A Eulogy for Big-C.

 

Who is Frank? 

Well, he was inspired by Frank Sidebottom, an English comedian who also wore a giant papier-mâché head, but the similarities end there. He is, of course, some mixture of writers Jon Ronson, Peter Straughan, and director Lenny Abrahamson, as well as the man who embodied Frank: Michael Fassbender. But Frank is so much more than that. He is the greatest artist who ever lived, creator of "My Most Likeable Song Ever," and the epitome of Big-C. 

Ladies and Gentlemen and non-binary folk, I give you a portrait of the artist as a young papier-mâché'd man: 

Although technically a fictional creative, he is a creative nonetheless, and a brilliant one at that. In the movie, we follow Jon's discovery of Frank and his musical troupe of misfits. Though Frank is certainly odd and eccentric, Jon becomes convinced that Frank is everything he could never be, that Frank should be famous, that everyone will love him, and that Frank is a perfect depiction of this so-called and exalted "Big-C thing" we keep going on about.

The film is odd and hard to describe, so much so that I recommend just watching it yourself. There's odd, dark humor, epic and peculiar music, and a rich examination of creativity that could only come out of a Sundance Film Festival. I will mention SPOILERS here, so go watch it now and come back. 

Frank and friends create music by secluding themselves in an isolated cabin in the middle of nowhere, making entirely new instruments, fighting each other, and doing so over and over and over until it's right. If we want to grow as creatives and researchers of creativity and all its greatness, we must learn from Frank… at least according to Jon. For Frank, the creative process is frustrating, it can be boring, and it's all-around unattractive in comparison to the mythic artistic process we see in the movies. But this obsessive and immersive creative process is part of what marks Frank for greatness, and everyone who sees Frank is all in. 

Frank finds inspiration in creaky doors and tufts of carpet. His lyrics are emotional, expressive, syntactic nonsense somewhat akin to Lewis Carroll's nonsense poems. The music itself is a cacophony of sounds created by Stephen Rennick but contributed to by the cast much like the fictional group does in the film. While everyone in the Soronprfbs (the name of their musical group) agrees that Frank is their creative genius and leader, collaboration plays a critical role in their creative process. It is here that we can lean on Gardner's framework and dive into the "other people" in Frank's world. 

The Soronprfbs's all influence each other, both within the creative process and outside of the creative domain just as any other group of friends would. Remarkably though, everyone in the group, and especially Jon, seems obsessed with how great of a creative genius Frank is. Jon almost seems infatuated with the idea of Frank (though maybe not Frank himself). In the Soronprfbs's world, Frank is the Biggest-C there will ever be. 

But apparently, in order to be a true eminent (Big-C) creative, Frank's influence has to be more widespread. He has to "make it big" and become well-known enough to win a big prize or change an entire field or something like that. Well, Jon knows this, and that's exactly what he wants for himself--I mean Frank. So, with the help of Jon and some good-ole social media, the Soronprfbs get famous. They even get invited to perform at South by Southwest. 

But there's just one problem. You see, the Soronprfbs don't create music to become famous or get any external recognition. They don't even really make music for other people at all. For them, it's just about making the music itself. They're almost entirely intrinsically motivated in this way. Frank is obsessed with making music. It never even occurred to him that an audience outside of his immediate collaborators would be involved.  Can art exist without an audience? Not if you're going to be an eminent creative it can't. 

Despite much protest from members of the group who see Jon's Big-C aspirations for the Soronprfbs as a corruption of who Frank is, they go to South by Southwest. Frank creates his "Most Likeable Song Ever," and the group gets to experience what it's like to have a large following of fans. Everything seems to be going great… until

Frank totally freaks out. Mental illness in creatives is shown throughout the film with almost every character struggling in some way, Frank as no exception. There's something about Frank's experience with "bigness" that triggers a breakdown. Perhaps he's overwhelmed with the crowd after living in a secluded cabin for months, perhaps he feels crushed under the inauthenticity of the adoration he's received from fans who like how " different" his music is, and perhaps he's just overstimulated. Any way you speculate, the eminence of Big-C destroys the fidelity of Frank's art, which is so closely tied to who he is, destroying a piece of Frank along with it. 

Frank eventually makes his escape, from South by Southwest, from the crowd of misunderstanding eyes, from Jon, and everything. He gets hit by a car and we never see Frank's beautiful, wacky, papier-mâché head again...

This all leaves me wondering why.

Why are we obsessed with Big-C? Would a creative by any other name sound as sweet? Of course not! There's some serious honor attached to the "Bigness" of our Big-C. What is the cost of this eminence? Was Frank any less creative before he got "YouTube famous?" Is he a "littler" artist because he couldn't handle the pressure of fame? If his legacy blows up after he dies and revolutionizes musical expression as we know it, is he finally, truly then the Big-C that everyone saw in him from the beginning? 

I'm not sure… that all seems kinda arbitrary to me. Even more than that, it's just biased. Is it worth it to us to discuss Big-C creatives as better than or more exceptionally creative than other creatives just because they are "well-known" and "eminent?" We would have to do this knowing full well that this "eminence" is determined by a society with fickle, inequitable, and sometimes seemingly arbitrary preferences for what, or who, is better than everyone else. Is that what we leave our scientific metric of creativity up to? 

Now sometimes, we get it right. I 100% believe Beyonce is an eminent creative and she fits all the criteria for Big-C. But I can also list plenty of artists and creatives whom I think are worthy and deserving of being studied as "Big." I'm sure you can too. 

What does our obsession with Big-C do to our perception of creativity? And what does it do to us? I don't want "bigness" to overshadow the creative products of the artists we study, and I certainly don't want this "bigness" to destroy the creatives themselves in the process, metaphorically or otherwise.

For me, Big-C died when Frank got hit by that car, and I'm gonna let it rest there. Words have power, and along with them comes a bias we must confront if we are to move forward. I don't believe there's anything I can learn with the lens of an exclusionary Big-C that I can't learn from studying other creatives who do great things without the burden of eminence. 

And so, with that. RIP Big-C.