My friend and I have put together a couple of short films documenting our road trips over the last couple of years. The first was something I did when he drove me from NYC to Boston in March 2004. K just finished the newest, a film about our drive from NYC to New Orleans earlier this year.
As many times as I have seen myself on camera, it always astonishes me how strange I look and behave. I suppose this is natural; people are often faked out by the way they perceive themselves and the way they actually appear on film. I am totally bizarre...I look tired, with big black bags under my eyes, and I have no chin, just a line of flesh from my lower mouth to my clavicle. I mouth breathe a lot and when I talk my two upper incisors feature prominently, like a chipmunk. My lips move strangely and I grimace by default. I punctuate my sentences with "uhhhhhhs" and my voice sounds simultaneously deep and nasal somehow. I come off as someone with an IQ pushing 100.
This is not the way I see myself at all, but film doesn't lie.
It would be interesting to harness modern technology to find out what people think their voices sound like in their heads. It would be fairly easy to record them talking and let them manipulate the pitch and resonance, etc...until it sounds like voice they THINK they have. The same could go for appearances...let people computer modify their photos to show how they think they look. I would love to hear what Mid-B thinks his voice sounds like.
Furthermore, why does everyone get discouraged when they see what they actually look and behave like? why is it always a harrowing experience? Why aren't there some people who have low self-esteem and then they look at pictures of themselves and say, "Whoa, I'm totally attractive!"? Why doesn't it work in this direction?
I guess it does, actually, even though it's very abnormal. These people are called actors, and they have a whole other set of problems.
7 comments:
1) I had a relationship with an actress once. No comment.
2) I hate to hear my own voice. I think I sound like a mumbling yet loud twit.
3) How's the beard? I think Mid-B is going to beat us all. I saw him yesterday and he had substatial growth. We'll see today.
I had the chance once of recording short DVD extras for a telecourse with the historian. It was all a talking-heads, commentary-style thing. Much, much later, we viewed the DVDs. My basic belief is that I am an affront to humanity in how I look, sound, etc.; I was so pleased to find that I didn't sound like an idiot or look heinous. I did find out, however, what all the people meant who've told me over the years that I have a little sneer when I speak (or even when I sing). It's a big sigh. I just try not to think of it--otherwise, I'd never speak (or sing) again, and we can't have that.
I still remember the first time I heard my voice--very disturbing. I sound like an effete whiner. While some actors can be strange (not that I really know any--dated a theatre type once and she was kind of weird), I'm amazed at the self-confidence.
For an even more humbling experience, I recommend listening to a recording of oneself speaking a foreign language. The gap between what people think they sound like and really sound like seems even more pronounced.
My God, Raq, you're probably right. Watching yourself on a videotape speaking in a foreign language and then singing karaoke...I can't imagine anything much worse than that. As far as "humane" mental torture goes.
I used to hate the sound of my voice, but when I started losing my voice, I became really conscious of it, had to pay attention to it, not just how I was hearing it in my head, but the reality of it. And now, I think it sounds pretty damn good (and this may only be because having a voice of any kind is better than not having a voice, so I appreciate its flaws a bit more). But I recently started seeing a speech pathologist and she made me talk while looking into a gigantic mirror so I could see the ways I produce my voice. Ugh--it was torture. I wondered how my students could stand listening to me, watching me talk for an hour.
I used to freak out when I heard my voice, but then I was a DJ for awhile. I still have tapes of The Broadcast, and when I listen to them, I am a little freaked out by what I hear. I can hear the remains of a childhood lisp, and my natural inability to think of the right word when I really need it. But I think I got used to it from listening to myself so often.
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