The Green Ray

When I was a child, my grandfather loved telling me stories of old Hawaii. And his favorite story was about the green ray, a burst of green light that he would sometimes see flash in the sky moments after the sun set. Grandpa was a child during Hawaii's plantation days, and he would oftentimes work late into the evenings in the sugar cane fields. With his body covered in perspiration and dirt from the strain of a twelve hour workday, he'd watch the sky with a sense of anticipation, eagerly awaiting the flash of green that he, in his youthful naiveté, imagined HAD to be some form of communication from a higher being, a wink, perhaps, from God Himself.

In those days he claimed he'd see the green ray quite often. But he saw it less and less as the years went by, and, when he passed away five years ago, it had been over twenty years since he'd seen it last.

Grandpa had no idea why the green ray disappeared. But he suspected that it had something to do with the industrialization of Hawaii in recent years. Surely, he reasoned, the subsequent pollution had to have had some effect on the green ray. Of course, his theory had no real scientific basis. But still, he believed in it.

When I read a very early draft of Christopher Makoto Yogi's thesis screenplay last year (then titled Layover, On the Beach) all I could think about was my grandfather's story. And once Chris asked me to collaborate with him on the script, and as we edited draft after draft together, I found that Grandpa's story was always in the back of my mind, seemingly guiding me.

A couple of months ago, I mentioned the green ray to my father, and explained to him how much of an impact the story had on me. That's when he told me that my grandfather had never worked in the sugar cane fields.

He said that while Grandpa was a master storyteller, he was also a chronic bullshitter. In fact, he said, most of the stories he had told me, including the one about the green ray, were probably lies, or, at the very least, gross exaggerations.

Today, I have no idea whether my grandfather was lying or not. But still, even if he made it up, his story held more truth than even he realized. And it feels so appropriate that his tale has guided me in the writing of this screenplay, this story of individuals trapped between worlds, haunted by idealizations, longing for pasts that perhaps only ever existed in their minds.

At this point, after all the revisions and changes the script has gone through, I have no idea what Layover means to Chris. But to me, what I will always remember is chasing after that image of my grandfather looking towards the sky, searching for a green light that faded away years ago, believing that one day, against all odds, it would return to him. Truth or fiction, reality or idealization, it really doesn't matter.

I truly feel that Layover captures a side of Hawaii that I've never seen represented on film before, and I absolutely can't wait to see how Chris goes about capturing the images and emotions and ideas in the screenplay. These next six weeks are going to be very exciting.

Kevin