I Have Something to Say

It was the dead of winter when I wrote the last page of The Puzzle Factory. To give you some context, The Puzzle Factory is a feature-length screenplay based on the true story of my son’s struggles with severe mental illness and my determination to find answers in the midst of pain and brokenness. In some ways, writing the script was easy – it was my story after all. In other ways, it was an agonizing endeavor. Well do I remember “hitting a brick wall” around page 40 and putting everything on hold for five months until the “way through” came to me suddenly while out for a walk (something I try to do every day).

When I finished the first draft of the script, it was a cold, gray day in February. I got up from my laptop and walked down the stairs of my home, stopping by a large window with a view of gray skies and barren trees. A wave of emotion came over me as I reflected on the script. “I have something to say,” I said to myself, clenching my fists tightly. “I have something to say.”

My thoughts went to the great Swedish filmmaker, Ingmar Bergman, who spoke before a class of film students at the American Film Institute on October 31, 1975. “If I want to tell somebody something,” he said to the audience of wide-eyed students hanging on his every word, “and if I want to touch somebody, then film helps me. But if I have nothing to say and I just want to make a film, I don’t make the film. The craftsmanship of filmmaking is so terribly stimulating, dangerous and obsessing that you can be very tempted. But if you have nothing to come with – this is the most important of all for me – try to be honest with yourself and don’t make the picture.”

But I do have something to say. And that is why The Puzzle Factory will be made.

At Messenger Films, we follow a simple motto: “Films of Beauty, Stories of Hope.” Allow me to break that down further. Do we hold to a Christian worldview? Yes, we do. However, it is my opinion that it does no good for us to make films with the “right” content if that content is not presented in a beautiful way. Why? Because we are producing a film – not delivering a sermon in church. In the hands of an artist, beauty speaks to the heart, attracting everyone, regardless of their background.

And hope? Hope is at the heart of human existence. Without hope, we die. And like faith and love, hope abides forever (1 Corinthians 13:13).

At its core, The Puzzle Factory embraces the most resounding message of hope the universe will ever know, the hope of the resurrection. I quote from the Apostle Paul:

“We have testified about God that he raised Christ from the dead. But that can’t be true if there is no resurrection of the dead. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised either. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile, and you are still in your sins. In that case, all who have died believing in Christ are lost! And if our hope in Christ is only for this life, we are more to be pitied than anyone in the world. But in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead. He is the first of a great harvest of all who have died” (1 Corinthians 15:15-20).

My dear son, Daniel, now 36 years of age, will likely never be made whole on this temporal plane. But there is one thing that is undeniable – at least for me. His story – our story as human beings – does not end here on earth. Through his death and resurrection, Jesus has gone ahead to prepare a place for us where we will be with him and all the saints for eternity. In thinking of that future state, I’m reminded of those words in the Book of Revelation, which I read often to my children when they were growing up: “God will dwell with them… He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain, for the old order of things [will have] passed away” (Revelation 21:3,4).

Even so, come Lord Jesus! In the meantime, I will occupy myself with the making of The Puzzle Factory (and other films). “I have something to say!” And that is why I will not rest until I have finished the job.