You Never Know

I went to a screening of a friend’s film last night. It was a rough cut, which is to say, it wasn’t finished, and once the credits had rolled, my friend the filmmaker got up in front of the audience and asked for feedback.  At first, no one said anything, so I slipped into interviewer mode and asked some weak question about a certain aspect of the film and then sunk into my chair. Public discussions of art, particularly unfinished art, are not my favorite way to spend an evening. Meanwhile, the rest of the audience, which was made up primarily of other filmmakers and actors, was feeling timid. A tiny remark here, a minor question there . . . it was looking like I might be able to make an early night of it. Not so. My friend kept pressing. What did they think of the film? Did they have any suggestions? He’d handed out questionnaires before the screening, but he was looking for a public discussion. I don’t know if he was hoping for an outpouring of unbridled praise or constructive criticism, but after more pressing, he got the latter and then some.

I agreed with all the criticisms. The movie, in my opinion, still needed a lot of work. But I did not envy him standing up there alone while one by one the audience felt emboldened to speak their mind. Eventually the helpfulness reached a merciful end, I patted him on the back and told him he’d done good work (which, despite the film’s problems, he had), and flew out of there.

By the time I got home, I was in a minor funk. His sins were mine. I am wading through the murky middle of my own sprawling story, and being reminded of how easy it is to become lost in a narrative maze pushed me closer to that death spiral of self-doubt. And just as I was ready to fall back on an old and treacherous habit—reciting all my past successes as proof to my present self of my future glory—I stepped back and remembered the safest place to rest is in not knowing. I did not know what would happen with my book or his movie or anything else, and more to the point, I didn’t need to.

Always a little surprising to find peace there, but I did, and that is how I fell asleep last night.

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