Everything Ends

and will probably keep ending

When Millie and I created I Saw What You Did, a film podcast that we co-hosted for four years, we wanted to talk about movies in a way that was welcoming and unpretentious. The landscape of film criticism and film discussion is largely overrun by “film bros"—men (usually white) talking to each other about movies (usually directed/written by white men) in a way that is obnoxiously esoteric and seems to only emphasize their own knowledge of the teeniest, tiniest details of the teeniest, tinest subsection of pop culture. If you want to listen to someone talk about how the lighting of a particular scene in a recent film is reminiscent of a scene from a 1943 movie that ten people saw, there are tons of film bro podcasts out there for you. If you want to think heavily about why Vin Diesel and Paul Walker never kiss EVEN ONE TIME in the Fast n’ Furious franchise, you had Millie and me.

Which isn’t to say that we can’t (or didn’t) do the exhaustive academic research in line with most modern film criticism. We are nerds in the truest sense. We did copious hours of research for every film, every week. We can absolutely hold our own (Millie more impressively than me) in those film bro discussions. What was beautiful about our podcast is that we could do it all, and chose to present it in a way that you could love even if you never watched a single movie in your entire life.

It was also remarkable that we were both women of color in a predominantly white space. No one ever DID remark on it, including our own network, but I thought it was something special to be part of a very small cadre of podcasters working to present a richer tapestry. I’m Black, Millie is first-generation Filipino/Italian, and I wish it was more celebrated when we launched, or throughout the four years we recorded. Like most of my work, I’m keenly aware that my perspective, my focus, and my choices are enhanced by my Blackness, even if my race isn’t explicitly part of the work itself. But even our weekly themes (“Baby Girl, What Is You Doin’?” for example) and one-time hilarious March Madness game (“Is This Good, or Was I Horny?”) would indicate that our personal experiences and individual sense of humor was a guiding force for our show, a force that would not have been present if we weren’t bringing our lived experience to the table.

I love/d our podcast. I think we created something special. I’m still overwhelmed at the amount of people who listened, reached out, connected with us, particularly because it felt like I was sitting down and just talking to my friend every week. From the first recording to the last, I was pretty selfish about how much I just loved talking to Millie—I often forgot that other people would even listen to what we were saying, which may be the best/only way that I could ever do that kind of project. It allowed me to be vulnerable, to be curious, to be bold in my opinions, to be a better listener, to be a better friend.

From a numbers perspective, we did well. I think. I have no idea what metrics are used to gauge popularity in the world of podcasts, but we had a consistent listenership that far exceeded my expectations, and we carried a 4.9 out of 5.0 review rating on Apple Podcasts for the entire four years, which is, quite frankly, unheard of—particularly when you factor in how many men will leave negative comments whether they listen to your show or not admitting that they cannot stand the sound of women simply talking. (What a way to tell on yourself by revealing your free-floating misogyny, but I digress.)

I Saw What You Did was a lot of work—about 20hrs per week on average, often creeping towards 30 hours. We spent hours recording regular weekly episodes and monthly bonus episodes; we had to edit each episode, which meant listening to them multiple times; we had to record advertisements. We also had to watch two movies every week, any supplemental interviews or archival work we could find, and essentially write a book report every week to present the films to each other. We had to choose the themes, choose the movies, create theme calendars, and do a bunch of other behind-the-scenes stuff that kept us “on air” and running smoothly.

I spent most of my 20s working in bars and coffee shops, which also meant being charged with cleaning the bathrooms—trust me, there are harder jobs than podcasting. But podcasting was very time-consuming, in ways I never imagined when we set out to create one.

I started to be aware of how much time it was consuming during one of the worst years of my adult life.