Mothers Milk
MOTHERS MILK is a comedy about a set of ‘financially challenged’ newbie parents — a down on his luck bike messenger named Lucas Blackwell and his girlfriend Sara – who embark on an outrageously novel enterprise to help make ends meet.
Set amidst New York City’s freewheeling gourmet obsessed culture, bike messenger Lucas Blackwell must find a way to support his newborn baby and postpartum girlfriend Sara.
After yet another sleep-deprived night, exhaustion, curiosity and thirst get the better of him. He sips some of his baby’s leftover breast milk and !BAM! is shocked to discover one of the most delicious intoxicating drinks imaginable.
He inadvertently slips some of the milk to one of his upscale messenger clients — a gay, gourmet obsessed marketing whiz named Lance. His reaction: ORGASMIC. Lance wants more and is confident that his wide circle of well-off foodies will want it too…and pay big to get it.
If Luke can get the goods, Lance can get the customers.
So what does a guy with no marketable job skills other than dodging city traffic at high speeds, no contacts other than his lactating girlfriend and a bunch of somewhat unreliable bike messenger pals do? What else? Launch a start up selling the next big thing. It’s natural, it’s 100% organic, and it takes advantage of the ‘Eat Local’ movement in a whole new way.
The only hitch? The grand solution soon becomes the grand problem as Luke struggles to juggle family, foodies and love.
If you bring it, they will drink it.
Mothers Milk.
Director’s Statement
I’m a sleepwalker. Always have been.
Used to walk right out the front door and down the block. Scared the shit out of my mom.
So when my wife and I had our first kid and sleep derivation became a way of life, it’s not that hard to imagine how one night at 3:00am, I went from warming a bottle of milk and drinking some water, to drinking a bottle and warming some water.
When the stuff hit my tastebuds, I WOKE UP. And after the shock of what I was doing wore off, I couldn’t deny it. I was into it.
It wasn’t that different than my rice milk, really. Insanely rich — too sweet to drink straight. But it was super tasty. I started trying it with everything. Cereal, coffee. Best thing ever? White Russians. Seriously.
This became a running joke around the Morgan household. No, I didn’t start a breast milk delivery service for gourmet foodies. But, like our protagonist, I did try a lot of crazy things to keep my wife and kids afloat in ‘financially challenged’ times. And that’s what this story is really about.
I was raised in the Haight at the peak of the free love movement. Hippies were all about rebellion and community — brotherhood, good will, connection. But my family (which consisted of my father, a harem of addicts, and a circle of generally misguided visionaries) was unable to keep the core unit together. Divorces and overdoses were my family’s idea of “activities”. So, as offspring often do, I chose to rebel against my parents, and began my pursuit of the white picket fence. Radical behavior in my circle.
One of my closest friends back then, a guy I’ve known for over 20 years, was a semi-legit pot messenger in NYC. He and I both came of age with a crew of slackers — people who knew they’d never win the rat race and refused to take themselves (or anything else) too seriously. He was having a good time — chilling with the clients, meeting celebrities. He was living the high life…though his vocation made it far more likely he’d get hit by a car than make it past 40.
So, one rare-but-quiet night, White Russian in hand, I was daydreaming and a thought popped in my head: What if this guy was in my shoes? Had a family to support instead of flying solo? What would he do?
And thus, MOTHERS MILK was born. A funny look at a serious situation. What will we do for family? How do we learn to be a team? What do we give up in order to gain?
How do we become our best selves?
Hope you enjoy the ride.
