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An anecdote.
Feb. 7th, 2011 12:01 amBack when I was in school there was a guest speaker in one of my classes who talked about this fellow director friend of his. When they were all fresh out of film school, this director friend did the whole "heavy" film making that every young director dreams about doing. You know, gut-wrenching, raw, tear-right-through-you kind of stories that leave the audience feeling like they've just been hit by a train.
Years later this director friend is doing pretty well for himself, making more commercial films (a few of which have been very big hits) and our guest speaker meets up with him and asks, "Hey man, what happened to you? You used to be so out there, so edgy and raw. What happened?"
His friend tells him "I got married, I started a family, and I got sick of telling stories that made people sad. I realized I had a better time telling stories that made people happy."
That anecdote really sticks with me. I think from a creative standpoint the majority of us "artistic" types tend to valorize edginess and darkness, stuff that goes for the jugular and leaves us feeling shaken afterwards. In an unrelated discussion about famous writers a la Hemingway and Joyce earlier this evening, the s.o. quipped, "Name me a writer that isn't an alcoholic." In a hilariously relatable bit in the Dr. Horrible musical commentary, someone asks Joss Whedon where the idea for Dr. Horrible came from, to which he responds in a grim, throaty voice, "It came from pain." (The rest of the cast immediately decides to stop talking to him because "he's sad and confusing.") Not that this should surprise anyone, but this is a trope: True Art Is Angsty.
All of this is not to diminish the role that darkness and pain has played and continues to play in the creative process. But what I get from that story is to bear in mind that it isn't all about darkness and pain, even though the emotional lows often are the parts of our lives so visceral and psychologically arresting that they overshadow the emotional highs. Edgy stories are worth telling. Happy stories are, too. There's poignancy to be found in both.
Of course, it doesn't matter whether you write one or the other if you can't write at all. But that's why you practice.
Years later this director friend is doing pretty well for himself, making more commercial films (a few of which have been very big hits) and our guest speaker meets up with him and asks, "Hey man, what happened to you? You used to be so out there, so edgy and raw. What happened?"
His friend tells him "I got married, I started a family, and I got sick of telling stories that made people sad. I realized I had a better time telling stories that made people happy."
That anecdote really sticks with me. I think from a creative standpoint the majority of us "artistic" types tend to valorize edginess and darkness, stuff that goes for the jugular and leaves us feeling shaken afterwards. In an unrelated discussion about famous writers a la Hemingway and Joyce earlier this evening, the s.o. quipped, "Name me a writer that isn't an alcoholic." In a hilariously relatable bit in the Dr. Horrible musical commentary, someone asks Joss Whedon where the idea for Dr. Horrible came from, to which he responds in a grim, throaty voice, "It came from pain." (The rest of the cast immediately decides to stop talking to him because "he's sad and confusing.") Not that this should surprise anyone, but this is a trope: True Art Is Angsty.
All of this is not to diminish the role that darkness and pain has played and continues to play in the creative process. But what I get from that story is to bear in mind that it isn't all about darkness and pain, even though the emotional lows often are the parts of our lives so visceral and psychologically arresting that they overshadow the emotional highs. Edgy stories are worth telling. Happy stories are, too. There's poignancy to be found in both.
Of course, it doesn't matter whether you write one or the other if you can't write at all. But that's why you practice.
