FILM DEPICTS THE '90S HEROIN EPIDEMIC THAT HIT HOME

In one of the opening scenes, Jason Vranek talks about the way things started.

"When I was a freshman, I knew this kid in my algebra class," he says, "and
we all went over to his house, and that day I smoked pot for the first time."

One of the things we don't do often enough as journalists is go back to the
big stories and look at them later with the benefit of time and perspective.

It's something Alan Berg sure couldn't do in his gun-and-run days as a
reporter for WFAA-TV (Channel 8). There was always the next big story to cover.

But Alan went out on his own a year ago. He now lives in Austin, where he
teaches broadcast journalism at the University of Texas and produces
independent videos and documentaries.

For his first documentary, he returned to Plano for one of those hindsight
views on the heroin epidemic that took about 20 young lives there in the
late '90s.

Addicted debuts today at the Deep Ellum Film Festival (11:30 a.m. at the
Angelika).

I got an advance look, and it's potent stuff.

Oh, on some level it's the same old story. Alan certainly knows that. When
we talked last week, he summed up every drug saga in a few words: "First
it's fun. Then it's not. Some get out. Some don't."

But in Addicted, we see that story play out in hometown flesh and blood.

Jason Vranek is talking again. It all sounds so casual. "When I was a
junior, a friend - Kathy - broke out some chiva and said, 'Wanna try this?'
I said, 'Sure.' That was it."

That was it. A form of heroin. And addiction.

Why Plano? The documentary raises many theories. Wealth. Boredom. Stress.

But what comes clear is that this was mostly about friendships. Many of
these kids had known each other since elementary school, and they passed
around drugs the way they once shared juice boxes from their lunch kits.

Alan said one of his goals for the documentary was to pierce the perception
that drugs affect only other people's families.

"People want to judge. It gives them a little sense of safety," he said.
"My idea was to show the humanity of these kids and these parents."

Some scenes are heartbreaking. A husband and wife pull into a strip
shopping center. They're headed to a group counseling session.

"I used to park right here and wait for Chris to get out of karate when he
was little," the father says. "I didn't see any way on God's green earth
that this would ever happen to our family."

Then they go inside to meet with other parents whose children died of drug
overdoses.

In the final scenes, the documentary returns to Jason Vranek. We have
witnessed his many failed attempts to kick drugs. And we have met his
mother, Belita Nelson, who started the Starfish Foundation to fight drugs.

In the end, Belita defiantly declares: "Jason will make it."

Then cut to Jason, sounding much less certain. "I still struggle with it. I
don't know if I'm ever going to make peace with it."

He pauses a long time, then sighs. "You know, I'm going to try."

If the documentary ended right there, it would be pretty bleak. But an
unusual final message appears:

Dedicated to the alcoholics and the addicts who still suffer. May they know
that the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous promise a new freedom and a
new happiness to those who are willing to go to any length to get sober.

For millions of people who previously thought themselves hopeless, AA has
provided the one proven path out of hell.

I asked Alan about the strength of that message.

He reminded me that one of the principles of AA is anonymity.

"But you write what you know," he said. "I know this to be true."