I'll Take It

I recently returned to film production after nearly a decade of being 'just the writer'. It's been scary and exhilarating to see all the little holes & high points of my script come to life. I'm in love with my subject and over the past 6 weeks, I've poured my heart, soul and last dregs of energy into editing the film.

Today we invited a senior editor to preview the rough cut. After the 50 minute viewing he slumped back in his chair and said, "If I didn't have to watch this film, I wouldn't."

This creation I'm so in love with has turned out to be the world's most boring film.
The heart is there, he acknowledges, but who cares?

I can feel my windpipe constrict and my hackles being raised. I can't understand how something so meaningful to me can be so meaningless to someone else. There is deflation, a moment of 'don't mind me, I'll go back to my writer's dungeon then'. Then there's something else. I'm not 21 anymore and I don't need to run away for another decade.

"What can we do to fix it?" I ask.

And he tells me. It is a singular, most magical solution - the kind that takes my breath away with its elegance. Just like that I'm a student again and I can see why this film needed to suck. I think to myself, Damn it, if this is what it means to make a shitty film, I'll take it.

A scene from 'Jules et Jim', which is not a shitty film

The Things I've Been Doing...

Having one's heart broken opens up a lot of free time that would otherwise go in planning babies and EMIs.
I wish I could say that I devoted this time to working for world peace, learning to use nunchucks, writing a one-act play about the joys of menstruation or composing a symphony for the upcoming Commonwealth Games. But no.

What I did (besides bawling) was watch crap films like Valentine's Day & My Name Is Khan and then review them on Twitter (I couldn't even muster up all 140 characters). I even cried a little in both films (when Eric Dane turns gay and when stereotypical black kid starts singing gospel, respectively).

Next, I hung out with a cousin and interfered in his relationship. I'm hoping he'll still talk to me.

I have also been watching the TV series Weeds obsessively. Last evening, I took the show's title a bit too seriously and let the lines between reality and Hollywood fiction blur. It was interesting. I attempted to climb into the screen and introduce myself to Conrad (no one can say 'What the FAACK' like him. No one).

Finally, I took an hour long walk from Vasant Vihar to my home. Throughout, I had long, imaginary conversations with the Classy Rejector...mostly suggesting how he could sodomize various members of his family. The traffic drowned out my rants and by the time I was home, the endorphins and cathartic yelling had done their job.
So, I had me a nice Jamoca Almond Fudge ice cream. Cone, not cup.