The Wedding Plan
by writer/director Rama Burshtein
At what point did I fully believe that everything is looked after and nothing is random in this world? When did I feel fully secure that whatever is supposed to reach me, will? Was there ever a moment when I felt bad, really bad, and it didn’t have any roots in the past or towards the future? Finally, when I felt good again, could I totally forget ever feeling bad? I think I felt all of the above when I was an infant, a very, very small baby, resting in my mother’s confident hold. She was cradling me in her arms and all my muscles gave in to the simplest notion of pure good.
I think that right there, at the peak of that spotless notion, the deterioration on the slope of suspicion, lack of trust and despair began. It is not about someone doing something wrong. It is about the most natural path of life. You feel confident, then you don’t and then you work very hard to find that confidence again. The speedy movement from upside down…from existence to non-existence, from all to nothing, from life to death.
Between all the possible extremes, I feel that the most complicated movement is between hope and despair. The feeling that anything can happen, the belief that anything is possible. To hop happily, because I'm in love with life itself—this sensation pumps blood at Olympic levels. And then—feeling that everything is stuck, that there's no movement, and that the sheer weight of it all threatens to shut my eyes forever—this movement is really dangerous.
That's how The Wedding Plan was born, a serenade of sorts to the endless battle between hope and despair. This is a romantic comedy, because I believe in feeling good, in fun, warmth, laughter and excitement. But I hope that one can notice the extra element in the film—the effort to believe in good. It can be very difficult to believe that good will emerge victorious, and it's tremendously hard to surrender to the will of a positive outcome. The easiest thing is to puncture the dream and connect to 'reality,' the belief that life is dull, and cannot really feature true color. Judaism states: "even when a sharp sword is at one's throat, one should never give up on compassion." I find that to be an immensely difficult task, but whoever succeeds, finds himself liberated, in the deepest form of the word. When a person manages to introduce a glimmer of hope to a situation ruled by despair, he is free to understand reality as he pleases, and ceases to be a slave to the circumstances of his life.
I directed my first feature film at 42. After many years of raising children and building my home, I left my fortress in order to give. I hope to be privileged and offer an experience, that, even if for only a moment, can picture a reality where everything is open and the possibilities are endless.