There are times when I stand disorientated in front of a large group, wondering how the hell I arrived at this point where I am facing a crowd of people who are just about or already have watched our documentary, My Mother, the Nazi Midwife and Me.
I always call it ‘our’ documentary
because although it’s about me and my life, what’s on that screen is really the
result of one woman’s farsightedness and tenacity. And that woman is Jane Hawtin, my friend,
executive producer, director, whisperer of key questions, advisor on how to
heavy-up on the make-up for an unrelenting camera, and the driving force behind
what’s up there for all to see.
It requires an ocean
of determination to take a jumble of words and images, and shape it into
something that will impact those who view it.
Jane’s indomitable spirit is what held our little team of three that
includes editor, Jason Acton, together.
Unafraid to ask questions (and listen carefully to the suggestions),
change direction, follow her instincts (always sound) or to invest more than
her heart and soul, Jane is the reason why I am standing in a spotlight,
slightly dazed.
It started innocently enough with a
simple dinner. Jane had come from
Toronto to spend a week with me in Montreal.
Although we had known each others for more than a decade (and liked each
other enormously from the start), we had only just reconnected after many years
without a word.
We were chatting about what I was up
to. Writing a novel, I said, and going
to Germany with Anna Rosmus of ‘Nasty Girl’ fame, to do some research. And then, I recounted how Anna had
corroborated the story my mother had told me for years about too many babies
dying in the DP camp which was why I was born in Anna’s hometown of Passau.
Jane looked at me with her big brown
eyes and her mouth pursed in an ‘O’ something she does when she’s had a
stirring thought or a revelation. “But
that’s a documentary,” she said.
My reply, tinged with gallons of
self-doubt was, “Do you really think so?”
We went to Germany with two
cameramen, no script, no confirmed broadcaster, and no clue as to what we would
find when we got there. Angels were
sitting on our shoulder at many turns in the road but it takes one to recognize
one. Jane’s finely-honed instincts
seemed to know when something was right and she seized every opportunity.
We came home after five days in
Passau and weren’t quite sure which o story line was the right one to
follow. Nor did we know who the midwife
was. It took another two years to track
down the source of the story – Salomon Brunner - but we still didn’t have the
midwife’s name. It was also a time when
Jane needed to heal after a terrible accident.
The hurdles Jane had to overcome would have daunted a lesser
warrior. Anyone else would have surrendered.
In the end, however, through
all the trials and tribulations, the outlay of personal cash, the uncertainty
of how we would market this, when the doc was finally finished, we had a
national broadcaster in less than a month after completion, and in less than
three, an international distributor.
After chugging uphill for so long, you can imagine how this dizzying
increase in speed can cause me to wonder how I got from there to here. The answer to that question is that, to my
great good fortune, my story fell into the hands of an angel-warrior named Jane
Hawtin.
Happy Birthday,
Jane
