NOTES FROM HOLLYWOOD: PART 12

Reflections on the Journey to Make a Feature Film

Josh Close plays Slinger, a soldier trying to make sense of civilian life. 

We opened our production office in Hollywood on January 8. I locked picture on August 8. That’s a seven month odyssey from pre-production to completing the edit. On August 9 I slipped into a yoga retreat, taught by my wife Sarana, where I was able to rest, reflect and let go. A weekend of deep breathing and asana practice did wonders for my nervous system. I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding since January. I was very nervous during most of the edit. I just didn’t know if the film was going to work. I stuck with it. I found the movie we were making. Scene by scene. Slowly. And I’m very proud of what we’ve created.
 
I wanted to share some thoughts that have been emerging throughout the process of making this picture that seem to have coalesced over that weekend on the yoga mat. The discovery is about vulnerability and its relationship to both violence and creative collaboration.

The journey of Slinger, the central character in American Solitaire, is the journey of a hardened and protective soldier, cut off from his inner-self, who, through his encounters back in civilian life, moves towards a softer and more vulnerable sensitivity. He discovers that this is where internal wisdom and healing resides. The soldier as archetype, by necessity, must have a hardened shell for survival. But what happens when he returns home to be with friends and family? That hard shell no longer serves. In fact, it cuts him off from others at the moment he needs them most. How do any of us build the facility to know when we need to be protective and when we need to be vulnerable?

Josh Close and Gilbert Owuor on set during pickups in June.

In the creative process, as a director, the leader of a group of other artists, I must also walk the line between hard shell and vulnerability. This film is a reflection of me as much as the characters are reflections of the actors who play them. Brecht said art is not a mirror held up to nature but a hammer with which to shape it. In my experience, shaping nature is a subtle process and while a hammer may have worked well for Brecht, it doesn’t do the job for me. Neither does the mirror. Simple reflection of nature sometimes isn't enough. And it can be easy to hide in the mirror. We see what we want to see. We see what we’re conditioned to see. I think artists are invited to bring our whole selves to the work. We have to be willing to look past the mirror. We have to be willing to look inside ourselves without the help of a mirror at all. We have to be open to learn what those around us see as well.
 
That’s where collaboration comes in. And that’s when we’re called, like Slinger, and like many others on the hero’s journey, to let our guards down. To let others in. And like Slinger, who resists the call towards vulnerability, I too had my blind spots. My resistance. My attempts to either gaze in the mirror or grab my hammer to start shaping nature. It’s subtle sometimes.

Memorial slate our production sound mixer used during pickups. A humbling reminder of the on-set tragedies of Sarah Jones and Halyna Hutchins, inspiring us to be careful, caring and professional.

Josh Close, with decades of experience in film and television, was  instrumental in giving notes throughout the editing process. At times it took quite a few passes at a scene before I truly understood the note he was trying to give me. We can’t see what we can’t see until we can see it. Sometimes it just takes time and perseverance. Since I had never been through an edit of this magnitude before, it was a steep learning curve. I learned how holding on an angle a few more beats or cutting out earlier or leaving out an entire shot, can make or break a scene. I learned about editorial tone. How the choices I’m making on every cut, over the course of 90 minutes, creates the tone of the whole film. Every cut needs to be part of one visual vocabulary so scenes all feel like they are in the same movie. Again, it’s so subtle. But all the little choices add up to the whole cinematic experience. 

I had to be both clear and directive, while also being open and uncertain, while also holding on to my seat at every twist and turn. Which brings me to the moment we're in, this week. It was a particularly profound week of violence and brutality on the world stage. Another horrific school shooting hit our country in Georgia. The devastating executions of six hostages in Gaza. The ongoing brutality in the West Bank and Gaza. The escalation of Russia’s attacks on Ukraine. Such violence. Such destruction. It’s weighing on so many of us. Will there be no end to such catastrophic and cruel violence?
 
Like many of us, I'm filled with questions about the balance between building protective walls and opening up vulnerable bridges while holding on and praying this terrible time will soon come to an end. I'm filled with fatigue and frustration at our leaders for sending young men into battle to their deaths time and again.

There has to be another way.

Our film is a meditation on the profound power of vulnerability as the ultimate weapon against violence, while understanding the well-honed, and at times necessary, protective nature of our humanity.
 
I’ve been working closely this past month with all of our departments: sound, music, and VFX, under the watchful eye of our post production supervisor, Mark Stolaroff, as we quickly approach the first of many film festival deadlines. We're almost finished!

I hope American Solitaire will be a meaningful offering to console our battle weary souls.

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