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Day 3: Sometimes I Dream in Farsi

I didn't cry on the third day, but I looked like I just did.

This is because I was so tired. I have been having trouble sleeping.

This is what usually happens during production. It's better when it's a fictional film and you don't have to be on camera, cause you can look a lot better behind the camera. But, I figured the best documentaries are being naked and whatever you are, so I've given up on me looking good.

I'll just be me.

And I suppose everyone else will be them.

That's what my mother was as well. Herself, and tired. She just flew in from Iran, so she didn't even want to do an interview.

I figured we'd try.

She didn't want to say anything. I asked her to talk about her mistaking "organic pears" as "orgasmic" or the time I played with my own shit from my diaper, but she was on her best behavior for the camera.

"This is not good story, Pirooz," she would say.

Then I would look at the camera and roll my eyes.

Then Aaron would put his hand over his mouth and stifle his laughter.

I'll have to do something to get her to loosen up.

Anyway, we did get her flipping photos. She was good at that.

And we were both good at looking tired.

Later, that day, we just drove from Rochester to Delaware. It wasn't a snap or anything and we were there. It was a really long drive. Not like across the country, but enough for my right knee to start feeling pain.

Aaron took over at the end, and we went through an hour of fog before we were in Delaware.

"Wait!" my dad said. "I don't recognize anything."

"That's because it's been 18 years," I said.

Tomorrow, we visit the old house, barbershop, and my old school.

Day 2: Sometimes I Dream in Farsi

Today was an emotional day, but it started out really unemotional.

First, I got a tattoo of "Sometimes I Dream in Farsi" inside a heart I drew. That might sound funny. Let me start again. Voodoo from Voodoo Monkey Tattoo in Rochester gave me a tattoo of a drawing I did of the film's title in a heart.

Such a cool guy and place. I talked about what the film was about -- a doc on me and my films, but also my family coming to America, and then me dealing with racism as a nine year old when this guy kicked me out of a barbershop in Delaware.

"The tattoo is to to bring this nine year old back into my heart," I said.

"I love the concept, man," he said.

And, he really did. There's this amazing thing about people in Rochester. They're so real, you know?

Anyway, after we shot in the tattoo parlor, we went to Starbucks. I didn't even think how there was that incident the other day, but then Aaron reminded me.

"You do know what happened with those two black men?" he chided me.

"Oh, man," I said. "I didn't even think about that."

We stayed regardless. I was already tired. Not physically. Well, yeah, maybe physically a bit too. But, definitely, emotionally.

Two students, Brooke and Patrick, who volunteered to help on set talked with Aaron and I about their aspirations to be in the entertainment business. Aaron gave them advice about computers and what avenues they could choose.

I was more thinking about the next scene that we had to do.

"So what are you going to do exactly?" Brooke asked.

"I don't know," I said. "It could go many ways."

Then I told her how everyone was chosen like cast members and not a documentary. That first, my dad and I would get a haircut and talk about the incident. Then, we'd do the Gestalt Therapy and have us all switch places, taking turns being the little kid that experienced the racism, the racist, and then my father.

Diane of The Barbershop on 768 Monroe Avenue was nice enough to let us have the dialogue, while she cut my hair and then my father's.

It wasn't about two minutes before I started crying. I went straight into that child in me saying, "I was afraid they were going to take you away!" to my dad.

"I didn't know this incident was so bad for you," my father kept saying.

Then he went in on how we have to be strong in the face of adversity. After a few minutes, I couldn't take it. I told him that I was just a little kid. I wanted to just be told that he loves me and it's okay.

My dad couldn't do it though.

Then, it all shifted once we started role playing. As soon as my dad played me, and I played him, he broke down.

Aaron says it was right after he talked about my grandfather experiencing a beating for being a Bahai in Iran by a group of Muslims and he was never the same after that.

"How old was he?" I asked my dad.

"42," my dad said.

"That's exactly how old I am now," I said. "Imagine that happened to him when he was an adult. Can you imagined when it happened to me when I was nine years old? What did I do wrong? I was just a kid. What could I do to the barber? I wasn't going to hurt him by being Iranian. I was just a sweet and innocent kid."

Then I started talking about macho aggressive behavior. That I'm fragile and sensitive and that's okay. I'm a kid.

Stuff like this.

Then my dad broke down.

Then, we had my student Brooke play me as a kid, and my dad play the barber.

"You just have to ask her ethnicity and then tell her to get out," I directed.

My dad stood there motionless.

"I can't do it," he said. "I just can't say it.

Then everyone started crying.

"That's okay, Dad," I said. "Just play it the way you want."

"Where are you from?" my dad asked.

"Iran," Brooke said.

"That's great," my dad said and patted her back. "Welcome."

Tomorrow, we're back at it again.

Day 1 - Sometimes I Dream in Farsi

Today was the first day of shooting, and I already cried like a baby.

My therapist warned me that I'd have issues. She wanted to do this Gestalt Therapy during our sessions, but I told her I'd save it for the camera.

When I told Aaron that, he bagged up laughing.

I guess everything for art. Like Nemanja says: "I would die for art."

In the morning, we did an interview with Panauh. Aaron was surprised with how open he was and even critical of me.

"That's healthy," Aaron said.

"I guess," I said.

Then we went to the college and had Aaron chat with the Topics in Cinema course. I wonder if they know how amazing Aaron is.

After that, we headed home to shoot me opening a Transformer toy I got in the mail. I explained that right around the time the Iran hostage thing happened and that barber refused to cut my hair, I also got a Transformer stolen from me.

Anyway, it showed up in the mail, and I figured we might as well get me opening the box.

Then I played with the transformer, and my dad came out of nowhere and patted my head and said: "We have to find this little guy in you."

"Oh, yeah," I said, humoring him.

"Yes," he said. Then he pointed to my shoulder. "Is it here?"

"No," I said.

"Is it here?" he said and pointed at my stomach.

"No," I said.

"It's here," he said and pointed to his head.

Then he talked about the stories in our heads.

I knew where the kid was in me. It was in this film and in my heart, but it was nice to hear my dad talk, so we let him keep going right into us watching Gandhi.

As soon as we did, I started crying. Just talking about the barbershop scene makes me start tearing up ugly.

But we got through it.

Tomorrow is the tattoo and then the first barber shop scene.

I hope I survive.

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