STS Ch-44

“If markets are supposed to aggregate information, then a lot of what we call market failure looks more like an information failure. The price is wrong because the knowledge behind it is incomplete.”

I finished answering the question my economics professor had posed to the class, one that no one else had managed to satisfy him with. I wasn’t entirely sure this was the response he’d been fishing for, but I knew one thing for certain. Everything I’d said was factually correct.

“Perfect!” Mr. Sawyer exclaimed, clearly pleased. “That was the essence of today’s lecture, and exactly what I was hoping someone would articulate. Well done, Noah.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said with a nod before taking my seat again.

“That’s all for today,” he announced moments later. “Please collect your assignments on your way out. They’re due next week.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as the class stood. I filed out with the others, Ron walking beside me. Unlike me, he didn’t look particularly relieved or happy.

“Man, who knew Harvard would be this tough?” Ron muttered. “I was the top student in my high school. Here, everyone’s in the same league. Probably much better than me.”

“True,” I said without hesitation.

He shot me an annoyed look. “You’re such a liar. You already knew everything the professor was talking about.”

That was true.

Ron and I shared only two classes so far: Economics and English. We were stepping out of Econ now, joining the steady flow of students pouring into the hallway. As much as I wanted all my first-year courses to revolve around film studies, that just wasn’t practical. I needed other subjects to round out my education.

Even though I hadn’t studied economics beyond high school in this life, the subject came easily to me. It just made sense. In my first life, I’d pursued Econ as a dual major. While Poseidon had erased my college-level and professional memories, the fundamentals still clicked faster than they should have.

“Alright, fine,” I admitted. “I get Econ easily. But only Econ. I’m average at everything else.”

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t get you, man. You should be majoring in Econ, not film studies. You could be a big-time economist.”

I chuckled and shook my head. If I was this good at a subject I didn’t even plan to pursue seriously, I could only imagine how well I’d do in computer science. Harvard had a massive, dedicated computer lab, one where everyone fought for a seat. It was easily one of the most competitive programs on campus, possibly even more cutthroat than film studies.

Before Ron and I could split up, a group of girls approached us, or more accurately, they approached me. One of them stepped forward from the center of the group. She was easily the prettiest of the bunch.

“Hey, Noah,” she said brightly. “You’re really good at Econ. Would you help me with a personal one-on-one tutoring session?”

I gave her a slow, thoughtful look from head to toe. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and leaned forward just enough to make her intentions obvious. Her short skirt stopped at mid-thigh, leaving her long, well-shaped legs completely bare, clearly meant to be admired.

“I’m free tonight,” I said with a small smile. “But this’ll be a one-time thing. I’m busy with other projects. Is that okay?”

Her face lit up immediately. “Of course. Can you come to my dorm at nine? If you want, you can stay over. My roommate went home for a few days.”

“Sure,” I said easily as I stepped past her. “See you then, Stephanie.”

Ron walked with me for a few steps until we were safely out of earshot. “Dude,” he said quietly, “that wasn’t a request for a study session.”

“I know,” I replied casually. “I’d have to be an idiot not to get that. And honestly, I wouldn’t even mind if she really did want to study. I’m sure I could convince her we’ve got better ways to spend the night.”

He stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing and slapped me on the back. “You son of a bitch. Seriously, man, you should be a film star with looks like yours, and all the girls swooning over you. This is the third girl whom you have attracted without even approaching her. And it has only been a week!”

I laughed at the irony. I hadn’t told anyone here about my film career, and so far, no one had recognized me from that Variety article. Maybe I’d tell Ron if our friendship lasted a few more months. For now, I had no interest in drawing unnecessary attention.

“A few minutes ago, you wanted me to be an economist,” I shot back.

“Why not both?” he said with a shrug. “A film star and an economist.”

I was already juggling far too many things to add a serious academic career on top of it.

“As tempting as it is to debate my career options,” I said as we wandered through Harvard Yard, the afternoon light filtering through the trees, “I’ve got classes at VES.”

“Fair enough,” Ron said, waving me off. “I don’t have anything right now, so I’m heading back to do some advanced reading for tomorrow. If I want that Econ major, I’ll have to grind hard.”

“You’ve got this,” I said, giving his back an encouraging pat before turning toward the VES building.

Even though a week had passed since regular classes began, the film studies sessions started a little later. The first week had been reserved entirely for auditions. It was something I’d passed with flying colors. I’d even offered to provide letters of recommendation, but the instructors turned me down. My practical knowledge alone had been enough to convince them I knew exactly what I was talking about.

“Welcome to Introductory Film Production.”

A middle-aged man stood at the front of the small classroom, surveying the students with an almost imperious calm.

“My name is Robert Gardner, and I’ll be your primary film studies instructor,” he continued. “Over the next few years, we’ll have several guest teachers, but I’ll be the one responsible for guiding you and molding you into passable filmmakers.”

There were exactly ten students in the room. That alone explained why the course was so competitive.

“Before we begin,” Mr. Gardner went on smoothly, “I want to ask you something. How many of you intend to become serious filmmakers by the time you’re done here? Or maybe even before then? If you’re unsure, that’s fine. But right now, I only want to hear from those who are committed to making filmmaking their career.”

My hand went up instantly, along with two others, one from a boy and one from a girl seated a row away.

Mr. Gardner pointed directly at me. “You. Pretty boy. Who are you, and why do you want to be a filmmaker?”

“Noah Hunter,” I said, ignoring his comment. “Until last year, I had no idea I wanted anything to do with films. Earlier this year, though, I was cast in a movie that was shot remotely on an island. Since I had nothing else to do, I worked alongside the crew in my free time, and I completely fell in love with the process of filmmaking. The director was generous with his time and taught me a lot about the craft. Since then, I’ve even co-directed another feature-length film with a different director.”

Mr. Gardner nodded once, then shifted his attention to the girl with her hand raised.

“Tessa Whitman,” she said clearly. “I’ve wanted to be a filmmaker for as long as I can remember. My parents gave me a home camera when I was young, and I’ve made around twenty short films over the years, usually casting my siblings and friends. My family thinks it’s just a hobby that won’t lead anywhere, but when I got accepted into Harvard, I knew I had to give it everything I had to prove them wrong.”

Gardner’s expression softened slightly at her conviction. He then turned to the third raised hand.

“Oliver Connors,” the boy said calmly. “I love watching movies. Ever since I was young, I’ve gone out of my way to see something new every weekend. I wanted to apply to USC’s film department in California, but my parents convinced me to come here instead. Everyone in my family has studied at Harvard, so this was my only real option.”

He didn’t say it outright, but it was obvious Oliver came from money. Legacy students at Harvard usually did. Most people who’d graduated from Harvard and now had college-age kids were wealthy. And those like Oliver, with multiple generations tied to the university, were almost certainly multimillionaires. This wasn’t like the twenty-first century, where soaring real estate prices meant almost everyone technically counted as one. That much wealth meant something in this era.

“Very well,” Robert Gardner said with a nod before addressing the class as a whole. “If I asked you to make a short film today, how many of you could shoot it using your own equipment?”

This time, five hands went up, including those of the three of us who wanted to pursue filmmaking seriously.

Mr. Gardner studied the raised hands, then pointed toward the other five students. “You five aren’t ready to be filmmakers. Not yet. While VES provides cameras, recording equipment, and most of what you’ll need to make student films, it isn’t enough. Harvard may be the top school in the country, but its filmmaking program isn’t as well-funded as I’d like. We don’t have the resources to give everyone a dedicated camera, and even our editing rooms are limited and shared between all four years of VES students.”

He paced slowly at the front of the room. “To pass this class, you’ll need to submit at least two short films of at least 10 minutes each, or one feature-length film, of at least 30 minutes by the end of the year.”

A ripple of tension passed through the classroom.

Without warning, Mr. Gardner turned and reached behind his desk, lifting a camera into view. My attention sharpened immediately. It was an Arriflex 16SR, the same model I’d bought not long ago. The camera was already connected to a monitor mounted behind him, its screen flickering to life.

“I like to start my classes with a live demonstration,” Mr. Gardner said, his tone firm. “This camera is fully capable of shooting a feature-length film. Several movies made with similar equipment have gone on to gather critical acclaim and even become blockbusters. So if you think your film looks bad when shot on something like this, the problem isn’t the gear. It’s you.”

Then he swung the camera toward me.

“Hunter,” he said. “You were an actor, correct? Why don’t you be my subject for today’s demonstration?”

I shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”

Mr. Gardner pointed toward the classroom door behind me. “Step outside. When you hear ‘Action,’ I want you to walk back in slowly, like you’re worried you’re late. Everyone else, sit up straight and look toward the front of the room. Don’t look at Noah. Make it feel natural.”

He adjusted his grip on the camera and looked back at me. “I’ll film your entrance and focus on your reaction. When you sit down, keep your expression blank, like you’re bored by the lecture on the screen.”

I nodded, understanding exactly what he wanted. Slinging my book bag over my shoulder, I headed for the door and stepped out into the hallway, the noise of the class fading behind me.

A beat passed.

“Action!”

As soon as I heard the word, I opened the door hesitantly. Mr. Gardner stood right in front of me with the camera raised, but my acting training kicked in automatically. I ignored the lens and stepped inside carefully, moving as if I hoped to slip in unnoticed.

I kept my shoulders slightly hunched and my gaze low as I crossed the room toward my seat near the back. Behind me, the camera panned across the classroom, capturing the other students sitting upright, already pretending to study.

“And cut,” Mr. Gardner called out at last, lowering the camera. “Good job on your first scene.”

He turned to face the class. “Now, if this were a real film shoot, I’d redo that take. It wasn’t perfect. But since this is just a demonstration, I wanted to show you the basic mechanics. Next, I need one of you to shoot a scene with me. Who’s up for it?”

Before I could even raise my hand, Tessa’s arm shot up. “I know how to work an Arriflex.”

“Come on up, then,” Mr. Gardner said, waving her forward.

Once she reached the front, he turned back to the rest of the class. “I expect every one of you to participate sooner or later. You may not get a turn today, but you will by the end of this month. If you don’t, I’ll recommend you to go for a different elective.”

With that settled, Gardner began explaining the setup to Tessa. She was operating the camera, but the direction was still entirely his.

“Action,” Tessa called out.

Just as planned, Mr. Gardner turned to the chalkboard behind him and began writing.

“As I was saying,” he continued smoothly, slipping into lecture mode, “the history of cinema is as fascinating as it is old. We only need to…”

He paused mid-sentence and glanced toward the doorway. “Oh. We seem to have a latecomer. Welcome, Mr. Hunter. Thank you for gracing us with your presence.”

The class chuckled at his tone, but Mr. Gardner didn’t seem bothered by it. He shook his head once, then went right back to the lecture as if nothing had happened.

After a few minutes, he stopped on his own. “Cut.”

Tessa lowered the camera.

Gardner replayed the footage on the monitor and nodded approvingly. “Good work.”

He turned back to the class. “Now comes the most important part. Can anyone tell me what that is?”

“Editing,” Oliver said immediately.

“Exactly,” Gardner said with a pleased nod. He walked over to the corner of the room, where a familiar machine sat waiting. “And we have just the right equipment to give you a small demonstration.”

He rested a hand on the editing setup. “It takes hours to edit even a short clip like this, but we’re not aiming for perfection today. Come closer, all of you. I want you to see how this machine works, and how we splice these two scenes together, one with Mr. Hunter and one with me.”

The students gathered around, curiosity replacing their earlier nerves as the real work of filmmaking finally began.

All ten of us crowded around Mr. Gardner as he took a seat at a Steenbeck editing table. It was the same machine currently being used to edit Friday the 13th. I couldn’t help thinking he hadn’t been entirely honest about the lack of resources. That machine was expensive. Very expensive.

Mr. Gardner turned out to be a remarkably patient teacher. As he worked the controls, he explained the editing process step by step, his hands moving with practiced speed. He worked so efficiently that before even half an hour had passed, he’d stitched together a rough but coherent scene.

It opened with me entering the classroom, my expression tense as I crept forward uncertainly. The cut shifted to Mr. Gardner at the chalkboard, his back to the class as he wrote. Then back to me as I scanned the room for a seat. Then, to the teacher again, rebuking me for arriving late. The shots bounced between us for a few seconds, just long enough to establish the rhythm of the scene and make it clear that the lecture was boring me to death.

“And that’s done,” Mr. Gardner said, leaning back slightly. “As you can see, Mr. Hunter and I didn’t give our best performances here, but still good enough. Had he been a total novice, I would have to explain basic acting to him, like not to look in the camera or how to act in general. That is also a director’s job. If I had the luxury of time with this scene, I would’ve asked for several retakes before accepting this cut.”

I had to admit, it was an above-average class for me. The only reason I didn’t rate it higher was because I already knew everything he’d covered today. In fact, I could probably teach the class a few practical techniques he hadn’t touched on. Still, I planned to attend every session, if only to keep practicing filmmaking in a structured environment.

Once everyone returned to their seats, Mr. Gardner addressed the class again.

“Your assignment for this week is to shoot a scene,” he said. “It must be at least one minute long. The subject is entirely up to you. Butterflies in nature, athletes training, lovers arguing, anything you like. The sky’s the limit.”

He paused to let that sink in.

“That said, I expect some basic editing. Don’t give me a one-minute continuous shot unless you can justify why it had to be filmed that way. You can book cameras and editing rooms through the resource center on a first-come basis. Class dismissed.”

The moment he finished speaking, students rushed toward the door, eager to secure equipment before everything was booked out. I stayed behind.

Mr. Gardner noticed immediately and raised an eyebrow. “Not in a hurry?” he asked. “Do you already have a scene ready for evaluation?”

I shook my head. “No, sir. I wanted your permission for something I have in mind.”

He gestured for me to continue.

And with that, I began outlining my plan for the coming year. As I spoke, his expression shifted from polite curiosity to genuine surprise. His eyes widened the further I went, clearly realizing that what I was proposing went far beyond a simple student assignment.