THE MOST IMPORTANT FILM SCREENING I EVER HAD

People have a peculiar quirk when it comes to their professions.

If yours is a tactile profession, no matter in what social context you tell someone, they will always think to ask you for a favour.

Doctor?

"What should I do about this mole?"

Mechanic?

"My car has this strange rattling sound. Should I be worried?"

And yes, even as a filmmaker the requests come. Usually one of two.

"Can you cast me in your next film?"

...or...

"I have an old VHS tape lying around that I want to keep. Can you help?"

You can react in any number of ways to this perceived intrusion. You can gripe about 'everyone wanting something for nothing'. Or, you can make a polite joke and move on.

There's even a notorious screed from a Hollywood screenwriter entitled, simply, 'I will not read your f**king script.'

But, what if?

What if you actually decided to help?

Say, for example, a person you're close to asks innocently about some very old 'Betamax' tapes in their possession.

Instantly, this is trickier than the usual request. 'Betamax' lost the home video wars to the VHS tape many, MANY years ago; and pretty much disappeared as VHS reigned. Yes, just like the iPod did to the iRiver. There can often be only one winner in the luxury tech world.

At this point, you will ask yourself the inevitable question: is this request going to be so complicated that it's not worth the effort?

You can turn back, of course. No-one begrudges an unfinished favour, particularly a complex one.

But, what if?

What if you push through the convenience barrier?

And then you find out a little more about the request.

You hear the story of three little girls in a van with their parents. A 10 year-old, a 7 year-old and their baby sister. It's Christmas and they are on their way home from a family outing. Music is playing in the car, amongst the chatter.

Suddenly, a drunk driver in front of their van swerves into oncoming traffic.

An oncoming truck changes direction, to avoid the drunk driver, and veers into the opposite lane.

There is nothing anyone can do. The truck and their van collide head on.

Tearing metal. Chaos. Then quiet.

The three little girls wake up in hospital.

I wish I could tell you the story of a Christmas miracle. That through some quirk of fate, or miraculous intervention, there were no casualties to this tale.

But I can't.

From that point on, all the little girls had was each other.

Through years of anguish and pain. Through healing and, ultimately, to prosperity.

Until one day, many years later, the 10-year old and I sat quietly together. She's 31 now, but you can still tell it's her. The same big, inquisitive eyes watch the world; taking it all in.

I cued up the newly digitised video, extracted from the old 'Betamax' tapes.

And we watched her parents, alive and smiling, for the first time in 21 years.

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