Category: Scriptwriting

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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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100

Gosh.

Hundredth post.

I may not have written as much as I wanted to since 1 January 2007 but I’ve –

  • run a total of 558kms (97kms of that sans mongrel);
  • picked up 170 books, comics and scripts, and read 137 right through;
  • and sat down to watch 128 films, DVDs and TV series, and watched 105 right to the (sometimes bitter) end.

‘S not bad. And because it’s that time of the year, I give you a list of notable and recommended reading and viewing experiences (in strict alphabetical order):

As for the running, I do it only so that I fit my clothes.

Happy new year.

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Ho’s Galore

Shopping’s done. Work’s been (mostly) mothballed.

There’s a pile of reading material awaiting my grubby hands. Not far away is a stack of DVDs to be devoured.

And, for the first time in a while, the entire Mamea aiga* shall greet the Christmas morn with hugs, presents and a sickening amount of chocolate.

To all Beloved Readers (six**, actually, thanks to Feedburner) – a happy and loving Christmas and/or Hannukah to you and yours.

*   Again, my apologies to the family for the possessory credit.
**  Okay: four if I exclude the bots.

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After the First Draft

INT. STUDY – NOW

YOU pull a FILE from your FILING CABINET and open it on your DESK.

ANGLE ON a BOUND SCREENPLAY with the words “First Draft” underneath your name.

You pick it up and feel its weight, a smile playing on your lips.

CUT TO:

FLASHBACK – INT. STUDY – A FORTNIGHT AGO

You type “FADE OUT” on the POWERBOOK SCREEN and lean back in your CHAIR. You press a couple of keys and the PRINTER whines to life.

TIMECUT as you savour each page as it comes out of the printer.

TIMECUT as you THREE-HOLE-PUNCH all the pages, smiling as you re-read the scenes that wrote themselves.

TIMECUT as you bind the pages with 3/4-INCH BRADS, feeling elated and all-round chuffed that this first draft will require only the most minor tweaks on its way to Oscar platinum.

CUT BACK TO:

INT. STUDY – NOW

You shuffle your buttocks to get comfortable in your chair. You turn to the first page.

The little smile you’re wearing falters, then flips itself over. The favourite scenes that wrote themselves a fortnight ago are now cliches riddled with logic errors. The remembered elation and all-round chuffedness is replaced by the realisation that set-ups and/or pay-offs you meant to include are tragically missing.

You look up, blinking rapidly. You can do this. You turn another page.

INT. STUDY – ONE HOUR LATER

You slump in your chair, the ninety pages in your hands heavy with disappointment and promise. You take a breath. And slowly release it.

Yes, that was dreadful. But you can see the idea driving it all. And despite the typos and cliches and holes and leaps, you recognise the enthusiasm that produced it. You sort of like it – the execution sucks in places – but you still like it.

You get out a PENCIL. And you get back to work.

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Box Watch Postscript

Despite the promise of The Street‘s pilot, subsequent eps have disappointed. I thought their About Schmidt-ep with Jim Broadbent was a blip but when it was followed by The Crucible-ep with Neil Dudgeon, and Timothy Spall’s Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?-ep, we cried uncle. Four episodes into the season might be overly generous and forgiving of us but I think it shows how much the acting talent elevated the scripts. Tch.

Last man standing is Burn Notice which, though light and disposable like a LAW, remains breezy and entertaining with no soapy aftertaste. Man cannot get by on one show alone – sure, I’ve a backlog of DVDs to watch study but I need my fix of regular programming and the current free-to-air schedule is, in a word, desolate.

And thanks to the very connected Motorbike Steve, The Goddess and I’ve enjoyed the pilots for Bionic Woman and Dirty Sexy Money, and look forward to more. Arriving soon is the much anticipated Pushing Daisies and the rather intriguing Dexter.

Also – miracle of miracles – we’ve just embarked on a seven season retrospective of Homicide: Life on the Street. That series nails everything so well, it’s only things like the ubiquitous smoking and the box-shaped cars that date it. Damn, it’s good.

Summer’s not looking so shabby after all.

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Pitch Engine

Last week, the mailboxes of New Zealand Writers Guild members, associates and supporters were crossed with the Guild’s revived and renamed quarterly magazine, Pitch Engine. A successor to the quarterly WriteUp that shifted online for a couple of years, PE intends to Get Out There and Build Awareness. Props galore to executive director Steve Gannaway and editor supremo Dara McNaught for getting the mag up and running in a mere few months.

Issue One includes interviews and articles from the likes of Outrageous Fortune creators James Griffin and Rachel Lang, The Ferryman and Stickmen scribe Nick Ward, and Facelift and Futile Attraction writer Benedict Reid.

Available at a Whitcoulls or Paper Plus near you.

(Disclosure:  Yes, I have a couple of articles in there – one I’d impulsively pitched on the spot to them (and then had to deliver), and the other an amalgam of these two posts.)

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