I’m going to be 29 tomorrow. I think every birthday becomes a little daunting when you get past 25. For each year that passes, the 10 year old child living inside you judges you that little bit more. “Why do you still wear skinny jeans?” / “Why aren’t you married yet?” / “Where did you put all the Warhammer 40,000 figures?”
The way I try to counter the abuse of the 10 year old me is to try to be as productive as possible in my work. If I am getting older (I’m not convinced), I can at least pretend I’m getting wiser.
Four years ago I set myself the the rather ridiculous goal of winning an Oscar by the time I was 30. Despite being an ambitious and/or stupid target, it marked the start of my career as a filmmaker and seemed like a good thing to work towards. I didn’t know back then that ‘War Horse’ would win one and therefore belittle the whole achievement.
So at 29 I’ve now got only one year and one Oscar ceremony left to achieve my dream. Unless I get recognised for my fantastic skills as make-up artist and hired for Avatar 2, it seems my only realistic chance on collecting a golden naked man is in the Best Short Film Category.
So the pressure is all on my latest short ‘Mr. Invisible’. I think it’s a good film. I mean I’d give it an Oscar. Why not? In fact, my Dad found an imitation Oscar in a skip last month, so effectively I’ve already won one for it!
But whether it happens, or not, I’m a lot closer now to the goal than I was four years ago. For example I now own a well-fitting tuxedo jacket.
But can success and recognition really compensate for the passing of time? It seems to work for George Clooney. But probably not for the rest of us. Woody Allen probably had it right when he said,
I don’t want to achieve immortality through my work… I want to achieve it through not dying.
Sadly, apart from (insert very old but soon to be deceased person here) we’re all gonna die. So may as well
wear skinny jeans have fun while it lasts. And that’s why tomorrow I’m going to watch a Goonies/Indiana Jones double bill at the Prince Charles Cinema. The inner 10 year old should be quiet during that…. Actually, who am I trying to kid? I am still that 10 year old. It’s the outer adult who is the stranger.