Being a freelancer is the professional equivalent of being an orphan jumping from one foster home to another. Woke millennials might use a polyamory metaphor, but there’s lesser affection involved. We don’t really belong anywhere. We are expected to be difficult and individualistic. We aren’t invited to office gatherings. We are the babysitter who rarely gets a peek into the moods of a family. We subconsciously choose to embrace a culture of disruption, when it comes to routines, relationships, security, environments.
We are already, by definition, an underdog drama. And we are always expected to come of age, to ‘mature’ — by committing to one city, one job, one office and even one marriage.
Circle of life
The movies invariably portray us as lost characters in search of stability. As storms in search of clear sky. The Rockstar (Ranbir Kapoor) in search of love. The Heroine (Kareena Kapoor) in search of intimacy.
The thief (Leonardo DiCaprio, in Catch Me If You Can ) in search of validation. The jaded rockstar (Bill Nighy in Love, Actually ) binging on the loyalty of his longtime manager. The cinematographer (Ranbir Kapoor, in Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani ) in search of a still life. Orphans, after all, make for heightened success stories because they have less to lose.
But freelancing isn’t quite the dramatic “condition” it is made out to be. If you look closely, it is everywhere. Often, in broad daylight, and within the very conventions it is imagined to defy. It is a culture more accurately, and not always intentionally, represented in cinema — that of the orthodox everyman for whom “emotional freelancing” is an integral part of the profession. The regular folks, for whom detachment is an internal day-to-day duty, not an external necessity.
Unforgettable characters
These people are the ones who are trained to operate against instinct – the ones who unknowingly allow it to alter the core of their personalities, little by little, like an undiagnosed disease eating away at their immunity. The watchman who must guard but distance himself from tenants’ spaces. The taxi driver who gets to know — and forget — a new passenger every hour. The teacher who can’t afford to sentimentally invest in changing batches of students. The sex worker who must feign togetherness every night. The doctor who is only allowed to cure the body, not soul, of a patient.
For instance, motel manager Bobby Hicks (William Dafoe), in Sean Baker’s The Florida Project , is an endearing movie character because we can sense his struggle of having to resist the desperation and charm of his residents. None of them stay more than a few weeks, which is why he refuses to “feel” for them the way viewers would. Letting go is the invisible bullet-point of his curriculum vitae. His business-like tone doesn’t even change when he speaks to his own son, perhaps because he hasn’t learned to fully attach himself — even in his own home. Six-year-old Moonee’s situation forms the basis of the film because she is only one who compels him to empathise beyond his carefully constructed shield. He is otherwise a veteran who must suppress an inherent sense of “caretaking” to be an efficient caretaker.
Seeking redemption
The younger ones — trainee therapist Catherine McKay (Anna Kendrick, in 50/50 ) and hotel management intern Dan (Varun Dhawan, in October ) — are still in a position to salvage their humanity by, ironically, failing at their jobs. Catherine falls for Adam (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), her cancer-stricken client, while Dan falls for Shuili (Banita Sandhu), his comatose colleague. They are essentially “victims” of vocations that count on mental dispassion in the face of physical familiarity. It’s why they overcompensate by feeling for those who are not only vulnerable but also in no position to feel back. Their personal compassion is a tragic reaction to the impersonal hospitality they are trained to provide. Even Kendrick’s other role, as an ambitious HR executive hired to fire people in Up In The Air , has her struggle to balance professional objectivity with psychological upheavals — she eventually quits the line, instead choosing to isolate her heart from her work.
In the long run, if one eliminates the prism of purpose, the very concept of living makes everyone a freelancer of sorts. Every phase is a different assignment. We leave people and times behind to move forward. We become a passing voice in other stories. A sense of detachment is ingrained into our being. It’s the reason most biopic narratives are divided into chapters and fragmented memories — it acknowledges that freelancing isn’t only a way of life, but life itself.
