Today, I saw a teenager wearing a t-shirt bearing the phrase, “Class of 2012,” a year reserved, until recently, for science fiction. For some reason, he wasn’t shooting robots with a phaser while riding a dewback on his way to Thunderdome.
(By the way, I watched a documentary called Terminator 2: Judgement Day. Did you know there was a nuclear holocaust August 29th, 1997? I don’t remember that.)
Anyway, 2012! I feel old. And it’s not just because of that kid. I just read a David Bordwell article called, “The Magic Number 30, Give or Take 4.”
He writes: “For directing music videos and commercials, the window opens around age 23… If you haven’t directed a feature-length Hollywood picture by the time you’re 35, you probably never will.”
35 seems like a long time off, until I realize that the same time backwards, I was in college, and that doesn’t seem too long ago.
I have friends from school who are editors, now, others who are DPs. I even know a writer on a network show. What have I been doing?
Hearing my lament, my wife pointed this out, from the same article–
Who would trust a young first-timer with a multimillion-dollar investment and authority over far more experienced performers and technicians?
Nearly everybody, actually.
So, there’s that. Count on my wife to find the silver lining.