The D-Word's life is one of glamour and riches, as only a documentary filmmaker can live it

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We don’t hold grudges in my family. Oh, no.

About 15 years ago or so, I took a close-up photo of my mother from a low unflattering angle. Or so she claims. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t remember ever seeing it.

As I mentioned, drove out last Thursday to Port Washington, a suburb of New York City on Long Island, to do some taping with Mom. Told her it’s for the family archives, that’s all, just like the taping I’d done with Dad the previous year. And it mostly is. But there’s a question or two I want to ask her about Dad, something that I hope will shed light on myself and my life in a way I can incorporate into the doc.

When I arrive I find Mom is pissed. I was supposed to have called and confirmed everything the night before and forgot. Typically, rather than call me herself, she gets all irritated and talks herself into believing I’m not coming. My older sister, Ellen, has warned me that Mom is anxious about the taping, and now it’s clear that she is. I’m annoyed at myself, as well. If this were a regular interview I would never have forgotten to confirm my arrival. Clearly, subconcious stuff is at work here.

Mom wants to put her face on for the camera. “Not too much makeup,” I groan. I want her as she really is. “It’s just some lipstick and eyeliner, for crying out loud,” she protests. What she would normally wear.

My parents bedroom and bathroom are upstairs. Mom is in the bedroom muttering out loud. I decide to capture it on tape. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, I point the camera at the open stairwell. I keep the view wide and static.

“What’s my problem?” she says. “What’s my problem? Time. What do you think it is?”

“What better do you have to do than talk to me,” I respond from behind the lens.

“What better do I have to do? I have marketing. I have laundry. I have gardening. I have all sorts of things that have to be fitted in at a certain time.” She walks out where I can see her. “Now, your father has a problem with priorities. I don’t.”

With perfect timing, she sticks out her tongue at me and exits into the bathroom. A moment later, something dawns on her. “Hey!” she yells. “You did it!”

“Did what?” I reply, feigning innocence. I’ve just turned 44, my mother will be 74 in two weeks and I’m still feigning innocence.

“Did you take that picture from below?”

I don’t answer.

“I’ll kill you! You cannot use it! You promised!”

“Alright. Nothing from below.”

“Absolutely.”

“But then how do I shoot upstairs--”

“You don’t shoot me upstairs. You shoot something else upstairs. Or I’ll hold something in front of my face, or something. Aggghhh, you’re too much!”

I walk upstairs and she closes the bathroom door on me. I can’t believe it. I train my camera on the closed door and roll.

“Mom? Can I open the door?” It’s hard not to laugh. “Hello. Helloooooo...”

Her voice is muffled. “Go away, I’m peeing.”

“You’re peeing?”

“I will pee if you come in.”

“Mom, this is silly.”

“What?”

“This is silly. Now, come on, open the door. Open the door.”

A long pause. “You destroy trust.”

“I destroy trust?”

“You photograph people from below.”

“Well, I’ll photograph you from above. You can see, if I get below your eye level you can stop talking, okay?”

My mothers’ name is Mina. She opens the door and appears in close-up. I’m face to face with Mina.

“See,” I say, “I’m up high.”

Mina laughs heartily, then beckons me to follow her to the bedroom. “This is what I keep on my desk.” She picks up a framed picture of a cartoon and turns it around. There, on the side she keeps faced away from her, is the infamous photo. It’s not all that hideous, really. It’s actually more profile than low angle or distorted. Definitely emphasizes a double chin, though. A passive-aggressive photo more than an angry or rebellious photo. I’ve held onto my own grudges over the years, I suppose, and they emmerge subtly and unconciously

“That’s you from below?” I tease. “Oh, I see. I humbled you.”

“No, you gave me a realistic picture of what I look like from below, that’s all. So I keep it there to remind me from time to time.”

Mina walks off, ready to be interviewed now. We had a good talk, too. My sisters and I will be grateful in the years ahead to have this momento of our mother recalling her life in her own words. Shot at eye level, too.

But it’s our conversation in an empty stairwell, behind a closed door, before a photo on a desk facing the wall, that I know I’ll keep for the film. This is my relationship with my mother in a nutshell, as played out over the years.

And now it's a key component of my Home Page.

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