The pandemic has become an era of online festivals of films, dance, and music. An ex-colleague and good friend, who is an actor and model, rang me up last week. He wanted me to watch a short film that he had directed with his daughter, a theatre activist and software engineer, as the associate director.
Through arresting moments, the film narrates the chagrin of a middle-class technology professional working from home in quarantine. She is a single parent of a girl child and taking care of her widowed mother of unsound mind.
While passing my feedback, I suggested sending it to some international festivals. “Yes, the producer is sending it to three festivals but not to all those prominent in social media,” my friend said. “Do you know that many of such festivals charge an entry fee ranging from $500 to $1,000?”
He continued, “The marketing hook is that there will be some peanuts as awards for almost all entries from countries such as India.”
But what shocked me more was another call last evening. On the other end was a Malayali theatre activist married to a dance connoisseur living in her country. They are conducting an online international dance festival.
That’s a good idea, though many online dance festivals are going on, I said. Even I need over 48 hours a day to watch at least half of such online festivals, for which I am getting invitations. “But ours is with a difference, sir. We present a quality performance by professional artists of good merit; our aim is to help the talented,” he said.
Moved by this gesture, I said I shall speak to a few of the artists from different streams and in a day, I was going to provide him the contacts of willing artists. Further, I told him to settle the remuneration part and other terms and conditions directly at first, followed by a contract with absolutely no recourse.
“Payment for online performance? Don’t you know that our effort is to support the artists in their moments of trouble? We have limited sponsorship only. But, nevertheless, we are trying to bring them some publicity,” he shot back.
I did not know if should shout, cry or laugh in madness. Regaining my composure, I went on: “Artists are also humans who have families to support. Without a wall, how could one paint?”
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