My first movie still gives me problems. It's difficult for me to write, think or talk about it. A number of directors experience this "post-partum" distress. You work months, sometimes years, on a movie. By the time it is finished, you are finished.
I've never watched Alex the Great all the way through, beginning to end. Not since that final day in editing, when we printed the movie to DV tape and I dubbed twenty copies to VHS for cast and crew. The movie has been submitted to only one festival (Taos). It has not been screened publicly. I have no desire to see it, and cannot really be bothered by the opinions of those rare few who see it.
I'm not sure what led to this extreme discontent. A number of factors, I'm sure. Anything and everything, perhaps. But lately I've become certain that if I am going to get on with my filmmaking, I need to perform an in-depth post-mortem on the production of my first movie. After all, those who do not study the past are condemned to listen to those who do.
THE IDEA
The story idea for Alex the Great was not too far removed from my reality: in January 1999 I walked away from the best, most lucrative job in my life. My employer, a small custom publishing operation based in London, had hired me in '97 as a help desk monkey. As the technology needs of the company grew, I quickly became system administrator and acting IT manager, eventually supervising my own team of techies.
This was at the pinnacle of the Internet boom just before the dot-com empire began to crumble. Not to brag, but I saw it all coming: even before I quit my job I'd bore my friends with my analysis of how the bubble not only had to burst, but the ensuing down slide would take the majority of the economy with it. With 2000 being an election year, which always brings economic slumps, I didn't see how the industry could survive.
But that wasn't why I quit. The company I worked for was one of those dot-com babies that was going to succeed by doing things different. "Quality Flexibility and Fun" (QFF) was one of the company mottos. The founders were on the record as saying they started the business to get rich and play golf. There was no desire for world conquest or industry domination; we were under orders to have fun while making money.
Of course not everyone in America agrees with such laid-back business philosophy. As the business flat lined, people started pointing fingers. Our vice-president of sales, a rapacious and ravenous creature with no ethics or morals, blamed the "Euro-corporate culture" of six week vacations and paid maternity leave. People are always on vacation, she claimed; as a result, little work was being done.
It was utter nonsense, of course, but the other VPs were too weak and stupid to resist her. Employees were powerless before her wrath, and the CEO was frequently away on business trips (golfing in Asia). Eventually the driving philosophy became "Work Makes You Free." People were passed over for promotions due to "non-professional appearance." Leisure was a disease; work was the preferred cure. One woman was even forced out for spending too much time with her family. I loudly and regularly protested the shift in the company's philosophy and culture, and eventually was forced too resign, primarily over issues of pay and promotion.
The real reason was not clear to me at the time. I'd put a lot of energy into the company, a lot of care and concern about the overall operations. During the time I worked there, I had increasingly less time for writing. Email was the only writing I did regularly, most of them wordy and funny, my daemon trying to break through. By the time I quite it felt as if someone had my skull in a bench vise and was slowly tightening it. It took me weeks to decompress, most of which were filled with self-doubt and worry. It was months before I could write again. |
