Making a film is often a journey of passion, discipline, and creativity. In this interview with director Wes Clark, we dive deep into the mind of the filmmaker behind How to Start a Cult in 5-Easy Steps, exploring the inspirations, challenges, and lessons learned along the way. From dark comedy to self-distribution, here’s an inside look at the story behind the story.
What first pushed you toward filmmaking, and how did that path lead to How to Start a Cult in 5-Easy Steps?
When I was in high school, I wanted to be a lawyer. But my father, who was a lawyer himself, told me he’d kill me if I followed that path. He had been raised in a terrible environment, and law was his only way out—but he hated his life. He wanted me to do what made me happy and told me to follow it to the end of the earth. When he passed away, I wanted to honor the dream he set for me and live my life in his memory. Two days after college graduation, I set out to make this film.
To be honest, the story itself has no direct connection to that past, other than the act of making it. The narrative came from wanting to create something for people my age—those in their early twenties. I thought about online culture and young men who have been left behind, drawn to “macho” YouTubers who tell them to buy their latest product to become cool and strong. I wanted to expose the truth about those cults and how damaging they can be for a generation of men who feel left behind in all aspects of life—and how terrifyingly easy it is to fall into them.
You wrote, directed, and produced the film — how do you balance those roles without losing perspective?
At each stage, you have to ask objective questions and be able to switch your mindset between the roles. I approached it chronologically: I was the writer in the beginning, shifted to producer before we got to set, and then directed from that point forward. Each hat requires a different perspective, and being disciplined about when to wear each one was crucial to maintaining clarity throughout the process.
What inspired the idea of telling a cult story through dark comedy?
My humor is naturally dark. Growing up, I went to an all-boys prep school where that kind of humor was commonplace. It’s a way to relate to young men, and since the story is meant for them, it was only right to tell it through that lens. Dark comedy allows you to explore difficult truths while keeping the audience engaged—it disarms people just enough to let the message sink in.
Was there a specific moment or theme that made this story feel urgent for you to tell?
The rise of young men feeling disconnected is a growing and genuinely dangerous problem. They’ve been forgotten, and no amount of telling them to “suck it up” is going to help. They have real problems—suicide, online hate, bullying, drugs, alcohol, lack of intimacy, lack of role models—and these must be addressed or the future looks bleak. I’ve felt some of these things when I was younger and happily turned the other way, but I know that for every one person who makes that change, there are five more who never do. That urgency drove me to tell this story now.
How did the film evolve from script to screen once you started working with actors?
On set, you need to be nimble. I worked with actors to develop their characters from the perspective of their identities. Characters who are real don’t think of themselves as “douchebag” or “bitch”—they like themselves and make excuses for the things they do. This was key for my characters: they had to love themselves and the roles they played. I prep to the max in advance, but once you’re on set, it’s about finding synergy and building the story together in a cohesive way. The script is the blueprint, but the performance is where it comes alive.
What was most important to you when casting the lead roles?
The most important quality was finding actors who were grounded. I didn’t want theatrical or over-the-top performances, because the characters naturally were already. I needed someone who was low-key, so that when they played the role, it would find a middle ground—grounded enough to feel real, but still able to deliver the heightened moments the story required.
What were the biggest challenges of shooting the film on a tight budget?
We had only $80,000 and 13 days to film. The key was preparation. We had to know every shot and every location to a T—and we did. In all honesty, it wasn’t so much a difficulty as it was a limiter. I originally had a scene where someone fell down a flight of stairs (or was pushed), but that became impossible with our budget. My level of prep made everything possible—within reason—and we rarely felt the pressure of finishing. In fact, we finished early three days out of the thirteen.
How did filming in familiar, real locations shape the tone of the movie?
It was entirely filmed at my mother’s house and in my hometown of Berwyn, Pennsylvania. This was my way to show off my community and the place I grew up. In that way, it felt connected to my father and what he gave me—mainly a chance at a different life, full of creativity and exploration.
The tone of the movie—dark and comical—didn’t come from where I lived, though. I was bullied hard as a child, but that was considerably far from my hometown. These two aspects didn’t cross over. The darkness of my childhood came from severe bullying at school, and that fueled my writing—comedy through pain. Mostly verbal, but at times physical, just like the movie. The locations grounded the film in authenticity, but the tone came from those earlier experiences.
Can you share a creative compromise that ended up improving the film?
The only one that comes to mind was not having Uncle Ed there more, which meant his character had to die early. This actually worked out incredibly well—it allowed the story to turn a corner and become darker in the second half of the film. Lew Temple was a bigger name, and we couldn’t afford him past just two days. What seemed like a limitation became one of the film’s strongest structural choices.
You chose to turn down traditional distribution – what led to that decision?
It was a simple math problem. Distributors work for streaming platforms—200 new titles hit Netflix every month. For the streamers, that’s convenient, but for the creator with one of those 200 movies, it’s terrible. We lose out for the sake of convenience, and I knew that any dollar we made going about it our own way was one more than the “legitimate” methods would have given us. I talk about it at length on my YouTube channel, but I did what many indie filmmakers wish they could do—and what many will likely do in the future.
What surprised you most about handling the film’s release yourself?
It’s entirely about marketing. The reality is that most people—even friends—didn’t rush to the website to buy, but over time they did. It was important to find our key clips, figure out what drove people to the website, and then push it as hard as possible. When you make a movie, nobody cares. You have to connect with people, and that’s what I’ve been doing—reaching out to critics, podcasts, filmmakers, and audiences.
I follow about 20 new people on Instagram every day and message them asking to watch the movie. More of those people have watched it than people I know personally. I don’t want to be famous, but it’s important to become known to some extent. You need a following who likes your work to sustain this career, and it’s not something I ever thought about until the movie came out. Now I work every day to find new collaborators who support indie film, me, or the movie, and it’s steadily improving. Going from 0 to 1 is impossible. 1 to 100 is extremely hard. 100 to 1,000 is hard, but you’ll do it.
How has self-distribution changed the way you think about success as a filmmaker?
Success is all about people watching it and recommending it to someone else. That’s all I want. Someone who watches and tells their friend is someone I impressed. Someone who watched and it died there is someone I disappointed. And someone who never watched is someone I don’t care about. It’s that simple. Success isn’t about festival laurels or distribution deals—it’s about genuine human connection and word of mouth.
What lessons from this project will you carry into your next film?
Forget the old way. In this day and age, you need to fight for your art and create your own path. The legitimate way will lose you money and not lead anywhere, but the tools that exist are working for people, and they will work for you if you learn the craft. For that reason, I’ve expanded to YouTube and Instagram, making merch and adding advertisements and DVDs for the film. Filmmakers are entrepreneurs, and you have to think that way or your career will struggle early on.
Are there themes or genres you’re particularly excited to explore next?
Dark comedy, still—but I’m thinking about death and trauma next. My second movie is coming out summer 2026, called The Psychic Files, which is about online followers having no value. My third film, which is still a maybe, is about death and finding meaning after it. We’ll see. It’s dark, but hilarious if it happens.
What advice would you give filmmakers deciding whether to bet on themselves?
Plan for 5 to 10 years of struggle. If you can’t imagine that or stomach it financially, this isn’t for you. There are easier ways to make money, and this path comes with tons of downtime where you see friends advancing beyond you. You have to keep fighting, and it hurts—physically sometimes—but after enough fighting, it will pay off. But plan for years, not months.
One we ask everyone at Movie Met, what’s your favourite film of all time?
Cool Hand Luke.
And finally, your favourite cinema snack?
Milk Duds.
From balancing multiple roles on set to navigating self-distribution, Wes’ journey shows the dedication and ingenuity required to bring a story to life. With dark humour, a keen sense of urgency, and a commitment to connecting with audiences, How to Start a Cult in 5-Easy Steps is more than a film – it’s a testament to the power of pursuing your vision on your own terms.
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