Due Credit

All in all, I’m a pretty compassionate guy. I care. About people, animals, the planet. I can empathize and sympathize with the best of ‘em. But the one area in which I fall so excruciatingly short is this:

I don’t give a damn about your production babies.

Production babies. They’re listed in the credits of some movies, usually near the end, as evidence of the commitment and sacrifice of the crew and actors and production staff. They are credited as a tip of the hat to the exhaustive hours spent of the soundstage, in the editing room, under hot lights and in studio meetings. And I don’t give a bloody damn about a single one of them.

Don’t get me wrong. As human beings, production babies are fine; no issue there. I don’t mind them being born and nursing and pooping and opening boutiques or whatever else newborns do (I’m not an expert on infant behavior). My lack of interest simply pertains to the screen time taken up by this superfluous listing. I mean, I sit there (one of the few cinemagoers who takes the time to watch the credits in earnest) and I have to sit through every single person who pushed a pixel and duct taped an X on the floor … I just don’t think it’s either necessary or important to list each wee sprog that was crapped out between the time the screenwriter downloaded Final Draft and the director walked the red carpet. You take anything that lasts a more than moderate amount of time and babies will be born. It’s not an accomplishment any more so than the number of people who got divorced or purchased a new car. It’s a mere exercise in vanity, a feel-good pat on the back that is perfectly appropriate for your wrap party but a waste of time in the closing credits.

So stop it with the production baby credits. I don’t wanna see their names rolling up the screen unless they actually worked as gaffers or key grips.

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