The concept for Gaijin started with a “what-if.” I called my identical twin brother and collaborator, Mike, and pitched him:

“What if we do a story about one twin mourning the death of the other?”

“Mark, that’s a terrible idea! Why would you ever want to do that?!!!”

Mike didn’t so much react as erupt, and it didn’t take twin ESP to know this brainstorm was over.

But the idea lingered, whispering a universal human truth:
We will all lose someone close to us.

But how can a fractured relationship truly heal when the other person is dead?

Over time, Mike was willing to revisit this topic and confront it head-on. Ultimately, he used his resistance to this painful territory to fuel his powerful acting performance.

Our courage was fed by others. Our story grapples with the topic of suicide. We had contributors to the film who had lost family members to suicide. They chose to help us as a means of honoring their loved ones. In turn, we did our best to honor them.

A Japanese collaborator provided more motivation by citing the suicide epidemic in Japan and issuing a simple order, “You need to make this movie. Keep going.”

Pulling this off took the courage, faith, and cunning of many. A nimble, international team who planned strategically while embracing spontaneity. During production, we sidestepped the Yakuza and escaped a Zimbabwean mob. We stood on the edges of cliffs and hung out of helicopters. It was a true, cross-cultural adventure, and that energy makes it into the picture.

I approached this film like a palette knife painting, with bold, energetic strokes. Imperfect, unapologetic, truthful. Capture raw, honest performances on the streets of Japan.

What do I hope audiences take away from the film?

No matter what you’ve been through, no matter what you’ve done or how far you’ve run to escape the pain in your life, there’s nowhere you can go where hope cannot follow.