Zia Anger: My First Film

The summer of 2019, I attempted my first short film. Just like Zia Anger’s first film, it was a disaster. Maybe this is just how everyone’s first film goes, I had no idea what I was making, I didn’t know how much time I needed, I wasn’t sure how I wanted the camera to move and DP ended up making all the decisions, props were missing, wasn’t sure how to do DIT. I had a team of 10, who were mostly students, they did everything for me, and of course I paid them.

It was a terrible short film called Lola. I never showed anyone since. It was supposed to tap into the deepest insecurities of I had, instead it was too blatant, too fragmented, too unsure, too in your face, and not at all the vague, subtle, visceral fear I had growing up. I’m not sure how to translate that, especially with narrative stories. I could think of images, music, fragmented moments, but don’t movie have to make sense, and be consistent, coming across with a message for people to understand? Am I making this for me, or for them? Or both? How do I do both?

Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. I was unprepared, unsure, completely caught off-guard, but I knew I had to do it once. Without film school, I have to do it at least once, by myself. I’m not really sure how I pulled it off, to be fair, my producer did most of the work, and AD was her long time friend so they basically made most of the decisions, and I was sort of just going along. Casting, hiring a crew was easier than I thought. As it turns out, as long as you have a screenplay and some money, people will take care of things. Though, no one will guarantee the quality of the outcome.

I didn't know what I was doing, and I still don’t know what I’m doing. I’m writing about this movie, which highly resembles my experience with my first film, except Zia Anger is all grown now, and made a real film about her first film. The interwinding narratives that cuts back and forth, in which she makes a movie about her making her first movie, which is not this movie, but this is the movie about her first movie. Quite a tongue twister isn’t it? I should be writing a new version of Lola even though I have written a few different versions of different things since then, but just like Zia Agner says, most filmmakers spend their entire life making the same movie, or different versions of the same story, and I guess that’s the same for me. This new story i should be writing, which may be a completely different story, but still the same theme. The deepest emotions and experiences you reckon with, are always the same. But just like I said, I didn’t know what I was doing, and I still don’t. Instead of writing that, I’m writing about someone else’s film about her first film.

Writing your own stories is always uncomfortable, unlike observing others, looking inside always makes me freak. At same time, I’m extremely interested in the inside, as whatever is happening on the inside, seems to not be able to contain itself. Always, not just sometimes. Like now. It took me a while to get used to exposing my inner thoughts to people, i wasn’t sure how to start, I went overboard, just like how I always do things, I overdid it. I ask strangers on the internet about what I wrote, how I felt, I expose myself, and be completely naked, for people to judge. Because when they judge, it’s me that they are seeing, but also themselves. I’m interested in both. I was scared of exposing myself, or perhaps even expressing myself. My ability to just be up front is not a gift, it took practice, and came with a lot of shame, fear, anxiety. But if I can’t even accept myself, who can I expect to do the same?

Just like how I do everything, I overdid self-expression. The first few weeks of starting to sharing my thoughts here, I couldn’t sleep. I felt so naked, vulnerable, uncomfortable, and judged. Do people think I’m weird? Is this okay? What if they think I’m crazy? But I am clinically crazy? Will I be accepted? Does it matter if I am? Why am I this alone, are they all this alone?

Creating a piece that’s deeply personal, no matter what medium, is a very draining, daunting, embarrassing process that comes with excruciating pain and introspection. More than the amount of introspection I’d like to practice. However, the more I look inward, the world outward seems to be more clear. I’m still mustering up the courage, and hopefully after I pour my heart and soul into it, after all the sleepless nights and mental breakdowns, this will be, the best way, and perhaps my only way, to connect with the world.

My First Film is Zia Anger making a movie about her first film, and it goes like an artistic autobiographical essay. I appreciate the incompleteness, the casualness, yet in all completely seriousness, an reiteration and an investigation of Zia Anger’s life, experience, the uncertainties she had to navigate, the loneliness, it’s bold, refreshing, authentic, new, unapologetic, and completely honest. It’s not a movie that usually makes people cry, but it made me cry.

At times, I’m not sure who is who. Since there’s the actress performing Zia, whose name is Odessa Young, and Devon Ross who’s performing Dina, who's actually also Zia. Zia casts Odessa for Dina, who's the director of the short film, whose main actress is Vita, who's supposed to be Dina because the movie is about Dina, which is about Zia. On top of that, I’m pretty sure the moms and dad are Zia’s actual moms and dad. Confusing yet?

And there’s Dustin. Oh Dustin, I hate Dustin. Just like all men in life, they wear me out. I do not like men very much, not romantically, not conceptually. Not actually, but they do make good co-workers, occasionally. I hate the way they can just come, I hate the way they can in-pregnant me, and pretty much anyone else when they “forget" to pull out. “The primal took over”, as Dustin says in the film.

I hate the way Dustin intrudes, telling Vita what she’s doing is not important, complimenting her that she’s great, because she can bear children. Why is it that boys mature later than girls, that pretty much all the boys you come across in school are kids, who do not know how to respect your body, soul, and mind. I hate boys, because I jealous of them. I hate them, because they make me fluster, confused, disoriented, malfunction. I hate them, perhaps, I just hate myself, and I hate how I’m easily affected by them, and regret it later. I hate that I have ovaries, that I bear the responsibilities of bring new lives into the world, yet life itself is such a beautiful thing. A beautiful thing that Vita had to bear the weight of aborting, that scene made me cry.

Zia’s life itself is a miracle, it’s a true story. Zia’s moms are gay, they wanted to have a baby, so they took some random guy’s cum, and injected it into one of theirs stomach, and had Zia. Even though her life was a miracle, that she understands life itself is a miracle, she made the decision of getting an abortion when she wasn’t ready for the kid. That scene made me cry.

I had never gone to film school, and part of me felt insecure about it for a long time. When people talked about artists and directors, I never knew what they were talking about, which made me wonder why I was there. “How did you get in?” they asked, and I said I don’t know, am I not supposed to be there? Of course they’d never say it, but I know that’s what they meant. To make up for that, I tried my best to pay attention and pick up names, look them up after work, and try to squeeze a little bit movie time in between shifts. But that was impossible. I still didn’t know what they were talking about, I didn’t know what I was talking about, i didn’t know what anyone was doing.

To make up for that “missing education”, I shot my first short film, which I never showed. I wasn’t sure if that’s just how it goes, consumed with an insurmountable amount of self doubt, I never touched the footage again. I only have a very rough, vague, unless cut, with terrible sound and $100 visual effects. I had to face a room of people who doubt me, looking at me in questions, does she really know what she’s doing? Well-warranted, cuz I didn’t.

Filmmaking is a strange process isn't it? You are creating, together, with other people. You are completely vulnerable because you are unsure. You only have a vague idea of how it’s going to be, you need people you trust, people who won’t judge you, will listen to you, fully understand you, and support you. You can’t have everyone going their own ways, they have to go the same way. Same direction, same destination, in the same heartbeat.

It touches all the softest spots in my heart. I relate to her, I sympathize with her, I trust her, I love her. I scream just like she does, I’m unsure just like her, I get worn down by men like her. Most importantly, I feel that just like her, I can do it however I want, whatever I want, in whatever form I want, even if its incomplete, as long as it’s mine, it will be okay.

“It doesn’t end. But you will make something again. With people you care about, and who care about you. And it will be hard, and embarrassing. But eventually you will stop losing g sleep, and stop worrying. you will make things from joy, and not despair. Even films that should not be films. And every time you will give birth to yourself. And every time you will find a new version of the truth, again, and again, and again,”