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Shlurp-B: The Unlikely Star of My Documentary Journey

May 7

Written By Caleb Stewart

Quick Note from Caleb 🚨

Hey everyone! First off, thank you SO MUCH to everyone who let me know the teaser link from my last update was broken. My head was deep in DCP (that’s a Digital Cinema Package—basically a fancy, encrypted G Drive file that theaters use to screen your film) creation mode, and clearly, my link-sharing skills were compromised! 😅 Here's a fresh, fully functional link—no scavenger hunt required: Check it out and dive into the cinematic experience we’ve been crafting!

👉 Watch the teaser here: https://bit.ly/starwingz

And now, back to your regularly scheduled Star Wingz programming…

🌌 Episode IV: A DCP Misplaced

It was May the 4th, a day dedicated to lightsabers, Wookiee growls, and Stormtrooper cosplay that was slightly more comical than frightening. The atmosphere at Regal LA Live buzzed with excitement, creating a perfect backdrop for the screening of Golden Wings at the legendary Beyond Hollywood International Film Festival.

With the confidence of a Jedi Knight, I approached the theater manager and entrusted them with my DCP. They nodded solemnly, probably picturing me as a galactic hero—or maybe just checking their watch for the next screening.

Boom. The lights dimmed, setting the stage. Boom. The film began to roll, captivating the audience—even the guy in the front row who looked like he’d just come for the popcorn. Boom. The credits rolled, and applause erupted like lightsaber duels in the galaxy.

The experience was a filmmaker's dream—until it took a nosedive faster than a TIE fighter in a dogfight.

In the chaotic post-screening rush—amid the frantic announcement of “everyone out, next film’s starting!”—I had a major brain freeze and forgot to retrieve my $120 hard drive. One moment, I was flying high on audience feedback; the next, I was in my car, wrestling with the horrifying truth that I’d left behind the tech that contained everything I had worked on. Sweet Bantha for dessert!

Desperate to recover my lost data treasure, I emailed Chez, the festival director, who swiftly turned into my Yoda and contacted the theater. Unfortunately, the response was as quiet as a Sith in meditation. I dove headfirst into Twitter, hoping to cast a wide net for help, but all I got were crickets. Even my attempts to slide into the Regal social media DMs felt like whispering into the void—"Help me, Regal, you're my only hope!"

So, fellow filmmakers, take it from this Jedi in distress—don’t make the same mistake I did! Always double-check your gear after a festival screening. Or you might find yourself on an unexpected quest to recover your tech, equipped only with your phone and a whole lot of regret.

“Help me, Regal Social Media Team. You’re my only hope.”

🧙🏼‍♂️ Wisdom from the Jedi Council

The Q&A after the film was one of those beautiful surprises that no director can plan for.

First question from the audience:

“Now that Bette Nash has passed, who is the most senior flight attendant at American Airlines?”

I paused, then grinned.

“You know who that’s a perfect question for? My mom. Robyn, would you mind?”

She stood—composed, proud, and more than ready. Like General Leia with a flight pin.

The audience loved her. People came up afterward to tell me how much the film moved them. One man asked for a photo with her. Another told me, “I called my mom right after watching.”

That, to me, was the real prize.

📊 The Awards Ceremony: The Snub Strikes Back

Golden Wings was nominated for Best Short Doc, but we didn’t take home the trophy. And yeah—I felt the sting.

But the audience’s reaction? The personal stories people shared with me? The moments when they connected with my family’s story—those were the wins that really mattered.

You don’t need a statue to know your film landed

🛋 A Glitch in the Cargo Hold

Now here’s where the story leaves Earth’s atmosphere and swerves into deep space.

On the ride home, something thumped against my windshield. It was small. Green. Alive. And very, very clingy.

At first, I thought it was a toy or some weird festival promo leftover. But it blinked. Then it burped. Then it refused to let go.

I later found out he was called Shlurp-B—a failed byproduct of a secret Empire-aligned bioengineering project known as Shlurp-A. All the good stuff went into Shlurp-A. Shlurp-B? He was the leftovers. The experiment they jettisoned with the trash.

And yet, here he was. Clinging to my ship. Imprinting on me. Refusing to die in the vacuum of space.

He hums during hyperspace. He might be Force-sensitive. He might just be... mine.

I didn’t adopt him. He adopted me.