Behind the Camera: Crafting Our Family Story on Film
Have you ever wondered what it is like to be the subject in a documentary? Here's your inside look.
I am in my study with the doors closed. A bulky headset shuts me out from the rest of the world. I make the video full screen and hit play. It is the fourth or fifth version of the film I am watching. Each time though, feels like the first. I go aww in the same places and hold back tears in all the same places.
I also notice the cuts, the missing slices of my life, the tighter edits, the different music. With each iteration, the film builds structure, solidifying from a sludge into something firm, smooth and, tight. The narrative takes shape from what can only be called a gloop of my life. I am extremely privileged to have this level of access to a creator's mind, to be privy to the different shapes the story could have taken, to bear witness to the birth of a film.
In the fall of 2017, I had no idea what a simple yes to Chithra's request to film us would morph into. My older girls were eight at that time, the youngest - three. My husband was an unwilling participant. What I thought would be a single session of filming that would translate into a short film became a multiyear project against the backdrop of kids entering their teens.
What had been a simple decision at first became rife with misgivings. Will my children hate me for putting them through this? Will I regret this decision in hindsight? Will my husband feel resentment for this exposure he never asked for? There are no simple answers. That first yes to Chithra set into motion events that were irreversible.
It meant weekdays and weekends under the gaze of an ever-present camera. It meant unguarded moments captured on film for posterity. It meant exposing unflattering parts of our lives under the harsh glare of an external eye. It meant extended family reunions impinged on, every plan and event on my calendar shared to probe if it was necessary for the film. It meant asking for permission from strangers who wandered into our lives and thus into the frame. It meant wondering if there was music playing in the background that could potentially be a problem. It meant hours of keeping everyone in the house silent as one person was being interviewed. It meant multiple trips to the recording studio to get the voice overs to fit the scene on screen. It meant giving access to years of archival photos, videos, written words, letters, keepsakes and on occasion painful memories.
Over the years, I have had requests from different people asking if they can tell our story. One time, it was a request to join in a reality show. Another time it was for a newspaper feature. I had never thought much about the eyes behind the camera before Chithra entered our life. If I had gone with a white person to tell our story, I have no doubt that the resulting film would have been imbued with their color blind world view. If I had picked a non-Tamil person to tell our story, we would have had a narrative that prioritized the vibrancy of our South Indian culture and, in the process fetishized it. The eye of the beholder, it turns out does capture the beauty of the story.
Eight years later, I have no idea what the future will look like or how I will be judged for my decision to put my family through this. I do know that permitting Chithra to tell our story is the right one. Our shared heritage, her unwavering ethical compass, her grace to step back when I drew a line, to push me when she felt it would serve the greater good, her tenacity to keep pushing even when it felt like the world was falling apart all have resulted in a film that is true to its core.
At every point in the filming, she was deferential to the then teenagers. If the child said she did not want to speak up, she was afforded the space to step away. If my husband was not feeling up to multiple interviews, he was given the space to opt out. The resulting film is one that relies on unspoken words, the pause in between sentences, the eye rolls, the discomfort in body language to tell the tale.
Watching myself and my family on the big screen is an out of body experience. It is like being suspended in space, watching your life unfold as if it is not yours anymore. It is surrender, an act of sacrifice in the hope that there is a larger lesson for the community and the world at large to embrace.
Being the subject of a documentary is a leap of faith. It is entrusting your life's journey in another person’s hands for them to shape it into a narrative that sifts the chaff from the wheat and makes it shine. It is cherry picking parts of your existence to craft a narrative that caters to a narrow slice of humanity. It is a leap into a chasm, hoping against hope that there is a safety net being held outside your field of vision.
Will I survive or thrive? Only time will tell.