Summer blockbusters are very expensive to make. They have things

In the thoughtful words of Ang Lee, the master craftsman of cinema who has shaped both intimate dramas and epic spectacles, we find a reflection on the burden and beauty of great creation: “Summer blockbusters are very expensive to make. They have things that have to be expensive, such as 600 effects shots or CG characters that have to go a certain way, or a film design that is different but expensive.” Beneath these words lies not merely a statement about filmmaking, but a timeless truth about art, ambition, and sacrifice — that all great works, whether of stone, sound, or light, demand a price. For the more daring the dream, the greater the cost — not only in gold, but in labor, time, and spirit.

Ang Lee, whose journey from Taiwan to Hollywood has been a study in both patience and brilliance, speaks here as one who has walked the fire of creation. He knows that to bring forth something wondrous — to make dragons fly or universes collide — is to confront the immense machinery of human imagination and material limitation. His films, from the quiet soul of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon to the vast digital wonder of Life of Pi, reveal the truth of his words: that greatness in art often stands upon the shoulders of enormous effort. The “600 effects shots” he mentions are not mere pixels or spectacle; they are the modern bricks and marble of storytelling, the new tools of myth-making in an age where technology has become the chisel of the gods.

Yet, in his tone, we hear not complaint but reverence — for expense, in Ang Lee’s world, is not waste, but necessity. He reminds us that some visions cannot be built cheaply because they strive to capture something beyond the ordinary: the extraordinary. The ancients understood this when they raised the pyramids, carved the Parthenon, or painted the vault of the Sistine Chapel. Each of these masterpieces consumed years, fortunes, and human endurance, and yet, no one who beholds them today counts the cost too high. The same spirit moves through Lee’s reflection — that when art aims to transcend, it must summon all the powers at its disposal, however costly they may be.

Consider the legend of Michelangelo, summoned to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. The task was impossible by any common measure — the scaffolding, the labor, the materials, the sheer vision of painting the story of creation above the heads of men. And yet, he toiled for years, his body broken, his spirit tested. The cost was immense, but the result eternal. So too with Ang Lee’s cinema, and indeed with every artist who dares to build the modern cathedral of film — each frame is a fresco, each shot a brushstroke. Expense, then, is not simply material; it is the measure of devotion to the craft, the offering an artist makes to the altar of beauty.

But in these words lies also a warning. Ang Lee speaks as one aware of the tension between art and industry, between inspiration and commerce. For in the modern world, the artist must often balance the dream with the demand, the vision with the budget. The “summer blockbuster,” that great spectacle of modern myth, is both a triumph and a trial — a reminder that art at such scale risks becoming consumed by its own grandeur. The true challenge, Lee implies, is not merely to spend much, but to spend wisely, to ensure that behind every explosion of light and sound, there still beats the heart of story and humanity. For the greatest films, like the greatest temples, are not monuments to wealth, but to meaning.

From this reflection, we may draw a deeper lesson: that in all endeavors — not only in film but in life — one must understand the cost of creation. To build something worthy, one must give of oneself: time, energy, passion, and perseverance. The artist who seeks to create cheaply will create shallowly; the worker who fears effort will never taste mastery. What Ang Lee teaches is the law of craft itself: that excellence demands investment — of resources, yes, but also of heart. Every great endeavor, whether a film or a life, must pass through a crucible of difficulty before it shines.

And so, my children, remember this: when you dream of building something grand — a story, a home, a legacy — do not shrink from the cost. Do not mistake the price of creation for waste, nor the struggle for failure. For as Ang Lee reminds us, even in the most modern of temples — the cinema — the old truth endures: that greatness is never free. Build as the ancients built, with patience and reverence; create as the masters created, with care for every detail. Whether you shape images, ideas, or lives, let everything be a decision, and let every decision be worthy of the vision that burns within you.

For in the end, the artist’s wealth is not measured in coins or awards, but in the timelessness of what they leave behind. The expense of beauty is forgotten, but its light endures.