These and many other pearls of nonchalant conversation came out of my mouth on a recent, quite important interview of mine. One has to say, that I have been trying to get into such kind of an interview ten times.

I am not kidding, I really applied TEN TIMES.

It is part of an film school application process, on most schools the “round two” of your bare-knuckle fight to get in. So why on earth did I deliver such lines?

And more importantly, how did they react?

Well, the day started out with a computer crash. Let’s just say, you should not install the  boot-loader Chameleon on a mac. If you do, do not reboot. It’s for hackintoshs, not macs. Seriously do not reboot! I did that mistake four hours before the interview…

On top of that, my girlfriend’s notebook was just given away to a 10 day repair, so both our data were on the one I just made unbootable. Without a system DVD, rescue disc or spare partition to boot from, there was not much I could do to fix it. And I have not written down the address of the interview either …

I headed to the Apple Store on Regent Street, and there nobody could really help me. No lending of a system DVD or anything like that. They had no clue how to help me quickly with my destroyed boot loader. A tip: Apple Care does not help you much either, once you admit, that you screwed up the computer yourself.

In Border’s Starbucks, I waited for half an hour for my order, which they had completely messed up. I have been nervous about the interview the last days, now I was getting exhausted from the perspective of both of us being cut off from all data, email and contacts for the next week.

I mattered my brain, to think of a fast solution, except that there wasn’t any.

To jump out of the frying pan into the fire, I only realized how low-sugared I was, not having eaten the whole day. Caffein surely does not calm you down, for that matter.

I munched what was should have been a relaxing early afternoon tea and found myself in London’s SOHO looking for a building that was supposed to look like an old brewery. Indeed, there it was.

A beaming red door set itself apart from the 19th century industrial colossus with dirty black windows. Someone pinched in the code into the door, to let me in. I kinda understood, how Alice in Wonderland must have felt. The big moment was dawning on me.

One of the things I have observed in life, is that attention to details is everything. It is also the most difficult thing to achieve, as there are so many of those sneaky little details. But their close observations can give you hints of how things will come along.

That being said, the inside of the building was not impressive at all. There it was, one of the most respected institutions of Europe — and it looked like it could use some house-cleaning. Academism is one thing, but mess is one other. Maybe it was this artistry, flamboyant, original, underground Unbearable Lightness of Being, though?

The German part of my soul said: “No man, that’s just one big mess.”

On the reception, I was told to wait. So I did. For 20 minutes.

There was no place to sit, so I examined the nearest floors and the postings on their walls, as I tried forge my first impressions of the place. The typical student searches for rooms, some “award-winning” guys looking for other guys to help them on their “award winning” projects. For free, but for lot of exposure. I have seen that before, at very similar places like this…

I saw 2 guys photographing, what seemed to be some background plates for some VFX shots. The did it next to me on the stairs, under a lamp. No lighting, handheld, I would say about 3 stops underexposed. Shaky. Useless. But boy, did they had the right way to rattle about it. Those guys were eventually about to become my colleagues?

I started to get pissed. I made the trip here voluntarily, voting for a personal meeting over a telephonic interview. The chose the me the date and time. So, why is it so hard to actually be on time?

You might say, this is the typical behavior of a state-institution or an employer, who want to clearly define who and where they think you are from the start. I would agree on that, but this was not the case. You are a client there. You pay a significant amount of money to that institution, it is a business deal, where both sides profit. And even that would not have been the case, it was unprofessional, as I made a 1200km trip and WAS on time!

When they finally came, I have calmed myself down, mostly just trying to swallow my disappointment. The first impression was really not the best of this place. But nothing compare to the one I was about to give …

Although we started calmly, warming up for the first punches, soon the interviewer started to provoke:

Why do you think you are good for this? What do you like about filmmaking? Where do you take your inspiration from? Why are you here? Aren’t you more of a writer, than a director? Everyone wants to be a director…

I love the whole process of creating a film. I like to be in control of the whole piece, not just a part of it. My things are very personal. I am a guy who likes conflicts, because conflicts breed creativity.

How is your relationship to the crew, to your camerman?

If someone is not putting out, I challenge him till he does. I want and expect only the best efforts. From myself and from anyone else. Anything else is intolerable and hurts the project.

Can you work with other students, less experienced than you? Can you work for somebody? Could you work for yourself?

I could, because I would know, that this guys knows what he is doing. If he respects the craft, if I love the script, then yes, I will do everything in my power to help him.

But what if you do not like the script, because for example the students come from other cultures?

I will try to adapt and understand a different culture. However there is craft and rules to filmmaking, you have to follow them and master them, before you break them. If you don’t you, are just a Bohemian wannabe, hiding dilettantism behind what he calls art.

But still, can you work for such a guy?

Don’t expect me to be a monkey for a moron. If this is a blithering idiot, I will not, I never can be at my best. If I hate him, if I hate his ideas, I will not work with him. I would lie, if I say otherwise. However, having not the worst reputation in Europe, I trust you accept only people who are capable.

…

The thing went on and on for an hour. The good-by took around 10 seconds. Both parties were politely smiling, in an English way. I dashed out of the building.

There was no way, this would work. There were things, that I should have never said. I never would, if this was a job. There, when worst comes to worst, you hang on to the fact, that you get a paycheque.

But not here, where applicants were about to drop tuition fees equivalent to a family estate car. Here I subconsciously decided not to wear a mask. They have to put out as well. It is a business in the end.

Only slowly it dawned on me, that the performance I just gave, was one of the most honest of myself on a very, very bad day. Horrible did not even start to describe it.

I started to feel doubt. Isn’t this dream is not rather a nightmare? There is no guarantee for an MA to get hired in this business anyway. In a business, where contacts are the most important thing, where no path is the same, is this institution with its run-down appearance, the right investment?

It stroke me, that the answer for this question will lie in their decision. They have seen the worst of me. Provocative, challenging, angry. I was an arrogant ass, with high technical knowledge and money. Willing to learn, but not willing to swallow everything he is told. One that will challenge those who teach him and pushes back, when pushed.

Even if they accept me, they may just  lack applicants in the recent economic climate…

Or, they are not afraid of people with egos and opinions.

Only then they are the right people to teach me, who eventually will push my limits and I shall forget all I knew about first impressions.

Guess what came three days later?

A yes.

Now hang on, there is someone from LA calling …

“Excuse me, do you mind to give me 15 Czech Crowns?”

The question came out of nowhere.

I was waiting next to the orange wall of a renovated apartment building in Vršovice, Prague. My editor was descending the five stories down to open the door. My mind was going through the editing task, that laid ahead and and I was not really paying much attention to my environment. The sound took me quite by surprise, it invaded my thoughts and pulled the high artistic intentions down to the harsh reality of the street.

I turned around and spotted a tiny blond woman in a subtle black dress. She might have been in her early fifties. She had huge glasses with low dioptrics. Her left hand was shaking a little bit — a movement she tried to suppress as she noticed my gaze.

As in every metropolitan city, you hear this question twice the hour when you walk through Prague. Mostly on tourist spots, from people, who have been living on the streets for a long time and are dressed accordingly. They often have an excuse, such as the need to make an urgent phone call or some other kind of emergency.

But this woman looked different. She obviously did pay attention to her outward appearance, as much as she could. This caught my eye, because I would never expect someone dressed like her, to ask this question. What was going on?

“What do you need it for?” — I shot back. Curious about how creative she would be.

“I would like to buy some wine.”

Boom! There it was. Pure and honest.

I looked into her eyes and saw how dignity just lost the battle with the demon.

Now it all made sense: The light smell that surrounded her was the sweat of cheap wine. Her sudden appearance came from a 24/7 bar next door, that I did not notice in my dreamy state of mind. She stood there, asking for money to buy food for her demon. She could have been my mother. I tried not to judge her. Alone the fact, that she came up to me, beeing that honest must have been devastating for her. And impressive to me. It was all there in her eyes and it took my breath.

I could not say a word anymore. I gave her half of what I had in my wallet. She asked if I was living nearby, that she would give the money back another day. I asked her to accept it, without worries and that she should drink one on me.

She walked away, but not back into the bar like I thought she would. Her shaky hands stored the money in a purse and I noticed how underfeed she was. And yet she looked like anyone else. An older lady in a black dress walking down the street. Nothing special, nothing scary. Yet, the personification of Lynch’s horror in bright daylight.

This got me thinking, of what I have done. I will not deny that I hate it being asked for money, for contributions of any kind or for “good deeds” left and right, when I just walk down the street in whichever big city. Yes, these people annoy me, they annoy my sight, and some of them seem to be very professional at what they are doing.

I am honest here, because I would be a hypocrite and a liar, if I would say otherwise. I think, that I work hard myself, that what I have, I have earned. I do not want to carry the misery of strangers on my shoulders. I do not want to be manipulated into a feeling of guilt. I cannot solve those problems, this I do not want to see them really. I do not want to feel responsible. I want to shout into their faces, “You have all your limbs, for Christ sake, how about getting up and try to get a job?”

Yeah, like it is that simple…

I know that the government should take care of such problems. I like to think that way. I also do not want to see that social problems. I want to stay in my comfort zone. I do not want to see other people, who were so much less fortunate then myself. All I want, is to keep the right to complain about life, people, everyone and everything.

Of course, I have never been homeless. What do I know? But I know how it is not to have money. Our family fled from a communist regime and had to start from zero in another country after all. But not everyone has the abilities we had to work up to a better place.

So, what to do? I will not help a homeless person, or a beggar by giving him money. This may solve his problem for the day, but not for the next. It’s giving a fish, rather than to teach how to fish. I also do not get my kick by giving a donation and then staying in the illusion that I will “make a difference”, because that is bullshit.

I guess the most one can do, is to respect the dignity of the other. I was trying to behave this way with this woman. I gave her what she asked. I accepted her gratitude, and that was it. Have I done it, because I felt guilty? Because I felt sorry for her?

I don’t think so, because everything happened too quick. I think the reason was, that she was just being honest and I was impressed by the internal struggle I saw in here eyes.

Maybe I was happy, not to have this problem? Till this very moment I don’t know, if I feel good, or bad about it. All I am is confused, as this problem is complex and seems to be over my head. How easy it is, to just go with the pre-judgment and simplify it to black and white!

What I know, though, is that I saw a demon. He looked at me through eyes he had possessed. We looked at each other, and I blinked first and he was laughing. He may still till now, as he scared the hell out of me and made me think.

Maybe this is all he wanted?