Last week I met a fellow writer for a drink. (Okay, full disclosure: I had four. But she had 'a drink.' )
It was a referral from a colleague, just a normal sort of meet and greet to try and suss out and connect to future talent. You still can't shake the feeling that it's kind of like a job interview.
So I fired questions out -- what are your favorite TV shows; what do you like to read; what do you do when you're not writing; how did you come to writing; what's your experience; who've you worked with; what are you passionate about; where have you been; what's important to you?
I know these questions can be daunting, especially fired all in a row like that. I have a friendly demeanor, so that cuts it a bit. But if you notice anything in the pattern of the questions above, let it be this: I'm trying to find out as much about the person as the experience or taste they bring to writing. Because that's an important part of the collaborative process. I don't know who said it originally, but I know that Ken Levine has opined recently that you have to find a person that you could stand to drive cross-country with. Collaboration in TV means lots of long hours, weird times, strange intimacies (get your mind out of the guttter, I don't mean that way) and a whole lot of time spent with someone. So you kind of need to know who they are.
And no, you'll never get that out of one meeting. But that first meeting is important.
Getting to it is even more so.
The first thing that impressed me about the writer I met last week was her persistence. She emailed me several times -- never pushy, always leaving a respectful distance between queries, until we nailed down the meeting time. A lot of people screw that up right off the bat -- either by not following up (I have one focus when I'm writing, and that's the script I'm working on; I can be bad about getting back to people. Yup, it's a flaw, but it's also the flaw that makes it bearable to ride it out when people aren't getting back to me) or by being too forceful (cue the thoughts of the boiling bunny scene from Fatal Attraction.)
As in all conversations, things naturally progressed to the finding of common ground. We found out that we're kind of a similar type. I don't remember if I've said this before, so forgive me if I have, but I think personality-wise, most television writers are a mix of extrovert and introvert.
The true extroverts can never hack it, because there's so much time spent alone that it drives you crazy after awhile. And I think that true introverts, unless their pages are truly, truly stellar, are never going to make it, because so much of this job is constantly pitching, and re-pitching your ideas -- whether in a meeting or in the room, or to a producer, or to a network, or even -- if you magically make it to production -- a real live actor or director. If you're a real wallflower, you're not going to have much of a chance to show your bloom. You gotta be witty and odd and sharp and compelling.
When you're an extrovert-introvert, you sometimes need a way in. I know I'm bad in a social situation where I know NO ONE. That, I find daunting. Give me a few friendly faces, and I'll make my way just fine. But the funny thing is that because people who know me know me to be very gregarious and passionate, they assume I don't need the help -- even if I'm standing at the edge of the room, swimming in my own self-doubt and recrimination.
A lot of extrovert-introverts blanch at the thought of schmoozing. Schmoozing, of course, is smalltalk with intent. I've been schmoozed expertly and haplessly, and I've done both of those things myself. But it's just something you need to learn. It's not like having a 'no schmooze' rule will get you anywhere. There's a lot of starving and unemployed people with integrity.
So last week, I told this writer an anecdote that actually came from the wife of a friend of mine (and a friend of the blog, too, coinkidinkally.)
This person figures every time she goes to a party or social situation, you turn it into a game, and the game is this:
No matter what kind of person they are, no matter what they do, no matter how boring to you they seem, every person has at least one thing about them that's interesting.
Your job is to find that one thing out -- about everybody in the room.
I love this idea, because it kind of applies the craft of writing to a social situation. You have a task, (the project) there are lots of ways to achieve that task, (the craft) and it's a task you have to complete. (You have a deadline.)
And as a net bonus, you get to appear as a true extrovert and an active listener. Brilliant.
Monday, May 8, 2006
Sunday, May 7, 2006
HOUSE's David Shore nails Canadian Drama
The Globe & Mail's John Doyle had an interesting interview with HOUSE creator/executive producer (and showrunner, and Canadian) David Shore this weekend.
Highlights below. (Emphasis added is mine)
The odd time that I get a chance to catch a movie, I frequently walk out realizing that I could have stayed home and seen a better story, better told by just turning on the TV. Movies have too often become about the event while television is almost always about the story.
Q. Canadian TV, especially drama, seems to be in a permanent state of crisis. You were associated with two successful Canadian dramas, Due South and Traders. Do you have a prescription for reviving Canadian TV drama, or do you have a Dr. House-like skepticism about the problem?
A. I am skeptical. There is obviously a smaller market, and therefore less money and greater limitations, but I think the problems are deeper than that. I left Canada because I knew I had a lot to learn as a writer and I saw very few opportunities to do that without moving. In my opinion, Canadian television so often fails for the same reason American movies so often fail: They're not controlled by writers. Now I'm biased on this one and there are obviously great, smart directors out there and great, smart producers but no one knows the story like the writer. American movies are controlled by directors; Canadian television is controlled by producers; American television is controlled by writers.
How many times does it have to be said before Canadian TV types start to believe it? Mr. Stursberg? Mr. Clarkson? Hellll-ooo?
Interesting other observation to come out of the article...this makes two U.S. based showrunners who cut their teeth on TRADERS, Global's mid-1990's series set in the financial world of Bay Street. (Toronto's Wall Street, or The City)
Hart Hanson (Bones) developed TRADERS, and had a Canadian career. After that show he made the painful jump to the U.S., eventually moving up to showrun Judging Amy.
Shore already had a U.S. career, owing to his writing on Due South, which was created by his friend Paul Haggis, who despite our propensity for claiming the Canadian connection -- spent his whole career down in the U.S.
Global got a lot of stick for turning away from Drama after Traders, and the relaxing of Cancon regs in 1999. Yet of most recent Canadian dramas, it had the most solid, go for the commercial appeal construction -- and it's the one that's produced U.S. - style showrunners.
Whatever could it all mean?
Saturday, May 6, 2006
The President is Not Amused
"Just a regular guy..."
"Good sport..."
"Good sense of humor..."
"A guy you'd want to have dinner with..."
Sure.
"Good sport..."
"Good sense of humor..."
"A guy you'd want to have dinner with..."
Sure.
Friday, May 5, 2006
Rogers' Cable PVR is Evil
Here in the Great White North, we suffer, TIVO-less.
Both Bell Expressvu and Rogers (the big satellite and cable choices in my area) have PVR based recorders, menu driven, of course -- but they're just not as smart or crazysexycool as TIVO.
Each has their quirks. The bane of the Rogers model hearkens back to the bad old days of the imprecise VCR clock. It's a slave to the schedule grid, and if the Amnets are doing their usual shuck fly bait and switch, and start a movie or tv series early or end it late, it gets cut off.
There are certain shows and networks which are the worst culprits. ABC is flat out the worst. Usually when I remember, I try to program a few extra minutes on the end of the recording. It's cumbersome and I don't always remember. But even that doesn't always work. When you have a "tape every show" setting, it doesn't remember from week to week that you want to stop taping at 10:02, not 10:00.
Anyway, all that's a long way of getting to this. Now, this might not mean a lot to you if you don't watch LOST, but I'm not into doing spoilers, so you can go find out what I'm talking about somewhere else. If you do watch LOST, you should recognize my problem immediately.
Here's how LOST ended for me this week:
Ana Lucia (Michele Rodriguez, left) says, "I just can't do this anymore," meaning kill Henry, the Other they've got stashed in the hatch. Michael (Harold Perrineau, right) nods and says, "Give me the gun. Let me do it." Ana Lucia hands him the gun. Michael says, "I'm sorry."
End of Recording.
I don't want to talk about it.
Both Bell Expressvu and Rogers (the big satellite and cable choices in my area) have PVR based recorders, menu driven, of course -- but they're just not as smart or crazysexycool as TIVO.
Each has their quirks. The bane of the Rogers model hearkens back to the bad old days of the imprecise VCR clock. It's a slave to the schedule grid, and if the Amnets are doing their usual shuck fly bait and switch, and start a movie or tv series early or end it late, it gets cut off.
There are certain shows and networks which are the worst culprits. ABC is flat out the worst. Usually when I remember, I try to program a few extra minutes on the end of the recording. It's cumbersome and I don't always remember. But even that doesn't always work. When you have a "tape every show" setting, it doesn't remember from week to week that you want to stop taping at 10:02, not 10:00.
Anyway, all that's a long way of getting to this. Now, this might not mean a lot to you if you don't watch LOST, but I'm not into doing spoilers, so you can go find out what I'm talking about somewhere else. If you do watch LOST, you should recognize my problem immediately.
Here's how LOST ended for me this week:
Ana Lucia (Michele Rodriguez, left) says, "I just can't do this anymore," meaning kill Henry, the Other they've got stashed in the hatch. Michael (Harold Perrineau, right) nods and says, "Give me the gun. Let me do it." Ana Lucia hands him the gun. Michael says, "I'm sorry."End of Recording.
I don't want to talk about it.
Thursday, May 4, 2006
Lapdogs: Why the Colbert Context Matters
Every time I (or any other blogging screenwriter) goes off on a jag writing about U.S. politics, we get emails from some people saying, "can you just get back to writing about screenwriting?"
I understand the sentiment -- I've grown pretty weary, Lord knows, of hearing Pam Anderson on Peta or George Clooney on deforestation, or Bono on Africa. (Okay, maybe not Bono on Africa.) Blogging screenwriters don't even have their chiseled good looks to fall back on.
But in the case of the Media today, and reportage of Iraq, and Bush -- I think the reason why so many of us freak out every once in a while has screenwriting roots.
In brief: we spend our days trying to come up with narratives that make sense, that don't defy rules of logic - that take questions and follow them to truthful, emotionally satisfying conclusions.
And then we look at the narrative of what's happened in the last couple of years in America and we just can't believe it. Because it's such a bullshit narrative. Never in a million years could we get away with such a shoddy, misleading, ill-researched, counter-intuitive plot.
Yet here we are.
In Salon today, Eric Boehlert has published an excerpt from his new book, Lapdogs: How The Press Rolled Over For Bush. It's long, and depressing, and quietly devestating. It's so devestating, in fact, that much as I've always enjoyed Boehlert's writing in Salon, I don't think I can bring myself to read the book. It's just too depressing, and I'm not really going to learn anything I didn't already know.
In recounting how the MSM behaved in the leadup to the Iraq war, Boehlert name checks the usual suspects: and with fact after fact, lays bare how completely the U.S. media have abandoned their responsibilities since 9/11.
In short, it's like this: they're so afraid of being labeled "liberal" that they have grossly overcompensated. During the Clinton administration, this meant going with poorly-sourced and false stories that were unfairly critical of the adminstration. In the War President Fictions of Bush the Second, it means overreporting talking points by the administration, and marginalizing any views that challenge the Bush narrative. All this while the media mouthpiece of the Republican Party, the right wing talk shows and FOX News and their ilk, continue the steady drumbeat of criticism that the media has a "liberal bias."
Boehlert's quiet, steady timeline of story comparisons, timelines and, um, oh yes, facts -- puts the lie to the received wisdom at the centre of the media story in America today. From Judy Miller to the Times to the conduct of supposedly "liberal" outlets like CNN and Nightline -- it's just shameful. And, of course, the only way that it can be refuted by the right is through more of the same dirty, sleazy demagoguery.
Which brings us back to Colbert. Make no mistake, Boehlert's article is the Cliff's Notes for what we saw play out in the media last weekend.
The press ignored Colbert -- as they have about far, far more important stories over the last three years. Then, when prodded, step one was to float the idea that near-total omission of talk about Colbert was due to it just not being "newsworthy."
That spin couldn't hold, of course, because it was ridiculous. Someone does a hyper-critical routine three feet from a President who's well known for not hearing critical voices -- that's news. It certainly was news when Don Imus roasted Clinton at the same event a few years before. So... that spin morphed to the current talking point: "he just wasn't funny."
One problem: millions of people have seen the clip now...millions more than ever would have seen it if it was the one day story it deserved to be -- and they disagree. Plus, the sentiments expressed by Colbert are now the sentiments of a majority of the American population.
The optics are crystal clear: the press is completely out of step on this one, with everyone except the hardcore, shrinking rump of the extreme right wing. They may try to peddle the "Colbert crossed the line" meme -- but considering Colbert's actions run in a straight line back to, oh, say, Thomas Paine -- it's just not a theory that will fly for long.
My parents are fiscal and social conservatives. Through my twenties and into my thirties, as a series of Conservative governments ruled Canada, and my Province of Ontario, I would have huge, pointless political fights with my father. I'm actually pretty centrist, but I used to joke that all it took was a visit with my parents to make me come out sounding like Trotsky.
My Dad and I haven't had a political argument in two years.
What changed? Well, my parents, like a lot of retirees, now spend half the year in Florida. And for the last couple of years, they've become horrified by the one-sided slant they see in the news. "Americans," they say, "simply aren't getting the full story."
The Salon article neatly lays out how that came to be.
Funnily enough, I have never been too comfortable with journalism even when I nominally worked in it. (For a laugh, check this internet wayback cache of an article riffed off by Jon Katz when I interviewed him in my previous life.)
All voices have bias. All stories have a slant.
But there are some pitches that you should just not be able to sell.
Interestingly enough, this week in Toronto, there's the huge HotDocs festival going on. The huge rise in the popularity of the Documentary format -- the thirst people have for non-fiction reading these days...take the blogs out of it -- do you think maybe, just maybe, these trends have something to do with people feeling failed by the storytelling coming from the mainstream media?
Just asking.
I understand the sentiment -- I've grown pretty weary, Lord knows, of hearing Pam Anderson on Peta or George Clooney on deforestation, or Bono on Africa. (Okay, maybe not Bono on Africa.) Blogging screenwriters don't even have their chiseled good looks to fall back on.
But in the case of the Media today, and reportage of Iraq, and Bush -- I think the reason why so many of us freak out every once in a while has screenwriting roots.
In brief: we spend our days trying to come up with narratives that make sense, that don't defy rules of logic - that take questions and follow them to truthful, emotionally satisfying conclusions.
And then we look at the narrative of what's happened in the last couple of years in America and we just can't believe it. Because it's such a bullshit narrative. Never in a million years could we get away with such a shoddy, misleading, ill-researched, counter-intuitive plot.
Yet here we are.
In Salon today, Eric Boehlert has published an excerpt from his new book, Lapdogs: How The Press Rolled Over For Bush. It's long, and depressing, and quietly devestating. It's so devestating, in fact, that much as I've always enjoyed Boehlert's writing in Salon, I don't think I can bring myself to read the book. It's just too depressing, and I'm not really going to learn anything I didn't already know.In recounting how the MSM behaved in the leadup to the Iraq war, Boehlert name checks the usual suspects: and with fact after fact, lays bare how completely the U.S. media have abandoned their responsibilities since 9/11.
In short, it's like this: they're so afraid of being labeled "liberal" that they have grossly overcompensated. During the Clinton administration, this meant going with poorly-sourced and false stories that were unfairly critical of the adminstration. In the War President Fictions of Bush the Second, it means overreporting talking points by the administration, and marginalizing any views that challenge the Bush narrative. All this while the media mouthpiece of the Republican Party, the right wing talk shows and FOX News and their ilk, continue the steady drumbeat of criticism that the media has a "liberal bias."
Boehlert's quiet, steady timeline of story comparisons, timelines and, um, oh yes, facts -- puts the lie to the received wisdom at the centre of the media story in America today. From Judy Miller to the Times to the conduct of supposedly "liberal" outlets like CNN and Nightline -- it's just shameful. And, of course, the only way that it can be refuted by the right is through more of the same dirty, sleazy demagoguery.
Which brings us back to Colbert. Make no mistake, Boehlert's article is the Cliff's Notes for what we saw play out in the media last weekend.
The press ignored Colbert -- as they have about far, far more important stories over the last three years. Then, when prodded, step one was to float the idea that near-total omission of talk about Colbert was due to it just not being "newsworthy."
That spin couldn't hold, of course, because it was ridiculous. Someone does a hyper-critical routine three feet from a President who's well known for not hearing critical voices -- that's news. It certainly was news when Don Imus roasted Clinton at the same event a few years before. So... that spin morphed to the current talking point: "he just wasn't funny."
One problem: millions of people have seen the clip now...millions more than ever would have seen it if it was the one day story it deserved to be -- and they disagree. Plus, the sentiments expressed by Colbert are now the sentiments of a majority of the American population.
The optics are crystal clear: the press is completely out of step on this one, with everyone except the hardcore, shrinking rump of the extreme right wing. They may try to peddle the "Colbert crossed the line" meme -- but considering Colbert's actions run in a straight line back to, oh, say, Thomas Paine -- it's just not a theory that will fly for long.
My parents are fiscal and social conservatives. Through my twenties and into my thirties, as a series of Conservative governments ruled Canada, and my Province of Ontario, I would have huge, pointless political fights with my father. I'm actually pretty centrist, but I used to joke that all it took was a visit with my parents to make me come out sounding like Trotsky.
My Dad and I haven't had a political argument in two years.
What changed? Well, my parents, like a lot of retirees, now spend half the year in Florida. And for the last couple of years, they've become horrified by the one-sided slant they see in the news. "Americans," they say, "simply aren't getting the full story."
The Salon article neatly lays out how that came to be.
Funnily enough, I have never been too comfortable with journalism even when I nominally worked in it. (For a laugh, check this internet wayback cache of an article riffed off by Jon Katz when I interviewed him in my previous life.)
All voices have bias. All stories have a slant.
But there are some pitches that you should just not be able to sell.
Interestingly enough, this week in Toronto, there's the huge HotDocs festival going on. The huge rise in the popularity of the Documentary format -- the thirst people have for non-fiction reading these days...take the blogs out of it -- do you think maybe, just maybe, these trends have something to do with people feeling failed by the storytelling coming from the mainstream media?
Just asking.
Wednesday, May 3, 2006
I have a new favorite phrase
lèse-majesté
Merci, Merci, Monsieur Colbert.
And honestly, how perfect that it's French? (Although derived from Latin, so I guess you can blame the Catholic Church too, if you want, dittoheads.) Go on. Flail.
Blogger Busman's Holiday.
Only one thing I care about today, and it's this:The forecast calls for Bob Dylan's Theme Time Radio Hour on XM.
I dig it.
Muddy Waters first up. Blow Wind Blow, indeed.
You can have Stern. This is the shit.
Now if XMCanada could only find in their hearts to send me an Inno to replace my poor cracked Pioneer Airware.
Tuesday, May 2, 2006
What So Proudly You Hail
This is the thing that honestly makes the rest of the world crazy about us Americans.
We are a nation of immigrants -- many of them illegal. My Grandfather was illegal for years. I daresay he and his descendants helped pay taxes, build the country, and support the values of America completely.
Through all the difficult issues facing Americans right now -- stellar gas prices, a falling dollar, a war with a mounting death toll that started because of a lie, a President who insists that neither checks nor balances apply to him, a broken country that we're now obligated to fix, and, oh yeah, a destroyed city to fix while the debt goes north of another trillion -- by all means, let's all take a stand...
...on NOT singing the national anthem in Spanish.
Sixty-nine percent of you, including our one-third popular President, thinks this is a big deal.
Is anyone surprised that Bush actually sang the anthem in Spanish himself in the past? No? Why? Oh, right -- it wasn't an issue they were trying to exploit to change the subject back then. Right.
Nuestro Himno is not the issue and it never was, of course -- but just before it all gets clucky-ducky down there, here's an alternate view.
Hi! Canada here. We're a country with two official languages, English and French. Our anthem is in two languages. English and French. Believe it or not, the French version was actually written first. It was first performed in 1880. Calixa Lavallée wrote the Music, and Sir Adolphe Basile Routhier wrote the original lyrics. A lot of Canadians are surprised when they find out the song's origins: it was written originally as a French Canadian patriotic song for St. Jean Baptiste Day. (Ironically, in recent years when separatist furor has waxed in Quebec, it's gotten booed at hockey games, without the realization that it's a French Canadian patriot who came up with it!) The French version of the song is very pretty:
Don't worry if your French is hazy. Mine too. The translation basically boils down to this:
Sword AND the Cross -- see that? A sentiment even a Bush fan could get behind!
The English version wasn't written until 1908. It's had some changes through the years, but the current lyrics are now basically this:
Now. Two things for you to know. First -- O Canada didn't officially become Canada's national anthem until 1980. And second -- people in English still complain about the lyrics. The most voiceferous are currently feminists who believe that the line about "In all thy sons command" is sexist. I tend to agree, and don't particularly understand why a quick change to "In thy children command" or something is such a big deal. Then others don't particularly like the heavy God stuff. We're a more secular country than the U.S. don'tcha know. But you know what?
Funnily enough, most of the time there's a Canadian solution. At events, often they'll sing a version that has some of the lyrics in French, Some in English. And nobody gets too worked up.
You know why nobody gets too worked up?
Because it doesn't goddamn matter!
If an immigrant wants to sing your anthem in Polish or Xhosa or Navajo -- the important thing is why they're singing it. And what it represents to them.
And anyhow, you're all getting pretty shirty up about a tune that, after all, is a British drinking song from the 18th century! Does that matter? That it was a big old piss up number sung in bars from Portsmouth to Gibraltar?
No? Why not?
Oh, I see, because the important thing is the meaning you feel when you sing it now?
Got it.
Funny. Said that way, it all sounds so simple.
Now, can you get back to fixing the shit that needs fixing? We got a 90 cent Canadian dollar here. It's messing stuff up for us Canucks. Go. Take care of the economy and shit.
We are a nation of immigrants -- many of them illegal. My Grandfather was illegal for years. I daresay he and his descendants helped pay taxes, build the country, and support the values of America completely.
Through all the difficult issues facing Americans right now -- stellar gas prices, a falling dollar, a war with a mounting death toll that started because of a lie, a President who insists that neither checks nor balances apply to him, a broken country that we're now obligated to fix, and, oh yeah, a destroyed city to fix while the debt goes north of another trillion -- by all means, let's all take a stand...
...on NOT singing the national anthem in Spanish.
Sixty-nine percent of you, including our one-third popular President, thinks this is a big deal.
Is anyone surprised that Bush actually sang the anthem in Spanish himself in the past? No? Why? Oh, right -- it wasn't an issue they were trying to exploit to change the subject back then. Right.
Nuestro Himno is not the issue and it never was, of course -- but just before it all gets clucky-ducky down there, here's an alternate view.
Hi! Canada here. We're a country with two official languages, English and French. Our anthem is in two languages. English and French. Believe it or not, the French version was actually written first. It was first performed in 1880. Calixa Lavallée wrote the Music, and Sir Adolphe Basile Routhier wrote the original lyrics. A lot of Canadians are surprised when they find out the song's origins: it was written originally as a French Canadian patriotic song for St. Jean Baptiste Day. (Ironically, in recent years when separatist furor has waxed in Quebec, it's gotten booed at hockey games, without the realization that it's a French Canadian patriot who came up with it!) The French version of the song is very pretty:
Ô Canada! Terre de nos aïeux,
Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux.
Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,
Il sait porter la croix.
Ton histoire est une épopée,
Des plus brillants exploits.
Et ta valeur, de foi trempée,
Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.
Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.
Don't worry if your French is hazy. Mine too. The translation basically boils down to this:
O Canada! Land of our forefathers
Thy brow is wreathed with a glorious garland of flowers.
As in thy arm ready to wield the sword,
So also is it ready to carry the cross.
Thy history is an epic of the most brilliant exploits.
Thy valour steeped in faith
Will protect our homes and our rights
Will protect our homes and our rights.
Sword AND the Cross -- see that? A sentiment even a Bush fan could get behind!
The English version wasn't written until 1908. It's had some changes through the years, but the current lyrics are now basically this:
O Canada!
Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!
From far and wide,
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
Now. Two things for you to know. First -- O Canada didn't officially become Canada's national anthem until 1980. And second -- people in English still complain about the lyrics. The most voiceferous are currently feminists who believe that the line about "In all thy sons command" is sexist. I tend to agree, and don't particularly understand why a quick change to "In thy children command" or something is such a big deal. Then others don't particularly like the heavy God stuff. We're a more secular country than the U.S. don'tcha know. But you know what?
Funnily enough, most of the time there's a Canadian solution. At events, often they'll sing a version that has some of the lyrics in French, Some in English. And nobody gets too worked up.
You know why nobody gets too worked up?
Because it doesn't goddamn matter!
If an immigrant wants to sing your anthem in Polish or Xhosa or Navajo -- the important thing is why they're singing it. And what it represents to them.
And anyhow, you're all getting pretty shirty up about a tune that, after all, is a British drinking song from the 18th century! Does that matter? That it was a big old piss up number sung in bars from Portsmouth to Gibraltar?
No? Why not?
Oh, I see, because the important thing is the meaning you feel when you sing it now?
Got it.
Funny. Said that way, it all sounds so simple.
Now, can you get back to fixing the shit that needs fixing? We got a 90 cent Canadian dollar here. It's messing stuff up for us Canucks. Go. Take care of the economy and shit.
Writers, Break out Your Jazz Hands
John Doyle does his usual stellar work in The Mop & Pail this morning, and he puts me in mind of something I've been thinking for a while.
For your DH script to work, you have to master the same careful balane of comedy and melodrama they do. If you're doing a Grey's -- you better not front-load that medical stuff just to show off all your fabbo research. And God-help-you if you get House's Socratic demeanor wrong:
Depressed yet?
We need to imagine the television landscape today as a post-Balkan battlefield. The Networks have been fighting a scrappy insurgency for years from Cable shows. The pieces of the pie are still out there, but they're not in creamy, easy to deliver swaths of shining suburbs. It's a pitched viewer battle, clearing street, by street, by street. And the weapons haven't changed much in thirty or forty years.
Oh sure, for a while there it looked like reality was the nuclear-tipped ordnance of their viewer pacifying dreams -- but that proved to be short lived.
I'm going too far with the war metaphor, aren't I? Okay. Let me try something else.
What all these hybrid shows have discovered is that the only way to build a large audience on the TV dial these days is to borrow and recombine elements that will draw viewers from different constituencies. It's not enough that HOUSE has a cranky, male-appeal lead -- he has to have a mystery and elements that feel like a cop show. That way the men watching can exercise their figure it out circuits, and the women in the audience can invest in their caring, will the patient survive stuff. Oh, and the sweet obsessives can also take their licks following wounded House or Cameron into relationship heaven or hell. Smack it all together -- see all those elements cooking in there, and THAT'S why so many people are staying tuned after American Idol. Parts of the show appeal to different constituencies. And the blending of those elements is skilful, not hamfisted, so none of those constituencies revolt and think that they're being pandered to.
These shows are the medium-future of TV. It's an outgrowth of conversations I've been hearing from various quarters for two or three years. When executives say things like, "I want a sci fi show that isn't a sci-fi show..." or, "I need this to do more," that's what they're struggling with.
If you go in with a spec, or a series, that's just a lawyer show or just a cop show these days, you're going to get a blank look. It's time for us all to become DJ's. Scratch and Mix guys. Scratch and Mix. It just got harder, sure -- but if you're the guy or girl who comes up with the next Grey's Anatomy (rather than the next copy of Grey's Anatomy) then the ticket's right there, waiting for you to snatch it.
And if you're just trying to break in, well -- maybe it's time to jettison that idea of going in as a mystery or a sci-fi or a procedural writer. Open it up. Time to play some jazz.
Blow, Gabriel, Blow.
That's a very neat summation of the three shows, and something that I wonder if potential spec writers have realized yet. Time was you needed to master a genre in order to deliver a credible spec. In this new hybrid world, the rewards are greater -- a sparkling script will probably sparkle a little brighter. But it's also fraught with peril -- because it means that your analysis skills, the stuff you do before you attempt to break a story -- become even more important.Take a look at the truly successful network series of the moment and you'll find that all are hybrids rather than genre-specific.
Desperate Housewives is an hour-long drama, a soap opera brimming with bits of comedy. The actors need finely tuned comic timing to make the scripts work, but it's not a sitcom. It's a subtly massaged, mixed-up comedy-drama. Grey's Anatomy is Sex and the Big City Hospital, with a few touches of Melrose Place and ER thrown in.
And then there's House (Fox, Global 9 p.m.), which is certainly not your traditional medical drama. It's part police procedural and part legal drama, with dyspeptic Dr. House (Hugh Laurie) often taking a prosecutor's perspective on the hapless defendant. It's just that the defendant is the patient and the motive to be discovered is some obscure but pesky infection.
For your DH script to work, you have to master the same careful balane of comedy and melodrama they do. If you're doing a Grey's -- you better not front-load that medical stuff just to show off all your fabbo research. And God-help-you if you get House's Socratic demeanor wrong:
The thing is, this episode underlines the show's reliance on the dramatic strategies usually associated not only with cop shows, but also many legal dramas. A lot of what Dr. House does is familiar to anyone who knows how some classes at law school proceed -- House's probing wit, sarcasm and skepticism is a souped-up version of the Socratic method of questioning in order to establish critical thinking in law students. It's not about establishing certainty, it's about learning to question received wisdom.So what we're saying now is that if you're going to write a credible HOUSE spec script, not only do you need to have a medical advisor who helps you come up with a weird twisty turny case, but you have to have an intricate understanding of how legal dramas work. So it helps if you're a lawyer. Oh, and the cop show thing too.
Depressed yet?
We need to imagine the television landscape today as a post-Balkan battlefield. The Networks have been fighting a scrappy insurgency for years from Cable shows. The pieces of the pie are still out there, but they're not in creamy, easy to deliver swaths of shining suburbs. It's a pitched viewer battle, clearing street, by street, by street. And the weapons haven't changed much in thirty or forty years.
Oh sure, for a while there it looked like reality was the nuclear-tipped ordnance of their viewer pacifying dreams -- but that proved to be short lived.
I'm going too far with the war metaphor, aren't I? Okay. Let me try something else.
What all these hybrid shows have discovered is that the only way to build a large audience on the TV dial these days is to borrow and recombine elements that will draw viewers from different constituencies. It's not enough that HOUSE has a cranky, male-appeal lead -- he has to have a mystery and elements that feel like a cop show. That way the men watching can exercise their figure it out circuits, and the women in the audience can invest in their caring, will the patient survive stuff. Oh, and the sweet obsessives can also take their licks following wounded House or Cameron into relationship heaven or hell. Smack it all together -- see all those elements cooking in there, and THAT'S why so many people are staying tuned after American Idol. Parts of the show appeal to different constituencies. And the blending of those elements is skilful, not hamfisted, so none of those constituencies revolt and think that they're being pandered to.
These shows are the medium-future of TV. It's an outgrowth of conversations I've been hearing from various quarters for two or three years. When executives say things like, "I want a sci fi show that isn't a sci-fi show..." or, "I need this to do more," that's what they're struggling with.
If you go in with a spec, or a series, that's just a lawyer show or just a cop show these days, you're going to get a blank look. It's time for us all to become DJ's. Scratch and Mix guys. Scratch and Mix. It just got harder, sure -- but if you're the guy or girl who comes up with the next Grey's Anatomy (rather than the next copy of Grey's Anatomy) then the ticket's right there, waiting for you to snatch it.
And if you're just trying to break in, well -- maybe it's time to jettison that idea of going in as a mystery or a sci-fi or a procedural writer. Open it up. Time to play some jazz.
Blow, Gabriel, Blow.
Monday, May 1, 2006
A Reader Writes: "Your Partner Becomes the Moment?" HUH?
Yesterday I posted a bit of wisdom that Cherry Jones related about acting monologues, and said that it could apply equally to writing. Jones was quoting her castmate Jonathan Kent, and here's what he/she said:
What Jones is talking about is actor's process. It's often precious, but the real-world example I can come up with is this: we all know certain people who we feel, deep down, don't listen. The old two-types of people-in-the-world trope says that there are people who listen to what you're saying, and follow a conversation, and people who are mainly using the time that you're talking to formulate what they're going to say next. Ie: they're not really listening to you, they're ordering their own thoughts, and processing your auditory information primarily as cues to when they can communicate next.
This is a bad, bad habit. It drives everyone crazy. We all know how much more satisfying it is to have a conversation with someone who "is a good listener." There have been countless jokes about how men do this more often, or how women do it more often, which to me is the perfect indicator of the fact that people in both genders do it way too much. Even people who are "good listeners" find themselves in the position of focusing on what they want to say next, sometimes. It's a bad habit, yes, but it's also a natural one.
Acting is about creating a facsimile of human experience. And paradoxically, that means that to be effective, you have to excise a behavior that a lot of us do every day. On a mechanical level, actors know what their next line is. It's been memorized. It's cued by the other actor's previous line -- so they know what they're going to say next, and they know what the other person is going to say next, too. (I know, it sounds like a lot of marriages, right?) But what Jones is saying is you can't act that way. You have to listen to the nuance of what the person is doing in a conversation -- you have to feel the words and the flow of conversation just as if you were really listening to the person and didn't know what they were going to say next. Yes, it's the same conversation every night (if you're doing theater) -- but at the same time, it's not. If that sounds confusing, well, then now you know why so many actors are so crazy. I give actors a lot of stick here, but what they do is very hard. (And, irony of ironies, one of the great frustrating things about many of them is that they work so hard to be in the moment when they're on stage, and spend every off-stage conversation they have thinking of what they're going to say next. The Human Comedy. It's a bitch.)
Now. The second part of Jones' theory is about what happens on stage when you don't have another actor there to play off.
The Monologue is a very theatrical concept. It doesn't happen in real life at all, among the non-schizophrenic of us. We speak of "talking to ourselves" but for most of us that's going to be, at best, a couple of anguished self-admonishments. Conscience may make cowards of us all, but we don't go around saying that to ourselves very often. Not out loud, anyway.
So how do you create something on stage and make it real, when the very thing you're doing is artificial, without a real life equivalent?
Well, Jones' solution is to treat the moment that you're in like it's the other player. You become aware of your words in space. The time they're taking, the weight of them moving through space and time. You don't think of what you have to say next, just as you don't do that in a scene. Instead, you feel each line, each thought -- really feel it -- you listen to the moment before you move on.
Why is this important for writers? Because this is how a good actor is going to approach your writing. You are writing to be interpreted -- by actors, by directors... and the only way you can gauge effect is to account for this process in the midst of your process.
Some writers walk and talk their script. I think all of us should. I simply can't imagine putting something forward without having read it out loud; hearing how the words hang in the air. Where are the moments? Time in your mind is never the same as in your mouth.
Know, or at least try to anticipate, how your actors are going to play each moment. I've seen a hundred bad actors rush headlong through the "To Be or Not To Be" soliloquy, because they were intimidated by it. And I've seen actors take it painfully slowly, making a meal of every line, every word -- because they were intimidated by it, or overly reverent.
Writers can't be overly reverent toward our own material -- ever. There are lines that are meant to be thrown away. Are you communicating that? Is the shape of your scene correct, in that the 'big moment' is a clear one for the actor or the director to interpret?
(You will find actors who are perverse -- who live to subvert intent, who try to throw away big moments and make their stand on small ones. These actors are craven loogens, and you damn well better hope that the director isn't trying to sleep with them, or you're screwed. But this is also why you don't turn an understanding actor into a loogen, by parenthetically directing them on every single line and inflection.)
Accounting for how the actor must play the moment leads you to understand some things. First, it's the reason why monologue in TV is rare and is used so sparingly. Speeches that are five and six lines long take a long time to say. And if you're trying to flow them in the middle of a vibrant scene that's supposed to keep a plot moving, well, that speech better be pretty goddamn entertaining. With every line you add, you increase the chance that the actor is going to want to either make a meal of every moment, or rewrite it.
Which is why one, two, and three line dialogue patches are TV's bread and butter.
But at some point, you're going to have cause for something longer. A monologue, a voiceover over montage. Remember the actor up there, by themselves, trying to play with the moment as their scene partner. Have pity on them. And try to help them whenever you can.
Or your writing's gonna get butchered.
(ADDENDUM: from the file of trying to subtly influence how actors play your lines, I simply love this post from Jane Espenson, where she explains why it's better to not always go with the rule, and end on the joke.)
“When you’re onstage with other actors,” he said, “the cardinal rule is to listen always, to be alive to what other actors are saying. But when you are doing a monologue, your partner becomes the moment.”To which reader-of-the-blog Anna replied:
"Your partner becomes the moment”? I don't even understand this."Fair enough.
What Jones is talking about is actor's process. It's often precious, but the real-world example I can come up with is this: we all know certain people who we feel, deep down, don't listen. The old two-types of people-in-the-world trope says that there are people who listen to what you're saying, and follow a conversation, and people who are mainly using the time that you're talking to formulate what they're going to say next. Ie: they're not really listening to you, they're ordering their own thoughts, and processing your auditory information primarily as cues to when they can communicate next.
This is a bad, bad habit. It drives everyone crazy. We all know how much more satisfying it is to have a conversation with someone who "is a good listener." There have been countless jokes about how men do this more often, or how women do it more often, which to me is the perfect indicator of the fact that people in both genders do it way too much. Even people who are "good listeners" find themselves in the position of focusing on what they want to say next, sometimes. It's a bad habit, yes, but it's also a natural one.
Acting is about creating a facsimile of human experience. And paradoxically, that means that to be effective, you have to excise a behavior that a lot of us do every day. On a mechanical level, actors know what their next line is. It's been memorized. It's cued by the other actor's previous line -- so they know what they're going to say next, and they know what the other person is going to say next, too. (I know, it sounds like a lot of marriages, right?) But what Jones is saying is you can't act that way. You have to listen to the nuance of what the person is doing in a conversation -- you have to feel the words and the flow of conversation just as if you were really listening to the person and didn't know what they were going to say next. Yes, it's the same conversation every night (if you're doing theater) -- but at the same time, it's not. If that sounds confusing, well, then now you know why so many actors are so crazy. I give actors a lot of stick here, but what they do is very hard. (And, irony of ironies, one of the great frustrating things about many of them is that they work so hard to be in the moment when they're on stage, and spend every off-stage conversation they have thinking of what they're going to say next. The Human Comedy. It's a bitch.)
Now. The second part of Jones' theory is about what happens on stage when you don't have another actor there to play off.
The Monologue is a very theatrical concept. It doesn't happen in real life at all, among the non-schizophrenic of us. We speak of "talking to ourselves" but for most of us that's going to be, at best, a couple of anguished self-admonishments. Conscience may make cowards of us all, but we don't go around saying that to ourselves very often. Not out loud, anyway.
So how do you create something on stage and make it real, when the very thing you're doing is artificial, without a real life equivalent?
Well, Jones' solution is to treat the moment that you're in like it's the other player. You become aware of your words in space. The time they're taking, the weight of them moving through space and time. You don't think of what you have to say next, just as you don't do that in a scene. Instead, you feel each line, each thought -- really feel it -- you listen to the moment before you move on.
Why is this important for writers? Because this is how a good actor is going to approach your writing. You are writing to be interpreted -- by actors, by directors... and the only way you can gauge effect is to account for this process in the midst of your process.
Some writers walk and talk their script. I think all of us should. I simply can't imagine putting something forward without having read it out loud; hearing how the words hang in the air. Where are the moments? Time in your mind is never the same as in your mouth.
Know, or at least try to anticipate, how your actors are going to play each moment. I've seen a hundred bad actors rush headlong through the "To Be or Not To Be" soliloquy, because they were intimidated by it. And I've seen actors take it painfully slowly, making a meal of every line, every word -- because they were intimidated by it, or overly reverent.
Writers can't be overly reverent toward our own material -- ever. There are lines that are meant to be thrown away. Are you communicating that? Is the shape of your scene correct, in that the 'big moment' is a clear one for the actor or the director to interpret?
(You will find actors who are perverse -- who live to subvert intent, who try to throw away big moments and make their stand on small ones. These actors are craven loogens, and you damn well better hope that the director isn't trying to sleep with them, or you're screwed. But this is also why you don't turn an understanding actor into a loogen, by parenthetically directing them on every single line and inflection.)
Accounting for how the actor must play the moment leads you to understand some things. First, it's the reason why monologue in TV is rare and is used so sparingly. Speeches that are five and six lines long take a long time to say. And if you're trying to flow them in the middle of a vibrant scene that's supposed to keep a plot moving, well, that speech better be pretty goddamn entertaining. With every line you add, you increase the chance that the actor is going to want to either make a meal of every moment, or rewrite it.
Which is why one, two, and three line dialogue patches are TV's bread and butter.
But at some point, you're going to have cause for something longer. A monologue, a voiceover over montage. Remember the actor up there, by themselves, trying to play with the moment as their scene partner. Have pity on them. And try to help them whenever you can.
Or your writing's gonna get butchered.
(ADDENDUM: from the file of trying to subtly influence how actors play your lines, I simply love this post from Jane Espenson, where she explains why it's better to not always go with the rule, and end on the joke.)
The Thing That I Don't Get
So sounds like Stephen Colbert caused a furor over the weekend at the White House Correspondents' Dinner by actually having the temerity to be funny.
You'd be forgiven if you missed the story, though. It's not like the media reported it much. Even the "ooh so liberal" NYTimes goes today with a story about Bush's routine with a lame Bush impression.
John Rogers lays it out pretty well in this post.
And Glenn Greenwald had this to say:
This is where, for the sake of argument, I throw it open to the less than one-third of my countrymen who still believe in this guy. Even if you think we are wrong to criticize him, even if you think everything he does is sweet and light, can you not step back for a second and see how this is just not good?
I know all those civics lessons about the checks and balances were pretty boring, but seriously, the breathtaking thing that just makes me wonder at the dittoheads sanity is this: if the President can take this much power for himself - don't you guys realize that one day -- someday, someone you really, really, really hate will be in that chair? Some potsmoking faggot hippie abortion lover who hates Jesus? It'll happen, kids. And he'll have the same power that your savior does - because no matter how he tries to shred the constitution, that's how precedent works.
If that gives you even a second of pause -- and it should -- then haven't you just had an accountability moment? The Problem with crowning a King is that there's always somebody worse waiting in the wings.
You'd be forgiven if you missed the story, though. It's not like the media reported it much. Even the "ooh so liberal" NYTimes goes today with a story about Bush's routine with a lame Bush impression.
John Rogers lays it out pretty well in this post.
And Glenn Greenwald had this to say:
One of the principal tactics used over the last five years by Bush defenders to transform the president, our public servant, into some sort of monarchical figure is the endless, craven effort to refer to him as "The Comamnder-in-Chief," in order to implicitly bestow upon him an aura of elevated, militaristic glory which renders not only disrespect towards the President, but also mere criticism of him, somehow inappropriate, even unpatriotic. In that regard, it was extremely refreshing to see Stephen Colbert's stand-up routine last night (video here - transcript here) at the White House Correspondent's Dinner. Pam Spaulding provides an excellent discussion of that event, as does Joe Gandelman.The importance or relevance of the reaction to Colbert is given new light in Greenwald's coverage of the Boston Globe article this weekend about the unitary executive's new big hit: the fact that he doesn't have to obey the law.
As Pam notes, a commenter at the site of Jonah's mom, Lucianne Goldberg, said that "Steve Colbert was utterly disgusting. . . He was rude, snarky and unpatriotic toward the President and First Lady." One can be unpatriotic towards one's country, but not to the Leader, and certainly not by expresing criticism of the Leader, even to his face. The efforts to shield the President from criticisms of any sort has been one of the most significant factors enabling the lawbreaking pathology of this president, who clearly has come to see himself as a shielded king. The belief that an American citizen is unpatriotic by virtue of criticizing and opposing the president is one of the most pernicious ideas to take hold in some time. What Colbert did took real courage and - like Savage - he should be commended for reminding us of the kind of country we are supposed to have, and the kind of country we aren't supposed to have and, until this administration, never had.
This is where, for the sake of argument, I throw it open to the less than one-third of my countrymen who still believe in this guy. Even if you think we are wrong to criticize him, even if you think everything he does is sweet and light, can you not step back for a second and see how this is just not good?
I know all those civics lessons about the checks and balances were pretty boring, but seriously, the breathtaking thing that just makes me wonder at the dittoheads sanity is this: if the President can take this much power for himself - don't you guys realize that one day -- someday, someone you really, really, really hate will be in that chair? Some potsmoking faggot hippie abortion lover who hates Jesus? It'll happen, kids. And he'll have the same power that your savior does - because no matter how he tries to shred the constitution, that's how precedent works.
If that gives you even a second of pause -- and it should -- then haven't you just had an accountability moment? The Problem with crowning a King is that there's always somebody worse waiting in the wings.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Sunday Randomness
Today's New York Times, Cherry Jones talks about her appearance in Brian Friel's The Faith Healer on Broadway. it's a show where four actors -- Jones, Ian McDiarmid, Ralph Fiennes and Jonathan Kent weave a story, but don't appear together until the final curtain.
So much of what Actors say is a load of hooey that you can fall into the trap of not realizing just how smart and insightful a lot of them are. Not only do I think the above quote is a beautiful summation of how to act a monologue -- I think it's an essential notion to how you write one.
Theater's a lot on my mind today. There's also an article on Bob Martin and Drowsy Chaperone, which I guess finally opens tomorrow.
Everybody in Toronto's thinking shiny thoughts for 'em. Break a leg at the Marquis.
"I have never done monologue or anything like it. Early on, Jonathan Kent said something important that made it easier. “When you’re onstage with other actors,” he said, “the cardinal rule is to listen always, to be alive to what other actors are saying. But when you are doing a monologue, your partner becomes the moment.”
So much of what Actors say is a load of hooey that you can fall into the trap of not realizing just how smart and insightful a lot of them are. Not only do I think the above quote is a beautiful summation of how to act a monologue -- I think it's an essential notion to how you write one.
Theater's a lot on my mind today. There's also an article on Bob Martin and Drowsy Chaperone, which I guess finally opens tomorrow.
Everybody in Toronto's thinking shiny thoughts for 'em. Break a leg at the Marquis.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Sweet, Sweet Bullion
I had no idea what I was going to write about today. I didn't have any burning subjects to cover. I could tell you about my sad, dead Powerbook. But I shouldn't expect you to care.
No, the reality is that I'm desperately doing my taxes, churning through a next draft and drinking coffee.
Then I opened the paper and read Russell Smith.
For those of you not lucky enough to be Canadian, and care about such things, Russell Smith is a Canadian writer. He's one of those pesky types who can tell you about the controversy surrounding The Giller Prize, or who's likely to be shortlisted for the Governor General's Awards this year.
Canada (and by Canada, like all Torontonians, I mean Toronto) is sweetly provincial enough that there's a whole bunch of people who chatter about things like literary awards. They see each other at CBC Radio soirees, and furrow their highbrows and if they want to be puckish, every once in a while they throw in a line or two about Don Cherry, and the hockey. For the people, you know.
There's a whole, larger group of media hound types out here that look on this benighted and blinkered group with no end of amusement. It's not that we don't read some of those books, or even listen to CBC Radio sometimes. We just know not to fall into the trap of thinking that we represent Canada, or that our taste is influential beyond the kind of people snaffing canapes at all the book launches we go to. We know that more people thumb through the stereo ads in the Toronto Sun every day than ever read The Globe & Mail. And we know that, though the Globe & Mail bills itself as "Canada's National Newspaper," outside of Toronto they derisively call it "Toronto's National Newspaper," and anyway, all the best articles are the ones they cadge from the Guardian and the New York Times.
There is one thing the Mop & Pail does really well, though: they know how to pick their really annoying columnists. And none more so than Russell Smith.
Smith, as I said before, is a writer. He wrote one novel a few years ago that wasn't awful. Lately, I gather, his sales have gotten a bit more dire. Chiefly he's known for writing his column in the Globe. Russell Smith is the kind of guy who knows exactly what kind of tie you should be wearing this week. He can wax rhapsodic on the subject of a good shave, or the value of cufflinks, or how the lychee martini is starting to wear out its welcome.
In other words, he's kind of a fop. Wait. No. Maybe he's a dandy. Damnit. I get those two things confused.
The other thing that Smith is unfailingly, is cranky. He's a real sourboots. And he doesn't mind who he offends, unless, you know, it's one of those people whose ass he has to kiss at the next book launch.
The nice thing about being a fop with a 'tude is that a few times a year, Smith just goes off and writes a column that's an utter, unmitigated hissy fit. Last year, famously, he wrote a wonderfully misanthropic bit about the horror of modern moviegoing that was breathtaking for both its utter pretentiousness and an almost radioactive level of narcissism.
Well, this morning, Russell took on Canadian TV. That's right, kids. He waded into the Sticks.
The screed is hilarious and awful, especially the way it spins out near the end -- and it oozes (incredibly, unbelievably) misplaced jealously from every comma. It, stupidly, like most Globe columnist content is behind a pay-firewall -- but you can sometimes get around that by searching through Google. This, by far, is my favorite quote:
Smith cruises onward, coming to his main point (I think) that the writing in Canadian shows is pretty good, but the acting is bad. (Sometimes he's right about this, but let's face it, most things that turn out crap are usually a combo of the holy trinity: writing's off, acting's off, directing's off.)
He gets splenetic about actors and their shorcomings, with enough paragraphs so that I had time in the reading to go into a sort of fugue state where I tried to imagine the real root of his dyspepsia. I think it's probably that there are a lot of actors at those parties he goes to, and they keep people from noticing writers like Russell, who are far more deserving of praise and canapes and klieg lights than the 2nd chick lead from Billable Hours.
After spinning his gears with his Strasberg-destroying theory of acting, he comes to a frothy end:
For heaven's sake, can we make a new rule, that in 2006, deriding the entire medium of TV is just...what? I mean, to me, it's like the guy in 1976 insisting that fountain pens were still the only way to go. It's not even chic retro, like how David Mamet still writes on a typewriter.
In 2006, someone who preaches the creed of "TV Turnoff Week" or expresses surprise that anything on TV can be good...aren't they just, you know, a jackass? A total fist magnet? Is it me?
Anyway, it's always nice to see Canadian resentment just bubble and squeak its way to the top. I explained to a friend from San Francisco once, who thought everybody in Toronto was "tense," that I kind of liked to think of Canada as a nation of disgruntled postal workers. They're polite most of the time because that's their job, but you never know when they're going to go off. Put em into a hockey fight or Vimy Ridge, and whoa, Nellie, you got heap trouble.
By the way, Smith was also nominally writing about Billable Hours. I caught the 2nd episode last night and it was better than the first -- but I'm not sure it's good enough to sustain interest. Not a lot of laughs, and a problem with character likability -- especially Filippo's. Once again, Actors who write often fail to serve their best interests -- they think they can convey likability with their performance -- because who doesn't like me, really?
Showcase also smartly paired BH with an import from FX: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I thought it was solid, funny, if unremarkable. Better than BH, but not as weird or genre busting as, say, Stella. I know this show's aired more eps in the U.S. Any reactions?
No, the reality is that I'm desperately doing my taxes, churning through a next draft and drinking coffee.
Then I opened the paper and read Russell Smith.
For those of you not lucky enough to be Canadian, and care about such things, Russell Smith is a Canadian writer. He's one of those pesky types who can tell you about the controversy surrounding The Giller Prize, or who's likely to be shortlisted for the Governor General's Awards this year.
Canada (and by Canada, like all Torontonians, I mean Toronto) is sweetly provincial enough that there's a whole bunch of people who chatter about things like literary awards. They see each other at CBC Radio soirees, and furrow their highbrows and if they want to be puckish, every once in a while they throw in a line or two about Don Cherry, and the hockey. For the people, you know.
There's a whole, larger group of media hound types out here that look on this benighted and blinkered group with no end of amusement. It's not that we don't read some of those books, or even listen to CBC Radio sometimes. We just know not to fall into the trap of thinking that we represent Canada, or that our taste is influential beyond the kind of people snaffing canapes at all the book launches we go to. We know that more people thumb through the stereo ads in the Toronto Sun every day than ever read The Globe & Mail. And we know that, though the Globe & Mail bills itself as "Canada's National Newspaper," outside of Toronto they derisively call it "Toronto's National Newspaper," and anyway, all the best articles are the ones they cadge from the Guardian and the New York Times.
There is one thing the Mop & Pail does really well, though: they know how to pick their really annoying columnists. And none more so than Russell Smith.
Smith, as I said before, is a writer. He wrote one novel a few years ago that wasn't awful. Lately, I gather, his sales have gotten a bit more dire. Chiefly he's known for writing his column in the Globe. Russell Smith is the kind of guy who knows exactly what kind of tie you should be wearing this week. He can wax rhapsodic on the subject of a good shave, or the value of cufflinks, or how the lychee martini is starting to wear out its welcome.
In other words, he's kind of a fop. Wait. No. Maybe he's a dandy. Damnit. I get those two things confused.
The other thing that Smith is unfailingly, is cranky. He's a real sourboots. And he doesn't mind who he offends, unless, you know, it's one of those people whose ass he has to kiss at the next book launch.
The nice thing about being a fop with a 'tude is that a few times a year, Smith just goes off and writes a column that's an utter, unmitigated hissy fit. Last year, famously, he wrote a wonderfully misanthropic bit about the horror of modern moviegoing that was breathtaking for both its utter pretentiousness and an almost radioactive level of narcissism.
Well, this morning, Russell took on Canadian TV. That's right, kids. He waded into the Sticks.
The screed is hilarious and awful, especially the way it spins out near the end -- and it oozes (incredibly, unbelievably) misplaced jealously from every comma. It, stupidly, like most Globe columnist content is behind a pay-firewall -- but you can sometimes get around that by searching through Google. This, by far, is my favorite quote:
Gold Bullion. Seriously. I thought I was going to wet my pants.When did I start expecting TV to be good? I suppose it was after the rise of the risqué or specialty cable channels, and shows with swearing in them. It started for me, probably, with The Larry Sanders Show, the first TV comedy I saw that had any kind of edge.
And then I came to Toronto, where everybody is involved with the making of television or movies. I noticed that TV people write a half-hour of television in two weeks and then get paid by fleets of dump trucks carrying gold bullion.
Smith cruises onward, coming to his main point (I think) that the writing in Canadian shows is pretty good, but the acting is bad. (Sometimes he's right about this, but let's face it, most things that turn out crap are usually a combo of the holy trinity: writing's off, acting's off, directing's off.)
He gets splenetic about actors and their shorcomings, with enough paragraphs so that I had time in the reading to go into a sort of fugue state where I tried to imagine the real root of his dyspepsia. I think it's probably that there are a lot of actors at those parties he goes to, and they keep people from noticing writers like Russell, who are far more deserving of praise and canapes and klieg lights than the 2nd chick lead from Billable Hours.
After spinning his gears with his Strasberg-destroying theory of acting, he comes to a frothy end:
That's right, guys. Buy more books. Start caring about the Giller Awards.You have two actors, you sedate them heavily, you shoot a two-shot of them saying their lines, you leave it alone. Deadpan is always funnier than clownish, because it seems more real. This is why I like Ken Finkleman so much. But we can't have Finkleman directing every Canadian TV show. I wouldn't mind, actually, but the fans of Corner Gas would. See, this is why I would never make it in TV. Everything I can't stand is hugely popular.
Actually, that's not always true. The execrable, typical, Canadian TV drama Godiva's was mercifully given the chop this year. I am relieved. If viewers had liked this heavy-handed, intensely "Acted" nonsense, I would have gone to live in a cave.
Maybe it's time for me to stop caring about television drama again. Maybe it is all a waste of time for grownups.
There is always much moaning in the Canadian media when bad melodramas are cancelled. It is said that we need bad Canadian television because we must "tell our own stories." But the shows that TV critics seem to want produced are simply copies of American models. They are moral tales involving pretty people in fantasy cities or fairy-tale rural environments. Those aren't "our stories": They are craven attempts to rival American entertainment in economic terms. Until we start making dramas that actually resemble real life here, I don't think we need Canadian TV much at all.
For heaven's sake, can we make a new rule, that in 2006, deriding the entire medium of TV is just...what? I mean, to me, it's like the guy in 1976 insisting that fountain pens were still the only way to go. It's not even chic retro, like how David Mamet still writes on a typewriter.
In 2006, someone who preaches the creed of "TV Turnoff Week" or expresses surprise that anything on TV can be good...aren't they just, you know, a jackass? A total fist magnet? Is it me?
Anyway, it's always nice to see Canadian resentment just bubble and squeak its way to the top. I explained to a friend from San Francisco once, who thought everybody in Toronto was "tense," that I kind of liked to think of Canada as a nation of disgruntled postal workers. They're polite most of the time because that's their job, but you never know when they're going to go off. Put em into a hockey fight or Vimy Ridge, and whoa, Nellie, you got heap trouble.
By the way, Smith was also nominally writing about Billable Hours. I caught the 2nd episode last night and it was better than the first -- but I'm not sure it's good enough to sustain interest. Not a lot of laughs, and a problem with character likability -- especially Filippo's. Once again, Actors who write often fail to serve their best interests -- they think they can convey likability with their performance -- because who doesn't like me, really?
Showcase also smartly paired BH with an import from FX: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I thought it was solid, funny, if unremarkable. Better than BH, but not as weird or genre busting as, say, Stella. I know this show's aired more eps in the U.S. Any reactions?
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
BBC does a 'Mea Culpa'
Lee hipped me to this speech by the BBC's Director General on the future of the UK Public Broadcaster. (Guardian Unlimited, reg is prolly required.) Funny how Broadcast Executives, when they give speeches like this, all seem to say roughly the same things.
Amidst all the "respect the talent" stuff -- it will be interesting to see if the UK moves away from the Six Pack -- considering that seems to be the new rage among Canadian broadcasters. Golly, what does it all mean?
So what should we do?
· in drama, we need to build fewer titles with longer runs, more impact, more emotion - and make more brave calls like Bleak House and Dr Who;
· we need to think of mobile and other ways of using new media from the very start of the creative process - like the Dr Who Tardisodes;
· we must cherish and where necessary invest in the titles that bind us emotionally to the broadest audiences - EastEnders, Casualty, Holby · we need more drama landmarks and signature pieces on Radio 4;
· across TV and radio, the nurturing and support of outstanding writers is a key to success;
· we need to strengthen the creative pipeline for comedy across TV and radio, nurturing future BBC1 hits on 2 and taking radio hits like Dead Ringers and Little Britain and building them across platforms;
· we'll invest more consistently in comedy drama;
· and we'll relaunch the BBC comedy website;
· in entertainment too, we'll use 360 degree commissioning, interactivity, user-generated content to reengage audiences in primetime TV entertainment;
· we'll take more creative risks to build on recent BBC1 successes like Strictly Come Dancing - and we'll forge closer links with other genres like factual and leisure to deliver more hybrid hits like The Apprentice;
· above all, we need to be more courageous and confident with our entertainment. And we need to recognise the critical role of talent - on and off air - in distinguishing our content and really reacting to our audiences.
Amidst all the "respect the talent" stuff -- it will be interesting to see if the UK moves away from the Six Pack -- considering that seems to be the new rage among Canadian broadcasters. Golly, what does it all mean?
Canadian Screenwriting Awards
Astute readers will have noticed my silence the last few days and perhaps might have connected it back to the WGC's annual Screenwriting Soiree on Monday night at Brant House in Toronto.
I have it on good authority that when we made it back to the Wheatsheaf Tavern, a mere stone's throw from the party venue and my home -- I began speaking fully fluent Hungarian.
I doubt the veracity of this. I will not deny, however, that I think my agent might have paid the bill. I love my agent. Not in that way. But Still.
Sadly, even if you are in Canada, you probably didn't hear too much about the Canadian Screenwriting Awards. They don't get a lot of press. They probably don't even get anywhere near the press, per capita, as the WGA awards get south of the border.
What's good about the Canadian Screenwriting Awards is they hearken back to the early days of the Oscars. The host (former Kid in the Hall Scott Thompson) gets up, does his thing, they hand out the trophies, speeches are short, and the whole thing's over in an hour -- so as not to cut into the really important business of drinking and schmoozing.
Anyway, from the Canadian Press article, here's the important stuff about, you know, who won:
I was far more sanguine about having all the comedy writing noms go to Corner Gas episodes than I was seeing all five comedy writing noms go to Made In Canada at the Geminis a few years back...and the ep that won was funny, though I'm sad that my friend Kevin White didn't win for one of HIS Corner Gas's.
I've written about how much I loved Slings & Arrows before, so I was glad to see it pick up some bling.
But the awards themselves really were prelude to the dustup. As a friend of mine who works for one of those Canadian entertainment shows that have sprung up like kudzu said, "You can tell the writers from the actors, because when the lights go on and the camera pans the crowd people try to hide and scurry and don't immediately adjust their wine glass whilst trying to favor their good side in the shot."
That's us. A room full of people with no good sides.
I'm cruel. And self-loathing. The truth is, of course, that writer eye-candy is the best eye-candy: because you can be reasonably sure that they can also string a sentence together. Mmm. Literacy, Thinking, and Conversational skills. That's hot.
I saw former students of mine, all shiny and mobbed up with their important industry jobs; there were people I've worked with and always intend to see more of but never do -- and writers who write for the stage who I secretly have big time talent-crushes on; there were the top-tier mafia types who I always imagine just walking into the meeting, slapping down their scripts and saying, "there. shoot that." But most of all there were just a bunch of gently lacerating, hyper-articulate, offbeat and fun and wonderful people just trying to break each other up.
Oh, and development executives who like cocktails. A lot. I think if you're going to be a development executive in Canada, you really should come out and declare your love of cocktails. It makes for a much more convivial party. My esteem for some of our fine executives jumped Monday night. Jumped. I am not being sarcastic.
For the truth is, we all are toiling in the trenches of entertainment here. I don't want to have any more conversations with anyone who thinks they're doing something important when they write TV. I want to entertain people -- and in a room full of like-minded artists, it's almost inevitable that they entertain you, too.
I don't know what more the WGC can do to raise the profile of the Canadian Screenwriting Awards. But I'm fairly sure they can't throw a better party.
I have it on good authority that when we made it back to the Wheatsheaf Tavern, a mere stone's throw from the party venue and my home -- I began speaking fully fluent Hungarian.
I doubt the veracity of this. I will not deny, however, that I think my agent might have paid the bill. I love my agent. Not in that way. But Still.
Sadly, even if you are in Canada, you probably didn't hear too much about the Canadian Screenwriting Awards. They don't get a lot of press. They probably don't even get anywhere near the press, per capita, as the WGA awards get south of the border.
What's good about the Canadian Screenwriting Awards is they hearken back to the early days of the Oscars. The host (former Kid in the Hall Scott Thompson) gets up, does his thing, they hand out the trophies, speeches are short, and the whole thing's over in an hour -- so as not to cut into the really important business of drinking and schmoozing.
Anyway, from the Canadian Press article, here's the important stuff about, you know, who won:
Brent Butt, the star of the hit sitcom Corner Gas, joined Paul Mather to win the comedy and variety writing award for the episode entitled Dog River Vice. Susan Coyne, Bob Martin and Mark McKinney shared the drama series (one hour) prize for the Steeped in Blood episode of the Shakespeare troupe parody Slings & Arrows.
And in the half-hour drama category, it was Susin Nielsen for her Dancing the Horizontal Mambo instalment of Robson Arms.
On the big screen, Wil Zmak won for his screenplay for The Dark Hours, a horror film about a psychiatrist confronted by a violent sex offender she once treated.
Best miniseries or movie-of-the-week screenplay went to Suzette Couture for The Man Who Lost Himself, the movie about former football star Terry Evanshen's struggle to regain his memory after a near-fatal car crash.
Comic Scott Thompson was again pegged to host the 10th annual awards event. The awards, presented by the Writers Guild of Canada, are judged solely on the merits of the script, not the final product.
The guild also honoured Alberta writer and teacher Josh Miller with the Alex Barris Mentorship Award for his efforts to launch the careers of many young screenwriters. The guild is the national association representing more than 1,800 screenwriters who work in English-language film, television, radio and new media.
Of the winning entries, I haven't seen Dark Hours, but I've just added it to my ZipList like a good Canadian. I also didn't see Suzette Couture's The Man Who Lost Himself -- it's one of those feely CTV Tv-movies I just don't like. However, I do think that maybe they should just create "The Suzette Couture Award" and give it to Suzette Couture every year. Let's just cut out the middleman. In Canadian writing circles, she's the Anti-Susan Lucci. I kid. Hell of a talent. Hell of a talent. I hear she's in pre-production on something she scribbled on a napkin. There I go, again with the kidding.
I was far more sanguine about having all the comedy writing noms go to Corner Gas episodes than I was seeing all five comedy writing noms go to Made In Canada at the Geminis a few years back...and the ep that won was funny, though I'm sad that my friend Kevin White didn't win for one of HIS Corner Gas's.
I've written about how much I loved Slings & Arrows before, so I was glad to see it pick up some bling.
But the awards themselves really were prelude to the dustup. As a friend of mine who works for one of those Canadian entertainment shows that have sprung up like kudzu said, "You can tell the writers from the actors, because when the lights go on and the camera pans the crowd people try to hide and scurry and don't immediately adjust their wine glass whilst trying to favor their good side in the shot."
That's us. A room full of people with no good sides.
I'm cruel. And self-loathing. The truth is, of course, that writer eye-candy is the best eye-candy: because you can be reasonably sure that they can also string a sentence together. Mmm. Literacy, Thinking, and Conversational skills. That's hot.
I saw former students of mine, all shiny and mobbed up with their important industry jobs; there were people I've worked with and always intend to see more of but never do -- and writers who write for the stage who I secretly have big time talent-crushes on; there were the top-tier mafia types who I always imagine just walking into the meeting, slapping down their scripts and saying, "there. shoot that." But most of all there were just a bunch of gently lacerating, hyper-articulate, offbeat and fun and wonderful people just trying to break each other up.
Oh, and development executives who like cocktails. A lot. I think if you're going to be a development executive in Canada, you really should come out and declare your love of cocktails. It makes for a much more convivial party. My esteem for some of our fine executives jumped Monday night. Jumped. I am not being sarcastic.
For the truth is, we all are toiling in the trenches of entertainment here. I don't want to have any more conversations with anyone who thinks they're doing something important when they write TV. I want to entertain people -- and in a room full of like-minded artists, it's almost inevitable that they entertain you, too.
I don't know what more the WGC can do to raise the profile of the Canadian Screenwriting Awards. But I'm fairly sure they can't throw a better party.
Old People Know Java Voodoo
I ran out of Starbucks coffee this morning.
It's a bit of a tragedy.
I got addicted to grinding the Starbucks beans myself and making great drip coffee about a year and a half ago. That's when I knew two people who worked at Starbucks. They'd slip me a pound of beans every couple of weeks and all was copasetic.
Course, once they moved on, I was screwed -- destined to have to spend fourteen bucks a week just to have the wherewithal to make it through the average morning.
So this morning, when I found there wasn't enough Starbucks beans to grind for a pot, and I had to switch to the substandard Dr. McGuffin's Whatever The Fuck This Is supposed "upscale" beans from my grocery store downstairs -- I knew there was going to be trouble.
And there is. I'm on my second cup of coffee now, and it tastes a bit like feet.
At times like this, I'm reminded of my father. He may have toiled in he trenches of sugar water bottling management for a good portion of his life, but he is a stone cold ninja with a percolator.
That's right, bitches. A percolator.
An old-style, low-tech, drip drip ceramic monstrosity that is not sexy in the slightest. It does not foam, whip, or gently heat the milk. It glugs, and boils, and must be turned from boiling to perking to heating in a precise minute arrangement that my father has burned into his sense memory.
And the net result is my father can buy 1.99 a pound, Chock Full O'Shit coffee -- the kind that comes pre-mixed with cigarette butts already in the tin-- the kind of coffee that Juan Valdez's syphillitic burro would turn up his nose at -- and scoop it into his little metal perk basket, and put it on the stove, and voila! Ten minutes later: a symphony of coffee flavor.
And I have to go out and spend fourteen fucking dollars.
It's a bit of a tragedy.
I got addicted to grinding the Starbucks beans myself and making great drip coffee about a year and a half ago. That's when I knew two people who worked at Starbucks. They'd slip me a pound of beans every couple of weeks and all was copasetic.
Course, once they moved on, I was screwed -- destined to have to spend fourteen bucks a week just to have the wherewithal to make it through the average morning.
So this morning, when I found there wasn't enough Starbucks beans to grind for a pot, and I had to switch to the substandard Dr. McGuffin's Whatever The Fuck This Is supposed "upscale" beans from my grocery store downstairs -- I knew there was going to be trouble.
And there is. I'm on my second cup of coffee now, and it tastes a bit like feet.
At times like this, I'm reminded of my father. He may have toiled in he trenches of sugar water bottling management for a good portion of his life, but he is a stone cold ninja with a percolator.
That's right, bitches. A percolator.
An old-style, low-tech, drip drip ceramic monstrosity that is not sexy in the slightest. It does not foam, whip, or gently heat the milk. It glugs, and boils, and must be turned from boiling to perking to heating in a precise minute arrangement that my father has burned into his sense memory.
And the net result is my father can buy 1.99 a pound, Chock Full O'Shit coffee -- the kind that comes pre-mixed with cigarette butts already in the tin-- the kind of coffee that Juan Valdez's syphillitic burro would turn up his nose at -- and scoop it into his little metal perk basket, and put it on the stove, and voila! Ten minutes later: a symphony of coffee flavor.
And I have to go out and spend fourteen fucking dollars.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
I Swear To God, I Don't Have Time For This.
There I am, minding my own business, trying to work. And all that's going to hell because I am deeply, deeply, inexorably, dangerously and incontroveribly under the sway of Olaf.
Olaf makes me feel inadequate. I Am Idiot Screenwriter Also -- but nowhere does my ambition or talent rival that of Olaf, or touch the naked drama of his saga with Trixie.
Go. Go you lucky people. Feast on Olaf.
Olaf makes me feel inadequate. I Am Idiot Screenwriter Also -- but nowhere does my ambition or talent rival that of Olaf, or touch the naked drama of his saga with Trixie.
Go. Go you lucky people. Feast on Olaf.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
A Tale of Two Movies
When I started this blog, I wrote a bit about why I don't really have a desire to write movies.
A little screening downtime this weekend just served to illustrate the great, gaping divide...and also maybe the way out of it.
First, let's take the case of two movies that have only one thing in common: they both kind of tanked at the box office.
The first film I watched last night was The Island. Now, if you go to Defamer or sites like that you can have all sorts of fun tracking the hubris and disappointment of Director Michael Bay. He pretty much managed to blame everyone but himself for the film tanking -- including his two pretty leads, Ewan (I like motorcycles and showing my pee-pee) McGregor and Scarlett (I can barely believe I look like this either) Johansson, for not being big enough stars.
In the extras on the DVD, pretty much the first thing Bay says in the selling of his craptastic opus is: "I tell the writers, when you come to an action sequence, just write "action sequence" because I KNOW ACTION." (I know I just put that in quotes, but it's actually a paraphrase. I can't be bothered to go put the DVD back in to transcribe what he actually said. I assure you I've got the spirit of it right.)
Therein, of course, lies Bay's problem. The Island is noisy and dumb and takes an intriguing concept and runs precisely nowhere with it. There's tons of Bay's trademark helicopters, and flipping cars and ersatz-Zimmer score -- but the action sequences he enthusiastically talks up are so forgettable you tend to forget how they started even before they're finished -- not a good sign.
There's a short doc on making the action sequence that's workmanlike and joyless. Bay takes credit for one highway chase that involves metal, barbell-like railroad axels coming off a truck and wreaking havoc...I guess this is held up as the example of what he can come up with -- the reason why any of the three credited writers on the film should just write "action sequence" and be done with it.
It's not as good as the one in Matrix Reloaded. That's it.
Meanwhile, all the wonderful implications of the story are never explored -- even for a second. There's a scene where Ewan McGregor's clone looks up his "sponsor." There's no exploration of what it's like to come face to face with your doppelganger -- the moral, ethical, or just creepy reality of it. The clones are deliberately kept in the dark about sex. So of course, toward the end of the movie we have a lovingly photographed and utterly empty sex scene between the two leads. And boom. We're onto the next thing. This is first sex for two people who never knew what sex was. And the treatment it gets amounts to: "that thing you do with your tongue is amazing."
Later in the film, they put a bunch of clones into an oven for incineration. It's treated as an action beat -- will Ewan save them in time? Of course he does. And blip -- that's it -- there we go -- a natural allusion to one of the most horrific things humans have ever done to other humans -- and it's played as an action beat. Boom. Next.
We learn that all this is precipitated by Scarlett's "sponsor" being in a bad car accident. They're going to harvest all her organs. The issues of life, death, the choices and morality of living and dying -- none of them even glanced off -- except as the setup for another action beat. Cause you know, Bay knows action.
The Island's story area is intriguing and timely -- crossing all sorts of current debates both medical and ethical. But you've forgotten the movie before it's even over.
Then I plugged in The Weather Man. I watched it ... I liked it but didn't love it. But I couldn't stop thinking about it as I fell asleep. The more I turned it over and chewed on the themes of what I'd written, the more I appreciated Gore Verbinski's film. The humanity in the performances from Nic Cage, Michael Caine, and Hope Davis got to me.
The next day I plug in the DVD and watch the extras. And the first one is all about the writer, Steve Conrad. How he came up with the script. Verbinski and the Producer talking about the simplicity of the words -- and how much they loved what was on the page. The movie is the script, they seemed to say. I couldn't believe what I was watching, especially after Bay's self-contratulation. Was this actually credit being given where it was due? In...Hollywood?
The other docs -- on the cinematography, the music and the characters, the direction and the approach show the keen respect for the other artisans involved in pulling the movie off. So it wasn't just a celebration of the writer. The extras, though spare, went to great pains to illuminate the collaborative nature of the film. But I found it amazing and unusual that the writer was included in that.
But why should it be amazing?
One film still has me thinking. One had me forgetting it before it was over. And the latter, sadly, says way more about the state of film today than the former.
As for the implications both religious, ethical, and philosophical suggested but not dealt with in The Island, I guess I'll just have to go back to Battlestar Galactica to get a taste of that.
Yup. I'm fine with TV. More than fine.
But I did enjoy The Weather Man.
A little screening downtime this weekend just served to illustrate the great, gaping divide...and also maybe the way out of it.
First, let's take the case of two movies that have only one thing in common: they both kind of tanked at the box office.
The first film I watched last night was The Island. Now, if you go to Defamer or sites like that you can have all sorts of fun tracking the hubris and disappointment of Director Michael Bay. He pretty much managed to blame everyone but himself for the film tanking -- including his two pretty leads, Ewan (I like motorcycles and showing my pee-pee) McGregor and Scarlett (I can barely believe I look like this either) Johansson, for not being big enough stars.
In the extras on the DVD, pretty much the first thing Bay says in the selling of his craptastic opus is: "I tell the writers, when you come to an action sequence, just write "action sequence" because I KNOW ACTION." (I know I just put that in quotes, but it's actually a paraphrase. I can't be bothered to go put the DVD back in to transcribe what he actually said. I assure you I've got the spirit of it right.)
Therein, of course, lies Bay's problem. The Island is noisy and dumb and takes an intriguing concept and runs precisely nowhere with it. There's tons of Bay's trademark helicopters, and flipping cars and ersatz-Zimmer score -- but the action sequences he enthusiastically talks up are so forgettable you tend to forget how they started even before they're finished -- not a good sign.
There's a short doc on making the action sequence that's workmanlike and joyless. Bay takes credit for one highway chase that involves metal, barbell-like railroad axels coming off a truck and wreaking havoc...I guess this is held up as the example of what he can come up with -- the reason why any of the three credited writers on the film should just write "action sequence" and be done with it.
It's not as good as the one in Matrix Reloaded. That's it.
Meanwhile, all the wonderful implications of the story are never explored -- even for a second. There's a scene where Ewan McGregor's clone looks up his "sponsor." There's no exploration of what it's like to come face to face with your doppelganger -- the moral, ethical, or just creepy reality of it. The clones are deliberately kept in the dark about sex. So of course, toward the end of the movie we have a lovingly photographed and utterly empty sex scene between the two leads. And boom. We're onto the next thing. This is first sex for two people who never knew what sex was. And the treatment it gets amounts to: "that thing you do with your tongue is amazing."
Later in the film, they put a bunch of clones into an oven for incineration. It's treated as an action beat -- will Ewan save them in time? Of course he does. And blip -- that's it -- there we go -- a natural allusion to one of the most horrific things humans have ever done to other humans -- and it's played as an action beat. Boom. Next.
We learn that all this is precipitated by Scarlett's "sponsor" being in a bad car accident. They're going to harvest all her organs. The issues of life, death, the choices and morality of living and dying -- none of them even glanced off -- except as the setup for another action beat. Cause you know, Bay knows action.
The Island's story area is intriguing and timely -- crossing all sorts of current debates both medical and ethical. But you've forgotten the movie before it's even over.
Then I plugged in The Weather Man. I watched it ... I liked it but didn't love it. But I couldn't stop thinking about it as I fell asleep. The more I turned it over and chewed on the themes of what I'd written, the more I appreciated Gore Verbinski's film. The humanity in the performances from Nic Cage, Michael Caine, and Hope Davis got to me.
The next day I plug in the DVD and watch the extras. And the first one is all about the writer, Steve Conrad. How he came up with the script. Verbinski and the Producer talking about the simplicity of the words -- and how much they loved what was on the page. The movie is the script, they seemed to say. I couldn't believe what I was watching, especially after Bay's self-contratulation. Was this actually credit being given where it was due? In...Hollywood?
The other docs -- on the cinematography, the music and the characters, the direction and the approach show the keen respect for the other artisans involved in pulling the movie off. So it wasn't just a celebration of the writer. The extras, though spare, went to great pains to illuminate the collaborative nature of the film. But I found it amazing and unusual that the writer was included in that.
But why should it be amazing?
One film still has me thinking. One had me forgetting it before it was over. And the latter, sadly, says way more about the state of film today than the former.
As for the implications both religious, ethical, and philosophical suggested but not dealt with in The Island, I guess I'll just have to go back to Battlestar Galactica to get a taste of that.
Yup. I'm fine with TV. More than fine.
But I did enjoy The Weather Man.
Friday, April 21, 2006
The Room is Safe -- But For How Long?
Somehow I missed this yesterday.
The social dynamics of the Writers' Room may be inscrutable to outsiders, but it's absolutely necessary. When this subject came up on this blog before, a couple of commenters took the line that a writers' room should be subject to the same rules as any other workplace. I said then, and believe now, that that's utter horseshit. I'm relieved that all 7 justices on the California Supreme Court agreed.
If you really want to know why, read Ken Levine on the subject.
Just a taste:
Sometimes vulgarity is not just acceptable but necessary in the workplace, the California Supreme Court ruled Thursday as it threw out a sexual harassment case by a former assistant on the "Friends" TV show.It's actually a very good thing for shows being better rather than safe and predictable.
The justices, ruling 7-0, agreed with Warner Bros. Television Productions that trash talk was part of the creative process and, therefore, the studio and its writers could not be sued for raunchy writers' meetings.
The court added that no jury would believe the writers' assistant was the target of harassment during profanity-laced meetings.
"The record discloses that most of the sexually coarse and vulgar language at issue did not involve and was not aimed at plaintiff or other women in the workplace," Justice Marvin Baxter wrote
The social dynamics of the Writers' Room may be inscrutable to outsiders, but it's absolutely necessary. When this subject came up on this blog before, a couple of commenters took the line that a writers' room should be subject to the same rules as any other workplace. I said then, and believe now, that that's utter horseshit. I'm relieved that all 7 justices on the California Supreme Court agreed.
If you really want to know why, read Ken Levine on the subject.
Just a taste:
Writers Rooms are not for the faint of heart. It is not the Queen’s Tea in there. Sitcom writers on multi-camera shows like FRIENDS work under enormous pressure. The writers see a runthrough at 4:00 and must fix the entire script that night, even if it means throwing out the script and writing a new one. They must identify the problems, come up with the solutions, and have the new draft ready first thing in the morning. Tough luck if the muse doesn’t come, or you’ve got the flu, or worse, had Laker tickets. And you face this daunting task essentially every night for 22 weeks.Ken's full post is here.
To relieve that pressure and kick start the creative process, comedy writers need to be free to say ANYTHING. And considering we’re all neurotic, self loathing, insecure, still pining for that girl from Junior High, and funny our escape valve tends to be material that makes “The Aristocrats” joke seem PG. The only rule is everything and everyone is fair game…even YOU. The best way to prevent others from taking a shot at you is taking the shot yourself. A writers room is the only place in the world where the winner of a dick measuring contest is the one who has the smallest.
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