There’s this funny thing when you write and direct sketch comedy where you keep props because one day you might need them.
You think you’ll need them again, and since they were so expensive and/or time consuming to create, you think it’s better to keep them just in case. In case you write another sketch in the corporate offices of a super hero alliance, or in case Snack Co. hires you to make another branded video.
Or better yet, how cool would it be to hide them in the background of other sketches to establish a world – like Pixar does with the Pizza Planet truck. Even though they seem completely different, the lumberjack hitman in your trailer parody went to the same fictitious college as the werewolf president in your hilarious webseries and the careful viewer will notice this because they both have the same Westerfield University pennant on their walls.
Or better yet, one day you’re going to direct movies and you can hide these wonderfully indulgent little easter eggs in the mise en scéne for the superfans to pick out when they go frame by frame. “That giant drawing of a hand in the back of the attic? It’s the same one from the sketch with the human matchsticks all talking about their mortality!” “No way, that’s awesome!”
Or better yet, one day you’ll be so successful you’ll have made movies and tv shows and then you’ll get tired of answering to someone else so you’ll start your own production company so you can call the shots. And you’ll be able to green light all the great ideas your talented friends have, and you’ll all have a great time. And one day, one of your many interns will ask you “Hey, what’s that seal in the third conference room from? The one that looks like Batman and Superman are shaking hands?” And you’ll tell them all about how you started out when you were their age and they’ll agree it’s so cool that you kept all those old props, and you’ll tell them reassuringly to keep at it because they could have their own production company one day.
But those days never happen.
And one day, your closet is full of props and boxes of costumes that haven’t been worn in years and wigs that are mangled and dusty. And your girlfriend won’t sleep over at your apartment because of how cluttered it is, and you haven’t sold anything let alone started a production company or made a movie, and maybe you can’t hold onto everything.
There’s this funny thing when you write and direct sketch comedy where you keep props because you hope one day you might need them.
But, you don’t. It’s time to throw them away.
I’ll keep my Superman and Batman shaking hands sign just in case.