Reflections on the El Casino Ballroom documentary
This past week my 2012 documentary, “Tucson’s Heart and Soul: El Casino Ballroom,” debuted at a gala fundraiser for the Mountain Empire Film Festival in Patagonia, Arizona, and at the Arizona International Film Festival in Tucson.
It has been months since I have looked at the film, which is typical for me. I was already started on my next film on how mariachis and folklórico dancers transformed Tucson while I was editing the El Casino film. And since its premiere in December, I have been working diligently on that next project.
So when a seat in the front row was offered at the Patagonia screening, I didn’t know if I should run and hide or sit there.
Like every filmmaker, at first I was focused on the little imperfections that I spotted that likely few others saw. But I very quickly found myself absorbed in the film.
I was surprised at the folks some people in that audience reacted to. But it was a delightful kind of surprise. It was wonderful seeing them be tickled by the things that tickled me when I shot them. To see them laughing at the parts that cracked me up. To see tears in their eyes at the points where I myself could barely contain my emotions when it happened a few feet from me.
And there I was, laughing and tearing up as though I’d never seen it before, and wanting to jump out of my seat to say, “Watch this. This is one of my favorite parts.”
I loved that this audience looked at Fred Martinez, Jeb Schoonover, Javier Escalante and Paul Bear as the heroes I have known them to be.
When Luis Cruz said, “El Casino doesn’t make money. It makes memories,” near the end of the film, I knew they got it, and were moved by that.
I loved watching their surprise as the credits rolled and such odd El Casino occurrences as a luchador wrestling match and Zumba aerobics rolled by to the sounds of Sergio Mendoza y la Orkesta. And their applause at the close was as genuine as it was loud.
Up until that moment, though, more often than not I was just enjoying the film with them. I knew what was coming but was occasionally surprised as well. And with a good space of time between its completion and seeing it again, the waves of emotion it evoked in me was both surprising and gratifying.
I feel good about how this film turned out. I feel good about how it validated the lives of a lot of people, and how it told a great story about a place not everyone knows, but all should in my community.
I have never been prouder of anything I’ve done. And yet I know this is just the prelude to the mariachi film, which I feel confident will become the best film I likely will ever make.
In the end, a good documentary starts with a good story. El Casino Ballroom was a great one. I am honored that so many shared their moving stories with me for the making of this film. And humbled to realize that I did a halfway decent job putting that story together.