Really, More of An Internal Discussion
This is a purely nonsensical rant about my dreams, because I have a lot of thoughts and I’m pushing them into the void so they can stop taking up space in my brain.
Look, It’s my senior year of high school. Because of the horrific oversight of some very powerful people, I’m spending it indoors, worrying about the future. Specifically, about my future as a filmmaker, because if it was uncertain before, it’s terrifying now.
All my life I readied for the inevitable “final test” of college applications. I took advanced classes, did well on tests, stressed and studied so I could be confident about snagging a coveted spot in some institution of higher education. But all my confidence about my abilities and prowess went out the door when I knew I wanted to apply to film school. All those years I put pressure on myself academically, wasted in the realization of one dream. I wanted to make movies. That was it, no Plan B or strong secondary option. This was fine for awhile as I took film and tv production classes, learning more about my passion and having fun. I was halfway through highschool, the time when many of my hyper-competitive peers had already racked up awards and jobs and things to help them stand out in college applications, when the terror finally set in. All I want to do is be a filmmaker. I mean that’s really it, like nothing else satisfies me. It was the beginning of the end.
This is it. This is what I want. I want to tell my stories one day. I want to make films for myself, but also as a gift to other people. I want to be shooting things if it means staying up for days, crying, making countless mistakes, injuries, whatever. To quote Rick and Morty, “Part time, full time. I wanna be good at it, bad at it. I want to get promoted, fired, corner office, hostile work takeover, workplace accident.” I’ll write for hours on projects that aren’t even getting produced. And I enjoy it.
But isn’t that kind of absurd? I mean, I’m seventeen and an industry outsider with no connections or clear path to my end goals. In fact, it’s a truth universally acknowledged that there’s no one path to becoming a successful filmmaker. I’m trying to get into film school, but history has shown that that’s not always necessary to “make it”. But then what do I do? Where do I go? Why on earth do I want this insane thing so badly? How will I actually know when I’m successful in an industry where success is measured in different ways? Will anyone ever want to see my stories? *Cue panic*.
Sometimes I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and think of all the things I could have done, had I stopped running from this before. I could’ve volunteered on student film sets. I could’ve chased internships and after-school programs. I could’ve gotten my actor friends together to shoot more projects. I have been surrounded from a very young age by kids who have done everything they can to get ahead, and now that learned competitiveness is driving me crazy. But then sometimes I also think: Atira, you’re seventeen, take a deep breath. Even if I had done all those things, it wouldn’t have necessarily translated into me being a wunderkind. I would probably still be applying to schools, writing and re-writing my application material, stressed about not feeling good enough.
Being a young black woman trying to make it as a screenwriter and director, my prospects were already slim, even in a pre-corona world
It can be hard sometimes for my brain to accept the idea that things can just work out. That if I work hard and never stop moving and learning and trying, there is a possibility that I can get to where I want to be. Any attempts at this state of Zen tend to be crushed by genuine fears. Will there be a job for me in the uncertain future? Being a young black woman trying to make it as a screenwriter and director, my prospects were already slim- even in a pre-corona world.
There is a feeling of absurdity when you go for something you love with no guarantees. When you grow up hearing how artists starve and never get work, choosing to be an artist is like self sabotage. I mean, am I crazy? I just love movies so much, they light up the core of me. I feel this unrelenting urge to tell the type of stories I want to see and to work to expand the types of stories we get told. Maybe I’m just a naive teenage girl who’s gonna end up being a history teacher when the industry chews her up and spits her out. Or, (one can only hope) maybe not.
I’m just not content with waiting to see innovative stories anymore. I’m tired of waiting for and inevitably critiquing a lack of truly diverse films. I want to be part of a wave of new Hollywood talent that makes them. The year 2020 has blessed us with lovely female filmmaking role models, and proof that multi-layered, ethnically diverse, queer-inclusive narratives can exist and be intriguing and awesome. But there is so much work to do. It has taken decades to get to this point of staggering and uneven inclusivity in the industry. It still feels like the existence of black women in film, and the existence of less traditional stories, are monolithic. How do I be myself and yet fit into this niche? How do I secure oppurtunities for myself to be in the room where it happens?
I don’t know where I’ll be when acceptances are released. I do know that even if my dream school rejects me, I’ll forge ahead. I’ll try to find other ways of getting experience, keep writing, keep working and trying. Film school applications are the first tests I’ve ever taken with no clear rules for how to be the best. Everything depends on my abilities as a storyteller. And even once I pass these hurdles, I know I’m signing on for a life of hurdles and setbacks. But I choose this anyway. I have to do this. It’s terrifying and thrilling. And I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
Atira C. © 2020. All rights reserved.
