The Difficult Second Act
On second curves, the failed films of Ed Wood, and continuing anyway.
Deep Life Reflections | Essay 71 | James Gibb
Reinvention doesn’t have to look impressive or even successful to matter. Sometimes the meaning is found in the work itself.
“This is the one. ‘This’ is the one I’ll be remembered for.”
—Ed Wood
Most people have heard of Orson Welles, the actor, writer, and director behind iconic and critically acclaimed films like Citizen Kane, The Magnificent Ambersons, and Touch of Evil. Far fewer people, however, have heard of Edward D. Wood Jr., an actor, writer, and director from the same period as Welles. Unlike his hero Welles, Wood was ignored throughout his spectacularly unsuccessful filmmaking career and died in penniless obscurity.
Wood was no undiscovered genius though, like say a Vincent Van Gogh. He was not a misunderstood creative ahead of his time. Wood made terrible films, and that’s being kind. He was only ‘rediscovered’ in the 1980s when he was labelled ‘The Worst Director of All Time.’ His Plan 9 From Outer Space (1957) has a rating of 3.9 out of 10 on IMDb, one of the lowest scores in film history. It is not an unfair ranking.
Then, in 1994, he was given a full-length biopic by Tim Burton, starring Johnny Depp. This film, Ed Wood, might be the strangest biographical film ever made, yet also one of the most charming. The film won two Oscars and received critical acclaim, far eclipsing the profile and accomplishments of its real-life protagonist.
Burton tells the story of an ambitious and complex man who tries his best to realise his Hollywood dreams despite his very obvious lack of talent. It’s an ode to the eccentric, the persistent, and the iron rod of belief in oneself. Burton, in his own unique visual style, recreates 1950s Hollywood in glorious black and white. And rather than ridicule Wood, he honours him. Burton has made a film about the exquisite joy of making movies. Wood is never happier than when filming his movies; his energy, passion, and exuberance are relentless. He is a man who loves every scene. Quite literally. We never see him ask for a second take. Every take is “perfect”, even when it’s clearly not, like in one case when one of his characters walks through a door and the fake cardboard wall shakes. Wood isn’t interested in those kinds of details, and Burton takes some delight in that. Wood is a director who doesn’t seem to ever improve. It’s a comedy of the ridiculous and the sublime.
The film’s sublime moments are found in the relationship between Wood and his ‘leading man,’ Bela Lugosi. Lugosi, once a global superstar for his portrayal of Count Dracula in 1931, is now a washed-up morphine addict haunted by his irrelevance. After Wood, many years younger, befriends Lugosi, he becomes his cheerleader and protector, though he can’t restore Lugosi to stardom. He has a hard enough time convincing studio executives that Lugosi is still alive. Martin Landau gives an outstanding performance as the tragic Lugosi, which earned him one of the film’s two Academy Awards for Best Supporting Actor. Tim Burton said he was drawn to the story because of the similarities between Edward D. Wood Jr.’s relationship with Bela Lugosi and his own friendship with Vincent Price late in the actor’s life.
Depp is excellent as Wood, and you can’t help but like poor Ed for his earnestness, naivety, belief in himself, support of his oddball friends, and his grand vision. “When you rewrite a script it gets better and better” Ed tells his girlfriend with a smile full of innocence. This is one of Tim Burton’s most overlooked films, but perhaps his best. Burton captures the heart of a man who, despite his shortcomings, has a vision and a process he believes in. Even if no-one else does.
For a more traditional view of reinvention, Arthur C. Brooks offers a very different picture. In his book, From Strength to Strength, he opens with a doomsday warning: your professional decline is coming much sooner than you think. He places it somewhere between your late 30s and early 50s. Fortunately, all is not lost. As we age, Brooks argues, we can gain new skills, new strengths, and importantly, a renewed sense of purpose.
Brooks is a social scientist who studies human happiness. I’ve been following his weekly column, ‘How to Build a Life,’ in The Atlantic for the past couple of years. Brooks argues that as we grow older, we can find new purpose in our careers by making an intentional metaphorical leap from our ‘first curve’ to our ‘second curve’ in life.
The first curve is what Brooks calls fluid intelligence: the raw smarts that help us reason, think flexibly, and solve hard problems. Unfortunately, it declines with age. The second curve is built on crystallised intelligence: the knowledge and wisdom we accumulate through experience. This tends to increase as we age through our 40s, 50s, and 60s. The trick is to know when to make the leap from one to the other.
This makes some sense. But knowing when that leap should happen is far from straightforward. For many people, I suspect that decision is made by others.
Brooks also argues for simplifying our lives. “Use things, love people,” he says. That’s solid advice. He sees us as deeply interconnected, more like Aspens or Redwood trees with shared root systems than isolated individuals. We rely on each other more than we like to admit: emotionally, psychologically, intellectually. For Brooks, the second curve matters because it gives us somewhere to put what we’ve learned. Not just to keep busy, but to be of some use to others.
Perhaps it’s in that service where Ed Wood gets some of his joy, in his deep and touching friendship with the much older Bela Lugosi. Wood stands by him unequivocally, especially during his battles with addiction and self-doubt. It’s admirable. But Wood never really makes that jump to the second curve. If anything, he stays exactly where he is. And it doesn’t seem to bother him.
Life’s second curve, then, isn’t necessarily about a meaningful second act in the traditional vocabulary of continued growth and continued success. Not everyone becomes useful in the way Brooks suggests. Some just keep going, doing what brings them pleasure, even if that path is unconventional or leads nowhere artistically or economically. The Ed Wood I watched on screen struck me as significantly happier and more content than a lot of ‘successful’ people.
Life’s ocean can be both tranquil and torrid, with a lot in between. If we can find a bit of meaning there, I think we are doing well. And if we can find some meaning, we might also consider how we can help someone else on that same path. Who knows what we’ll end up creating.
Even if it stinks.
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