Hawaii Trip (Days 3 and 4)

For some reason our hotel's internet connection, ShakaNet, is significantly slower on my Mac than on my sister's Windows XP notebook. It's a weird tradeoff; either use a fast and nice computer and get a crappy internet connection, or use a slow and cramped computer and get a decent one.

Christmas was weird. As far as I'm aware it's the first Christmas we've ever spent anywhere but home. Didn't do a whole lot that day. My sleep schedule was kind of messed up that day, so I spent a lot of time doing nothing in particular, which gets to be kind of boring after a while. Got a little bit of writing done, on the plus side. Had dinner at a place called Mama's Fish House, which was absolutely phenomenal.

Had my family watch The Informant. I think I raved about it in the past. My mom and sister fell asleep for that one, but my dad loved it.

The next day we had to wake up at about six in the morning to head off on a bus tour that left not long after. The scenery we saw was absolutely stunning; sitting on the bus for nine hours, on the other hand, was not. We made a lot of neat stops. Among them included a waterfall and a really amazing winery.

We sat in front of a woman from South Carolina. She didn't seem to know how to not talk. That would have been okay if she'd been the least bit insightful. However, saying whatever crosses one's mind ("Look at that tree!" "My stomach hurts!" "What's a mongoose?" "JENNY, QUIT YELLING. JUST TRY TO CALM DOWN AND QUIT YELLING!") doesn't really cut it. She was pretty fascinating in a grotesque sort of way. My dad called her the most obnoxious person he'd ever met. I don't know if I've met enough people to bestow that sort of title on anyone, though.

Every now and then she would unintentionally strike comic gold.

WOMAN: Do you know the story of the guy named Eddie who saved a bunch of people from the ship?
TOUR DRIVER: What?
WOMAN: Do you know the story of the guy. Eddie. He saved people from the ship.
TOUR DRIVER: You'll have to speak up.
WOMAN: DO YOU KNOW THE STORY OF EDDIE. WHO SAVED THE PEOPLE. FROM THE SHIP.
TOUR DRIVER: No, I don't.
WOMAN: Oh.

In many ways that woman was the highlight of the bus ride, in a bizarre sort of way.

Pictures coming soon.

Hawaii Trip (Day 2)

Really really tired. I'm fully aware that it's only 10 PM Hawaii time, but keep in mind that it's about 2 AM back home. And yet I'm still waking up around 8 to 9 AM over here, which I guess is around 11 AM or 12 PM back home, which is pretty late for me.

Walked around downtown Lahaina earlier today. That was nice. Lots of interesting shops around there, many of them on the art and prints side. The highlight was stopping by a ukelele place. The woman who worked there was pretty impressed with my playing and asked if she could record a video of me and put it on YouTube. After that she asked me to teach her what I was playing - a little version of Here Comes The Sun on the ukelele. Pretty cool, but like so many other moments on this trip, utterly surreal.

Though my Dad is the only one in our family who identifies as Catholic, we always go to a Catholic church on Christmas Eve. We did just that here, though I can't say that the service was anything like the one that Saint Francis back in West Des Moines puts on. That was a pleasant surprise, though I'm not sure whether or not the rest of the tourists there were exactly thrilled to have to be handed a church bulletin that asked them to even try to attempt to sing lyrics like:

E ka Pua Hipa a ke Akua,
näu e huikala nä hewa o ke ao,
e hö mai ka maluhia

I always seem to end up giggling whenever I'm in a church. This time it's because I thought the priest (who had an Indian accent) said something about "God's great dickery."
"Decree," my mom said no more than a second after I smirked. "He said decree."

The service was followed with a visit back to our condo after an attempt to find a place to eat. We resorted to heating up a frozen pizza and watching City of God. Not exactly our usual Christmas Eve tradition, but it was nice.

It doesn't feel at all like Christmas Eve. I think that's because I've never spent a Christmas holiday away from home. It's a nice change of pace, but I don't think I'd want to make a habit of being away from home for Christmas.

I was about to hit the "publish" button, but my dad interrupted me before I could.

"Santa's in Alaska," he said. "They saw him on the radar."

Hawaii Trip (Day 1)

I try my best to keep my expectations of a place low compared to the descriptions that brochures and shows on the Travel Channel flaunt, but I've gotta say: as far as beauty goes, Hawaii totally lives up to the hype, if not surpassing it. The place has a beauty both in the day and the night that often times feels just too good to be true. And I don't mean "too good to be true" like Disneyland; it's a totally natural beauty. You get the impression that the folks who live here take great pains to keep these beautiful islands from becoming trashed.

The first thing we did after we all got up was go to the grocery store. The notion of hopping out of bed after thirteen hours of flying to Hawaii is just as ridiculous now as it was then, but hey - it's better to get this stuff out of the way now rather than when we're really getting into our stay.

The grocery store visit was pretty surreal. The makeup of the store's patrons appeared to be about 90 percent tourists and 10 percent natives. (Then again, I have no idea what a tourist looks like and what a native looks like, especially in the realm of groceryland. I'm pretty aware that there's some shady guesstimating going on here.) I seemed to constantly run into situations where the familiar sat next to the unfamiliar. You'd see your standard aisle of vegetables and then you'd see jars of kimchi, a wonderful dish I can never seem to find in the continental states. You'd see a magazine rack and through the window above it would be a stunning view of hills and mountains. You'd see a Salvation Army bucket and a volunteer standing beside it, except the volunteer would be playing a ukelele rather than ringing a bell. (Note to Salvation Army folks: consider having more volunteers play actual instruments. As charming as the bells are, the one note a bell provides has nothing on the four strings of a ukelele.)

On the note of tourists: a problem I seem to always have with vacations is that I'm hyper-aware of the fact that I don't really belong wherever I'm visiting. I get self-concious about how I might be perceived by the folks who actually live here. The odds are that they don't give a shit about me as long as I don't get in their way, but there's still a little part of me - perhaps a part of me that watched a little too much Rocket Power as a kid and took the tirades the characters had against so-called shoobies to heart - that's afraid that I'm being resented everywhere I turn. I'm aware that the latter probably isn't the case, though - and even if it was, oh well, I guess. Not a lot I can do about that. But still. The bizarre anxiety still emerges every now and then.

After a bunch of non-blog post worthy lollygagging all day, we got dinner at a place called Duke's. Good stuff. Wonderful food, wonderful view. Our server was even pretty cool. After we told him we were from Iowa, he chatted with us a bit about RAGBRAI. He told us that when he was about my age, he biked across America no less than three times. He wasn't entirely clear as to why he did it - he said something at one point about it being a self-imposed rite of passage - but I don't think that matters all that much. No need to over-intellectualize a long ass-bike ride across the country, right?

He told us that he's lived all over the US. "And I don't regret settling down here," he said. "I haven't been anywhere more beautiful."

Every now and then when I look out at the beach or go out walking I get these moments that I guess I can only describe as guilt. Guilt seems like too heavy of a word for these moments, though. The gist of the moments is that I look out at what surrounds me and feel like I don't deserve to experience something this wonderful. Then I wonder if anyone deserves to experience anything this wonderful. Then I try to turn off my mind and just enjoy it. That usually works. It's something I've got experience doing.

We ended the day watching a movie called Anvil: The Story of Anvil, a documentary about a struggling (and heavily influential) metal band that's been together for thirty years. It managed to be depressing and inspiring at the same time, which I guess is fitting for a film about struggling artists.

At one point today my dad and I had a conversation something like this:

DAD: Here, Toma. I want you to take a picture of all those plants around me like they're eating me.
ME: I can do that.

Hawaii Trip (Day 0.5), or: Filler

I intended to write this thing last night but I was just too damn tired.

Anyway, travel days aren't exactly a part of the vacation experience, but since we more or less spent the whole day doing nothing but sitting on airplanes I feel a little obliged to write this post.

Woke up at about six in the morning and packed. My luggage was comprised of a backpack and a duffle bag. That was a little frightening at first - I feel naturally required to bring a whole bunch of stuff with me on a long vacation - but after a little bit of thinking I realized that I probably won't be needing a whole lot more than clothes, my computer and my book. (I decided to try to make my way - at least in part - through Atlas Shrugged over break. It'll probably keep me occupied, but man oh man if it isn't heavy.)

We had three flights: one from Des Moines to Dallas/Fort-Worth, one from Dallas/Fort-Worth to Honolulu, and one from Honolulu to Maui. The flights were as pleasant as flights can be, though the eight hours from Texas to Hawaii are not exactly an experience I'm looking forward to re-living.

My original intention with the flights was to get a whole bunch of writing and movie watching done. I should probably realize by now that the prospect of me ever getting anything done on flights is pretty naive. All I managed to really do in those thirteen or so hours of flying was to watch Marley and Me with my sister (which should just be titled Boy Oh Boy Aren't Dogs Cute But Don't Forget That They Die) and half of an in-flight movie, How To Train Your Dragon. The latter was much better than the prior, but unfortunately the desire to sleep was just too strong.

I was a little unprepared for the first moment that we stepped outside in Hawaii. It was like all the moisture in the world decided that it needed to be on my hands right now. It sounds dumb now, but I kind of forgot what it felt like when it's full on warm outside.

I swear the next post will be more exciting. I just need some more time to re-adjust.

Back to Valley, Leave of Absence

Revisited Valley today for the Winter Assembly. Partially to see the mimes, partially to see my sister perform, and partially so I could write "WINTER ASS." as my reason for visiting on the guest form.

The first words that came out of my mouth when I stepped in and saw all the youngins running around were something like: "I don't miss this shit." I didn't really think before the words came out of my mouth, but they're true. That's not to say that I had a bad high school experience; I'm just glad I haven't had to deal with any of that. Every now and then I have dreams about being back in high school. They aren't anxiety inducing for any particular reason; there's no public nudity or forgotten assignments. The badness of all the dreams comes from the simple fact that being in high school again, with all the restrictions and rules it entailed, would be almost like a form of imprisonment after having done what I've done the past few years.

Everyone did a fine job at the assembly. That includes the mimes.

I got to thinking about the last Winter Assembly I performed in as a mime. It was the last Storybook (where the mimes poke fun at the goings-on at the school) that the mimes ever did outside of a fall or spring show. It mostly consisted of us making pretty juvenile and demeaning jokes about groups and people at the school - you know, the sort of stuff that comes off as silly amongst friends but kind of cruel onstage. It was really funny at the time, but pretty regrettable now. I think that was one of the big catalysts for increased scrutiny from the administration and our sponsor, though that's not to say that it was entirely responsible for a crackdown on the mimes.

I left right after the mimes perform. Sitting in the auditorium amongst high schoolers during school hours got to be a little too weird for me. It almost felt like one of those dreams I was telling you about.

Tomorrow my family leaves on a flight for Hawaii. During our vacation I'm going to more or less cut off contact with the outside world until we get back on January 2nd. No email, phone calls, texting, web browsing, Facebook, and so on until then. I'm kind of in need of a break from all of that stuff and this seems like a good time to do that. (I'll still be making daily posts - it's something I like to do on vacation - though I won't be reading your comments until I get back.)

Essentially, if you need to get ahold of me between tomorrow and January 1 - well, it probably won't happen. You could probably think of some way, but it won't be easy. (I've always wanted a message by carrier pigeon, though.) So try not to become pregnant, married or dead while I'm away.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Have yourself a swell time these next few days.

New Design, Child Abuse

Those of you who read the actual page rather than the RSS version of this blog have probably noticed that it looks a little different.

After browsing around on this blog for a few minutes last night - something I almost never do - I realized that there were a lot of problems with the old blog design. For one, the technology was obsolete; making upgrades to the blog so as to add simple things like comments and RSS was far more trouble than it should have been.

Readability was another issue. The text was pretty small and the spacing of the columns made reading this blog seem a little intimidating.

Finally, the whole thing seemed a little static. There wasn't a lot of room for customizability in that template. One of the things I like about this one is that there's the potential for little visual changes every now and then. That's not to say that I intend to change the background image on this blog every week, but the ability to make this thing change with the seasons is pretty exciting to me.

I've still got some work to do with the sidebar, but I think this thing is coming together.

Oh, also: Jordan and I made a new video for Frogdrum called Child Abuse. This was a fun one to make. I'm particularly proud of the turnaround time; we managed to write, shoot and edit this thing in about 48 hours.

Bonnie & Carlin

Bonnie & Carlin is up on YouTube. If you've heard me talking at all about "the film" over the past month or two, this is probably what I've been talking about.

The film is the result of something from my class called the Homage Project. Anyone interested in directing finds a director they're interested in, researches them, and makes a film in their style. I chose Woody Allen, which offers a very clear bunch of parameters to work with. Throughout the film's development, it alternated between being helpful and constricting.

This film is a big deal for me in two ways.

The first is that I consider it my first "real" short film. I know I've done many other video-related projects before this one, but all those were all either hastily assembled, very very short, or sketch comedy. (Not to diss sketch at all, of course. I consider sketch comedy to be a valid art form in its own right; however, a sketch is not necessarily a short film just as a short film isn't necessarily a sketch. There are some opportunities for flexibility there, sure, but calling any filmed sketch I've helped create a short film feels mildly dishonest. It'd be like calling the sketch show I helped put together in 2008 a night of one-acts.)

This is my first attempt at creating a film that is first and foremost trying to tell a story rather than get laughs or look pretty. It's also my first attempt at trying to create a story with semi-realistic characters rather than the two-dimensional characters that populate my earlier work. Which is not to say that silly two-dimensional characters are a bad thing; it just wasn't what I was hoping to achieve here.

The second important thing about Bonnie & Carlin is that it's the first film I've made that has required a significant degree of collaboration.

I hoped upon starting this film that I'd have a better understanding of what it means to make something with other people, even if that meant more stress or an inferior film. Luckily I didn't have to worry about either of those things too much; what I learned from working with others more than made up for either of those things.

My roles on Bonnie & Carlin included director, writer, producer, and actor. That's a lot, I know; some of that was a result of choosing to do an homage to Woody Allen, who more often than not picks up all of those roles on his own films. But some of that is because I'm a bit of a control freak, something that has its share of problems as well as benefits. This film was a bit of an attempt to keep the control freak in me at bay. It wasn't entirely a success in that regard, for reasons I'm hesitant to go into here, but I think I learned enough to become a better collaborator next time.

The film isn't perfect. I don't even know if it's good. I'm okay with that. I am, after all, a student; if I already knew how to make great movies, I wouldn't have much use for film school. I'm reminded of a quote by artist and color theorist Josef Albers, who supposedly once told his students that if you're in art school, you aren't an artist; you're a student. I like that sentiment. It doesn't mean that as students we're obliged to make bad work, nor should we try to make bad work. What I think Albers was getting at is that now is a good time for failure; for our own failures and for others' failures. As long as we can learn from said failures - and thus make better work - we're going to be just okay.

The film isn't great. But I made it. And as long as the next one is better - and I think it will be - I'm pleased with it.

What Happened The Last Time I Used Public Transit In Chicago Before Heading Home

THOMAS approaches a shelter at a bus stop in Bridgeport. At the shelter sits a MAN. He's wearing a White Sox jacket and a pair of nondescript earbuds. He's smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.

After a beat or two it becomes clear that it's not a cigarette; it's a JOINT.

Thomas gets out his cell phone and texts a number on the bus stop sign.

MAN: You trying to find out when the bus gets here?

THOMAS: Yeah. I'll let you know.

MAN: Oh. You want a hit of this?

THOMAS: No thanks.

Silence. Thomas checks his phone.

THOMAS: Fuck.

MAN: What is it?

THOMAS: It says it's not supposed to get here for another twenty minutes.

MAN: Twenty minutes man? Fuck that shit. I've seen like, three buses head south already.

THOMAS: Not sure what that's all about.

MAN: Fucking sucks, dude.

THOMAS: Yeah.

Silence for about five minutes.

MAN: (mumbles something)

THOMAS: What?

MAN: (mumbles something)

THOMAS: I'm sorry. I have bad hearing.

MAN: I said I wonder if I can go get some orange chicken.

THOMAS: Oh. Yeah, maybe.

Silence for about three minutes.

MAN: Twenty minutes my ass.

THOMAS: What?

The man points down the street. It's the BUS.

THOMAS: Woah.

MAN: Hey, man. I'm not complaining.

CUT TO (50 MINUTES LATER):

Thomas gets off the bus. So does the man.

MAN: What a coincidence, dude.

THOMAS: Yeah. Do you live around here?

MAN: Fuck no, dude!

After an awkward moment of silence, Thomas coughs and walks rapidly back to his apartment.

The Film, Winter

I'm 95 percent done with my final film for class. This is a very good thing, because it's due in class tomorrow at 8:30 AM. I'm very glad to be almost done with this thing. I'm starting to get a little tired of it. It didn't help that when I sat with a sound mixer we had to look at little bits and pieces of the eight minute film over and over for three hours.

I recognize that I need to get a lot better at being able to stick with a project for a long period of time without beginning to resent it. I'm starting to realize more and more that getting sick of your own work is more or less a part of the process. What I have control over in that regard is how I handle being sick of my own work.

Boy oh boy did it snow yesterday. It was a really wonderful thing to watch from my apartment. It was even beautiful when I walked in it while listening to Fleet Foxes, a band I don't listen to that often that just happened to be the perfect compliment to snowy weather in Lincoln Park.

And then the wind started blowing and I started going "FUCK FUCK FUCK IT'S COLD" and that was that.

Tuesday, Part 2

12:45 PM - Just got out of reviewing the rough cut of the short film I'm working on. Nothing too revelatory here. I take a lot of notes.

3:30 PM - My acting class is starting, which is a relief. One can only spend so much time doing random little projects on the computer before starting to get antsy.

We're currently working on scenes with partners. My scene is from a play called The Shape of Things. As far as memorization goes, I'm in that sort of state where the words are almost locked in my head, but it seems like stepping onstage to actually do the thing results in the words falling right out.

That's basically what happens when we run through the scene. I spend more time thinking about what I'm supposed to be saying rather than what I'm supposed to be feeling. I call "line" and "uh, line" and "dammit! line!" a little more than I'd like. The next one will be better.

5:42 PM - Boarding an Orange Line train to visit with a friend, one of the actors in the short film I'm working on. I need to record a couple of voiceovers with her; going to meet with her seems to make more sense than having her trek up to my place.

On my way there I see a billboard that says: "Home is where the heart is. And the sweet potato pie." I conclude that every billboard becomes ten times better when the phrase "and the sweet potato pie" is added to it.

7:15 PM - I find my way to her apartment after burning time at a local coffee shop. There's an initial bit of difficulty when I try to find her place and realize that the apartment number doesn't exist. It turns out that I wrote down the wrong street.

We record the lines. The actual recording process takes a minute at the very most. "That's it?" she says. Yep. It seems a little silly to trek down to Bridgeport to record no more than ten words, but to paraphrase Tommy Pickles, you gotta do what you gotta do.

7:42 PM - I'm making my way to Rebecca, Alex and Naomi's place. Not sure what we're going to do, but I know that it's been a while since I've seen any of them and that it'd be nice to say hello.

On my way there I walk past an alleyway. Standing outside of it is a woman - short, skinny, though the latter is hidden - or is that exacerbated? - by the big puffy coat she's wearing. She's got a grizzled face. She has one hand in her pocket. And she's staring straight at me. I avert my gaze.

No avail. She says something to me. And that something is:

"Freeze."

I feel like a few volts of electricity have passed through my heart. In the span of two seconds, I have four distinct thoughts:

• Oh shit. I'm getting mugged.
• Oh well. It had to happen at some point. How long have I lived in Chicago? I guess it's statistically inevitable or something.
• Wait wait wait. I'm getting mugged by a woman who's definitely shorter than me. And she's probably lighter than me, too. I could totally take her. But I probably shouldn't.
• Dammit. Why can't I get mugged by someone more badass than me?

For some reason, though, I don't freeze. I just keep walking. I'm not sure why; it's like my legs are on autopilot. And here's the weird thing: she doesn't stop me.

She just says, "Freezing. It's fucking freezing."

Either my fear is the result of a big misunderstanding or she's trying to make it look like she wasn't really going to try to mug me. It's probably the first one. Actually, it's definitely the first one.

7:50 PM - At Naomi, Alex and Rebecca's place. Alex isn't home yet. Rebecca is in the kitchen getting this soy-based eggnog she's offered to me. And Naomi is sitting at her laptop, working on a research paper that's due very soon. There are stacks of books and papers around her. She looks like a frazzled grad student. Her computer screen gravitates in the direction of Facebook every now and then, which may or may not also be the behavior of a frazzled grad student.

Alex and Neel show up. They were going to grab dinner. Rebecca and I join them.

8:10 PM - We're at this Chinese place in Bridgeport. They all inform me - or was that a warning? - that this is not an American Chinese food place. This is a Chinese Chinese food place.

They're right. The menus are entirely in Chinese, aside from sketchy fragmented translations that appear below the stuff we can't read. The waiters and waitresses seem to have a limited vocabulary of English that corresponds very tightly with their duties at the restaurant. Any diversions from this vocabulary - with small talk, questions, whatever - results in mutual confusion and awkwardness. It's the kind of place where you're not sure you're going to get what you asked for - or if you're going to get anything at all, for that matter. Not as a result of incompetence, but instead because of the language barrier. As someone at the table puts it: it's like leaving the country without having to actually leave the country.

The staff, though, is incredibly friendly, despite a really disorienting moment where Alex requests "what they have over at that table. The sprouty things?" that results in what feels like a fucked up game of Telephone. The food is wonderful and cheap. Alex never gets her sprouty things, though.

9:04 PM - Rebecca is joining me on my trek back to the Red Line. We're discussing shower curtains, I think.

The ride up to my apartment is long. I'm too exhausted to read or play around on my iPod.

10:35 PM - I have a quick video chat with my parents. I'm so tired that I look like I'm stoned. My parents recognize this and the conversation ends quickly.

I take off my shoes for the first time in about fifteen hours or so. It's been one of those days, but it's been one of those really satisfying days.

Tuesday, Part 1

7 AM - It's incredibly cloudy outside. For a moment I think that I might have set my alarm clock wrong since it's so dark. I'm groggy and a little cranky about getting up. But all is well after a cup of coffee.

8:3o AM - First class of the day. Tuesdays are my busy days; I'm in a class called Moving Image Production I from 8:30 to 12:20, followed by an acting class from 3:30 to 5:20. That's just enough time to make it impractical for me to head back to my apartment, so I'm kind of forced to find some way to burn time in the loop for a few hours.

The first chunk of class is pretty uneventful. We watch a few short films. At one point our professor asks us if there are any short films we'd like to show the class, since we're waiting on another section of MIP I to wrap up so we can meet with them. I suggest Rejected, which only one other person in the class had seen. We end up watching our professor's first-ever short film instead, which is a really valuable experience. It's a nice way of reminding the class that everybody has to start somewhere, though I'm not sure if that was our professor's intention in showing it to us. It was probably a better thing to watch than Rejected; after all, it's still a little too early to deal with the shrill cries of an animated figure going, "MY ANUS IS BLEEDING!"

10:33 AM - We're watching Vox Pop projects. The Vox Pop is an exercise that had been assigned to us a few weeks ago. We were to go out on the street and ask people questions about race and assimilation. It was then our job to assemble the footage into a coherent short piece. There's some really wonderful work. One group has a short where they ask passersby if there's such a thing as American food. Another group does one about manliness; they ask people what they think is the manliest thing one can do. "Protecting your family from a bear," says one man. Our class is laughing too hard at the creeping image of a bear that's been superimposed behind him. So hard that we can't hear the kicker: "I did that once."

Then it's time for our group's project to be shown. Ours was about race and humor, specifically, whether or not it's okay to address race with humor. There are a bunch of person-on-the-street interviews interspersed with footage of comics like George Lopez doing jokes about their ethnicity. I'm actually watching it here in class for the first time, since I didn't have a hand in the editing process.

Then comes the final segment. There's three students sitting outside of the theatre building: two blonde young women and a guy in his early twenties. He's dressed like a model out of a Banana Republic catalog. He has a bit of a lisp.

Someone offscreen asks him, "Do you have a favorite racist joke?"

"I do," he says. "Umm...okay."

Lighthearted music plays in the background. Some folks are still smiling from the comic segments earlier.

"Why did the shower heads at Auschwitz have eleven holes?"

Pause.

"Because the Jews only had ten fingers."

The two women onscreen are visibly uncomfortable. The man looks down at the ground awkwardly.

And the class is dead silent. The uncomfortableness is palpable.

The happy music resumes as the credits roll. I'm not sure whether we hit a big emotional moment or if we went too far by showing this guy.

A discussion ensues. Except it's not so much about the film itself; it's more about why it wasn't okay for that guy to tell an anti-Semetic joke. And then there's a discussion about the ethics of that. He definitely looked bad, the class concludes. Is it our responsibility that he looks bad? Is it his responsibility for telling the joke in the first place?

The discussion ends with more questions than answers. The film has done its job.

Part 2 comes tomorrow.