Loosely authored by Arun K. Das (remember me?)
If I haven't said this enough, I am a film studies major. I have no future. Or rather, every time I
think I might have a future, something or somebody comes along and shatters any illusion I have.
This occurred recently, and I have resolved never to dream again, for each new crash is more
hurtful than the previous one. I have resigned myself to either finding a job after graduation or
being a bum. It's that simple. No shame in being a bum for a while. After graduating from
Columbia, being a bum has a dignity all its own.
The Sunday before we kicked off this semester, I caught a cab down on 25th Street by my parents'
place. I had two cameras and three bags with me; I was heading back to campus to get ready for
classes. A minute or two after I told the cab driver my destination was 113th and Broadway, he
looked in his rear view mirror and said: "Jou goin' to Colohmbia?"
I figured why lie? so I said "Yeah, I'm going back to school."
Silence. He added: "You like it there?"
I always like to trash Columbia at any opportunity, but that particular day I was tired, frustrated,
nervous, and very eager to see my girlfriend. So I gave a simple answer: "It's okay."
The driver seemed content with that, so he stayed quiet for a minute, but finally couldn't help
himself: "What do you study there?"
I hate when people ask me that because I am always compelled to tell them I study books,' but I
really didn't want to do a stand up routine so I said: "I'm an undergraduate. I study film, but it
isn't as glamorous as it sounds."
"Film? You know Dodge Hall?"
"Yes, I take most of my classes there."
"I know Dodge Hall very well, too."
Now I was curious. But I was still too out of it to really care. When the driver realized I wasn't
going to ask, he promptly offered an answer, anyway.
"You know, it's funny. I studied film there."
"At Columbia?" I couldn't help myself.
"Yes, the film school. Graduate program. I hated it. Was terrible."
So, my cab driver was an alumnus of Columbia's film school. I was surprised and excited. Of
course, now in retrospect I feel a little stupid, as my pal Ben Smith (layout editor of this rag) has
pointed out, every third cab driver in New York has either gone to Columbia, has a second cousin
who went to Columbia, or has a neighbor whose dog has taken a shit on President Rupp's lawn.
But my cab driver was certainly convincing. I mean he knew names. Obscure film professors'
names I recognize but do not know personally. He knew the layout of Dodge but most of all (and
most convincingly) he had the genuine and unmistakable Columbia cynicism and bitterness
directed specifically towards the film school. He went on and on how this teacher and that teacher
were bastards. But for Milos Forman, director of Amadeus and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's
Nest, he reserved the following statement:
"Does that pig still teach there?"
"He's still listed as a faculty member, but he's been on "sabbatical" for four years at least--I've
never seen him."
I mean, this guy was seriously angry. "All the thousands of dollars I paid for my education, the
school couldn't even provide us with tripods that didn't collapse." He told me how he worked in
films for a while and then gave up because he hated it.
"Now, I drive a cab, and I live with my wife on 100th Street and Central Park West. Nice house.
It's like a project, but it's better--not so cheap, but I can afford."
When I asked him why he hated film, he answered that no American filmmaker had anything
meaningful to say.
"Spielberg is a clown. And Eastwood is a failure in acting and directing. Would you agree with
me?"
Eastwood being my God, I chose to not agree.
We pulled up outside of McBain. I considered not tipping the bastard, but I did anyway. In fact, I
overtipped him. I figured if I ever were in his position, I'd appreciate a generous tipper. He
thanked me and wished me luck.
"I hope maybe the young, new filmmakers like you will make something good. I look for your
work, and you can prove me wrong about American cinema."
With that note, I shut the door and he drove off. I paused a second, then waltzed into McBain. I
thought to myself that I had nothing to worry about. Graduation would come, I'd do what I'd have
to do. And if all else failed, I could always make a career out of driving a cab and bashing
Columbia University.
Hey, it's a living.