Sunk in Midnight Smoke

Midnight - midnight. I can't sleep. My thoughts are on the script for a documentary. Fantastic commissioned work. I need to get rid of my energy and wind down. Havana, here we come! But one thing at a time.

06:30, the day begins

INSERT. Inside, Zizo studio. Early in the morning, dark.

My working day starts at 06:30 today. It's still dark in Liestal (my studio is here). It's foggy and that's what my thoughts feel like. Today I'm working on a script for a documentary. Although the word script is a misnomer; it's more of a red thread. Much of the movie is filmed spontaneously, although of course it's clear what the movie is supposed to say.

I make myself a Turkish coffee and open the balcony door. Fresh, cool air streams in. It feels good and I hope it clears my brain fog. I pick up my notes. A few days earlier, I had a project meeting with the client and we discussed various details. I now need to structure these notes and sketch out an initial guideline.

The coffee machine beeps. The Turkish coffee is ready. It's hot, black and delicious! I need it now. I read my notes and my first thoughts clear the fog from my brain. It's windy and the wind blows a cool breeze into the studio. The trees by the nearby wall rustle. I step out onto the balcony, a hot cup in my hand. I take a sip and burn my tongue. A perfect start to the day.

The wind is too cold for me, so I go back inside. I sit down at my desk. I start structuring the script on my tablet. I let the coffee cool down a little and the next sip still hurts my tongue. I don't realize that my brain fog has already dissipated and I'm deeply immersed in the film project.

7:30 p.m. - but that's enough!

SOFT TRANSITION. Inside, at home. In the evening.

13 hours later. It's 7:30 pm. I'm exhausted and hungry. Now it's time to go home and eat. By 11 pm, I still can't get any rest. It's not often that I tell my wife: "Honey, I'm going back to the studio. I need to think about the project and puff on a cigar." -"You're a weirdo, but go ahead," she replies. Our cat starts meowing like the devil is after her. She actually wants me to stroke and massage her again, just like an hour earlier.

'Why don't you take five more minutes for her,' says my wife. I'd rather not contradict her. So I fulfill our cat's wish. Shortly afterwards, I drive to the studio. It's dark outside again, I think as I drive. When I arrive at the studio, I take an H. Upmann Piramides from 2016 out of the humidor. Cut. Fire. So, and now: switch off.

Sunk in Midnight Smoke

SOFT TRANSITION. Inside, Zizo studio. Late in the evening.

I'm sitting in an armchair, my cigar smoldering. The album Kind Of Blue by Miles Davies (1969) is playing in the background. Incredible genius, that guy. I listen to the music and the room note of the cigar is brilliant; the room smells rich and full. The cigar is very rich in flavors: wood and nut, cocoa and retronasal fantastic roasted aromas of smoldering wood and espresso beans.

The first songs on the album are rather quiet in nature and it helps me to relax after just a few minutes. I listen to the gifted musicians and the playing of Miles Davies. The cigar smolders perfectly and slowly. The smoke rises and it is as if it moves back and forth to the slow rhythm of the jazz and gracefully evaporates.

I am completely absorbed in the pleasure of the cigar and the music. My thoughts come to rest. I realize that almost halfway through the cigar I wasn't thinking about the film project. Suddenly, a short sequence of music reaches me in complete harmony with the cigar enjoyment; I can't help but think of Havana in Cuba.

In Havana

DREAM FADE. Outside, Havana, evening sun.

My studio fades around me and Havana materializes around me; I stand in the evening sun on the Malecon with my wife. We look out to sea, the waves glistening golden. The vintage cars with the tourists drive past us. People sit on the wall and talk animatedly.

We stroll back towards the Capitol across the Prado. We discover a restaurant on the second floor and have a delicious dinner there. I can't help but think about the very difficult situation the Cuban people are currently in. One thought later, I am back in the restaurant. By now it's almost dark and my wife and I look out from the restaurant at the Prado. "So this is where I'll be filming in July 2023," I think.

DREAM FADE END. Inside, ZiZo studio, night.

I can see the finished movie in front of me and it feels good. The movie will be about that: Searching for traces in Havana; how the Habanos cigar found its way into the world. The city dissolves around me and I realize that I am sitting in my studio. About 1.5 hours have passed. My cigar has already reached the final. I drive home satisfied.

FADE OUT. TENSION.

This is our cat ?

Resources on the topic

• Kind Of Blue, Miles Davies, 1969