The Making Of
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Director Macky Alston talks about the sensitivity surrounding his subjects’ histories, intense moments of shooting and leaving out a stunt rollerblading scene from the final film.
What led you to make this film?
Before I made HARD ROAD HOME, I had one idea of what the formerly incarcerated looked like, largely based on what I gathered from the news and from weekly TV dramas. When I met Julio Medina and his staff of formerly incarcerated caseworkers at the Exodus Transitional Community in East Harlem, I realized that I and the majority of mainstream media had it wrong. In making HARD ROAD HOME, I wanted to represent the very human, heroic faces of the formerly incarcerated people I encountered at Exodus—the heart-breaking value of their lives and the odds against which they are fighting to break themselves and others free of the cycle of poverty and crime into which most of them were born.
How did you gain the trust of the subjects in your film?
Julio Medina, the executive director of Exodus, is also its gatekeeper. When we met, I was looking to see if he and his organization would serve as a compelling subject for a documentary film. He was looking at me to see if I was there to exploit him and his community. I think Julio kept close watch on me and my crew and, over time, came to believe that our project was about respect rather than exploitation.
I remember the most intense moment of shooting, when Alberto Lopez, the formerly incarcerated caseworker who had been missing for four days, showed up outside of the building to get his paycheck. I turned to Julio, who was in high gear trying to save Alberto from sliding back into drug use and criminal activity. I said, “Tell me what you want me to do. Should I leave you alone or should I follow with my camera?” He replied, “You do your job and I’ll do mine.” I think by that point, Julio believed that we would represent his people fairly and that, if they could be recognized as fully human, outsiders to the experience might join in the struggle for their well-being.
What didn’t get included in your film that you would have liked to show?
There was a young man who worked at Exodus named Jesus Medina (no relation to Julio). He came to Exodus as a juvie. His mother died when he was 17 and Exodus gave him the money for her funeral. Jesus was left to raise his three younger siblings. He was a quiet, dignified young man whose face betrayed the trap into which he was born. He had great potential to lead, like his boss Julio, but he also just wanted to have the childhood he had missed out on. He was a stunt rollerblader and we filmed him competing. The footage is gorgeous and seeing him play like the child he was was heartbreaking. I was also inspired by the struggles of the formerly incarcerated women of Exodus, but the three main stories in our film (Julio, Alberto and Griffik) were the ones that fit together to tell the story of Exodus most compellingly.
Tell us about a scene in the film that especially moved or resonated with you.
All the scenes when Julio goes beyond all limits to hold out a lifeline to Alberto break my heart. Clearly, Julio sees himself in Alberto and is, in a sense, fighting not only for his brother's life, but for his own. The manner in which Julio fights for the survival of the formerly incarcerated by dignifying and trusting them, rather than berating and judging them, seems not only to be a smart strategy, but one of the most humane efforts I have witnessed. When I watch as Alberto, one mean-looking mother, chokes up in response to the mercy with which he is met upon his return, I think of the times when I have betrayed those who have fought hardest for my welfare. It's devastating.
When poor, people are often one meal away from desperation. People who are not presently poor must be very careful to presume that they would be above criminal activity if they were faced with the question of survival. Julio treats his clients as he would want to be treated—he follows the golden rule. Though much talked about, it is a rare approach, and, in my experience, breathtaking to behold.
Were there any technical challenges you faced while shooting, and if so, how did you resolve them?
The greatest technical challenge that I faced when filming was the limitation of my own experience and the reputation of people who looked like me in the eyes of the formerly incarcerated. Julio told me the first time we met that participants at Exodus will see in me every white, liberal, middle-class caseworker who has failed them in the past. Initially an obstacle, over time, trust between me and the main subjects built and I think the community of people involved grew committed to communicating their experience to people who had not shared it, hoping that if outsiders saw the human face of people getting out of prison and how tough the odds they face are, people would want to help.
What has the audience response been so far? Have the people featured in the film seen it, and if so, what did they think?
Audience response has been great. If Julio is present, he receives a standing ovation. I think the heroism of his life post-prison and the kindness in his approach come across. There are some viewers who are discouraged by just how hard it is to save one life from the cycle of poverty and crime. We are working hard through outreach work connected to the film to offer viewers exciting opportunities to help formerly incarcerated people beat the odds and never return.
The people of Exodus, except for Alberto who is locked up, have seen the film, organized screenings for their own constituencies, and seem to believe that the portrait offered is accurate. When Julio saw the film for the first time, he said, “That’s us.” Griffik Negroni, the 21-year-old man who we follow in the film as a participant, saw HARD ROAD HOME first at the South by Southwest Film Festival in Austin, TX. He had never flown before. It was extraordinary to see Griffik receive a standing ovation and be a spokesperson for reentry during the question and answer session. He clearly has leadership qualities and has been putting them to work on the street. It was great to see him shine as a leader in a different context.
The independent film business is a difficult one. What keeps you motivated?
When a story claims you, it is hard to turn your back on it, even in the face of economic and other disincentives. Over the years, all illusions of ease in this profession have worn away. The thrill of discovering something true and beautiful, capturing it on film and distilling it in the editing process, however, never seems to wear off.
Why did you choose to present your film on public television?
Public television has a very powerful, engaged viewing public. Often, viewers are well-educated and have both the access and the will to make a difference in their communities and in their country. A national PBS broadcast is an outstanding platform through which to reach such motivated people.
It can be argued too that public television is as much of a public square as there exists in the American television landscape. Other broadcast options are driven primarily by commercial interests. It is a privilege that Americans must fight to protect to have access to media that is programmed because of its educational and artistic merit and not just the ratings or corporate backing it guarantees.
What do you get asked most often by audiences about the film?
The most commonly asked questions, predictably, are: Where are Griffik and Alberto today? The good news is that Griffik is doing okay. He is employed and remains closely connected with Julio and the people at Exodus. The bad news is that Alberto, because he was a repeat offender, when convicted of theft, received 12 years to life. Julio’s prediction that “that might be it for Alberto” may very well be true.
What didn’t you get done when you were making your film?
The thing that I couldn’t find at Exodus was the Hollywood picture of success—the formerly incarcerated person who started in our film radically down-and-out and was now clearly out of the woods. Julio seems to fit this bill. The picture that seems much more true to life, though, is Alberto, who appeared to be out of the woods, but, because he had no secure safety net, was actually always just one automobile breakdown away from losing everything he had built, even after six years of freedom.
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