This week, I’ve been talking with a casting director about casting my film, Transnationals. It could be a casting director’s dream because it’s a small story that’s an ideal vehicle for new talent. There aren’t a lot of established talents that really fit my roles — at least, not here in the US. In Asia, there are some huge actors that I’d like to target, like Lee Min Ho or Rain from Korea, and Aishwarya Rai, one of the biggest stars of Bollywood. But here at home, my movie doesn’t call for anyone of that sort of celebrity status, which is kind of a blessing in disguise (no big names = no divas!). All that to say, as I’ve been thinking so much about casting, it prompted me to compile this list of a few of my favorite actors of the moment…

Joseph Gordon-Levitt: Once a creepy long-haired alien kid posing as the son of even-weirder John Lithgow in Third Rock From the Sun, I think this perpetual man-child has finally come into his own. I just saw 50/50, which was just another opportunity for him to surprise me with his subtle, natural, slightly awkward way of making “cute white guy who’s down on his luck” actually seem real, believable and poignant. He even did this in the less-stellar Zooey Deschanel vehicle, (500) Days of Summer. I was not a huge fan of that movie, but his performance didn’t disappoint. But let’s talk about his choice of roles in the past, which is infinitely more interesting (see photo). Rian Johnson’s 2005 film Brick is one of my favorite films of the past decade: the script was amazing, the dialogue so pitch-perfect it’s uncanny, and the execution was brilliant. Every detail was just right. It was a little-film-that-could, gone absolutely, concretely, unabashedly right. Go a bit further back in the actor’s history when he played David Collins in a 1990 re-make of one of my all-time-favorite TV shows, Dark Shadows. I loved the original 60s version, which lasted much longer than the 90s remake, but the casting of the 90s version was absolutely spot-on. Gordon-Levitt was great as the bratty misfit, David. All and all, I think he’s THE great actor of my generation. Oh – and then there’s stuff like this out there: Check out Morgan M. Morganson\’s Date with Destiny

Rebecca Hazelwood: Sure, I’ve only started following her recently, as a result of my new obsession with the television show Outsourced, but already I know there is something magical about Hazelwood, beyond the obvious “exotic beauty” calling card. She, like a number of other western-born Indian actresses out there, is trying to distinguish herself  by playing provocative characters in provocative dramas (Kissing Cousins, The Ode) but I think her true success will come when she embraces her potential and starts playing strong women characters. Perhaps she’s gotta fight past the “repressed Indian woman” stereotype before she can do that, but I think she’ll manage. She’s got such obvious star power.

Audrey Tautou: In spite of a filmography with just as many massive hits as supreme misses, I still think Tautou is brilliant. She’s one of the non-English-speaking-world’s most recognizable female faces in America (although Marion Cotillard is hot on her heels these days) and somehow, no matter how many times she loses her head and makes a movie like Priceless or The Da Vinci Code, she’ll always run back to a great director and do something amazing. I’m satisfied that she’s spent her career hopping back and forth from celebrity status in the small French film industry to “supporting player” English language films. I was one of a few people who loved Dirty Pretty Things, but I understand that she can’t make films like that all the time: she’s a comedienne, and she needs roles worthy of quirky leading lady. It’s true, she’s no new, undiscovered talent, but she remains one of my favorites of the moment, so here she belongs, on my list of love.

Cillian Murphy: I’ve been following this young Irish actor since the days of Disco Pigs,

which led him to a short, beautiful string of indie performances (Intermission, Girl with the Pearl Earring, 28 Days Later) before Hollywood snapped him up as an evil bad guy with an accent (see the awful Red Eye, or better films, like Batman Begins, The Dark Knight and Inception) but I think there’s still more out there for him in terms of festival shorts, heart-wrenching dramas and small, Irish stories. If you ask me, Ireland is one of the most under-valued film centers in Europe; and with that under-utilized potential, there are probably dozens of actors of Murphy’s caliber going totally to waste. Murphy is obviously torn between Indie-wood and Hollywood; personally, I hope he returns to his roots and makes a few more Danny Boyle-style films across the pond to restore his street cred as an indie lead. I have Ewan McGregor-like dreams for this one, I do.

Earlier this year, I shot five films in Bangladesh. It was my third time to the country, but never does it fail to captivate my imagination – each time for a different reason. This time, I got to thinking back about the first time I was in Bangladesh, and the story that had been marinating in my mind ever since. In May, I visited Cambodia to work on my shorts with my editor. And after those four intense weeks I had not only finished 5 short films, I had also written the first draft of what was to become “Transnationals,” my fourth feature screenplay.

Except there was a difference between this screenplay and the others: people actually liked it! My friends liked it, my colleagues liked it – people started to get excited! So, a few drafts, many notes and some increased confidence later, I decided in August that I was going to make the film: I AM going to make the film! It’s about three Asian-American adoptees who each return to their birth country to seek out the culture, family and identity they never knew.

People have been asking me why I’d choose to write a story like this. It wasn’t in Cambodia, playing ultimate frisbee with the national team called “Angelina’s Orphans” that I chose to write about adoptees. And it wasn’t even necessarily because I grew up with two adopted cousins from Korea. No, it was a certain experience in Bangladesh in 2006, some five years ago, that first sparked my interest in the subject. Below is an essay I wrote on the subject…

“I  have always had a soft spot for the exotic, colorful, magical land of singing and dancing that is India. So in the beginning of 2006, I was thrilled to be offered a job in Bangladesh to work on a documentary short. A sign in the airport read, “Get here before all the tourists do!” It didn’t take long to see why tourists bypass India’s eastern neighbor and former annex: crushing poverty, lack of infrastructure, narrowly-defined social norms and a government-led disdain for outside influence.

A few weeks later, I met a 23 year old French-Canadian woman who had been adopted from Bangladesh as a baby. If I found the reality of Bangladesh a harsh contrast to the colorful Bollywood movie I’d had playing in my head, I could hardly imagine her feeligns of displacement in her own homeland. It seems her expectations were similar to mine. But for all of the strange and sometimes-traumatic stories I had about the country, what she was experiencing as a “foreigner” was altogether different.

I remember walking into a high-end retail store with her and another white foreigner. The white foreigner and I walked right in while two armed guards stopped her outside and forced her to turn in her backpack before she entered. I was confused until my white foreign fright told me it was because she looked Bengali. It was then that I first thought about what it must be like to be a transnational adoptee: halfway between the white, middle-class Western families they grew up with and the homogenous Asian cultures with whom they only have a skin color in common. It’s a strange island of misfits that make up a large part of the 6 million adopted children in the U.S.

Through the landscape of transnational Asian adoption, which started after the Korean War when many babies were orphaned, or born to American soldiers and Korean mothers who later abandoned them, three cultures stood out to me and piqued my interest in the people who are now adult adoptees. Japan, for its traditionalism and homogeneity, which seems to reject any sense of multi-culturalism; Korea, the homeland of more international adoptees than any country in the world; and Bangladesh, because it is the home of at least one French-Canadian whose image is forever burned in my memory.”

Today I’ll move on to my photos of Cambodia. Here I’ve noticed a marked shift that I may not have realized when thinking conceptually about it: I’ve graduated from “South Asia” into “Southeast Asia.” This is where all of your “Asia” stereotypes really come from. Like the constant and abusive (but funny) Engrish, indecipherable accents, constant bowing, the whole “saving face” thing… and noodles! Tons of noodles!

Beer time!

I found it extremely funny that this was a kids’ shirt. I’d hope my 3-year-old wasn’t wearing a shirt that said “Hello beer!” on it. But then again, I could hardly resist getting this for my own 3-year-old niece….

Dead duck

I found it re-assuring that ALL of my Asian stereotypes were being fulfilled on that first day in Phnom Penh: absurd misspellings of English AND dead birds hanging off someone’s food truck. It was really better than I could have even expected.

Moto!

Motos are transport from families of 2 to 5. Often, the front passenger will be a little toddler with hands firmly affixed to the handlebars. Behind Toddler will be the driver, followed by another infant and mother… or sisters… etc. It’s quite a sight.

A few passengers

Just another example of the absolute crammage of bodies onto one vehicle. Dan has some much more excellent photos in this department.

Riverside...

When I arrived in Siem Reap, it was picturesque, but brutally hot. And it only got hotter.

Not bad for $14 a night!

This was my adorable hotel room in Siem Reap, for cheap!! All of this luxury, complete with AC, a TV and a private shower/bathroom is the kind of amazing value for money that Cambodia offers. It’s really swell.

Little Angkor

It’s hard to know what to say or what to post about Angkor. It’s kind of something you just have to experience for yourself. One thing that continues to amaze me about Cambodia is the smiles of its people. I asked this little boy for a photo and a smile, and I think he’s just as impressive as any surrounding temple.

Angkor Vat

But in case you’d rather see temples, I’ve got those too.

Steep

Delicious Sunlight

Buddha worship

Concentric Temples

Rock formations

Which god?

Framed

Breakfast

This is my tuk-tuk driving eating a noodle breakfast. He was so chill.

Soap Farm

I visited a candle-making and soap-making place back in Siem Reap. It’s one of those “fair trade, direct from the source” type of places.

Tineapple!

Cambodia is a land of tiny pineapples. I thought this was just a baby pineapple until I saw a normal pineapple in a grocery store and realized that they don’t get a whole lot bigger than this: the green spiky hair of the pineapple is usually bigger than the fruit itself. Are our pineapples just genetically deformed so monstrously that they become huge and ridiculous, or are these babes the ones with stunted growth?

Cardamom tea

As it turns out, Cambodians like to put anise or cardimom in nearly everything. I don’t think that’s such a bad deal. I could see myself getting really used to that….

I know that I’ve been posting a few photos here and there along the way, but it’s time for a photoblog, like I used to do in the old days. So, to take you back to Dhaka for a minute…. Welcome to Wonderland. Wonderland is a magical theme park filled with good girls and boys who ride on some very small amusement park rides and have the opportunity to see exotic animals, like this giant panda. It was also one of our shooting locations.

Adventures in Wonderland

Although extremely kitschy, I thought it might make a nice faux-horror location. All it really did was make us really, really, really hot. Because there is no shade in Wonderland. This poor guy, Areeb, got the worst end of the deal. He was our tiny star player, and he simply could not deal with the heat. He just ran out of cuteness, long before our shotlist was finished. Sigh. We made do.

Areeb

We had the opportunity to work with a few female stars on another show. Gita, the “elder sister” in the green sari, starred as a poor maid and Sumi, in the pink, was her evil master. Sumi turned out to be loads of fun, as she proved later on when we went to our second location: “hell.”

L to R: Sumi, me, Gita and Sara

This is our crew. I’m not joking. You might think that there are like 17 other people behind the camera, but you’d be wrong. Dan, Sara, Tajul and me are the only other members of the crew. Zia is the production designer, to his left is an assistant, and the 3 other guys do our lighting. Khalil, in the middle, is our awesome gaffer who is with us on every shoot. When he’s not trying to strangle goats or practice his English, he’s taking notes and hanging on Dan’s every word to make the lighting just a little bit better. Once, I tried to tell him that we didn’t need a light; just some bounce from a foam bounce card. But because I don’t know the Bangla-lingo when it comes to lighting, he had no idea what I meant. Dan later told me that a bounce card is called a “corksheet” in Bangla, which, when pronounced with the Bangla-accent, sounds a whole lot like “coc-sheit.”

Art assistant, Zia, Khalil, and 2 other light dudes

Below you’ll see our dancers. They performed a Bollywood dance for the other main character: a rich, fat Bollywood producer…

Dancers!

…. as seen here!

Rich, fat Bollywood producer

I was worried he wouldn’t be fat enough. Oddly, the camera seems to take away 10 lbs in his case!

What up, Hipster?

This is Dan because.. well… do you even have to ask?

Dhaka Airport

This photo is entirely extraneous. It’s inside the Dhaka Airport, which has become waaaay less sketchy in the past year. I could hardly believe the normality lurking between the walls.

Please.

This is the Kuala Lumpur airport, but this sign would have been even more appropriate in Dhaka. Bangladeshis have this horrible habit of “hawlking”… you know, like when you have a loogie stuck in your throat and you make this gutteral grunting sigh to try to bring it up out of your lungs? Yeah. That’s a pretty frequent occurrence in Bangladesh. Like, every 5 or 10 minutes on the street, you hear someone do it. In the office, we’ve got about a half hour window between hawlks. So when I saw this sign by the drinking fountain, I thought it was just perfect. You may think it’s obvious that you’re not supposed to spit in the fountain, but believe it or not, it’s not that obvious in S.E. Asia.

I’m going to leave it here for now and do another photoblog of Cambodia tomorrow. That’s enough crazy photos for one day

Oh Cambodia! What a magical country. I keep expecting elves – or maybe garden gnomes – to pop up somewhere, directing traffic or picking up trash or building a coffee shop or doing one of the many things that make this country so much more clean, quiet, peaceful and comfortable than Bangladesh! Traffic flows smoothly, with rarely a jam; honking is reduced to a minimum, and people seem to have a genuine concern for others. Perhaps part of this is due to Cambodia’s lack of overpopulation – one of Bangladesh’s greatest ills.

This empty street in Phnom Penh thrilled me after being in Dhaka for 3 weeks.

Certainly, it’s unfair to compare the two countries. First, one is in South Asia and the other South East Asia, each area being dominated by different social norms and cultural standards. To continue to make matters different, each has different problems, development-wise. I’m staying with a friend who works for the US Embassy in the development sector. She has also worked in Bangladesh, so she has a very clear picture of the different challenges. The Bangladeshi population of 160 million continues to be one of the greatest challenges there, as there can really never be enough jobs for such a great amount of people when the population continues to rise at record rates. To make matters worse, there are few natural resources and many natural disasters claiming lives, land and livelihoods year after year. But in spite of all this, Bangladesh’s economy continues to grow and somehow, most of those 160 million people continue to survive. In Cambodia, which has experienced an human genocide, population is not a problem. The more oppressive problem seems to be the fractured psyche that years of war, bloodshed and holding on for survival have created. The educated class was completely wiped out in the mid-1970s during the Khmer Rouge era, and the instability and war that followed really did not cease until the Khmer Rouge was completely wiped out of political existence in Cambodia in 1998.  Currently, with 70% of the population under thirty, there are only now beginning to be college graduates again and those who want to be pro-active in Cambodian society are finally gaining a voice. So where Bangladesh has too many people and not enough resources, Cambodia lacks many of the key people capable of wisely using Cambodia’s resources and leading the country.

But in spite of Cambodia’s problems, what makes it so excellent? What makes development seem to work? What makes the streets clean, and how do the people deliver such beautiful, heartbreaking smiles?

Angkor Wat

I really can’t tell you why things seem to work here. (After all, I’ve only been here a week!)  The only thing I do understand about the national psyche is the pride Cambodians feel at the great achievements of their civilization, which have resulted in an amazing group of cultural and religious monuments that are known the world over. I’m not really sure how people get photos of Angkor Wat without any people in them: I’ve obviously failed at that in the shot to the right. But beyond the spectacle of the temples is some true Buddhist devotion, which I saw again and again over the days I visited the Angkor region. Perhaps understanding the Khmer’s practice of Buddhism is key to understanding who these people really are.

After location scouting at a variety of shooting houses, I came away with a much better idea of what set design looks like in this culture, and what perceived “wealth” looks like. It gave me a better understanding of the real houses of rich people we had been visiting as possible locations. As in our culture, reality often mirrors media, as people strive to design “as seen on tv.” Hope you enjoy the results…

A colorful pad

Bare, yes. But you’d hardly notice that with all of the mis-matched spots of color. Opposite this couch is a giant bar, which is a bit odd, since alcohol is not allowed in this country.

Tajul in green.

This spectacular green couch and corresponding windows made up a “green room” of furniture in the same house. I really should have gotten a wider shot… it was just too good. This sort of Victorian style furniture with fancy wooden sides and uncomfortable cushions (a personal favorite style of mine, too) is perceived as “very rich looking”; and in fact, real rich people tend to have these sorts of antique pieces in their houses, although how they sit on them in good faith that they’ll provide comfort continues to baffle me…

"I'm at the corner just in time to see the bus fly by..."

Same shooting house, but doesn’t this one just remind you of “Saved by the Bell”? Maybe it’s just the weird faux-stained glass doors… or the pink, blue and white curtain-ish things… Or, I don’t know, perhaps the whole cartoon-ish scene. This staircase opens onto a large, open room with a dining table in the middle, surrounded by similarly uncomfortable chairs. It’s baffling, to say the least. But it gives you a nice sense of home to imagine Zach, Kelly, Slater, Screech and the rest of the gang kickin’ it in Uttara, a northern suburb of Dhaka.

I match the wall!

Okay, this is nothing special: just me flying into the wall for no particular reason.

These two are from the same living room: sky-blue walls with a textured pattern, and an impressively modern living room. But as you can see, it doesn’t look like a whole lot of work is being done.

It was just like any other morning for the day laborers who stood on the corner of the American Embassy waiting for work. It’s a lot like the parking lot of a Home Depot: hundreds of laborers ready to help, with a few tools in hand and a limited amount of communication skills. In Dhaka, they carry baskets and shovels to the corner. A foreman will come to collect a group of 6 or 12 and they’ll drive to a construction site and work for their daily wage of 350 taka, which is about $5. The wages are much higher here in the city than in the villages, where this kind of work only brings in $1 or $2.

Except today, 10 of these workers will discover a whole new profession.

Up to the sidewalk rumble two small cars and a van full of shiny reflector boards and lights. Tajul chooses 15 workers to stand with him (for he is also the lead actor in this short). He takes them on a short walk away from the waiting workers to our own “waiting workers” spot, and the crowds follow. As soon as the four Bideshis and a camera start walking off to their own site, a crowd forms. More and more workers want in on the action and excitement as they’re directed to sit and stand, by Tajul and Kohlil. We take a few shots, then ask them to follow us. And they all do, even the ones we haven’t asked for. Soon enough, Tajul pays all 15 workers for their time – 200 taka, and it’s still 9 in the morning, plenty of time for them to get another job. He then chooses 10 of those 15 for the full day’s wage. For them, this will be a day worth telling the wife and kids about…

We – and the group includes 3 Bideshis (Dan, Sara and me), Tajul and our grip and electric crew of 6 – drive the 10 workers to our construction site, a half-finished building next to our office. There are bricks to haul, cement to mix and of course rebar to secure. Except there are already workers at this site, doing just that. The hired laborers are asked to sit. And they wait… and sit… and sit… and wait. Welcome to the movies.

Finally, we line them up in a row to get paid as some other Bengalis set up dolly track around them and Kohlil moves them into position. We rehearse movement with them. They collect taka from our hired “foreman,” then give it back. They do this action again and again. Faster, slower, bending down, standing up, smiling, frowning. We tell them not to look at the camera. Again and again.

Construction workers turned extras.

After they’ve been “paid” for 2 hours, we break for lunch. They’ve each already made 200 taka and their shovels and baskets have sat dormant at their sides all day long.

After lunch, everything changes: first, they are broken into groups to repeat the same work again and again on the roof. They attach stacks of rebar. They undo the attachments. They redo them again. The camera crew tells them to move downstairs, and now it gets interesting. Tajul, our main character (and their boss – for he hired them all) needs to learn how to carry bricks, 7 or 8 at a time, on his head. Now it’s the construction workers’ turn to share their expertise: one shows Tajul how to wrap the towel on his head so he won’t get hurt by the bricks. Another shows him the technique of stacking the bricks. They each put a brick on his head at first, then show him how to do it himself. Soon enough, Tajul is carrying bricks back and forth like a pro, 8 at a time. The other workers join in, a few at a time, as they’re directed. The real construction site foreman tells them to dump the bricks where they need to go (as long as we’re “faking” productivity!) and they show Tajul the correct way to drop all the bricks from his head without breaking them. It’s nearing 2:30pm and the workers are released: for 350 taka, their average wage for a sunup-to-sundown workday, they’ve posed for the camera, pretended to get paid a whole bunch of times, and taught a pretty boy office worker how to carry bricks on his head.

Factory worker protests, rain storms, staged monsoons, falling latrines, manufactured poop – where do I start? Hotapara, a serene oasis dubbed “the shooting village” was our destination on a bright and early Sunday morning. Bright it was, but early enough? Not so much. We got caught up in traffic leaving Dhaka, which made the 45-mile trek north an almost 3 hour journey. It doesn’t help when half of the roads look like this:

Yes, it's hard to tell which parts are road and which parts are piles of brick in real life, too.

We spent the better part of the next four days shooting 2 shorts, but not without a few interruptions. Day One, our location scouting day, saw us smack dab in the middle of protesting factory workers with huge bamboo sticks. Two local factories had workers shouting outside about poor treatment of one of the workers in nothing as organized as a protest or picket. The bamboo sticks gave an added push of force to their shouts and, after we had entered the shooting compound, we witnessed the full wrath of the workers as they pounded on the manager’s home – a tin shack on the other side of the shooting village wall!

I should explain that the “shooting village”is probably 20 or 30 acres of grassy fields with little “barris,” or village neighborhoods planted throughout. The barris are made up of 4 houses with a central square made of thatched roof, concrete, brick or mud houses. These are all representative of different parts of rural Bangladesh. This private compound, complete with chickens, a giant, beastly goat and an angry cow; a few helpful production assistants that live on-site; housing for cast and crew; and a camp-style outdoor mess hall, is used for film shoots and private functions nearly all the time. It’s impressively well-kept and – need I mention this again? – entirely UN-POPULATED. You can’t imagine how great it is to walk outside and not be faced with a wall of people, or at least a trickle of staring on-lookers, taking photos of you on their phones, until you’ve experienced it again and again, day in and day out, everywhere you go.

Tajul asks to use this snack shop for a location on the left as the on-lookers huddle and prepare to pounce.

Unfortunately, we were unable to enjoy the shelter of this compound for the first two days because they only have “home” and “field” sets: we needed a village. Fortunately, there is a small village road directly outside the compound (where the self-same factory workers, just hours later, had finished striking). We hunted down a tea stall and a tailor shop for the task. Since we were already going to be at the tailor shop, I asked them to make me some new trousers by copying my favorite linen ones. Two days later, we had a film in the can and I had new pants. Not bad!

The collection of actors we amassed over the four days was pretty exceptional. With little to no pre-planning, it’s amazing that Tajul can just call up TV stars and ask “Hey, you wanna be in a 3-minute movie? Come on up from Dhaka for a day”  and they come! It’s a testament to how well BCM is respected among Bangladeshi actors that any of them come at all! Although we did spend 5 and a half hours waiting for an actor to show up one day: each hour Tajul would get an update from him saying he was an hour away…. that was Bengali time really stretched to the limit. Another actor, a old man we dubbed “Omm” (for “Old Man”), was already at Hotapara shooting something else when we arrived. He was happy to introduce himself to us and tell us that his children lived in exotic places like England, Australia, the US and Canada – he even wore a red cap with an English flag on it, clashing perfectly with his bright maroon punjabi, to prove it. Tajul took his number and later we asked him to stay on for the next two days with us. Omm became not only an integral part of our production, but an absolute character on set. Observe the powers of Omm:

Who's too sexy for his socks? Omm's too sexy for his socks.

Omm clings to a mysterious briefcase.

Omm’s real name is Jamaal, a very sweet old man who loves to be the center of attention. It was never clear to us whether or not he had much acting experience – because he also worked at a bank and spent plenty of time going on lavish vacations to England (where else?) to visit his daughter. He even showed me a keychain he bought in Edinburgh: it was an image of a pouty, half-naked Brittany Spears! I often find that untrained actors in Bangladesh do a better job of not being too cheesy and melodramatic though, and there were moments in his performance that I felt were actually quite beautiful. So thanks, Omm!

The other actors in our first short were TV stars who themselves drew just as much of a crowd as we did: I had to guide our lead actress off set and into a getaway car to escape her adoring fans who had pinned us in at the tailoring shop – it almost got ugly!

The last two days, though, we shot in the safety of the shooting compound. Our story was about two villagers building latrines: one builds on solid ground, with a good foundation, and the other builds over the river. When a monsoon comes to town, the river-builder’s latrine is blown over – with him inside! The scenario itself was realistic: all we needed was a reason for these two villagers to build latrines. I had an idea that they would see a man peeing in the river and decide that it was disgusting, but everyone thought this scenario was all too common and wouldn’t phase actual villagers; instead, we developed a scenario where the builders were coming back from university and one fell into a pile of poo by the side of the road, prompting them both to build latrines. Because everybody in every culture around the world loves toilet humor, this was pleasing to all. Our crew really got into the spirit of things and our gaffer-turned-set decorator, Kohlil, spent time carefully finding squishy mud he could fashion into fake poo. Then it came time for the “monsoon” to arrive. The monsoon rode on a great big truck manned by a crew of about 15. Their rainstorm getup looked about like the home depot rig that Rodrigo and I had once thought of building for a music video. It came complete with two giant fans and six showerheads connected to hoses. The hoses were placed into the river and connected to a little pool that fueled them. On the call of “Fan on!” or “Generator!” or “ACTION!!” (or whatever could be shouted the loudest amidst the chaotic noise), some grips on the truck would power the hand-crank-operated generator, the fan ops would turn on the giant fans, and soon enough the water started rolling. The grips got into the action too and started stockpiling leaves to throw at the fans. It all reminded me of the grand old village of Mariqueta from a movie I worked on last summer.  Observe our local weather:

By the end of the week, we were ready to go home to the creature comforts of Dhaka: hot water, buildings without mosquitoes and food other than oily, overcooked vegetables for breakfast, lunch and dinner. While it was an exceptionally fun week, it’s always nice to come home.

This time, Bangladesh started in the air over Dubai, at 2 in the morning, just after taking off 25 minutes late from Dubai International Airport. Besides the lateness, which is a classic characteristic of “Bengali time,” there was a child screaming straight through the night, from 2am until about 3:30, at which time I decided to finally try to get some sleep. After a half an hour of much-needed rest, though, Bangladesh really came alive. I was suddenly surrounded by your average crowd of shouting Bengalis, chatting up a storm with their seatmates at a volume several decibels comfortably above the airplane’s consistent din. This boisterous chatter lasted through the night and, as the cabin temperature continued to rise to its stuffy, humid peak, I knew we were in Dhaka before we even hit the ground.

While the journey had already acclimated me to the noise and the heat, which both remained consistent as I stepped off the plane, there was one thing no airplane could replicate, and it greeted me straight out of the jetbridge in Dhaka: the smell. That constant, putrid, burning smell. I can only describe it as “burning garbage” smell, which it often is. It’s not like there is a Waste Management truck, going around and picking up garbage in neat little bins, so conscientious families take their rubbish out into the street and burn plastic, banana peels, reeking empty oil bottles, wrappers. The whole lot of it goes up into a thick black cloud of smoke which succeeds in hanging just above eye-level, streaking through the air for your asthma-creating pleasure.

Tajul's flashy dash.

Aziz bhai, our driver, picked me up from the airport and took me to the guesthouse, which I would more accurately describe as a hostile hostel, utterly lacking in hospitality. (I’ve since moved to the “Aristocrat Inn,” which recalls a bit too much British colonialism, but I love it just the same.) I unpacked at the hostile hostel, took a shower in the bathroom (which I discovered did not have a working light) and waited for Aziz to come again and take me to the office and out of the constant drilling, sawing and hammering at the building next to my room. Riding in the car to work, I remembered the unique thing about Dhaka: there is constant building, but never finishing. What passes for a “road” here is really a narrow strip of dusty concrete surrounded on both sides by piles of dust, red bricks, garbage, tea stalls and people. I don’t understand where the money and labour comes for this constant construction when roads, buildings and infrastructure never seems to improve. The one thing that “improves” dramatically – or at least increases – year by year is the traffic. Theoretically, traffic drives on the left side of the road, but most drivers of cars, motorcycles, rickshaws and baby taxis have a very loose idea governing the concept of “sides of the road”: if traffic backs up on the left, it’s perfectly acceptable to cut into oncoming traffic to overtake a sea of rickshaws, or barely miss pedestrians, by swerving to the right. But amazingly enough, I always manage to feel safe when I’m riding with Aziz. Tajul, the head manager of BCM and the only Bengali at our office who has his own car, is a different story. When you open the door to his car, you’re entering a different world. A black light illuminates the interior when the doors are open, and I always imagine some thumping club music should start pounding out. In lieu of music, I have to focus on the dancing: Tajul’s collection of bobbling dashboard buddies rotates seasonally, but I like the ones he’s got right now. One is a happy daisy sticking out of a flower pot, another features 3 Chinese kitties with bobbling heads, and the third is a stoic, chic purple bottle of French perfume standing between the other two.

Since arriving, I’ve been prepping for our first shoot next week. Besides my three American counterparts at the office, our Bengali team has been finding actors and setting up all of the necessary people and equipment for shooting. The amazing thing about filmmaking in Bangladesh is that nothing is organized, yet everything seems to magically come together at the last moment. While I’ve been scrambling to finalize the scripts this week, it has been Tajul’s job to find the actors. But he can’t find the actors until we know what the shooting schedule is: they don’t need the script to make a commitment, they just need the schedule so they can say whether or not they’re free. Consequently, I’ve been writing, Dan has been making a schedule simultaneously, and Tajul has been contacting actors on the heels of Dan’s schedule. We leave for our location on Sunday to location scout, and we’ll start shooting Monday. Now that I’ve finished the scripts, I made shotlists for the first 2 shorts today and Dan and Sara, the office newbie (who grew up about an hour from where I’m from!), finalized shooting schedules for these scripts. Because the schedules have been made without a location scout (we couldn’t scout this week because the location is too far away), everything will inevitably change when we scout on Sunday. This could change things for the actors (who we still haven’t seen/auditioned/talked to) and inevitably, it will all end up working out, somehow. I have a feeling the way that it magically works out has something to do with Tajul screaming at the wall and sitting in his car watching his bobbling kitten heads to calm down after every time he talks to us and we change something. I have no evidence whatsoever to back that up; instead, I have a series of interactions with Tajul in which his final statement is always “It’s no problem. No problem, shistor” (meaning, of course, “sister”).

So as we end the week (for Friday is the Muslim holy day and Saturday is our extended weekend), I have nothing but questions about what will happen when we shoot on Monday. Nothing will be resolved until Monday morning, or perhaps Monday afternoon, but somehow, we’ll all get up to the location on Sunday, choose the shooting spots, and have 2 shorts in the can by the end of next week. It’s a wild, wild life.

An itemized list of the events that made this Christmas exactly 32 times better than last Christmas:

Winter sunset

“Charlie the Unicorn” is publicized by Father as premiere YouTube family content.

Brother procures large top hat, which pops up and down on Father’s head when grinding his teeth.

Father and brother gift each other same item (”Decision Points” by George W. Bush).

Niece kisses the monkey in new jack-in-the-box every time it emerges.

Mother feels remorse for making delicious holiday meal for family pre-Christmas celebration whilst one of two daughters is still away from home.

Cousin recounts the story of lighting friend’s hair on fire.

Self-same author makes cousin a “bling bling” style walking cane.

Mother, aunties and cousins gather for tea party with small cucumber sandwiches.

“White Christmas” is watched.

Mother’s nickname, “Mambo,” commences being used as replacement lyric for all Christmas song lyrics.

“Whitefish Wednesday” is partaken of by three groups of older/younger sisters and a similarly sisterly mutual friend.

Christmas cigars and chocolate cherry cookies are produced by sister and self-same author, with ingredient location facilitated by Mother.

Stockings are stuffed with an utterly gigantic pencil, head massagers and similar trinkets.

Sisters and Mother open sequentially larger and larger wooden jewelry boxes from Father.

Father bestows upon Mother a captain’s bell, with which she can call him and others to dinner.

Cats unwittingly dress in festive holiday bows.

Mother bakes festive vegetarian nut loaf for Christmas dinner, of which all family partakes in addition to Christmas buffalo.

Self-same author visits friend’s baby, whose smallness of size is commented on in lieu of other cliched remarks of dubious meaning concerning babies.

Brother dresses as samurai, complete with top-of-head ponytail and large sword.

Family sequentially watches three movies upon whose merits we all agree, including “Romancing the Stone” and “True Grit.”

Sisters tear up winter ski trails in little-known neighboring town.

Food is consumed at an alarming rate for Sister’s birthday (in addition to rest of holiday season).

Aunt admits to watching movies backwards whilst rewinding.

Family commences with “can-can” type maneuver while engaged in awkward group side-hug.

Mother explodes in uncontrollable fit of laughter after attempting to re-create said “can-can” maneuver practiced only moments before.