Don't go around saluting General Knowledge

I recently had two university students studying screen media (what in my day was called “film school”) reach out regarding an assignment they had to interview, via e-mail, someone currently working in the film industry. Of course I was happy to help – knowledge is power, share the wealth, pay it forward, empower youth, big-up each other, strengthen the future, and all that. What I got back from both of them turned out to be some rather dry, disappointing, and totally uninspiring questions that were obviously forced upon them by their professor. This was their “interview”:

1. What do you think are top three trends I should know about?

2. Technology is changing the way we work – what’s the top one or two emerging technologies do you think I should keep abreast of?

3. How do you stay ahead of the game in your role and in this competitive industry?

4. What’s your greatest achievement in your career so far and why? And what was your greatest failure/greatest regret, and what did you learn from it?

5. What are the top three tips you would give to your young self, now that you know what you know about working in this industry?

After getting over the initial anger those questions inspired, (picking that apart is another blog post altogether) I found myself short of time, not at all compelled to answer any of those questions, but still wanting to offer whatever help I could. Here is how I responded:

While I do believe it’s important to keep informed about trends, new technologies, and other advancements and shifts in the film industry, I prioritize focusing on storytelling, creativity, reaching an audience and pursuing projects and filmmaking experiments I’m passionate about. To me, pulling too much focus to “staying ahead” or weighing your work as either failure or success, is a formula for rapid burnout. This industry is already a constant hustle without the added pressure of measuring yourself or your work against others or worrying about if it’s on the leading edge of anything, be it a passing trend or a seismic shift in the industry. 

The greatest creators of films past and present, those responsible for changing the very landscape of filmmaking with their work, all followed their own paths. Figure out what path excites you, pursue it armed with both knowledge and passion, never measure your work against someone else's goalpost, and don’t be afraid to forge a new path if one calls to you. 

I wondered if I sounded bitter (a definite consequence of working in the industry that I didn't elaborate on). I wondered if I sounded Pollyannaish about being an artiste in an industry that was ostensibly established as, and still functions as, a profit-making business. But the more I mused upon my responses the more I thought... nah, I'm right.

Had their professor suggested that someone who wanted to pursue cinematography or post-production ask a professional in that area how new technologies were changing the way they work, and how they imagined those technologies affecting the future of their roles, that would have made sense. Had their professor suggested that someone who wanted to produce ask a professional producer how trends were affecting audiences’ relationships with media, and where they saw people turning for entertainment in the future, that would have made sense. There was nothing inherently wrong with the knowledge sought in either of those first two questions, but through the act of generalizing the question, it instilled them with an inflated sense of importance. “These things matter all the time to everyone!” as opposed to “These things are important some of the time, to some of the people, depending on what you do, depending on the specifics of your project, depending on when you make it, where you make it, who you make it with, and the occasional unforeseeable global crisis.”

As for the next two questions… *shudder*

I'll refrain from the colourful language that comes to mind when someone calls the profession that I, and everyone else I know, is clawing their way through with every ounce of stamina in their bodies and every thinning thread of their sanity, a “game”. Just try taking that question and applying it to any other profession—any profession at all. How many of them would find it insulting? How many of them would laugh? How many of them would shrug? How many of them would wonder what in the hell “the game” was, how long they had been playing it, and why no one had ever explained the rules? I'd call that question a prime example of generalizing to the point of meaninglessness.

You don't have to have read every book in the self-help sections to know how damaging the words, “failure” and “regret” are. The more you focus on either of these vague notions—for that is what they are, concepts not facts—the more your motivation gets forever lost in a cloud of fear. The concept of success is equally foggy. Did you make something that you thought was meh but that audiences loved, and which racked up awards? Success! Did you make something that got no audience praise and no recognition of any kind, but was absolutely everything you envisioned? Success! We all define this notion differently, and its meaning ought to grow and change and evolve alongside us. Every time you make a thing you get better at making the thing. Success is the passenger in the sidecar of your journey. Occasionally it will be joyfully singing into the wind. Occasionally it'll get motion sickness. But as long as you're paying attention to the road, it'll come along for the ride.

As for the last question, once I put aside how I felt about the belittling nature of the word “tips” (not quite as colourfully as I felt about “game” though with a rosy tint of aggravation) I realized that I do have three pieces of advice I can extend based on my experience. Those, however, will have to wait for another blog post, or perhaps an opportunity to answer them in person, colourful language optional.

I Think in Floorplan

I don't know if this is because I'm a visual thinker, or because I vividly remember watching my mom design what was probably the floorplan of the house that I grew up in and being so charmed by those little scale templates she used to add toilets and sofas to the drawing, but when I need to wrap my head around something, I think in flooorplan. This is my go-to method for everything from figuring out the obvious, like will that sofa fit in my apartment, to writing an ensemble of characters that are all engaged in action at the same time. Where is everybody and what are they doing at this crucial moment of the story? I know, I'll draw a plan and move their little pieces around until I figure it out.

I also spend a fair amount of time confabulating floorplans in my head - the ideal layout of my reasonably sized Italian villa, the cozy quarters I occupy during my space mission, the likely layout of my neighbour’s apartment based on the brief glimpse I caught through their door. Odds are, once I've been inside your house I'll remember its floorplan. Want to know if you you've got enough space to add that powder room? Just ask me.

Growing up, I also found myself mind-constructing the floorplans of my favourite sit-com sets. It didn't matter that studio sets utilize wall angles that no contractor would choose to build, have doors conveniently pop-up when they suddenly need to set a scene in the basement, and put closets where no closet belongs. I could still finish off that fourth wall and plunk that set in the building or on the street of its mythical origin. While this was clearly a precursor to my interest in production design, I recently realized that it was also a sign of my passion for storytelling.

A while back, after a rather spirit crushing professional disappointment during what felt like a few years of said disappointments, I was comfort watching Friday Night Dinner. The series, which sits high on my recommend list if you've never seen it, was filmed inside a real house. So naturally, I was obsessing over the locations of each door and window and laying out the rarely seen rooms upstairs in relation to the rooms below. While I was debating about the location of a potential second bathroom it suddenly hit me... I'm making this real!

By mind-constructing the environments of the stories that I love, I am creating a tangible reality in which me and those stories exist together. This is a house I can visit. These are people I can have dinner with. It doesn't matter how realistic these story worlds were, as soon as I started building them in my mind, from sit-com sets to fantasy castles, I was making them a reality. That is what drew me to design and ultimately into storytelling, an overwhelming instinct to construct a world of my choosing.

We all use books and movies as a means to escape into other worlds. I see the fact that me and my floorplany brain still choose to construct these words, as a testament to power of storytelling. As an adult, I can escape my woes in any number of ways. I can vent to a friend, sing-scream profanities in the shower, and pour myself a generous glass of wine, all of which I had already done. But what I really needed more than any of that, was spend Friday night at the Goodman residence. I needed to walk through the front door, smell what was cooking, take a seat on the lounge and wait for hijinks to commence.

I, like many storytellers, have occasion to question the “reason” for my work. In a world rife with more problems than I currently have the capacity to floorplan my head around, I often feel like I'm not doing enough. Maybe I'm entertaining, maybe I'm provoking thought, I might even been encouraging someone else to action... but is that enough? These moments in which I realize how much influence the stories I love still have over me, serve as reminders that a great story well told is powerful.

So, the next time you find yourself wondering about the “reason” for your story, write it for the anxiety ridden, caffeine addled, woman who is stuck in a sticky pool of self-doubt. Get her to put down her phone and start mindstructing your world. Ease the tension in her shoulders. Make her smile. That is enough.