Somewhere over the rainbow, in a place called Lala Land, California, amongst the starlets, Disney Imagineers and cigar-puffing mucky-mucks, there is a young man. With a twinkle in his eye and a Caf Americana under his chin-because it takes at least two hands to text-message and hold doors open at the same time-he will often describe his job as "living the dream." Currently, though, he's terrified. He will be like this the entire day, every day, including at night, when, while lying in bed, he receives a text message from "Boss Cell" that requires immediate attention. The person I have described is the typical Hollywood assistant, and if there is one thing he will learn from his job, it is this: Fear, not pixie-dust or cute little mice, is the magic power that keeps the dream factory churning.

Trying to break into the film industry is sort of like being a ninja in the Foot Clan from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. You and your boss, Shredder, both know that you are a completely disposable commodity, which allows him to give you an impossible task, such as "I want those Turtles stopped-now!" with the understanding that when you come back empty-handed he will either kill or fire you, depending on his mood.

This is not to say that every boss in Hollywood is a razor-clawed psychopath; only some of them are (mostly agents). But in an industry where not moving forward is the same as stumbling backwards, everyone is always keeping an eye on the revolving door behind them to see which young hotshot is trying to sneak through. Because for every job, especially an assistant's, there are hundreds of bright young people out there who will jump at the opportunity to do it for less or no money. Are these people crazy? No, they just realize that getting ahead is always more important than the immediate payoff. This is why there are no real friends in the Creative Arts Agency mailroom.

I worked in the film industry as an assistant this summer, and somewhat successfully, too. But I'm not going to expand on that, because anything I say might be perceived as "advice," which is the last thing I want to give. There are some professors at Brandeis who will give you wonderful advice on the film industry; I'm not going to tell you who they are, but they're here. There are some great books on the subject, too, but then there are also some really bad and misleading ones. How do you know which is which? That's for you to figure out. If you are interested enough to be reading this column, then you are already my enemy and I am afraid of you. This is the kind of mentality that you just can't learn at a liberal arts, liberal-everything university like Brandeis. But it is exactly what you will be contending with out there.

Don't believe me? In the University of Southern California undergraduate film program, hundreds of people apply to direct a senior thesis film. They accept four. If you're not accepted, there is always the option of directing your film independently, but that means you have to go out and secure your own financing, crew, cast, etc.... A friend of mine collected the money for his student film by calling everyone he knew and asking them for donations: friends, parents, parents' friends, friends' parents. Brandeis may be a predominantly Jewish school, but they don't teach chutzpah like that here.

Michael Ovitz lied his way into the William Morris Agency mailroom without a high-school diploma, and he now has so much power that he can make everyone who works for him dress in all black (true story). Ari Emanuel stole files from his agency, snuck off in the middle of the night, and started a new one. Sound familiar? The hit television show Entourage based a character and plotline off of him. Director Darren Aronofsky signed a major studio deal and still shoots without a permit to stay under budget. These people all love their jobs, but what really motivates them to that extra bit of insanity is the knowledge that if they don't do it, someone else will.