Nothing is as fragile as talent. And in most cases, it cannot be repaired.

Special release of "Two Goldfish in the Brain" originally published in Adtai.

To commemorate Yuya Furukawa's first book , "All Work is Creative Direction" (published by Sendenkaigi), the popular Adtai column "Two Goldfish in the Brain" returns for a six-part series. Using various classic films, music, and novels he has encountered as clues, he will continue to write about the mechanisms and thinking behind advertising creativity.

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This summer, the biopic of Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys was released in Japan.
I missed it when it first came out. I was swamped with work (this kind of behavior for this kind of reason definitely degrades a person).

I watched it once on the way there and once on the way back on the flight between Haneda and Charles de Gaulle. I don't usually watch movies on planes because I don't think it's a good idea to watch them on those monitors, and I sleep for nine out of every twelve hours, but this time I couldn't resist.

Actually, I cried a little. On the plane. It was mortifying.

The title is "Love & Mercy." The casting is clever, with Paul Dano (who looks very similar) playing Brian Wilson in the 1960s. John Cusack (who looks nothing like him, but was cast for his ability to express Wilson's unique mannerisms) plays Wilson in the 1980s. In other words, two actors were assigned to one role.

To explain it simply, it's an almost 100% autobiographical film about Brian Wilson, who was responsible for all the creative aspects of The Beach Boys, who were at their peak in the 60s with big hits like "Surfin' U.S.A.", but who became mentally ill for various reasons and finally regained some kind of happiness in the late 80s.

One of the reasons that drove him to the brink of mental collapse was the fact that Pet Sounds, now universally recognized as an overwhelming masterpiece, failed to sell at all, causing dissatisfaction among everyone around him, including the record company and band members. Among the reasons for the members' dissatisfaction was the feeling that "he decides everything by himself." That was indeed the case, and it is precisely because of that that Pet Sounds is such a masterpiece.

One member reportedly said, "What the hell? No ocean, no cars?" For them, sticking to the familiar surf sound and getting a regular hit would have been enough. They didn't need any "musical adventures."

Every scene is a poignant film.
In that sense, it is a special film.

As far as I know, the definition of genius has not yet been determined. In this film, the basis for calling Brian Wilson a genius is depicted as "music gushing out, and not knowing what to do with it." This tentative definition clearly references Mozart. Conversely, in the realm of music, perhaps only these two people possessed this phenomenon and were true geniuses.

As someone who nods along while writing this column, I feel an envy bordering on hatred toward those who say, "I receive so much from God that I can't process it all." However, from the perspective of the genius himself, it is probably not a desirable state. It is because the mental capacity required to accept the phenomenon would scream in agony. In Mozart's case, according to his biography, he seems to have vented his excess talent through bad language, sex, and bad behavior. He certainly did not die a happy death.

In the case of Brian Wilson, it seems like an extreme experiment set up by God. Overwhelming talent for creating music × extremely sensitive and fragile sensibility VS. A father who was jealous of his son's talent and sold the rights to all of the Beach Boys' hit songs without permission, living off the money, and who also hit Brian's right ear when he was a child, causing him to become deaf + A psychiatrist who arbitrarily diagnosed him with schizophrenia and continued to take away Brian's freedom and money in the name of treatment Eugene Landy (who was finally convicted in the 80s for inappropriate treatment and separated from Brian) + Band members who showed no interest or understanding beyond hit pop songs, lacking any profound musical passion.

Brian became increasingly introspective and isolated over time, eventually succumbing to mental illness. This near-reclusive state reportedly lasted about 20 years, from the late 60s through the 80s.
A genius more sensitive than most suffers repeated harm from his father, work colleagues, and psychiatrists. Eventually, his mind breaks. Summarized, it sounds like a rather trite story. No producer would buy such a mediocre synopsis.
Lately, there's been a growing belief that everyone should carve out their own life based on their abilities. Furthermore, that everyone should "shine."

Come to think of it, these discourses rest on two assumptions. First, that excelling, possessing talent, being useful, or shining represents the proper state of life. Second, that talent is inherently strong and resilient, and that it invariably acts for the better in life – a belief held with absolute certainty.

Neither is entirely accurate.
Unfortunately, things are not that simple.

In cases like Brian Wilson's, when talent is locked away for a long time in an environment full of misunderstanding and malice, that talent can be easily destroyed. If it weren't for that, he wouldn't have been crushed and suffered so much. In Brian's case, he ultimately made a comeback, but creating profound, truly brilliant albums like Pet Sounds and Smile, which went beyond surf music, did not bring him any worldly happiness. This outcome stands in stark contrast to John Lennon and Paul McCartney, who, deeply shocked after hearing Pet Sounds, hastily created Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. That album was immediately recognized as a historic masterpiece, both critically and commercially.

Talent is, in truth, a very fragile thing. It is never strong against various pressures. Yet, if you pamper it and leave it alone, it easily withers away. Moreover, it is troublesome and complex: being placed in a harsh environment can result in both good and bad outcomes. Furthermore, the newer it is, the greater the time lag before it is discovered and recognized.

Yet there exists a state that will inevitably destroy it: when multiple layers of malice continuously and persistently invade. No talent can withstand this. Painfully, Brian became proof of this.

Without it, one can do nothing. Yet its presence burdens one with unique suffering, driving people to misery.

If this is the fated obstacle awaiting talent, then it seems such an acquired, social obstacle has been present lately.

Taylor Swift has been saying this a lot lately.
"If things continue like this, young talent aspiring to make music their profession might disappear."
Netflix is said to be poised to dominate the global content competition. While various innovations and competitive advantages have been noted, its most defining characteristic remains its quality-first approach. That is, a creator-first stance.

First, there's thorough data-driven marketing. For example, "To engage this demographic, we need this kind of story, and in that case, Kevin Spacey must be the lead."

Data marketing defines what should be created this time and hands it off to the creative team. After that, they make absolutely no further demands. The only rule is "something never seen before." This "sensor-free" approach is one major reason they're supported by writers. Financially, Hollywood-level compensation is also reliably guaranteed. Ultimately, what's attractive to creatives is creative freedom and money (production budget > actor's fee).

The position of owning the land and letting others build houses on it is no longer the most powerful. Rather, the most crucial role is played by those who originally conceive and create the content. That talent is the most precious and deserving of respect. Of course, it's bestowed upon individuals, but fundamentally, it belongs to everyone. Because talent only gains meaning when its happy expression creates something that delights many people and gets shared.

In Netflix's case, prioritizing the viewer over the creator is the key factor in its success. They increase the probability of a hit through unprecedented, thorough analysis using big data. In other words, they minimize the scope the creative team needs to consider this time. While this might seem to conflict with the creators, it's the opposite. If a project doesn't achieve a certain level of success, the creator won't get another chance. Therefore, handing projects to the creative team with a defined hit range ultimately becomes creator-first.

This mechanism isn't limited to video content; it's increasingly visible in genres like music that require consistent hits. At present, Netflix likely understands the relationship between creators, content, and viewers best.

Look up "gift" in English, and most dictionaries list ① "present" followed by ② "(innate) talent." Exactly. Talent is a gift. Probably randomly selected by the gods. It's rather lovely English. Gifts have the power to delight and bring happiness to everyone. If you discover one somewhere, you must never act in a way that damages it. Absolutely never. You can't just trample on a gift you've received and hurt it.

Coldplay, already a major band thanks to hits like "Yellow" and "Fix You," enlisted Brian Eno as producer for their fourth album, "Viva la Vida or Death and All Friends." Apparently, Eno had occasionally offered musical advice since their debut. From Eno's perspective, I think he wanted to harness the undeniable talent that was clearly there.

He often said this whenever he heard their demos.
"Not bad, but it could definitely be better."
Fortunately, we old folks, no longer at an age where we envy young talent, have it as one of our jobs to keep telling the younger generation that. Probably.

Talent that definitely exists, yet vanishes without ever taking shape.
Losing its initial sparkle and eventually fading away.
Being damaged by external circumstances.
To break before it can be understood.

Is there anything more heartbreaking to witness?
This is not limited to geniuses alone.
Even a mere gram of creativity faces the same fate.

Talent is fragile and precious. It is personal, yet truly belongs to everyone. It deserves unconditional respect.
The gap between societies that share these sensibilities and those that do not is likely far greater than we imagine.

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※This column was published in AdTie.