I don’t recall meeting Garth Reason, but he’s a young filmmaker with a passion for independent filmmaking. He claims we met back when I worked for the Film and Television Institute in Fremantle. He says we had a story meeting about his short film “Dream Sequence With Flashbacks”. Apparently I told him the script “could be shorter”.
Whatever. Garth found me again through Google Plus. He told me he has interesting views about the Australian Film Industry that he wants to get out there. I said, first find the inevitable story about why the Australian Film Industry is Elitist and Fucked Up in one of the daily newspapers, then you can write something in the comments section. What if I can’t find that story? he asked. They’ve printed it every month for the last three years, I said, they can’t sell newspapers for shit, but they sure know what’s wrong with the film industry.
But then he said something that changed my mind about hearing him out. “I’ll give you 50 bucks via PayPal if you’ll put my Manifesto on your website.” I agreed to grant him exposure to the dozen or so lovely and discerning folk who read my ‘blog.
Although 50 Australian dollars doesn’t seem like much, it will nicely defray the cost of buying a boxed set of The Wire.
Below is the thoughtful and moving piece that Garth sent me.
The Name is Garth. And I’ve done a bunch of things around the film biz. Jack of all trades. Master of all. And one thing I’ve noticed about up and coming filmmakers, is that every single one of them is a whining crybaby mama’s boy. Even the girls. Except for me. And I’m a guy.
Garth Reason. At Your Service.
I can be your greatest ally or your darkest enemy. As long as you don’t cross me we’ll be fine.
Movies, right? Independent movies. Even better. But What The Fuck is Independent these days?
You tell me.
But I’ll tell you first, because that’s my way. I’m not afraid of the truth and I’m even less afraid of the narrow little crawlspace where most people keep their ego.
Your mama didn’t love you enough. Your daddy took away your toy train and threw it in the fire because he could see that you were turning into a weak, little, milk-drinking, diaper-wearing “Emotion Vampire”. Sucking him dry. Sucking your mama dry. With your need for attention and love. All the time you cried out for love and never thought of others.
“I was only 13 months old,” you say.
Tell it to someone back in history who gives a crap.
Now. Is. The. Present.
Your little toy train burned 20 years ago – so get up off the floor and move on.
But don’t make a movie about it.
DON’T YOU DARE!
The Australian film so-called industry is all about the my-little-toy-train-got-melted boy. And sometimes he’s a girl. Don’t care, bitch! Man up. Woman up. Move the fuck on.
Because movies are about kinetic action, bullets smashing through windows and raw emotional shock – like a fist smashing a solar plexus and a nun telling the convent she’s with Satan now and blowing the ammo dump the hell up with 20 kilos of plastic explosives.
THAT is MOVIE MAKING, peeps. Everything else is just rubbing one out, on my fricking dime.
Garth Reason, OUT!