I don't really care how much the latest superhero film took at the box office, although I'd probably know if you asked me. When I watch a film the main thing I am looking for is a good story. I like it when I look up at the big screen and can see a part of me staring back at me. More than anything, I am still looking for Jimmy Stewart and Jack Lemmon and Billy Wilder in every film I see.
Wednesday, 28 November 2012
OVEREXPOSED and DISINTERESTED: The Fight For Attention In The Modern Era
Even when mp3s first came about, do you remember? It took an hour to download one song. When it finally arrived, you were in heaven.
Now we stream movies. We watch box-sets hour after hour. We carry 10,000 books in our pockets. We read the newspaper while jogging.
Hearing your favourite song used to be a privilege. Now you're so bored 18 seconds in that you skip ahead, eager to find something better.
But how often do you find that magic?
Hardly ever. The magic is gone, we have too much access.
We get false highs all the time. A quirky band comes along, and we're momentarily quenched. Or the marketing guys tell us the new Bond and Batman are the greatest films ever -- we believe them, momentarily, until we remember what a perfect movie really is.
A perfect movie is what we knew back when we were kids in the front row.
But that was long ago. Truth is, 'Casablanca' isn't as good as it once was, because our neurons are wired to think about tweets and emails while we're watching. And we have to glance at the phone, just in case there's a text.
If you can sit down and truly sink into a book, I applaud you -- you're one of an extremely rare group of people.
We have too much. So much that, nearly all of it bores us.
We pretend we're paying attention, but it's just not possible for the modern digestive system. We're stuffed. Over-fed.
We think this is evolution, but it's not. The devices, programs and apps are things that were invented and marketed at us, regardless of whether they're good for us. The human brain cannot multi-task in an efficient way. This has been proved time and time again by neuroscience.
So we find a battle going on; there's a montage happening in the movie? Maybe I'll check my email. The song's boring? Maybe the next one suits my energy. The YouTube video lasts another 30 seconds? Maybe I'll read that article about Israel at the same time.
We're kidding ourselves, and we're losing the battle. We're losing our passions. We can pretend we're paying attention, or we can say we're different and that all this technology helps us --- but we're rewiring our brains to suit the app-sellers and device marketers. In the process, we're losing our love of the things we hold dearest.
Monday, 12 November 2012
Interview with Film Producer LISA RUDIN
You made 'Missed Connections' for around $25,000, is that right? What was your budget after marketing, festival entries, and all that kind of thing?
Friday, 9 November 2012
I Am Not Watching Movies And I Am Okay With It
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
SHORT STORY: In Search of Writer's Block
He was of the belief that to be truly great, you have to suffer from the pain of writer's block. He constantly daydreamed about being blocked, and romanticised about it endlessly. "I don't want to have all these ideas," he said, to a passer by, called Merv, who didn't expect to be a part of this story.
"Excuse me?" asked Merv.
"I have too many ideas. It's all flowing," said Abley.
"What are you talking about?"
"I want to have writer's block. I'm desperate to be fresh out of ideas."
"Have you thought about moving to Hollywood?" said Merv.
Abley mumbled something offensive and sauntered off towards home. He arrived and turned on his laptop. Much to his dismay, he was full of creativity. He instantly wrote 2000 words, and that was just to respond to Liz on Facebook. Then he worked on his novel. Eight hours later, the novel was complete and he'd written outlines for four new stories.
Abley was meeting Greg and Nancy for coffee. They were both writers who didn't take him seriously due to his unusual productivity. Abley was desperate to be more like them, more like a real writer. He looked for patterns. Greg had a beard - and so did Nancy. Maybe this was the key to creative death.
"What are you working on at the moment?" asked Greg.
"Nothing," replied Abley, who convinced no-one, probably because he was scribbling down the seventh chapter while talking. Nancy was deeply concerned about him. Without the huge struggle, and years of creative bankruptcy, how could Abley ever expect to be taken seriously?
Abley was desperate. He wrote six books on 'the hunt for writer's block', and they were all best-sellers. The depression was hitting hard. He stayed up nights, consumed with fear that he would never run out of ideas. How could he be more like his writing idols who had all suffered extreme bouts of creative nothingness?
Saturday, 3 November 2012
The Lonely Cinema
Jon and Nancy were on their first date. He was nervous and had sweaty palms. "I want to hold your hand," she said. Jon plummeted both hands into the popcorn. "No, sorry," he said, smiling like a madman. His whole body began sweating and he died a little inside, knowing this was all too much for him.
Brad, Tom and AJ were in the middle row, dead centre. They were film geeks and all decided they hated the movie -- and this was before it had even started. They bought tickets without knowing what it was -- but they knew it would be terrible, they could tell by the type of audience.
Riley and Alice loved the movie, but hated the three guys behind them who were constantly ridiculing it. It was obvious to them that the guys were trying to impress them with their trendy disdain, but it wasn't working. Alice felt sad, thinking about all the men who'd stayed alone because they didn't realise how negative being negative sounded to women.
Stefan was angry at the projection. There was definitely a problem. Also, the sound was too quiet. Lisa just wanted him to kiss her, but he was too outraged. She tried her magic -- a movement of the arms and a little eye contact. He looked at her, and wow she was beautiful. He wondered why he could see her so clearly. It was because of the Fire Exit sign, so bright! Stefan kicked the chair in front of him and mumbled something about the cinema staff being 'amateurs'.
Albert didn't know for sure, but he sensed that this would probably be his last visit to the cinema. He longed for Ginger Rogers, but was content with a bald guy shooting at cars, because it distracted him from what the doctor had just told him. He thought about Gina, and all her favourite pictures. He missed being able to talk to her. He missed her smell. There was one film she absolutely loved, that starred Henry Fonda, but he couldn't remember the name of it.
Scarlett didn't care about the movie, she only cared about Liam. For the next two hours, she could pretend he wasn't leaving. She could pretend the play-fight over popcorn didn't have a subtext. She could pretend she wasn't lost in sadness. She could pretend he cared more than he did. While he was made to sit silently in a dark room, she could convince herself he wasn't an asshole. She could convince herself this thing wasn't over.
All Becci could see as she looked for a seat, was couples. But then she saw: the guy. All alone and intriguing. She sat next to him, of course. She spent the entire movie wondering what she would say to him at the end. The end came, and she rushed out quickly without saying a word. She always does things like that, and has no idea why.