Ervin’s

One night, as I’m standing on LaSalle Street in Chicago, trying to line up a shot for “The Dark Knight,” a production assistant skateboards into my line of sight. Silently, I curse the moment that Heath first skated onto our set in full character makeup. I’d fretted about the reaction of Batman fans to a skateboarding Joker, but the actual result was a proliferation of skateboards among the younger crew members. If you’d asked those kids why they had chosen to bring their boards to work, they would have answered honestly that they didn’t know. That’s real charisma—as invisible and natural as gravity. That’s what Heath had.

Heath was bursting with creativity. It was in his every gesture. He once told me that he liked to wait between jobs until he was creatively hungry. Until he needed it again. He brought that attitude to our set every day. There aren’t many actors who can make you feel ashamed of how often you complain about doing the best job in the world. Heath was one of them.

One time he and another actor were shooting a complex scene. We had two days to shoot it, and at the end of the first day, they’d really found something and Heath was worried that he might not have it if we stopped. He wanted to carry on and finish. It’s tough to ask the crew to work late when we all know there’s plenty of time to finish the next day. But everyone seemed to understand that Heath had something special and that we had to capture it before it disappeared. Months later, I learned that as Heath left the set that night, he quietly thanked each crew member for working late. Quietly. Not trying to make a point, just grateful for the chance to create that they’d given him.

Those nights on the streets of Chicago were filled with stunts. These can be boring times for an actor, but Heath was fascinated, eagerly accepting our invitation to ride in the camera car as we chased vehicles through movie traffic—not just for the thrill ride, but to be a part of it. Of everything. He’d brought his laptop along in the car, and we had a high-speed screening of two of his works-in-progress: short films he’d made that were exciting and haunting. Their exuberance made me feel jaded and leaden. I’ve never felt as old as I did watching Heath explore his talents. That night I made him an offer—knowing he wouldn’t take me up on it—that he should feel free to come by the set when he had a night off so he could see what we were up to.

When you get into the edit suite after shooting a movie, you feel a responsibility to an actor who has trusted you, and Heath gave us everything. As we started my cut, I would wonder about each take we chose, each trim we made. I would visualize the screening where we’d have to show him the finished film—sitting three or four rows behind him, watching the movements of his head for clues to what he was thinking about what we’d done with all that he’d given us. Now that screening will never be real. I see him every day in my edit suite. I study his face, his voice. And I miss him terribly.

Back on LaSalle Street, I turn to my assistant director and I tell him to clear the skateboarding kid out of my line of sight when I realize—it’s Heath, woolly hat pulled low over his eyes, here on his night off to take me up on my offer. I can’t help but smile.

- Christopher Nolan

© 2008 Newsweek, Inc.

Better than sex?

Surely not. But you do kind of need to take a few deep breaths, maybe take a cold shower or go for a run – just to get your mind off this piece of sex-in-an aluminum casing.

Unveiled a couple of days ago at Macworld by a somewhat groggy-looking Steve Jobs, this is the world’s thinnest and lightest laptop: MacBook Air (ahhh…I get it).

We’re talking serious thin here. Enough for you to spread butter on toast with. 

Upon closer inspection though, this baby is really more like a high-class European call-girl – pretty to look at, but you are probably overcompensating and in need of a status boost if you’re willing to shell out S$3,000 (1.6GHz) or S$5,000 (1.8GHz) for a relatively low-spec machine (even if it’s super-thin and so light you’ll need a paperweight).

The incredible engineering feat that has resulted in its wafer-like appearance comes at the expense of some pretty standard features e.g. more than one USB port, a removable battery, Ethernet port and optical drive (that means this thing can’t play DVDs or CDs. Yes you heard right, it CANNOT play DVDs or CDs).

Apple says these missing features are essentially ‘obsolete’ in a wireless world…I’m willing to bet most hotels around the world still offers Internet in the room via an Ethernet port. And we’re all supposed to thank Jobs for iTunes Movies because we can now chuck our DVD collections into the trash.

Don’t get me wrong – I WANT this sucker. If my MacBook wasn’t so great (despite the fact that its sexy has been taken back) I’d be checking its re-sale value. But really, the MacBook Air isn’t a product for anyone who needs a laptop, just like no one really needs a Ferrari. For most of us we’re better off waiting for some of its features and technologies to be incorporated into future Mac laptops.

The interesting thing is that this will soon be the most poser-alerting and bank-account revealing piece of display hardware at Starbucks all around town. If bitterness is in your nature, just tell yourself that these Air people can’t handle a real laptop.    

For the second time in my life, I found myself writing a resignation letter.

Actually, it’s already written and handed in to my boss, who was informed of my intention almost 4 months ago.

In many ways, MDA is a hard place to leave. I’ve got the best boss one could ask for, great colleagues, more than decent career prospects, a salary that takes care of me fairly well, and opportunities to make a difference to an industry I care deeply about. For that it’s bound to suprise a few people when I get those farewell emails out. But my closest friends know why I’m doing this.

I can’t quite remember what went through my mind the first time I resign from a full-time job. That was 4 years ago, in a place that was totally wrong for me and doing a job that was killing my soul. What still shocks me is how long it took for me to get the hell out of there.

I’m not saying it’s a terrible place to work at – it can’t be, being one of the top companies in Singapore. But it was the wrong place for me. I suppose an important part of anyone’s first real job (that people forget easily) is to determine if this is truly what you want to do – and if not, then what is?

The lucky ones eventually find an answer, or at least what they think is the answer – but that’s ok. You may not know what your eventual calling is, but at least know what you would like to do now that could make you happy or fulfill what you believe your potential is.

Still don’t know what you want to do? Then think about what you’re good at, because you’ll probably enjoy doing it and importantly, be better at it then most people.

Don’t know what you’re good at? Can’t help you there. You’re going to have to work that out yourself. The only truth is that everyone’s good at something. Again, the fortunate ones might know their calling all their lives, while others will take time to figure it out. The important thing is you keep working at it and not stay stagnant.

Of course, if your job is a pain in the ass that is killing every fibre of passion in your heart BUT pays for the swanky new condo and the European holidays, that’s a different story.

Nothing wrong with chasing the dollar in life – it could well allow you to fulfill your dreams later on (or even now). Just know what you want and if it comes down to a decision, dammit MAKE IT.

I did and I now venture into a new career flowing with uncertainty, daunting challenges and unfamiliar game rules – topped up with a sizable pay cut. And I can’t wait to get started.

This blog is so preachy. I hate preachy blogs.

There are really only two days a year when I’ll put money on myself getting royally drunk. One’s to commemorate April the 2nd 1975, when the world received another ambassador of bad jokes. The other is New Year’s Eve, when I’m surrounded by my best mates.

This is our 3rd straight year at Ministry of Sound’s 54. It’s getting a little tired to be honest, and next year we’ll probably find a new spot. But 54 is still the only place where the music gives people the license to dance like fools – which we like to do (Note: If you walk in wearing a clown suit, you’re just A fool.)

The reliable Tommy got a table reserved and within minutes everyone was downing shots, with bubbly to follow. I must say the music didn’t quite kick it though. When 54 started it was 70s Motown, funk soul – old school disco. Now it’s mostly 80s stuff…Damn, I’m sounding OLD.

If the club was Singapore Island we were definitely parked on the prime lot down at Changi Village. Our corner was a Trannies’ convention. Hovering around like vultures, it was as if they were waiting for the alcohol in their potential victims to kick in…

Ok, I’m being tranny-phobic. But seriously, it’s not even funny to imagine what alcohol-induced judgment and old-fashioned concupiscence could lead to with all these man-traps walking around, especially when some are approaching super model proportions (in semi-darkness). Makes you wonder what kind of precision technology they use these days to create these fascinating creatures of the night…

3 a.m – we’ve had enough and after an hour of trying to call for some cabs (which were harder to find then WMD), the group cruised down to St. James Powerhouse. Now, I’ve heard tons of stuff about Dragonfly, THAT club that generates 60% of St. James’ revenues. Never been there myself, and my first visit threw up an old friend on stage – William Scorpion.

For anyone (more so for Chinese folks) with some kind of social life that involves the occasional clubbing back in the early 90s, Cantopop at Marina South should ring a bell. Back then, William Scorpion (if that’s his real name I’ll eat my Nike Dunks) headlined the nightly performance at the joint, belting out Mandarin pop rock and Cantopop to legions of Hennesy and Martell guzzlers (for those who can’t afford or handle the cognac straight up, just add green tea). It was the epitome of ‘Beng’ cool.

Seeing Bill Scorpio on stage again performing – more than a decade older – was stirring. Mandarin and Canto songs (at least the ones the band chose from the likes of Beyond and Jacky Cheung) performed live have a sentimentality, both in their lyrics and melody, that is infectious. Doesn’t matter if you’ve been fed on Europop or Hip Hop your whole life, Cantopop is probably the perfect stuff to get drunk on. Many in the crowd that night would agree, as they poured forward with each rendition of a chorus – grown men drowning in the moment of brotherhood with the man they know as Scorpion.

If you’ve never been to Dragonfly, get down there and experience it for yourself. And call me.

5.45 a.m – breakfast outside Tommy’s place. The heck with LDL. My body NEEDS the plasta prata and iced Milo.

6.15 a.m – just enough money to grab a cab home. And there I was before the night began, worrying if I had enough cash for the midnight taxi charge.