Captain’s Log 11/16/19, Seattle Film Summit

This blog is about living aboard a boat in the Pacific Northwest and snow-birding to Arizona while training an artificial intelligent mental health virtual assistant named Rubi ready to provide support in the traumatic aftermath of COVID-19.

Today I got up early to be picked up by my fellow filmmaking partner and friend Bruce Weech. We were on our way to the Seattle Film Summit to rub elbows with local filmmakers and attempt to make any connections to further our work with our web series Sounds of Freedom.

Sounds of Freedom came out on Amazon in the summer of 2017 and we now have an opportunity to pitch a full-length series to Amazon in Los Angeles. I have a pilot script, show bible, business plan and budget ready. We went to the Seattle Film Summit to find any connections and or advice for pitching and what we should put in our package. We weren’t expecting any major breakthroughs since Seattle is a small market compared to LA and let’s face it, no one at the Film Summit has done anything cooler than us. They’ve done things just as cool, but not cooler. So any big fish to meet there, would probably be in LA, not there to meet. We were trying to attach some recognizable talent to our show and curious if any of these big names would be at the event.

The time with Bruce became more bonding time than anything. I told him that I had found the long-time apartment address that my father had rented in Pioneer Square after he had returned from the Vietnam war. This was the apartment where he had been burned so badly from falling asleep smoking, that he had to wear a mask. I had been told he was dead and never saw him again. I had continued drawing him in family portraits at school sensing he was still alive until in the second grade, around the time my mother was hurling the art busts, my grandmother sat me down in the living room and told me he had recently died of a heart attack. She failed to tell me about the burning story, which I found out later as an adult.

Bruce played the character loosely based on my father in Sounds of Freedom and he was excited at the prospects of visiting my father’s Seattle apartment. But that trip was for another day since we wanted to bring a documentary film crew with us to memorialize the event for my other film project, Music in My Head.

Bruce and I talked about addiction, either it be marijuana, alcohol, cigarettes or hard drugs. He revealed he had been vaping marijuana to help with his back pain. This was huge for Bruce as he was a recovering addict and 29 years clean. He didn’t want to slide down the slippery slope of addiction. I knew my father was a chain smoker and drank, but I was uncertain about any other addictions and only could imagine all he must have tried to quench the demons of war. Bruce could really relate to my dad’s story.

I remember on set when we were filming the scene where my father got burnt up in his apartment. I had chosen to film in a delipidated trailer, not apartment, since we had access to that amazing location and could control the situation a bit better. My amazing set decorators had brought in a variety of weapons and placed them around the room giving the impression that the character of Charlie was a bit paranoid. Bruce as Charlie, sat in a worn lazy boy chair with his camo ball cap smoking. The lighting was perfect and the smoke curled in the air as Bruce smoked rings with fake cirgarettes that tasted like garbage. Seeing Bruce embody the real life situation and not knowing him well enough at that time, I hadn’t revealed that in this instance, he was essentially playing my father. I wanted to see what he’d bring to the scene without knowing that. I figured I’d tell him later. When we filled the trailer with dry ice, a smoke machine, and flickering light to simulate the situation, and I yelled cut as the cigarette landed on a pile of newspapers. I had an overwhelming feeling. The gravity of the situation fell upon me. I had a feeling that I had successfully reenacted not only my father’s tragic burning up, but had filmed a key moment in my exploration of post-traumatic stress disorder experienced by the plight of returning soldiers. I felt as though I couldn’t breathe and quickly stepped outside for a breath a fresh air.

Bruce was looking for me to see how he did with performance, and that’s when one of the crew members told him that in that scene, we were reenacting my father’s burning up.

The fact that Bruce was blown away was an understatement. He was a bit unnerved, but I didn’t know that at the time. Being the professional he is, he found me outside to get some notes without saying a word about it. All I remember was the situation being a bit awkward at first since I was so nervous directing him and I remember him putting me at ease.

It was only until I filmed his interview from the “Behind the Scenes” episode of Sounds of Freedom that I realized the true gravity the situation had for everyone involved including Bruce’s own struggles in life. Bruce, just can’t watch it, but that’s mostly because he has a hard time watching himself on screen in general, but that scene from the web series, is now my favorite next to the tea party scene.

When I was a young child, when my dad visited me and my mom when we lived with my grandparents, we would escape to the forest to play. My dad would put me on his shoulders and we’d take a walk down the ravine to the beach. There were downed trees across the path and sometimes low hanging branches and sometimes my tall dad couldn’t duck low enough for us to pass so I’d have to walk. When I was on the ground, I would run ahead to the remains of a burnt down mansion and set up the makings for a tea party. My mom and dad would join me and we’d sit amongst the ruins having “tea” as a real family. I loved these moments. We would explore the shacks on the beach that still had remains of furnishing left in them. We would pretend to play tennis on the overgrown tennis court and explore the gazebos and other out buildings throughout the forest. It was our magic place. It was our place where we could be freely together and freely us, even though if it was just for a little while.

These buildings are long gone, with the exception of the ominous chimney left in the forest and foundation of the burnt down mansion. Over 25 years later, as an adult, I utilized these remains and memories as a location and scenes for Sounds of Freedom.

Instead of reenacting my parents and I having tea in the burnt down mansion, I brought the dining room table from my grandparent’s home and dressed the location as if it were a dining room, complete with photos on the wall of the main character, Julia, a service woman who had recently returned from the Iraq war. She was having tea with the kids that she had seen being burned alive during a weapons raid in Iraq.

Being in Seattle at the Film Summit and schmoozing with filmmakers, it became clear that my project was out of place amongst the lighthearted comedies, action thrillers and many zombie projects people had in the room. How do I find a market for my project when I’m exploring a very heavy topic, that of trauma?

Bruce and I split up to divide and conquer the offerings of the Film Summit. It was clear that Bruce already knew most of the filmmakers and actors at the venue and most had heard of me so that was cool, but we were seeking connections that perhaps Seattle did not have to offer. And when Bruce soft pitched a producer from LA that had just given a talk, he was snubbed. It was clearly not appreciated. I was angry. What do they expect if they attend? For us not to talk to them about our projects? This reminded me of the snobbery of the LA market and attending film festivals, award shows and other mingling events in LA. It reminded me how people shallowly schmooze in LA asking you just enough to figure out if you could do anything for them and if you can’t, they leave the conversation, mid-sentence, moving on to the next person. There were more hard hitters in LA, but even more desperation with the amount of wannabees in LA compared to Seattle. I was at a loss. There would be no big names attached to our project that day.

And then I got a phone call from my mom. I didn’t answer until she called back twice after that. Her bird had escaped!

As my visits to Seattle increased and my attention was divided from my mom back on the island, my mom’s parakeet kept escaping its cage. Either my mom was letting the bird out in a desperate need to get my attention to get my help, or the bird suddenly became an escape artist. She claimed she put ties on all the cage doors, but it’s still escaped. She bought a too expensive net from the pet store to catch the bird. It took all morning for her care giver and her to catch the bird and get it back in the cage. I keep asking If she has cleaned up the mess the bird makes while out of the cage. She says she does, but I have my doubts.

She called me multiple times in a row while I was in a meeting. I called her back, but she didn’t answer. I drove to her place and found her on the sidewalk ready to catch a bus. She said she called because she needs a ride to get bird seed.

I told her I was very busy and she has all day, so she’ll have to catch the bus to get bird seed.

After that and hearing her pleas for help, or pleas for attention, for a couple of weeks about the bird, my mom found a new home for the bird. A family took it for free.

Guess that’s the end of attention getting attempts for now. What’s next?