I was born into a small Hispanic family in the rough & tumble village of Marin County; a dangerous place, notorious for its trust-fund babies and litigious soccer moms. There, I consumed video games, prayed to Steve Irwin during Crocodile Hunter, and had Star Wars IV-VI on constant repeat. My life was easy peasy, in fact, easy as pie, until I was told about “work” and “careers”. I was devastated. Fortunately, that came together easily too, as by age 7 or so, I knew what I was gonna be: a doctor.
But as every young grasshopper learns, to be young is to be a leaf in the wind. I spent the next thirteen years bouncing from jazz studies to criminal justice to biology. By 21, I was hopeless; a loose screw without a drill, resorting to the nomadic catch-all of “creative writer."
It’s difficult to say when exactly I decided I was going to be a filmmaker, but if the days spent reenacting Darth Vader and Obi-Wan’s duel with my brother were the planting of the seeds, then watching Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master, was when the flower bloomed. Before long, PTA was like King Arthur, with Nolan, The Coen Brothers, Scorsese, Ridley, and Wes Andersen as his knights (And Kubrick as Merlin).
Now, filmmaking for me is like a lighthouse, a beacon that lights up the nonsense. No matter how bad things may get, even if there’s a pandemic, movies will always be around: stories to keep us entertained, and teach us about the human experience.
I think what makes me a shoo-in for this filmmaking business, is the writing, because writing is basically cheap therapy. And boy do I need therapy. Whether I’m reflecting on broken relationships, why I insist on reading to my cat, or how I neurotically check my entire fridge for expirations, something will click in my head and I’ll realize: there’s a story here somewhere. And I gotta tell it.