My Other Half

In my family, marriage is temporary. Marriage means you throw a party to celebrate your love. But marriage never lasts. It’s a painful way to view what’s supposed to be sacred, and it ultimately means that all relationships are fleeting, and not really all that meaningful. Plus I live in Los Angeles, a plasticity (forgive me if that’s trying too hard to be witty) where it’s a weakness to care too much. So when my friend and creative partner Terence called me from a shoot in South Dakota, to tell me about the director’s parents—married thirty years and still visibly in love—with whom the crew was staying, I was intrigued.
We talked about how simultaneously difficult and rewarding it must be to have that kind of commitment. We talked about what a different life that kind of love
creates, and how it seemed foreign to the two of us single twenty-somethings surrounded by other single twenty-somethings all focused solely on making a name for ourselves in Hollywood. We discussed the endless shared stories that two people must have after having spent so much time together. We wanted to hear their stories, and capture them on video.
We spoke to friends and friends of friends and parents of friends, to find couples that interested us. We would ask each couple a few questions over the phone, to see if their stories were worth filming and how much they would be willing to tell us. I wanted nitty-gritty, because even with my limited knowledge of marriage and commitment, I know that real love is always gritty.
Each couple had their own fascinating narrative, and Terence and I became engrossed with the idea of getting to know them. We planned with them so that over the course of a month and a half, we would drive across the U.S. (and up to Canada) to spend a few days filming with each couple.
I knew we would learn things, but what I didn’t anticipate was that I would fall in love with each of their stories. The ways in which they wooed each other; the twists and turns on their way to marriage; but most of all: the disagreements. Each of us has idiosyncrasies, pet peeves, neuroses. But in marriage we have to make all of those puzzle pieces fit with somebody else’s. If they don’t fit we’ve got to cut them up and slap on some duct tape so that they do.
Before making this film I thought people stayed married until it became too difficult to do so. But in hearing the stories of these couples, I see marriage as a dance we’ve all got to learn if we wish to have that sort of commitment. Sometimes we step on our own feet and our partner’s and we can’t catch the rhythm, but with practice we can have truly proud, synchronous moments when it’s all worth the effort and time spent trying to get it right.