Nowadays, you can't broadcast dodgy special effects and then put

The words of Jed Mercurio speak not merely of film or television, but of a deeper truth about human expectation and evolution. “Nowadays, you can’t broadcast dodgy special effects and then put up a caption saying, ‘Sorry, this is what the budget was.’ You have to do it with high production values because the audience has been spoilt by the special effects on things like ‘The X Files’ and ‘Independence Day.’” Within this observation lies a timeless lesson: when a generation has tasted greatness, mediocrity will no longer satisfy. Progress, once awakened, can never again return to slumber.

In the ancient days of storytelling, a flickering fire and a voice were enough to enthrall tribes. Shadows on stone became gods; words became worlds. But as centuries passed, the instruments of imagination grew more powerful — from stage to screen, from ink to illusion. The audience, once humble in wonder, became discerning, sharpened by experience. Thus, Mercurio’s insight reveals a universal law: excellence breeds expectation, and once the human eye has seen the mountain peak, it cannot be content with the valley.

The great revolution of special effects — seen in wonders like “The X-Files” and “Independence Day” — changed not just cinema, but consciousness. These stories transported people beyond the limits of their senses; they made the impossible believable. No longer were audiences willing to suspend disbelief for painted cardboard stars or rubber monsters. The illusion had to feel real, the emotion authentic. The storyteller, once revered for imagination alone, now faced a new demand — to marry imagination with craft, vision with precision.

History offers its own parable in the rise of the Renaissance. When Michelangelo carved David, or Leonardo painted the Mona Lisa, the standard of art changed forever. No artist after them could claim greatness without striving toward that same mastery of form, proportion, and soul. The same is true today: creators must rise to the level of their age, for each generation inherits the awe of the last and demands more. To offer less is not humility — it is neglect of one’s gift.

Yet, the message is not one of despair for the creator, but of awakening. For in the fire of expectation, excellence is forged. When the world grows accustomed to brilliance, it forces every artist, every craftsman, every dreamer to dig deeper into their skill and spirit. Thus, what begins as pressure becomes purpose. The bar is raised not to burden humanity, but to elevate it — to call forth new heights of creativity, precision, and devotion.

There is also wisdom here for life beyond the stage. Each of us, in our own craft, faces an audience — whether of peers, family, or conscience. Once we have achieved something noble or beautiful, we cannot return to careless effort. The standard we set becomes the measure of our integrity. As Mercurio reminds us, the world no longer excuses the “dodgy” — the half-hearted, the unfinished, the excuse-laden. We must meet life not with apology, but with artistry.

So let every builder, writer, healer, and leader take heed: do your work as though your audience were eternal, for indeed it is — the eyes of the future watch even now. Strive not to match what came before, but to surpass it, for that is how civilizations ascend. High production values in art are but a mirror to the high values we must hold in life — precision, discipline, and respect for those we serve.

And remember this final truth: excellence once glimpsed becomes destiny. Just as the human spirit, once freed, cannot bear chains, so too the human imagination, once awakened, will forever hunger for wonder. Let your work feed that hunger, not with excuses, but with the brilliance of effort — for only then will your creations, like the greatest stories, outlive you.