Me - An Abridged History
When I was in the 6th grade I borrowed my neighbors video camera to make a horror movie with a few friends. This state-of-the-art piece of technology allowed you to load the VHS tape right into the camera itself and had a microphone mounted just above the lens. No need to hang the record deck on your shoulder or hold an external microphone like previous versions. This was just the right piece of equipment our imaginations needed.
I lead our effort as the director, cinematographer, composer and killer in our homage to classic slasher films. While three of my friends were designated the helpless and doomed victims, a fourth friend happily followed me around during the shoot with a Casio keyboard looping our theme music in the background. The movie was shot in one long, precisely choreographed take. In the style of John Carpenter’s opening scene of Halloween, the audience witnessed the bloodbath from the killer’s P.O.V.
First up was a peacefully sleeping boy in an upstairs bedroom suddenly woken by a steak knife slashing wildly into his back. The terror on my friends face will haunt me forever. Or maybe it was the inability to not laugh hysterically and ruin my shot. Next, the killer would make his way through the house to the backyard where he finds a star gazing boy on a four-foot high deck. One swift push and that budding astrologer ends up face down on the grass. The audience needed to suspend disbelief here. The final victim was discovered in a wooded area in the backyard and set ablaze with a can of hair spray and a lighter. This was the money shot. With only moonlight shining on the victim, the dark scene seemed more like crude CGI of flames flying through the air than my best friend on fire dropping and rolling on the ground. With a final measure of our theme music playing on the Casio we fade to black.
We immediately screened the movie, rewinding our favorite moments over and over again. The laughter each time losing none of its energy. No matter how many times we watched the same moment we all laughed as if it was the first time. It was one of the most memorable nights of my childhood.
Weeks later, my debut film would be inadvertently erased by my mother who needed to recorded an episode of Days of Our Lives. Apparently, the days of my life were not as important as the poorly scripted ones on TV.
