Austin Kolodney is the screenwriter behind Gus Van Sant’s Dead Man's Wire, a darkly comedic and gritty crime thriller inspired by the Tony Kiritsis hostage crisis. The film, which stars Bill Skarsgård, Dacre Montgomery, Colman Domingo, Myha'la, Cary Elwes, and Al Pacino, was received enthusiastically at the Venice Film Festival and Toronto International Film Festival, and currently holds a 92% on Rotten Tomatoes. 

A multi-hyphenate talent, Kolodney has directed content for Almost Friday TV, SyFy, Funny or Die, and Comedy Central; with multiple narrative short films selected as VIMEO STAFF PICKS.

He was also recently named as one of Variety's 10 Screenwriters to Watch in 2025.

 REP LINE: Austin Kolodney is represented by Verve, Mosaic, and Fox Rothschild LLP.

 

Image Credit: Erica Urech - Hello@ericaurech.com

 

What inspired you to pursue filmmaking as a career?

Yeah, growing up, my mom raised me on great movies. She didn’t work in the film industry, she worked at Ralphs and Trader Joe’s, but she loved cinema. She’d take me to the movies all the time, and we always had stacks of VHS tapes and DVDs around the house. I’m kind of aging myself saying that, but even DVDs feel outdated now. I always loved film, but I didn’t think it was a realistic career path until I went to community college at College of the Canyons in Southern California. I had some really influential professors there who helped me build my portfolio and guided me through applying to USC’s undergrad film production program. That bridge from community college to USC is really where it clicked that working in film might actually be possible.

In high school, I wasn’t especially focused; I was more of the class clown. I liked history and creative writing, but I didn’t have a clear direction yet. It wasn’t until later that I realized I wanted to pursue filmmaking. Transferring to USC is where everything expanded for me. I learned how a set actually runs – the logistics and technical side of filmmaking – along with the creative and interpersonal aspects. I think that experience is pretty common among transfer students. A lot of us figured out a little later that we wanted to work in film and decided to take a real shot at it. Sometimes that’s just how it happens, you find your path when you’re ready for it.

Was attending USC and SCA always the goal?

Honestly, it felt like a bit of a pipe dream. If you’d looked at me in high school, I knew I didn’t have the grades to get into a big four-year university, let alone the best film school in the world.

When I got to community college, I really buckled down. I focused on completing all the required courses to transfer to USC, and thankfully there was a strong pipeline between my school and SC. The counselors were in close communication and incredibly helpful throughout the process. USC was always at the top of my list for film school, so I worked toward that goal from day one. I’m still very grateful it worked out and that I got in. 

Were there any classes, professors, or experiences that were particularly impactful during your time at SCA?

Countless moments, honestly. From day one at USC, Dean Daley tells you at orientation, “Look to your left, look to your right. These are the people you’ll be working with.” And it’s true. The classmates I met that first day are still some of my closest friends and collaborators. Jack Rosman is now a commercial producer in New York with Five To Sixty , and Lauren Dunn is an incredible music video and commercial director. I met them in 2012, and here we are in 2026, still best friends and still working together. That promise really held up. That first week was formative in other ways, too. I remember an advanced screening of Looper in the SCA courtyard, where my friend Brandon Somerhader and I spoke with Rian Johnson. He shared that he left SC in 1996 and that Brick didn’t come out until 2006. His point was simple: this takes time. You have to be in it for the long haul.

That perspective stuck. Most of us have spent years freelancing, crewing on friends’ projects, and doing whatever it takes to stay afloat and keep making work. Hearing that so early on was grounding. I’m also still very close with John Watson, who became one of my biggest mentors, not just in film, but in life. There were many great professors at SC, but he was especially formative for me.

 

Image Credit: Stefania Rosini - Stefania.rosini@gmail.com

Your story of working at the LA Zoo during the strikes is inspiring! What did you take from that experience, unrelated to filmmaking, and apply it into conceptualizing your work?

The industry itself has been the biggest challenge. It was never part of my grand plan to go to a job fair in Northridge and end up working part-time at the LA Zoo, but that’s kind of the reality. Film school teaches you work ethic, but it also teaches you to stay open when opportunities pop up, even if they don’t look like what you imagined.

A lot of my friends have had side jobs after graduating, and I think that’s something current students should hear: it’s hard out here. You’re thrown into the deep end of the industry with a great life jacket, the USC network, but the waters are still rough. Since I graduated in 2015, we’ve had COVID shut everything down, major strikes, and a lot of production leave LA. You have to be nimble. You can’t really have an ego about it. Even if you went to the best film school in the world, it’s rarely an overnight directing or writing job. You stay afloat however you can. For me, that meant working at the zoo through most of 2024. And honestly, it was a great fit. When my script finally went into production and the producers booked my flight to Louisville, I was able to give notice and leave on good terms. They knew I wanted to work in film and were genuinely excited for me. It was a part-time job; it served its purpose.

And weirdly, that kind of manual labor was creatively freeing. Driving a little trash truck, cleaning enclosures, it gave my mind space to think. There’s that Billy Wilder quote: “if you catch him staring out a window with his hands behind his back, he’s writing”. I relate to that. I’d be doing custodial work, but really I was working through scenes in my head. Sometimes the blank page is intimidating when you’re staring at a laptop. But when you’re on a hike or cleaning a fence by the giraffes and an idea hits, it feels organic, you’re excited to run home and write it down. I think there’s real value in getting out into the world, trying different jobs, and letting life fuel the work.

What was your creative process like when writing Dead Man’s Wire?

A lot of the early “writing” on Dead Man’s Wire was really research. I started well before the zoo job, and I treated it almost like a historical thesis: doing as much digging as I could into the crime and the people involved. Honestly, a big part of writing was just reading. Paul Thomas Anderson talks about that: writing often starts with reading, listening to music, watching archival footage, and letting it all soak in. That was definitely true for me. Working with our historical consultants, Alan Berry and Mark Enochs, I was able to pore over FBI files, police reports, newspaper clippings, and crime scene photos. Absorbing that texture was foundational to shaping the script. Once I had all that, creating a really structured outline, a roadmap, was key. I mapped out the three-act structure and how I wanted to move from scene to scene. So when I finally opened Final Draft, I had clear marching orders. I knew where the story was headed, which made the actual drafting process much more focused.

How do you handle creative obstacles, and were there any on the production of Dead Man’s Wire?

When you’re writing about a true story, there are natural limitations. I didn’t want to drastically alter history, but you inevitably condense timelines, combine characters, and adjust dialogue, especially once actors start circling and production realities set in. Locations change, performances shape the tone, and the script has to evolve. That’s where having a collaborative director like Gus was invaluable. Film is a director’s medium, and he was incredibly open in sharing references, suggesting tonal shifts, even pointing me toward specific radio hosts or scenes from films we both loved to help shape a character. It was a constant exchange of inspiration that helped refine the pages during rewrites.

I also wanted to be on set to learn from him. I’ve been on enough features to know a script keeps changing through production and even into post. Because the script was optioned, not sold outright, I had the opportunity to stay involved and handle many of those revisions myself. At the same time, I didn’t want to hover at the video village or get in the way. That’s where my USC roots came full circle. A close friend from Delta Kappa Alpha, Sydney Marquez, was hired as a local set decorator in Louisville. When I wasn’t rewriting, I’d help her team as an art PA: packing the cube truck, breaking down flats, sweeping stages. It was a true indie spirit: big names attached, but limited time and resources, so it was all hands on deck. There was a surreal moment where Sydney and I looked around at this fully built set: Gus directing Bill Skarsgård and Dacre Montgomery on a call with Al Pacino and then, at the end of the day, we were peeling wallpaper and taking out the trash like we used to on student films. It felt like a full-circle, homecoming moment. So yes, there were constant rewrites, but when I wasn’t doing them, I either stayed out of the way or jumped in to help. It felt important to contribute however I could.

Which do you enjoy more, writing, producing, or directing?

I view myself as a director first, usually I’ll say writer-director. I’ve worked in all three lanes in different capacities, especially on shorts. I came up directing and writing a lot of sketch comedy for places like Funny or Die, Comedy Central, and Almost Friday TV, and on the indie side I’ve produced some low-budget features as well. I think when directors get their first feature made, they’re often writing or co-writing it, and producing in some capacity too. Not just for control, but because those skill sets are essential. Being able to write and produce makes you a stronger director, it helps you actually get the thing made. I’ve also worked in a lot of other crew roles—second AC, boom op (not very well), art department, grip, driving the pass van. And all of that only helps. When you’ve done those jobs, you understand what each department needs. You can speak their language. So when it’s your turn in the director’s chair, there’s a shorthand and a mutual respect on set, because you’ve seen behind the curtain and know what their work really entails.

Do you have a favorite genre or narrative style? Is there anything that you’d like to explore more as an artist?

When I go to general meetings and people ask what kind of movies I want to make, my answer is probably a little ambitious, but it’s honest: I want to make films that can make you laugh, maybe even make you cry a little, and still sell popcorn and fill a theater years down the line. The movies that really stick with me are the ones that walk that tightrope. They’re entertaining and emotional. They’re the kind you want to revisit five or ten years later and bring friends or family to because they missed it the first time. The ones that stand the test of time usually aren’t confined to a single genre; they dip into a few different waters and surprise you.

So I don’t feel tied to one specific genre. It’s more about the feeling. Life is funny, even when it’s tragic or intense, so I think anything I make will probably have moments of levity, maybe even some dark comedy, woven in. At the end of the day, I just want to make movies that remind people why going to the theater matters. Sitting in a dark room with a crowd of strangers, the lights go down, and you all react together, that collective experience is powerful. That’s what I’m chasing.

Image credit: Andreas Rentz

What advice would you give to emerging professionals trying to break into the industry?

Yeah, one thing I’d really stress, and it ties into a lot of what we’ve been talking about, is that the past ten years of freelance film work have been tough. Anyone who tells you it’s easy is lying. It’s challenging, and the biggest key to staying afloat is your peers. It’s great to run into someone like Rian Johnson at USC or have a professor who’s worked on major films, but once you’re in the real world, it’s your classmates, your network of peers, that you’ll be working with. Staying in touch with them is crucial because you grow together, and they’re the people who’ll hire you down the line.

That means not having an ego about side jobs. Driving a truck, helping set up a friend’s music video, being a PA: these things are all opportunities to learn, earn a little, and stay close to the work. Even if it’s Lyft driving, barista work, or other side gigs, it’s better than sitting idle. For SCA students especially, it can be tempting to compare yourself to the few who hit the ground running, but this is a marathon, not a sprint. Be open to working in different capacities: on set, in a writers’ room, or even in an agency mailroom, while you continue developing your craft in writing and directing. It’s all part of the journey.

What’s next? Any projects on the horizon?

For me, the immediate horizon is mostly about a few pitches I have as a writer: projects I’d like to see another director bring to life. Honestly, my main goal right now is simpler: getting into the Writers Guild and securing healthcare. That would be a big win. After over a decade in the freelance game, the unknown doesn’t feel as intimidating anymore. Early on, those rough January and February months without work were daunting, stressful even, but over time, you get used to it. You learn to keep pushing, keep developing your craft, and trust that the next opportunity will come. I don’t know exactly what my next job is yet, but I’m working toward it, and I’m confident something will pop up.

 

Want to check out more from Austin? Click the links below:

www.austinkolodney.com

https://www.instagram.com/awwwwstin/

Story by Emily Tutnick