“Dream of success, till last breath…”

[Trigger warning: If your sole confrontation with the experience of consciousness upon this ghastly globe has understandably left you with feelings of depression, or even considering prematurely shuffling off this mortal coil, you may find this film distressing.]

Synopsis: From a nightmare, Carl awakes to a dream day, before finally going to sleep.

Background

On December 19th 2022, two days after we got married, Breann and I hosted Pub Trivia. Both our families attended, and my mother sat next to my friend, Nick. They got to talking, and when she learned that he had went to film school, what had never occurred to us was immediately clear to her: “You guys should make a movie together.” Although it took a while to take root, a seed was planted, and the above film is its flowering. The first of many, I hope.

Over a year later, I found myself living in Kimberley, and hanging out with Nick almost every day. I’d defended the dissertation, I wasn’t teaching–this blog was the closest thing I had to a job. If we were ever going to make a movie, the time was now.

So I wrote a script for a short film, about a friendly mentally-challenged man who gets wrongly accused of sexually assaulting a minor. But Nick ruled it “too ambitious.” It had half a dozen different locations, and twice as many actors. Not appropriate for a first try. Which, of course, he was right about.

So I wrote another script, about two parents who have just been notified by the hospital that the child they took home 6 years ago is not biologically theirs. This was just two actors, having a conversation around a kitchen table. But again, Nick ruled it out: “I don’t think we know any actors who can pull this off.” Again, he was right. In fact, I only then realized that we didn’t have access to any actors. Well, not any actors.

So I needed something short, just a handful of minutes, in a single location, where ideally the actor didn’t even have to talk. And so I wrote the script to ‘Hanging On,’ Nick read it, and gave it the thumbs up. We were green lit!

But who could be the actor? Nick said, “I have a room-mate, Nate…” I said, he sounds perfect! And indeed, Nate truly was perfect. While filming, I found myself adding a lot of unplanned closeups of his face, for the simple fact that his eyes are so deeply emotive. Who needs to speak when one has eyes like Nate’s?

Our friend Manu said he would be interested in lending his voice, and his jovial, fast-talking, yet authoritative tone was perfect for Carl’s colleague, Evan. (Or, more accurately, Carl’s idealization of who Evan is–cool, calm, and in charge–since this is all happening in Carl’s oxygen deprived brain.) There is a reason Carl has Evan call: Evan is the office persona Carl wishes to be, dispensing carefree voicemails from the driver’s seat of a Tesla.

So that only left our female voice. So I asked myself, who has an exceptionally nice voice? A voice with a sweet softness, that could capture that necessary dream-like quality… Only one person came to mind: my friend Chelsea from Montreal, about whom everyone says, “she does have a nice voice.” Through her, Laura’s voice and words just sound too good to be true, which indeed they are. In Carl’s fantasy of an apology, we hear what he must have demanded of her but was never granted: adoring obsequiousness.

Over a handful of sessions we all came together under my (mis)direction as I learned in fits and starts, counterbalanced with Nick’s extensive expertise every step of the way, and buoyed by Nate’s willingness to do everything I asked of him except actually piss his pants.¹ This film bears the imprint of each of our creative input. In fact, it was even fun to allow our instincts and opinions to contend over different shots or edits; and whenever disagreements arose, I usually turned out to be wrong.

This all began with my mom, so perhaps it should end with Nick’s mom. When he showed her the film, her initial response was, “This is fucked up, Nicholas.” To that, we shall let Carl himself respond: “I’m Sorry, Mom.”

For what it’s worth:

“What’s your favourite shot?,” you ask. Well, thanks for asking. My absolute favourite shot is when Carl walks in front of the windshield coughing, while the air-freshener swings back and forth, before coming to a rest, and hangs.

Close runner-ups: when Carl opens the basement door and we look up at him from the bottom of the stairs, and the way the light gleams off the banisters; when he goes out on the porch, and we have a closeup of his searching face, while we can also see the ‘Sorry’ envelope behind his shoulder; when he gets his Tesla text, and Nick masterfully timed the camera drop, perfectly framing DFW’s book; when we’re looking at the ‘winner’ license plate, and a crow chose then to caw ominously; when Carl’s reading the letter, and he gingerly strokes the words “Love, Laura” at the same time she says it.

1. But this gave me the opportunity to showcase and confirm my rigid standards for, and commitment to, the veracity of art. ↩︎