My housemate-at-the-time sighed and said she wished she also had a frivolous job like filmmaking.
I understood what she meant: She was a nurse, doing a physical job with high stakes for long hours, and ~*~ art ~*~ must sound delightfully, well, frivolous, from that perspective.
But it made me reflect on the value of art, and especially film. Personally, I don’t think I could live (happily) without it.
There’s the practical use: Maybe a trial lawyer really needs to escape into a supernatural Netflix show to forget court for a few hours. Maybe a resilient story of hope is just what someone needs to get them off the sofa when they’re in a black hole.
But it’s more than that.
Film is commentary on life. It shapes our expectations about the world, it gives us roadmaps through difficult terrain. In a fellow filmmaker’s Twitter bio, I read “We live a million times through each other” and my heart exploded.
Especially as a writer, you get to live dozens of lives without sacrificing your own, you become hundreds of people. I can imagine to be almost anyone. Understanding how a person works makes it a lot easier to love and forgive.
And you can’t tell me there isn’t value in that.