Beyond the Call, by Adrian Belic
Three years ago I sat in a hot tub with Adrian Belic, chatting about our projects and life in general. He was housesitting in Marin and wanted some company and since we'd learned that we were both living in the Bay Area we'd tried to make an effort of catching up occasionally. A lot had happened since we were in a high school radio and television class together. Adrian and his brother, Roko, had graduated from using a shaky handheld to becoming world-class filmmakers. I had graduated from ... well, I had graduated.
I couldn't resist the opportunity to see him; I was contemplating writing again for a living and always got a charge from Adrian, someone who to me represented the ultimate sacrificer when it came to his artistic work. You never saw Adrian off the clock; his life was about creating, promoting, fundraising, and evangelizing his projects. Anything else was saved for the afterlife.
We'd both hit our 30s, an age when many aspiring writers/filmmakers/artists gave up their dreams and succumbed to the realities of supporting families, or just earning money. I found myself constantly vacillating between the two worlds; Adrian had made his decision long ago--create or die trying. He was like a magnet; just being in proximity to him pulled me closer to my creative, 401-k-less side.
Adrian had started to grow out his dark, thick hair; it was becoming what I lovingly call a white-man fro. He was my political crunchy friend, always sending emails asking for support and awareness about international and domestic policy. Some days I would get a stream of emails on a topic. And I have to admit I read some, but not all, and moved them to the "To Read" folder in my Outlook, where I save all things that I promised to read in my spare time.
Soaking with a view of San Francisco off in the distance, Adrian had told me about his latest project, a documentary he was making about three American men who ran humanitarian missions in some of the most war-torn, poverty-stricken, inaccessible places in the world. The difficulty and danger involved with following these men made this the perfect Adrian Belic project. A slow death to Adrian would be a life shooting corporate videos.
The buzz following Adrian's and Roko's last documentary, the Academy Award nominated Genghis Blues, (1999) had died down and now he was back in the reclusive cycle of independent filmmaking--collecting footage, doing small jobs to make ends meet and then trying to find grant money to pay for editing--maybe even a distribution deal. He'd filmed his subjects in such places as Afghanistan and the Southern Philippines and anticipated his project taking another year or so.
I remember asking him how he persevered.
"I've got to do this now while I can," he said.
I couldn't count the number of times Adrian had been to the Middle East and Asia. Whenever B-friend asked me about him, I'd say glibly, "He's in a War Zone, I'm sure." Some people, I like to think, are made to go to crazy places and live on the edge; and though I wasn't one of them I supported their drive to do the extraordinary. I'd watch their films and read their books when they got back.
I hadn't heard from Adrian in months, maybe a year, before seeing his film, Beyond the Call, listed in the San Francisco International Film Festival roster. I insisted to myself on going to the screening as a reviewer, not a hanger-on. This did not happen. As soon as I stepped into the Kabuki Theater and saw Adrian I ran over like he was one of the Beatles.
It took me a second to make him out. His hair flowed down his back and he'd grown a waxed, handlebar moustache. I was looking at a mix between Rasputin and Doug Henning dressed in denim and leather.
Adrian had just come back from New York, where his new film had just shown at the Tribeca Film Festival. I asked him how it went.
"We might have something here," he said. He knew the pressure was on to provide something that was as fresh as Genghis, but not pretentious, not the commercial flop that often results after a director or actor gets a nod from the establishment and lots of budget to go with it.
One thing was for sure--the film would not be commercial. With the success of Genghis Blues came the pressure for Adrian and Roko to make higher-budget, fiction projects. In 2001, Adrian was thinking of what his next project would be when he was approached by an army vet who had just seen Genghis because he was interested in Tuva, where much of the documentary was filmed. The man ran an organization called Knightsbridge International, a nonprofit that collected money and then orchestrated relief missions to the most desperate places in the world. Shortly afterward Adrian called his agent and told him the fiction project would have to wait while he pursued this other little project--a project that would take five years to complete.
I'm struck at how the Knightsbridge projects mirror Adrian's. All have been riddled with obstacles and have required constant renewals of faith. Beyond the call opens with founder Ed Artis and his partners, Jim Laws and Walt Ratterman, as they navigate yet another one of their unpredictable tours, this time through Afghanistan. There is no such thing as a perfectly smooth effort, just as there is no such thing as a perfectly smooth independent filmmaking process. There are funding issues, permit/visa issues, and inconveniences that would send most home. During one tour Artis's team suffers six flat tires in one day; still, no one questions moving forward.
The film toggles between international locales and to more familiar territory, the men's homes in the U.S., where we see that even at home these men live life differently. Artis lives modestly in Los Angeles and has converted his tract home into U.S. headquarters. Laws, a surgeon, lives in rural Ohio, where he hunts and cultivates a military Neverland. Ratterman, an electrician by trade, lives in rural Pennsylvania, where he practices archery, plays classical piano, and maintains a barn full of non-perishables--just in case.
Politics is extracted from the movie. Though you suspect that the men lean right, their actions transcend their voting histories. They don't question who they are helping, or what god these people worship. They provide food, clothing, medical care, shelter, even solar-powered industrial ovens--whatever sustains life in that part of the world. Instead of creating a political distinction, Adrian draws a line softly but distinctly between the bleeding hearts and those who don't agonize over the world's inequities but simply do what they can to fill the gaps.
Adrian infuses formal interviews throughout his more candid footage. His subjects ham it up, though you never suspect that when the cameras are off they'd act any differently. I believe that, in private, Laws rides the model train snaking his property, and that Artis always has an American flag attached to his truck.
Near the end of the film Artis suffers a heart attack; it delays but doesn't kill him. It's yet another obstacle to overcome, another blown tire that he patches before continuing on. There is no real end of the film; we're left understanding that for these men the mission is never really over.
After the film, Adrian explained to the audience that he hoped for wide-release in a year, which struck the Web-linked, videocast-friendly crowd as ludicrous. Independent film is different, he said. Not unlike the world-saving business, where scant few are hotlinked and where there are no paved roads to resources, only likely paths and saviors along the way. Five years into Adrian Belic's "short little project" the scope has changed. This is no sophomore effort, it's another leg of a lifelong world tour.
Beyond the Call Adrian Belic San Francisco International Film Festival
It is amazing to me to see where Adrian and Roko are now. I still see them as kids back in high school. Even back then you could see their uniqueness. I'm so glad you have reconnected with Adrian, and I wish all the luck in the world to two very nice...and talented guys.
Posted by: Joy | May 04, 2006 at 08:46 AM