Occasionally, they love me, too.
I started out as Hobbyist Child Star. Well, "Star" may be pushing it. My first role was as a spear carrier in an 8mm film, the story epic, by contrast, with both the celluloid format and film title. "A Drop In The Bucket" tells the story of a golden child, kidnapped by an evil witch and taken away to a broken down cabin in the desert, who is rescued by a group of painted party goers, and everyone lives happily ever after.
Much later in life, I moved behind the camera and found that motivating teenagers to actually accomplish anything, even something as simple as choosing a narrative format for a required school project can be almost impossible. Sally wants to make a documentary about a band whose drummer she - coincidentally? - has a crush on, the nerd in the group wants to do an epic sci fi adventure film with lots of SFX, two members of the group want to get credit for all the work that anyone but them will actually do, and - well, this ends up resulting in a negotiated grade, and nothing but a bunch of pointless footage to show for your Jr. High project.
Later I started doing more short movies, using friends who would actually show up and some pieces of art found around the house. Objects are not better material than actors, but they will work for scale, can be easily manipulated and so are much more dependable. They also tend to avoid focusing on creative differences, which made them hands down winners for casting in one of my projects. I never had a piece of sculpture show up late to the set.
Eventually, I stopped going to school and started working in southern California, first for a company that specialized in theme park design and installation. The head of the company wanted to make movies, and had written a script that he got credit for, but he wanted to direct. Everybody wants to direct. I want to direct. More specifically, I want to direct and be paid for it. But, I digress. Habitually.
I spent a weekend or evening or three on sets where themed entertainment bits were being filmed for park experiences, and learned almost nothing. During the day I supported the designers and went to development meetings with the partners, who would present lovely renderings of scenes from a stupid movie to potential investors while I cooled my heels in another room.
I suppose I should feel grateful, but I am not sure I do. Eventually they laid me off and I found another crappy job.
Working for a mom and pop film distributor right after their most recent big success blew up in their faces was an eye opening experience. I was hired initially because I knew how to operate a hammer and nail. I could help them move offices. They used me for a few months, then ran out of things for me to do. True to their word, they called me back when they went into production on their next motion picture. After that finished, they hired me to replace their Production Coordinator, who had decided to move on. I became a poorly but steadily paid gofer. Sometimes I miss those people. They put me in one of the films, doing a "chasing a purse snatcher" bit. Eventually I quit to go work in commercials, which pay reasonably well but not dependably.
I recently returned to this world following a lengthy hiatus in new media, and coordinated a Country Music Television shoot involving a Can of Comedy that was used to promote the Big New Comedy Week. Rumor has it that the content of the can was not appetizing, though it did look nice and somewhat whimsical. Somehow this strikes me as an apt metaphor for my entire experience in this town/world.
Now I am looking for the next "exciting opportunity" or "creative challenge" (ie, a job), while working on script writing. I think everybody in southern California has a script or an idea for one.