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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Kevin Smith
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March 6 - March 14, 2018
You’re a big, fat bucket of win when you begin this crapshoot life; no need to pressure yourself to do much more than use your time here as the wind-down to the only real contest that’ll ever matter: you vs. a billion other applicants.
life is a rigged game that you cannot win. Even good men die screaming.
In the face of such hopelessness as our eventual, unavoidable death, there is little sense in not at least trying to accomplish all of your wildest dreams in life.
Life is also, as George Carlin taught us, a zero-sum game. We all lose in the end. We all die screaming.
There’s a trick to being whatever you want to be in life. It starts with the simple belief that you are what or who you say you are. It starts, like all faiths, with a belief—a belief predicated more on whimsy than reality. And you’ve gotta believe for everybody else, too—until you can show them proof. If you’re lucky, someone starts believing with you—
Folks who don’t build churches will try to tell you how you’re doing it wrong, even as your steeple breaks the clouds. Never listen.
Talk about what you’re going to do.
take control of the game yourself.
Expect moments of discouragement; just don’t wallow in them.
We can’t all be Superman, but we sure as shit can train hard, and with loads of practice, we can be Batman. And who the fuck doesn’t wanna be Batman? Batman has an impeccable moral compass, he’s clever and mysterious, and when fucktards get sassy, he punches them in the face.
Figure out what you love to do,
then figure out how to get paid to do it.
We shot the flick over the course of twenty-one nights, with a few day shots peppered throughout. The final cost was $27,575 and the film was selected for the Sundance Film Festival competition category in 1994. There, Miramax Films purchased the flick for $227,000.
We were making film history; the studios were making product.
In the Church of Miramax, Harvey was God, Quentin was the Son, and we were all full of the indie Spirit. Our films were just dirty little prayers.
His theory that a Miramax film meant something to its audience—that the opening logo was a stamp of quality—was something even I knew.
“If you’re not careful with your brand, you lose the audience.”
Never fuck with the brand.
That’s because when you’re overfed and always full, with a seemingly unending supply of food, you tend to be a lot more wasteful. There’s always more where this shit came from.
There is no such thing as a sure thing in the movie biz, so make the interesting thing instead. You can’t count on the weather or the audience: Both are capricious and mercurial.
One of the things that helps you focus less on an undesirable present is the eternal promise of a hopeful future.
The promise of violence puts asses in seats.
Why do we go to action movies? Because we see imagery in promotional materials that shows people or things fighting, exploding, or going very fast. All of our popcorn movies end with giant, explosive showdowns or massive twenty-minute fistfights.
“Don’t go where the puck’s been; go where it’s gonna
be.”
Get the movie noticed was the Miramax mantra. Shoot it out of a fucking cannon if you gotta, but get the movie noticed. By any means necessary.
“Never take the path of least resistance; because nothing worthwhile is easy.”
How the fuck can self-expression ever even be classified by someone who’s not expressing it themselves? It’s like someone telling you you’re dreaming incorrectly. Only someone who doesn’t understand art tells an artist their art somehow failed. How the fuck can art fail? Art can’t be graded, because it’s going to mean something different to everyone.
You can’t apply a mathematical absolute to art because there is no one formula for self-expression.
Remember: It costs nothing to encourage an artist, and the potential benefits are staggering. A pat on the back to an artist now could one day result in your favorite film, or the cartoon you love to get stoned watching, or the song that saves your life. Discourage an artist, you get absolutely nothing in return, ever.
Security, normalcy, convenience, protection, and identity are opiates you’ve gotta wean yourself off before you can be an individual. You can’t stand out if you’re blending in.
said a comic book store reality show would be fun for that audience, not to mention inexpensive to produce. You could scour America for the most erudite, colorful comic shop cast you could find, and after rolling cameras for two months there’d be an entire season of episodes. Charlie said he’d take it back to AMC.
Elyse and Charlie brought the AMC execs down to Red Bank to meet Bry and Walt, and suddenly, we were shooting an AMC-financed pilot at my comic book store, starring two of my best friends in the world—solely because their podcast was funny and interesting.
As human beings, we govern our actions with our deepest fears. But if you name that shit, you claim that shit: Let enough people into your closet and you’ll find there’s no more room for skeletons. Leave yourself nowhere to hide and you can live life unguarded.
a podcast doesn’t have to be looked at to be listened to. And like a Fleshlight, a podcast is there when you need it. Since it’s loads of chatter, it’s what they call white noise in the background of your day. It’s like listening to music but usually much funnier. Since it’s audio only, it doesn’t have to be stared at to be enjoyed, and it travels well on any MP3 player—which means podcasts can accompany you during your commute. Imagine getting all that mind-blowing free aural, those thick, hot loads of words splashed across your ears, chest, and neck … all while accomplishing something else.
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But your friends won’t always be there for you: They’ve got lives of their own. Sometimes, no one will be there for you—because some shit in life you’ve gotta go through all by yourself. And if you can make it through the tough shit by yourself, you will soar with
the eagles … Depending on whether you’re too fat to fly …
This man Carlin was a magician: He could relate to smart cats like my dad, Catholic cats like my mom, and everybody in between—including (and maybe in this instance, especially) twelve-year-old
year-old comedy nerds.
“My wife just died,” he said, twisting his wedding band. “And I’m not ready to take my ring off yet. But you want me to play a cardinal. So I was hoping you’ll let me wear a Band-Aid over my wedding ring.”
nobody is allowed to tell me who I am and what I’m worth. I’m including it here for everyone to see … and use. Are you trying to get somewhere? Do something? Be somebody? It can get frustrating waiting for your
time—particularly because there’ll be no end of panty-puddles telling you, “It can’t be done!” Or “If it is to be done, you’re not the person to do it!” Or the ever-popular “Who the fuck do you think you are? I mean, you’re fat.” All variations of the will-killing “Why?”
You’ve gotta learn how to dream practically wild while conducting yourself as wildly practical.
Accept that nothing will ever go for you exactly as it went for someone else, but more important, know that you never get exactly what you want; it’s usually a modified or over-the-top version of what you sought in the first place.
There is no financial security in any creative pursuit. If you want certainty, get out of art.
Just learn to manage your expectations. Be malleable—so that if all that’s open to your square peg is a round hole, you can still make it work.
Shine with what you got.
I’ve always looked at John Hughes—the legendary writer/director who gave us Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club—as the filmmaker I most related to, even though I never met him.
