Watch mutely as the opening credits roll. You’ll see my name, you’ll see my relatives’ names, and you’ll see ‘and introducing, Trevor as Trevor, the newborn.’ The director’s name will flash, along with the production company’s logo. Fade to black. Roll the opening voice over.
“Seven weeks after the rest of the country, we celebrated Easter. Orthodox Easter to be exact. Normally we have it at a community church.” Fade in church scene.
Everyone is dancing, everyone is drunk, everyone is Greek, and everyone, except for me, is having fun. The camera view switches to the band, some god-awful stringed instrument is sending out notes like piano player on crank. A bass player watches with mute interest at the dancers in front of him. The camera pans to the left to follow the bassist’s gaze. He’s watching me, my family, along with the rest of the church, hold hands and sidestep kick in a circle. The scene pauses, the voice over comes back.
This is considered traditional dancing. I’ve been dragged into it since I could walk. I’m always the one to the left of the old lady with black curly hair. That’s my grandma. Notice the lack of fun on my face? The scene moves; the voice fades. Fade back to black.
That was then, two years ago. The words ‘present day’ flash in white at the bottom of the screen. The camera angle slowly moves from that of an overview, one taken from a crane, to that of one right where the fence would be. All in one fluid motion. The camera is on hydraulics. Pause the scene. There’s me, different clothes, different setting, different surrounding mob, different hair, same look of disinterest. I’m staring at my younger cousins hit the brick patio with croquet mallets. All the colors of the upper class rainbow can be seen flying through the air in arches that stop at the ground with a thud. Notice the look of anticipation on my face; I’m waiting for one youngster to hit another.
The scene moves again and now the camera is following my grandma, the same one I was dancing with earlier, as she leads a boy in a white T-shirt and tan pants towards me. The camera angle switches to that of one behind my right shoulder. I’m a blur. The focus is on the newcomers. Watch as my grandma introduces me to a boy my age. We’ve met before. Watch as the camera blurs completely, focusing on the red of my Grandma’s shirt. The camera draws back and focuses; the red you were looking at is a full glass of wine. Behind it, in the background, are two three year olds filling in between the black lines of a coloring book. In an hour we’ll get bored and leave the crayons we were using where they are, they’ll melt into puddles of wax. Off to stage left you would see my parents fighting. You don’t see these things though, the beauty of cinema. All you see is me gazing while I color. The same look of disinterest I’d have 11 years later. The scene changes; but my parents kept fighting, and the crayons melt. Once again, you don’t see this, instead you have your thoughts herded by the voice over as the scene blurs back to my grandma’s red sweater. “We stopped having our annual reunion at the church this year. What you’re seeing now is my Aunt’s house. The boy in front of me is Michael, he’s my Grandma’s godson; we’ve met before.”
What the voice over doesn’t tell you. What the sculpted yard doesn’t tell you. This used to be an air force runway. You can’t grow your own vegetables in the ground here. My uncle got leukemia after landscaping this yard. The same disease that the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki got. The scene doesn’t show this, the crayons still melted.
The camera angle changes to one from across a kitchen counter. You’re watching my various aunts cook dinner. Tin foil is piled up everywhere. Minudo is being reheated, lamb is being cooked, and everyone is in a state of rushing. Pan left. My uncles are watching the Lakers game, 3 of them hold babies in one arm. The other hand is holding a margarita. Through the window behind them you can see two well-dressed boys talking as they drink Pepsi. One can assume that they’re good kids, you’d assume wrong though. We’re talking about stealing beer at my dad’s wedding. You cannot hear this though; all you can hear is Trevor crying like the newborn he is. The scene changes, my parents fought for an hour. The viewer is now watching my uncle carry my younger cousins around on an add on to his bike that the kids can sit on and pedal. It’s this half bike thing, no front wheel, just attached to the seat shaft of the bike in front of it. They can’t steer. They can only pedal. They appear happy. This is a useless scene.
Switch back to the camera angle behind my right shoulder. I’m wearing a dark blue button up shirt over a long sleeve white t-shirt. Notice that I’m the only one still wearing a long sleeve. There’s a thermometer that the viewer can see in detail; it reads 75 degrees. Zoom in on the mercury’s redness. The screen turns red; pull back out; now you’re looking at a droplet of blood pooling on my elbow about to drop on my jeans. The scene pauses. The voice-over starts. Notice my lack of facial expression in this scene.
“Self-mutilation. It started out with the realization that I liked the warm pain I felt in my gums when I cut them with dental floss. Awhile later I broke apart a disposable razor and cut myself. Three times, left to right on my left forearm. Notice my mute fascination to irrelevant details.
The scene you’re seeing now was supposed to be the ‘last time’. One cut, half a centimeter deep and nearly as wide. Left to right, right below my left elbow on that muscle that some people call the ‘W.O. muscle’. I didn’t mean to go this deep; I wasn’t paying attention.”
The voice fades and your left with the frozen image of me staring at the gushing gash on my arm. Notice the lack of emotion. Change the scene. The viewers may be getting queasy.
The viewer is now staring at the scar left by that cut; an inch long and violet. I’m scratching it and then I roll down my white sleeve. No one else sees this. The Crayolas all melted together into a swirl of color. The camera blurs out me and focuses in on my three aunts standing 10 feet behind me. They’re in a circle, all holding those plastic wine glasses filled with various drinks. Listen to them talk about how they feel sorry for my sister; with both of her brothers getting expelled in their freshman year, it must be hard. What kind of pressure does that put on her they muse. What they don’t see is the reputation she gets for being our little sister. They don’t, and you don’t, see how she brags the fact that we’re related. You don’t see the popularity the status whore has gleamed from our mishaps. I don’t see the point. The viewers don’t see the devotion my parents drowned her in. She’s their last hope. She’s adorned in expensive clothes, bribes to act good. The slippers I wear at home my grandma wore up until the day she died, someone gave them to me for Christmas. You don’t see this though; you just listen in on my aunts gossip about how hard she has it. By now the crayons are bubbling. Suddenly the topic switches to me. For an instant they all glance at me. Freeze frame, this is one of those shots that you have to see, I can’t take the chance that you might miss it. I’m trying to win awards with this film. From the camera angle, you can see them glancing at me, and me watching my cousins swing mallets at each other. Their stares are not lost on me; It’s been happening all day. Change the scene. The words of ‘last night’ fall across the bottom of the screen.
It starts with the same camera angle as before, except the setting is my grandma’s living room, my aunts have been replaced with my dog, staring at me trying to get my attention to let it inside. Instead of me watching the impending carnage, I’m watching a TV. But I’m not paying attention to it. You can’t hear the TV. What you can hear though is my step mom talk about how she’s worried about me. My grades are slipping. (You lied, they don’t matter.) I don’t talk to them anymore. (Wonder why?) I’m always angry. (Can you blame me?) She thinks I’m on drugs again. (You would too.) I’m a bad influence on my sister. (She’s a worse influence on herself.) I steal from her purse. (This coming from the woman who refused to give me 1.25 to rent a movie with the explanation that I’d buy weed with it?) What she doesn’t know is that I can hear her. What you shouldn’t know is that I want to kill her right now. The scene changes, my aunts bring their gazes back from me to each other as one relates what my step mom told her.
Now time for the special affect that blows the films budget, get ready. You can see me sitting, suddenly the rest of the shot moves at hyper speed. The party becomes a time lapse, except for me. I just sit there. I’m not moving fast, my speed is a normal speed. We had to do a blue screen for this shot, it blew the budget, but hopefully it tells you the viewer my lack of interest in anything that happens at this reunion. Freeze frame. Time for the next special affect. In a movie awhile back, The Matrix, there was a scene that was the start of weird scenes such as this. It involves lining up numerous cameras in an arch around a subject. This allows you to freeze the frame, but move around the subject, giving you a better view of it without the subject ever moving. We’ll utilize this technique. Shift the scene, rotate the view, you are now looking at my back, but beyond my back, in the direction of my gaze, a toddler is about to hit another one with the mallet. Revel in this moment, I waited for a few hours for this to happen. Of course you don’t get to see it. The screen fades black. The sound starts, you hear a thud, and histerical screeching from the toddler. Black fades back out, you see a hored of adults rush to the crying child’s aid. Fade back to black. Someone screaming oh god the child is bleeding. Fade back into a picture. I’m the only one still sitting. Notice the smile on my face. Fade back to black. The screaming stops. You are left with silence. Fade back to me. I’m still sitting, but I’m now in my room, sitting on a chair, same sublime expression. Bring in the voice over.
“The child gave me an idea. What idea this is? You’ll see soon enough. But what is important are all the details you’ve seen. I’m the black sheep of this family. To them, I’m nothing more then an inmate sitting amongst them. And, in a sense, an inmate and I have one thing in common. We’re bored. Bored beyond the level of healthiness. The child gave me an idea. Crystal clarity through chaos. It’s a concept you haven’t not heard before.”
Fade back to black. Fade back to me. I now have a gun on the side of my temple. Black, shiny, and trembling slightly. Zoom in, zoom in so close that you can see nothing but my left eye. Brown and black. You know what’s about to happen. Fade to black. A gunshot is heard. Fade back in, the eye is gone, and the viewer is now staring at the red freckled wall. Another thump is heard, my body fell over. Fade to black, bring in that crappy music that you always hear in scenes like this.
Fade back in. My parents have run down the stairs and opened my door. They stand there in silence, staring at my corpse. My sister soon pushes her way between the two and sees for herself. Fade to black. Fade back in. You’re looking at my eye again. Pull out, half my head is nothing more then a red color slime. My face is intact. Notice the lack of expression on it. Fade to black. Roll the credits. Thank my family for showing up to the funeral. You don’t get to see the happiness that settles over my family in the months to come. You don’t see the fame that my sister got for being my sister. You don’t see my step mom telling everyone how she saw it coming. You don’t see anything like this, you’re not supposed to, but it happens. The crayons still melted, all the while my parents fought. That’s a wrap.