That Filmmaker That Never Was (?)

We're in May of 2017. It's been a decade since I attended film school. Outside of the occasional small collaboration, I've yet to participate in a project that I would consider to be worthwhile since my graduation. I've dabbled in script writing on and off over the years. I'd even say some of it was of a good caliber. But let's not get the cart ahead of the horse. I'm writing this for the purposes of venting some thoughts in light of my recent efforts with a script of my making. It's gotten me thinking about the (this sounds so self-important) journey I've been on for the last ten years. I keep questioning whether this is a fool's errand. Anyway, let's start at the beginning.
 

The summer of 2001 was a creative awakening of sorts. I'd seen the movie Almost Famous and fell in love with it immediately. I've said it numerous times, but I regard this as the moment I lost my cinematic “virginity”. There's a lot of things to love about that movie. Kate Hudson, the dialogue, the music, Kate Hudson... yeah, I know. That particular summer also happened to be one where my cousin David was visiting. We're close in age and, at that time, shared the same interests. I don't remember what precipitated the conversation or what it was even about, but I remember that it was David that suggested I become a director. That was the spark that lit the dynamite.

Over the next six years, I worked at cultivating that interest. I did a few plays, took drama classes, read about dramatic theory, and started watching films that I would ordinarily have no desire to view. In between all this, I came up with an idea for a short film called Reckless Tex. It was about a hillbilly hitman hired by a Russian mobster to kill someone. It wasn't a serious script by any stretch. However, there was enough ambition to make something visually interesting from it for the high school film festival. So in April or May of 2005 I made my first short film with three of my friends. It was done in one day and in a rush (I was doing theater at the time and was late for rehearsal as we filmed), but I liked what turned out. I still do. The film festival came and my film was disqualified because it was too short. Never mind that there was no set criteria for length up until that day, but that's what happened. So the winner and the runner-up for the festival were two shoddily-made school assignments for films class. My short was the only one that had not been from an assignment. Not only that, but it was also the only one that seemed to have had any sort of discipline in its construction. If I sound big-headed about it, it's because it's something that still chaps my ass to this day.

Fast-forward to August of 2006. I begin my academic pursuits at the Motion Picture Institute. Still carrying the self-importance of a teenager and wearing a black flatcap reversed on my head, my intention is to have my hands in everything. Editing, photography, writing, directing. My holy trinity was Stanley Kubrick, David Lynch, and Ridley Scott. All auteurs. All directors with their own distinctive mark left on their work. My year at MPI was a mixed bag. I found one of my best friends and comrade-in-arms, Terry. I don't think I ever tell him how awesome he is. I should message him later. I made many other friends as well. Hyun. Adam. Babyface. Dee. Patrick. My academics, however, left much to be desired. Within a few months' time, my area of focus was quickly whittled down. Cinematography? Sucked at it. Could never figure out how the hell F-stops work. Directing? The preliminary work was exhausting and I could never get full cooperation from my colleagues. Editing? Meh. I was okay, but I haven't retained any of it. That left screenwriting. Back to square one, essentially. I will say that as much of a tool I probably was at MPI, my peers did seem to legitimately respect my writing ability. I was consulted on a few scripts for minor things. That always made my day.

Then came Beautiful Lucy. It was a script that took me 10, maybe 15 minutes to write after getting a vague, two-sentence story idea from Awesome Terry via e-mail. It became his thesis film. I love Beautiful Lucy. I got to star in it (mostly because we had no other actors) and I had a lot of fun on it. I think we all did. It turned out very well.

 

Which brings us full circle to 2017. No internships, no writing jobs, nothing of a career. It would be silly not to say that apathy had something to do with it. I'm not exactly a people person. It's probably why I gravitate towards writing. And that's my problem. I'm left unable to sleep because I'm wondering whether I buggered this one up. I've got a script I believe in and I'd like to make it. And just for me. I have no aspirations beyond wanting to make something good. At this point I think it's ridiculous to have anything more ambitious than that.
 

I'm constantly being bogged down by questions of practicality. How will I film it? Who's my crew? How am I going to get people that aren't flaky? Or how about just all-around competent people? I feel like that guy in Scanners.

I know this looks like a pity party and it is. I'm also well-acquainted with the usual responses.

 

“You think too much.”

 

Why, yes. I do. Barring a vegetative state, I can't do much about that.   

“You need to be more confident.”
 

Sure. But confidence unearned is not confidence. It's hubris. I'm already pompous enough as it is.

“Just go out and do it.”

Yeah, it's a little more involved than that.

I'm fortunate enough that I have people of like minds and better ability (my thanks to Adam, Patrick, Terry, and Babyface) that have helped and offered their talents in some capacity. Those thoughts keep swirling in my head, though. This all comes down to me. Here's hoping that dynamite wasn't a dud.

 

 

5/12/2017

 

Why I really hate sports

Yeah, you read that right. I have little to no love for sports. On occasion I might be coaxed into playing basketball, but that's a rare event. By and large I get no enjoyment from playing or watching sports. It's not for lack of trying, mind you. I played soccer for about five years total, though I really only enjoyed it for the times I would goof off with friends. I even aspired to be a basketball player for a few months when I was about 9 or 10, but that had more to do with my liking Space Jam than anything else.

So why do I hate sports exactly? I had to sit down and really give it some thought, but I found it beneficial to reflect on it. I'll start from my earliest childhood memories and I guess work up from that.

1. My neighbor

From the ages of 4-7, I used to spend time with a boy named Adam who had a first love in sports. We were friends but our playtime was dictated by him primarily. Where I wanted to used my imagination and go on adventures and be a hero, he would want to play baseball. If I wanted to play video games, he would decide that we would be playing baseball. I was with a friend who wanted to participate in what I considered to be under-stimulating activities, so I was naturally soured to them. It was further ruined by his demeaning and bullying over my preferences for video games and use of imagination.

2. I'm non-competitive

No one likes to lose. I'm no exception to this and I've been on the receiving end of it plenty. Furthermore, I don't like seeing people lose. Not that I'm a "trophy for everyone" kind of guy. I hate that. But what I hate even more is gloating. I really hate people who gloat and rub it in. That just pisses me off.

I was reading some forums that were discussing this entry's same topic and someone used the perfect word: tribalism. By and large, I hate conflict. I'm not a confrontational person. Tribalism are just those things. Now some may find this ironic in that I love action movies and video games, but there's a distinction. It's not real. I also don't enjoy competitive video games, generally speaking.

3. Its ubiquity

The assumption that everyone enjoys sports and those that don't are heathens permeates our culture. I'll use an example. Every news channel has a sports anchor. If you really think about it, that makes no sense. It's not news. We don't have an anchor that reports on the latest episode of The Walking Dead, do we? Of course not. Because it's not news, it's a pastime and so are sports.

The only experience that I can equate it to is of is finding someone that doesn't like Star Wars or The Beatles. Those individuals make no sense to me. I make no sense to the world.

4. My parents forced me to play

I mentioned earlier that I played soccer for five years. Every year after the first one had been forced on me. I can remember the captain of the high school team telling me I should just tell my mom I don't want to play. "Yeah, sure that works!" said no one ever.

5. Class warfare

The section title is dramatic, I'll admit, but fitting. Sort of piggy-backing onto the tribal issue I mentioned in section 2, I feel for those put lower on the social ladder for harboring certain passions and proclivities. I can't abide people getting harassed over stupid things, and being targeted for choosing band or theater is a stupid thing. I didn't see this too much, thankfully, but enough that it solidified my desire to not associate.

6. I'm creative

From as far back as I can remember, I've always loved using my imagination. Whether it's been playing pretend or acting or writing, it's always been a part of me. That's what really stimulates me. There's no place for that in sports. It's not a creative outlet, so it doesn't appeal to me.


7. I'm an intellectual

As much as I hate the label with all its preconceptions, I still get pigeonholed as an intellectual. I guess I'm stuck with the label. How often do you see two hockey teams debate over the existence of God during a game? When in the history of the NBA has there been discussion over the merits of post-modernism? The answer to both is never.

I like thinking about things, deep and shallow. But, like creativity, the intellect is not something that belongs in the sports world. I'm going to take heat for this most likely, but I'd argue that sports are anti-intellectual. The fact that a college's level of prestige is based so largely on the success of their athletics department is ironic.  Colleges and universities are establishments meant to cultivate the mind, not diminish its importance. But our culture has done just that. It's no wonder we have an education problem in this country.



I may or may not expand on this entry at a later date, depending on how self-righteous and/or pretentious I'm feeling at the moment.

Confidence Re-visited

I've written on this subject before, but it's been weighing on my mind again as of late. Just thinking about insecurities and I also had a weird dream today. I'd go into it, but I'm not sure it would make much sense explaining.

Anyway, I was thinking about the obsession with confidence in our culture. In particular with regards to relationships. That seems to be the thing culture is constantly pushing. "If you expect her to be interested, you've got to be confident." I guess what confuses me is this whole idea that confidence is somehow the catch-all method for getting a date. And maybe that's my problem. I suppose I'm too monogamous to be confident. Because what we, the culture, are talking about here isn't really confidence, it's duplicity. There's a reason that scam artists are called confidence men.

Let me relate a story. At my previous job there was a girl that I had it bad for. Really bad in the worst way. Her name was Enia. Absolutely, insanely gorgeous. My private name for her among my colleagues was "Sex on Legs". Yeah, anyway, so I tried this whole confidence thing. Mind you, I had no intention of asking this girl out the first time I spoke with her and I didn't. The goal was to actually, you know, strike up a friendship or rapport or whatever and know what kind of person she was. I should probably add that, to no one's surprise, I absolutely sucked at being confident. To say I crashed and burned would be an understatement of epic proportions. Add to that my stuttering problem and overall anxiety around new people and you have this painfully embarrassing story that I'm now sharing. Of course, as it's become my tradition to subject myself to further abuse, I tried again. Multiple times. And failed. Each. Time.

That was demoralizing. I mean it really took the wind out of my sails. And this is by no means a unique experience for me. This has happened a lot. Which gives you absolutely no reason whatsoever to believe you're… worthy, I guess? Maybe not the most apt description, but I'll settle for it. This would inevitably be followed by consolation from a friend with the standard platitudes of being a "nice guy" (please, refrain from ever saying that to me if you want your jaw to remain un-stabbed).

Needless to say, I had become pretty bitter and disenchanted with this whole sort of thing. I felt like I was being screwed over by the universe for being the kind of person I had always been taught to be. I should be clear that a girl is in no way obligated to be interested in a fellow merely because he happens to be good-natured. By that same token, I don't think a man should be rejected outright and at face-value for not projecting self-assuredness.

I guess this is what I mean when I say I'm too monogamous to be confident. I don't want a relationship predicated on deception and I don't want my lady to be that way with me either. I want it real. I want friggin' blood and guts. I want to be vulnerable. I want to have an ugly crying face and be loved for it. But the culture, the dating scene or whatever, it calls for a facade. That's what I'm getting at. We wonder why relationships have such a short life-span and then we don't bother to consider that maybe our criteria for attraction is running ass-backwards with a blindfold on.

So at the risk of sounding of presumptuous, I will say this… ladies, look for a man that can fall apart in front of you because it takes a lot of trust and strength to let someone see you at your weakest. Gentle fellows, don't belittle a lady's sensitivity and don't bother with the ones that won't abide your authenticity at face-value.

-L. Travis Hoffman

8/11/2015

Why I'm Confidently Unconfident

Confidence is for people who think they have things figured out. I'll rely on God to do that, thank you.

That's what has been my problem for so long. Everywhere I turn, people have given me this trite and tired advice. Not getting traction in your career? Be more confident. No luck in your love life? Girls love confident men. Suffering from depression? Snap out of it. It's all in your head. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. But what does that really mean?

According to dictionary.com's definition and what everyone else commonly interprets it as being, confidence is "belief in oneself and one's powers and abilities; self-confidence; self-reliance; assurance". Hmm. Going by that, shouldn't all those people giving out this advice be taking it as well? How are all these gurus surrounding me unmarried, working a dead-end job, and wallowing in 10 years plus worth of mental illness?

I'll tell you why. Control. We see others in a bad situation and conclude that it is within their ability to determine the outcome. We find ourselves in that situation and discover that we can't make things go our way, no matter how hard we believe in ourselves. Then when we decide to relate our experience with another, they pass along that same little nugget of wisdom that we just used on our friend before us. And we still believe it!

We have to stop being so full of ourselves in thinking that we've got it all figured out. Confidence is a marketing tool. It's a commercial for razors and perfume. It's materialism and narcissism. It's ignorance of our limitations and ignorance of God's power. It's thinking that we can live life on our own.

I had myself convinced that if I were to live a happy and fulfilled life that everything fell on my shoulders to do it. If I wanted a career then I'd have to this. If I expect to make friends, then do that. If I want people to be attracted to me and find love then I have to do X, Y, and Z. I can't do that anymore. I never could. No matter how hard I tried, how much I did my homework, I failed. I'm a total failure.

Things aren't that much better right now, either. I'm not working as a writer. My closest friends are either far away or refuse to even talk to me. I struggle with intense anxiety. I still have no idea what in the world I'm here to do. And you want to know something? I'm at peace with it.

I took it to Christ. The turning point came on a day where I was feeling worthless. A mistake. A real piece of crap. I broke down and cried. I cried harder than I had ever cried before. And I knew there was nothing I could do about it. Then something a good friend told me earlier in the day clicked with me. "Remember the mustard seed," she told me. Even the smallest measure, the smallest gesture of faith in Christ can change things. So I would submit myself. I would admit that my attempts to do things on my own had ended in constant failure and ever-increasing heartbreak.

That day was a game-changer. I asked for healing of my mind, my depression. Over the years I had made many attempts in prayer to have my mental illness taken from me. It would always end in anger and bitterness. I had little hope that anything would come out of it this time, either. But that one small gesture of faith after being disappointed proved what my best friend said. I'm happy to say that I no longer suffer from my depression.

It's weird making that declaration. For one, I've been suffering on and off (mostly on) from depression for over twenty years. Specifically, Dysthymia. It's all I've known, so saying something to the contrary feels very alien and, admittedly, uncomfortable. And then there will be people who think that I'm crazy, which is perfectly understandable. I'm very much the same way in most instances. That I'm speaking of this openly and candidly speaks to how much it has affected me. This is not a placebo. This is Jesus. YEAH, BO-OIIIIII! HOLLAH! (Ignore these two exclamations. It's embarrassing.)

It sucks that I don't have my friends to turn to right now. I hate the fact that I still get anxious about the most trivial of things or even big things like career or marriage. Things aren't perfect and they'll never be. But I am at peace with the fact that Christ will care for me.

Maybe I'm not in the right place right now for the things that I really want to come to pass. I'll level with you when I say that that's dead obvious. My relationship with Christ needs a lot of work, stuff that I need to do on my end. If my relationship with God is in a state of disarray then how should I expect a relationship with a girl to function well? (That's to say nothing of her relationship with God, either)  If I want the responsibilities and enjoyment of a career, shouldn't I be obeying and enjoying my Savior? All this other stuff is just gravy.

We keep getting caught up in wanting to do things our way and on our terms. We'll even justify it to ourselves. We justify our apathy. Sure, on occasion, we'll do something God would want of us. But it has to be easy. Otherwise, we decide to just compromise. We'll do it half-way. We'll believe one thing but decide that the other thing, that must be wrong. We wouldn't want to inconvenience ourselves, would we? God would never ask us to do or believe something that might adversely affect us. (That's sarcasm, by the way)

We have to prepare ourselves for those moments where things won't be pleasant. They will pay off, in the long run. We may not earn our blessings, but our actions determine whether we're mature enough for them. To keep things in perspective, I pray in the morning. I ask God three things:

1.) What can I do for You?

2.) How can I live my life the way You intend it to be?

3.) How can I receive Your blessings?

It reminds me that God is greater than me, but also that He has plans for me and He wants me to participate in seeing them through. Good things. Fulfilling things.  

I say all this with the foreknowledge that I will, without fail, bollocks this up again. Repeatedly, because I'm an idiot. Hopefully, I won't do it as much as I would have had this experience never taken place.

I didn't write this to brag. I'm a rather crappy individual, so it would be something of a joke to prop me up above other people. I'm writing this to prove that Christ does heal. He does answer prayers. Maybe you're not ready and you've got some things to work out with Him first. Patience and perspective are important. You can't do life on your own.

I end this blog entry with these few words:

"Remember the mustard seed."

-L. Travis Hoffman

10/4/2014         

A Love/Hate Relationship With Myself

I was lying in my bed tonight and thinking of what I am, what I see myself to be, and what I wish I was. I was thinking about the ugliness of myself and the things that make me believe my existence to be something of benefit and worth admiration.

I like that I can feel. That I can experience emotions and embrace them and, for the most part, not be bothered by having that quality. I hate that I’m emotionally frail, that I break from the smallest of slights and collapse in on myself from outright rejection.

I admire that I’m inquisitive. I love to learn about things, sometimes to the point of absurdity. I love to share what I know. But I’m also overly analytical. I’m paranoid and insecure, constantly asking myself what my peers really think of me. I read into every little gesture, every facial expression, every word and how it is spoken.

I love creativity and artistry. I love that I write and I believe that words are beautiful and can communicate beautiful things. I love that I can sing (somewhat) and that I’m in touch with the subtleties of something as simple as a raised note and how it can make me feel closer to the musicians and composers. But I’m an arrogant and pompous ass. I retreat into my mind and cut down others’ tastes and I’m overly critical of my own attempts at artistic ventures. So often I find myself unable to complete projects and it’s frustrating.

I am a Romantic at heart and it pleases me to be such. I’m an idealist with the odd dichotomy of being, in my friend’s words, “a raging pessimist”. I like grandiose expressions of love. I’ve never stood outside a girl’s house with a boom box playing, but I’d like to do it if given the chance. When we were still together, I would write letters to my girlfriend even though I had just gotten off the phone with her after a six hour conversation. We both loved it and I miss being able to do that for her. It’s usually looked on as rather quaint and saccharine and almost always followed up by an eye roll and a snicker, which is unfortunate. There’s this opposition of putting the one you love on a pedestal, which I don’t think that I’ll ever understand. If both parties are doing it, then they’re never really on uneven footing. You love someone with the intention of enriching their lives, not focusing on your own. Still, I can look at the ridiculousness of my gestures and have a good laugh about it.

I appreciate that I’m an introspective person and not afraid to laugh at myself or admit to my mistakes and/or overall incompetence. I cope with self-deprecating humor and a shrug of the shoulders. I’m an eccentric individual and there’s not much that I can do to escape that description. I like it, though. I relate well to quirky people and find those traits to be endearing. I fear that it ends up coming off as pretentious, though, which goes back to my sense of insecurity. In my introspection I’m constantly making excuses for myself and not wanting to take responsibility in certain matters. I had put a lot of blame on my first girlfriend for our break-up. It was virtually all my fault and I really had no business taking my pain out on her. She didn’t deserve it. At times, regrettably, I’m harshly judgmental. I made that mistake recently and it made me feel like garbage. Thankfully, I’m not like that on a regular basis.

I hate not being able to simply speak and say what I’m feeling or thinking because I’m constantly stumbling and stuttering and coming across as inarticulate. I want to connect with people, but I can never seem to form or keep stable my relationships or friendships because I can’t express myself adequately enough. I find myself always afraid to voice an opinion when so often I’m put in a place where I’m surrounded by people of staunchly differing views.

But the thing I prize the most, the thing I that I could never find fault in myself, is my need to dignify and praise those around me and show them compassion. To compliment, to see and vocalize the things that make them so amazing to me but that they can’t or won’t be willing to admit to themselves. For some people, it makes them crazy and, at times, suspicious. I find joy (and, in some cases, amusement) in trying to get through their thick skulls that they are beautiful, that they mean the world to me and to others and that I wish so deeply that they could see themselves through my own eyes just so that they wouldn’t hurt or think less of themselves anymore. I cry for these people because I’ve known that pain for so long and the thought of those I care about having to bear that burden…it weighs on my heart. It’s a lonely thing and I don’t want them to be alone.

I’m not really sure why I decided to post this on here. Maybe I just needed to openly acknowledge that I have an on-going love/hate relationship with Logan T. Hoffman. He really is a great guy and a pleasant fellow that pisses me off fairly regularly. But still, he isn’t *that* bad a guy. I have a hard time admitting it, but I do believe it to be true. And hopefully one day, many others will share that sentiment.
 

Logan Travis Hoffman
3-30-2014

Movie Review: Sylvain Chomet's The Illusionist

http://www.suite101.com/content/movie-review-sylvain-chomets-the-illusionist-a339958

Movie Review: Black Swan

Psychological horror is a tough genre to pull off. Most of the time you can see the plot twist at the end from a good several miles away. For every Psycho and Silence of the Lambs you get about a million bad imitations. I'm glad to say that Black Swan is not one of those million.

Black Swan centers around Nina (Natalie Portman), a ballerina who dreams of getting the lead part in Swan Lake. After inadvertently convincing the director (Vincent Cassel) that she has the ability, she begins obsessing over the part. She pushes herself, both physically and psychologically to perfect her performance. Competing for the role is Lily (Mila Kunis), a newcomer to the company who may or may not be Nina's enemy. As these events transpire, Nina must confront her dark side and choose whether to destroy it or embrace it.

I never thought I would find myself enjoying a film about ballet, but here I am, saying it. Director Darren Aronofsky manages to craft a film that deals with obsession, duality, and repressed sexuality and not make you snooze through it or think that it's pretentious tripe. Everything is handled brilliantly. The special effects, combined with the cinematography of Matthew Libatique (note the prominence of mirrors), make for a very visceral experience.

Natalie Portman tends to get a lot of bad press from her acting in the Star Wars prequels (I'm not among those people), but she really shines in this film. Her innocence and emotional turmoil is palpable. I found myself as horrified about her transformation as she does in the film. I found her character to be similar to that of Jack Torrance in The Shining. Both are emotionally damaged people who make a gradual, downward spiral into madness. With any luck, Natalie Portman will win that Oscar for Best Actress. She's certainly earned it.

Mila Kunis surprised me the most, however. For someone who is known for doing commercial, "less serious" films,  she really shows how great of an actress she is. Lily is, in many ways, the person Nina wants to be but is also repelled by. One is outspoken, while the other is reserved. Lily is promiscuous, where Nina is sexually repressed. Yet even with these differences, the two characters are very similar in that they share duality within their selves.

With Oscar season on the horizon, this film is likely to get even more good press. Believe in it. This film is one of the best this year.

SCORE: 5 out of 5