When I set out to direct my first feature, I knew I wanted to make
a film that was emotionally driven and not necessarily plot driven.
I was drawn to this story because of the many easily identifiable
emotional moments along the journey. It isn’t plot heavy, the twists
and turns are delicate and believable, but the viewer is still taken on
an emotional rollercoaster. Like a lot of life in LA, Other People’s Children is about
the struggle between surface and reality.
On the surface Sam seems like a successful artist, with a taste for alcohol, and a
strong philanthropic streak. But underneath, she is a wounded little girl who has
closed herself off from real connection. Most of us were not taught as children to
feel our feelings. Dark and unhappy thoughts were meant to be suppressed. Sam
spent her childhood in the shadow of her brilliant, but narcissistic and self-destructive
father. His feelings overpowered the room and blew out Sam’s more delicate gossamer
threads of emotion. When we first meet Sam, she can’t even cry. She just lies on
the floor of her loft filled with emptiness. When Sam meets P.K. she slowly starts to
unfurl her emotional wings. She embraces her femininity and becomes sexual and
bright. But P.K.’s surface appearance is not his reality either, and so the truth of their
relationship is put to the test.
Every character in this film falls under the theme of surface versus reality. The title
itself, Other People’s Children, calls to the idea that all people inherently suffer the
same struggle. That the Homeless Guy begging for change and the Business Man
ignoring him may seem worlds apart, but their emotional needs, concerns and loves
are most likely very similar.
--Liz Hinlein