Tuesday, May 01, 2012

GQ BLOG: Kurt Sutter's Anarchy Diaries: 503 - The Emmys. Don't Ask. Don't Tell.


I love my job. Truly, I do. I know how lucky I am. I think it was Warren Beatty who said (and I'm badly paraphrasing), "Success is having a job that pays you a lot of money, that you would gladly do for free." I feel that way.

Most days. 

This is my favorite time of the season. My hours are split between the writers' room, gearing up production, and writing. I'm a writer who loves to write. I know that sounds obvious but you'd be surprised how many writers actually hate writing. Not me. Being alone with a white board, a computer and the voices in my head is fucking nirvana. And not the part where he puts the shotgun in his mouth. That comes later. Right now, I'm happy, relaxed, invigorated and grateful.

Then it happens. The shotgun in my mouth. Emmy Award season. For people like Terence Winter, Matt Weiner, Vince Gilligan, gearing up for the Emmys must be a very satisfying time of year. Recognition of your peers for all the hard work. The process leading up to the awards is time-consuming and tedious, but at least these guys know, at the end of the day, it'll all be worth it. History has played that out. 

For me, award season continuously just feels like an angry kick in the scrotum. 

I know I shouldn't give a shit. It ain't about the prize; it's about the work. The fans are the ones who determine our success. Logically, I know all of that. I enter the award season detached and philosophical, but after a few months of engaging in the build up, that distance gets washed away and I'm neck-deep in expectation and self-righteousness. I always end up broken and bloody the morning the nominations are read. 

From season two of The Shield to season five of SOA, that expectation and disappointment has rubbed me raw. Say what you want about Sons not being Emmy worthy. You're probably right. But there is no way you can say the last two seasons of The Shield were not as good or better than any drama on television. 

So why no Emmy love? 

Simple. People didn't vote for us. 


The supporters (fans, network, my wife) give me a laundry list of reasons. All logical and ego-soothing.

The haters (cunt bloggers) say it's because the show sucks.
My guess is both camps harbor some truth.

What do I say?

Really. Haven't I said enough? 

Yes. I have.

I'm exhausted by my own obsession for recognition. It goes deeper than just pride and ego. I'm sure it's some kind of daddy-thing I haven't had the courage to dig into. Who knows? But it's just scabbed me over. I can't do the dance anymore -- the submissions, interviews, panels, photo-shoots, predictions, polls, post-mortem snubs -- Fuck me, I'm done. 

This season and hopefully for the rest of the run of Sons of Anarchy, I say nothing about any award. Other than, "thank you," "good luck," and "congratulations". 

And to clean it all up before I put it away:

I apologize to academy members (of every age) for the bombastic comments I've made in the past. I apologize to my cast, crew, studio and network if my arrogant reaction to snubs has embarrassed them or impeded their chances for recognition.

This blog will be my last comment on the Emmys. And yes, I can hear the snarky comments echoing through cyberspace as I type that statement. And they'd be correct to assume that me keeping quiet is a great idea in theory, but difficult to implement. So time (and all the cunt bloggers) will be the judge. 

You can say many bad things about me and they'd all be true -- I'm arrogant, abrasive, narcissistic, juvenile, over-sensitive. But I'm also a man who lives in a perpetual state of change. I have no choice. There is no stasis. If I'm not moving forward, I'm sliding back. And behind me there is only wreckage and remorse. 

In front of me there is only opportunity.

I may be a dick, but I'm a dick in progress. 

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