"Fasten Your Seatbelts ..."
I have two classes left, and I will finish my college career unceremoneously - celebrations might take place at some point: graduation is in May. I was pretty fucking sure that by the time I left school, I would be entirely competent, nay, well-fucking versed, in the craft of taking a germ of an idea and growing it into a mega-budget Hollywood blockbuster; I would be ready to lead a small (or large) team of trained professionals into the wilds of the Warner Bros backlot and film the greatest epic triple-trilogy of films ever, earning billions of dollars and creating a vast empire that overshadows the insignificant companies of my idols and predecessors, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg.
To this day, I still don't know where the fucking money comes from. Four years and a countless number of guest lecturers and industry-raised professors and I still haven't figured out how the hell one finances their first film out of college. I'm pretty sure that I was supposed to get a "NYU Film" power ring and a lantern that shat greenbacks into a production fund that would last for all eternity.
Instead, I will get a piece of paper over which I will have to fight to have my middle name changed from "R." to "Ryan." Maybe I'll get a handshake from someone and they'll whisper into my ear the secret of success in the industry: "Change your name to something with 'berg' at the end." Christ, four years out, $100,000+ in loans (Sallie Mae is gonna make me her bitch), and I haven't even directed a sync-sound short film.
I feel unaccomplished and undereducated for the task now at hand: making my way in the harsh, harsh film industry. But despite that, I have one thing going for me: I'm pretty fucking sure that I'm ready to take on what lies ahead.
If not, I'll just come back and teach a screenwriting class. That seems to be a safe haven for everyone else.
To this day, I still don't know where the fucking money comes from. Four years and a countless number of guest lecturers and industry-raised professors and I still haven't figured out how the hell one finances their first film out of college. I'm pretty sure that I was supposed to get a "NYU Film" power ring and a lantern that shat greenbacks into a production fund that would last for all eternity.
Instead, I will get a piece of paper over which I will have to fight to have my middle name changed from "R." to "Ryan." Maybe I'll get a handshake from someone and they'll whisper into my ear the secret of success in the industry: "Change your name to something with 'berg' at the end." Christ, four years out, $100,000+ in loans (Sallie Mae is gonna make me her bitch), and I haven't even directed a sync-sound short film.
I feel unaccomplished and undereducated for the task now at hand: making my way in the harsh, harsh film industry. But despite that, I have one thing going for me: I'm pretty fucking sure that I'm ready to take on what lies ahead.
If not, I'll just come back and teach a screenwriting class. That seems to be a safe haven for everyone else.
posted by Dave at 1:56:00 AM
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