Filmmakers Stephens, Hernandez Discuss Dead Dads, Mythology, and Innovation

After the death of her father, Carrie (Callie Hernandez), the protagonist of “Invention,” becomes the beneficiary of a patent for an electromagnetic healing device. This device, modeled after one her own late father possessed, looks like something straight out of a sci-fi movie with its flashing cylinder of multicolored tubes emitting odd electrical noises.

Los Angeles-based director Courtney Stephens discussed her Locarno-premiering film “Invention” with Variety, describing the machine as “the mystery at the center of the film.” Carrie struggles to process the loss of her larger-than-life father, a doctor turned “spiritual healer,” whose trustworthiness was always in question.

On the surface, “Invention” explores the universal human experience of grieving a complicated loved one. What sets the film apart is its innovative format. Competing in the Concorso Cineasti del Presente category at this year’s Locarno Film Festival, “Invention” is classified as fiction but defies simple categorization. It blends autobiography, documentary, and archival footage of Hernandez’s late father, offering much more than a traditional narrative.

This blurring of genres serves a higher purpose, causing the storyline to blur distinctions between fairytales, mythology, and American idiom. It raises an important question: Ultimately, aren’t they all just really good conspiracy theories? This exploration is carried out in the most gentle and non-judgmental way possible.

The filmmakers noted, “We met a lot of interesting people while making this film. The yarns of conspiracy—also, we both recognized that—there was a hopefulness in these, a hopefulness in storytelling. Conspiracies are just stories.”

Stephens describes “Invention” as a “diary of its own making.” Created during the writers’ strike and shortly after the COVID-19 pandemic, the film’s format reflects both the freedom with which the co-writer/producers wanted to explore the story and the external circumstances that shaped its production.

“We really found the film as we were making it,” Hernandez explained. “We always knew we wanted to make a dead dads film, but we weren’t sure exactly what it would be.”

Along with cinematographer Rafael Palacio Illingworth and a handful of actors, Stephens and Hernandez embarked on a “shoestring” mission to uncover inscrutable emotional truths about unconventional modes of grieving and the house of cards that is the system of beliefs undergirding American life. Hernandez did her own sound micing, and cast members helped out with various tasks like laundry, cooking, and gaffing.

“We were interested in the Grief Process, a little bit puncturing the idea that there’s this smooth, orderly way through these things,” elaborated Stephens on Carrie’s central emotional arc. “Grief is disappointing; it’s disorganized. You make it through because time passes, and you have no choice but to be changed.”

“We both entered into this film with a similar understanding that grief has its way with you and not the way around,” Hernandez added. “You’re a bit of a ragdoll.”

This empathetic ethos is fiercely reflected in Hernandez’s vulnerable lead performance. At first, Carrie faces the boring, uncomfortable bureaucracy of death and the unnerving zeal of her late father’s supporters like Babby (Lucy Kaminsky) with a “wooden” countenance. Although initially guarded with these characters, it was important for Stephens and Hernandez to approach them with compassion. Even though they were investigating the sometimes bizarre world of medical conspiracy theory, they chose to focus on “the effect it has on people, more than a desire to condemn.”

Gradually, hopefulness begins to take root, and Carrie starts to understand why her father was a “true believer.” She moves beyond questioning whether the machine actually works. As the layers of the story peel away, the film shifts focus from the distractions we seek while grieving. “Believing in something can be a way of organizing your hopelessness,” Stephens said, summing up a certain hopefulness as we witness the decay of the American Dream post-Covid.

There is solace in the realization that, as Hernandez and Stephens put it, “Even the small interactions you have, which seem irrelevant in the grand, dramatic scope of grief, have their place—the banal, the magical, the dumb, the stupid, and the wonderful.”

Source: Variety