That Was Then, This Is Now

I've been looking at a lot of older films lately.  Older as in 60's and 70's.  Movies like The Graduate, Deliverance, Midnight Express, Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid, Altered States, Bonnie & Clyde.  What I've discovered is that once upon a time in this great industry of ours story was key and dialogue was plentiful.  Story, I love.  Dialogue?  Well, it has to be extremely well written, acted, directed for me to be blown away by it.  I like beats and long silences that bring out emotion or visual stimulation in film.  I'm finding, though, that the 60's and 70's didn't have a whole lot of that.  Movies from that era had ridiculous amounts of conversation for a good 2 hours that really made the actor or actress a focal point that seems to be missing in recent movies.

Let's take the movie 'Network' for example.  Charles saw it a couple weeks ago and wouldn't stop raving about it.  I'd seen it years ago so had a foggy memory of what it was like.  'Network' was streaming on Netflix so I figured I should take advantage of that before it went away.  And I'm really glad I did.  What a fantastic piece of work!  Brilliant acting and one very prophetic and daring screenplay. 

Network was 121 minutes of conversation.  When there wasn't conversation there was narration.  I think the only time there was a beat or pause was during the breakup speech from William Holden to Faye Dunaway.  There were 3 profound and unforgettable speeches in this movie and so much hidden meaning blatantly discussed in front of what is considered now to be an impressionable and sensitive film audience.  Subjects such as media exploitation, creating story for ratings rather than reporting the truth, sensationalism, corporatism, communism, and fascism were all covered in this movie quite well.  The live footage of a militant guerrilla group (who would today be labeled terrorist) sets Faye Dunaway's character, Diana Christensen, on a wild ride as she, the heartless TV programmer who'll stop at nothing to be number 1, comes up with the idea to exploit the leftist groups and individuals by putting them on TV.  Her pitch to them is to offer up an audience of millions who will hear their radical message.

They buy.  Peter Finch's character, the nutty Howard Beale, buys into it.  Laureen Hobbs, (" I'm Laureen Hobbs, a badass commie nigger.") played by Marlene Warfield, buys into it and buys into it hard as she yells her head off at one point realizing that all of the money supposed to go to her guerrilla group is being spread out to different network interests in the form of profit percentages.  That speech is one of my three faves.  As negotiations are being worked out Laureen Hobbs blows her stack saying not at all what one would expect from such a militant.

140.  INT. THE FARMHOUSE - LIVING ROOM



                            STEIN

                      (a nervous man, to the new

                       arrivals, now entering)

                Where the hell have you been?



                            MIGGS

                      (embracing the

                       GREAT KHAN)

                Ahmed, sweet, that dodo you sent

                for a driver couldn't find this

                fucking place.



      There is a genial exchange of helloes and waves between

      the phalanxes of AGENTS --



                            STEIN

                Let's get on with this before

                they raid this place, and we all

                wind up in the joint.



                            ED

                      (to FREDDIE now

                       pulling up a crate)

                We're on Schedule A, page seven,

                small c small i --



                            MIGGS

                      (whisking through her

                       copy of the contract)

                Have we settled that sub-licensing

                thing? We want a clear definition

                here.  Gross proceeds should consist

                of all funds the sublicensee receives

                not merely the net amount remitted

                after payment to sublicensee or

                distributor.



                            STEIN

                We're not sitting still for over-

                head charges as a cost prior to

                distribution.



                            LAUREEN

                      (whose nerves have

                       worn thin, explodes:)

                Don't fuck with my distribution

                costs!  I'm getting a lousy two-

                fifteen per segment, and I 'm already

                deficiting twenty-five grand a week

                with Metro.  I'm paying William

                Morris ten percent off the top!

                      (indicates the

                       GREAT KHAN)

                -- And I'm giving this turkey ten

                thou a segment and another five for

                this fruitcake --

                      (meaning MARY ANN GIFFORD)

                And, Helen, don't start no shit

                with me about a piece again!

                I'm paying Metro twenty percent of

                all foreign and Canadian distribution,

                and that's after recoupment!  The

                Communist Party's not going to see

                a nickel out of this goddam show

                until we go into syndication!



                            MIGGS

                Come on, Laureen, you've got the

                party in there for seventy-five

                hundred a week production expenses.



                            LAUREEN

                I'm not giving this pseudo in-

                surrectionary sectarian a piece

                of my show!  I'm not giving him

                script approval!  And I sure as

                shit ain't cutting him in on my

                distribution charges I



                            MARY ANN GIFFORD

                         (screaming in from

                         the back)

                Fuggin fascist! Have you seen the

                movies we took at the San Marino

                jail break-out demonstrating the

                rising up of a seminal prisoner-

                class infrastructure!



                            LAUREEN

                You can blow the seminal prisoner-

                class infrastructure out your ass!

                I'm not knocking down my goddam

                distribution charges!



      The GREAT KHAN decides to offer an opinion by SHOOTING

      his PISTOL off into the air. This gives everybody

      something to consider, especially WILLIE STEIN who

      almost has a heart attack.



                            THE GREAT KHAN

                Man, give her the fucking over-

                head clause.

Then, of course, there is the infamous speech by Peter Finch...

And finally, the daring and frightening honesty that pours forth from the mouth of Jensen...

      He leads HOWARD down the steps to the floor level,

      himself ascends again to the small stage and the podium.

      HOWARD sits in one of the 200 odd seats.  JENSEN pushes

      a button, and the enormous drapes slowly fall, slicing

      away layers of light until the vast room is utterly

      dark.  Then, the little pinspots at each of the desks,

      including the one behind which HOWARD is seated, pop on,

      creating a miniature Milky Way effect.  A shaft of white

      LIGHT shoots out from the rear of the room, spotting

      JENSEN on the podium, a sun of its own little galaxy.

      Behind him, the shadowed white of the lecture screen.

      JENSEN suddenly wheels to his audience of one and roars

      out:



                            JENSEN

                You have meddled with the primal

                forces of nature, Mr. Beale, and I

                won't have it, is that clear?!  You

                think you have merely stopped a

                business deal -- that is not the

                case!  The Arabs have taken billions

                of dollars out of this country, and

                now they must put it back.  It is

                ebb and flow, tidal gravity, it is

                ecological balance!  You are an old

                man who thinks in terms of nations

                and peoples.  There are no nations!

                There are no peoples!  There are no

                Russians.  There are no Arabs!

                There are no third worlds!  There is

                no West!  There is only one holistic

                system of systems, one vast and

                immane, interwoven, interacting,

                multi-variate, multi-national

                dominion of dollars! petro-dollars,

                electro-dollars, multi-dollars!,

                Reichmarks, rubles, rin, pounds and

                shekels!  It is the international

                system of currency that determines

                the totality of life on this planet!

                That is the natural order of things

                today!  That is the atomic,

                subatomic and galactic structure of

                things today!  And you have meddled

                with the primal forces of nature,

                and you will atone!  Am I getting

                through to you, Mr. Beale?

                      (pause)

                You get up on your little twenty-

                one inch screen, and howl about

                America and democracy.  There is no

                America.  There is no democracy.

                There is only IBM and ITT and A T

                and T and Dupont, Dow, Union Carbide

                and Exxon.  Those are the nations of

                the world today.  What do you think

                the Russians talk about in their

                councils of state -- Karl Marx?

                They pull out their linear

                programming charts, statistical

                decision theories and minimax

                solutions and compute the price-cost

                probabilities of their transactions

                and investments just like we do.  We

                no longer live in a world of nations

                and ideologies, Mr. Beale.  The

                world is a college of corporations,

                inexorably deter- mined by the

                immutable by-laws of business.  The

                world is a business, Mr. Beale!  It

                has been since man crawled out of

                the slime, and our children, Mr.

                Beale, will live to see that perfect

                world in which there is no war and

                famine, oppression and brutality --

                one vast and ecumenical holding

                company, for whom all men will work

                to serve a common profit, in which

                all men will hold a share of stock,

                all necessities provided, all

                anxieties tranquilized, all boredom

                amused.  And I have chosen you to

                preach this evangel, Mr. Beale.



                            HOWARD

                      (humble whisper)

                Why me?



                            JENSEN

                Because you're on television, dummy.

                Sixty million people watch you

                every night of the week, Monday

                through Friday.

Everything, I mean everything, dialogue in this movie is mind blowing.  Not only are these speeches fantastic but so is the everyday conversation...the producers sitting around having a frank discussion about killing Howard Beale, the confrontation between Schumacher & Hackett, the break up between Diana & Max discussed in terms of 'canceling the show'....Pick any part of this movie and you will find the conversation enthralling.  

Today we have movement, action, effects, cheap jokes, simplistic dialogue, and restrictions on everything (couldn't share the video clips for 2 of the 3 speeches above...that's how tight everything has become!).  Back then they simply told stories and let the viewers formulate their own opinions.   They assumed the audience was smart enough to understand.  They allowed freedom of expression, freedom of thought, freedom to create like we haven't seen in quite a while.  Writers wrote for actors and actresses not for corporations and formulas.  

We may never return to that kind of filmmaking again.  We may never be given that freedom to say what we as storytellers want to say in a film again.  But we will always have those older movies at our disposal to watch and re-watch as many times as we desire and remember that once there was a time when artists could put the business aside and simply be creative. - TKS

How to Meet Good Ideas

Coming across a good idea ought to be the most likely part of the uncertain and especially unlikely process of getting a film projected onto a theater screen; but before the Cinderella story; before an audience walks into that theater, or the marketing campaign was successfully devised to bring that audience in, or the film somehow made it into Sundance or Toronto -- whereby the right people screened it and the right things were said and the right buzz grew into that distribution deal -- before a cast and crew serendipitously came together and really made something great enough to be noticed; before that first unlikely investor came along and took a risk, or a producer saw some fleeting potential in a script and decided to put their contacts and connections on the line... there was a writer and an idea, and it probably wasn't pretty.

They had to meet.  And goddamn it, they had to get along.

Yeah, there are people out there that will say "I knew this was a great idea from the beginning!"  They'll lean back and fawn over how easy it all came to them once they "found" the idea; conveniently overlooking all the strife it took to turn that idea into a good script.

Jealously you ask them: "But how did you get that idea?"

The edge of their lips turn into a coy smile; they don't even do you the courtesy of thinking about the question: "No idea, just came to me."

The words are true, but I still want to punch this fictional person in the face.  I digress, but as writer of this blog, I'll take the liberty.

(A can of Mountain Dew flies across the room, hitting the pretentious man squarely in the face.  His nose seeps blood, mixing with spilled drink as it spots his expensive white shirt.  The dry cleaner won't be able to get that stain out...).

Finding a good idea is hard.  What's more, you don't come upon ideas, ideas come to you.  You can put yourself around the right people, in the right setting and situation where ideas might hang around, but that's about as much as they'll allow.  No, they come to you, and they'll do so whenever they damn well please.  Then when they come, well, you have to like them.  Just because an idea approaches you doesn't mean you're attracted to it.  We go through ideas all the time, politely smiling at them before we go back to talking with our friends.

Some ideas are more interesting than others.  All you can do is think about how cool that idea is; you can't believe they tapped your shoulder or decided to dance with you.  Other ideas seem engrossing on the evening you meet them, but its very hard to spend any time with them after that; all looks and no substance.  They're secretly boring.

Can you sit down and have a conversation with your idea?  Will it be one of those conversations that go on and on, spilling with great tangents and material?  Can you put up with them?

The best ideas get in your head man, and they change the way you see things.  At the same time they're possessive.  Everything you see, hear and smell -- every other thought -- gets interrogated by the idea first.  Trees, highway, car wreck -- Could you work in the story?  It doesn't matter where you are -- supermarket or meeting, your idea is there vying for all your attention.  Sometimes it takes a while for that possession to take hold.

No one wants to admit they have trouble romancing a good idea, but then again, how many ideas are truly "good," before a writer took a chance and decided to make that long, hard commitment?

The days go on and doubts inevitably ensue.  You don't really know this is a great idea, do you?  In fact, you're still thinking about that smarmy guy who said it all came so easy.

Thinking about the long journey ahead, and just how improbable the script you're writing will end up on the big screen, you sit down for a heart to heart with your idea: "Hey.  Listen, I think you're really interesting.  We've been spending some time together and that's no small thing for me -- I don't just spend time with any idea, you know.  The problem I'm having is..."  (You hesitate you don't want to tell them the truth)  "Why aren't you brilliant?  Why aren't you behaving symphonically, idea?  Why aren't you bursting with inspiration?  Why aren't you feeling like a great idea every single day?"

Meanwhile you wonder, is this idea truly destined for great things, if I have to put in all this work? 

But is it really the ideas fault?  You start questioning yourself: "What's wrong with me?  Is this my fault?  Am I any good?  Am I even cut out for writing?  If I have to put in all this work, am I truly inspired -- A good idea like this comes along and this is all I can do with it?!..."

"Confidence," you tell yourself.  Ideas respect confidence, but personally I suspect it's not a cure all adage.  Sometimes you just have to make a clean break.  Tell an idea it's not working out creatively.  It's not really bringing much to the table after all, and you need to move on to the next idea.  Or maybe it's just too difficult, and that is a good sign.

Maybe you just decide to take a break from your idea.  You know... temporarily.  "Maybe we'll meet each other again when you... when I'M... More mature."

-- Next thing you know that piece of shit idea is in bed with Steven Spielberg, and Spielberg's pulling all the stops.  He's wooing the idea with his studio, with his financial resources.  And that's the one that got away...

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, take a moment to be thankful for your good ideas.  Also be thankful Steven Spielberg hasn't had your idea first.  He's a tough act to follow.

Charles Rhoads

Pitching to the Most Disinterested Person in the World

Your head is in the minutia, in the scenes, the characters, the dialogue, the setting, the visual charisma of the thing, and then someone asks you "So what's your movie about?"...

For a screenwriter (and just about anyone else hocking their Hollywood wares to People of Influence) the place where unbridled belief in one's self meets the wrecking ball is the pitch.  Ask that ultra-confident filmmaker how he or she feels after that pitch.  Either the listener was unfair and mean, or that filmmaker is at the onset of an existential crisis... maybe both.

"I know," you console them, "talent is what really matters."

Of course it does.  But how does talent help when you're pitching to the most disinterested person in the world?  (Who you will inevitably pitch to).

Me, and almost everyone seeking some fated place in the film industry will say talent trumps everything.  It relieves the swelling, relieves the itching, and it relieves the pain.  It brings a Cinderella element of fairness and order to the process.  Here I toil and nobody sees that secretly, underneath it all, I am indeed a princess.  The only problem is everyone who says this assumes they have that talent, so in spite of a limiting statement like "talent above everything," everyone must have talent.

We're not walking bags of haloed talent, we're storytellers. Screenwriters, producers, actors and directors alike.  Regardless of the medium or the historic era, story-tellers tell stories to people, and fundamentally this takes guts and bravado; interrupting someone's attention and commanding their imagination with the power of your technique, your style and your personality, until hopefully they thank you for the experience.  It's an illusion to think that you have the luxury of anonymity in the me-space of the darkened corner of your room behind your desk.  You're a storyteller mate, act like one. 

So your head is in the minutia, in the scenes, the dialogue, the setting, and then someone asks you "What is your movie about?"

Scenario #1:
Uhhhh... (You're using this time to remember some semblance of a pitch you've put together.). -- ok -- you've got something.  And you begin sputtering, but their eyes are already dead.  They no longer care.  Most of all, you haven't lived up to your image.  They see the truth of the thing, and they're wondering if she's such a story teller, why can't she tell a story? -- maybe that's what they're concentrating on while you're playing hopscotch with your plot.

Scenario #2:
You start reading some script you've developed in your head with pinpointed, monotonic accuracy.  The listener senses an advertisement and they tune you out.  They try to contort their face with half-hearted interest, busier thinking "Holy shit, this person is actually trying to pitch me right now...  I can't believe this is happening.  Are they embarrassed?" than they are actually hearing anything you say.

A storyteller is a leader, and leaders lead with confidence.  If guts and bravado are the traits of a storyteller, confidence is his mark.  A lack of confidence distracts attention away from the story.  Confidence leads the listener into thinking whatever this guy says must be great.

What do I mean by confidence?  Take Scenario #3:
You're prepared and you're not reading a script.  Now your listener is the problem, because your listener doesn't give a damn about movies and they really don't give a damn about your story.

Why pitch someone who clearly isn't interested?

--How is it any different than hitting line drives and loading up the bases when you're already down two outs?  Or any different than trying or even doing well in the face of a hard or unlikely situation?  It's Tiger Woods playing his greatest first round at the Masters when everyone wants him to fail, and everyone expects him to do poorly because he really ought to be playing distracted.  But he's not distracted.  He's MORE focused.  Imagine if that's how you pitched?

That's where impressions are made, where Cinderella stories are born.   Embrace the disinterested listener.  Lead them.  Don't let them lead you to soft spoken timidity, embarrassment, or shamed apologies.  Lead with your confidence!  They won't do the work for you, nor should they.
 
Know what movie your movie is.  Don't hesitate to be a storyteller.  Act like you're in control and they will follow.  Leave the talent for everyone else.

Charles Rhoads

Wrestling an Invisible Bear or Letting a Scene "Unravel"

Clint Eastwood has often said that rather than instructing his actors precisely how they should move and react in a scene, he likes to allow them the opportunity to enter the scene and do what they feel most comfortable doing.  Allowing the scene to "unravel" he'll follow the actor, and let the camera go where it will go.

From the screenwriting side of the canvass I found myself in a similar situation.  It's act 2, everything's coming together, a torrent of material ballooning in my head, waiting to get out, accumulating, building pressure while it waits behind process.  Process tells me to stop.  Calm down.  Review the notes and the structure, make sure you don't miss anything, and for that matter, run through all the notes all the way through the end just to make sure you don't burn past some important details you'll have to kludge back in later.  I go through the notes, and I'm quickly overwhelmed.  There's too much!  How will this detail even fit with that one?  How do I change course in the script so I can fit this in later? 

I get up, pace around, use the bathroom, run down stairs, shuffle through the pantry, come back up.  I put on the Charlie Rose Clint Eastwood interview included on the Mystic River blu-ray.  I watch 2 and a half minutes and turn it off.  I am wrestling an invisible bear.

Finally I click on the Final Draft file and start typing and a leak springs.  It gushes out.  1 page, 2 pages, 4 pages -- the details take care of themselves systematically, because when you're on the ground, in the moment, in the scene -- this ought to follow this, and you ought to try that out here because there's an opportunity there and you should take it.  The structure goes up and the extraneous wood doesn't get used. 

Now this doesn't mean it's all right or perfect, or that notes and proper structuring doesn't have it's place.  After all, the ideas aren't all just waiting on the edge of the plank waiting to jump in the script.  You have to remember them to get them out.  But sometimes when there's so much inside, waiting to get out, the best solution is to find the frayed end of that massive ball of string, and simply start unraveling.

Charles Rhoads