Final Project Essay

A year and half ago, I moved into a house in a corner of Provo I was unfamiliar with. Everyday, I would wait at a stop light to exit or enter the neighborhood.  On the corner was a little shop called “The Scooter Lounge.”  It was not in a location with much of any foot traffic and I rarely saw anyone inside.  Sometimes, I’d see two people discussing with great seriousness while looking at a bright pink Vespa with a bullet sidecar.  Other times, I’d see a young man pushing motorized scooters into the store as storm clouds gathered overhead.  I was always curious about what kind of environment filled the walls of The Scooter Lounge, and one day I got the courage to go in and see for myself.

The shop left no space unadorned.  Scooters of every size—from keychain to two seater–filled the floor. The walls weren’t spared, either.  Posters depicting beautiful, young, carefree women riding high through nondescript western european landscapes could be seen hanging over the unsold Vespas.  It was as if the scooter was saying, “all this happiness could be yours, if only you’d take me for a ride….”

I find motorized scooters visually fascinating.  They usually are parked in a space designed for a much larger vehicle, yet seem unbothered by other people's expectations.  But further, when they are perched up by that kick stand, the front wheel turned to the side, there is a sexy flair there.  It’s as if leaning, head turned, just smoking a cigarette while watching their fellow vehicles burdened by those two extra wheels.  

Overlooking this landscape of two wheeled fun machines was a middle aged man with a white beard and pleasant smile.  When I talked to him about filming a short documentary, he seemed unusually excited.  He had ideas of what we could film and took me around to each corner of his shop.  They had vintage Vespas from the 60s he was repairing as a personal project.  He said he has been fascinated with scooters since he was a kid.   He opened this shop with wife 20 years ago and has been selling and repairing scooters since.  

Unfortunately, I was unable to set up a time to do a formal interview.  So, I came in and shot the repairmen in the back.  I would catch tidbits of the business, like the owner having a conversation with two prospective consultants offering advice about tariffs and the ramifications of Trump’s policies.  (There was not much they could do.)  The owner would come back doing client work and check in on him.  I found that sitting with him and shooting was interesting.  He had his headphones in and was in a rhythm.  The more I shot, the more I was in rhythm with him.  

That said, it is not enough to carry the film.  The film needs more. I hope this can be a good intro into an interview with the owner.  I think this documentary would work far better as a reflexive piece rather than an observational one.  Thinking into the future, there is a story line between him and his son.  In conversation, I asked the owner about his son and if he was interested in the family business.  He sighed and said, “no, and it’s unfortunate.  He is a brilliant machine–he’s doing things that I’ve never done like repaint a scooter from scratch.  But he is interested in writing fantasy.”  I would love to sit down with the son and the dad separately, as well as shoot verite of them both together, and explore this dynamic.  

A touchstone for this kind of project is a documentary short in John Mulaney Presents: Everybody’s in L.A.  In a slot for a commercial break, they inserted a short doc about a young adult talking about his dreams in life as he repairs a bike.  As he speaks, his father interrupts him, reminding him of his skepticism regarding his plans and encouraging him to stay in the bike shop.  The dynamic between them touches on the harsh realities of life, the complex dynamics between father and son, and difficulty of leaving home for new experiences.  This project has the potential to do that.

The questions I am facing are whether or not I can successfully find an end.  I think the piece will meandure if I am not following a particular project or end goal.  There are a few options: following whether or not they will hit their monthly sales goal, following the father and son as they repair a vintage vespa for a show, and/or a decision point in the boy's life of whether he stays or goes.  All of these serious themes of failure and success, beauty and passion, and love and family can hinge on something as peculiar as a scooter shop.  

I would far prefer to shoot in the winter because it is so much more ridiculous to own a scooter shop in the dead of a Utah winter.  However, it may be best to just go and shoot with the spare time I have over the summer.  I think it could still function.  If I were to do it over the course of a few months (which would be the case if I followed a particular project), I think it could be interesting to see the seasons change and how that affects the behaviors of the business.  I think this is an interesting enough project to sustain a 10-15 minute documentary.  I hope this observational introduction could lead to a compelling reflexive body for a documentary short.