TV happens. And once it's happened, it's gone. When it's gone, you move on, no tears, no tantrums, no videotape.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
We're very good at telling what happens and showing people while it happens... But sometimes television fails to take the time to say 'Why did it happen? What does it mean?' - To step back a little bit.
It's sort of the mixed blessing of being on television for so long in one thing; sometimes that backfires, in that you're not able to continue on.
Television has never known what to do with grief, which resists narrative: the dramas of grief are largely internal - for the bereaved, it is a chaotic, intense, episodic period, but the chaos is by and large subterranean, and easily appears static to the friendly onlooker who has absorbed the fact of loss and moved on.
It's a word called symbiotic, you send the messages and it comes back in return. Together, it's a wonderful thing, it's why television is so great and film can never reach.
There's something to be said about sitting in front of the TV and being removed from your own life and just pushed into another one.
Initially, I had started doing theater, where the actor has a direct relationship to the audience. So, moving into film and television disconnected me. When you do a film, you start to get the character, and then it disappears for a year before it's released and you get feedback.
Life is so fast these days, and we're exposed to so much information. Television makes us a witness to such misery.
You never know what's going to happen with television these days.
So many of our enormous emotional crises are lived through the media. They're lived through movies; they're lived through what we watch on television - they're not actual events in our life.
For the cable news guest, nothing happens for a while until suddenly everything happens very quickly. After you receive your television face, you stand around for a while, ignored, until you're sat down at a desk and asked to argue with strangers.