Why I probably won’t get into film school.
Recently, I decided to re-assess my overall life achievement of absolutely nothing and consider a concept that is something of an anomaly to many of us in the creative arts/unemployment industry: a career.
Now surprisingly, my Bachelor of Laughs from Pete Crofts’ Humourversity™ was not really cutting it as a qualification in todays’ cut throat jobs marketplace and I knew I needed to upskill. But if a complete career change was on the cards, then the smart thing to do was to aim for something solid. Something dependable. Something that when I graduated would reward me with with regular hours and a reliable paycheck.
I decided to apply to film school
To be specific, the prestigious Australian Film Television and Radio School in Sydney, or AFTRS for the uninitiated.
Asides from the usual questions present on any regular University application form (name, experience, gay for pay etc) AFTRS, being AFTRS, included one of those particular questions designed to sort the chaff from the wheat so to speak. A question in which it is not what the answer is that is important but how you answer it; essentially a ticking timebomb specifically designed to reveal both inexperienced applicants and those with an unmitigated propensity to be a smart arse. In other words, fucking catnip.
I saw the trap. I acknowledged the trap. But much like a Macbeth, a Hamlet or a Lohan, my fate was preordained and thus inescapable.
Without further ado, I present my application for AFTRS:
and how that is reflected in your works.
My Creative Process usually starts by banging my head on the ground three or (if I’m working to deadline) four times. A firm yet organic surface such as polished floorboards is preferable, although a carpeted area will do at a pinch. Walls are counter productive to the imaginative flow and I will walk many miles to source a suitable floor rather than risk a creative block by butting any form of perpendicular room divider.
Pre-Process Cranial Impact (PPCI) has the effect of making the brain aware in no uncertain terms that you are serious as fuck about being creative today and by god it better buck up and keep the good shit coming or there’ll be more of the same. PPCI also provides great potential for a concussion, which can bring me closer to the ‘dream state’ or duendé from whence all great art flows.
After preparing my work area and initializing my coffee intake, the creative process kicks into full swing with a strict five minutes of furious masturbation. (It is important to attach a strongly focussed intent such as ‘furious’ or ‘industrious’ to all forms of autoeroticism otherwise we would just be caught in an aimless, two handed clutch – the writer’s bugbear.) Masturbation is vital to the creative process as it increases the strength in my right typing arm, which is where my most of my power words come from. Words such as versimoullous, negatory and pomegranate are words laden with meaning and impact, and are sprinkled liberally throughout all my scripts.
A potentially negative offshoot (Boom! Powerpun!) of this process is that it uses a varying percentage of that day’s imaginatory quotient. Too much masturbating can lead to very powerful yet unimaginative prose. This can be seen by a definite lack of pronouns (demonstrative or otherwise) and an overabundance of dick jokes. (Powerful dick jokes nonetheless).
Additionally, positive creative thoughts are sometimes spilled out with the negative during this creative purge. There’s been many an occasion that the key ingredient to a potentially Oscar winning drama has been spooged away at the business end of a hand shandy, lost forever to that sweet cocktail of Kleenex and shame.
However, if I follow my process with discipline and focus, I can tame the flighty Muse and quite often get some writing done before lunch.
Thank you for your consideration.