Paris? Prague? Peoria? Okay, maybe not Peoria.
The mere mention of a destination would trigger visions of glamorous hotels with impossibly fluffy pillows, fabulous shoot locations with jaw-dropping vistas, and after-hours culinary adventures in Michelin-starred restaurants. I’d pack my suitcase with outfits I’d never actually wear ,but felt I should bring, because who knows? Maybe I’d end up at a yacht party or something.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t.
Fast forward to today. The idea of schlepping myself to some remote corner of the world to "capture the magic" now fills me with an existential dread rivaling that of sitting through a three-hour agency status meeting. Don’t get me wrong — I still love creating. I just don’t want to do it while battling jet lag and sketchy Wi-Fi.
Give me a soundstage in Los Angeles, a coffee cart within arm’s reach, and the sweet promise of going home to my couch by 7 p.m.
Let me paint you a picture of what "on location" really means. You wake up at 4:30 a.m. in a hotel room that smells faintly of carpet cleaner and crushed dreams. It’s pitch black outside, because the best light for your exterior shots happens at the ungodly hour of sunrise. The hotel "continental breakfast" consists of sad, cling-wrapped muffins and coffee brewed by someone who hates joy. You climb into a 15-passenger van with a crew of equally tired people, and off you go, bouncing down dirt roads not designed for motor vehicles.
Then there’s the weather. It’s either too hot, too cold, too windy, or raining sideways.
Contrast that with a soundstage in Los Angeles. You want golden hour lighting? Flip a switch. You want a sweeping mountain vista? Fire up the green screen and let the VFX team work their magic. Nobody’s getting rained on. Nobody’s asking if the porta-potties have been emptied. And nobody’s stuck in a van wondering if craft services will be set up by 6 a.m.
Soundstage life also means I can drive to work like a normal human, film some "magic," and be home in time to binge Breaking Bad for the eighteenth time. (Yes, eighteenth time. Don’t judge me.)
Sure, I’ll admit there are moments when I miss the thrill of going on location. That fleeting rush of stepping off a plane in an exotic city, the camaraderie of late-night shoots, the adventures of finding the world’s best taco stand at 2 a.m. But then I remember the other stuff — the lost luggage, the endless "hurry up and wait" routine — and my nostalgia dissolves faster than the line item for "unexpected expenses."
So here I am, praising the soundstage life. To my younger self, I say this: it’s not you, it’s the jet lag. And the weather. And the 4:30 a.m. call times. And everything else that turns capturing your creative vision into a monumental pain in the ass.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my couch, a bowl of popcorn, and Heisenberg’s greatest hits.
