All throughout my teenage years I wanted to be a filmmaker. I spent all of my free time (that wasn’t already spent on sports) writing short screenplays, usually offensively violent stuff, and then shooting them with two of my equally movie-minded best friends. The evolution of the equipment we used mirrored the meteoric rise of the quality of our movies. First we shot horror films on Hi8, then we shot better horror films on Mini-DV, and finally we graduated to fantastic horror films on high-end digital cameras, such as the Canon XL-1.
I’m lying about the quality of the movies, of course. They’re all crap. My love for the craft of movie production, however, is still present. I am more realistic now, of course. I no longer entertain the idea that I will be a successful director or producer in Hollywood. However, I have remained faithful to the idea of being involved in film somehow, even throughout my life’s many challenging ordeals—cars breaking down, the demands of a hot-but-high-maintenance girlfriend, enduring the Dodgers’ 8-year playoff drought, and college. I have learned to appreciate life despite its hardships and to derive enjoyment simply from being alive—all because of one fateful night in deep, dark Central California.
This is that story.
I’m poor, and my parents are teachers, so I went to College of the Redwoods to start my higher learning. My friends were from a more privileged caste, so they went to USC film school and Cal Poly San Luis Obispo, respectively. Back at CR, I found that the easiest way to present projects for classes was to shoot somewhat entertaining videos, thereby lessening the amount of actual presenting I would have to do.
For one particularly tough class (Honors Greek Mythology) I decided I would make a video for my semester project. I hired a couple of local stage actors, rented an XL-1 for $100 a day and shot a dumb little 60 Minutes-style piece on Dionysus, the Greek god of intoxication and child molestation. After I shot it, I realized that I would still need many special effects and, of course, to edit the whole thing. Unfortunately, Steven, the editor and FX whiz in my small group of filmmakers, now lived in San Luis Obispo.
Thankfully, two of my friends who stayed in Humboldt for college (one of them with a car capable of cross-state travel) decided that they would like a weekend off to visit Steven along with me. We tossed a couple of duffel bags in the car and off we went; not knowing that it would be a road trip…FROM HELL.
The drive to SLO, as they call it, is a mixture of the best and worst Highway 101 has to offer. First, there is the utter beauty and serenity of the redwoods, unfortunately tempered by more nauseating curves than those found on pre-op Carnie Wilson. Secondly, there is the historic, artful timelessness of San Francisco, brought down by the cramped streets and scores of drivers apparently hurrying to make it to their classes at Hadley’s School for the Blind. Finally, the cool ocean air coming in from Pismo Beach at sunset is calming as one receives a ticket for driving 85 mph in a construction zone.
After having arrived safely at my friend’s house on the outskirts of SLO we got right to work—meaning my other friends played Tekken 3 and I sat there “reading” Maxim while Steven worked feverishly creating and incorporating the many FX shots I asked for into the work, which he then edited to my specifications. Because of the effects shots, this took some time, so we made many trips into the city over the weekend.
If anyone tries to tell you that San Luis Obispo is more than just a college town, ask them where they got the crack they’re smoking and then notify ATF. The liquid population of the city, which is nestled tightly in a tree-lined valley and  replete with hilly splendor, is predominantly made up of students, a mixture of those enrolled at Cal Poly and those going to Cuesta College, the local junior college. In downtown SLO, on any and every given night, you will find hundreds and hundreds of beautiful, scantily clad young women and hordes of tanned, young men trying their best to nail them. They frequent the delightful brick shops and colorful, neon-themed restaurants until well after sundown, when they lock themselves safely in their apartments or dorms.
Then, up rise the dregs to haunt the streets and terrorize any who dare walk them in the shadowy gloom after midnight.
After sightseeing late on our last night there, my friends and I, along with Steven, decided to procure for ourselves a hearty meal at the 7-Eleven down the street and around the corner from Steven’s place. The establishment was nice enough and the microwaveable food adequately bad, but there happened upon the place an element I had not expected: a gang of toughs.
The scariest part about this particular gang was that they were all white and nicely dressed. I had seen A Clockwork Orange and The Warriors, so I knew what white men were capable of. One of my friends had not seen either movie, so he thought nothing of it when he accidentally brushed into one of the thugs then walked past them on his way out. We had reached the end of the empty parking lot and had begun to walk up the street that leads to Steven’s house, when the gang suddenly surrounded us.
“Hey,” their leader demanded, “do you guys have any change we can bum off of you? We ran out of booze at a party up the street and we’re trying to get a fifth.”
“No,” we said, defensively and in unison.
“Thanks anyway,” he threatened, menacingly, and then they all slipped away, as quickly and silently as they had come.
We left Steven’s that night and resigned to risking life on the open road.
I’m thankful for the experience I had in SLO. I learned the value of my life and how I should use my multitudinous skills for good, not evil. I wish I could tell you that Steven died one year later, or something dramatic like that, but there hasn’t been any sign of the violent gang since they almost killed us that fateful night. But they’re out there somewhere, lurking in the shadows, evidence of the seething hate and injustice that lies beneath the surface of the glitz and glamour of San Luis Obispo.
I should write a movie about that.
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