This is a short film of a long-forgotten day on Thyme Court sometime around 1968.  It starts off with a quick shot of Don Hart, our next door neighbor and father of Blaine, Blake, Wendy, and Sarah, and then cuts to Kevin dressed in his football uniform and executing a few moves.  A bit later, you see Mark Wilhaucks and . . . someone I don't recall or can't recognize . . . out in the court riding bikes.  Look closely and you'll see me blazing a trail on a tricycle and then, at the end, you'll see Kevin giving a ride (a tote, as we used to call it) to Jeff Wilhaucks.  Questions for you:

A.  Do you know when this was taken?

B.  Do you know who the girl on the bike is?

If you do, please email me by clicking here.

This has a some footage of Chris Bratcher playing in the front yard of our house on Thyme Court, while a few other kids play basketball in the background.  About half-way through, it switches to Chris's second birthday party in our old house with Chris, mom, Kevin, me, and Jeff and Kelley Wilhaucks.  Does anyone know (a) the name of the girl in the red shirt playing with Chris at the beginning or (b) the names of the kids playing basketball in the background?  I believe that the ones in the background are Gene Bailey (the tall one) and Jeff Wilhaucks (the blonde one), but I'm not sure who the dark haired one is.

Here is a film taken in our kitchen at Thyme Court on October 17, 1973.  It was my seventh birthday.  My brothers Kevin and Chris were there, as well as my friends Jeff Wilhaucks, Blake Hart, and Blaine Hart.  Toward the end, you see my mom Vickie.  For the record, I got a Panzer tank model and the board game Sorry.  If you look closely, you'll see that my cake is decorated with a Houston Oilers football helmet.  I'm not sure why, though, as I was partial to the Colts and the Cowboys.  I'm pretty sure it was my dad who took the film, although we don't really get a chance to see him.

This was one of the many films that Joe Meany, my brothers, and I made.  We called this one "Eric."  It's about a scientist who is building a robot, played by me.  In the end, the robot turns on the scientist in a rather macabre ending, not too terribly unlike Frankenstein.  In looking at it now, it's a rather compelling film given that it is only four minutes long.  And silent.  It is the most complete film we ever shot and it is certainly the best one we ever did, most likely because my older brother Kevin was the brains behind it.

UPDATE:  I have just edited this a bit and put something of a soundtrack to to it.  After watching it again, I'm convinced, now more than ever, that this was the best film we ever made.  Kudos to Kevin.

I really don't remember shooting this film, but here it is.  I can only gather that it was our attempt at making some sort of music video for our band called Fiscus Thyme.  (There's a story behind that name that I will share at a different time.)  In it, you can see Kevin and Chris Bratcher, Joe Meany, and me. 

A few things are also worth noting.  First, if you'll look at my drum set, you'll see that the drums have paper heads, all of which were broken and patched together with bumper stickers and the like.  (One says "Boycott Winn-Dixie.")  The next thing is how Joe Meany seems somewhat obsessed with showing off his chest.  Can't figure that one out.  Then there's my little brother's peculiar dance toward the beginning.  And, finally, there's me--and how incredibly skinny I was.  It's almost painful to watch, given that I looked so much like a girl.

Technically speaking, I think this was our first and only one of two or so films where we used "off-camera" lighting, meaning that the lighting we used for a given scene was not always being directed at the action from same viewpoint as the camera.  It's much more effective from a dramatic perspective.  Sitting here decades after we shot it, I feel small pangs of regret that we never finished it.

When I look at some of our old films and think of some of the antics we were up to when we were younger, I have the same recurring thoughts: 

(A) How did we not get in trouble? 

(B) How did we not burn down the garage or the house? 

(C) How did we not break our necks or, at least, a leg or an arm? 

In this film, we push the boundaries of good sense by having Dion, doubling here as a spy of sorts, climb onto our garage, only to have his mission cut short by Joe Meany, who springs from nowhere to shoot poor Dion in the back.  Dion then falls off the garage, landing on a doubled-over mattress and two seat cushions from one of our old couches.  Nuts.

At last, some evidence that we were not entirely bent on destroying the human race.  There were a couple of films we did that were little more than Benny Hill or Monty Python knock-offs, done, of course, in an almost sophomoric style.  Thunderbird is one of those films.  (If memory serves me correctly, "Snow Patrol" was another, although I've not managed to find the original film to have it converted.) 

My father was always working on an old car, and this 1964 / 1965 Thunderbird sat in front of our garage for years as my father cannibalized it for the red 1964 Thunderbird he was really working on.  We took advantage of its sorry shape to make a silly little short about loose steering wheels, trade show models, missing fenders, and a make believe vehicle crashing into dad's 1973 GMC pick 'em up truck.

This is officially the stupidest movie we ever made.  I could write several pages critiquing it to no end, but I'll spare you by pointing out only the following:  (A) Why in the world would soldiers make a fort out of leftover packing crates (which are 99% open spaces) when there is an apparently fully functioning BRICK house right behind them; (B) as soon as the enemy shoots at the soldiers in the "fort," the soldiers spend more time trying to put out a fire than taking up their arms to defend themselves; (C) if the packing crates are supposed to offer some level of protection from the enemy, then why do the soldiers abandon it at the first sign of attack, only to take shelter in a nearly leafless bush; and (D) finally, what's the significance of "tearing down" the fort when they leave--is it supposed to be their version of a "scorched earth policy" (i.e., don't leave this awesome fort behind for the enemy to use)? 

My own memory informs me that we wanted to make this war movie for no reasons other than (A) we had those cool packing crates; (B) we had a few firecrackers we need to ignite; (C) we had some neat army shirts; and (D) probably more than anything else, we wanted to make fire . . . like all other self-respecting teenagers out there.  This is hardly worth a watch, other than to make fun of it!