Why Now?
I see St. George like a dream about one’s childhood – you’re wandering through your family home, but things aren’t quite right. Everything feels familiar and foreign. The tone should mimic our protagonist’s headspace. He’s searching for answers so closely that all goes out of focus. We should experience Adrien’s tunnel vision. We will play with atmosphere through a smudged and micro-focused view which should feel, to the viewer, heightened and slightly askew. And then, like being snapped out of a dream, Adrien is motivated into action by the colorful, idiosyncratic, and often quirky characters he encounters.
I want the audience to be pulled into Adrien’s experience. Every voice that he hears, be it his enthusiastic brother, the calming lull of his deceased sister, the not-so-gentle prodding of the girl at the coffee shop, his ghostly father’s faulty advice, and even his own thoughts – they are real to him. It poses the question: what voice do we choose to listen to?
I’m not interested in the oversimplified concepts of “good and evil,” but rather in the positive and destructive qualities that we each possess - which often wait dormant until their chance to be awakened. I want the audience to question how they might behave under Adrien’s circumstances. I want them to empathize not only with his struggles, but with his mistakes.
St. George is about human endurance. Each of the characters has their own uphill battle. An LGBTQ+ identifying fire chief fights to be respected in her field. A young man with Down syndrome forges a path to purpose in a society which tells him to stay in his place. An older brother’s blood boils and blinds him, leading to his own revenge fantasy. The audience should question what choice they would make.
Now, more than ever, this story is one to tell. We’re living through a pandemic of individualism; we socialize less, define ourselves into smaller boxes, shield our local experience from the onslaught of the increasingly violent world that is fed to us. In this story we have, from the outside, a small town filled with wildly different characters. Addict and clean. Neurotypical and neurodivergent. Straight and gay. Wealthy and poor. Just like the real world, this one seems replete with separate tenets and tribal urges. But how different are we? Do we not all mourn? Strive? Seek purpose? Attempt connection? And finally, in the basic experiences of human decency, generosity, and especially love, do we not find our similarities? I believe there is an opportunity here. If we paint each portrait vividly enough, we will finally see that, though the subject may be different, each canvas is caked with the same vibrant colors.
I’ve always believed in the vital practice of empathy. Even if it’s not an instinctual response, it can, and should be, a holy custom.