Personal details
- Professions: Production Manager, Producer, Additional Crew
Alan Farris, man, what a rollercoaster of a filmography. He’s the name you see pop up in projects that really go for the jugular—no sugarcoating. Take House of the Witchdoctor, for example. That film? Straight-up fever dream. Dark, twisted, not for the squeamish. Farris knows how to dial up the tension, cranking out these moments where you’re not sure if you should cover your eyes or keep watching. The guy’s got a knack for characters you either root for or absolutely despise, sometimes at the same time. Then there’s Close Quarters, which pulls a total 180. Less blood, more grit—think claustrophobic intensity, people trapped with no way out, secrets bubbling up until you’re chewing your nails down to the quick. Farris’s touch shows up in those little moments, the looks between characters, the awkward silences that say more than any big speech. It’s like he’s got this radar for what gets under your skin. And don’t even get me started on The Last Generation to Die. That one’s got a sci-fi edge, but it doesn’t lean on the usual tricks. It’s bleak, almost prophetic, poking at what it means to be human when everything’s falling apart. Farris doesn’t just direct; he kind of drags you through the mud with these stories, but you don’t regret going along for the ride. If you’re into stuff that sticks with you, messes with your head, and refuses to play it safe, his movies hit the spot.
Alan’s totally obsessed with muscle cars—like, the real deal, old-school Detroit metal that roars down the track and rattles your bones. He spends hours tinkering in his garage, greasy hands, classic rock blaring, probably driving everyone nuts revving engines at midnight. This isn’t some weekend phase either. The dude actually builds these beasts from the ground up, tracking down rare parts, beefing up engines, customizing until the whole thing practically screams his name. And then? He races them. Not just for fun, either—he’s dead serious once he’s at the line, adrenaline pumping, heart going nuts, trying to shave fractions off his best time. For Alan, it’s not just about winning or showing off; it’s about the thrill, the challenge, the smell of burnt rubber, and that split-second when he hits the gas and everything else just disappears. This is his thing, his escape, his way of living loud.
Konidela Ram Charan