One chilly October evening in 2018, amidst the atmospheric charm of a Milwaukee bar, director and visual effects wizard Mike Cheslik shared beers (and questionable life decisions) with Ryland Tews. It was here that the whimsical idea for “Hundreds of Beavers” was popped open, much like the tops of the brews they were enjoying. The concept? A master class in the art of comedy, utilizing Cheslik’s After Effects skills, knowledge of snow, and Tews’ undeniable knack for falling over. Truly, a recipe for cinematic greatness.
“We realized a dude in a mascot costume tumbling is just inherently hilarious,” Cheslik shared, as if declaring universal truths about life. “If that’s present in every frame, what could possibly go wrong? Even if our gags flop harder than a lead balloon, at least we’ve got the fundamental hilarity of a mascot.” And Tews? “Absolutely,” he confirmed in a manner that suggested he might just be the greatest advocate for falling down since the inception of slapstick.
Thus began the grand odyssey of creating one of 2024’s indie film triumphs, “Hundreds of Beavers,” which has charmingly managed to double its $150,000 budget at the box office. All this, mind you, in a post-pandemic world where people were cautiously reemerging from their homes like baby turtles from their shells, armed with masks and popcorn.
The film, a black-and-white silent slapstick comedy, whimsically chronicles the life of Jean Kayak, a perpetually tipsy applejack salesman whose distillery gets reduced to ashes by vengeful beavers. Naturally, Jean’s solution is to craft ridiculous traps to obliterate the saboteurs – played by individuals in comically oversized furry suits, because what’s not funny about oversized rodents?
Drawing inspiration from a muddled mash of influences – think Buster Keaton to “Mario” games – the filmmakers decided that snows and slapstick comedy should join forces. “Winter has its own chaotic rhythm,” Cheslik observed. “Forget about pies and banana peels; here, we’ve got icy surprises and comical snowballs, which are suddenly a magnet for hilarity — just ask my back after last winter.”
Fast forward through a ludicrous journey of shooting in sub-zero temperatures, with a crew that could fit in a cozy van (let’s hope they had snacks). The film shot most scenes outdoors, with the crew utilizing a green screen like a critter in a winter coat, awkwardly outside. Tews noted that “a lot of green screen days ended up being staged on a green tarp in freezing conditions.” Ah, the glamour of indie filmmaking!
With a montage of beavers running amok — each one played by a different friend (some even doubling as the beavers — because budget constraints are real) — it took 12 grueling weeks over two years to complete the project. After a round of intense editing and several years of post-production, they finally reached the edge of distribution hell, where one realizes, “History is written by the distributed.”
Premiering at Fantastic Fest and touring through various indie film festivals, our beaver friends began to make a name for themselves. Skipping the distributors, the crew decided to unleash their masterpiece directly into theaters. After a vaudeville-style spectacle where Tews wrestled beavers (not an allegory), they sold out 80% of their screenings—a staggering achievement in an era where even Netflix is too cool for school!
As the film gained traction, it eventually found its way to more substantial venues, as theaters banded together to pull the beavers from the forest. Tews mused, “What started as a modest black-and-white comedy with mascots turned out to be a cinematic force majeure.” Indeed, “Hundreds of Beavers” proves that even the most absurd ideas — when executed well, with copious amounts of wit and slapstick humor — can capture hearts (and wallets).
