Our short documentary, “An Extraordinary Place,” showcases the people behind the microphone at a quirky, volunteer-run radio station in the rural U.S. state of Maine. The film takes the audience into the heart of the station and its community-first ethos. The film’s audience is anyone who yearns for a human connection to music.

While the 34-minute documentary focuses on one radio station and its eccentric DJs, its themes are universal. Radio, once an essential part of communication, is now an obsolete technology. Consumers today can access millions of songs on platforms like Spotify, yet the digital world has left many feeling isolated and disconnected. Small stations like the one depicted in our film are beloved because they are powered by humans who are passionate about music and community.

I decided to make this film shortly after I began volunteering at the station as a producer of public affairs show. I initially planned to make a five-minute video for YouTube but the material was so good I decided to make a longer documentary.

I am a former newspaper reporter with experience at the Anchorage Daily News, the Maine Sunday Telegram, and the Washington Post. I currently live in Yarmouth, Maine, where I work as a photographer and documentary filmmaker.

When I was in high school, my English teacher showed the class the “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,” a 1961 French short film with almost no dialogue. I was captivated by its use of camera movement, framing, and music to tell the story of a civilian prisoner sentenced to death by hanging during the American Civil War.

I draw inspiration from filmmakers like Stanley Kubrick and Francis Ford Coppola. My favorite film is Coppola’s The Conversation (1974), primarily due to its brilliant sound design and its spectacular opening shot.

Although I was always excited about filmmaking as a young man and made several Super 8mm and 16mm short films, the barriers to entering Hollywood were insurmountable at that time. As a result, I became a writer and worked as a newspaper reporter for most of my career. However, advances in digital camera technology and the rise of online platforms have now lowered those barriers, allowing me to pursue my first passion. I’m now able to create high quality work and reach an audience.

The biggest challenge was securing the music rights. How do you make a documentary about a radio station without using popular music? You can’t. We spent more than eight months tracking down copyright owners and negotiating agreements. Through an online campaign, we raised more than $12,000 to cover the music rights. I also had to reshoot several scenes because the music playing in the background was prohibitively expensive.

I shot most of the film on my own, without a crew. This turned out to be an advantage. The process was simple, and there was no rigid schedule. I simply showed up at the radio station at any hour of the day or night and interviewed the DJs as they worked. This relaxed, ad-hoc approach helped the DJs feel at ease so they could be more open. My small camera (Sony A7sIII) and lightweight gimbal and monopod were also key advantages. Their compact size allowed me to navigate the station’s tight spaces without intimidating people or getting in their way.

Audiences around the world are responding to the film because they yearn for community and a human connection and are weary of their increasingly lonely digital lives. People describe the film as fast-moving, entertaining, funny, and “joyous,” but there are also a few moments that move some viewers to tears.

When I was making this film, I didn’t tell people I was making a “documentary.” I told them I was making a “movie.” I didn’t want to fall into the clichés associated with documentary filmmaking. I simply wanted to tell the story in an engaging way without being constrained by the expectations of what a documentary should be. I don’t watch a lot of documentaries, which was also an advantage in allowing me to remain more original and unconstrained by the conventions of the genre.

There isn’t a commercial market for many documentaries, especially short ones. For these filmmakers, festivals are their only opportunity to screen their films in front of a live audience.

Festivals also allow them to connect with other filmmakers. Making a film is a time-consuming and expensive endeavor, with minimal chances for financial rewards and a high likelihood for failure. Festivals are not necessarily a path to commercial success but rather a celebration of the work itself, and that’s okay. I truly enjoy attending festivals, meeting other filmmakers, and watching their films. I feel solidarity with them, as we are all on this challenging journey.

I’ve learned a great deal by attending festivals. At the St. Louis International Film Festival, for example, where my film was part of an Oscar-qualifying competition, I asked the audience during a Q&A whether I should keep the movie’s unconventional ending. The overwhelmingly positive response convinced me to keep it. I have also made other technical and creative changes after watching an audience’s reactions.

From the directors I’ve met, I’ve gained valuable insights into new AI audio technology, running a successful online fundraising campaign, and properly lighting an interview. I have also met talented people with whom I can collaborate on future projects.

I am currently juggling three separate short documentary projects in various stages of production. My ambition is to continue making films that satisfy me and move an audience rather than please a client.