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March 1, 2005How do you do this without love?
We work in a business loaded with cynicism and strategy and plenty of people who act for motivations other than love. I'm not above the cynicism. I am aware that I am capable of causing pain… or pleasure. Acting to indulge either is, of course, incredibly dangerous.
I live my passions in a public forum. It's not as big as some… bigger than others. It's taken more seriously than some… not as much as others. I am regularly reminded of others' perception of my "place…" more than some and less than others.
But the last couple of days reminded me of my sense of my place more than any conversation about anyone else's perception. It reminded me about love. It reminded me of what about this silly profession I love.
I love the connection to smart, passionate people. I love the people who are, no matter how far into my life or how little in my life, give me a part of themselves as I am willing to give myself to them. I love that given the choice to engage or withdraw, engaging life is the choice that is made.
I spent the afternoon on Monday with freshly minted Oscar winners Ross Kaufman and Zana Briski and more so with their families and friends. The experience was a DVD extra feature, since the two seem still so like the two people I met in a basement restaurant in Park City 13 months ago, their film still underrecognized and without a theatrical berth, on Day Seven or so of endless interviews and the whirling colors of Sundance. Of course, that was before they had two Oscars to take picture after picture with.
I don't know whether my vision and hearing is a little more sensitive when I see them on TV winning an award. Perhaps it is like having a broken arm and suddenly seeing a lot of people with broken arms everywhere. But I still see the kindness in them both, the awkward but inescapable intimacy of a couple who once were in love, still clearly love one another (albeit in a non-romantic way) and have shared this experience that is so much more than the giant cherry on the top that came on Sunday night.
The blessing for me is that I have had the chance to touch just the smallest part of their experience. Besides the fact that Ross' mother would probably be the best Oscar host they've had in years, there was something else that kept me glued to the rooftop brunch 300 yards from the beach off the Santa Monica Mountains. It was that glow of simple, unmitigated joy that enveloped the whole affair.
It was the mental image of Ross, Vanity Fair and Ted Fielded out, falling asleep on his mother's shoulder, an Oscar for a teddy bear, is so sweet that he'll cringe when reading this. Zana waking up this morning, unsure of whether she'd had a great dream only to find a bald gold man staring at her from the bedside table. The friends on the cell phone, from inside the Kodak and across town, where New York pals gathered in anticipatory celebration…having as much fun with themselves as they were with the power of the evening.
And I stand as the faintest touch of paint on their beautiful portrait. Isn't this why I do what I do? Isn't it the joy on their faces when the pieces come together for people (and they were not the only doc nominees for whom this would be true) who are there for the best of reasons?
The thing about being a journalist is that, like the tooth fairy, you have the chance to fly into all of these lives. The money we leave under the pillow isn't enough to really matter. But in its small way, it can mean so much for a moment. And to give those moments of joy to artists that you respect - and even better when its people you barely know but cannot help but to love - it is such a pleasure.
I guess that's part of what gets someone like Dawn Hudson at IFP/LA off… the organization has such a wide reach and small moments of support mean a lot to indies. And what matters has to be those moments of pleasure from supporting the work… right?
Each year I watch friends and others at studios pushing out their product. What a luxury we in the media have, picking and choosing and sorting out what we like and what we want to support and how close we choose to get to the fire. We have the freedom of our passions. What a gift!
I guess it's a matter of your taste. Is a smorgasbord of film enough? Do you want to eat one dish more often? Will you miss the variety? What if the food is rancid… and you're still stuck with a full plate? How do you keep this all from becoming "work" as year after year passes by?
You can't ask for too much from this gig. You have to take the small moments and dine of them for weeks sometimes. Ross's easy smile and generosity of spirit… Zana's unwillingness to forget that this is still about the kids… the warmth of their friends and family embracing them today… the extra touch of light in Zana's eyes today as she looks forward to getting back to Calcutta in April, hoping to open their own school for the societally shunned children of the brothels, not really knowing what she and Ross will face, but ready for the challenge… the smiles… the laughs…
I do love the corporate intrigue and getting scoops and endlessly figuring out the puzzle of this industry. But to live recklessly and with good intent… a beautiful thing… to which I aspire… if only to keep my sanity.
"Love" always seems too strong a word. But love it is. And love it much be.
READER OF THE DAY: SAUCY EGGS writes: "I just read your Oscar piece and once again, agree on things I did not notice during the telecast (but now seem to remember) and more amazingly, agreeing for reasons I would not have thought of.
Just one little thing for future reference when speaking of Million Dollar Baby (and this from someone who has studied W.B. Yeats). In the film, Clint reads from Yeats' poem, THE BLUE MACUSHLA.
The spelling is the way it is because the word (as he says in the film) is an Irish word. Thus, the spelling I have just given you (and as indeed the way the poem was named when it was first published) is an English approximation. The Irish way of spelling it would be MO COSÚLACHT. In Irish, an "S" sound before a vowel is almost always an "SH" sound. The accent over the U broadens that vowel ... and the "T" is all but silent.
Don't mean to gripe but ... you know, just so you know!"
E-ME: Inna Gaddy Machushla, baby?
The Case for Sideways
The Case for The Aviator
The Case for Million Dollar BabySundance Wrap-Up
Sundance Preview Part I
Sundance Preview Part 2
