begin tape, press play
The studio was often busy during the week - a total epicenter of natural ebb and flow, where all sorts of filmmakers gathered to fulfill their own artistic vision. Despite the awareness and advocacy of this day and age, a majority of these filmmakers were still white cisgender male humans, seen from the art form's infancy as the default - the one people would stick with despite other options being available. Mr. Miller, the security guard, expected this to be the norm - he had been working with the studio since the late '40s, always keeping watch over the lucky people that had their time in the sun as the replacement for the changed guards, the inmates of the asylum according to some parlances. It was rather ho-hum for the most part - mostly studio hires and unassuming filmmakers discovered from some passion project buried deep within the theaters of Park City and TriBeCa trying to finish another entry in the tentpole franchises that kept the rusted machine alive regardless of