February Shoot

In late February, I decided the world began to thaw enough for a production trip to Beclean. I had arranged for a talented Romanian cinematographer, Nora, to go with us to help shoot and translate. But at the last minute, Nora had a minor car accident in Bucharest, which in Romania means spending hours and hours sitting at the police station dealing with insurance and claims. She was sure to miss the night train, which meant that it would be just Nikki and myself. We debated about whether or not to reschedule, but since we were packed and ready we decided to strap the gazillion pieces of luggage and equipment onto our bodies and go for it. The next challenge was finding a taxi driver willing to drive us to the Gara de Nord (train station), because it's such a short distance that they don't want to lose their place in the queue. We finally found a nice guy who even got out of his seat to open his trunk for the luggage.

Night trains in Romania are a delight, especially in winter. Because of the amount of equipment we had, we weren't really candidates for a couchette with four other strangers stacked in it. We opted instead for a first-class compartment, which is a deal that can work if you get a sympathetic female agent in the train travel agency. These nice women understand your plight as a female carrying lots of expensive stuff, and will reserve and hold the other four seats in the compartment so you won't have to share space with the vodka-swigging, chain-smoking workers that like to party it up on the night trains. It's good to be in a compartment without strangers, because it means that you have the freedom to open the window to let out a little bit of the furnace-like heat that emanates from behind the seats. A water bottle wedged in the train window brings the compartment down to a manageable temperature, allowing us to get a few hours of sleep.

Every time I arrive in Beclean at 6:30AM, I start to feel really sorry for myself. I'm not a morning person, to begin with. Add to this poor sleep, lack of breakfast options, a dangerously icy walkway, and a hundred extra pounds strapped to my body, and I think, Oh, woe is me. Where is Sorinescu to help me? Why didn't the Fulbright buy me a car too? And why is Nicolescu so darned happy this early in the morning? Our first stop on this cold, foggy Sunday morning was the first cafe in sight, which was already populated with very quiet men in furry hats having tuica (a strong plum brandy) and beer for breakfast. We had a hot chocolate and some cookies and wondered if the men's wives minded that their husbands were here and not home snuggling with them in bed.

The children were just waking up when we arrived at the school, and as usual we were greeted with great enthusiasm. Every time I go, I bring with me a great new combination of exotic foreigners. This time, the kids wanted to know, "Where is that guy?" (Sorinescu) and "Who is she?" Nikki was especially fun because she didn't speak more than a little Romanian. This put me in the absurd position of translating for Nikki as well as attempting to speak for myself. Fortunately, a few of my child film subjects, who've known me since the first camp in 2001, have become expert at translating my bad Romanian into better Romanian. So they'll hang around me, and when a small kid asks something, I'll answer as best I can. The small child usually looks confused. Then Adelina or Mihaela will repeat my answer--exactly what I meant to say-- in better Romanian. They are especially helpful when I get asked the same question again and again (like how long I'll be in Romania) because then Adelina or Mihaela will simply answer for me, sparing me the agonizing repeat. Even when my Romanian is correct, Mihaela still translates for me like a true professioal. The small kids' eyes dart back and forth between me and Mihaela, impressed that she is bilingual. There are a couple of children who know a few words of English, and the exchange usually goes like this:

Andre: Hello!
Amy: Hello!
Andre: Shit damn! (Hysterical laughter)
Amy: Andre, that's not very nice!
Andre: Fuck! (Group giggling).
Amy: That's not very nice either. Who taught you to say that?
Andre: Thank you very much.

Anyway, we decided to spend the first day in the school just observing, much to the disappointment of the children, who think we should be filming them at all times. But I really wanted to spend some time just taking in the school environment without the camera. Nicolescu's observations, as someone who has worked in schools and child care settings, were interesting. Notably, she wondered where on earth the adults were. There seemed to be no supervision for long stretches of time. She asked one child where the teachers were, and she said, "They're out smoking!" The school is actually pleasant, as schools go. As schools for disabled children in Romania go, it's great. But it is chaotic. It was more chaotic than usual because there were several special events happening, including a visit from a local radio station involving gift bags for each child. We were lucky (or unlucky) to arrive the same time as the radio guys, because then the kids all though we were the ones who'd brought the treats.

As part of my brilliant plan--called Total Immersion Documentary Filmmaking--Nikki and I booked a room in the girls' dorm for the next two nights. The director of the school asked the building manager to change the lock on the door so that our stuff would be safe, which was very kind. The Beclean Special School Bed and Breakfast is a spartan affair. The sheets are a bit threadbare and the mosquitos (yes, in winter--I have no idea) are bothersome. The walls are covered with little brown blood splats and dried mosquito parts. But we found the top bunks to be quite comfortable after our long train trip and awoke the next morning to watch the girls wake up, get dressed, and go down to breakfast. The appearance of the camera got everyone riled up, so after breakfast we hid in our room for a few minutes for a breather. The door handle must have been tried every five seconds by another little hand, and we heard voices saying, "Where are the Americans? Are the Americans in town? Are the Americans awake?" No knocking, just kids trying the handle of the door, one after the other, impatient to get their hands on us. And get their hands on us they do, when we finally emerge from our chambers.

I didn't shoot a lot this time around, but I got a little bit of good stuff, and I felt I better understood the rhythm of the school by the time we left. More importantly, I think it improved my relationship with the staff, director, and children to be the one speaking directly to them--however laboriously--rather than hiding behind a translator. I really need to study my Romanian so that I don't have to rely as heavily on others. And by the end of our third day at the school, the novelty had worn off enough so that we could actually shoot without all hell breaking loose. Small steps!