The Night Before the Big Game
I’m going to keep it short and sweet this time. No long-winded thought experiments.
I’m just going to write what I’m feeling at this moment… the night prior to a big shoot.
I always thought I’d make a movie. When I was 18 I was certain that I’d have made one by 21. When I was 21, something told me 24 was the number. 30 struck me as over the hill. When I reached 30, I almost disavowed the idea of making movies altogether, and I’d halfway pivoted to authorship. I convinced myself I didn’t give a shit about cinema. I withdrew from it, and focused my attention on grounded stuff… like money, and politics. Investing, whatever adults do. I read more books, because those didn’t seem so frivolous. Switched to non-fiction. I got boring, I felt my soul dry out.
At 34 something happened. I’d written a book — a shitty book, but a book none the less. I’d spent a reasonable amount of years trying to force myself to revere novels the same way I had movies. I tried to see things from an author’s perspective, but I found the shift difficult. I wasn’t inspired; I always heard music in my head, and saw faces, and imagined the edits. A friend of mine picked up an expensive cinema camera and contacted me, all excited about the prospect of shooting something. His newfound enthusiasm rubbed off on me. I picked up my video camera again, and dusted off an old screenplay, and really decided I was gonna do it once and for all. My hair started thinning too, which I associated with dying, because it was the first physical sign of my body aging that I’d noticed. The clock was officially ticking to doomsday.
I spend six months doing “morning pages” — 3 pages of handwritten journal every morning, and taking myself on little artist dates, until eventually I had the courage to put myself out there and reach out to some performers, and some technical people — to share my script, a short film, and to promote myself as a director (though I’d never done a movie before). I was confident given my experience that I could do it — actually, I was confident I had to. I couldn’t, can’t, fathom going another year wishing I’d done it. People were surprisingly easy to get on board. My confidence grew and so did the number of people helping. I felt my anxiety shift into a dull fear as I realized I’d gone so far that I could no longer turn around.
Not only that, but my script was a little long in the tooth. “Fuck it,” I said, shocked at my own bravery, “We’re gonna do a feature rather than a short film.” Why did I- I mean what was-? I don’t know. And here we are. Working on a feature.
The first shoot day came by necessity — we nearly lost access to a location. A week later cameras were rolling and we fumbled through our first few takes. I rode a rush of adrenaline with a dry mouth and permanently sweaty face that day. I didn’t eat, didn’t piss, didn’t think. It was just me, slating, running audio, lighting, shooting, directing… I managed. Was it good? We’ll see…
We’ve shot so many days since then, and it continues to shock me that we’re actually doing it. Initially, I was terrified, now I’m in the act and it’s hard to gauge how I feel about whatever the thing is that we’re making. We’ve made compromises — often times resulting in something better than I anticipated. I can’t see the art separated from the technical anymore. We’ve done shoots with fifteen people present on set, which for me, is insane. Again, I’m managing the entire technical side of things, with only basic video knowledge. I shoot a lot of photos, but I’ve not been a visual artist since, maybe ever? Film school was more like a reverence for the art, but I never immersed myself on this level. I feel like I’m trying to make up for lost time — putting myself through a bootcamp of sorts, and hoping my intellect will take me far. Actually, I’m not really relying on my intellect at all, that’s a lie. I’m relying on faith.
On the first shoot day when I woke up, if I’d not have had faith, I don’t think I could’ve convinced myself to do it. It’s all been too much for one man to rationally shoulder by himself. At least for this man. Too many things haven’t gone according to plan. My cynicism tells me we shouldn’t be able to finish this at all. Originally I’d proclaimed we would finish in two months. What an idiot I was. We’re not even close. But we’re still going. Tomorrow is another day.
I’m not as nervous anymore. I’m letting my faith guide me through whatever this is. Strangely, I’m confident the film is going to be good. Maybe not great for everyone, but I believe in myself, and the crew — and we won’t let it be bad. I’m sure during the shoot tomorrow I’ll be sweaty-faced and parched, and forget I have a bladder until after we’re done, but I’ll manage. And I feel so damn good when we get through it. I feel like I’ve grown in ways I can’t explain just because we’ve all manifested this thing out of nothing. We have a crew that assembled based on this idea, and we’re building something. It’s so bizarre, but so reassuring when you drag a concept out of the ether and into reality.
So, I wish myself luck tomorrow. I hope that I don’t lose focus or interest, and that the eternal forces are behind us and when the film is complete that it speaks to you and whoever else watches it. I hope it’s not chaos, but even if it is, I’m proud of all of us for attempting such a thing.
— Good Evening
