The Movie of the Thing

Have you ever watched a TV show or movie about a person’s job and think, “that’d be neat. I could see myself doing that.” I have. It was a TV show about a hospital. I thought, “oh yeah, I’d love to be a doctor," as I ate another potato chip.

But then I thought about what doctors actually do, and paused. A doctor gets- and pays for- boatloads of education just to try it out, because it’s a job where it’s surprisingly easy to accidentally kill somebody. A doctor works at the same place everyday, endures long hours, and deals with red tape and paperwork. The job is detailed oriented. And what of the hospital they work in? From what I’ve heard from friends across the country, hospitals are not immune to office politics, bad coffee, worse food, and a litany of other humdrum and ordinary annoyances that sound like a drag. It is, in short, a job.

So, I didn’t really want to be a doctor. Or a cop. Or anybody else’s occupation. What I wanted, more than anything, was to be in the TV show I was watching. I wanted to be in a story. I do not think I’m alone in this feeling.

I think a vast majority of people don’t want to do the thing itself. Instead, they want to be in the movie of the thing.

The movie of the thing is exotic and fun. There's thrills, spills, and way more attractive people than in everyday life. Everybody has great dialogue and a low BMI. There are problems that tell you they're actually problems, usually by a dramatic music cue. Solutions can be found before the credits run. Work generally consists of looking at things for about fifteen seconds, then breaking away to have another memorable conversation. 

No job or meaningful activity works in this way. If you know of one, please let me know, and we can all get hired.

This is because movies have to be entertaining, or, at least, interesting. There are rare examples of films going against these principles, but they are certainly not found in mainstream, popular American cinema. When I say "movies," I mean "the top stuff on Netflix," because that's what we're all actually watching. And movies have to be about something of interest. Which is fine, but real things we experience like long-term growth cannot be accurately shown in a movie, because it's just so boring.

One primary way a person’s long-term growth is shown in popular entertainment is the montage scene. The montage scene compresses time into a short sequence, usually with music. In doctor shows, it tends to involve people looking at microscopes and computers with intense looks, all wrapped in fast editing and a “cool” song. They found a cure in five minutes? Montage scene.

Movies have montages too, often about training for a fight. The originator of the classic training montage scene is the 1976 film Rocky. Set to the iconic anthem “Gonna Fly Now” by Bill Conti, Rocky Balboa trains to fight Apollo Creed. He runs through Philly. He does push-ups and sit-ups. He hits giant slabs of beef. It probably tastes better when it’s that tender.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YYmfM2TfUA

When the song ends, so does the training. It’s a wonderful scene and very inspirational. But this is a movie. In the real world, Rocky would be doing this routine for hours every day.

If the movie wanted to be realistic, the entire film (now called Real Rocky) would consist of many hours of Rocky jumping rope, punching meat, and stretching. Maybe there’d be a ten-minute scene where Rocky takes a break to eat a sandwich. We could watch him drive home after practice and sit alone watching TV, sore and bruised. The phone would ring, and he’d have to tell his friend, sorry, can't hang out, There's training early in the morning. We’d hear his friend's resigned laughter. Rocky would go to the kitchen and make some beef, now very tender. He'd drop the soy sauce, and have to clean the mess up with a broom and mop. He'd go to bed early, wearing pajama pants of stallions with little Italian mustaches.

And so Real Rocky would flop, even with a glowing critique from the New Yorker.

The other movie/TV show moment is the Creative Flash. That’s where the hero is overtaken by the muse (or whatever) and, lo, behold, a masterpiece arises from the ashes.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4akqi6YYIJw

Think of every movie about famous musicians and bands. Do you remember Walk the Line? Or Bohemian Rhapsody? Or Ray? Remember how quick a lot of hit songs were composed and performed? But how did these people get to this point in their professional lives? A real music biopic (called Realistic Movie Career) would consist of someone practicing an instrument for hours at a time, usually alone, in a room. They’d join a band. They’re be a lot of boring conversations about microphones, packaging, and studio budgets. We’d see them tour, playing the same songs night after night, talking about ways to improve the set.

Upon release Realistic Music Career would commercially flop, even with a glowing critique from the New Yorker.

The issue isn’t that movies need to accurately represent the process of change or achievement- they do what they can, with the limits they are given. The issue is many of us fall into the trap of wanting the movie of the thing, versus the thing itself.

The movie of the thing consists of the appearance of the act versus the act itself. I have known many writers who have the right notebooks, the right accouterments, the right image, but don’t partake in the one thing that makes them a writer. That is, writing. Because while writing can be rewarding, it also consists of sitting by oneself and putting words down, one by one, until they work as sentences that combined work as paragraphs, until you have something that hopefully doesn't make you sound completely stupid. There are sometimes creative flashes, but mostly just good old fashioned tenacity.

Here is an example of tenacity versus talent. How did I write this article? I sat at a computer and sipped coffee. I procrastinated. I wrote five paragraphs to five other pieces. I thought, “I am not a writer. This is dumb. I have overestimated my talents. No one cares. Perhaps a doctor show is on.” Then, I forced myself to write. It was like jogging. Sore muscles. Joints creaking. But after ten minutes, I began to truly run. The writing became unconscious, and I fell into the process. There was fear, however. By never writing the article, I could imagine forever how good that article would be. I could imagine and stay in the movie. But as soon as I put the article into reality, I was confronted with the thing itself. It was not a good article. It was very bad. And so I edited and edited. Yes, what you're reading right now came after editing. I'm just happy it doesn't sound like a rant from someone on public transportation. Well, almost.

There is this idea that people are afraid of success. I’m not sure if I believe that. Perhaps for some, but I haven’t met them. I think people are afraid of completion because it comes with permanent definition. When you finish something, anything, it now defines you. And anything risky can define you badly. It’s much easier for someone to always be a potential great writer, or chef, or (insert noun here), than a real bad one. And so one dreams of doing something hard- running that marathon, writing that book, reconciling with that loved one- but they don’t out of fear. And so they keep dreaming as time passes on.

It is a secret truth that most people in this country feel they are special and exceptional. But to be exceptional one must be the exception. And exceptions are rare. Of course, we unexceptional people can do exceptional things. It just requires more effort. And that effort consists primarily of doing a particular thing over and over and over, with incremental change and the rare leap. It requires dedication, not a blaze of glory. Word after word, step after step, or nail after nail. Craft often beats talent, not because talent is the lesser beast, but because talent alone, rudderless and without discipline, cannot soar. Except for one doctor. A very special doctor…