Director's Statement
In February 2003, during my junior year at NYU, I received an assignment to make a short documentary. After struggling for some time to find a topic, I realized I had found my story when my mother updated me on my grandmother's health and her struggle with Alzheimer's disease. I packed up and drove from New York City to Blacksburg, Virginia with the intention of filming an eight-minute piece. I thought it was a one-time project. I was wrong. After four years, and seventy-five hours of footage, I completed the feature-length documentary CALVIN & SWEETPEA with the help of many friends and family. I doubt I will ever make a more personally important film.
My grandmother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's two years before I began filming, but my work behind the camera allowed me to truly see the severity of her disease in a way I never experienced during holiday visits and celebratory phone calls. When I first began shooting CALVIN & SWEETPEA, the subject I had hoped to depict was the extraordinary work and devotion of Shirley Akers, my grandmother's primary caregiver. And although the bond between Shirley and my grandmother was one of love and commitment, the story that emerged as the most poignant was the evolving relationship between my grandparents, Calvin "Papa" Perdue and Helen "Granny" Perdue. As I witnessed the way my grandmother's disease was affecting my grandfather and his treatment of her, I realized that I needed to tell the story of my grandparents' marriage. It was a true, unglamorous love story.
Growing up I had witnessed my grandfather's domineering attitude towards his wife, but I assumed that it was normal for "that generation." As I began to interview my mother and uncle about their childhood, I discovered how emotionally distant and tough my grandfather was towards his family and how they still struggled with his past actions. With the progression of the disease and my increasing understanding of the family dynamic, I realized that in the eyes of his children, the way my grandfather chose to treat my ailing grandmother was his final chance at redemption.
As my grandmother's memory continued to worsen, my trips became more frequent. Each visit was not only an opportunity to unravel my family’s history and colored past, but also a chance to tell my grandmother, "I'm sorry it took a terminal disease to learn how you met my grandfather." I am the grandson, the nephew, and the son, but this story is not my own. It's a story shared by five million patients currently suffering from Alzheimer's disease and by the millions more suffering through it with them. It's the story of loss and absolution, told by the people who experienced it firsthand.
This is the story of Calvin and Sweetpea.