Why Come?

Adam Fuss, Untitled, image from pinhole camera

We survived the wedding. We survived the in-town guests. Hell, we even survived the 70's. But let's get down to brass tacks here: the film is done! No wait, it's not really done! I may cut it down to an hour. I may cut it down to 75 minutes. But technically it's reached the length it's supposed to be and that time is 86:40.

I still have to work with the composer, which means I have to let go of my temp track, which is a lot harder than I ever imagined. How do I let go? One song at a time I suppose. But I am sure the composer is sick of me saying, can you make it sound a little more like this? Something akin to giving line readings to an actor I imagine.

There are still a few more shots I need to, well, shoot. And then there's that spot about 50 minutes in where time seems to stand still, and that's not in a good way. Plus, there's the fact that we still don't have a title. OK! Not so done! But feeling done-ish. And ready to let the editor go.

The good news is that I am finding ways to squeeze in smaller moments that I really missed, but couldn't place anywhere. Like when one schoolgirl talking to another says: puberty, I don't know whats that anyways and later, when that same schoolgirl talks about her boyfriend, explains, almost wistfully: we give each other pencils. I have fallen in love with the action in the background, the things no one would ever catch upon first viewing, and I find myself spontaneously repeating the film's lines throughout the day: c'mon all you lazy children! polyester...100% and that is so a lie! We find ways to amuse ourselves. We find ways to let go. We find ways to ignore the following question:

How will we define ourselves when this is all done?