Feels Like the First Time All Over Again
By Jasmine Marie
I don’t think I ever intended to be an experimental filmmaker. I write like I talk and I talk like I think, which is at times all over the place. Sometimes the ideas are bonded by a single color, sound, or other sensory element when language fails. The form and traditions of filmmaking serve as starting points only, and I often have to remind myself of how they are not made to hold the world I’m building nor its subjects in any sufficient way.
I’d be lying if I denied the escapism being an interdisciplinary artist has allowed me to tap into. Sometimes instead of tackling a writer’s block head on, I can pivot to something else and still be productive. Mostly guilt-free. But a collage can’t do everything a poem can. So in every discipline there’s a growing pile of “save for later” projects that I have some reason for not pursuing. Since 2020, the most filmmaking I’ve done is layering hoochie rap over clips of Sailor Moon for my finsta. I am rusty and nervous!
This, combined with the unintentional hiatus I’ve taken since the current pandemic started, has made me feel more than rusty when it comes to filmmaking. It’s something different than imposter syndrome, I think, but I still haven’t found the right name for it. Maybe it’s just doubt.
This is my first film in five-ish years. It initially started from a passing thought about children’s films aimed at boys with a token tomboy character, likely a white girl with red hair, that I had last June. I was already in a space where I was doing a lot of reflection on my own childhood interests and gender expression, so I opened a call to talk to other past, present, or forever tomboys. I knew I wanted this to be a visual project that utilized audio interviews and text. The most I had thought of was large printed portraits, maybe some video art, and transcribed interviews. I spent most of summer and fall planning and gathering stories. Then I was accepted into the Resisting Narratives of Erasure 2025 cohort.
My relationship with film in the past has been one that has been shaped by scarcity. I’ve grown accustomed to the practice of making a thing as justification to make the next thing. And even though I’ve always worn multiple hats and been in leadership roles on projects, I had a habit of hiding my shine amongst my collaborators. Sometimes I would hide myself in my own work so deep, I couldn’t even enjoy it with an audience. I just wanted people to know I could execute “a thing.” I would dissociate my way through a tight production schedule, suffer through editing, and hide in the back of the room during screenings. But like- I love film, right?
Admittedly, I approached this version of the piece with fear. It wasn’t until the very last week of post (during which I’m currently writing this reflection) that I realized how much my old pressures were weighing on me. I was thinking about film festivals again. Thinking about how much funding I could get for future work if this piece is real good. I was also thinking about how this piece would be received in my immediate community. Getting folks who expressed interest to see the process through was a chore even up to post-production.
But post production allowed me to sit in what I had done for myself and for my subjects. This is the first film of mine where I’m also taking up space on camera. The way I talk is all over this work. My compositions are the score. My baby pictures fill in the spaces where I originally intended vignettes to be. I deserve to be gentle with it and appreciative. I’m a documentarian! I be making people feel heard and seen and that’s nothing to gloss over!
This film ended up looking different than what I intended for multiple reasons so I found the reward elsewhere. Much like my journey with my gender, this film is unfinished. I’m allowing myself to see it as a first installment of sorts. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gathering tomboy testimonies but I do know that more media that explores identity and queerness through remembering [and honoring] our child selves is needed. Especially in times where the real is becoming fake and the fake is meant to make us forget ourselves. My joy in filmmaking now comes from doing my part to hold stories. I don’t gotta do it all, just my part.
