“What are you shooting today?” My wife asks, wiping the breakfast from my son’s cheek. I turn to her, hesitating to answer. Working in a company where one day I might be shooting a documentary, the next a wedding film, my answer to that question is often different. I’m used to the question, but I’m not so used to this particular answer, and neither is my wife.
“Well… today, I’m shooting a funeral.”
My wife stops tending to our son and looks up to me – “A… funeral?” she asks, surprised, confused even. I nod, knowing she’ll be needing an explanation as I did when first approached about the idea of making a funeral film for someone. It’s not something either of us would have thought anyone would actually want, to be perfectly honest.
You see, we seem to naturally understand why you’d have a wedding film – we can understand having a christening, an anniversary or a birthday party filmed… but, a funeral? I must admit, as a filmmaker who had never been asked to do something like that, it did seem out of the ordinary. The reason for which is potentially obvious – a wedding is a day where people are happy, a day characterised by love. A funeral is a day where people are, well – sad. Upset. Grief-stricken. And the day is undeniably characterised by something most of us like to put out of our minds until we have to bear the weight of it when it inevitably comes along. “Why would anyone want to bear that weight again, voluntarily, by watching this film?” I thought.
What emotion is it we’re supposed to be crafting? That is part of our job, after all. But what do we do with a funeral – what emotion should be felt? Surely, it could only ever upset. How could we go forward in confidence and purpose knowing that our efforts might be ultimately upsetting to a lovely woman who is grieving and mourning for her young son, taken well before his time?
The lady who approached us to make the film had lost her 21-year-old son, Reece, in a tragic circumstance. My heart wrenched as I heard it. Normally I’m talking to couples about how one proposed to the other on a beautiful Italian evening in twilight, not hearing the details of the terrible and untimely death of someone’s dearly held son.
I had to know – I had to understand – I can only do my job properly if I understand; so I askedKirsty, the funeral coordinator I was working with, “Can I ask… who is this film for?” Kirsty took a moment, swallowed and looked at me. “For his son, Ronnie. He’s not even two yet.”
My heart sunk even lower as my mind went to my son, Jude – also almost 2 years old himself. I suddenly imagined some terrible event befalling our family, and a well of sadness rose inside of me, along with these questions: How would our son remember either of us? Would he ever be sad that he never got to say goodbye? I hope people would tell him just how loved he was by us, so that it might be easier for him to feel it. Kirsty went on, “the film is also for Reece’s little brother Bruce, only 6 years old himself.”
Of course, I thought.Reece’s mother doesn’t want this film made so she can put it in a drawer, only to make the mistake of watching it one day and remembering why she hadn’t yet. No, she wanted it so one day, she could show the film to the children in Reece’s life, when they would be old enough to understand. In Ronnie’s case, old enough to want to know more about who his father was, the young man who died tragically when he was only a small boy. He would want to know how his Dad felt about him. He would want to know what his Dad meant to people. He would want to say goodbye, too.
Suddenly, it all made sense, and we knew what we needed to do. People have funeral films made for their own reasons, and this was one that spoke directly to my heart. I’m someone who needs my work to mean something – and to be honest, I couldn’t think of a better reason to make a film, than to give someone their Dad & big brother back to them, even if only for a short while.
Jude sits grinning cheekily at me with his mother perched over him. Taming his hair, she thinks to herself a moment, looks at me and adds, “Why a funeral film?” The same question I had asked myself at first.
Speaking to Reece’s Mam months later, she said, “The film was for Ronnie and Bruce… but I think the film was for me, too. I have no recollection of most of the day, so I’m so glad I had it filmed. I watch it quite often. As funny as it sounds, it makes me feel like I’m with him again. And it helps me see how much impact my son had on so many people’s lives, and how much he was truly loved.”
One thing I know is, I’ll never need to ask that question again.