Over the past few months I’ve been experiencing a growing sense of disconnect from my creative passion. More and more the thing that I love to do is becoming just “a job”. Without knowing it, I’m turning into one of those writers who I swore I’d never be -- I have it all and I hate it all. I’m a fairly self-aware cat, so when I get to these places, I am forced to ask myself, “How the fuck did I get here?” In my inventory process I was surprised by how little I had to dig to reveal the truth. It’s quite obvious what turns passion into dissatisfaction - money.
Every writer has their own process, but for me, creating an imaginary world, characters, conflict, mythology is almost a spiritual exercise. I know that sounds goofy, but it’s the only way I know how to describe it. You see, I didn’t become a writer -- ten years ago, I was given the opportunity to realize that I have always been a writer. Telling story is my gift, it’s the thing the universe demands that I do. That discovery was a grueling and painful process for me. But that’s why I love to write, it’s why I’m driven to obsessive perfection -- I’m making up for a decade of lost time. I see every word on the page as divine direction. Really, I do. Hence, the Messiah Complex.
Which leads me back to the path of disillusionment...
Good writers begin with a deeply personal process that generates inspiration that we hope ultimately lands on the pages of a script. After that experience, we take that work to market, with the desire to impress and engage others with our art. If so, that body of work is purchased and transformed into a commodity. In that instant, our creation is no longer a personal extension of ourselves, it is now a tool of commerce that serves a greater entity. Here in lies the painful paradox as I see it -- from that point on we are still expected to generate deeply inspired work even though our baby is enslaved to a different master. So we sweat, bleed and toil for the thing we love without nearly the same level of gratification. It doesn’t matter who you work for or the nature of your project, the guy in the suit can tell you he’s all about the creative process, he understands artists, this is a safe forum... it’s ultimately all slick shit. Once you generate something that has commercial value, creativity falls low on the list. You are owned and money will always be the directive. Yes, that’s an extreme generalization, but the point is, especially with TV, the medium was solely created to generate income. The stuff that happens in-between commercials is secondary. Always was, always will be.
I guess that inevitability is catching up to me on Sons. I was under the false impression that the more successful the show became, the more room I would get to do it. But the opposite has occurred, the better the show becomes, the more corporate scrutiny I experience. This reality is chipping away at my spirit. At the end of my 80 and 90 hour weeks I start to ask myself, “Why am I doing this?” Lately, my answers aren’t that convincing. And when “money” is my only response, it’s time to walk away.
The solution? I’m not sure. I’m not a quitter and my ego is too big to entrust the show to anyone else. I’ve contemplated setting myself on fire at Pico and Motor, but that seemed a bit extreme, even for me. So I guess I press on and continue to make the emotional and creative adjustments. In recovery, we talk about how expectations are future resentments. That’s very true in this case. I guess I need to stop going to the butcher shop for candy. I show up wanting something sweet and tasty and always end up with a slab of bloody entrails.
I love what I do and need to find a way to bring back that love. My life is always about finding the balance between love and fear. Perhaps that’s the bigger lesson here -- learning to stay focused on the love while I'm being bombarded with everyone else's fear. Easier wished than employed. Guess I have some tuning up to do this hiatus. I know I didn't work this hard to be miserable.
After three episodes, the response form critics and fans has been incredibly positive. We're at an 84 at Metacritic, Mad Men and Boardwalk Empire are the only dramas scoring higher. I think some folks are curious about how we are going to play out the season, but so far they are along for the ride.
My initial impression from the social networks is that this season seems to be dividing the brains from the brawn. Fans that come to show for character, relationship, emotional arcs and the mythology are relishing the twists, turns and reveals of season three. The viewers who show up for some sort of cathartic testosterone rush seem to be a little disappointed in the direction we are going in. They're comments suggest a desire for the exact same thing we did in the first two seasons -- same story dynamics, same character tensions, same results. I understand that and I guess it's a risk to push the boundaries of the show. But I have a very specific narrative vision for Sons of Anarchy and if I am lucky enough to get seven seasons, the events in season three are crucial to that overall arc. I hope those viewers stick around. Season three continues to ramp up the stakes and I think most folks will find the payoff very gratifying.
Last night at the wrap party, I looked around the room at my cast and crew and felt an enormous sense of pride. These men and women love this gig, love the show; it's so clearly more than just a job. Honestly, a showrunner couldn't ask for more. I am enormously proud of this season and the tireless efforts of my SOA family. The anger, anxiety, bad press, death threats, hostile work environment claims and bogus law suits now seem like insignificant tufts of fog rising from the moors. I can now see Yorkshire Manor, and it is fucking grand, formidable and evermore.
The original title for this post was:
FOR ALL YOU FUCKING IDIOTS WHO CAN'T SEE PAST THE CUM STAINS ON YOUR KEYBOARDS,
but in the spirit of trying to improve my "foul-mouth, hotheaded, bombastic" reputation, I changed it. It feels good to grow.
In case you don't know this already, I am a very sensitive man. My big feelings get hurt very easily. I cry a lot. I internalize. I react. I never hit humans or pets, but I often take out walls, doors and the occasional window. Windows are bad. I don't recommend putting your fist through one unless you have six hours to kill at the ER. I'm currently looking at swollen bloody knuckles as I peck at my Macbook. I found out my sound man bailed before the season finished yesterday and had a very big reaction. There's a hole in the clubhouse set wall.
I preface this blog with that insight to explain why I chose NOT to read reviews this season. When I'm working 70 and 80 hour weeks, under-nourished, over-tired, and those opinions start rolling in, it's very difficult for me to detach. In that state-of-mind, I tend to puff myself up with every positive comment and second guess myself with every negative one. It's unhealthy for any creative, especially for a guy like me.
I managed to duck all reviews for almost two weeks. It was incredibly liberating. I highly suggest it to my fellow showrunners. Then FX sent me the positive press excerpts (all the great quotes from critics that go on ads, etc). Of course I read them. Completely out of context, SOA was the greatest piece of dramatic literature ever conceived, acted and produced. We were TV gods. And of course, it was all bullshit. Then, two days ago, literally in the course of a few hours, several people (in the spirit of commiseration, I'm sure) felt compelled to share the highlights of the negative reviews. Some in conversation, some in emails. I should've walked away and deleted, but I couldn't. I guess on some unconscious level I needed the yang to keep me in check. Again, it was all bullshit.
I'm not delusional about the reach of Sons; this is a very specific show about a very specific section of our culture. I completely understand that it is not for everyone. I shared about the insight I got from my lunch with Brian Lowry last year. I came away from that meeting with the realization that a critic's review is ultimately about that individual's taste. No matter how good or bad something is conceived and produced, the decision about its worth is always decided in the moment, by the watcher. That is not bullshit. Beauty and every other opinion, is truly in the eye of the beholder.
In the past, I've read some scathing reviews about Sons that were thoughtful, well-constructed and very accurate... in the mind of that watcher. Although they can be difficult to read, I appreciate and respect folks who put the time and energy into their negative analysis. That's what a good critic does. Critical analysis. That is their art-form, that is their craft. But of course, not all TV reviewers exhibit a mastery of their craft. In fact, most wouldn't know good critical analysis if it sliced open their heads and shit a pile of knowledge where their brains should be. The blogosphere is full of angry wannabes who couldn't make the cut as a real writer or journalist. In my limited exposure, I'd say there are probably ten good TV critics working today. I won't say who they are or aren't (my balls aren't that big). The inspiration for this post came from several of the bad reviews I read the other day. I was truly stunned by how ignorant and simple they were. Unfortunately one of those critics writes for a nationwide newspaper. His column was like reading the text feed of a fourteen-year-old high school girl. All the piece needed was a handful of emoticons and like, totally, OMG!
There is very little gray area with Sons. It's a love it or hate it kind of show (not unlike its creator). I know this is easy to say, but bear with me -- I believe the folks who like Sons of Anarchy, truly understand it conceptually. Those who don't like it, simply can't (or can't be bothered) to wrap their brains around what we are trying to do. By example, I have friends who despise Madmen. They think it's a pretentious, overly-acted, slow, self-indulgent study of characters no one gives a shit about. They compare it to my show. They're idiots. They can't see the point of Madmen and the vision that Matt Wiener and his writers are trying to communicate. They are viewing apples through an orange lens. You can't show up and watch True Blood with the same criteria you'd show up to watch The Shield. Style, theme, pace, rhythm, all those things are never arbitrary in good shows. To judge all shows by the same set of expectations is ridiculous. Right now, Madmen and True Blood are my favorite dramas. I watch them for completely different reasons. I need a clear head and energy to watch Don Draper. I know Matt is going to make me think beyond the screen. True Blood on the other hand, is pure campy delight. Sookie and crew will shock, titillate and entertain the fuck out of me. I never leave that show with residual interrogatories.
It's one thing if you're the audience. If you don't like something, you simply turn the channel, but if you're a critic, don't you get paid for thoughtful analysis? Aren't you supposed to roll up your sleeves and try to understand the material in the context of the world in which it is meant to live? To throw all shows into a big bucket-o-tube is just fucking lazy. Look, I don't mind getting fucked in the ass as long as the thing penetrating me takes a little bit of time to get to know the ins and outs of my crack (okay, that analogy even made me shiver).
So here's my memo to the unenlightened penetrators. And again, I'm not disagreeing with the notion that Sons doesn't deserve a bad review. It probably deserves plenty. I am not saying the show is any better or worse than anything else on television, this is just a little tidbit for you to digest as you sit down to your keyboards with malice in your heart and a deadline to meet --
Sons of Anarchy is not The Shield, it's not the Sopranos, it certainly is not Madmen. If I had to compare it to any other contemporary drama, I'd say it's most like Battlestar Galactica (again, not saying it is as good as Ron Moore's show, just using it as a comparison). SOA, like BSG, is bigger than life. It's steeped in a rich, thematic, costumed mythology, that can barley be contained in its naturalistic setting. It is pulp, it is melodrama. Forgive the pretentious Shakespearean nod, but it is a family tragedy in the spirit of Hamlet and King Lear. It's Leone, not Renoir. Although the characters and relationships are all very real, the circumstances are epic. And I do my best to nail down those players into a very detailed, organic world so the drama can play out in a relatable way.
As a writer, I've always been fascinated with bending genre, pushing it beyond it's limits. That's what I try to do on Sons. I promise our viewers that I will not be influenced by the opinions of others. I will continue to pursue my vision for this show. I will take risks. I will challenge your capacity for violence, tragedy and the absurd. And hopefully, on occasion, I'll make you giggle like a fourteen-year-old teenage girl.
