Omaha Diary

The long-awaited, high stakes Omaha premiere of MY OMAHA is finally at hand, and I'm flying out to be there for it. If only the weather will cooperate.

Sunday night

I’m set to leave for Omaha in the morning, but there’s a mean nor’easter whipping up, and it’s set to batter the NYC area with high winds and flooding just as my plane is due to take off. I’m checking weather reports feverishly, but my efforts seem to have no impact on the forecast.

The big Omaha premiere of MY OMAHA is Tuesday night, and to amuse myself I check the driving time from NYC to Omaha. 18 hours and 53 minutes. Don’t think so.

My role in going is, in part, to make some opening remarks and introduce the director Nick Beaulieu, and I’m reasonably sure the sold out audience would survive my absence. But, more importantly, the premiere is a prime opportunity to plant fundraising seeds for our outreach campaign, and as producer (with Nick) it falls on me to do that.

I pack as lightly as I can, set my alarm for the ungodly hour of 5am and hope for the best.

Monday morning

I wake up to find an apologetic notification on my phone - there’s been a change to my flight and it appears it’s been canceled. It doesn’t give any details, of course, just a link to a bot to change flights or make other arrangements. The bot is unfailingly polite and predictably unhelpful. My foggy brain eventually realizes I should check the Delta website, where I discover the flight hasn’t been canceled, after all. They’ve managed to induce a state of panic over a delay of all of 10 minutes.

At the airport I whip out my laptop and start making notes for my big speech, but nothing is coming. During its making, this lifelong New Yorker would occasionally delight in ribbing the Omaha born-and-bred Nick by calling the film Your Omaha. Is it too cheesy to tell the 300 folks there I’ve come around to proudly thinking of it as My Omaha, too? (Ok, don’t answer, yes, it is.) Maybe I’ll try on Our Omaha, instead, but that comes with a degree of cheese, too.

In fairly short order I give up. I’ve always been a spur of the moment speech maker. I decide I’ll simply speak from the heart and see where that leads me.

The bad news is the plane sits on the runway for almost 3 hours before taking off. The good news is I’d upgraded to the exit row and there’s no one sitting beside me. And the plane doesn’t have in-flight entertainment, so there’s no movies to tempt me. I can spread out like a mobile office and catch up on work.

Word has filtered in that our IRL Movie Club screenings yesterday in 72 cinemas nationwide were more successful than we dared dream. Nick drove from Omaha to Des Moines to be at the showing there in-person and said the theater was mostly full. And he got tons of texts from friends and relatives from cities all over reporting how well attended it was.

So much planning has gone into the Omaha premiere that there’s little left to do to prepare. So I turn my attention to BETTY & HENRI (& ME), or the love letter film, as I’ve come to call it. Between the release of MY OMAHA, producing The D-Word’s Friday F2Fs on Zoom and starting a Substack newsletter, I’ve let B&H wither on the vine lately. Which isn’t good as I’m aiming to launch a Kickstarter campaign in mid-February to coincide with Valentine’s Day. I haven’t ever crowdfunded for a film of mine, and there’s so much planning involved it hurts my brain just to think about it.

I have a potentially groundbreaking idea for the film that excites me to no end. From the beginning, I’ve been bowled over by Substack’s seamless integration of video into its platform, but I haven’t seen much creative exploration by filmmakers of its potential as an exhibition space. BETTY & HENRI (& ME), with a captivating mystery at its core, seems ripe for that kind of experimentation and play.

It might mean posting scenes as they’re edited, partial or whole, polished or not, and enticing my subscribers for help in solving the mystery. It might mean bypassing industry gatekeepers altogether. It might mean telling the story non-linearly rather than as a traditional film, or it might mean both. It might mean I’m cracked, but I don’t think so.

What degree of cracked remains to be seen.

Monday afternoon

Nick picks me up at the airport with a half dozen editions of the the main Omaha newspaper in tow. Tomorrow’s premiere is front page news and the talk of the town. To the point where the mayor is coming, and FilmStreams is adding more showtimes in their biggest theater.

For Nick, it’s become a surreal experience. For me, I’m happy to share in his dream, but my feet are firmly planted on planet earth. We have funding to raise for Carrot’s outreach and Argot’s booking. That we’ll get 50% of the box office for our Omaha run is a great start, but there will be a lot of wealthy movers and shakers attending. And my mission is to separate checks from their wallets, bitcoins from their accounts, or gold bricks from their vaults, whatever,

Tuesday morning

I’m sitting at a cafe down the block from my Airbnb, taking another crack at prepping my intro speech tonight. From shooting so many weddings over the years (actually a bit more than 112, truth be told, I just liked the number) I’ve learned the hard way that speeches can’t possibly be too short. Or that jokes which don’t land are excruciating. And, dear God, never read a speech.

I’ve written here in some depth about my history with MY OMAHA, but tonight isn’t the time or place to go into it before a bunch of strangers waiting for the movie to start. It’s a night for celebrating Nick and Leo Louis II, the community activist who’s front and center in the film. A slide will show behind me with a donation QR code, so I don’t even have to go into much detail about the fundraising.

Speak from the heart, I keep reminding myself. Keep it brief. Introduce Nick. And take a seat.

Nick texts me that his mom and brother are freaking out with nerves, and he’s not sure what to say to put them at ease other than to hear them out. Exactly that, I reply. The trick for me is to hear myself out.

Tuesday night

Nick and I arrive at FilmStreams early for our 7pm screening for interviews and to go over our “run of show.” FilmStreams is a fantastic venue for film freaks, with four state-of-the-art theaters, a depth of programming that rivals NYC’s Film Forum and Film at Lincoln Center, and has a restaurant attached featuring organic regional food, vegan options and a tempting bar.

Nick was an intern at FilmStreams a decade ago, and is over the moon that we’re showing there. They were booked up the wazoo with fall movies, and it wasn’t at all certain they had room for us until recently. They’ve been much more responsive ever since our screening sold out faster than any they’ve ever programmed.

By 6:15 there’s already a line going out the door and halfway across the parking lot. A photographer is anxious to get a photo of me, Nick and Leo, but the two are constantly interrupted by friends greeting them. He finally manages a quick snap, and we give a decent impression of being relaxed but our heartbeats are racing.

After a bunch of trailers play out the lights come up and the FilmStreams head programmer introduces me as the film’s producer. At the afterparty, more than one audience member will approach me and ask what a producer actually does. They make unforgettable opening remarks, I tell them.

I lead off by telling the packed audience I’ve only been involved with the film for four years, but for Nick it’s been ten. And for all those years he’s dreamed of this night. As well as nightmares that no one will show up.

I get an encouraging laugh so I decide to crack my “Your Omaha” joke, which gets another laugh, but immediately segue into what the title “My Omaha” represents for me. When you look at a map of the U.S., Omaha is pretty much dead center. And at a time when we couldn’t be more divided as a country, both racially and politically, this is where bridging the divide can begin and radiate outward. I see that the QR code to our fundraising page is onscreen behind me, as promised, and make a plea for support. I’ve learned not to use the word donate, which connotes a one-off pledge, but to say contribute to our outreach efforts, be part of our team, or be a supporter.

Then I introduce Nick, we hug and I scoot off to our seats in the back. Which enables me to get some cool shots of the packed theater once the film starts.

It’s hard to imagine the screening going better. It gets a few laughs that only those from Omaha would understand, and, likewise, some gasps and applause, too.

I expect Nick will get a standing ovation when he’s re-introduced for the Q&A, so I whip out my phone, set it to video and prepare to follow him down the aisle. The audience has other plans, though. The second the end credits begin they stand up as one applauding, and I miss recording the first 30 seconds or so as Nick wonders whether he should head down front in the dark. It makes for a crap video clip, but you’ll get the idea.

There’s a second standing ovation when Nick and Leo are introduced so I‘m able to grab a still image, at least.

On my way out of the theater after the Q&A, a young woman approaches me. She says she hates movies and never goes to them, then proceeds to say that this was the best movie she’s ever seen. Says she moved to California and has always been embarrassed to admit she’s from Omaha, but now is thinking she might move back. I’m so stunned that all I can do is say thank you. Several times.

I see two women from an Omaha foundation that has already contributed to the film, and who I’ve only met via Zoom. They’re still vibrating with excitement from the screening, so there’s clearly potential for followup. But people of wealth don’t go around with badges announcing that fact, alas. I can only hope the on-screen QR code did the trick.

Then I get the “What does a producer actually do?” questions. I don’t have the energy to explain so I tell them in documentaries producers get their films made for just enough money so that everyone gets paid except themselves. It’s not always true, but it’s true enough. And it gets a smile, though it’s not really funny.

Wednesday morning

My return flight to NYC is due to leave at 12:40pm, and I just got a text on my phone that it’s been delayed by three hours. It’s perfect symmetry, the exact same delay as on the flight out. But once again I’m just grateful it hasn’t been cancelled.

I’ve finished writing this post just as they’re announcing we’re boarding. No time to proofread, so kindly forgive me any errors. And no time for an image of the week. The images from Omaha will have to suffice.