Lost Highway Films’ newest addition to their wine portfolio, Simply Fritz 2010 Pinot Noir, proved ready to drink earlier than expected. After spending 12 months in French oak barrels, City Winery winemaker David LeComte decided that the wine was ready to be bottled. With lovely fruit originating from the famed Bien Nacido Vineyards on the central coast, located in the Santa Maria Valley of California, the luscious elixir is a sensual delight. Though Burgundian in nature, Simply Fritz delivers a jammy, fruit forward blast driven by ripe dark berries on the palette and savory spice on the finish.  The wine is complex, but well balanced.  The nose offers a sweet red berry nose that masks a stunning array of candied aromatics. Yum.

Fiddlehead Cellars Pinot Noir 728 Fiddlestix Vineyards

My first experience with Fiddlehead Cellars Pinot Noir 728 Fiddlestix Vineyards was back in 2009 at the Voya Restaurant (closed) at the Loden Hotel in Vancouver. A friend had been raving about it for some time, but this wine seemed to find its way only onto rare restaurant lists and even fewer exclusive wine shops.  I found out that it could also be purchased directly from the Santa Barbara winery. But seeing that my impending list of wines to taste went on forever, I figured kismet would have to come into play to taste this wine.  Fortunately it did. The restaurant cellar at the Voya held a cache of 2004 375ml half bottles which I couldn’t believe. The wine was exceptional. Dark, brooding, red and purple fruit tasted beautifully, bold and balanced.  There were lovely tannins of fragrant flowers, spice and subtle hints of cocoa on the finish.  The bouquet held a fresh floral perfume accentuated with slate and toasted sunflowers. Overall, an aromatic wine that was lush and fully concentrated.  This is not your grandmother’s pinot noir, but a much bigger, richer wine that would hold well with lamb, duck and veal roast.

Shortly thereafter the restaurant closed and was reincarnated into a delicious French bistro, Tableau. And though Fiddlehead Cellars Pinot Noir was no longer on their wine list, I inquired and found out that the cellar still held a bounty of additional half bottles.  Over the course of two more dinners, I was lucky enough to drink this superlative wine until sadly it was gone. More recently, I’ve had both the 2004 and 2007 vintages which share similar tasting notes.  This is a wine worth searching for and drinking.  Ahh, the simple pleasures in life.  Salute.

by Marc Rosenberg

I hate crowds and loud places.  I prefer the dark and avoid open ground.  My closest friends can be counted on less than a half filled clip in my automatic.  And even those individuals have grown scarce.  I’m a man for hire and when I’m not, I disappear.  However, I’m a sucker for close friends in need.  And when the call came, I knew I was fucked, felt the skin on my neck spike.  I went out on a limb, a personal one, not smart, watched the bough buckle.  It was all about a guy named Guy I met at the shooting range who befriended me, bought me a couple of beers, shared his life story.   I went against one of my rules, never let someone inside my circle of trust.  Mistake.   I promised myself to never take business personally even though I thought I could.  Mistake.  The past unspooled as I sat trapped in the can of a shitty, top floor flat with an oozing gunshot wound, fearing my luck had suddenly flown.  Hard rain nailed the skylight above, beating a war tattoo that provoked my bloodlust.

“Hey fuck face, you broke my nose”, a harsh smoker’s rasp, “Come on out and let’s talk about it.”

“Yeah, sure”, I wheezed through gritted teeth, “Let me call some of my Marine pals to come out with me.”

“Hey Nunz, you were right, this guy is a comedian,” the young, scarred one tossed back, “Whadyasay?  Let’s just clear this up.”

Fatigue stole over me. Sweaty and bleeding, I just wanted to lie down, sleep.

“We know you’re hurt.”  Scar Boy again.  “Give it up.  Let’s square this away, get you some help.”

“Fuck you, sonny” I called, keeping up my bluster. “You assholes are welcome to march in here if you really want to chat.”

“Well, that’s not gonna happen, wise guy,” the one called Nunz offered, “Your funeral”.

The click of a fresh mag loading snaps me awake.  These guys aren’t fucking around, pissing me off, though, just the same.   My side aches, leaks blood.  The shirt strips tied around my waist has stalled the bleeding.  I could feel my back where the bullet tore its exit ramp.  The damage considerable, the back of my tee is in shreds.

Looking down at the guns screwed in my fists, I quiver, wondering where it all went wrong, struggling to make sense of it.  I knew if I didn’t move soon, they’d carry me out in a bag.  Damn it.  How’d they know I’d be here?  Must have been watching the street.  Sloppy.  Just a couple of fucks from pizzaville looking for a pickup, now payback.  This just sucks.  I think of myself as a tough nut, but you never know how rough the next guy’s going to play it.  Clearly, these guys don’t give a fuck about anything other than what they were hired to do.  Where my friend fits into all this is becoming a dilemma.

I believe the girl was gone.  No body, but no doubt.  Poor thing.  Barely in her teens.  Guy’s gonna flip.  He loved her so much.  His baby girl.   This is a sad story growing worse.  Check out the legs on this tall beauty.

My best buddy Guy aka Gun because he loves them, too, always practices at the range, calls me with a problem.  He’s not a violent guy, an aggressive day trader, but never any physical stuff.  Knocking pins down at the local bowlorama was as dangerous as he got or so I think.  He’s got a partner, Raoul, gleaming chicklets and an appetite for bottom feeding.  Raoul gets caught in a trading scam with some evil fucks and he’s spotted doing a jack knife out a 30 story window.  The bad boys tell Gun it’s his debt now and he better start making payments or he’ll be next in line for diving lessons.  Gun makes a payment or two before he reneges and tries to negotiate out of the madness.  Instead, Gun says, they snag his daughter, threaten to introduce her to their favorite butcher, an alcoholic abortionist with a taste for teenage Carpaccio and spite.  Now Gun and I talk violence which makes no sense because with him, it’s mostly beer, burgers and watching women.  Me? I’m just a thug, good at what I do, hardly what I’d call a preferred profession to most.  But I’m passionate about my work, always up for a bit of brawling, and a knack for cleaning up the messes other people make.  Gun knows what I do, but plays politician and asks that I talk to a wino snitch bagman we know, a scaly loan sharking douche bag named Moe Roond with connections for muscle.  I say, whoa, whoa, whoa, but he’s not listening.  He loves his baby child to death and it’s all he and his wife Janie have and I know I’m involved even before I am.  I tell him to let me do it straight, solo, but I see it in his baby blues, he’s in deeper than he says. Not a one man move, he whispers. I tell him it’ll take a couple of days.  He says ok, but he’s not.  Janie calls the next morning to say Gun is gone and so are his toys.  Toys meaning his Mac 11 pistol and a brand new Glock 9 hand gun he treated himself to last Christmas.  She’s worried sick and wants to die.  I tell her to calm down and I’m pounding on Moe’s door within the hour, angling for info and back up, but he’s not around and all I have are the scraps of scribble about the money drop Gun passed on to me at the range.

Faster than it takes to jerk my leash, word on the street is that some gangster connected with this mess is dead.  Gun is gone and so’s Cody, his daughter, and I got two stooges on the other side of this door looking to poke my eyes out with their polished automatics.

All is suddenly very quiet.  Time is cutting short so I’m scoping this shit box for a route out of hell.  The window’s too smal and sealed tight with paint. There’s an air vent on the back wall that I think I can shimmy through if I had a Phillips head screwdriver and a penknife to scrape away the layers of lacquer encrusting the edges.  My mind’s made up for me when the burp of automatic gunfire sends me headfirst to the floor.

The bullets rip through the door like it was cardboard, punching holes in the wired window behind me.  A torrent of cloudburst floods through the fist size punctures sousing my tattered shirt, chilling me. A chunk of balsa crumbles just above my head providing me a vantage point. I raise my weapon, take a headshot, spinning Nunz like a top before he tumbles over dead. His broken nose is the least of his worries. I crab to the left and squeeze in between the commode and cheap sink cabinet hoping Scar Boy doesn’t spot me through the chewed chaos.  He rips through the door with another rage of bullets, then kicks at the splintered remains with his size twelve steel caps. He’s moving fast, but I fire off a round and clip his leg, triggering screams like a premenstrual schoolgirl.   I back off, waiting for another assault and one more open shot.  He lets loose another spray of soft points, and withdraws, his voice flattening into a low whimper.  Dust specks shimmy in the soft afternoon light and remain the only moving thing in the apartment.  Silence.  Seconds turn to minutes and I realize it’s a standoff.  He’s wondering if he got me with his last tirade or I’m bluffing.  I’m wondering if I’ll have what it takes to slam this fucker down as my kneeling position has locked my body up with my side and back screaming at me.

My mind drifts back to Gun and wonder how deep he’s in. It strikes me as a very fucked and accelerated situation for someone who’s picking up an errant debt.  Granted, it’s a bit of a lean and an unfair one. And though I believe Gun’s got cash, I appreciate how pissed off  he must feel.  But this bloodlust and his disappearing act leave him suspect.  Doesn’t make sense. Though I don’t know who sent these bruisers, their social skills suck, having spawned a murderous afternoon.  I feel I’ve stepped in on the wrong end of a bad joke. A guy walks into a room and gets shot. Ha. Not funny. Something’s definitely up, different than Gun’s sob scenario.

I hear steps in the next room moving away down the hall.  Open and close creak of door.  Scar Boy must suspect my con, doesn’t want to risk Nunz’s fate, at least not with a bullet in his leg.  Probably looking to make a drop on me. Fucker will hang around till I show, just wait me out, I guess.  He must be plenty pissed with the pickup not having turned out the way he planned.  Life sucks.  Choke on it, pal.

A siren screams in the distance and the last place I want to be is here when the cops show.  Maybe Scar Boy feels the same and decides to depart.  But I have to move either way. My body unfolds from the pretzel it’s become.  Pins, needles and sickening pain almost cause me to black out.  If this fucker is waiting for me, I don’t know how I’ll get out alive.  I check my mags, confirm they’re full.  My right arm feels a bit numb from the shock it took from my blasted side, but I move through to the next room on sheer will.  Nunz’s head looks like a split watermelon. Pulp and blood spray along the wall where he dropped. A pool of scarlet spreads from where he kisses the ground.

I think about first coming here, the place empty.  But by the time I case it out, these two attack dogs are waiting for me in the hallway, all precipice pecs and tree trunk limbs. Guessing I was Gun or at least his bagman, they were not happy about my empty hands, surprised I only knew about the money and not the full package.  What full package?  Small talk turns to big talk.  A couple of pushes, threats and four letter words with bad intent send me chasing down the length of the room countering their gunshots with my own hollow points.  I’m just about through the bathroom door when a hole gets blown clean through my body propelling me across the checkered floor.  I manage to lock myself in, a lot of good that’ll do, and I scamper to the farthest corner, my mind reeling and heart pumping blood through an orifice I wasn’t born with.  I don’t think there’s major damage, but fuck, a gunshot wound is a gunshot wound and it’s tapping my strength.  I patch myself up with strips of shirting, still wondering what the fuck these guys were talking about.  What’s Gun into here?

“You Gun?”

“Nope. Pizza delivery.”

Silence.  Stare down.  Muscleheads exchange looks. The younger, scarred one points at me with his chin.

“Funny man.  Never seen no pizza guy packing,” he spits.  The side of his head is mottled with cratered, dark, crescent shaped scars.  His left ear is missing, burnt and pink  eraserheads in its place.

“It’s how I wear my soppresato, handsome,” I say and wink.  More silence. “Besides you’ve never tasted the house specialty, got to protect the family secret.” I say this without a smile, patting my jacket, assuring myself and them that I’m strapped.

“Wise guy,” the older, bald one rasps.  “So Gun sent a bagman.  Fine by me. You got something for us? Let’s have it so we can all be nice like and on our way.”

“Maybe you can first tell me what’s going on?  You seem to be packing some pretty heavy testosterone for just making a collection.”

“Listen meatball,” the bald guy croaks, stepping in close to me, “Last pickup got sloppy. A friend we know from out of town ain’t never going back.  We don’t like it, but we’re told to just make paddy cake.  Let the past lay low.  Fine by me.  But we’re not him, won’t make the same mistake. We’re here for the package.  After that we’re quits.  Let’s make it easy so no one gets stupid.”

I’m listening, but not buying most of it, just thinking hard and fast.  Money I know, “What package?” I let slip, “Thought this was about paying cash debts.” No response.  “Look, I want to help here, get you what you’re looking for, but I don’t think I’m getting the whole puzzle. Who are you boy scouts working for? And why take the girl?”

The goons exchange looks again.  It’s starting to be a routine.  I wonder if they do umbrella steps if the questions get too difficult.

“What kid?” Scar Boy quips.

Baldy steps in again, shoves me. “What’s with all the questions, pizza man? Not gonna ask again,” And reaches inside his jacket.

I go for my own gun, but Scar Boy stops my right arm with his vise like paw while my left drops behind for the sap in my back pocket.  Time slows as it always does at these moments.  Baldy draws his weapon, bringing the barrel up towards my chest. My arm whips round, cracking him across his nose, cough of bone crunch, costing him balance as he slips to one knee, his free hand grabbing his face.  Scar Boy cranes towards his fallen partner. I bring the sap back in an uppercut arc snapping the younger man’s gaping mouth shut, drawing blood, forcing him to cha cha backwards, arms flailing.

Spinning on my heels, I fly back towards the bathroom at the end of the hallway.  Bullets whiz past me as I twist to return the gunfire.  I feel the wallop as a bullet catches me in the side and spits out through my back, the impact forcing me forward.  I manage to keep my momentum as the last few stumbling steps have me flying and crabbing along the filthy, tiled floor.  I kick back, heeling the door shut and crawl to the farthest corner, wheezing, bleeding, sweating, cursing my damn luck.

Fast forward. I’m standing aside the front door and listen for signs of Scar Boy.  Nothing.  The sirens are just a few blocks away now so I risk edging my way out onto the landing, expecting a body shot.  But the staircase is empty so I skip down the steps taking two at a time, each bounce sending waves of nausea through my body. I hit the ground floor, swimming in sweat, and peer outside.  The rain has let up, the cobblestone, a polished slick. All is deserted except for a few bike messengers and trawling low riders.  I scan the street for signs of my shooter, hoping for a passing cab.

WPA registered/ Copyright © 2011 /“All rights reserved.”

“The Pill”

Director J.C. Khoury has worked with Lost Highway Films on a number of projects and LHF is proud to announce that his feature film “The Pill” is having its east coast premiere at the Gen Art Film Festival on June 12th 2011.

J.C. Khoury has directed dozens of commercials, receiving an AICP award in 2006 for his Mountain Dew Foley spot and subsequent inclusion of his commercial work in the Museum of Modern Art’s permanent collection. Other recent accomplishments for his commercial and branded content work include three gold ADDY awards and a place in the 2006 edition of SHOOT’s highly prestigious New Directors Showcase. J.C. Khoury’s keen eye for subtle, sophisticated humor led him to direct the Comcast Star Wars promo Nerf Herder (I Don’t Wanna Be No) through AKQA which aired in front of the first HD broadcast of the Star Wars films on Cinemax and became a viral phenomenon, a campaign for Time Warner Cable via Ogilvy, two Avaya campaigns via R/GA, a viral film for Aquafina through Tribal DDB, and numerous spots for clients including Cotton, Swiffer, First Interstate Bank, Western & Southern Financial Group, Optimum Autos, and The Washington Post.

About “The Pill”

After a one-night stand with the free-spirited Mindy, Fred learns that she is not on birth control. Determined not to become a father, Fred spends the day with Mindy under the guise of pursuing a serious relationship to make sure she takes both doses (taken 12 hours apart) of the morning-after-pill. The result is an all-day adventure filled with socially awkward situations and untimely roadblocks as Fred struggles to preserve his New York City world. With a resolution finally in sight, the no-boundaries Mindy starts to grow on the overly anxious Fred, forcing him to make a decision that will change the rest of his life.

Cast: Noah Bean, Rachel Boston, Anna Chlumsky

SCREENING SCHEDULE/TICKETS

Purchase Tickets Online Here.

VISUAL ARTS THEATER

333 West 23rd Street

New York, New York

Screening Date & Time: JUNE 12, 7:30PM est

Romantic Comedy (83:00)

To view J.C’s work, visit his website at: www.shootfirstent.com

About Lost Highway Films

Lost Highway Films is a television & film production company specializing in commercials, webisodes, internet content, virals, and promos. LHF understands client’s goals creatively and can provide amazing production value and support.  For further information contact LHF call 212.242.7400, e-mail info@losthighwayfilms.com or visit our website at www.losthighwayfilms.com.

Lost Highway Films adds Director Peter Rabot to its roster.  Peter Rabot was recently featured at the DGA’s Ninth Annual New Directors Showcase and in February 2011, Screenwork did a feature on Rabot’s spot for New York Presbyterian Hospital entitled: ‘The Best Work You May Never See: New York-Presbyterian Hospital’s “Heather”’.

Peter has worked in advertising for most of his professional life, starting his career in London as an art director. He moved to New York in the mid eighties. In 1995 he started his own ad agency, Munn Rabôt, and to this day runs the creative output of his agency.

Peter has always been heavily involved in the idea, and brings a strong conceptual ability to every project he works on. It seemed to be a natural evolution for Peter to become more involved in directing. His work is unusually candid, and his ability to engage audiences and get them to act is his strength.

He believes that much of the work done in advertising today can be too predictable. He works to add an element of surprise and authenticity to everything he does. Peter says, “Consumers are generally quite smart and they’re looking to be both entertained and challenged by marketing messages today. There is a huge opportunity for brands to distinguish themselves by radically changing the way they approach their marketing.”

Lost Highway Films is a television & film production company specializing in commercials, webisodes, internet content, virals, and promos. LHF understands client’s goals creatively and can provide amazing production value and support. Director Peter Rabot rounds out the LHF roster comprised of Sasha Levinson, Eddy Chu & Michael Patterson. For further information contact LHF call 212.242.7400, e-mail info@losthighwayfilms.com or visit our website at www.losthighwayfilms.com.

Contact Info
Roxanne & Co. / East Coast Sales
Roxanne Artesona & Jeff Bowman
1201 Broadway # 801
New York, NY 10001
O: 212.679.9797
Contact Roxanne via email

Cathi Connor, Inc. / Mid West Sales
Cathi Connor
O: 312.860.7000
Contact Cathi via email

Boardalicious / West Coast Sales
Lisa Schreiber-Naber
O: 310.376.8656
Contact Lisa via email

“The Bad Penny “

Lost Highway Films Director Todd Bellanca’s feature film is an Official Selection in competition at the 2011 Beverly Hills Film Festival.

Lost Highway Films director Todd Bellanca has directed over 30 music videos and nearly 300 spots for clients such as: NIKE, FORD, BURGER KING, THE AMERICAN RED CROSS, VISA, LOWES and NEW YORK TOURISM. Recently, the Lost Highway Films director has completed his first feature “The Bad Penny” and it is currently making its way through the festival circuit. “The Bad Penny” is an Official Selection in competition at the 2011 Beverly Hills Film Festival. (Official Website www.beverlyhillsfilmfestival.com/1af.php)

About “The Bad Penny“
“The Bad Penny” is about a film about a former pro boxer now exiled in Bangkok, forced to confront his violent past after meeting a mysterious fight fan from his hometown. The American Boxer, JACK “THE RIPPER” STEMMONS’ had his undefeated career destroyed by aouis bookie, who fixed the fight of Jack’s life. In a rage Jack brutally murders the feared bookie and must disappear leaving everything he knows behind him. Exiled half way around the world in Bangkok, Jack falls victim to the exotic and addictive spell of “purgatory all dolled up in paradise.” No matter how hard Jack tries to distance himself from his violent past, it always hunts him down like a BAD PENNY. When a mysterious fight fan arrives in Bangkok, it is only a matter of time before Jack’s past, present and future collide in a twisted climax. Cast: Casey Evans, Nick Faltas, Bai Ling, Tom Arnold, Josh Randall, Sumonta Muangthai, Travis Wade, Ilia Volok.

SCREENING SCHEDULE/TICKETS
Purchase Tickets Online Here.

Clarity Theater
100 N. Crescent dr.
Beverly Hills
Screening Date & Time: APRIL 6, 9:05 PM pst / Block: 4 – 9:05 pm
Drama/Thriller (0:93:00)

To view Todd’s work, log onto his webpage at www.losthighwayfilms.com.

About Lost Highway Films
Lost Highway Films is a television & film production company specializing in commercials, webisodes, internet content, virals, and promos. LHF understands client’s goals creatively and can provide amazing production value and support. Director Todd Bellanca rounds out the LHF roster comprised of Sasha Levinson, Eddy Chu & Michael Patterson. For further information contact LHF call 212.242.7400, e-mail info@losthighwayfilms.com or visit our website at www.losthighwayfilms.com.

Contact Info
Roxanne & Co. / East Coast Sales
Roxanne Artesona & Jeff Bowman
1201 Broadway # 801
New York, NY 10001
O: 212.679.9797
Contact Roxanne via email

Cathi Connor, Inc. / Mid West Sales
Cathi Connor
O: 312.860.7000
Contact Cathi via email

Boardalicious / West Coast Sales
Lisa Schreiber-Naber
O: 310.376.8656
Contact Lisa via email

Lost Highway Films Has Signed Director Caitlin Felton

Director Caitlin Felton signs with Lost Highway Films.

Lost Highway Films has signed director Caitlin Felton. Known for her emotional storytelling, honest performances and bold visual style, Caitlin Felton has directed successful campaigns for such clients as Nestle, Walmart, Lowe’s, Crayola, Aveeno, Kellogg’s and the Sylvan Learning Center.

Exec producer Marc Rosenberg was elated over Caitlin’s talent and body of work. “We’ve been considering an addition to our roster for some time,” Rosenberg said, “But it wasn’t just about another director. We were interested in finding a unique voice that complemented the diverse talent already in place. Caitlin is that perfect fit. I’m excited about her sense of aesthetics and fresh approach to filmmaking.”

Having graduated from the School of Visual Arts with a degree in photography, Caitlin began her professional career as a senior producer/director of on-air promos at MTV. She followed this auspicious start with a long tenure of smart spot directing at Go Films. Her catalogue is driven by a sincere and natural docu-style that lends itself to earnest dialogue, beautifully composed frames with haunting imagery.

“The early response to Caitlin has been tremendous,” Rosenberg adds. “It’s been the perfect launch to a healthy working relationship.”

Lost Highway Films is a television & film production company specializing in commercials, webisodes, internet content, virals, and promos. LHF understands client’s goals creatively and can provide amazing production value and support. The LHF roster is comprised of Sasha Levinson, Michael Patterson, Todd Bellanca & Eddy Chu. For further information contact LHF call 212.242.7400, e-mail info@losthighwayfilms.com or visit our website at www.losthighwayfilms.com.

Contact Info
Roxanne & Co. / East Coast Sales
Roxanne Artesona & Jeff Bowman
1201 Broadway # 801
New York, NY 10001
O: 212.679.9797
Contact Roxanne via email

Cathi Connor, Inc. / Mid West Sales
Cathi Connor
O: 312.860.7000
website: www.cathiconnorinc.com
Contact Cathi via email

Boardalicious / West Coast Sales
Lisa Schreiber-Naber
O: 310.376.8656
website: www.boardalicious.com
Contact Lisa via email

ScreenWork :: The Best Work You May Never See: New York-Presbyterian Hospital’s “Heather”

The Best Work You May Never See: New York-Presbyterian Hospital’s “Heather”

Watch Quicktime

View the entire campaign: http://losthighwayfilms.wiredrive.com/l/p/?presentation=393f25412919703619e89d796f519cf8

Creative director Peter Rabôt of agency Munn Rabôt, New York, directed this spot in which nine-year-old Heather McNamara tells us of her live-saving surgery performed at New York-Presbyterian Hospital. The moving black-and-white real person monologue was edited by Antoine Mills of wild(child). Production house was Lost Highway Films.

Credits Client: New York-Presbyterian Hospital Agency: Munn Rabot Peter Rabôt, John Stingley, creative directors; Orson Munn, CEO; CEO; Kim Brower, art director; Rachel Manis, producer. Production Company: Lost Highway Films Peter Rabôt, director; Marc Rosenberg, exec producer; Maryse Alberti, DP; Nicole Rodan, producer; Natalie Warkenthien, production manager. Editorial: wild(child) post Antoine Mills, editor; Liz Ludden, producer; Greg Rubin, Smoke artist; Dan Nasser, Andrew Hale, assistant editors. Postproduction: Company 3 New York Victor Mulholland, colorist. Audio: Liquid Lab, New York Luis Herrera, engineer.

Categories Media Type: Television Commercial Genre: Real People Delivery Type: Television Content Type: Health / Hygiene SHOOT Category: Best Work You May Never See Release Date: February 18, 2011 Duration: 30 seconds

The Best Work You May Never See: New York-Presbyterian Hospital’s “Heather”February 25, 2011 — Nine-year-old Heather McNamara, a real-life patient of New York-Presbyterian Hospital, speaks directly to the camera in a matter-of-fact manner, relating how Dr. Kato consented to operate on her when other hospitals declined. After a 23-hour surgery in which six major organs were temporarily removed in order to take out a baseball-sized tumor, Heather is now cancer-free.