Failure

Given my tendency to become something of a neurotic and angst-ridden Artiste when reflecting back on projects, it’s not surprising that I’m finding the middle of this week tough. Matt, Dom and I had a fairly hectic weekend with the 48 film shoot at Matt’s school. Dom loved romping around the nice students’ centre with his lion walker, hanging out with teenagers (especially getting crumpled up bits of paper out of the wastepaper basket and handing them to the boys to take shots at the bin with) and exploring the college grounds while scenes were being shot. I ended up being more involved than I had expected. I got to write a couple of scenes when Matt got back from the school on the Friday night after the alarms had gone off, forcing the writing team to leave the base of operations. I then also helped with the panicked rewrite of briefer versions of some scenes late on Saturday night when Matt realised the film was way too long. I had a cameo role which was awesome fun, and I got to edit the 30 second breakout sequence which was heaps of fun. All in all I should be thrilled. It didn’t seem possible going into it that there would be any way I would get to write, act or edit whilst looking after the wee one but I actually got to do a bit of all three. Knowing what a mammoth task the 48 is, Matt and I had set our expectations reasonably low. The standards of the Wellington films tend to be really high, and as a couple of enthusiastic amateurs with a bunch of teens, many of whom hadn’t been involved in film-making before, just completing a film in time was going to be a challenge. As Matt said, as long as there wasn’t an outputting disaster and there was some sort of film on the tape we handed in, it would be a success. I think there are two possible approaches to the 48. One is to work as hard as you can to produce the best possible film with your resources. The other is to focus on the experience itself – make sure everyone who wants to be involved is in it as much as possible and give everyone a go. Unfortunately, I think we were a little caught between the two approaches, possibly to our detriment. On the one hand, we let students write (with Matt supervising), direct, operate the camera and do some basic editing stuff and every student who wanted to act got some screen time, even if some were non-talking roles. However, when things started to get in trouble (not enough coverage to edit the film, running out of time etc), Matt and I stepped in. On Sunday morning pickups, Matt took over the camera and the student directors kind of left the technical side of things to him and just focused on giving the actors feedback and direction. The end result feels a bit of a mish-mash that half feels like a student film and half doesn’t. Elements of the original longer script are there but they aren’t fully explored. Some of the best lines and great character moments have been cut out but on the plus side, the film is probably faster paced for it. By the standards we set for ourselves in advance, it should feel like a success. Did we and the students have fun? Yes. Did the students involved learn a lot about film-making? Yes. Did we make a film that they like and feel proud of? Yes. (From the comments we’ve heard from them about the screening). However, I can’t shake feeling a bit of a failure. Firstly, I am annoyed with myself that I think I made really obvious amateur mistakes in the script writing bits I was involved with. I had thought a lot in advance about the lessons I’ve learnt and the things to avoid, and yet I still did some of them. I guess when it comes to actually doing anything in the 48, the excitement and stress (and later on, sleep deprivation) can make you do dumb things. I hate that during the following days my mind seems to continually work out what I should have done when it’s too late. I have the briefest appearance in the film but I’m still not entirely happy with it. I was told ages ago that I exaggerate my facial expressions too much for film, and I still do it. There’s nothing like film to highlight all your mannerisms that you don’t like. Head wobbling - cringe. Tense neck with chicken throat syndrome – double cringe. And I was only in it for 3 seconds! But the real blow came from reading the harsh, but not surprisingly so, review from Steel Potato this morning. 2/5. Below average, therefore, in my mind, a failure. The really upsetting thing is that he slams one of the kids for being annoying. Now I’m worried that one of the students will find the review. Nothing sucks more than having nice, bouncy, enthusiastic teens being hurt by harsh personal criticism. I don’t know why the idea of the film ‘failing’ gets to me so much. I think I have a personal issue with the concept of failing. I remember in my first year of teaching when I had to hand back marks from moderation for sixth form research projects. One really nice girl had done an elaborate and beautifully presented research project on The Globe theatre. Due to some technical problems with the research log and source sheets, she got a ‘Not Achieved’. When I handed it back to her, she started crying and said ‘I may as well have not bothered doing it’. She had spent hours on this project and because the grade was Not Achieved and she would have 0 credits on her transcript, she thought her efforts had been pointless. This upset me then and it upsets me now. It goes against everything I believe in both in terms of education and life in general. The project wasn’t pointless. She must have learnt something from doing it. Heck, I learnt stuff I didn’t know about The Globe just from reading it. Even if all that experience taught her was some general knowledge about Shakespeare that might help her answer a question in a pub quiz 10 years from now (and the importance of a well-referenced bibliography), it wasn’t pointless. Yet the idea of failure is a powerful one. It can make you cripplingly afraid. I remember turning up to an audition as a teenager and wimping out from actually auditioning because I was afraid I wouldn’t get the part. It was ridiculous because the only way you can ensure you won’t succeed is to not try but back then it was easier for me to reconcile the idea of not getting a part I wanted because I didn’t try than to try and not be good enough. I didn’t want to fail. Not failing was more important than succeeding. Now that I’m older I try to force myself to try to do everything I want to be good at. I make films for competitions and I actually send the things I write off to publishers as opposed to keeping them hidden away where they are safe from rejection. Of course, this leads to a gut-wrenching amount of disappointment. Of the many competitions I’ve entered, the Rolling Thunder film is the only one that has ever won and I suspect that is in no small part due to the fact that noone else entered the contest. However, I am trying to re-programme my brain to view not winning as ‘learning and developing’ rather than ‘failing’. There is no audition that doesn’t help make you a better actor. Every film I’ve ever made has taught me something about making films, no matter how big or small my involvement. Everything I write helps me become a better, more disciplined writer. My goal should never be to win but to get better at what I do. However, that is easier said than done. I still want success on some level, I’m pretty greedy for praise too. I have to try to listen to my own inner Mr Miyagi. If my life can be likened to The Karate Kid film, and nearly everybody’s can, I may not be at the triumphant tournament scene yet. I’m probably still at the ‘wax on, wax off’ stage, cleaning a car or something. I may have to write 20 more novels and help make dozens more films before I can do the crane with a broken ankle.