In Focus: Fox Maxy

I was programmed in an old-school way. My family made sure I knew how to take care of everything—clean, remove stains, mend clothes, and present myself as an employable person—from a young age. Coming from the social structure at the time, I was taught to work hard and be quiet. There was this heavy conditioning to fall into line because everything worked more smoothly if there was respect for hierarchy. Don’t question anything. No reason to speak up because someone else “above you” will handle that, and if your boss or teacher or doctor doesn’t mention it, then it’s not important. Where I was, it was normal to hear kids brag about white power. Everything was either good or bad. It was strict back then. 

Old-school lessons are rooted in survival. So, walking around the world today, most of the programming I received does not always apply. I accept how society fluctuates. Growth in my work and personal life comes from constantly looking at my ways of thinking. By paying attention to my mental wellness, I decide what mindsets are old and rotted versus what’s sturdy and sustainable. 

In 2019 I was told that I don’t owe anyone anything. That idea can be manipulated in bummy ways, but it launched me into making films for myself and not considering an audience. Because of old-school programming, I hadn’t previously realized I could change my rules as exterior factors change. My first short films were fueled by this open outlook and wanting to get rid of my anger. It allowed me to look at the process of making movies as “moving images” and drop all expectations for a movie to look and feel a certain way. 

On the emotional end, making films is a way for me to transfer the weight of negative feelings off of my shoulders and into an art piece. Out of any medium so far, I’ve found moving images to be the most accessible way to express what I’m feeling, remembering, wanting, and avoiding. Accessible, because a lot of people have cameras on their phones and there’s plenty of free editing apps. 

Professionally, I was trained in design and advertising. I worked in New York for many years, producing and designing editorials, campaigns, and fashion shows. On set I would watch directors and camera guys, and I wanted their jobs. I would practice framing or compositions with my phone camera everywhere I went. A lot of the footage from my film, Guts and Glitz (2024), comes from those experiments.

Editing my film was a way to practice for a narrative feature. I started off by using what I had, stitching together these clips from over a decade now. Although I’ve been a rough and rowdy filmmaker recently, I’m experienced in the corporate fashion world and branding. Creating imagery is not new to me. I trust my taste. In these last four years, I built up confidence to be authentic to myself in my work. 

An old-school lesson I hang on to is that presentation in any industry is powerful. The way things look communicates more than words in many cases. In Guts and Glitz, there’s a mix of image quality and texture. People seeing lo-fi visuals can register that as old or improper on a big screen. Sometimes people who see Gush (2023) or Guts and Glitz are confused and say, “I could do that.” And I say, “Yes, you could.” Everyone can make a film and tell stories the way they want to. If you’re angry, sad, happy about something—okay, cute, tell us. That’s why certain social media apps are so popular. The ranking of celebrity and authority has shifted. You don’t have to be someone “important” to put on a show. 

Guts and Glitz is about surviving abuse and the many people—men and women—who provided wisdom and safety throughout that survival. There’s also collective joy with the nightlife scenes and a sense of humor in my film. Typically when the topic of abuse is featured in movies or TV, they show you the incidents and violence taking place. Pay attention to the programming today and how certain issues are portrayed. While I’m drawn to dark themes, I’m not interested in having people leave the theater feeling damaged. That’s the power of storytelling being for everybody: we can decide what we want to see and what we want to feel.