The Red Carpet


Tonight is the dreaded apex of an event that began less friday, the snapshot film festival.  Tonight the short films that we designed, wrote, filmed and edited in just 48 hours will be shown.  Tonight, the truth will at last be revealed; who was the best and who wasn’t.

Luckily for all of us, Party Spock did not compete this year, though i'm sure everyone will continue to have a logical time in his absence.

Every  year I do this i find myself sitting around and staring during the week before the big premier.  As I stare, I wonder.  I wonder how good the movies will be this year, when mine will be shown, if it will be the best etc.  I am always torn on the issue of hoping that the films will be good this year or not.  On the one heand, the whole event would be far more entertaining if every film is utterly fantastic and as any movie goer can tell you, there are few things worse than sitting through an awful movie, regardless of the length.

It doens't say on the poster, but the blood war is what happens when, at the end of this movie, everyone realizes that not only have they lost nearly two hours of their lives, but also $10.

I then realize that if all the movies are good, there is a better chance that my movie will be bad.  Good and bad are often relative terms.  Consider the movie Hangover 2.  We already saw that movie 2 or three years before it came it, in it’s less evolved form of hangover one.  Relative to hangover one, hangover 2 is bad.  Relative to ultraviolet, it is the best damn thing ever made.  Such is the case for film festival shorts.  If a good film shines out from the pile of pig filth that is the rest of the movies, it appears to amazing.  On closer inspection, however, one might discover it’s not as good as one previously thought.    The same stands for a good movie surrounded by better ones.  It’s still good, but in comparison to the other, better movies, it sucks.  There’s a formula for this.  It’s called the theory of relativity.

And so the pattern goes, back and forth, back and forth.  The film festival is, after all, a competition, with prize money to boot, and I want to win terribly, because I am competitive and I enjoy money.  But I don’t want to win by having everyone else be terrible.  Far better if everyone was good, but i was just better.  This thoughts constrict my insides like a burmese python, and always put me in a fowl mood.  Therefore, when I come upon other film makers during that wretched week of waiting, I often try to not say anything, and merely attempt to ferociously scowl.

“So how’d your movie go?” they always good-naturedly ask.

“Fine.” I growl, giving them nothing.  These pleasant exchanges are merely ways of gauging the competition, you see, and the less they know the better.  This confuses them, and makes them feel on edge.

“Well, good luck on friday” they say as they slowly make their escape.

“Break a leg.” I tell them, but I don’t say it like most people.  I say it like a curse.  I actually want them to break their fucking leg, maybe even both legs.  Would that I were to enter the brock forum, where the movies are screened, to discover a group of people surronding fellow filmmaker young Timmy, who’s gripping his severed femur and trashing about in pain.

“What happened here?” I would ask, hoping beyond hope that I had guessed the truth.

“Little Timmy,” a bystander would say, “He was just walking… and… and then his leg just broke!  Pow!  Just like that, almost as if he had been cursed or something.”  I would be barely able to contain my maniacal laughter.

“What’s so funny?” they would ask, offended.

“Oh, nothing!” I would laugh, “I just remembered a really funny meme I read, earlier today.  Berks, I think it was called.”

Ha!

I would then make my way to my seat, doubled over in joyous laughter, one opponent already out of the competition.  I know that his film would still be here, but hey, it’s my fantasy, leave it alone.

I don’t actually want anyone to break their leg(s) though.  I’d have to be some sort of deranged psychopath to want that.  In reality, I’m, just nervous about that movie.  I’m sure my fellow film makers can sympathize with me on this.  You, the audience, see a seamless whole, a complete narrative for your enjoyment.  We, the film makers, see a disjointed series of images, sometimes with audio, patch-worked together in a most inexpert manner, trying so hard to make sense of an already poorly written story, hastily spawned in the back of a cafeteria last friday night, and we weep.  We weep for the insanity of it all, the absurdity of some human being wanting to lose hours of sleep cutting and editing these videos.  We weep for you, who we entice to the screenings with promises of cupcakes and free drinks and force to watch or movies.  But most of all, we weep for ourselves, who cringe at every competitors clever plot twists and jump at every one of their cool camera angle, who look around expectantly after every joke, hoping beyond hope that you get it.  You seldom do, but that’s not your fault, it’s ours.  And for that we apologize.

And for this too. Despite me having nothing to do with it, I do so heartily apologize.

So to all my fellow short film makers, sweating copiously as the minutes slowly tick by before the debut of your masterpiece, I say this: you’ve already won.  You did it.  Who cares if it sucks?  Who cares if it’s the worst fucking thing the audience has ever endured?  It doesn’t matter, because you made it and it’s yours.  And you only made it in 48 hours.  Imagine what you could do with a whole week?

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1 Comment

  1. The Detective: A Short made in 48 hours « corngoblin

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