Dinner with The Sacred Disease

An interview with Erica Scoggins, director of The Sacred Disease

 Why were you interested in hopeless diseases?
By hopeless, do you mean incurable, chronic, or unexplainable? The Sacred Disease is based on my experience with Temporal Lobe Epilepsy, partial seizures stemming from the part of the brain controlling memory and emotion. A “misfire” in this part of the brain produces strange episodes consisting of a number of bizarre symptoms – a foreboding sense of déjà vu or jamais vu, changes in perception, a sudden overwhelming sense of euphoria or fear, automatic or forced thought, a tingly sensation of the skin, olfactory and aural hallucinations, etc. In the interest of space, I’ll point anyone who is interested in more information on the condition or the film to our site: www.ericascoggins.com/the-sacred-disease.
Long story short, these extreme moments (no matter how frightening) were so powerful and otherworldly that I became obsessed with re-creating the feeling long after the medication had stopped them. I’ve been a visual artist for as long as I can remember, but at some point I needed the work to move and tell stories and make sounds. After these seizures happened during my college years, I knew film was the only way to tap into the magic of that lost experience.

 On your opinion, when does the one we used to know dies? Can one still breathes but already be dead?
We deaden ourselves all the time–with mindless distractions, denial, drugs. For me and for Angie, the medication that was supposed to make us “better” actually killed an essential part of us. The medications used to control seizures are often the same used to control Bipolar Disorder. These mood stabilizers lay a lead blanket over you, stopping the seizures and any other kind of heightened response or emotion. For someone without a mood disorder, everything becomes bland, mundane, unimportant. The body feels heavy and worthless.
It’s a specific kind of death – one in which you still have to wake up everyday and pretend to feel something. When Kyla Ledes (Angie) came in to audition, we spent half an hour talking about medication and side effects. She suffers from chronic migraines and its medication, which have their own set of perceptive and physical problems. The way she was able to translate my sometimes esoteric directions into her body is how I knew she was the one. We were dealing with something that is beyond words, and she spoke that language. Parts of us die all the time. The Sacred Disease is in some ways an elegy.

 Why were you so much interested in the dusk and how did you work on the lighting?
Dusk represents the promise of the night. It is pregnant with desire, apprehension, suspicion. I associate this time of day with the moments leading up to a seizure; There is an aura where perception shifts and an inexplicable feeling that something is approaching washes over. Angie’s journey from morning to night represents the medicated state, the withdrawal period, and the slip from light to dark–where reality is no longer relevant. Considering dusk is such a fleeting moment, we often shot in the daytime and manipulated the color in post. This also adds to the surreality of the image since this method leaves color and light just a bit off. My DP, Albrecht Von Grünhagen, and gaffter, Jonathan Beneteau (both Berlin-based), are wizards with light. They orchestrated and captured the spectacular textures of my East Tennessee home.

 How did you get into the idea of dealing with mental disorder issues?
I’ve always been fascinated by the brain–its abilities, its mysteries, how it can work against us. I also think there’s a great power in what society condemns and stigmatizes. We’re expected to exist in the middle of a spectrum, and instead of recognizing the gifts and abilities of those who fall outside that spectrum, we only see their differences and try to fix them with therapy and medication. Of course, I want everyone to live healthy, safe, and fulfilling lives and people with mental illnesses and neurological disorders often desire that normalcy. But with film, we get to explore the fantasy of living on the outside and experience who we are in a primal, unmedicated world. We can ask the question, Is this a gift, a curse, a sidestep in evolution? Maybe it’s not even that simple.

 How much were you interested in the question of freedom and control over one’s own mind?
It is the only true freedom we can ever hope for. The only control we ever have is how we react to any given situation–emotionally and physically. The most terrifying thing is the prospect of “losing one’s mind.” Then that control is gone because perception of reality is flawed. Most people operate under some form of illusion–about the world around them or themselves–but they remain in that normal spectrum. Hallucinations and illogical responses to stimuli put a person outside that spectrum. In many cases, medication restores control. Again, we return to this problem of medication–when is it necessary and when are we denying our own nature? Each individual has to answer that question for themself.

 Do you think restraint is imprisonment or salvation?
We have to weigh the need for restraint in every aspect of our lives. One less beer tonight is a little more salvation for tomorrow. In my case, leaving the seizures untreated could have led to brain damage and more intense and dangerous grand mal seizures. The restraint was a sacrifice. I voluntarily eliminated the most powerful experiences I’ve ever had in my life. I’m constantly nostalgic for that feeling. Had I not treated my condition, I may not have made this film or any film. Sometimes a gag strengthens your voice for later.

 What sort of freedom would you say the short format allows?
Well, the first cut of The Sacred Disease was 50 minutes long. The final runtime is miraculously 28 minutes, but I’m clearly itching to make a feature. The short format is not just an essential building block for any filmmaker, it is a contained gem of experience. It can be a single scene, a single dramatic moment, an exploration of place or atmosphere. A short film can be a focus on texture or color or any other element that might be swallowed up or diluted in a longer format. The Sacred Disease’s narrative dissolves into an experiential sequence that probably could not be sustained over a longer film without infusing more narrative throughout. Not to say that a feature film must be narrative. Rather this particular film had to exist in that nebulous realm of the long short. We needed time for the experience without the expected resolution. We leave our heroine upside down.

 If you’ve already been to Clermont-Ferrand, could you share with us an anecdote or story from the festival? If not, what are your expectations for this year?
I have not been! Myself and one of my producers (as well as partner in all things) will attend the festival this year. We have never been to France, but he is an undeniable Bon Vivant. He’s ready for the wine and food. I’m ready for the endless cinema. My lactose intolerance has me a little on edge, but I’m packing my pockets with lactase supplements. We’re ready.

The Sacred Disease is being shown in Lab Competition L1.