The Real Z

Brainstorm Rainstorm

For dinner, Dad makes kimchi stew, a Korean dish his grandmother taught him, packed with pork, scallions, vegetables, and tofu. As the family settles around the table, Mom shares highlights from her day teaching a university film class, including a student who’d never seen the original Star Wars movies. Z can barely sit still, tapping her spoon against her bowl like a drumstick, itching to share her own news over the ticking of the antique cuckoo clock that’s been in Mom’s family for 100 years, carried all the way from Korea in her great-grandmother’s suitcase.

Finally Z blurts it out: she’s been accepted into the CloudSong Seattle Film Festival’s Young Filmmakers’ Contest, and they’re giving her $300 toward making a short documentary about Seattle. Dad cheers, Popcorn jumps and barks along, and Mom reaches across the table with teary eyes, telling Z how proud she is. Dad, an aerospace engineer who designs airplanes for a living and always has a dozen projects going, peers at Z over the top of his glasses and wants every detail: the deadline, the grant rules, whether Z needs help. When Z admits Seattle is a lot to cover, Mom reminds her that a movie needs a clear vision or it turns into a mess. Z isn’t sure she has one yet, but she knows she wants viewers to fall in love with Seattle the way she has.

That kicks off a family brainstorm. Z mentions walking Popcorn around the block and paddleboarding on Lake Union. Since spring has arrived, Mom adds their two-seat sea kayak and flying kites at Kite Hill. Dad throws in Mount Rainier National Park, where they hike at least once a month, and Seward Park, Z and Lauren’s favorite biking spot. Mom scribbles every idea onto a napkin until both sides are covered with their top fifteen favorite Seattle spots.

Excused from the table, Z races upstairs with Popcorn to research filming permits, but her phone is already buzzing with texts from Mari, Gigi, and Becka demanding to know her news. She stalls just long enough to jot a few notes of her own, a close-up of the Gum Wall, a shot of the Beanery, something showing off Queen Anne Hill, her own hilltop neighborhood, before Mari bursts in from next door in a thrifted scarf and green skinny jeans, cheeks flushed as if she jogged the whole way over, unable to wait a second longer. Mari, Z’s oldest friend since toddlerhood and the one who nicknamed her Z, plops onto the bed, a stack of beaded bracelets sliding down her wrist and chiming like a wind chime, and demands the news.

Z pulls Becka and Gigi into a video chat before spilling the story. Becka, mid-wheelie in her wheelchair, and Gigi, in flannel pajamas ahead of bedtime in D.C., both cheer once Z explains the contest and the grant. Ideas start flying. Becka suggests renting a six-camera panoramic mount for sweeping shots of the shipyards and the Locks. Mari says that could even be the opening shot. Gigi suggests renting a drone for aerial footage, and Mari points out it would be perfect over the Space Needle. Mari also turns fashion consultant, offering to lend Z her green rain boots and suggesting a segment on Seattle style, maybe filmed at Beat Street Thrift Store, where Z found her lucky purple director’s beanie. Mari even asks to be in the movie, and Z happily agrees.

By the time everyone signs off, Z’s list has doubled, and her head is spinning. Becka promises to send camera links, Gigi a video on planning shots, and Mari some wardrobe options. Once it’s just the two of them, Mari suggests filming her band, Needles in a Haystack, at an upcoming gig at the Beanery, reminding Z that she’s already made the band a fan shirt, complete with a hand-painted Space Needle. Mari teases her about starting a side career in band merch, then reassures her the documentary is going to be great. Z pulls her beanie back down, plants herself in front of her Brainstorm Board, and gets back to work… she has plenty of ideas now. What she still needs is a vision, and there’s no time to waste.