So, I swear, I’ll have a post that isn’t a video or a non-sensical rant really, really soon. I’m working on a few but we’ve been busy with some actual paid gigs and I’ve been running around trying to get everything done.
Not that I put you, my dear readers, last on my list of priorities, it’s just that I put you, my dear readers, last on my list of priorities. I joke, I joke — I mostly love each and every one of you. I just don’t have any time, never any time!
That aside — Temp Life, the show I wrote along with Wilson Cleveland, has released the first two episodes of its latest season run.
So, without further ado, here it is:
and..
There’s a line in one of the videos (I won’t tell you what) — that’s almost directly from Break a Leg. Who can find it?
Pioneers? Or just amazingly good looking people? You decide.
Sometimes, the true pioneers aren’t the creators but the people in power who decide to take a chance.
Sometimes, someone decides to roll the dice — and these aren’t regular dice, they’re special, fate-changing golden dice — and do something against the norm. They do it because they like the high risk, high return investment. They do it because the word “no” is the coal that fuels their internal, “I told you so” fire. They do it because like Antonio Banderas in a Robert Rodriguez film, they’re so badass that they snort risk for breakfast.
That’s what we need from you, network people. We need you to start snorting risk.
Look, I get you. I do. I understand that the way things have been done — and I’m speaking specifically about television – have been done for a long while now and are proven to work. I also understand that in a time when the economy is doing a tap dance on a rickety bridge over a river of very hungry sharks, it’s not exactly fun to try out new steps. I even have admitted publicly to absolutely loving many of the products you put out.
But here’s the thing — no matter how you cut it, TV isn’t doing great and, despite the ra-ra of the loud happy voices, the web series genre isn’t either.
Thing is, though, we — the web series people — have an advantage over you TV guys. Namely: we’re a large demographic, we’re ever evolving and we’re just getting started. My little-over-year old niece walks like a drunk holding two teddy bears in her hug-ready arms — but soon, she’ll be able to run and destroy just about everything in my brother’s house. That’s the web series. We fall over backwards more often than we’d like but give us a little bit more time and our stumbles will turn into running that’ll turn into the winning goal of our junior soccer league that… I’ve lost the metaphor.
My point is, we’re growing and we’ll do amazing things yet.
The problem with TV, however, is that you’re stuck in your ways and you refuse to change them. Right now, to get a show on TV, a writer needs to jump through hoop after hoop after hoop after hoop. You’ll hire “proven commodities” to run your shows even if those “proven commodities” aren’t talented. ‘Cause boy, those failed TV credits must surely mean they know something.
So you hire them because you’re afraid to take a risk and because, in the end, you’re one big college drama club — working, laughing and sleeping with one another all over Hollywood. Bringing anyone new is like tearing out teeth with your bare hands and it’s made you smash head first into the wall of the changing medium.
So, again — TV is hurting right now and the web series needs a helping hand to give it a boost up.
And here’s how we shake things up.
We need you, network people, to take a chance, take a chance, take a chance, chance, chance. Look, I am fully aware that most web show creators are terrible. I love my colleagues and I think there are plenty of shows that are good, but many of them — most of them — couldn’t hold a light up to a TV show in quality… you know it, we know it, and even people yelling angrily at me from their Tumblr accounts (see, Barrett Garise? I’m nothing if not loyal!) know it — and yet, the solution to both of our problem is you, network person.
Because, here’s the thing. Amongst the awful — and it’s not just web shows, every art has its large group of awful, otherwise it wouldn’t be art — amongst the awful there are brilliant people, talented people who could do fantastic things if you backed them. And I’m saying actually backed them, not, “here’s a few thousand dollars, let’s see if you can make this web show popular without us helping you at all” — I’m saying, actual support, budget, talent, art direction, whatever — back them, help them, create a show that’ll strike a chord with audiences (think It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia) and you’ll be endlessly rewarded.
See, as creators, we get interactivity. We get entertainment. We get technology. We get what audiences want. We have our metaphoric hand on the metaphoric pumping heart that bangs out the beat of the metaphoric pulse of society. We know what people want — we need the tools to give it to them.
Don’t treat us like lower class citizens. Don’t think we’re useless and don’t you dare ignore this little genre of ours. It’s growing, it’s getting bigger and we’re innovating the hell out of entertainment. So, give us your hand — not to pull us out of the water but to work with us. To help us so that we can help you.
I didn’t want to respond too actively or I’d start feeling like I was wildly dueling anyone who came my way. But, I figure the idea was to open up the debate about the industry. Luckily, my blog, to some extent, did — so I thank you all for your commitment to share your thoughts and I’ll lend a hand to row this little boat onward.
So, here we go, row, row, row:
Mr. Garese focused primarily on my “minor leagues” argument. I retracted it in my other blog: Waxing Websodic: Everything is Fine, Nothing is Working — but I’ll reiterate it again: you’re absolutely right, Barrett. That was a flawed argument and I take it back — web shouldn’t aim to be minor leagues, web should aim to be the highest quality possible.
Now that that’s settled, I have a request.
What I ask of you, nay, anyone who reads my blog and yells arguments loudly into this large, democratic space, is this — read and understand my actual points.
Which are:
1. The web series in its current inceptionis dying.
If it isn’t, then somebody please, please throw us a lifesaver because we’re drownin’ baby and our branded entertainment commercials ain’t paying the bills or massaging the creative arteries.
2. We have to throw around ideas to help evolve the genre. Is it evolving? Sort of, kind of, slowly, I guess. Will it continue to evolve? Of course. Is it failing miserably right now? Yes.
Absolutely. Yes. Yes. Yes. Listen to creators before parading our victories — we’re struggling and the pigtail-twirling-awe of online entertainment is hurting us. We need open dialogue and ideas to push us to the next step and force one another to do something amazing. Every time people plug their ears and shout “everything is fine!” it hurts us. If it was succeeding, we’d all be living off of it (by we I mean more than 10-15 people).
That said, Barrett, my favorite welding ex-agent, I feel like we’re repeating each other’s points.
Barrett says: “We’re still “filming radio” by making short TV shows and short films because no one’s yet developed the genres of web video which will stand apart from film and television, and define the medium in the coming decades.“ While my original post makes suggestions on how to move out of this “filming radio” stage (not in those exact words, of course, but out of its current inception) and asks for others to make their own suggestions on how to evolve the medium.
Okay, sure, I said it with more anger and less gentle fondling of the genre’s privates but still — it’s all there.
So, despite your month cool down hiatus on answering my original post, we are not so different, you and I, Barret. We are not so different at all.
Oh, and, while I’m row, row, rowing:
I appreciate the comments from Mike Hudack, Eric Mortenson and the other Blip.tv guys. The word “visionary” shouldn’t be tossed around lightly, and if that’s the mantle they’ve given me, I’ll wear it to the very best of my mantle-wearing abilities. So, thank you guys. Really. I honestly think that Blip.tv is one of the only companies who is actually doing what I’m preaching.
I am not, however, bitter disappointed. Break a Leg has been amazing to us and our recent network deal should be, ideally, a huge help in our next project. That’s not it at all.
What I am is irritated at the, “everything is okay” mindset of this community. I think it’s backwards thinking, I think it’s masturbatory, and I think it slows down the evolution of this genre. We’re set in our ways because to each other, we’re just the neatest things ever — but the majority of web shows are still poorly written, acted and directed. The very best web show online completely pales in the face of any number of great TV shows — and if we want to be taken seriously, that can’t be true. Budget or no budget.
The reason for me writing the original article was to get people thinking. To get people to drop “everything is okay” and start thinking, “okay, how do we keep getting better?” It was a call to arms. A demand to break the status quo, a shout to call on artists to continue pushing this art’s boundaries instead of patting one another on the back and politely asking if they’d like another handjob.
Barrett leaves off saying that to save web video, I (though I assume he means we… or maybe he means me) need to create something that no one has ever experienced. You’ve got the right idea, Barrett. I couldn’t agree with you more –let’s stop saying everything is swell and let’s start thinking up some new, groundbreaking projects, hey?
Hell, that’s what we’re doing. In fact, we’re right in the middle of trying to scrounge up funding for a new show made with a new model that, we hope, will blow everyone’s mind.
Want to help?
Until then, let’s keep row, row, rowing.
We’re still “filming radio” by making short TV shows and short films because no one’s yet developed the genres of web video which will stand apart from film and television, and define the medium in the coming decades
I know what you’re going to say, you’re going to say, you?! A pet peeve?! But you don’t even like pets! I know. I know. I know.
But I do. And it’s this — people who constantly talk about how bad TV is.
To hate TV has become hip. To talk about how awful it is has become a way to brag about ones intelligence — “I don’t watch TV, I’m far too smart for that.” And to badmouth TV is a way to champion things like, say, the glory of the web series.
And, like many things that become so hip that they roll over into rehashed, uneducated rhetoric, these opinions are all really, really wrong. You know how they teach you in school that an opinion can’t be wrong? Well, they’re wrong — and this opinion happens to be completely wrong also.
Let me first say that I’m not, in fact, talking about reality shows. I think reality shows are fairly awful — though I think the talent competition ones are actually a blast and give people a platform to compete and be impressive in front of a large audience. So, hell, why not? They’re entertaining for all involved.
But, you know, that show about octoplets, and raising octoplets, and then cheating on your significant other because, frankly, after having octoplets, sleeping with her just seems like a moot point — that’s bad television.
But I’m not talking about that.
I’m talking about actual, narrative TV shows. Let me, off the top of my head, name some great television for you:
Glee, Californication, Rescue Me (though not so much this season), 30 Rock, The Office, House, Dexter, Entourage, Curb Your Enthusiasm, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Monk, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report… and that’s just what’s on TV now and that I’ve watched. Don’t get me started on Arrested Development, West Wing, Sopranos, Dead Like Me, Six Feet Under, Pushing Daisies, Battlestar Galactica and so on.
These shows are phenomenal. They’re intelligent, well-made, well-acted, sometimes hilarious, sometimes touching, sometimes (often) sheer brilliance. Watching a good TV show is like reading a good novel. I love movies, but there’s just something about committing yourself to a world, watching its characters change and grow and live that makes television a unique medium.
TV has changed dramatically over the years. Creators are experimenting, doing new things, and trying different styles — but it’s often ignored. Are there terrible shows? Of course there are. Are there a whole lot of brilliant ones also? You bet.
And, as far as the web series is concerned — we’d be lucky, as a medium, to have anything even close to the quality of some of TVs best shows. Not just visual quality but writing, acting and so on. Like I said before — there is no West Wing of the Internet and until anything we have comes even close to being as sharp as it or any of the shows I mentioned above, we cannot seriously claim to be the saviors of entertainment.
I’m going to go ahead and make a rule for all of entertainment:
It is not a “shoestring budget” if you’ve ever said the following things on set:
-”Okay, let’s go ahead and move the crane over there.”
-”But how fast will our city-block set on Lot 23 be ready?”
-”I don’t know. How about we get Nathan Fillion?”
Where the hell are people buying their shoestrings?!
The term, “shoestring budget” has always elicited thoughts of, say, a boom pole made from a broom with the microphone poorly tied to it (ideally with shoestring). A shoestring budget has always made me think of… well, our own production:
So, where the hell are these celebrities buying their shoestrings?
There’s been a lot made of Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog and one of the main comments about it is, “wow, Joss Whedon made this on a shoestring budget!” A shoestring budget?! A web show with a full city block set, a recording studio for their music and props that cost more than the entire run of Break a Leg is not made on a shoestring budget, unless they’re solid gold shoestrings that whisper the words of God directly into your feet.
You may say to me, but Yuri, and I’d say, yes? and you’d say, you’re just jealous!
Well, of course I am! I’m not saying it’s a bad thing to have money. Quite the opposite, I fully embrace a budget. A budget would, for example, buy me a new pair of pants or, say, let our almost-bankrupt-director-of-photography be able to afford a taco. It would also let me actually pay my actors instead of rewarding their amazing dedication and talent with bagel dogs and insults. Budgets are fantastic. I don’t think you’re a sell out if you get paid, I think — great job!
…but don’t tell me you made something on a shoestring budget. I will accept, “It was made cheaper than bigger budget Hollywood films.” That makes sense to me. What doesn’t make sense to me are the constant success stories that come out of festivals and events that market these “little independent films” made on a “tiny shoestring budget” — and that star little actors like “Steve Carrell.”
Frankly, it’s mildly insulting and takes away credit from the actual independent filmmakers. The ones who really don’t have any money. The ones who use ingenuity and sheer talent to create art with literally nothing.
You know how people say, “I made this from scratch?” That’s what a shoestring budget film is. It’s made from scratch and it tastes better than anything you’ve ever had.
I appreciate you, celebrities. I appreciate your work, I appreciate your movies and I’m a big fan of all of you (except you, octoplet family that everyone knows about except me) — I just want you to please stop taking away the only thing we independent filmmakers have: the ability to say, look — we did this, and no one helped us and it came out damn near magical.
