At what point in your life do you look back at what you’ve been doing up to that point and say to yourself, “Man, that shit we just went through was the worst thing that could happen to a person. And it was completely and absolutely our fault. It’s there a really bad actor in this scenario, you’re it. No excuses, alibis, justifications or obfuscations. Tag, you’re it. There’s no way to talk, walk, dance, sing, shimmy, wiggle, slide or slither out of this one. If you try that one again, you’ll end up dead.”
And how many times have you seen or will you watch that movie? Make your friends or lovers or kids or grandkids or work associates or teammates or even mortal enemies watch it with you? How many times will you switch the channel to it if it’s on? It’s your favorite feature film. It’s the greatest story ever told, because it’s about you. And you’re the star, the narrator, and the director. You picked the music, the scenes, and the lighting. You got all the best lines, had the best pieces of business. Looked like you owned the set, the scene, and the show. It must have made money, right? Because we’re all still here. Oscar worthy, that’s for sure. And since as they say you are always your own worst critic, you’ve really no worries about your rating or star power. It’s in the bag. If there was a better, higher budget, better marketed film out there, you’d be in it. And have a piece of it too.
But whose film is it really? How many of your supporting actors think it’s their film, or have agents and friends telling them it should have been theirs? More than you’d like to think. If you do think about it.
At the end of the real film, the final reel, will it really matter whose name came first or which was in the larger typeface?
19 APR 2025