Meet Ivey Smith

We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Ivey Smith. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Ivey below.

Ivey, we’re thrilled to have you on our platform and we think there is so much folks can learn from you and your story. Something that matters deeply to us is living a life and leading a career filled with purpose and so let’s start by chatting about how you found your purpose.

I started ballet when I was five. Tiny slippers. Aching muscles. That ritual of lining up at the barre, grinding out basics until the movements disappeared into muscle memory. Ballet wasn’t just an extracurricular—it was my classroom on resilience and discipline. I learned to show up even when it hurt, and that progress is the real applause.

But chaos always whispered to me. As I grew, I chased it—jumping from ballet into the rowdier worlds of tap, jazz, and voice. By fifth grade my life was a working set: every day a new costume, every week another script. Ballet faded out, quiet and natural, but the restless energy stayed. I collected disciplines like props, each one teaching me another way to adapt, perform, and find my place in the bigger story.

Middle school was all about keeping doors open. I stubbornly held onto every class I loved—voice, tap, jazz—and spent Thursdays chasing the heart-thump of drama. Drama was electric. It made me feel seen, but more than that, it made me love the mess—the process, the late cues, the crackle of something going wrong and then coming together in ensemble. Backstage, under the buzzing stage lights, I realized: the best stuff was never in the spotlight. It was in the making.

High school magnified everything. Bigger productions, bigger problems to fix, and I kept drifting out of the audience’s eyeline—sweeping into the crew, setting up flats, scrapping with paint and power tools. The work no one noticed became the work that made me proud. I was still performing, but my compass shifted to the build, the plan, and the grind behind the curtain.

Sophomore year’s Cinderella was the crossroads. Sure, I was cast, but what hooked me was the construction—the joy in backstage chaos, the thrill of solving problems that would never be part of anyone’s applause. The night after closing, I was just another kid in intro to computer class when Steve rolled in a bundle of wrinkled green screen. I watched him work pure movie magic and something clicked: Film wasn’t some distant, sacred medium. It was another playground for creative troublemakers.

I didn’t drop everything overnight. There’s stubbornness in loving what you know. I kept acting, dancing, and singing, keeping my creative doors open even as movie curiosity kept nudging me into the dark corners. But eventually, the itch won out. It felt less like closing the book on one life and more like flipping to the next chapter and daring myself to start writing.

I took a chance with my film teacher: let me skip the intro, let me run with the big kids. He put up a wall. “Make a film at summer camp. Bring me proof. Then we’ll talk.” I grabbed the challenge and ran. That summer I learned the raw lesson of indie: you build with what you’ve got, you get dirty, you keep rolling. By fall, proof in hand, I walked into advanced classes with something new—a little bravado, and a taste for creative risk. Suddenly, I wasn’t trying to catch up. I was inventing, editing, producing, leading, running the news, finding the joy in the grind. Film became the skeleton key. Performance faded right where I needed it to make room for bigger, weirder, more chaotic stories.

College punched me in the ego. Editing had always felt like home, until one day it didn’t—until the day I tanked a big test and thought I’d lost my place. My professor saw the spiral and handed me a dare: “Work a film set this weekend, and your score disappears.” I fought for a second chance, not realizing the “set” was the LA 48 Hour Film Project—forty-eight hours of madness, no brakes, no sleep, every minute a new disaster and a new possibility. I came out changed. I kept coming back. Every year, every failure, every last-second fix, and—finally—placing fifth in the world. The real trophy was knowing how to lead through catastrophe, to find possibility in chaos and not flinch.

Then life yanked the rug out from under me: my husband got into med school in Reno. Goodbye, LA. Goodbye, safe creative world. Hello, silence. The loneliness was enormous. For months, I spun out. No project, no tribe, no loud, scrappy, creative family. Just me and the black screen.

Eventually, desperation mutated into resolve. I decided to make a feature—The Scent of Betrayal—without a tribe, without a crew, without a clue. All I had was doggedness and a toolkit full of hard-won mistakes. It wasn’t pretty, and it sure as hell wasn’t easy, but I learned how to keep going. I built the whole thing from scratch—one lonely, uncertain, necessary lesson at a time. My next feature, Chiaroscuro, never quite landed, but it did one huge thing: it brought Daniel into my orbit, a teammate and fixer when I needed one most.

Still, none of it felt like community. So I reached out, clutching at the last thread of hope. Could I bring the 48 Hour Film Project to Reno? Could I be the one to start the party instead of waiting for an invitation? I finished the paperwork a week before the world shut down for the pandemic.

With the events frozen, I had nowhere to go but inward. That year was an accidental bootcamp—I studied, rewired, wrote plans on walls, leveled up everything I knew about directing, producing, and being the backbone of a crew. I stopped waiting for a map and started drawing one.

When the world opened up, Reno 48 was ready—humble, yes, but real, and suddenly alive with possibility. Enter Hunter. Enter Daniel, now partner in both business and wild ideas. We grew, launching workshops, swapping war stories, giving other filmmakers the messy home I’d needed for so long.

Now the Reno film scene is a living, pulsing thing: fourteen teams, hundreds of dreamers, a stack of inside jokes, scars, and shared victories. Every pivot—ballet shoes, green screens, LA bomb-outs, depression, endless prep, desperate paperwork in a winter kitchen—built MALEVOLENT MOUSE PRODUCTIONS and everything we stand for.

And here’s our truth: We don’t wait for belonging, for permission, for community. We make it, claim it, fight for it. Even—especially—when nobody’s watching.

Great, so let’s take a few minutes and cover your story. What should folks know about you and what you do?

Malevolent Mouse Productions: Chaos Made Cinematic

We’re the indie film crew that thrives on risk and raw stories. Born from the creative trenches of Reno, we blend artistry with execution and celebrate community just as much as craft. Our vibe? Unpolished, bold, and relentlessly passionate.

Filmmakers first: We’re storytellers obsessed with every frame, every sound, every moment.
Community builders: We’re a home for local voices, collaboration, and creative support.
Chaos-embracers: Good art isn’t polite—it’s disruptive, alive, and unforgettable.
What We Do:

Develop indie films, series, and experimental projects.
Run events and showcases that celebrate Reno’s creative energy.
Build platforms for filmmakers, crew, and talent to connect.
Provide education, resources, classes, and mentorship from first-timers to seasoned pros.
Our Mission:
Empower storytellers, amplify unheard voices, and put Reno on the indie film map. We want to level the playing field for creators and leave a legacy of unforgettable stories and experiences.

Who We’re For:
Aspiring filmmakers, indie enthusiasts, horror/thriller lovers, and anyone who’d rather break the mold than play it safe.

There is so much advice out there about all the different skills and qualities folks need to develop in order to succeed in today’s highly competitive environment and often it can feel overwhelming. So, if we had to break it down to just the three that matter most, which three skills or qualities would you focus on?

You are not going to get anywhere waiting for the Cinderella story to happen, especially on entertainment, take a leap of faith and make something. Even if it is bad. Some of the worst ideas went on to become huge blockbuster hits. These days you dont need a film degree. You just need the passion, drive, and something to say.

How can folks who want to work with you connect?

We are looking for anyone who has a story to tell and does not want to play by Hollywood rules. Independent films are the future and we need to be ready to take the industry by storm when Hollywood stops making movies.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://Malevolentmouseproductions.com
• Instagram: Thatmalevolentmouse
• Facebook: Malevolent mouse