At a recent Q&A for the film that I wrote and directed, “A Little Prayer,” someone asked me, “Why did you want to tell this story?” I bumbled and came out with something along the lines of “Who knows?”: The process is mysterious, the journey senseless, to the rational mind. A story comes from so many places — what you’ve lived, what you’ve seen, what you’ve read and, for me, from a deep, unconscious place.
I started “A Little Prayer” nine years ago when my daughter was 15. She’s now 24. The story concerns a man, played by David Strathairn, who tries to protect his daughter-in-law, played by Jane Levy, when he finds out that his son (Will Pullen) is having an affair.
You find out as a parent, or with any real love, that when you love someone you want to be with them. But when you understand that it is no longer for their best and highest good, you have to transcend your own personal desires and let them go. I only realize in retrospect that I was writing unconsciously about my daughter growing up, going away and becoming an adult.
The process of making any film is much like parenting. To do it as a true independent makes absolutely no sense. First you have to write the thing. Then you work up the chutzpah to share it with other people. Then you have to find someone to help you make it. I went through at least four producers before I found Lauren Vilchik. She told me a story that her family was going overseas and she discovered her teenage son didn’t have an up-to-date passport. They were leaving in two weeks. She drove five hours to the passport office in Atlanta, sat outside the door until someone came out and returned home with her son’s passport. Never say die: perfect for a producer.
Then I had to raise the money. My pitch was simple: “You won’t make any money. You probably won’t get your investment back. You have to think of it like you’re contributing to a work of art. If you want to, you can have your name on it. Hopefully you will like it, and you can say you helped bring it into the world.” I tap-danced for a lot of people, and we finally got our budget. We thought. As it went along, I had to continue dancing.
Mainly because of “Junebug” — a 2005 film I wrote that was directed by Phil Morrison, and for which Amy Adams received an Oscar nomination — I was able to get the script to a great casting director, Mark Bennett, and to Strathairn. When I told his agent that it was a very short, tight shoot, his agent said, “There is no project too small or too arty for David.” God bless him.
In the midst of this, I was diagnosed with Stage 4 kidney cancer. COVID-19 closed down the world. Immunotherapy. Vaccinations. Masks. Surgery. We plowed ahead. Again — nonrational determination. We started shooting in June 2022. 19 days. We had budgeted 18 days but one of the actors got COVID themselves. I had to go out and raise more money to add an extra day.
We finished it, edited it and submitted it to Sundance. And were accepted! On the night of our premiere we made a deal with a distributor. All set. Then the actors’ and writers’ strikes happened, prohibiting our cast from promoting the film. When that was over, the distributor was indecisive about when would be the best time to release a very small independent film. Ultimately, that deal fell through. Seven more months and we finally found Music Box Films. Thank God.
Since the release on Aug. 29, I have been working on trying to get our tiny ship noticed in a sea of gigantic cruise liners. (That has, of course, meant even more dancing.)
So why do it? I’m reminded that when “Junebug” was accepted to Sundance, I asked my friend Jerret Engle, who won the audience award there, what advice she would give me going into the festival. “Just enjoy seeing your film in front of an audience,” she said. “Because nothing after that is assured.”
And she was right. One is always trying to catch lightning in a bottle, and with the grace of the Movie Gods, the film is what I hoped it would be. The cast is fantastic. The story resonates with the audiences I have shared it with. That’s what your real desire is: To create something and have other people find value in it.
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