Documentary Reflection

After a lot of discussing and debating, we decided on centering our documentary on music. We did not, however, know where to go from there. After talking about it with, Mr. Mayo, we decided on focusing on the Internet’s impact on the music industry. We lined up interview with Kip Berman from The Pains of Being Pure at Heart and Sean Peoples from Sockets Records. Mr. Mayo got us an interview with Ian MacKaye, the founder of Dischord Records, and a member of the Evens. (He was also in Fugazi, a band from the 90s.) Our topic was very interesting, although maybe a little boring compared some of the other topics. After completing the film, I am definitely still interested in the topic. It would be interesting to know whether or not the Internet really ahs a positive or negative effect on artists. Although it does make marketing much easier, music can now be downloaded for free illegally, and artists have seen a sharp decrease in record sales.

Topic selection is the most important part of the project. Finding a topic that is possible to condense into a five-minute documentary, but is also interesting to all of the members of the group is fairly difficult. I think that we should have had a little more time to explore different ideas. The freedom we had in choosing our topics was really great. Since we worked on the project for almost three months, it was important to have a topic that was interesting. I do not necessarily regret selecting the topic we picked, although it did not make for the most interesting documentary.

            As a result of doing this project, I learned that interviews are a key-probably the most important- part of any documentary. Voice over are boring and do not seem as reliable as a real sources opinions. Getting an expert’s ideas on a subject is really important for a student-made film like this one where we did not know much about the topic going into the project. The different interviews also gave us a broader perspective on the Internet’s effect on the music industry, as we got to hear from the director of a record label, a musician, and a man who manages to do both.

            Our biggest challenge while making the documentary was really going through the Interviews that we had (more than an hour’s worth) and finding the most important, concisely stated ideas that Kip, Sean, and Ian had said throughout their whole interviews. At first we only chose the best segments, but did not end up with enough footage. We had to then go all the way back through the interview footage and listen to them again. By the time we were done going through the interviews, we had memorized a good part of each of them. As boring as listening to the interviews over and over again was, the end result was well worth it. If I had the chance to create another documentary, I would probably find more stock footage from the Internet. We did not fully take advantage of all of the resources that are out there at our disposal. Our documentary probably would have been a little more interesting had we found footage from someone else’s perspective.

            I think that giving us a little more time in the pre-production phase to really plan out our film would have made post-production easier. We went into editing not fully knowing what we wanted from the film, with really only our three interviews. We had not given any consideration to the incredible amount of B-roll we would need to keep the documentary interesting. This project was a very goof experience. I was able to explore a new topic with my peers, and, with Mr. Mayo’s help, speak with experts in the field. The end product was more of a summary of my experience throughout the project than anything else. The freedom we had in the assignment also gave us the opportunity to choose a topic that truly interested us, and that would keep us dedicated to the project throughout the months spent planning, interviewing, and editing the film.

My Short Story for CAP Hollywood

She kneels down and slides the old, wooden crate out from under her bed, her short blond hair slipping from behind her ear. The door creaks, and Ava gasps, shoving the crate out of sight. It was just the wind. Sighing, she scratches her forefinger’s knuckle. Her parents don’t get home until hours after the bus drops her off. Ava pulls her hair back in a messy ponytail. She pulls the crate back out and carefully pulls off the scratched lid. Dropping it carelessly on the floor behind her, Ava rummages through the odds and ends she’s stolen over the past year, since Emma left. Ava examines the crate’s contents, searching for the porcelain turtle. He needs some air- he hasn’t been out in days.

He reminds me of Emma, and sometimes even tells me about her. You know she had a tuna fish sandwich yesterday?

Removing her father’s old baseball from the crate, she rubs her thumb across its rough seams. On the back is a name, scrolled in faded blue ink. Cal Ripken…probably some famous baseball player. Ava had grabbed it from one of the boxes lying around the house a few days before Dad left. It had been wrapped up and carefully labeled ‘valuable.’ She figured it was worth taking. Tossing the ball from palm to palm, she can just make out Dad’s voice, calling to her above her teammates cries of encouragement, “Focus, Ava. Stick with it!”

Why didn’t he stick with me?

Ava drops the ball back in the old crate and picks up a velvet box holding a heart-shaped medal, tracing George Washington’s profile. When Pops was moving from his home to his new, bigger, better home with other old people, Ava had snagged the Purple Heart medal off the table. Pops had held it proudly before when he told his war stories (which always involved near escapes from the enemy and ended with him secretly meeting up with Gran, who was then a nurse). Ava isn’t allowed to visit him at Golden Gables; she is too young, so she hasn’t seen Pops in more than a year. Ava weighs the medal in her hand, the weight somehow reassuring.

Why didn’t he wait to say goodbye?

Ava carefully places the medal back in its box, snaps it shut, and places it in the crate. She puts on a pair of gloves, Nathan’s gloves. The lively, beautiful boy had left them in his cubby back in second grade, and Ava stuffed them in her pockets. It was the first snow of the season, and the shrieking kids were let out for recess. The heavy-falling snow and biting winds, however, quickly dampened their spirits. Nathan, rosy-cheeked with snow-tipped lashes, began to cry. His hands were bright red and his coat had no pockets and he wanted his gloves. Ava watched from behind the playground’s slide. She hesitated. She shoved them deeper in her pockets.

I needed them more than he did.

The turtle is nowhere to be found, not under Mr. Rulter’s watch or her mom’s old key ring. Ava rubs her knuckle. Not next to her sister’s first necklace or the picture of Nana she took from Pop’s dresser or the stuffed lizard Joe brought for the science fair last week or the pearls Aunt Josie forgot on the kitchen table or the cards or the notebook or the fork or the ballpoint pen or the paperweight. Ava scratches her knuckle. She digs her fingers into her weak skin. She screams.

How can I remember without anything? What if I forget?

The covers are off her bed, her bottom drawer lying empty in the doorway of her once-organized closet. She sits in the mountain of clothes, looks down at her raw knuckle, and cries.

v v v v

            Ava and Emma lived across from each other and took the bus to school together everyday. At lunch, the girls always sat at the same table in the back corner of the cafeteria, and spread out their lunches. Emma always took Ava’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and Ava always had Emma’s ham and cheese. On Fridays when they got to buy food from the cafeteria, they bought the same chocolate milk, unripe pear, and fake mac and cheese. The girls took ballet classes together- Emma was always better than me- and learned French together. On n’a pas trop appris… Ava and Emma spent their summers at Songadeewin, hiking and canoeing (Ava was always in the stern, Emma in the bow). Summer before fourth grade, the girls went shopping together for their first day of school outfits. They matched. A week into fourth grade, they took the bus back home together, as always. They hugged each other goodbye, and Ava walked up the driveway to her house. The bus driver didn’t see the other young girl cross the street.

            Mom asked me if I wanted to come say goodbye to Emma. I said no, of course. I never wanted to say goodbye to my best friend.

            With her mom at the funeral, Ava let herself into Emma’s house through the back door. She went up to Emma’s room and opened her backpack. Searching through the papers, Ava came across the porcelain turtle Emma was planning on bringing into science class the next day. Ava pocketed the turtle and ran back across the street, up the driveway and into her house, down to the basement to grab a crate, then up the stairs and into her room. She set the crate down, and placed the turtle inside. Now she would remember Emma.

v v v v

            Ava gets her pajamas out from behind the door and pulls them on. She walks down the hall, pulling her door shut behind her. She’ll clean it up at some point. Not now. She, her sister Fiona, and her mother have already had dinner. Ava pulls up a step stool to reach the toothpaste in the cabinet above the sink, its worn down feet scraping against the lavender tile floor. She puts her toothpaste (why is it blue-isn’t mint green?) on the Disney toothbrush and stares at her reflection in the splattered mirror. Her shirt is on backwards, the tags scratching her neck. Oh well. Ava smoothes down her ever-messy hair. Through the dirty mirror, Ava watches Fiona splash in the tub, playing penguin with a figurine. She plays dolphin with it, flying it through the air and then plunging the figurine into the water. Probably a rubber ducky. A small, green rubber ducky? A turtle. Fiona’s big hazel eyes stare back, as do a turtle’s eyes. A green tear slides down the turtle’s cheek. And then with a splash he disappears back into the tub. Ava spins round. Her sister has the turtle in the bathtub! She stole him! The water swirls green.

Ava yells, her toothbrush falling in the sink, toothpaste spraying the mirror and splattering the sink. She jumps in the tub, grabs the turtle, and runs down the stairs. Right into her mom.

“What are you doing Ava? What’s wrong?”

“Fiona took something from me. She stole it. It was mine,” Ava splutters, ducking around her mom.

Out the back door. Across the road. A car honks. Up Emma’s empty driveway, onto her back porch. Ava sits in the faded plastic lawn chair, cradling the turtle. A crack extends from the top of his shell to his tail. The green paint runs, dying her hands a deep green. Her pajama pants soaked to her knees, Ava huddles on the dark porch. The turtle’s head is chipped; the light blue paint around its eyes reveals an older, mud brown. Ava shivers. She sighs. She rubs her raw knuckle. The turtle is back. So is Emma.

I had felt like I couldn’t find a part of me that had been there before. Was that how Dad felt? And Pop? And Nathan? And all the others?

v v v v

            Ava walks up to the house and places the gloves on top of a note written to Nathan. “I’m sorry I took these from you last year. It was wrong. I hope they still fit,” is scrawled on the back of the Long and Foster flyer. She rings the doorbell and strides away without looking back. The boy opens the front door and looks down. He picks up the gloves and reads the note. He smiles. His hands slide into the gloves. He closes the door. The lock clicks shut.