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Rack Focus is a camera term for changing the focus of a lens during a shot. Things that were far away suddenly seem crystal clear and close, and things that were very close somehow blur and obscure themselves. It's a cool trick, but it's also a total mind f*ck when it happens to you personally.
Over the last month I'd been dating an independent filmmaker. A very good one, too- creative, insightful, socially-conscious, kind. In getting to know him better, I discovered that the reason I'd never found the qualities I wanted in the actors I'd been dating was just that: I'd been dating ACTORS. They're lovely, but while I would stare at their beautiful bodies and faces, watching them shakerball yet another protein shake and pretending to be fascinated by the details of their work-out experience that day, I'd forgotten that actors ACT. They PRETEND to do stuff. I somehow blinded myself to the fact that putting on an Egyptian God costume does not make one an Egyptian God, no matter how well they fill out the headdress. *
*My actor friends- if you think I'm writing about you, I'm not. The fact that you're self-aware enough for that concern eliminates you. The ones I'm referring to are not my FB friends or blog readers. You're wonderful and have treated me well. Go back to your protein shake. ;)
This guy, a Producer, Produced. He made things happen- and he didn't brag about it. We chatted about a film festival and went off on some tangent about bats. He didn't mention he'd won the festival. It wasn't until I visited his home and noticed the gold records on the wall that we even spoke about his musical career.
Me: "Um, wow."
Him: "Oh- thanks. Those were a lot of fun."
Me: (looking closer) "Wait- they're gold but they say platinum on them?"
Him: "Yeah, they're technically platinum, but these were freebies from the record label and I didn't wanna spend money on some award that's just gonna hang on my wall. I think you have to frame them yourself, too."
Me: "Riiiiight. I totally hate it when I have to do that."
When I first met him, I wasn't sure if I was attracted to him or not. He definitely wasn't my "type," but then, to date, my "Type" has been a terrible choice. Once I was able to get to know the Filmmaker better, I'd become a smitten kitten. His home, his attitude, his acoustic guitar collection, everything was warm and inviting and authentic and real. I was completely blown away by how his mind worked and his ability to create and actually DO the things he set out to do. He writes, directs, produces, works equipment, on-set landscaping, everything. We watched a movie together and he sat at his piano and effortlessly duplicated the musical scoring. Suddenly I realized- my bar for dating had not merely been set higher, it had been moved to another PLANET. I'm so used to being dazzled by someone's (shall we say) package I stopped looking at the content. This man amazed me with his quality of character and actual substance. Granted, I have a puppyish enthusiasm for people but whereas I'm easily impressed, it takes a lot to inspire me... and I was inspired. Seeing all the Good this guy was able to accomplish for others reminded me that I want to work harder so I can do more Good, too. Jesus isn't that why I started writing in the first place? So I could provide a voice and make a difference? This guy is making a difference. I wanna play too.
Gradually, date by date, over sushi, stargazing/shivering in a hammock, curled up for a Netflix night or holding hands at the Arclight, I became convinced- THIS was who I wanted. I never once saw the man drink a single protein shake. It seemed like he was actually enjoying my company, rather than looking for another fan to worship him. (Again, something new to me.) He listened to my ideas, read my writing, encouraged my suggestions, and even gave me a shot pitching to his production company. He didn't need me, and I didn't need him- but it was really nice to feel brave enough to want someone again. And I wanted him to want me too.
In addition to all this, he was super respectful of my limits and my comfort level progressing with beginning a physical relationship with someone. I was looking for something real, and I wanted to be smart and take my time. We actually talked about it and seemed completely on the same page and kept things at a PG-13. He invited me to spend the night, and I did, sleeping so soundly in his massive soft warm bed. The beautiful shades of sunrise woke me up in the morning, casting stripes of amber and gold on his antique wooden furniture. I was startled at how natural it felt, and began to sense the beginnings of a closeness I'd not felt in a long time.
Slowly focusing in, becoming clearer as some stray dust motes dance lazy choreography trails across a 6am sunbeam. I swear my life has lens flares.
So when he called at 6:30pm on a Sunday and asked what I was doing, like, RIGHT NOW, and did I want to go to the Hollywood Bowl for some outdoor music, I leapt at the opportunity. I met the Filmmaker and his best friend in Studio City and we headed for the show.
The Hollywood Bowl had been on my Bucket List since childhood, when Looney Tunes would always set Bugs Bunny's operatic fiascos there. Bugs would swap places with the conductor and shenanigans ensued. As a child, I was given a snowglobe with some LA landmarks inside: Griffith, the Hollywood Sign, the Capital Records building and of course the Hollywood Bowl. Time and time again, I'd wind it up and gaze into the world of swirling glitter, watching it settle in the itty-bitty amphitheatre seats leading down to the miniature famous scallop shells, as "Cal-i-fornia, Here I Come" twinkled and chimed from the music box in my hands.
I'd seen the Bowl while hiking, too, still from far away- about on par visually with the size ratio of my snowglobe- so distant, so unreachable. Still very much behind glass and a thing for cartoons and fantasy.
And suddenly, there is was. Or rather, there I was: walking up the winding pathway which deposits you BAM right there in the perfect spot to take it all in. From our seats, I could see the stage beautifully- there was the exact spot Bugs always stood. There was the place the conductor got trapped in the tuba. And wayyyyy up there in the hills, beyond the twinkling lights, was the place I'd hiked and dreamed of this very night.
Rack Focus: It had become real, in the form of an amazing concert next to amazing people. I had my Filmmaker and his friend on my right, and a fun stranger on my left who kept sharing box wine in delicate plastic cups with us. The show was beautiful, and a genial sense of happiness and community permeated through the crowd. We were all the swirling glitter. For an hour or so everyone shared this magic snowglobe existence, and I was elated to check Hollywood Bowl off my bucket list in such a sweet way with a man I was so excited about. Sure, he seemed a little "off" that night, but I attributed it to the uncertainty of PDA in front of his friend. No big deal- I hoped to make up for lost time later.
The Filmmaker had received the tickets from an actress he'd directed before, who was now a performer in the band. When she texted him after the show to see if we wanted to meet her backstage and say hi, we took her up on the opportunity. We'd made it 80% of the way out of the parking lot, but this was too good to pass up, so we turned around and made our path back upstream, where we met her behind the Bowl.
She'd seemed so tiny and far away onstage, and yet, here she was.
Rack Focus: this glimmering 6-foot-tall Music Goddess barefoot in a seafoam green gown. She was gorgeous, and I instantly sensed a connection between her and the Filmmaker, who had seemed uncharacteristically nervous and distant throughout the evening yet lit up in her presence. Especially when she mentioned that she'd be quitting the band and moving back to Los Angeles. This girl is an amazing musician, a talented actress, wickedly smart, and phenomenally beautiful. She was also really, really exceptionally nice and gave off the same aura of kindness and do-goodery that the Filmmaker does. I began to wonder how well they knew each other, but that thought was cut short when the Music Goddess was joking about Hollywood crushes, and how she had a huge crush on an actor. I thought of my old stand-by Hollywood Crush, Jake Gyllenhaal, WHO SUDDENLY WALKED AROUND THE CORNER AND APPROACHED OUR GROUP. He was friends with the Music Goddess (of course,) and chatted with us amicably for a bit before ducking out. Another bucket list item checked off for me.
Again, Rack Focus effect- from a small image on a screen and a tiny portion of my imagination/fantasy, there I was instantly face-to-face in reality with something (in this case Jake Gyllenhaal) which had formerly seemed so unattainable and far away. at one point he'd tilted his head back and laughed, and it was just like when his characters laugh in the movies. I grinned too, enjoying the blur of Hollywood and Real Life backstage at a place I'd only seen on postcards.
As we walked (and I floated) back to the car, the Filmmaker's friend jokingly asked me what I would've done if Jake Gyllenhaal had asked me out.
"I would've simply had to tell him sorry, I was out with someone," I said, gesturing towards the Filmmaker.
"Yeah," the best friend replied, "but it's not like you two are dating..."
It was as if I hadn't realized a knife had been plunged into my heart until I felt it violently twisted and wrenched.
Rack Focus: Everything close and clear suddenly became blurry and wrong.
In the brief moment between the opening of the wound and the start of the bloodflow, I chittered happily away, blowing it off. Denial is kind that way. It wasn't until the Filmmaker mentioned how amazingly funny the Music Goddess was that it really began to pour out.
Uh oh. So she's funny too, hunh? ...This might need some stitches.
Temporarily bandaging my rip with a smile, I continued to wrap my injury with the excitement from the night as we dropped off his friend and grabbed a milkshake and a burger. We were talking, we were laughing. He was looking me in the eye for what seemed like the first time that night. Maybe things were OK.
He invited me back to his house. Delirious from blood-loss and giddy from snowglobe life, I went with him. And life sped from a PG-13 to an R before I really knew what I was doing.
Let me repeat: What I was doing. Me. My choice. Looking for some way to prevent hemorrhaging.
But it was too late and I bled out in a pair of apathetic arms.
As close as the lens was, I realized I couldn't regain his focus.
Later, the words "not quite on the same page" would tumble from his lips, and even though he held me as he slept (as HE slept,) I knew the knife had gone too deep and it was over, like a leaking snowglobe that lost its glitter.
I kissed him goodbye in the unmistakeably cold grey light of a foggy dawn and slipped out the door.
He suddenly seemed very far away.
