On the Aftereffects Suffered by Film Directors

Boxers and football players suffer from a delayed neurodegenerative disease known as "punch-drunk syndrome" when their heads are subjected to repeated impacts.

Because symptoms often appear later in life, the progression of the condition is not yet fully understood, but it is a well-known fact that the accumulation of damage significantly diminishes an athlete's performance.

To mitigate that risk, referees and ring doctors are on standby at match venues, but since there is no such thing as a completely safe sport, there will inevitably be athletes who lose their lives or suffer aftereffects during matches.

Of course, athletes have already factored such risks into their decisions, signing consent forms and entering the ring with a certain level of resolve. But if we truly wanted to ensure safety, wouldn't it be best to simply not hold or allow matches at all?

If I were to say such a thing, I can hear the backlash: that all sports would disappear from the world, the Olympics would cease to exist, and humanity would stop progressing. But what if machines competed instead of humans? Like in F1, where they compete in mechanics. That, in itself, doesn't seem half bad.

Just as modern people consider the killing in the Colosseum to be barbaric, I think it is highly likely that current sports spectating will appear barbaric when viewed by future audiences.

However, when machines replace everything, the counter-balance will still be the human body, so in a society where everything is safe and comfortable, dangerous sports might actually increase in scarcity value. If that happens, we might once again justify murder as a spectacle like the Colosseum, perhaps turning it into entertainment for the whole family.

By the way, in the film industry where I am at the periphery, there are fierce warriors who make films as if their lives depend on it, much like boxers.
Of course, since they aren't physically fighting, a simple comparison cannot be made, but their desperate struggle to achieve success—sacrificing sleep, not minding debt, and being prepared to go down with their work—feels close to that of a fighter.
It even appears as if the only difference in their stage for self-realization is whether it is a ring or a screen.

However, even such fierce warriors, if they take on a major project and fail once, often find themselves in a situation where they can no longer make films. (The failure here does not refer to box office failure, but also encompasses projects that were interrupted or shelved.) It is not for secondary reasons like staff losing interest or support disappearing, but simply that the director loses their motivation and drifts away from filmmaking.

A major failure related to film production inflicts non-plastic damage on the director themselves, making subsequent career development difficult. If they are a famous director, they might get another chance, but for the vast majority of directors who are not, it leads to a situation similar to the end of a professional athlete's career.

However, the industry does not issue any particular warnings regarding such risks. Therefore, even now, "passion" and "guts" are still the prevailing currency.

At first glance, this might seem like a virtue, but in reality, isn't it a quite dangerous attitude?

A while ago, I often heard stories of directors whose films flopped, leaving them with debt and causing them to flee in the night, but I wonder how it is now. With things like crowdfunding, perhaps it doesn't reach such extremes? Since people who flee in the night don't go around saying, "I'm going to flee in the night now!", there might be quite a few of them even now without anyone noticing. (After all, nearly 600 films are made in Japan alone every year.)

Because I am at the periphery of the industry, even if I cannot empathize with that kind of challenging spirit, I can understand it. But to the general public, a person who went bankrupt from a film and a person who went bankrupt from an online casino probably look no different.

Before it gets to that point, someone needs to stop them or make them take a break, but I think it would be better if it were a third party who is more detached, rather than the assistant directors or staff who are close to them. We need outsiders and experts, like referees and ring doctors in boxing.

Without a clear judge, and with no doctor sitting nearby, the films (matches) of directors (fighters) who battle the chimera of cinema with no prospect of a fight purse are somewhat aesthetic, but generally comical, and invite a faint melancholy reminiscent of Don Quixote.

But, is the director themselves truly aware of it?
When making a single film, how much risk are they taking on, and how much damage is being accumulated?
That if they fail, they will be taking on psychological damage so severe that they may never be able to make a film again, and that this damage might be non-plastic.

Since the film industry was slow to respond even to power harassment and sexual harassment, it is perhaps inevitable that they cannot spare the resources for the psychological support of directors. However, dismissing their suffering as a tragic tale and enjoying their failure as a spectacle is just as barbaric and in poor taste as the Colosseum.

As an immediate measure, I advocate for the production of short films as sketches.
Compared to major works, they require less budget and fewer personnel, so even if they fail, the damage incurred is recoverable.

A successful example would be the "The Backrooms" series created by Kane Parsons, who was a high school student at the time.

The original version is like a rough sketch, but its unique reality utilizing Blender, a game-like worldview derived from 4chan urban legends, and an unclassifiable progression became a hot topic. He teamed up with major players like A24 to self-remake it into a feature-length theatrical film. (Is the completion this year?)

I think there is a high possibility that its charm will be diminished by becoming a theatrical film, but if a director and those around them can finish making a film with no risk and no damage, there is no better way to operate.

The reason Mike Tyson is still going strong is that he did not suffer profound damage during his active years, and that, in turn, means his boxing technique was high.

I sincerely hope that in the industry as well, the skill of making films without the director themselves suffering damage—a way of operating—will permeate.