Since I was a little boy, I’ve always had a “thing” for robots.
I’d dream of piloting my giant robot across the universe, in search of space treasures, rescuing mankind from a robotic war, or simply chilling with my bot at a hill side ledge over-looking a city bathed in the rays of sunset.
I like all sorts of bots:
big ones/small ones,
retro ones/slick ones,
cute ones/deadly ones…
well very much to the point that even my sis & bro-in-laws would get me robot stuff for Christmas and birthdays.
My wife and little son (yep he learnt about Daddy’s fave) would make me robot cards and crafts for Fathers’ Day and my birthday. There are just robots everywhere in my office.
Sadly, when most of us grow up, our little “imaginary friends/monsters in the closet/ kingdoms in the forests” get left behind with our innocent carefree days of childhood.
The monsters we fight become real in the office, the kingdoms we seek are forged on the mountain of material possessions, and innocence is replaced by skepticism.
The once upon a time thought of never growing old in the spirit, is killed by our very own sword of jadedness.
After taking a long sabbatical from the film industry, I wondered what story I should tell in my “return”.
I wondered if I should tell that story that may be a film festival favorite, or how about that interesting comedic one that might be popular online, or how about that genre piece which will attract the most audience.
Subconsciously, I had drifted away, and replaced my freedom of imagination with others’ expectations.
I had grown old.
I’m still surrounded by things that remind me of the flight in dreams, but
I had chained myself down by my self-consciousness, fears, and what is christened by the world as “the Practical”.
The robots, rockets, space guns on my walls and shelves will always remain inanimate, unless they are given the breath of life from a heart that is free.
Free to fail, free to be criticized, free to imagine, and simply free to tell their story as my heart would allow.
As I threw off my heavy cloak of weary inhibitions, I found the key to the forgotten door.
The door that has been covered with overgrown vines of cynicism and apprehension, but the key still fit.
It’s a little rusty, but it still turns.
It’s a little creaky, but it still opens.
It’s been a long time since I met them, big/small/retro/slick/cute/deadly ones, but they have always been waiting for me to return. And I enter.
– Rich Ho
Director/ Writer/ Producer
“The Boy And His Robot”