ABOUT

Growing up, Brian wanted to be exactly like his father, a larger-than-life New York Irishman oozing charm and charisma. As a Marine pilot in Vietnam, Jim ‘Rabbit’ Hare flew 307 missions, was shot down and lived to tell the tale. It was like growing up with a real-life superhero—only Rabbit was a helluva lot cooler.

Seduced by his father’s potent mythology, Brian went to the U.S. Naval Academy, becoming a Marine and serving in combat during the Gulf War. But soon after, his father became sick with prostate cancer due to Agent Orange exposure. He was only 56 when he died.

Rabbit's remains sat in the basement for eight years. Brian made the decision to lay Rabbit's ashes to rest in a trout stream not far from their Pittsburgh home—and to film the ceremony—with vague ideas of making a documentary 'demythologizing' his father and his influence on Brian's life. Shortly afterward, Brian's children were born. What lessons would he teach them? What legacy would he leave behind? What America was Brian leaving his children? Brian soon realized that his initial documentary idea was inadequate, that it was a more complex story than he'd imagined.

As the product of an overwhelmingly white Pittsburgh suburb, Brian's first brush with true diversity happened at the U.S. Naval Academy, blooming full in the Marines. The U.S. military is a diverse tribe—the most diverse in America—often times ugly and chaotic, but a powerful testament to America beyond the crippling stereotypes. 

As America worships at the altar of the U.S. military, it fears its most loyal apostles—Black men. Brian's father was a lot of things—good and bad—but he was always a champion of what we'd now call 'social justice'. Much of his time in Vietnam involved helping poor white and Black Marines get their GED diplomas at his 'Little Red Schoolhouse', built when he wasn't flying. With this in mind, Brian journeyed to Houston to celebrate a birthday for one of his Black Marines. He brought a small film crew. They ate homemade boudin sausage. Drank beer. Bonds, not only as Marines, but as Americans who love and fear for America's future, were reaffirmed. But most importantly? They talked: What legacies were they leaving their children? About the generations of Black Americans who served their country even as their country didn’t serve them. Their openness was startling. And it could only have happened because of trust forged not as ‘white’ Marines or ‘Black’ Marines, but as Marines. As Americans. This is the heart of 'Death Rattler'—a vision of a more hopeful and just America; the foundation laid by Brian's father and the Marine Corps. 

Rabbit's death wasn't the ending—only the beginning.