Jesse Blanchard knows more about 3-D than you do.

'Shine', Jesse Blanchard's 2-minute, 49-second masterpiece

When I spoke to my buddy Jesse Blanchard about a year ago, he was all excited to build a 3-D rig he'd dreamed up. A couple of nights ago, he invited me over to see the result: a short film that lasts less than three minutes. (If you want to see it, click here.)

It's been a busy year for Jesse. He didn't just build a 3-D rig and shoot a film with it. He built one, tested it, refined the design, built another, tested it, refined the design, built another...

All in all, I saw five 3-D rigs at Jesse's place. I have no idea how many prototypes he went through before the first, or how many tweaks he made to each of the designs once he built it.

What I do know is that through this process, Jesse went from knowing about as much as you or I do about 3-D to knowing pretty much everything there is to know about 3-D. 

My version of Jesse's story is that rig I built last year to do that one effect: with a continuously moving camera, create the impression of going forward in time, backward in time, and then forward in time again. Like Jesse, it took me a year to build a working prototype. Like Jesse, I went through lots of designs. And like Jesse, at the end of the process, I knew more about messing with time than most people outside of quantum mechanics will ever know. 

My result is even shorter than Jesse's: A 60-second commercial, which tells a wonderful little story, but to be honest, the best part isn't the wacky messing-with-time shot. It's fine. It does the job. But a couple of other elements get more smiles and nods of approval.

Will Jesse or I ever recoup the money we invested? Will we ever be compensated for the time and energy we put into these projects? Will we ever get a phone call from Steven Spielberg, begging us to accept a huge amount of money for the opportunity to use what we came up with?

I can't tell you.

But I can tell you this. It's one thing to have an idea, quite another thing to do the hard work of making your idea come to life. 

Jesse may never get an opportunity to shoot another project in 3-D. And I may never have a job that calls for a continuously moving camera that moves through time forward, backward, then forward again. But both of us are a lot better directors now than we were a year ago.

A really nice commercial. Then I actually saw it.

Last night, this spot was on one of the TVs at the gym. I saw about 45% of it with no sound, from across the room, while I was trying to use the eliptical machine. But that was enough.

Enough to know that the line was going to be "Wash your day away."

Nice.

I was intrigued enough with the spot that when I got home, I went onto YouTube to see the whole thing, top to bottom, with sound and no distraction.

You know what? It's worse.

I was right about the line, by the way. But 'Car Wash'? That's the music they chose? And paid to license? I would have lost that bet.

It's not just the music, though, that makes this spot a disappointment. It's the fact that there's a really unique (although in my mind, of questionable value) point of difference to the product being advertised, and yet the message is generic enough to have been used for any shower head. It's as if somebody had come up with this spot for the new business pitch, before they actually got into the tactical messaging, and trotted it out for this assignment. Which happens, by the way, more often than people will admit.

This whole episode reminds me of a moment I had when I first moved to New York years ago. I was shopping for a house plant and heard a girl's voice from the other side of a row of ficuses. She said, presumably to a friend, "That's my kind of plant."

Five words, but there was something about her voice, both the quality and the inflection, that touched me. The way she said that one sentence made me think that this was somebody I'd want to meet. Maybe even marry. But by the time I rushed around to see where the voice had come from, whoever she was had vanished.

For years, every girl I dated or even liked was unintentionally (and unfairly) compared to the hypothetical ideal that that voice created, until I ultimately ended up marrying someone whose other strengths compensated for a voice that –– next to Mystery Plant Girl's –– was brash and a bit nasal.

As I look back, I'm glad I never met the girl who said those words.

I wish I never saw the entire Delta Faucet spot.

More proof I have no clue what I'm talking about.

Not long ago I judged the Student Academy Awards. Which is a pretty prestigious honor, by the way, but not the point here.

One film in particular captivated me. I don't think I'm supposed to reveal which one because the awards haven't been announced.

The thing was, it didn't captivate most of the other judges.

One of the other judges liked it as much as I did, but she had to leave before we were finished, so it was up to me to fight for the film. Which I did. I managed to get it a second shot, to have it screened in front of the entire judging panel at the finals.

Where it went down to defeat.

The films that were selected weren't bad, but frankly, they didn't have something that this one did. They all had heart, story, and craft, but this one also had something extra. It broke ground. The filmmaker understood the potential of the medium and told her story (I think I'm allowed to reveal that she was a her) in a way that could only have been told on film.

Unfortunately, at the finals, I couldn't make that case. All we could do was vote.

So what's my point?

It's not that I don't know what I'm talking about. And it's not that the other judges were idiots. It's that my opinion is just that. My opinion.

This is a tough lesson to learn, especially when you're starting out. But most people you show your work to aren't going to get it. Those that do will never –– and by never I mean really, really rarely –– like it as much as you do.

I wish I could talk to the filmmaker of that film that isn't going to win a Student Academy Award. I'd tell her that she's a prodigy. That her audience, in spite of being a prestigious panel of filmmakers, wasn't sophisticated enough to understand what she accomplished.

And I'd tell her to keep working. Because the only way she'll ever find an audience is to create stuff and put it out there.

I'm back.

To all the people who send emails and messages, wondering why I hadn't posted in a while and asking if I were okay, thank you.

I'm okay.

Life has been pretty nutty and writing blog posts hasn't been much of a priority. But things are settling down. And the time away from posting has given me some clarity.

So I'm going to get back into imposing my opinions on anybody who cares to read them. Again.

Thanks for sticking around. I hope I make the wait worthwhile.

Does the guy in the latest Hammy's commercial remind you of somebody?

I recently shot a couple of spots for Hammy's Pizza that I'm really happy with, and not just because they gave me the opportunity to create a character based on someone I know and no, I'm not going to go into more detail than that because maybe you know him. Hell, maybe you are him.

Let's just say that I feel as if I've exorcised a tiny, little demon in shooting these spots. Which, in the world of advertising, is quite an accomplishment.

Anyway, wanna see? Here's a link: http://vimeo.com/13537822

Why most advertising sucks. (Part 5)

Every once in a while, somebody says what I want to say better than I could have said it myself. Today's example comes from Bob Hoffman, CEO of Hoffman/Lewis advertising. 


Bob writes one of the few blogs I regularly follow, called 'The Ad Contrarian'. Here's what he says about why advertising is so crappy:


Like most sensible people, here at The Ad Contrarian world headquarters we do our best to avoid advertising.

This keeps getting harder and harder.

Despite all the witless proclamations of new age marketing gurus about the death of advertising, advertising isn't just growing, it's metastasising.  Every click of a mouse brings us at least three ads. TV watching is at its highest level ever. Every person wearing a hat or a t-shirt has become a walking billboard.

Things that used to be just helpful have now also become advertising carriers -- ticket stubs, museum maps, dry cleaning bags, milk cartons...

You can't swing a dead media planner without hitting an ad.

And while advertising has gotten bigger and bigger, it hasn't gotten much better.

I'm not one of those old guys who thinks that there was a golden age of advertising (or music, or movies, or literature) in which everything was brilliant and that everything since then has been crap.  I believe that most advertising (and most music, movies, and literature) have always been pretty lousy, and today's lousy is no worse than any other era's lousy.

The reason most advertising (and artistic endeavors) are lousy is not that people set out to create crap. It's that creating something good is really, really hard. And there are very few people who can do it.

The idea that we are all creative and that if we just free ourselves from the stultifying shackles of society we can unleash a torrent of creativity is juvenile nonsense. Creativity is rare and precious. Many seek it. Few have it.

With all the amazing advances in technology and communication, you would think there might be some concomitant blossoming of creativity. But there hasn't been. Not in advertising, not in music, not in art, not in literature, not in movies.

Maybe that's why our industry has become obsessed with technology and media. There have been impressive, sometimes startling, leaps of innovation and inspiration in these areas.

But, sadly, the "content" is just as crappy as ever.

I'm looking for seven- to nine-year-old boys and no, I'm not a perv.

I'm not a terrorist, either.

You know that camera rig I mention occasionally? The one I've been working on for almost a year? Well, I finally got it to do what it's supposed to.

Most directors, when they come up with something as potentially mind-blowing as this, they shoot a test. But I think we can all agree I'm not like most directors. I have to go and do something spectacular. Like a piece that involves a big cast, a ton of specialized equipment, intricate choreography, a porn star, huge lights, smoke, wind, and a crew of at least 15.

Could be fun. Could be a disaster. 

To raise the stakes just a teeny bit more, I'm going to need some seven- to nine-year-olds to be in it.

The good thing about working with seven- to nine-year-olds is that unless the acting requires them to do something that seven- to nine-year-olds don't normally do, you don't need a seven- to nine-year-old with a ton of experience. In fact, brains, demeanor, and enthusiasm are way more important than any kind of training. 

Which is why I'm posting this on my blog. 

If you know of a kid in the Portland area who might be interested in getting a taste of acting, let me know. Send me a headshot or a picture, along with stuff it might help to know about him: how old he is, whether he has any acting experience, how long of an attention span he has, his height, weight, and hair color. You can send it all to jobs@belefant.com. If you hit the spam filter, just try and convince it that you are indeed a real person. 

We're aiming to shoot on the 24th and yes, we'll have all sorts of things in place to make sure that the kids are not abused or distressed in any way. 


Can't say the same for the director.