At 11pm last night, Dave Lahn and I sat in a dark room, pressed play on a remote control, and watched our movie. At 12:30am, I turned to him and said, "Did 90 minutes just pass?" Honestly, it was the fastest movie I've ever seen. I think that was out of surreality/nerves more than anything else. Though he felt the exact same way. Either way, the only feeling(s) I can compare it to is the first time I had sex or perhaps when Maryland beat Stanford to advance to their first Final Four. It was an out of body experience, somewhat 'shroom like but without the trippy visuals. Not good or bad, per se, just incredibly strange.
Then again, I think our movie is a trippy visual. Honestly, I don't know what we have on our hands. I remember saying during the first week of production (did I even write it down here? I forget) that the reaction I wanted when someone walked out of the theatre wasn't, "That was great!" or "That was AWFUL"--it was a more inexplicable feeling of "What did I just watch?" Well, I can honestly say that that is EXACTLY what I was thinking last night after the screen cut to black. Again, I don't mean this in a good way, or a bad way. I don't know how I mean it. Which might be a terrible sign. Or, hopefully, a positive one.
Either way, it's insane to consider that I arrived in Jacksonville on April 1st, and it's now the day before July 1st and I have a solid cut of my movie ready to show the world. That's three months and I have a feature film that I think I'm ultimately going to be goddamn motherfucking PROUD of. I wanted to capture the sadness of the end of the line when it came to debauchery, plain and simple. That feeling of "I've had enough." And I think the film is open enough to be read hopefully or hopelessly at the exact same time.
Then again, that's for others to decide. Starting with my sister Carol, tomorrow evening. I'm terrified, but excited. She's pulling for me as much as anyone on this planet, but she also doesn't fuck around when it comes to being honest. I should know by this time tomorrow evening where we stand.
It also sounds like the world we captured--the cast/crew/everything--has become even more painfully dramatic than it was before I left. If that's humanly possible. I just hope our film isn't accompanied by an "R.I.P." title card when it's finally finished. The movie is sad enough as it is.
I will leave you with the film's tagline:
GOODNIGHT TO ALL OF IT.