Arrogance, Humbling, and Surrender

WELL LESSEE. I normally try to avoid Saturday posts because they're pretty low traffic days, but I'm going to guess that everyone's a little familia'd out right now and might be drifting back to surfables for some fresh intel.

Not sure I've got that. This is more of a little process observation.
A few weeks back I was talking to a class of writing students at Humber College. And the subject of writer's block came up. I don't know if I brought it up or they did, but I gave my standard answer in those cases, which is that I think it's mostly kind of a precious construction; that working screenwriters didn't really have time for it. When you're on deadline in a TV show, with a crew waiting to prep an episode, not delivering is simply not an option. If you're "not feeling it," you have to simply grind through and deliver a less confident draft -- and hope that you have a wonderful and generous story department that will help you trowel over your shortcomings and sift through the blasted rock of your painful first draft to bring out the gold.

I mostly believe that -- that writer's block is 90% affectation. I again default, if you haven't read it, to Steven Pressfield's excellent procrastination-killer The War of Art, where he talks about the phenomenon of resistance. As he puts it in his author's note:

I had an excruciatingly difficult time facing my fear to write The War of Art. It's stuff that's been boiling inside of me for years. The book is all about facing down the enemy within ourselves, what I call "Resistance": the emotional/psychological force that stops writers from writers, painters from painting, and all creative people from being creative. Resistance was working on me too, overtime, and giving me a million reasons not to do it. I was getting extremely depressed. Then I finally plunged in and everything got clear.

I've read books by writers about writing. I've attended seminars and workshops. But, in all of my years, I never heard a word about the phenomenon of Resistance. I've been fighting it every minute of every writing day and watched it break up my marriage and screw me over in a hundred ways for years and years. Was I the only one? I couldn't be, because I saw friend after friend crap out on writing projects and other creative enterprises, all because of Resistance and fear. In the end I had to write the book, just because I knew what I was fighting was real and other creators were fighting it too. The War of Art is one working artist's report from the trenches, sort of "this is how it feels to me; does it feel this way to you?"

I hope it helps. I hope it tells aspiring artists and entrepreneurs that they're not crazy to be feeling the fear they feel. We all do. It's part of being human. And I hope some of the tricks of the trade I've learned can help too. Resistance never goes away. I've had to reread parts of the book myself already, just to keep me firmly planted in my writing chair and working on my next project. It helps!

The reason why "resistance" to me is such a cool word is because it properly puts the onus back on you. "Writer's block" sounds like some evil external force that's doing this to you. And that's not what it is, at all. You can't let yourself off the hook that easy.

But...

Over the last few weeks -- and here's where the humbling comes in...I've discovered that resistance does sometimes have its uses.

But first let's talk about the arrogance.

When setting up a delivery schedule for the pilot that I'm currently developing, I made a serious, grave, and in retrospect silly mistake. I overpromised.

I took my experience over the last few years writing on TV shows, and how long it took me to work out the outline, and I padded it out a bit and said, "I can do this."

What a mistake.

What I'd left out of the equation was the effect of having an already established canon of characters and template can do for you. It's the reason why in a pinch, I can write a good draft in five days, and why I can knuckle down an pump out an outline lickety split, too. That's the single most-overlooked skill from the novice screenwriters I talk to in classroom situations or informally -- they don't yet realize that writing well is important, but that equally important is writing fast.

But writing fast requires some work ahead of time. It's like the difference between chopping and prepping all the ingredients in a stir fry and pulling them out of the fridge where you cleverly chopped and prepped them the night before: only one of those methods is going to get you a stir fry inside of ten minutes.

So it goes with outlines and scripts.

And especially pilot scripts.

My first massive bout of resistance on the current project was conceptual. There were a couple of hairy things about it that we always knew I was going to have to work out at the outline stage. But it wasn't until I had some down time, and was sitting out in the Florida sun in early November that I realized the true shape of what was missing. It took a few days of thought, after which I came back and wrote it all up and circulated a three page document amongst my partners. It slightly rebooted and reframed the idea, and locked down the other stuff that had been out in the ether. It got a great reception, and I immediately thought that now I could proceed to quickly writing the pilot script.

Uh uh.

I got three acts in and was seized with despair. I truly felt I was spinning wheels. What I thought was five acts of my story wasn't. Now my instincts were telling me that my Act Four out and Act Five were chock full of events that had to go into Act Three. I had an ending. I had a strong start. I just didn't have the right tentpoles.

I was paralyzed for about three days. These three days also happened to coincide with some WGC business, and a bit of personal crap, and a couple of other things. But the fear was there. The fear never left. And the fear, the resistance, the block -- whatever it was -- was telling me that I had a serious, insurmountable, terrible problem with the material.

Oh, guess what? I had a cold, too. Yeah, when it rains.

Sitting here comfortably on the other end, I can't tell you exactly how I got through it. But there was a combination of factors. Some of it was putting that sage Pressfield advice about avoiding resistance to work. Some of it was stubbornly just putting in ass-in-seat time. But the third thing was something akin to surrender. It was a result of the churn and the sturm and the drang, and the panic that I'd felt. All of that roiling emotion made me go back and look at each scene anew. And the fear and angst gave me new eyes.

In the end, here's how the floodgates opened: I had a key reveal scene at the end of act two, where one character revealed something profound and surprising about themselves to our main character. It was a big bombshell. It was the kind of big bombshell that we don't often get dropped on us in life. It happens a bit more often on TV because, well, it's TV. But it sure was big.

And it was at the end of Act Two.

I like nice meaty act outs as much as the next dude, but suddenly I felt, "Hey, maybe this is too much." And I started thinking about what happens when we have to tell people big things like that, and how often we tell half truths. Or the truth up to a point.

And suddenly, there it was. This character had to tell my main character enough to get her to go off on a tangent, but not so much that she saw the person, or herself, differently. That had to be saved for the end.

I know that, especially without the details, that must seem an incredibly simplistic solution. But that's the point. Most solutions are. And if they're not simple, then you probably really have gummed up the works and have to go back to the drawing board completely.

By holding back the why of what this character revealed, I had a new denouement. And then it rippled forward, and within the space of five minutes, I'd found a plot point in Act one that could echo and resonate and come back in Act 4. Characters who had been functionaries lengthened and deepened, and started to reflect the main character's quest. That one logjam broke, and the better part of a week of worry gave place to two full acts worth of discovery and breakthroughs in the space of about five hours. And then, the outline was done.

That's the bloody thing about resistance. Sometimes it's like that little spinning "wait" symbol you see when your computer's CPU is chugging along. Calculations are being made in the background; you just have to be patient. Before you force-quit and start over, you need to stop. Sometimes the thing that you think is the resistance, isn't. In this case, the resistance was telling me that the whole thing had to be torn apart.

I thought the resistance was the inability to focus. But it wasn't. The resistance was the fear telling me that the problem was more serious than I thought, and more serious than it subsequently was. Does that make any sense?

So, lessons learned: Don't overpromise. And be sure to...uh...be sure what the resistance is really telling you.

A Life Less Wonderful

WHAT A STRANGE experience it was watching It's a Wonderful Life last night. It must be easily the tenth time I've seen it all the way through. Its rhythms and quirks and charms are as familiar to me as my own hand, at this point.

Yet this is the first time that I've seen it with eyes wearied by the economic meltdown of the last little while. The original audience for the film would have had not-too-distant memories of a time when runs on banks were a disturbing reality. But for years that wonderful scene of Stewart doling out his honeymoon money must have played as slightly otherworldly. Yet here we are again, with banks failing and people worried about their every last nickel.

What's even more interesting about It's a Wonderful Life, though, is the difference between its economic vision and the reality that we find ourselves in. In Life, as opposed to Life, the ramshackle Bailey Building and Loan is the instrument by which simple people who otherwise couldn't afford houses work to afford that dream. It doesn't make a lot of money, but it does help people out, and their lives are better off for it.

All that talk of home ownership, and mortgages and foreclosure kind of hit like a faceslap in light of the last year or so, but when you ponder the world of Bedford Falls, two things ring out for me. The first is the exhortation by mean old Mr. Potter that George will be run out of town on the rails when people hear about the missing money. Potter gives the solution to Bailey, but with a sneer. He tells him, mockingly, that he can go to the people for help, and see if they'll bail him out. But they won't.

In our world, of course, the word "bailout" is dirty. Because we've convinced ourselves that we're bailing out Mr. Potter, not a bunch of potential George Baileys. And that might be true, as far as it goes. Which is not very far, really.

The other thing that struck me on this viewing was that sign on the main street. "You Are Now In Bedford Falls," it says. Not, "Welcome to.." not, "Now entering," but "You are now in..." an odd construction that makes it seem like Bedford Falls, far from being a town, is almost a state of mind.

We all know how It's a Wonderful Life ends. What Potter mocked, comes true. The people do come to the aid of George Bailey, rewarding his basic decency and goodness and getting him out of trouble with the Bank Examiner. Tellingly -- and the reason why I think people misread Capra when they accuse him of being a polyanna -- though George is saved, Potter goes unpunished. The rich industrialist is not put in his place. If anything, he comes out $8000 ahead. Capra didn't want to overpromise what Bedford Falls could deliver.

But the people do help each other out.

The other thing about Life, of course, is a very un-American kind of way of looking at the world. The American myth is a positive one...yet the route that takes George Bailey to the end of that movie is anything but positive. Capra suggests that, in fact, it's our hardships and how we bear them that shape us, not our triumphs. During the course of the movie, George endures one setback after another, one hardship after another -- and it's what makes him the decent man he is. I think we screenwriters sometimes believe in that "true character is revealed only through adversity" stuff more than civilians do. But Capra dares to put it out there for all to see.

Here's the thing, though. In our world, it's the biggest banks, and the richest people who cooked up these dubious mortgages for people who couldn't afford them. There was no George Bailey, not anywhere. The lack of oversight, the deception and greed and fraud at play over the last few years would have made even old Mr. Potter blush. We live in the world where George Bailey was never born. We're in Pottersville.

I don't know if we can get back to Bedford Falls. I don't know if there ever really was such a place -- in history, in America, in the hearts of people. But on this day where reflection and peace is on the agenda, take a minute and ask yourself how much George Bailey is in you, and how much more you can let him out. And remember that the hardships and the setbacks you've faced in your own life isn't a reason to keep him in. Because that's what makes him worthy of Donna Reed, and Clarence, and Zuzu's Petals.

Have a Merry Christmas, and here's hoping we can one day look up and look to one another and say, "You Are Now in Bedford Falls."

Pinteresque

HAROLD PINTER died of Cancer yesterday.

He was a fearless writer til the end. I wrote about his 2005 Nobel Prize acceptance speech here.

Now is a time for fearlessness. For calling it as you see it. For uncompromising self-examination and intellectual honesty. The world is poorer for having lost one of its finest dramatists, and excoriating critics.

If you've never read one of his plays, I encourage you to pick them up. You'll find the language bracing, and the sharpness of his pen exciting.

Lights, Please? An Appreciaton

THIS STORY WAS first posted on Christmas Eve, 2005. It's sort of a tradition to post it every Christmas Eve now. And I don't really feel like writing anything else today. This year we lost the great Bill Melendez, Animation Director, voice of Snoopy, and kind of an inspirational figure to me -- he died at the age of ninety-one.

He'll be missed. A lot.

Hold tight to those you hold dear this Christmas. And Peace unto you and all that.


It's not such a bad little tree.

All it needed was a little love.

In 1993, I was still a TV producer, and I got a good TV-producer like break. A gallery in Yorkville was selling cels from "A Charlie Brown Christmas" and they were bringing in one of the creators of that landmark 1965 special to do some interviews. I pitched the story. My producer wasn't sure. I re-pitched the story. We wanted a way to do a fun Christmas-like story, but since our show was about media, it was kind of hard to come up with an angle that wasn't the usual, "Oh, has the selling of Christmas gone too far?" I made every argument I could think to make, but the Producer still wasn't budging. I tried to tell him that baby-boomers might not understand the significance of a Charlie Brown Christmas, but to people just a bit younger, it was everything. No dice. Finally, I got him on the content: that hoary old "has the selling of Christmas gone too far?" I said, "How can you not want to do a story on this special? They basically anticipated that whole question by about 20 years." When I pointed out the similarities between the philosophy underpinning our show, and A Charlie Brown Christmas, I got a bit of traction. So I dug in. I was doing the story.

Jose Cuauhtemoc Melendez was born in Mexico in 1916, which would make him 89 years old now. To the world, he was known as Bill Melendez, and besides working on Fantasia, Bambi, and Dumbo, he was there during the birth of all those classic Warner Brothers Cartoons. The man worked with Bob Clampett.

When it came time to animate Charles Schulz's Peanuts world, it was Bill Melendez who did a lot of the heavy lifting. He and his team came up with all the groundbreaking stuff we don't even think about anymore: they resisted the impulse to have Snoopy talk (Snoopy's unique vocalisations would eventually be performed by Melendez himself,) they decided to use real kids for the voices, and brass bleats for the voices of all the adults. They hired Vince Guaraldi.
Most of all, they resisted any attempts to cute-up or pull punches with the rather melancholy, serious subtext that beats at the heart of that special.

It's an amazing feat, now, looking back at this thirty-year-old special, and soberly realizing that practically none of those decisions would likely have stood today, in our market-researched and thoroughly-picked-over network culture. I mean -- a jazz soundtrack?

But Melendez and his team stuck to their guns. Sparky Schulz trusted them, and the result is, at least to my eyes, a special that is enduring because it manages to be both simple and profound all at once.

I loved Charlie Brown when I was a child. I went through a cartooning phase when I was in Florida -- obsessed with the Disney types, wondering at why Mickey went from his stylized and interesting 40's guise to the bland, more-childlike visage of the 1970's. I loved Bugs, and Daffy, but most of all, above all -- I loved Charlie Brown and Snoopy and Linus. Especially Linus.

I guess even then I was destined to drift into writing.

In my drawing phase, I would work tracing, trying, erasing, trying to reproduce the comics that I saw over and over again. There were two things I could never get. Linus' head gave me trouble long after I perfected the Charlie Brown circle. The blanket never seemed right. And though I could do a passable Snoopy on his doghouse, I never could assay what for me was the vision of Snoopy at his most sublime: the dog dancing.

Flash ahead to 1993, and on a cold December day, I'm with my cameraman in this tiny, tony Yorkville gallery. And in walks Bill Melendez. He was a sprightly 77-year-old then, with a thick head of hair and his signature mustache trimmed and crisp, turning up at the sides with a Salvidor Dali-like puckishness. He shook my hand firmly -- so firmly that I mimed the old "ow, that handshake is too much" schtick. And that's when I got to hear the laugh.

You can tell a lot about a man about the way he laughs. Melendez's laugh was long and uninhibited, the laugh of a man who does what he wants, and knows that what he does has an impact. It was the laugh of a man for whom joy was a daily visitor; who savored the good in life. In short, it was the laugh of a guy who'd come up with something iconic like A Charlie Brown Christmas, that speaks through being, not preaching.

I don't remember too much about the interview anymore. He knew I was about the age -- the age of his first audience, the same age as the first of the Sesame Street kids. He talked about the creation of that early special, and his characters, and what you got from working with children over adult voice actors. He spoke warmly and admiringly of Sparky Schulz, and gave a few tips and tricks and well-worn stories from the creation of Charlie Brown and his friends over the years.

All too soon it was over. I had a big old smile on my face and so did he. He'd been drawing for part of the interview (gotta get those cutaways,) just doodles, really. But once we were done and the cameraman started breaking down the equipment, I said to him, "you know, this interview really meant a lot to me." I explained the history, being a kid in Florida, the obsession with drawing, and then I did something that I couldn't believe. I said, "You guys actually made me want to do this." And I pulled out a pad and within thirty seconds, I'd drawn my best Snoopy-on-a-doghouse. And I gave it to him, and he smiled. What the hell was I doing? This is why I'm not a journalist. So there I am beating myself up and he just smiles at me and says, "you have to sign it. And date it." And I did, and he took it, and gingerly put it inside his portfolio. And I said, "I feel a little dumb right now. You just need to know that the work you did, And Charles Schulz... it's just meant more to me than I can say."

And he nodded, and he said, "can you do anything else from Peanuts?" And I smiled and clocked through my specialties. And I confessed that no matter how, or when, I could never master Snoopy Dancing, or Linus.

And so he sat down and drew me two drawings. They hang framed in my apartment, now. One is a glorious Snoopy in mid canter, and it's signed, "A Dance for Denis." The other is a simple 12 x 17 of Linus with Woodstock, and it says, "To Denis, Who Draws."

I look at these every day. Amidst the writer's block and the life problems, the rough patches and the joyful noises, the crunchy and the smooth, they never, ever fail to make me smile, or remind me of the generous spirit who produced them.

I don't have the Christmas spirit this year. It's just been lacking all round. Too much bustle, too many parties, too much smug preening over stupid things-- like the "War on Christmas."

But this morning among my Bah, Humbug I looked up at those drawings that I know so well, and I caught something new in Snoopy's eye and it just made me laugh. And suddenly, I want to throw on that Vince Guaraldi. There's the spirit. What took you so long?

I guess that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Border Bye Bye

SO SINCE LAST night, I've gotten a couple of emails about the season finale of the second season of THE BORDER, which ended explosively with a couple of characters all-but-for-sure cooked and many others in peril.

Part of the test, I think, of when a series goes beyond the "Canadian" threshold (where the Canadian-ness of it is either a pro or a minus, but is always the first thing discussed) is when people start asking the same questions as they ask about any other show on TV.

"Is Layla really dead? What about Gray's dad? And when does Season 3 start?"

Those are all good questions to be asking, and the fact that there are people asking them on message boards and to me bodes well for the long term health of the show, I think.

That being said, one thing the impatient TV fan should understand, at present, um, I don't know how to break this to you but...there IS no season 3. Yet.

Both seasons of The Border were shot roughly May-November. What makes it seem more telescoped than that is that 26 episodes aired in 2008. Season One was shot May-November 2007, and shown starting Jan 8/08, and Season Two was shot May-November 2008, and shown Starting 29 September 2008. In other words, the seasons were shown pretty much back to back, and last night's finale and my ep the week before were shot less than 2 months ago.

What happens now is a short hiatus. Season 3's 12 episodes will start shooting sometime in May, which means the writers will probably start working on them in February or March, and the Season will most likely premiere in September 2009.

And that's just about the last question I'll be able to answer about THE BORDER. As I wrote before in this space, I'm not going back to the show. I'm presently writing my own pilot, shopping a couple of others, and meeting about other new projects and challenges. I've got a stack of scripts and DVD's to read and screen over Christmas. So we'll see.

Henceforth, I'll follow the show same as you, as a fan. It will be interesting to see what fresh blood on the writing staff can add to the mix, and what new directions are in store for the show.

Finally, a couple of other emails I got asked me what I thought of John Doyle's column in the Globe yesterday. And I think that probably deserves a comment. John Doyle is one of Canadian Television's most steadfast supporters, and probably the most interesting television critic in the country. It's his job to write what he thinks, and he is perfectly entitled not to like The Border, and to say so if he wants. To whinge about that, especially if you are connected with the show in any way, would be unseemly. In any case, he followed up today and seemingly walked back what he'd written. I hope that wasn't due to any pressure from the network or anybody connected with the show. I do think it's interesting that he feels uncommonly frustrated with Canadian creatives right now. Interesting and unfortunate.

I've said in the past that even in posts where he lambasted the show, Doyle still gave ink to The Border, which is the important thing. The true weapon of the critic is not to slam you; it's the power to dismiss or ignore you. I also found it frustrating that a lot of the time when creatives in this country read a bad review, they never ever seem to see the things beyond the harsh words to the actual trenchant and fair criticism underneath. I think that was certainly true with Doyle and The Border. There was much that he wrote about the show that I thought was fair, and changed how I approached some of my stories and eps.

I think that people who make shows should put their energies into making them; not trying to spin how they're received. Nobody asked me, or anybody else to make TV. You make a product, the people get to receive and review that product as they see fit. That's the compact.

Doyle's written nice stuff about me and my work in the past, and he's leveled criticism at me too. Such is the business. To get all china doll about the latter and only accept the former makes you a hypocrite. This isn't Emily Post. It's not "if you have nothing nice to say don't say nothing at all." I think we'd probably be a lot better off if Canadian creatives learned to man up a bit and take the crunchy with the smooth.

I hope that someday soon I write something that gets a positive nod from Doyle. But if I don't, that's of no consequence. If the price of that nod is a passionate advocate for TV being forced to pull his punches, well, then that's a price too dear.

Out Here in The Sticks

PEOPLE ARE STARTING to trickle toward the door here at Dead Things Labs. The last train out of Sticksville is going to be packed with word-workers holding their Christmas bonus hams and complementary box of 3 Lindor chocolates. Clearly, the publishing here will be light during the holidays. But there are a few fireworks to be had coming in the next few weeks.

We'll have a preview of two upcoming CBC series: Wild Roses and Being Erica. (Promos for both are now up at CBC.CA and are running on CBC now.)

We're also going to delve in the New Year into a subject that's bound to be a controversial one: the CRTC hearings to determine the future of new media regulation. It'll be fascinating to see how this one plays out in 'big media.' The small and measured calls for an ISP levy (on the big 7 internet providers, the same ones who charge you a 'system access fee' for cells for..um...no reason) are already being called an "internet tax." The internet community is prepping to freak out in the same way they always freak out -- in this case, stoked by the fact that ACTRA is pushing a ridiculous plan to regulate everything, yes, including your YouTube videos. Stupid. I'm working up a post laying out the WGC's position on this, which is very different than even what's been reported so far. Even the normally sensible Michael Geist is buying the big cable spin on this one. We'll see.

In response to a couple of reader questions, and a couple of recent teaching stints, and meetings (via Ink Canada) with newbies, I'm going to write up something I don't think I've ever gotten into before, which is the story of how I broke in to the business.

All that, and maybe a year end inspiration list. So there'll be posts. Just maybe flurries instead of a full on blizzard.

So grab your scarf and mitts, quaff your 'Nog, hug somebody who needs it, be extra generous to those who need it and be good to each other, Holiday-wise. Your brother simply can't help being that way, and your mother means well, even if she does seem a bit passive aggresive sometimes.

And if you're looking for something to do over the holidays, why not write a cheerful postcard to a Canadian soldier serving in Afghanistan?

Silent night, bitches. Seacrest out.

A Skins Christmas Cracker

OVER IN THE U.K. they've started the drumbeat of publicity to the 3rd season of the totally addictive youth show Skins.

A couple of days ago they revealed the first peek at the new characters. (As anybody who has followed the show through both seasons knows, the entire cast rotates out at the end of season 2, with one holdover -- Tony's sister Effy. Her friend Pandora, who was also featured in a season 2 episode, is also part of Season 3)

Here's a video from one of the writers explaining the process. Pretty first-level stuff but a couple of interesting bits:



And in anticipation of the late January premiere, they've posted this short bit featuring Effy and Pandora:





If you're wondering what all the fuss over Skins is, and you don't have either BBC America (in the USA) or Super Channel in Canada, the first season of the show is also coming out on Region 1 DVD in January.

The short version is: imagine the O.C., but jangly, messy and real. This is the teen show that nobody in North America would have the guts to do. It makes Degrassi or 90210 look like Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. It's also doing something better than we ever do over here -- letting new writers drive it, while still training them up...not just taking their show idea and throwing them out to the wolves.

Gran Illusions

SAW GRAN TORINO. It is by no means an incredible movie, but it sure is an interesting one, and therefore quite enjoyable. I will also say, since the press reports seem to be making a lot out of screenwriter Nick Schenk's contention that Eastwood didn't change a single word of the screenplay in the shooting, that that makes sense, because the overall effect is a very writerly movie.

The resonance of the ending is set up right at the beginning of the picture, and the essential beats of information you need to know are doled out through the movie quite cannily. Because they're in the middle of scenes where other interesting stuff is going on, you don't spend the brainpan power putting together exactly what the action of the third act is going to be. It's all sleight of hand, all the time.

Looking back on it, the ending is fairly easy to figure out. But you don't. Or at least I didn't, because you are swept up by some pretty engaging characters. Yet when you think back on it, the ending is clean and resonant, and directly follows everything Clint Eastwood's character has said and done through the whole movie. You are given clues right up until the ending is laid out before you -- but you don't put it together. This is what we call 'good screenwriting.'

Ok, to be serious. There will probably be people who take issue with Eastwood's performance, which is pitched directly in the line of every cranky old man you've ever seen commited to film. (He actually gets to deliver the line "Get off my lawn!" to a bunch of kids.) But the growling man is justified, as is the talking to himself, by the presence of his dog or simply by his obvious loneliness.

So you've got a good flawed character. Then you add a world most of us don't really know much about...the Hmong people and their customs. Then you stir in characters who are not cardboard, but who are just off a bit, as people are in life. Whether it's Sue, the next door neighbor that first starts the thaw, or the Priest who looks like he's fourteen, there are such interesting character dynamics going on that the very, very simple story has room to just unfold. There are no unnecessary notes or complications. As in most Eastwood films, everything is spare. You don't see anything you don't need to see. It all adds up.

We sometimes have the impulse to make things flashy or gussy them up. The old lipstick on a pig trick. We're forever doing that in Canada. Getting lost in our symbols, and disappearing up our own behinds.

Gran Torino is a yarn. And a good solid one. And if you're struggling with creating a nuanced character, or a complete arc, or even beats that drive to an inevitable turning point and resolution, this is a movie that has all that stuff out there for you to see, without a lot of paint or accoutrement. There's nothing flashy about this film, and it's also kind of timeless. This film could have been made anytime in the last thirty years.

But in an era of explosions and CG soullessness, and impenetrable art house douchebaggery, it's kind of refreshing to see this: a movie movie. A solid double, that sets out to tell a story about interesting people and delivers that and only that.

And I hate to say it, but I would say the bulk of that good feeling comes from a script that was well thought out, and executed, and a Star and Director who had the confidence to see that, and just shoot the story.

Imagine that.

Does Blogger Have a Cold?

WEIRD. THERE ARE comments appearing under "recent comments" that are over a year old. And on a few stories here and other sites, you see trackback links to stories that have no connection whatsoever to the story being linked to.

Anybody know what's going on?