Author: d f mamea

Posted on

Characters

The other week, fellow South Seas survivor Bern asked me: Do you live with your characters? She’d been to a writers festival Q&A session where a guest novelist said that they lived with their characters rather intensely for the duration of a novel’s creation and that, two years or so on, well after publication and book-signings, it was strange to answer questions about those characters; it was like thinking back to old friends or acquaintances or lovers that one didn’t keep in touch with any more.My first response, of course, was that The Goddess would not allow such nonsense in the Mamea household. But when Bern laughed politely for the prescribed amount of time and didn’t move, I gave the question a bit more thought.

Firstly, the amount of time a screenwriter spends with a character is much shorter than a novelist might spend. A screenplay can be drafted in a mere three months, with the following six to a hundred months spent being produced or touted around or, uh, developed. (I thought I was being a bit off-hand here until I read this.)

Secondly, filmmaking is a collaborative business and a willingness to kill one’s darlings is essential to retain one’s sanity. Let’s say your favourite character’s called Wendy, a girly-girl with an Annie Oakley-like affinity for firearms. You base Wendy on fond kindergarten memories of a girly-girl who you loved to tease so she could throw you to the ground and sit on you. But no matter how much you massage the script, Wendy’s not cutting it. She’s not believable. So she makes way for Rick, a lantern-jawed ex-special forces veteran who doesn’t need blunt objects to maim and kill.

And thirdly – and to actually answer her question – no, I do not live with my characters because they’re only part of the story I want to tell. Playwright and screenwriter Jose Rivera puts it quite tidily:

Screenwriting is like building furniture. It’s a craft in which the pieces must fit, and it must function.

A large part of the enjoyment I get from screenwriting is in getting the mechanics of it all to work in such a way that the audience don’t see the seams.

Maybe I’m writing arse-backwards by starting with a situation and then populating it. But it works for me. And it feeds my closet god-complex.

Share
Posted on

Box Watch – “Mad Men”

When watching movies, I know I’ve found a new personal favourite when I’m grinning from ear to ear as the credits roll. It’s a recognition of the craft – the art – that went into what I’ve just witnessed. It’s the realisation of how slickly I’ve been played as an audience member. And the jaw-stretching grin is all the more sweeter if my expectations were pretty high beforehand.

In the last five years, that credit-roll grin has been hurting my face after just an hour – sometimes only half that – of television drama. From the oh-my-gods-I’m-exhausted elation/relief of The Shield and Bodies, to the what-the-heck-happens-next-gods-dammit addiction of The Wire and Sports Night – and let’s not forget the hot-damn!-that-was-good enjoyment from The Closer, The West Wing and the occasional Burn Notice episode.

So what is it about Mad Men that makes me griiin and whine cry out Finished already? each week?

Nothing happens. It’s about relationships – between a bunch of distinctly unlikeable rogues bastards in an era where women were little more than chattels, blacks were invisible, and every damned one of the characters smokes.

It’s those very things that I savour about Mad Men.

Nothing much may happen in an ep but we’re learning more and more about Don and Peggy and company – and what we learn not so much answers questions about them but deepens what we know about their characters. Where most other television dramas would portray the dick-swinging camaraderie with a post-Top Gun homoeroticism or symbolic gunfights and car-chases, the male relationships in Mad Men are so finely detailed that even The Goddess is forced to ask me What was that all about? And as for the show’s portrayal of the time and place: I salute creator Matthew Weiner‘s unflinching lack of gloss or veneer – ‘S how it was, baby.

In portraying a period of history as unflatteringly as one might cover current events, Weiner’s genius is in showing us that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Where the choice on the box is usually between procedural (or procedural with a twist) and soap (or soap with a twist), it’s great to have a drama that – just like its characters toil at in advertising – gives more of the same, but different.

Share
Posted on

Jason Rules

Single name creatives usually make me suspicious. Except Prince, of course, because he’s freakin’ Prince, so shut the hell up. It’s the others I worry about. Like McG. Or Pitof. I’d include Fabio but I’m still working through whether it’s jealousy about his hair and/or pecs or just plain suspicion.

And then there’s Jason. The name itself might conjure Halloween-type movie images, rightly or wrongly, but he’s a Paris-based cartoonist who insists on doing graphic novels with no description and less dialogue than a thirty second television commercial.

There’s only one way I can describe his work, full of absurdity, surrealism and hilarity and yet still telling a story – from the blurb for Meow, Baby!:

STARRING: One mummy, one god, one angel, one devil, one plasic surgeon, one Dracula, one Van Helsing, two ambulatory skeletons, one ice cream girl, two policemen, one space alien, one rocket ship, one Egyptian explorer, one werewolf, one family of cavemen, one Frankenstein monster, one pizza delivery guy, one Godzilla, one family of zombies, one Terminator, one set of potential in-laws, one mob of angry villagers, one naked girl in a shower, one Rubik’s cube, one hitchhiker, one opthalmologist, one Darth Vader, one Frenchman, one time clockone pterodactyl, one Jules, one Vincent, one teacher, and one Elvis.

And pick up Living and the Dead – where “horror, humour and romance commingle” – while you’re at it.

Share
Posted on

Point & Click

Ah, winter. That time of year when staying inside with as many DVDs as your video library memberships will allow would be So Right…

Ah well.

(Courtesy of Mr Tripuraneni, The Goddess and I have been ripping through his copy of Battlestar Galactica Season 3. Such focus might be at the expense of the excellent Mad Men but that’s what VCRs are for.)

(And riffing on things television, I’m looking forward to tonight’s premiere of The Jacquie Brown Diaries, from those freakishly talented BunkerMedia boys.)

Share
Posted on

The Circle of Life

Ever been at the mercy – or so you think – of someone who can see the Big Picture? You think you can see the Big Picture but you can’t because you’re so close, so intimate, with the material. But you don’t realise this until after you’ve fought whatever battles with that someone – firmly but politely, of course – and you look back and you think, Damn, they were patient with me.

The jandal, as they say, is now on the other foot. From the email-boxes at dfmamea.com:

Yo -- Here is the one-page you demanded I write. And I’ve started on the outline. Satisfied?

dear acolyte

thanks for the one-pager. unfortunately, the story does not work for me.

your one-pager should answer the following questions:

– in one sentence, what is “She-Warrior” about?

– how does the film – not the story – open?

– how does the film – not the story – end?

– what film/s do you want your film to be like? this isn’t a question about your remaking a film you like; it’s about where you see your film heading – is it a Hamburger Hill or a Thin Red Line?

your protagonist’s motivation needs to be more convincing – so she wants to be a soldier: why? why does she want it so bad that she’s willing to risk abandoning her petting zoo, monosyllabic husband and illicit lesbian lover?

Yeah man -- I only wrote that one-pager stuff at, like, two in the morning. It’s only an idea.

what do you mean it’s only an idea? do you mean you have other ideas?

Like, yo, chill, dog – The story in that one-pager you were on my ass about is THE STORY.

oh. right.

now how’s that outline coming along?

I know I’m supposed to be working on that outline but I’ve had a brain-surge! --

I’ve got a theme: “You don’t mess with a bitch’s destiny”. -- What do you think?!

okay.

now how does it apply SPECIFICALLY to “She Warrior”?

Scratch that last email – I’ve just had another brain-surge!! -- Instead of her wanting to join the army, how about if she joins the stand-up comedy circuit!! -- WHAT DO YOU THINK??!!

YOU’RE GETTING OTHER IDEAS!

YOU SAID THE ONE-PAGE STORY WAS THE STORY!

now. a film about a stand-up comedienne could be much easier on the production because there’s no need to get military props, gear, location, etc. more than anything, once the story is set – no matter how familiar it might be at first glance – it becomes a matter of execution.

write what you want to put your heart into, whether it’s soldiers or comediennes or metal-workers-by-day-and-dancers-by-night.

what’s essential right now is that you pin down the story that YOU want to tell. once you commit to filming that story, you will have to see that story right to the end. that means writing it, workshopping it, answering all the questions the actors and crew are going to ask you about it, scouting for it, negotiating for it, prepping for it, paying for it, shooting it, cutting it AND THEN promoting the shit out of it. you’re gonna live that motherfucking story so it better be worth it. you better be prepared to tell it over and over and over AND BELIEVE IN IT each and every goddamned time.

now stop dicking around.

where’s that outline?

Share
Posted on

Cribbing

When I was at school, I was pretty good at writing stories. I actually looked forward to writing them. As I hit my teens and averaged 125+ films and videos a year, homework that involved making stuff up was almost as much guilty fun as watching an R-rated film. Whatever the topic, I created exciting and vivid tales littered with the minutiae of tyre pressure fluctuations at 150kph and tactical applications of Glaser ammunition. I toiled over those stories, ensuring their technical perfection. I got good marks for them.

When the essays were marked and returned to us students, we would swap and share our work, checking out the competition and squeezing out as much praise and positive feedback as we could. I like to think I cornered the market on muscular writing. I like to think I had a following – sure, my fans were more the sporty types – a few of which would strongly suggest I write their next essay for them in exchange for my continued existence on this planet – but hey, they liked my work.

The stories that got the girls, however…. They weren’t as technically proficient as mine. They lacked my obsessive attention to detail. Instead, those other stories took a point of view that was confrontational or confounded the reader. Some of those other stories were shockingly vulnerable and personal. I hated the writers of those stories. I envied them and their work. I particularly envied the attention they drew.

Sean Molloy‘s blog, Why I Write has been scratching at my high school PTSD lately. It’s his honesty. With posts like this, I can’t just visualise him as faceless competition who’s half the country away that I can just make nice with. He’s a blogger. And a screenwriter. Just like me.

And so I’ll do just like I did when I spotted real talent in the classroom.

I’ll be very nice to him.

I’ll read his work.

And – very, very quietly – learn.

Share
Posted on

Point & Click

I wish the past fortnight’s radio silence has been because of something exciting like negotiating a development deal or meeting multiple deadlines but alas, no: on top of a raft of Real World commitments, I’ve been sick. I’ve got some bloggy goodness lined up for you (that I have to, like, finish writing first) so until then –

Share
Posted on

Uh Oh

I’ve started making notes about writing a play.

Aside from my role as Geppetto in a pantomime of Pinocchio a few years back*, the only theatrical background I can claim is a childhood littered with tearful Sunday school performances.

The seed idea is The Goddess’s, of course. It’s based on a situation in which I’m a mere bit player – a walk-on part, really – and it needed her bystanding perspective to recognise its dramatic potential.

What really turned me on to the idea/situation as a play was that mere moments after sketching the concept in four sentences, I could already see the final scene. Not long after that, having decided arbitrarily on a three-act structure, I had titles (names?) for each act. How freakin’ easy was that, baby?

Sixty minutes of theatre. Two, maybe three, ‘locations’ – all achievable (in my head at least) with a stage and some decent blocking. I wouldn’t mind a first draft by year’s end but I suspect this time next year would be more realistic.

Enthusiasm is high, tempered though it is with the acknowledgement of there being only seven days in any given week.

How hard could it be to write a play?**

*  Highlight of my performance: having called out to the audience, “What shall I name my child?”, amongst the calls for Pinocchio was ‘Snoop Dogg’.

**  Note to readers who have a vested interest in my workload: these are early early early days. Your script is in the mail.

Share
Posted on

How the Heck

The Goddess and I watched Almodovar‘s Volver this weekend.

How does he do it? How does he take material that would be passe even for daytime soap and make it utterly compelling drama?

Some research is in order.

(Volver was courtesy of the D-Man who, with Ex-Pat Stephen, introduced us to Sarah Blasko (whose What The Sea Wants, The Sea Will Have has been on the stereo almost exclusively this weekend).)

Share
Posted on

A Blessed, Warm Blog

Yes, I’ve been making the odd incursion but time’s been precious lately. Another week and a bit to go.

But because I am a caring pusher, this week I give you a recent Pitch Engine article.

A Blessed, Warm Blog
Or How I Started Blogging and Lived to Tell the Tale

It began, like most of my life-lessons and -events, with the heedless question, How hard could it be?

In 2006, keen to market myself without actually, y’know, marketing myself, I decided to set up a website. Cribbing shamelessly off the websites of John August and Ted Elliott & Terry Rossio, I’d have areas for works in progress, works completed, contact details, and a blog. The first three were easy; it was the blog that had me stumped.

Initially called Rants, I was going to use the blog to tear new sphincters in everyone who’d crossed me, starting with Joseph the Tokelauan classmate at Sacred Heart Primary who dobbed me in to Sister Margerite for being a Methodist. With my keyboard and modem as scalpels of Truth and Justice, I was going to right past wrongs. I was also going to tell anyone and everyone why I was their man for their next project, how I was going to make them filthy rich, and how I could track them down by their IP-addresses if they visited without employing me.

Heady planning days, indeed.

When rational thought eventually returned, I realised that the blog was going to be my public face. As much as I wanted a pound of Joseph the Tokelauan’s flesh, a), it wasn’t relevant to screenwriting, and b), once I’d worked through my shit-list, my career would be over.

A new direction was needed. In a screenwriting blogosphere where professional screenwriters rubbed shoulders with up-and-comers, critics, academics and fans, how could I differentiate myself?

I wasn’t ballsy enough to tell people how to write. I didn’t want to bore people with the finer details – and anyway, who was I to talk? I just wanted… to share. That was it: I would write about what it was like to be a professional but unproduced screenwriter in New Zealand. I called it Indelible Freckles in an absurd reference to my Samoan roots.

How often would I post? A lot of my favourite blogs posted two to three times a week. Most of those people were single, childless, or could afford professional childcare; I was none of the above, so I decided that posting once a week would be a good start. Armed with an internet connection and good intentions, I began blogging.

Eighteen months on, the website ticks along with updates and tweaks as necessary. It’s a no-pressure zone for prospective collaborators and employers to check out my fledgling oeuvre.

As for the blog, the weekly deadline is much shorter than I first thought. Sometimes it has been easier to blog rather than write, justifying to myself that although I’m avoiding work, I’m still writing. And a few times it has been a place to run to and draft missives vowing vengeance aplenty – and, having let it all out, posting a painful but humorous anecdote of Life in the Biz.

The blog is fun. It requires work and commitment. And it’s rewarding, sometimes in ways I never expected.

Just like screenwriting.

Share