Poliphilos opened the television the other day, and what a disappointment it was.

He couldn’t help but wonder, why do I even have a television?

Oh yes, he remembered – we use it to communicate with the TV people.

Poliphilos called out for the Messenger, and with a whoosh, he appeared.

“They don’t play the old Hollywood dramas anymore,” he said, flipping through the stations. “Only reality TV on all channels!

Look at this: Toddlers and Tiaras? 16 and Pregnant! Who Wants to Marry My Dad?”

The Messenger raised an eyebrow. “Not me, for sure. And no Greek drama there, either.” 

Poliphilos chuckled. “That’ll be the day.”

The Messenger nodded in agreement.

“Anyway, this genre seems to speak to people, so… let’s speak to them! I want to write a song about a Hollywood actress who lives a glamorous star life but is hollow on the inside because of a miserable marriage.”

The Messenger’s eyes sparkled with intrigue.

“That sounds very much like someone you used to know, doesn’t it?”

Poliphilos nodded, and he was right – it did. It was a long time ago, but he remembered it like it was yesterday.

Picture this:

the dry hills of California in the sunset. Large warehouse-sized white film studio buildings along palm-covered busy street. People leaving and entering from multiple directions. This is where dreams were made.

As twilight settled, Poliphilos entered one of those studios.

It was a mixed crowd. Harsh lines of ambition, frustration, and withheld emotions across the faces of the polished, meticulously coiffed characters. In addition, professionals of all kinds sauntering between the opulently decorated facades of the set.

Over here, a western village; over there, a Roman palace. In between, a giant staircase on its way to the next musical, with showgirls sitting on it.

Somehow it was as it always had been, but Poliphilos also sensed a new kind of electricity in the air – a new generation of makers, doers, and wannabes were working their way to the top.

In this world of dimly-lit rooms, where velvet ropes defined who are, will and had been, and where bejeweled hands shattered dreams as easily as they smashed a champagne flute, Poliphilos was seeking a certain person.

And there he was.

Amidst the glitterati, a tall, bespectacled figure paced amongst the scenery shifters and fashionable actresses, enraptured by something only he could see.

This was not just another lost soul drawn to the allure of the bright lights and even brighter failures. This was a new kind of filmmaker, playwright, critique, politician – perhaps all of the above. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him.

But he hadn’t yet made it big.

Poliphilos knew him. A very good friend of his from decades past.

Poliphilos approached him, and he did a double take, an angry expression stretching across his face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his words exploding like a threat in the balmy air. “Only professionals allowed here!” But then his face changed, and he nodded in recognition. “Poliphilos, my friend! Good to see you! How are you? Where have you been? It’s been years!”

Poliphilos smiled, and we exchanged pleasantries. Poliphilos told him where he had been.

“Wow, P. You get around, don’t you?”, he smirked.

“Only doing my job”, I stated dryly.

Then, he told Poliphilos about his struggles.

Here he was, trying to make a name for himself in the competitive film industry with his passion and creativity, but also his keen eye to the society. His indie films had not yet gained him the recognition he deserved, and his creative powers had been stifled by the commercialism and censorship of the major film studios.

“P, I need your help. This is going nowhere!” he sighed in frustration.

So they sat down in his trailer and hatched a plan to create a series of films that would expose the darker side of the film industry and the city of Los Angeles.

The planning process took months, of course, and as they began working on the films, they soon attracted the attention of studio higher-ups and the self-righteous moral guardians of the city.

It was the city of angels but the demons inside had every intention to have it stay that way. Poliphilos’s friend’s scripts, which explored themes of greed, ambition, and the exploitation of the working class, were deemed too radical and truthful by those in power.

Meanwhile, as the film industry evolved, it reflected the changing world around it.

People were becoming aware of strange new phenomena, largely through the new mass media: foreign cultures, eccentric politics, human interaction with nature, UFOs, aliens, conspiracy theories, and more. These topics sold newspapers, made headlines, and provided prime material for movies that, although not Oscar contenders, gained cult followings in subcultures. The common theme was “man vs.”: giant animals, monsters, aliens, or strange individuals.

It seemed like danger lurked everywhere. But: that danger sold tickets, and the demons inside knew that. The films tapped into deep, universal human fears and anxieties, such as the struggle between good and evil and the fear of being consumed by a powerful force.

So, those who tried to break away from mere scandal and terror, like Poliphilos’s friend, tried to make movies that attempted to comment on the social and cultural upheaval of the time, including the rise of the civil rights movement, feminism, and counterculture.

But people seemed not to care, because “Fire Maidens from Outer Space” was about to be released and the tickets were HOT!

But then it dawned on them: they had to play the game by their rules but with a twist. “Let’s go over the top, making even the most fearful question the truth behind the plot. And let’s use that to make a statement. The scandal would be the commentary!”

Their first film, “Vegan Vampires,” was too confusing, and asking actors to attack trees with fake fangs posed additional challenges.

The next one, “Nunfight at the Chapel of Elvis,” explored the relationship between modern secular Christianity and commercialism. This did raise some eyebrows.

However, with their third film, they hit a home run.

“Defying Gravity” mixed everything on screen there is to mix.

It was a musical set in the near-future society of Azura. It told the story of a group of lawmakers called Freewillers who attempted to repeal the law of gravity, claiming it was an unjust constraint imposed by nature rather than “the will of the good people.”

As the nation teetered on the brink of this ideological chaos, a young journalist and a group of scientists joined forces to educate the public about the catastrophic consequences of defying gravity and to stop the repeal. With the fate of the country hanging in the balance, they confronted the absurdity of the situation and the dangers of a world where science was dismissed in favor of political ideology built on extreme individualism.

“Defying Gravity” did become a sensation, causing a stir in the film community and beyond, because as absurd as it was, it caused people to launch into new kinds of critical conversations. Poliphilos’s friend’s career was launched, and he became a major player in the film industry.

One night, as they walked home from yet another premiere party, singing and humming the latest industry tunes, it hit: “It was supposed to be an ordinary day, with wining, dining, and an evening at the ballet.”

And that, my friend, was how Poliphilos found the song “Ordinary Day.”

You can listen to it here.