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NOTE: I wrote this in 2002. The feelings still hold true for today.
BEWARE THE P.A.S.B.s
By Matthew Terry
I've never understood flow charts. Oh, certainly I understand the CONCEPT of flow charts. Little box with a name inside with a line that branches to another little box with another name inside with a line that branches to even more little boxes with even more names usually leading to the very bottom little box with my name in it. What I didn't understand was, what was the point? If you're at the bottom of the flow chart - you're going to know. If you're at the top of the flow chart - you're going to know. You certainly didn't need a piece of paper with little boxes and unreadable names to make this point known to you. Which, of course, brings us to the Academy Awards.
Like most people, on March 24th, I will plop myself behind a TV tray with my slice of "we make-you bake" pizza and can of cheap "headache" beer and watch the Oscar Ceremony live from the new Kodak Theater in downtown Hollywood. Like most people I will gawk at absurd outfits, comment on boring/long/stupid/nice acceptance speeches, groan at stupid jokes, laugh at good jokes and soak in as much Academy Award Ambience as I can get from my 25" RCA.
But, unlike most people, as a screenwriter - I suffer from the P.A.S.B.s. These are, quite frankly, the Post Award Show Blues. You see, being the screenwriter that I am, the Academy Awards aren't just an award show. They are a four hour flow chart of beautiful people in expensive clothing laughing at the fact that I'm in that bottom square. Quite simply, if winning the Academy Award is my pinnacle - my ultimate goal, then the show itself is the box that sits atop the flow chart.
As you go to refill that wine cooler and pop open another bag of potato chips during the "boring" awards such as "Original Screenplay" or "Adapted Screenplay" I will be onto my fourth beer waiting for the writer of, probably "A Beautiful Mind" or "Mulholland Drive" or ______________ (insert your favorite here) to come up on stage and thank everyone on earth and then point at me from the podium and shout: "LOOOOOOOOOSER!!" like some absurd moment in an "Alley McBeal" Episode. You may not see them do it, but they do, trust me. It rings in my ears for days afterward.
Alas, though, as the hangover fades I come to the realization that I'm not the only sufferer. Actors from around the country who have practiced their acceptance speeches since they were young enough to remember Rob Lowe dancing with Snow White at the opening of an Academy Awards show, they too must feel what I feel. They, too, are reminded of how far they are from the mountaintop.
Directors toiling on that intimate film about their ex-girlfriend breaking up with them and how that sent them in a downward spiral of "no-doze" and cheddar-cheese fishy crackers. They, too, will wonder when their time will come. When they'll be able to stand up in front of millions and, supposedly, 1 billion people (as if a billion people care) and thank the All Important and Imposing ACADEMY.
As much as there are special effect wizards toiling at Microsoft. Directors of local ads hoping to get financing for their "quirky" films. Actors thinking of making the move to Hollywood, CA or, at the very least, Vancouver, B.C. We all still hold to this: Academy Award Television Show = Flow Chart. Academy Award = Top. Me = Bottom.
A few weeks after I've watched the awards I, too, will become inspired. The flow chart mentality and the P.A.S.B.s will fade and I will become inspired. The words will flow once again and the dreams will light anew. The passion and hope will return and the fears of my goal will get pushed to the back of my brain. I will write again. I will strive again. A naked gold man holding a sword will not hold me down. A naked gold man holding a sword will not quash my dreams. I will be me once again. Looking to claw, climb and work my way up that flow chart. Yes, I will overcome the P.A.S.B.s and become me again.
At least until next March.
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