The art of making no-budget films, or how I learned to stop doubting and shoot the film.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Story-A-Day #123: Devastating
DEVASTATING
The oily film slid about on the water’s surface; a rainbow-sheen on the shallow puddle. It is a common site and one that we have been conditioned to ignore, a wash of toxicity that will not have a huge lasting impact.
When an oilrig explodes and constant streams of crude oil flood into the Gulf of Mexico, that is a big deal. That is an ecological disaster. Birds, fish, and economies are affected on a scale like that, but this little slick of colour is easily ignored by most. The things is, even the big issues can start off small, and sometimes even a big issue is just the beginning.
Below that puddle, down through the earth’s molten core and out the other side, things are much worse. It started with a big issue: an earthquake just off the Northeastern shore of Japan that measured 8.9 on the Richter scale and rapidly evolved into a global cataclysm. How do you imagine what that would be like?
An earthquake of that intensity would be a horrendous experience, your entire world shaking, shuddering and lurching with so much force that you can’t keep your footing. An ominous grumble engulfs you as all around, life as you know it crumbles to pieces. Roads open up their centre lines, buildings topple, power lines snap and fall to the ground, windows explode raining shards of glass all around.
The damage would be shocking, but there how do you begin to define the terror of a moment like that: an endless pounding from below that drags on for endless excruciating minutes? The shaking finally subsides and you start to take stock. Are you injured? Are your surroundings stable, or should you be seeking somewhere safer? Does anyone nearby require assistance? Are your family and friends safe? Is it over?
You just start to collect yourself, to catch your breath, and someone informs you that a tsunami is following closely on the heels of the earth shattering violence you have miraculously survived. You would still be confused. Where do you hide from a ten-metre wall of water that will obliterate everything in its path?
If by some miracle, you manage to survive the second act of violence then what remains? Your country has been laid to ruins. Your home swept out to sea with all your belongings. You might be fortunate enough to discover that your family and closest friends survived as well, but you will know many amongst the dead.
You have no shelter from the coldness of winter, no clean water to drink, no food to eat. The ground still trembles periodically, each rumbling a potential threat. There is the threat of nuclear meltdowns at the power plants. Debris drifts everywhere. It is an unimaginable scene, a nightmare come to life.
This is a nightmare that you can’t awaken from. It will last for years, a haunting reminder that it only takes a moment for everything to change; for an entire country to move 8 feet and for the entire planet to shift 10 inches on its axis.
There is no denying that level of horror, just as there is no way to predict how small something needs to be to become inconsequential. Is it just gas in a puddle, or does nature constantly spiral out of control to remind us that we are merely guests on this planet.
I wish there was more that I could do for Japan, more that any of us could do. The sad and scary part is that I also wonder what will be the next major event to happen, and where? It's a small world, after all, and we are all linked. We are all connected through neighbours and friends and business associates. We are all affected.
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