Scientists studying the processes of human decision-making (the likes of psychologist Gerd Gigerenzer and physicist Leonard Mlodinow) build research institutes, conduct experiments, write books, and give lectures to support their argument that our subconsciousness, our "gut feelings," our intuition - whatever you prefer to call it, has a fundamental impact on the way we come to vital conclusions, resolve personal and professional problems, make split-second choices in high-pressure situations, and generally conduct ourselves on a daily basis. But do we really need this much theoretically-substantiated convincing?
Life provides us with tons of evidence everywhere we look. 99% of business decisions are based on some internal impulse (CFOs know it better than anyone). A private equity investor can read every word and weigh every digit of a 100-page incredibly rosy due diligence report and still say No to the prospective buy, because "something tells him" it's a bad lemon. The reason college dropouts like Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and Michael Dell became uber-successful businessmen is because they disregard the rules and follow their commercial instincts. The whole of the CIA analyzes volumes of intelligence data for years; then comes Carrie Mathison with the unequivocal trust in her own guts and points her finger out: "I love this ginger dude, but he is a fucking terrorist. I just know it."
Even after experiencing this phenomenon for decades myself, I am still surprised by the brain's ability to quickly come up with solutions to multi-faceted problems. Sometimes it seems that no mind's work goes into the formulation of a strategic move or an intricate design of a complex reporting system. How does it work inside my head? Is it intuition supported by vast professional expertise? Or does my brain sift very fast through the "evidence" in front of me, and if I took time to analyze the process I would be able to isolate each step of the neurological algorithm? And how is it that my hunches on whether an endeavor will be a success or a failure are most of the time spot-on? Hell, if I know!
The point is that most people experience the phenomenon of "unexplainable" knowledge and unsubstantiated trust into one's own intuition on a daily basis. How many times do you find yourself on either side of this exchange: "How did you know?"/ "I don't know, I just did." Or this one: "How did you figure this out?" "I don't know, it just came to me." Thousands? And we leave it at that: it's so common and acceptable, no further explanation is required.
In fact, we are so intimately familiar with the "gut feeling" that we unconditionally accept the concept of coming to conclusions through some obscure maze of subconscious clues as pure realism. Moreover, storytellers aspiring to create the ambiance of authenticity cannot ignore the intuitive nature of mental processes.
On the other hand, an impeccable logician with an ability of consciously processing numerous facts in a matter of seconds is usually seen as a phenom - in real life someone definitely "on the Spectrum," as they call it nowadays; or, in the creative realm, a stuff of legends, a mythological creature, a literary concoction, such as my beloved Sherlock Holmes. The unique abilities of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's creation are so fascinating, so magic-like that the detective extraordinaire has joined the ranks of undying archetypal characters (like Cyrano, or Peter Pan, or Romeo & Juliet) that get to be incarnated and reincarnated in different forms, substances, and environments.
Besides the numerous literary pastiches of Sherlock Holmes's "latter days" adventures, we are presentlyhave no less thanfive (!) screen variations of the famed deducing genius:
1. Guy Ritchie's lavishly budgeted and heavily CGI-ed big-screen adaptations featuring the full spectrum of Conan Doyle characters, with Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law topping the bill as Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick Dr. Watson. The movies are set in the meticulously recreated places and times taken straight from the author's pages.
2. The BBC's fabulous teaser Sherlock with painfully short seasons consisting of 3 feature-length episodes each. While still sticking to the original names, characterizations, and even the titles of individual stories, the series transplants Sherlock Homes, Dr. Watson (still an Afghan War veteran - some things never change), the criminal mastermind Moriarty, the seductress Irene Adler, the faithful Mrs. Hudson, et al. to technology-saturated 21st century London.
3. The CBS's freshly-minted (2012) network-sized (24 episodes per season) series Elementary, which not only puts the former Dr. Watson through a sex change, converting John into Joan (as depicted by Lucy Liu), but also gives the brilliant detective a much bigger playground by sending him to New York.
4. Also on CBS (would you believe it?!) is The Mentalist, already renewed for the sixth season. Most viewers don't even realize that they are watching a Sherlock-Holmes re-interpretation, because the main character's name is Patrick Jane and the series is set in present-day California, but I assure you that's what it is. Mr. Jane possesses all the required attributes, solving murders and bringing criminals to justice in every episode by sheer use of his mental power, noticing the most nuanced details in human behavior and logically reconstructing chains of events. While his sidekick, CBI special agent Lisbon, is also a female and has nothing to do with medicine, the creators did give Patrick an archenemy of the Moriarty caliber - the omnipresent and all-corrupting Red John.
5. And finally, The Mentalist's comedic counterpart - USA Networks' Psych, also set in the modern time, also in California (yet further South), also featuring a police consultant, and also hidden behind different names. Yet, the main character Shawn Spenser's power to see clues are so heightened that it's demonstrated to the audience in a laser-vision fashion. There is a new twist on the sidekick here as well - he is a childhood friend and an African-American, but professionally he is much closer to the modern ways of healthcare than doctors are - he sells pharmaceuticals.
Regardless of the time backdrop, the scenery, or the given names, all these characters stem from the same original stock cooked up by his lordship in his study - the ultra-brainy and obsessively detailed observers, who use their abilities to solve heinous crimes.
And that's why for a Sherlock Holmes aficionado like I, Guy Ritchie's Victorian escapades, in a way, seem like a betrayal of the myth, historical accuracy notwithstanding. Yes, Holmes was excellent in the boxing ring, proficient in Bartitsu, and good with the revolver, but it's the knife of his mind that dissected all those crimes - a weapon so unbelievably sharp that Conan Doyle felt it necessary to explain some of its potency with addictions to various drugs.
Interestingly enough, both the contemporary science of "gut feelings" and the Victorian creator of a mental-power archetype, in spite of the polarity of their foci, have at least one notion in common: Weighing too many learned facts pertaining to diverse branches of knowledge frequently slows down the process of arriving to a right conclusion. According to Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes deliberately discarded from his memory the childhood lessons of Earth's rotation around the Sun. He explains that for someone who relies on the Art of Detection, it's far more reasonable to accept the self-centered naked eye observation that our source of light rises on the East and goes down on the West, thus giving an appearance of moving.
In his books, Gigerenzer provides numerous examples showing that, statistically, people who know more about a subject matter come up with wrong solutions more frequently than those who rely on limited knowledge and intuition. Sometimes I wonder whether Einstein would be able to have his Relativity epiphanies if he was very good at integral and differential math.
And I have to say that the only thing that prevents me from drowning in the sea of the bookish knowledge I've absorbed over the years of advanced studying, is my persistent skepticism and an incurable disregard of "academic" authority. It is quite possible that this mental arrogance (hey, it is what it is) is the reason I'm still able to come up with some good ideas. After all, capable CFOs are not phantasmagorical characters with computers instead of brains in their heads. We are humans and, therefore, we should be able, from time to time, to let go of the educational dogma and allow the subliminal impulses, the gut feelings to take over.
I was standing there at Terminal 5 yesterday, listening to Alt-J performing their 2012 Mercury Prize winning album An Awesome Wave live, cheering with the rest of the audience at the first notes of each song in recognition of their sublime quality. And once again a familiar notion formed inside my head. It happens to me every time I experience something that momentarily separates my being from all the negative garbage in my life. I think, "If I didn't keep on, I wouldn't have received this gift, I wouldn't have come to know these songs, I wouldn't be bobbing in rhythm right now."
I claw my way through the long stretches of hard life, full of frustration and disappointments, from one moment like this to another. This is what forces me to continue - the hope that there is another wonder ahead. And when they come, I use them as my self-therapy: I imprint the intimacy of the experience in my memory and let it carry me over the next hurdle.
It's like mantra: If I didn't endure I wouldn't have exited the Bullet train onto the platform of Shuzenji station and felt my rusty armor melting away; I wouldn't have seen that astonishing photo my daughter took a few months ago; I wouldn't have watched Radiohead, The Mars Volta, Tool do their on-stage magic; I wouldn't have heard Andrew Bird's heavenly sounds in the Guggenheim and in the Riverside Church; I wouldn't have read new Egan, Carson, Cunningham; I wouldn't have stood in the middle of the Red Forest breathing the ancient clarity... And I wouldn't have been at Terminal 5 yesterday.
So, here is my personal tip for everyone who, like me, is overwhelmed with frustration and prone to desperation: find something powerful that can make you forget about the dread, look for opportunities to experience it whenever you can, and hold on to the sensory memory of each occasion for as long as the shittiness of this life allows you. And let's hope that the gaps between the moments of joy will not get any longer then they already are.
Acknowledgements:
I would like to thank my daughter for treating her mother as an equal and sharing all kinds of awesomeness. And thank you very much, the dude from Bumblefuck, IL.
Ok, I honestly thought that my post about the foreign press conspiracy was the last thing I would ever write about Lena Dunham, HBO's Girls, the unjustified and pervasive brouhaha surrounding them, etc. But I was never joking when I said that merit and objectivity were placed very high on my hierarchy of values. They are so important to me that I can even look at a pool of shit, notice a few specks of goodness there, and effortlessly say, "This is a pool of shit, but those couple of things are quite good."
No, I didn't change my mind about Dunham's creations so far, especially the ones she's done on her own, without any help from other writing and directing talents; nor did I recant my opinion about the hipsters of media who buzz her up to the sky. But that doesn't prevent me from objectively acknowledging that the 8th episode of the second season, It's Back, was a remarkable breakthrough.
For the very first time, the show elevated itself to the level of truly generational significance. Because, if anything unites people in their 20s across geographical borders, nationalities, social origins, monetary standings, physical appearances, intellectual abilities, and creative talents, it's the unprecedented levels of anxiety, uncertainty, disorientation, and doubt (whether deeply hidden or worn right there on their faces) we have instilled in them.
Yes, WE, most of all the parents, but also teachers, employers, mentors, and public figures - we fucked them young bitches up with our twisted, contradictory, egomaniacal, and unfounded "guidance!" We tell them to pursue their dreams, yet want them to be financially self-sufficient. We tell them that they can achieve whatever they want if they try their best, while knowing very well that no amount of hard work and talent can compete with inroads based on personal connections. We tell them that a higher education leads to better employment, while openly complaining about our own jobs. We convince them that they are talented, unique, smart, and beautiful, yet cannot summon enough decency to show them the respect they actually deserve.
And so, here, in episode 8, we have a gallery of ALL the lead characters presented in nearly equal measure (already an outstanding feat for "Girls"), with their various manifestations of the generational malady:
Absent is Jessa, the eternal quitter, once again wandering away in search of the false thrills of a "real life" (beautifully written out in the previous episode into her already-showing pregnancy by the Six Feet Under alumnus Bruce Eric Kaplan).
The dashing, gifted, interesting, and earnest Adam, who theoretically should not have any qualms about getting a girl, admitting to his blind date (set up by the girl's mother), that he is so nervous, he's "sweating bullets." And we just know that he will fuck it up eventually.
The heart-broken Charlie, who drops his guitar and channels his pain into creating an iPhone app inspired by the obsessive pain inside him. Yes, he cashes in on it and, by "society's standards," he seems to be on the top of the world, but his sad eyes say otherwise. Moreover, we know all about the longevity of these startups.
The awkward Shoshanna, torn between the die-hard concept that college is supposed to be "the best time of one's life" (never mind all those NYU suicides) and the reality that she lives with an adult man whom she actually supports; scared that, whether successful or not, she will be just as lost as her friends after graduation.
The "adult" Ray himself, a self-proclaimed "homeless loser," who is smart and possibly talented (in something), but is trapped in the reality that he cannot find a way into the world, in which he believes he belongs. Yet, he still feels that he has a right to give advice to his fellow struggler "to stop being a cartographer, and start being an explorer."
Here is Marnie, standing in front of Ray, crushed by disillusion and failing to be "the most likely to succeed." Pushed to the edge, she admits that all she wants to do is to sing... and turns out she has a beautiful instrument for it too. Who could possibly know? She was hiding it from everyone.
And there is Hannah... This is the first show on television that unflinchingly uncovered a true portrait of OCD, without providing any comically cutesy cushions for the audience - just a straight blow to the head in all its ugliness. This is what it's really like - exhausting and debilitating, leaving you feeling powerless, reduced to a fucking puppet. This is also the first time someone showed with an admirable subtlety what it does to a girl when her loving father tells her: "You can't be anorexic - I've seen you in a bathing suit."
Considering the track record up to this point, it's hard to believe that all of it was fitted into one episode. It was written by three people - Lena Dunham herself, Steven Rubinshteyn (who served as Ms. Dunham's assistant for the two seasons), and Deborah Schoeneman (who worked as the story editor on the show). The rich material gave Jesse Peretz an opportunity to use his directorial skills for real.
And they did all this without any cheap tricks: no false dramatics, no incoherent story turns, no random bare breasts and asses. Instead, the episode was finally able to achieve a high degree of emotional nakedness.
Is this the beginning of a transformation? I hope so. Episode 9, On All Fours, (written by Dunham and Jenni Konner, directed by Dunham) is definitely an excellent follow up. I always said, that Lena Dunham is a capable person, who will get better as she learns from other talented people. But, on her own, she has a long way to go before she can truly live up to the hype around her. Will she learn humility and start giving credits where they are due? Who knows?
Interestingly enough, as reported by The Atlantic Wireon March 7th, the co-authors of the It's Back episode are not invited into the third season's writers' room. Moreover, everyone in that room has been fired. Only a few older pros will be allowed to share credits with Ms. Dunnam in the third season: Apatow, Konner, Kaplan, Heyward. Maybe it will help Lena to hold on to her "so young, so brilliant" status longer? These people will always be older than her. You know who else is pegged to participate? Dunham's parents. Reverse nepotism? Oh, well...
Not quite Doctor Whojust yet (it's not easy to compete with one of the top five grossing broadcasts in BBC's history), Downton Abbeyis, nevertheless, an undeniable international success. NBC Universal estimates that in the past three years the show has been viewed by as many as 120 million people worldwide. Despite being a somewhat traditional British period melodrama, the hit series became popular in Scandinavia, Russia, South Asia, and the Middle East. Over 8.5 million American households tuned in to their local PBS stations to watch the Season Three finale. In January, an article in the New York Times told the story of Jim Carter's cycling trip to Cambodia: while wandering among the temples of Angkor Wat, he was surrounded by a crowd of Asian tourists, excitedly calling to him, "Mr. Carson! Mr. Carson!" This is what I call making TV history!
Of course, the casting is superb. But there is no denying that, first and foremost, the show owes its popularity to the excellent storytelling skills of Julian Fellowes. The writer/creator made his characters alive with a realistic mix of "good and evil" traits in each and every one of them. He also managed to construct a multifaceted entertainment device, which reveals different aspects of the tale, depending on a particular viewer's interests. There is plenty of romance, nearly operatic dramatics, suspenseful intrigues, social tension, snappy one-liners reserved for Maggie Smith's deadpan delivery, and spellbinding details of the times when craftsmen still cared about beauty and quality, not just immediate functionality.
There is also a fundamental atmosphere of dignity surrounding the leading characters, regardless of their social origin. The audience is subconsciously attracted to the possibility of people treating each other with respect and making sacrifices. It's an escape from the reality of contemporary human behavior: Individuals of power caring about their charges? It's something no employee experiences nowadays. Servants not spitting into their patrons' dishes? Well, let's not even go there...
So, the show provides viewers with a lot of engaging material. To the point that most people don't even realize that one of Downton Abbey's most remarkable aspects is that its stories are painted on a solid factual canvas of the early 20th century. But, the geeks of history and socio-economics, who also love the show, are very anxious about the future of the Crawleys and their glorious home. They don't brush away the tidbits about possible sell-off, lost castles, shortage of funds, and estate management - they soak it all up.
Because, you see, these were not easy times for the British gentry and their large country estates. No siree! In fact, by the time we meet them in this BBC series, they've already suffered several serious economic blows.
The majority of families with hereditary titles were not industrialists, bankers, or international traders. They were (and many still are) landowners: centuries ago their royal sovereigns granted them counties and shires to rule; the fancy names came with the properties. For many generations, it wasn't befitting of any European aristocrat, not just a British one, to make income-earning efforts. The only careers acceptable for men were political or military: some of them contrived imperial plans and the others led people to death trying to fulfill them. (As you recall, Matthew Crawley's solicitor practice was considered problematic as recently as the dawn of the last century.) Of course, the only acceptable activities for women were bringing in a rich dowry (like Lady Cora did), making "society" connections, bearing the offspring, playing a hostess, hunting, and gardening.
The only source of most squires' income was that rural land they owned. Up until the last quarter of the 19th century, they played a significant part in the agricultural sector of the economy by letting out large parcels to farmers. And this was enough to keep the estates and their upstairs and downstairs occupants in good shape.
Believe it or not, the first shift for the worse was caused by a stock market crash - the 1873 collapse of the Vienna Stock Exchange (yeah, the "investors" could've learned their lessons back then, but they never do!). This is not the right occasion for going into the genesis and the consequences of the Panic of 1873. Let me just register my belief that this was the first link in the chain of economic events that led to revolutions, both World Wars, and the Great Depression. Hell, our current reality may be affected by it! However, the most relevant aftermath of the event, to this post's subject, was the Pan-European poverty which led to the contraction of market demand and agricultural depression. Most of the British Country Estates experienced severe deterioration of their income.
Unfortunately the disappearance of revenues coincided with an escalation of standards (and costs) of comfortable living. The Industrial Revolution offered possibilities for new luxiries to the estates' owners: innovative plumbing, electricity, central heating, phones, etc. It would be silly for lords and ladies to stick to the retrogressive ways of existing, in an Amish sort of way, for the sake of frugality. But can you imagine the capital investment required to outfit a stately home such as Downton Abbey with all the modern amenities? And how about those utility bills covering 100+ rooms?
As it always happens, when the national economy goes sour, the governments use taxation instruments to cover their own holes. While the Death Duty was first introduced in Great Britain in 1796, through the multitudes of loopholes, it remained a nuisance until the late 19th century. But starting with the 1890's all bequeathed property became subject to the "probate duty" with the persistently increasing taxation rates (they peaked to 65% in 1940, becoming one of the major sources of funding the UK's World War II efforts). Truth be told, economically speaking, the best thing that could happen to the Downton's inhabitants is for Lord Grantham t0 stay alive all the way to the end of the show - this will spare the audience from witnessing not just the loss of the character, but also the most significant financial blow.
Further tightening of the taxation screws came on the wings of social justice as it was interpreted by the 1909 People's Budget, conceived by two future Prime Ministers: David Lloyd George, then a Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Winston Churchill, then President of the Board of Trade. This fiscal Act was essentially a first attempt in British history to redistribute wealth. It resulted in the increase of income taxes and a mandatory revaluation of land every time it changed hands with 20% taxes imposed on the value increase. The likes of the Crawleys nicknamed the political duo behind it the "Terrible Twins."
Of course, World War I dealt a terrible blow to all Europeans, including the British landed gentry. Always a great source of life-changing drama, the war becomes the predominant backdrop of Downton's second season. In a very tactful way, while focusing on the inhuman horrors of combat with numerous lives lost and deformed, the show still managed to pinpoint the specific effect this terrible turmoil had on the economy as a whole and the estate itself. The withdrawal of working-age men from civilian life devastated both the remaining income-generating opportunities and the property's service.
So far, the series creators have been kind to the viewers who became emotionally attached to the beautiful property: they only mention a possibility of a sale. But the sad truth is that, by that time, there were only a handful of people who could buy these grand houses.
Some of them became regional museums, schools, prisons, etc. A few others opened large portions of the living quarters for public viewing. Most of the art displayed to the paying visitors in these mansions and castles doesn't belong to the titled heirs anymore. One part of the People's Budget was a provision for Acceptance in Lieu, which allowed for inheritance tax debts to be written off in exchange for donation of national treasures. While the legal ownership got transferred to such esteemed institutions as the Victoria & Albert Museum or the National Gallery, the art objects are allowed to retain their familiar positions as long as they can be viewed by the public for at least 100 days a year.
However, the rest of Great Britain's large country estates were simply demolished. Since 1900, over 1,600 important houses had been destroyed in England, Scotland, and Ireland; many of them architectural gems and the seats of historical figures. Some of the demolition spoils - fireplaces, library panelings, balustrades were sold for next to nothing; many ended up in America.
From the point of view of economic history, Julian Fellowes already wrote a sequel to Downton Abbey in his screenplay for Gosford Park (2001), based on an idea by Robert Altman, who also directed. The movie takes place in 1932 and Sir William McCordle (played by pre-Dumbledore Michael Gambon) resides comfortably in his Victorian estate, because he had cast aside gentlemanly ideals a long time ago. He is a World War I profiteer, a ruthless manufacturer exploiting the labour of women and children in his factories.
By the end of Downton's third season, the key decision-makers seem to be in agreement that Matthew's insistence on turning the estates into a big-scale industrialized agricultural enterprise is the only way to keep the place attached to the name. It remains to be seen how far Julian Fellowes will push the historical realism into the melodramatic mosaic of the show, while preserving its high ratings.
Like many other people exposed to human congestion and the environmental deterioration of big cities, I got hit by a terrible flu. So, for quite some time I could only summon enough strength to drag my ass to work (THAT show, of course, must always go on). Hence, as reactions to the Golden Globes broadcast go, this post is definitely outdated. On the other hand, my sentiments are unlikely to change, so it's just as well...
Nearly every time I go abroad, I am exposed to various degrees of anti-American attitudes. Last time I was entering London's National Gallery, I had to watch American flags being set on fire on Trafalgar Square. In most European countries, economic and social difficulties are openly blamed on the US by both official and popular opinion-makers. People shamelessly gloat every time we have a natural disaster and entertain themselves with predictions of our imminent economic and moral destruction. Even in Amsterdam's coffeeshops (aka hash bars), where the consumption of various cannabis products is supposed to make customers laid-back and agreeable, the hostility flares up at the sound of an American accent. I'm not going to venture into the anti-US mood swings of many Asian, African, and Latin American Nations - it would require a separate series of posts.
Individuals and nations alike have a need to absolve themselves and blame someone else for their troubles. The wealthiest country in the world full of fucked up crap (as a true patriot I never deny problems) makes for an easy target. But why don't they first stop going to McDonalds, watching our movies, googling, and tabulating in Excel? And, please, stop blaming us for Justin Bieber! He is Canadian, for crying out loud!
The truth is that there is only a small contingent of people in the world who are capable of forming their own opinions even about matters close to their own homes, leave alone those far removed. The majority, like a flock of sheep, rely on judgments presented by someone else through various media outlets. Make no mistake: foreigners are just as susceptible to the brainwashing powers of newspapers, magazines, and TV as our domestic masses.
Prominent journalists and commentators have a tremendous influence on the attitudes of their nations, especially in smaller countries. Moreover, it's a reciprocal relationship: as reading and viewing audiences become more receptive to particular sentiments, the media purveyors cater to their likings in order to retain their own popularity.
Enter Foreign Press... In general terms, any journalist who lives in the United States (the definition applies to any country, actually), but works for a public medium abroad, reporting on our domestic events, is a foreign correspondent. These journalists, most of them expatriates, impact the way people in other countries view America.
They usually conglomerate in major news hubs: New York City, Washington DC, Los Angeles, etc. In fact, I believe that New York Foreign Press Association, formed in 1918, is one of the oldest of such organizations. Yet, not too many people know about it.
However, many people around the world know about Hollywood Foreign Press Association (HFPA), even though it counts as its members only 93 journalists. Or, at the very least, people know about the awards they have been granting since 1944 for achievements in film and television - the Golden Globes. These reporters write on the subject that is most likely to attract the largest audiences - the United States entertainment industry. They represent 55 countries in Europe, Asia, Australia, and Central and South America. Wikipedia estimates their combined readership around 250 million (!). And, boy, do they have an agenda!
I can probably write another dissertation breaking down the clever and camouflaged ways they perpetuate their purposes: why Argo and not Zero Dark Thirty; why Les Miserables and not Silver Lignings Playbook, or Moonrise Kingdom; why Homeland (even though 100% deserving, but also perfectly fitting in their scheme) and not Boardwalk Empire; why Episodes and Smash and not Curb Your Enthusiasm and VEEP. Why on Earth did they completely ignore a 2012 movie that not only celebrated the resilience of human spirit, but also raised a bar of creative filmmaking, while breaking the walls of the Hollywood bastion - Beasts of the Southern Wild?
Of course, I am not planning on writing a thesis. I just want to dwell a little on one question: Why the fuck did HFPA shove two Golden Globes into the grabby hands of Lena Dunham? Obviously, they had their reasons.
If one tries to think logically about this, it seems doubtful that the middle-aged-to-quite-old journalists from Egypt, Philippines, Japan, China, Russia, and Brazil would pay any attention to a tiny show about a group of youngish hipsters, especially the one with ratings too low and viewership too small even by cable standards. But our own self-absorbed hipster-driven domestic media, in their unforgivable ignorance and blind confusion of values, served up Dunham as an overbuzzed gift. A handful of people with similar backgrounds proclaimed her to be the "voice of the generation" they really know nothing about. And that's a very dangerous claim.
HPFA took notice; rejoiced; said, "Much obliged!" and started parading this embarrassment to the whole world. Look, they say to their 250 million readers in various countries, these characters are what all young Americans are like: navel-gazing, purposeless, severely limited in their abilities and skills, obnoxiously bad-mannered, insincere, unaware, incapable of squeezing out of themselves one true emotion or an original thought. This is the American Future.
By allowing them this opportunity, Dunham did a great service to the foreign entertainment journalists. Therefore, she has totally deserved her two Golden Globes. By letting her climb on stage at the Beverly Hilton Hotel twice, they exposed her as a "new American entertainment and media darling." Look, they say, this is the person hailed as a breakthrough by culture commentators and "intellectuals" (God, forgive me, for calling them that!), talk show hosts, Hollywood producers, the art community and whatnot. They adore her, while in reality she is:
A "creator" without an ability to imagine characters, situations, or plots. She can only transfer to paper and/or screen her own personal existence or the lives of the poor exploited mother-fuckers who got caught into her sticky cobweb. If there is a need to invent something genuine, it's Jenni Konner (the actual coiner of "the voice of a generation" label) or Sarah Heyward to the rescue. On a few occasions Dunham ventures out of her comfort zone of the first-hand experiences, she steps right into the fuzzy cloud of her girly fantasies with an explosion of silliness. I swear, the only time Dunham made me laugh out loud was during the 5th episode of the 2nd season - what buffoonery! Honestly, in comparison, the wetly dreaming Dunham makes Stephenie Meyer look like a real creator.
A " writer," whose first published work will be a self-help book. What? No secret collection of innocent and fragile early poetry? Every respected author has it somewhere in their most private drawer. Of course, it probably wouldn't garner a $3.6 million advance. The real literature never does (see Arts and Entertainment by the Numbers - Books).
An "actress," who couldn't memorize her acceptance speech lines - the only winner of a Golden Globe with a piece of paper in her hand.
A "comedienne," who tries to be funny by reminding her fellow nominees how much younger she is and telling them that they helped her through middle school. Even though, I have to be honest - I cannot complain too much about that, because it gave Tina Fey a chance to write the funniest line of her career to date: "Amy, I know you since you were pregnant with Lena Dunham."
A "director" incapable of overcoming her personal feelings and give some screen time to her other "lead" characters, cutting out their best tidbits (which are just a few to begin with). You are right, Howard Stern, "she hogs the screen," and I have no idea what kind of strings she pulled to make you recant your true opinion of her.
A chameleon, who changes her attitudes depending on her PR management's recommendations. First, her characters were "reflections." Obviously, she was told that they were not very sympathetic. Now she says that the "girls" were exposed as being self-absorbed on purpose. The show gets criticized for being too white. Instead of admitting that she really has no people of color in her life, she throws Donald Glover into her hodgepodge... only to cast him away after two episodes. The PR whispers into her ear that she comes off as too sure of herself in all her interviews and talk-show appearances, and she starts screaming about her "confidence issues" every time she gets a chance. Seriously? I know quite a bit about self-doubt. You don't fool me.
A "nice girl" (as proclaimed by all), who in her conversation with the former It Girl, Miranda July, for Interview magazine openly admitted that she was a complete asshole as a school girl and a college student, and that now she adapted an equally "sweet" disposition towards everyone without any discrimination. Apparently, some people get confused assuming she is their friend.
A conniving manipulator, who undercuts all reasonable critics by calling them haters or qualifying them as shallow: "I'm a real person with a real body and that's why you don't like me."
What can I say? Even if the foreign press was a dark-magic cabal, they couldn't conjure a better poster girl for their purpose of showing the American future in the worst possible way.
Now, let's see. Do Girls' characters actually represent any portion of the 43 million Americans ages 20-29? Yes, they do - 800,000 hipsters residing in the big cities on the East and West Coast, who faithfully watch the show (the other 3 millions of viewers consist of the hipsters' parents, the media, and the cultural pundits). That's less than 2%!
Does Lena Dunham, who takes her voice (plus, face and body) of the generation role very seriously, actually represent anybody at all? Yes, she does - a handful of privileged kids, who were empowered by their well-connected parents to do whatever they wanted and were handed undeserving opportunities by the mafia of Nepotism.
And the saddest part is that dear Lena is not going anywhere. Nowadays, award-winning shows scattered all over the place: broadcast networks, FX, Showtime, etc. To keep the statuettes' numbers up, HBO will continue pouring money into products that attract foreign and domestic media attention, whatever the reason. They just picked up Dunham's new show idea for development. In return, she will keep upholding her family tradition by shoving her crap into everyone's face.
Look at that photo! This is what she does: like a fucking hamster on stilts she wobbles on the red carpets and in the back rooms, trying to imprint herself on as many "players" as she can, making the foreign press and their readers very happy.
Music must be the oldest form of human artistic expression. After all, it can be created without any special implements or media - our own physical beings are natural instruments: we have voices for melodies as well as hands and feet for rhythm. And that's pretty much all you need. I'm sure, way before any rudimentary communications among our prehistoric ancestors have begun, they could not resist the temptation to imitate the beautiful sounds of nature around them.
Music is also the most democratic and universal of the arts. One doesn't need to go to school and learn how to listen to music (unless, of course, you elect to do so). Even if you don't understand the technical intricacies of composition and harmony, or ideas behind the sound passages, or even the lyrics, you can still get knocked out by the angelic beauty of Puccini's Nessun Dorma, or the power of Beastie Boys' Sabotage.
This is why the same piece of music can become instantaneously famous all over the Globe and renown musicians go on the world-wide tours, selling out opera houses and arenas. This explains why people of various nationalities and social classes will do exactly the same thing in their respective countries - camp out overnight to get tickets to see Plasido Domingo or Thom Yorke.
In 2005, I was able to see The Mars Volta(at the paragon of their creative development then) multiple times on their Frances the Mute tour: Milan, Philadelphia, New York, Boston, Montreal, Toronto, Los Angeles. I've never seen a rock-band with so much innovative courage and inspiration - during that period, everyone of their performances was a unique experience, every song was taken to another level of perfection. It was the desire to witness their ingenuity over and over again that sent me to those different locations. But inadvertently it also became a social experiment in the universality of music. In every city, in front of every venue, the hardcore Volta fans with general admission tickets would come 6-7 hours ahead of the door-opening time to form a line, vying for the spots in front, right by the stage, so that they could be as close as possible to the source of the power that stripped their nerves raw.
Nothing matches the magnitude of musical stardom. It's only natural that the word "rockstar" lost it's original connotation and became a synonym with a special sort of fame, the one that comes with instant name recognition and expectations of panache. The kind of fame that made Michael Jackson's death into a world-wide era-ending affair. There is a video on YouTube called World's Reaction to Michael Jackson's Death. It is a slideshow of photos from all over the world; it's nearly 6 minutes long and it's staggering.
I honestly believe that the reason for such special relationship with music lies in our genetic code. We, humans, are simply predisposed to experience strong emotional impacts when exposed to various musical sequences. The effects could be different and the tastes vary widely, but something reverberates inside us one way or another. Just think about it: tribal people drummed themselves to a complete catharsis. Drums and bells announced wars, victories, and celebrations. Moreover, this musical messages were universally understood.
For many people music is an integral part of existence (and I'm not talking about professional musicians). I know a couple of remarkable individuals who were held away from the brink of the real darkness by the music alone. And look around yourself in any public place - how many people do you see with earphones? How many people do you know, who don't own at least one type of a music-reproducing device? Hell, we even have music for elevators.
And what about me? This is the fourth installment in the series after Books, Theater, and Cinema. Those three are my great loves and life would be emptier and sadder without them. Yet, it still would be My Life. But I simply cannot imagine what it would be like without Albioni'sAdagio in G-minor, Mozart's Lacrimosa, Rodrigo's Concierto de Aranjuez, The Beatles' You Never Give Me Your Money, Led Zeppelin's Since I've Been Loving You, Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, or Nirvana's Come As You Are (the list can go on forever). It would be a very-very different type of existence, not a Life at all...
Well, all that is wonderfully emotional for listeners, but at the end of the day, whether it's classical or club-thumping, music is a business (or whatever left of it at this point). As such, it's structured along the lines of the segregation of professional duties, just like all other performance arts and crafts: creators (music and lyrics writers), performers (vocalists and instrumentalists), techies, managers, agents, promoters, record companies with their own executives and staff, publishers, copyrights and licensing specialists, venue owners, videographers, etc.
As with everything, merging several roles within one entity (let's say a rock group) results in combination of incomes otherwise distributed over different contributors. The performers who write their music/lyrics, deal with their own production and recording (at the current state of digital technology this all can be done in the confines of one's living room), and handle their own publishing and promotion, avoid a lot of expenses within the industry's multilevel cost structure.
Otherwise, every component costs money. For example, the Swedish pop-hit manufacturer Max Martin, responsible for a long list of songs made famous by Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, Celine Dion, Pink, Avril Levigne, Katy Perry, and Christina Aguilera, charges around $100,000 per track. So, if you want another "...Baby One More Time," that's your price tag.
On the other hand, there is such a thing as free music, even if you don't write it yourself. Dead classics cost nothing. Anything beyond 95 years from publication or 120 years from creation, whichever is shorter, is out of the copyright protection. Cole Porter's major hits from the 1930s will become public property in some 15-20 years. The Metropolitan Opera's supporters should keep that in mind, because their money ends up paying Philip Glass for the commissioned opus The Voyage (an unbearable dissonant cacophony based on the life of Christopher Columbus), while Mozart's priceless The Marriage of Figaro is available for free.
In music industry, the driving force behind the revenues are the performers - they deliver the product to the paying listeners and, therefore, the cash flow depends on their tune, name, and face recognition. Whether performed by an opera diva or a hip-hop star, the music income is derived from the same typical sources: live performances, physical and digital distribution of recordings, media royalties (radio, TV, and the Internet), licensing (two types - for usage of musical product itself and for the specific performances), merchandising, and endorsements.
Before the musicians can get their hands on a single penny, everyone else involved takes a cut. Managers receive 15% of gross revenues derived from all sources for making sure that the eccentric artists don't do stupid shit and fuck up their future in one way or another. Agents get 10% for bringing the revenue-generating opportunities to the table. Recording companies (aka "labels"), mp3 distributors (iTunes, Amazon, etc.), radio stations and such, work in the same manner as publishing houses for books, i.e. they first cover their own expenses and pay royalties as a percentage of net profits.
Further business expenses (just like in any other enterprise) include the cost of performance venues (opera houses and concert halls for some, arenas and dive bars for others), equipment capital expenditures, service fees (PR firms, lawyers, accountants, financial advisers), salaries (engineers, techies, roadies, stage hands, backup, and so on), travel (beat-up vans and motels for some, private planes and penthouse suites for others), meals & entertainment (this frequently includes drugs and "personal" attenders - hey, you've got to tame that performance anxiety somehow), etc.
So what kind of pay-ratesare artists capable to generate from different resources in order to channel sustenance through this food chain?
The live performances follow the principle of all theatrical events, i.e. revenue depends on the number of seats (or the size of the standing venue) a musician can fill and the price per ticket that can be demanded for the privilege of witnessing the music magic. Opera singers may receive anywhere from $300 per performance of a secondary part in a small regional production to $25,000 per singing a lead at the Met (3800 seats at $35-$450 per seat) or Covent Garden (2256 seats at $60-$500 per seat). One has to remember, however, that classical singers must preserve their instruments and limit the number of stage appearances, yielding reported totals of $10 thousand to $1 million a year.
The disparity of earnings generated by touring pop and rock artists is even greater: from $50 per night (to be further distributed over the group's members) to $600,000 per a sold-out arena show of a Madison Square Garden (20,000 seats) caliber. Most of the merchandise usually sells at the live venues. Therefore, this part of income depends on the attendance as well. If a band's profit is $10 per a T-shirt and 10% of a 100-people audience buys one, the musicians get to split $100. On the other hand, a superstar can sell up to $300,000 worth of merch during a single show.
Nowadays, the selling price and the manufacturing cost of CDs are pretty much the same whether you are Lady Gaga or The Idaho Gagals. The net is about $8 per CD. In fact, the no-label DIY Gagals can keep all of it for themselves, while the artists with names will be lucky to get $2 per CD after everyone else takes a piece (see above). It's the number of units that makes a difference.
Speaking of units... Do I need to say it? The digital distribution of music has already overtaken the physical one. Artists' gross per iTunes or any other paid-for download (out of $0.99 to $1.29 you are charged) is $0.65. Internet-driven streaming services such as Spotifypay 0.5 cent per a stream.
The more famous the musicians get, the more money-making opportunities open up for them. A catchy popular single (let's say E.T. performed by Katy Perry ft. Kanye West) can generate around $500,000 in radio royalties alone.
The licensing rates for using music in film ($1,000 - $50,000), TV ($5,000 - $50,000), and commercial advertising ($50,000 - $500,000) vary depending on the power of the tune's recognition or the popularity of the performers.
A hipster indie filmmaker with an encyclopedic knowledge of music will go out of her way to obtain a license from a narrowly-known small-label bandfor a song that suits a crucial moment in her movie, spending $4,000 of her already tight budget. While it may well serve it's intended purpose, it's possible that no one in the inevitably small audience will recognize the melody. On the other hand, a few bars of Radiohead's Everything In It's Right Place in the very beginning of Cameron Crowe's Vanilla Sky slyly created an ambiance of familiarity and intimacy for the majority of the viewers. And I sure as hell hope that Paramount has spent at least $100,000 out of the $68 million budget for that license, because that was the best part of the movie.
The differentiation between the two types of music licenses (one based on the rights to the music itself, also known as "publishing" rights, and another for the right to reproduce a specific performance) is particularly evident in commercials. We frequently hear well-known melodies performed in unfamiliar ways.
I know some otherwise peaceful people, who turn very hostile, when they hear The Beatles' melodies in TV ads (the songs come from the 259-titles catalogue, relinquished to Sony by the late Michael Jackson back in 2008 as a part of his debt-restructuring and presently valued at $1 billion of potential licensing revenue). Besides the association of the divine creations with some household products, what really offends these fans are the terrible covers. However, Sony owns only publishing rights for the music itself and that's all they can sell to advertisers like Proctor & Gamble ("All you need is Luvs," really?). The latter might've spent $1 million for the tune and then hired somebody for a $1,000 to record the blasphemy. But, if you hear the song performed in its original version, know that double fees were paid by the user to obtain both the publishing and the reproduction licenses.
Finally, you really need to be a household name to receive a major endorsement contract. And here it's not the music, but the celebrity per se, who becomes the representative (aka spokesperson) of the product. The bigger the name, the larger the brand and, accordingly, the fees, which can be anywhere between $1 - $25 million per contract, depending on the product's magnitude. Beyonce just signed a deal with Pepsi - that's huge (yes, bigger than her previous engagements with American Express and Cover Girl).
According to this source, a barely known DIY band will sell about 500 CDs, 200 downloads, and 200 streams per each self-released album. That's it. Now, if you multiply these numbers by the per-unit rates provided above, you'll get an idea of the size of the loot. Add to that about 45 shows on the tour of rural bars and college cafeterias. Since nobody knows them, licensing requests occur only in the musicians' dreams. Even if the five members of the group can pop an album every year, the per-person earnings are around $2,700.
A well-respectedindie rock band signed to a small label (let's say Arcade Fire - only because I am related to a genius with an unbeatable music intuition, who foretold their prominence back in 2004) may sell over a million records worldwide ("Funeral" went gold both in US and Canada), but the averages run around 125,000 CDs, approximately the same number of downloads, plus 20,000 streams. They can sell out 2000-tickets venues at $25-$45 per tickets on a 30-shows tour. These bands usually have a contingent of hard-core followers, who will be honored to obtain a T-shirt with tour dates proving their presence at the live performance. And while it's not easy to find them on the radio (hence, no royalties), the licensing revenue is a definite possibility (all those TV series!), at the rates that correspond to their acclaim. Let's say the band clears $1 million per album (after paying everyone else). The thing is, though, quality musicians cannot pop out 12 new songs a year. Arcade Fire releases one album every three years. There are 7 members. Annual compensation - $47,619.04 per person (my assistant makes more).
Of course, there are superstars propelled by major music labels into multi-platinum record sales and sold-out stadium shows. I'll say, Adele's 21 certifying 128 times platinum worldwide (over $50 million NET earnings from CDs and downloads alone) is an extraordinary fluke, but Pink and Beyonce usually sell 4 million disks and 5 million downloads per each new album, generating at least $10 million after all expenses are deducted. And while they save themselves and limit their tours to about 20 shows, the sizes of the venues they fill make it worth their while - we are talking anywhere between $10 to $20 million of net revenue per tour.
These are also the people, whose singles we hear every time we turn on not just the radio, but, as one old and wise woman said, even the hair dryer - a few more millions in royalties, licensing fees, and endorsements. It's safe to estimate an average compensation of $30 million per record. Keep in mind that these are the record labels' cash cows (obviously, the executives are much richer than the artists, since they collect their dues from multiple acts - think Russell Simmons with his solid gold toilets), so they are under the constant pressure for repeat performances. The companies will send them into the studios and on the road at least every other year. They will hire a roomful of songwriters and producers to make that happen.
The aforementioned New York Magazine's article paints a picture of a deteriorating industry, where Rihanna, Katy Perry, Adele, and Lady Gaga monopolize the No. 1 position on the charts, and nobody buys new music. My first reaction was like: hell yeah, of course the industry is dying - millions of people steal music in various digital formats nowadays. Software developers shamelessly sell their tools for converting even YouTube videos into MP3s!
This is not the core reason, though. After all, people steal ALL music: the more popular a song, the more it gets ripped. The true problem lies with the general public's tastes (and it's true for all branches of arts and entertainment) - what appeals to people now is a low-brow, unsophisticated, easily digestible crap.
"Back in the day," as some people like to say, musical revolutionaries were among the best-selling artists: The Beatles, The Who, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Queen. In 1991, the top 6 albums were (drumroll, please): Nirvana's Nevermind (US diamond certification = 10 million copies in that first year, plus 30 times platinum the rest of the world), Metallica's Metallica, U2's Achtung Baby, REM's Out of Time, Guns n'Roses Use Your Illusion II, and Pearl Jam's Ten. Only six years later, in 1997, one of Radiohead's best albums (my personal opinion) OK Computer has barely reached double-platinum in the US and triple-platinum in Europe. You know, which album had top sales that year? Spice Girls' Spice - 19.5 million copies worldwide, including 7.4 million in US alone.
The reality is that it's only going to get worse (this is becoming my signature phrase). According to the economic laws, the higher is the demand for the mediocre music, the more of it will be produced. And the real musicians? If they cannot support themselves by doing what they love, they will disappear from the business, writing music just for themselves.
And not because he is a mafioso toting interchangeably a Smith & Wesson, a tommy gun, a wrench, or a shovel. Gangsters can be good bosses too. I mean, a boss like Vito Corleone is a chief executive of mythological proportions: someone with his own strict moral and professional code; he'd destroy his enemies, yet he treats his loyal employees like family, and, in return, they are ready to take a bullet for him.
No, Gyp Rosetti is the worst boss ever, because he is so fucking impulsively unpredictable. With Gyp, you just never know what the fuck is going to short-circuit his neuro-system, how he is going to react to a word, a jest, a facial expression. One moment he seems to be okay and a second later he explodes into a bloody violent feat on account of somebody's hat or stance.
Of course, the compulsive violence is a typical response in men who are surrounded by domineering, dismissive women at home. The notorious Red Ripper Andrei Chikatilo, convicted of 52 murders of women and children, was famously abused and treated like dirt by his wife. Gyp Rosetti, when at his home in Brooklyn, is vilified not by one, but four pesky women: his wife, mother-in-law, and two daughters. Not that his household circumstances absolve him, but at least it makes the craziness explainable.
It's a miracle that members of Gyp's crew talk and do anything around him at all; that they are not completely paralyzed by fear. Somebody says something, Gyp does a double take, and everyone just fucking freezes, trying very hard not to look him in the eyes. That stare that Bobby Cannavale mastered - the one of a cobra doing her hypnotizing trick on its pray before the attack, I've seen that look before, frozen on the face of one very cruel CEO.
It would be easier if Gyp Rosetti was simply an authoritarian ruler, giving strict orders and expecting absolute obedience without any talkback. But he is tricky, sadistic. He actually puts his employees on the spot, asking them questions, wrenching their opinions out of them, looking for a reason to explode.
You cannot possibly find a sensible way of acting around people like that. Unquestioning compliance, dutifulness, and composure can rile them up just as quickly as independent opinion, defiance, and anxiety. Gillian Darmody (Gretchen Mol) tries her darnedest: "You are always welcome here, Mr. Rosetti. Make yourself at home, Mr. Rosetti." And still it's uncertain that she is safe. I keep thinking that Gyp's sexuality is a better guarantee for her than her sly ways. The Sicilian boy has a soft spot for the white meat with porcelain skin and red hair (don't we all?), so he cuts her a bit of slack. But how long will that last?
If you think that the Gyp Rosetti-type exists only on your TV screen, you are wrong. There are plenty of them out there, exercising their unpredictable despotism in the boardrooms, corner offices, production floors, living rooms. While most of them don't shoot people in the face or beat them to death, they do plenty of damage by inflicting destruction on people's self-esteem, psychological balance, emotional well-being.
What kind of advice can one give to people who work for Gyp Rosetti's clones? "Run away as fast as you can" comes to mind first. But what if you can't? Many of Gyp's "subordinates" were recent immigrants who at the time couldn't find any work at all, had no means to feed their families. By the same token, if you live in a town, where everything is owned by the same family with a brutal patriarch (sounds like an early last century novel, but still as valid today as ever), you are stuck with him as your boss. It's not like the national job market offers too many opportunities nowadays. If that's your predicament, you'd better rely on your survival instintcts and intuition: you are under constant pressure to make split-second decisions on how to act and what to say. And you'd better pray that you make the right ones...
Oh, Peter Pan, the "boy who wouldn't grow up," he is so endearing in his never-ending boyishness. He doesn't care about the adult world problems. His disregard for the laws of physical and emotional gravity allows him to fly without wings and fight pirates with an uncommon valor; but it also propels him out of the windows of the heart-broken girls: Wendy, and her mother Mary Darling before her, and who knows how many more. Really, he belongs in his Neverland.
Yet, Peter Pans live among us. You meet them every day: in your office, on your business trips, in stores and public transportation; you pass them on the street; they may be related to you and you see them across the dinner table. They don't soar in the air or prance with swords (well, maybe some of them do). Nevertheless, their true nature is that of unabashedly cocky young boys ready for adventures.
Permit me to clarify. We are not talking about physical appearance here. People who look 10-15 years yonger than their age, whether because of their genetic make up or because they treat their bodies right, can be very grown up. I am not talking about those who take part in what society perceives to be "young" activities either. I actually think that people who never stop going to rock concerts and enjoy parasailing in their eighties are on a higher plane of sophistication. No, the subject matter here is the psychological immaturity; the inability to accept the reality of the adult world.
The Peter Pan Syndrome is not officially recognized by the Diagnostic Manual of Mental Disorders. It's considered to be a "pop-psychology" term. In other words, it's okay to use it in cultural and social context, but no doctor will get reimbursement by insurance for treating this affliction - there is no code for it. I frequently wonder whether it is a ploy of the closeted Peter Pans of psychology.
Peter Pan of J.M. Barrie's story can be recognized right away. The book illustrators even gave him pointy ears, hinting that he is not quite a regular human. But in every-day life they are hidden inside people who appear to be all grown up. Yet, there are certain telltale signs one can pick up right away. It could be a sports car too small for the owner's body, or a tan in the middle of winter, or a jacket a size too small for a middle-aged banker, a hipster watch on a wrist of a 60-year-old lawyer, a second wife 25 years younger, a newborn child at 57. I'm sure you know what I am talking about.
However, at the end of the day, it's the personality traits that betray the Peter Pan's tendencies - the propensity for undisciplined, uncontrolled, irrational, irresponsible, disorderly, intoxicated behavior. But, like with all archetypes, the negative trends coexist with positive potential that manifests itself as a free spirit, unbound instinct, potential for growth, hope for the future, untamed forward drive.
It's one thing to handle Peter Pans socially and even privately. It's a completely different matter when you are confronted with men-boys in the work place, especially if one of them is your boss. You have to be very careful: bosses like that think that they are invincible; they believe that they will come out on top in any situation. They take big risks and trust they can get away with anything. If they are lucky, their endeavors may lead the company to brilliant successes. But many of them get smacked against the cruel wall of reality, crash and burn.
One of the most prominent symptoms of the Peter Pan complex is absolute inability to take No for an answer. Many private-business CFOs deal with the childish behavior of their bosses and can fill in the blanks in this conversation:
CEO: I want to...
CFO: We cannot do this...
CEO: Why not? (like a 10-year-old)
CFO: We don't have... And it's against... We will jeopardize...
CEO: I want to do it anyway... (like a 5-year-old)
It's very difficult to find the right way of dealing with an intelligent and talented person, who looks like an adult, but frequently falls into the pits of the child-like stubbornness. The only thing you can do is to be constantly aware of the reality of the syndrome. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.
Let me leave you with this popular culture example. Mark
Zuckerberg, a student at Harvard University, threw a tantrum like a
3-year-old boy in a sandbox, when his girlfriend dumped him - he called
her mean names and told her secrets to the entire nursery school. Then he ran out and slammed the door behind him as hard as he could.
The result of it was the creation of a network that pervaded the lives of
hundreds of millions of people all around the world and made him the
youngest billionaire. Now, he will never grow up - he never got a
chance to face the real world. He went from childhood into a fantasy
land. He boasts that he wears the same thing every day. So, does Peter
Pan - the protective uniform of a boy who will never grow up.
This commonplace entertainment for the masses is actually very heterogeneous in its nature. Cinema is a chimera: part visual crafts, part performance art, part continuous technological advancements.
Since pre-historic times artists tried to capture the movements of their subjects. The best painters can make you feel as if the sea foam is forming right there on the canvas. But it's just your imagination. And so, since 3200 B.C., innovators applied mechanics, optics, and chemistry to images in order to imitate the magic of natural motion.
The fathers of cinema, the Lumiere brothers, viewed it as nothing more than a natural transition from still photography. Their perforated film and the cinematograph gave birth to a huge industrial machine that to this day generates products in multiple copies deliverable to millions of consumers.
The newly found ability to record real life and chronicle historical events has revolutionized the planet's infosphere, continuously providing us with documents of great achievements and horrendous atrocities. However, entrepreneurs of moving images have immediately recognized an opportunity to use the new medium as a portal for escaping the reality for a short while and introduced the performance arts into the mix. Why not film actors in dramatic or comedic situations? Why not utilize the camera's mobility - take them off the stage and place them into natural settings; bring the actions into a garden, on the street, on the beach?
(Aside: Movie theaters still provide the most affordable route of escape. They get you out of work and home surroundings, hide you in the darkness, bring you into the places you may never visit, and show you lives of people you will never meet. Yet, you don't need to go very far or pay too much money for the adventure. That's why the experience of going to the movies persists no matter how advance home and handheld entertainment media get.)
Before long, the makers of moving pictures realized that the technology at their hands could also be used as a dramatic tool. To this day, phrases like "cut for emotion" signify how the mechanical process of editing (cutting and gluing of the film) has a potential of creating unforgettable, heart-stopping moments, which elicit deep emotions in the viewing audience.
Thus, imagery, performance, and technology were merged together by people standing behind the camera and shouting commands at everyone. Sergei Eisenstein (Battleship Potemkin, Alexander Nevsky, Ivan the Terrible) was immortalized as one of the first innovative film directors precisely because of his great talent of telling powerful stories by combining panoramic shots that make you feel threatened with close-ups that fill your soul with sadness. In fact, European theorists call him the "Father of Montage."
It goes without saying - filmmaking is a director's art (for many, the word "craft" is more appropriate). The director's job is to take a story and make it alive on the screen. To achieve this miracle, he or she, akin Dr. Frankenstein, need to combine different elements and put them through multiple processing steps. It's an intricate creative process, but it is also a tedious organizational endeavor, not much different from a job of a manufacturing general manager.
Each main element of filmmaking has multiple subdivisions. Performance arts: story development, screenwriting, casting, performance directing, acting, stunts, music, sound, wardrobe design, makeup. Image-making: lighting, cinematography, visual effects, production design, set decoration, art direction. Technology: special effects, props, production management, animation, editing, etc. Each of these larger functions are further divided into subgroups, sectors, tasks... It doesn't matter whether all these duties are performed by 10 people or by a crew of 2,435 (The Avengers - the longest credit roll I've ever witnessed) - it's up to the director to make sure that all the parts work together and everything congeals into the final product.
Nowadays, the advancement of digital applications blurs the lines between the visual and technological aspects of filmmaking. The development of computer-generated images (CGI) has become its prominent property. We even have famous directors (James Cameron, George Lucas), who are involved first-hand in scientific innovations of moving-image technology.
Thanks to CGI, creators can conjure any situation born out of their imagination. Now, intergalactic spaceships and aliens look real; characters can turn into monsters right in front of your eyes; they fly through the sky and jump out of airplanes. Frequently people go to the movies just to see the spectacle at its maximum potential - in 3D, on IMAX screen, with surround sound. Who cares what the movie is about? I cannot wait for the time, when at the entrance instead of glasses you'll be handed a helmet. Then right from your seat you will be transported onto some planet, where hoofed creatures with striped tails and dragonfly eyes will take you by the hand... What plot?
That said, with a humongous moviemaking machine remaining unseen (and largely unknown), at the end of the day, cinema is all about the actors on the screen. They are the bait that lures the majority of moviegoers into spending their money. Yeah, the trailer looks good, and maybe the effects will blow your mind (literally), and the story will knock you out cold, but people cannot be sure of it until the movie is over.
On the other hand, everyone knows in advance that Anthony Hopkins can transform himself into anybody, Harrison Ford at 70 is still enticing, Kristen Wiig is batshit funny, Megan Fox looks fucking awesome in high-cut shorts, and Daniel Craig makes the most outrages 007 shenanigans believable. Even picky (some say snooty) cenophiles like me, who are concerned with the subtext, depth, dialogue and directorial mastery, will excuse sub par filmmaking for the sake of watching an actor creating magic on the screen (the late Heath Ledger would be a good example for me).
Besides my personal endless fascination with the cinema, there is a legitimate reason for going into the extended discussion of its components in the context of the financial enumeration. The proportions of elements used in manufacturing movies not only yield distinctly different types of products, they also drive its financial aspects.
On a general level, a movie's Income Statement is fairly straightforward. We've got tickets, DVDs, TV rights, etc. revenues on one side, and the cost of ingredients required for making the product on the other. The total amount spent on a project is customarily called a "budget," regardless of whether it was set in advance or just accumulated to be a certain sum. This is a very important industry indicator, which is frequently made public.
The budget elements may have multi-million price tags or cost nothing at all, and anything in between. Any "name" (i.e. famous) ingredient will cost a lot of money. Any unknown, trying to break in, component can be obtained for free. This is literally true about everything that goes into the pressure cooker of filmmaking. I would have to write another book just to go over every single line of the various movie budgets, but let me provide a few guidelines.
It is safe to say that, as of right now, abundant CGI and megastars are the most expensive ingredients in the movie-making cupboard. The high-tech companies specializing in movie magic charge by the man-hour. And it's not like the rates are outrageous (the computer nerds make similarly decent salaries everywhere), but the processes are extremely time-consuming. So, if "the vision" calls for a team of 200 people working for 12 weeks, a moderate average of $150 per hour will set you back by nearly $14.5 million. For a team of 1000 people, multiply that by five, and so on.
Actors in high demand (Will Smith, Tom Cruise, Robert Downy Jr., Tom Hanks, Jude Law, etc.) have compensation structure that includes a salary base plus commissions. The latter can be defined as gross participation, backend, box office bonuses, or residuals. If the up front salary is $15 million but the movie returns several times over the invested budget, the total take could be around $50-$70 million.
My favorite, even though outdated, example of the stars' budgetary impact is the 1992 mega hit and critics' favorite A Few Good Men. The three top-billing actors, Tom Cruise, Jack Nicholson, and Demi Moore (in that order) had the respective base salaries of $12 million, $5 million, and $3 million. The total of $20 million took up 50% of the $40 million budget.
The movie's director, Rob Reiner, whose company Castle Rock Entertainment also produced the film for Columbia Pictures, took the base salary of $4 million, plus a share of residuals. Just like with the actors, this is a common structure for directors. The bases vary, of course. Steven Spielberg's base for directing War Horse was $20 million; Martin Scorcese's base salary for Hugo - $10 million; Guy Ritchie's for the Sherlock Holmes sequel - $7.5 million (25% up from what he got for the original).
The directors, who, like Rob Reiner, produce their movies, tend to take smaller salaries in order to maximize their back-end returns. It works especially well if you've got a real blockbuster on your hands. One of the biggest earners in Hollywood, the incredible James Cameron (Lightstorm Entertainment is his production company), so far personally earned $350 million on his uber-hit creation, Avatar. But it's all good, since the movie has collected 12 times of its original $237 million budget ($2.8 billion) in worldwide box-office sales.
Mr. Cameron is an auteur - he writes, directs, produces, and frequently edits his movies. His $115 million Titanic's earnings, for example, break down like this: $600,000 for the screenplay, $8 million for directing, the rest - production residuals.
These numbers reflect the monetary treatment of creative talent in Hollywood with an uncanny precision. Comparatively speaking, the writers don't really make that much money. Especially the ones who write original screenplays based on their own ideas (aka specs) as opposed to the ones who take studio assignments. Of course, the writers who have the knack for consistently delivering tent poles (i.e. movies that support studios' lavish existence) can get themselves into seven digits, but even the record-high screenwriting salaries do not exceed $4 million.
The rest of the filmmaking functions (supporting cast, extras, cinematographers, line producers, designers, editors, etc., etc.) are performed by skilled professionals whose minimum wage rates are protected by their respective unions and the maximum depends on their track record and their individual level of demand. If someone's rate is $200 per day and he manages to contract himself for two 10-week engagements in a course of one year, the resulting earnings will be $20K.You are doing better with $800 per day rate and a higher demand.
If you become a sought after specialist with a proven delivery of high quality work, your compensation most likely will be switched to a flat weekly rate, or maybe even per-engagement compensation. It is rumored that Rodrigo Prieto, the cinematographer whose impressive portfolio includes such visual gems as 25th Hour, Brokeback Mountain, Babel and Lust, Caution, has received $250,000 for the 10-week shooting of Argo. Relatively speaking, this is quite impressive. However, he shoots on average two movies a year - you do the math.
From the executive producers' point of you, Mr. Prieto is a pretty fat budget line, but the "look" he creates is a big contribution into that "Oscar buzz" they vie for. And it's true about everything - locations, sets, costumes, cars, stunts, quality of light, even the food catered to the cast and crew. You want a good soundtrack with famous, recognizable songs, then you have to pay large licensing fees to both the owners of the music and the publishers who released the particular recording. You want Alexandre Desplat to write the original score... Well, that's a man in extremely high demand! He's been scoring on average 5-6 movies a year for over 20 years now; 11 (!!!) last year alone. So, his per-film prices are definitely in seven figures.
On the other side of the spectrum are the beginners, who will and do work for free just to get their names out there. Not just writers/directors/producers, but also actors, composers, camera and sound specialists, editors, techies - there are plenty of aspiring people, who are not even members of any unions yet.
Ok, here how the movie mixology works. An aspiring filmmaker writes, directs, shoots, and edits a movie with her school friends and family members covering all the basic functions, including second-camera work, light set-up, boom holding, etc. There is a minimal cast of non-union actors, who are grateful to receive $100 per day pay. The action takes place in one apartment generously provided by a friend and the shooting is done in three days. She uses her own HD camera, but hires a freelance sound engineer with his equipment at a rate of $80 per hour. And here you have a microbudget (a few thousand dollars) film that can be sent out to festivals and garner some screenings.
You can have three friends writing a screenplay, one of them directs the movie, another one stars in it - none of them get paid. Practically everyone on the production crew is a first-timer. Most of the action takes place in one apartment. The $60,000 budget is primarily spent on renting equipment, light, sound, and minimal wages paid to some of the 60 members of the cast and crew. Over 100 benefactors donate either money or services. The result - Darren Aronofsky's cult masterpiece Pi, which goes to win nine international awards, including Sundance, and makes $3.2 million in the US alone.
In another recipe, based on a dramatic play, adapted by the playwright himself (his first feature, so he is not asking too much), the filmmaking can still be fairly simple, almost as austere as the theatrical version itself: no CGI; mostly inside a studio with a few Manhattan, London, and British seaside shots; four protagonists and only 16 extras; basic crew. Essentially, this movie could've been made for less than $1 million. But it's a psychological drama and the studio that acquired the successful play hires a daring director who's been dissecting human dynamics for 40 years ($8 million). He, in his turn, picks the four actors that he believes at the moment (2004) to be the best match for the main characters (one of them reprises his stage performance) - an actress with a record-high salaries ($20 million), an A-list actor ($9.5 million), a painfully beautiful 23-year-old actress on her 12th movie (two of them were new Star Wars installments) ($1 million), and a prominent British actor on his way to become a major Hollywood player (salary not reported). These five people pretty much make the entire $40 million budget of Michael Nichols's Closer.
Now, mix together a hot international star playing an iconic character for the third time ($12.8 million); a highly respected director who won an Oscar for a movie that became an instant classic ($5 million); a team of Hollywood writers specializing in high-octane action blockbusters ($2 million); a cinematographer who shot, among others, every single of the Coen brothers' movies ($600 thousand); a supporting cast of 50, including a knighted actress, a Spanish superstar, and Ralph fucking Fiennes; hundreds of extras; a theme song by a pop star who broke all records with her album sales and Grammies; a score by a composer nominated for 10 Oscars; an Oscar-winning production designer; an Oscar nominated editor; filming in London, Scotland, Shanghai, and Istanbul; Smithfield Market car chase and helicopter shots; CGI that makes jumping out of the air into a fast-moving train look real and took 389 visual and special effects professionals to design; a stunt staff of 72 - and you got yourself an MGM tent pole with a $200 million budget, i.e. Skyfall.
You've got the principle, right? You can do it yourself - pick any movie, break it down into cost items, and estimate the budget. Making movies is an expensive business.
The funding for these cinematic cocktails may come from various single or multiple resources: family and friends, high personal wealth individuals with interest in arts (Michael Bloomberg, for example, has been investing in movies for decades), firms specializing in film financing (such as Future Films), financial institutions, strong production companies with sufficient capital, and, of course, studios. It's up to the producers, whether it's the beginning filmmaker himself or a Hollywood power player, to pull together the sufficient funding to cover the movie's budget.
Theoretically, all projects financed by any means other than a big studio's funds are considered to be "independent" movies. Not too long ago we believed that the positive side of not having big bucks from the Big Bad Wolves was a filmmaker's ability to avoid the market-demand concerns. Those were the good old days...
Like with any other form of arts and entertainment, there are two distinct types of "success" for movies: the inexact, flawed, and unfairly subjective artistic achievement (measured in festival wins, awards, critical praises, and cult-like fan following) and simple, solid, and undeniable commercial success (measured in dollars and cents). Most of the movies achieve one or another, rarely - both.
Of all branches of entertainment, the motion pictures industry scores the largest audiences. Miranda July's Me and You and Everyone We Know, commercially speaking, is a small movie - it was made on a $2 million budget and grossed $3.9 million in the box office (it also won 17 international awards, among them four in Cannes, including the Camera d'Or). However, this means that 300,000 people went to see the movie - 39 times more than those who bought Miranda July's collection of stories No One Belongs Here More Than You. If a music album achieved a number like this it would be certified as a triple platinum.
Now, think about really big hits - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, part II made $169 million in its opening weekend in the US ($1.33 billion worldwide gross to date). This means that in the first three days of its release here, over 12 million people went to see this film.
The theaters showing the movies pay either a bidding fixed amount or a percentage of the box office for the right to show the movie; the balance is remitted to the distribution company (the same pattern applies to DVD sales and TV rights). The distribution company that picked up the movie for sale from a studio or a production company also takes either fixed fees (leasing model) or 10-50% of the net profit (profit-sharing model). Whatever is left comes to the producing entities. Hopefully this remainder covers the budget (pays back the investors) and leaves the room for the residuals.
Clearly, the business of making movies is a high-stake financial gamble. The funds are invested into making a product of frequently unpredictable quality and then you wait and see what happens. No matter how much money studios spend on the market research, no matter how strong the producers' sixth sense is, you just never fucking know. Who could possibly predict that a first feature written and directed by a 26-year-old Steven Soderbergh, Sex Lies and Videotape, will not only multiply its 1.2 million budget by 20 in the box office, but will make the filmmaker the youngest person in history to win Cannes top prize - Palme D'Or.
Essentially, every single movie project is a start-up business. I will let my readers to go on IMdB and count how many businesses the Hollywood powerhouses, like the Weinstein brothers or Scott Rudin, originated and brought to a full success.
