Blog post #6
Finshing Valeria recently, I’ve been thinking about imposter syndrome. Yes, I apologise, this is a personal post and I’m being rather self-indulgent. But sod it, you’re here now.
I started therapy last year, a few months or so into the first lockdown. I imagine many others did the same (hardly surprising). But my own venture into the televisual and cinematic trope of analysis – making characters explain themselves – actually began before then.
I started writing reviews at university. At the time, I needed to find work experience that counted toward my second-year grade, and so dangled my toes above the rim of film journalism. It wasn’t out of the blue. I’d read Mark Kermode’s book Hatchet Job, which explained the life of a critic: watching five films a week, dealing with keyboard warriors, etc. It sounded appealing.
After leaving university, I worked for another website. It was a glamorous introduction to the business, despite being unpaid. I spent months trying and failing to find bookshop vacancies in London, and saw a writer job advertised on a job-hunting website. I applied without expecting any response, just to tell my parents I tried. Then I received a text from the CEO, asking me to cover a play in central London. I hesitated, wondered if this was really worth it. (Looking back, it was obviously anxiety – but it was undiagnosed at that point.) I went to the play, cut through the queue as a priority guest and even received a free drinks token. It was surreal, and I loved it.
Pretty soon, I was living the Kermode lifestyle (again, without the money). I watched loads of films every week, progressed to covering the London Film Festival, and then interviewed stars and filmmakers. Bizarre. I wondered how I was there, getting away with this. I could afford to be unpaid because I was living off my parents (still am, really), but the idea of someone trusting my writing was still strange to me.
I brushed passed eminent critics in various venues around London, but I could rarely go and speak to any of them. It’s an issue I still have. Thankfully, on past occasions when I’ve opted for confidence, others have helped me into circles I’d thought too high to reach. Hopefully, after the Pandemic Days are done, I’ll be less anxious about approaching people like this. Most often, though, I tended to sit in the corner and watch people I’ve read and listened to for years chatting and laughing with each other.
Jumping ahead, I was eventually paid for my writing. I started talking with professional critics, many of whom were younger, brighter, and more proactive than I. They still are. The imposter syndrome reached a new height, wrapped with intense jealousy and loathing. I didn’t understand it. I’m a bleakly existential person anyway, so I felt my life up to that point was a waste compared to others’. But it was more than that.
I had a kind of inferiority-superiority complex, which probably blew up when I was bullied at school. Through school and university, I didn’t like a lot of people I was around and felt better than them – mostly on an intellectual basis. But when I was thrown into the real world, realising there are better people everywhere, it made me confront my own intellectual inferiority. The envy still twinges every so often, but I feel I’ve developed since then.
It swirls together with my social anxiety, which my therapist and I continue to work through. The most useful conclusion was to stop self-judging by other people’s standards. They’re them and I’m me. I can only be me. That realisation allowed me to assuage those tense feelings, and even feel happy for those who’ve done well. The imposter syndrome never leaves, popping up to ruin my day and doubt my skills. But mindfulness helps, and movies, and baths, and chocolate, and tea. More than anything else, though, it helps to know one’s own qualities and refer back to them when things get tough.
HIGHLIGHT OF THE WEEK
Can’t Get You Out of My Head, BBC iPlayer
One of my greatest anxieties, which spills into my cultural tastes and fiction-writing, is being uncertain about reality. How can any of us really know if something is or is not? Don’t worry, I’m not a paranoid conspiracy theorist, but the world is still a mystery to me.
Thankfully, the provocative filmmaker Adam Curtis has come along to explain, in his latest documentary series Can’t Get You Out of My Head. I say series, it’s more of a massive film sliced into six parts. The films examine why things have become the way they have. Curtis mostly drops into the histories of the US, the UK, and China through a vast collection of archive footage.
It’s probably impossible to absorb everything on your first go, but the included stories and their global consequences are fascinating to pore through. I’m mostly engaged with the psychologies of certain societies and the undying friction between individualism and collectivism. The number of people willing to die for their causes, or who commit suicide because of their failures, is staggering. It’s presented quite poetically, unfurling in seemingly disparate threads before tying them together. Although there’s a severe lack of optimism, it’s an addictive experience that never leaves you. Like the title, the footage and narration stay in your mind – helping you view the world differently, in good ways and bad.
Other highlights
Crime Scene: The Vanishing at the Cecil Hotel, Netflix
I watched the first episode of Crime Scene: the Vanishing at the Cecil Hotel. When writing my weekly run-down of TV to watch for Culture Whisper, I really enjoyed researching this. It’s a true-crime documentary that follows the mysterious circumstances around the disappearance and subsequent death of Elisa Lam, who was found in the water tank of the Cecil Hotel in Los Angeles. It received particular attention because of security footage from an elevator camera, which sees Lam acting strangely in and out of the lift – prompting many supernatural theories.
Compared to Adam Curtis, this is very sensationalised but exceedingly entertaining. Since I don’t believe in anything ghostly, I can only deduce that Lam was enduring a psychological episode related to her bipolar disorder. But, I’m still curious about all the silly notions constructed by armchair detectives.
I finished Ted Lasso, and it was a bloody delight. It’s like a combination of British humour with American sentimentalism. It could’ve been a disaster, but the balance is perfect. It’s a warm and funny watch.
I watched all of Behind Her Eyes, but my opinions are currently under embargo. Look out for my Culture Whisper review on Tuesday. The series is available on Netflix from Wednesday.
Saint Maud
I re-watched Saint Maud, and it’s even better the second time. I really empathise with Maud’s loneliness, especially in her social paradox between craving for companionship and her annoyance with anyone around. It was one of the best films of last year, so please watch if you haven’t already.
WandaVision has kind of won me round. I would’ve preferred a permanent sitcom state, with weird things happening every so often, but the writers are tackling the befuddling story very well. I love this episode, which takes a strong noughties sitcom flavour, channelling Gilmore Girls and Malcolm in the Middle.
Things I’ve written this week
Judas and the Black Messiah
My review of Judas and the Black Messiah. A thrilling, genre-bending biopic of the Black Panther chairman Fred Hampton. Like Can’t Get You Out of My Head, the director Shaka King reveals the corrupt structures behind supposedly moral organisations like the FBI. Although I was uncomfortable with many scenes of Panthers killing police (despite deserving it), the film doesn’t condone or condemn their actions. It’s more intelligent: looking at the reasons why the Panthers were pressured in that way.
I updated my listicle of the best sex comedies on Netflix. I added an entry for Valeria because that series deserves the praise.
I updated my listicle of comedies to stream anywhere – adding Call My Agent!, New Girl, and Parks and Recreation.
Kingdom, Netflix
I updated my Oscars 2021 preview to include News of the World and Malcolm & Marie, both of which I reviewed recently.
Through the last week, my viewing schedule has been filled with South Korean TV. I was researching for a listicle of some of the best examples. It was a bizarre and curious journey, the narrative style of K-dramas being dense and bombastic but nevertheless enjoyable. Kingdom is, by far, my favourite – it’s like Game of Thrones but with more zombies.
