Month: January 2008

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DateNight 1.1

The Writers Guild, along with the directors’ guild and the producers association, are putting on Date Night 1.1 Auckland (1830, Thursday, 21 February at the Classic): ‘a speed-dating-format networking opportunity for writers and directors to pitch to producers’.

I missed out on DateNight 1.0 last year but I was okay with that (a large portion of that being relief from avoiding the stress and pressure). So when I got the email last week, I made a snap-decision and quickly replied with a count me in before I gave it too much thought and chickened out.

But now that my registration has been confirmed, I’m burning with questions like what have I done? and ua a la ‘ia?*

Self-pity aside, a rather pressing question is so, what do I have to do?. A synopsis is bad enough. But pitching?

Some research, I believe, is in order.

I may be some time.

* Ua a la ‘ia? – Samoan, loosely translated as ‘what did you expect?’; peculiar to Samoans, it is a character-building parental response to a child in tears, whether it was their fault or not.

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Meeting Other Writers

When you spend lengthy periods of time in a cave, wrestling mightily – nay, epically (?) – with your caffeine addiction current project, the idea of temporarily abandoning your lair to meet another screenwriter can seem a daunting prospect. Who wants to spend a potentially awkward half-hour with someone you may only have swapped emails or forum-posts with?

Yes, that’s a risk. But a big reward for meeting other writers is the reminder that You’re Not Alone. You both know the agony of creativity. You’ve been through the horror of development. And if you’ve been rewritten and can – after some mourning or therapy – talk about it, you’ll find a camaraderie not often seen outside the armed forces.

One other thing you share – though you may not acknowledge it at first – is how your prior experience of meeting writers at parties and funerals and such has fashioned your approach to such encounters. My own meet-and-greets have fallen into two very general categories:

  • those who do; and,
  • those who don’t.

Those Who Don’t

A contact with this type of writer requires a lot of patience and concentration. And tact.

ENTHUSIASTIC WRITER

– and then Ben – the hero, I mean protagonist – he opens the door to the other dimension, with his Broomstick of Power in one hand –

ME

So he decides to do something about his life?

ENTHUSIASTIC WRITER

What? Yes. Anyway, Ben, he’s got his broomstick and he’s going to look for Charlene –

ME

Charlene?

ENTHUSIASTIC WRITER

The woman he met at the party! The one who kissed him, like, totally unexpectedly –

ME

Charlene who represents a goal – that there is more to Ben’s life than beer and parties?

ENTHUSIASTIC WRITER

(‘whatevs’)

Yeah. He’s got a hard-on for her and so he steps through the other-dimension door-portal...

(etc)

SOME TIME LATER...

ME

That’s... quite a story. What draft are you at?

ENTHUSIASTIC WRITER

Oh, I haven’t written it!

(taps their temple)

It’s all in here.

I applaud the enthusiasm – I really do.

Those Who Do

These encounters are just as demanding but much more stimulating.

ME

So. Whatcha working on?

WRITER

A little bit of this, bit of that – know what I mean?

ME

(not really)

‘Course, ‘f course.

WRITER

What are you working on?

ME

Ohhh... nothing much.

And so this crab-like dance continues as antennae probe gently, not forgetting anything, each word and/or pause wrung of every possible, potential subtext.

Once the conversation moves onto more neutral ground of influences, styles and the nuts ‘n’ bolts, it becomes heaps of fun (“Who would win in a knock-down, drag-out fight between Buffy and that Heroes cheerleader chi- no, wait: the stripper mom?”).

Meeting a fellow writer is an opportunity to share about the craft, the industry, and general gossip. We can’t just write in our caves, sending out for BK, Mac’s Gold, and chocolate, churning out The Word until it’s soiled by producers, directors, actors and editors alike. We’re all in this together.

So go out there. Hug a writer.

(We’re in me oul’ home-toon a’ Wellington visiting my side of the family. In between sightseeing and catching up with friends and family, Benedict Reid and Leonie Reynolds very kindly treated The Goddess and I to coffee on Cuba Street. It’s a favour we look forward to repaying, and continue our conversation about writing in New Zealand.)

(And which category did the coffee with Ben and Leonie fall into? The Do Be’s, of course.)

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Where Themes Come From

November 2007

IN-LAW:  Wow, you got funding, you must be so pleased.
ME:  Yes, I –
IN-LAW:  Tell me – what’s your film about?
ME:  Uhm. It’s about a brother and sister, and they talk in a car the whole film.
IN-LAW:  Oh.

December

ACQUAINTANCE:  I hear you’re making a short film.
ME:  (stunned look that word would actually be spread)
ACQUAINTANCE:  What’s it about?
ME:  It’s about a couple of siblings trying to deal with their older brother’s death.
ACQUAINTANCE:  What else you working on?

January 2008

FELLOW WEDDING GUEST:  What’s your movie about?
ME:  It’s a film about loss and love. And life.

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I’ve Got Something To Tell You

You know the point in the movie where the AUDIENCE-SYMPATHETIC CHARACTER, already keeping the peace between PLOT-ADVANCING CHARACTER and MUTE-UNTIL-NECESSARY CHARACTER, realises that Mute~ has crucial information that will affect the outcome of the film and so does the obvious thing:

AUDIENCE-SYMPATHETIC CHARACTER

(to Plot-Advancing Character)

I need to tell you something –

PLOT-ADVANCING CHARACTER

I don’t have time for this –

AUDIENCE-SYMPATHETIC CHARACTER

But it’s important!

PLOT-ADVANCING CHARACTER

(claps hands over ears)

LALALALALALALALALA!

Moments like these are vital for there to be suspense, victory and/or tragedy down the line. But it’s about as tired and welcome as the telephone call from someone with vital information who won’t spill it over the damned ‘phone.

If I was watching an okay to great movie or T.V. ep and one of these exchanges turned up, the whole thing was spoiled for me. (Nowadays I’m a little more forgiving.) Then a couple of movies seemed to turn the tide. I watched them so many times that, whether I wanted to or not, I’d studied them. Two things I learned from James Cameron‘s The Terminator and Aliens:

One:  if there’s potential film-ends-right-now information to be exchanged, introduce an external interruption –

AUDIENCE-SYMPATHETIC CHARACTER

I need to tell you something –

PLOT-ADVANCING CHARACTER

I’m all ears.

A passing .50 CALIBRE SNIPER ROUND vaporizes Plot~’s head.

Two:  even better, make the external interruption the pay-off of a much earlier character set-up –

PLOT-ADVANCING CHARACTER

(sotto)

I was thirsty so I got a drink from the fridge... nope. Then I rinsed the glass and set it on the shelf... not there either.

Audience~ enters, flustered:

AUDIENCE-SYMPATHETIC CHARACTER

I need to tell you something.

PLOT-ADVANCING CHARACTER

Hm?

Plot~ continues retracing their steps.

AUDIENCE-SYMPATHETIC CHARACTER

Mute~ said something. I can’t make sense of it but it’s something important.

PLOT-ADVANCING CHARACTER

Really?

(sotto)

Then I sat down to watch the telly...

AUDIENCE-SYMPATHETIC CHARACTER

Mute~ said, “Beep. Beep. Beeeeep.”

Plot~, already half-way to the LOUNGE, freezes mid-step.

AUDIENCE SYMPATHETIC CHARACTER

Does that mean anything to you?

TIGHT ON PLOT~ as he turns – and REAL-TIME SLOOOWS DOOOWN –

ANGLE ON MICROWAVE as it counts down – 0:03, 0:02, –

SLO-MO as Plot~ shoves Audience~ aside –

SUPER-TIGHT ON MICROWAVE L.E.D. as it reads 0:01 –

WIDE ON Plot~ in mid-flight, headed straight for the microwave –

SUPER-DUPER-TIGHT ON LAST L.E.D. DIGIT as it switches from 1 to 0 –

MICROWAVE

Beep. Beep. Beeeeep.

One could argue that the external interruption is a mere variation on the knock on the door or ringing telephone that cuts in on an escalating conversation. I agree: there is that about the first device.

But the second device takes it a step further: by removing the deus ex machina, it makes the characters more responsible for their own – and others’ – destinies. It gives a story that circular/holistic/karmic/we’re-all-in-this-together touch.

Y’know, like in real life. But with more guns and car chases and stuff.

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Hospital Waiting Rooms

In films and television, the hospital waiting room is where our protagonists get The Bad News. (Unless it’s a comedy and someone’s about to give birth with help from a Third World-trained and -accented duty doctor.) It’s invariably Bad News along the lines of parents’ long-limbed catwalk model daughter being disfigured and will look merely average, or an athletic and square-jawed boyfriend who will Never Walk Again, or a friend who Always Loved Life and Lived It To The Full contracting a Terminal Disease. You know: plot turning-point kind of stuff.

I’m in a hospital waiting room as I type this. There’s no emergency or anything – I’m here with a friend who doesn’t like hospitals. They’re understandably nervous and anxious to get this over with. For my part, I’m cool to wait. It’s not an I’m-glad-it’s-not-me kind of cool. It’s a calmness borne of experience: a lot of my early childhood was spent in doctors’ and hospital waiting rooms. So despite decades of passive exposure to ER, Bodies and Shortland Street, I don’t find hospitals or doctors’ surgeries particularly discomfiting. They’re just a place to wait, sometimes for hours on end, so the mind must be occupied with something (and a Matchbox car or three no longer cuts it nowadays).

You’re wondering what the hell this has to do with screenwriting.

I’ve… no idea. I’m in a -, oh I’ve said that already.

… Okay. Two things.

One: a really cool thing about being a writer is that you can write anywhere.

Two: I’ve realised that – with the exception of a failed Shortland Street application – I haven’t written a hospital waiting room scene in any of my scripts. But one thing I’m going to put in it when I do? A sense of waiting that won’t require someone to stand up and huff: I’ve been waiting here for hours!

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