I get embarrassed reading through some of my posts. Something about this format and my love of an audience brings out the all-knowing pro in me. It's time I fessed up. I have a script that's been kicking my ass for three years. I've tried every tool I can think of -- working with synopsis, writing out backstories, thinking with visuals, characterization, etc. etc. etc. After all this effort, I have probably 300 pages of embarrassing dialogue and untamable plot details.
I'm not giving up for a couple reasons. The premise almost always elicits a "wow". It intersects a lot of important subjects for 2007 in a very classically dramatic way (or it should). Beyond that, the main character is me when I was 16. I was deeply unhappy then. I was desperately private. Desperately, privately Christian. Very screwed up about my sexuality. I spent most of my energy figuring out how people could even register my presence. My inner world was far more real to me than the world around me. That kid's still inside me somewhere, and it's time he came out. No pun intended.
Today, three years in, I suddenly got the midpoint of the script. I had EVERY ELEMENT. The helicopters. The creepy messianic figure. The innocent's lie. The smart retort. The dimension-traveling aliens. But for some reason this disjointed mess waited until today to open up into a six-lane superhighway of drama and emotion. I felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner. Ever been there?
I'm finally getting somewhere with the script now, and in a way I've resisted for a long time. I'm writing it as prose. Why did I resist? Because I think the visual medium changes and shapes a story. I think prose is better as words, and movies better as movies. Beyond that, I wrote prose for years before turning to scripts. Writing prose is intense. It's very private. No escape. No comps and premiere parties. Lots of staring at the wall and snapping at your boyfriend and forgetting to eat.
Why is prose working for me now? I think I need the backstory in my action lines, in a way. I need to know what the character is all about before I can construct a strong role for an actor. I'm going to get it all down, in my notebook, where no one can see it. I'm going to keep writing until I have the story coherent, organic and strong. And when it's time to write the script, I'll worry about telling it visually. I'm probably also adding the need for another draft of two to simplify and pull out unnecessary detail. But at least the project is teaching me, feeding my art, and keeping me off the streets.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Quote of the Day
"I hear and I forget; I see and I remember; I write and I understand."
– Chinese proverb
By the way, I'm more than open to input about what you'd like this blog to be about. I initially conceived it as a nuts-and-bolts screenwriting workshop, but I definitely have a tendency to range free. There seems to be a small but steady audience out there, and I'd love your input.
I've added a search engine at the bottom of the sidebar. It helps you find scripts on the web. The formatting looks funky, but it seems to work well.
– Chinese proverb
By the way, I'm more than open to input about what you'd like this blog to be about. I initially conceived it as a nuts-and-bolts screenwriting workshop, but I definitely have a tendency to range free. There seems to be a small but steady audience out there, and I'd love your input.
I've added a search engine at the bottom of the sidebar. It helps you find scripts on the web. The formatting looks funky, but it seems to work well.
Strange Culture at the SF Int'l..
Strange Culture played the San Francisco International Film Festival last night. It was great fun! Writers lead quiet lives of lonely desperation. Screenwriters at least get to go out and get comped a movie ticket and a cocktail every once in a while.Fun aside, there's nothing like a film festival to really bring home what you're trying to do. There's an audience, and they're gonna laugh or not laugh at your jokes. When you meet them, you get to remember just how special and powerful writing can be.
There's the film crew... and you remember how you're just one cog in the wheel. You talk to the sound operator, or the post production supervisor, the actors, the director. Everyone is linked by the fact that they've ALL been working in their own field to tell the same story. You remember how screenwriting is more about getting all those people working toward a single goal, and not about a clever line of dialogue.
In this case, I remembered how many shifts, changes, and warping screw ups this film went through. It's a narrative/documentary hybrid (some would say mongrel). It was conceived as such. Then they ran out of money and time, and tried to piece together a narrative. That didn't work. Then they got some more money and time. Then the facts of the case changed. Then it got cut and recut numerous times, both for artistic and legal reasons. What you see is the product of a lot of people working very hard. It could have failed at any number of points.
Writers, myself included, place huge value in their words. It's natural. As a new screenwriter, I never understood what a script has to stand up against in the production process. I'd worry about a line here or there, or fight to the death to defend a paragraph of backstory that means nothing to the people who'll use the script to make a film.
Going to film festivals reminds me of how strong your base idea has to be, and how simply and carefully you have to communicate it.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Scripts to Read..
Following up on the last post, I looked for a couple examples of showing the story, instead of telling it. I found a couple decent examples, both of which you can find at Drew's Script-o-rama. Check out the first couple pages of both.
Watch how David Franzoni uses the set up of a poor barbarian family ducking out of the way of Commodus at the opening of Gladiator to set up most of his themes in a visual way.
Check out Walk the Line -- the Gil Dennis script about Johnny Cash. By the top half of page two, we know the central question of Cash's life, and have a huge expectation for drama and entertainment. A cautionary note here: do NOT copy the formatting. Gil Dennis is not a spec writer.
If you've got suggestions for other scripts to read, please put them in the comments so we can all take a look!
Watch how David Franzoni uses the set up of a poor barbarian family ducking out of the way of Commodus at the opening of Gladiator to set up most of his themes in a visual way.
Check out Walk the Line -- the Gil Dennis script about Johnny Cash. By the top half of page two, we know the central question of Cash's life, and have a huge expectation for drama and entertainment. A cautionary note here: do NOT copy the formatting. Gil Dennis is not a spec writer.
If you've got suggestions for other scripts to read, please put them in the comments so we can all take a look!
Reading a Script
The more time I spend with screenplays and screenwriters, the more I realize how many problems are tied up with a single problem: writers don't know their audience. I'm dealing with a script right now that very generously lets me know when I've come upon the inciting incident and the tragically flawed hero by indicating that directly in the script. He's also included a list of characters, scene breakdowns, and a three-page synopsis. He's got extensive action lines to give me all the backstory and drama, and, just to make sure we're up on all the details, has the characters remind us who they are, why they're here, and what the essential conflict is at the moment in their dialogue. Then there are the flashbacks, the flash forwards, and the montages so we understand the historical context.
The problem is that a movie audience doesn't have access to his copious notes of back-story, character motivation, and survey of the historical period in question.
You can't SEE the movie, because you're too busy reading the story.
A screenplay isn't a novel, of course. And screenplay readers aren't novel readers, either. In fact, they aren't big fans of reading at all. A studio reader may read 6-8 scripts a day, and is responsible for producing detailed notes and making an initial decision on the viability of a script. That's hundreds and hundreds of pages every night. How do they do this?
Basically, they watch the movie. They play out the visuals, the actions, and the set ups in their heads. The last thing they want is someone telling them what's there, or what it's supposed to mean. This just slows them down. They want to see it for themselves. If you need to explain a plot beat, it isn't going to work on screen. A good script reads quickly.
Now, how does a reader keep all the plot beats straight in his or her head? Think back to the discussion of three-act structure. A reader looks for the inciting event, and the second act complication, midpoint, etc. Everyone has their own way of looking at this stuff, and different ways of interpreting the material, of course. But there is a basic way that movie audiences watch a movie. There is a huge set of expectations that we all share. The studio reader simply applies that set of expectations, and measures your script against them.
It's ruthless. It's unfair much of the time. But a good reader doesn't measure how close you are to hitting that perfect formula. She's much more interested in how you exploit those expectations to tell us a good story.
It's stressful giving up action lines and dialogue that tell the reader directly what's going on. But when you start using action lines to SHOW the story -- to bring it to life in front of your audience -- you'll never look back.
The problem is that a movie audience doesn't have access to his copious notes of back-story, character motivation, and survey of the historical period in question.
You can't SEE the movie, because you're too busy reading the story.
A screenplay isn't a novel, of course. And screenplay readers aren't novel readers, either. In fact, they aren't big fans of reading at all. A studio reader may read 6-8 scripts a day, and is responsible for producing detailed notes and making an initial decision on the viability of a script. That's hundreds and hundreds of pages every night. How do they do this?
Basically, they watch the movie. They play out the visuals, the actions, and the set ups in their heads. The last thing they want is someone telling them what's there, or what it's supposed to mean. This just slows them down. They want to see it for themselves. If you need to explain a plot beat, it isn't going to work on screen. A good script reads quickly.
Now, how does a reader keep all the plot beats straight in his or her head? Think back to the discussion of three-act structure. A reader looks for the inciting event, and the second act complication, midpoint, etc. Everyone has their own way of looking at this stuff, and different ways of interpreting the material, of course. But there is a basic way that movie audiences watch a movie. There is a huge set of expectations that we all share. The studio reader simply applies that set of expectations, and measures your script against them.
It's ruthless. It's unfair much of the time. But a good reader doesn't measure how close you are to hitting that perfect formula. She's much more interested in how you exploit those expectations to tell us a good story.
It's stressful giving up action lines and dialogue that tell the reader directly what's going on. But when you start using action lines to SHOW the story -- to bring it to life in front of your audience -- you'll never look back.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
A Little More on Santoka
I did get permission from Paul Watsky, a notable San Francisco poet and translator, to publish his version of the Santoka haiku:
The road's so straight it's lonely
If you're interested in reading more, check out the book, Santoka, translated by Emiko Miyashita and Paul Watsky, published by PIE Books, Tokyo, 2006. You can find a copy at Kinokuniya Books in San Francisco's Japantown, or online at Barnes and Noble's website.
The road's so straight it's lonely
If you're interested in reading more, check out the book, Santoka, translated by Emiko Miyashita and Paul Watsky, published by PIE Books, Tokyo, 2006. You can find a copy at Kinokuniya Books in San Francisco's Japantown, or online at Barnes and Noble's website.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
The 17-Syllable Script Exercise
An old writing buddy of mine cajoled me into taking part in a poetry reading the other day. I haven't written poetry on a regular basis in years, but she wanted me to read some stuff she liked and remembered. I was terrified, but managed not to embarrass myself too badly on a card with several other far more experienced poets.
One of the poets read some translations he'd made of the Japanese haiku master Santoka. He read one in particular, which went something like this: Why is a road lonelier without curves?
I'll post his translation if he gets back to me and allows it. I found some other translations online, but they didn't seem to catch the essential hook here -- the idea that a straight road is somehow lonelier than a curved one. Somehow curves keep a road company. It doesn't make much sense if you try to explain it, of course. That's why it's good.
What struck me was just how visual haiku can be, and how close it is to screenwriting in many ways. In case you don't know, haiku is typically a poem made up of three lines, with five, seven, and then five syllables to them. They evoke a strong sense of place with as few words as possible.
It's that economy that allows a haiku to feel so clean, so immediate, so real. A novelist could try to add something like this to his work, but it would inevitably end up functioning as characterization, or an internal thought, or something somehow... mediated.
What happens in a screenplay? First, we have a huge advantage here. We can put that lonely road on screen. We can rely on that reality being immediate and visual. And we put some characters walking down it. One says:
We get to be immediate and we can develop our characters at the same time.
Just like haiku, our goal is to be evocative rather than just descriptive. We need to inspire the reader to engage their own creativity, rather than try to just paint a picture on the page. We've got a broad canvas, and the key is to be sparing with your brushstrokes.
So many screenwriters make the mistake of writing a novel where they need a haiku. Let's try adding a few choice details here, and see just what we can do with our lonely road.
George, 49, carries his daughter MAIZIE (6) on his shoulders as they walk a barren stretch of road. He holds an empty gas can in his hand.
The dialogue tells us volumes about the father-daughter relationship. Now try this one:
Maizie pulls her coat around her against the breeze.
One of the poets read some translations he'd made of the Japanese haiku master Santoka. He read one in particular, which went something like this: Why is a road lonelier without curves?
I'll post his translation if he gets back to me and allows it. I found some other translations online, but they didn't seem to catch the essential hook here -- the idea that a straight road is somehow lonelier than a curved one. Somehow curves keep a road company. It doesn't make much sense if you try to explain it, of course. That's why it's good.
What struck me was just how visual haiku can be, and how close it is to screenwriting in many ways. In case you don't know, haiku is typically a poem made up of three lines, with five, seven, and then five syllables to them. They evoke a strong sense of place with as few words as possible.
It's that economy that allows a haiku to feel so clean, so immediate, so real. A novelist could try to add something like this to his work, but it would inevitably end up functioning as characterization, or an internal thought, or something somehow... mediated.
What happens in a screenplay? First, we have a huge advantage here. We can put that lonely road on screen. We can rely on that reality being immediate and visual. And we put some characters walking down it. One says:
GEORGE
Why's a straight road always so lonely?MAIZIE
No curves to keep it company, I guess.We get to be immediate and we can develop our characters at the same time.
Just like haiku, our goal is to be evocative rather than just descriptive. We need to inspire the reader to engage their own creativity, rather than try to just paint a picture on the page. We've got a broad canvas, and the key is to be sparing with your brushstrokes.
So many screenwriters make the mistake of writing a novel where they need a haiku. Let's try adding a few choice details here, and see just what we can do with our lonely road.
George, 49, carries his daughter MAIZIE (6) on his shoulders as they walk a barren stretch of road. He holds an empty gas can in his hand.
GEORGE
Why's a straight road always so lonely?MAIZIE
No curves to keep it company, I guess.The dialogue tells us volumes about the father-daughter relationship. Now try this one:
GEORGE
Why's a straight road always so lonely?MAIZIE
No curves to keep it company, I guess.Maizie pulls her coat around her against the breeze.
GEORGE
What's the matter?
MAIZIE
Nothing's the matter.
Maizie's accidentally said something flirtatious, and confirms this when she unconsciously tries to cover her body.
Maizie's accidentally said something flirtatious, and confirms this when she unconsciously tries to cover her body.
MAIZIE
Why's a straight road always so lonely?GEORGE
No curves to keep it company, I guess.MAIZIE
Not in a million years, George.
They walk on in silence. A mile down the road, the red neon sign of the DEW DROP INN flashes against the horizon.
You got yourself a vision of a longtime friendship. You understand the rules, get an idea of their past, and the probable central conflict between them.
If you find a moment like that, let it speak for itself. Use it, but never, ever explain it.
Try it yourself! I'm going to suggest using these two lines of dialogue:
They walk on in silence. A mile down the road, the red neon sign of the DEW DROP INN flashes against the horizon.
You got yourself a vision of a longtime friendship. You understand the rules, get an idea of their past, and the probable central conflict between them.
If you find a moment like that, let it speak for itself. Use it, but never, ever explain it.
Try it yourself! I'm going to suggest using these two lines of dialogue:
CHARACTER #1
Is this to go?
CHARACTER #2
Nope.
If you'd prefer, try one inspired by Santoka himself. You can find some decent translations of his haiku here. Look at how they evoke a very particular sensation. Find one you like, and play.
Feel free to post what you come up with in the comments.
If you'd prefer, try one inspired by Santoka himself. You can find some decent translations of his haiku here. Look at how they evoke a very particular sensation. Find one you like, and play.
Feel free to post what you come up with in the comments.
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