’s like crack.”
“Closet Fatty”
One of Carpenter’s short films—entitled “Closet Fatty”—playfully examined the phenomenon where skinny girls obsess about food all the time.
The film opens with a couple sitting on a couch watching TV. The camera zooms in on the girl. She is pretty and slim, but on her necklace hangs a charm: a hamburger.
The girl excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and as she walks away, she passes by her date’s roommate. The roommate is a caricature of an Asian-American female. She speaks with broken English and warns the boy that “everything you talk about, it going to be about food. Ok, bitch?” Then she leaves.
The boy shakes his head. His date opens the bathroom door. “I’m hungry,” she says.
The lighting and tight-shot filming are exquisite. The topic is quirky, but that’s Carpenter to a tee.
Self Taught
Carpenter has grown up with a camera, so he observed differences in students at Georgia State who had not taught themselves.
“I took an introductory production class this past semester, and nobody knew how to use Final Cut Pro, the easiest film editing software,” he said. “They didn’t know how to use a camera. They didn’t know the difference between having your aperture at four versus 11.”
Carpenter said he does not hold it against them, but then he changed his mind.
“If you really love something—a hobby, a person, a TV show, a book, anything—you’re going to do everything you can to know about everything about it.”
