For those of you who follow this blog and don’t know what The Ashes is – it’s a series of five games of cricket played between Australia and England. Each game can last five days. At its fullest, that’s 25 days of cricket with each day beginning at 10:30am or thereabouts, and finishing at 6pm or thereabouts. For cricket-tragics such as Jennifer and myself, we try not to miss one minute, one ball, one run.

The Ashes dates back to 182. That’s 143 years. Australia has won The Ashes 34 times, England 32 times – with 7 drawn matches. To say that the rivalry is fierce is like saying the South Pole is chilly.

We’re talking Colonialists versus Convicts.
Need I say more?

I’ll keep this summary of The Ashes, and indeed cricket itself, at this superficial level because cricket is an inordinately complex game. It has its own language, its own arcane protocols, even the naming of field positions defies rationale or logic.

Cow Corner?
Silly Mid Off?

The Ashes are played every two years, or thereabouts – alternating countries. This series is being played in Australia. Prior to this series starting on November 21st, the English press and the team itself declared that finally they had a group of players that could win The Ashes on Australian soil – a feat rarely done.

They derided the Australian team as being old and passed it, sub-par, they called our cricketers Dad’s Army.

The English were bringing to the series a form of cricket that’s become known as Bazball, a highly aggressive form of the game drawn from the shorter, showier form known as T20. In other words, they were attempting to modernise Test cricket, and in the process write their names into the history books.

It didn’t work.
They lost the first three games 3-0 and Australia retained The Ashes.

The 4th game, played in Melbourne last week, they won using, at times, Bazball tactics. But it was too late. Australia had won The Ashes.

I watch a lot of sport because it tells me a lot about the human condition, about courage and timidity, about how to win and how to accept failure, about hubris and grace.

The final chapter is yet to be played in Sydney starting next week, and even though technically it’s a dead rubber, there’s still a lot to play for – reputations, future places in the respective teams, jobs on the line. And history. With each Ashes game history can be made, or rewritten.

I’ve learned a lot as a filmmaker from these first four games already.

• Preparation. Pundits say England lost the first three games because of a lack of preparation. This, I believe, came down to hubris. They believed they had a winning formula in Bazball. They believed their team was stronger. They thought they didn’t need to prepare. Dare I say it, they were arrogant.
• Lesson. Making a movie is all about preparation. As a director, by the time cameras roll on the first day of principal photography, 95% of your work should have already been done. You can’t skimp on preparation. And you certainly can’t be arrogant. Arrogance will cold-cock you every time.
• Patience. Interestingly, listening to the commentaries as I have, and the analysts on various podcasts, the word patience has come up time and time again. Bazball eschews patience. It’s a form of the game that requires a batter to pretty much take a swipe at anything. Test cricket requires, at times, immense patience. And that patience more often than not is rewarded with a long innings and a big score. Conversely, a lack of patience often brings a batter, and bowler, undone very quickly.
• Lesson. Making a feature film also requires immense patience. I have stood out in a field for more than an hour many times during my working life, with a full crew on alert, waiting for the right light to get a shot. I have waited a mind-numbing length of time on more occasions than I care to remember for ambient sounds to clear so that we can record a perfectly clean dialogue scene. You need to have the patience of a zen monk to be a film director. That’s why I’d be dreadful doing television. Television doesn’t allow for patience.
• Quite. I’ve noticed that that English coach and captain have used the word quite quite a bit in interviews. We didn’t quite get it right, they would say, Or We didn’t quite get enough runs today. This word quite, used as they’ve used it, provides an insight into their mindset. It speaks to me of delusion and entitlement. Didn’t quite get it right? Mate, we blasted you off the field. Didn’t quite get enough runs? Buddy, we beat you in two days. Their use of the word quite tells me they aren’t facing up to reality. And they really do believe they’re entitled to win.
• Lesson. As a film director, you need to be grounded at all times. It’s so important, especially early in your career if you’ve had success. It’s so easy to get a distorted view of your own capabilities. You start believing your own publicity. When you’re making a movie, it’s critical that you remain humble and aware that at any stage, you could make a career-ending decision. Of those directors who get to make a first film, only 36% get to make a second film, only 8% make five or more films, and only 0.1% make 20 or more films. I’ve directed 17 feature films which puts me at 1%. That makes me quite humble…
• Expectation vs Process. The English arrived on our shores with big expectations. They were going to crush us. We had a weaker team – the worst since 2010, said Stuart Broad – and they said that they were going to climb the Mt Everest of cricket. They were going to go home with The Ashes. The Aussies (other than Glenn McGrath, who traditionally predicts an Australian whitewash of the Poms) remained quietly confident in their process. They didn’t think ahead. They trusted in process.
• Lesson. I know from forty years of making movies that on those occasions when I’ve thought I’d made a winner, I’ve always been disappointed. And also, when I’ve deliberately set out to make a commercially successful film, invariably I’ve failed. Yet the times when I’ve made a movie simply from a) the desperate need to tell that particular story, b) a desperate desire to have fun with the mechanics of cinema, or c) a deep sense of knowing that this was a movie that I would enjoy watching – on the relatively few occasions when that aligned, then surprisingly the films did (quite) well. In other words, I’ve learned to distrust expectations, and to go into a movie merely for the pure joy of making that movie, trusting that the outcome will be what it will be..

These are just some of the lessons I’ve learned. And many more as well – too many to elucidate here. Elite sport for me provides useful lessons in human psychology. I just wish I had the wisdom to interpret those lessons at times.

Thanks to ChatGPT for the image below.