🎬 Executive Producer Energy

There are weeks when one is merely present in culture- seen, nodded at, politely tolerated near the artisanal crudité.

And then there are weeks when one ascends into something greater:

An Executive Producer.

I, of course, have always possessed Executive Producer Energy. I’ve simply been waiting for the industry to catch up and hand me a credit that reflects my emotional bandwidth.

This week, I did what all serious creative titans do:

I acquired a finished film. Not by watching it (please), but by sensing its cultural potential.

How It Happened 

I was attending a small philanthropic gathering. 

I was midway through a conversation about my early career when a producer approached me with the eyes of someone who has a project and a deadline.

She said, “We made a documentary.”

I asked, “Is it… festival-worthy?”

She said, “It’s… about municipal infrastructure.”

I felt my soul leave my body- I had no idea what that meant, but I knew if I didn't know, then others wouldn't know...

She clarified: “It’s a cinematic meditation on urban planning. Sidewalk permitting. The emotional toll of a zoning variance.”

I nodded slowly, because nothing says prestige like a film that could double as a required training video.

And I said the only words that matter in Hollywood:

“Put my name on it.”

The Executive Producer Process

Contrary to what the public believes, Executive Producing is work.

It requires:

• A signature, preferably done with a Montblanc pen.
• A meeting, preferably at a hotel where the tables are timed and the staff is trained to pretend not to recognize desperation
• A statement, drafted by someone else, but all about what I bring to the project

Executive Producers do not do the thing.

Executive Producers arrive near the thing and improve the thing through proximity.

Like salt lamps. Or certain men...

People keep asking, “Did you watch it?”

As if I am some kind of… viewer.

I do not consume art. I curate affiliation.

Documentaries are challenging because they insist on having a point, and I’ve worked very hard to cultivate a personal brand that thrives in ambiguity. So I asked my team to summarize it using only the following approved categories:

• Aesthetic
• Awards potential
• Whether the poster complements my face shape
• Any scene where I can look pained without committing to facts

They returned with a one-page brief titled:

“It’s Slow. It’s Serious. There’s Concrete.”

Perfect. Minimal. Dare I say... European?

The Festival Slot

We were assigned a screening time that some people might interpret as… unideal.

But at The Manor, we call it Morning Prestige.

Some films get the glamorous evening slot, when people are dressed and hopeful and still pretending they like cinema.

My film received a time reserved for serious cultural endurance: the hour when festival attendees are clutching coffee, quietly bargaining with the porcelain throne,  and accepting that this screening will include at least one twelve-minute shot of a curb.

It's the perfect time to witness my greatness.

 

The Red Carpet Interview

I approached the carpet with my usual composure: serene, luminous, and slightly misinformed.

The interviewer asked what drew me to the project.

I said, “The storytelling. It’s so… rich.”

My handler blinked once, hard.

The interviewer asked what the film was about.

I said, “It’s about… connection.”

It is, in fact, about municipal permitting. But permitting is just connection with paperwork.

The interviewer asked if it was political.

I said, “No. It’s human.”

Because whenever you don’t know what something is, you simply call it human and let the word do the labor for you.

Then, as a seasoned professional, I added:

“And the performances are extraordinary.”

Again: documentary. Mostly sidewalks. But the sidewalks did, in their way, act.

What Executive Producer Really Means

People assume Executive Producer is a job.

It is not.

Executive Producer is a social credential, like “philanthropist,” “founder,” or “someone who summers.”

It means you are important enough to arrive after the hard parts are done and still be credited for the outcome.

It means you can take a completed film—one built on years of effort, filming, editing, grants, sleepless nights, and actual competence—and gently reposition it as a reflection of your leadership.

It means you can look directly into a camera and say:

“This story needed to be told.”

In Conclusion

I did not produce the film. I produced the moment.

And isn’t that what modern leadership is? Being announced near something worthy until it becomes yours...

If anyone needs me, I’ll be at brunch, timing my own table like a martyr, and preparing my next credit acquisition- something intimate, elevated, and emotionally complex.

Possibly about recycling.

Until next Saturday,

Yours in post-production prestige,
The Manor