I have great respect for Martin Scorsese as a visionary. The words to his daughter are a true sign of
genius and a balanced perspective. How
he views the future of cinema is important to anyone that is trying to create
for that medium, whether you are screenwriters or producers. The wisdom of his words can’t be stated
enough. He’s been there, and he has an
idea of where cinema is going. This
advice was to his daughter, but it applies to anyone else who thinks cinema is
a part of their path.
You can read the full letter below. The original letter was published in Italian
news Magazine, L’Espresso.
Dearest Francesca,
I’m writing this letter to you about the future. I’m looking
at it through the lens of my world. Through the lens of cinema, which has been
at the center of that world.
For the last few years, I’ve realized that the idea of
cinema that I grew up with, that’s there in the movies I’ve been showing you
since you were a child, and that was thriving when I started making pictures,
is coming to a close. I’m not referring to the films that have already been
made. I’m referring to the ones that are to come.
I don’t mean to be despairing. I’m not writing these words
in a spirit of defeat. On the contrary, I think the future is bright.
We always knew that the movies were a business, and that the
art of cinema was made possible because it aligned with business conditions.
None of us who started in the 60s and 70s had any illusions on that front. We
knew that we would have to work hard to protect what we loved. We also knew
that we might have to go through some rough periods. And I suppose we realized,
on some level, that we might face a time when every inconvenient or
unpredictable element in the moviemaking process would be minimized, maybe even
eliminated. The most unpredictable element of all? Cinema. And the people who
make it.
I don’t want to repeat what has been said and written by so
many others before me, about all the changes in the business, and I’m heartened
by the exceptions to the overall trend in moviemaking – Wes Anderson, Richard
Linklater, David Fincher, Alexander Payne, the Coen Brothers, James Gray and
Paul Thomas Anderson are all managing to get pictures made, and Paul not only
got The Master made in 70mm, he even got it shown that way in a few cities.
Anyone who cares about cinema should be thankful.
And I’m also moved by the artists who are continuing to get
their pictures made all over the world, in France, in South Korea, in England,
in Japan, in Africa. It’s getting harder all the time, but they’re getting the
films done.
But I don’t think I’m being pessimistic when I say that the
art of cinema and the movie business are now at a crossroads. Audio-visual
entertainment and what we know as cinema – moving pictures conceived by
individuals – appear to be headed in different directions. In the future,
you’ll probably see less and less of what we recognize as cinema on multiplex
screens and more and more of it in smaller theaters, online, and, I suppose, in
spaces and circumstances that I can’t predict.
So why is the future so bright? Because for the very first
time in the history of the art form, movies really can be made for very little
money. This was unheard of when I was growing up, and extremely low budget
movies have always been the exception rather than the rule. Now, it’s the
reverse. You can get beautiful images with affordable cameras. You can record
sound. You can edit and mix and color-correct at home. This has all come to
pass.
But with all the attention paid to the machinery of making
movies and to the advances in technology that have led to this revolution in
moviemaking, there is one important thing to remember: the tools don’t make the
movie, you make the movie. It’s freeing to pick up a camera and start shooting
and then put it together with Final Cut Pro. Making a movie – the one you need
to make - is something else. There are no shortcuts.
If John Cassavetes, my friend and mentor, were alive today,
he would certainly be using all the equipment that’s available. But he would be
saying the same things he always said – you have to be absolutely dedicated to
the work, you have to give everything of yourself, and you have to protect the
spark of connection that drove you to make the picture in the first place. You
have to protect it with your life. In the past, because making movies was so
expensive, we had to protect against exhaustion and compromise. In the future,
you’ll have to steel yourself against something else: the temptation to go with
the flow, and allow the movie to drift and float away.
This isn’t just a matter of cinema. There are no shortcuts
to anything. I’m not saying that everything has to be difficult. I’m saying
that the voice that sparks you is your voice – that’s the inner light, as the
Quakers put it.
That’s you. That’s the truth.
All my love,
Dad
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