The Bag Means Your Mind

The Emergence of 3-D and the Irony of Hugo

2011-12-03T15:38:00.001-05:00

We're all conservative in some way. Some are socially conservative. Some don't want the natural environment to be changed by humans in any way. Others cling to words and grammar as if they have no right to change. Every single one of us has something or some things that we cling to and will fight to preserve (or wish the clocks could turn back). In the case of Hugo I'm reminded of conservatism as it comes to art, specifically movies. It's a kind of nostalgia that people take very seriously. And when nostalgia is married, even indirectly, to technology drama is sure to follow.

Imagine what happened back in the days when color was replacing black and white film. I don't have any old editorials to cite, but I don't think it's a stretch to assume that there were film enthusiasts who saw color as a gimmick, as a debasement of cinema. The same may have even happened when the silent film gave way to the talkies. We could go back even further and laugh at how the artistic community scoffed at movies and their churlish ways.

After color and sound were introduced, the fundamental way movies were projected didn't change for nearly 70 years. That's a long time for people to become attached to a medium. First sound systems changed in the 80s. Very few complained about that (who doesn't want that monster bass?) Then in the late 90s, 00s digital began its glacial movement to replace film that is still happening to this day. There was and continues to be, albeit muted, gnashing of teeth over this. Spielberg talked about how the grains in film were special, blah blah blah. I worked as a projectionist for several years and I knew firsthand how quickly film prints were dirtied, scratched, and faded. The process of making thousands of prints inherently lowers in quality from the original. I knew that on average probably less than 1% of theater goers got a top notch presentation. Digital, even if slightly flawed delivered exactly the same experience every single time. It was never scratched, never out of focus, and had a consistent brightness from corner to corner. It was a no-brainer in my eyes. But then again, I traveled more than an hour on more than one occasion just to see a digitally projected film.

I'm the least nostalgic person I know. I've always been about the future, looking forward to every new technology. I'm excited to witness the evolution of video games into a medium that's poised to really turn into something important (that's a whole other post) and I've always been interested in the prospect of 3-D movies. I traveled to New York City in 1995 to see one of the first serious 3-D movies, a short called Wings of Courage, and came away impressed. I was giddy at the prospect of becoming even more immersed in my movie world.

The introduction of 3-D is much like the change from black and white to color. At first color films didn't look all that great and were garishly over-saturated. Eventually they became refined and respectable. 3-D is in that over-saturated period now. The need for glasses turns people off and the effect is still not 100% there. And we have to endure a host of 2-D movies converted and others that use it only as a gimmick. But, at some point glasses will be a thing of the past, serious filmmakers will be on board, and the conversion will be complete. It's not a matter of if but when. And since movie distributors are falling over each other to find ways to distinguish themselves from powerful home theaters change is coming sooner rather than later.

Today we have some prominent filmmakers willing to give 3-D a shot. James Cameron is probably the most outspoken. Avatar may not have been the best movie, but I loved his use of 3-D and there were certain shots within that film that made me know that 3-D is the future. Cameron is known for blockbusters and the opinion of his work does run the gamut. I suppose it might be a difficult task to hold up a movie about blue aliens and talk up the arrival of 3-D as a legitimate artistic choice. Kenneth Branagh had some very creative and interesting 3-D shot compositions with Thor, but Thor? Really? It's more than easy to write off as nonsense, but what do you do when Martin Scorsese does it and on a film that centers on the love and preservation of movies?

Hugo blew me away. It has been years since I felt emotion that powerfully. A day later I can feel my voice tense up and start to quiver when I try to talk about certain scenes. The story ended up captivating me, but it was Scorsese's deft use of 3-D that took my breath away. The opening shot which flies over Paris, through a narrow train platform, and ending the face of the main character through the numbers on a huge clock sets the stage for what is to come. It's not only 3-D, but an unabashed celebration of 3-D. Countless shots use depth of field in interesting ways. You are forever looking through the scene and not at it.

It's a movie that spends a lot of its time focused on a man who saw the possibilities in a new technology (movies) and is itself shot in a movie technology that is struggling to find support from the artistic community. 3-D is not new, but this serious push as a viable medium is.

The profound irony is that Hugo plays to the preservationist crowd, the people who adore and love the medium of movies. Yet I'd wager that the majority of these people scoff at 3-D as a medium. It's the nature of the beast. I'm sure you will find people who criticize his use of the technology or better yet, create a special dispensation for this movie. "It worked here, but 99% of the time it's going to be crap." Maybe this movie will change some minds. I'm not holding my breath.

A year ago I was on a nature walk taking pictures when I walked across a footbridge and looked down. I saw a spectacular ravine and noticed how the rocks parted as the water flowed down and down. I took a picture trying to capture the moment. In the end I selected the right framing, exposure, and all the right parts were in focus, but it was drab and boring. I realized that it was the depth that made it stand out, and by smashing it flat I destroyed any possibility of recreating that moment.

I recount this experience to show that 2-D can't do it all. If given the choice and the technology I'd shoot in 3-D, and I think that would hold true for the large majority, just like if early filmmakers had the choice to make movies with sound and color, we wouldn't see many silent/black and white films at all. In general (exceptions given to works that use it as a choice), if given a choice and assuming the technology works as your mind can imagine I'd always choose sound over silence, color over black and white, 3-D over 2-D, holograms over 3-D, and dream state over holograms.

Hugo shows what's possible. If I had a wish it would be that people would embrace the new and be excited for what's to come rather than clinging to what we've only been using because it was the best we had.

Austin Screenwriters Conference: Man-up Edition

2010-11-11T01:20:00.003-05:00

While attending the Austin Screenwriters Conference one of the people I spoke with was a fellow aspiring screenwriter and blogger. He told me that he stopped blogging because he thought that industry people might see it and notice that he's been at it for over five years. In his mind, that span of time showed how long he's been at it without "making it". That somehow it indicated that his shelf life as a screenwriter had already passed, that he'd be viewed as stale in some way. Having yet to have "made it" I can't really offer any insight to the validity of this thinking. All I know is who I am and what I do. And what I do, for better or worse, is let it hang out. We all have our secrets and I'm no exception, but I can safely say that my secret drawer is smaller than most, a sock drawer at best. That's the long, circuitous way of prefacing . . .

I've never felt like more of a failure and poser as I did before arriving in Austin this year. My latest script, the one I was so high on, the one that would cause Glenn Beck and Obama to embrace as knowing brothers crashed and burned in both of the major screenwriting contests. Even though I know that all contests are subjective crap shoots. Even though I know that depending on these contests for validation is a recipe for disaster. Even though I know that relying on them to get you some sort of traction is just shy of winning the lottery I still looked to them as some sort of yard stick. I felt my talent had grown since writing my football drama (which might have its flaws but after talking with some football-minded strangers I came away more confident than ever that if I could get the right person in a room they'd believe in the idea, but I digress) and I deserved some recognition damn it. Instead I was left to wallow in a pool of my own uncertainty which, as it turns out, is fed by a bottomless spring of self-loathing and doubt.

At Austin I was greeted by what now are old friends, friends that I see but once a year but are friends nonetheless. It's always a joy to hoist a bottle of Shiner with them and revel in the moment. This year was a lean year, and there were fewer there than I'd have liked (I drank with them in spirit). But the real story is the others. The other people that I see year after year and never talk to. I don't know how talented they are. I don't know their stories.

Here's where I turn into a judgmental asshole. The only thing I am certain as sin about is that they will never be professional screenwriters. They haunt the Driskill for four days but never really make any lasting connections. They are rarely, if ever, seen talking to any industry professionals. They just hover and pretend to be actively engaged in starting a writing career, when the sad fact is that they are secretly hoping that some producer will pick them out of the crowd and ask to see their work.

I'm scared shitless that I'm turning into one.

Maybe everyone there has the same loathing feeling. Forever stuck on the outside looking in. Having people look at them and think, "Damn, I wish that guy knew how pathetic he is. Just go home and write fan-fiction already." While I do my best to stamp them out, the thoughts linger, waiting for a chance to punch me in the face. I hope someone has the pity to tap me on the shoulder and tell me to get moving before I turn into one of the Driskill's walking dead.

This year I arrived with the desire to meet some new people and get to talking with some industry professionals, more than I have in previous years. I succeeded. On a scale of 0 to 10 I moved from a 0.5 to around 3. Progress to be sure, but not nearly enough. I try to be more personable. I wish I could be loose and free with my words and be the affable guy that I am around my close friends, but I find that near impossible. I wonder if it's possible at all. Maybe it's just not me. My friend Brett sits down and writes notes every night he's there to remind him that he's on a business trip. I wonder if I need to find a way to remind myself that I need to loosen up and have fun (and the good stuff will follow naturally).

One thing is for sure. If I step foot in the Driskill lounge again, it will be with a clear purpose. I'm not afraid to ask for help. I've spent the last five years honing my craft (and I'll continue to do that for sure), but I've got to stop hiding behind the idea that I'm developing my skills and be brave enough to show the world that this is the writer I am, and it's good enough.

Time to man-up.

Zack Snyder and Fetish Cinema

2010-08-14T11:57:00.005-04:00

Take a moment and watch this trailer.

Did it disturb something primal within? Did it make you resolute that your ass will be in the theater come release day, but at the same time you kinda don't want anyone to know exactly why you want to see it? Does any part of you want to use slow-mo so that you might get a glimpse of her panties under that deliciously short skirt? If the answer is no, then you might want to go watch Project Runway or some shit.

I don't know him, and I haven't read a single interview with him, but I'm quite certain that Zack Snyder is getting his freak on in front of millions of people. There isn't an ounce of actual sex in the trailer for Sucker Punch, but make no mistake, this is porn. Scrumptious, titillating porn. Zack has his finger squarely on the pulse of adolescent male fantasy in just about every conceivable way. And none of those ways are generic. His images are finely tailored and expose very specific desires. If Zack were a woman, you'd come home to find her wearing lingerie. She'd tie you to the bed and whisper, "I know what you want. That stuff you like, but are afraid to tell anyone else about because from that point on they'd look at you cockeyed? I'm gonna do it to you."

When you see a scantily clad woman with a sword, flying through the air towards a giant robot who is firing some mammoth machine gun, all in slow motion, you know it's about to get freaky all up in here. And the images keep coming, each as scintillating as the last. It's a complete nerdgasm. And this is nothing new for Zack. His last two movies are both highly stylized and highly fetishized. (I haven't seen his Dawn of the Dead remake, but I may have to put it in my Netflix queue)

300

This is the film that put him on the map. It's easy to label his depiction of the Spartans as homo-erotic (and many have), but I don't know. What boy/man wouldn't fantasize about being ripped and being able to fend off an entire army wearing nothing but a helmet, shield, spear, and a tunic? And doing it with brothers in arms. It's totally bad-ass. George-Washington-fighting-a-bengal-tiger-on-a-sinking-ship-in-the-middle-of-a-hurricane bad-ass. If anyone is looking for last minute gift ideas, I want a fucking huge print of that picture to hang in my man-cave. One part patriotic, two parts awesome.

The most weirdly unique and erotic thing about that movie were the women's nipples. It's like he intentionally shot all the nude scenes in a meat locker. Did he cast the actresses based solely on how big their erect nipples were? The world will never know.

Actress - "What scene would you like me to read from Mr. Snyder?"

Zack - "Just take your shirt off. Here. Take this ice cube."

Watchmen

Let's be honest, the first thing you see in your mind's eye when you think of this movie is a huge blue penis. (And if you didn't I GUARANTEE that is all you can see now. You're welcome.). But once you move past the large blue phallus, you come to the very stylized and glamorized fighting. The slow-motion really punctuates the action in a kind of erotic way. It's intoxicating. Then there is Silk Spectre II. Dressed like a superhero streetwalker, you'd gladly catch a beating from her if only she'd fuck you first. And she would fuck you. It would ALMOST be rape. If she killed you, you know you'd be be in heaven high-fiving those kids who had sex with with that hot teacher. The ones where publicly you were like, "How dare she.", but inwardly you were like, "If only I were that lucky at that age. Those kids are Gods."

Zack Snyder seems to specialize in wet dreams and Sucker Punch doesn't seem to be any different. Next he's making Xerxes, which looks to be a companion piece to 300. And it looks like he might be involved in a remake/reboot of Heavy Metal (how perfect would that be?). Whatever he makes, I'll be in line, no questions asked.

Keep your cockeyed stares to yourself.

The Idea

2010-07-10T15:15:00.003-04:00

Since finishing my script in late April, I haven't written a thing. I wanted to take some time off and just be. And be I did. After a month I started getting restless, and for the past two weeks I've been having trouble sleeping. Then I remembered that this wasn't anything new. During periods of inactivity while writing my last script I would have trouble sleeping. I don't know whether it is my subconscious guilt over not doing what I should be or if it's just a creative need, but as soon as I started to write, I had no trouble sleeping at all.

My body is telling me in no uncertain terms that it is time to stir the ink well and pick up my quill. The trouble is that now I am starting from a blank page, and starting from a blank page is hard which is why I've been procrastinating starting anew. I even entertained the idea of rewriting my first script armed with the writing wisdom I've gained over the years. But that would be falling back, and since General Patton is one of my role models I'm not interested in retreating or holding my ground. I've got to keep advancing or die trying.

So to start anew I need an idea. I don't take ideas lightly. I can't just decide I want to write a romcom and then put characters to screen. A script takes a lot of time to complete. The goal of the script is to get made into a film. I only write when I see a hole in the cinematic tapestry. I need to write a movie that I've been aching to see on the big screen but which hasn't been done before. I'm not trying to invent a new genre or anything. For instance I read Frankenstein in High School and it really captured my imagination in a way that I felt was never captured on screen. Then Kenneth Branagh's Frankenstein came out and I hoped it was going to be the movie I wanted to see. It wasn't, so I still see a hole that I want to fill. Maybe someday.

But the idea isn't enough. I've got a text file full of ideas, but they are just tenuous wisps of thought barely tethered to rock. They need form and they need that spark of innovation that will make that one eyebrow raise when you hear it. For my last script I had an idea of a character I've been thinking about for years, but he had no adversary, nothing to really strive against, so I thought and I thought and I thought. And then it came to me. It was right but it was still flawed because the situations weren't nearly interesting enough. In my mind it was a cute idea, but nothing that you couldn't yawn at with mild interest. I needed something that made you stand up and take notice immediately. A something that, from the end of the first scene, makes you realize that you are in new territory. That a road is being newly paved in front of you and that you are among the first to put tire to asphalt. And I think I cracked it, I really do. Time will tell.

Now I have another idea I've been kicking around for years. It has no mooring, no form. I've got to crack its puzzle before I write FADE IN. It seems daunting, but I need a full night of sleep and I don't think I'm going to get it until I start putting the pieces together.

Confidence is a Fickle Bitch

2010-04-11T14:30:00.002-04:00

While writing my latest masterpiece I would read the first five pages and think, "You can't read these first five without wanting to see more." And I would read more and marvel at how the scenes flow, and how there aren't any dead spots. I would smile at the humor rife throughout. This is my ticket. This is the script that will bring balance to the Force. It's a breath of fresh air. This is a script that will rise above the others. I was smelling myself.

And then a funny thing happened. I clicked "File" on the toolbar, then clicked "Save as...", entered "Tom's Masterpiece_Final"*, and clicked "OK". With that final click my confidence fell faster than a particle in the Large Hadron Collider. Suddenly, my masterpiece was a mediocre mess of haphazard words and misshapen phrases. It wasn't funny. My characters were transparent. I was waiting for a parade of people to point at me through a window and laugh at my incredible waste of 2 years.

The reason for this lapse of confidence? Before I feature-locked the script I was working with potential. Anything was possible. With the script finalized, I was struck with the finality of it all. There was no more potential. All my script would ever be was now sealed in for freshness. Even though I could start over from scratch and overhaul the whole thing at any time the reality is that I've made it as well as I could make it right now and if it wasn't good enough, it wasn't good enough. I'm closing this chapter for now and unless someone pays me to rewrite it, this will be it's preserved form. I will continue to polish and refine for the next month, but they won't be enough to cover any significant problems. It is what it is.

That was a month ago.

I've recently started my final polish. It's good. It's really good. It reads fast. The humor is ever-present. It's a unique take on a crowded genre. A take that I think will appeal to a lot of people. I'm genuinely proud of it. More than any script I've written to date, I believe in it. I've set lofty goals, and since I'm a rank amateur, most of those goals revolve around the upcoming contest season. That's a dangerous yardstick because the contests are so subjective. More than one script has been a Nicholl finalist and not even gotten a sniff at Austin. Not to mention that the contests are not an end. The best they will get you is a door held open just long enough for you to peer in and maybe get a name before it closes in your face.

So what's different? I think it's just ebb and flow. Sometimes you have to ride out the lows until you start to climb back up. I'm high on my script now, but what happens when I send it out to Nicholl and Austin? What happens when Nicholl thanks me for my $40 donation and wishes me luck with my non-hunting dog next year. What happens when Austin tells me to cram it and then demands a thousand dollars to go there in October so I can pretend to be something I'm not? I've got to maintain confidence in my work and push through. Someone once said to me, "If you don't believe in your work, who will?" True dat. My biggest fear is to be one of those people on American idol who objectively suck and suck hard, but have been blowing sunshine far up their own asses for so long that reality is forever rose-tinted.

I suppose I just have to trust that my critical thinking is still intact. That I can still smell a sun-baked turd especially if it's my own.

The tides of confidence will rise and fall. The true measure is having the base confidence to weather the drought.

*No, I'm not cocky enough to name my script "Tom's Masterpiece"

5. Abide the Rules

2010-04-03T17:33:00.003-04:00

I crave order, but I don't like rules. That's not true. I like rules . . . that make sense to me. If they seem arbitrary and lack sound reasoning they can go straight to hell. Of course one must factor in the consequences of going against any particular rule. As for screenwriting, my thoughts on rules are well documented. There are many books that tell us what to write on what page by dissecting great movies and shoehorning them into a mold. Great movies don't fit into molds. They make their own. These books are destructive in two major ways:

1. They make writers who are NOT storytellers imagine they can follow a template and poof a great script into existence.

2. They arm studio executives, who are also NOT storytellers, with information to make them think that they know something about storytelling. While these rules might help them to weed out the dreck, they also serve to help them destroy anything special.

No, my character doesn't need to save a cat on page 12, and she certainly doesn't need to time travel on page 30. What makes the siren song of these books so powerful is that they are based on a lot of sound examples. They are arguments that can be defended and rationalized. While I deride their use I also can acknowledge their usefulness if mined properly.

So are there any rules to writing a screenplay? If you are a storyteller then you will naturally be able to understand the ebb and flow of your story. You will feel how your characters should change or resist all efforts to do so. After thinking some time on this I've come to the conclusion that there are indeed some rules to screenwriting. These items are things I think you cannot overlook when writing. And if you don't at least consider them, you risk producing something pedestrian.

Rule #1 - Convey to the viewer/reader the unique and interesting qualities of your story AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. In the first syllable of the first word if possible. You've got to hook your audience quickly. You have to give them a reason to root for your story. If you are writing a superhero story, you've got to tell them why it is different than every other superhero story ever made (in a good way). If it's a legal drama, I need to know why it isn't Law and Order. If you are writing on spec you've got to do it with definitive action and dialogue. If you are writing something that will be filmed then you can do it with less action as long as your environment is foreign and intriguing. When I read an unfamiliar script I'm always looking for that reason to keep reading. I need to be compelled. And it could be the smallest thing. It has to be something that sparks your imagination, that begs you to begin to fill in the blanks for parts yet to come. Recently I watched the movie 500 Days of Summer. Going in I was expecting some sort of romantic comedy. I wasn't too excited. Preceding the start of the movie was a black screen with white text:

"Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely accidental ... Especially you, Jenny Beckman ... Bitch."

Before frame one. Before the story even started I smiled. I instantly liked this movie. All it had to do from that point forward was keep the promise it had just made to me. It did. When I first saw Field of Dreams I heard it was good and knew it had something to do with baseball, but I was otherwise ambivalent and half-expecting to leave with a shrug and a sigh. In the first scene the cornfield spoke. Instantly I knew I was where I wanted to be, and to my delight the movie delivered on the promise it made in that Iowa cornfield. Star Wars opens up with a huge space ship chasing a smaller ship. Then we see a firefight followed by a mysterious and malevolent black armored figure. The imagination sparked in those minutes would sustain me over six movies (three of them horrendous).

So please, please, please know why your story is unique and compelling and find a way to bring that out as quickly as possible. If you don't clearly know why your story is a breath of fresh air in a crowded genre then why are you writing it at all?

Rule #2 - Take the path less followed. During story creation the vast majority of us will think in terms of all the movies we have seen and in doing so we will invariably craft familiar feeling scenes and sequences even if our overall story is inventive. So our task as screenwriters is to go over our story sequence by sequence, scene by scene and ask ourselves an important question: How do these situations typically resolve themselves in an average movie? Unless you are thinking outside the box 24/7 you are going to run into a fair amount of situations that resolve themselves in a predictable way. You need to evaluate each and every one of these situations with a critical eye and in situations where the expected outcome isn't completely and utterly necessary (which is most of the time) you need to think of a solution that will make the audience both surprised and delighted. They might be forced to rewrite the story that is unfolding in their heads while watching, but it is a welcome, subconscious rewrite. That is a round and about way of saying that you need to keep the audience guessing and asking questions that aren't WTF?.

Rule #3 - I wanted at least three rules because three rules are like badass, but you know what. I can't think of another. Anything else just seems like a pep talk (be true to yourself) or reiterating stuff from #2 (be your harshest critic and accept only excellence). So that's it. Two rules. Anything more would just be story theory and there's plenty of that excrement already flying around. Told you I wasn't much for rules.

And so that concludes my screenwriting manifesto: Know your audience. Be a storyteller, Keep it interesting, Character starts with the animal. Abide the rules. These are the five pillars of screenwriting. And what gives me the authority to make these reckless proclamations? What makes me different from some guy shouting through a bullhorn atop a milk crate? Nothing. I'm just some schmuck with an opinion. An opinion that may or may not survive the test of time. I hope to reflect on this list when I am wiser and better traveled. I don't know if this is the answer or if there even is an answer, but for now these talking points seem like common sense. Your mileage may vary.

4. Character Starts with the Animal

2010-03-21T16:12:00.003-04:00

So you have an audience, you can tell a story, and you can make it interesting. I'm guessing, at this point you'll need characters to fill this story. And while you will certainly have some idea of character during story creation, you really need to drill down and understand your characters at a primal level if you hope to make your story affecting and real.

Make no mistake, we are physical animals first and foremost. Beneath our intellect is a powerful and primal urge. This is the urge to stay alive. The urge to procreate. This undercurrent influences us in odd ways, and in the case of screenwriting when characters are put under maximum strain, the animal rears its head unless he or she has the wherewithal to suppress it. Humans are also pack animals and share a lot in common with wolves and gorillas to name two.

There are the dominant and there are the submissive. Overriding it all is the need to belong to a pack and a society. This basic need is what advertising thrives on. It's the source of brand loyalty. It's why we all want to belong. Even if we reject our group and its values, we seek out like-minded brethren to consort with. On a side note there is a fascinating documentary about a colony of baboons and how the ones under the thumb of the alpha exhibit a lot of stress and they compared it to human beings in a corporate setting. Excellent stuff.

OK, so we have the animal. So what makes us different than an ape or a wolf or a cat? Intelligence is certainly key. Intelligence makes everything possible, but to me there is a key element that makes us different. Animals are slave to their instincts. Humans can be heavily influenced by instinct, but what makes us different from all others is that we are self-aware. Dolphins and whales are smart. Whales even have bigger brains than we do, but I don't know that they are self-aware. "I think, therefore I am." doesn't cross their minds. I don't know that they can choose to act counter to their instinct. Being self-aware gives us free will, and free will lets us do whatever the hell we want. Free will introduces ethics. It introduces the possibility of right and wrong. It gives us the ability to make judgments.

But the intellect isn't separate from the animal. If it was we'd all be Spock. It is intertwined and the most dangerous aspect of ourselves because it becomes difficult to tell how emotion affects the intellect. This is the space of rationalization, of justifying in our minds what we want. I saw an interview with Louis Farrakhan a number of years ago. I don't know that I care for some of his ideals, but he said one thing that stuck with me (paraphrased): "A man is incapable of doing wrong. In order to do wrong he must first justify it as the right thing." This is the selfish nature of the animal manipulating the intellect to get what it wants. I think this is the source of the most interesting character moments.

Everyday I get quotes from famous people. Sometimes, I think they shed light on the human endeavor. I'd like to share one of them. I can't remember the author, but to paraphrase: "If something makes sense to you, you require only the most circumstantial evidence to claim it as fact, but if something doesn't make sense to you, you require overwhelming evidence to accept it as truth." Ideally, we take all information on face value and judge it. If it happens to be against what we previously believed we simply change our belief. People don't work that way. Often times people will cling to their beliefs long after they've been thoroughly and systematically disproven. They will cling to the very shred of any anomaly as a way to continue their belief. Never underestimate anyone's ability to maintain their belief system. People can write themselves out of any corner. It's both amazing and disheartening.

I think that by understanding the human animal we, as writers, can sculpt more realistic characters in our screenplays. Perhaps, in the process, we can shed a light on ourselves*.

* That would be too easy.

3. Keep It Interesting

2010-01-16T13:39:00.003-05:00

Interesting is the spackle of the creative world. Interesting is a get out of jail free card. Interesting let's you break the rules.

But most of all, Interesting keeps people watching.

There are many rules floating around about story structure. Some good. Some completely arbitrary. As far as I'm concerned Keep It Interesting is the final arbiter in all matters. If the audience wants to know (preferably has to know) what happens next you've done your job. No caveats are needed here.

In the original Star Wars, Luke isn't even introduced until about twenty minutes into the film. Even then, he's not an especially strong character. We don't mind because we are interested in this alien world that we've been introduced into, and this Darth Vader guy, he's a badass. If not for the strong and interesting characters that surround Luke we might lose interest before they even get off of the planet Tatooine.

In Patton there is a scene where Patton visits some ruins and talks about his belief in reincarnation. Completely unnecessary from a story standpoint yet one of the things that really standout as exceptional to me.

The story of Avatar is serviceable but ultimately lackluster compared to everything else the movie has to offer, but I'd watch it again (in 3-D) in an instant because the world Cameron creates is extremely interesting and detailed and well thoughtout. Did I mention the 3-D is mind-blowing? People say the story needs to stand on its own. I think that if you are interested and entertained and your not looking forward to leaving that world then the filmmaker has done his or her job. Avatar seems to end and then start up again. With a runtime of just under 3 hours you'd think that a bad thing, but I was happy it lasted that long so I could spend more time in the world.

2001: A Space Odyssey is perhaps the best example of this though. This film is propelled almost solely on interest. If you are not engaged on an intellectual level, you will be bored to tears. There isn't really much of a story or a character to be found. It's as emotionally void as space is empty. And yet to me it is perhaps the finest and most perfect film I have ever seen.

The trick of it all is that these deficiencies are noticed only during post-mortem evaluation. If you are sufficiently interested, none of the things I mentioned will occur to you in the least, because you are being thoroughly entertained and under the trance of the storyteller and that is, in the end, what matters most.

Academics will deconstruct and analyze the merits of films and declare one more technically sound and therefore superior to another. And they will argue the finer points and that's all fine, but it doesn't really mean much. It's an attempt to objectify the subjective, to make the formless concrete. There might be some use there, but to me it's mostly people trying to appear smart.

I feel that I must offer at least one qualifier. I'm not saying that if you string together 50 interesting moments that you have an interesting movie. The story, above all, must be interesting and if you just start throwing randomly cool things around the story stops being interesting and the audience starts to wonder why they shouldn't leave and start clicking on random YouTube links.

So the next time you are writing and you find yourself wanting to violate point of view or leaving in an unnecessary scene ask yourself how interesting it is and then determine if it will jar the audience out of the world you've put them in. If the answer is no and it's interesting enough* then leave it in.

* That's the key isn't it. Trust your gut. If you know your audience and are trying to honor your duties as a storyteller it should be apparent whether you should kill this particular baby.

2. Be A Storyteller

2010-01-09T13:27:00.004-05:00

Too many times I see it. Young screenwriters fretting about their story not fitting into some predefined template. I'm guilty of it at times. I mean who can resist the siren call of act one finishing near page thirty? When you hit it, you feel like a screenwriter. You feel like you have a handle on things. Maybe even like you belong.

The fact is that in movies you are a storyteller first and a writer second. You have to be able to tell a story without looking over your shoulder at what beats you are or aren't hitting. You need to feel the pulse of the story and instinctively know where the peaks and valleys are. You can't rely on some book or some system as a yardstick any more than you can type jokes into a computer program to determine if they are funny.

Throw away the books and the scholars and write. Write your story. If you truly understand the nature of movies. If you understand why they work and how they work and your intention is to make a movie then the story that comes forth will be a movie. It's really not that hard.

Except that it is hard. It's exceptionally hard. Thus the reason for all the books and the teachers and the beat sheets. They have their function, and that function is in learning about story and analyzing your work trying to figure out why something doesn't work. Like a lot of creative professions, you have to learn the rules, understand the rules and why they are there, and then ignore the rules trusting they will surface naturally.

I write a lot of sentence fragments. A lot. More than maybe I should. It's not that I don't know the rules of grammar (I know most of them, I swear), I just choose to ignore them on occasion because I think it promotes the ideas I'm trying to get across in an informal and entertaining way. Maybe you think it makes me look like an uneducated, talentless hack. While my mom has a right to her opinion* I have to hope against hope that at least 51% of the remaining people feel otherwise.

Here's the main problem with all of this. The problem that pretty much cocks everything up. The people with the money to make your movie aren't storytellers. They are gambling their reputation on the voodoo that you do, and that gives them ulcers. So what do they do? They read all those books and listen to all the teachers. That makes them feel like they know what you *should* be doing. And when your inciting incident doesn't happen on page 12, they demand that it be there. And unless you can convince them otherwise, hello Cookie Cutter Action Movie 12: The Sequel. Or so I've heard.

But you can't worry about that. You have your imagination and a blank page. For now it's the movie you want it to be. Be a storyteller. Be arrogant enough to know what's interesting, what the audience wants but doesn't know it yet. When you are finished writing, go back and read your work. Use the books,beat sheets, and teachers to analyze the parts that are broken and fix them.

When in doubt, be interesting. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Stay tuned for part three: Keep It Interesting.

* My mother doesn't actually think that, but it was a joke I couldn't pass up. Sorry Mom.

1. Know Your Audience

2010-01-02T16:09:00.004-05:00

I've been away a long time. Too long. In my attempt to come back and do some regular posting I thought I'd just jump right into the heavy stuff and start writing about my grand theories of screenwriting and storytelling. Every writer has their own (I hope) and these are mine. These posts are more for my personal posterity than to zealously scream my thoughts as the truth and the way. Since the line that divides my private/public life has all but worn away I figured I'd share and maybe drum up some discussion in the mean time.

1. Know your audience

I've struggled with whether to put this one first, but in the end I think it belongs here. More than just about any other medium, the audience is why we write. Screenplays are written to be produced. Movies get produced with money as an investment and a gamble that the investment will be recouped with ample dividends. It's the stark reality of the situation. We write so that others can see and enjoy our work. For my taste, the more the better.

And size is where we start because need to know the size of your audience. You shouldn't write a 300 million dollar fantasy film that appeals only the the art house crowd. This seems fairly obvious, so I won't waste any more space on the matter.

Moving on. The audience makes all the rules. Those rules spouted by charlatans like McKee and more honorable people like Aristotle are observations about what audiences find pleasing. We are playing their game and if they don't like what we are doing, they will take their ball and go home. What are the rules? That's another post, but I will say that there are a sparce few that feel concrete, the rest are up to a fickle audience who are free to change them without filing an amendment with The Guild.

Now you must write to your audience. What does the audience want? They want it the same, but different. This is a round about way of saying, know your genre and its conventions and create something fresh. Why didn't I just say that? Because I think it's important to acknowledge the base from which everything springs. And in the end they are the final arbiter. You write to please the audience. End of story.

DO NOT PANDER TO THE AUDIENCE! But Tom, that's exactly what you've been advocating. No it isn't. It really isn't. Just like in interpersonal relationships, the audience can tell when they are being sucked-up to, coddled, or patronized. It's kinda like. No, it's exactly like talking to the most beautiful woman in the room. You've got to be confident that what you have she wants and you have to show her that you're different than the gaggle of other guys vying for her attention. Do that and you might have a chance to get divorced somewhere down the road. But I digress.

I know some of you (maybe all of you) are saying that you have to write for yourself, that you can't write to the audience, that you shouldn't write to the market. And believe it or not I agree. First off you can't write to the market, because the market is today and not tomorrow. You've got to write what you feel is interesting and relevant to your audience.

So how can you write for yourself and the audience at the same time? That's the key isn't it. I think that if you are a writer and storyteller (two distinctly different things) then your ego says that you know what the audience wants because YOU are the audience and what you like many others will also like. That's not a license to write anything you want. Well, depending on the size of your ego, perhaps it is. I'd like to think that the good screenwriters understand where the lines are drawn and use their knowledge of themselves and the audience to weave a story the thoroughly satisfies both. I write stories that I want to see and specifically stories that I feel haven't been expressed properly on the big screen to date (as remembered by the collective conscience). Am I a good screenwriter? Ask me in twenty years.

Now all of this isn't really something you think about consciously. It's something you acknowledge and move on. I think it comes into focus more during the editing phase, when you are trying to make a sequence work or taking a calculated risk when straying from the path.

At any rate just respect the audience. It keeps you grounded and honest. Think about pro sports. The athletes that get it have a slight humility about them and know that without an audience they cannot play a game for a living and be paid handsomely at the same time.

The ones who don't are arrogant jerks.

Peeing on Stones

2009-10-28T14:28:00.009-04:00

This year, for the first time, I arrived at the Austin Screenwriter's Conference alone. Without my good friend Ryan there I had no one to joke with, to commune with, to be nostalgic with. Instead I was free to think about all the possibilities that would unfurl before me, enriching my life in untold ways.

That lasted a full ten minutes.

OK. It wasn't that bad, but I can't deny that I approached this conference with a mixture of elation and dread. Elation because I knew I would surely have a good time. Dread because I established metrics for success that were outside my comfort zone. It's also a familiar dread that comes from the first lunch period on the first day of school where you fret about whether or not you will eat lunch in solitude for the next year. Will my friends be there, or will I be forced to roam the halls of the Driskill alone cursing myself yet again for not being able to engage my targets?

When I arrived in Austin I was already behind the eight ball after leaving my business cards at home. Then I registered and found out that I couldn't use the pitch I spit-polished on the flight over because the pitch competition was sold out. Then I find out that the conference had meaningful programming right into Sunday evening when I was slated to come home early Sunday morning. Before the conference could even start I already felt like I was starting with a deficit that seemed impossible to overcome.

I wandered through the Driskill Lounge two or three times search for familiar faces, feeling like some desperate schmuck. Finally I sat at the bar, ordered a Shiner, and turned to watch the Phillies contend for spot in the World Series. I knew things would get better, but that provided me with little solace.

In the fifth inning my girlfriend called and I wandered from the bar so I could talk to her. On the way out of the lounge I saw Brett, Julie, and Shawna chatting on a rawhide sofa. Suddenly I felt better, like I had just fallen into a groove. I finished talking to my girlfriend, but before I joined my comrades I went to the bathroom.

As I entered the restroom I saw them. Stones. Then I peed on them. And it was good.

I had forgotten about them. The fancy Driskill peeing stones. Why the rich and privileged at the Driskill pee on stones I will never know, but they do. Perhaps putting stones in a urinal somehow signifies the domestication of the outdoors. For me it was the mechanism that brought me into the moment, made me realize that I've been here before and will be again and that I'm better for the experience.

I went back to my friends and joked and communed and remembered years past. These are good people that I somehow stumbled into four years ago, almost cosmically, just the kind of good people you need if you are to strive against the waves that batter and smash so many aspiring writers. It's the kind of solidarity you need to gain a handhold in this business.

Once again the Austin Screenwriter's Conference (in whatever form) provided me with the strength needed to push on, to give me the optimism that one day I will write something special enough to be beaten back to ordinary by the studio system. A girl can dream.

Gran Torino

2009-01-04T02:01:00.002-05:00

I saw the movie today. The house was packed for a 4pm showing. What can I say except that it's excellent. I've thought about writing about the movie, about the story, about what it means to me. But as I think about the film, as I try to put its message into words, I realize that the expression of this movie is so clean, so efficient, so dense that there is nothing I can write that will accurately convey what this movie is. That is because the medium perfectly communicates its message in a way that mere words can't hope to do.

I can only count myself lucky for having been in its company.

Go see it.

Give 'Em Hell 54th!

2008-11-08T13:21:00.004-05:00

Awhile back I wrote an article about the standout scene. There are also standout moments. It's a singular event that encapsulates the movie or gives it a new depth of meaning. It can't stand on it's own, but the rest of the movie seems to build up to it. And it's not necessarily the climax. Actually it probably takes place in the 2nd act. It can either strengthen an idea or reframe the ideas in a crucial way. This borders on the obvious, but I think it is important and worth thinking about so here I am.

There are many examples of the moment. Probably any good movie has a moment. The first one that came to my mind when I thought about it was a special moment in the movie Glory. Since I'm too lazy to search for more and because I really like this moment I'll just stick with it. Near the end of the movie Colonel Shaw volunteers his regiment to lead the attack on Fort Wagner. It is clear that the leading regiment will suffer heavy casualties. It's as close to a suicide mission as you can get aside from being air dropped behind enemy lines without a parachute. The night before the attack there is a wonderful scene by a campfire. The moment isn't in it, but I wanted to mention it because of how wonderful I thought it was.

No my friends, the moment comes the next day just hours before the battle. The 54th Regiment of Massachusetts marches down a corridor lined with the soldiers who would follow them (and suffer much fewer casualties). Among the men lining the path was a nameless soldier who had slung racist remarks at them earlier in the movie. He typified what we'd expect from the white soldiers at the time. Even though the north was at war with the south over slavery didn't mean the people in the north were any less racist. The movie makes it quite clear that these black soldiers faced opposition on all sides.

As they march down the corridor, all is quiet. Not a word spoken, a death march. Breaking the silence is the nameless soldier. He shouts "Give 'em hell 54th!". Suddenly every soldier begins shouting and cheering. A smile spreads across the faces of some of the marching black soldiers. In that moment they were all one. In that moment you could see some of the hatred melting away. You could see that the 54th was doing more than fighting a war.

Glory is filled with great moments. Private Trip (Denzel Washingtion) finally deciding to take the flag. Colonel Shaw staring out at the ocean and letting his horse go, accompanied by that masterful James Horner score. Thomas' warcry. They're all great and make me want to watch it again. So why did I pick this particular moment over the others? Because it made the movie's scope grander. It showed hope for the future. It showed that no matter what happened that the hearts and minds of people were already affected. All of that was expressed in a moment, a great, great moment. Without it the rest of the movie could personify a wasted, valiant effort.

These are the images we take with us, the glimpses that pop into our heads when we think about a movie. They are the tip of a mighty iceberg. As you write your screenplays, what are the moments? What are those resonating images that persist after the credits have rolled? If our stories are to achieve any kind of permanence I think we need them.

The Secret Life of the Cattle Baron

2008-10-27T12:38:00.003-04:00

At the top of the grand staircase at the Driskill Hotel there is a door. Hung over this door is a plaque that reads: "Cattle Baron's Suite". I've seen it each of the four years I've attended the Austin Film Festival, and for each of the four that door has remained sealed. Two years ago I remember seeing a newspaper folded up in front of the threshhold suggesting that the Baron himself was present. Did he attend panels? Did he knock back shots of whiskey at the Driskill Bar not caring if he was sitting next to someone important, because HE was the man? Did he ever complain about the frigid temperature in the main ballroom? Of course he didn't, because if he had the temperature would have been raised to a degree of his liking. The Cattle Baron gets what the Cattle Baron wants.

Sometimes I imagine the door opening. The Baron comes out for his morning newspaper. He's wearing a ten gallon hat, clenching a lit cigar in the corner of his mouth, cloaked in a frilly robe of the pretty young thing he banged the night before. The Baron looks my way and shoots me a Texas wink that says: "I own all the cattle and you don't." And then he moseys back into his palatial suite and shuts the door, never to be seen by me again.

There is a lot we can learn from the Cattle Baron, me in particular. Every year I attend the Austin Film Festival I see hundreds of faces. Some of them familiar, all of them sharing the same desperate dream. They're hoping for a break, sizing up the competition, fighting that negative voice that says they aren't good enough, that they are wasting their time, that they should give up. For some the voice is strong and requires willful suppression. For others the voice is a whisper that comes and goes at inopportune times. But the voice is there. If you don't hear it, I salute you and bid you good luck at fighting the demons that reside elsewhere in your life.

For the rest of us, the festival exists somewhere between cavorting with friends and handling unstable and highly volatile chemicals while walking a tight rope above a tankful of piranha dotted with infectious lesions. We must walk around calmly, talk, joke, and be merry while always being aware, always being "on", and always asking yourself why you aren't at a point where Lawrence Kasdan is taking you out to dinner to pick your brain about screenwriting technique.

The answer is a fundamental truth that starts out as a bold-faced lie. You've got to know you belong. You've got to believe you are on equal footing with all of the professionals you come across. The minute you identify yourself as trying to win the favor of someone better than you, you become one of the beggars scrounging for morsels of food cast off by the Elite. And if you are not arrogant enough to truly believe it, you fake it. And the more you fake it, the more you begin to realize that maybe you're not faking at all. You realize that you had the ability to go back to Kansas all along. Has the lie become the truth or have you merely uncovered the truth by investing in what you thought was a lie?

Does it really matter? Each year the festival gives me something different. Sometimes it gives me a sense of community. Sometimes it gives me inspiration. It always reminds me why I'm putting myself through this process. This time it made me realize that I have to own this thing. I have to truly believe I belong, know that I have the talent required to succeed and the wherewithal to see it all through. What I don't want is to find that I'm attending the festival each year to meet up with friends and tell myself that I'm doing something when all I'm really doing is spending $1000 for $100 in beer.

So I guess I have to be the Cattle Baron, even if I have no idea what a Cattle Baron does.

Transparent Talent

2008-10-10T10:42:00.006-04:00

Last night I was lamenting that I wouldn't be around to see Synecdoche, New York as I'll be leaving Austin two days before it screens. Damn. As far as I'm concerned Charlie Kaufman is the king of screenwriters. After seeing Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind I proclaimed to all that would listen that I would light myself on fire if he did not win an Oscar for the screenplay. Today I am thankfully unburned. Eternal Sunshine is as subtle as it is jarring. I simply love the questions he asks in this film. I'm even more impressed that he doesn't even attempt to answer all of them. Some people are meant to be together, but sometimes some of those irresistibly drawn to one another are also destined to fly apart after only a few orbits. Charlie illustrates this beautifully by making his story a kind of quasi-sci-fi fantasy. To me the movie is fantastic right up until the end, right up until the point where, SPOILER ALERT, Clementine and Joel find out not only that they've been together before, but actually hear all the bad things they said about one another. At this point the movie kicks into its final triumphant gear rocketing up to the area of true greatness. Armed with the knowledge of their possible, maybe probable, demise as a couple, what will they do?

Hope.
END SPOILER ALERT

Now where was I before detouring onto Eternal Sunshine? Ah, Kaufmnan. It dawned on me in the late hour just what attracts me to Charlie*. He writes on a level that I only hope I can achieve someday, and he does it without pretense. He does it without hanging a sign up above him saying "Look at me! I'm a screenwriter! Don't you wish you could be this good?" There are fantastic writers out there who seem to enjoy drawing attention to themselves. They craft exellent movies that somehow single themselves out as movies and beg for you to know that they were written. The first names to come to mind are the Cohens. Now before you storm my home wielding torches understand that I love almost all of their work. I find their films to be both entertaining and thought provoking, but I can't deny that there is also the idea that they are flailing their arms wildly trying to get people to notice them. The same can probably be said of Shane Black, another immensely talented writer whose work I always look forward to. And the list goes on from there.

This is not a criticism or an indictment of their work, but an acknowledgment on my part on what appeals to me. I certainly enjoy the flash and the pomp and the showboating, but in the end it isn't me.

What really draws me to Kaufman and what sets him apart is his transparency. He doesn't make me aware that I am watching a movie. He sucks me in with the story and grabs my attention. He doesn't try to force over the top characters on me, or try to wow me with a turn of phrase or a wonderfully intricate plot. There is a humbleness about him. Perhaps that is the result of a deep seated crisis of self confidence or maybe its just Charlie being Charlie. Whatever the answer may be, at the end of his movies I'm still thinking "wow" and wondering if I'm going to have to reach for a can of gas and a match.

* Yes, you can now start singing about me and Charlie in a tree.

History

2008-09-04T17:20:00.003-04:00

From my last post, it is clear that I love to listen to Coldplay. Their music rings true to me. It has just enough substance for the lyrics and harmony to coalesce into a thoroughly entertaining and satisfying whole. But there is another band whose music cuts through me on a deep level. Everything from the beat to the lyrics to the notes resonates off of my bones like some emotional tuning fork.. I think it's the bittersweet nature of most of their songs.

I'm talking about The Verve.

Last week their new album, Forth, was released here in the States. It's a winner. Love is Noise, Rather Be, Valium Skies, and Appalachian Springs are all terrific tracks. The sound I grew to love, the sound I first heard in Urban Hymns was still there. It's existential, but with a spiritual twist. An odd pairing that works. Perhaps that is the essence of bittersweet. And perhaps I should leave the analysis to the adults.

Whlie waiting for Forth a good friend suggested I pick up a compilation of their singles leading up to and including tracks on Urban Hymns. The compilation album is called This is Music: The Singles 92 - 98. There are some decent tracks, but one stuck out. It's called History. I don't know whether is it the use of violin or the resounding guitar notes or the rhythmic beat or the tinge of pain in Richard Ashcroft's voice, but this song finds the weakness within me like a pair of harmonic divining rods.

I'm on the highway between exits. The top is down. I'm cruising pretty much on autopilot. History is playing, the beat passing over me in waves, drawing me into its resonating rhythms. I hear the lines:

I've got to tell you my tale
of how I loved and how I failed

My eyes well up. What the hell? Hey, I may not be some manly man who cries only at his mother's funeral (or if his team loses the Super Bowl), but I'm no Peter Pantaloons* either. Maybe it has to do with current and past events that continue to weigh on me. Maybe it's just the ideas the words conjure within, but the combination of the lyrics and the harmony paint a picture of a guy who's weathered more than his share of storms. It's the eternal truth. The bittersweet. It echoes through me like no other song has.

I've loved. I've failed. One day I'll love again. I hope the failing is optional.

* I sincerely have no idea where that came from, but I think you get my drift.

Life In Technicolor

2008-07-26T13:46:00.003-04:00

Last night I attended the Coldplay concert that was held here in Philly. It was my first concert. Well, not really. I've been to many concerts. Most of them with an old girlfriend who was crazy about music. Me? I was along for the ride and much, much more interested in post concert coitus than Sting's heartfelt expression of Fields of Gold. Much more. No, my friends, this time was different (though the lure of said coitus never really diminishes, but I digress). This time I sought out the tickets. At the time I had a hope of who I might go with, but that was secondary to the event. Before I get into that, how 'bout some backstory.

In 2002, I watched a pilot for a new series on FOX called John Doe (which I watched faithfully until the bastards canceled it). The pilot ended with John Doe watching someone on a ship. There was this awesome song playing over it as the show ended. Immediately I marshalled the power of the internet and began to dig. Turns out that song was from a band called Coldplay and it was called Trouble. I got the album it was from, but I didn't really listen to it. A year or two later my future ex-wife gets me their next album A Rush of Blood to the Head. And true to form I listen to Clocks and not much else and put the album away. Flash forward. X&Y comes out. This time I get it and listen to the album and realize that I really like this stuff. Then I go back to the other albums and find that: "Hey there's some great stuff here." Flash forward to March of this year. I find out that not only is a new album is coming out, but that Coldplay is coming to Philly. I pre-ordered the album, downloaded Violet Hill and knew that I was going to their concert, even if it cast aspersions on my sexuality (thank you very much 40 Year Old Virgin).

Yesterday, the cosmic tumblers clicked into place. The weather was nice, the mood perfect. The woman I had hoped would go with me back in May was on my arm (and I didn't even need to employ any sense-altering drugs to do it!). We take our seats and suffer through the opening acts. Then it started. I wasn't quite sure how I'd feel, what I should expect. I don't like idol worship, and always bristled when I'd see dewey-eyed teenagers gushing over rock stars. Part of me was wondering if I'd devolve into that which I despised, that I'd turn into some blubbering sycophant not unlike Peter Griffin watching Barry Manilow on that very special Family Guy episode.

Not to worry, my humanity remains intact. The show started in an explosion of energy. The crowd was cheering, giddy with anticipation. Life in Technicolor wafted through the arena as they took the stage. As it concluded they jumped right into Violet Hill and everything just took off from there. Each song had carefully choreographed lights and lasers. The band played in front of a wall of video. Throughout the arena interesting video globes were suspended from the ceiling.

The pomp and circumstance are fine and nice, but the meat of the evening was supplied by Chris Martin and the crowd (more on them later). He exuded an energy and an emotion that just kind of washed over the audience. You just get the feeling that he is exactly where he wants to be, doing exactly what he wants to do. And while watching him, you get the impression that he's just letting it all hang out. He's not very graceful, performing this kind of awkward dance dictated by the music. But instead of being self conscious about showing his personal rhythm, he lets it out. I'd like to have that kind of comfort level with myself. To say this is me and fuck all y'all if you think it's stupid. I'm not there yet. Not even close.

The other component of the evening was the audience. Coldplay designs their set lists with sing-a-longs in mind. And when the audience starts to sing and you are singing as well, it kind of turns into a communal event. It feels good to be around people who share a common interest, a common passion. Probably has something to do with why we're social animals and why people gravitate to groups and why cults attract members. So when Coldplay started playing In My Place and the entire building sang "yeah" at the right moment (you know what I mean) it was just a rush of good feelings. Kind of like the scene in Almost Famous where the entire bus is singing Tiny Dancer. Like that, but with twenty thousand instead of twenty. It's moments like that, that make communism not seem like such a bad racket*.

It was special, very special, and I'll certainly fork over the requisite money units to see them perform again when the time comes.

*but it is

The Six Month Plan (Update 1)

2008-07-26T13:12:00.004-04:00

I'm going to be posting updates along the way. Hopefully it will keep me honest and on track. These first steps are proving difficult. I've got 3 months to bang out a story and it seems like a long time. It ain't.

I'm a month in and I've figured out some of the key conceits of my story. I have some of the main characters, and for the time being I'm going to focus on them. I need to find out who they are and how they relate to one another. My feeling is that if the characters are fleshed out, the situations that will give them the most trouble will become apparent. I'll be using the Enneagram to mold each of the characters. And if I'm able to truly understand their emotional underpinnings, when they interact I can more clearly compose situations that will bring about the most strife. Easy, right?

In addition to all of this I've identified a key phrase that serves one of the central themes of the story. "Winning the lottery is a good result from a poor decision." When designing a character, I think it is important that his or her job/hobbies/circumstances should somehow reflect the core of that character, the theme of the story, or reveal some irony. Harold Crick is an IRS auditor in Stranger Than Fiction. The profession just resonates with who his character is.

In Batman: The Dark Knight, there was a line about how a crusader who lives a short life is a hero. But a crusader who lives long enough will eventually become the villain. That line, that idea just kind of burrows into the story and embeds itself as a central statement (in a good way). So I'm looking for that idea that permeates the story. I'm guessing it isn't a first draft revelation.

Seven Songs: Yet Another Meme

2008-07-03T17:46:00.009-04:00

Ryan tagged me on this. It's an interesting meme in that music has become more a part of my life in the past months. This is due in no small part to a video game called Rock Band. I sing vocals in the "band" I play in on the game along with 2 of my friends (drummer and guitarist). My singing voice isn't great, but it isn't bad either and the game has really honed my pipes to an extent. As a result I've taken quite a liking to songs that really speak to me that I can also sing decently. Sometimes the lyrics speak to me, sometimes it's how the notes resonate through me.

I've been a fan of Coldplay for a long time, and especially lately with their new album. So without further adieu, my seven songs:

Amsterdam by Coldplay. At first I didn't like this song much, but I revisited it a few months ago and it just took off. The song is slow for the most part, but really picks up and digs in at the end.

"Stuck on the end of this ball and chain.
I'm on my way back down again.
Stood on the bridge tied to the noose
sick to the stomach.
Say what you mean
but it won't change a sin.
I'm sick of the secrets.
Stood on the edge tied to the noose.
You came along and you cut me loose."

Lucky Man by The Verve. If Amsterdam is 1, this is 1A. I discovered this a month or two ago. It is from The Verve's one and only album (a new one hits in August) Urban Hymns. You might remember the hit Bitter Sweet Symphony that came from it. Lucky Man is something special.

Warning Sign by Coldplay. The lyrics don't really call to me or reflect anything in my life, but the feeling in Chris Martin's voice combined with the piano when he sings "But the truth is ... I miss you." it really resonates. Perhaps because the bittersweet speaks to me more than anything else in this world.

Lost? by Coldplay. My favorite from their new album. The acoustic is the better of the two versions methinks, but it's really a toss up. Again the lyrics don't speak to me, but I find myself continually singing and re-singing the line "Oooh I'm waiting till the shine wears off."

Space and Time by The Verve. This is another one where the lyrics don't mean much to me. Hell, I might even passionately disagree with the philosophy behind the words, but I can't argue with how the notes just echo within.

Jumper by Third Eye Blind. I like the emotion in this song, and it's not of the typical in love/out of love fare. It's about a love so deep that you'd sacrifice a relationship if it meant saving a life.

Learn to Fly by Foo Fighters. Probably my favorite song to sing in Rock Band.

Bonus Track:

I'm Going to Go Back There Someday by The Great Gonzo. This song is deeper and more heartfelt than a song from a kids movie has a right to be, and it has a wonderful line:

"There's not a word yet
for old friends who just met."

It echoes my bittersweet nature perfectly.

So there it is (like you even cared). I'll tag my buddy Pat with this one.

The Pure Warrior

2008-06-27T10:45:00.005-04:00

I recently purchased and viewed the Blu-ray version of Patton. First of all, the cover (pictured) is just awesome. It embodies the movie in one image. It's so much better than the picture of Patton against the American Flag. This cover makes me want to put the disc in and take in the character and marvel at how well George C. Scott transforms himself into the controversial General.

Like other discs I've viewed in recent months I put it in to see what high definition had to offer this film and couldn't bring myself to hit the stop button. 172 minutes later, the credits are rolling and I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge that Patton is the best war movie of all time. For the longest time, I felt that Saving Private Ryan was the quintessential war movie. It was so gritty and seemed to really take you into the soldier's story. By comparison Patton is not in-your-face gritty and is certainly more sanitary given the time it was made, but in several ways it does hit home and uses clear, brutal words to nail down its points. In the paragraphs to come I'd like to explore what I find so intriguing about this movie.

You can't talk about the movie without talking about the man. He was surly and stern and loved the act of war. He believed firmly in its application to resolve global conflict. This is not a man you can easily like. Francis Ford Coppola masterfully took this man whom many considered a monster and humanized him. He did it in different ways, but I think the main point of Patton is that he was a man of passion. He was principled and had a drive to do what he loved. We tell ourselves and our kids: Do what you love. Do what makes you happy. Early in the movie Patton looks at himself in the mirror and says: "All my life I've wanted to lead a group of men in a desperate battle. I'm going to do it."

Later on, Patton surveys a battlefield. Tanks and vehicles are still smoldering in the distance. He has a very reverent look about him. He says, "I love it. God help me I do love it so. I love it more than my life." This admission could galvanize a viewer, but moments before Patton walks up to the soldier leading the battle. The soldier sits by his tank staring at the ground, a broken man. He tells Patton in a shell-shocked voice that the fighting went all night and finished in hand-to-hand combat. Patton leans over and kisses him on the top of the head in probably the tenderest moment of the movie. Coppola uses these incongruous moments to really show a complex man.

In the famous soldier slapping scene, again we see Patton's deep reverence for those soldiers who have paid the price juxtaposed for his intolerance to what he perceived to be cowardice. We might not agree with his actions, but in the course of a few moments, we can certainly understand them.

The other component of Patton's character was his spirituality. He believed he was a warrior reincarnated throughout history to do battle. This higher purpose combined with his straight-shooting mentality combines to portray someone who isn't some power hungry leader exploiting the lives of men to his own ends. While he certainly wanted glory, we got the sense that he wanted to be on the side of righteousness, that he wanted to change the world, to lead an army into history. That he did. The key scene depicting Patton's belief in reincarnation shows him surveying an ancient battlefield and reciting his poetry. It has no direct impact on the plot. If you remove it, the movie is intact, but as far as I'm concerned it's a critical scene as it gets you a little closer to the man.

Patton the man is obviously the key component of the movie, but it's the addition of other elements that really elevate this film to greatness. While Patton is not a very graphic film, it shocks with words. "We're not going to just shoot the bastards. We're going to tear out their living guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We're going to murder those lousy hun bastards by the bushel." While much of that is the hyperbole you'd expect to find in a speach, the use of "murder" intrigues me. It's the first of some very clear and naked words to describe what war is. At another point in the movie Patton says: "Give me the supplies and I'll kill Germans." At a rally in England he professes to a crowd of women that he is eager to get to the Pacific so he can kill Japanese. The audience applauds, smiles all around. When Patton talks to a wounded soldier he remarks that the last German he saw didn't have any chest or head. The soldier smiles. These examples illustrate in the most matter of fact way the reality of war. It's not that we are waging war and a side effect of that is loss of life. It is that we are waging war and we aim to kill people. And it is interesting to note that there is no racism involved in the above scenes, just some sort of stark "if it's us or them, I vote them" admonition.

The last facet of Patton I'd like to talk about is the imagery that rippled throughout the film that stemmed from one line. Patton says: "Compared to war, all other forms of human endeavor shrink into insignificance." The first scene is the aftermath of a battle. The Arabs are stripping the dead for clothing. The Americans come and scare them away. Then they shoot some vultures who were feeding on the dead. There is a malnourished dog tied to a tank, barking it's head off. The soldiers survey the area and leave. The dog remains tied up and is barking as they leave. Helping the dog isn't even a thought. In town, some German planes begin strafing the ground troops. Tanks are mobilized. There is a beautiful fountain in the town square. The tank runs it over without a second thought. It was simply in the way. Stubborn mules attached to a cart block a bridge and stall a convoy causing a lot of destruction as it is strafed by German planes. When Patton finds out what the hold up is, he's furious. Without hesitation he pulls out his pistol and executes the mules. The owner of the mules stares in disbelief as the animals are discarded over the bridge. Later in the film, tanks advance over the German countryside destroying a nice stonewalled fence. Again, no hesitation. If there is an obstacle, you go through it and don't waste time going around it.

Finally, there is no mentioning Patton without mentioning its masterful and iconic score. The echoing and fading trumpets capture Patton's historical context and also a hint of his believe in reincarnation. Just perfect. All these things combine to make Patton an intriguing and fascinating film.

The Six Month Plan

2008-06-23T19:04:00.003-04:00

A year and a half.

That's how long I've been talking about starting a new project.

Ouch.

This delay resulted from a mixture of not feeling like writing, being intimidated by "the next project" and being unable to shape an idea into a loose story. Oh, and good ol' fashioned procrastination.

The other day I sat down and thought about my idea, and I kept thinking until my entire mind was chewing it like cud. At that point I went out for a walk. Twenty minutes into the walk, the tumblers felt into place and suddenly I had the "What if" question I needed to launch my next movie. The original "What if" begot even more "What ifs" and pretty soon the logical nature of story telling within a consistent universe unfurled a loose story. I'm guessing that the story can, will, and should change in the months to come, but at least I have a launching point.

That's where the 6 months come in. Truth be told, I'm happy with Win. As it exists now in my mind's eye, it's the best football movie ever. That's not to say that it is perfect. It's not, but considering that I believe that Remember the Titans is far and away the best football movie out there, the bar is not incredibly high (although I really, really like that one). When I read Win, I can picture the image flickering at 24 frames per second, I can feel the emotion and the action and it all seems right. Now whether or not the movie I have in my head is the one on the page I do not know. What I do know is that it is the best thing I've written. It has been recognized in some form by multiple contests. And it took over a year to write.

Now I need to write a movie that is just as sound (hopefully better in terms of craft), but in a tighter time frame. My goal is to churn out a script in 6 months when starting with a loose idea of the story in my head. 3 months to manufacture a detailed scene-by-scene outline. One month to write a 1st draft. One month to retool the outline, and One month to write a 2nd draft. I think two drafts is enough to produce a full realization of the story. We'll see.

Of course all of this is subject to change and the story takes as long as it needs to be good. At the same time, I think it is important to establish a goal and create deadlines in my mind. If I miss it, I miss it, but I think that establishing one mentally kind of gears the mind to produce something in that amount of time. I liken it (sort of) to filling out a form. There is a line where you write your name. If the line is small, your mind automatically adjusts the "font size" so your name fits in the allotted space. It's kind of amazing how that all happens*. I'm hoping that establishing my intention ahead of time will help me produce something in a reasonable time frame.

So I'm publicly calling myself out. Six months from today I'll have 2 drafts of a new script.

*It doesn't take a lot to amaze me.

"Tell Graham"

2008-06-20T09:37:00.005-04:00

The movie Signs is anything but subtle. From frame one Shyamalan busts out the ol' Theme Hammer (tm) and bashes the viewer into a fine paste. Now if you are like me, not only do you not mind this drubbing, you welcome it with open arms. It occurred to me that Shyamalan is largely preaching to the choir in this movie. It either speaks to you and you repeatedly throw your hands up and offer a hearty "hallelujah" or you don't buy into it at all and wonder why all these people are so happily bludgeoned by an Indian from Philadelphia.

It's a valid question. I can only say that when a film does something very right, you tend to be forgiving. Signs pushes my buttons in all the right ways. I am Shyamalan's bitch for 106 minutes. And that's how I want to be with every movie I see. I want someone to rope me in with a story and make me clamor to see the next scene. It's why I love movies and why people like those "book" things I hear so much about.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Oh, and spoilers ahead, so beware. Nestled in all the blatant symbolism and heavy-handed dialog is a subtle line. "Tell Graham..." I love this line because it suggests a lot. It moves from Graham's wife merely having a psychic experience close to the grave to perhaps maybe Graham getting a message directly from God. I find the notion intriguing.

Turns out I'd much rather contemplate "Tell Graham" or the possibility that there are no coincidences than why a race of aliens would come to a planet comprised mostly of stuff that will kill them, or why they need crop circles to communicate, or why they can come a zillion miles through space and get locked in a simple pantry, or any number of logical problems that cause people to construct elaborate M. Night voodoo dolls.

But that's just me.

The Long Winter

2008-06-13T20:17:00.006-04:00

I'm back in more ways than one. I just returned home from a vacation that had me dodging tornados, evading flash floods, and running from bursting dams in between riding roller coasters. I'm also finally in a good mental place to start writing (and life) again. I've been in a funk ever since my divorce and finally bottomed out a few weeks ago. It's a maddening process for me. You can't reason your way out of it. You can't apply the latest in mathematical theory*. There are a million self-help books out there, but what good are words anyhow ... err.

You need time plus experience. Of course you could bottle up your torment and release it spontaneously on the first person who reaches out to you in a thoughtful way. That's always a popular one. But I'm not one to do something just because all the cool kids are doing it with the exception of jumping off of a bridge. I'd certainly give that a try with a group of cooler peers.

So one weekend I melted down, desperately clinging to an idea of a happy future with someone who was desperately clinging to an idea of a happy future without me (not my ex for those wondering). At that point I realized that something had to change, and I am thankful that there was minimal collateral damage when the Tom-bomb went off. Very thankful. I can credit those close to me for helping me when I was in need (you know who you are).

Now I feel like I can resume writing. I've got to brush up on my nouns and verbs, and see what the story fairy has for me.

* Stephen Hawking was no help at all.

I Accept the Nomination

2008-03-15T10:46:00.008-04:00

I should start off by saying that I'm not a political person. I mean I care about this country, but at the same time I don't (another topic). So I come before you today to tell you that, as of early this morning, I secured the Republican* nomination to run for President of the United States.

I was overwhelmed. I edged out Bill Clinton 51% to 49%, and I was a write-in when I went to the polls that day. Oh, and if you're concerned that I've begun experimenting with hallucinogens I can tell you that this all happened in an incredibly vivid dream.

Allow me to break down every disjointed and nonsensical moment (that I can remember).

I was at this place. I guess it was a polling place, but it was as if there was only one vote and Republicans from all around the country had to converge on one spot to vote. Like some sort of rally. I suppose it would be as if the Republican National Convention was also a one and done primary of sorts. I don't know. Just run with it.

I find that I'm on the ballot and a picture of me (not unlike the picture you'd upload to a community web site (OK so I'm signed up for on-line dating. Wanna fight about it?). So somehow it's down to me and ol' Bill. Of course it seemed perfectly natural that he was a Republican and would be running for President. You know I'm not even sure that he was President before in my dreamverse.

Anyway the votes are being tallied, and I'm thinking there's a chance. My father is next to me telling me that he hopes I'll pull it out, but that he thinks I'll probably come up short. By the way, my father is normally very supportive in real-life (tm). I'll drowsily pontificate that I was projecting myself onto my father. But there is probably more to it than that.

A guy comes up to make the announcement. All eyes are on him. He starts talking. The anticipation is killing me. I'm thinking, "I can do this. I can win this. Holy crap I could win this! I'm not ready." A big screen behind him displays the results. I win by a slim margin. There is thunderous applause, and everyone starts hugging me.

I won't kid you, it was pretty damn cool.

Suddenly I find myself arriving late to another gathering. This is where the candidacies for both parties are announced. Picture both Conventions happening at the same time in D.C. and after the vote the candidates and supporters converge on one place for a ceremony and party.

I file into the back with my ex-wife (I'm guessing still my wife in the dream), but I barely interacted with her. She was just there. It is standing room only. Some old ladies who are sitting down recognize me and inform me that I shouldn't be standing. They clear a seat for me. I reluctantly sit.

The speech is boring and if I wasn't so elated by my victory I might have been nodding off. Then I started to think about what this nomination meant in terms of my life. Would I have to quit my job to campaign? What dirty secrets were they going to dig up about me in the coming months? Could *I* really be President? I could. I really could.

Suddenly, the ceremony is over and the old lady next to me tells me I should get going.

Indeed.

I wake up before my alarm has a chance to sound. Reality has become surreality and it takes me a full five seconds to realize that I had woken up from a dream. I was disappointed and relieved at the same time. I'm not sure that combination of feelings is possible in the real world.

So what does it all mean? It could be prophetic. Not in the sense that I'm going to be President some day (I won't), but that my world is about to change, and exciting things lay ahead. Or the explanation could be more mundane. I'm waiting for someone to get back to me about my script. I'd sent them the script the day after President's Day and planned to contact them next week after a month. Or maybe it was because I mentioned to friends that someone told me of a documentary where Chris Rock revealed that he wanted to be President early in his life. Or perhaps I was unconsciously recalling e-mails from a group of friends who are more politically active than I. And so on.

Like most things in life, your point of view is crucial. You can choose to believe in things happening for a reason, or things happening through a confluence of random variables aligning for no reason. I've always been a purpose-minded individual, and I'm reminded by a line of dialog from Signs that has stuck with me: "Is it possible that there are no coincidences?"

I don't believe that I'm receiving some message from the cosmos, but I don't discount the power of the human mind, patiently compiling data, having this sort of meta-conscience of its own. I think it's trying to tell me what I know at my core and is obfuscated by layers of uncertainty and self-doubt.

I can do it. I can do this. My life is going to change in exciting and frightening ways. Consider this another in a long line of wake-up calls. Literally.

* I know the large majority of you reading this out there are of the liberal persuasion. Though I won't categorize myself as a Republican, I can only say that the world seems to make most sense through a conservative lens. We all have lenses.

My First (and probably last) Meme.

2008-03-11T22:18:00.003-04:00

So Tavis tagged me, and the meme actually intrigued me so here it is. Guess the movie from the quote. Forgive me if all aren't verbatim. I know of only one person alive who has a chance at all 15. Some are easy. Others are even easier. Have at it.

1) "I did not know how empty was my soul, until it was filled."

2) "Fuck fish."

3) "You're just a tourist with a typewriter."

4) "She's not too young for me. She'll be twenty-seven in four years."

5) "Satan Claws is out there, and he's getting stronger every day."

6) "It's a dick thing. A D. I. C. K. thing."

7) "When there was no meat we ate fowl. And when there was no fowl we ate crawdads. And when there was no crawdads to be found, we ate sand."

8) "The last great opportunity of a lifetime. An entire world at war, and I'm left out of it? God will not permit this to happen. I'm going to be allowed to fullfill my destiny!"

9) "Some mistakes, I guess we never stop paying for."

10) "I'm not saying it about someone LIKE Kibner. I'm saying it about Kibner."

11) "I'm haunted by waters."

12) "You couldn't hear a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant."

13) "True power is derived from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic cermony."

14) "I'm not talking about sex and penetration. I'm talking about penetrating beyond the veil of the flesh."

15) "What we do here and now. The books we read, the homework we do, will affect us for the rest of our lives. You gotta believe me. This is important. This, is who we are."

No Country for Bad Analysis

2008-03-08T11:39:00.006-05:00

There's been a lot of hub-bub about the ending to No Country for Old Men (NCFOM). Some people love it. Some people hate it. Very few come out with a deep sense of meh. Me? I think it's an excellently crafted movie that pushes only a few of my buttons. What intrigues me is the river of misdirected anger over the ending (Yes, there are spoilers ahead).

To say NCFOM is great movie with a bad ending is a misstatement. For if it has a bad end, it also has a bad beginning, and probably a questionable middle. The movie begins with Ed (Tommy Lee Jones). The Coens, if nothing else, are scientists with typewriters*. They have an intimate understanding of storytelling as evidenced by their volume of excellent work. They don't leave dangling participles and EVERYTHING they do in a story has a clearly designed function.

If NCFOM begins with Ed, it must end with Ed. From the beginning they define this as Ed's story. Now Llewelyn (Josh Brolin) seems like the main character, but he isn't. He might be a very strong secondary character, but this isn't his story. Now if this particular tale must end with Ed, then, I'm guessing, the only way the people who hate the ending are going to enjoy themselves is if Ed somehow catches or otherwise confronts Anton (Javier Bardem). If that were to happen it would undercut the purpose of the movie, negate the title and would also be patently ridiculous.

I spoke with my friend Ryan after the movie and we came up with a practical and simple logline for NCFOM: An aging lawman retires. In all fairness I'd probably add a little something to it: An aging law man nearly gets involved in a search for a brutal killer before retiring.

Anton whisks through Ed's town and kills a few people on his way to bigger and better things. Ed finds the dead people, and being an aging law man with an eye on his rapidly approaching retirement, steps aside and lets the feds handle the case. His interest is in Llewelyn and his wife. He's concerned about Llewelyn, and he actually goes and tries to find him, but he's too late and finds the Llewelyn dead and well out of his jurisdiction.

Ed goes home, he retires, and I'm guessing the federal agents (never seen) handle the rest. Now, we are interested in Llewelyn and his story. But his story only exists as an accent or juxtaposition on Ed's existence, and a reminder that life, in all of its drama, goes on whether you are retiring or vacationing or cleaning the house.

So I maintain that if you despise the end, then you really despise the movie itself, even though you found the dialogue to be crisp and Llewelyn's story to be compelling. The Coens set up and executed a story and they followed the rules they set up for themselves to a T. People were upset with Llewelyn's death happening off-screen. To me it made sense. On a structural level, it reminds us that this is not Llewelyn's story.

A story about Llewelyn is not called No Country for Old Men, and it does not have Ed in it, except maybe as some sort of cameo. It's probably called No Rest for Young Men Who Find Two Million Dollars in Drug Money.

Or something snappy like that.

*Yeah, next to no one uses those things, but you know what I mean.

The Standout Scene

2008-02-23T17:01:00.007-05:00

I never saw Philadelphia when it first came out. Movies about gay activism weren't high on my list of films to see. I'm also not really into drama. When I watch them , I prefer to watch the cream of the crop since even mediocre dramas don't exist for me. They're either very good and gripping or loathsome, glass-eating affairs. Lately I've been recording and watching movies that appear on HDNet. Philadelphia popped up in the listings and given how well received it was I decided to give it a watch. There are mild spoilers ahead. Philadelphia isn't a plot driven movie, but I feel that there are some character moments that are better left as a surprise.

I'm sure most of you know that it was a terrific movie, but being terrific isn't enough. I've seen many terrific movies that I can no longer remember. Wonderful films that are executed flawlessly, but offer nothing lasting. I'm happy to say that Philadelphia is a lasting work of cinema, and it is because of one scene.

Joe Miller (Denzel Washington) takes on Andrew Beckett's (Tom Hanks) case. Joe doesn't care for homosexuals, but takes the case because he identifies with the discrimination that Andrew has to endure because he has AIDS. Throughout the movie we see Joe's transformation of being a homophobe to really seeing Andrew as a person. As an audience we see that Joe finally gets it and his opinion of gays has indeed changed.

And then the convenience store scene takes place.

Joe is approached by a gay man who assumes that he is gay because he is representing Andrew. When Joe realizes that the man is trying to pick him up, he becomes unhinged. He shoves the man away, calls him a "faggot", and maybe even threatens him. You see his intellect has been telling him that his bigoted view of homosexuals is wrong. He's spent time with Andrew and knows him to be a good person. But when that man tries to pick him up he reverts to his learned behavior. You can't undo a lifetimes worth of ingrained belief in a few weeks. Films like Philadelphia remind us that good people sometimes do unsavory things.

Rarely in movies do we get to see this kind of honesty about the human condition. That is why when I think of Philadelphia I won't think about Tom Hank's excellent performance or the well crafted court room scenes or how well the story sucks the viewer in. I'll forever remember the convenience store scene. The best movies have these iconic or revealing scenes that say something about all of us, and a lot of the times it isn't highlighting our better parts.

Art > Life?

2008-02-11T11:24:00.001-05:00

So I'm going through the Blu-ray discs that I bought for my new player. This time it was Stranger Than Fiction. There are spoilers ahead, so read at your own peril.

This movie raises the question: Is art more important than life? That's a biggie. We writers put a high value on our words, but exactly how important are they? If the end result is to permanently change the fabric of society for the better, is it worth a life? The most endearing scene in this movie is the one where Harry reads the manuscript, gives it to Karen, and chooses his death not because he would save a boy's life or be remembered fondly for making such a sacrifice. He did it because that is how this particular story should end.

Wow.

And the solution? Karen weakens the story and saves Harry because she thought his life was worth more than her masterwork. These scenarios are precisely why I'm drawn to high concept ideas. They take the abstract and make them concrete in a fantasy context. At least the very best ones do anyway. They shed light on ideas in a way that no other story framework can.

Stranger Than Fiction also raises a scary notion for us writer types. If we craft a story where our main character dies, will we be invested enough in this character to feel like we are actually ending a real life? There is a scene after Karen finds out that Harry is real where she is weeping over all the people she has killed in her books. I'd like to be able to say that I was that close to one of my characters.

Is that kind of empathy required of us to write a riveting story? I'm guessing it is required for some writers, but everyone relates to these things in different ways. Or at least that's what I tell myself because I don't know that I'll ever achieve that level of feeling.

Quarter-Finalist!

2008-02-02T17:31:00.001-05:00

Lately I've been battling through a mild case of divorce, a stink bug infestation, and the stupidity involved with wrecking* my convertible so it's nice to be able to pat myself on the back and recognize that brighter futures lie ahead.

I just found out that I made it to the quarter-finals of the American Zoetrope screenplay competition. This marks the third time I've received recognition for my work on Win (the first two being top 15% in Nicholl and top 10% (2nd rounder) at Austin). It feels good to have the external affirmation that I'm on the right path. It also lets me know that Win lacks something required to get it to the next level. I've known about its deficiencies for awhile, and I'm certain I can remedy them in a future draft.

It's about time I get out of my non-writing funk and start dispensing nouns and verbs in a more meaningful way. Life has thrown some curveballs my way, but that's no excuse to step out of the batter's box.

Time to swing away.

* Ok, so that's a bit of an exaggeration. It's not wrecked, but bashed enough to be towed to a car infirmary for the better part of a month.

Blu-ray Sampler, Unforgiven, and the School of Theme

2007-12-13T22:57:00.001-05:00

Amazon had a buy-one-get-one-free Blu-ray smorgasbord. I drank deep and ate hearty at this particular High Def feast. 300, The Road Warrior, Christmas Vacation, Big Fish, Unforgiven, and Stranger Than Fiction. Amazon delivered them in their typical quick-as-lightning fashion. I ripped them open and planned to sample each for a few minutes just to be sure they were OK.

First up was 300. The visuals and audio fidelity blow me away. Leonidas is just as bad-ass as I remember him. Obvious homo-erotic imagery aside, this is a man's movie if there ever was one. The packaging itself must be laced with some sort of skin absorbed testosterone because after watching just thirty minutes of this bad-to-the-bone film I was ready to run out into the wilderness and kill a ferocious animal with my bare hands while screaming "I am MAN!" I would then club the nearest woman and drag her off by her hair*. It is that primal.

I tear myself away from 300 and throw in The Road Warrior. This is certainly another "guy" movie. Beautiful scenery with some nice vehicles, Mohawks, and women in shoulder pads. After another 30 minutes I somehow manage to hit the eject button so I can sample Christmas Vacation which is D.O.A. on account that the sound is out of sync for about 30 minutes. Bummer. Oh, well, on to Unforgiven.

I start to watch. This is one of the very few westerns that I like. The cinematography is wonderful. The music is pleasant and soothing. Suddenly the end credits are crawling. Two hours and ten minutes gone in a flash. I'm in complete awe. This happens, oh roughly every time I see it.

Unforgiven is a textbook study in theme. I'm not sure it even has a peer in that department (don't quote me on that). The notion of what it takes to kill another person is explored so thoroughly and from so many angles that you can't help but marvel at it's near perfect story structure. It's a two hour clinic. Screw the books.

This is what movies are about.

*Yeah, I know. That's chauvenistic and I'm a terrible person. Wanna fight about it?

Fuck the Rules!

2007-11-21T17:11:00.001-05:00

If you haven't guessed already, there is a fair amount of salty language ahead, so if your blood pressure is in question, you might want to bail.

Fuck the rules. Fuck 'em. Fuck the first act. Fuck the second act. Hell, fuck all of the acts. Fuck the rising action. Fuck the falling action. Fuck the main character and horse he rode in on. Fuck his character arc. Why not just fuck all characters while we're at it? Fuck the reversals. Fuck the McGuffins, the scene beats, the page count. Fuck it all.

So my generous friends get me a PS3 for my birthday (don't you wish you had such friends). I'm thrust headlong into the world of Blu-ray and all of its HD glory. First on my list was Close Encounters of the Third Kind: Uber Edition (or something). On checkout, Amazon pops up one of those "If you like this, you'll probably like that." advertising ploys. I see 2001: A Space Odyssey on Blu-Ray. Sold. Damn you Amazon advertising ploy.

So I get them in the mail and pop in 2001. I hadn't seen it in awhile, not since I've started my journey along the screenwriting path. One of my favorite films (don't dare call it a movie). #15 on AFIs Top 100 Films of ALL FUCKING TIME. Yeah! I start watching the movie, er, film.

What. The. Fuck.

The movie starts with 3 minutes of blackness. The following 22 minutes have no dialogue whatsoever. At minute 25 we meet Heywood Floyd, our main character. But wait. Fuck you. At at around 55 minutes into the epic he's gone. Poof. Never mentioned again and the story isn't even half over. In his stead we have Dave Bowman who takes us to the wild finale. And his arc, his motivation, his reason for being in this cold universe? Again. Fuck you.

And the film is brilliant. It woke me up intellectually. "Forced" me to write my senior thesis in High School on it (The Monolith: A Tab Stop in the Evolutionary Typewriter was the title if you must pry). It made my mind ache. For awhile it was all I could think about.

Friends, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that the three act structure was not discovered on some archaeological dig in the 70s. Stanley Kubrick had made a couple three movies. Arthur Fucking C. Clarke? Well let's just say he's written a lot more verbs than most of us. These motherfuckers gave the one-finger salute to Joseph Campbell, Lajos Egri, Aristotle, et al. And it worked. Spectacularly. They knew story convention, they knew the "rules" but decided that this particular story needed to be told in a very specific way to be effective.

The point? Oh yeah, the point. In the structured world of screenwriting it is so easy to lose sight of the goal: to tell a riveting story. Doesn't matter if it fits neatly into some format or not. A lot of people can write good. A subset of those people can also tell a compelling story. If you believe you can captivate your audience, tell your story the way it needs to be told. Make it so interesting that no one cares that the main character wasn't introduced until the final scene*.

Fuck the rules.

Man, that was fun to write.

*I'd love to see someone pull that off.

The Ride Home

2007-10-23T17:07:00.002-04:00

The best thing about the Austin Screenwriters Conference and Film festival is the trip home. Before y'all storm my castle (and I do have a castle), the conference was great. I met some new people and met up with old friends and had a smashing time. The conference never disappoints and always succeeds in refueling my zest for writing.

So what's all this about the trip home? Well, after four intense days of this screenwriting stuff my mind becomes jammed with information. It's not until the ride home when I'm forced to sit and stare at the back of the plane seat in front of me that my mind kind of loosens and relaxes. Ideas start flooding my mind, and new ideas emerge. Last year, two new script ideas seeped out of my cranium. This year, I think one of the missing pieces that was keeping Win from rising to the next level popped into my mind like it had always been there.

Now, I'd hope that i don't need to spend a grand every time that I need a breakthrough, so I thought about why this happens and part of the answer came to me*. The last time I remember this happening was on the way home from a screenwriting class. The class was over an hour from home and left me with a lot of idle time to think. I think there is something about coming together with a group and sharing ideas and getting your brain thinking about screenwriting. You wind it up and then just think about other things or nothing.

In all of these scenarios my friend Ryan was on the trip along with me. It could be that the act of talking screenwriting on the way home freed pathways of the mind. I wonder if I spent time reading about screenwriting and then went for a walk or a leisurely bike ride that ideas would suddenly solidify. I think it would have to be something short. A nugget of suggestion that you could read in a few minutes. Something that could get my mind on the right screenwriting track so that my mind wasn't consumed by the minutia of every day life. I'll have to do some experimenting, because I'd like to turn these fits of creativity into something I can do by merely turning on my PC and thinking about stories.

I'll write more after I've done some experimenting...

* Yes, on the way home as well.

A Great Game That Almost Was

2007-09-18T16:38:00.002-04:00

So I finished Bioshock the other night. There is no doubt that it is a good game. Great mood. Great action. Well worth the purchase. The start of the story is easily one of the best beginnings in the history of games. It introduces you to the world perfectly and sets the gruesome tone. At the onset your mind races with all of the possibilities that the story provides. It’s all so delicious. But as the action progresses and concludes you realize that the game’s creators miss the mark. They reveal exciting possibilities only to leave them lying at the bottom of the sea. For the remainder of this post I will outline where Bioshock went wrong and the solutions I believe would have elevated this game into a realm that few video games ever dare to go. The following is spoiler laden, so read at your own peril.

In Bioshock, your character enters the undersea city of Rapture where the inhabitants have all gone insane through the effects of gene splicing. It is apparent from the beginning that you cannot survive the ordeal without genetically augmenting yourself. This introduces some interesting prospects to the game. You have to become a monster to fight the monsters. I wondered how this could possibly end. Would your character be driven insane just like the others? Would he have to sacrifice himself, perhaps destroying Rapture to save it from the world at large? Could he really return to the normal world after undergoing all these augmentations?

Sadly, Bioshock addresses none of these interesting questions. What we are left with is an origin story that is needlessly complex seemingly to provide for an extra twist that isn't really needed or earned. The ending of the game has your character returning to the surface with all the Little Sisters* and they live happily ever after. So happy, that you die an old man, each of them comforting you in your last earthly moments. Sigh.

If I were king of the United States this is what I’d have done with the game:

The first decision made for you is that you need to be genetically augmented. While I understand that they felt it necessary, I think it should be the player's decision. If they absolutely want the player to be augmented throughout the story then make the game impossible without it. Put DNA altering machines everywhere, tempting the player. The player could try to get through the enemies but can’t and be forced to go down the genetically altered path which leads wherever the game's creators want.

The other possibility is to do away with the standard difficulty settings. Perhaps getting genetically altered is the player’s choice. If they chose to go the natural route then the game is very, very hard, but winnable. Maybe in this instance you do return to the surface with your peeps and all is fine and dandy. Give the player that choice, and put the machines around everywhere to remind them of the hard road they have chosen. Now that would be interesting!

Bioshock, like many other games, provides the player with a moral choice. That choice eventually decides the type of ending the player will see. Do you harvest the Little Sisters, taking their life along with the valuable Adam (stuff that enables your genetically created super powers) or save them releasing them from the zombie-like coma they are in? Now I have no problem with this choice, but they could have done more with it. Instead of just having a happy ending if you chose to save the girls, they could have had the consequences have a direct bearing on the game’s story. Near the end of the game the Little Sisters will guide you to the villain if you chose to save them earlier in the game (I’m not sure what happens if you didn’t). You have to protect the Little Sister. If she dies you have to summon another. I think a good solution would be that as you save the Little Sisters throughout the game, the number available to you at the end increases. The more of them that survive till the end, the more achievements you get (or whatever). If you elect to harvest them earlier in the game you will have no Little Sisters to guide you and it becomes very difficult to make it to the final boss. When you finally arrived you’d be depleted of ammo and health. That would be a tangible repercussion of your actions throughout the game. How novel.

How it should have ended:

First I will mention that in my version of the game you reach Rapture completely by chance and not brought there by design. This necessitates changes to other aspects of the story, but I won’t bore you with those.

1) Go through the game without augmentations, saving the Litter Sisters and you return to the surface after either destroying Rapture or giving it back to the remaining normal people (who were in hiding). This would be the happy ending.

2) Go through the game without augmentations, but kill the Little Sisters. You kidnap a scientist and head to the surface determined to make billions off of the technology in the real world.

3) Augment yourself and save the Little Sisters. By the end of the story you begin to lose your faculties. You are turning into a Splicer*. You put the Little Sisters into a bathysphere and destroy the city and yourself, protecting the outside world.

4) Augment yourself and kill the Little Sisters. By the end you are going insane and eventually ruling the doomed city.

The game would have been so strong if they chose to bring out the themes and situations that their original idea suggested. All the Splicers have gone crazy through genetic manipulation, but you remain clear thinking throughout the game even though you can do everything from telekinesis to shooting bees out of your arm. There are too many things that seem to be inconsistent with the ground rules they establish.

Despite all of this, Bioshock is still a very good game. I offer this analysis because I am interested in dissecting games like this and ruminate about where they fall short and why (and the resulting discussion). I can’t imagine that these things did not occur to the people making the game. I wish I was privy to how they arrived at key decisions. Pressure from the publisher? Logistics problems? Deadlines?

*Sorry can’t explain this here. Read up on the game.

Dear Shakespear: Part 2

2007-08-14T16:59:00.002-04:00

That punch in the face I wrote about? Yeah, that one. It turned out to be a gentle tussling of the hair. A week after my post I received an e-mail from Greg Beal. Not a personal one asking me, in teary prose, why I hate America, but a form letter that is sent out to the Nicholl entrants who were in the top percentages but missed the cut.

I'm not super needy (maybe just plain needy), but it was nice to get some external validation that I was at least heading in the right direction. My script was in the top 15%. That means that it graded anywhere from 506th to 757th out of 5050 scripts. Since I have no way of knowing where my script actually fell, I'll just assume the higher end of the spectrum*.

While I won't be screaming "I'm, at best, 506th!" from the top of the tallest midget in the circus, I will take this bit of encouragement, put it in my pocket and move on. When I'm down and convinced I can't write a cogent sentence, I'll take it out and remind myself that I'm on my way to better things.

*Higher meaning closer to 506 then 757.

Mulletacular

2007-08-02T23:45:00.001-04:00

Sometimes you encounter something in the wild. Something so spectacular that you must tell everyone in order to make them jealous, if only for a second. I was in an amusement park called Dorney Park near Allentown, PA. I was waiting for someone in my party to finish in the bathroom when the most divine example of Humanicus Mulletificus strided by me. I had thought they were extinct this far north content to graze in more fertile southern pastures, but here he was, a male of the species preening around the park with an infant who was still a ways off from mulletdom. I creeped slowly towards him, careful not to spook or startle the specimen.

His hair was perfectly manicured. The top of his head groomed with meticulous care. He was obviously proud of his mane. And let me tell you, it could only be described as a mane. It flowed over his shoulders down the front of his torso reaching all the way down to his belly button. I'm guessing he was royalty of some kind, the alpha male. He certainly could turn away all mullet challengers. It wouldn't even be close. I'm sure he enjoyed the finest female from his herd. No doubt.

It tried to get a picture of this magnificent beast, but he proved elusive. This blurry shot was all I could muster before he disappeared into the brush.

Dear Shakespear...

2007-08-02T23:03:00.002-04:00

Well, I got my walking papers from Nicholl. It was a beautiful, carefully crafted, gently worded punch in the face. I'm not bitter. There are only so many ways to say "Learn how to string together some nouns and verbs and we'll talk." But they really go out of their way to provide you with a spoonful of sugar. "Dear Writer on the brink of scribing away poverty and achieving world piece through a powerful three act indictment, You were so close . . ."

Me, I look at the Nicholl Fellowships as an annual charitable donation which I faithfully deduct from my taxes. This year, I hope it goes to the venerable Brett N. Maybe next year I get a little somethin, somethin. I'll polish up my latest three-act fire alarm and send it west on the fastest horse.

I know it sounds like sour grapes or self deprecation, but it really isn't. Just my way of poking a little fun at myself and the whole process. I'm not worried that I'm a failure, or that I'll never cut it in this town. I just write the best stories I can and hope they can shine, contest or no contest.

It would have felt sooo good to open up the letter and get some form of validation, but I know deep down that I don't need to advance in the Nicholl to know that I have talent.*

I read a story about a screenwriter who had been writing for years. Each year she would submit to Nicholl and each year she wouldn't make the cut. Frustrated she gave it one last push and decided that if she didn't get in the next time, that she would hang up her verbs and call it a day. The Nicholl letter finally came. She opened it up. And . . . she didn't make it. But at the bottom of the letter was a personal note from one Greg Beal that said something like "You just missed the cut. Keep up the good work." So she did, and the next year she was a semi-finalist. Admit it, your heart just swelled and you lit a small candle. It's OK.

The point is that it seems that people tend to get what they need exactly when they need it. Call it luck, happenstance, magic, or providence. Doesn't matter. It just is. That's not to say you need to kick back and wait for senior Spielbergo to beg you for a script, but it is just to say: make an effort and be persistent and you will get what you want. Scary, I know.

*I was no where near a tall horse when I wrote that. I swear.

Finished

2007-05-06T17:38:00.001-04:00

I had almost forgotten how good it felt. I printed out the script on the whitest 3-hole I could find, using the blackest ink (black as midnight, black as pitch, blacker than the foulest witch). I used sturdy card stock for the cover and broke out the brads (two brass number 5s of course). The edges were smooth and true and the binding was tight.

Then I held it for the first time.

This is a big deal for anyone who has completed a screenplay. The finished product*. The tangible result of long, toiling hours. I look at it, and marvel at the contrast between the ink and the paper. It looked professional, not like some gray-ish draft print on murky paper. My baby finally had a form and a page count:

117.

It feels right, and for that moment it's the most perfect script in the world. Development Execs will clamor for it. The studios will bid like their bottom line depended on it. And I will ride to the Academy Awards in my Lamborghini.

It is just a feeling, a moment in time. Now Nicholl has it, and so will Austin in short order. Pretty soon the creative engine will sputter and start, and a new project will launch. My confidence will fade and I'll wonder why I do this screenwriting thing as I flounder at story creation invariably crashing to a point where I question my ability to tell noun from verb.

But in my mind I know that someday I will print it out. I will bind it. I will see it, and I will be proud.

*It's not finished till it's shot and edited. And even then . . .

120

2007-03-10T01:26:00.001-05:00

I'd like to thank the Academy and Pfizer and Santa Claus for making this all possible. Starting out at 165 pages I never thought this day would come. 120 is so sweet. When I hit 125 I thought I had trimmed all of the fat, and to a certain extent I did. To trim off five pages all I had to do was go over every scene and try to eliminate all but the bare essentials. It only took me 72 pages (scary). Is the script better for it? I'll have to save judgment on that for now, but I suspect it is.

I'm guessing that this is the sort of thing that a writer should do for every script he/she writes. I'm doing it because I wanted to get rid of as many pages as possible. If my script were 110 pages, would I still have a burning desire to shrink, shrink, shrink? I think not. As a result I have some valuable lessons to grow from*.

With this monkey removed from my back, I can breath easy and focus on what really matters, making the resulting script as good as it can be right now. That's not to say that it won't be completely rewritten at some point in the future when I come to my senses and realize that I should have been writing the great American soccer movie. But I can't worry about the future. I can only worry about right now. And worry I will.

But for now, I feel good, real good. Cue the James Brown music and the flamenco dancers.

*Note to future Tom: Stop ending scenes with a character saying something inane or describing a facial expression and then adding dialog that pretty much expresses the same thing again. You moron.

125

2007-03-07T12:40:00.001-05:00

I finished my third draft and hit my goal of 125 pages or less (124 and ¾ to be exact). Almost 11 full pages were trimmed away while adding three additional scenes to boot. Overall I’m happy with the changes and I think that as I reduce this monster it is getting better and better. With the fourth draft I will get the page count down to 120 or below. This seems like a daunting task, because after finishing any draft I tend to think: “I’ve taken out as much as I can. There is no fat to be trimmed.”

I thought I had hit bone after I reduced it to 136, and now I’m at 125. I suspect there is still some fat to burn off. I won’t know until I try. Still, in the back of my mind I wonder where the line is. At what point does the story start to suffer the more you take out? Could this be a 125 page story? After I reduce it to 120 I will compare the two drafts and determine which one is better.

The problem is that anything over 120 pages is a red flag for an unsold writer. How many people would pass on reading it for length alone? Of course if it is really good, the length doesn’t matter (kind of). There are no hard and fast rules, but it is in my best interest to eliminate anything that would cause a reader for form a negative opinion before he/she ever reads “FADE IN:.”*

All I have to do is write a strong beginning and a lights-out ending. Oh, and it should have a wonderful middle as well (Did I miss anything?). Easy Peezy.

*Positive knee-jerk judgments are always welcome.

Less is More

2007-03-05T17:54:00.001-05:00

This is the first in a series of posts in which I profess to know something about screenwriting. One day, after a long and illustrious writing career, I might bump into these nuggets and chuckle at their caveman-like simplicity. But, if I determine that I actually had it right, I’ll build a time machine so that I can travel to the past and pat myself on the back. Since that hasn’t happened let’s just all assume that I came to my senses and decided to do something more useful with my time machine like killing Hitler. Unfortunately, according to Wikipedia (It is never wrong) World War II did in fact happen, so I can safely assume that I’m better at writing than time-traveling.

Anyhoo.

Less is more. Yeah, it’s a tired cliché, but that doesn't make it less apt. In the rewriting process, nothing has rung more true for me. Every draft I do, shrinks in page length, but grows in content. Amazing right? What it is, is the product of bloat coupled with the startling reality that more than one thing can be happening in a given scene. Yeah, I know, mind-blowing stuff. Take my football script that started out at 165 pages and is dangerously close to a respectable 120 as I write this.

On the second draft I took 165 pages, chopped out a bunch of scenes and added a bunch more, and still got it down to 136. That told me that I shouldn’t be showing everything between breakfast and bedtime, but it also showed me just how my method of storytelling works, and how exactly I can tell when things aren’t right.

I don’t know how other writers’ minds work, but when I read through my own work, there is a little part of me that cringes when I read something bad. It is important to recognize this cringe, this wince because it can be very subtle. Especially when you are dealing with a scene or sequence that you really like. When I feel the wince I put a note in the script and go back and look at it later. Most of the time, the wince is right.

On the third draft I read through the extremely tight 136 pages. I winced a lot. Now I’m into the third act and I’m already down to 125. And this is all with adding three scenes and enhancing some existing dialogue and moments. Every time I read through I find more and more things wrong. It seems obvious to me now why some scripts can take a dozen or so revisions before they are finished.

Another handy tool is the ol’ “What would happen if this scene never existed?” It is disconcerting how often the story will march on without skipping a beat if a particular scene is removed. If I’m having trouble with a small scene I try and step back and look at how the story would flow if the scene wasn’t there. Too many times, I find that the script says to the scene: “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”* No kiss goodbye, no cab fare.

As a result, the story is leaner, meaner, and stronger. I’m hoping to get below 120. Then the real work can begin, and the questions can be tackled. Less is more. Anyone telling you different is worried about something else.

*Scripts are not very cordial or polite. Actually, they can be downright mean.

Back from the Dead

2007-02-16T10:53:00.001-05:00

Yeah, I know it’s been forever and a day since I last posted. Things have gotten all balled up at head office and I’m mired in my third draft. I’ve been crawling along, stuck in Act I, trying to re-imagine scenes and implement some new story ideas that will make everything more dynamic. As I’m slugging through hedge country I discovered something.

Writing is hard. I know I know. We’re supposed to have these ideas that fall down on us from the heavens. We write them down and turn them in for barrels of cash. Well I’m here to tell you, shockingly, that it isn’t so. The check isn’t in the mail. Devastating news to be sure, but somehow, I’ll soldier on.

My current crisis involves my efforts to add a little complexity to the script. A script is a puzzle. Many writers have devoted ample blogspace to this idea, but I’ll offer my spin just the same.

My conundrum is this: Does the piece I’m working on have to be shaped or is it the surrounding pieces that need shaping? Indeed perhaps the whole puzzle is wrong except for my lone piece. Writing these scenes is a hard task, but how hard is too hard? At what point do I give up on the piece throwing it out for another? This is not a good place to be, my friends.

During the writing of a story, pieces will become locked. They are the foundation of the story. As you get closer to that fantasy place called “done,” more and more pieces get locked until the entire story is an impenetrable fortress.

Theoretically, no piece should be locked and the writer should remain free to change anything at any time.

Right.

I’m sorry I just can’t do it that way. I need to feel some sort of progression. I have to at least believe that I’m on the right track. Otherwise I’m just spinning wheels.

Right now I’m generally happy with my main character’s progression throughout the story. Now I’m trying to add some texture to the other characters. Creating a story for them is difficult because every move has to jive with the main character’s story. It all has to fit together. . . like a puzzle. Will the madness ever end?*

* No, it won't.

Report from the Road: Paris Edition

2006-12-18T20:20:00.001-05:00

This will be my one and only mega Paris post. Forgive the lack of accents and other squigglies, as I don't have the time for such foolery.

The shock of being in a strange land hit us almost immediately. I felt isolated, almost unable to talk to anyone out of fear of exposing who I was (as if my suitcase and the "I just crapped my pants" look I had in my eyes wasn't a dead give away).

Armed with a train map, we attempted to navigate Paris' mass transit system. In a word, unnerving. First we had to buy a train ticket. We heard that most Parisians know English, but that doesn't mean all, so dealing with anyone was a touch and go situation in my mind.

So we approach the ticket window and Jessica starts to apply the French that she learned to find out that real world(tm) application is difficult. She handled herself well, much better than I. The woman at the ticket office was very helpful, and soon we had our tickets in hand and headed for the platform. Now just because you know in your head how the trains are supposed to work doesn't mean you don't have the fear of the almighty Burger King in you that you are going to board a train whose one and only stop is somewhere in Bangladesh.

So we board the train and hope we are going the right direction. And after a stop we find out we are on the right track (so to speak). We traverse Paris' sprawling outskirts which really aren't that different than New York City's urban sprawl. Just a lot older and slightly nicer. It felt like we were in the thick of things.

We had to change trains twice to get to our destination. And aside from some initial indecision and mortal fear, we found our way just fine.

The real fun began when we left the bowels of the metro station. Paris may be beautiful and all that, but could they give a brother some reliably placed and easy to read street signs? We wandered and ambled, but the streets were confusing at best and it took us over a half hour to find our hotel which was less than a two minute walk from the metro station.

The hotel is very nice. the rooms are small but cozy. The beds are a different story. They seem to be designed for a 4'9" Parisian with severe back pain. I can feel each individual unyielding spring within and my feet hang over the end. Picture Herman Munster trying to sleep on an ottoman. The walls are also thin. Strike that. they seem to actually amplify the sound around us. Last night I heard some guy's whispered prayers.

After we settled in and took a nap it was off to the Champs Elysees. It is a beautiful stretch of road lined with lit trees and bustling with people. We ended up dining in an Italian eatery (so sue us). I was hesitant, but let me tell you that I had the best meat-filled ravioli in my life. I tender (and quickly reject) the idea that I have it every day for every meal. It was that good.

...

After three days I return to this post with a thousand yard stare, clutching a single bloody beret and a jagged piece of a crème brulee dish. I type this frenetically as the "na na na na" siren of a police car draws near. It's been an adventurous vacation to say the least. OK, that is a bold-faced lie. Our mission behind Parisian lines has yielded little more than grey skies and a parade of restaurants and Museums. Not that that's a bad thing.

The food in Paris is excellent. It is also very pricey. I honestly don't know how the locals afford it. For any non-fast food eatery, expect to drop between 30 and 50 euros (lets call that $40 to $60 for the yanks out there) for ANY meal. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner, it doesn't seem to matter. Our latest meal, which consisted of two sandwiches, two glasses of wine (a Coke is about as expensive as a glass of wine BTW), crème brulee, and chocolate crepes came to about 40 euros.

Jessica learned very quickly that coffee in Paris isn't the guzzling variety. An cup of espresso, 4 euros, comes in a non-refillable, thimble-sized cup. A more familiar cafe creme (equal parts espresso and crème) is 6 euros, that's a 7 dollar cup of friggin' coffee! Sip it like your tasting every single molecule.

Bottom line is that if you want to eat real food (and why wouldn't you), plan on a 100 euros a day food budget per couple. Just eat and pay no attention to the banker in the corner.

After a couple fifty dollar gut-punch lunches, the siren's song of fast-food will entice you with a promise of food for two for under 20 euros. I had a meal or two of fast-food to somehow plug the hole in my pockets. One night we had a late night meal at Quick (French fast-food that is a notch below Mc Donalds). Tonight I grabbed a Royal Cheese (Quarter Pounder for those of you who didn't see Pulp Fiction) from Mickey Dees. Unhealthy, but admittedly tasty and familiar.

Enough about food. Let's talk museums! Yeah! Snore. I mean parts of them are interesting, but I'm not the type of person to lose myself in painting. But I do have a new found respect for artists back then. They had a cool scam going. "Hey baby, you are so beautiful I want to sculpt you in the nude. And so long as you're naked..."

While museums aren't the hippest show in town, Versailles was the shiznit. The opulence, the decadence, the indulgence. Mind-boggling. I now know exactly why it's good to be the king. The guy build a house on his property just for his mistress. Talk about a booty call. While the inside of the chateau was stunning, the gardens were unimpressive. A gloomy sky loomed over silent fountains and tarp-covered statues. In my mind I could see its beauty, but in reality it was a drab mess.

So I'm betting you are wondering how Paris the city was and, more importantly, how rude were its inhabitants? In my humble opinion, Paris is not unlike New York City or any other major metropolitan city. There is trash, graffiti, and vandalism. People are busy going and coming and they only say as much to the next person as need be. The wait staff at all the places we visited were courteous and friendly and I have nothing bad to say about any of them.

Paris felt a lot like NYC to me. A cleaner, older, and shorter NYC to be sure, but NYC nonetheless. All in all it was a good trip.

Oh, and the crème brulee was fantastic. Great job on that one France!

Paris Bound

2006-12-14T09:40:00.001-05:00

Today I leave for Paris. This will be my first time in Europe. Based on intelligence I’ve gathered I expect an oxygen based atmosphere and a gravitational pull that is at least on par of what I experience here on Earth.

Yeah, it feels like I’m going to the moon, unsure if I’d be stricken by some affliction on my first inhale of European air. I mean what if France invades the U.S. while I’m there?* Then what? Do I learn French and start striking?

Despite my trepidations, I’m sure I’ll have a swell time. Apparently there is some sort of tower over there and some old dead guy has a really big house you can walk through. I’ll also try to get my hands on one of those state-issued berets that all the people there get and take a mime class.

I’ve heard a lot of mixed things about the French people as a whole. The ones I know personally are very nice. I’m going there expecting to meet good people, and doing my best not to play the part of the ugly American. It is fascinating to me though, the cultural differences and that some of the reasons we Americans are seen as rude is because things we do in the states that are considered normal practice can be construed as rude elsewhere.

All in all, I’m confident that if I treat them like a culturally superior race of atomic supermen they will take to me just fine.

Assuming the Internet stretches into France, I will endeavor to blog about my journey, and pass on any information I turn up about the rumored tower.

* That is too rich. I’m saving that for my act.

FADE OUT:

2006-12-11T15:55:00.001-05:00

Well, I’ve hit my mark. The 2nd draft of Win is complete aside from a read through to correct typos and possibly implement some minor alterations. The good news is that I managed to reduce the page count from the original draft by about 29 pages. The bad news is that it’s still running long (136 pages), but hey this is a football epic right? I’ll get it to 120 by hook or by crook.

Now I’ll send it out to be evaluated by some peers. After the new year when I’ve cried sufficiently over their comments I’ll give it another pass and move on to my untitled non-football project*.

It feels great to be done . . . for now.

*It’s this great Rugby film about guys playing Rugby on a Rugby field. It will play great in the States. Does anyone have a Rugby net I can borrow (I want it to be authentic)?

How Does it Work?

2006-12-01T10:59:00.001-05:00

Sometimes the creative process amazes me. Last night I sat down to write a montage sequence in my script. I had a general idea of what I wanted to accomplish with no real idea of how it was all going to work. So I sit down and start writing the only part I could see which was the very beginning. So as I’m writing, it just starts to come, and I find the device I want to use throughout the sequence. Before I know it, it's finished.

Now I’m not saying it's particularly inspired or anything, but sometimes it amazes me how things come to be, how something seems to spring from nothing and how during the act of merely doing, your mind presents solutions to problems practically on demand. I mean I know the mind works on things subconsciously, but it was interesting to see it all play out in the matter of an hour.

A few days ago I was hitting the Act II finale* and I’m looking to Act III dreading it because I’ve been unhappy with it. It’s one of those things where you read it and you know its gunked up, but you have no idea what the solution might be. I decided not to fret over it, hoping a solution would present itself. If not, I’d just write what I had, and hope that would jar something loose. Well, just prior to finishing Act II, the idea hit me and things kind of fell into place right when I needed them to.

I don’t know if it is THE answer, but it is the answer I need for this particular draft. I’m sure all writers have similar stories, I’m just sitting back and saying “Dude. That’s cool,” taking a little time to marvel at this thing we call a mind.

*It involves large men, a leather ball, and a lot of cursing.

Back in the Saddle

2006-11-29T11:01:00.000-05:00

After the conclusion of my comedic subplot* I’m back hacking away at Movie Magic and am on a collision course with FADE OUT:. I hope to finish by December 11 or before. Currently I’m on page 102 and Act II is about to conclude. Looks like I’ll be missing the magic 120 by a few pages (maybe 130-135). I’d be ecstatic with 130 knowing that I will have more content with far fewer pages. Assuming this version is readable, I will send it out before December 14 to get some overall impressions and maybe some ideas on how to get the page count down.

Then I will take some much needed time off and chill for the remainder of the year, and then try and address whatever comments I have/start a new project in early January.

*Look for comedic subplot part II: Electric Boogaloo coming to a blog near you sometime before my dramatically unsatisfying demise.

Five Minutes

2006-11-17T21:38:00.000-05:00

Yes. I’m still alive after my stand-up comedy ordeal and I have a video to prove it. Getting up there and doing my five minutes (five and a half actually) seems like a death sentence, but it actually wasn’t bad. I told myself I’d post the video no matter how good or bad I did, so true to my private word here it is.

Did you watch it? I hope you did because if not you will be totally lost when I start talking about soiled trousers, Amish prostitutes, and park benches later on. For a first time, I think I acquitted myself quite well. Looking at the video makes me cringe to an extent because my nervousness was so apparent, and I rushed through the large majority of the material (it probably should have been closer to seven or eight minutes).

Throughout that day, I was confident and even serene at moments. And about an hour before I left for the venue, the confidence and sereneness paid their respects and said adieu. I wasn’t a nervous wreck, but I wasn’t the cock of the walk either.

And then my moment came and my name was called and the audience greeted me with applause. And I was nervous. I stepped up to the microphone, arranged my notecard and adjusted the microphone. Silent seconds ticking away. My mojo was rushing down my left leg*. I started to speak, and my opening quip (I won’t embarrass it by calling it a joke) fails mainly due to my rushed speech.

And then I start on my first joke. When I hit the first good punch line which involved an Amish hooker and a spent cocker spaniel (I know those of you who didn’t bother to watch the video are now intrigued. I will wait for you to watch it… OK good.) the audience erupted in laughter (I know you know, but I enjoy both saying and typing it so bear with me).

Anyway, they laughed enough that I actually had to stop my routine for a few seconds. Good feelings surged within me. I gave my follow-up line and people laughed again. My confidence soared. And I gave the next and final line of the segment and people laughed even more. A guy could get used to this.

As you know I was still nervous and rushed through a lot of the material, but from that point on I was golden, and even when I slipped up and momentarily lost my mental place I was able to remember where I was and soldier on. The people continued to laugh and when I finished my set I felt my pride fill the room as the applause rained down.

Before watching the video I thought the night went better than I expected and exactly how I had imagined it. In spite of my nervousness, I did a job I personally can be proud of, and I look back on it now and wonder just how much more people might have laughed had I really done it the way I know I could have.

People ask me if I will do it again. Ryan, my official ass-kicker says I will certainly do it again. I do want to, but I think I will sit the sidelines for awhile and try to get a grip on this screenwriting thing. Nothing saying I can’t develop my stand-up ability at the same time though. Right?

* Yeah. It was my mojo regardless of what those people in the front row say.

Do Me A Favor. Throw It Hard!*

2006-10-27T22:32:00.000-04:00

Armed with a producer’s pass won at the Austin Screenwriter's Conference 2005 pitch competition I entered the Driskill hotel looking forward to the familiar sites and sounds of the conference I attended for the first time last year. What I wasn’t prepared for was the profound Groundhog Day-like déjà vu. When entering the lobby and the lounge and the bar and the hallways and the rooms, it was all exactly as I remembered it. Eerily the same. Like I had never left. The room, while on a different floor was located in the same relative place (1103 instead of 603). The desk, the armoire, the beds, indeed everything about the room was identical. This wasn’t surprising (It is a hotel), but added to the surreal feeling that saturated everything. One person observed that it felt like some of the fancy ballroom scenes in The Shining. I couldn’t agree more.

Luckily the feeling subsided after I joined up with my on-line friends, a great collection of upcoming talent that, for one reason or another, allow me to hang out with them. They are all great people and fun to be around. So let me give a shout-out to my peeps (links to blogs/sites included where possible and if I forget someone it is because I’m a forgetful bastard and not a petty schmuck): Ryan, Julie, Brett, Caroline, Shawna, Murray, Reece, Jon, James, Deborah, Ann, and Aaron. Together we could have been the single biggest group of people at the conference. A menacing gang of screenwriters who would just soon analyze your Act II turning point as look at you.

In one form or another we hung out together attending parties, lunches, panels, movies, and generally hoarding couches and chairs in the Driskill Lounge. The lounge was the beginning and end to every single day. For those that don’t know, a typical day goes something like this: Meet in the lounge, attend two panels in the morning, go to lunch, attend two panels in the afternoon, go to a dinner party, hang out/see movies, attend a late evening party from 11pm to 1am, and drag yourself back to the Driskill Lounge for an hour or two before going to bed. Rinse and repeat four days in a row.

The days are long, and by Saturday it feels like a marathon. The thought of attending yet another late night party swimming with budding screenwriters vying for a producer’s ear and scrambling to make friends with professional screenwriters seems like a beer-swilling chore. It is a competitive atmosphere requiring you to be “on” at all times, and wears you down.

After awhile the cushy confines of the Driskill start to feel like a prison where conference goers are monitored and prevented from leaving a three block radius of the hotel.

All that said, I had a great time and wouldn’t change it for the world. Both exhausted and exhilarated at the end of the journey I crawled back to my home in Pennsylvania with a renewed vigor for this thing called screenwriting and a knowledge that I will visit this place again next year and start Ground Hog’s Day all over again.

*What movie is that line from and why is it relevant here? The winner gets an acknowledging nod from someone they admire.

A Tale of Two Pitches

2006-10-23T15:15:00.000-04:00

Last year Ryan and I pitched American Jedi in the pitch competition at the Austin Film Festival. The story about an obsessed fan that sets out to kill George Lucas for ruining Star Wars was an unequivocal hit. We rehearsed the pitch and delivered it pretty much as practiced. The judges and the audience loved it. When we presented in the pitch finals we made the audience laugh several times and when we concluded the entire room erupted in cheers. I’ve never felt so proud. Our hard work had paid off in spades, and the afterglow of the victory lingered for quite awhile. It was a moment I will never forget.

This year I utilized the general structure of the original pitch. I crafted a solid presentation and practiced the hell out of it. Indeed I was more prepared for this pitch than the year before. I was confident. I felt I had a leg up on the competition. So it came time for my pitch. I stood up there and delivered it just as I had practiced. A little rushed, but overall a decent attempt.

And then the roof caved in.

One of the judges liked my idea about how a football player’s runaway ego threatens not only his pro career but an entire team’s fading Super Bowl dreams. The other judge hated it. Both of them agreed that my pitch was too rehearsed and didn’t sound conversational. I scored better than the person ahead of me, but worse than practically everyone else. Needless to say I didn’t advance to the finals and a teary Steven Spielberg did not stuff a bag full of money and hop the next plane to Austin with dreams of football glory in his eyes.

I could complain about how I delivered my pitch within the 90 seconds while the winners were cut off before finishing. I could even argue the merits of my story, but when it comes down to it, they were better than me on that day, and the judges were right. My pitch was more of a speech than a conversation. What worked with a comedy and a two person team a year before did NOT work with a drama and one person this time.

When looking back, it is very clear what the problem was. While writing a rehearsing I would comment to myself that I had too many complex sentences, but I decided to lock the script and focus on rehearsal. Another problem was that I had a script. We used a script a year before, but because we traded lines it seemed way more casual and conversational. We also used more conversational sentences. With one person, you really need to come across as genuine and talk to and not at the judges.

So what have I learned? What will I do different next year? The biggest change is that I will have no script and that I will have talking points and endeavor to keep it under 90 seconds, but unless the scoring system changes to penalize people who run over, I won’t worry too much about finishing. But the biggest thing I learned is to not search for a formula and to listen to that inner critic trying to warn me of danger. He is decidedly different than my inner asshole who insists on telling me that I’m doomed to fail.

Off to Austin

2006-10-17T14:21:00.000-04:00

I’m heading to Austin for the screenwriter’s conference on Wednesday. This will be my second trip to both the conference and the fair city. The last trip was so fabulous I can’t imagine things turning out as well, yet I traipse on in hopes of catching lightning in a bottle once again.

Last time, I met some great people, took part in and won a pitch competition with my good buddy Ryan, and got a chance to ask Greg Beal what script he was working on and not to give up hope in breaking into the business.* Now it seems that my Nicholl entries will be fed directly into a shredder forevermore.

Because of my stand-up comedy class and writing a pitch for my new as yet unfinished script, I’ve been stuck on page 75 of my football spectacle and am looking forward to starting the gears of production once more. Please join me after the conference for my blog post entitled: A Tale of Two Pitches.

Wish me luck.

*It wasn’t quite that bad, yet it was so, so bad. I had no idea who he was, and made a complete ass of myself. I’m sure he contemplated getting some budding screenwriters to beat me to a pulp just to prove a point. At least that is what I would have done if I were him, but he’s a much nicer person than I.

Look Ma! I'm Racin'!

2006-10-01T02:05:00.000-04:00

It’s funny. I just finish talking about experiences when my lovely wife surprises me with one of my dream experiences. No. Not that. As an early birthday present (mine is November 1st) she, along with her mother and father, bought me a half day of instruction and racing at the Bertil Roos racing school. I’ve always dreamed of turning laps in a race car, barreling unfettered down a straightaway without the threat of cops or wayward animals.

This is a bare bones (in a good way) racing experience. The cars are little more than four wheels, a steering wheel, and an engine. The frame is designed to hold the engine in the back with a person jammed into the nose along with a jumble of pedals and some body panels. You sit in the car, inclined with your helmeted head peaking out above the fuselage.

When the engine finally roars to life, it is a deep throaty sound that takes you back to childhood dreams of racing in the Indy 500. The exhaust notes of the cars sound exactly as you imagine they would. Everything is perfect until you actually start to move. It is at that moment that it finally hits you your inner Andretti: “Crap. I’m drinvin’ a freakin’ race car.”

Now, looking at the spec sheet, the cars don’t seem fierce. Four cylinders, 150HP, with an 80 or 90 mph top speed on this particular course. I know you’re thinking “Big Whoop. I do that in my car on the way to Grandma’s house.” I know it all seems pedestrian, but let me reassure you its not. You sit a foot off the ground, exposed to the elements. The closer you are to the ground, the faster it feels. This meager race car was all I could handle. Allow me share some of the details of a typical lap.

At the approach of every turn you need to do a couple of things, drop your speed to the maximum velocity needed to correctly turn into the apex of the turn so that you may accelerate through the turn without flying off of the track. During this time you will likely have to downshift, while judging the exact moment to turn in, remaining straight and true before jamming the wheel toward the inside. If done correctly you will feel as if you will certainly run off of the track before turning in.

Ideally, you take every turn at the very limit of the car’s ability. This means pointing the nose at the apex of the curve and mashing on the gas. If you are correct you can stay on the gas through the turn and your outside tire will hit the edge of the pavement just as you leave the turn. While accelerating, you can feel the forces pushing you out, and you feel as if the car will leave the track. You fight the urge to let up the gas even as you approach the outside of the turn where it appears you will end up in the grass.

Cornering is a fun/maddening exercise that is a perfectionists wet dream. Finding that line is pure heaven … I think. I’ve seen the line. I’ve been close to the line. I’ve ground my gears to a nub in search of the line, but I’ve yet to actually travel the line. Should I ever find it, I will leave a trail of gear shavings and burnt rubber for other hapless drivers to follow.

That is all well and good, but speed is the real deal. Ripping out of that final corner and plowing onto the straightaway is a wonderful feeling. The surge of power. The ascending roar of the engine as you shift from second to third and from third to fourth is among the more pleasing things in this world. As your speed climbs the wind rushes past your head. You fight to keep the line at the bottom of a sweeping banked turn, and you can’t help but scream with joy as you rip around at 90 miles per hour before braking down for turn one and begin the whole process anew.

The half day of racing consists of instruction both in class and on the course and two twenty minute racing sessions. Although I wanted to continue, I felt that the twenty minute limit was appropriate. If you cherish driving a race car more than food money, I say go Top Ramen and buy yourself some track time. You’ll thank me for it.

Stand-up Comedy Experience

2006-09-22T20:47:00.000-04:00

So I took my first steps into the world of stand-up comedy. It was a frightening place filled with dreadful punch lines and stale material*. I signed up for the class because I want to develop my comedy writing. I also took it because I’m stupid. You see, having someone actually unload bullets into my helpless body during a dream wasn’t traumatic enough. Somehow, my devious mind has found a way to kick it up a notch.

If I’m not to die suddenly in my sleep, I plan to wither away on stage, slowly.

So why am I doing this? Well, I mentioned gaining experience in Comedy writing but that’s all academic. I’m doing it for the experience itself. I’m doing it because it scares the living hell out of me, and even if I bomb I will have the experience of having done it and another notch on my belt (I guess). The “final” for this class involves actually going out to a comedy club-like establishment and performing in front of strangers. Yeah. Scary.

Stand-up comedy is the latest in a series of misadventures. You see, over the past few years I’ve been snagging chances to raise my experience (and possibly level up in the process). I figure that a screenwriter can benefit from a range of experiences, so every now and again I’ll mosey on out of my comfort zone and try something new. Earlier this year I took up Salsa dancing with my wife, and in December we’re flying to Paris for my first European trip.

Whenever I think about balking at a chance to do something new (I do fear change.) I remind myself that it will help me as a screenwriter. Who knows when I’ll write a screenplay about a French roller coaster enthusiast who enters a Salsa competition. Or maybe a tragedy about a budding stand-up comedian who is hit by a drunk driver head on while traveling home from yoga practice. The possibilities are twofold!

The only problem with the stand-up comedy class is that it is going eat away at my time to finish my football script. So I’ve got to complete my script, learn French, and develop a comedy act in the span of a few months. Wish me luck.

*Apparently jokes about the Prohibition Act are too old.

A Question of Death

2006-09-08T13:51:00.000-04:00

This is just a personal observation and an expression of what I went through last night, but I feel it relates to survival and what it means to the animal within. There is an outside chance it could help screenwriters with death scenarios and overall character creation. At least that’s what I tell myself to keep from crying. Kidding. I’m OK.

The short of it is that I had a nightmare last night and it really, truly freaked me out in a “I’m never going to visit a slaughterhouse again.” kind of way. It’s the kind of dream that makes you hesitant to go back to sleep in fear that some crooked, bony finger will press the “play” button resuming your paused dream exactly at the moment of terminal fright.*

When you dream, your mind is convinced that what it perceives is real, therefore it's not a huge leap of faith to think that my actions within that world were indeed authentic and valid. I guess this would make more sense if I actually told you the dream. It doesn’t involve clowns or snakes or planes so you can leave your major phobias behind. Most of the details are fuzzy except for the emotion and key actions which I will never forget. There is no backstory that I can remember, so I’m just going to lay it out as I see it in my mind’s eye. It’s a short dream and doesn’t ramble on for untold pages, so don’t think I’m going to narrate from breakfast to bedtime.

I believe I’m in Iraq. Not sure for certain as my dream was lacking in exposition-y dialogue. I don’t know if I was a soldier. I don’t know why I was there or who I was there with. What I do know is that I was charged with leaving the safety of a dwelling to go out and get supplies or something. I guess I got them because I was heading back to the house, package in hand, when things started to get scary.

The scene is a dusty, unpaved road with crude, sandstone homes on either side. Just about everything is a shade of brown or tan. I saw a group of men dressed kind of like soldiers, but they were obviously NOT soldiers of any kind. I’ll call them thugs to be nice. I won’t describe their ethnicity because, honesty, I don’t remember. They exited a vehicle, armed to the teeth, and ran into a house across the street. My only thought is “Get the hell out of here. Now.” So I start to walk and notice that there is another man in front of me who is also trying to get away.

Suddenly I hear a man shout, cock a gun, and tell us not to move. I knew I was in genunie peril. If I run there is a 100% chance I get shot. If I stop there is a 99% chance I get shot. When your life is on the line the choice between zero and one is no choice at all, so I stop and the other guy does the same. He summons us over to him and we wait for the other thugs to get back from whatever misdeeds they were up to in the house.

When the thugs finally emerge from the house their leader, who for some reason I picture as wearing some sort of sash, walks up to our captor and exchanges muffled words with him. Then he takes one look at us and says “Kill them.” Just like that.

To describe the emotion that went through me at that point is near impossible. I don’t know that I have the facilities to express it in any truly accurate way. I felt disbelief, outrage, finality, and terror at the same time. To hear someone announce your death, as you can surely imagine, is among the ugliest and repulsive things one can hear. There is no solace in an afterlife. There is no hoping your life has made a difference. There is only the knowledge that YOU are about to end.

Our captor raises his gun and immediately shoots the man next to me dead. No warning. Dead. I’m sure all of the color drained from my face and my eyes went as wide as saucers at this point. I mean, to shoot me now is too soon. Way too soon. Then I hear the only words that could make the situation worse. “I’m going to kill you slowly.”

He immediately shoots me no less than four times in the legs and chest. I fall over in pain. My breathing is labored. I’m in complete denial of my immanent death. Any onlooker could plainly see I was finished on this Earth.

But I’m not them, and I’m holding on to whatever life I have. I’m going to live! The thug walks up near my head and tells me he wonders if he could shoot me through the top of my head such that the bullet would pass through my body long ways, right down my neck.

My fright is, by this time, completely unchained for I knew that this bullet would kill me. I hear him cock his pistol and I feel the barrel of the gun on the crown on my head. I don’t want him to pull the trigger, but I am completely powerless to affect the outcome. I just want to be back in that dwelling, safe. I may have sobbed, but I don’t remember because in the next instant I find my self awake in my bed, heart pounding. I instantly knew it was a dream as its setting was so outlandish and alien. Fake or not, I was relieved to be out of that world.

The emotion started to drain away, and it wasn’t long before the trauma disappeared. That said, I think the ghosts of this particular dream will haunt me for ages.

What struck me, and continues to amaze me is how much we cling to life. We will lie to ourselves and believe it. We will strive to survive no matter what the prognosis. Sometimes, to the people in peril, there is a staunch denial that death even exists.

A few years back I was in a brutal car accident. So bad that I was flown to a nearby hospital. Hint: when they fly you to a hospital it is because they think you might not make it by ambulance alive. Not for one minute, nay one second, during that ideal (I was awake for ALL of it) did the idea of death cross my mind. I knew I was hurt bad, and that I’d have to get a new car (funny what you think of), but death? Not even.

An animal will chew off its limb to survive. What do you think you would be capable of if the lesser of two options was death? This reason, above all others, is why I could never watch Saw or any of its offspring.

Many movies involve death of some kind. After all, it is an easy start and end to conflict. I think the drowning scene in The Abyss is one of the better scenes where a character faces death. Lindsey elects to drown so that Bud can drag her back to the hatch and possibly revive her. Needless to say she reneges on her choice once she knows the air is gone.

*I'm no girly man. This dream was pure, unadulterated, load in your pants terror.

Evil Tom?

2006-09-05T10:07:00.000-04:00

In one of my vainglorious moments I decided to google my own name. Being as unique* a name as it is, I can revel in being listed at the top and have to date thwarted no fewer than zero attempts to google bomb my good name. This time, however, I made a startling discovery. While writing my football story during the past year I found the time to write and self-publish a book called Mr. Stick. Don’t believe me? Look at this!

Some fellow by the name of Thomas Crymes has written a book. Could this be my doppelganger? My evil alter ego that I have written about many times (2) before? I wish him well, but have not ruled out the possibility that we will one day do battle in some kind of epic setting. Who am I kidding? If he is as lazy and apathetic as I am we’ll probably say an uncomfortable hello from afar, walk away and tell our respective people that we got the better of the other.

I’m actually thinking about plunking down a fiver and buying this bloke’s book. Maybe you should too. Although I do acknowledge that there might not be room for two Thomas Crymeses (Crymes'? Crymesi?) with a wry sense of humor and a penchant for writing in this world. What will happen? What indeed.

Since Tom (Can I call him that?) has actually published something, even if it is self-published it looks official enough, he has the edge in the contest for now. So for those of you keeping score it is:

Thomas Crymes: 1
Thomas Crymes: 0

We’ll do the shirts/skins thing so you can tell us apart. I’ll be “skins” so I can show off my rippling physique.

*Well, it’s not literally unique as there are more Crymeses out there, but it’s certainly more unique than Smith. And yes I know that “more unique” is analogous to being “a little pregnant” but you know what I mean so please shut the hell up!

Ready. Set. Slow!

2006-08-28T11:21:00.000-04:00

So I’m all pumped up to write my second draft. I've built up my energy via the outline I constructed, gaining potential energy with each reengineered scene. I hoped that when I finally started drafting, the dam would burst and words would gush out of me.

No such luck.

I’m exposing my inexperience here, and that’s OK, because this blog is about chronicling the struggles of an emerging writer*. What I didn’t take into account was that while quickly writing the first draft I smoothed over problem areas and ignored others. There were scenes where the escalating conflict wasn’t easy to illustrate so I would either use a cliché or write on-the-nose dialogue to get me through to the next scene. Now, I’m attempting to write something I can show other writers, so I’m taking time to get scenes right. Newsflash! That takes a little time. Right now, I’m probably averaging closer to three pages a day which is off of the five or better I was expecting.

I’m at the end of Act I, and so far the page count is on pace with my bloated 165 page first draft. I’m trying hard not to panic. After all, Act I was fairly developed in my mind and it shouldn’t be surprising that the addition/subtraction that went on yielded roughly the same result page wise. I’m fully expecting that Act II will see a substantial reduction in pages. In fairy tale script land, Act II will end at around Page 98-100, giving me just 20 pages to wrap up the story in time for the credits.

On a side note, with this draft I’ve started using Google Calendar to chart my writing time. Yes, this is a scary idea and means that I will see all the time I wrote (and didn’t write). It means I won’t be able to claim I wrote 30 pages in 12 hours in one day unless I did (unlikely). At the end I will be able to chart my progress, and develop some metrics that perhaps I can aim at beating the next time around.

For the record writing does not only constitute the explicit act of word creation but also embodies time I specifically devote to crafting my story. This does not count thoughts that pop into my head while I’m on the john or in the car or negotiating a unilateral disarmament treaty with the Hessians. This is the specific time I block out to sit in a chair or pace around a room with the specific intent of crafting a story. Oh, and the actual word creation part as well.

Right now my calendar is private, but I may separate it out and make it public, so that others might be able to see it and laugh and point and judge about how I’m not dedicated to the craft. When I succeed, it may serve as a guide to others. Should I fall, it may mark potholes to avoid. Either way it should be useful.

As for the script, I thought I’d be done some time in September. Now I’m hoping I’ll be done before Austin. Hopefully I’ll finish in time to recraft my logline and develop a 90 second pitch that will win me the pitch competition…again. Only this time I’ll be without my writing partner and a big part of what made last year’s pitch successful. It’ll be an uphill climb for sure.

* Yes emerging. If I don’t believe in myself, who will?

Don't Move Until You See It

2006-08-11T09:42:00.000-04:00

I finally finished my 2nd draft outline, and I only had to look like a sucker for two and a half months! Yeah it took way too much time, but I'm finally at a point where I like the story choices I've made and am reasonably confident that I can deliver a 2nd draft that is under 130 pages. My first draft had over 80 pages of actual football action, so I feel that getting the page count down won't be a such a herculean task.

So why did it take do long to get this outline finished? Well it took a few weeks to just create an outline from my first draft. Then I started to cut and sculpt working at my own pace instead of frenetically writing towards some arbitrary deadline. The result, I hope, is a well designed story that will result in a script I can be proud of.

For now Evil Tom has run off to Australia (with the rest of the criminals*). I will soon reenter drafting mode. This time I’ll pay a little more attention to the words and try to produce something I can show to my peeps out there. You know who you are. My hopes are to have something to show within the month of September, but you never know how it will go. I will keep a log of my time and see if it takes me more or less time than the first draft did.

With my next script, I hope to cut these times down (mostly the non-writing/outlining/dreaming times). My problem is that it isn’t easy for me to see the story, for it to solidify in my mind while in the outlining, story forming process. I suspect this is why most young writers hasten to FADE IN. They need something tangible to work with because a bulleted list on a page just doesn’t cut it. I think that after a few more scripts the story will become more concrete during the outlining process, cutting down the time to FADE IN and reducing the chances that I’ll have too much story for a conventional 100 to 120 page script.

See you in a few.

* I kid. Australians are a nice and wholesome people, at least that is what I’ve been told to say by the Australian Tourist Council lest someone cuts me while I slumber. Don’t fuck with the ATC.

Truth, Justice, All That Stuff

2006-07-05T11:56:00.000-04:00

I went to see Superman Returns (in 3-D no less) last Thursday. I entered the theater a little nervous. The original Superman: The Movie from 1978 is a favorite of mine, and I was afraid that it would feel more like Spiderman than Superman. I was apprehensive of the score not being by John Williams, but I was encouraged by the trailer and generally favorable buzz that preceded the release.

In short, I liked it. A lot. Right from the opening credits, it's clear that this story aims to honor the feel of the '78 version. Indeed this movie is an extension of the Donner film. By the end of the movie I was convinced that Routh was not only the right actor for this Superman, but any Superman. The film delivered for me in just about every way. And while I acknowledge its flaws, which happen to be inherited from the original movie, I still love it to death. If you love the original and don’t go into the movie with a chip on your shoulder because of the new actor/suit/tag line, then I think you will have a good time. I consider this movie a worthy successor to the first two films*.

But all is not right for me.

“Truth, justice, all that stuff.”

The patriot within gets kicked in the crotch every time I hear it. I thank the fifty stars that the line was in the preview, so it softened the blow and didn’t distract me while watching the movie.

“Truth, justice, and the American way.”

That is the way it should read, the way it’s always been read until now. Superman is an American invention, and as far as I’m concerned embodies what is best about this country. It has nothing to do with who or what party is currently in office. It has to do with our rise to power, our need to help the weak, and our belief that no obstacle is too great to overcome. That is the America I believe in anyways. Those traits do foster less admirable ones like arrogance, but being so close to Independence Day, I won’t pick that particular scab.

So it bothers me that because Warner, reportedly, wanted more of an international audience, they mangled the line and featured Superman helping out all nations of the world. Superman is as American as apple pie, Chinese take out, and NFL Football.

Speaking of football, I’ve got a script to finish.

Peace out.

*We will conveniently choose to forget that Supermans three and four existed and just move along because there is nothing to see here.

Voices

2006-06-23T11:08:00.000-04:00

“I’m not good enough.”
“I was foolish to think I could do it.”
“This won’t interest anyone.”
“You’re a hack.”

As you may have guessed, these aren’t cornfield ghosts begging me to build an athletic field. This is the voice I call Evil Tom, and at times, the Force is with him. This is one of those times. The further I get into a project, the stronger the voice becomes. I have to fight through it, and tell Evil Tom that he is a no-good-doody-head*. I’m struggling through this outlining process. I don’t have the faith that a solution will present itself and that I will figure out how to organize my story into a tight, well crafted script.

I have to tell myself that a solution will present itself, and that my script will be good enough. And while I battle Evil Tom in Act II of Tom: A Life Less Mangled, I must believe that he will eventually be sucked up by a jet engine after our grueling sword fight on the rain-swept tarmac of Philadelphia International Airport, so that I can move into Act III, head held high and hopefully enjoy a lengthy epilogue the critics will find melodramatic and preachy.

This is not a blog post as much as a diary entry. And though it seems it, I’m not looking for people to tell me things will be all right. I know that I will get through it and finish my script and be happy with it. Then the process will start over and Evil Tom will come back again and again to haunt me.

I think I will take up fencing.

* He doesn’t like being called a no-good-doody-head, and tells me I’m a hack for using such a juvenile term. Better writers would think of something interesting.

Left Turn at Albuquerque

2006-06-13T13:13:00.000-04:00

So I finish reading my first draft. I was expecting to find excessive bloat. I imagined an excruciating read rife with boring scenes and wasted opportunities. I thought its faults would be glaring at me like a clown at a wake*. Fortunately or unfortunately (depending how you look at it) the story flowed well. There were a lot of spots where I was proud and the bloat that I thought would be obvious was not easily detectable. I’m left with a 165 page script that I need to cut 45 pages from (at a minimum).

Now I’ve got to put my script in a press and take the welding torch to it. I have way more questions than answers, because I’m not exactly sure how it’s all going to happen. What if my story is, in its heart of hearts, a 140 page script? Unlikely, but possible. What if getting it under 120 means cutting it to the point where my original story no longer makes sense, so I have to blow it up and start anew? That frightens me, but I have to take solace in the fact that, in the end, the story will tell what it wants to be. I just have to listen.

For now, I’m going to write an outline from my existing draft. For each scene sequence, I’m going to write down how it affects the main plot and any relevant subplots. I’m going to write down all the characters involved and what their want is for that scene. Then I’ve got to answer the most important question: why? Why does this scene need to exist. On a separate file, I’m keeping track of all the subplots and how many scenes are involved in each. I’m hoping that I will be able to look back on it and glean some information that will help me wrangle this monster in.

Condense. Compress. Combine.

I think that will be my motto for the foreseeable future.

*What? I thought it would lighten the mood.

Video Research

2006-06-12T14:29:00.000-04:00

As part of my homework for writing my football script, I watched a bunch of football movies. I wanted to see what they did right, what they did wrong, and what I should avoid as far as clichés and over used material. I’m both sad and elated to say that, barring Remember the Titans (which I really like a lot), all of them were plain awful. I watched Friday Night Lights. I watched North Dallas Forty. I watched The Longest Yard. I watched The Program. I also watched a few others (the list isn’t long or storied). They were all awful. I thought that The Longest Yard and North Dallas Forty would be the best of the lot. I was so under-whelmed. Whatever luster they may have had is now gone. Since, they failed to capture me in any way, their flaws just stood out like an open receiver, arms flailing wildly. Any Given Sunday is the only DVD I have yet to watch, but since I hated the movie so much when I saw it originally, I can’t bring myself to open the packaging let alone view it. I suppose I’ll have to suffer through it again at some point.

I also watched movies that I thought would help out with my writing. I saw Saving Private Ryan and We Were Soldiers back to back, because I want parts of the my story to have a war movie type feel. I really like We Were Soldiers, but watching it in such close proximity to the venerable Saving Private Ryan really exposed its flaws in my eyes. I also watched The Natural and Rollerball.

The Natural is one of my favorites (maybe my favorite sports film). So many of the football films are exposés that criticize the sport rather than celebrate it. The Natural treats baseball as a good thing that people end up corrupting. Roy Hobbs is a legend in the game. He elevates the team and captures the imagination of the public. When Ty Jackson, the main character in my story, hits the field I want him to have some of that he’s-too-good-to-believe magic. I also want my story to celebrate football without seeming like a 120 minute infomercial for the NFL. It won’t be easy.

Rollerball was another movie I viewed (just last night as a matter of fact). It has a player that is bigger than the game. It also opens up with a prolonged in-game segment as my story does. It was great to see how character came through in those opening moments that were short on dialogue and heavy on action. Rollerball has its flaws, but it still holds up. “Jonathan! Jonathan!”

In addition to my movie watching, I also took in many hours of NFL Films documentaries. Lots of great stuff there. If you like football, hopefully you will have the good fortunes to watch a segment called The Rites of Autumn. Written by NFL Hall of Fame writer Ray Didinger, it eloquently expresses the essence of football and why it resonates with Americans. Awesome stuff. If I could post a link to it without Steve Sabol showing up and kicking me in the crotch, I’d do it in a finstant*.

I hope all of the above plus book research helps me craft a compelling story. First draft is done. Now I’m in the evaluating/overhauling stage. Things are muddy. I need to get on track. I want a 115 page script packed with quality.

*quicker than an instant.

Worlds of Fun

2006-05-31T00:16:00.000-04:00

Today, our final day, we arrived at Worlds of Fun in Kansas City. The weather was perfect, if not a little on the hot side. Blue skies, a perfect setting for the curtain call of our trip. The park itself is quaint and pleasant. It just has a friendly air about it. It’s also small enough to traverse in a few short minutes.

This year they opened a new coaster, the Patriot. It is the tallest, fastest inverted coaster in the region. How that region is defined is anyone’s guess. Since I’ve seen bigger and faster, I can only assume that the region constitutes at the very least the perimeter of the park. While the ride is silky smooth and thoroughly enjoyable, it doesn’t do anything new. In fact, the first two elements are taken directly from the many Batman: The Ride clones floating around this great country which starts out in exactly the same way. Of course, critiquing coasters like this is borderline psychotic since few people have the experience to appreciate the fineries of coaster riding, but it makes me feel better and the doctors say that’s good.

Anyhoo, even though Patriot is the marquee coaster of the park, it isn’t the best. That distinction is reserved for a little coaster called Spinning Dragons. Partly resembling a Wild Mouse coaster, riders traverse the track in single four person cars. What makes this coaster interesting is that the cars freely spin around while the ride is in motion (see pic). It’s a lot of fun, and each ride is different than the last.

Worlds of Fun also has Mamba, which is a copy of Steel Force from Dorney Park, and Boomerang, which is a copy of the dozens of Boomerang coasters that blight parks around the country. What an awful ride.

Then there is Timber Wolf or as I prefer to call it, the Lumbering Oaf. The scariest part of that wooden coaster is the fear that it might not complete the circuit and end up coming to a peaceful rest at the bottom of one of the hills. It might be the slowest wood coaster I’ve ever rode.

While this all seems fairly negative, we had a good time. I enjoyed myself, and each of the coasters. They all have their good sides, and since the trip was winding to a close, I wanted to savor every last moment.

Now, the trip is over. Tomorrow, we head back to Philly, and begin to put back the pieces of our shattered lives which consists mainly of going through a week’s worth of junk mail. With any luck the plane will take off when it is supposed to and we will get home with time enough to unpack, get reacquainted with our homes and drift off to sleep in our own beds*. I'll reflect on my vacation, then it's back to writing.

*Sleeping in your own bed can never be underestimated.

Six Flags St. Louis

2006-05-30T20:44:00.000-04:00

If you haven’t already guessed, our stay at the St. Louis Days Inn didn’t go so well. Slow drains, exposed piping in the room as well as box electrical outlets jutting out from the wall creating that rustic, hide-the-women-and-children, warm fuzzy feeling. I’m never staying at a Days Inn again (if I can avoid it), and I am now the national spokesman for Microtel Inns*. They are cheap and, for the most part, clean and well maintained.

Enough of that. We hit Six Flags St. Louis (SFSTL) on Monday. It was oppressively hot and although there was rain in the forecast, we weren’t rained on once. SFSTL is a nice park, but it is nothing to write home about. It isn’t well maintained and is filled with forgettable rides. But because we already have Six Flags season passes, we only had to pay for parking and whatever overpriced mediocre food we wanted to consume.

But after four parks, the grind of the trip is beginning to show, and I’m becoming less patient, and generally enjoying the parks less and less. Four days ago this park would have been a nice romp. On this day it was just another Kentucky Kingdom and with the compounded heat, we were looking for an excuse to bail.

The only coaster of note was the Boss, a wooden coaster that plays good cop/bad cop at the same time. When riding it in the rear of the train, it throws you around causing multiple contusions. Eric immediately dubbed it the 300 Ughs. Because crowds were sparse, we were able to re-ride with little effort, and the wait for the front was no wait at all.

From the front, the Boss is a much smoother ride. Speed without the pain, the Boss is actually an exhilarating coaster when you strip away the rough edges. Highlighted by an unusual straight away after the first hill, the track winds through the hills and ends with a double helix ala The Beast. But while it is a fine ride, it’s no Beast, and the double helix is little more than an annoyance.

We left SFSTL early because we had a five hour commute ahead of us and no real reason to hang around. Kansas City is up next, our final stop on the trip.

*I am not a spokesman for Microtel Inns. If I could get my hands on the guy who is spreading these falsehoods, I'd give him the what for.

Holiday World

2006-05-30T02:03:00.000-04:00

We somehow slept through the night in the rat hole formerly known as the Tell City Days Inn, scarfed down a mediocre continental breakfast punctuated by a truly awful cup of what local area residents would later describe as orange juice, and headed out to Holiday World.

The park is located in heart of wondrous Santa Claus, Indiana. The park is divided up into themed areas representing major holidays. There is Christmas, 4^th of July, Halloween, and Thanksgiving (new this year). It’s a family park, so burlesque shows were hard to come by.

Holiday World is primarily a water park, but when they aren’t spending time on the lazy river, they are installing world-class coasters. All three of them are famous. Voyage, their newest, opened just this year. Some are calling it the best wood coaster in the country. Holiday World has free parking, free sunscreen and free unlimited soft drinks (I’m crappin’ ya negative). Do not underestimate the power of free beverages.

Voyage was the impetus behind my desire to go to Holiday World and to some extent the very purpose for this massive trip. So you can imagine my dismay when I saw a sign that read something like: “Voyage is closed today. Go cry to your Mommy about it.” Needless to day, it took the wind out of me. I was going to phone my mother and tell her how sad I was, but I sucked it up like a big boy and headed into the park.

Everything I read about Holiday World said it wouldn’t be that crowded on Memorial Day weekend, so, of course, the place was mobbed. We headed for our first coaster, The Raven, and saw a huge line. In reality, the crowd isn’t that huge, but the bastards in charge decided that they would only run one train that day. This caused the line to drag. We waited forty minutes to ride.

The Raven is a fine coaster with some wonderful air time with a quick paced romp through the woods. It was voted the #1 wood coaster several years in a row (2000 – 2003), and it showed. I personally, wasn’t wowed by it, but it is a solid offering.

After the Raven was the Legend. This one is taller and faster than the Raven, but a little rougher. Again, it was very good, but not anything to do cartwheels over. And again, only one train running and an unnecessary forty minute wait. My opinion of the park was steadily declining because I hate needlessly waiting in line because the park doesn’t feel like putting two trains on the track.

With both coasters out of the way, I felt a little rudderless. Instead of getting back in the long lines, we ventured down to gawk at and long for Voyage. When we reached the newly created Thanksgiving themed section of the park, I look up to see people going into The Voyage station. I look again to see a train navigating the tracks filled with people. We all rushed to the line to find it fairly short. Within minutes we were taxiing up the lift hill.

The Voyage exceeded all of my expectations. It is a wonderful ride that overshadows both the Raven and Legend. Breathtakingly fast and nimble, this ride redefines what we expect of a coaster. It breaks no records yet sets itself apart from all contenders except for maybe the Beast. Is it better? Tough call. I’d still stay with the Beast because the end double helix is just so perfect, it elevates the entire coaster to near perfect status.

While Voyage has a bump or two, they don’t hold it back. The front is a wonderful blend of speed and air time. I rode it three times. Each time, the ride got better and better. This is a wonderful coaster. It innovates as well as masters all of the traditional elements. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

The Voyage single-handedly reversed my opinion of Holiday World. I still think they need to treat their customers like their time is valuable.

After Holiday World we headed west to St. Louis. Our four plus hour marathon to Missouri netted us another date with Days Inn and another sub-standard hotel room. More on that later.

Kentucky Kingdom

2006-05-27T23:51:00.000-04:00

Greetings from Kentucky y’all. Well, actually Kentucky is a memory. I’m blogcasting live from Tell City, Indiana. We pulled up to the Days Inn to find that we had reservations in what amounted to a bomb shelter with running water. Wonder of wonders, this meager hotel was a WiFi hot spot. My bombshelter with running water has internet access! I will consider this a saving grace at least until I attempt to slumber on the semi-soft slab of concrete they call a bed.

Today we visited Six Flags Kentucky Kingdom. It’s an odd-looking park plopped down in the middle of town right next to an airport. Part carnival, part water park, part corporate mega-park, it possesses a conflicted heart. The people were nice and the mullets were plentiful. It somehow amazes me how thick the accents get as we travel south and west.

Coaster-wise Kentucky Kingdom isn’t all that bad. Chang is a record breaking stand-up coaster that was a sheer joy to ride. Smooth and acrobatic, it isn’t the pain induced blur that is Cedar Point’s Mantis. We rode it twice and counted ourselves lucky for getting to experience its grandeur.

On a more traditional note, Thunder Run, a wooden coaster, looked very average but proved its mettle with a fast and mostly smooth ride. All of the other coasters (three more) were mediocre to downright painful.

This is probably our first and last trip to Kentucky Kingdom, but it’s not for a lack of quality or the result of a bad experience. While it has some solid rides, it doesn’t have the firepower to command repeated visits.

Tomorrow it is off to Holiday World located in the bustling metropolis of Santa Claus, Indiana. It is Christmas every day (Santa is always there), and the soft drinks are free with admission. Hopefully, I’ll ride a brand new coaster called the Voyage. It is supposed to be the bee’s knees. They also have the Raven* and Legend which are both regarded very highly. If nothing else we will have three world class coasters to experience.

*Someone fell off and died last year. They stood up on the train as it careened downhill. In the inner coaster circles we call acts like that… stupid.

Kings Island

2006-05-27T01:40:00.000-04:00

The Beast

Son of Beast

We woke up to overcast skies. Rain and thunderstorms ruled the forecast. Even my best Shamanic chanting and bone throwing were no match for the waterlogged clouds. I decided to leave a good tip for the cleaning lady* in order to generate some positive, My Name is Earl, karma. The tip wasn’t sunny skies good, but it could be enough to get us through the day with a only drizzle or two (I’m not made of money people).

Paramount’s Kings Island is the second stop on our journey. It is home to the Beast, the longest wood rollercoaster on the planet. Son of Beast also resides at the park. It is the tallest (maybe 2^nd tallest) wood roller coaster in the world. It also has a loop. Fuck’n A.

Our spy network confirmed that Son of Beast was down for maintenance and wouldn’t open until mid June. Bummer. There were also reports that a few of the coasters weren’t operating. Double Bummer.

So we get to the park and the sky looks miserable. Riding Beast was the first and only ride on my list (because Son of Beast was down). If I ride, it I consider my day a success. So as soon as the park opens we dash to the Beast. Well, I can’t exactly dash with my ankle the way it is, but I ambled with determination. Some call it a desperate mosey. Ok, I call it that, but nonetheless, we arrived at the Beast mere minutes after the gates opened.

It was ready to go, and we were just about the only people in the station. We waited for the front seat, and off we went. If you enjoy riding rollercoasters, then you really do owe it to yourself to get to Cincinnati and ride it before the apocalypse (It’s coming).

Before Beast I did not care for wood rollercoasters. They were rickety. They were rough. They were tame. I had no patience for them and their wooden ways. The Beast changed that. Three years ago I concluded that it was number two on my list. Today I entered the ride expecting a wonderful nostalgic ride. What I got was nothing short of a re-education.

The ride was wicked fast. The front was fairly smooth, and with the weight of the train behind you, the scenery was a blur. What makes Beast so good is the fact that the first part of it is a fantastic, almost peerless tear through the wilderness. The second part is almost beyond words. There is a Nirvana. The emotional and physical coalesce in a finale that is breathtaking. I know this reeks of hyperbole, but it I swear it isn’t. It’s the truth.

The second part of the ride begins with a second lift hill. This hill drops the rider into a long gradual descent into a double helix. This gradual descent results in a train that seems to be clearly out of control, dangerously so. At breakneck speed, it slams into the tunnel to start the double helix. Light pours in from holes in the seemingly rickety boards that make up the tunnel.

You careen through the tunnel, white-knuckled, praying to the Burger King (or whoever it is you worship). The train continues to gain speed until you are sure the train will jump the track, but it doesn’t. It never has in 25 years yet no matter how many times you ride it, but that fact gives you no solace in the moment.

I finished the ride in awe, and instantly I knew that this work of art was the best coaster I had ever rode, wood, steel or otherwise. I ended up riding it four times before leaving for the day.

Back to the park. In the morning, there were a number of coasters that were closed (as our intelligence indicated). We found out that most, if not all, of the rides would eventually open. So why were they closed? They were short staffed, and wouldn’t be getting reinforcements until 4pm when school let out. I can’t tell you how comforting it is to know that little Johny has to finish his spelling test before I could ride Top Gun.

The unexpected highlight of the day was that Son of Beast eventually opened despite what the intelligence gatherers said, and I rode it exactly one time. It was all I could bear. Like it’s father, Son of Beast is fast and furious. It is long and has a loop, fuck’n A, to spice things up. Unfortunately, the ride is so rough it rearranged some of my bones. I’m also kinda sure it bruised my brain (as I write this, I have no memory of the fourth grade and I’m not entirely sure how to do long division).

Son of Beast is a wonderful, horrible ride that I will look forward to riding each and every time I go to that park. Each time I will hold hope that they find a way to fix the organ-liquefying jostling that goes on during the ride.

In the end, the weather held out minus one or two isolated showers. The sun even came out for a spell. We went on every coaster we wanted to, and left for Kentucky at around 7:30pm.

Tomorrow and for the rest of the trip, we are in uncharted territory. All four parks are new to us, so we will be sampling coaster culture from Kentucky to Kansas City. I may not have web access again until Monday or Tuesday night. At that point, I hope to throw some more thoughts up here.

*It's kind of presumptuous for me to assume that the person cleaning the room is a woman. It could very well be a man wearing a skirt who answers to the name Alice.

Cedar Point

2006-05-26T00:33:00.000-04:00

One park down, five to go. Millennium Force was down for the day and the forecast threatened thunderstorms. While we would not get to ride our favorite coaster, the weather held out quite nicely. In the group photo (from left to right) it is Winfield, Sean, Jessica (my wife), Eric, and Greg. Eric, Greg, Jess, and I have been taking marathon coaster trips like this one for some time now. Winfield and Sean are two coaster fanatics who joined us for day one and headed home.

Day one went great. We rode some coasters and the weather was fine except for a slight tornado warning* that pretty much ended our day, but that didn't happen until early evening after we had accomplished nearly all we wanted to do. The park wasn't crowded at all except for a bunch of school field trips and a gaggle of specially abled individuals. One of them rode a wooden coaster called Blue Streak right before our friend Greg was to board. While waiting to be collected, this person, who was already slobbering all over everything, proceeded to put the entire buckle that riders use to restrain themselves into his mouth. Greg had the attendant wipe off the buckle afterward, but I maintain that the belt buckle was sufficiently cleaned by the kindly gentlemen's mouth.

After changing into dry clothes after being soaked by a downpour, we picked up stakes and traveled the 4 hours South to Mason, Ohio. I write this now minutes before I slumber and attempt to do it all over again tomorrow at Kings Island.

The Beast awaits. More on that later.

*No shit. It started to rain hard, and we huddled in the coaster station to keep from being soaked. Then the dutiful attendants told us to leave the station and take cover lest we be sucked up by a twister. The tornado never did come (sigh), but we saw some wicked cool lightning.

More on That Later

2006-05-23T18:58:00.000-04:00

Six amusement parks, seven seven days (see illustration).

Now you have to understand, I don't like long car trips, and my arthritic right ankle swells up inflicting untold pain on me if I walk on it for an extended period of time (20 seconds).

So why then would I embark on a journey that involves over ten miles of walking and over a thousand miles on the road? Two words. Roller coasters. I love 'em, and each year me and my compatriots venture out in search of new coasters to ride.

This year we are doing a sweep of the Midwest. Starting out at Cedar Point amusement park off of Lake Erie, we will sweep down and through to Worlds of Fun in Kansas City, then fly home. Along the way we will visit Paramount's Kings Island in Cincinnati, Six Flags Kentucky Kingdom in Louisville, Holiday World in, get this, Santa Claus Indiana, and Six Flags St. Louis in our first of two parks in the great state of Missouri.

The itinerary goes something like this:
Fly to Pittsburgh on Wednesday, drive 3 hours to Cedar Point and stay the night.
Go to the park on Thursday, all day
Drive 4 hours to Kings Island, sleep for a few hours
Get up at the crack of dawn and go to the park and walk around all day.
Then after we are all thoroughly exausted and ready to pick fights with Girl Scouts, we will drive to Kentucky Kingdom.

Rinse... repeat. You get the idea... for seven days. No potty breaks. Do not pass go. Deposit 200 dollars.

We will be deriving most of our nourishment from the park's ample supply of chicken fingers, hamburgers, and waffle cones. By the end of this Bataan Death March* of a vacation we will be weary, but we will thankful that it is all over. We won't regret a second. At least I won't.

Unfortunately, I just discovered that my favorite coaster is currently down for X-Files-like reasons. Luckily I have tasted its sweet nectar before. To add insult to injury, it looks like we will be dodging a steady stream of lightning bolts all day long.

I hope this is not an indicator of what's to come. If any of our hotels have internet access (I think a couple do), I'll throw up a post or two during my journey and hopefully have a pic or two to share. All of you who are interested (Hi Mom), will be taken on a wonderous journey full of pitfalls and revelations not unlike the coasters I will be riding. Of course I could just be some idiot blogging to an indifferent universe.

*I really shouldn't compare the Bataan Death March to my trip as I am pretty sure the soldiers who went through that ordeal had absolutely no access to roller coasters.

Metrics!

2006-05-22T09:17:00.000-04:00

Now that I’ve completed my first draft and am waiting to go on vacation (more on that later), I figured I’d put together some metrics. This may or may not be of interest to you, but for me, it is an interesting way to look at how you work, and what you might be might be capable of in the future.

Let’s take a look at the overall numbers:

Total Pages: 165
Given that it is better to write too much than too little, this is still more than is necessary. I’m going to have to chop out 50 or more pages.

Total Words: 31,122
Not an important stat, but because my script is description heavy, I expect this number to drop considerably during rewrites and for future scripts as my craft improves.

Total calendar days: 38 with an average of 4.34 per day.
This is just tells me how much actual time it took me to write and how productive I was while still including the days I did not write.

Total Writing days: 26 with an average of 6.36 pages per day.
This shows how prolific I was while writing.

Now lets take a look at the work itself.

Act I
Length: 37 pages
Total calendar days: 12 with an average of 3.08 pages per day.
Total writing days: 7 with an average of 5.2 pages per day.

All in all, not too shabby. Started off a little slow, but acceptably so.

Act II
Length: 92
Total calendar days: 22 with an average of 4.18 pages per day.
Total writing days: 16 with an average of 5.75 pages per day.

Clearly Act II is way too long, but I’m happy with the output nonetheless.

Act III
Length: 36 pages
Total calendar days: 3 with an average of 12 pages per day.
Total writing days: 3 with an average of 12 pages per day.

When you get down to the end, you just want to belt it out ASAP. Of course I was staring in the face of a deadline of getting it done before vacation*.

The Big Picture:

So what does it all mean? Well, it is obvious that if I can wrangle in Act II better next time, my writing time will be shortened by a few days. But I might not be able to devote the same amount of time to Act III in the future so it might not affect the overall timeline too much.

Using the above information as a guide I could theoretically write the first draft of a 90 page script in 21 total days. A 120 page script would take 28 days. Considering the anchor that is my full-time job, writing a first draft in under a month, at this point, is a worthy and achievable goal.

*More on that later.

Done!

2006-05-21T01:14:00.000-04:00

Minutes ago I put the final touches on my football script. And my God, it weighs in at 165 pages. Part of me is unhappy that I overwrote by about 50 pages, but the rational part believes that it is much easier to cut down, than to build up.

I just hope that when it comes time to kill my children that I can do it with a clean conscience and a sound mind*. I know there is a lot of bloat, but hopefully I can salvage the gems while cutting out the fat. Is that a mixed metaphor? I don't care. I'm tired.

Now I can go on my roller coaster vacation (more on that later) with a clean conscience. When I get back I'll survey the damage and start a rewrite.

*If you thought, even for a fleeting moment that I honestly was talking about murdering real children, then you have neither a clean conscience nor a sound mind...sick-o.

Act III - The Anvil Nears

2006-05-18T10:44:00.000-04:00

92 pages. 18 days. 5 pages a day (roughly). Act II is in the can. All 92 pages of it. Yeah it went long, so what of it? What I hope to learn from this is how to best construct an outline that resembles an actual story. I failed this time out, but next time maybe I will have the knowledge and foresight to construct an outline that yields only an 89 page second act (baby steps to the act break).

Now it's on to Act III. The good thing is that Act III is fairly concrete in the outline. The bad thing is that I really want to get this puppy done before I go on vacation (next Wednesday), and so I hoped to get a draft done by this Saturday. I need time to unwind and relax before this cruel mistress of a vacation is upon me. I plan to write all night tonight and tomorrow. If I can write “FADE OUT” before 10am on Saturday, I will count myself lucky.

Once done, I will hand my first draft over to my good friend Ryan, who will do me the honor of suffering through it for a read. I’m not afraid to let him read my stuff at its worst because he already knows that I not write good. So he will read it, and he will weep, and I will promise to use verbs… again, and after all of the crying and writhing is over, we will go back to being friends, but I’ll have to go on knowing that my words have killed just a little part of him. Somehow, I will.

But it gets better. Ryan will most likely be the very first person to read it. And when I mean first, I mean first as in before me.

No, I don’t read my stuff as I write. I might glance over the previous day’s work, but for the most part I don’t like to dwell on the past. So, I’ll write and I’ll leave those particular dogs to their slumber. Ryan can wake them up, cuz I want no parts of those mean SOBs. Truth be told, the real reason I probably do all of this is so when I give him the next draft, it will be exponentially better, and my merely mediocre script will seem like it was shat out by Charlie Kaufman, and I will be temporarily restored to literate status*.

*The opinions of my subconscious do not necessarily reflect the views of the host Tom entity, and will be denied by said entity if questioned.

Act II - The Long Road

2006-04-28T08:49:00.000-04:00

I've finally moved out of Act I land (well, a couple days ago). I'm averaging around five pages a night. I find myself rethinking too much and not just writing what I have. That’s good because I’m thinking on the fly and coming up with some good stuff. It’s bad because one of my reasons for doing an exhaustive outline was to write it really fast. Is five pages per three hour session fast? It is what it is.

Act I is about 37 pages. I know that doesn’t conform to the screenwriting manifesto that stipulates that the first act must end on page 30… or else, but those self-important screenwriting harlots can kiss my narrow black butt* two times.

Now it is on to the desert of Act II, the Bataan Death March of screenwriting. With any luck, I’ll emerge from it relatively unscathed and ready to head into Act III. I’ve got a huge list of scenes and am frightened that Act III might not start until page 140. It’s easier to whittle down than to build up I suppose.

How many pages do you average per session?

UPDATE:

My friend Ryan sent me a write up on Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki. He has made several films, some of which have brought him acclaim. He had this to say about writing screenplays:

“In the old days I would write a script during a weekend, now I have become lazy, so it will take me almost a week. But the story line, and the characters – already cast – have probably been working in my subconscious for a year. I simply connect it to a printer, and there is the screenplay. It is all very convenient.”

After slaving over my current story for many moons, I have only this to say:

Fuck Off!

*I am not black, but my butt may be narrow considering that I don’t have one (both of my legs connect directly to my back).

A Question of Race

2006-04-21T08:54:00.000-04:00

While writing my football script that the elders say will bring balance to the force and create a surging tide of good-will that will devastate the coast of some far-off land*, I started to wonder just why I should make an effort to declare ethnicity in a script. I mean we’re all color blind right?

Right.

I’m not talking about holding hands and singing songs. I’m just wondering if and why writers might feel it necessary. Shouldn’t a person’s mannerisms/customs/relations/diction paint an accurate portrait of who that person is without having to resort to the literal? Perhaps if you are playing a character against type you would need to be specific up front for the reader. But other than that, is it a crime to let the readers paint their own picture?

I’m guessing you don’t want to create a scenario where your reader assumes a character is white, then on page 35 finds out through dialogue that he is black. You want your reader to get an accurate picture in as few words as possible. Do I need to identify a character named Malik as African American? Probably not. But if Malik is white, then it must be stated.

Right now, I’m just writing my descriptions without the mention of race. I’m wondering if anyone feels I’m doing the reader a disservice. Am I creating unease in the reader or giving them a sense that my script is not on firm ground? Should every visual in a screenplay be so concrete that the reader gets the exact image I have in my head?

I say, let the reader bring their own experiences and draw their own conclusions (within reason of course).

What say you?

*Truth be told, good will rarely devastates, except when a good Samaritan reminds you that the Krispy Kreme donut you're eating is loaded with trans fat. In that case, good will could result in a black eye or, at the very least, a stern talking-to.

Finally

2006-04-13T10:34:00.000-04:00

After much consternation and gnashing of teeth, I am finally about to type those immortal words: "FADE IN."* I've been outlining/sketching/doodling for months on my football script, and I'm going to try and fire out a draft as quickly as I can.

With each new script I write, I try something a little different. This time I tried to get the story as concrete as possible before starting. This will, hopefully, facilitate the writing process so that I'm not staring at a blinking cursor wondering if my main character is a super model or a homosexual Samoan. The down side is that you feel unproductive and worthless and not very writer-like for a long, long time. All I have to show for it right now is a bloated Keynote file (that program rocks by the way). That is about to change my excellent friends.

Now the key is to see how long it actually takes me to bang out this draft and finally see for myself just how misplanned and ill-expressed my ideas actually are. Bonus!

*Well, I won't actually type it as it is one of those drop down do-jiggy thingies in Movie Magic that purportedly saves me oodles of time (5 minutes over 30 years).

Ten Verbs

2006-04-13T09:40:00.000-04:00

This 10 verb meme thing. Only bad can come of it. Either you find out that I don’t have great command of the English language or find out that I have no idea what a verb is. It’s lose lose. To hedge my bet I think I’ll go back to my humble beginnings and post the first 10 verbs from my first script, Expedition, which my mother assures me is Academy Awards material.

swirls, line, burdened, populate, walks, bundled, wears, appears, is, looks

Now, if someone wouldn't mind prying these nails from my ankles and wrists*, I'd like to get down now. I will give fresh nails to my good friend Ryan. Tag. You're it.

*I don't claim to be Jesus or any other deity, but if my "walk on water" experiment goes as well as planned I may revise that statement.

The Perfect Title

2006-04-07T20:44:00.000-04:00

I went to see Thank You for Smoking tonight, and it was good. Better than good. Go see it after reading this post. Seriously. But that's not what I want to talk about. It's this damned Nacho Libre picture that's coming out.

It just may have the perfect title. I remember just seeing the words "Nacho Libre" in print somewhere. No logo, no pictures, just "Nacho Libre" in boring arial or some nonsense and I smirked. I just... smirked. Because it's funny.

I saw the words and instantly knew it was a comedy, and I instantly knew it was going to be goofy and nonsensical. Why? Because even though I don't speak a lick of Spanish, I know that "Nacho Libre" probably doesn't make a whole lotta sense, and that might be the point. The title tells me everything I need to know about the movie in one fell idiotic swoop.

Then I saw the poster, and I cannot imagine a better image to go with the title. Some overweight moron in a leotard* flying through the air sporting a face that either looks like he's staring down the grill of a speeding bus or is doing his best Kramer impersonation. Either way I'm there.

I'm so there. Nacho Libre. I'm sure there are more perfect titles out there, but right now I'm blinded by the cheesy wonderment that is Nacho Libre.

*I am well aware that the moron in question is Jack Black who may or maynot be a moron in real life.

A New Word (sort of)

2006-04-06T09:22:00.000-04:00

From time to time I come across an interesting new term that the young people are using. With a little under eight months to go before shuffling off the key 18-34 demographic coil, it's imperative that I keep myself in-the-know with what’s hot like Tickle-Me-Elmo and the Back Street Boys. I will share my findings here and I hope you will do the same.

I gleaned this latest ditty from the video game world. I cannot attest to its freshness as the word has no born on date. Ben Franklin could have been using the term back in 1984 or whenever it is he lived. Good ‘ol Ben. The man invented air*, founded a country, and still found time to pillow half the colonies. A God among men. But I digress.

The term is “brick.” Now I know what your thinking, “Did I wash my hair this morning, or merely use conditioner in a sleep deprived stupor.” “Brick” is a common word with a fresh new meaning.

brick (brk)

To render an object, usually a carriable (not necessarily mobile) electronic entertainment device, unusable thereby turning it into a functionless mass.

Examples:

I bricked my iPod when I dropped it into the toilet.

Microsoft has been bricking Xbox 360s with a buggy firmware update.

To brick something is to turn it into a brick or paperweight. I’m not talking brick, as in a useful building block used by a mason. I’m talking brick as in a useless hunk of clay with a lazy attitude. You can’t brick a refrigerator. You may be able to brick a television, but maybe not because the object might have to resemble a brick in some way.

So there you have it. Brick. If you are writing a script with a technically minded twenty-something, it just might give you the legitimacy you crave. Anyone else have any “words” they’d like to share?

*Ben Franklin did not invent air.

Hello World

2006-04-05T12:41:00.000-04:00

My name is Tom and I'll be your blogger. My ego has finally transcended the real and entered the virtual. In my remote corner of the net I will strive to uphold the fervent fist-shaking and baseless accusations that form the foundation of the internet as conceived by Al Gore so many years ago*. This blog will be mostly about screenwriting, but notice I left the window open with “and such” (I’m sneaky that way), so I can pretty much talk about anything I want without repercussion. But fear not! I will not subject you to my wild political views, my religious dogma, or my rantings about the obvious inequality of soft drinks in a cola-dominated marketplace. You have my solemn word that I will update the blog regularly, somewhere between posting my every waking thought and the Josh Friedman-esque policy of posting only while Mars is in retrograde.

So, stick around, leave a comment, and if you should discover just why the bag means your mind, please share it. I came close to understanding it once, and it scarred me for life. Ever since that fateful day, I can't look at a wingnut without screaming. Consider yourself warned.

*Al Gore did not invent the internet. He may not even know how to operate a computer. Comments he made about the internet were misconstrued and propagated as truth, most likely the result of a right-wing conspiracy to thwart the liberal stronghold on the media and Hollywood.