Movies.
I’ve always loved movies. I didn’t know it at the time, but it felt as if the stories I’d watched as a child mirrored my own. I was keenly aware that it was simply fantasy put forth as reality. I knew that these were only actors, forced to overcome tremendous obstacles in a world constructed by outside hands, similar to the feelings of being placed in foster care.
Therefore, I find it quite telling that most of my favorite films are about orphans. Star Wars, The Godfather, Raise The Red Lantern, The Matrix, Five Deadly Venoms, The Good The Bad and The Ugly, Arsenic and Old Lace, and Just Another Girl on the I.R.T. (hey, she’s orphaned by society). I was introduced to film at an early age by my older brother (although we didn’t share the same blood, our bond was thicker than thick). Sitting in a packed movie theater, a big tub of popcorn guarded by scrawny arms, eyes fixed in amazement, I sat through Star Wars, Fade to Black and Alien. Those last two would leave me with scars. Horror is the only genre I still refuse to watch.
My brother was an early Cable TV subscriber, thereby bringing movies into the home by way of WHT, my full-time babysitter, as well as my introduction to film school. I must have seen Stripes a gazillon times. To this day, I can repeat most of the lines word for word, and “that’s the fact, Jack!” When VCRs made its way onto the scene, my brother owned not just one, but several. And then came video rentals. My education was taken to that next level -ish. Beat Street, Blazing Saddles, The Last Dragon, Spiritual Kung Fu, Beverly Hills Cops, Revenge of the Nerds, Real Genius, Ghostbusters, Big Trouble In Little China, Grease, Robo Cop, Gremlins, Trading Places, The Wiz, Weird Science, Clash of the Titans, The Way We Were, Pale Rider, Johnny Dangerously, The Golden Child, Mommie Dearest, I’m Gonna Get You Sucka, The Legend of Billie Jean, Blow Out, Peggy Sue Got Married, Ragtime, Purple Rain, A Soldier’s Story, Murphy’s Romance, D.C. Cab, Harold and Maude, The Poseidon Adventure. Play. Stop. Rewind. Play. Stop. Rewind. Repeat. Never rinse.
While teaching High School in 2000, I was offered the chance to create the curriculum for two elective courses. You guessed it. One was Film, the other African American Lit. My students would not only study the history and structure of film, they would also have the opportunity to make their own. I was living a dream, sharing my love of film with young people. Students who sat in classrooms where I had sat just a few years earlier, having landed a teaching position at my High School alma mater. When my husband and I moved out East, to Long Island, I landed a teaching job where, yes, I would once again be teaching Film. One segment of the course called for students to bring in a 2- to 4-minute scene from their favorite film in order to study its anatomy, thereby introducing me to films I might have never come to on my own (The Sixth Sense).
After leaving the teaching profession in 2003, I sat down to write my first screenplay. The script was horrible, but in that gratifying way of having accomplished something substantially flawed. I soon went to work on another script, then another. My third script became a finalist in the Urbanworld Film Festival Screenplay Competition, where it received a stage reading by professional actors. To see your words brought to life. To know your story, your characters, the world you created from sheer imagination and the desire to be heard resonated with someone. There was no turning back.
I went on to write more scripts, most of which placed highly in competitions. A few requests from producers, more scripts, more rewrites, and then I decided it was time to get some formal training. First, I enrolled in the 22-month Writer’s Bootcamp. Then, I took a chance and applied to NYU’s Dramatic Writing MFA Program. Although I didn’t stay to the end, NYU taught me to trust in my stories and characters. It was during this time that I was bitten by the directing bug and, shortly after leaving, I decided to write, direct, and produce my own short film. Having written a short piece for my theater class, which I was so damn lucky to have Chris Chalk play the lead role (yes, that Gotham, Newsroom, Homeland, damn, damn, great, superb actor), I decided that it would be the best material for my first film. Unfortunately, due to his blowing the fuck up (Ha! Timing is everything), Mr. Chalk was unable to reprise the role for the film, but his replacement, Camille Gaston, was also a very strong and talented actor. That little film, that little leap of faith, that little if-you-want-to-learn-filmmaking-make-a-film film, found its way into three film festivals.
Film is collaborative; that’s something I really love about it. It’s like a family – dysfunctional, but necessary. There is a process, sometimes messy, disorganized, frustrating, but when it comes together, when the script marries the cinematography, the art, the design, the lighting, the sound, the acting, the editing, the audience, well, that’s vision brought to life. There is something about being on a set that fuels me. Having to problem solve, see around corners, piece and mend and fold and tuck and, sometimes, drop and roll, that right there. Well… That. Right. There!
I imagine I’ll be telling stories way after quitting time. I’m all about making the impossible possible. Film, movies, stories, worlds populated by wishing it so, then rolling up your sleeves, opening yourself up and trusting in the ability to bring words to life – my elixir.
Oh, and that photo up there? A still from my film, Artistic Closure.