This set is depressing me. Maybe I shouldn’t use that word, but I can’t think of a better one.
I’m 2nd AC. I slate. I change the lenses. I move the camera. The work isn’t creative: it’s barely engaging. It’s a bit better than the camera shop, a bit. I remember I felt this way too when I worked there…meaningless.
The other 2nd AC (he asked me my pronouns—that was nice) has a shirt that reads, “IS THIS SHIT EVEN ART?” I don’t think this show is—well, maybe it’s art, but it’s certainly not Art. I got into film because I had something to say. So why am I laboring in an oversaturated industry just pumping out distractions?
The set is worse than the camera shop in one way. The industry-standard workday is 12 hours. So, when I get home, I just eat and get ready for bed. Then the next day comes. I have little to look forward to.
After a while at the camera shop, I got used to it. It didn’t bother me as much. Maybe that’s what capitalism does to you: steadily sucks out your soul. If this is capitalism, that’s bad news, because it’ll be hard to escape.
And I know—I hope it goes without saying—that my problems are small compared to others. And not just people far away. My friends. But the root of the problem is systemic: I don’t see it getting better as I climb the ladder.
If this set was just this set, that would be one thing. But this industry, it’s been my plan. I don’t have another one. And now I don’t know what to do. I can’t imagine doing this day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.
This summer, my friends and I made a filmmaking and Art “collective” called VWC. It’s rekindled my joy around filmmaking. What we make has meaning—or at least, it’s meaningful to us. I feel engaged, excited. I wouldn’t mind having days filled with work like that. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to support myself that way.
I’m sitting now, and I feel like crying. I hear the woman in the stall next to me vomiting. At least I’m just sad, not anxious. But why do I have to choose?