Terrence Malick is the silent type. The myth of the artist who lives on his own terms, without the need to do interviews, photographs, premieres and anything else having to do with the world outside of his own. (addendum: fucking spoiled brat)
I respect that. In a perfect world, that's what I would want. Or, at least, that's what I thought I wanted.
We live in the extreme opposite of that world nowadays. Everything now is about connecting. Everything is about being honest, raw, out in the open. Dignity separates the attention whores from the sincere.
If you were like me, one who wished that they could get even a small slice of that Malick land, or even the Daniel Day Lewis world of compartmentalized secrecy, best of luck to you.
Times have changed, and we don't travel to a place we once were culturally. No, only time we do that is when we pick up pieces to throw in our post-modern potluck. It doesn't stay, nor last.
More important however, is that it's not about Malick or Daniel Day Lewis, or anybody. It's about you. And your choices. You're under no obligation by some force field of protocols that you need to behave someway to be some idealized version of what YOU SHOULD BE.
First step, kill your heroes. Not figuratively. But really, destroy them. They are just like you. They worked hard. They got some breaks.
Work hard. That's what you can control. Learn. Do.
Make your own rules. (yeah, we got cheesy toward the end, but, I'm on that caffeine 101 and some pent up aggression from losing a rap battle last night)
Terrence Malick Yo Momma.