So, I spoke too fast. Turns out that the film I need isn’t directly about happiness. In some sense, I guess we could call it an expression of the relentless pursuit for happiness and peace of mind. But that seems a bit far fetched. During filming, I realised that the one thing my friends and I discuss at great length is our varied pick-and-mix list of mental health issues. Personally, I am borderline, which hasn’t exactly had a fantastic portrayal in any Hollywood film; think stalker Jim Carrey in ‘Cable Guy’, apathetic Winona Ryder in ‘Girl, Interrupted’, or homicidal Kathy Bates in ‘Misery’. Now, I’m not going to lie, I would love to make a more realistic portrayal of my disorder, but, let’s face it, making a film about myself would sort of just play up to the stereotypes already perpetuated by Hollywood.
So I would have to focus on my friends’ neuroses. I figured this out about half a bottle into the expensive pinot we had ordered. We sat outside in the smoking area of ‘The Millers Arms’, a pub in which we were the youngest patrons, the walls were white, and the tables were clean. Just the perfect spot to film.
The cameras tripped me up more than I had expected. I had popped one on the tripod, but it had a tendency to stop recording after a few minutes – a problem which I am yet to figure out how to solve. In addition to this, I had a tendency to forget to turn on the microphone. Moreover, when I went into the editing room I discovered that my hands are far too shaky for a hand held camera. All of my material was entirely unusable.
Notwithstanding, there is no such thing as a mistake. I figured out how not to make a film. Result. Kind of. We also got a bit tipsy, a bit teary eyed even. Cheers.