Producing STAR WARS for $5,000.

The giant white illuminated sign read SKYLINE DRIVE-IN. It was a hot summer night in 1977. I was six years old, my thighs sticking to the vinyl seats in my dad’s old white van — seats bolted to the floor, no seatbelts. My brother was in the back, my dad’s friend in the passenger seat. This was not a normal thing. We rarely went to the movies, and never with a friend along for the ride. But hey, I was six, and I could already smell the popcorn as we paid to get into the drive-in theater in Waynesboro, Virginia.

The gravel crackled under our tires. As we found our spot among the rows of cars, muffled animated characters danced across the screen. My dad reached out and grabbed the worn gray speaker box hanging from the post beside us. As he pulled it through the window, the crackling speaker came alive with the cheerful song of dancing popcorn, hot dogs, and sodas enthusiastically promoting the consumption of their own people.

Dad had told me we were going to see a movie about space. Honestly, I was there for the popcorn. I had no idea what that balmy summer night had in store for me.

Then, through that dented little speaker, I heard it for the first time — the musical chords every person on the planet now recognizes as the opening to STAR WARS.

“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…”

That’s what I remember reading before the text started moving too fast for me to keep up. Now remember, I was six years old — sitting in a hot van in the middle of a gravel parking lot, digging through the last handfuls of popcorn in the bag. I was still at that age where the line between fiction and reality was blurry. I didn’t watch much television, and science fiction felt completely new.

I don’t think Dad really understood what “PG” meant, but it was the late ’70s, so parental guidance was pretty loose. Suffice it to say, as far as I knew, what I was about to see could be real. There were spaceships, lasers, warning sirens — I was glued to the screen.

Then everything got quiet.

Alarms, smoke. The hiss of opening space doors. A black cape.

And then I saw him.

Darth Vader.

At 55 years old, that is still one of the most impactful and frightening moments of my life. For the next two hours, I hid behind my dad’s seat whenever he appeared on screen. I cheered when the Death Star exploded, and on the drive home I was deeply concerned that Vader had escaped. That movie fueled my nightmares for years.

That is the power of cinema.

STAR WARS had a profound impact on me as a child, so when I use it as an example today, I do so with the utmost reverence. Side note: the first movie my brother and I were allowed to see alone was The Empire Strikes Back.

Today, in my role as an Executive Producer, I often use metaphors to help clients understand the cost of production. Are you looking for a “Toyota” video — solid, reliable, and mid-priced — or a “Ferrari” video with big money and big impact? Producing a video is a lot like building a house. Pre-production is the foundation, and final delivery is the roof. If you suddenly decide to change the second floor halfway through construction, there’s a good chance the foundation has to change too — and costs increase accordingly.

One of my favorite lines is:

“I can produce STAR WARS for $5,000.”

That usually gets a laugh — and a little side-eye. After all, that movie cost millions to make.

And that’s exactly the point.

What made STAR WARS extraordinary was production value. Production value is every light, every lens, every costume, special effect, actor, set piece, sound effect, and musical cue. It’s all the elements working together to create emotion, excitement, drama, and immersion.

For $5,000, I could absolutely produce STAR WARS. I’d put one actor on a stool in front of a camera and have them read the script in a single take. Technically, that’s still STAR WARS. You’d get the story. You might even be entertained if they nailed Chewbacca and the R2-D2 scream.

But everything added beyond that base — every improvement that makes the experience more emotional, cinematic, beautiful, or memorable — is production value. And production value costs money.

Sometimes that cost is small: moving a plant into the background of an interview to make the frame feel warmer and more balanced. Sometimes it’s an extra few days of motion graphics work to create a dynamic opening sequence. Sometimes it’s hiring professional actors instead of your neighbor’s kids. And sometimes it’s simply paying a little more for an experienced director who instinctively understands that the plant in the background subtly increases the credibility and visual appeal of the speaker on camera.

For more than 30 years, I’ve spent my career trying to add production value to every project I touch. I cut my teeth producing the cheapest commercials imaginable. I was given a half day to shoot and a half day to edit a 30-second commercial, and a full day each for a 60-second spot. No actors. No money. Just me, a videographer, and a grip. Make it work.

And we did.

I produced a ton of those commercials, and honestly, that kind of work requires a different form of creativity than producing a commercial with a $100,000 budget. I borrowed, built, improvised, and begged for every ounce of production value I could squeeze into those projects. That experience shaped me as an Executive Producer.

The message is this:

You do not have to spend enormous amounts of money to create something impactful. You simply need a creative partner who is passionate about the message and the craft — not passionate about your wallet.

If the only solution someone offers is “spend more money,” ask why. Are they limited by a lack of creativity? Do they only know how to solve problems with larger budgets? Talk to multiple vendors. Listen to different approaches. Don’t let anyone convince you that meaningful impact only comes with massive spending.

Sometimes all you really need is someone who listens, understands the message, and knows how to make the most of what’s available.

Who knows? Maybe your story is powerful enough that all you need is a stool.