The Unlikely Filmmaker: How a Hair Stylist Turned a Family Story into a Festival Darling
There’s something deeply inspiring about people who chase their passions without waiting for permission. Stevi Zabawa, a hair stylist and mom from Bloomington, is one of those people. Her journey from salon chair to film set is a testament to the power of creativity, resilience, and a little bit of luck. But what makes her story particularly fascinating is how she transformed a bizarre family vacation experience and her grandmother’s untold story into a critically acclaimed short film, Nan.
Personally, I think what stands out most about Zabawa’s journey is her willingness to leap into the unknown. When she decided to write a movie after a strange VRBO experience, she wasn’t just dipping her toes into filmmaking—she was diving headfirst. What many people don’t realize is how rare this kind of boldness is. Most of us let self-doubt or practicality hold us back. Zabawa, on the other hand, saw an opportunity and grabbed it, even without formal training or a budget.
From Family Lore to Film: The Power of Personal Stories
The heart of Nan is Zabawa’s grandmother, Mary, who was abandoned by her husband in 1960 while pregnant with her sixth child. Mary’s story is one of resilience, but it’s also a stark reminder of the societal pressures women faced in mid-century America. What’s particularly striking is the scene where Mary is offered the chance to give up her children for adoption. Her response—asking the social worker which of her own children she would give up—is both heartbreaking and defiant.
In my opinion, this moment encapsulates the film’s broader theme: the strength required to navigate impossible choices. As a mother herself, Zabawa understands the weight of Mary’s story. What this really suggests is that resilience isn’t just about surviving; it’s about holding onto your humanity in the face of adversity.
The Art of Making Something Out of Nothing
What makes Nan even more remarkable is how it was made. With a budget of just $5,000, Zabawa and her co-writer/director Lily Ellora Newton relied on favors, volunteers, and sheer determination. Over half the budget went to feeding the crew—a detail that I find especially interesting. It’s a reminder that filmmaking, at its core, is a collaborative art form. People don’t just show up for the money; they show up because they believe in the story.
One thing that immediately stands out is Zabawa’s resourcefulness. From finding the perfect 1960s bathroom to transforming a government building into a period-accurate set, she turned limitations into opportunities. If you take a step back and think about it, this is the essence of creativity: seeing potential where others see obstacles.
Why Nan Resonates Beyond Bloomington
Nan has been accepted into a dozen film festivals and won multiple awards, but its success isn’t just about accolades. What makes this particularly fascinating is how a hyper-local story has managed to connect with global audiences. In a world where blockbuster films often dominate the conversation, Nan is a reminder of the power of personal, intimate storytelling.
From my perspective, the film’s appeal lies in its universality. Mary’s story isn’t just about one woman’s struggle; it’s about the resilience of the human spirit. What many people don’t realize is that these small, untold stories are often the ones that resonate the deepest. They remind us of our shared humanity.
The Broader Implications: Filmmaking as an Act of Defiance
Zabawa’s journey raises a deeper question: What does it mean to be a filmmaker in an industry that often prioritizes profit over passion? Personally, I think Nan is a rebellion against the idea that you need millions of dollars or industry connections to tell a meaningful story. Zabawa and Newton prove that with enough determination, anyone can make their voice heard.
This raises a deeper question: Are we losing the art of storytelling in the pursuit of commercial success? Nan suggests that the answer is no—as long as there are people like Zabawa willing to take risks and tell stories that matter.
Final Thoughts: The Legacy of *Nan*
Mary, now 92 and living with dementia, may not fully understand Nan, but Zabawa knows her grandmother would be proud. In a way, the film is a love letter to Mary’s resilience and a testament to the impact one person’s story can have.
What this really suggests is that filmmaking isn’t just about entertainment; it’s about preservation. By turning her grandmother’s story into a film, Zabawa has ensured that Mary’s legacy will live on. And that, in my opinion, is the most powerful thing about Nan.
If you take a step back and think about it, Nan is more than just a film—it’s a reminder that everyone has a story worth telling. And sometimes, all it takes is a little courage, a lot of sandwiches, and the willingness to chase an idea, no matter how crazy it seems.
