The Last (Final) Take

In childhood, my favorite toy was a typewriter. It seemed so that fate had chosen me for a path leading to great cinema. However, not clear enough expressions of desires, as known, can bring about what one wishes for in unexpected forms. Thus, I became a clapper.

If we compare a film set to a football field, the director is the head coach, actors are the team players, and clapper is more like the club's mascot: no one really recalls its name, everyone wishes it were a woman, and most importantly, doubtedly someone knows for sure why it's even needed. Behind mascot’s costume, there is always a human hiding inside. They say that a clapper is also human that had a childhood, with dreams then and now (perhaps), with friends and a girlfriend even.

In an era where cars can drive themselves down the streets, I try to understand: what does a person with a piece of plastic in hand get to do on a film set? And what am I doing with this life? Most importantly, do small actions really lead to something great?