January 1, 2003

NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS 2003

I normally deliver this column before new year… gristle for y’all to chew on while digesting oversized dinners and after standing in line to return well-intended presents gone horribly awry.  But on Monday night, I just wasn’t feeling it.

Something just felt… too easy… about spinning last year’s woes and wows into next year’s resolutions.  Yes, it’s terribly clever.  But it’s also among the most self-indulgent events in this column.  After all, last year’s woes are behind us and next year’s woes are already set in wet cement. 

That’s the schizophrenia of the film business.  Forget the years of development hell that some projects go through.  Let’s just think about “normal” films.  Development, Above-The-Line Hires, Pre-Production and Production have al come and gone by the time we start seriously chewing on most films.  And there is a reason for this.  As screwed up as the process is, there is a gravitas to it.  It’s like a board game.  When you play Monopoly with your family, there are rules that you enforce and rules that you probably don’t.

When the kids are young, you eliminate many of the rules to make it easier for them to learn the idea of playing the game.  (Read: DV movies made on no budget and homemade film, like Carnahan’s Blood, Guts, Bullets & Octane, Rodriguez’s El Mariachi and Eric Eason’s glorious Manito, which you can see through Larry Meistrich’s Film Movement.

When the kids get a little older (or your parents are in for the holidays and you want to look like you’re teaching the kids some rules), you add rules and the competitive nature of gamesplaying starts to take hold.  Kids are stealing money from the bank, the older, stronger players are trying to take unfair advantage of the younger innocents in their deals and, suddenly, rules that no one cared about a few days before are matters of life and death.  (Read: The arthouse mini-majors.)

As the kids get to be teenagers, Monopoly gets serious.  Everyone is on guard.  And the fun often turns to anger.  A game of Monopoly suddenly has implications about who the players are and this effects how they play.  Damn it!  They’ve got something to prove!  (Read: indie filmmakers making their first films in the studio system.)

In college, no one really has a long enough attention span to play an entire game of Monopoly.  Sex overwhelms some.  Sports and/or gambling overwhelm others.  There are still a few who are really, really serious about the game and how it is played and are constantly enraged when their roommate bursts in with a coed wrapped around his hips and knocks the board right over.  These types will write term papers about historical figures in which they become part of the story, even though it seems not to make sense. (Read: Survivors of first studio films who are reaping the rewards and trying to get their second or third films made.)

Adult life is a bit more isolating.  There’s not enough time for “the guys” and marriage brings an odd, repetitive structure to relationships.  The idea of playing Monopoly with that couple down the street makes you feel like you are getting old.  You want to be a revolutionary and play strip Monopoly, but your wife’s best friend is your boss’s second cousin and stepping out of line could screw things up at work.  And things are going well at work.  You have the house and the cars and the private nursery school recommendations are already written even though your wife just stopped taking the pill this week.  And there you are, playing Monopoly by “their” rules, feeling like a gamepiece yourself, wishing desperately that you could hit Free Parking and get enough money to stop playing, but damn it, “they” set it up so there was no bonus on Free Parking except for “back end” dollars that your other trapped friends call “Top Hat points” because you have as much chance of converting them into dollars as you do getting your boss to let you be the top hat when you play.  (Read: Established studio writers and directors.)

Your late 50s and 60s leave plenty of time for Monopoly… too much time.  Suddenly, you are “not putting the book down” because you actually go for hours without being interrupted.  Your kids don’t want to play Monopoly with you – you  take too much time to consider your options.  Every once in a while you can get a game going, but you get the odd feeling that even though you were the one who always won in the past, you are being patronized by the other players now.  They just want someone in the game who’s not going to screw it up.  (Read: The downslope of a studio career)

In your old age, Monopoly isn’t all that interesting.  You’ve done most of the winning and losing that you’re going to do.  There is that guy who is always pushing, pushing, pushing to win… but he’s hustling Gin games, not worrying about Monopoly.  You play with your grandkids sometimes.  But they don’t really understand or care about the rules.  Your urge is to make them play by the rules.  You want them to understand.  The sooner they understand, the sooner they can win.  Moreover, the sooner they understand, the less likely they will lose and suffer.  But we all must lose to learn.  We all must suffer.  So you slip your granddaughter a $100 Monopoly bill under the table, when her brother isn’t looking.  Then you slip the brother $200 when sister isn’t looking.  You’re trying to help.  But you are really just teaching them to cheat… for their own good.  After all, life isn’t a Monopoly game, is it?

PAGE TWO:  “When The Bough Breaks…”