Remember the Smiles

It just happened on the set of A Christmas Snow. It happened on Greyscale. Actually it always happens on movie sets: a random and eclectic mix of never-seen-in-real-life individuals morph over time into a movie family. Sometimes, if you're blessed, a family that loves being together, sometimes not. Sometimes the families are the very picture of dysfunctional, but always a family. The family that congealed around the camera of Treasure Blind was one of those special, warm and wonderful examples. It's not that we had no conflict or disagreement, but even in the pressurized environment of too many locations, too little time, missed assignments, or untimely complications, the cast and crew of TB was a true source of joy for me. There were timely hugs, words of encouragement, prayers, and smiles. Always smiles. When it was over, we all missed the strength of those smiles every morning. I reflect on the delight of that shoot often, and when I do, I always think about two smiles I miss most of all. Two eternal souls that added their talent to this project enthusiastically and tirelessly, not knowing it would be their last.

Scotty was a behind the scenes guy. He had no experience making movies, but he was a true friend who sincerely wanted to lend a hand in any way he could. He was an extra for us at the church service and spent his day sitting on a boring set, singing a hymn over and over about a hundred times, and trying to act like he was enjoying the "service". He did so with never a complaint. Scotty was also instrumental in getting two brand new Crown Victoria taxis to the set for the last scene. But mostly, we all remember Scotty for his great hamburgers. For a special treat after weeks of shooting, Scotty towed a huge grill behind his car to the set and spent hours in the heat grilling his special recipe into many pounds of ground beef. Let me tell you, burgers never tasted so good. Cast and crew scarfed them down one after another and Scotty kept 'em coming. It was a much appreciated gesture of love from this part of the TB family. Scotty was found dead in his home some months later. Now I wish I could say "thank you" one more time.

The other smile I'll always miss is Bill. Bill and I go back many years. We met on an industrial film where he was my boss. I made him my boss in my movie too. It just seemed right. Over the years we've worked together many times, driven together to out of town auditions, spent evenings at one another's home, guest-taught one another's acting classes, and shared the joys and heart aches of life. I'll never forget the phone call: I was at church on a Wednesday, the week of Christmas, 2007. "They say I've got lung cancer." I prayed for my brother over the phone while pacing the church's parking lot. I watched him get worse quickly over the next few weeks. I cried with him and his dear Wanda. We prayed together many times for healing and more time, but God had ultimate healing in mind in his perfect time. Before January was over, my friend Bill was in heaven. I miss him.



These members of my "Treasure Blind" family I'll see again one day, but never on another set. I needn't bother writing a part for Bill into the next script. He won't be there. We won't hear the encouragement and enjoy the refreshment Scotty offered after a hard day of shooting the next one. But I'll never make another movie without remembering these two brothers. And I'll never make another movie without realizing that it might be the last project for any one of the cast or crew... or me. Because of that, I hope I'll take more time to appreciate each set up, each line, each scene, each burger, each smile, each hug, and each unique member of my movie family. I hope you do too.

I Love Show B'dness

Last night, I was standing on the cold concrete floor of some factory closed for the week end listening to an Oklahoma sleet storm attacking the metal roof, and watching the last of the principle photography on another movie - not mine. The writer/director/lead had just dried himself off, changed shirts and donned a coat. His last scene was outside in the sleet... in a T-shirt. The opening scene for his movie. Now he was trying hard to remember what shots he absolutely had to get before he shut everything down and went into post production mode. It was midnight. And I thought... what is it I like about this movie making stuff again?

A week ago, I was in Michigan catching a Rosie Thomas show (an RT Christmas tour must become a tradition if Christmas is to continue as we know it). I stopped into a Barnes and Noble just for fun and pre-ordered a copy of "Treasure Blind". "That should be arriving on February 10th," the clerk announced knowingly. I thanked him and grinned all the way out the door. I also found it on the radar of the Lifeway Christian Bookstore, although that clerk said, "To be honest, I've never heard of 'Treasure Blind' before." I knew that, but it made me think about things. Our little movie was about to be sitting on the shelf next to real movies. I wonder if it will find any friends. Anyone to eat lunch with? I hope somebody likes it. What if no one does? What if it's a big lonely failure? What is it I like about this movie making stuff again?

So anyway, I'm working on my next script. It's agonizing, and draining, and ultimately frustrating. I love it. I just can't explain why to any rational or sane person. But I take comfort in the fact that, if you're an artist of any kind, you totally get it.

Movie Making in Real Life

I'm delighted to be able to bring you up to speed on some exciting developments for Treasure Blind. It seems other people like it too. What do you know! Beginning in February of 2009, Treasure Blind will be introduced to the world with the phrase, "from the producers of Left Behind: the Movie". Yup. We have signed a deal with Cloud Ten Pictures from Ontario and they are already busy with new artwork, some dressing up of the edit, and planning the promotional campaign through Koch distributors. Isn't that amazing? "The Lord has done this and it is marvelous in our eyes," as David said. We're very grateful, very excited, and ready to begin work on the next one. Whoa! Did I say that? It's true though. And to begin with, I'm headed off to a weekend screenwriter's seminar in two weeks to sharpen those nerves before heading into the next uncharted storyland. Can't wait.



Looking back, it was an education in so many things: film making of course, but also working with people of all types - easy to difficult - and mostly, trusting the Lord. It was a daily exercise of faith to literally give up my movie, to give it back to the Lord. "If you want it to never be made... but I can make that work if I just... if you want it to be made, it's okay with me. It's your movie, Lord. I'm giving it to you right now." That was literally a daily ritual from the first day of shooting to the day we mailed it to Canada. And what a great lesson! The truth is - as you already know - everything belongs to God anyway. Any success comes from God alone. His plan for me and my life is by far the best plan because He loves me, knows everything, and has all power. So giving Him the movie everyday was just a reminder to me of what was already true. But the result was unexplainable peace when the computer crashed to blue screen without explanation. Or when the hard drive quit working the day before it was due in Canada. Or when the worst storm of the season is forecast for your last possible day of shooting. I knew that peace because I reminded myself that it was all God's problem, not mine. It was His movie. And by the way, He worked all those problems out just fine. He's God, you know. I just hope I can apply what I've learned about movie making to real life.

Waiting: Not For The Faint-Hearted

I remember saying to Marybeth as we would pull away from the house on shoot days, "I just want to make a good movie." Although her constant reassurance did little to assuage my self doubt, I love it that she kept trying. "Just wait," she'd say. I've been waiting. I'm tired of waiting. Many times a day, I wonder if I should go on. I wonder if I can. Then...

Something worth waiting for came from the New Strand Film Festival in West Liberty Iowa where Treasure Blind won "Best Screenplay". West Liberty, Iowa is a "hip" small town about 20 minutes from Iowa City where the University of Iowa Hawkeyes live. To say these folks might be civic minded is like saying the pope might be catholic. Watching the townsfolk interact is a lot like watching a family reunion. The West Liberty family reunion. There ought to be T-shirts. The town reflects their closeness too. The old Victorian style homes are well maintained and tidy. The town center is being restored little by little. The two biggest sources of civic pride are the newly remodeled library and the New Strand Theater. Both buildings were modernized while preserving the architecture and character of 19th Century Americana. The asphalt put down on city streets in the 60's is being taken back up and cobble stones are going back down. And naturally, the Film Festival was the big event in the community, so everyone was there. Treasure Blind was scheduled for Sunday afternoon. Some parents complained that the puppet show was scheduled for the same time and their kids wanted to see the treasure movie. The puppets were cancelled. The old theater was full when the high tech super strong projector began spewing our little movie all over that big screen. The room grew instantly quiet. But then... chuckles. Giggles. All in appropriate places. This audience was more engaged than any in my experience. Youngsters and adults alike. When Henry felt his way down the hallway and turned into the treasure room, someone gasped, "Oh! The gun!" When Jack slid into the back seat of the taxi and spat, "Hello, Dad", I heard someone in the middle of the room say, "Uh oh." It was wonderful. The gasps, the giggles, the sniffles were all soothing music to my critique-battered ears, and it didn't stop until the final flicker of light faded into darkness. Then the applause and whoops and cheers. I was actually feeling self-conscious. The emcee stood. His first words were, "So, tell me again why a movie like this can't get a national release and we have to watch the pap that Hollywood puts out there." A bit over the top perhaps, but I drank it down desperately. It was like anti venom to a snake bite victim. The Q & A went on and on with honest questions couched in praise until it had to be stopped to make time for the next movie. Several asked to buy their own copy of Treasure Blind. It was a welcome gift of healing for my tattered self confidence. I was renewed.

Even more good news upon arriving back home. A distribution offer. An approval from The Dove Foundation. Another award from another festival. And probably the biggest boost of all, a simple sentence from my executive producer: "We need to start thinking about the next one."

I still struggle with letting the story spill out onto the page without phantom critics leering over my shoulder tut tutting their disapproval, but maybe that will improve by act two. I'll have to wait and see.

It was Isaiah the Lord prompted to say, "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength." By His strength I didn't quit. I won't quit. I'll just wait.

Some Things Even Blind Men Can See

My reading this morning was in Hebrews 4 and Psalm 63 so my lesson to myself for the day is to look for the Lord (be alert to what he does around me today) and then boldly pray for mercy and grace. When I jot down these lessons to myself every morning, I seldom know how they will be reinforced throughout the day - only that they will be. Today has been no exception. Treasure Blind played last night at its first festival - Barebones International Film Festival, Muskogee Oklahoma. A good crowd laughed at the right time, wiped away tears at appropriate moments, and applauded heartily at the end. For the first time in many months, I just sat in a dark room and watched my little movie - smiling. I still like it. After being criticised for nearly every element of the movie from music to wardrobe, from writing to acting, from lighting to camera moves, I still like it. It was so pleasant to just sit there and enjoy, and remember writing and rewriting, arranging the sets and locations, building the taxi, recruiting the actors, asking for money, finding the crew and getting them on the schedule, shooting, reshooting, looping, editing, shooting more, editing, editing, editing... man this was an enormous job! An impossible job. Simply miraculous that it ever got started, let alone finished. But there I was, sitting in the dark, watching it. Praise the Lord. I was also smiling because that morning, I had received my first offer for distribution from an honest to goodness reputable distributor. He said he watched it, and he liked it. After so many passes and no-thank-yous that I was feeling like a door to door evangelist with bad breath, I had a real offer. What a day! Thank you Lord. When the movie ended, many went out of their way to shake my hand, eyes still teary, and tell me those wonderful words: they liked it. Only the Lord could have done that. See him? Today, I traveled back to the world's friendliest film festival for a panel discussion of Best Actor nominees. Best actor? I didn't even acquire this habit until mid life. How can I be on this panel? Oh yeah, the Lord. See him again? But just before the panel convened, I got a call from a second distributor - an even bigger one. So many "good and perfect gifts" coming from his hand. I would be blind to not have seen him today - but then, in my default mode I am blind, right? Thanks Lord for reminding me to watch for you today. Thank you for your mercy and grace that cures my blindness. And thank you for the movie. I like it. I really like it.

Some Things Never Change... Thank God

I forgot about my movie for a bit. Mom's in the hospital. She's been sliding down the Alzheimer's slope for several years now, and has reached the level where she requires constant care. We moved her into a "rehab center" after she broke her hip. But rehab implies that a person can follow directions. She can't. So, she probably won't walk anymore. She just exists there from naptime to nighttime. Saturday, she was so groggy that she couldn't even mumble her usual nonsense. We thought maybe they had increased her medicine dosage. Just after noon, they took her to the ER. The story is: an infection had become so rampant that she was getting groggy. I guess that happens. She's now plugged into I.V. antibiotics and is getting better. But here's the thing - in all the flurry of anxious phone calls and interrupted plans, my Mom gave me an unexpected gift. Like she's done all my life. Not only the labor of birth and nursing and diapers and pureed food; not only the shuttles to school and the late nights of homework and ironing clothes and making lunches; not only the long talks and advice and encouragement when I began to raise my own children; not only homemade pies and fresh fruit and vegetables and cakes for every birthday; but she was the one who introduced me to my heavenly Father. Now, she's gone, or might as well be. She's not where I can get to her. She can't form words. Not words that anyone can interpret. She can't understand words when someone speaks to her. She can't think anymore, the wires are disconnected. I imagine her closed up all alone in a blurry noisy world with strange apparitions buzzing in and out of sight. I have prayed since the day the doctor said the "A" word that somehow, God would be in there with her and hold her hand and not let her be alone and afraid. Well, yesterday, as she lay there on that narrow bed designed for everything but comfort, wires and tubes poking her from every angle, she gave me the sweetest gift yet. She prayed. Not gibberish, not all of it, but real words. "O Dear heavenly Father," she said, "We pray that you would..." I couldn't hear that part. "We ask you to..." Missed that too. And on and on she prayed. Had to be 4 or 5 minutes. I just stood there and tried not to sob too hard as tears streamed onto my shirt. I was glad I was facing away from the busy hallway. And then, "...in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ we pray, Amen." And she opened her eyes and began whispering gibberish again. But from those few wonderful moments, I knew that the loving Lord she had introduced to me 49 years ago was in there with her. When he says, "I will never leave you nor forsake you," it's the truth. Thank you Jesus. Stay in there with my Mom till it's time for her to come home. Thank you that Dad's already there waiting for her. And thank you that you gave me this movie to take to market so you can show me just how much I need you, and thanks for Mom's reminder of just how faithful you are.

Stewage

It's amazing to me how quickly I forget, or worse dismiss, someones praise of my movie. Equally amazing is how I will set aside great chunks of many days to dwell on, meditate on, and memorize someones negative comments. This phenomenon I shall call "stewage". Stewage is the reason people don't write movies, don't attempt the great American novel, don't invent alternative energy sources, and don't cure aids. Is isn't that they can't, but they have convinced themselves they shouldn't try. To try would be to become vulnerable. To bare your dearest soul would risk letting someone crap on it. In fact, it would guarantee it. Stewage demands that any sensible person keep his sacred stuff to himself.

Yes, you're right. I did have someone else pan my movie. A friend. Seriously hurts. True, there were positive notes strewn here and there, but I don't remember them. What I do remember are the slanderous strokes with which he casually disemboweled my darling. He accused me of the very sins I vowed to set right if I ever made a movie, tossing me with a hyphenated adjective or two, into the stinking pile of fly-infested losers who should have never been allowed to purchase Final Draft. Okay, over statement. But I will tell you this, I'm in serious stewage. Every time I sit down to work on my new script, I reflect on his words. Ideas that would have been working their way down into the fertile part of my subconscious are being eaten by the ravenous birds of stewage. That's a stupid idea. That's a small story at best. No one will ever believe that. I can't make that work. I can't. I shouldn't. I quit. Stewage.

So, how to overcome stewage? I do know how. It's one of those things I know in my head, but I'm not sure if I can make my heart agree; the way smokers know cigarettes will kill them, but light another one anyway. But here's how to handle stewage. Remember when Peter went fishing after his miserable failure, the whole denial and rooster thing? Remember how he fished all night and didn't catch anything? Then Jesus shows up on the shore and says throw your nets on the other side. He didn't know it was Jesus, but he did it anyway, and it was a huge catch. See, Jesus can make all the fish swim around the nets, or he could make all the fish swim into the nets. He is God. He is the one who determines success and failure for every one of his kids. And the thing is, Peter didn't devote his life to fishing from that point on either. He devoted his life to the Lord of success and failure. So, here's how that all plays out. I shouldn't stew on what anybody says about my movie or anything I do - whether it's negative or positive - because I'm not doing the things I do for them, I'm doing them for the Lord of all, Jesus. And doing anything that way is going to be successful - by his standards, not mine. Peter ended up crucified upside down. A failure? No way. Not in God's eyes. Peter will enjoy the benefit of his efforts forever. So, the way to cure stewage is change my audience. Rather than trying to impress the market, or the industry, or even my friends, I should do what I do as unto the Lord, and leave the results with him. Hope I can do that. Hope you can too.