Unleashing Creativity: A Journey Through Darkness and Art in Alizarin Crimson

Carlos Camacho is a filmmaker with deep roots in the Los Angeles film scene, growing up in the San Fernando Valley and honing his skills through formal education and extensive experience in the film industry. His latest work, Alizarin Crimson, is a psychological horror that touches on the profound struggles of artistic obsession. With an impressive background in camera operations and filmmaking, Camacho brings his unique perspective to this film, blending subtle horror with artistic passion. Today, we sit down with him to discuss his journey, his film, and the themes that resonate through Alizarin Crimson.

Alizarin Crimson blends psychological horror with the artistic journey. What inspired you to explore the darker side of creativity in this film?

The movie was inspired by this idea, “what if Bob Ross from The Joy of Painting was evil?” From there Uncle Albert was born. As a filmmaker, it’s very easy to obsess with the look and mood of your film, the way an actor says a certain word, the dance between viewer and subject. An artist of any medium is going to obsess over their creation. Uncle Albert is the devil that drives you to complete your masterpiece, even if it means pushing those you love away. I don’t think that side of artistry is often explored, surely not from a supernatural standpoint.  

Can you tell us more about the significance of the VHS tape in the story? How did you come up with this nostalgic element?

I’m a product of the 80’s, and growing up, my family had a collection of VHS tapes, which of course were updated to DVD and Blu-ray over time. A lot of my early favorites were seen on VHS. With streaming in the digital world, everything is super crisp, and while that is appreciated, I do believe the world of physical formats is sorely missed – the texture of film, and the grittiness of video. I just had to combine them. We shot the Uncle Albert tape on Super 8 film, scanned and edited in 4K, exported in 480p, printed it on VHS, then reuploaded it to my main timeline for the film. I’m sure there was an easier way to do it, but capturing the precise characteristics of VHS was just as important as seeing the film grain and light leaks in the Super 8. 

The film delves into the theme of obsession, especially through art. How much of Paul’s journey reflects your personal experiences as a filmmaker?

Paul is a very vulnerable character. He’s stressed from work, annoyed that his roommates contribute much, and then the tape finds him. He was never an artist before this moment, but the art found him, and in his naïveté, he’s obsessed. Surely anyone with a hobby can see a lot of Paul in themselves. Personally, film found me at an early age, and throughout my time in school, I knew that this is what I wanted to do in some form. Whether it’s healthy or not, it’s been my obsession – watching movies, learning from them, and making them. If you’re not obsessed, where’s the passion coming from?  

The title Alizarin Crimson is a striking choice. What is its symbolic meaning, and how does it relate to Paul’s character development throughout the film?

Alizarin Crimson came from something literal during the writing process. It’s a color that Bob Ross used often in his show, and it is the color that is closest to the hue of blood. Then you have Paul, who is constantly seeing red – always aggravated about something, always tense. He’s even wearing red in different moments of the film, except for when he’s in the zone, in his safe space with his canvas. 

 The dynamic between Paul and his burnout roommates adds a lot of tension to the story. What was your approach to casting Todd and Evie, and how did you direct them to create such an engaging contrast?

I know in big cities, this dynamic between roommates can be relatable, especially for people in their early 20’s. In this case, Paul is overworked, while Todd is living off a seemingly endless inheritance. Evie is an extra layer to that dichotomy, as her story isn’t exactly known, not even to Paul. To him, she’s a freeloader. Gavin Kiley and Boyana Avdjieva were perfect for Todd and Evie. Each brings a natural element to their performances, and giving them the freedom to improvise some moments helped enhance their closeness. Andrew Luff as Paul was also wonderful to work with. Paul’s stress exudes in those opening moments but I really wanted Andrew to have fun with Paul’s maniacal transformation in the latter part of the film, which creates just the right amount of discomfort. 

The use of color, especially crimson, plays a major role in the film’s visual storytelling. Can you elaborate on how you developed the visual language for Alizarin Crimson?

That was a huge collaborative effort between myself, our cinematographer, Luigi Ventura, our gaffer, Spencer Smith and most importantly, our colorist, David Camacho in post. I created a lookbook for reference, where we draw inspiration from films we love. This is most apparent in the garage scenes. The garage itself has a lot of wood and boxes so Luigi and Spencer made sure to exploit those tones with tungsten lights where the shadows surround Paul and Uncle Albert, vignetting them in a tighter space while also feeling warmth. With our colorist, Luigi and I worked closely with David to make sure everything done on set with intention wasn’t lost when applying color. All while making sure that paints and colors pop on the table and canvas. It truly feels magical seeing the final product.  

You’ve worked extensively in reality TV and various film departments. How did your experience in these areas influence your approach to directing this film?

In film school, I focused on screenwriting because I just didn’t understand cameras and lighting in the classroom setting. It was tough. When I started working in the industry, I was a production assistant on some big budget commercials, but then I was hired on a reality TV show. It was on reality TV that all the things that were taught to me in a classroom started to make sense. I quickly got into lighting and gaffing, which then led me to being a camera assistant for many years before operating. University taught me how to write a story and how to constructively critique, and reality TV was my education in the technical aspect. It was also my education on the dance between the viewer and subject, how the camera should move with the characters in order to keep the audience engaged as if they were in the same room.  

Alizarin Crimson took nearly eight years to complete. What were some of the biggest challenges you faced during production, and how did you overcome them?

Like Paul, I was also naive when approaching this film. I had directed a music video and a found footage film to put on YouTube before working on Crimson. The centerpiece of the film is the painting, which was more difficult than I thought. I had several artist friends and I asked different people for about a year and a half before I connected with an old friend, Amanda Trujillo. She had moved to New Mexico and was excited to work on this, sending me concept drawings every so often. Once the final concept was ready, she began painting. The thing with an oil painting is it has to dry before the next layer is put on and it can take weeks to months to complete. Coupled with life happening, it took Amanda two years to complete the piece. When I received the artwork, I thought I was finally ready to start shooting. Once again, life happened, and an actor I wanted to work with, Pete Hall, passed away. Not long after that we hit the pandemic. I didn’t think this movie was going to be made until late 2023, when one of my best friends and producing partner, Anthony Zindroski, basically defibrillated the idea. I put together a true dream team of a crew and had I made this 8 years ago, it wouldn’t have looked as good and textured as it does today. 

Psychological horror often requires a fine balance between subtle tension and intense emotion. How did you maintain this balance throughout the film?

I prefer horror films that take their time building tension. I love jump scares as well, but too many can cheapen the effect. Another element that I love is a very good score, and I believe that Clarence Nelson composed a wonderful score for Crimson. His music is a great mix of different emotions, starting with a sense of doom, to the relaxing themes from the painting session, to an intense and disturbing soundscape in the nightmare sequence. These layers help deliver that rollercoaster of tension. 

What do you hope audiences take away from Alizarin Crimson, especially those who might not be as familiar with the creative struggles depicted in the film?

Audiences can walk away seeing a little of Paul in themselves – obsessed over their hobbies, whatever that may be. I think it’s human nature to create and destroy and create again, and that applies to almost any institution. The main thing I’d like is that the audience has fun watching this. I’m sure they’ll also realize who or what their own personal “Uncle Albert’s” are.