I used to joke if I was “Scorsese,” then she was going to be "my Deniro … but blonde”
I met Molly Ryman in January 2007, casting her out of 30 actresses for the female lead in my first film “…Around.” Her first reading hadn’t made an impact on me (seeing dozens of actors in a short time span can do that), but re-watching her audition on tape showed me her love for independent film and the city of New York and her callback won me over.
It’s quite easy to love Molly with her old-school movie star beauty, natural sweetness and inviting warm energy. It was a joy working with and getting to know her during production. I also learned there was far more to her than the “girl-next-door” she’d been typecast as.
She could be mischievous, painfully funny and goofy, but retained a darker and harder edge beneath the surface and a subtlety to her work. She brought gravitas and honesty to a role that didn’t have the bravura of the male lead as a few reviewers pointed out, some wondering what she could do with a more fully realized role. I always hoped I’d get another chance to work with her and answer those critics.
In 2009 I was in Los Angeles, suffering from personal burnout after completing my film and putting myself in indefinite financial limbo to do so. Much like the main character “Violet” of my second feature “Things I Don’t Understand,” I survived a kind of “suicide “and found myself breathing but not fully alive or connected. I was bitter, empty, lonely and self-destructively looking for meaning to it all. The cathartic exercise of writing “Things” and the decision to produce it as a film was going to be my own test of faith as a filmmaker. It was an opportune time to show faith in a friend.
“Things” offered Molly the canvas to show range in her abilities as an actor in carrying a feature, but also to confront her own fears and insecurities. She loved the script but was hesitant and found its requirements a bit overwhelming. I read other actors, all extremely talented in different ways, but no one quite fit. My persistence in bringing it up to Molly for a year and her falling in love and relating with “Violet” finally convinced her. She wanted to face this test head-on and trusted I’d be there to support her through it.
There were the naysayers who initially didn’t understand my casting choice. A particularly jealous and destructive actor called it “counter-intuitive.” I didn’t blink at any of them. I had unshakeable faith in both Molly’s abilities and my commitment to stick by her — with the support of a great team — that I’m not quite sure even she always understood. There was a vision and more than anyone I knew, Molly had a beauty, strength and grace that would shine through the main character and her flaws, and make her relatable and whole. Over the course of a year she would endure the personal pressures and physical changes required of the role. By the end of the first few days on set, no one witness to her work had any doubts about her work or my casting choice. But it didn’t come without it’s own difficulties or a price.
I don’t know if there will ever be a way to fully articulate the experience of feeling both pride and joy in watching someone you care about deeply rise to the occasion and shine, but also the pain of putting them in situations that are going to test them and make them uncomfortable in order to achieve that. It was akin to pushing a bird out of a tree; they'd learn to fly but it would take a violent act to prove it.
Still reeling from my previous film experience, doubts of my abilities as a director were weighing on me and I did not want to fail Molly in that role or be unable to push her to the best performance. This kind of distress and emotional exhaustion is something you can’t make known to those around you when you’re in the leadership position. You play it close to the vest even if it makes you seem cold or uncaring.
The close friendship, history and intimacy that allowed Molly and I to work harmoniously and trust each other at times became a double-edged sword of sensitivity that brought out the best and the worst in us both. The long hours and stress combined with confronting our own personal issues and passions caused friction and battles that not only tested our working relationship but our personal relationship as well.
And then — “That’s a wrap!” — the last scene is shot. The dust settles, everyone goes home and all that’s left is the work, the story and memories. While it’s probably true for most projects, there will never be another experience like collaborating on this film with Molly.
Ironically, the arc of characters in the film mirrored our own personal journeys during its making and, while there will be a number of things we may never fully understand about the experience and our roles in it, isn’t that the true nature of faith? It’s not about “knowing” or even fully understanding, but sometimes going out on a limb and trusting. Believing. Maybe that’s the most important lesson to take into whatever comes next for us.
I know from the result of the film and the reaction to it that we both rose to our respective challenges in telling this story, growing from the experience through laughter and tears with a great group of artists, It was created with honest love for this film and for each other even its most difficult times.
There was no one else I could have possibly made this film with, both in inspiring its inception and bringing this character to life. Looking back on it almost a year later, I’m not sure I could imagine it happening any differently.