Thursday, July 10, 2008

When you fire a starter’s pistol on the Internet, as we did last week with the launch of FlickFool, the sharp report doesn’t accomplish what it normally would in the real world. You aren’t signaling to other people to start a race, or kicking off the regional homemade chili semi-finals, or robbing a convenience store on a modest budget. What you’re really spurring is a rush of content, in this case self-produced content, and the shot is actually for yourself, the faraway finish line being the ability to sustain an influx of fresh material for those first few critical months.

I believe I’ve ruined movies for myself. Whereas previously I could mellow out to an audiovisual experience, content to keep my opinions to myself, these days I’ll wonder during the flick whether I can summarize the plot in 11 words, thereby freeing the other 39 for some semblance of critical thought. This awareness is like a trapdoor, with no easy way to climb back to how things were, though one possible outlet is the existence of other media. Music, for instance. Right now, I’ve got Beulah on the speaker, singing about heaven knows what, but I enjoy it. I can leave it at that.

There’s also this idea of casting judgment from the public’s perspective. The Game, for instance, is one of my all-time favorite movies, and yet I wouldn’t recommend you purchase it because of its niche appeal. Travel too far in this direction, however, and you go totally milquetoast, which simply won’t do. All this is more realization than gripe, of course, as I swap priorities. Consumption for creation. And that seems like a worthwhile trade.