The film is also not rooted in reality. It’s not naturalistic at all. It’s so absurd, it’s almost surreal. There are elements of it that are dreamlike. We’re playing with time. I’m sort of complimented when people are aggressively mad at us. It means I cut deep. At least you want people to feel something. For people to feel nothing is more upsetting. I guess if there’s rage, that’s cool, because it is cutting into some feeling that maybe a person doesn’t want to engage with. There is something sort of exciting there, but really, it’s not meant to upset. It’s meant to present, and show, this display of the most extreme of this kind of awfulness, like you said.
Lemon takes a satirical razor to the "white guy" comedy, where a schlubby guy. That an area of interest? Do you two plan on continuing subversion in the future?
Bravo: No. We are continuing to work together, but I’d made other short films leading up to Lemon that had these conversations with privilege, and mediocrity, and this feeling of limitation or being limited, or being treated like you are limited. Lemon feels like the end road of that conversation. That’s not to say that in my other work there isn’t engagement with race, and with whiteness, but I think some of the discomfort from this film is -- and I can’t speak to the world -- is that in America, whiteness is treated as the invisible. I think for people of color, white is not invisible. It’s very present. When I walk out of my house, I’m processing whiteness constantly and processing "other" constantly, because of how people treat me or how I navigate space. I’m just aware of myself in a way that I don’t know that Brett has to be. So that will always be a part of my work, but this kind of conversation with "white guy comedy," "flailing comedy," that was our final engagement with that space. For me.