Debut, p.28
Debut, page 28
5:38 P.M. Heather: Can’t wait to see it!
Once again, the screenings kicked off at 6:00 p.m. sharp. The lights dimmed after brief opening remarks, and a hush fell over the audience. Also, like last time, proceedings did not get off to a grand start.
“The Inoculation of Turnip Boy” was memorable for all the wrong reasons. While it displayed quality production values, most of its running time consisted of overtly bombastic main titles or interminably lengthy end credits. This approach was an obvious ploy to make the production appear more substantial than it actually was. Its incoherent plot was highlighted by the interplay between a midget mime on a unicycle and a clown weeping over a decapitated stuffed bunny. The dialog was asinine.
“Next,” she whispered to Grace. Despite the theater being too warm for such attire, the filmmaker pompously took to the stage wearing an oversized white pimp hat and knit scarf. He answered a host of questions, most of which seemed overly fawning. Heather concluded that a zealous fan base was more important at these screenings than a quality film. Perhaps that was true of many things in life. While audience opinions were mixed, the criticisms were mild compared to what she felt was warranted. Much to her surprise, she learned the dreary mess was intended as a comedy. So said the filmmaker.
Fortunately, some movies made the wait worthwhile. “The Legends of Pew Pew” was a genuinely funny, short mockumentary covering the fictional career of the last great “disco laser virtuosi.” It was well-acted, tightly edited, cleverly conceived, and precisely long enough to tell a humorous, tongue-in-cheek story without overstaying its welcome. The crowd laughed at the plentiful jokes and enjoyed the abundance of disco hits from the 70s.
“Finally, a good one,” said Heather. Erin gave a thumbs-up, and Sun-hee applauded heartily. The twin brothers who co-made the film shared humorous anecdotes about their production travails. The professors lavished much praise on the work and offered supportive feedback.
“I’m glad we don’t have to follow that,” said Grace.
What did follow was “Sapi,” a showcase of time-lapse photography shot at night and set to a New Agey soundtrack. The film was ten minutes long but passed in a flash. Each image was a minor marvel to behold. During its running time, the appreciative audience expressed their approval as one spectacular shot followed another. The student who filmed it, a skinny, nerdy male with sandy-brown hair, fielded a series of technical questions. The professors raved about it and suggested “Sapi” had strong awards potential.
The proceedings quickly returned to the mean with “Does Anybody Remember Laughter?” This film consisted of one interminably long, 360-degree panning shot across an empty field. The soundtrack featured ambient noise mixed with children playing despite no people appearing in the movie. During the subsequent Q&A, the audience panned the filmmaker, an emo girl with pink hair, for lack of effort, amateurish photography, and incoherent theme. Heather felt many other films suffered from these same problems.
“Figures they’d crap all over the female,” Vanessa whispered.
Finally, it was their turn. “Next, we have ‘Feel the Heat’ music video by Steven Shepard.” Some groans were heard, but also applause. The seven group members held hands as the lights dimmed.
A black screen hushed the crowd. The Made in Heaven logo emerged gleaming. Heather had sketched the concept on a napkin, and Steve got it animated. This was her first glimpse of its finished state. The logo faded away to a wing-fluttering sound. A beat passed in darkness before the video opened on a brightly lit, wide-angle shot of the airplane hangar. There stood the seven of them in a glorious line. The formation filled the screen, stretching across an entire wall of the theater. They looked heroic, posing before the five sleek jet aircraft arrayed in the background. During the whistling intro, the camera inched slowly closer. By the time the dance started, their visages towered over the heads of the audience members. Heather sat with her mouth open in wonder, hardly believing how awesome they looked on the immense screen.
The video was a powerhouse. Everything came together just right. Thrashing guitars, incessant dance beat, choreography, cinematography, and editing worked harmoniously to produce an impressive result. Heather wouldn’t have imagined this possibility only a few weeks earlier.
Steve kept to his strategy of filming in wide shots to capture the scope of the choreography but also inserted strategic close-ups to highlight specific visuals. Heather noted happily that the members were featured equitably. They looked tremendous in their outfits, especially Erin’s A-line princess dress and Mindy’s prettified Harley Quinn-style hair. She was the complete picture of the consummate idol. June, too, proved her value right away. Exhibiting no nerves, she looked radiant in her first on-screen performance. Marielle’s outfit perfectly complimented her slight shoulders and well-defined hips.
And just like that, it was over. As the MIH logo briefly reappeared at the end, Heather felt part of an actual girl group for the first time ever. As Steve walked buoyantly to the stage for the Q&A session, she heard someone nearby whisper to her friend, “Now I’m questioning my sexuality.” Her friend responded, “Remind me to go on a diet.”
The post-screening comments were decidedly mixed. The cinematography and editing were praised, but the lack of story was criticized. Disappointingly, nobody mentioned the music or the dancing.
A South Asian student spoke. “It looked professional,” he said, “but there was no depth.” Heather found this comment pointless.
Steve politely responded as if anticipating this line of questioning. “It’s a pop song. We just wanted to brighten people’s day.”
One comment derailed Heather’s mood entirely. She couldn’t identify the asker, who stood amongst a clutch of people in the far side aisle, but she remembered the comment. “I’m not sure we needed to see another male filmmaker objectifying women,” she said.
This opinion was followed by extensive murmuring, some claps of support, and more than one boo. Steve looked astonished and laughed nervously. He hesitated to formulate a response. “I… it’s not—” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “You have the wrong idea.”
The audience filled the awkward silence with more murmuring. Heather felt terrible, but intervening on his behalf would have been inappropriate. Steve gathered his thoughts and then spoke. “I helped develop the concept, but the music, choreography, design, and performances were all handled by women. They had specific ideas, and I helped express them.” Steve looked frustrated. Applause was more robust after this comment.
Several students raised their arms to be called on next, but the professors requested a break. Further discussion would have to wait.
Once all the films had been screened, an open reception was held in the soundstage. Made in Heaven huddled together in one corner, excitedly sharing impressions of the video while sipping soft drinks from aluminum party cups. Heather remained silent, preferring to fume over the criticism. Nobody else seemed to be bothered by the speaker’s remarks. A fact which irked her.
“Good call, Ness, getting Danya to do the choreo,” said Grace.
“Told you. She’s ace,” said Vanessa.
“That was us,” said June, still in awe.
“I sprained my neck looking from side to side,” responded Erin.
“We looked like giants,” said Sun-hee.
A young white male with thick black rim glasses and a porkpie hat approached. Introducing himself as Elvis, he stated, “Hey! Your video was fire.”
“Thanks,” six of the seven said in unison.
“Do you perform anywhere?”
His question was met with a set of groans. “Rarely,” answered Grace. “It’s like pulling teeth to find gigs.”
“I hear you. Can I get updates at least?” Grace pulled him aside to share the band’s website and add him to the newsletter.
Sun-hee observed Heather’s mood. “How come you’re so quiet? Didn’t you like it?”
“No, I did. Sorry, not feeling well.”
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s still mulling over that comment, I bet,” said Mindy.
“Forget her. That was rude,” said Vanessa.
“Why did she have to say that?” asked Heather. “Who are the victims supposed to be?”
“Don’t overthink it,” advised Grace, who had since returned to the group. “She was uninformed.”
“Just because we prefer makeup and cute clothing doesn’t make us less empowered. It’s our choice.” Her face was becoming flushed. She fanned herself with a napkin.
“Heather,” Grace said, “you need to stop dwelling on every little negative comment. It’s not healthy.”
But Heather kept talking and dwelling. “I don’t see what she expects us to —”
“Heather. Enough.”
“— do, instead.”
“We’ll never be able to please everyone, and there’s no point in even trying,” advised Mindy.
“When did feminism become a weapon to beat other women?”
Grace put an index finger to Heather’s mouth, “Calm down.”
After taking a deep breath, Heather couldn’t resist continuing, “I’m the one being calm. It’s you all who are —”
“I’m serious. Just ignore it,” said Grace.
“It’ll be okay,” said Sun-hee as she put her hand on the singer’s shoulder.
“She sounded like a bitch anyway,” said Vanessa.
“Hey, Tiffany Young’s appearing at the Fonda on Saturday,” said Sun-hee, seemingly eager to change the subject. “Anyone wanna go?”
“I’ll go,” said Mindy. “Loved ‘Magnetic Moon.’”
Steve soon joined them, balancing a napkin of cookies in one hand and a soda in the other.
“Congratulations, Mr. Spielberg,” said Grace.
“God, I’m glad that’s over,” he said. “What a semester.”
“Thanks for making us look good,” added Erin.
“We couldn’t be prouder,” said Mindy.
Two females approached and introduced themselves as Mei-ling and Ya-wen from Taipei. “We liked your video,” said Mei-ling.
“Yeah, we stan boy groups mainly, especially TXT,” said Ya-wen, “but that was a real bop. You should be proud.”
“Are you planning on doing more?” asked Mei-ling.
“That’s the goal,” responded Grace. “The indie scene here doesn’t quite know what to do with K-Pop, we’re discovering.”
“I can imagine. Never thought I’d see a video like that here,” said Mei-ling.
“Hopefully, doors will open soon,” said Mindy.
“Or we’ll open them ourselves,” added Vanessa.
“When Dalton told us about this project, we had to come. Glad we did. Are you on streaming?” asked Ya-wen.
Grace updated their status after giving her the details and bidding them farewell. “We now have three fans.”
“Don’t give up,” Steve said. “K-Pop’s about to blow up in this country. Once it does, you should be able to capitalize on it.”
“What are your thoughts on the screening?” asked Sun-hee.
“I’m happy, for the most part,” he responded. “The comments could have been more positive, though.”
“Oh, no,” said Grace.
“Oh, my god, yes!” exclaimed Heather, excitedly grabbing Steve’s arm. “See, he agrees —”
Vanessa rolled her eyes, “Now you’ve really stepped in it.”
* * *
After their Marketing Analytics class let out, Heather and Grace walked to their cars cheerfully discussing the latest news. During class, Grace had slipped a note informing Heather that the video had been accepted into the film festival. That was all it said. Now, it was time to get the details. “Steve said we qualified for the music video category, as expected, but also for Best Director, Best Editing, and Best Cinematography,” explained Grace.
“What about choreography? And the music?”
“He didn’t say. I think we have a good chance to win something, though.”
“We need to. Besides the money to stay afloat, we are still far short of the Showdown requirements.”
“Yeah, and the deadline’s June 1.”
“Exactly. I don’t think we’re gonna make it. Thanks to Steve, we have two videos and two singles. But we’ve had no regular gigs and zero radio airplay. What hope is there we’ll get them in time.”
“There’s always next year, I guess.” Grace shrugged. She didn’t sound optimistic.
“Do you really think the girls will stick around that long?”
“I’d like to think so. I haven’t thought about it much.”
“I have. And that’s my biggest worry. I’m afraid they’ll lose interest without some tangible sign that this band will work out. Besides, their commitment level is at a bare minimum. You know how hard we worked in Korea. We’ll need to kick things up a notch to make a serious run, and that could scare them away.”
“I see your point.”
“My other consideration is school. If the band doesn’t work out, I might as well stick with this free Business degree my dad wants me to take.”
“What if we do stay together? Will you drop out?”
“I’m thinking of doing both, but on my own terms. In other words, paying for it independently and studying what I want.”
“Is that even possible?”
“I may be deluding myself, but if I can make it through next year, I might be able to win a music scholarship for the last two.”
“Good luck. I’m rooting for you.”
“Whatever happens, I’m gonna need answers. And soon. I just wish I knew how the girls felt.”
* * *
Heather cursed her printer. The ink cartridge ran dry again. It always seemed to fail when she needed it most. The financial aid deadline for the next academic year had arrived. She was paying a steep price for procrastination. Just as she went to upload her application, the university’s website went down. This left no other option but to submit it in person. There would be barely enough time to do so before her Philosophy final. Financial Aid would be closed by the time exams let out. This gave her 15 minutes to print the documents before heading to campus.
The nearest office supply shop was two blocks away. While more expensive than the big box stores, there was no time to be picky. Heather snatched the old cartridge from the printer and dashed from the apartment in flip-flops. Moments later, a quick scan of the shelves told her the cartridge type she needed was out of stock.
A long-faced employee was on the phone dealing with another customer. He held up a finger as if to say he’d be done soon. Heather’s look of exasperation must’ve influenced him to take action. He motioned for the empty cartridge while continuing to answer the caller’s questions.
With little better to do than wait, Heather paced nervously near the front window. The L-shaped mini-mall, in which AVCO Office Systems was located, contained several other small businesses. Three people emerged from the portfolio services office next door. A young woman in business attire escorted two middle-aged clients to their car. Heather studied her face as they conversed. Could this be a preview of her life in five years, she wondered? Did that woman’s expression reveal any true feelings? Was she happy exploring these formative stages of her career, paying off debts, and becoming an adult? Hard to say. As the couple bid farewell, the woman smiled, which meant little on its own.
“Miss, I have your cartridge.” Fifty-five dollars poorer and convinced that the ink cartridge racket was the biggest scam going, Heather rushed home to print her application and prepare for the final.
Her Acura Integra rumbled to life. She let it warm for several minutes as a mother and child passed on the sidewalk. No older than six, the girl wore a tutu and carried a pink microphone similar to one Heather used as a child. She remembered it being her favorite prop, a regular feature of singing sessions in front of the mirror.
That microphone had somehow survived Umma’s purging of Heather’s childhood belongings. She recalled finding it tucked away in a box shortly after that humiliating day she was banished from 37-G and returned home in shame. Her mood had plunged to its lowest point ever. For at least a week afterward, she’d wait until Appa left for work before daring to emerge from her locked bedroom. The thought of facing him knifed her heart. He kept quiet, probably at her mother’s behest, but his dour expression spoke volumes.
During the drive to campus, Heather was preoccupied with the insurmountable task she set for herself. How would it be possible to pay for and attend school while leaving time for music? The more she pondered it, the more ridiculous it seemed. Even if she could pull it off, the debt load she’d carry would force her to accept the first job offer, even an ill-fitting one.
“Oh, Heather, what are you doing?” she asked out loud as she waited for a traffic signal to change. A free education was being offered on a silver platter. Other students would kill for such a gift. Why throw that away for a silly dream, especially one that relied so heavily on the whims of others? Were her members even serious about Made in Heaven? She had no way of knowing. True, they shared brief moments of triumph together, but those were far outweighed by the many disappointments. She wouldn’t blame them if they dropped the group for better opportunities. And if they did, where would that leave her? Out of a dream and out of school.
SIU’s Financial Aid Office wasn’t busy at that hour. She simply had to submit the paperwork at the desk. Before she could leave, however, an office worker called out. “Excuse me, you forgot to sign it.” Heather returned to the desk and accepted a pen from the woman. Torn by indecision, she hesitated. The clerk impatiently pointed to the signature line. Just then, the office phone rang. “I have to get that. Just leave it there when you’re done.”
Heather stared at the document as she tapped the pen on the counter. The empty line mocked her. By the time the phone call ended, Heather still hadn’t signed.
