One night – and this happened way back when I was in grade school – I came home to find every member of my family had flown the coop. I knew this because I had run through every room in the house, illuminating an expensive string of ceiling lights in the process. I had never really been at home alone before, and I very quickly realized just how much I did not like it. When you’re a kid, you somehow assume all of the bad things have been locked inside with you. And – as such – paranoia slowly takes its toll.
That particular night I went outside and stood alone on the front driveway. It was dark out, and I had no idea which circuit breaker lit the lamppost. And so instead I set to jumping … jump-jump-thumping up and down, as if to keep the constant fear at bay. I did this because I was young, and alone, and I’d never been young and alone before. I remember thinking it was just about the worst thing any punk kid could be made to endure – that sudden mix of loss and abandonment, shot through with shades of hopelessness. And so instead I just kept right on jumping … jump-jump-thumping up and down, as if to keep the gut-sick fear at bay.
And, that, my friends, is what it feels like to watch the movie, Future Weather – a stark, well-crafted metaphor about the ecological dangers of leaving one’s own house unattended, infused with an ongoing plea for environmental accountability at every level.
(Future Weather arrives in limited release in New York City this Friday, March 1st, with a national rollout via Video-on-Demand on the same day.)