Why You Ultimately Have to do it for You

There's nothing more frustrating that being wildly passionate about a project and not seeing it resonate with others. Over the years I performed in countless little black box theaters only to see 4, or 5 people in attendance. I've spent weeks polishing up an article only to have it read by a handful of people. I have also made films so handedly rejected from festivals it made my head spin. But I keep doing it. Why? 

Because it's important to ME.

Your job as an artist is not to be a molder of consensus but to share your craftsmanship with the world and see what happens. But you can only continue to put good work out if it means something to you first.

The quest for validation by getting up at 4:00 am to work on a screenplay, or bleed on stage for your craft will more than likely go unappreciated. And that's just the people who show up. Most people won't get it and large percentage won't even care. We all lead busy lives and are naturally consumed by our own needs. 

In Haruki Murakami's book South of the Border, West of the Sun there's a terrific line that goes:

“People want to be bowled over by something special.  Nine times out of ten you might strike out, but that tenth time, that peak experience, is what people want.  That’s what can move the world.  That’s art.”

We do it for that one time. But it can't be only for that one time. We have to ultimately do it because we want to. If we don't the blank stares from parents and friends when we describe our latest endeavors will stop us in our tracks. 

It's not for them, it's for YOU. 

JUST. DON'T. QUIT.

Think Like Toni Erdmann

Last night I saw a terrific movie called, Toni Erdmann. I thought the film was actually quite profound making me consider the “bigger picture,” without hand-feeding me a message; a true testament of excellent writing.

Strangely enough, I found myself losing that perspective almost instantly when I returned home. My furniture was everywhere because of renovations and I thought for a moment I'd overlooked my flight schedule.

I wondered how everything could be going swimmingly one minute and than be in complete disarray another. How much of it was self-imposed, I later thought to myself.

I suppose the lesson was to know that life can change on a dime and we have to have the flexibility to think flexibly when it does. 

As a result, we’re more likely to keep our poise and think clearly. At least that’s how I think Toni Erdmann might approach it.

Originality is Not What it Seems

I'm in the middle of reading a terrific book called, Originals by Adam Grant. The book is not only full of interesting anecdotes, studies, and inspirational figures but also does a great job of demystifying many of the socially accepted truths.

One in particular made a real impact on me. Grant offers insight into the minds of so-called geniuses and originals. His main point is that the greatest obstacle to being original is not generating ideas but selecting the right ones. And when you create more work you simply have more options. Here are a just a few examples:

-- Mozart composed more than 600 pieces before his death at 35
-- Beethoven produced more than 650
-- Bach wrote over 1,000
-- Picasso's body of work is comprised of over 12,000 drawings and that's not even counting his paintings, ceramics, or sculptures.

Part of being original involves diving in and creating work - LOTS of it. 

Get to it.

You Can't Force People to Care

Yesterday afternoon, I had the chance to work with some very talented actors currently performing in, The Last Tiger in Haiti, a production nearing its run at Berkeley Rep.

The actors had all agreed to participate in a reading of my screenplay. I was less concerned about casting the right people for the roles than I was just having terrific actors play with the words I'd spend the past several months putting together.

After the reading, the six of us engaged in a spirited dialogue about what it means to be an actor. We talked about the lifestyle, the struggle, and the rewards. Each of us agreed the story I was trying to bring to life was important, relevant, and needed to told. But they also voiced their frustrations with getting people to care about storytelling in general - to get people to appreciate how stories shape our culture and identity.

What I learned during our conversation was nobody can force you to care about anything. Whether it's a compelling film or animal rights, each of is wired in different ways. As a result, we all have unique desires, hopes, questions, concerns, and passions. 

What you can do is present YOUR interpretation of the world through anecdotes, stories, or facts and then allow people to make up their own minds on how they feel about it. 

I suppose what people ultimately think is less important than making the effort to create something in the first place.

Why We Do What We Do

"Beautiful," she said. Years ago, when I was still a second year grad student, I went to see the Broadway production of, Frost/Nixon. The play starred Frank Langella as former U.S. President Richard Nixon and Michael Sheen as the English journalist, comedian, and writer.

I recall having great seats that afternoon a few rows left of the stage, but only a handful of seats from the action. "Student Rush" tickets were always a great alternative for the young people in and around the city who studied acting and wanted desperately to catch a show without paying premium prices. And depending on the popularity of the show, or length of the run, they were often not even available.

Still, they were great when you could get them even though one never had control over where those little stubs would take you. I once sat in the front row for a production of The Caine Mutiny and in the very last to catch Mark Rylance in Boeing Boeing. But today, I'd finally stumbled upon my Goldilocks moment. I was not too far or too close. My view was just perfect.

Perhaps more importantly, I thought the play was terrific. The story had a clear beginning, middle, and end, and not to mention a compelling cast. But the most notable event of that cold spring afternoon occurred during a monologue Frank Langella delivered toward the end of the play.

During the scene, Richard Nixon phones David Frost after having perhaps a drink too many and launches into a tirade that reveals the 37th president's masked insecurities and vulnerabilities. "No matter how high we get they still look down on us...We still feel like a little man, a loser...We're gonna show those bums, we're gonna make em' choke!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pT9GPloXjA8

When Frank Langella finished his monologue you could hear a pin drop in that old theater. And just as the next scene was set to begin I heard an elderly woman sitting directly in front of me whisper under her breath, "Beautiful." I had goose bumps and realized in that moment it was why I wanted to be an actor in the first place. I wanted to make people feel the same way Frank Langella had made that woman in the audience feel that brisk spring afternoon.