The Apocalypse of Johnny Dupree
Johnny's tumultuous relationship with his mother began as the doctor's knife cleaved the umbilical cord - a cut that severed their fragile bond. When Johnny mysteriously vanishes, his mother's frantic search leads to a brutal discovery that reveals their ancestral terror.
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Don VandersliceDirector
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Don VandersliceWriter
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Spencer DanielsWriter
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Natalia Rodgriguez PinillaProducer
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Don VandersliceProducer
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Spencer DanielsProducer
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Shane Patrick FordProducer
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Adam DavisProducer
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Josh FinbowProducer
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Dylan MaloneProducer
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Doug VandersliceProducer
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Janet CarterKey Cast"Sophie Dupree"
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Grant MannschreckKey Cast"Johnny Dupree"
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Pablo MotaKey Cast"Rooster Manuel"
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Project Type:Short
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Genres:Horror, Drama
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Runtime:9 minutes 17 seconds
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Completion Date:August 12, 2024
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Production Budget:24,000 USD
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Country of Origin:United States
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Country of Filming:United States
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Language:English
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Shooting Format:Digital
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Aspect Ratio:2.35:1
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Film Color:Color
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First-time Filmmaker:No
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Student Project:No
I started making movies after getting my ass kicked. Let me explain.
In the early 2000s, I started a church for punk rockers and misanthropes – think “First Reformed” meets “The Decline of Western Civilization.” Over the next decade, I found my voice in storytelling, created video installations for liturgies, and curated large-scale art installations. I also cultivated a gnarly dependency on alcohol and mastered the dark art of hypocrisy. While creativity granted life, the rest of the work destroyed me. It was a hellish existence.
In 2015, my mugshot accompanied an Austin newspaper article titled “Local Pastor Arrested for Second DWI.” Never mind that I hadn’t pastored in three years, and the church I started no longer existed. The gig was up. I stopped drinking, found a boring job at a boring company, and focused my energies on parenting two teenagers as a single dad.
Five years sober, with a kid in college and the other in high school, I began asking the question, “What do I want to do with the second half of life?” As a diehard cinephile, I flirted with filmmaking for decades and decided to take a night course at the Austin School of Film. On the way home from the first class, it hit me. I had wanted this my whole life, but never gave myself permission. I was so emotional that I had to pull the car to the side of the road. I was 47, and for the first time ever, my soul was on fire. I was alive.
Later that year, I wrote and directed my first short film, “The Lesser Known Rules of Werewolves,” which was selected and screened at several film festivals. My second film, “Thou Shall Not,” won Best Film in the 48-Hour Film Project (Austin), and I earned Best Director and Best Editor awards.
Those first two shorts were DIY projects made in the backyard with an old DSLR, work lamps from the garage, and a group of friends with zero filmmaking experience. “The Apocalypse of Johnny Dupree” is my first movie filmed with a “real” camera and a gaffer instead of worklamps. It took way too long to produce and served as the best film school imaginable.
Who knows what the future holds, but I know what I will be doing. I have stories to tell and a passion to tell them. I once paid a great price for not listening to my soul. Life's too short to do that again.
I began writing “The Apocalypse of Johnny Dupree” in the months following my father's death as I reflected upon the complicated relationship with a man who was simultaneously present and absent throughout my life. As a recovered addict and alcoholic, my deepest fear is the ghosts that have haunted my family for generations are on the hunt for my children. The genesis of the screenplay came from an eventful night when those ghosts appeared in my son’s life, and he disappeared into the hour of the wolf.
“The Apocalypse of Johnny DuPree” poses questions about presence and absence, shadows and secrets, and the peculiar gift of being seen by another. It explores the connective tissue of addictions and afflictions and our attempts to manage and control. The story follows a path where connection is made possible. Not by the fortitude of its characters but through a horror of their own making. This rock bottom of shared powerlessness enables a kind of mutual seeing that creates the space for restoration.