It’s always funny when the project you least expect is the one that actually gets you to Hollywood—well, sort of.
Back in 2018, I partnered with the local comedy troupe Good Morning Apocalypse to make a short film called SPOONS. We shot it for the 48FILM Project, which is exactly the kind of chaotic creative sprint it sounds like: writing, shooting, and editing a movie in a single weekend. Against all odds, the film was selected, and it brought us all the way to Los Angeles to see it screened at the Director’s Guild of America. Sitting in the DGA watching something we pulled together over a frantic 48 hours was a surreal experience.
The ironic part? I was working with a sketch comedy troupe, but the film that got us there wasn’t a comedy at all. We took a premise that borders on the absurd and played it completely straight.
The core concept sounds like a setup for a punchline: a father dealing with the loss of his wife keeps having “episodes” where he compulsively stares into spoons, while his sons argue over how to handle it. But the “why” behind it is what grounds the story. The turning point is a quiet, devastating reveal: the very first time he saw his late wife was in the reflection of a spoon. Suddenly, this weird obsession isn’t a joke; it’s a desperate, quiet attempt to hold onto a ghost.
Working with comedians on a heavy drama is a fascinating crossover. People who write and perform comedy inherently understand rhythm, pacing, and tension. When you strip away the laughs, that exact same timing translates perfectly into palpable, uncomfortable family dynamics. You feel it immediately in that heavy silence at the table when the reality of the father’s mental state sets in.
From a production standpoint—especially on a 48-hour clock—you don’t have the luxury of overthinking. You can’t rely on flashy camera moves or pristine setups. The goal was simply to capture that melancholic, nostalgic weight of a house that feels too quiet after someone is gone. You prioritize the emotional reality of the actors in the room, trust your “fix it in post” contingencies when the natural light inevitably shifts, and just let the story breathe.
It’s a quiet, atmospheric short that leans into the weird, mundane ways human beings cope with loss. And it’s a pretty solid reminder that sometimes, stepping entirely out of your expected wheelhouse is exactly what gets you into the Director’s Guild.
