Writing with Four Hands
When shooting a movie, every faculty is humming at its highest frequency. You don’t sleep. It’s intoxicating. You’re operating on the edge of delirium and grandiose promises of immortality. You think that if you do everything right the gift of the gods is attainable. And then it ends. And there you are each morning. Alone again.
We were left with an emotional hangover after we finished directing “Touching Home,” a movie about us and our father. Less than a year earlier our father had passed away in jail. On that day, we had made a vow to him that we would make our movie — and we had just realized that commitment. We were supposed to be happy now. But we were miserable. For the last 350 days all our thoughts had been on the mission, the team of people we were working with. Now our thoughts were focused inward and it was a tough place to be.