For the past two years I have been working on a documentary film about pie and how deeply it is woven into Iowa’s culture. It’s my first film and it’s been a self-taught crash course in filmmaking, as I’ve had to learn every step of the process along the way. I am finally at the finish line of this hard-won marathon and I should be elated at the accomplishment. Instead, I am filled with doubt and fear.
Let me start with the doubt.
One of my main motivations for making this film was to show how something as simple as making and sharing pie can build community, create unity in these divided times, and inspire acts of kindness. The film is a compilation of stories of people using pie as a tool for social good by giving it away for free, using it to say thank you, teaching kids skills, raising money for causes, and feeding the hungry. And because American pie is not originally American – it’s an immigrant that can be traced back to ancient Egypt – my film promotes cultural acceptance. So the film isn’t just about pie, it’s a missive for peace and justice. That may sound well and good, so why the doubt? Because the horror of all the destruction and cruelty being committed by our administration over the past 100 days had pushed me to the brink of a nervous breakdown. So much so that I fell apart during a phone conversation with a friend. “What’s the point of even making this film anymore?” I sobbed. “It won’t make any difference. We are past the point of any hope.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “Your film will make a difference. It’s a positive, feel-good message that everyone needs right now.”
I hung up feeling better. Thank god for friends like Kee Kee!
No sooner was the doubt vanquished, the fear showed up.
Last week the film went through its final stages of sound mixing and color grading at a studio in Des Moines. The sound was simple but the color didn’t go so well and instead of improving the look of my film, it looked worse. At least it looked worse to me.
I showed the most recent cut to my partner’s sister, Pam, with whom I was staying for the week. While we were watching it, I couldn’t restrain my running commentary. “That pie crust looks too orange,” I grumbled. “The sky is too purple. His skin is too gray. That shirt is supposed to be red not pink.” She ignored me and when the film was over – after she wiped away her eyes over the sentimental ending – she didn’t say anything. Proof that my fears were valid: my film was so badly produced she didn’t dare comment on it.
But the next day she asked me to come into her sewing room. She pointed to a quilt she had made hanging on the wall. “What do you see?” she asked.
“I see diamonds and a big circle in the middle,” I answered. “It’s beautiful.”
Pam moved closer to the quilt and pointed. “When I look at this quilt, all I see is these straight lines here that are supposed to be curved. It bothers me every time I look at it.”
“I don’t see that at all,” I assured her. “It looks perfect to me.”
“Your film is like that,” she said. “Only you see the flaws. When I watched it, I wasn’t looking at those details you pointed out. I would have never noticed them. All I saw was a wonderful, heartfelt story.”
I don’t know why I needed to be reminded of this, because in my pie making classes, I always tell my students, “Pie is not about perfection. It should look homemade. In fact, the more homemade, the bigger the emotional response you’ll get from the people who get to eat it. Because they will know it was made by hand and made with love.”
My documentary was made with love (and sweat and tears), and when I finally release it, I will hang onto these lessons. Flaws are often invisible to others. And if people point them out, well, they’re missing the meaning and the value behind the effort. Whether it’s making a quilt or a pie – or a film about pie – whatever the creative endeavor is, it doesn’t have to be perfect.
Doubt and fear don’t make the world a better place, creating and sharing our work does.
Beth Howard is an author and filmmaker in Donnellson, Iowa. Her website is www.theworldneedsmorepie.com.
The opinions expressed are not necessarily those of TSPR or its license holder, Western Illinois University.
Diverse viewpoints are welcomed and encouraged.