Everyone deals with grief differently. Some cry, or laugh, or turn to God or the bottle. When it came time for 37-year-old Tampa Bay native and resident Joe Davison to deal with grief, he made a film.
The movie, titled Frost Bite, will make its Tampa Bay premiere on Fri., April 19 at 6 p.m. at the Baywalk Muvico in St. Petersburg as part of the Sunscreen Film Festival. Frost Bite is a post-apocalyptic tale about a small group of survivors fighting to save their town from zombies. It is a fascinating tale of survival. But perhaps even more fascinating than the movie’s plot is the story behind how it was made.
Davison received the call from his mother in Jan. 2011. He said it had been five years since they’d last spoken. His parents had moved to Alaska seven years prior, and the combination of distance, the time difference and his busy film career made communication difficult. A week became two, two weeks became a few months, a few months became a few years and by then “it became normal not to talk to them.”
He was elated to hear from her. They made small talk. Davison boasted about the films he’d written and starred in, including 100 Tears, a cult favorite about a killer clown, and told her he’d done two horror films in Germany that were so popular he’d almost surpassed David Hasselhoff as the country’s favorite son. His mother said she was proud of him, but the joy was missing from her voice. Davison knew something was wrong.
“It’s your father,” she finally stammered. “I think you need to come to Alaska. He’s dying.”
He had pulmonary heart disease, she explained, and there was nothing the doctors could do.
Later that night, Davison lamented to his wife that he was not sure that he was strong enough to fly to Alaska by himself (his wife could not go due to expenses and work) only to watch his father die. There would be nothing to do there. The town of Talkeetna is sparsely inhabited — less than 1,000 people — and its only claim to fame is as a resting spot for mountain climbers on their way to Mt. McKinley.
“I needed to do something else to keep my mind clear,” Davison said. “I didn’t just want to go there for two weeks. If I was going to see my father, I wanted to go for six weeks. But, I also couldn’t just sit in my parents’ house for six weeks. I’m not wired that way. I would have gone crazy. So I decided I would go to Alaska, reconnect with my father and make a film. It’s what I do — I make films.”
There were a few obstacles, however. First, he didn’t know anyone in Alaska besides his family. Secondly, he did not have an investor. And finally, he didn’t have a script.
“My wife made me a pot of coffee and said do the ‘Joe turnaround,’” he laughed. That's her term for his ability to turn blank pieces of paper into a feature film in just a few days.
He called his brother, who also lived in Alaska, and asked what types of locations he would have. His brother said forests and mountains, obviously, plus a town store, a diner, a lodge and an inn. That was it, but that was all Davison needed. Over the next 48 hours, he wrote the story of Frost Bite around those locations. Despite the simple locales, the script was ambitious, complete with snowmobile stunts, fight scenes, shootouts and heavy zombie and gore makeup effects.
“I’ve never made a simple film,” said Davison. “Where’s the challenge in that? Where is the fun in that?”
Davison then posted an ad on Craigslist in Anchorage explaining who he was and that he was going to make a film in Alaska. To his surprise, within 24 hours he had over 200 emails from interested crewmembers and actors.
A few weeks later, he found an investor. The film was officially green-lit.
It pains Davison to admit it, but his first thoughts of his father used to be negative.
He would think back on the grease fire that broke out in his family’s house when he was 6. Davison, his mother and siblings escaped without injuries. His father wasn’t so lucky. Davison saw his father fleeing the home, his body engulfed in flames. Seventy percent of his body was burned. He was told he would never walk again.
Davison’s father proved the naysayers wrong. He made a complete recovery physically. Mentally was another matter. His father wasn’t abusive, Davison said, but he was mean, perhaps a fallout from the injuries. As he grew older, Davison avoided his father altogether and they grew apart.
Then, when Davison was in his mid-20s, he learned the big news — his father was not his biological father. Davison was the product of a short-lived affair.
The revelation was a devastating blow at first. But in retrospect, Davison says it was a blessing. As he went through the range of emotions that came with such news, he remembered earlier days, before his father was completely overcome with anger, when they would stay up late watching sketch comedy shows and horror films together. He realized he may not have his father’s blood in him, but he was a younger version of him.
“He made me who I am,” said Davison. “He is my real dad.”
Davison was not accustomed to feeling like a stranger. But in March 2011, as Davison’s brother drove him from Anchorage, Alaska to Talkeetna, he felt completely out of place for the first time in his life.
His destination was his parents’ house, which he thought would provide the type of calming that anyone’s parents’ house would. Instead, it forced him further down the rabbit hole. When he walked into their house, he barely recognized his parents.
“It had been seven years since I’d last seen them,” Davison lamented. “They’d been in Alaska all that time. I hadn’t pictured them aging. And my dad, well, he was dying. I don’t think it hit me until I saw him. I had been excited to see him. And then when I did …”
He realized that this was not a reunion. This was a goodbye trip.
It was awful at first, Davison lamented. You’re not supposed to have to make small talk with your father. Conversation should be organic. But Davison and his father were not close when they lived in the same city and saw one another semi-regularly. Seven years and 4,700 miles had made them … strangers. However, as the days turned to weeks, they did find something about which they could talk — Frost Bite. How could they not? It was, after all, the talk of the town.
Davison said that Frost Bite is a testament to the heart it takes to make an independent film. Despite the flood of emails from interested parties, only a dozen people decided to actually join the crew, the majority of whom had never worked on a film before but thought it would be fun. Two actors were from Anchorage and one of Davison’s friends flew in from Germany. Not only did Davison have to direct and star, he had to teach the locals how to act and make a film.
The day before principal photography was set to begin, while Davison and the entire cast and crew were talking about the film over lunch at the town diner, his investor called him and said he'd decided against funding the movie.
The cast and crew never flinched. They all agreed to work for free. The locals knew Davison’s parents and were not about to force him to endure more heartbreak. Plus, they had always dreamt of making a film and did not know if the opportunity would present itself again.
When Davison returned to Tampa, his regular post-production team completed the editing and he emailed the finished product to Talkeetna. They show the film on a regular basis.
“I hear that they scream at the screen the entire time now, cheering for the heroes and trying to tell characters not to go there because they’re going to die,” laughed Davison.
Davison’s father never did get a chance to see his son in action. He wanted to attend a day of filming and, ironically, play a zombie, but his health didn’t cooperate. That didn’t temper his enthusiasm for his son’s career, though.
When they were alone, he asked his son question after question about the filmmaking process. Conversations lasted hours and turned from films made by Davison to films they both loved. Davison was reminded of those late-night movie-watching sessions.
“Our shared love of film brought us together again. It was the longest we spoke since I was a little kid,” said Davison of their conversations. “It felt good.”
After six weeks, Davison returned to Tampa, more secure with his relationship with his father than he had been in 30 years.
A few weeks later, while the film was still being edited, he received another call from his mom — his father had taken a further turn for the worse. She thought the end was near. She said he didn’t need to come back; he had already made his father happier than he had been in years.
Davison returned to Alaska anyway and stayed for five months, acting as his father’s nurse when the real nurse was off duty.
It was August 23, 2011 around 7:30 a.m. when he passed away. Davison had been at his side since 3 p.m. the previous day. His dad asked for a glass of whiskey and Davison laughed it off with a “No.” Instead he rose to make some coffee. As he poured himself a mug, he realized the room had become quiet — the heavy sound of his father’s respirator-assisted breathing had ceased.
“He never did get to see the film,” said Davison. “It wasn’t finished for a few more months.
“And my last words to him were, ‘No more whiskey,’” laughed Davison. “In a movie, it would have been way more profound. Life isn’t like movies, huh?”
But it was a movie that finally brought them together.
“Yeah, that is fitting, right?” pondered Davison, and then smiled wryly. “The film better be good.”
Frost Bite will make its Tampa Bay premiere on Fri., April 19 at 6 p.m. at the Muvico Baywalk in St. Petersburg. For more information, visit sunscreenfilmfestival.com.
This article appears in Apr 11-17, 2013.