ZEBRAS ONLY WHEN NECESSARY

Horses look similar, right?

There's an expression from the world of medicine when a doctor is trying to diagnose a beguiling or unexplainable ailment. "When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras." It's pretty clever. If a patient comes in with a runny nose, the odds are he or she has a cold rather than some sort of respiratory infection from an exotic tropical bug.

Are there respiratory infections from exotic tropical bugs?  Absolutely. That's why you want medical professionals  with a deep knowledge  of what's possible and the tenacity to stay with a problem until they resolve a cause. But just as importantly, it's vital to go to a doctor who won't over-prescribe treatments, especially for problems beyond the scope of what he or she is dealing with.

In almost every case, creative enterprises  can benefit from a similar philosophy. Are there opportunities where sophisticated special-effects must come into play, or gyro-stabilized cameras need to be mounted on high-performance helicopters? (And if you're thinking of a project  that absolutely has to use one of those, PLEASE feel free to get in touch with us immediately!) Of course there are. But most of the time it's possible to deliver beautiful, arresting work at a reasonable budget because anything more complex wouldn't make sense for the assignment. Most of the time horses will do nicely.

Do we like stretching out with sophisticated, wildly complex flights of fancy? Yeah baby: believe it, we do. Are we capable of running with zebras? Yep: check our reel if you want to know more. But most of the time the goal is simpler than the entire range of deployable options. Elegant solutions rarely present themselves dressed in great complexity. The fact is, it's often easier to imagine wildly complex  solutions  then sleek and simple ones. Those complex solutions come with huge risks, big costs, and lots of sleeplessness. Are those reasons to avoid the power moves? Not a chance; when you need a zebra, you need a zebra. But I find this decision process is something that gets better with practice. As long as a creative person remains open to the possibility that a project might need big muscle,  he or she will likely feel more at ease making confident moves without all the exotic frippery. When your movie calls for a herd of zebras, have the guts to bring them in. But when the big cinematic scene concerns a tense conversation at an office water cooler, have the good sense to leave zebras out of the shot. You may worry that clients won't ever get to know how much power you can muster if you never show it off, but I've come to believe the opposite is true. Great power comes from the ability to deploy it when necessary, without the pressures of nervous egos to prompt decisions motivated by the wrong reasons.

--Michael Starobin

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BREAKING IN

Breaking in

We feel for the faint clicks, the minute, instantaneous vibrations that touch us like the most delicate movements of air. Something fits somewhere, suddenly. We listen closely, watch for evidence of wheels turning with the narrowest, most focused vision we can apply, force our minds to dilate time. Then, suddenly, like safe crackers, we're in.

Finding the right path into a creative project is just as important as delivering the goods on the other side. The approach vector determines the glide slope; the glide slope determines the point of anticipated touchdown. Then, when the cross winds hit you in the body--and they will hit you--you've at least got a plan, and your hands are firmly on the yoke.

(Are you wondering if I'm going to launch a third metaphor in the next paragraph? Ain't gonna happen.)

When undertaking a creative enterprise, it's easy to dismiss simple clues that you're on the right path. Discoveries and experiments that please you probably do so because you CAN tell the difference between a good idea and a bad idea. At least you SHOULD be able to tell the difference if you know your craft and you're being honest with yourself. Bad, or at least boring, ideas generally do not cause pleasure. They cause resignation.

But it's not enough to please yourself, or amuse yourself, or satisfy yourself. Unless you're that lonely poet locked in your precious garret, someone else is probably expecting you to deliver unto them a jewel they could not cut by themselves. That's why they hired you in the first place, and you're a fool if you reject your most astute perceptions about what you think they really want.

But first you must break in to the enterprise, and the thing about creative work is that each project is always opaque on day one. Even if you're a subject matter expert--a thoracic surgeon in a hospital operating theater--the patient always presents a unique history that demands careful attention to detail and custom made solutions that--hey!--work brilliantly. Just like the surgeon working on the patient, half measures are not going to work.

To successfully break in you must bring your powers of perception, reduce the mental clutter around you as much as you can, and lean in like your life depended on it. There may be multiple solutions to the problem, but you're not looking for adequate. You're looking for elegant. You're looking for the sublime, and like a safecracker, that takes a certain touch.

--MS

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ROUGH CUTS

Under construction

First, here's a definition for those of you who don't make movies every day. A "rough cut" is essentially a rough draft. It's an assemblage of images and words and sounds to show how a scene or even an entire program fits together. By definition it's not something you'd want to show to a paying crowd; it's rough.

Recently I began to realize something about how people who make media every day regard rough cuts. It occurred to me  while looking at one with a close colleague. It occurred to me and made me laugh. Then it made me curious.

To be clear, anybody in this business worth his or her salt understands that a rough cut is generally a wreck. The messy condition of the piece shouldn't be cause for concern, and yet that's where the comedy comes in. No matter how many times I'm sitting with a pro who's either watching or presenting a rough cut, the experience always comes with caveats or questions.

"Wouldn't you agree that these colors are awfully dull?"

"Try not to pay any attention to this big black space in the middle of the scene."

"Aren't we going to have music here?"

"I can't hear the narration."

"The narration is way too loud!"

"Try to ignore that the special effects aren't done yet."

The list is endless.

The funny thing is that if you do this for a living, rough cuts are a daily part of the process. We all know how they work; we shouldn't need to explain to others in the business about the stuff that's not done yet. ("IT'S A ROUGH CUT!")

So, what's the problem?

It's so obvious that it's easy to miss. The problem for creatives showing rough cuts to each other is that we care about our work. We care how we'll be perceived, and we also care about achieving the goals we set out for ourselves. Even if the value of showing an incomplete piece to trusted colleagues on the same team is to aim at a higher goal, the concerns are always the same. "What if they  think this is the best I can do?"

Usually it's not. That's the whole point. But that's also why I'm very careful about with whom I share works in progress. Without substantial trust in the relationship, the merits of early internal reviews can get convoluted quickly. It's one thing to show a rough cut to a client who wants to follow the progress of a commission. Those kinds of demos usually need some explanation precisely because your client is not usually an expert in how these things go together. Those kinds of demos can also bring risks. Clients who can't overlook the polish that hasn't yet been applied can sabotage a project still in it vital stages of formation. Clients aren't versed in the nuanced rules of viewing rough cuts, and therefore, early demos of works-in-progress can not be left to chance. (If you're one of our clients wondering if you've been shown a carefully prepared demo, rest assured: YOU HAVE! We WANT you to love it!)

But among those who do this kind of thing everyday, I offer a word of advise. Relax! It's going to be okay. We're in this together, and everyone on the team knows how it works, that it's not done yet, that it's still cooking. Deadlines focus the mind, but perfection only grows bit by bit.

-MS

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HEART VS MIND

Venn Diagram

Actually, I don't want to choose. But sometimes it's good to know when to engage one over the other.

Some things are obvious. I never feel much passion for home repairs, just as I never think very hard about laughing at a friend's joke. Wars and investments are generally decisions that ought to governed by mindfulness rather than emotional impulse, but you should probably switch off your critical, calculating mind when you go see your four-year-old's first performance on stage.  Your mind can provoke a beating heart, just as your heart can set one's thoughts racing.

For creative types, the choice can turn murky. Creative enterprises usually require measures of both heart and mind. The challenge is to figure out proportions and not let one side overwhelm the other.

There's no perfect guidance on this, but here's how I try to figure it out.

When a project doesn't speak to my passions, doesn't make my skin tingle or my eyes open wide I try to engage my mind. By reaching up into levels of logic and cognition, it's possible to jump start forward momentum, grabbing individual elements of information as if they were rungs on a ladder. Heart enters the picture later, providing polish and a desire to see a job done correctly. The challenge here is to generate sincere invention and sparkle, the flights of fancy that make people care. Heart becomes the fuel, but mind make the machine go.

When a project fully captures me, obsesses me, grabs me like a restless lover, heart runs the show. The danger is that emotional propulsion will lead to decisions that make sense in the moment but aren't fully formed, don't stand up to critical analysis, or offer the potential for deep and lasting impressions. But when heart is in charge, I've generally caught a tiger by the tail, and it's everything I can do to hang on.

I'd like to deny this, but I cannot: more jobs require mind than heart. But quantity and quality are not the same thing.

The saying goes that all good ideas ultimately reduce to work. It's true. Heart makes me long to pack my bags, but mindful determination gets me to complete the long walk. They go together, just as they must be applied in the proper proportions at the right time. I cannot live without both working in sync, and when they're not getting along with each other, the dispassionate referee somewhere in me tries to get them to play nice, work it out, realize the values of the other.

My point is this: it's inevitable that some projects you'll engage will demand substantially more analysis over emotion, while others will make your pulse quicken and your lungs fill faster. Even as day-to-day tasks generally require methodical, calculating mind to complete, heart makes it possible to see jobs through, and with results that surpasses ordinary mediocrity. Heart lights the fire; mind keeps it from burning out of control. Mind builds the house; heart makes it a home. You need both.

--MS

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