Earsdropping: on the brooding artist
Sylvia and I have been continuing our journey through the top 100 greatest American movies as ranked by the American Film Institute. Often, not wanting to get up from the couch when the movie finishes, Sylvia ritualistically reads the IMDb trivia about the film to me like a bedtime story. We wade through the context of what was going on behind the scenes of the film, putting into perspective the experiences of the crew, actors, producers, and directors.
Our armchair fact-sharing revealed a pattern that most of these acclaimed directors and lead actors were awful to work with. While they expected perfection, it was at the expense of the actors’ and crews’ physical and mental well-being. From Stanley Kubrick’s endless takes leading to exhaustion for all involved, to Alfred Hitchcock and Francis Ford Coppola’s emotional volatility, these directors left a crater to make these impactful films.
The pursuit to produce the best brought out the worst in people. This seemed like par for the course. It wasn’t until we came across The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, the 30th film on the list, that we saw a striking deviation from the destructive norm. This film rivals the best, celebrated for its on-location cinematography and notable framing of characters in a shot (so many golden triangles). The director, whose father was a supporting actor in the film, stated that working with him was the best experience of his career. In fact, this magnum opus was the result of the director searching for a fitting film for his father. The whole crew seemed to have a relatively relaxed and supportive experience throughout filming. From fair pay for background actors hired from the local village to harmless pranks that ended in laughter, everything was aptly grounded for a film about mining for gold and surprisingly civil behind the scenes even though the stakes were high and the murder was plenty.
What surprised us most is that this film was an exception rather than a rule in the arts. Other forms aren’t immune to the sickness that believes good art comes from the suffering of the self or others. Audiences appear to be complicit, sharing sordid stories and harrowing histories after staring at the dark and brooding artists that wail in punk songs or paint the horrors in their mind’s eye with oil on canvas. What draws us to this lore? What is the source of this toxicity? Is it the result of the experiences that feed the artist’s frustration? Or is it the pressure to create the masterpieces that mounted their rise to royalty? Can good art come from treating yourself and others with patience, support, and understanding?
There are positive examples of artists known for their creative chaos who keep the reins steady enough to not rain on other’s production parades. Jack Black, a nimble actor, kicks off (sometimes literally) his creative projects with amusing antics and invigorating the cast around him to create memorable moments. Wes Anderson, a colorful director with precise execution and diction, orchestrates a close and loyal star-studded cast and crew. In these spaces, there is a mutually-beneficial energy that powers the product paired with stories that elevate their ethos.
While some of my own artistic pursuits in music have been graced with collaboration, when I was a young, moody musician, I believed that my best songs came from the moments in my life when I felt the lowest and remaining close to that feeling accessed my deepest creativity. Looking back now, it seems like while then I was willing to create, the negativity around the experience clouds any appreciation of the value of my work. Nowadays, I see this crack into my creative cooking as I plan lofty, complex meals from scratch and feel the pressure boil over until deep regret is the primary taste on my palette.
While art can be a space to work through the uncertainties and frustrations of life, once they take over, it is no longer the artist in control and the creative value is dampened by the aura that surrounds the work.
What I and the other less-than-cordial creatives of the world can learn from those who led with the right foot, who you have on your team and how you treat them—including yourself—makes all the difference in the appreciation of the final product. While these directors might have had good lighting, and the best cameras, it is their actions that will tell the story.
