Six commercials.
Over 80 shots.
Five early calls followed by five late nights.
A lot of work and now, one stage is done.
Now post begins.
It's always hard for me being on set because I don't really mix well with others.
My mind is on Egon Schiele or Edward Curtis.
And downtime talk usually centers on Tosh 2.0.
Or Lindsay.
Or some thing or someone I regard as puerile.
Nearly every day I feel more and more distant from those around me.
Their film references and mine are usually separated by forty years.
They talk about tracking shots and never saw Renoir's in "Boudu, Saved from Drowning."
It's a little depressing some times and it worries me.
To my mind, our "culture" is so vapid I can't seem to warm to it.
I know I should, but I don't want to be a part of it.
That probably makes me obsolete. Or, better, lends to my obsolescence.
But I have something others seem to lack.
I can take a Rubik's cube of a brief and make it four words.
And from that, good can come.
A thought can be expressed in an
understandable, credible, intrusive, memorable and interesting way.
Palettes and styles change.
But the fundamental things apply.
And that's why they still need me.
--
BTW, the picture of the painting above is George Bellows' "Men of the Docks."
It was painted over 100 years ago, in 1912.
It's still good.
On the plus side, you were someplace warm, staying in a nice hotel, doing something millions of people would love to say they did, and you were out of the office.
ReplyDeleteI'd say it's a draw.
I admire you, George, but your martyrdom is showing, peeking out from behind your condescension.
ReplyDeleteThere are wonderful works of art and intelligence in youth and young culture today, just as there were buckets of vapid crap 40 years (and 140, and 400) ago.
... Granted, you won't find them in video village. But did you really expect to?
George,
ReplyDeleteAll the self immolation may be setting you up for another bellyflop if the resulting "work" isnt any better than last time. Hubris, babe, even the GReeks knew it was a deadly fluw.
Aristotle