About 10 years ago, after making several narrative feature films, we decided to give documentary filmmaking a try. Now we’re pretty sick of documentary filmmaking and want to jump back into narrative. Through the making of Donor 67 we met Alana Sveta. We are currently working with her on the script called “Adam and Eva”. In the meantime we are working to finish:

Battle of Brooklyn: We are in the final phases of editing this film about Daniel Goldstein’s fight to save his home, and his community, from being seized for a developer. after 6.5 years of shooting and over a year of solid editing the end is in sight. Daniel has been forced to move out of his home on May 7th.

Broken Angel Rising: We shot for two years as artist Arthur Wood fought to save his home from destruction by the NYC department of buildings. Due to all kinds of litigation Arthur no longer wanted us to film. We had begun the process of cutting but have put the film on hold until the situation is resolved. We have an incredible amount of respect for Arthur and hope that we can one day finish this film.

Donor 67: This film is as much a mediation on the nature of family, childhood, parenthood, as it is about donor issues. Three months before our second daughter was born my father was hit by a car and killed. I started to work on something about his passing to help me work through my feelings and then we had our second child. When she was a couple of months old a friend of mine suggested that I had to “go for a boy”. I was immediately reminded of the fact that as a former sperm donor, I might have dozens. I started to explore the realities of that world. In the last few years i have done a great deal of writing and a little bit of filming. I have also applied for countless grants. I’m considering a kickstarter campaign to raise a little money to get it going.

Dr. Sarno; Battling Pain:
For years I have struggled with intermittent sciatica pain. When my younger daughter was about 2 years old the pain got out of control. It was so severe that my nerve went dead and i lost the ability to use my calf muscle. I was on the path to surgery when I finally went to visit Dr. Sarno.

I knew about Dr. Sarno because my father had read his books in the 80’s and my brother had gone to see him in the 90’s. Both had been helped by him. According to Dr. Sarno the vast majority of back pain is based on psychological factors rather than structural issues. When he began practicing medicine in the 50’s there was no such thing as chronic back pain. Slowly he saw the rise of an epidemic and felt powerless when treating patients. The conventional methods didn’t work- but he found that talking to his patients did. He quickly found that in almost every case patients were struggling with a stressful situation- a young child, a divorce, terrible work situation, etc. He found that once the patient was able to make a connection between the pain and the situation they were able to overcome the pain. Over the years he’s developed a highly structured treatment program that relies on information and peer support.

When I visited Dr. Sarno with mri in hand he scoffed at the pictures and gave me the information I needed to overcome the pain. A few weeks later, while on my road to recovery I approached him about allowing us to shoot a documentary with him. After watching our film Horns and Halos, he agreed. I shot a little bit over the next several months but there several issues that have thrown up stumbling blocks.

Dr. Sarno is incredibly protective of his patients and wouldn’t allow us access to them. Due to my unyielding respect for him I found it hard to challenge him on this idea. We tried to scare up some other patients but it was difficult. In the meantime we applied for several grants without success. We are working on cutting a trailer with some of the footage that we have.

This is the one that just kills me that we can’t get done. I feel like this film could change the health care debate. I’ve been thinking about him a lot recently because for the first time in years my back is in good shape and I have finally gotten the strength back in my leg

I read a terrifying Flannery O’Connor story last night. Then I had a nightmare, except I was awake.

In “A View From The Woods”, a doting grandfather (of only one of his nine grand kids- the rest have too much of his son-in laws blood in them), who happens to be a spiteful father and even meaner father in-law, sees his relationship sour with his headstrong granddaughter when he announces that he’s going to sell off a plot of his land in the name of progress. That plot of land happens to the front yard and despite the protestations of his family he pushes ahead with the sale. The explosive twist in the story is that his formerly beloved 9 year old granddaughter attacks him with fists flying when she realizes that he’s gone through with it. Despite a challenged heart he fights back with all that’s left of his strength. Fans of O’Connor can guess the droll tragedy that flows from her dark fingers over the following two paragraphs.

A couple of hours later my own headstrong child lay stiffly in her bed, pointed a crooked finger at my bedroom and moaned. She wanted to go in our bed, but I had already told her in no uncertain terms that this was not going to happen.

We go through periods of several days at a time where both of our daughters sleep through the night. This had not been the case the previous couple of nights and my exhausted wife had told me in her own version of “no uncertain terms” that if they woke up, I was going in. When H cried out at about 7 minutes past midnight I rolled out of bed and stumbled into her room. I first tried to turn her over and pat her back. This often sends her back to the world of dreams. On this night it only made her mad. At nearly 4 years old H is a competent speaker, but when frustrated she relies on cries, screams, and rigidity. She started with some muted whines. As I tried a variety of patient and caring calming measures she began to raise her volume. When I pointed out that she didn’t want to wake her sister, she let me know that in fact, she did want to wake her sister, by upping her volume significantly.

I didn’t consciously think of O’Connor’s tale till later but undoubtedly ideas of firmness in the face of challenge were spinning around in my subconscious. H is an extremely sweet and easy child, but over the last few months she has been getting more headstrong and we’ve been giving in more and more. When H decided to escalate her demands I drew an imaginary line in the sand and vowed to myself that she was staying in her bed.

Her volume increase was effective in it’s goal of waking her sister. I knew that her mother was now standing up, waiting in the wings so to speak, and H had entered the circular breathing-shouting phase of her passion play. I stayed calm but also laid down the law. If H didn’t calm down and try to communicate with words instead of shouts, I was out of there. The volume increased even more when I headed to talk to her mother, so our conversation was brief, and ineffective.

I told my wife not to come in. I knew that if we gave in at that moment we’d have a hard time in the future. My wife was upset but I didn’t have time to chat because H had really started letting loose.

I thought that my older daughter had gone to the bathroom and then headed to our bedroom, but in fact she had just pulled the covers over herself. I picked up H, who resisted me, and tried to rock her in the rocking chair. She calmed a small amount but her circular wailing was unceasing. As I put her back in her bed, she wriggled and squirmed with all her might and I couldn’t help but flash on the tragic conflict between grandfather and granddaughter in “A View From The Woods.” Even as I focused on staying calm I was rocked by the chaos of her screams. I left her in her bed, alive and well, and went to discuss options with my wife. However, her decibel busting screams freaked out my older daughter even further and she started to scream in panic as well. Before I could reach my wife she reached me and she was mad.

I was sent to our bedroom to cool off as she tried to calm the brood and I tried to calm myself. My heart didn’t burst like the grandfather’s of O’Connor’s story, but it was beating pretty hard. I laid in bed and tried to sort through my decision making process in the storm of H’s chaotic pleas. I wasn’t too happy when H came in triumphantly on my wife’s arm a half an hour later. I hadn’t had time to be discuss things with my wife and the miscommunication pained me.

We figured things out a bit the next day. Parenting ain’t easy.

It was a tough week for F. We signed her up for a week of explorer’s camp that took her all over the city to parks and museums. It sounded like a great program, but her anxiety has come back and her fear of the subway was overwhelming.

It started on Sunday. We were at the playground, killing a little time before she was scheduled to be at a birthday party. I was playing basketball and she was roller blading around close by. I was tied 9-9 in a game against a 12 year old boy and we were getting ready to play the final point when we heard a commotion on the street on the other side of the playground. She was nervous but I told her not to worry about it. I was wrong. About 30 seconds later a young man came loping across the court towards me. He was pursued by another man yelling “Stop Him!!”

I had competing instincts. I moved to get in front of the man to slow him down but I also knew that I had to take care of my daughter. I wasn’t worried that he would hurt her, but i knew that she would be scared. As he approached he snorted, “Don’t touch me. I got a gun in my pocket.

At that I gently moved aside towards my nervous daughter. The man’s pursuer charged on, but not without hitting me with a withering stare as he shouted, “Why didn’t you fucking stop him?!?” He didn’t give me time to explain.

A few moments later a woman came stumbling after. At this point my daughter was desperately tugging on me and screaming that we had to go. I remained calm though and tried to find out whether or not she had called the police. “He stole my phone, I couldn’t,” she gasped and then stumbled on.

My daughter was frantic, but I felt a duty to call the police. I had almost no doubt that the offender didn’t have a gun, but also felt that I had an obligation to tell what I knew to the police. I also thought it was important to model calm behavior in a difficult situation. I know that my mother’s frantic energy in stressful situations has had negative repercussions for me. Even at that moment I wondered about the nature and nurture of it all.

I calmly explained to my daughter that it was important to help these people, but she was still frantic. I called 911 and held her close to me. I feel like I was doing a pretty good job of staying calm and focused up until the point where the 911 operator couldn’t spell the cross streets and had no idea about the geography of Brooklyn. Sometimes when I struggle to stay calm in the face of my daughter’s overwhelming energy I find that my own tension slips out in other directions. I snapped at the operator and got off as quickly as I could.

On the way out of the playground we happened upon the victims clog’s. She had apparently abandoned them in her quest for speed. I gathered them up and placed them on a table so that no one would think they were abandoned. When F goes into panic mode she’s like a trapped animal, and even that slight hesitation, of picking up the shoes, sent her into hysterics. As we moved away from the park she started to calm down. However, as we paused to enter her friend’s house a cop car came screeching by. Instinctively I hailed it but this sent F back into a panic. I tried to tell them what I knew, but they were more frantic than my daughter. Apparently another officer had apprehended a suspect. I waved them on.

At first she didn’t want to stay at the party but eventually she calmed down. When I picked her up afterwards she was more relaxed but still had a vaguely haunted look. On the way home she stuck close to me. It wasn’t that much of a surprise when she refused to go to camp the next morning. When she gets anxious her energy can be relentless and it’s incredibly difficult to avoid responding to it in less than positive ways. However, reflecting on the difficulty of the previous days encounter helped me to stay patient and calm. After awhile I got her out of the house and on the way. Often times in the past her anxiety peaks before she has to do something that troubles her, and once she gets to the place, or even,t she has worked through a lot of her anxiousness.

F moaned and complained for most of the ride to camp. When we got there she clung to me. “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, do i havetogodoihavetowhydoihave to go,” she chattered. A good friend of hers was there and he came over to play and she relaxed a little. I took her over to talk to a counselor and explained her fear of the subway. The counselor was extremely supportive and offered to hold her hand and sit with her the whole way. As soon as she saw that the staff wasn’t going to dismiss her fears or make her feel bad about herself she lightened up. She wasn’t ready to let me go but I could tell that we were going to be ok. A few minutes later she came over and gave me a kiss. “I don’t want to go on the subway.” she blurted out then ran off, pausing to call over her shoulder, “I’ll see you later.”

I left feeling pretty good about how well I’d handled it. Her nervous energy can be overwhelming. It would have been so much easier in many ways just to let her stay home, but I also knew that it would just forestall the inevitable. It’s hard to stay supportive and loving when she’s freaking out the way that she does, and I don’t always do so well.

Her complaints continued all week long. On Thursday, I brought her little sister, H, with me to drop her off. Despite F’s moans and cries, H declared that she wanted to go as well. She wouldn’t back down. I thought it might help F to have H around so off she went. We heard later that all had gone great and H wanted to go again today. My wife and I have been struggling to make time to focus on our film project. We need to get it done, and having the kids around during the week has made it more difficult. The struggle to give our kids direct attention, while also getting work done takes a severe emotional toll on us. So we were pretty excited to have them both going off for the day again.

However, F started in early with complaints. The anxiety compounded on the way to camp and by the time we got there she was moaning and hanging on me. As I did all week, I agreed to stay until she was comfortable. However, her super anxiety took a toll on Harper, and she decided that she didn’t want to go. That’s when I lost it.

With a finger pointed sternly at her face I croaked through gritted teeth, “OK you can come home, but you are not watching TV and you are not bothering us. We have to work. You ask me why you have to it’s because we have to work and I’m not spending the day fighting with you. The problem is that you ask and ask and ask but you don’t listen. why do you have to go? because we have other things to do besides watch over you.

“ok… i’ll go if you’re just going to yell at me.”

I wasn’t yelling, but i wasn’t nice, and i wasn’t happy with myself. It was too late though the damage was done. Her feelings were hurt, and I had acted like a jerk. I had resigned myself to her coming back with me, if only because i didn’t expect to turn H around. I knew from experience that if she said she didn’t want to go then she wasn’t going, so the day was ruined for working anyway and I partly blamed F for that. Emotions are complex, and as much as we want to control them we can’t. I’m still sitting here beating myself up over snapping at her. However, I also forgive myself, because i know that there is nothing positive that will come from over thinking it. The fact is, i could have been more supportive. To a large degree I was. I hung out with her and H and kept my cool despite her powerful energy for over an hour. I’m not perfect though and sometimes I snap. I am happy though, that I snap a lot less often than I used to, and own up to my failings as quickly as possible.

In the end F changed her mind and wanted to go. H and I watched the group march off the subway, F looked fearful but resilient. At home I handed H off to her mom and sat down to write. I feel a bit better for having spit it all out, but I still have that bad taste in my mouth that will take a while to slip away.