blogger interrupted

Part 1 is here.

Part 2 is here.

Part 3 is here.

After an election observer training contract in the West Bank, I came home in March, 2005, excited to get my mail.  Jake, the British producer of the 2002 Tim Ryan documentary, had finally put together a one hour final edit, and it was waiting for me on a CD at home.  It was the first piece of mail I opened after dropping my bags.  I had to watch it fast, then pack my bags again for a gig with the Labour 2005 re-election campaign in the UK.

The first 5 minutes went by.  Then the next.  About half way through, I realized I wasn’t in the film, and wasn’t going to be in the film.  

My stomach began to feel sick.  I spent over 2 years filming and pitching this thing, editing it, working it, in anticipation of this final edit, and the result was as if I hadn’t existed.  It bore no resemblance to the film I had last worked on with Jake at his flat in Nottingham months previous.  

And I knew what that meant.  Instantly.

I called Jake in England before the film was even done playing on my laptop.

“What do ya think?” Jake said excitedly.

“Not bad, not bad….someone is missing, though.”  

Jake paused awkwardly.  ”Well…you need to discuss that with the Congressman,” Jake said, even more awkwardly.

“What did he tell you to do,” I demanded.

“He told me you needed to be out of the film.”

“When.”

“A few months ago….he didn’t talk to you about this?”

“No,” I said.  ”No he didn’t.”

“Why does he want you out of the film?” Jake asked.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No….I guess you need to take this up with him,” Jake finished.

“Oh, I will,” I replied.  ”But before that happens, I’m on a plane to London soon, and I need to talk to you when I get to Nottingham.”  I knew Jake had questions, and I knew that if he got answers before I gave them to him, I’d have a problem in Britain.

I met Jake in Nottingham a couple weeks later.  We sat alone in an empty pub.  And I told him the whole thing, start to finish, and explained why Tim Ryan had called him, without my knowledge, to tell him that I needed to be edited out.  

After a few deep breaths, Jake told me he suspected something all along.  He seemed supportive.  My guard stayed up.  He promised to keep it under his hat.  I told him that I didn’t care what he did with that information after the election, so long as it didn’t end up on the cover page of The Sun before I finished work for the Labour Party.  

I spent the entire campaign for Labour in 2005 on pins and needles, hoping that Jake would keep his side of the deal.  I had no idea who to trust anymore.  He could have gone to The Sun that moment, and I would have been Labour’s biggest problem for 48 hours.  But Jake didn’t do that.  

And that’s how I knew that Jake was a friend, for real.  Jake proved it even more, premiering the film in Nottingham while I was still in country, and made a point of introducing me to the audience.  I left the UK and came home to deal with the congressman.

Tim Ryan entered the Bob Evans in Middleburg Hts and sat at the table.  I just looked at him.  The silence was so thick between us, I could hear the old-timers at the lunch counter stirring their coffee.  The stillness lingered, and I let it linger.  

“I’m sorry,” Tim said.  Over.  And over.  And over again.

I let him talk.  Tapped my spoon on the table.  Fidgeted with napkins, placemats, and whatnot.  While Congressman Tim Ryan tried to explain why he just reached into my project, my career, and my life, without telling me, to fuck with it beyond repair.  

I don’t really remember what I said to Tim that day, I was so out of it, and really, it doesn’t matter.  What matters is that I’ll never forget how painful that meeting was for both of us.  Neither of us ever wanted to hurt each other, but that day, we both did.  Terribly.  Closets have a funny way of being mutually destructive, especially when both parties are trying so hard to keep it locked shut.

The film now rests on Google Video, a triumphant description of the 2002 Tim Ryan general election campaign, listing Tim Russo as an “associate producer”.  I can barely bring myself to watch it.  I had planned to enter it into the Cleveland Film Festival, but the end result wasn’t my film, or one I ever wanted to make.  It was someone else’s.  And the story of how that film came to be was a story I didn’t ever want to tell, to anyone.

Until now.

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