Director's Statement

I suppose every director must answer the question, why did you make this film? After the last four years of pain and debt and running from creditors, it’s a really good question. Add in the possibility that many will consider me a megalomaniac for making a film with me as one of its stars, and I’d better have a pretty good answer to justify this—both to myself and to the world.

And I think I do.

 

I was inspired by film to make film. Field of Dreams (Universal, 1989) touched me. No, it’s not a documentary, but hear me out.

Sitting in the dark watching Field of Dreams, I could believe in magic, in having another shot at the big leagues, in having a chance to do things over. I could believe in family—when it was as smooth as a goodnight kiss but also when it was hard like a slamming door. I could believe that almost any journey was worth it at the end if someone was waiting there for you. And I could believe in love. So, I went all sentimental and decided to make my own Field of Dreams, the Real Field of Dreams. I launched out on this incredible journey with my son even though I had no idea what the ending would be. I simply believed that a documentary on the pursuit of the dream would be enough, even if the dream was never found.

 

There are many important subjects for documentary films, and I would never belittle any of them. But for me, the most important topic is discovered when you ask, What touches you most? What hits you in the heart and colors all the other decisions you make in your world from the moment you get up until the time you go to bed, and not just when you happen to hear someone on the telly talking about it? I think it’s family, in whatever format family is to you. A study by the Rand Corporation explains why. It found that teachers with the highest sense of efficacy not only felt happier, but their students performed better, too. Like The Little Engine Who Could (“I think I can! I think I can!”) these teachers keep trying to get through to their students when others give up in frustration. They believe they are going to succeed so they stick with it until they’ve proven themselves right. The positive feelings build with each success. When a person feels good and knows he’ll succeed, he’ll take chances on doing great things.

 

Family for many of us—me included—can be something that does quite the opposite. With family struggles, we often get knocked a bit off our game. We may compartmentalize it or pretend it doesn’t matter, but can we really perform at our highest level? Can we really take on the weight of the world, facing problems like poverty, intolerance and despotism when we carry the weight of our families?

 

I’ve been a storyteller for many years—my parents used to say I’d grow up to be a politician, a minister, or a conman—and I have a peculiar fondness for sappy ones with a message. Here’s one that may better illustrate my point.

 

A father working from home one day was constantly interrupted by his preschool-age daughter. Realizing he would get little done that day unless he found something to occupy the girl’s time, he scanned the room for possibilities. He spotted a magazine lying on a table, opened to a full page advertisement featuring a colorful map of the earth. In a flash it dawned on him: tear this picture into little pieces and have his geographically unenlightened elfkin reassemble it.

 

He snatched it up and promised her a trip to the ice cream store if she could put the picture back together without bothering him. Thus bribed, the girl started right in to work, and the man went back to his. Secure in the knowledge that he had just bought himself an hour or more of time, he was soon lost in thought.

About five minutes later, however, he was interrupted by a tug at his sleeve. He looked up to see his proud daughter holding out a completed picture of a globe. The tape job was uneven and you could see light through the gaps between some of the pieces, but there was no denying that she had completed the task.

 

“Sweetheart!” he blurted in wonder. “How ever did you put that together so fast?”

 

“Oh, Daddy. It was really easy. On the other side of the paper there was a picture of a family with big smiling faces. I just put the family together first, and once the family was all put together the world was all put together, too.”

 

Believe me when I say that much hugging—and ice cream—ensued and neither had ever tasted sweeter.

 

But let the sappiness cease. The nicey-nice stories are through. What you’ll see on the screen is real. I don’t know what message you’ll take from our film any more than I know if you like cottage cheese. I don’t pretend to know all the answers when it comes to human relationships, but in my mind documentary has never been better than when it is raising excellent questions, even though it may not know the answers. I do know this: It’s not perfection that you’ll see in our film. I don’t have a lot of experience at being a great dad, but I’ve spent a lot of time trying to be one. My son, Nico, tells me he’s horrified by what he sees in himself on the screen, as I am when looking at me. But here is my hope: that when you look at the picture of us, you’ll see something different and maybe vaguely familiar. Our picture, like the one torn from a magazine, has jagged and irregular edges with huge gaps in places, with pieces that just don’t fit together smoothly at all. But I hope that between the cracks, you catch a glimpse of your own story, even if the glimpse is ever so small. After all, the most important story really is your own. And the choice for what extravagant thing you’ll do for love is all your own, too.

 

Never Lose Hope,

 

William S Roulston, Director