I’ll never forget watching E.T. as a child, especially the scene where Elliot rides through the woods and E.T elevates the bike for a ride in the night sky against a full moon backdrop. Watching that scene, my heart soared and it felt like I was flying in my seat. Riding a BMX was never the same again.
Movies have the capacity to change the world, to inspire us, to imagine something different, to explore a life we might never lead ourselves. Since the very beginning of time, mankind has been telling stories, often with nothing more than a piece of chalk and the walls of a cave. We want to leave our mark. No matter how dark the road ahead, a movie can give us hope, it reminds us of how things could be.
Making a film is like starting a company. You need a business plan, a great story, and a script. You need a team of performers and talented staff to pull it off. You need investors and plenty of capital. You need to execute. And once you’ve made your film, you’ve got to sell it. All of it is hard, and frustrating, and no one ever gets it, but you do it anyway.
The risk profile of making a movie is similar to that of starting a company – failure is the most likely outcome. But if you do it again and again, and do it properly, things start to look different. A film slate becomes a business, much like venture capital, where the successful companies balance out the less successful ones across a portfolio of companies.
Africa needs more creative capital. We need to stop depending on resources to create value. We must dream, create, and invent. This is where the value is. Technology gives us the tools to compete globally, but now we must create an environment that encourages people to dream about achieving impossible things. We’re not there yet.
I once watched a documentary on American amateur rocketeers. I was expecting to see a group of crackpot garage mechanics playing with rusty engines. I was shocked to see the fervour, and the determination, and the cutting-edge technology of the rockets these space-lovers were building. This is the same crazy, fearlessness of the American entrepreneur. We need that. These rocketeers didn’t wait for permission, they didn’t ask if it was a good idea. They did it anyway.
In much the same way, we at Triggerfish are pioneers in African animation. We want to build a world-class studio that challenges the hegemony of Hollywood. We want to tell amazing stories that inspire a generation. Yes, we are ambitious, and we want to do it all from here – in Africa. That’s the starting point.
“What we must do, all of us, is insist that this society is one of open discourse.”
It may seem like this memoir has been a long-time coming, as Rushdie’s life story garners as much public interest as his vibrant and fantastical novels; but, given the harrowing nature of his experiences, it is not surprising that it took over two decades before he could commit the events to print. In February 1989, in response to claims that Rushdie’s novel constituted blasphemy against the prophet Mohammed, the theocratic leader of the Iranian dictatorship at the time, the Ayatollah Ruholla Khomeini, offered a bounty in his own name for murder of Mr Rushdie – a man who was neither a practising Muslim, nor an Iranian. It has been noted by many since then that this extraordinary offence to morality, free speech and the rule of law represented a foreshadowing of what we could expect from religious fundamentalism in years to come.
It was a watershed moment, an opportunity to set a precedent for how such barbarism could expect to be confronted in the future. But the reaction was less than satisfactory. While Rushdie himself has always been vocal in his praising of the agents assigned to protect his home; the diligence of the British authorities in assuring his safety; and the support of his friends and family, the response from religious figures the world over confirms the importance of protecting free expression from bogus claims of blasphemy. The Pope, Chief Rabbi of Israel, the Archbishop of Canterbury and many other nodding heads of various religious institutions, closed ranks and condemned the novel and its author. Elements of the intellectual and political community were also not without blame and many dithered as to whether he deserved their support and whether they could afford to offer it. In other words, offending a verminous religious dictator with the resources to fund and facilitate your assassination is a very efficient way of discovering who your friends are.
The years immediately following this debacle only grew darker for Rushdie; family, friends and colleagues (and even their families) were threatened and attacked, his Italian translator stabbed, his Japanese translator murdered. Desperate to appease his tormenters in order to put an end to such attacks, he published an article declaring that he had embraced Islam and apologising for his previous blasphemy, but this fell on deaf ears. Here again, was a foreshadowing of things to come; Rushdie discovered that the nature of fanaticism is that it cannot be reasoned with and does not seek dialogue. A similarly dark lesson was learned too late by Theo van Gogh who was murdered in the street for the film he made in partnership with Ayaan Hirsi Ali about the plight of Muslim women in Holland; as he lay in the street having been shot off his bike, he tried to reason with his killer before his throat was cut (Ms Hirsi Ali has since had to live a life of constant surveillance and protection comparable to that of Rushdie’s).
During his years on the run, possibly due to the publicity surrounding the initial circumstances, his life was erroneously characterised by some as a kind of glamorous Bond-esque existence; the international man of mystery always accompanied by black-suited anonymous agents. For his part he has always been puzzled by this association, “To me it felt like prison”. This is illustrated most harrowingly in his description of the panic he felt when a minor miscommunication about the whereabouts of his son led him to believe that he had been taken, the horror of such a thing is probably more vividly understood by those who have children, for my part, I can only imagine.
Ever since he became a hunted man, he has become a kind of go-to talking head when matters of free speech and offence, particularly in a religious context, are brought to the public square. And the multiple interviews and re-posting of his old articles over the past week have almost served to obscure his more comprehensive commentary on the matter: the book itself.
The interest in his story should not be surprising; Rushdie himself concluded that the tumult surrounding the publication of The Satanic Verses was bigger than either him or his work. I believe most people instinctively recognise the relevance of such cases to their own lives and to democracy. Others, sadly, recoil in fear. A number of rather flaccid platitudes (still in use today in relation either to Mr Rushdie’s case or to other examples of so-called ‘blasphemy’) were employed by those who failed to recognise the relevance of this struggle and wished to distance themselves from him. One Rushdie himself finds rather amusing is “he knew what he was doing”. In Rushdie’s words “it would be really strange, I thought, to spend five years writing a novel and not know what I was doing; what would that be, that act?” The absurdity of such a statement aside, the other implication is that he was trying to cause offence and expecting a response – which was simply not the case. Despite being a secularist, Rushdie’s writing is, for the most part, an overwhelmingly colourful homage to the diverse religious and cultural traditions of India and not an attempt to denigrate them. In fact, the ‘offensive’ chapter was an abstract dream sequence based on a religious myth that in no way sought to attack Islam or the Prophet Mohammed. However, even if he had sought to offend, as the creators of the recent controversial ‘film’ appear to have, it says nothing to justify the actions of those who react to it through a campaign of violence and intimidation, nor does the fact that the film is devoid of artistic merit. Indeed, another tactic adopted by those who sought to abandon Rushdie was to dodge the blasphemy question entirely by attacking the book on purely literary grounds, thereby spinelessly absolving them of the responsibility to stand up for freedom of expression. The literary or artistic worth of the material makes little difference to those who seek an excuse to commit acts of violence or surrender to them. To paraphrase Rushdie, when asked about the events of the last week, defending free speech sometimes involves defending people you don’t like and free speech includes the right to behave badly.
In Rushdie’s own words, “Censorship changes the subject and introduces a more tedious subject; it creates a more boring world.” Censorship does not respect the difference between trash and art. If we remove the right of the less pleasant elements of society to make trash, we give up great art as well. In a world where the right to ugly speech is not defended alongside the right to beautiful speech, we would possibly have already lost Salman Rushdie and his writing. Salman Rushdie’s journey should remind us all of the importance of defending what we have in free societies. Indeed, such cases as his are not merely a matter of private trauma but affect us all. This was eerily illustrated by Christopher Hitchens, who, in the conclusion of the chapter in his own memoir, detailing his friendship with Rushdie and his defence of him after the issuing of the fatwa, employs the phrase mutate nomine de te fabula naratatur, “change only the name and the story is about you.”
But fear not, opportunities abound. And are perhaps with film’s closest living relative: gaming.
At the recent Annecy International Animation Film Festival, I attended a presentation on the financing of animation films given by a very experienced panel of producers, distributors, and broadcasters. At the Q&A session afterwards, I asked them two questions:
a) when do they expect to see the first fully-funded animation feature film financed off a crowdfunding platform like Kickstarter? And,
b) given the rise of large digital platforms like The iTunes Store and Netflix, where do they see the economics of film production going?
After some whispering among themselves, the panel had no answer for either of these questions. Afterwards, the panel co-ordinator apologised to me saying the panelists “had probably never heard of Kickstarter”. The incumbents are either nervous or myopic.
Anyone who has been in the business of raising money for a film, or made a film, or tried to sell a film, will understand how brutal and heartbreaking the process is. Hollywood is not going to give you a break and independent producers are at the bottom of the food chain. If you’ve survived all three stages and your film is in the theatres, you are separated from your audience by the exhibitor, the distributor, the sales agent and multiple teams of expensive lawyers all looking for a slice of the pie (this is besides keeping your own investors happy). If you think start-up life is hard, don’t go near filmmaking.
The news is not all bad. The rise of large digital platforms like Netflix and Hulu and the explosion of smartphones and iPads present massive new opportunities for content creators to build and aggregate their own audiences. It’s remarkable how casual gaming companies like Zynga or Rovio (Angry Birds), have garnered tens of millions of active paying customers at a fraction of the cost of a typical studio film release – which can cost well over $30m in marketing and publicity alone.
Digital distribution has disrupted the music and book publishing industries. At Triggerfish Animation Studios, we’re excited about what digital distribution will do to the film industry and what that means for independent producers. But Hollywood functions as gatekeeper to audiences and they will not give this up without a fight. Hollywood has money, serious money. In its last financial quarter, Disney generated over $2B in free cash flow. There is too much at stake for them to roll over.
What Hollywood does, and does so well, is tell stories. They sell you the dream. Even today, I bet more people have heard of Tom Cruise than Steve Jobs. Until Silicon Valley can generate the “I can’t wait to see this” excitement for a new film like Finding Nemo or Toy Story, Hollywood will keep its edge and a couple of engineers at Google will be the last of their worries.
Change is coming though. Digital distribution will give independent content creators morepower not less. What the change will look like is anyone’s guess, but the casual gaming industry holds some clues. All casual gaming companies have to deal with the issues of customer acquisition and customer retention. Increasingly, they will look to the film industry on how to keep their franchise alive. This will create opportunities for forward thinking independent producers and casual gaming companies.
“Content production businesses equally have to adapt to radical shifts in their business models ….. they now need to explore models where they are selling directly to the consumer. We have a lot to learn from the social gaming companies who make it very easy for their audiences to spend a euro on their site but possible to spend €100, and where only 10 per cent of the audience paying them is enough to make their site profitable.
And there is huge opportunity for synergies between producers of computer games and producers of film and TV content. Once upon a time web design companies and graphic design companies were totally different businesses until they merged. I see the same thing happening between content producers and computer game firms.“
This is the future. This is what tomorrow’s Walt Disney will look like.
Markets have arisen independently of intentional design, just as the human eye, for the non-religiously inclined at least – as useful and as complex organism as it may be – evolved independently of intentional design. Counter-intuitively, therefore, it is fallacious to regard markets as a human invention. Markets are so intrinsic an aspect of human living that we may regard them as a correlative of human life as much as a swelling belly is a correlative of pregnancy. They are as intrinsically a part of human life as the formation of groups, communities or societies. They are the default position that occurs under conditions of freedom. They are – quite literally – as old as the existence of homo sapiens. Anthropologists have formulated many biological categories to identify the earliest homo, but the one that Dawie Roodt and I have formulated for use in our impending book Maverick Economics is homo tradiensis – trading man. When two people or more form a group, they form, a market; it exists independently of their volition.
Markets exist as a consequence of the fact that no single human being can ever do everything to sustain life by himself or herself. The earliest forms of markets took the form of co-operative trades: trades of strength, of speed, of dexterity, of guile. Author Haim Ofek in his book Second Nature argues that the biological evolution of the free hands of the bipedal hominid led to the use of weapons, which led in turn to the emergence of tradable private property.
Ofek suggests that fire makers and custodians exchanged access to their fires for food. Fire makers were pioneers in the exchange of services for things. They set up their markets in caves in wooded areas, carefully nurturing several hearths used to kindle fires for other groups in exchange for food, skins, and other resources. Trade allowed the fire keepers to concentrate on maintaining the all-important fires, while simultaneously freeing the other groups to specialise in food and resource acquisition. Work specialisation and private property rights not only provided the grounds for intra-kin trades, they inevitably provided the grounds for extra-kin trade, because extra-kin trade provided access to an endlessly increasing range of specialisations and rewards. Within this axis of specialization, private property rights, and extra-kin engagement markets were born, and markets provided the necessary impetus for the evolution of the large brain. Markets were thus not the consequence of the emergence of casino online species homo sapiens, but its cause – which is why we call our earliest forebear homo tradiensis.
The proposition that markets are not a human invention is not one that people will naturally agree with, even people who regard themselves as “free marketers”. This is because markets have every appearance of being an enormously useful institution that we actively form or establish to our great advantage. We elect, for instance, to form a stock market, or a Saturday morning village market. But I would like readers to consider that, in establishing a market, we are not establishing the concept of a market, because the concept of a market is intrinsic. It might strike some as a fanciful analogy – sorry, I can’t think of another one – but we don’t invent the concept of love every time we fall in love. We simply do what comes naturally, in the same way that we do what comes naturally when we “go to market”.
Markets are not systems. They are not comparable with any –ism designed to achieve a utilitarian outcome. They are neither intrinsically good nor bad, and since they are not designed to deliver a normative outcome, it makes absolutely no sense to talk of “market failure”. It is humans who succeed or fail, not markets. Whilst markets have a great many characteristics we may choose to regard highly if we want to – they are inimical to war, they are socially enriching, they build cultural and linguistic bridges, they transform production into wealth, they meet material needs of consumers – they are actually not specifically designed to achieve any of these purposes.
For these reasons I occupy what may be regarded as the unhelpful position of regarding arguments about the value or otherwise of markets as what the lawyers call (I think) supererogatory – proving the existence of something that doesn’t need to be proved. Striving to prove that one is alive is also supererogatory. Markets are not in a competition against any other form of organised behaviour, just as breathing is not in a competition against dietary supplements. Those who claim they don’t like markets love to present us with an apparent choice between markets and person-made systems like central planning or price control. These are bogus choices. The real choice is better presented thus: you can have markets, or you can ban or disallow markets. The concomitant choice is: you can have freedom or you can have servility. The opposite of reason is not emotion, it is unreason; the opposite of markets is not state control, it is no markets
Markets are not brought into existence by virtue of the apologia we make for them, or the rationale we may – mistakenly in my view – make on their behalf, just as love isn’t brought into existence by love poetry. People who claim to dislike markets are liars; everybody loves markets, and everybody makes use of markets. Markets exist when two people come together to make a private transaction; they exist at the side of roads; they exist in towns and villages where people buy local produce; they exist in rural communities; they exit in all their glory in Fez and Marrakesh, and throughout the Arab world; they exist in Portobello Road; they exist on the Internet; and of course they exist on bourses. Markets are pervasive; they inhabit every single nook and cranny of our lives, except when they are physically prevented from existing by human intervention, an intervention always characterised by a limitation of freedom. But no amount of illegalisation or proscription will ever finally extirpate market transactions: witness the global trade in narcotics, in rhino horn and in stolen goods.
So, in answer to the question: why do markets matter? I don’t provide an answer, but instead I ask market antagonists a question of my own: why don’t markets matter? Of course, they never will provide an answer.