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The Film Habit #44 - April 6, 2005 Those of you sick of seeing me use this column as a place to vent about personal issues loosely tied back in some way to film may want to skip a week. This one’s going to be a doozy. Getting personal, relating what we talk about to ourselves is what we do. Sure, we can regurgitate static movie information for you, but where’s the fun in that? Where’s the connection? Taste in movies is a personal thing, and so we’re not afraid to get personal.
There’s a line there somewhere which when crossed leads down a road to egomaniacal self-love, but hopefully we haven’t crossed it. After all, this isn’t a cheesy high school web blog. You won’t read about what Rafe Telsch had for breakfast, but you may read a word or two about the intimate details of Lexi Feinberg’s life as it relates to her time spent watching movies about Hungarians in subway tunnels. This week, you’re going to get an earful from me about how loving movies and loving this forum for discussing them directly affects me. If you’re not up for it, click one of those menu buttons on the left and read something else. We’ve no shortage of content. me for whatever reason people email me. Until You’ve Offended Your Mother Bernie Mac, who has recently climbed towards the top of my celebrities I’d most like to hang out with list, said the following in a recent interview. It’s applicable here and a good way to start out the rhetoric to follow:  “A guy said yesterday, “Bernie Mac, what’s your story?” I don’t have no story. I did odd jobs. You know, I come from Chicago. We shovel snow, you empty the garbage, you know, you swept the street, you ran errands. You did something for somebody or for someone. No everybody wants this Hollywood story. We’re human. We got to get up. You got to eat. You got to do something. The world don’t owe you nothing, man. It’s what you owe the world. And that’s something that television, the media, and they keep exploiting, you know, whatever artist comes out. “You know, he was homeless and…” So what? Shit, we’ve all got ghetto stories. That’s my point. We all got something.”
There’s nothing worse than a guy looking for pity. Poor me he cries, whining and begging for attention rather than getting up off his ass and dealing with his life. Nobody likes a whiner, or an attention whore. Screw your problems, we’ve all got problems. I’m dealing with mine, you deal with yours. We’ve all got a story and live with it, so I’m not going to bore you with all the details of mine. But this is my place to vent, my therapy, and maybe someone somewhere will find what little I do have to say interesting, maybe even worthwhile. Then I’ll be done with it and you’ll never hear anything about this again. Venting commences:  To get at last to the point, I love Cinema Blend. Not everyone else does. If you’ve spent any time reading The Film Habit, you’ve no doubt seen a share of the hate mail I get in our letters section (which you might notice missing this week… this is it). Putting yourself out there for other people to take in invariably elicits comments. Some people simply won’t like you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Actually, I enjoy the comments, negative or positive. There’s nothing anyone can say that’ll really affect me, though I love all of you for reading, for the most part you remain faceless and distant. That gives me the immunity I need to keep writing, unfettered by the constraints of public opinion. That’s how I stay honest.
What happens when the haters are no longer faceless? How do you deal? I’m about to find out. Simply stated, a number of the real world people closest to me aren’t happy with my writing or viewing choices. They aren’t happy with Cinema Blend. Actually, unhappy might be an understatement. They hate it, are disgusted and nauseated by it and now me by extension. It’s bizarre, since any frequent reader of the site can attest that we’re pretty harmless. Cinema Blend is even keel, and I like it that way. But there are plenty of folks out there with a wildly skewed, out of the norm point of view. You know the type. They’re out there protesting lumberjacks by chaining themselves to redwoods, starting their own religions and then refusing to let their followers come out when confronted by the ATF, wearing funny hats and turning down useful things like electricity. Some people simply think outside the norm, and while being different can be a good thing it isn't always.  Sounds ominous, doesn’t it? Now I’m faced with carrying on, and compartmentalizing the fact that every word I write is being loathed, hated, and spit upon as violently abnormal by not faceless souls, but my much of my closest family. This little piece is my promise to myself (and to all of you) to stay true, and ignore those external pressures. I’ll keep going because I’ve realized it’s me that’s normal, not them. I’m refusing to allow what I say to be censored by anyone, including them. What I watch, what anyone watches is their decision, what they choose to believe or say or become is limited only by their own determination. Censorship doesn’t just come from the government, sometimes it comes from the people closest to you, but only if you let it.
Last night a friend of mine reminded me that you’re not truly an artist until you’ve offended your mother. While I’d hardly be narcissistic enough to consider what I do “art”, for some reason there’s comfort in those words. When I’ve offended every single person in my life, does that make me Picasso? Consider this my blue period. me to be my friend. Hey! Do you like writing for mildly successful movie websites with no guarantee that you’ll ever be paid? Are you over 18? You’re in luck. CinemaBlend.com is looking for writers just like you. If you think you can capture the signature Cinema Blend style as a critic and/or BNN reporter send me an with a few samples and we’ll talk. |
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