GETTING CAUGHT IN THE ACT
That what it’s like to finally release a film. Dylan once said (bet I’m one of many blogging that phrase today), “If they could see my thoughts, they’d probably put my head in a guillotine”. Releasing one of your creations is yanking the “if” out of the hypothesis. They really do see your thoughts now. And some in that angry mob are in a head-hunting mood. Good friggin' luck.
Some of them don’t know what to think of your film. They have no idea what the hell they just watched.
Some don’t ever get around to watching it. They’re more interested in the Idea of it than the actual It.
Some envy it. Or at least you hope they do.
Some are freaked out. They assume that the darkness in your story wasn’t gotten at by way of talent. You aren’t imaginative. You’re just messed up.
Some are excited by it.
Some think it’s so good that they don’t need to bother telling you.
Some feel sorry for you and your crapass "art" and make up compliments so you don't suicide yourself.
That what it’s like to finally release a film. Dylan once said (bet I’m one of many blogging that phrase today), “If they could see my thoughts, they’d probably put my head in a guillotine”. Releasing one of your creations is yanking the “if” out of the hypothesis. They really do see your thoughts now. And some in that angry mob are in a head-hunting mood. Good friggin' luck.
Some of them don’t know what to think of your film. They have no idea what the hell they just watched.
Some don’t ever get around to watching it. They’re more interested in the Idea of it than the actual It.
Some envy it. Or at least you hope they do.
Some are freaked out. They assume that the darkness in your story wasn’t gotten at by way of talent. You aren’t imaginative. You’re just messed up.
Some are excited by it.
Some think it’s so good that they don’t need to bother telling you.
Some feel sorry for you and your crapass "art" and make up compliments so you don't suicide yourself.
A teeny, tiny handful of them get it. And that's a best-case-scenario.
There are never enough nice comments for your Sarlacc pit of a needy inner performer, though. There will always be enough silence and criticism for you to pick a sentence or a silence and obsess about it. And when you’re really in bad space you’ll even see hidden criticisms in the most sincere encouragement.
Your heart (if not your mind) goes back to times when you were younger and you "came out" for the world and got the big fat thumbs-down…
Your heart remembers a failed skit in Drama class, where no matter how much you and Eric tried to improv your way onward, one of you just couldn’t remember your lines. You threw your hands up and quit in front of a live audience.
Your heart remembers a pageant you were in and how secretly proud you were. Then some dude told you how the judges were so desperate for entrants that they had to scrape the barrel and settle for guys like you. You and Jimmy and Frank.
Your heart remembers your first church camp. Where you picked a Great White song for the lip-synch contest. The whole amphitheater loved Matt Mintz & the Broom Boys! You slid across the stage and shredded your knees and you didn’t care. The next day, though, the oxymoronically-named Les Moore got up and read the sexual innuendos that you and Pastor Bob's son Brock hadn’t even noticed. Oops. People scooted away from you in case the lightning bolt was a big one. You felt like you were sinking as Les Moore quote Great White. “She was the best lick in town," he read with a heavy heart.
There are never enough nice comments for your Sarlacc pit of a needy inner performer, though. There will always be enough silence and criticism for you to pick a sentence or a silence and obsess about it. And when you’re really in bad space you’ll even see hidden criticisms in the most sincere encouragement.
Your heart (if not your mind) goes back to times when you were younger and you "came out" for the world and got the big fat thumbs-down…
Your heart remembers a failed skit in Drama class, where no matter how much you and Eric tried to improv your way onward, one of you just couldn’t remember your lines. You threw your hands up and quit in front of a live audience.
Your heart remembers a pageant you were in and how secretly proud you were. Then some dude told you how the judges were so desperate for entrants that they had to scrape the barrel and settle for guys like you. You and Jimmy and Frank.
Your heart remembers your first church camp. Where you picked a Great White song for the lip-synch contest. The whole amphitheater loved Matt Mintz & the Broom Boys! You slid across the stage and shredded your knees and you didn’t care. The next day, though, the oxymoronically-named Les Moore got up and read the sexual innuendos that you and Pastor Bob's son Brock hadn’t even noticed. Oops. People scooted away from you in case the lightning bolt was a big one. You felt like you were sinking as Les Moore quote Great White. “She was the best lick in town," he read with a heavy heart.
You remember all those messy moments of fame and shame and the two so intertwined you didn’t know which was which, was end was up.
You drag yourself to your keyboard.
You start the next film.
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(Here’s an old gospel song I learned in 5 minutes and recorded in one take, In My Time of Dyin’:)
http://www.facebook.com/Matt-Mintz-Music/118706994836181#!/pages/Matt-Mintz-Music/118706994836181
JUST PRESS PLAY
