This interview was first published in German in the genre magazine Splatting Image.
Canadian filmmaker Colin Minihan (born 1985) is one of the most exciting voices in contemporary independent horror. He first became known as part of the duo The Vicious Brothers, who created Grave Encounters, one of the defining found-footage hits of the 2010s. Since then, Minihan has moved freely between subgenres – from alien horror (Extraterrestrial, 2014) to desert zombie dramedy (It Stains the Sands Red, 2016) and most recently creature horror (Coyotes, 2025).
For me, however, one film stands above the rest: What Keeps You Alive (2018), a nerve-shredding indie horror set in the Canadian wilderness that dissects a toxic relationship with striking stylistic clarity. My fascination with this small masterpiece led to an almost 50-minute in-depth conversation that turned out surprisingly candid, reflective, and rich in insight into Minihan’s creative process.
In the interview, Minihan talks about his beginnings as a self-taught filmmaker, youthful adventures that nearly had serious consequences, his collaboration with other directors of the new Canadian horror wave, and why he is deliberately taking a new direction with his latest film Coyotes.
Adrian Gmelch: Let’s start at the beginning. I read that you talked about growing up in a small town where going to the movies was a rare, sacred event. What were the films or events that made you think, “I want to do this for a living”?
Colin Minihan: I don’t think it was any one thing. It was probably a combination of growing up in a small town where the theatrical experience wasn’t something I got to do often. As a kid, I tried to pack in as many movie viewings as I could whenever I was in the big city—once every summer I’d go to Vancouver to visit my grandparents for a week or two, and I’d drag them to the multiplex every night.
Those were very early years when I remember falling in love with it. And as long as I can remember, I loved playing with cameras. Cameras were part of my childhood play—whether tied to sports as a kid, when I was a hockey goalie and used a video camera taped to the inside of the net to make sure the ball didn’t cross the line in street hockey, arguing with my friends over video replay. Or in the afternoons after school, reenacting scenes from movies I’d seen through my older brother—lots of crime and action thrillers from that time.
I don’t remember anything super specific. I do remember watching Jurassic Park in a theater and going “wow,” but I don’t know if it was the moment I thought “I want to make movies.” I think that conclusion came about naturally because I started submitting some of my short films as a teenager to different competitions globally, which gave me a bigger window to the world.
I remember winning a teen filmmaker award in a Videomaker Magazine publication, and that probably gave me confidence—maybe I was getting better at this, maybe I could continue…
Okay, let’s go, I have an interesting story, and I don’t think anyone has written about this. I sometimes tell it to people in L.A. because it’s such a unique story. When I was about 13, entering high school—it’s a bit of a long story, but it’s worth it—I came home from school and there was an episode of Bill Nye the Science Guy on counterfeit money.
That happened to coincide with my mom recently buying a scanner–printer–fax machine. My friend and I, with our curious minds, thought: let’s scan a ten-dollar bill and see how realistic it looks on normal printer paper. It looked surprisingly detailed. We flipped it around, ran the back side, cut it out, and if you roughed up the paper a bit, it felt like old money. We thought: this is fun—this could be a movie prop.
But that’s not how we ended up using it. We went to high school the next day and tested it at the school cafeteria. We bought a chocolate bar for a dollar and got nine dollars in real money back. The lights went on, and we tried it again, and again, and again.
Soon a large chunk of the boys in the eighth-grade class were working on perfecting the ten-dollar bill. Someone eventually put the money under a black light, my friend freaked out and ran, and in a town of 2,500 people everyone knows everyone. The police showed up at his door.
Adrian Gmelch: Okay, awesome. That’s a crime story …
Colin Minihan: Yes… (he laughs) He spoke with them briefly, but he managed to talk to me, and I spread the word to everyone involved in this idiocy to say it was for a movie we were going to shoot after school—a briefcase full of money that got into the wrong hands. We were to play dumb. None of us were criminals; it was the first time any of us had police wanting to speak to us.
The police brought me in and interrogated me. I learned—no idea if this is true—that the second most punishable offense in Canada next to murder is counterfeiting money. I don’t know if that’s accurate, but it was up there, carrying mandatory youth detention.
The town didn’t know how to deal with eight to ten kids involved. They brought everyone together through a program called Community Justice that worked parallel to law enforcement. In the community center, whether you were a bank teller, a dad, or someone who had received the fake money—which had circulated through the town, since we were stupid enough not to change the serial numbers—they tried to figure out our punishment together.
It had been working for a long time—maybe a month or something. It wasn’t like we did it every day; it was just funny to us.
I raised my hand and said we had been using it for the movie thing. People were curious, and someone blurted out: “Why don’t they make an anti-crime film as punishment?”
I thought: that’s a great idea—but I’m going to need the support of the town. I’ll need the police station, a jail cell, police cars, maybe real cops, an ambulance, a location like a store if it’s an anti-shoplifting thing.
Months went by. I wrote something, and off we went with my friends and made it. It was the first time I ever edited digitally—capturing DV through a FireWire card and editing in what would be Adobe Premiere now, but back then it was Ulead Media Studio.
We screened the film, and I had the audience in tears by the end of it. It was a moment—having a bigger audience experience something I made from nothing. I don’t remember the feeling exactly, but it led to more.
The people involved applied for government funding based on that short. In grade 11, I was brought back to the police station and told they’d received over $100,000 from National Crime Prevention. I used that to basically turn my small town into a film set in grades 11 and 12—high-speed police chases, mounting cameras to cars, road closures, stunts. I was getting film school while still in high school, making it up as I went. It was a unique experience that sent me on a very obsessive path toward making films.
Adrian Gmelch: Thank you for sharing this with me because it’s such an interesting story—we could say: from crime to filmmaking. (laughs) As a teenager you don’t know any better; you have no concept of consequence. But then you directed a lot of music videos first. I read somewhere near a hundred.
Colin Minihan: Yeah. I don’t know the exact number, but probably edging toward that. I moved to Vancouver, was in film school, and the story I just told leads to that because I needed music for those films. I searched online for independent artists—mp3.com, I think—and reached out to any artist whose track fit the movie.
One of the shorts I made was seen by a manager in San José, and when I moved to Vancouver and started film school, they said: “Why don’t we fly that guy out to direct your music video?”
So I came to California—19 or so—and directed my first music video. It was short-form storytelling set to a song, intercut with a rock band. I realized a lot of filmmakers I admired had started that way—Michel Gondry, David Fincher, Michael Bay, Antoine Fuqua.
It’s an interesting medium because unlike commercials, you come up with the concept. You aren’t a middleman between an agency and talent. You’re the creative force, in collaboration with the artist. It’s very similar to filmmaking, though often more abstract.
Adrian Gmelch: I would also say that music still plays an important role in your movies—also in What Keeps You Alive. I really remember the music from this film, especially the “Demon” song.
Colin Minihan: Yeah. When I’m writing, I usually search for a very specific soundtrack to hold onto the essence of what I’m writing. With What Keeps You Alive, an actress I was considering—Kathleen Munroe—was also a musician, and I found a YouTube video of her performing “Demon Inside.” I became obsessed with that song. When she fell out, I still needed the song.
She gave us permission, and then Hannah Anderson did a beautiful version in the movie. In the marketing, Brittany Allen—my wife and the star—did a more electronic version.
It Stains the Sands Red also has unique music choices—Anna Calvi, Amen Dunes—tracks you wouldn’t normally hear in a horror movie. They feel like they belong in a Cameron Crowe film, but that’s what I’m drawn to.
Adrian Gmelch: If you go back a little bit—because it’s an important part of your life, I would say—like the Vicious Brothers phase with Stuart Ortiz. I think he was a friend of yours; you met him very early in your life.
Colin Minihan: I was very young. I met him on the internet.
Yeah, it was the glory days of the internet, when it wasn’t just insane social media nonsense constantly. This was literally possibly the very first filmmaking chat forum that existed on the internet. There was something called Cyber Film School at the time.
I don’t know the whole extent of the website, but there was a forum on there called “A Story,” and people from all around the world were part of that message board and would post their works. A lot of young teenagers were experimenting with digital video.
That’s really where I came up—right when the Canon XL1 had come out and kids were starting to edit on a computer, discovering the language of storytelling through digital rather than shooting film or doing analog tape edits. That opened a lot of possibilities in terms of visual effects, becoming a kind of jack-of-all-trades.
We were drawn to each other’s work on there at a really young age—this goes back to high school, age 14 or 15.
Back then, when you had to clip your webcam onto the computer and have glitchy AOL video conversations, we talked about movies every day for years.
In high school, I kind of alienated myself in my small town because a lot of kids were into other things, and I developed this singular obsession. So Stu became a friend and also another window into the bigger world, because I was in such a remote community that felt isolating. He grew up in Orange County, California.
We actually met in a movie—we bump into each other in one of the films I made based on the counterfeiting story. He had his bedroom wall painted chroma-blue, and he inspired me to do the same. We shot stationary shots of ourselves walking as if in a high-school hallway and bumping shoulders, even though he shot his side and I shot mine. We then composited it together. That was before we had ever met in real life.
In my twenties, we started flying back and forth a lot and hanging out, trying to write a movie. I loved music videos, but I saw them as a tease to filmmaking. I really wanted to do something independent and didn’t know where to begin.
It took many attempts at screenplays—many false starts. Whether we went to California to write or he came to Vancouver, we would drive all the way up Vancouver Island to my mom’s basement to be completely off-grid. With a fireplace burning, we sat—him on one side, me on the other—pen and paper, feeding the fire for 30 straight days, not leaving except to get food, and came out the other end with pages.
And that’s how Grave Encounters came about. It was probably the fourth or fifth attempt at writing something; everything else had been too big.
Grave Encounters evolved because I had shot some music videos in a mental institution that was a popular filming location outside of Vancouver. When I was shooting a music video in the sub-level tunnels, Stu came to set and used that night to scout the location for the movie we were going to write specifically for that building.
A great piece of advice for any independent filmmaker: write what the location offers you. When you can’t afford to build anything or have a huge art department, use what exists. For example, the bathtubs all over the ground—they were just in the building, left there from when it was functional. We wrote a great horror scene set there.
Scene from Grave Encounters (Copyright Ascot Elite Home Entertainment GmbH)
Adrian Gmelch: I think Grave Encounters is really one of the best found-footage horror movies out there.
Colin Minihan: Thanks. Yeah, we kind of caught the tail end of it, because we didn’t get a big theatrical release.
I attribute the movie’s success to a lot of factors. The casting worked out great—Sean Rogerson as Lance Preston is fantastic, and Mackenzie Gray, who plays the psychic, was amazing. He was actually a professor at my film school, which is how I knew he’d be perfect. He was so cool—he would donate his time to kids making shorts.
We were very committed to atmosphere. We knew we were taking a gamble with how people would perceive the film, because Paranormal Activity had huge success by not showing anything. That went against our style—we wanted the audience to really get a thrill. We felt we should do what those movies didn’t: actually show the apparitions, the spirits.
So that was an interesting challenge. We shot that movie in 12 days, which was crazy.
Adrian Gmelch: Yeah, that’s crazy—12 days. I especially remember two scenes: the film crew trying to pay the gardener to fake a ghost sighting—that was so funny. And TC, the cameraman, being dragged into the blood-filled bathtub you just mentioned. The graphic was funny and scary at the same time.
Colin Minihan: Yeah. The combination—humor, the satire of paranormal TV shows, and then the non-believers ending up face-to-face with what they don’t believe in.
It was one of the most intense—actually the most intense—filmmaking experiences I’ve ever had.
I literally emptied my bank account at the time to shoot that thing. Any money I’d made directing tons of music videos went straight into it.
Adrian Gmelch: From today’s perspective it was the best decision, huh?
Colin Minihan: Yeah, for sure. It was a gamble that paid off in many ways.
But the intensity—because it’s me behind the camera, too. I’m operating the A-camera with TC (Merwin Mondesir, the actor) over my shoulder, so I’m literally part of all the scenes emotionally, from the camera’s perspective, with people talking right past me.
Usually the director is behind a monitor, but I was in the shit every day, physically embodying that character. The camera is such a character in that movie. It was an interesting experience.
Adrian Gmelch: Then of course you had other movies — Extraterrestrial or It Stains the Sands Red — both different genres, like sci-fi and more zombie. So you did found footage, sci-fi, zombie, and then What Keeps You Alive, more like psychological thriller.
Colin Minihan: Yeah, I think — I thought about this recently — the only real pure horror movie I feel like I’ve made is Grave Encounters, because Extraterrestrial has horror in it, and I think it works best when it is a small, tense movie. That script had problems going into production, and Stu and I were not really connecting that great either.
So actually, it just was… and it was overly ambitious for what we had.
There’s a line where it’s like: you get a three-and-a-half-million-dollar budget, or a three-million-dollar budget, and if you’re trying to make a twenty-five-million-dollar movie—
Adrian Gmelch: Yeah, I understand.
Colin Minihan: From a scope perspective, you just don’t have the time.
I think that movie was twenty-one days, and you just don’t have the time you need. You need to be able to play in that world, and if something’s not working, you can find the solution.
And when you don’t have the time, you kind of just block and then shoot right away, and it can be very tricky.
Yeah, a lot of lessons were learned on that film.
It Stains the Sands Red was similar, in the sense that we thought we had written a very small movie that we could do really tiny again — kind of go back to the Grave Encounters roots in some way — but shooting out in the desert is brutal.
Adrian Gmelch: I can imagine. I think it’s a funny, fresh take on the zombie genre.
Colin Minihan: A lot of people really like that movie. I wish it would get discovered more because it is, and Brittany gives such a great performance in that film. She carries the whole thing.
Adrian Gmelch: But then came What Keeps You Alive, and from my perspective, for me it’s really your little masterpiece. It’s not only because I love films set in the woods—What Keeps You Alive is a very good example of that—but also the survival match between same-sex couple Jackie and Jules. At one point I read somewhere that originally it was written as a heterosexual couple?
Colin Minihan: Yeah, it was written that way originally. The actor I was interested in, who I thought could play a really disturbing sociopath, was busy for too long—he was on a TV show or something like that.
So then I started to explore the idea of rewriting the movie for a same-sex couple, mainly because we wanted to shoot by a certain date. It was probably two months leading up to that, and things changed quickly in terms of character and how it all came together. It was really a beautiful thing.
Discovering Hannah to play that role worked out amazingly, and once I cast her and researched her body of work, I reshaped the characters again. I refined them right until we were shooting.
I remember bringing everyone from the production together and doing full script reads at a dinner table again and again every night, with new scenes being written. The whole black-and-white flashback with the two animal themes came together at the very last minute.
Scene from What Keeps You Alive (Copyright Tiberius Film)
Adrian Gmelch: It’s a really cool movie, and the location dictated a lot of it.
Colin Minihan: Yes. One of the producers found it buried at the bottom of a database of film locations in Ontario. To convince me to shoot there—because I had another location in mind—the DP, who lived nearby, drove out and filmed atmospheric shots of the house on a RED camera, put it to music, and sent it to me. I was like: “This is fucking brilliant—obviously I’m making the movie here. You’ve won your argument.”
Thankfully.
It was a fun shoot—but really challenging because it was blackfly season. I remember the first week everyone had nets on to keep their faces from being eaten alive.
But really, I love making and writing small-cast films—two actors for 80% of the movie is really cool. And I like the depiction of ruthless violence in the movie too.
Adrian Gmelch: Yeah, me too. And I think the same-sex dimension works really well because it puts them on the same physical level—there’s no big difference. With the male–female version I would have wondered: who would have been the killer, the male or the female?
Colin Minihan: It was the male.
The original idea of the film was born out of Brit’s and my relationship—I think we were maybe fighting a little at the time—and we joked about couples who tried to kill one another in their marriages. It seemed like an interesting two-hander. That movie could still exist on its own, but it almost feels comedic.
Then I read The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson, which was inspiring and took it in a different direction. I started reading about men who killed their wives—many wives in a row—and got away with it under suspicious circumstances. It’s shocking how often that happens. Those real-life ideas were the genesis of the whole thing.
That’s why the first draft was written for a man.
Most of my scripts start that way—It Stains the Sands Red was written for a man too. As a man, I start from the male perspective just to get it down on the page, and then when you go deeper into the material you uncover other layers that want to come out. It’s like exploring a dark forest with a flashlight—you don’t know what you’re going to find.
I used to write with strict beats—this beat, then this beat—but it becomes rigid. You’re not living in the material; you’re married to preconceived ideas even if the movie wants to go elsewhere.
So now I prefer to be open to where it takes me.
Adrian Gmelch: I think a lot of people might discover your work through Grave Encounters, but in my case it was through What Keeps You Alive.
Colin Minihan: Awesome. That pleases me that you love that movie. I think that’s still the only movie I solely wrote and directed, because my new movie Coyotes I just directed—well, I did a rewrite or retooled certain things a lot—but it’s a very different film. Very different. Comedy horror.
Adrian Gmelch: Normally I’m more with victims in movies, but in What Keeps You Alive it’s strange—I’m really more with Jackie. I’m telling myself: “Please, Jackie, just finish Jules off.” And then you’re like: what the hell?
Colin Minihan: I know, that’s funny. I think it’s because the protagonist makes one or two too many decisions that annoy the audience, so they’re like: “Ah, just kill her.” But realistically, if you’ve been pushed off a cliff, you’re going to have a hard time fighting back. It’s often challenging in horror to avoid the audience member who thinks they’re smarter than the protagonist. Audiences want to feel they would survive and do something differently. But when you read about the sheer stupidity people operate under when they’re in panic or duress—it’s just not reality.
Jackie’s (Hannah Emily Anderson) gaze is intense and enigmatic; scene from What Keeps You Alive (Copyright Tiberius Film)
Adrian Gmelch: And in this movie it works because Hannah Emily Anderson is really amazing. I was like: what a performance. Okay, now maybe some questions about Coyotes, because it’s your more recent movie. It’s another subgenre—eco-thriller or animal horror. Every of your movies is a different genre but still within horror. What was the original core idea this time?
Colin Minihan: Well, I wasn’t there for the original draft, so I don’t know where it came from. But I can tell you why I wanted to direct it. What I read had a hilarious, all-out sense of humor, and I loved the idea of doing a movie set in Hollywood. I used to live under the Hollywood sign on a street called Beachwood, in Beachwood Canyon, and there are a lot of coyotes around.
Neighbors had dogs killed, and I don’t want to vilify coyotes—they’re just trying to survive in an environment we’ve taken over. But on late-night dog walks I would think: “That would be a fun animal-attack horror movie. Why has nobody done that?”
Probably because coyotes rarely attack humans. But you could say the same about sharks.
I like ideas where I think: “Why has nobody played in that exact sandbox?”
It Stains the Sands Red had a unique angle on zombies. Grave Encounters was the first to parody cheesy ghost-hunting shows. Extraterrestrial was kind of a slasher with aliens. What Keeps You Alive was an LGBTQ thriller I hadn’t seen before.
With Coyotes, I thought the setting was fun, and I liked doing a creature/animal movie. It made me laugh.
I had developed many movies and scripts over the years between What Keeps You Alive and this—many false starts. Development can wear you down.
Leading up to Coyotes, I’d been buying camera equipment, playing, experimenting, trying to fall in love with craft again rather than being business-focused.
This came along, and there was a great role for Brit to play—the prostitute character reminded me of her It Stains the Sands Red character, but more hilarious.
I want to be prolific, but my output is smaller than I’d like. I admire filmmakers who bounce around genres. Doing something where comedy outweighed horror was appealing.
Grave Encounters is funny but unintentionally. It Stains the Sands Red is also absurd. But Coyotes wears its comedy openly.
Also, since making What Keeps You Alive—a bleak, maybe nihilistic horror movie—and having a kid, I wanted to make something lighter. A gateway horror movie.
If I were 13, I’d think it was awesome. It’s perfect as gateway horror—not too crazy in either direction.
Then Justin came on board, and I’ve been a big fan of his for over a decade.
Adrian Gmelch: Another point: in my opinion there’s clearly a kind of new Canadian horror wave forming around you and others—like Kurtis David Harder or Brandon Christensen. And it’s interesting because you keep appearing in each other’s credits.
Colin Minihan: It definitely started with It Stains the Sands Red, because Brandon convinced us to shoot that movie in Las Vegas. Brandon goes way back to the early internet forum days—where I met Stu—when we were teenagers. I think he was on there posting work and reaching out. It took way longer to meet him in person—Stu and I might have driven to Vegas where he lived. Kurtis is similar—he started hanging around during Extraterrestrial post-production. When we made Still/Born, those guys were both from Alberta, so we shot there. Then I got private equity financing for a couple more, and Brandon helped put that together. We produced Z and Spiral. What Keeps You Alive was outside of that. These were all small movies with creative authorship shared by everyone. Eventually everyone wants to go their own way—that’s happened now. But I love those guys. They’re very talented.
At that time in Canada, I was maybe one of the few making my own work outside the telefilm-funded system of dramas with Canadian themes. I wanted to make something more like a studio movie—commercial, globally appealing. That energy attracted others.
I tried to lift them up—writing Still/Born with Brandon. It’s a very good movie, with great moments. It wasn’t something I saw myself directing—Brandon had children and lived that world. We shot it in Brandon’s parents’ home. We scouted Alberta for months, then our location fell through, and we begged his parents to let us shoot there. They were cool—we put them up in a hotel.
Z was similar—Brandon came with an idea based on his sons scaring him by staring at their imaginary friends.
Adrian Gmelch: I also really like Kurt’s Influencer. It’s maybe a sibling to What Keeps You Alive in a certain way.
Colin Minihan: Yeah, with the girl—the badass girl—with the fire scene. It’s a cool movie.
Kurt is great at doing these travel projects—he’ll live in Thailand for a year and figure out a movie. I can’t do that now; I’m too tied down. (laughs) I’m kidding—it’s an adventure. A fearless endeavor.
Adrian Gmelch: Another topic: Elevated horror. I prefer “art horror.” What do you think of the label? Is it just marketing? Do you think there’s really a difference between something like Hereditary and a mass-market Blumhouse horror production?
Colin Minihan: I’d say the difference lies in a few things.
In Hereditary you have Toni Collette, who elevates the material, and you have a great lead—Alex Wolff. And there’s more restraint—less reliance on cheap jump scares.
I think Hereditary as a script follows similar guide paths as a Blumhouse movie—there’s a box discovered around page 50 with expositional elements—but the execution is more restrained, perceived as classier.
“Art-house” to me is more like Osgood Perkins’ movies. They’re atmospheric, liminal—they don’t put story first; they put imagery and vibe ahead of everything. I don’t even find them scary.
Maybe it’s a response to how commercial and predictable mainstream horror beats have become—the trauma metaphors, the box of clues, etc.
If anyone does something outside of that, with a unique perspective—like many IFC theatrical releases—they break out because they feel different.
But those aren’t the kinds of stories I want to tell. I like a cohesive three-act film executed at a high standard, but still taking big swings.
One thing I love about Coyotes—people have trouble with tonal shifts. They want tonal consistency. That’s the point: to not be consistent. To be crazy one moment, scary the next, romantic afterward—an ebb and flow. That excites me more than something tonally flat.
It Stains the Sands Red also plays on many levels—eccentric comedy, human drama, darkness, buddy-movie energy. It takes big swings.
Some art-house films don’t—they just do this. It’s deceptive filmmaking—there’s not really a story underneath.
Adrian Gmelch: This is why I like your movies—and Kurtis’ and Brandon’s. You’re not trying to be too arthouse. Even Still/Born could have been one, but it isn’t—it’s not too metaphor-heavy.
Colin Minihan: It’s somewhere in the middle—it’s not hyper-commercial, but we’re also not over here.
Adrian Gmelch: You mentioned Osgood Perkins as art-house horror. Could you elaborate on your feeling about his movies?
Colin Minihan: Language, style, and the stories he wants to tell—that’s awesome. Good for him, he’s doing his own thing.
He shoots all his movies in Vancouver with one producer, super outside the studio system, but he has Neon’s support. Longlegs broke through in an amazing way, so he can probably get movies made fast now.
I’m jealous of that—I wish I could get movies made like that.
They’re not the kind of stories I see myself telling. I like slow burns, atmosphere, ambiguity, but I also strive to appease the broader audience and create a clear emotional arc.
But to each their own. A lot of people love his films.
Adrian Gmelch: Yeah, his career is interesting—actor, then writer, then filmmaker.
Colin Minihan: That’s an interesting arc a lot of actors have—Zach Cregger started as an actor. Kristen Stewart just made a movie.
Actors taking ownership of their artistic output—I see it with my wife; she wants to direct. When you’re an actor, you’re one small piece of the creative story, sometimes led in directions you don’t agree with. It can be hard to feel fulfilled creatively.
Technology now allows anyone with the will to make something. Actors have a leg up—they’re great in the room, fearless on camera. Eli Roth is probably amazing in a room—boisterous, unafraid. That transitions well to the studio system. I’d love to see an Osgood movie where he’s in it.
Adrian Gmelch: Thank you so much. It was a bit longer than planned, but thank you. I really appreciate it and I’m looking forward to your next movies. I’ll keep an eye on your filmography.
Colin Minihan: My pleasure, thank you.