The Hearts of Men

A few years ago in the Toronto area, there was a particularly grisly and sordid series of murders. Paul Bernardo was a rapist. He and his girlfriend (later, wife) Karla Holmolka, kidnapped and tortured several girls. There was a publication ban over the proceedings, there were videotapes, which fed the public fascination with the case. Karla made a sweetheart deal with the Crown and only got 12 years. She was recently released. The whole thing was recently made into a movie called "Deadly." Deadly (which I won't link to, but you can find it) was supposed to open the Montreal World Film Fest but was pulled after pressure from the corporate sponsors.

I think from the beginning this case has had elements of human tragedy wrapped in uncomfortable tendrils of state censorship. There's no doubt that the case fascinates and horrifies Canadians still.

I've been thinking about that case a lot this week, and people and the press's psychological reactions to it. Not on its own, and certainly not because of the movie, but because of the hint of violence that's touched my world, ever so slightly.

A Toronto-based actor (who I knew only vaguely) shot his girlfriend on Monday. He killed himself in a park Tuesday. These are the facts.

This actor was an affable, gregarious chap. He posted frequently and voluminously to some message boards I've frequented on and off. He was a relentless self-promoter, and in that strange, internet-y way, he had lots of people out there who thought he was kind of the bee's knees. I didn't always think that his style was the best way to promote his career or projects. I might have even written that at some point. I have a vague memory of him slagging me for it. I mention it only because I don't want anyone to think that I'm writing this to...I don't know...speak ill of the dead or something. In any case: the last thing I read of this actor was a play he did here in T.O. for which he got good notices. I was glad to read of that.

I say all this, all the above, as prologue to this: what we do in the wake of tragedies like this, what people naturally do, is distance themselves. They start looking for the otherness of the person. It happened with Paul and Karla -- everyone talked of how they were monsters. The word monster gets bandied about a lot in the wake of things like this. In Columbine, they focused on the parents. The intimation was what did you do wrong to create your monster children? It's going to happen on the message boards where this actor posted: people, struggling to make sense of it, will inevitably start pointing out the otherness of the person. People will look for clues, proof, sift the past all to construct the alternate narrative that minimizes the common humanity of the subject, and maximizes the elements that could have taken them so horribly astray.

I started doing this myself yesterday, while enjoying a quiet drink with friends. I mentioned that I always thought there was something off about this chap. My friends agreed. It's natural.

But as writers, we can't do that. EVER. The monster in the closet is, and must always be, US. To deny people who do bad things their humanity is perfectly understandable from the perspective of self-preservation, and making sense of the universe. But it does nothing to further either the psychological understanding of our shared humanity or the truth that we try to pursue through the creation of fictional, dramatic worlds.

There is evil in each of us. It is our shared heritage, as much as whatever nobility we carry. And as much as we want to say that people who do bad things are not us, could never be us, as writers we must be bolder. We must look into the abyss and realize that the abyss stares back at us - forever unblinking, with no easy answers, and no way to marginalize, spit out, or deny the humanity of people who do bad things.

I remember seeing him do Shakespeare in the Park years ago. He was good. The words came trippingly off the tongue.

May he rest in peace. May we all.

Throw the Devil Horns, Biatch.

I'm so disappointed in myself.

Last night I broke a three or four year old trend that had served me well.

I saw a film at the Toronto International Film Festival.

I know, I know. I feel dirty.

Now in my defence, it was a Midnight Madness screening. And I was right around the corner, since I'd just taught my class at Ryerson University. And I had worked on the film, so I kind of had to.

Metal: A Headbanger's Journey is a little documentary with a great conceit. The central character, Sam Dunn, is an anthropologist. Professionally, he's spent time investigating differing cultures. But he's also a die hard headbanger, so now he's going to set off and explore a culture that he's a part of, and one that evokes a lot of strong reactions from a lot of people.

I was brought in about a year and a half ago now to punch up or rework some of the application documents they were doing for their funding submissions.

Then I went to South Africa and did Charlie Jade.

When I got back, they got in touch with me again and had me in a few times to help them shape their narration and storytelling. I did not write it; they did. But I made suggestions about phrases to use that could pump up the drama, and how script could support and smooth the flow of their narrative. It was a great fit for me, since it was more or less a combination of what I used to do, and what I do now.

Well, the film turned out great. They did a really good job. It's funny, it's wise, it's provocative in parts; it doesn't shy away from what's controversial in Metal, but it also does a touching job of showing what the culture means to the tribe, and why they're drawn to it. I'm not qualified to say if it amounts to good anthropology, but it's great filmmaking and worthy pop culture exploration. They've been rewarded for their efforts: the film will be released theatrically both here in Canada, in the USA, and the UK.

But sitting there, last night, in the audience, there was a lot going through my head. Maybe it's because I've seen the film so many times at this point, but here's what I found myself thinking about:

The Need to Commit

As I said, I managed to go 8000 miles away and work on another show for five months in between my consulting gigs on this show. But the three producers, Sam Dunn, Scot McFadyen and Jessica Joy Wise slogged through for over a year to get this made. Sometimes when I talk to new writers; sometimes when I think about my own career, even, it's easy to forget that the process of getting something you're proud of made can be all-consuming. It has to be all consuming, and it cannot happen quick. Show me a guy who says he can write a bulletproof spec in two weeks and I'll show you a liar. Perseverance really does take a long time and there are no shortcuts.

Get Outside Your Wheelhouse

I am NOT a metalhead. I came of age in the era of Pop and Glam Metal, and I thought everything south of Van Halen was just patently ridiculous. So going into this project, I wondered "how the hell?" and "why the hell?" am I going to do this?

Well that's exactly the impulse that should always get you to sign on for a project. Shake your junk up. The fact is, I can now have a passable, cursory discussion about the Norwegian Black Metal scene. How %@#%^ cool is that? Storytelling is storytelling, and even though I was advising in an area where I didn't really know the facts, I did know about storytelling. And that made the difference. But more importantly, in an era when you only ever have to read the news that agrees with you, consume the music you like, TIVO shows you find interesting and absorb nothing else: well, that's great for the great mass of consum...sorry...society. But it's not good for us. Shake your junk up.

TIFF Still Sucks

It was bittersweet seeing the film in the Ryerson Theatre. Onceuponatime, the hoity-toity Toronto International Film Festival was the far less pretentious Festival of Festivals. When I was a University student, they'd have galas at the Ryerson Theatre, and if you volunteered for a few hours you got a pass. Tuesdays I had a class at 8 am and a class at 6. Oh, and I lived in the burbs so I wasn't going home.

That added up to a lot of passes. I got to see Roger & Me and a bunch of other films and it was perfect and magic.

Now, not so much.

Ah well. Tonight's the Metal Party. There will be Jager. I intend to...Give'r.



Random celebrity factoid: Sharon Osbourne was a total knob to the filmmakers, blocking them at every turn. They properly snickered her name last night. If you see her out there in the world, give her the special one-fingered devil horn for me.

Haikus to the Gods of First Draft TV Pilot Scripts

Oh mighty Teaser
Kickoff to the whole story
Happy you are done

First Act yer a bitch
You bully with your many
needs and shortcomings

Dreaming of Act Two
Will I ever get to you
Never at this rate

What's on Jon Stewart
No no I must not succumb
Time for Cereal.

Even More Disturbing.

I know, I know, if you read this at all, you're already reading Josh Friedman. But just in case, for whatever insane reason, you're reading me before him today. Stop. Go to his site. Read today's entry, "The Joy of Specs." I am doing the toe-curl happy dance in front of my computer now.

BTW, if you come back after reading it and have any suggestions as to how working writers can cure themselves of the whole doomed trying-to-date-an ACTRESS thing, I really, really, really could use it. Seriously. Voodoo, Santeria, anything short of 'Ludes. I'll listen.

Dem Bones, Dem Bones, Gonna, Walk Around Tuesdays On FOX

I've always liked David Boreanaz. I'm glad he has another series that can shoot exteriors in the day. That must be a nice change for him. Unless they shot Day for Night a lot on Angel. But that's neither here nor there.

So, onto BONES, Fox's attempt to cross pollinate some character development into the CSI genre. I found the pilot solid and workmanlike, if not really too inspired. Boreanaz and Emily Deschanel do well in their roles. There's very snappy dialogue.

But on the whole I thought the first act was great, and then it settled down into a plot that was way more conventional than I would have liked.

You can see why they paired this with HOUSE. Same irascible kind of lead character. The problem with that is whenever they have an irascible female lead character, she's always, I don't know, leaving out saucers of milk for kittens by episode four.

I mean, Samantha from Sex & The City was a right bitch when that show started. It was bracing. By the end she was about as threatening as that cougar you met down at 2.99 shooters night at Stuckey's on the interstate. And don't even get me started on what they did to Murphy Brown.

In the end, I will give this the rule of three... I try to give any new show I watch at least three eps to find its feet - which is a lot more than some networks do. But BONES has got a lot to overcome to make a permanent dent in my viewing schedule. Now I know nobody asked, nor should they, but having already worked one show where the brief was to come on in and do triage on a sickly show, I kind of like to think that way to keep the engines humming. So my prescription for BONES would be:

Let people in.

I hate being outside that CSI stuff. HOUSE does a very good job of keeping you up to date with what's going on. BONES keeps you at a distance.

Prune the ensemble

Leads are good, but there's like one-too-many Scooby gang characters around Deschanel. The assistant is forgettable, the female researcher is fabulous (though, to be fair, they did introduce her with her flashing an inattentive airline dude: great intro) and both Boreanaz and Deschanel have forgettable boss characters.

(It's also telling that I'm calling the characters by the actors' names. When you can't remember the characters names, that should tell you something.)

Get Weird

It's FOX. I want less JAG, Navy NCIS more Jump Street or X-Files.

I do, however, want this show to succeed brilliantly and run five years since the creator is a very nice formerly Canadian fellow named Hart Hanson, who once toiled on a show up here called Traders, and who years ago saw the genius of the Piven in a short series called Cupid.

As for HOUSE, pretty good premiere, but someone needs to declare a moratorium of end-of-episode montages set to Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah. I mean, The OC did it twice, for Godsake. And I think I've seen it in at least four other series. One of them might have been the Rufus version they used in Shrek. Whatever. It's done. Find another weeper. I suggest David Gray or James Blunt.

Thanks, Mr. K.

Okay: so here it is. A thousand years ago, when I was still a journalist, I was interviewing an author. Doesn't matter who, but this was a writer I admired greatly. While the tape was changing, I peppered him with questions for my own interests' sake: "how did you make the leap to professional writer?" and things like that.

He smiled for a bit and nailed me with a glance. He saw what I was asking without me even asking it. He laughed and said,

"getting sick of the treadmill?"

And I smiled, too. He caught me out. This was certainly the first time any of my interview subjects had showed the slightest interest in the guy asking the questions. He paused for a second, like he was weighing saying something, and then he said,

"You'll get there. If you really, really want to write, you'll find a way to do it, and you'll find a way to make money doing it."

"Okay, I've got speed."

That's the cameraman telling me that he's ready to keep going; to resume the interview. So the last part of what the author said was the first thing I saw when I screened the tape back to cut my story together.

His face changed for a second there. Just a wisp of darkness crossed, and then was gone, as he settled back into interview mode. And before I got off my next question, he said,

"Just don't expect it to solve all your problems. At a certain point, you're still in the corner at the party, staring out at people; bewildered, munching dead things on sticks."

So. Now you know.

Four years later

Really? It's really only been four years?
I remember talking to my Dad and having to break it to him that the first tower had fallen. He'd watched CNN for awhile, but stopped "because they kept saying the same things, and no one knew anything." He hadn't made the connection that we had relatives in there. (They got out.)

Four years?
Really?

How can so much have happened since then?
How can we possibly have this guy as President for another three years?

Where's a good TIME CUT TO: when you need it?