The Owl and the Scream Master

It was a dark and stormy night... Not really, but it was dark and the light from the moon created just enough blue to create a mysterious glow, outlining the apex of my very steep roof. The perfect setting for a scary movie, one like director Wes Craven ("Nightmare on Elm Street" and "Scream") would have directed. As a sound editor, I worked with Wes on four of his films. Despite the content he created, he was the sweetest, non-scary and most gentlemanly man. He loved birds, especially raptors and owls. We would send each other stories and photos of birds we encountered. It was sweet and endearing. He photographed them on his porch in the Hollywood Hills and told me that certain birds would come visit him often. He felt a spiritual connection to them, probably because they could fly away whenever they wanted. Wes was sheltered as a boy - not allowed to watch TV or go to see films. It's ironic to me that he became a filmmaker. Or is it? Being denied something makes the desire for it even stronger. He told me that at, Wheaton College, away from his parents' stern rules, he absorbed every movie and every experience he could. Interesting that "Nightmare on Elm Street" was about a killer who kills his victims by invading their dreams. He had big dreams. Wes became designated as a horror director and when he tried to direct a different genre, an uplifting film "Music of the Heart" starring Meryl Streep, his fan base didn't respond to it. He told me later, when we worked on "Scream 4" together that it made him rather sad that he was pigeon-holed as a horror director. I recently learned that he started out as a sound editor, after a messenger job in New York City. As a sound editor myself, I was always impressed with his "sound" sensibilities. He recognized what sounded right to him, both morally and aurally. When we worked together, he always deferred to me for my contribution to the soundscape of the film and would only interject this thoughts when he had an idea, and even then, very respectfully. This was unlike a lot of directors I worked with who just wanted to ramrod themselves over any underling, no matter how important that "underling" was. Wes did not do that. He often shared his photos with me that he would take on the set, while directing. In fact, some of his on set photos hang in the Pickford Center for Motion Picture Study in Hollywood, which is part of the Motion Picture Academy. He had an amazing eye for contrast, color, composition and story-telling. His photographs told a story. That 1/150th of a second told a whole story.

Back to that dark, blueish moonlit night. I was outside, feeding my horses which I do about nine o'clock so their tummies are happy during the night, when, out of the corner of my eye I catch something on the top of my roof. I thought it was just the exhaust pipe of my fireplace. But then it moved. I stayed very still. It stayed very still too. Once my eyes were adjusted to the dark, I realized it was an owl. And it was watching me. I live about twenty minutes from downtown Los Angeles, in a community called Shadow Hills. It's a very rural, horse community which is why I moved here. In the ten years since I moved here, I had never seen nor heard an owl. But that night, August 30, 2016, there he was. On the top of my very steep roof. Even when my dog came outside, the owl didn't move. He just stared down at us from his approximate 40 feet perch. My first thought was, "I gotta tell Wes about this!" and then I realized that I couldn't talk to him - he was gone. Not on this earthly plane anymore. He had died the year before. And then it hit me. It was exactly a year since Wes died. August 30, 2015. I looked up at the owl and said, "Thank you, Wes, for checking on us. I'm glad you can fly free. Come back anytime!" After a minute, the owl flew off and I could hear the almost inaudible whoosh whoosh of its wings. And wouldn't you know, but the next year, there was another owl (or maybe the same one?) on exactly the same night again. I called Wes' wife. "I just had to tell you that on the anniversary of his death, I get visited by an owl.Do you think that's Wes?" She said calmly. "Yes, I'm sure it is. I feel his presence because the birds keep coming to the porch and I know it's him." Fly free, dear Wes. And visit me again.