Baby Love

You could say this is a boxing movie, but this isn’t a boxing movie. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. Not to me. For me, it’s about what happens after you break. It’s about the hopes and the dreams we work toward, sometimes foolishly, and then the floor falls out from under you. “Baby Love” began more as a feeling than an idea or a story. Sure, the world of fighting was attractive both narratively and stylistically, but I was more interested in what happened outside the arena. What did these athletes go through to stand tall on the canvas on a Saturday night? What kind of madness did they subject themselves to?

I heard about equine therapy on a podcast. It was said in passing, but it did that thing where a little seed falls into your mind and digs its roots way down deep and becomes an itch you just can’t quite scratch until it’s 3 AM and you’re like, “Fine! What do you want?!” Once I started digging around, I had the basic formula for something I would spend the next six years working on: a talented fighter with a traumatic brain injury whose only recourse is through therapy sessions with a rescue horse.

Montana became of interest because I knew some fighters up there and quickly started making inroads with the fighting and equine communities. I’m from the Hudson Valley in New York, so I liked the idea of somewhere a bit more country and remote. But there was also a certain authenticity I wanted, and while researching for the script, I spent time with local fighters, equine therapists, veterans, and police officers, many of whom had experienced head trauma and some who had actually been through the equine program. They helped give me incredible insight and nuance into their experiences, the effects and treatment for head trauma, and how the relationships with their horses helped them dramatically improve their lives.

In early 2024 we finally managed to raise the funds to go into production, but from the onset, I learned the inherent impossibility of filmmaking. We lost our lead on day two of shooting. That’s a death blow for a fourteen-day shoot. It was that moment where time stood still and a thousand possible futures raced through my mind. We considered shutting down production, but I just couldn’t turn around and go home. Not after the last six years of non-stop believing, struggling through dozens of revisions, losing hope, gaining it back, and losing it all over again. And then finally scraping together just over $250,000 to fly to Montana and do it anyway after everyone else told us “no.” Giving up wasn’t an option.

Kiana Madeira was cast in a supporting role for the film and she was literally boarding the plane when we called her to ask if she wanted the lead. She’d read the whole script of course, but she hadn’t prepared for the lead. And by pure virtue of the film gods, she’d done an MMA film previously, so she had some chops in the cage. But this role was a different animal. Our hearts went into atrial fibrillation waiting for her decision, but when she landed six hours later, we had a new lead.

You have to take chances when making indie films, but this felt dangerous. I didn’t know what to expect. But Kiana stepped on set and became Rhiannon Mitchell. It was sorcery. She made the character completely her own; unexpected and raw. She breathed fire into all of us. We went to Montana expecting to make one film, but quickly realized we were making something entirely new, something we had to figure out as we went along. Each night, I was up late doing rewrites. We lost locations, actors, horses, even cities. My producers worked overtime, huddled over drab hotel lobby furniture till midnight, masterfully keeping the production in working order.

The most common question over the years has been, “Why does she fight?” This is a curious question to me. It wasn’t a question that ever really crossed my mind. Would they ask the same of a male fighter? I don’t know. But for me, the idea of looking into the arena as an outsider was more compelling. How can you achieve something you’ve never known? I could see parallels to my own life, I guess. Some vague notions from my subconscious that glimmer into focus every now and then; a little “hello” to let me know I’m on the right path. I connect to the opportunity of recovery, the gift of letting go that somehow has directed my feet exactly where I needed to go.

Joe.