The filmmaker

A year after receiving a 1992 bachelor’s degree in visual arts from Harvard, Ellie Lee, now 31, entered an MTV contest called "Free Your Mind." The contest asked young filmmakers to put together a proposal for a short film that would introduce — and solve — a social problem. Out of 10,000 applicants, Lee was one of 10 winners. It launched what’s become a promising filmmaking career, and, as she puts it, "it almost killed me." Given $10,000 and just over two months, the Boston native put together a 30-second animation titled "A Look," which consisted of 12 watercolor drawings per second, centered around a man leering at a woman on the subway.

At the time, Lee was also teaching animation and film-production courses at Harvard, a job she held for three years. Her next film, a 1997 six-and-a-half-minute short called "Repetition Compulsion," was an animated documentary about domestic violence, a subject that has long interested the socially conscious Lee. The starkly powerful film, which screened at 60 festivals worldwide, aired on PBS’s POV and was nominated for a 1998 Emmy Award. Three years later, Lee directed "Dog Days," her first foray into fiction, a bleak 25-minute portrait of the blurred line between animals and humans, set in a nightmarishly desolate, war-torn suburban town.

To pay for living expenses — which include "rent" in the form of property tax on a large brick house in Newton owned by her parents, who have retired to California — Lee has assembled a slew of freelance production and directing gigs, from WGBH’s Greater Boston Arts to local music videos. She also curates a film series at Chinatown’s Oni Gallery, which hosts its next multimedia event December 7. But she owes much of her solvency to having the chance to teach at Harvard, right out of college. "It really legitimized my work," she says. And it led to other jobs in teaching, editing, and directing.

But with all the skill Lee pours into her innovative approach to filmmaking — drawing from influences as varied as Italian neo-realist Vittorio De Sica and Czech surrealist puppeteer Jan Svan Kamer — it’s her economic resourcefulness and her relentless grant research that have contributed most to her fame. To date, she’s won 20 awards and fellowships, and she can easily reel off her tactics and grant sources. Making it in film, Lee acknowledges, requires constant negotiation between paid work and pet projects. But she also counts a strong local arts community, along with the credibility-building teaching gig at Harvard, as fundamental to her success. Friends, she says, have donated essential equipment and space. For that and other reasons, Lee sees no reason ever to leave Boston — unlike other artists. "Why would I go anywhere else?" she says. "I’ve found a community here."

"Dog Days" was recently picked up by the Independent Film Channel, which will begin airing it in January. But even this is merely one more step up: it’s "not a lot of money," Lee whispers. Currently living on a writing grant, which she estimates should last her through April, and commuting to New York, where she has a writing studio in Tribeca (an in-kind grant), Lee is hammering out her first full-length fiction film script. If all goes well, perhaps HBO will pick up that project, and some day she’ll see her ultimate dream realized. "If I could do my first feature and I could find a way to finance my work so that everyone gets paid, and I find theatrical distribution, I would be happy," she says. "It’s hard, though. The odds are against me."

The chef

In Boston, where many chefs boast star power comparable to that of Hollywood celebrities, elbowing into the local culinary scene requires a finely spiced blend of panache and skill. And for a young chef on the make, the path to the kitchen can require years of unfruitful apprenticing. In the end, in addition to talent, success can come down to riding the right coattails.

At least, that’s the way it worked for Mark Romano, 35, who recently took the helm of the kitchen at 608 (formerly Lilli’s), in Somerville. After 10 years at the Blue Room and a stint at 29 Newbury, one of Boston’s young tastemakers now heads his first kitchen.

The West Virginia native came to Boston in 1989, primarily to play drums in a band called the Lune. To keep his nights free for gigs on what he calls the "Cambridge chitlins circuit," Romano took on brunch at Chris Schlesinger’s Blue Room. Over the course of his tenure there, Romano learned from both Schlesinger and Steve Johnson, who later bought the restaurant. Romano’s internationally themed buffet brunches won him two years’ worth of "Best" accolades from Boston magazine. "I made soups and sauces," he recounts, "developed good techniques and a palate base. It was a good way to hone my skills."

But now Romano has graduated from sauces and brunch to a full dinner menu. The renovations at 608 took months longer than planned — a fortuitous glitch for the chef, who planted himself in the kitchen of his apartment, placed a plate in front of his girlfriend, and got to work experimenting. Along the way, he put in many phone calls to his mentors to pick their brains about spices and flavors. "I bounce stuff off of those guys all the time," he says. Boston has been ripe training ground for the young chef because there’s such a pool of talent from which to learn. But that also means severe competition to attract customers. "It’s a challenge," he says. "I have to be here all of the time, from 10 a.m. to midnight every day."

Given the chance to break out on his own and craft his first full dinner menu, Romano didn’t move far from the culinary eclecticism instilled in him by Schlesinger and Johnson. The menu dances between Mediterranean, American, and Latin, and includes small snack plates for folks at the bar and modestly priced entrŽes; no individual item exceeds $20.

Casual and modest in conversation, Romano nonetheless betrays classic culinary impatience, crossing and re-crossing his legs. There’s really no time for all this talk. After all, there’s produce to unpack, line cooks to prep, and a mere few hours until dinner. "I feel pretty confident," he says flatly, before scurrying back downstairs to the safety of his sparkling-new stainless-steel kitchen. "The place could be a huge success."