Christians Behaving Badly

Less Talk, More Walk!

Two phone calls in the past 3 days have jostled my world. Not because of anything that affects me personally, but for the seismic tremors that have shocked and shaken two of my very dear friends down to their very core.

They were laid off from good paying creative jobs as video editors for a very large church here in Southern Cal. I am not allowed to name the church for the real fear of a lawsuit, because the very same group shoved a termination agreement across the table at me awhile back too. Sign it, and you get a couple weeks severance pay. I signed it. The deal is, I can’t name names. Okay.

Both friends, on separate days this week, called me directly on their cell phones as they were driving home from their blindside terminations. I prayed they wouldn’t crash into a telephone pole while on the phone.

Their lives were now in turmoil, their worlds turned upside down. How to pay their mortgage or rent? How are they going to keep the electricity on, groceries in the fridge and the basic bills paid? Tough questions, for sure.

Their dismissals were handled rudely, terribly. In one case, the media boss across the desk fibbed to my friend that outsourcing the church’s tv show to a major media agency would cost less than his annual salary, saving the church money. Liar. We added up the numbers. It’s an impossibility. Costs will go UP.

But the boss got what was truly wanted…my friend and colleague gone, out the door, hat in hand. The manager had been looking for a reason to can him and had spied on him for years, doubting his sincerity, attitude and “faithfulness.” A downturn in church giving and a massive mortgage on a new building were convenient reasons enough to throw him under the bus with glee.

He’s devastated, wonders if he’s going to lose his home. He’s not alone.

My other colleague wasn’t even given time to make copies of his work to show as samples for future employment. Sorry, but please leave! All access to his computer was locked, passwords changed, accounts frozen. They finally came to a deal on his projects. But the spiritual damage had been done. Two other broadcast ministries previously had done the same to him. Third time’s a charm.

This morning I took both to breakfast. At one time I was their boss, and still consider them dear friends, come what may. The chips are down, and they’re hurting badly. My being thrown under the same bus awhile back was an experience maybe I could share in some manner or way. My pain is distant, theirs is fresh and raw. But I know exactly where they’re coming from and going through. Out in 30 minutes, we need your keys.

Over coffee, toast and eggs, one friend cried, the other looked miffed. Termination came out of nowhere. No warning, no telling staff that things look bad, better polish your resume. No furlough days, reduction in pay or other viable options. Just cut and run. Christians behaving badly.

My colleagues are in shock. As well they should be. This is when you find out who your true friends are. How much your wife loves you, through good times and bad. Richer or poorer. I prayed for their marriages in my morning devotions today. Dear God, make them strong and sensitive.

And my respect – whatever little was left of it – for the church’s leadership is now nil. A pastor who offers his devastated staff cake and coffee at devotions after dropping them the bomb of massive 30% layoffs over the next 24 hours. Then walks out to escape their anger and shock.

That’s not a pastor. That’s a spineless jellyfish.

I expect – after decades of working in the rough-and-tumble media world – for secular bosses to do that. But I’ve been truly treated better by more sinful leaders who would never claim Jesus as Lord than by those who preach 5x each weekend and claim to have just heard from God.

Somewhere in heaven, Jesus is crying. And He’s probably just as miffed as my buddy was at breakfast today over church leadership messing with people’s lives like kindergarteners pushing and shoving in a sandbox.

And you know what? The verse “be wise as serpents and as harmless as doves” (Matt 10:16) sure has new meaning this week.

God forgive them. Show my friends how to forgive them. And Lord help all of us with the forgetting part.

“What’s wrong – you don’t like Black people?”

Woloof Trader

That statement stunned me as I was standing just outside the Teranga Hotel smack in the middle of downtown Dakar, Senegal in the summer of 1984. I was in West Africa to do a shoot for World Vision, my employer at the time.

The Senegalese who leveled that loaded question at me was playing The Race Card just to get a rise out of me. He was a Waloof street hustler working the old city square trying to sell me something. What, I don’t remember, probably a trinket. But he and his posse of pickpockets and slick charmers were besieging every white Westerner who walked out of the hotel. (Waloofs are noted for being aggressive, almost merciless, in dealing out on the street and in the busy markets. Negotiating is almost like a bloodsport to them.)

I remember telling the peddler, “sorry, I’m not interested in your wares.” He persisted. Again, I told him to “stop, please go away.” He wouldn’t, for he wasn’t taking NO for an answer. Finally, I told him to “Leave Me Alone!”

“What’s wrong – you don’t like Black people?!”, he shot back. (At that seminal moment, it occurred to me that he’d probably used this line before – it was his tactic to shame me into buying from him.)

Looking at him – and, truth be told, I was pretty ticked off by that point – I strongly said, “I LOVE Black people. All kinds of people. I just don’t like YOU. Go away!!!”

That certainly stopped him in his tracks. So, I kept moving down the street (always good advice when being pursued), and he, thankfully, walked off to pester some other potential target.

Let’s get something straight upfront: there is not a prejudiced bone in my body. I’ve spent about 4 years of my life living overseas, a year of it in Africa. Traveling the world has truly deepened my life and expanded my understanding of diverse peoples, nationalities and cultures. When you are a foreigner in someone else’s country, you learn pretty fast to be flexible, to adapt, and to drop your preconceived notions. Otherwise, you will be humbled quickly.

When I was single, I dated women of Jamaican, Danish, Mexican, Scottish, Chinese and Argentine heritage. I am married (and will be till my last dying breath) to a sultry Latina, Rebecca, whose family is straight from Nicaragua (mom) and Puerto Rico (dad). (Besides energetic music, great conversation and wonderful laughter, I am very well fed too. Believe me. )

Yes, I like Black people. Along with brown, white and whatever other colors you want. Bring me the United Nations.

But at the very moment I write this, The Race Card – knowingly or unwittingly – has recently been played in two venues here in the USA: within a hallowed Senate committee room…and on the porch of a yellow Cambridge, MA house belonging to a distinguished African-American professor.  

To my mind, The Race Card these days can either be real or a useful, intimidating device to skirt skillfully around whatever may be the true issues at hand. Sort of like the beleaguered serf (Michael Palin) in the classic film, Monty Python and The Holy Grail, who shouts as the knights are taking him away, “I’m being oppressed!”

So, I don’t know what Senator Barbara Boxer (D-CA) was thinking (if at all) when she read an NAACP letter during a recent Cap and Trade meeting involving Harry C. Alford, leader of the National Black Chamber of Commerce. But he was peeved, and rightly so. Boxer was trying to checkmate Alford’s conservative resistance to the famous Obama bill (re: environmental legislation) by citing liberal black support as counterpoint.

Angrily, the black CEO was having none of the NAACP letter being read to him by the lady senator (especially in a condescending manner). Good for him. He was truly offended by Boxer’s antics, and called her on it to her face. The NAACP tactic backfired on the California senator, making her look rather clueless on network news.

Conversely, what will become of the fiasco between Dr. Henry Louis Gates, Jr., and Sgt. James Crowley in the now infamous Cambridge house arrest is still an unfolding story. It really seems like a He said, He said issue. And the sergeant is not backing down one bit. Neither is the professor. Besides public opinion, we may be heading to the courts, which is a shame – just what we need, more lawsuits.

Did Gates play The Race Card to the police? Yes. Was he right to do so? Hard to tell. Was he making a statement that he believed he was being singled out primarily due to his skin color? Most definitely. Gates certainly knows about the history of African-American oppression, for he teaches about it at Harvard. But the facts are someone saw him breaking into a home, his home. To a passersby, he was a potential burglar. That’s when police showed up.

(I will say this: my grandfather worked for years as a captain in a sheriff’s office and ran the Fresno County jail at one point. Don’t ever bring one’s mother into a rant versus a police officer, which is what Sgt. Crowley alleges Dr. Gates did. No, no, no. Handcuff time.)

Soon there probably will be sharper, clearer details to shed light on this conflict. And, days later since his press conference, the President is certainly backing-off his judgmental use of the derogative term “stupidly” when assessing the performance of the Cambridge Police.

My only BIG observation on these two legitimate racial discourses is: you better make sure you’re absolutely right when you play The Race Card.

Don’t casually toss that inflammatory card out onto the table just because it’s worked well for you before, or remains your reliable ace-in-the-hole when push finally comes to shove…like the Woloof hustler outside the Teranga. Because playing that powerfully charged hand could backfire on you if your ulterior motives are proven to be misguided or manipulative.

Society is wising-up to the misuse of The Race Card pretty fast these days.

Porn & The Little Girl

Last night, Friday, Walter Cronkite died at age 92.

Tomes could be written about this legendary newscaster and anchor – and will be. Attributes have come pouring in, and rightly so. He was one of the titans of the tv journalism industry.

While dialing across the various news channels in search of more about Cronkite, my remote control landed on CNBC just after 7 p.m. The program being aired? “The Business of Pornography.” It was a news profile of the big money the sex industry makes from DVDs, web offerings and various platforms of distribution.

To be honest, I watched for about 1-2 minutes before moving on to CNN, Fox and others. But in the few minutes I was on CNBC something curious caught my eye: a picture of a smiling little girl, perhaps 7 or 8 years old.

That cute picture was on a screen saver in the office of Vivid Entertainment’s CEO Steven Hirsch. It was his young daughter on the computer of her dad – one of the biggest pornographers in existence. The screen was visible just over his shoulder during a tv interview for the CNBC investigative special. She was looking over at him, a frozen frame of her caught in a playful moment.

Her innocent photo captivated me. I wondered if Steven thought about his little girl each day as she looked out at him while he made his porno deals, shaped business, hired performers and checked his company’s dirty bottom line.

Each day – every day - his daughter’s picture stares back at him, gentle, loving and accepting of her dad. Wonder what he tells her is his business. Daddy is in the video business? Entertainment? He’s a producer?

Perhaps Steven has this all worked out and compartmentalized. In his mind – even his soul – business is business, family is family. They are separated. Ok, maybe that’s how it works for Vivid and Steven Hirsch.

My only real question is: when Steven’s little girl grows up to be 18, should her dad give her a big part in one of his nasty movies?

(Next week, my daughter Anneke turns 18. Would I want her to star in a movie for Steven? Not in a million years for a million dollars. Even with a gun held to my head.)

The Scarf

The scarf around my neck has very little meaning other than it’s made of some poly fiber. I’m allergic to wool.

Cotton, silk, cashmere? Fine. But no wool.

I bought this scarf for two reasons: first, Rebecca, Anneke and I – on a whim – decided to book a trip to Paris for Thanksgiving ’07. I’ve been fortunate to be in Europe in all sorts of weather. But late November in Paris is terribly brisk and chilly. You need a good scarf, gloves and hat (especially if mostly bald like me).

Second, the colours all work with clothes I normally bring for travel – black, blue, grey, khaki. And the scarf was maybe $5 at Ross. Deal. Plus the blue goes with the eyes. That’s one thing going for me.

Truth be told, this picture I use for personal and professional reasons is about the best I can furnish. I am not photogenic. I have a face for radio. Better in person, I hope, than in a photo.

So this cropped picture taken on a cold, rainy day in Sevilla, Spain (Presidential Palace) around Dec. 30th, 2007 is the best this craggy sea dog can manage.

For now, it works. Until something else arrives where the light was perfect, the angle just right, the camera was out of focus and I didn’t blink or smirk during the shot.

Last add: had lunch recently with a new friend and colleague, Ray, at my favorite little Mexican joint in Culver City – La Ballona. Ray mentioned in passing that he loved this shot of me on my websites. I explained the scarf picture and personal reasons.

Still, Ray liked it. For wearing a scarf, to him, showed a certain artistic boldness.

OK. Love the affirmation. Artist? Where?

But, for me, it’s just a nice scarf to keep yours truly warm in chilly climes.

Move over, Cezanne.

Steve McNair: Angels & Demons

Steve McNair

I don’t know Steve McNair. Never met him, never saw him play pro football in person. Great Tennessee Titan quarterback who came a yard short of tying a Super Bowl score in the last minute.

Everything I’ve read, seen and heard this past week has lauded McNair as a respected, greatly appreciated player, friend and teammate. No arguing there; his accomplishments speak for themselves.

Today I sat at a lunch table waiting to meet with a good friend & colleague, Paul B., who was running late. As I waited,  on the restaurant HDTV were more ESPN details about McNair’s sudden death in Nashville. 4 gunshots. A homicide. 1 shot killing his girlfriend/mistress, Sahel Kazemi. Possible suicide. Ugly, nasty business.

I don’t want to see the crime scene footage, the bloody condo or the now revealed vacation photos of Steve and Sahel para-sailing on the Gulf of Mexico. Enough.

Sadly, McNair left behind a sweet wife and 4 great kids. Evidence is emerging of a secret life involving his affair with a former waitress. And that 20 yr old Kazemi believed McNair would seek a divorce to marry her. This is a tragic, brutal tale, for sure.

Death, loss, heartbreak. Everywhere.

Brought closer to home for me is that Los Angeles has more than its fair share of star athletes. In the past 30 years I’ve lived here I’ve run into numerous players that have won Super Bowls, NBA Championships and Stanley Cups. Had conversations with a few, especially those in hockey. Worked with athletes in TV, interviewing a star or two. But I have no one famous on speed dial.

Yet, my eyes have been neither naive or closed to star behaviour.

Used to have dinner at a place named Tripp’s in Century Century frequented by many L.A. Lakers at that time. Some were married – who, smoothly, talked to the ladies. Who cooed back. The wedding ring meant nothing.

A girlfriend of mine told of dates she had with a well known (married) Dodger, who proposed setting her up in an apartment as his mistress. She said NO.

Knew another woman who said she was constantly hit on by a major (married) NHL hockey player, who offered the same scenario of apartment/dating. He just finished playing for Detroit in the Stanley Cup playoffs this past June. She said NO. Good for her.

Had dinner on a winter’s evening years back at a late, great restaurant called Sanctuary (on Robertson Blvd) as a Lakers/Bulls game finished. Place filled up just with the rumor Michael Jordan was on his way over. The level of women who poured through the doors – as my buddy and I finished dessert – spoke volumes about the type of females who pursue star athletes. Not pretty, to be honest – neither the scene nor the beauty.

My point is that what athletes say on camera, to reporters and in public is one thing. But once they hit the clubs or the road is another. Not being judgmental here; but McNair having a dual life doesn’t really surprise me. Sorry. It just terribly saddens me – because of the outcome and victims.

A grieving wife will never have her husband back…and four young kids have now lost their father, forever. And, to be fair, the friends and family of Kazemi have lost her too.

Was a clandestine relationship really, truly worth it?

Hollywood’s Insincerity of “Maybe”

Telling someone YES, I believe, is easy. Everyone loves to hear YES, because it’s usually good news.

Pop the cork, can’t wait to get together, we chose YOU.

How you say NO, however, is another matter entirely. The ways in which you deliver bad news speak volumes about your character. NO is the dreaded word that embodies failure, negativity and rejection. Many’s the time I have received NO via an email or a rambling message left on my voice mail.

Most messengers are fearful of saying NO, afraid of the conflict, awkwardness and potential embarrassment. They lack courage – and tact. So they resort to the impersonal nature of the email (or a text). Most avoid the task altogether.

I had a leading humanitarian agency that occasionally called to hire me for overseas relief shoots, my assignments always leaving in just days. To my frustration, the next morning there would be a quick “sorry about this” email from the client waiting in my in-box, cancelling my participation. They’d found a previously busy staff member available instead.

After the 3rd abrupt cancellation, I called them on it, told them it was unprofessional: You hire by phone, then cancel by email. They didn’t even realize how insincere they’d become. The production manager was startled, then apologized straight away.

It’s my firm belief that saying NO – whenever possible – should be delivered by the decision-maker personally. Either face-to-face or voice-to-voice.

Unless the person is on the back side of the planet, or it’s a legal matter, I try 90% of the time to tell someone the bad news myself. That way they can listen to the tone of my voice. Ask questions, understand the circumstances, hear why. I believe this is a matter of courtesy and respect – for the other person.

Email is the EASY way. Speaking to a real, live person is the RIGHT way.

There is, however, another dangerous, dodgy answer that for decades has remained the bane of Hollywood (and modern society) – MAYBE.

Truth be told, the word MAYBE really means nothing at all. Just MAYBE. Doesn’t indicate you’ve gotten the project, landed the job or clinched the deal. Nor does it mean you haven’t. It’s just…MAYBE.

MAYBE, in my opinion, can do much greater harm then a YES or NO. Why? Because a) it’s neutral. b) it’s non-committal. And c) it gets people’s false hopes up anticipating a possible YES that can take-up weeks or months.

Over the almost 20 years I’ve spent working in network and cable production, the use of MAYBE has been in play scores of times. You had a great meeting. Trade phone calls. Swapped emails. You’re in consideration for an assignment, project or show. Waiting for confirmation, hopefully a good answer.

That, many times, doesn’t arrive. (To be fair, sometimes you get a YES.)

Then, your calls aren’t returned. Emails go unanswered. The messages pile up with no updates. Deadlines pass. You’re on hold until YES or NO arrives.

Welcome to Hollywood, the Land of the Eternal MAYBE.

I was going to list in this blog item the numerous examples I’ve encountered in my dealings with production companies, cable networks and faith-based clients. But, then again, is it really worth it? Probably not, for sanity’s sake. My sanity.

But I will provide one anecdote. Awhile ago I was talking to a very smart attorney named Marc. He’d worked years before providing legal advice for film companies producing horror pictures. We swapped stories. Marc explained that he’d left the film industry because he’d witnessed the repeated lack of integrity of the producers he advised.

Why? Everything to them. Marc explained, was a MAYBE. So Marc grew tired seeing other people being strung along unethically, waiting to hear a YES that was never meant to happen. Marc felt the legal profession was more ethical than the entertainment world. Wow, that certainly speaks volumes.

Moral of this missive? Let your YES be YES. Your NO be NO.

And watch out for those who say MAYBE.

Crunch Time For Small Colleges

A few years ago I made an important mid-career decision to go back to college – this time, graduate film school.

My choice was Chapman University’s Dodge College of Film & Media Arts, which is now nationally ranked, perhaps Top 5. (USC remains the “Harvard” of film schools. Chapman is “Dartmouth.”) Boasting a new $41 million facility, 34 notable professors and over 900 students, the film school is extremely competitive, too; only about 1 out of 4 applicants are accepted into Dodge College.

Earning an M.A. in Film Studies is no small feat. The Thesis itself is a backbreaker. Half of my academic colleagues never finished – the long thesis process of research and scholarly writing killed them.

The next chapter in my career, I believe, is to teach film, tv and media at the college level. The desire is to mentor filmmakers. (I use that inclusive term to also define those wishing to work in television, video and media production.) The rationale is to give back, to guide a younger generation that has grown up immersed in media.

(When I was coming up as a wet-eared 20 year old network promo producer, there were few mentors to show us how. It was sink or swim. Perhaps they should change the job title from professor to swim instructor.)

Teaching, really, has no age limit. The academic world rewards experience, knowledge, ability and a terminal degree. You can be 63 and still be teaching. (As long as you have good health and mental agility.) But in television, you’d be a dinosaur primed for extinction. Heck, make that 43.

Fast forward to 2009, my efforts to transition from a producer-director with a long career (and a degree) to becoming a film/television professor seem to be travelling on a very rocky road. These are tough times in academia.

For example, here in California the state budget crisis (negative $21 billion for 2009 alone) means that $5 billion is about to be slashed from education.

Second, scores of colleges and universities outside of California are hurting too. Endowments have taken a HUGE hit on Wall Street. (Harvard just lost $8 billion in investments.) Donations have dried up. Budgets have either been frozen solid or sliced to the bone. Travel stipends have been slashed.

With the cost of a 4 year undergraduate degree now often topping $100K – and up to $200K at many private universities – student enrollments (and retention rates) have taken a major hit. This upcoming Fall 2009 term will speak volumes as to where education is financially. It may not be a pretty sight; you might want to cross your fingers and close your eyes.

Third, these various factors have combined recently to become The Perfect Storm that affects the filling of open professor slots. According to the Chronicle for Higher Education, even tenured professors at major universities (Arizona State was cited) are being laid off. Retired positions are going unfilled. Progressive plans to expand a department or program have been scuttled for the near future. The academic job boards are littered with strikethroughs. A visit to the Cal State Fullerton website cites numerous faculty positions cancelled.

Finally, truth be told, the consideration process is maddenly s-l-o-w. (I work in television where deadlines are often quick and sacred.) Resumes, references, letters of interest, transcripts, educational philosophy and teacher evaluations – they all have to be sent in a packet. In the end, a search committee often selects who gets a shot, who doesn’t.

Then you wait. And wait. For a position that was publicized in September that may not be filled till the following July, 10 months later.  I will admit that I have learned tons of patience recently. That’s the bonus, and the residue of being forced to wait for an answer, of stepping into a laborious review process as willing participant.

In the end, however, there is something that I am pretty confident about: The right opportunity at the right university is going to open up. Crunch time, or not.

As my college basketball coach, Dewey Short, used to say, “It’s always too soon to quit.”

Few Surprises About Jon and Kate Plus 8

For the past few weeks the internet, gossip mags and entertainment shows have been buzzing about the TLC reality series Jon and Kate Plus 8. Topics have included Jon’s fidelity, Kate’s makeover and, finally, the status of the Gosselin children, 6 of which are sextuplets.

What is missing in the chatter is a key element that makes reality television truly successful: conflict. Without conflict virtually every reality show would suffer in content and ratings. Doesn’t matter if the show is high brow or low; conflict is what drives the engine. Whether losing weight, winning $1 million, finding a spouse or catching giant crabs in the Bering Sea: Conflict reigns.

Jon and Kate Plus 8 – now in it’s 5th season – is not immune from this basic ingredient of injecting tension to drive story and ratings. Look at ANY reality show and notice how often conflict is teased, especially up front in the intro or just as the episode is going to commercial break. The producer’s intention is to have you – the viewer – hooked into seeing what will happen next. Sort of like the fascination of witnessing a train wreck – we as humans are frozen by the spectacle of the explosion and carnage, and will worry about the bloody bodies being identified later.

(It should be noted that tv producers are expert at creating conflict where little often exists, constructing make believe tension out of whole cloth. All it takes is a small skirmish on set, a misunderstanding or an unintentional remark – poof! The “story” will morph into a fight of epic proportions. Welcome to the off screen prodding of contestants and the magic of editing tricks that can re-assemble disconnected sound bites into a whole different conversation on screen.)

In the case of the Gosselin’s, notice if you will that much of the behind-the-scenes chatter about their personal lives cropped up just weeks and days before their series’ debut. Coincidental? Probably not. Rather ingenious of TLC to fan the flames of dischord to create publicity, web traffic and word-of-mouth, which resulted in nearly 10 million viewers for their season premiere.

So, what about the kids? I could write a small tome about the use of small children to drive a show and series. It’s not new; just check out Supernanny or Wife Swap. But there are other far more talented commentators who are better at weighing in on what some are now calling “exploitation.” Good.

Perhaps the genre of REALITY should be re-examined to identify those participants who are being manipulated in network and cable’s crass effort to make a media buck. Whether it’s Wipeout, Survivor, Big Brother or Bridezilla. Over 18? Ok, you should know better than to make a fool of yourself on tv. Broken hearts or falling into mud pools not withstanding. You’re on your own, friend. But under age 10? Sounds like parental pimping to me. If the kids have a SAG or AFTRA card, fine. There are strict union rules for hours of day working and tutors on set. But Reality TV? They make up the rules as they go, kids be damned.

Finally, what one should really be concerned about is the opinion expressed by one of Jon and Kate’s producers last week. To paraphrase their comments, “their (Jon and Kate’s) fighting and potential break-up is terrible. But it sure makes for great television.”

Sad…and, unfortunately, right on the mark.

No International Man of Mystery

A few years ago Mike Myers carved a special niche for himself into the film world by creating, writing and performing the role of Austin Powers across three popular films. A spoof on the 1960s Bond films, Myers blended equal parts action, comedy, satire and farce to great effect. Jetting across multiple time periods, locations and settings, Powers was a throwback to the dashing spies who could wear a tux, drink a Vesper martini, bed a gorgeous woman and drive exotic race cars – while foiling a fiendish plot to take over the world. Just make sure not to gnaw on your kitty and, oh,  better stay clear of the frickin’ laser beams.

So, is there any International Man of Mystery in me? Probably not. International – yes. Mystery – no. The Man part is already set, believe me. But what I do have are a wealth of unique, valuable experiences (and observations) culled from extensive world travel – considerable time well spent amidst a multitude of cultures, beliefs and languages. Years of my life have been spent on foreign soil. Some of it picturesque, other parts desolate.

I’ve said for ages that a good traveller is much like white rice: he or she absorbs the various flavors of the many places and peoples they’ve rubbed up against. Blessed does not even begin to describe what I have seen, heard and experienced. Lucky me.

One of my creative gifts is that of writer. I’ve known that since age 16 when my high school journalism articles landed an unexpected, prestigious award. Writing opened a whole new world for me. This blog just might prove to be an extension of those talents – and that world.

Where this blog steers itself remains to be seen. This simple entry is just Step 1. But the posts along the way – I promise – are dedicated to being both interesting and provocative.

Film Books and Good Stories

Recently, I had the chance to do something I haven’t done in ages: buy books. Not just any books, but those dedicated to the topic of FILM.

Going back recently for a Masters degree in Film Studies whetted my appetite for film, television and media again. A couple years ago, while writing – and struggling – with a long thesis highlighting a gifted, under-looked film director, Alexander Mackendrick, I began buying up books  on British and Celtic Film plus World Cinema. My initial thought was to save myself a few trips to the Chapman University library 11 miles down the road. Yet, building my own small cache of film books turned out to be both a small joy and a labor of love. And I can yellow mark them to my heart’s delight without penalty.

A web trip to Amazon.com just a day or so ago re-infused my love for cinema. For less than $30 I bought 3 used (in “like new” condition) books: one on Third World film-making, a recent British Film perspective and a seminal textbook on Film Genre written by Thomas Schatz. If you have any knowledge of Film Studies, you’ll know about Schatz. David Bordwell is another film scholar to pay attention to for insight. While shopping on Amazon I also created a “wish” list of another dozen books or so I’ll grab sometime later when my pocketbook isn’t as lean.

Film has been viewed by some as the new literature of the 21st century. Whether projected, digital, web-based or viral, the cinematic stories presented and told are meant to move and affect us, and, ultimately, to entertain. That inspiration and expression most always starts with a good STORY. Stories come in all flavors – western, action, comedy, horror, biography, thriller, war picture, romance or documentary. All in all, it’s tough to mess up a really good, compelling story.

Over many years I have run into a lot of faith-based or non-profit groups that fail to understand the critical importance of story as they size up a media project. Their leaders are well-meaning, but the focus is far too often based on either money or equipment or cheap labor. What’s this gonna cost? Where can I get my hands on some gear? Where are some volunteers to run this equipment?
This is akin to a painter worrying about paintbrushes, easel and canvas rather than the subject or landscape they will paint.

The failure is in not setting their sights on far more important issues: scripts, characters, plot, genre, audience - and story. That’s sad. Because as my wise mentor, Dr. Paul Monaco, used to say, “people love to tell stories. Humans have been telling stories since the dawn of time.” He’s right. Film – as either an artform or medium of expression – is great at storytelling.

In his acclaimed book on Hollywood, Adventures In The Screen Trade, Academy-award winning screenwriter William Goldman posed the fundamental question, “what’s your story about?” He then followed-up that challenge with a key secondary question, “what’s your story REALLY about?” When you can answer those questions, you have a starting place.

In the end, that’s what I love most about film (and tv and media): the stories.