We were recently contacted by FilmInk, Australia’s leading and longest running movie magazine, who wanted to do a featured review on Witness My Journey and in particular Steve Rogers, Director.  We think it’s a great write up, and certainly captures an overall snapshot of the story so far.

Feature Review by Filmink

FilmInk receives in excess of 700,000 page impressions per month and with over 7000 subscribers, our feature is sure to be noticed!

We were now on the home stretch.  Just one more day/night shoot with Ms. Karr and it was a wrap!  Don’t lose it now, everyone stay focused.  I wanted a couple of shots of Trish walking down Darlinghursts’ Oxford Street and a re-enactment of that first meeting from where this all began, The Colombian.   But first, since Trish lives in a different ‘time zone’ to me, I decided to capture the electric buzz of Sydney by night.  Mark and I jumped in a cab armed with his Canon 5D Mark III, a box of lenses and a seriously absurdly expensive tripod.   It would have been remiss of me to make a film in Sydney and not include its harbour.  It has all been done before of course, but at night?  So while Trish prepared her makeup and hair, we photographed every landmark in a 5k radius.  The Canon 5D proved perfect and we had no trouble matching later in post.

With some truly awesome pictures in the can, we returned to Oxford Street around 10.30pm.  In an attempt to minimize hassles over release forms, we posted a notice on social media for a Trishy Dishy rent-a-crowd and everyone, including Trish, was waiting for our return.  The shoot went brilliantly and we wrapped bang on midnight having captured the insatiable vibe that Trish leaves in her wake wherever she goes.

I told Trish to go home, get a good night sleep and we’d be at her place at 08.30 for the final stroll in the park with her dog Kandi and her husband Johnny.   Too easy!

I knew something was not as it should be the moment I pulled up outside Trish’s.  Mark as usual was already setting up.  I could smell sausages cooking on the BBQ, wafting down the street and I could see their front patio obstructed by large, full, black bin liners.  This was not usual!  Clearly someone had been up at the crack of dawn ensuring the house looked immaculate.  But why … we weren’t shooting at the house!  The ever-chirpy Johnny warmly welcomed us at the door beckoning us towards the rear spotless patio, where enough sausages had been cooking to feed the crew of Ben-Hur.  “Where’s Trish?”  “Want a drink, beer, coffee, tea?”  “Coffee, thanks, where’s Trish?”  In typical Aussie fashion, “all good, she’s just walked in”  “Just walked in!!”  Okay, sure, we were a tad early, it was only 8am but Trish had only just now returned from the previous nights shoot.  I knew right then, if Trish’s head hit that pillow, I was doomed.

Not sure what a bull racing up the stairs in a china shop would actually look like, but I reckon my impersonation wasn’t too far away!  Trish’s head was about to hit that ever-so comfy, beckoning pillow when I yanked it from reach, suggesting, very calmly, that she shower, apply fresh make-up, put on something casual and meet us downstairs as soon as possible, for a nice relaxing walk.

Frankly it was the fresh make-up request which irritated Trish the most.  For she had spent a small fortune hiring a professional make-up artist to apply expensive eyelashes on her for the previous nights shoot which she didn’t now want to take off.  But this of course would have caused me obvious continuity issues.  Fresh make up it was then.

I had mentioned to Johnny, time allowing I’d like to grab a couple of shots of him with the children.  Well … time allowed, in fact it was two hours!

Unlike the good old days of shooting a film from scavenged s16mm or 35mm ends, this was only ‘memory space’ so I decided we may as well set Johnny up, cooking his already overcooked sausages and just let him chat.  One word: awesome!  Johnny talked of how he and Trish had first met, the parties, the breast cancer, the religion, everything.  And it was gold.

Not only that, I saved a dollar or two of the catering budget … albeit, lunch was ‘sausage with sauce’ or ‘sausage no sauce!’

Revitalised, refuelled and gear packed away, Trish bounces down the stairs looking remarkably refreshed.  “C’mon you ****ers, let’s finish this film.”

We’d deliberately chosen a grassed area alongside the harbour wall, with the Sydney Harbour Bridge in the background.  En-route Trish allowed her dog  Kandi to run free.   It didn’t occur to me to suggest a change of wardrobe.  Why should it?  We’d already done a wardrobe check back at the house and all I required was a shot of Trish and Johnny walking lovingly beside the waters edge.  But I failed to plan for every eventuality!

There we were walking along just chatting about the previous night’s shoot when all of a sudden Trish yells “Kandi” and we all turn to see what appears to be the tail of a dog disappear over a large sandstone wall.  Yes, that was the day Kandi decided to see whether she could swim!  But why not a pond, a swimming pool?  Why did Kandi have to choose the Sydney Harbour?  “She can’t swim” yelled Trish.  “Johnny, you’ll have to jump in after her.”  “Are you kidding me!”  Without even hesitating, Johnny throws himself over the wall and into the cold, deep water below.  He grabs the dog and hands her up to a panicked Trish.  Kandi was fine, shaken, but just fine.  Johnny on the other hand, clambering back over the wall … was completely soaked!   Bloody good swimmer mind, but soaked!!

Now we could have returned to Trish’s for a change of clothing but we were, by now, already some 4 hours behind schedule and Johnny in his customary, cool, calm, collected manner was game to just carry on.  What a sport!  The shot worked well and the only thing anyone might actually notice is that Johnny’s slightly darker than normal jeans!

A stressful day/nighter but it was indeed a wrap.

After 9 months my film’s wrap was in sight. Just a couple of final set up’s and I’d be out of Trish’s hair.  Filming had gone well, so I saw no reason why this should be any different!

It was Trish’s birthday – an excellent opportunity to get her friends on film.  We needed a big birthday cake of course … and Trish being Trish wanted a massive …  Penis cake!  Where the hell was I to get a sponge cake in the shape of a penis?  I tracked down a couple of local bakers. “Hello, I’m Steve Rogers, I’m the director of a film called ‘Witness My Journey’ and I’d like you to bake me a 2ft sponge cake in the shape of an upright penis.  “You want me to bake you an erected penis?”  “Yes, please.”  Needless to say the first baker hung up on me, but the second, clearly having a far better sense of humour, rose to the challenge.  No pun intended!

The cake was delivered to my home and frankly, was outstanding.  It was truly a work of ‘icing’ artistry.

From here, things went downhill.  The taxi journey to the venue was without question one of the most stressful I have ever encountered.  I couldn’t blame the taxi driver as he executed every manoeuvre with perfection.  None of this care however was enough to prevent my penis cake from melting and thus drooping to one side.  Peeping through the top of the box revealed a cake more akin to the Leaning Tower of Pisa than an upright penis!  Leaning we could deal with but then … plop!  “Oh no, please no,”  I could feel one entire side of the cake had collapsed against the side of the cardboard box.  This was not a good sign.

We arrived at the venue, heart pumping.  My wife and I carefully carried the partially-collapsing penis into the foyer where we were immediately met by Trish’s husband, Johnny.  Now Johnny is one of those cool, calm and collected types, but he immediately detected something was not as it should be.   “It’s the cake, it’s collapsing.”  Johnny, a builder by trade, takes one look at the penis, “we need to underpin it.”  Johnny sets off for anything he could use to stabilize the cake, whilst my wife went to buy some icing-mix.  

In times like these you don’t need a smart-arse, but there’s always one, and a friend suggested he had the answer “a couple of dozen Viagra tablets should do the trick!  Yes, thank you Tim.

Unfortunately we couldn’t save the penis cake, the damage was too grave, even for Johnny’s building skills!

Thankfully, DP Mark had remained focused on the job in hand and was set up ready to shoot the ‘nurse act’ performed by the very talented and stunning Ms. Tessa Williams.

Now this act involved copious amounts of Ribena, better than fake blood apparently, so a large plastic sheet was placed on the floor to protect the carpet.  My wife who was trying to keep guests from scuffing up the plastic sheet began to enjoy a round of applause, clearly being mistaken for the act.  But where was Tessa?  With a cleared performance area, my wife ran off in search, finding her back stage “you’re on, everyone’s waiting for you” “but where’s my prosthetic hand?”  “You have a prosthetic hand and you’ve lost it?”  “Yes, I can’t go on stage without my hand.”  No, of course not, thought my wife, whilst trying to see in the dark corridor what a handless arm actually looked like.  But then she noticed, Tessa had two arms and two hands!  “No, it’s a prop hand … I’ve lost my prop hand.”  “Can’t you improvise?” asked my wife.  “No, it’s part of the act.”  So, imagine there’s my wife, running around, asking everyone if they happen to have come across a spare hand?  This missing hand was finally located on the back shelf of the bar.

The act was amazing. Check out the opening scenes of my film, this was the only bit I could get away with.  Wanted to keep this PG!