I dated a girl at one time who used to tell me that parts of her music collection made her sad. She said I’d never understand the pain and the lonliness that she felt listening to music she really enjoyed. You have to understand, she had perfect pitch and an incredible taste for music. Also a damned impressive voice.
The truth was, I understood it, but I never thought I’d fully ….comprehend is not the right word…I think “Grok” is the right one for those of you familiar with Heinlein. Since then, I’d come to appreciate it. Hell, my training was as a director. I could always spot natural talent. And I was always a sucker for a natural talent.
I have on occassion walked out of really great, uplifting movies in a slightly sorryful state. Light depression, melancholy…choly what you will. (Sorry, had to)
A wise man once told me, once you find yourself heading down the path to where you want to end up, you will find many convenient resting places along the way. The idea is not to get caught in one resting place so long that you make it your stopping point and lose sight of the original goal.
This is one of the reasons I walked away from radio when I had the chance. Sure, I thought it a sure-fire ticket to the arts…But no…It was a desk job with back stabbing co-workers. And I could only put on the constipated, I love urban dance mix, enthusiasm for so long.
So what does any of this have to do with a hill of beans?
What does a hill of beans have to do with a girls depression over happy music?
The girl I dated had a natural flair for music. She understood it. It filled her and was a second language to her. Hell, it was probably a first, she only used English because no one would have kept up with her if she spoke in muusic.To hear something really good bit at her because she wanted to make it too.
Last night..well earlier tonight…I’m cheating, I will be copying this to the journal later….any ways…
Last night, I watched “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” Season 6, Episode 7, “Once more with feeling.”
I clapped, I chuckled, I laughed aloud, I shivered. And when it was over…I could have used a cigarette.
I’ve often joked that my parents commented that I was the next Speilberg…..I’d reply that he was the first Tapolow and he just never got it right.
The episode in a strange way hurt. It was a reminder that I wasn’t doing the one thing that I love more than anything else on the planet. It has now been close to 5 years since I’ve done any legitimate theatre. And tonight was an all too powerful reminder of how far I’ve gotten from what I truly want.
This show leapt out to me on so many levels. I could identify plot development, character development, subtext played in the open for its rawness and it’s power and concealed to compliment. Irony subtle and blatant. The concept of idactic music blown away. Every rule followed and broken. And amongst it all, a stellar cast giving more than most actors are ever asked for.
The sorrow comes partially from the inability to focus my energies to create, but more from the dwarfing fear….Could I ever approach this level myself. If I could even start…Could I ever believe myself capable of this excellence?
And thus the sorrow and the bitterness.
I want to direct, I know I can. I’ve done it. And for one of the few times I allow myself to be full of myself; I was good. I was told a show I produced and directed (community level….well guerilla level) was of better quality that shows she’d reviewed on Broadway. {It was Much ado for those wondering}
So….Now I’m caught in a cycle of “I guess you’ll never know until you go for it.”
I only wish I knew where to start out here.
In the words of a good song I heard recently, “Where do we go from here?”
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My real review of the show will occur in a few days when the glow wears off.