Filmed over a period of two years, Marc Singer's award-winning documentary Dark Days follows the lives of a group of tunnel-dwelling homeless who, for one reason or another, have fallen from social grace and chosen the tunnels over life on the street or the drug-ravaged shelters. In July '94, the English-born director began visiting the tunnels with the simple purpose of helping out. Three months later, Singer abandoned his life as a successful model, became a resident of the underground and set about making a film. The initial intention, if the film profited, was to use the money to provide decent housing for all. The end result is a breathtaking journey into a world of unimaginable degradation and poverty that at first seems light years from life above ground. But, as our eyes adjust to the darkness of the tunnel, a totally different realization sets in.

I first heard about Dark Days two and a half years ago while living in London. A good friend had returned from New York, where he'd met Dark Days' co-producer Ben Freedman, and relayed his version of the story that he'd been told. I was fascinated, but also skeptical. I'd never been to New York, and all the reports that filtered home seemed so unfamiliar and inflated that I palmed off the DD story as just another legend. My doubts were also supported by a review I'd read some time before on Jennifer Toth's book The Mole People, criticized for sensationalizing the same subject.

A year later, I arrived in New York and - not by chance - Ben Freedman was the first person I met. Over lunch, we discussed the making of Dark Days, and it become apparent that the story I'd heard in London was essentially true: In '93, Singer had moved to New York on a whim and worked for a while as a model. Less than a year later, his befriending of a group of homeless people led him to explore the tunnels and consequently make the film, focusing on one tunnel stretching from Penn Station up past Harlem. Of course the contradiction between the New York fashion scene and life in the tunnel was fascinating, but far more fascinating was the course of the film and how it was actually made. Before Dark Days, Singer had never picked up a camera or worked in film. In fact, the camera house that he approached taught him how to load the camera and all else was left to trial and error. His crew, themselves tunnel homeless, were given specific roles (lights, rigs, sound, et cetera) based on trades and professions they had worked in before. For obvious budgetary reasons, they built a number of makeshift inventions, including a dolly with shopping cart wheels custom-built to run along the train tracks. But most fascinating of all was Singer's against-all-odds determination in making a film amidst an everyday struggle to survive.

I wanted to meet Singer but there wasn't time. Freedman was going away for six weeks to develop the second part of a photography project that he'd been hired to produce. The trip, he said, more or less entailed zig-zagging across the States in a Winnabago in search of icons that twentieth-century America had conceived, exhausted and left to rot on the roadside. It was of course a completely separate project, but there was an almost ironic connection between the two. Playing off my enthusiasm, and sensing that I was a newcomer with very little direction in life, Freedman said he could do with an extra pair of hands. Three days later, I was burning across the States making coffee and holding up a 10-by-30-ft backdrop wherever one was needed.

Over the six-week period on the road, Freedman was on the phone to Singer every day. There were still a number of arrangements to be made for the final stages of post-production and there was nobody else to make them. So between rigging these huge backdrops in the middle of nowhere and planning our route, Freedman could be seen pacing outside gas stations or roaming through national parks negotiating deals on his cell phone, while Singer, determined to perfect the final print, was literally camping out in an editing suite back in New York. Overhearing these conversations, it became clear that the film was far from finished. Cash was running thin and Singer was faced with all kinds of technical complications. So Freedman was continually dealing with production houses and shifting dribs and drabs from one dried-out account to the next. "But that's Dark Days," he explained. "Funding isn't easy to find when you're not prepared to make any changes or concessions to please investors. Marc's given five years of his life to the film and - quite rightly - he's not going to compromise an inch." During our time away, there were a couple of notable events: Singer had flown to San Francisco to meet DJ Shadow, who agreed to compose the music score, and Joel Schumacher had seen a preliminary cut of the film and got so excited he promptly called up his pals at the Oscars. The former worked out while the latter - for a number of reasons - folded before we got back to the city.

I met Singer shortly after returning to New York. He hadn't stopped working a single day since Freedman and I left six weeks earlier, and he was exhausted. There was still so much to do, he explained, and it wasn't getting any easier. Singer was still homeless. He was sleeping on sofas and floors and getting by on bits of funding and the support of close friends, many of whom - like myself - knew lots about the film but had never seen it. Initially I was surprised that people could talk so much about something without actually seeing it, but it wasn't long before I found myself doing exactly the same. It was difficult to abstain. Dark Days encompassed such a broad scope of issues instigating all kinds of debate, and Singer's energy and determination quickly captivated those around him. But despite my surroundings and whatever my persuasion, I still didn't know what the film essentially unveiled. It wasn't that Singer, Freedman or the handful of people that had seen preliminary cuts were holding back or being elusive, but that the living conditions and the episodes described were so far removed from any reality I had seen or experienced, that my perception of the tunnel relied on promiscuous interpretations (partly based on the urban myths) which were something of a whimsical cross between John Carpenter's Escape From New York and the darkest side of JRR Tolkein. It wasn't until I finally saw Dark Days, almost a year later, that I truly understood what the film brought to light, and the degree of Singer's achievement.

There are all kinds of fantastical tales about the city tunnels, most portraying a threatening underside to overground society. Myths speak of a labyrinth-like underworld where convicts and killers live in self-declared exile with laws and a hierarchy of their own. Although records of tunnel-squatters date as far back as the tunnels themselves, New York's underground and the people that live there had never really been exposed by the mainstream media before Jennifer Toth's The Mole People was published in 1993. Aspiring to reportage, Toth's story only serves to encourage and endorse the far-fetched myths; whether or not she actually set foot in the depths she so vividly describes is debatable. Yet The Mole People was a huge success in its day and became extremely influential. Even today, the mention of the tunnel homeless is often in reference to the book, and is seen as a dangerous underclass best avoided. Dark Days sheds light on an entirely different reality. Singer introduces us to a group of tunnel homeless that have chosen the concrete underworld over life on the streets and the city shelters. A group of people who have collectively very little to lose, they give everything to the camera. They let us into their homes and their lives and share their stories of the tunnel and how they arrived there. Stories of urban blight, rampant poverty, neglect, drug abuse and broken homes. Some arrived when they were as young as sixteen years old, and others have been there for almost twenty-five years. There is nothing mysterious about them. They are neither convicts nor killers, but rather people with dreams, ideals and plans for a better life.

Shot in stark black-and-white (Super 16mm), Dark Days captures the raw tone and true sense of living in the tunnel. Working with extremely limited lighting equipment, Singer and his homeless crew record events and extrapolate fragments of everyday life in small halos of electric light, a visual scheme that is almost Caravaggio-esque in the way subjects and figures extend from the darkness. Technically speaking, every scene is carefully (and beautifully) composed. Tracking shots glide along abandoned tracks through a shantytown that slowly emerges in the half-light. A boy showers under a leaking water pipe. A home is torched over a drug-related dispute. Intermittent scenes of high-speed trains flash past the camera, like establishing shots to remind us of where we are. Boredom, the dark, and then the sudden contrast of a bright, crisp morning in the park. With painful and poetic images brilliantly juxtaposed against benign domestic debates and often humorous dialogues, Dark Days provokes a confused mix of emotions; on the one hand, the tunnel homeless have created a strangely comfortable living environment, yet on the other, they are enclosed by a barren wasteland in continual darkness. But as one of the characters, Greg tells us, "You'll be surprised what the human body and mind can adjust to." And despite the extreme conditions, most will agree that the tunnel is safer than the street, and the street much safer than the city shelters. So when Amtrak police enter the tunnel and issue a thirty-day eviction notice that will put the tunnelers out on the street, Singer puts down his camera and turns to NY's Coalition for the Homeless for help.

Dark Days screened for the first time in January 2000 at the Sundance Film Festival and the reception was extraordinary. Even the press screening ended in a hail of applause, which was quite something considering that it was standard at such screenings to see critics comparring notes on other films, chatting, dozing and slipping out long before the end credits. Six years in the works and Dark Days was suddenly - and finally - out there. The first two public screenings ended in standing ovations and, thanks to an eager mob of journalists all armed to the teeth with dot-com and cell phones, the news spread quickly. Everywhere you turned people were talking about it; on buses, in restaurants, at conventions and the slopes. And when the Sundance press office announced an additional screening (due to the response), the traveling circus of filmmakers, businessmen, critics, buffs and skiers all hurried down to join the queue outside the ticket office in the early hours of the following morning. So on the night of the award ceremony, it came as no great surprise - only relief - when Singer was honored three awards: the Cinematography Award, the Audience Award, and maybe the most important of all, the Freedom Of Expression Award, which honors the film that best investigates, and then informs and educates the public on an issue of social concern. Everyone involved in the film, including Singer, returned to New York buzzing with energy and awash with relief. The success at Sundance had set the ball rolling for a good distribution deal and strengthened the general persuasion that with the right exposure, at the right time, Dark Days could provoke a significant social and even political reaction. After Sundance, the film also screened at the South by Southwest Film Festival in Austin, Texas, and at the DGA theater in New York City presented by the Sundance Institute. It is said that the 1200 seat theater in Austin was packed to capacity, and that there were standing ovations after both the screening and the Q&A that followed. In comparison, the response in New York was surprisingly lethargic.

The first public screenings and preliminary negotiations for the film's distribution come at a time when New York's homeless find themselves in a tougher position than ever before. In November of last year, in an attempt to scale back welfare and "encourage independence," Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani made a fierce pronouncement that the homeless had no right to sleep on the street, and those who did were subject to arrest. This new approach, which his advisers call the "outreach" policy, suggests that anyone on the street presumed homeless and who refuses to move along or seek shelter will be ticketed or arrested. Furthermore, public shelters will now only house homeless families and individuals that are willing to work for their bed. Watching the mounting number of arrests, Hillary Rodham Clinton publicly condemned the mayor and said that she was outraged by the harsh new policies. Outraged or not, the homeless issue was fine ground for Clinton to launch her most pointed attack on her opponent and (on the back of that) officially announce her run for the Senate seat. Meanwhile, out on the front line, the homeless (many unaware of the political bout surrounding them) had to deal with a new burden to their already burdened lives and face the same hapless future with even less openings than before.

Confident that his 'zero tolerance' attitude towards the homeless is the way forward for a definitive solution, the mayor continues to enforce his policies, but has failed to recognize that they have produced nothing more than a Catch 22, or what Norman Siegel of the New York Civil Liberties Union calls the "whipsaw effect," with people being thrown out of shelters onto the streets where they are subject to arrest if they don't move along or accept shelter (again). If we consider that the conditions of the city shelters are, for the most part, more dangerous and hostile than living on the street, then what are the options for somebody who for one reason or another has fallen outside the realms of social compliance? To hide amid the shadows, far enough away from the scope of the "outreach" dragnet, or comply and work to live in an overcrowded dwelling that terrifies them?

Since they were announced, Giuliani's dragnet and work-for-shelter plan have had major effects in the city, resulting in hundreds of arrests and court summons. Some are taken to hospital, others reluctantly accept the shelters, but the rest - the majority - agree to move along. But move along to go where? If it's only to seek a less notable corner of the city, then it's hard to believe that subterranean communities, like the one depicted in Singer's Dark Days no longer exist.

I spoke to Marc Singer and Ben Freedman earlier this year about the making of Dark Days, the social and political effects the film might have, and what they hope it would achieve in the coming year.

CC:

When did you first hear about homeless communities living in the tunnels beneath New York City?

Marc SINGER:

I was hanging out with some homeless people in my neighborhood, just trying to help them out, and one of them told me about the tunnels. So I went exploring. This was about six years ago.

CC:

What was your very first experience when you entered the tunnel?

MS:

I was crapping myself. It was really dark, and I didn't know anybody. But it was more the rats than anything else. I wasn't used to it, and I didn't know what to expect. I actually tape-recorded the first time I went down. It's weird; you can hear my footsteps and you can hear me knock on someone's door, say, "Hello," and introduce myself.

CC:

How did you actually get into the tunnel?

MS:

Well, there are different entrances all over the place. But I didn't go to that tunnel first. I went exploring all over the city, and I ended up finding that particular tunnel. When I went down there, I was so impressed by everybody. I was like, "Fuck man, if I was on the street, could I have done this? Could I have built myself this?" But at the same time, they're living in a fucking tunnel and I don't feel that anyone should have to live like that. So I wanted to do something about it.

CC:

Were there any other communities in the other tunnels?

MS:

In New York? Oh yeah. Well, in the beginning, when I first started going down there there were. The whole city underground was very, very busy. But not anymore.

CC:

What was the turning point between visiting and actually deciding to live there?

MS:

Well, I was going down every day, and I was spending about eighteen hours a day there, getting to know people and trying to make friends with them. So I was down there so much anyway, that it was easier just to stay there.

CC:

Did you go down with the intention of making a film?

MS:

No. I was down there for about a month before I started thinking about it. Initially I just wanted to help out. That was the only real reason for going down. But I also wanted to do something bigger for the cause itself, to try and change the way people see homelessness in general. But in the same respect, I wanted to get the people out of the tunnel. So I figured that if we could make a film and sell it, we could use the money to get them out and at the same time bring awareness to the subject.

CC:

What were the most important preparations you had to make before shooting?

MS:

We had to prepare the tunnel for filming. That was the first thing. There's no light down there, and we needed to have electricity anywhere at any time. So we ran about thirty blocks worth of cable with outlets all over the place. We built platforms that we could shoot high shots from, and there were abandoned train tracks that I wanted to run a dolly along, but some were buried so we had to dig them out.

CC:

What kind of dolly did you use?

MS:

Well, we couldn't afford to take a dolly down there so we had to build one. So one day I was with one of the characters, Henry, who used to work on the railroads laying tracks, and I asked him, "How wide is that track?" And straight away he said such and such inches by whatever it was. So I asked him if he could make something that could run along the track, hold a camera, hold some lights and about two people. He said he could, and so the next morning when I woke up, I went outside the house to clean my teeth (I always cleaned them outside the house for some reason), and I saw a fire a couple of blocks away. So I walked down there, and Henry was heating up a metal rod to burn holes in these two-by-sixes, because we didn't have a drill. Then he took the wheels off a shopping cart and, in no time he'd built a dolly that ran perfectly along the tracks.

CC:

How long did all this take?

MS:

It all took place over about three days. While the others were getting the tunnel ready, I was dealing with the camera house. But I'd never picked up a camera in all my life, so I just walked in the camera house and started looking around. Then the owner, a guy called Laury Drake, asked if he could help, and I asked to see one of the cameras. So while he was showing me how to load the camera, I was telling him what I wanted to do. Once he got over the initial, "You have to be crazy," he said I could take it. So I asked him how much it would cost, and he told me. I think I gave him a hundred bucks and asked if I could give him the rest the following week. He said, "No problem," and I had the camera for two and a half years. And I went through about five different cameras, because they got so beaten up in the tunnel. So I kept taking them back, and every time Larry would be like, "No problem."

CC:

What camera were you using?

MS:

I started with an Aton 16mm and that lasted about two weeks. Then I went on to use an Arriflex. This is not a reflection on the new Aton cameras. They're brilliant. But the old-school Aton's didn't appreciate the tunnel too much.

CC:

Was anyone afraid that making a film might jeopardize his or her life in the tunnel?

MS:

Well, I was very conscious of that. I mean, I never actually show where an entrance to the tunnel is, and I was very careful not to give any specific references. The only people that got annoyed were the people that I didn't film. Because out on the street it's very, very lonely and you're really on your own. So when you're filming these people, they start to feel loved again. Like they're worth something, and some people were a little bit annoyed that they weren't getting that. So I made them the crew. So everyone that was in the tunnel worked on the film at some point during filming, whether it was holding the sound equipment or holding the lights.

CC:

But they weren't necessarily included in the film?

MS:

Right.

CC:

How did you decide who would be in the film?

MS:

The people that I became friendly with, that I had a bond with, were the ones that I knew I was going to focus on a little bit more. There were also other people that I choose to film because they were really interesting characters. Even if I might not have liked everyone initially, there was something about them that I really loved.

CC:

Did everyone have specific roles?

MS:

Yeah, they had very specific roles that went by who I really trusted and what they were good at. For example, Henry wasn't scared of electricity. You could show him a box with thick wires and he'd just cut straight into them. Sometimes he'd be scrapping the rubber off the wire with a butcher's knife and it would melt the knife and he didn't even flinch. So he was the electrician. He was also the foreman, because he was the most truthful guy I had ever met in my life. He said exactly what he was thinking and he wasn't diplomatic about it. Where as Ralph just loved the sound equipment. He was fascinated by it and he knew instinctively what to do. Wherever I moved, he would move with me and I didn't have to tell him anything. Then there was Greg, and Greg's a big guy, and I filmed in a lot of places that, well, weren't dangerous, but there would be two or three hundred homeless people around while we were shooting, and some people didn't want to be on camera. Which I totally understand, but I was just focusing on one of the people from the film. So, because I'd be looking through the eyepiece with one eye and I had the other shut, I couldn't see if anyone was coming from behind. So Greg was security. But there were only a couple of times that that was needed.

CC:

When was that?

MS:

Well there's this one charity organization called The Midnight Run, which I think is the best organization for the streets, and saves more lives than any other group that I've seen. It's called The Midnight Run because they can turn up anywhere between midnight and five in the morning. Volunteers drive down from places like Rye, New York, with trucks full of stuff. Clothes, sleeping bags, toothpaste, all sorts of stuff. And it's all donated, but it's all brand new. So when they come around, you're gonna have three, four hundred homeless people and some of them didn't take a liking to the camera.

CC:

Were there things that you didn't get on camera that you would have liked to get?

MS:

Oh yeah. Loads of stuff. Daily. Which is why I had to be sleeping there. It was like, whenever I'd leave the tunnel something would happen. Looking back, lots of that stuff wasn't such a big deal, but at the time I thought I'd missed the biggest thing since sliced bread. But I mean, yeah, I missed loads of stuff. It was going on twenty-four hours a day.

CC:

How much footage did you shoot every day?

MS:

I was shooting for about a year, and as for how much I shot per day, well that was based on what ever happened. I mean I'd frame things. Like, I'd know exactly when a train would come by however many times a day, so I would just sit there and wait and frame the shot. But everything else I'd just shoot when ever something interested me or when ever something happened.

CC:

How many hours of footage did you end up with?

MS:

I had about thirty good hours, and about twenty crap hours.

CC:

How did you view the rushes?

MS:

I didn't develop anything for the first year, and we had so much film building up that we'd be using it for seats in the houses. That was purely because I couldn't afford to develop it. It was either shoot or develop, and I choose to shoot. So after I had about thirty hours of film, I finally took it all to the lab. I mean, I hadn't even developed the first can, so I had absolutely no idea that the stuff was even going to come out. That's when I first saw the rushes, and I couldn't believe it when they did come out. But I didn't develop the sound. After that I just started shooting again. Then, some time later, the people at the lab said I that should probably develop the sound to see if it stayed in sync with the picture or not. Because I wasn't using a time coded DAT, it was just a Walkman DAT. So I developed the first two DATs and transferred them to Mag, but I had no idea what to do next. I had the Mag track and the print, but I didn't know what to do with them. So I went back to the lab and I asked them what to do. Initially they told me to put it on a flatbed, but I couldn't get hold of one, so they sent me to this guy called Bob Warmflash, who had something called an Akmey, which is this machine that has a tiny little screen with four or five sound heads on it. Now I didn't use slates because I didn't know what they were for. I mean, I'd seen them in the movies but I didn't know that they were used to sync the sound with the picture. So I had to lip sync it on this tiny little screen looking for B's and P's. I could give you a transcript of every single piece of the footage now, but back then I didn't know the footage, so it took a while. But we finally locked it in sync, hit start, and the sound and picture both rolled at the same time - but in no time at all they were out of sync again, and Bob said it must be something to do with the shooting. So I was like, "You're fucking kidding me?" I thought "That's it, I can stop right here.

CC:

What went wrong?

MS:

Well, the reason it was drifting was because the sound was taken at a different speed than the camera was running. So Bob said, "Why don't you leave me this piece of film, let me work with it and I'll see what I can do." But I said, "No," because I didn't trust anybody with it. I thought he might run off with this one scene [laughs]. I don't know what I was thinking. I ended up working in his office for a long time, but even then I'd put the footage in a cabinet at night and chain the cabinet. But in the end I left him this one piece of the film and he took it to this guy called Bill Markles who figured that the sound was running at regular 24 frames per second and the picture was running at 25. The reason for that is that in Europe, sync sound is at 25 and in America it's 24, and the last people that rented the camera had switched it to 25 because they were filming in Europe. So basically, all I had to do was transfer all my sound to 25 and it locked right up. So I was like, Yes! We're back in business! And all the time this crap would be happening, all the people in the tunnel knew about it, so when I went down to the tunnel they all came out of their houses and they were like, Well? And I was like, YES! And they were all like, "YES! Load the fucking magazines," and then we started shooting again.

CC:

Where did you get the initial funding for the film?

MS:

I had two roommates at the time that had both done really well for themselves. So when I said I was going to make this film, they basically lent me some money. I also got myself about ten credit cards and maxed them all out really quickly. That took me all the way into the first three months of editing on an Avid, and then I completely ran out of money. So I had to shut down from the editing room, pack up all the shit and put everything into storage. This lasted about fifteen months. A year and a half of not doing anything on the film, but thinking about it every day, and really going through a tough time.

CC:

What were you doing?

MS:

Just surviving. I mean, I was really fucking broke. After about thirteen or fourteen months of that, I met this guy called Nick Morley, this crazy Australian, and we clicked really quickly. I was fucking starving, every day, and he said, "Come over to the house, me and the wife will cook you something to eat." So I ate with them every night for about two weeks, and they'd always try and get me to go out with them. But I didn't have any money, and they were already extending themselves enough, that I didn't want them to pay for me to go out. But one night I said, "Fuck it, I'm gonna go out." That's when I met Ben. [to Ben] I don't know, do you want to take over from here?

BEN FREEDMAN:

Well, I'd heard about you through the urban myths. And I knew you were out there and I knew what you'd done. As soon as I'd heard about you, I was immediately interested.

CC:

Where did you find the funding to continue the post-production?

BF:

First of all, we had a meeting with this guy - whose name I can't remember, and if I could I wouldn't repeat it - who flew in from London on the Concorde. And the first thing he said was, "So, what do you know about me?" And then proceeded to tell us. We just sat there thinking, Wow, this is a real trip, and he started coming up with all these ideas about 3D digital maps at the beginning of the film and stuff. So that meeting lasted for about fifteen minutes and it didn't really go anywhere. Then it came to the point that this company called Worm Gear Media said to Marc, "If you want, we'll give you Avid time, accommodation, pocket money and everything to get the film made." So I thought if I don't do anything at this point, then I might as well jump off the plane. So I invested my own money, and as soon as I did that, money just started coming in hand over fist.

CC:

Did you meet many other people that were prepared to invest, but only if you made certain changes to the film?

MS:

There were lots of people I could have gone to, and did go to during that period of shutting down. In the very beginning, when I was trying to find money, but I would have lost creative control. So I walked. Because I knew what I wanted it to be, and I knew what it could be, but I just needed to be left alone to do that. I couldn't let it be finished until I knew it was as good as it could possibly be with the footage that I had and under the circumstances that I was working. So I couldn't have anyone standing over my shoulder telling me what to do. That was one of the things that we would literally say to anyone that was looking to invest. "You can't come into the editing room. When the films finished you can see it, but you are strictly in it for one thing."

BF:

Investors were very much selected because they weren't people in the film business. They were people that see something that needs to get out there and that needs to be done. And on the basis of that, they'd put their money into it. So they weren't people that were involved in moviemaking in anyway, because if they had been, they would have probably said, "What about doing this? Or what about doing that?" And that couldn't happen.

CC:

The completion of Dark Days coincides with growing political tension sparked by Giuliani's harsh new policies for the homeless. Do you think that the film might have any political effects?

MS:

Well, I don't know at this stage. If the film does get picked up - fingers crossed - then it might not get released for another year or so. So it's hard to say. But right now it's a pretty hot time in the city.

CC:

Giuliani's "Outreach" policy implies that anyone presumed to be homeless that is found sleeping on the street can be arrested if they refuse to move long or accept shelter. What's your experience of the shelters in New York?

MS:

Well, I always thought that the tunnels are a lot safer than living on the street, but the streets are much safer then the shelters. Because you have maybe two, three thousand people living in one room sleeping in little armory beds, and the distance between beds isn't more than a ft or two. When you have that many people living that close to each other it's hard, because not everyone's a nice guy. Some people are bullies and others are very scared, so they become intimidated or they try to intimidate. Some people come together in gangs and there are a lot of drugs running through the shelters. So it's just really dangerous, and it's a really difficult position to be in. Especially now that there's so few ultimatums, and the ultimatums that there are, are so limited. It's either jail or the shelter, and now you have to work to sleep in the shelters, but you don't want to go to the shelters because it so dangerous. So a lot of people end up going to jail, and that's really sad.

BF:

I think one of the best ways you described the shelters, is "When you go to bed, you pick up the legs of your bed and put those into your shoes so they're not stolen off your feet while your asleep."

MS:

Not every shelter's like that. There are some that are better than others. But there are a lot of people out on the streets, and there are not enough of the good shelters to accommodate.

CC:

What do you hope the film will achieve?

MS:

Well, for me, it's already achieved a big goal. Because the initial goal was to get the people out of the tunnel, and they did. So anything that happens after that is just a bonus. But it would be really good if the film could get out there, then hopefully it can do some good. Like I said, I don't expect people to watch the film and go on a crusade to save the homeless, but just so there's a little less hatred towards them. Because these people feel bad enough about themselves as it is. They're on the street. They know the position that they're in. They know how people feel about them. They know how they feel about themselves. That's a really hard place to be in. So I hope the film can shed a little bit of light on that. Just so these people aren't looked at so hatefully, because it's a lot easier to do things when you feel good about yourself.