First Night Nerves

Tree of Life, the new film from enigmatic director Terrence Mallick, recently got booed at the Cannes Film Festival. Terrence Mallick is famously reclusive, and doesn't do interviews, nor opening nights. Star Brad Pitt leapt to his director's defense (naturally, Mallick was absent from the Festival), and said that arists shouldn't have to be salesmen as well. Good point.

I'm guessing Mallick (who has made a meagre five films in almost forty years) is someone who finds being in the spotlight incredibly uncomfortable. He wants his films to speak for themselves; his loathing of Hollywood bullshit is the reason he took twenty years off (from the late 70's to the late 90's, when he came out of the wilderness to make The Thin Red Line.) I can relate. BUT when you're on the bottom rung of the ladder, you don't have the luxury of behaving in that way. You HAVE to be a salesman. You want people to be aware of your product, and that means being dragged to do interviews. Kicking and screaming.

Admittedly, I was only on Radio Manchester but I still felt sick with nerves. I appeared on the Becky Want show on Monday, talking about Temp/Casual. Becky was very nice, asked some interesting questions, and I did my best, even though the 'inner critic' kept getting in the way. Really, it's my lack of belief in myself which holds me back. The truth is ... I'm pretty clueless most of the time. Okay, I'll try and be kinder - 'some of the time.' What's the answer? Well, it's a spiritual Elastoplast. A wise man once told me to act 'as if'; i.e., act as if you what you're doing and defy anyone to spot the difference. You know what? That's pretty much what everybody else does. Welcome to the human race!

Tonight was opening night. It went like a bomb! In a good way, obviously. The cast gave 100% commited performances, the technical aspects of the show were slick and polished, and the audience (almost a full house) were incredibly engaged and responsive. Lots of very positive comments on the feedback sheets; I'll add a few on here next time. My friend Rebecca told me it was a fantastic play, and that she was genuinely moved by the experiences of the characters. Quite a few other people said the same, and praised the grittiness and emotional honesty of my writing. Even better, they said they would recommend the play to their friends.

So why do I find it so hard to believe them?

When I was at Junior School, a teacher used to pick on me. Not only was he a bully, he was a ginger. Once he told me that I was stupid and would never amount to anything. Mr Quinn (that was his name) is dead and buried now but his words still sting. Yes, the inner critic has ginger hair! How do I remove his voice from my head? Pay a visit to the cemetary, find his grave and tell him what I needed to say 35 years ago: 'You're wrong. Fuck you!'

Is there a point to all this? Maybe Terrence Mallick's problem is actually the same as mine. Maybe he avoids the spotlight because he doesn't feel that he deserves to be in it in the first place. If you're reading Terry, give me a call - we should talk.

Until next time ...