The so-called Super 8 camera? It's just one of those handheld 8mm film cameras that ruled the '80s. The grainy texture of the film gives you that retro, priceless vibe. Sure, in 2012, sleek, high-def digital cameras are the big thing, but these old-school gems still have a massive fanbase. Last year, JJ Abrams even made a sci-fi flick called Super 8—named after the camera the kid in the movie uses.
Alice isn't jumping on some trend, though. This Super 8 was a birthday gift from twelve years back—Max and Ronan teamed up to get it for her. She's been obsessed with it ever since, always lugging it around. It's special to her, and now it's a key player in her filming gig.
That said, shooting with a Super 8 eats through film like crazy. Alice can't exactly haul a truckload of reels on a road trip. For everyday stuff, she sticks to digital, saving the Super 8's unique grainy charm for specific shots—special moments only.
Like tonight.
Watching the band's over-the-top, awkward "performance" unfold, Alice didn't hesitate. She flipped open the camera and started recording—for real.
This clumsy, cringe-worthy vibe? It actually showed the band's true colors even better.
But the crew? Stiff as boards. Limbs locked, faces frozen. Ollie even sneaked a peek up, locking eyes with the lens dead-on.
"Hahahaha!"
Alice couldn't hold it in—she burst out laughing, the camera shaking right along with her. She shook her head, exasperated.
Lens can't wobble. Handheld motion's one thing; shaky hands are a whole other mess.
She explained to Ollie, "The point of a documentary is me capturing what I see as an outsider—you're supposed to ignore the camera, pretend I'm not even here. Act normal, like you always do. That's what makes it real."
"Ohhh, got it!" Ollie nodded fast, ducking his head like he was suddenly super busy.
Alice hesitated. Should I tell him his book's upside down?
Then Maxim, scrambling up from the floor, accidentally met the lens head-on. He froze, then—guilty as charged—flopped back down like nothing happened.
Alice facepalmed internally. "Maxim, ignore me, sure—but if you catch the lens by accident, you don't have to dodge it. Pretend it's me. Wave, chat, or just look away naturally. No need to freak out."
Maxim's head popped up from the other side of the mattress, just his eyes peeking out. "So many rules! What do you even want us to do?!"
Even with half his face hidden, the sulky vibes were loud and clear. Alice cracked a grin. "Just be your real selves—that's it."
The room went quiet. The three of them froze, their stiff moves screaming they still hadn't wrapped their heads around it.
Alice got it, though. Standing in front of a camera takes getting used to—pro actors, regular folks, doesn't matter. The lens itself is a distraction. Both the shooter and the shot need time to adjust, to settle into it.
For a documentary? That's where a director's patience comes in.
"Where's Ronan?" Alice asked, easing off the pressure.
Ollie glanced out the window. "Dunno. He stepped out—probably in the hallway."
Alice grabbed her camera and left the room. Out in the corridor, she scanned around, then spotted that familiar figure by the poolside.
She didn't rush over. Instead, she tweaked the Super 8's focus, zeroing in on Ronan's back. The 8mm can't do crystal-clear from this far—just a silhouette sketched by moonlight and lamplight—but she knew it was him.
Clearly, Ronan wasn't sure how to deal with the camera either. So, he pulled an ostrich move—head in the sand, bolting to a new spot. Smarter than the other three, at least.
Alice stood still, letting the film roll, capturing that figure against the night. She loved the rough, grainy texture of the dark—like time itself was seeping into the reel, a fleeting moment locked into forever, never fading.
After a bit, she shut off the camera, headed downstairs, and crept to a spot diagonal behind Ronan by the pool. She plopped down cross-legged, not hiding but not announcing herself either, then restarted the Super 8.
Deep down, she had a little secret she wasn't spilling.
She loved Ronan's fire—his stubborn, moth-to-flame intensity. Even under reality's brutal grind, he wouldn't give in.
In real life, too many people quit. They stack up excuses for their mediocre, uninspired lives, then sneer at dreamers for being dumb or desperate. They pat themselves on the back, thinking they're the smart ones, never realizing what they've let slip away.
But Alice? She treasured that so-called stupidity. Max did too.
The Coopers weren't some rich family like you'd think. All three siblings scrapped their way into UCLA on scholarships—and they're still lugging student loans.
Back then, Max gave up his dreams for his younger siblings. But he didn't want Ronan and Alice to bow to life too. So when a shot came up, Max pushed Ronan to chase it—and Alice followed in his footsteps.
Over the years, Ronan nearly threw in the towel more than once. But that goofy, gutsy spark kept him going—working odd jobs, grinding through the muck, crashing wherever, scraping by on next to nothing. He kept at it, all on his own steam.
Alice loved Max. She loved Ronan. Her big brothers were her faith, her courage. That's a big reason she came to New Orleans. Lost and unsure, she hoped Ronan could point her toward the light again, give her that push to keep going.
But… she wasn't telling him that. He'd get all smug and strut around. Some secrets are better kept to herself.
For now, she just let her lens quietly roll, capturing him in silence.