Author: d f mamea

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“To’ona’i” – Grading

(Or Feedback – Another Thought.)

As an audience member, the film or television series or theatre piece that I derive the most pleasure from is the one where I have to work hard at keeping up with the story, busily making connections not spelt out, and putting the pieces together. It makes me feel smart.

Imagined ego-stroking aside, I like the experience where I’m not a passive observer of events, where I have to read more into the nuances and subtext of what I’m seeing and hearing.  I don’t have to be sitting on the shoulder of the protagonist throughout. It’s like I’m… physically in the middle of the action wherever it takes – still invisible, still passive – and I have only the information available to the characters around me, and… discovering the story as it unfolds.

I feel… involved.

It’s a mean trick to do that.

So I’ve got this wee film that’s had a bunch of test screenings from rough cut to a graded and mixed cut, and the feedback and the comments I’ve received have been pretty consistent while I, for my part, have been just a leetle myopic in taking it all on board.  After each screening, I’ve swung tended one way or the other in trying to appease imagined audiences minimise narrative confusion.

Have I done too much?

Or not enough?

I don’t know.  I’ve written the dialogue with subtext and whatever it is that’s described as it’s what’s not said.  Its structure is classic – the finished product may require some concentration but the execution is consistent.  Amit says that I’ve hit the emotional beats.   James is sneaking in all sorts of filters, having quickly established how technically and aesthetically blind I am.

And thanks to the generosity and honesty of the test audiences, I think I’ve done all I can to tell the story the way I want to. I have to get over myself. How the audience watches the finished product is out of my hands.

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Box Watch: The Philanthropist

Two things struck me when I saw the title of this show last year:

1. the title, from a country who changed the title of the first Harry Potter instalment on the off-chance audience members didn’t know what ‘dictionary’ meant; and

2. the creator/writer/producer, Tom Fontana.

If neither of the above points compel you to consider The Philanthropist, the show, in a nutshell, is about a billionaire tycoon who saves the world one person at a time.

… That’s a bit trite. It’s both accurate and a disservice but….

I’d read the pilot courtesy of my far-flung connections. Yes, it’s about a rich white dude trying to make a difference – but the shaded characterisations and intelligent writing made it much more interesting.

… How about: Billionaire Teddy Rist, unable to dull the grief over his son’s death, tries to fill the void inside him by making the world a better place – not by using his considerable connections or his bottomless cheque book – but with only his guile, charm and heart.

Like I said: I really liked the script. I wanted to see the pilot.

And when I saw the pilot the other week… I thought I’d give it just one more ep.

And when I saw the second ep, whatever concerns I had with the show found a voice: Love the concept. Hate the execution.

The acting’s fab. The writing’s sharp (at least in the pilot). The production values are high.

But the whole “This week we’re in exotic, colourful, beautiful [INSERT FOREIGN LAND]” vibe really grates. It’s a slur to – my perceived – social heart of the series.

In the second ep, as Rist was horrified by the deplorable conditions of a Burmese mining camp in the second ep, I couldn’t help thinking, Gee, I wonder if the show will turn its attention to post-Katrina New Orleans or Baltimore’s projects.

Nah-ah.

I know it’s a fantasy. I know it’s on free-to-air NBC rather than cable. I guess if I want a show to fix the world in 45 minutes each week, I want it to fix a fictionalised, country-names-changed-to-protect-the-innocent kind of world. Anything else feels cheap and shallow and faintly insulting.

It’s probably just me.

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dfmamea.com: Year Three

Okay, I’ve met one deadline, I’ve pushed another, and this website is three years old.

Because my hair length is kinda tied to the pushed deadline, the silhouette has left George Hamilton territory and is moving at pace into Farrah Fawcett Land. Ten days. Piece of piss.

And yes: three years. Two hundred and thirty posts. One hundred and eighty nine comments. A small but growing New Zild online community of screenwriters.  Over half a million hits to date (granted, a lot of the spikes were when the @dfmamea.com addresses and blog comments were being offered se xxi al nite lonnng).

Life is good.  Good vibes to you all.

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Murh

Final page count: 56 pages including cover page.

Wrote through the night and flicked it through at 8:32 this morning. Yay.

The Goddess is heading out this evening so I could collapse into bed at oh, 7pm or something ridiculous, or, in anticipation of the premiere of Tom Fontana‘s The Philanthropist, I could sneak an ep or three of Oz.

… Nope. Started this post at 6-ish and… fell asleep at the keyboard.  It’s almost seven already.

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Pages

To borrow from the lovely Daily Screenwriter (and a nod to Phill Barron):

  • 16 June – Receive email from producer about a one-hour concept I pitched oh, almost a year ago: If you’re able to get me a first draft by June 26th…. Collapse to floor laughing/crying.*
  • 17 June – Rearrange workload. Start outlining (current fashion is to write in block letters on recycled paper).
  • 19 June – 22 pages of handwritten notes. Count ’em and weep.
  • 20 June – 4 pages (plus title page).
  • 21 June – 6 pages.
  • 23 June – 22 pages.
  • 24 June – 42 pages.

I only have tomorrow to finish it off but the numbers (and rate of progression) are heartening. And I’m taking a rain check on parts 2 and 4 of the McRae Cranial Therapy.

Just remembered this post was gonna be about superstition and how my hair is so long I think I look like George Hamilton… until my reflections and silhouette show that the hair is really more Krusty the Clown.

Next post. Maybe.

*  I already have a 30 June feature deadline to meet.

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Finger Drumming

Another live update from Planet DFMamea.

Finished a draft earlier this afternoon, saved it, did a quickie back-up of all my working directories and documents to a flash drive – and the Powerbook had a bit of a kernel panic:

Time for a full backup. Forty-five minutes, it said. That was an hour ago. In that time I’ve played fetch with The Dog, re-upped The Chickens, and picked up WALL-E for some family Friday night viewing. (The children have seen it, us adults haven’t – and since we adults are paying, we choose.) I also reported an idiot on a Vespa.

Meantime, the backup’s been sitting at 25 minutes for the past ten minutes.

Scratch that: sixteen minutes, it says now.

Suppose I could power up the Windoze laptop.

But would I still feel like A WRITER?

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Point & Click

Okay this isn’t post-dated.

I’ve got fifteen minutes spare.

How quickly can I cut and paste and make sense?

  • How about ten best film endings? (Fedora-tip: Infinite Monkeys by way of The Incomparable.)

  • I’ve been a fan of Dylan Horrocks since Hicksville (a phase of forcing myself to try some homegrown comics fare). He’s got a blog. With serials and stories, too! Recommended for civilians and comic aficionados alike.

  • PhD student Gareth James is very generously sharing some of the fruits of his research into the history of HBO original programming, 1997-2007 at Gareth On…. (Fedora-tip: Lynden Barber.)

Time’s up already. Must be a slow linker.

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Wheeeee

Deadlines.

Love ’em. Loathe ’em.

Got ’em.

If I blog between now and the new month, it’ll be an admission of failure. Or a cry for help. Or just some post-dated posts that I’ve set up to keep my online presence up in my uh, absence.

Of course I’ll be back – if Mr Molloy can post about his blog’s first birthday, I absolutely must for this blog’s approaching third anniversary. Not that I’m competitive or anything.

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A Tale of Two Pitches

Found myself pitching a couple of shows not long ago. I thought it was a meet and greet. Nah-ah.

One pitch was just one that had been bouncing around my head for the past while – let’s call it the I’m Cool About This Pitch. The other is one I’m quite sweet on – the I’m Hot About This Pitch.

The Cool Pitch: A depressed and suicidal multihyphenate is given five million dollars with which to make her debut feature.

The Hot Pitch: A year in the life of genetically engineered soldiers.

Guess which one they liked more? Guess which one I promised to write up within eighteen hours? Sigh*.

I should learn to be more aware of my audience: given the choice between a period of time with super-soldiers/planarian-worms/domesticated-chickens, and a personal, identifiable journey from darkness into light, they went for the unwritten and undeveloped pitch.

* Mental note for the next Hot Pitch: Private First Class Ray Gunn awakens one morning to discover he is the ultimate soldier. Nothing can stop, hurt or kill him. His imagination is the limit. One day, he stops taking orders….

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