🎬 Sh*t I Should’ve Done #2: Cast My Grandmother Without Making Her Audition

Every filmmaker has that one story they wish they could redo — not because the film turned out bad, but because life had bigger lessons waiting behind the lens.

For me, that story starts with my grandmother.

Family Is the Original Studio

I come from a big family — the kind where family reunions are major chaotic magical events. (Side note: most of my writing and life choices are based on or because of my family, so you’ll hear a lot about them in this series.)

My mother had two sisters and a brother, plus an uncle who had over fifteen kids — by the same woman, no less. On my dad’s side his mother, my grandmother, not only had seven kids of her own, plus she adopted four nieces and nephews after her sister died, and she took in her baby sister after their mother passed.

She had five kids when she met my grandfather, her second husband, and they had two more together. We remained a tight-knit family unit until they passed within months of each other in the 1990s.

Like most large families back in the day, we did everything together — traveled, celebrated, argued then hugged it out.  All my aunts and uncles lived within walking distance of each other, and we were always gathered at someone’s house.

We were close, loud, and supportive. So, when word spread that I was making movies, everyone had an opinion — but mostly, they were proud.

My Cable-TV Era

I was working at Barden Cablevision at the time, producing local TV programming. If you lived in Detroit, you probably had Barden — it was the only cable franchise in the city. So yeah, my little documentaries and talk shows were airing on television, even if it was just local access.

That alone made my family proud. My dad, especially, was the original hype man — braggadocious in the best way. If I won an award, got a mention, or even looked like success, he was telling everybody.

So when I told him I was working on my first short film — a story about an elderly homeless woman who lived at a bus stop — he naturally passed that along to the family.

And then, word came back down the grapevine: “Grandma said she wants to be in your movie.”

Wait, What?

My grandmother, whom we all called “Grandma” (and her kids called “Mama”), was a force. Strong, stylish, no-nonsense. I was a bit of a crier back in the day (quiet as kept, I still am) and show would tell me, “You gotta have thick skin in this family”.  She was the kind of woman who could make a carrot cake (her specialty), sew you a complete outfit, and manage her rental properties all in the same day.

The family worshipped her. In fact, I’m named after her — my middle name — and so are a few of my cousins. That’s how much she meant to everyone.

But acting? That was new. I knew she loved to travel — cruises were their thing. But I never knew she had an interest in performing.

When I first heard she wanted to be in the film, my reaction was… uh, ok, Hmm.

“She wants to be in it? Oh… but can she act?”

At that time, I took my career path very seriously — borderline militant about it. Film schools were the gold standard back then, and I didn’t go to one. I was self-taught. Which meant I constantly felt I had to prove myself — to be taken seriously, to be “professional.”

So, I did what I thought professionals do: I made my grandmother audition.

Yeah, that was me. Miss wound too tight “Serious Filmmaker.”

The Audition

At the time, I lived in a New York-style loft in downtown Detroit — high ceilings, exposed brick, the whole indie-filmmaker fantasy. That’s where we held auditions.

If I remember right, there were only two options for the lead role: a slightly younger woman with a bit of acting experience, and my grandmother.

When Grandma walked in, she was slightly out of breath — she’d rushed up the stairs (I think the elevator was down) so she wouldn’t be late. She was so earnest about it. Determined. She didn’t want a handout; she wanted to earn it.

And me? I treated her like any other actor. She auditioned, I thanked her, and said we’d let her know.

Even writing that now makes me cringe, SMH.

Nepo-Baby Anxiety Before “Nepo-Baby” Was a Thing

I remember sitting with my producing partner after the auditions, agonizing over the choice. My grandmother was clearly the better fit. But that insecure little voice kept whispering:

“People will think you only cast her because she’s family.”

I was worried about nepotism. Lack of professionalism. Would they take me seriously. The usual filmmaker overthinking stuff.

Looking back, I can’t help but laugh. I was making a 15-minute short film in Detroit with a $15,000 grant. Hollywood was not calling to audit my casting choices and the crew could care less.

Still, I was in my head about it. My producing partner finally said, “I think your grandmother is the best choice.” Whether she meant it or was just giving me permission to relax, I’ll never know. I’m sure she was thinking “Girl, this is your grandmother”.

I slept on it and the next morning I woke up and thought “Girl, this is your grandmother, if she wants the role its hers.

The Shoot: Cold, Gritty, and Full of Love

The film was called The Stop, and we shot it outside the Renaissance Center people mover station — in freezing Detroit December weather.

Grandma played the lead, sitting on a bench dressed like a homeless person for hours, trying to remember her lines. We dusted flour in her hair to make it white (she always kept it dyed jet black) and added wrinkles with makeup.

She never complained. Not once. I heard from family members that she was really excited but nervous about doing a good job.

I, on the other hand, was wound tighter than a cable cord. It was my first real location shoot. I hadn’t planned for things like bathrooms or indoor breaks. My DP finally said, “I think your grandmother needs a break.”

He was right. I was so deep in “director mode” that I forgot the basics — considering the cast & crews comfort and care.

My dad stopped by the set one day, and Grandma quietly told him she really needed to use the bathroom. He took her to a McDonald’s nearby. I hadn’t even thought about that.

To this day, I don’t know how she handled it the other days.

But here’s what I do remember: the footage was beautiful. My grandmother’s performance was raw - she was in almost every scene of the movie. I was really excited but all my thoughts were on editing.

The Wrap Gift

We had no budget for fancy wrap parties, so my co-director and I made handmade keepsake books for everyone — photos from the set, little thank-you notes, sewn together with thread.

We brought one to my grandmother and told her how much we appreciated her and that we thought she did a great job. I don’t remember her saying much, but later my grandfather told me how happy she was and how proud.

He thanked me for casting her.

The Premiere That Wasn’t

Because the grant required certain deliverables, it took months to finish The Stop. By the time we did, both of my grandparents were in poor health. My grandfather had part of his leg amputated, and my grandmother was hospitalized.

He came to the premiere. He told me he loved the film and that my grandmother would have too. I gave them a copy to watch at home and hoped she’d see it.

But before she ever got the chance, they both passed away — within months of each other.

For a while, that fact saddened me.

Grandma on Channel 6

As part of the grant, the film aired on Barden Cablevision’s local channel 6. Since almost everyone in Detroit had Barden, family and friends would call me:

“I saw Grandma on TV!”

“Your movie was so good.”

I think they really just loved seeing her again — a little piece of her preserved on screen.

The film ran for years on local cable.

What I Learned (and What I Hope You Take Away)

Looking back, I wish I’d relaxed more. I wish I’d asked her if this was always a dream. I wish I hadn’t been so caught up in proving I was “professional.”

Because here’s the truth: being professional doesn’t mean losing your heart.

I should’ve thought of casting her from the start. Or at the very least, said yes, the minute she asked.

Being serious about your craft is one thing. Being overzealous — so rigid that you forget to find joy in the process — is another.

So, here’s my advice, filmmaker to filmmaker

🎬 Lessons from “The Stop”

• Don’t be so wound up that you squeeze the fun out of your own art. Enjoy the moment.
• Don’t let “professionalism” block human connection.
• Don’t put so much pressure on one opportunity that you miss the blessings hiding inside it.
• And please — let your grandma audition if she wants to, but also… maybe just cast her.

When I think back on that time — knowing that this was the only film my grandmother ever appeared in, the only time she’d ever get to see herself in that way and I almost didn’t grant it to her— it almost makes me cry. (But, you know, I got that thick family skin. So, I don’t.)

Still… I wish I had spent more time savoring those moments with my grandmother on set.