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Interview- "Under the Radar Magazine's" Chris Tinkham interviews "Must Read After My Death" filmmaker Morgan Dews

When Morgan Dews’ grandmother Allis died in 2001, the New York writer/filmmaker inherited a wealth of her personal photos and 201 of her 8mm home movies, shot primarily by her during the 1950s and ’60s. Although Dews initially had hoped to make a short film from the footage, the images eventually composed the visual content for Dews’ first feature-length film, the lyrical yet unsettling documentary Must Read After My Death. A year after Allis’ death, Dews’ uncle Bruce found audio letters that she and her second husband Charley (Dews’ grandfather) had recorded on a Dictaphone. They were a way to correspond with each other and their four children—Anne (Dews’ mother), Chuck, Bruce and Douglas—when Charley’s work took him to Australia for 16 months out of the year. Though Dews grew up close to Allis, she refrained from speaking about Charley for the 31 years following his mysterious death in 1969. Through the Dictaphone recordings, Dews not only heard his grandfather’s voice for the first time but also discovered surprising intimacies of Charley’s relationship with Allis.

Two years after the Dictaphone findings, uncle Bruce’s ex-wife tipped off Dews to a file of tape transcripts and notes that Allis labeled “Must Read After My Death.” The tapes, self-recorded by Allis, are candid audio diaries from an increasingly distraught mother taking account of her psychiatric sessions with a Dr. Lenn, her constrictive role as mid-’60s housewife and hostess, her struggles with Charley’s alcohol-induced anger and the potentially damaging effects that the tempestuous home environment was having on their children. The home movie images, which are mostly of the family on holiday or sharing playful moments at home, are typically innocent. But slowed down optically and coupled with Allis’ recordings, an eerily compelling story begins to unfold before becoming sadder and more tragic. Paul Hogan of Frances complements the narrative with a quiet score that’s both misty and ominous.

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