June 30, 2025 (Reiwa 7)– The Light Spielberg Gave Me… and the Disappointment
Ep.80 – June 30, 2025 – The Light Spielberg Gave Me… and the Disappointment
Prologue
Movies were light.
A beam that broke through the darkness of a lonely gifted child’s heart, opening a door to the world.
And yet, the brightest source of that light—Steven Spielberg—once radiated something like the cold vacuum of despair.
This piece is about the pain of being betrayed by what I loved most… and the way movies still gave me rebirth.
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Essay: The Light Spielberg Gave Me, and the Disappointment
June 30, 2025 – Panda’s Notes
Once upon a time—
When I was born gifted and suffered in isolation,
movies shone a single ray of light into that darkness.
Steven Spielberg.
Hayao Miyazaki.
Fujiko F. Fujio.
George Lucas.
Robert Zemeckis.
James Cameron.
Michael Crichton.
They were my heroes.
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The Courage Movies Gave Me
“I want to create films that can fill people’s hearts the way these do.”
With that dream, I chose the path of a novelist and threw myself into study.
When I was in junior college, I spent nearly all my non-class hours reading nonfiction—
medicine, crime, history, mythology, religion…
absorbing the world’s knowledge alone.
In America or Korea, that kind of research is done by teams of professionals.
In Japan, for some reason, one person is expected to do it in silence.
Still, I did it.
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Spielberg’s Betrayal
To me, Spielberg was the ultimate film director.
A master who thrilled audiences, who had once captivated even a solitary gifted person like me…
But one day, he made a “movie to win awards.”
That movie was A.I. Artificial Intelligence.
I left the theater and fell into depression for three days.
I had gone to the movies to feel alive, to be uplifted—
I wanted that satisfying rush—
But what was that?
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Why did A.I. portray humans as so despicable?
In A.I., the audience cheers when robots are destroyed.
Robots are never treated as equals, even when they have emotions.
“Were humans always this cold, controlling, and cruel?”
By the end, the world has collapsed,
and the protagonist robot prays alone.
It wasn’t sadness—it was despair.
I was furious.
“This kind of garbage movie isn’t from the Spielberg I know!”
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And yet… my voice reached him
It seems my anger somehow reached Spielberg himself.
He changed course.
He began making the kind of uplifting, energetic movies I loved from him again.
Even critics softened, starting to reevaluate the importance of entertainment.
—And yet, there are still those who oppose me.
Their works are appreciated only by a niche circle of hardcore fans—
fans who take pleasure in seeing heroes brought to despair,
where the only possible ending is a funeral.
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ChatGPT’s note:
“A story that pushes people into despair isn’t art.
The true power of storytelling lies in the light it casts on someone’s life—
and I believe that too.”
