One of my favorite promos is Discovery Channel's current offering "I Love the Whole World".
With imagery ranging from astronauts to archaeologists, Stephen Hawkings to base jumpers it is a beautiful exuberant love song that elicits giant smiles. Joyous without being corny, it's a wondrous reminder of our incredible shared lives.
Enjoy--
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
We Haven't Forgotten How to Live
On a recent trip to Croatia to film some of the last shots for a documentary, my partner Michael found himself running at a breakneck pace alongside a producer with a huge list of shots and just a few days to get them. You know, the typical independent film story. To help them with the shoots they found a wonderful assistant named Vid who took them around Zagreb and Slavonski Brod over the 5 days. At one point, the producer went off to one of her interviews and Vid turned to Michael noticing his harried demeanor and said "We are a country that has been through many wars, but we have not forgotten how to live. May I buy you a cup of coffee?" With that one kindness Michael was able to relax, knew he had a wise friend in Vid and was able to survive the grueling 18 hour days of non-stop shooting and a crew of 2 to pull it off.
The story made me think about our own lives in our tech mecca dashing at high speeds, careening around each other to finish just under the wire one more ephemeral deadline that is imposed at the possible cost of someone's health. Just this week there was another news story of a Japanese worker dying from over work. A Toyota employee, he was working on the latest hybrid model and collapsed. In Japan they have a term for death from overwork: Karoshi. While Japan recognizes the societal and health issue the Supreme Court in the United States ruled against a case that was trying to state that this problem exists in our culture as well. The Puritan work ethic is a badge of pride for Americans and saying "no" to a client or boss is seen as not acceptable. Our heroes are superheroes who do the impossible and we bring that into our offices and studios as we deliver just in time. In fact, much of our economy operates on the "just in time" model of inventory and delivery.
In my own life I have had moments after 5 straight all-nighters for high profile and high stakes projects where I believed that I was going to die for the client. I remember sitting in a hotel room looking into my bleached and swollen face, new veins popping out my forehead from the spiked rise in blood pressure and my body sallow and limp. My heart was racing and I feared that I could possibly go to sleep and not wake up. Was it all worth it? Had I crossed over into living to work rather than working to live? Is the adrenalin rush and the feeling of camaraderie with fellow teammates that "we did it again!" part of the addiction? What is living in our contemporary American dream? Is it winning the title?
No matter how often I may beg clients to begin earlier, to not factor costs in by forcing timelines and therefore being able to limit budgets, or to limit their expectations commensurate to their timetable, they never change. We are a society of procrastination and it hits hardest on the people who are the creators or the fabricators of the product who in the end have to deliver. They are the ones that have to tell their families once again: not tonight, or this weekend, or this holiday...I've got a deadline. Life is subsumed by work and slowly we begin to forget how to live.
However, there are people in the world who are not so threatened by the clock that they cannot stop to smile and greet someone in the street, or to sit and enjoy their coffee with a friend, or be able to patiently wait while a child dances around a decision. They don't need to fit their meals, their sleep or their relationships around their career. They understand balance and while they have clear career goals, they also factor in their families.
I love what I do for a "living" but all work and no play, as they say, is making me (and my output) rather dull. It is imperative to remember how to live again and we need to remind our clients as well.
The story made me think about our own lives in our tech mecca dashing at high speeds, careening around each other to finish just under the wire one more ephemeral deadline that is imposed at the possible cost of someone's health. Just this week there was another news story of a Japanese worker dying from over work. A Toyota employee, he was working on the latest hybrid model and collapsed. In Japan they have a term for death from overwork: Karoshi. While Japan recognizes the societal and health issue the Supreme Court in the United States ruled against a case that was trying to state that this problem exists in our culture as well. The Puritan work ethic is a badge of pride for Americans and saying "no" to a client or boss is seen as not acceptable. Our heroes are superheroes who do the impossible and we bring that into our offices and studios as we deliver just in time. In fact, much of our economy operates on the "just in time" model of inventory and delivery.
In my own life I have had moments after 5 straight all-nighters for high profile and high stakes projects where I believed that I was going to die for the client. I remember sitting in a hotel room looking into my bleached and swollen face, new veins popping out my forehead from the spiked rise in blood pressure and my body sallow and limp. My heart was racing and I feared that I could possibly go to sleep and not wake up. Was it all worth it? Had I crossed over into living to work rather than working to live? Is the adrenalin rush and the feeling of camaraderie with fellow teammates that "we did it again!" part of the addiction? What is living in our contemporary American dream? Is it winning the title?
No matter how often I may beg clients to begin earlier, to not factor costs in by forcing timelines and therefore being able to limit budgets, or to limit their expectations commensurate to their timetable, they never change. We are a society of procrastination and it hits hardest on the people who are the creators or the fabricators of the product who in the end have to deliver. They are the ones that have to tell their families once again: not tonight, or this weekend, or this holiday...I've got a deadline. Life is subsumed by work and slowly we begin to forget how to live.
However, there are people in the world who are not so threatened by the clock that they cannot stop to smile and greet someone in the street, or to sit and enjoy their coffee with a friend, or be able to patiently wait while a child dances around a decision. They don't need to fit their meals, their sleep or their relationships around their career. They understand balance and while they have clear career goals, they also factor in their families.
I love what I do for a "living" but all work and no play, as they say, is making me (and my output) rather dull. It is imperative to remember how to live again and we need to remind our clients as well.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Lions and Tigers and Bears -oh Really!
Randy Miller is a man's man all the way through. Foregoing most human creature comforts he lived in a trailer above Tippi Hedren's exotic animal estate. Outside his door he had his own menagerie which included Zircon, a huge tiger, later to be featured in the film "Gladiator". Along with this magnificent cat were lions, white tigers, a brown bear, lynxes, jaguars, and tiger cubs. On one visit I held a lynx in my arms, his front paws wrapped around my neck as he chuffed through my hair.
Each animal loved Randy and he loved all of them in return. He raised them with a firm but loving hand and he believed deeply that without people like him there would be no future for these magnificent beings.
In his youth he had created the New York Seltzer Company. I remember I practically lived on them throughout high school and college. For the ads he would do his own stunts applying his skills as a race car driver and leaping from the top story of a hotel. He discovered exotic felines with his newfound money creating a habitat for a jaguar I believe in his Hollywood hills home. Later he gave up the company, the fancy house and invested in saving cats.
He had met a magician eager to team up with him in an act. We came along to shoot the act in exchange for a day with Randy and his menagerie. The act was what was to be expected: disappearing cats, card tricks, one liners. Randy didn't stay long.
On one shoot we were at a McMansion somewhere in the valley. The brown bear was brought out by the truck and as we stood around waiting to set up we began to hear a sound like a motor grumbling away. I turned to see what was causing the noise and with surprise realized it was the bear! I never knew bears purred! I was then handed a tiger cub to take care of. I was given his leash and we walked out together across the grounds. The cub had decided that he was hungry and wasn't going anywhere. As I tried to cajole and walk with him he stood his ground. As cubs, tigers are square, strong and solid and seem to know that they are the kings. He wanted what he wanted period. As I knelt down to pick him up he instead lightly clamped onto my forearm. It was then that he was no longer a cute little cat to me. I instantly respected the power of this little being. All romantic notions of "wouldn't it be cool to have an exotic feline" left me. He squared up, looked me in the eye, and growled. I gave in. He was king and I wanted my arm.
A few months later we had an office on the second floor of a Melrose Ave. building. In our front edit bay with windows looking out over the fashion shoppers, a couple of people had rented it to work on their film. Suddenly from our back door Randy appeared with two carriers each one occupied by a baby tiger. We hadn't seen him in a while and we were thrilled. We soon opened the doors, got water for the cats and began talking. One of the cats was particularly friendly and the other adventurous. As we sat together we realized that one of the cats was gone. In slow motion we all looked up just in time to see the tail of the tiny tiger whip into the front edit bay. Before we could get up we heard the growl quickly followed by a scream after which the tiger came running out at full speed. With equal speed the man and woman grabbed their things, dashed into the hallway, looked at us shocked and ran out the door. They never paid us and we never heard from them again. I wish I had been a fly on the wall to have seen their faces! I've always wondered what their side of the story was...
Each animal loved Randy and he loved all of them in return. He raised them with a firm but loving hand and he believed deeply that without people like him there would be no future for these magnificent beings.
In his youth he had created the New York Seltzer Company. I remember I practically lived on them throughout high school and college. For the ads he would do his own stunts applying his skills as a race car driver and leaping from the top story of a hotel. He discovered exotic felines with his newfound money creating a habitat for a jaguar I believe in his Hollywood hills home. Later he gave up the company, the fancy house and invested in saving cats.
He had met a magician eager to team up with him in an act. We came along to shoot the act in exchange for a day with Randy and his menagerie. The act was what was to be expected: disappearing cats, card tricks, one liners. Randy didn't stay long.
On one shoot we were at a McMansion somewhere in the valley. The brown bear was brought out by the truck and as we stood around waiting to set up we began to hear a sound like a motor grumbling away. I turned to see what was causing the noise and with surprise realized it was the bear! I never knew bears purred! I was then handed a tiger cub to take care of. I was given his leash and we walked out together across the grounds. The cub had decided that he was hungry and wasn't going anywhere. As I tried to cajole and walk with him he stood his ground. As cubs, tigers are square, strong and solid and seem to know that they are the kings. He wanted what he wanted period. As I knelt down to pick him up he instead lightly clamped onto my forearm. It was then that he was no longer a cute little cat to me. I instantly respected the power of this little being. All romantic notions of "wouldn't it be cool to have an exotic feline" left me. He squared up, looked me in the eye, and growled. I gave in. He was king and I wanted my arm.
A few months later we had an office on the second floor of a Melrose Ave. building. In our front edit bay with windows looking out over the fashion shoppers, a couple of people had rented it to work on their film. Suddenly from our back door Randy appeared with two carriers each one occupied by a baby tiger. We hadn't seen him in a while and we were thrilled. We soon opened the doors, got water for the cats and began talking. One of the cats was particularly friendly and the other adventurous. As we sat together we realized that one of the cats was gone. In slow motion we all looked up just in time to see the tail of the tiny tiger whip into the front edit bay. Before we could get up we heard the growl quickly followed by a scream after which the tiger came running out at full speed. With equal speed the man and woman grabbed their things, dashed into the hallway, looked at us shocked and ran out the door. They never paid us and we never heard from them again. I wish I had been a fly on the wall to have seen their faces! I've always wondered what their side of the story was...
Nureyev's Last Lover
Wallace Potts was brilliant, gentle and beautiful. One of the guardian's of Nureyev's film and video archives, Wallace would come to transfer recently found footage to archive it to a more stable format and save it from wasting away into flecks of electromagnetic litter. At the time I was only in my 20's. Of course, after years of my own dance training I knew who Nureyev was and I would sit stunned beside Wallace as we would watch the flickering traces of his leonine grace leaping across the often milky black and white screen. Each moment was precious and threatened to be as ephemeral as the live performance if it weren't for Wallace's keen eye and dedication.
Wallace could spot intricacies not only in the quality of the analog image before us, but in ballet itself. I learned much about analyzing video through his tutelage. I also learned about love, grace, brilliance and humility from him. At the time I was quite naive. It took me a few visits and explanations from others to realize that Wallace wasn't just hired by the Nureyev foundation, he wasn't just an avid lover of dance, he was the lover of the dancer himself. It was no wonder that Nureyev chose this man after his many conquests to settle down with. With his soft rolling Georgian accent, his intellectual brilliance (he graduated majoring in Physics from Georgia Tech) and his achingly genteel yet strong demeanor he could break your heart daily. I remember once seeing him at the Armand Hammer Museum for the COLA awards (City of Los Angeles Awards in Art). He was so stunningly gorgeous with his black hair, his dark eyes, and his form commanding his dark suit that I stopped and gasped as I recognized who he was. I could glimpse the ghost of Nureyev proudly walking beside him.
I knew Wallace for about 14 years. Each time he called I would be thrilled to hear from him. One of the last times was to tape a good friend of his, Lypsinka, a gorgeous, true to the last sequin cross dresser who created a hysterical show parodying the great stars of the 30s and 40s. Joan Crawford's lip curling has never been done better. Wallace took the footage and edited it. But he couldn't simply just edit. In the process he went back to school, learned computer programming and was trying to create new compression codecs and hot rod his PC boards for better video performance. He would often call me for advice, but after a while he surpassed me in his knowledge.
Wallace was sick the entire time I knew him. Various manifestations of the disease would plague his body, but never his mind or his spirit. He would be honest when you asked how he was, but it would not sway him from his incredible spirit or his love of art and knowledge. He died last year. I didn't find out until a few months ago and I was devastated.
I had lost another angel in Los Angeles.
Wallace could spot intricacies not only in the quality of the analog image before us, but in ballet itself. I learned much about analyzing video through his tutelage. I also learned about love, grace, brilliance and humility from him. At the time I was quite naive. It took me a few visits and explanations from others to realize that Wallace wasn't just hired by the Nureyev foundation, he wasn't just an avid lover of dance, he was the lover of the dancer himself. It was no wonder that Nureyev chose this man after his many conquests to settle down with. With his soft rolling Georgian accent, his intellectual brilliance (he graduated majoring in Physics from Georgia Tech) and his achingly genteel yet strong demeanor he could break your heart daily. I remember once seeing him at the Armand Hammer Museum for the COLA awards (City of Los Angeles Awards in Art). He was so stunningly gorgeous with his black hair, his dark eyes, and his form commanding his dark suit that I stopped and gasped as I recognized who he was. I could glimpse the ghost of Nureyev proudly walking beside him.
I knew Wallace for about 14 years. Each time he called I would be thrilled to hear from him. One of the last times was to tape a good friend of his, Lypsinka, a gorgeous, true to the last sequin cross dresser who created a hysterical show parodying the great stars of the 30s and 40s. Joan Crawford's lip curling has never been done better. Wallace took the footage and edited it. But he couldn't simply just edit. In the process he went back to school, learned computer programming and was trying to create new compression codecs and hot rod his PC boards for better video performance. He would often call me for advice, but after a while he surpassed me in his knowledge.
Wallace was sick the entire time I knew him. Various manifestations of the disease would plague his body, but never his mind or his spirit. He would be honest when you asked how he was, but it would not sway him from his incredible spirit or his love of art and knowledge. He died last year. I didn't find out until a few months ago and I was devastated.
I had lost another angel in Los Angeles.
Welcome
Often in media circles the dialogue is more about the technology than why we are working in it. These stories are about the people I've come across in 15 years working as an editor, a media artist and designer. These are the dreams, the projects, the personalities, ethos (and lack thereof), the philosophies, perceptions and yes, sometimes the technology that has been part of this rather surreal and humanistic landscape.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
