Priya Woods: The Summer I made a film about my dad

Priya Woods is Director of the upcoming film ‘Still, life’ about her dad and his battles with alcohol addiction. She hopes the film will help young people feel seen and heard in what can often be an isolating and lonely situation.

In ‘The Summer I made a film about my dad‘, Priya writes movingly about opening the ‘can of worms’ she’d spent her whole life trying to conceal.

It’s a warm Sunday in May. I’m sitting, listening to the rattle of a rotating fan, as I watch my dad be hoisted into his hospital bed from his day chair.

I step into the side room as his nappy is changed and various bed sores and fungal infections are inspected. I’m not sure why I do this; I’ve seen him in much more compromising situations over the past 8 months, but today, unnecessary dad nudity is not on my agenda.

Looking at his face, I think back to what it looked like a year ago. His eyes now more of a milky grey than blue. Skin fading into the same shade as his sheets. The red and purple lines which swim down his cheeks remain, as always.

I think of his face back then and want to claw open the memory and jump inside it. Back to that moment last summer, sitting in our local having a pint.

A massive can of worms I had sealed shut

I hadn’t originally set out with the intention of making my final project about my dad. I knew it was a massive can of worms I had sealed shut. So when he said yes, I apprehensively drew up a list of questions, borrowed a camera from a friend and headed to the only place he would be.

I had caught him just at the right moment. During a month of unusual “sobriety” (meaning he’d drunk only a couple of times that month), he was strangely happy.

I sat and asked him about things I had always wanted to know, avoiding topics I thought would upset him, leaving those for another time fearing that he’d suddenly shut off or I’d rock his “sobriety”.

What I intended to be an hour, floated into three. We laughed, he cried.

“If you ever need me, you know where I am”

Some might find it strange that I chose to have a beer with my dad, but that’s pretty much the only place he has ever existed for me. – “If you ever need me, you know where I am”. It’s the only place I could ever get to spend any time with him and the only place we could have ever done this.

I want to go back to that moment, scream at him and show him this image I’m looking at now. ‘If only he listened that time’, I know he wouldn’t have. But still, I think it.

Two pints and home. I put him to “bed” (the 20 year old sofa in our front room) and ignored the rush of hope that flooded me as I left.

There was one tape which I couldn’t watch

I returned to Barcelona, where I was studying Documentary, and took some old DV50 camcorder tapes I had coincidentally found and converted. Labelled things like ‘Summer 2002’, in what I could just make out as my mum’s handwriting.

I wasn’t sure what exactly I wanted to do with them, I just wanted to have them.

For 2 months I sat and watched 8 hours worth of tapes. Like watching a TV series of people I had never met. Birthdays, sports days, sofa days. Some were easier to watch than others.

Most involved me prancing around, begging to film or be filmed dancing to Shaggy, “It wasn’t me”.

There was one tape which I couldn’t watch. All summer I attempted to and all summer I failed.

As soon as I heard the click of the tape my eyes would burn. It was of my mum, aged 45. It was a video message for me, my little brother and sister, saying she has just had surgery to remove a brain tumour and that she loved us.

It’s hard to articulate how this tape made me feel. I couldn’t get past how she would have felt at that moment or the fact that this tape had just been sitting inside a dusty Quality Streets box for 18 years.

The deadline

I spent the rest of the summer ignoring my producer John’s messages, plotting an escape back to London. I didn’t know how to tell him I couldn’t physically watch the film I was trying to make.

Two days before the deadline I agreed to meet (a mildly panicked) John and show him a “rough” cut (rough is very generous, sorry John). Thankfully, John is great. He knew exactly where things were working and where they weren’t. He helped me weave the interview with the tapes and most of all, helped me finish the tape of my mum.

In hindsight, I should have asked for help a lot sooner but, much like my dad, I have this tendency to just ignore things when they become too overwhelming.

I felt a strange mix of pride and unease

It was done. Screened. Everyone was very kind. I felt a strange mix of pride and unease.

I’d opened the very can of worms that I had spent my whole life trying to conceal. Shattering the hard work I had done to build my own identity separate from this, but maybe it was time.

I returned that autumn to find my dad had drunk himself into paralysis. So, I’m sitting here now, by his hospital bed, looking at the view of South London.

I think of how grateful I am for that summer and the time we shared.

I’m not sure if we’ll share another moment like that again. However, one thought particularly comforts me; he’s got no way of avoiding the questions I didn’t get to ask now.

By
Priya 🙂

Director of Still, life 

Produced by Otoxo Productions 

Read more experience stories.