On a wintry bay, far from home, a young child witnesses something truly unexpected.
Written and directed by Kieran Darcy-Smith.
Cast: Kieran Darcy-Smith, Remi Rebillet-Nicholls
Music by Alex Lloyd
Don't read below until you've watched the film.
Back in 1972, when I was nine years old, my father and I rode from Pittsburgh to Mexico on his BMW 750. Although I got sick on the way and came home with a bad sunburn, I'll always remember it as an amazing trip. It was a lot like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, but without all the grim philosophical bullshit.
The first day in Mexico, we stayed in an old-timey cheap hotel in the heart of Matamoros, a small town on the border near Brownsville, Texas. My recollection of that time is a bit fuzzy, but I do remember that I had long light blonde hair and people would gather around to gawk at me. I also remember drinking a lot of orange soda, as we were avoiding the water. However, the most indellible memory was from that first night in the hotel.
There were flies everywhere. I remember we were just hanging in the hotel room, quiet and tired. My father was smoking a cigarette and out of the blue, he said to me, "Watch this."
I sat there in silent anticipation. He was holding his hand up with his index and middle finger spread out like a peace sign. In a blink, he closed his fingers and asked me to look closer. He then opened them and the fly that he had caught buzzed off, unharmed. It might not sound like much to you, but for a nine year-old boy, that was totally awesome. My father was, and still is, The Man.
This film reminded me of that moment. Thanks, Dad.