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director's statement
In the spring of 2000, a few months before my fortieth birthday, I found myself
falling in love for the sixth time in my life. My lover Erin and I took a vacation
to Chile at the height of our honeymoon phase. Sipping tea in a Santiago cafe
and try to swallow how ridiculously happy I felt, I decide I wanted to make
a documentary about love.
Seeking a broader canvas than simply my relationship with Erin, I asked my
circle of friends to be part of a film about us navigating our love lives.
Most of us had known each other for fifteen years. We had moved to San Francisco
as young artists in our twenties and embraced a lesbian culture that was experiencing
a sexual hey-day in the late 1980's and 90's. My best friend Phyllis, an ex-lover
with whom I shared a condo, had become one of North America's leading photographers
of lesbian erotica. Jackie and Shar, together for ten years, had pioneered
a lesbian porn video business. Alison was a Hollywood screenwriter, and Christina
called herself a bisexual priestess. Even my ex-girlfriend Annika, who was
barely speaking to me, agreed to be part of the film.
A few months into our relationship, Erin began dating another woman. For us,
monogamy seemed tied up in possessive, fear-based behavior, and ultimately,
it was a set up for failure. Erin and I realized we were both capable of loving
more than one person at a time. We began exploring a relationship model described
by a word that originated in California in the 1970's. "Polyamory" literally
translates to "many loves." It was the idea that you could be romantically
committed to more than one person. I filmed us going to an "ethical slut" class,
a polyamory conference, and Bay Area poly support groups. I filmed intense
conversations with my skeptical friends about how to sustain long-term relationships.
I also filmed the dynamics between me and Erin as we processed both the jealousy
and passion inspired by other lovers.
After two years of filming, I had two hundred hours of footage. Watching the
scenes was riveting. The lure of making a personal documentary--to construct
meaning from my complicated love life and express it artistically--propelled
me through the task of logging a mountain of footage. The problem, however,
was that I was still filming and couldn't draw meaning from a story that was
still unfolding. I realized, in the words of filmmaker Ross McElwee, that "I
was filming my life in order to have a life." Salvation arrived in the
form of Deborah Hoffmann, an Academy-nominated filmmaker and editor, who agreed
to be my consulting editor. She helped me cut self-indulgent video diary entries,
endless rounds of processing, and three characters whose story lines paralleled
my own. With Debbie's help, a powerful narrative arc of love, loss and redemption
took shape.
Making WOMEN IN LOVE taught me that the difference between emotional exhibitionism
and a deep desire to reveal one's inner life depends on how badly you want
to communicate with your audience. WOMEN IN LOVE may never speak to my Catholic
mother in Florida, but I believe the film's audience extends to many people-monogamous
and polyamorous--who desire both sexual satisfaction and commitment in their
relationships.
Erin used to tease me that when the film was finished, I would
be ready to break up with her. After nearly five years, Erin and
I are still together. Like most lovers, we have our conflicts. On
good days, I see them as fertile ground for self-improvement. On
bad days, I vent to Phyllis. There's rarely a day when I think about
picking up the camera.
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Women
in Love