We started this week's screening with a pee scene. Imagine that, an independent film that has the guts to show someone taking a leak. That's something we never ... go a screening without seeing. If you want to set a seen in a bathroom, try something like I'M A FAT CAT (DWF 2010), with good sex, good actors, interestingly shot, and well-written. Of course, there are some great scenes set in bathrooms, but that alone doesn't make it edgy. It's not different. It's not cool. It's common. Just so you know.
We had a couple of what I call "essay style" films. These are heavily narrated, usually by a single character. Often the narration is the only dialogue (or monologue) in the piece, and is usually very personal. Feelings are discussed. Musings of why people do what they do, etc. They can make good shorts. I've suffered through a couple of features in this style, and nine times out of ten the format doesn't hold up for the duration. We had two such shorts last night. One worked, one didn't.
We had a couple of "incitement films." Again, one worked, one didn't. For those who aren't regular readers, incitement films are shorts that feel like the first few pages of a feature – where a natural beginning, middle, and end tell a complete story which leave us wanting more. The trick to this style is that the end of the short has to feel complete – or enough so that we're not left with a "wait... what?" feeling. An incitement film is a good tool for raising money for your feature. You show potential investors the "hook" for your movie, then say, "Want to know if the doctor goes back to the taxi? Fund the project and you'll find out."
I started to keep a tally of movies by actors about actors acting. Two last night, neither one worked. They almost never do. Interesting that most of these movies have terrible performances. If you're thinking about making a movie on this subject, hunt down a copy of LARRY (THE ACTOR) (DWF 2008). You won't be sorry.
We had a DVD that wouldn't play. This is very common. Folks, please, pop your disc into a DVD player, not your computer, to make sure it works before you send it, and it's not a bad idea to send two copies, as home burnt DVDs scratch easily. Not to worry if you've submitted and might think this was your film. We'll be in touch for a replacement.
Florida State University, you guys rock! When we see your logo at the beginning of a film we settle down, knowing that quality is sure to follow. Keep up the good work.
That's it for this week. Short and sweet.
Thanks for reading.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The screenings have started.
Granted, we’re a bit late, so April and May are going to be a bitch, but that’s life in the big city.
From now until every submission has been screened, this blog will be a behind-the-scenes peak at our process. For those of you who are new, here once again, are the ground rules:
1) Films will not be mentioned by name.
2) Criticisms refer to TRENDS we see, not calling out one specific film.
3) Occasionally, when praising something, I will drop enough hints for the filmmakers to say to themselves, “He’s talkin’ about us!”
4) #3 does not mean that particular film will get into the festival – as many other factors apply.
So, let’s get to it.
We welcomed two new screeners this year, both artists of the screen and volunteers from previous years, so there are some fresh eyes watching your stuff – always important, since some of us can get a little jaded season after season.
Right off the bat we had a film that hit on one of my pet peeves – black & white video. Of course, I’ve seen some brilliant stuff in this format, and we have had it in the festival, but it’s rare. You should know that if you plan to finish in black & white, then every decision you make along the way has to be considered for the format. Lighting, set, costumes, makeup, all need to be tested ahead of time. You don’t just flip the color off on the camera or computer – you have to have do your homework. You also need to have somewhere within the story an answer to everyone’s question, “Why is this in black & white?”
We had a couple of films where the actors were all one note – either always shouting, always quite, or always on the same rhythms with the dialogue. In the last case, this can be the writer’s fault just as much as the actors, but in every case the blame ultimately falls on the director. A film – or a play, or a novel, or just about any other form of art – is like a piece of music, to be good it has to have variations in pitch, pace, and volume. These variations fall within the context of the piece, of course, but they have to be there. How bad would music be if it was all one note played steadily by itself? When you’re working on your script – whether you’re a writer, director, actor, editor, or novelist – put on some good jazz. Get complicated rhythms in your head and try to work them into the piece. If you’re in actor, rent anything with James Whitmore in it. He was a master with syncopation.
On a similar subject: Dramatic shorts are probably the hardest thing to pull off. Drama must be earned, or it becomes melodrama. We often see films where the cast – either of their own accord, or because of bad direction – force the drama. They push the seriousness of every situation. When does that ever happen in life? If you’ve got a serious, dark, script, then look for the lighter side of it. Don’t let your cast emphasize the weight of it. Instead, have them work to make it lighter. The audience will appreciate the character for their struggle against the obstacles instead of reminding us with every inflection that this is “important.”
If your movie is called 24 Hours With Sam, and it starts with “1 a.m.” and an hour into the movie another card comes up with “2 a.m.” then you have to understand your audience is going to say to themselves, “Oh, Jesus Christ, we don’t have to sit through 24 of these, do we?” If you’re going to announce to your audience how many segments there are in your movie, then you’ve given yourself a difficult storytelling task. Be aware of it.
When we’re all together for our screening sessions, we’re watching shorts, so the following note only applies to that format. The note is: GET TO THE POINT! Sure, if you’re doing a slice-of-life style thing, this is easier said than done, but remember when you say your film is a short, the audience has an internal clock running. If two minutes goes by and we still don’t know who the characters are, what are their objectives and obstacles, then we’re going to start to wonder when the film is going to GET TO THE POINT.
We’ve all heard the adage, “write what you know.” That doesn’t just apply to subject matter. As artists we need to re-create what we hear, see, taste, touch, and smell. Dialogue between two people needs to sound like dialogue, not typing. Sure, get poetic. I love that. Sound like Mamet, Simon, Sorkin, or Shakespeare, I don’t care – but ultimately we have to feel like we’re watching people relate to each other – not a writer relating to the words on their page.
The same can be said for filmmakers who try to re-create what’s currently hot. I can’t tell you how many imitation we’ve seen of The Office. Before that, everyone was trying to be the next Terrantino. That can work, of course, but it has to ring true. You have to take that style and transcend it. Make us forget you’re doing something “in the style of…” Also, be aware that, if you’re trying to make movie like this year’s hit, screeners will be seeing a pile of them exactly like yours – so you have to be a hundred times better.
Thanks for reading.
From now until every submission has been screened, this blog will be a behind-the-scenes peak at our process. For those of you who are new, here once again, are the ground rules:
1) Films will not be mentioned by name.
2) Criticisms refer to TRENDS we see, not calling out one specific film.
3) Occasionally, when praising something, I will drop enough hints for the filmmakers to say to themselves, “He’s talkin’ about us!”
4) #3 does not mean that particular film will get into the festival – as many other factors apply.
So, let’s get to it.
We welcomed two new screeners this year, both artists of the screen and volunteers from previous years, so there are some fresh eyes watching your stuff – always important, since some of us can get a little jaded season after season.
Right off the bat we had a film that hit on one of my pet peeves – black & white video. Of course, I’ve seen some brilliant stuff in this format, and we have had it in the festival, but it’s rare. You should know that if you plan to finish in black & white, then every decision you make along the way has to be considered for the format. Lighting, set, costumes, makeup, all need to be tested ahead of time. You don’t just flip the color off on the camera or computer – you have to have do your homework. You also need to have somewhere within the story an answer to everyone’s question, “Why is this in black & white?”
We had a couple of films where the actors were all one note – either always shouting, always quite, or always on the same rhythms with the dialogue. In the last case, this can be the writer’s fault just as much as the actors, but in every case the blame ultimately falls on the director. A film – or a play, or a novel, or just about any other form of art – is like a piece of music, to be good it has to have variations in pitch, pace, and volume. These variations fall within the context of the piece, of course, but they have to be there. How bad would music be if it was all one note played steadily by itself? When you’re working on your script – whether you’re a writer, director, actor, editor, or novelist – put on some good jazz. Get complicated rhythms in your head and try to work them into the piece. If you’re in actor, rent anything with James Whitmore in it. He was a master with syncopation.
On a similar subject: Dramatic shorts are probably the hardest thing to pull off. Drama must be earned, or it becomes melodrama. We often see films where the cast – either of their own accord, or because of bad direction – force the drama. They push the seriousness of every situation. When does that ever happen in life? If you’ve got a serious, dark, script, then look for the lighter side of it. Don’t let your cast emphasize the weight of it. Instead, have them work to make it lighter. The audience will appreciate the character for their struggle against the obstacles instead of reminding us with every inflection that this is “important.”
If your movie is called 24 Hours With Sam, and it starts with “1 a.m.” and an hour into the movie another card comes up with “2 a.m.” then you have to understand your audience is going to say to themselves, “Oh, Jesus Christ, we don’t have to sit through 24 of these, do we?” If you’re going to announce to your audience how many segments there are in your movie, then you’ve given yourself a difficult storytelling task. Be aware of it.
When we’re all together for our screening sessions, we’re watching shorts, so the following note only applies to that format. The note is: GET TO THE POINT! Sure, if you’re doing a slice-of-life style thing, this is easier said than done, but remember when you say your film is a short, the audience has an internal clock running. If two minutes goes by and we still don’t know who the characters are, what are their objectives and obstacles, then we’re going to start to wonder when the film is going to GET TO THE POINT.
We’ve all heard the adage, “write what you know.” That doesn’t just apply to subject matter. As artists we need to re-create what we hear, see, taste, touch, and smell. Dialogue between two people needs to sound like dialogue, not typing. Sure, get poetic. I love that. Sound like Mamet, Simon, Sorkin, or Shakespeare, I don’t care – but ultimately we have to feel like we’re watching people relate to each other – not a writer relating to the words on their page.
The same can be said for filmmakers who try to re-create what’s currently hot. I can’t tell you how many imitation we’ve seen of The Office. Before that, everyone was trying to be the next Terrantino. That can work, of course, but it has to ring true. You have to take that style and transcend it. Make us forget you’re doing something “in the style of…” Also, be aware that, if you’re trying to make movie like this year’s hit, screeners will be seeing a pile of them exactly like yours – so you have to be a hundred times better.
Thanks for reading.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Give Me Money - Money Can't Buy Me Love
While submissions roll in, which puts our focus on the finished product of the uber-indie film world, I ran across an ad on Craig's List that has my thoughts turning to other end of the process – fundraising.
We've all seen these ads before, where some filmmaker has a script that's "a guaranteed hit." All they need is a producer with funding. This particular ad boasts "access to A-list talent." They are looking for five million dollars and expect to find it from an "executive producer" that must provide "proof of funding."
Well, hell. All any of us needs to get a project off the ground is funding. And you know what? If you have five million dollars in your war chest, you've got access to all the talent you want. It's called a casting director, and they'll work for whoever can pay them. Some will even work for a producer credit and backend participation if they believe in the project.
But I can't fault these guys for asking. (The Securities and Exchange Commission might, but not me). The fundraising process is impossible. Doing the impossible is extraordinarily frustrating. I remember going to conference after conference trying to learn how to raise money for my first movie. I summed up all of the advice I heard as, "To raise money to make your movie, first, you make your movie, then..."
Major studios have difficulty finding investors. Major production companies with distribution deals with major studios have difficulty finding investors. So you're an inexperienced filmmaker with access to "A-list Talent," whatever that means, and a script? In other words, you're an average Los Angelino. Why should a stranger consider your request, when the A-list talent has a pile of scripts of their own that they'd like to get funded as well?
So, enough of the negative. Let's look for the positive.
I'm positive you can't raise five million dollars on Craig's List.
What's a filmmaker to do? Let's take a closer look at the advice I gleaned from all of those conferences. "To raise money for your movie, first, you make your movie, then..."
You've got a script with a five million dollar budget, but you don't have five million dollars. You believe in your filmmaking skills. Chances are, you've got friends and family who either believe in you as well, or can be guilted into an affordable investment. But, you'll never raise anything like five million, so what do you do?
You make your movie. Your OTHER movie. You think you've got skills, then it's time to show them off. Sit down in front of your computer and write a script that you can afford to shoot. This will be a lot harder than the million dollar script. You're going to have to write-the-hell out of it. Dig deep into your imagination, your emotions, your soul. You won't have expensive film tricks to make dog & pony show gags to hold your audience's attention. Sure, if you're doing a slasher film, you can use cheap film tricks – but those have been done so often that you'll need a boatload of imagination to make them fresh.
When you're done with your script, read my blog from cover-to-cover. There's a good chance you've written something exactly like a thousand other finished movies that are making the festival rounds. If you want to make your five million dollar movie, you're going to have to prove that you're a good investment risk – that might mean you write two or three scripts before you get one that pops off the page for the budget you can afford.
One good writing trick I recommend is the 180 degree rule. If you're writing a drama, make sure you've got plenty of comedy. If it's a fast-paced action film, make sure you've got some nice quiet emotional scenes, etc.
Once the script is done, polished, re-read, re-write, work-shopped, thrown away, re-write again, etc. then you're ready to hit your friends and family up for the money. Make it for less than $10,000, since that's about what you can hope to recoup in the best possible world of Netflix and Amazon downloads. If you do better, great. The main thing is to be able to say your first film made money.
Now it's time to put those filmmaking skills you think are worth five million dollars to work. Your no-budget film has to look like a low budget one, since it will be your calling card. Make the very best movie you can make. Shop it around. Do the festivals. Find a distributor. Pay back your investors.
Then do it all again.
After a couple of hits with movies below $100,000, you might be ready to look for the bigger money.
Final bit of advice: Don't think of the ultra-low budget movies as a stepping stone. You have to love them. You have to put your heart and soul into each of them, because if you don't, it'll show up on the screen. With no money, no stars, and no big distribution deals, all you have in your corner is your own love for the story and the process of telling it. Without that, you might as well quit right now.
Good luck, and thanks for reading.
We've all seen these ads before, where some filmmaker has a script that's "a guaranteed hit." All they need is a producer with funding. This particular ad boasts "access to A-list talent." They are looking for five million dollars and expect to find it from an "executive producer" that must provide "proof of funding."
Well, hell. All any of us needs to get a project off the ground is funding. And you know what? If you have five million dollars in your war chest, you've got access to all the talent you want. It's called a casting director, and they'll work for whoever can pay them. Some will even work for a producer credit and backend participation if they believe in the project.
But I can't fault these guys for asking. (The Securities and Exchange Commission might, but not me). The fundraising process is impossible. Doing the impossible is extraordinarily frustrating. I remember going to conference after conference trying to learn how to raise money for my first movie. I summed up all of the advice I heard as, "To raise money to make your movie, first, you make your movie, then..."
Major studios have difficulty finding investors. Major production companies with distribution deals with major studios have difficulty finding investors. So you're an inexperienced filmmaker with access to "A-list Talent," whatever that means, and a script? In other words, you're an average Los Angelino. Why should a stranger consider your request, when the A-list talent has a pile of scripts of their own that they'd like to get funded as well?
So, enough of the negative. Let's look for the positive.
I'm positive you can't raise five million dollars on Craig's List.
What's a filmmaker to do? Let's take a closer look at the advice I gleaned from all of those conferences. "To raise money for your movie, first, you make your movie, then..."
You've got a script with a five million dollar budget, but you don't have five million dollars. You believe in your filmmaking skills. Chances are, you've got friends and family who either believe in you as well, or can be guilted into an affordable investment. But, you'll never raise anything like five million, so what do you do?
You make your movie. Your OTHER movie. You think you've got skills, then it's time to show them off. Sit down in front of your computer and write a script that you can afford to shoot. This will be a lot harder than the million dollar script. You're going to have to write-the-hell out of it. Dig deep into your imagination, your emotions, your soul. You won't have expensive film tricks to make dog & pony show gags to hold your audience's attention. Sure, if you're doing a slasher film, you can use cheap film tricks – but those have been done so often that you'll need a boatload of imagination to make them fresh.
When you're done with your script, read my blog from cover-to-cover. There's a good chance you've written something exactly like a thousand other finished movies that are making the festival rounds. If you want to make your five million dollar movie, you're going to have to prove that you're a good investment risk – that might mean you write two or three scripts before you get one that pops off the page for the budget you can afford.
One good writing trick I recommend is the 180 degree rule. If you're writing a drama, make sure you've got plenty of comedy. If it's a fast-paced action film, make sure you've got some nice quiet emotional scenes, etc.
Once the script is done, polished, re-read, re-write, work-shopped, thrown away, re-write again, etc. then you're ready to hit your friends and family up for the money. Make it for less than $10,000, since that's about what you can hope to recoup in the best possible world of Netflix and Amazon downloads. If you do better, great. The main thing is to be able to say your first film made money.
Now it's time to put those filmmaking skills you think are worth five million dollars to work. Your no-budget film has to look like a low budget one, since it will be your calling card. Make the very best movie you can make. Shop it around. Do the festivals. Find a distributor. Pay back your investors.
Then do it all again.
After a couple of hits with movies below $100,000, you might be ready to look for the bigger money.
Final bit of advice: Don't think of the ultra-low budget movies as a stepping stone. You have to love them. You have to put your heart and soul into each of them, because if you don't, it'll show up on the screen. With no money, no stars, and no big distribution deals, all you have in your corner is your own love for the story and the process of telling it. Without that, you might as well quit right now.
Good luck, and thanks for reading.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
We're Open For Season 14
We're finally open for submissions.
So what does that mean for you folks that have just finished the first cut of your film? Should you rush off a DVD to get that worm the early bird keeps bragging about? I don't know. Is your film finished? I mean, actually FINISHED?
Here's a quick check list to help you answer that question.
Sound: Have you put the headphones on to listen closely to the background noise around your dialogue? Conversely, have you run your movie on the biggest screen and sound system you can find? Is the sound even? Are there any clips? Any drop outs? Does is sound like a "real movie"? Don't know for sure? Then you might want to hold off on that rush to the post office and run to a post house instead.
If you're a regular reader of my blog, you know how I spent all last year bitching about unfinished sound. Movies are an illusion of light and sound. The latter is 50% of a production, so why do so many people short change it? If nothing else, beg borrow or steal some time from a professional post production producer, editor, or sound designer to lend you an ear – literally. I understand if you can't afford the expense of a full post-production extravaganza – which was the minimum basic requirement back in the film days – but bad sound is the first and loudest way to shout I AM NOT A PROFESSIONAL.
Picture: Do you have shots of silhouettes in front of sliding glass doors with daylight streaming in when the script demands that we see characters' faces? Best to cut around those. Do you have long scenes of people walking from one place to another, without saying anything or advancing the plot, while slow, droning music drags the pace into the tar pits? Please cut those before submitting. Please. They are painful to watch. You have the time to take them out now, so do.
Story: Do you have a short film so full of subplots that we have to have a spreadsheet to follow them? Is there some ridiculous thread in your elegant character study that you thought you needed to have a solid plot structure when you were writing it, and now can't see that it's in the wrong movie? Cut around these things. Get a group of trusted friends to screen rough cuts, and listen to what they have to say – because it's better to hear it from them than from me. Right?
You've got the time now to make these fixes. You can take as many shots at your film as you need to make it the best project it can be – but you only get one shot at us.
Well, one per entry fee.
Our regular deadline is March 2nd. A slew of higher-priced late deadlines come up shortly thereafter. If your film is ready, submit now. If you just think it's ready, keep working on it and submit after the holidays. We won't notice the difference in dates, but we'll surely notice the difference in quality.
And don't call us "surely." RIP Mr. Nielsen.
Thanks for reading.
So what does that mean for you folks that have just finished the first cut of your film? Should you rush off a DVD to get that worm the early bird keeps bragging about? I don't know. Is your film finished? I mean, actually FINISHED?
Here's a quick check list to help you answer that question.
Sound: Have you put the headphones on to listen closely to the background noise around your dialogue? Conversely, have you run your movie on the biggest screen and sound system you can find? Is the sound even? Are there any clips? Any drop outs? Does is sound like a "real movie"? Don't know for sure? Then you might want to hold off on that rush to the post office and run to a post house instead.
If you're a regular reader of my blog, you know how I spent all last year bitching about unfinished sound. Movies are an illusion of light and sound. The latter is 50% of a production, so why do so many people short change it? If nothing else, beg borrow or steal some time from a professional post production producer, editor, or sound designer to lend you an ear – literally. I understand if you can't afford the expense of a full post-production extravaganza – which was the minimum basic requirement back in the film days – but bad sound is the first and loudest way to shout I AM NOT A PROFESSIONAL.
Picture: Do you have shots of silhouettes in front of sliding glass doors with daylight streaming in when the script demands that we see characters' faces? Best to cut around those. Do you have long scenes of people walking from one place to another, without saying anything or advancing the plot, while slow, droning music drags the pace into the tar pits? Please cut those before submitting. Please. They are painful to watch. You have the time to take them out now, so do.
Story: Do you have a short film so full of subplots that we have to have a spreadsheet to follow them? Is there some ridiculous thread in your elegant character study that you thought you needed to have a solid plot structure when you were writing it, and now can't see that it's in the wrong movie? Cut around these things. Get a group of trusted friends to screen rough cuts, and listen to what they have to say – because it's better to hear it from them than from me. Right?
You've got the time now to make these fixes. You can take as many shots at your film as you need to make it the best project it can be – but you only get one shot at us.
Well, one per entry fee.
Our regular deadline is March 2nd. A slew of higher-priced late deadlines come up shortly thereafter. If your film is ready, submit now. If you just think it's ready, keep working on it and submit after the holidays. We won't notice the difference in dates, but we'll surely notice the difference in quality.
And don't call us "surely." RIP Mr. Nielsen.
Thanks for reading.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Novelist vs Screenwriter vs Playwright
I've written stage plays, screenplays and novels with nearly the same success, and lack thereof, so I thought a comparison might make for a nice distraction while we wait for Dances With Films submissions to get rolling. I have no doubt arguments will abound, which is a good thing. Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis.
THE STAGE: "Theatre is dead." That proclamation was made to me by the late, great, set designer, John Paoletti, as we met to discuss the set for a 99-seat production in Los Angeles. Such "Equity Waiver" plays are to theatre what garage bands are to Rock & Roll. This particular play had an all-star cast, so it was a great little garage band – but could only be considered professional by the quality of the work, not the dollars earned. Paoletti designed sets for theatre all over the country. As we talked about this particular production, he was drawing pieces for a play back in Chicago. He worked constantly. In any other profession his labor and skill would have made him a rich man, which is what prompted him say what he did. "Theatre is dead, and television killed it."
I had no argument against it. Still don't. But the skills of the stage, the lessons learned in front of a live audience night-after-night are invaluable when it comes to film and television – where the artist may never hear or feel the audience's initial response to their work. In film, 1920 is ancient history. You're considered a scholar if you know what Thomas Edison might have to do with Steven Spielberg's success.
Theatre can trace her roots back to before God. An understanding of what moved an audience in ancient Egypt, or Greece, or what made Italians in the 16th Century laugh, or how Theatre survived the hard economic times of English reconstruction – and how these same human storytelling techniques have worked in our day – give a writer a deep pool of knowledge to work from. Damn the marketing people and their test screenings – a writer with a strong theatre background has 3,000 years of research and feedback from billions of people to draw from. Better still if this writer has spent time on stage performing other writer's work. The best teacher is the instant feedback of a paying audience.
In writing for the stage you are capturing the power and majesty of the human voice, from kings to paupers, the supremacy of the words are yours to wield. Sure, you might write in a deus ex machine, but without the deity to speak from atop the device, the special effect isn't much good.
With minimal stage effects and limited settings, a playwright is forced to entertain and educate with nothing but words and the interaction of characters – but this is the basis of all writing, isn't it? The stage demands a higher level than books or film, and is the only medium that offers the immediacy of the moment. An actor speaks the words, the audience hears them, and the playwright is there to gage the reaction. Quickly, the author learns what resonates and what doesn't. Soon, he or she can play the audience like a violin. Actors often say they can literally control how an audience breathes, but it is the writer that gave them the setting and words to exercise that power.
THE SCREEN: No critic or academic can speak intelligently about film if they haven't rolled up their sleeves and done the grunt work of production. If they haven't worked as a grip, a producer, and director, then they have no real idea of where the writer fits into the picture. The production crew see the writer as someone who lounges around with the director and producers, or who might talk to the cast from time-to-time. More often than not, they have no idea who the writer is at all. He, she or they might not ever come to the set. The director and producers, working with the cast, may make last minute tweaks to the script, and so the writer is seen as superfluous.
But a good producer or director knows what the writer has done. Months or years prior to production, they've been working together to turn blank paper into living, breathing characters in a real world. The author can be so cavalier on the set because their hard work was done long before anyone else had a job on this project. If the script started as speculative – written first and sold later – then the author has worked more hours on the film than anyone else has or will.
But if the screenwriter faces the blank page, he or she does not face a blank audience. They are writing for other professional in the business for whom a shorthand has evolved.
INT. NEW YORK APARTMENT – DAY
Brad's studio apartment is as much of a wreck as his life.
That's all the writer needs to include to give those crew members who work so hard during production the picture of what they need to achieve.
Some writer's find it hard to learn this shorthand, and I think their work suffers for it. They lack trust in their designers, directors and cast to do the detective work necessary to flush out the details of the world everyone is trying to create. The designers are going to read the entire script. They will know what kind of wreck Brad's life is, and can then apply their talents to reflecting this in the set. No spoon-feeding necessary, and by allowing more input from various sources, the finished product has a depth to it that a spelled out description might lack.
This type of writing, once mastered, can become a lot of fun. All the author need deal with are characters and story – the meat and potatoes. They have a cast, crew and editors to take care of the minutiae. The art of screenwriting is to use the least amount of words to make a clear image pop into the minds of trained, professional, readers – and to be able to make them all see a similar picture.
NOVELS: You're a control freak? You want to be the auteur? Forget about film, become a novelist. Here you are the art department, the cast, crew, editor, director and craft service person picking up the trash – and yet, if you are successful, you will still have to collaborate with editors, marketing people, agents, etc.
The novelist faces a blank page in both the creation and production of their work. All they know about their reader is they speak the same language as what's on the page – and yet, the author has to put the same story into every reader's head. They have no soundtrack. No special effects. No magic of the theatre. Nothing between their brain and their audience's but the written word.
I can tell you, having made a feature film (on film) and written two novels, they are comparable in their tedium. An editor will work for sometimes an hour or more on a single cut of a film that flashes by in one 24th of a second and is never seen by the audience again. An author will do the same with a word in a sentence.
An animator once told me that cartoon characters must blink when they turn their heads, or they don't look real. A novelist once said, "if you use the word 'suddenly' then whatever follows, isn't."
With all of these differences, what I'm finding as I work in all three media is how they are becoming more similar. Modern novels require less description than their 18th-early 20th century counterparts. Perhaps it is because television has shown us so much of the world that the details of exotic locations or people are now common knowledge. Perhaps it's because we have so many ways to fill our free time, that a book had better cut to the chase or it will never compete with the explosions and spectacle of the big screen or video games. What theatre that has been successful lately has been based on movies – just as they used to be based on histories or commonly known tales.
No matter what medium a writer chooses to work in, they seek the same result – resonance. They must touch the reader in a way that it amplifies within them. That's the art of it, and it's the same for all. The craft is what will differ.
Thanks for reading.
THE STAGE: "Theatre is dead." That proclamation was made to me by the late, great, set designer, John Paoletti, as we met to discuss the set for a 99-seat production in Los Angeles. Such "Equity Waiver" plays are to theatre what garage bands are to Rock & Roll. This particular play had an all-star cast, so it was a great little garage band – but could only be considered professional by the quality of the work, not the dollars earned. Paoletti designed sets for theatre all over the country. As we talked about this particular production, he was drawing pieces for a play back in Chicago. He worked constantly. In any other profession his labor and skill would have made him a rich man, which is what prompted him say what he did. "Theatre is dead, and television killed it."
I had no argument against it. Still don't. But the skills of the stage, the lessons learned in front of a live audience night-after-night are invaluable when it comes to film and television – where the artist may never hear or feel the audience's initial response to their work. In film, 1920 is ancient history. You're considered a scholar if you know what Thomas Edison might have to do with Steven Spielberg's success.
Theatre can trace her roots back to before God. An understanding of what moved an audience in ancient Egypt, or Greece, or what made Italians in the 16th Century laugh, or how Theatre survived the hard economic times of English reconstruction – and how these same human storytelling techniques have worked in our day – give a writer a deep pool of knowledge to work from. Damn the marketing people and their test screenings – a writer with a strong theatre background has 3,000 years of research and feedback from billions of people to draw from. Better still if this writer has spent time on stage performing other writer's work. The best teacher is the instant feedback of a paying audience.
In writing for the stage you are capturing the power and majesty of the human voice, from kings to paupers, the supremacy of the words are yours to wield. Sure, you might write in a deus ex machine, but without the deity to speak from atop the device, the special effect isn't much good.
With minimal stage effects and limited settings, a playwright is forced to entertain and educate with nothing but words and the interaction of characters – but this is the basis of all writing, isn't it? The stage demands a higher level than books or film, and is the only medium that offers the immediacy of the moment. An actor speaks the words, the audience hears them, and the playwright is there to gage the reaction. Quickly, the author learns what resonates and what doesn't. Soon, he or she can play the audience like a violin. Actors often say they can literally control how an audience breathes, but it is the writer that gave them the setting and words to exercise that power.
THE SCREEN: No critic or academic can speak intelligently about film if they haven't rolled up their sleeves and done the grunt work of production. If they haven't worked as a grip, a producer, and director, then they have no real idea of where the writer fits into the picture. The production crew see the writer as someone who lounges around with the director and producers, or who might talk to the cast from time-to-time. More often than not, they have no idea who the writer is at all. He, she or they might not ever come to the set. The director and producers, working with the cast, may make last minute tweaks to the script, and so the writer is seen as superfluous.
But a good producer or director knows what the writer has done. Months or years prior to production, they've been working together to turn blank paper into living, breathing characters in a real world. The author can be so cavalier on the set because their hard work was done long before anyone else had a job on this project. If the script started as speculative – written first and sold later – then the author has worked more hours on the film than anyone else has or will.
But if the screenwriter faces the blank page, he or she does not face a blank audience. They are writing for other professional in the business for whom a shorthand has evolved.
INT. NEW YORK APARTMENT – DAY
Brad's studio apartment is as much of a wreck as his life.
That's all the writer needs to include to give those crew members who work so hard during production the picture of what they need to achieve.
Some writer's find it hard to learn this shorthand, and I think their work suffers for it. They lack trust in their designers, directors and cast to do the detective work necessary to flush out the details of the world everyone is trying to create. The designers are going to read the entire script. They will know what kind of wreck Brad's life is, and can then apply their talents to reflecting this in the set. No spoon-feeding necessary, and by allowing more input from various sources, the finished product has a depth to it that a spelled out description might lack.
This type of writing, once mastered, can become a lot of fun. All the author need deal with are characters and story – the meat and potatoes. They have a cast, crew and editors to take care of the minutiae. The art of screenwriting is to use the least amount of words to make a clear image pop into the minds of trained, professional, readers – and to be able to make them all see a similar picture.
NOVELS: You're a control freak? You want to be the auteur? Forget about film, become a novelist. Here you are the art department, the cast, crew, editor, director and craft service person picking up the trash – and yet, if you are successful, you will still have to collaborate with editors, marketing people, agents, etc.
The novelist faces a blank page in both the creation and production of their work. All they know about their reader is they speak the same language as what's on the page – and yet, the author has to put the same story into every reader's head. They have no soundtrack. No special effects. No magic of the theatre. Nothing between their brain and their audience's but the written word.
I can tell you, having made a feature film (on film) and written two novels, they are comparable in their tedium. An editor will work for sometimes an hour or more on a single cut of a film that flashes by in one 24th of a second and is never seen by the audience again. An author will do the same with a word in a sentence.
An animator once told me that cartoon characters must blink when they turn their heads, or they don't look real. A novelist once said, "if you use the word 'suddenly' then whatever follows, isn't."
With all of these differences, what I'm finding as I work in all three media is how they are becoming more similar. Modern novels require less description than their 18th-early 20th century counterparts. Perhaps it is because television has shown us so much of the world that the details of exotic locations or people are now common knowledge. Perhaps it's because we have so many ways to fill our free time, that a book had better cut to the chase or it will never compete with the explosions and spectacle of the big screen or video games. What theatre that has been successful lately has been based on movies – just as they used to be based on histories or commonly known tales.
No matter what medium a writer chooses to work in, they seek the same result – resonance. They must touch the reader in a way that it amplifies within them. That's the art of it, and it's the same for all. The craft is what will differ.
Thanks for reading.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
...And We're Back
It's getting close to that time of year again. Dances With Films will be putting out a call for entries soon, which means screening will start shortly thereafter, so once again this blog will take you behind the scenes of our selection process.
For those of you new to the blog, the idea is this: Year-after-year we see patterns in the kind of movies floating around the festival circuit. For several years it was the Romantic Comedy that was neither – written and directed by someone with serious issues with their opposite gender. Twenty-somethings drinking too much is always a favorite bad idea. And let's not forget the million mocumentary movie march.
I get tired of seeing the same kind of film over and over, so this blog is selfish on my part. I want future filmmakers to read about what's not working and fix their scripts before it's too late. If you're thinking about making a movie, I hope you'll read every entry and take notes. You might not make the best film ever made, but you certainly won't make the worst.
If you're submitting this year: no, I will not mention titles or names; yes, I might drop enough hints to let you know I'm talking about your film – but only if I'm saying good things. When I talk about what's not working, it's more about trends. If one movie does something that doesn't work, good for them. Failure usually means the artist is trying something new and difficult. Repeated failures by multiple artists means something is wrong with the collective standards. If you read my criticism about a movie that goes on too long, and you think I've just told the world that your movie sucks – trust me, I'm talking about several films with the same problem.
What if you aren't a filmmaker? Not to worry, I believe strongly in artistic cross-training. My degree is in acting/directing theatre, and my current projects are novels. The skills in one discipline definitely translate to another, and I try to point out the similarities.
Case in point. The other night at the Dances With Films alumni get together we were talking about submission fees. We all agreed that filmmakers should include in their initial budgets a film festival category – submission fees, travel, promotion, etc. Among my novelist friends it has become commonplace to budget any advance money you might get toward promotions, travel, conferences, etc.
Okay, not the best example of artistic cross-training, but it's the best I can do on the off season.
TIP OF THE MONTH: If you are using one of the few services out there to submit to multiple festivals with just one submission form, consider contacting the festivals individually and asking for a discount. The services take a large percentage of your submission fee from the festival, so you might save anywhere from 10-25% by asking to submit directly. Sure, it's more work for you, and many festivals might not take direct submissions – but it doesn't hurt to ask.
Thanks for reading.
For those of you new to the blog, the idea is this: Year-after-year we see patterns in the kind of movies floating around the festival circuit. For several years it was the Romantic Comedy that was neither – written and directed by someone with serious issues with their opposite gender. Twenty-somethings drinking too much is always a favorite bad idea. And let's not forget the million mocumentary movie march.
I get tired of seeing the same kind of film over and over, so this blog is selfish on my part. I want future filmmakers to read about what's not working and fix their scripts before it's too late. If you're thinking about making a movie, I hope you'll read every entry and take notes. You might not make the best film ever made, but you certainly won't make the worst.
If you're submitting this year: no, I will not mention titles or names; yes, I might drop enough hints to let you know I'm talking about your film – but only if I'm saying good things. When I talk about what's not working, it's more about trends. If one movie does something that doesn't work, good for them. Failure usually means the artist is trying something new and difficult. Repeated failures by multiple artists means something is wrong with the collective standards. If you read my criticism about a movie that goes on too long, and you think I've just told the world that your movie sucks – trust me, I'm talking about several films with the same problem.
What if you aren't a filmmaker? Not to worry, I believe strongly in artistic cross-training. My degree is in acting/directing theatre, and my current projects are novels. The skills in one discipline definitely translate to another, and I try to point out the similarities.
Case in point. The other night at the Dances With Films alumni get together we were talking about submission fees. We all agreed that filmmakers should include in their initial budgets a film festival category – submission fees, travel, promotion, etc. Among my novelist friends it has become commonplace to budget any advance money you might get toward promotions, travel, conferences, etc.
Okay, not the best example of artistic cross-training, but it's the best I can do on the off season.
TIP OF THE MONTH: If you are using one of the few services out there to submit to multiple festivals with just one submission form, consider contacting the festivals individually and asking for a discount. The services take a large percentage of your submission fee from the festival, so you might save anywhere from 10-25% by asking to submit directly. Sure, it's more work for you, and many festivals might not take direct submissions – but it doesn't hurt to ask.
Thanks for reading.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The Never Ending Need for Independence
Dances With Films festival is going on all around me as I type this on an unfamiliar laptop graciously provided by Hula Post Production. A few feet from me filmmakers are shooting a 2-Minute 2-Step movie on the Canon 5D Mark II cameras that will be seen on the big screen tomorrow night. I'm having to pause between sentences so the clicking of the keyboard doesn't show up on their soundtrack. In a few minutes I might have to run up to do a Q & A with a filmmaker for a movie I saw months ago, but the audience just experienced. I say all of this as much to set the scene as to beg forgiveness for typos, grammar mistakes, or thoughts that wonder off into the abyss.
I've written before on the importance of gatekeepers like agents, producers, film festivals, distributors, publishers, etc. to filter the massive amounts of raw artistic product down to what is of some kind of professional quality - but as important as these bar-raisers to the artistic community are, it is equally important that there be a way to work around them.
Business and the Arts have always been siblings. Squabbling, fighting, dysfunctional, jealous, loving, horrible brothers and sisters. Neither can exist for long without the other. Even in an Artless world, Business would need artists to help package and promote their products. When the product is the Art, then the rivalry gets even more intense.
One of the biggest thorns in this relationship's side is how they deal with risk.
In Business risk is to be avoided. Sure, they pay lip service to the saying "Nothing ventured nothing gained" or "High Risk, High Reward" but at the corporate level there are stockholders to consider. Every business plan must include a risk management assessment. Sure, if an executive takes a big risk that pays off s/he is the hero of the day - but no one has ever been fired for playing it safe. Don't make waves, and you'll have a long and happy job in the corporate world. And there is nothing wrong with that.
In the Arts, bland is death. Doing what has been done before, in the same way that it has been done before guarantees you a short, not-so-profitable career. We all know Picasso, but who knows the artists who today paint just like Picasso? We all know Star Wars, but who made a lifetime's worth of money making the many derivative space operas of the late 70's/early 80's?
So, the Artist struggles hard to create a work that is unique in some way. This is of course, impossible, given the 100,000 years of human existence - chances are, whatever an artist might think of, it's been done before. Still, they apply their creativity, sweat, blood and tears to make something unique.
When they are done, they present it to their brother/sister, Business, to say, "Hey, let's get this out to an audience."
And Business's first question is, "What's it like?"
"It's like, what it is," says the Artist.
"Yes, it's very good, and quite unique, and I personally like it - but it's not like anything that's come before it."
"Yes," says the Artist, "Exactly! It's that great?!"
"No, it's not great. I have to present this to a committee and tell them what kind of budget we'll need and how much return we can expect."
"Yeah, so?"
"I need to know; is this the next Harry Potter? Is it the next Notebook? What is it?"
"It's the next new thing," says the Artist.
"I've got kids to put through college," says the Businessman. "I can't risk that on the next new thing. I need another version of the last successful thing."
And so it goes.
Stepping into this void are the Independents.
They say to the Artist, "I'm small. I'm light. I don't have a board of directors, just a few crazy investors who want to make the kind of high rewards that come with high risk. I can see your vision, and I have the means to present that to the world."
And the Artist says to the Independent, "Really? What have you done that I'd know?"
And so it goes.
Somehow from this chaos, the content - call it art, call it product, call it popcorn entertainment or literature - flows like water to the sea. Some of it falls from the sky directly on its destination. Some of it falls as snow on the highest mountain and may not find the ocean for centuries. Some falls in a desert and will not reach an audience until it has evaporated and fallen again.
But wherever you look, it is there. The Art. The Ocean, the rivers, the rain. Struggle though we might to see our projects through, we know there is a way. No obstacle is too great to stop the flow. That's why Business builds waterwheels and power generators. They profit from the flow.
Thanks for reading.
I've written before on the importance of gatekeepers like agents, producers, film festivals, distributors, publishers, etc. to filter the massive amounts of raw artistic product down to what is of some kind of professional quality - but as important as these bar-raisers to the artistic community are, it is equally important that there be a way to work around them.
Business and the Arts have always been siblings. Squabbling, fighting, dysfunctional, jealous, loving, horrible brothers and sisters. Neither can exist for long without the other. Even in an Artless world, Business would need artists to help package and promote their products. When the product is the Art, then the rivalry gets even more intense.
One of the biggest thorns in this relationship's side is how they deal with risk.
In Business risk is to be avoided. Sure, they pay lip service to the saying "Nothing ventured nothing gained" or "High Risk, High Reward" but at the corporate level there are stockholders to consider. Every business plan must include a risk management assessment. Sure, if an executive takes a big risk that pays off s/he is the hero of the day - but no one has ever been fired for playing it safe. Don't make waves, and you'll have a long and happy job in the corporate world. And there is nothing wrong with that.
In the Arts, bland is death. Doing what has been done before, in the same way that it has been done before guarantees you a short, not-so-profitable career. We all know Picasso, but who knows the artists who today paint just like Picasso? We all know Star Wars, but who made a lifetime's worth of money making the many derivative space operas of the late 70's/early 80's?
So, the Artist struggles hard to create a work that is unique in some way. This is of course, impossible, given the 100,000 years of human existence - chances are, whatever an artist might think of, it's been done before. Still, they apply their creativity, sweat, blood and tears to make something unique.
When they are done, they present it to their brother/sister, Business, to say, "Hey, let's get this out to an audience."
And Business's first question is, "What's it like?"
"It's like, what it is," says the Artist.
"Yes, it's very good, and quite unique, and I personally like it - but it's not like anything that's come before it."
"Yes," says the Artist, "Exactly! It's that great?!"
"No, it's not great. I have to present this to a committee and tell them what kind of budget we'll need and how much return we can expect."
"Yeah, so?"
"I need to know; is this the next Harry Potter? Is it the next Notebook? What is it?"
"It's the next new thing," says the Artist.
"I've got kids to put through college," says the Businessman. "I can't risk that on the next new thing. I need another version of the last successful thing."
And so it goes.
Stepping into this void are the Independents.
They say to the Artist, "I'm small. I'm light. I don't have a board of directors, just a few crazy investors who want to make the kind of high rewards that come with high risk. I can see your vision, and I have the means to present that to the world."
And the Artist says to the Independent, "Really? What have you done that I'd know?"
And so it goes.
Somehow from this chaos, the content - call it art, call it product, call it popcorn entertainment or literature - flows like water to the sea. Some of it falls from the sky directly on its destination. Some of it falls as snow on the highest mountain and may not find the ocean for centuries. Some falls in a desert and will not reach an audience until it has evaporated and fallen again.
But wherever you look, it is there. The Art. The Ocean, the rivers, the rain. Struggle though we might to see our projects through, we know there is a way. No obstacle is too great to stop the flow. That's why Business builds waterwheels and power generators. They profit from the flow.
Thanks for reading.
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