Finding the Right Footage
A Rent fanfiction.
This is the recount of how Mark came to see his film and quit his job working under Alexi Darling. (In the show, this would take place during "What You Own")
Everything just fell apart. As soon as the one thing that kept us together was gone, everyone drifted. The only ones gripping their sanity with every last aching muscle in their bodies are Collins and myself. Everyone else just let life slip away from his or her fingers.
Benny just walked out the door with Mimi, who was clutching the walls and the doorway as she stumbled away from a room reeking of memories of Roger and Christmas Eve. Collins walked out on me, too, unable to bear the constant bickering among those who were friends. Angel- the glue of the family- left me; not just me, but the family. Some God-sent Angel. We've been abandoned. Now, we're just lost. Now, I'm just alone.
Alone. The ones I've observed and followed have left me alone. Maureen left me for Joanne, Joanne is off chasing down Maureen then later hissing at her like a defensive she-devil cat. Benny left me alone a long time ago to be with Muffy; he's sold out on me, which is the worst possible way to leave a friend. Angel left us all, and Collins left me to wallow in his own misery elsewhere. I take back what I said about selling out- the way Roger left me is the worst way to leave a friend behind.
All I can do now is stare into this X-ray lens- my camera; this lens that penetrates through privacy, through the normalcy of everyday goings-on. Will it penetrate through me? Will it reveal to me truths? Will it tell me that I may secretly think Roger is right about me?
No! Roger is wrong. He has to be. I celebrate life with my camera. I feel the life penetrate through the lens and into my bones, into my bloodstream. I feel the most alive when I capture moments on motion picture. I do- I really do. How could Roger suspect otherwise? How do I detach from life when I'm absorbing life through a third party? Perhaps I have answered my own question. And perhaps I want to convince myself otherwise so as to grasp onto my last bits of pride.
---
It's been the strangest three days of my life. I, like Benny, have sold out- sold out on my dignity, my pride, on what my art is really about. The only difference between us is I have sell-out remorse. Benny gloats in his newfound glory as Muffy's little lapdog, parading around with money overflowing from every pocket of his clothing, every opening in his body. I have renown, but not the way I've wanted it. How can I respect myself doing this? Sleazy, Star-magazine bullshit? How have I breathed and functioned normally these past three days?
I'm at a fork in the road of creativity. I've taken the easy way out- an easy TV offer allowing me any chance I get to use my camera, regardless of whether or not I'm filming something worthy enough to be considered art. Why have I gone this way- the wrong way? Maybe I'm like Roger- he struggles to write his song, I struggle to create my movie, the movie I was born to make. He has gone astray, and so have I.
Perhaps I lost my way because Angel is gone. With him, I got my 15 minutes of fame prior to my current act- a marionette for Alexi Darling to control. Angel is more than a guardian angel; he's my muse. He was my muse. How can an artist amidst a creativity block compose works of art without a muse to point the way? Angel- he contains the roadmap of my movie. He led me to the places where I'd capture great footage. All these bits and pieces screaming with vibrant life and I don't know what to do with them anymore- all because my muse is gone.
Is there an afterlife? Is there a way to contact the dead? Is there such thing as spiritual connection? Just when the most valuable member of this makeshift, dysfunctional family leaves, we need him the most. We need Angel to bring peace between Maureen and Joanne. We need Angel to revive Collins, wherever he is. We need Angel to guide Mimi and Roger. I need Angel to find what's in me.
---
Even after my revelation, I am more lost than ever. I can't even pinpoint where I am on the road of life anymore. Alexi Darling has quickly taken advantage of me being her sleaze-filming genie since I submit to her demands without quarrelling. Of all the people to need a guardian angel, I find that I need one the most. I never thought I'd be this broken, and I never thought I'd feel this small. I guess I never thought much about life without the community I intently followed with my video camera.
I feel cold. Not just from the chill of the autumn air; I feel that piercing, corpselike cold, metaphorically speaking. It's like the vigor in life is gone. What have I to live for? What is sustaining me now? Without Angel, without Roger, without them- all of them- I feel a void inside, and it's eating me alive. Alive- am I truly alive now? I'm a mental vegetable; my body moves and functions through the goings-on of life, but I'm mentally lifeless. I move without true motivation; I truly subconsciously breathe now. Roger is undeniably right- I've been living a lie, and filming life is how I thrive. I can't live life as it is for some inexplicable reason; I live vicariously through the lives of my friends. Without them, without my camera filming the things I delight in seeing, I am nothing.
Where are they all now? Why does everyone else have someone to lean upon, and I only have an inanimate object that I have used to absorb life? Collins was right. Why must this family die? Why can't I hear the bickering of Maureen and Joanne? Why can't I hear Collins smooth, rich voice indulging in dreams of Santa Fe? Why can't I hear Roger struggling with a song, only to wind up playing Musetta's Waltz? Why can't I find Mimi dancing or seducing Roger? I even miss Benny- for his attitude, for his abandoned principles, for his mere presence. Where are they? Where am I? How am I ever to be found again?
---
Insomnia's a real bitch. All night I've been contemplating the very thoughts I've hoped to avoid for as long as possible. I'm being confronted with the very things I took for granted. I'm being confronted with a truth I've hidden under reels and reels of film. Am I a failed artist, doomed to starve for success, renown, and life?
All of a sudden, it slapped me in the face as hard and as kinky as Maureen used to. I felt someone- or something- touch me comfortingly. I felt a draft of inspiration, of hope. I heard the very voice I've been missing- Angel's. I never thought much about being visited by an angel, but I was very much thankful for whatever this encounter was. Angel- once again providing his celestial intervention to change a life, my life.
"Marky dear," I heard Angel sweetly say in the air around me. "You may use your video camera as an instrument to live, but the important thing is that you do live, you experience. Don't you see?"
For the first time, I was compelled to listen instead of narrate. I needed guidance, and Angel was shedding new light for me.
"Your heart is there in everything you've taped, up until that sleazebag Alexi Darling pulled you away," Angel continued. "The thing you've been missing in working for that not-so-darling Darling girl is your heart."
At this point, I only understood half of what Angel was trying to tell me. My heart isn't in my work now, that I know; but what is the significance in knowing my heart's been there in everything else I've taped? Before I could even question this, Angel completed his piece.
"You're about as wounded as Collins was that night I fell into your life. Honey, I'll mend your mental wounds," Angel mused. "In filming life, you are living it. It ain't necessarily bad that you yourself aren't amidst the experience, Mark. Sure, now, you live through others, but you live. End of story. It's one thing to film these things from people you don't know, like that catty woman from the streets last Christmas Eve. Remember? When you film us- the family- your heart is there, you're part of the life, too. These are the things of your movie, sweetie- whatever your heart was in," Angel enlightened.
Unconsciously, I nodded in agreement. Angel was right. Angel is right. And before I could even think it, Angel comforted me with a final thought.
"Don't fret, Mark. One day you'll experience life for yourself, with or without the camera. You'll see, boy," Angel's voice resounded in my head. With that, the spiritual encounter completed itself. The draft died, the light dimmed, the voice disappeared.
Once again I was left alone, but this time I wasn't in despair. I knew what I had to do. With a sudden surge of energy, I scrambled for my film reels and began cutting together my movie. I found myself taking footage from the memories from last Christmas Eve to now because those were the memories I felt the most alive. Those are the memories my heart wrenches to relive again. Those are the memories my heart lived for. Those memories, those random pieces of footage- therein lies my movie.
---
Late into the night, I pieced together and edited my film. I dug out all the equipment I needed to do so; cheap and old-fashioned they may be, but that's the way I've always wanted to do it. That's what my heart felt I should use.
I worked rabidly, totally unconscious to what was around me. All I could see, all I could think of was my movie. My focus took a 180 from depression to hope.
As I cut together shots of Roger and shots of Mimi, I failed to notice the phone ring. I was alarmed to hear the drone from my answering machine: "SPEAK!"
A familiar voice spilled out the message: "Mark- it's me. I'm sorry for the way I acted when we left. I realized you were right- it's about Mimi. It's always been about Mimi. I'm coming back! I'll see you in a few days!"
I couldn't help but stop and listen. As the answering machine beeped to signal the end of the message, I couldn't help but smile. Hope is not lost. Hope is now profusely bleeding in the air. There's hope for Roger. Hope for Mimi. Hope for Maureen and Joanne. Hope for Collins. Hope for the family. Most of all, there is hope for me.
THE END