SXSW V2V Session

I'm honored and proud to have represented our PRINT THE LEGEND team at SXSW V2V. So, here's the video.

Core Ideas from PRINT THE LEGEND

Two weeks ago, I had the pleasure of representing the PRINT THE LEGEND team to lead a closing sessionat SXSW V2V. In prepping the presentation about our 3D Printing documentary, the team articulated some core messages of the film. In part so I always know where to find these notes, I present them here.  ; )

What we witness in the film:

·      We witness people have to confront the limitations of their original vision to "change the world" and have to choose between holding to that vision or letting it go in favor of a business edge. We witness optimistic, loving partnerships disintegrate in the pressures of the business world. We saw the “story” of 3D printing get hijacked from the companies that wanted you to focus on its positive aspects. We witnessed people succeed by every metric of the business world, and with that success came profound threats to their psyche.

What we learned from the film and hope to present within it:

·      The American Dream story we tell each other and our children is whitewashed. In the full-contact sport of American capitalism, ruthlessness is a performance-enhancing drug.

·      This is in itself morally neutral – our great (and typically ruthless) industrial leaders, like Steve Jobs, add amazing value to our country and our world. They create jobs, improve lives, and move society forward.  

·      But we should be honest about the human cost of that ruthlessness – including on those leaders themselves – instead of pretending that success in the market is the same thing as or indicative of success as a human being.

And, yes, I’m coyly avoiding giving background on how the film evolved, as there are plenty of interviews with Clay, Luis, et al with that. I'm also avoiding details of the film’s story in the hopes you’ll just watch it on Netflix when it comes out this fall!

The Golden Age of Documentary

Just for the record, this one. I'm not the only one saying it – which is evidence of its emergence from the zeitgeist – but I want to set it down. I think that when we look back at this era of American documentary film, it will look like the 1970s did for fiction cinema. Right now, documentary filmmakers have at their fingertips affordable, high quality cameras that can roll unlimited "tape" and access to footage on subjects who are being filmed and photographed nearly constantly – by themselves, by friends, by co-workers, etc. – but who are not yet aware of what this ubiquitous footage might mean for them. In another 5-15 years, I predict that the average adult will have grown up so aware of their media personality, even if only the "micro-media" of their social network, that the publicly available footage won't contain the revelations nor have the verite feel it does today.

An Article

Not saying I advise "ruthlessness," but I do like things that link entrepreneurialism to an artistic life.

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/news/shakespeare-the-hardheaded-businessman-uncovered-8555996.html

Closure

While the class may have been called “English,” Mrs. Metzger used its curriculum of great literature to teach us how to write, how to understand and engage in abstraction, and how to think for ourselves. In honor of the life of Margaret Metzger, one of my most influential teachers, I am posting a Closure ritual she taught students at the end of senior year at Brookline High. She focused the ritual on mining the depths of our transition out of high school, a major coming of age moment, but she also emphasized the need for healthy closure throughout our lives. From breakups to cast parties to New Years Eve, I’ve found these steps beautifully helpful, but for those of us who are always moving into and out of creative projects, it also feels like an important career skill, necessary for smoothing out the highs and lows of our transition between gigs. No, you can't always run the ritual literally in a professional environment – though in theater you often can! – but you can find ways to process it yourself.

Notes from Senior Year English, 5/12/94

The steps are:

• Think About It
• Plan ahead for the closure ritual. Invite the participants. Make sure proper time is set aside by all. Plan a location that allows for honesty. Put someone in charge of moderating.
• Deal with Red Tape
• Get logistics out of the way. Does anyone owe money? Anyone have something they need to return? Deal with all of that and get it done.
• Ask about Unfinished Business
• Is there anything this group wanted to achieve but did not? Can it be done? If so, do it, or make a concrete plan to do so. Or, as is often the case, should it be let go? Make the choice, don’t just let it fade away.
• Ask the Unasked Questions
• Give everyone the opportunity to ask the things they’ve wanted to ask of each other and of the group, including the tough stuff. Key: this is not a time for discussion, argument, or iteration. Each person gets the questions off their chest. Nobody is obligated to answer, and if an answer is given, the person asking has to accept that answer, not kick off a debate. (This is why you need a moderator.)
• Share Your Experience
• Everyone shares how they felt about the experience and what it brought them. Give a sense of the future: what can you hold on to from the experience?
• Celebrate
• !
• Say Goodbye and Let Other People Say Goodbye to You
• Let Go & Consciously Make Room in Your Life/Heart
• Walk Out, Close the Door, & Be Sad
• Give Thanks for Being Sad
• This is the most often forgotten, I’ve found. It’s a gift to have had an experience worthy of missing it. Be thankful for that.

Obligation

A year since the last post. That’s getting married for you – an amazing, deep, whirlwind of a life change. And then the holidays and the busy start of 2013, Unscreened, etc. But, really, also wondering if this blog matters enough. When I think of taking it down, just acquiescing to “I am not a blogger,” I feel proud of some of my writings and the times they’ve been a useful reference for students or fellow travelers (hello, John Russo). But often, when I think of writing – an experiment that began at the advice of a publicist and social media consultant – it feels like BS. “If I’m not honestly driven to write, then I shouldn’t write.” And then I think about Obligation.

I’ve been thinking a lot about obligation this year. In many ways, the thread began during the High Holy Days last year, when our powerfully insightful Rabbi introduced Yom Kippur with a question about why we begin that evening’s service with a freeing of all obligations. At a time when we’re trying to focus on becoming better, on taking an honest moral inventory of our faults, why would we release ourselves of a sense of obligation, the one thing that seems necessary to force ourselves to change? Among numerous other profundities, Rabbi Finley spoke of how, if we look closely, we run our personalities on a kind of software coded with/of obligations. We obligate ourselves to things constantly, and many of those choices – and they are all choices – are irrational. In those, we enslave ourselves.

And then, being married – or, really, getting ready to be married – has either coincided with or, I suspect, generated a calm reexamination of all my feelings of obligation. Being married involves a strong conscious choice to obligate oneself in duty to another. I was also pulled to make that choice because this person and our relationship, of its own accord, took on a position of priority in my life. In comparison to my marriage, so many old obligations evaporate.

So then there’s “being an artist” – the thing I thought nobody in my life would ever supplant in priority – which is something baked into my psyche but which has also included obligation. When I was 9 and I knew, on my first day of rehearsal of my first professional production, that I was destined to become an actor and storyteller, I both received something and generated it. What I generated eventually hardened, as I grew up, into a kind of obligation to myself that’s expressed in the title of this blog. I will do it “come hell or high water.” And that’s been brilliant; it’s gotten me through a lot and further than I often thought I’d come. It’s made many specific dreams come true. But I’m also just not sure I want to operate quite that way anymore. I want to do things out of something deeper than an obligation to my own 9-year-old or adolescent self and his sense of what is good or right in the world. So I’m shifting a bit, and the blog is included in that.

But, for now, I’m going to proceed with it as a tool to help build the artist’s part of this new, expansive phase of my life. And to the other artists out there: keep on obligating yourself to our tribe; we need to stick together. Also, there is no tribe; don’t.

How Size Matters

When fresh out of school, I had no access to projects that would pay me. I was, however, perfectly willing to work for free, to come home from waiting tables only to stay up ‘til the wee hours rehearsing and building a set. This passion to make opportunities for myself – yes, “come hell or high water” – led to years of regular small theater work and the creation of anearly digital short film collective. It got me started on the road to paying work. On the way, I made a decision that was helpful then but which I am reconsidering now.

In late 2006 and early 2007, I was so busy making “small projects” of short films – by that point 35mm and 16mm shorts with folks like Ron Perlman (No. 6) 

 

Now available on iTunes!

and Eric Stoltz (The Grand Design)

Now available on iTunes!

– and 99-seat LA theater, not to mention working the day job, that I had no time to works towards a “big project,” like my first feature. (I had started traveling for regional theater work in Philly and off-B’way, so it did/does seem the small theater started to pay off, but that doesn’t really pay bills, and the travel time, while thrilling, made it even harder to put together a larger project.)

So I made a decision: I swore off small projects. I said “no more short films” and “no more small LA theater.” The idea was to take all that time and energy and pump it into fewer, larger projects.

In part from that decision, I cleared the space to make Make Believe in 2009 and 2010. It was a wonderful and fulfilling ride. It also opened doors, allowed me to set up a film idea at a studio, and led to more and larger theater and indie film projects in the pipeline. But by the end of last year, as the Make Believe hubbub quieted, I found myself in a tough position: many projects in the pipeline, but nothing that would exit the pipeline and become real any time soon. And to not be working, to not be actively engaged in creating is both painful and bad for my craft, especially as an actor.

So I started to realize: the nice thing about small projects is that you can make them happen entirely on your own or with only a small crew of collaborators. Big things, by definition, require the market and a bunch of other people to respond. In so harshly cutting off small projects, I cut off my independence, something I prized and had worked for.

Now I’m feeling it’s time to reconnect with that passion. It’s time to find small projects I know I can make regardless of the market, so that I am doing in a way that only requires my will and the dedication of collaborators. Thus: I’m off to scheme.