Director’s Statement
An internal struggle, like mental illness, is difficult to portray on film. We can show its manifestations, but as "normal" outside observers we have the privilege of maintaining a safe distance. Encountering a sufferer of mental illness on the street as they lash out at unseen forces, we can quicken our pace and avoid eye contact. Thus, we protect our own “sanity”.
Pity, by and large, is safer than empathy, which often leads to identification, a far messier emotion. As I was pondering this, I happened to see the iconic footage of the moon landing. The immortal words "One small step for man..." echoed through my computer speakers in their garbled intensity.
Small step, or giant leap, it’s all in the mind of the person facing it. To an astronaut, taking a step millions of miles away from Earth probably feels beyond the realm of the ordinary. To an agoraphobe, crossing the threshold of the apartment, maybe even more so.
Could I show the journey of a man, who is trying to stretch the boundaries of his affliction, in a way that doesn't let the audience off the hook? There’s a huge difference between the sentiments “Thank God that’s not me,” and “My God, that could be me.” I was aiming for the latter and tried to show not just what such a condition looks like, but what it could feel like.
Obviously, the pandemic, which led to our world becoming smaller and smaller until they were confined to the walls of our apartment was on my mind, as well. Still, I didn’t want to provide an easy answer for my hero’s affliction--fearing a virus is reasonable, fearing the whole world, incomprehensible.