Room To Move

Room to Move began with a simple idea: exploring how movement can express what we don't have words for. The seed of this idea was planted years ago by a best friend—a dancer-turned-therapist—who used Gestalt-based movement therapy with LGBTQIA+ youth struggling to communicate. I personally witnessed how this was a game-changer for both my friend and the kids.

Around that time, I had just finished directing Expecting Amy, a docu-series about Amy Schumer's very difficult pregnancy. A deeply personal thread in that story involved her husband's unexpected autism diagnosis—a moment that profoundly impacted everyone involved, myself included.

Jenn Freeman, a dancer and choreographer I had worked with six years prior, happened to watch the series to support me. Something in Chris's story struck a chord with her, prompting her to seek an autism evaluation from the same doctor featured in the series. What she didn't know—and what I didn't know—was how that decision would change both our lives.

By pure coincidence, I reached out to Jenn on the very day she received her official diagnosis. I had been quietly developing a project about dance and communication, and she came to mind. She had actually planned to reach out to me later that day after getting her results, but by chance, I reached her first.

She replied right away: "Can I call you in an hour?" The next day, we started filming.

What followed was a five-year journey that unfolded alongside Jenn’s evolving understanding of herself, eventually leading to the creation of a deeply personal, one-woman dance performance. The more time we spent together, the more our paths intertwined. I found myself reflecting on my own life in new ways, and while this film is firmly Jenn’s story, it became a space of self-reflection for me as well.

Visually and structurally, Room to Move is layered and expressive. We weave together vérité footage, personal archives, fragments from an evolving stage work, and poetic, impressionistic sequences that interpret the psychological terrain Jenn was navigating—sensory processing, masking, and the pressure to perform normalcy. Each thread offers a different emotional texture. The whole is meant to feel like memory: shifting, nonlinear, and deeply felt.

This was very much a passion project—crafted over time by a small, dedicated team, with many of us wearing multiple hats. It was made possible through the support of our creative home, Good Company, and a shared belief that this story could matter. There were many moments when we didn’t know if it would come together, but the process itself became the reward.

Even though we learn that Jenn’s special interest, dance, gave her room for self-expression, emotional regulation, communication, and camaraderie, Room to Move is not just a film about dance. Ultimately, it is about the power of seeing yourself—sometimes for the first time—and what happens when we're given permission to explore who we really are. I hope that audiences, whether connected to dance or not, walk away with a bit more curiosity, compassion, and maybe even recognition.