by Adam Hirsch
Maybe it was 3am. Maybe it was 4am — I can’t remember. But one night in late April, Matt Paley and I were standing at the edge of a pool in Brentwood, steeling ourselves against an improbably cold California rain and dreary temperatures, looking down at Purity Ring‘s Megan James waist deep in the freezing water, covered in black tentacles and slime, a bed floating along behind her, directors Ben and Alex Brewer in their wetsuits at her side, vibrating from the cold and their ninety-ninth cup of black coffee, and we knew everything had quietly (shooting all night — under the radar — in Los Angeles necessitates absolute silence, in case you’re wondering) come together. It was a perfect, delirious moment of filmmaking.