“Excellent,” a clean cut man who appeared to be in his early forties said as he passed me in the doorway after seeing my film.  I had held the door open for the person behind me and somehow ended up holding the door for the crowd as they passed. Each of them saying something nice about the film. It was awkward, eventually I dropped my eyes– I didn’t want to seem like I was fishing for compliments by holding the door open– I just didn’t want to be rude and drop it in someone’s face.  Most of the audience had enjoyed it. (one single guy left– but not everyone’s going to like everything you do) But the whole thing was very positive experience.  After the Q and A, where I was asked questions ranging from “Where’s the little girl?” to a” how is it you’re so young and yet chose to do story about the Korean war” to “You wrote the song from the film? Wow?” I was happy.  The film looked and sounded good and was getting a good response. The evening was ending on a high note– though It had started very rocky…

Witt’s Daughter was screening at 8:00 pm and  It was a madhouse at the multiplex. Edward’s Island theater was packed out to get into all the festival screenings– and they were all running late.  The percentage of the three hundred or so Newport Beach film festival volunteers in the bright yellow shirts assigned to the Edwards Island multiplex had gone into lock down mode. “No” was all they could say.  Oh– and “get in the line over there”  The will call line the ticket line the movie line had all become a snarled mass of people all trying to get something done before they missed their film… and so was I.

“Excuse me, you’re joking right?” I said to the volunteer who had earlier in the day been quite garrulous. Now, strained was all he could be. “No, I’m not.  Your friend can get into the theater before you– he has a ticket, you need to get in line”  “But where’s the line?” My friend asked, trying to make sense of the disastrous explosion of events.  The panicked volunteer gave no answer, but turned on his heels and pushed his way into the crowd INSIDE the theater. For him this was one of those times that tried men’s souls.

it had been a long day. I had gotten up early to go on a Yacht/breakfast thing that Orange college had given in honor of their filmmakers.  (early like six thirty in the morning early, but still was rushing to make sure I didn’t miss the eight o’clock boat)–I have to admit I was pretty annoyed.  “What does he mean I cant go into MY movie?” I sputtered to Jeff, my cinematographer.  “My movie”

I had spent the entire week before (Paid for  facebook advertisements)to get people to come. I had written and sent out a press release to practically everyone I could think of (the Girls Scouts of Orange county sent me a lovely response, “Thank you, Carole for the information and congratulations!” )  I had done everything I knew how to help the festival make money on content I was providing– and now I couldn’t go in until all the paying ticket holders had their seats.

Jeff was talking about something but I wasn’t hearing him. I was too steamed…

Eventually they let in the crowd of people for the film. like a stubborn pouty child, I waited outside until everyone sat and then I took a seat in the back where Jeff had saved it for me.  It was a nice crowd. The biggest one the film would play for.  there were four films and mine was last.  Because of the theme, “Impact of  War” it turns out Witt’s Daughter would be playing for people who might be in the military.  the first film brought a bunch of military people to the screening.  I was nervous– and not because of the audience response. I could not control that.  What I was nervous about was the Digi-beta I had provided for the festival. I had no idea how it would look–or sound.

A little back-story–When I first finished my film, I had to get it transfered to a tape stock that normal theaters could use.  Being a low budget affair, I went with the low budget post studio (still paying nearly $450 bucks for a “low budget” tape transfer).  I won’t write their names here, but suffice it to say what I got was low budget results. The film sound was so muffled that the theater had to turn it up so that it was audible and then it distorted the speakers. Of course I didn’t find this out until after a very kind man paid $2000.00 to transfer the film from the now faulty sound tape to another digital format. (and that messed up copy went to the Academy for screening….ughhhhhh)  So now here it was four months later, and a friend of mine from church who works at t large post house had graciously offered to make me copies from my master– it was done, but as I was sitting in the theater waiting for the film to show, I didn’t know how it would sound–or look(the copy from the other place had looked not very much unlike vomit–but that could have been transferring the HD image to Beta SP)   So as the film started, I was on the edge of my seat internally–while Jeff was on the edge of his seat litteraly. 

“It’s a little dark” he said under his breath “but I think it’s the projector”  He never sat back in his chair as he watched every frame slide by successively. I on the other had was listening to my crystiline clear perfect sound. I was awash with feelings of relief, sadness and anger.  Never again, I thought as I listened to the faint but definite sound of children playing in the background on the screen.  Never again will I use a low budget place. ugh!

But I notice something else as I was listening to the room–the response was different.  There are places where the audience usually laughs, and they weren’t.  But the room wasn’t dead– it was different. You could feel the energy of  them actually listening…

After the screening, two men approached the lead actor, Adam Edgar and told him that the film captured the idea of something with which they struggle. They told him that they go through training not to expect things when they return home, but even still, its difficult not to do it. I was touched when I heard that. And excited as well. Witt’s Daughter will have a screening at the end of May with $2.00 from every ticket going to Operation Gratitude, an organization that sends care packages and letters to soldiers overseas. (more on that in another blog)

After the screening as we were walking around the Fashion Island trying to find some place to celebrate the evening, Tomas Solli, a Norwegian filmmaker I had met and befriended the first day said cheerfully,  “maybe he didn’t know– the guy who wouldn’t let you  in on your pass… Maybe he didn’t know it was your film”

I hadn’t thought that. In the harried pace of the evening, I had neglected to give the poor man the benefit of the doubt. (I’m glad I didn’t yell at him–yikes!)

The next day I ran into him and ask him– that was indeed the truth. With all the crowds all the filmmakers were getting into theaters first and leaving paying ticket holders with the bad seats or not getting in at all.  He didn’t know that I was going into my film and would not have stopped me had he realized. He apologized.  

As the festival went on, the lines got more organized the confusion became less– and the compliments kept coming. A sprightly older lady with twinkling eyes and  sinewy limbs wearing a vizor cap stopped me in the mall with her smile and greeting. I nodded and kept going.

“I liked your film” she said. Then I recognized her. 

“Oh– you asked the question about why I chose the Korean War” I said to her and we chatted lightly about her experience there at the Newport Beach Film festival. She wished me luck and left. I watched her for a moment as she jauntily melted into the crowds of  shiny happy tanned Newport shoppers.  Smiling to myself I turned and trotted up the stairs ready to watch another round of great films.