On Originality in the Age of Weirdness: Part I

INT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

A lone exposed lightbulb hangs over a man duct taped to a chair. JIM, a man in his twenties is gagged and sweating profusely under the harsh light. A stocky shadowy figure in his thirties, JOE  moves from the darkess into the dim pool of light surrounding Jim.

JOE

Jim, we’ve been here before. Thousands of times.

Tell us what you know and we let you go.

Joe jerks the gag down to expose Jim’s mouth. 

JIM

(sputtering)

Don’t you get it, man! We’re in another one of those

early student films.

The interrogation is cut short by an alarm sound in the warehouse.

CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM - MORNING

An alarm clock displays 6:00am as Jim gasps and shoots up in his bed. It was all just a dream.

THE END

***

I’ve been teaching film production for over twenty years. I don’t teach screenwriting but I used to teach introduction to film production classes where, among other things, students dipped their toes into the process of carrying ideas from screenplay to finished edit. Like the composite cliché screenplay vignette above, my students pitched many short narrative film ideas - several involving high stakes poker games, films starting off (or ending) with alarm clocks and yes, the lone exposed lightbulb hanging over someone; usually a twenty-something guy; usually in distress; usually involving duct tape in some way.

I’m not here to pick the low hanging fruit by slamming on early student film ideas. I was once an early student filmmaker and my first film was baaaaad (like 5 “a”s bad). 

Rather, I’ll start by discussing some of my shortcomings as a new instructor when I gave feedback on these ideas. My critique felt clunky, even to me at the time. I found different ways of telling these students some version of “it’s been done before.” After offering my feedback in these instances, I could always sense something happening behind the student’s eyes - as if they had left the conversation. I did what I understood to be my teacherly duty - by conveying to these students that they shouldn’t be lazy. They should move beyond tired out cliché’s. 

But in the end I don’t think it made a difference.

As I have evolved as an instructor over the years, I offer less feedback (in the form of critical statements) and ask more questions. “Of course you know there are many scenes that involve a similar setup with the lightbulb and the man duct taped to the chair,” I might start. “I’m interested to hear more about what appeals to you about this idea. What does it mean for you, personally? Are there specific films that you are drawing from? What do you hope to get out of this production experience?” I might go on to discuss the idea of a “master study” with students. I encountered the master study assignment as an art student - a process which involved essentially copying a painting from one of the masters to learn more about that painter. It’s ok to not be original on your way to gaining comfort with the medium. 

And to be honest, we all copy. Experimental filmmakers copy. Animators copy. Writers with decades of experience copy. 

Maybe it’s just me (though I expect it’s not) but I think we tend to fetishize the concept of originality. 

We need to be original. 

But why?

I think it’s because we’re a very product based culture and we’re a bit obsessed with ownership.

“This is my idea. I own it. I was here first.”

How’s that different than “This is my land. I’ve discovered it. Here is where I plant my flag?”

A product-based mindset can only see the results. Grants awarded. Creative works completed. Product’s market success.

To be fair, as creatives, we need to make money. It would be great if we all had our personal wealthy patrons who offered us complete freedom to explore the far reaches of the imaginative universe - wherever our minds took us. 

But we live in this tension between needing to eat and a desire to follow the creative impulse.

The product-based mindset makes sense within an economic framework - but it can be absurd in a purely process-based creative landscape. 

Imagine being four years old. You have some crayons and a piece of paper. You’re compelled to draw an elephant because you saw one at the zoo or on TV. But . . . someone’s already drawn an elephant. Actually, there are probably already millions of drawn, painted, sculpted or otherwise rendered elephants and many of them are more skillfully crafted. On top of that there are also probably hundreds of thousands of crayon-drawn elephants (in Crayola gray no less). So forget about it. It’s been done before.

Or: You and some friends decide to hike the Appalachian Trail. It’ll be an adventure! But wait. . . Thousands of people have already done that. It’s been done. Nevermind. 

What of course makes the elephant drawing and the hike worthwhile is the pure enjoyment of the process. 

In the student film composite example above, if I am process oriented, I can hear the student out, ask questions and let the student be unoriginal - understanding that this is part of the process. Eventually the training wheels will probably come off. 

What I never understood in those early years of teaching was the disconnect between my urging students to be original and the reality of the marketplace. After all, students were in a much more precarious place than I was. I had a job. They needed one. And the industry doesn’t exactly encourage originality. “If something works, make 100 more of it” (think “True Crime”) seems to be industry practice. So if they see what’s happening in the industry - a place where they can potentially gain employment versus the ideals of their renegade professor - who are they going to follow?

And it’s not that the-something-that-works is completely invalid. There’s a reason why it works. It taps into some archetypal truth or pattern. I watched a couple of true crime series but they never resonated with me the way that the many series about cults did. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t realize that both these topics have more iterations on streaming platforms than they need to. How many series can we watch about either of these subjects before we get it? And yet we keep coming back.

***
In Part II, I explore how the quest for originality for originality’s sake may have finally reached it’s natural conclusion.