Entry #2: Reflections of a Screenwriter on Opening Night

There are moments that—even as they unfold—you know are going to stick with you long after they’ve happened. Sitting in a packed theatre at Plaza Cinema in Truro last Sunday, I had such a moment. For the first time ever, Pieces of Us, my sophomore feature film as a screenwriter, flickered to life before an audience, an experience that was both surreal and grounding. As I write this now, some days later, I can’t help but look back on the path this story has taken to go from script to screen.

Writing the screenplay for Pieces of Us began with asking questions. Just as I did when I wrote my first feature Nowhere, I looked to my own life and mused about what had been and what might be. Pieces of Us was essentially conceived from a desire to explore the complex dynamics of family—how old wounds, unspoken histories, and shared memories intertwine, and the courage it takes to confront the past to move forward. 

Another similarity this script shared with my first feature is that it too was written on spec. Nobody had asked me to write it; I wasn’t commissioned or tasked; I just did it for me. And as I bashed the keys, these characters became companions, their struggles, fears and triumphs echoing my own as well as those of people I have known.

And there’s an intimacy with writing for screen. You see the scenes as moments with colours and sounds; your characters talk to you; you hear the beats of dialogue in your head. But there’s always a gulf between what you visualise and what eventually ends up on screen—a chasm bridged only by the collaborative magic of filmmaking. 

As a screenwriter, too often your job is done as soon as you PDF your script and send it off, no longer yours, but becoming the baby of the people who will eventually turn your words into pictures. 

In the case of Pieces of Us, I was fortunate. My job wasn’t done upon writing “The End”. I helped produce the film, and-after a two-year hiatus-I made a return to acting by playing one of the leads. It’s a peculiar dance, inhabiting a role you’ve written, striving to be both true to the script and open to the discoveries that happen in the moment. Acting is one of my passions. I really do love it: the process, the ability to lose yourself, the thrill of inhabiting someone else’s skin. Watching myself on screen, however, is cringy. It doesn’t matter how much praise one might receive; there’s something psychologically jarring about seeing yourself as the rest of the world sees you. Mercifully, there were times I was able to detach and just watch my character as if it were some other actor playing him. Most of the time though, watching myself on screen is uncomfortable. I certainly understand why many actors refuse to watch their own stuff. 

Vanity aside, acting in Pieces of Us challenged me in unexpected ways. As the film’s writer, I knew every beat, every subtext. Yet, as an actor, I needed to let go, to respond instinctively to my scene partners, to be present. And I am grateful to my production partner, Ben, who masterfully directed the film, for encouraging a balance between intention and spontaneity. I’m also thankful to my fellow cast, whose generosity and talent elevated each scene we shared. My main scene partner, Sinead, in particular, was a revelation. Watch out for her.

All in all, watching the film was a lesson in letting go. For so long, this story had belonged to me, then it belonged to a team, then ultimately to the process itself. Now, it’s a work that’s been released into the wild, to be interpreted, critiqued, loved, or perhaps even misunderstood.

As I write this, I find myself reflecting on the journey from first draft to final cut. I think of the setbacks, the victories, the serendipity of casting, the inevitable lulls in post-production, all the shaping that comes with making a film. Films are, after all, the sum of countless choices and a thousand tiny miracles. I often marvel how any film gets made at all. 

Last Sunday, as the closing credits rolled and the lights came up, the room buzzed. People shared their impressions, their favourite moments and asked questions about the production and the characters. The film seemed to belong to the room, and it was humbling.

There will be more screenings, more reviews, more opportunities to share Pieces of Us. But I already know last Sunday will hold special real estate in my memory—the sense of arrival, the mingling of nerves and pride, the knowledge that amongst cast, crew and friends we were all collectively experiencing the film for the first time.

For me, seeing Pieces of Us on the big screen was more than just watching my words come to life, or celebrating a return to acting, but an affirmation of why we tell stories in the first place: to connect, to heal, to ask questions, to remind ourselves that we all feel the same stuff. I hope the people who watch it find a piece of themselves in it too.

Vaya Con Dios,

Tim