In Good Company
Before leaving Vancouver, I tie up all my loose ends, and as I speed past the Bigfoot museums and small-town attractions toward the Port Townsend Film Festival, I realize how tired I am. Part of me wonders why I go to all this trouble of trying to make movies at all. Still, another part of me has been dreaming of this moment: showing my short film, Some Girl, on the festival circuit.
Before dusk, I check into my dusty waterfront motel. It’s a little depressing. I wonder if I should have treated myself to something more luxurious.
I decide to walk the 30 minutes into town to see a satire about school shootings, Run Amok. I tuck myself into the back of the theatre, and before long I’m laugh-crying. The film explores the fallout of violence and the path to healing. I leave uplifted.
As I head back to my hotel, I notice a group of young filmmakers from LA. Stylish and fast-talking, self-possessed and confident. I can see in them what I see in myself: the striving, the desire to be seen, the performance of being a filmmaker.
The next morning, I attend my own screening. My film is paired with a beautiful Finnish film about mortality called Don’t Ruin the Dinner Party by Talking About Death. Pia Andel,
the Finnish filmmaker, is peaceful, sophisticated, well-spoken and kind. Everyone in her films has real bodies. I’m in good company.
I befriend her at the after-party. I ask if she wants her film to reach a broader audience, and she shrugs. She says she still has a couple of films in her. She’s 61.
The young LA filmmakers are there too, and before long we all move to another bar across the street. We talk about dating in LA, which turns out to be exactly like dating in Vancouver. Everyone wants love, but we’re suspicious of marriage, and the seemingly endless catalogue of people on dating apps doesn’t help.
The next day, at the second screening of my film, I’m more comfortable. Pia is a friend now. It’s a small, intimate audience this time, and there’s lots to talk about. Women share how much they relate to the film. Someone says they’d like to see it shown in schools to start a conversation with young men.
Then I’m back on the road. When I get back to my apartment, I doomscroll for a bit without unpacking. I happen on a clip of Jessica Lange talking about existential sadness. She says her sadness has informed her acting and photography. I feel the same way. And it’s nice to be home, in my own bed.
