In response to my last post, Calee posted a comment how I explain my love for the Harry Potter books, given that so many people believe they "promote witchcraft."
To be blunt, I think many Christians have never been taught how to read a book. They can't see past the most obvious surface level to understand what a book is really about. And I think some Christians will be a bit embarrassed (if they bother to look) when the last Harry Potter book comes out and it becomes clear (for those who have eyes to see) that Ms. Rowling is in fact, writing a series of Christian books.
The further I have read in the books, the more I have come to recognize the deep Christian themes and beliefs underlying them. Themes and beliefs, by the way, that many in our secular, post-modern society would not agree with, were they to come across them anywhere than in a story: The reality and immutability of death. The fact that our choices have long-lasting consequences. The values of truth, faith and loyalty.
I am not the only one to see Christian themes written large throughout the Harry Potter books. Let me refer anyone interested to a fabulous essay which originally appeared (in 2002) in the journal of the NY C.S. Lewis Society, and which appears online here: Harry Potter and the Inklings: The Christian Meaning of The Chamber of Secrets by John Granger.
The essay is in fact, an excerpt (or perhaps a précis) from his book The Hidden Key to Harry Potter, which explores the topics of choice, change and symbolism (particularly Christian symbolism) in Harry Potter (the first four books only, given its publication date).
I find that those who criticize Harry have almost certainly not read him. So, frankly, I don't bother to listen to them.
I grew up reading British children's books. E. Nesbit, P.L. Travers, C.S Lewis, and the like. And what I learned from them (other than the apparent requirement for a children's author to use initials only -- a requirement which Ms. Rowling apparently also soaked in) was that magic is a wonderful door to unlock the imagination.
Most Christians today seem to be afraid of the God-given imagination. They run in fear from any book/movie/whatever that isn't grounded in rock-solid "reality"... and in so doing, they cleave to the material world and teach their kids inadvertently that "reality" is all there is. How sad.
Just wait. We'll all see: J.K. Rowling has said herself that, while she declines to discuss her personal beliefs (a very Scottish thing to do, I can say as the daughter of a Scot), by the time Book 7 comes out, her beliefs will be obvious to anyone able to read between the lines.
You don't believe me that Harry Potter is a Christian series? There's a way to find out: Pick them up and read them (esp. Books 2 and 4). Enjoy!
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Sunday, June 20, 2004
HARRY POTTER THROUGH THE EYES OF AN (UNREAD) CHILD
Following up on the discussion earlier this week (and thanks to all who contributed comments!) about Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (the movie, not the book)....
I had the high privilege of transporting six 9- and 10-year-olds on a one-hour car trip yesterday (Cory's birthday outing), and the movie came under discussion.
Four of the kids in the car had read the book. Two hadn't. But all six had seen the movie.
It became very clear in the ensuing discussion just what didn't work in the movie for those who aren't already familiar w/ the books.
--Everyone agreed that they wanted Lupin to tell Harry he had written the Marauder's Map. Some just thought it was too cool to ignore. Others were story-savvy enough to insist on its being necessary for the story.
--The kids who hadn't read the book didn't have a clue what the map meant, or why Lupin had it.
--They couldn't begin to unravel "Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs" (and they couldn't really understand what the other kids all explained -- perhaps 'cause the other kids were all explaining at the same time).
--They didn't understand why Lupin was a werewolf or, really, what a werewolf was.
--One thought Sirius was also a werewolf, because he also turned into a dog.
--They didn't know what Animagi were, or that Sirius was one. They had no clue how he turned into a dog.
--They were confused about Sirius breaking into Gryffindor. People said it happened, but they never understood how he did it (not knowing that Animagus clue).
--They didn't know why Sirius wanted to kill Harry. Then they didn't know why he didn't want to kill Harry.
--They didn't have a clue who Peter Pettigrew was, how he happened to be Scabbers, or what part he played in the story (there's that failure to credit the map, again). But they all agreed he looked creepy as a human.
--They sort of understood how the Expecto Patronum spell worked, but thought it just produced a shield. They didn't understand why Lupin produced a sort of moon, and they sure didn't understand where that glowing stag came from.
--In no way did they get that the stag represented Harry's father, and they were sort of confused about why Harry thought he'd seen his father casting the Patronus spell. (Okay, it is inherently confusing, I'll give them that.)
--They didn't have a clue who sent Harry the Firebolt.
--They really wanted to see more Quidditch (a sentiment shared by the kids who had read the book, and could quote every move used in every Quidditch game therein).
--One kid didn't have a clue who Fred and George Weasley were (okay, in my book, that's sloppiness on the kid's part -- they've been ID'd in the two prior movies, and the red hair should tell us something!).
I found it fascinating to see how much the kids who had read the books remembered, and how much they really understood about the deeper themes of the books. They totally got Harry's need to know his parents, why he cared about Sirius, etc. And (SPOILER WARNING -- Book 5) they were very considerate in making sure who had read book 5 before discussing Sirius's death.
It all ended up with everyone insisting that the two kids who hadn't read the books must do so immediately.
Good advice, that.
I had the high privilege of transporting six 9- and 10-year-olds on a one-hour car trip yesterday (Cory's birthday outing), and the movie came under discussion.
Four of the kids in the car had read the book. Two hadn't. But all six had seen the movie.
It became very clear in the ensuing discussion just what didn't work in the movie for those who aren't already familiar w/ the books.
--Everyone agreed that they wanted Lupin to tell Harry he had written the Marauder's Map. Some just thought it was too cool to ignore. Others were story-savvy enough to insist on its being necessary for the story.
--The kids who hadn't read the book didn't have a clue what the map meant, or why Lupin had it.
--They couldn't begin to unravel "Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs" (and they couldn't really understand what the other kids all explained -- perhaps 'cause the other kids were all explaining at the same time).
--They didn't understand why Lupin was a werewolf or, really, what a werewolf was.
--One thought Sirius was also a werewolf, because he also turned into a dog.
--They didn't know what Animagi were, or that Sirius was one. They had no clue how he turned into a dog.
--They were confused about Sirius breaking into Gryffindor. People said it happened, but they never understood how he did it (not knowing that Animagus clue).
--They didn't know why Sirius wanted to kill Harry. Then they didn't know why he didn't want to kill Harry.
--They didn't have a clue who Peter Pettigrew was, how he happened to be Scabbers, or what part he played in the story (there's that failure to credit the map, again). But they all agreed he looked creepy as a human.
--They sort of understood how the Expecto Patronum spell worked, but thought it just produced a shield. They didn't understand why Lupin produced a sort of moon, and they sure didn't understand where that glowing stag came from.
--In no way did they get that the stag represented Harry's father, and they were sort of confused about why Harry thought he'd seen his father casting the Patronus spell. (Okay, it is inherently confusing, I'll give them that.)
--They didn't have a clue who sent Harry the Firebolt.
--They really wanted to see more Quidditch (a sentiment shared by the kids who had read the book, and could quote every move used in every Quidditch game therein).
--One kid didn't have a clue who Fred and George Weasley were (okay, in my book, that's sloppiness on the kid's part -- they've been ID'd in the two prior movies, and the red hair should tell us something!).
I found it fascinating to see how much the kids who had read the books remembered, and how much they really understood about the deeper themes of the books. They totally got Harry's need to know his parents, why he cared about Sirius, etc. And (SPOILER WARNING -- Book 5) they were very considerate in making sure who had read book 5 before discussing Sirius's death.
It all ended up with everyone insisting that the two kids who hadn't read the books must do so immediately.
Good advice, that.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
BOOK THOUGHTS: THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHT-TIME
At the closing banquet of Act One in Washington, D.C. a couple of weeks ago, our keynote speaker Dana Gioia (chair of the NEA) commented that he considers that the purpose of the novel is to show us the contrast between a character's inner world and his/her outer world.
As a screenwriter, of course, I have very little recourse to the inner world of the character. We can only see what a character does (and sometimes what he feels). We don't have access to what he thinks.
So these contrasting worlds were very much on my mind when I read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon.
The plot of Curious Incident is fairly simple. In trying to figure out who killed a neighborhood dog, a boy uncovers his parents' infidelity, learns that the mother he had been told was dead is actually alive, and sets off to find her.
What makes the story worth reading is precisely that contrast between the inner and outer worlds. Because Christopher, the first-person protagonist of Curious Incident, is a teenage boy with autism.
(More precisely, I believe, he has Asperger's Syndrome, a variant of autism which combines normal-to-high IQs and language development with extremely limited social and communication skills.
I put the book on my reading list, in fact, because I read its connection to Asperger's Syndrome somewhere, and because I know a couple of children with the syndrome. In Cory's class is a boy whose older brother and sister, though originally admitted to our highly-academic-hard-to-get-into school, had to be pulled out because of an Asperger's diagnosis.
They could handle the work, no problem. But they needed to be in a school which taught them little things like, oh, how to tell from looking at someone's face that they're angry. A school where "chatting" is an academic subject.
I found this whole thing fascinating when talking to their mom, and so was attracted to this book. But everyone else discussing the book calls Christopher's problem in it "autism," so we'll stick with that for now.)
Christopher's world is unlike any you've ever been to, I guarantee. The voyage inside his mind is fascinating. He observes meticulously, yet understands little. And we, understanding what he does not, break with pain -- and howl with laughter simultaneously.
This is , of course, one of those books that should never be adapted for the screen. Its experience cannot be duplicated on screen, because it is so necessary to live inside the mind of someone who is so very different from you and me.
And yet, the rights have been sold (to David Heyman, producer of the Harry Potter movies). And the adaptation is underway (apparently by Steve Kloves, writer of the Harry Potter movies, writer/director of The Fabulous Baker Boys, for Steve to direct as well).
As a screenwriter, I found myself over and over trying to adapt the book in my mind, even on a first reading. How to show Christopher's inner mind?! Could it be done without voiceover? What could be done with POV shots? How often to veer into the mathematical world of Christopher's mind? And how? And do we actually go to his school and meet his teacher Siobhan, about whom we hear a lot, but whom we never really meet in the story?
Adapting this book would be a truly fascinating exercise, an exciting challenge for a screenwriter. I can see why Steve Kloves would want to step away from Harry Potter to take it on.
And I'd be interested to see what kind of writing exercises we could create off this book. Advanced writing exercises, to be sure!... Creation of a POV, learning the character's voice. We could have a lot of fun!
Will it work on screen? More or less, yes. The story of an autistic boy who leaves his routine to brave a train trip into London and actually accomplishes what he sets out to do is definitely movie material.
But will it provide the same experience as the book? No. There, it's doomed to fail. Yet another reason to READ rather than waiting for bestsellers to hit the screen.
Ultimately a book of bravery and hope, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time leaves us with a protagonist who can, as he himself states, do anything. And we agree with him. All as we know that no, it's not true, he can't. A wonderful paradox.
Worth the read. Even worth a second read. Definitely.
As a screenwriter, of course, I have very little recourse to the inner world of the character. We can only see what a character does (and sometimes what he feels). We don't have access to what he thinks.
So these contrasting worlds were very much on my mind when I read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon.
The plot of Curious Incident is fairly simple. In trying to figure out who killed a neighborhood dog, a boy uncovers his parents' infidelity, learns that the mother he had been told was dead is actually alive, and sets off to find her.
What makes the story worth reading is precisely that contrast between the inner and outer worlds. Because Christopher, the first-person protagonist of Curious Incident, is a teenage boy with autism.
(More precisely, I believe, he has Asperger's Syndrome, a variant of autism which combines normal-to-high IQs and language development with extremely limited social and communication skills.
I put the book on my reading list, in fact, because I read its connection to Asperger's Syndrome somewhere, and because I know a couple of children with the syndrome. In Cory's class is a boy whose older brother and sister, though originally admitted to our highly-academic-hard-to-get-into school, had to be pulled out because of an Asperger's diagnosis.
They could handle the work, no problem. But they needed to be in a school which taught them little things like, oh, how to tell from looking at someone's face that they're angry. A school where "chatting" is an academic subject.
I found this whole thing fascinating when talking to their mom, and so was attracted to this book. But everyone else discussing the book calls Christopher's problem in it "autism," so we'll stick with that for now.)
Christopher's world is unlike any you've ever been to, I guarantee. The voyage inside his mind is fascinating. He observes meticulously, yet understands little. And we, understanding what he does not, break with pain -- and howl with laughter simultaneously.
This is , of course, one of those books that should never be adapted for the screen. Its experience cannot be duplicated on screen, because it is so necessary to live inside the mind of someone who is so very different from you and me.
And yet, the rights have been sold (to David Heyman, producer of the Harry Potter movies). And the adaptation is underway (apparently by Steve Kloves, writer of the Harry Potter movies, writer/director of The Fabulous Baker Boys, for Steve to direct as well).
As a screenwriter, I found myself over and over trying to adapt the book in my mind, even on a first reading. How to show Christopher's inner mind?! Could it be done without voiceover? What could be done with POV shots? How often to veer into the mathematical world of Christopher's mind? And how? And do we actually go to his school and meet his teacher Siobhan, about whom we hear a lot, but whom we never really meet in the story?
Adapting this book would be a truly fascinating exercise, an exciting challenge for a screenwriter. I can see why Steve Kloves would want to step away from Harry Potter to take it on.
And I'd be interested to see what kind of writing exercises we could create off this book. Advanced writing exercises, to be sure!... Creation of a POV, learning the character's voice. We could have a lot of fun!
Will it work on screen? More or less, yes. The story of an autistic boy who leaves his routine to brave a train trip into London and actually accomplishes what he sets out to do is definitely movie material.
But will it provide the same experience as the book? No. There, it's doomed to fail. Yet another reason to READ rather than waiting for bestsellers to hit the screen.
Ultimately a book of bravery and hope, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time leaves us with a protagonist who can, as he himself states, do anything. And we agree with him. All as we know that no, it's not true, he can't. A wonderful paradox.
Worth the read. Even worth a second read. Definitely.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
MOVIE THOUGHTS: HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN
I have been a Harry Potter fan since I read the first book. The movie version of Prisoner of Azkaban finally makes me a bona fide HP movie fan as well.
You've all read the reviews, so I won't waste your time repeating (much!) what they say: The new look, with the desaturated colors. The rougher edges. The improved acting, especially on the part of the kids. (And should you not have read the books or seen the movie -- take this as a heavy SPOILER warning and stop reading now.)
All true. And masterfully done. Let me add a few thoughts that struck me during or right after the movie....
--Phenomenal visualization of the dementors' effect on people, with the weird "warping" of people's faces, etc. I especially liked the tiny feathers floating up from Sirius's mouth as the dementor started to suck out his soul.
--A brilliant performance by David Thewlis as Prof. Lupin. I had read the positive reviews and shrugged them off. But it just could be that his is one of the performances that affects how I read the books. (As you know if you've read earlier blogs, the only performance that really did that from the earlier movies was, surprisingly, Maggie Smith as Prof. McGonnigal.)
I was deeply moved by Thewlis's performance. I believed his transparency with Harry, I believed Harry would trust him. I believed him as a tortured werewolf. I'm so glad we will get to see him again.
--A terrific job keeping the Time-Turner sequence clear at the end. Very tricky plotting, potentially hard to follow, yet immaculately clear. (Although I would be interested in hearing from anyone who has seen the movies without having had the pleasure of reading the books: Did it make any sense to you? At all?)
--I feel, unfortunately, a rather lightweight performance from Michael Gambon as Prof. Dumbledore. Perhaps he was trying a tad too hard to make it "his own" upon inheriting it from Richard Harris? With Harris, I felt I truly was seeing a brilliant wizard, "the only one Voldemort ever feared," playing at being a doddering old man. With Gambon, I'm not seeing the hidden brilliance. Or the wisdom. Will he be up to the challenges coming in movie #5? Not sure.
--Whiplashing pacing and ruthless cutting of the story to fit it all in. I was almost out of breath! A very hard edit to do, and yet they seem to have gotten the salient points in. With so much PLOT to cover, I'm amazed they managed to have any breathing room at all! Yet there's little I found myself missing.
--Although I did very much miss Lupin's explanation of the Marauder's Map. Why didn't Harry ever ask how Lupin knew about the map? And I really wanted the explanation of "Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs" from Lupin. Maybe they'll get to it in the next movie? In any event, that was the one big thing I really, really found lacking.
--But I do have to give Alfonso Cuaron props for a truly great transition. Near the beginning of the movie, when Mr. Weasley warns Harry not to go looking for Sirius Black, Harry says "Why would I go looking for someone who wants to kill me?" End of scene.
And of all the things we could cut to off that line, we cut to:
Scabbers! None other than Peter Pettigrew himself! What a brilliant cut! I was jumping up and down in my seat hissing "Yesss!" (with Lee one seat over wondering what had gotten into me). Let him who has eyes to see, see! Brilliant.
I'm not going to tell you to see the movie. You've either already seen it, plan to see it, or have no intention of seeing it. Just thought I'd share my reactions. And I'd love to hear yours. (Especially, as I said, if you haven't read the books....) (And why haven't you, is my next question...)
You've all read the reviews, so I won't waste your time repeating (much!) what they say: The new look, with the desaturated colors. The rougher edges. The improved acting, especially on the part of the kids. (And should you not have read the books or seen the movie -- take this as a heavy SPOILER warning and stop reading now.)
All true. And masterfully done. Let me add a few thoughts that struck me during or right after the movie....
--Phenomenal visualization of the dementors' effect on people, with the weird "warping" of people's faces, etc. I especially liked the tiny feathers floating up from Sirius's mouth as the dementor started to suck out his soul.
--A brilliant performance by David Thewlis as Prof. Lupin. I had read the positive reviews and shrugged them off. But it just could be that his is one of the performances that affects how I read the books. (As you know if you've read earlier blogs, the only performance that really did that from the earlier movies was, surprisingly, Maggie Smith as Prof. McGonnigal.)
I was deeply moved by Thewlis's performance. I believed his transparency with Harry, I believed Harry would trust him. I believed him as a tortured werewolf. I'm so glad we will get to see him again.
--A terrific job keeping the Time-Turner sequence clear at the end. Very tricky plotting, potentially hard to follow, yet immaculately clear. (Although I would be interested in hearing from anyone who has seen the movies without having had the pleasure of reading the books: Did it make any sense to you? At all?)
--I feel, unfortunately, a rather lightweight performance from Michael Gambon as Prof. Dumbledore. Perhaps he was trying a tad too hard to make it "his own" upon inheriting it from Richard Harris? With Harris, I felt I truly was seeing a brilliant wizard, "the only one Voldemort ever feared," playing at being a doddering old man. With Gambon, I'm not seeing the hidden brilliance. Or the wisdom. Will he be up to the challenges coming in movie #5? Not sure.
--Whiplashing pacing and ruthless cutting of the story to fit it all in. I was almost out of breath! A very hard edit to do, and yet they seem to have gotten the salient points in. With so much PLOT to cover, I'm amazed they managed to have any breathing room at all! Yet there's little I found myself missing.
--Although I did very much miss Lupin's explanation of the Marauder's Map. Why didn't Harry ever ask how Lupin knew about the map? And I really wanted the explanation of "Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs" from Lupin. Maybe they'll get to it in the next movie? In any event, that was the one big thing I really, really found lacking.
--But I do have to give Alfonso Cuaron props for a truly great transition. Near the beginning of the movie, when Mr. Weasley warns Harry not to go looking for Sirius Black, Harry says "Why would I go looking for someone who wants to kill me?" End of scene.
And of all the things we could cut to off that line, we cut to:
Scabbers! None other than Peter Pettigrew himself! What a brilliant cut! I was jumping up and down in my seat hissing "Yesss!" (with Lee one seat over wondering what had gotten into me). Let him who has eyes to see, see! Brilliant.
I'm not going to tell you to see the movie. You've either already seen it, plan to see it, or have no intention of seeing it. Just thought I'd share my reactions. And I'd love to hear yours. (Especially, as I said, if you haven't read the books....) (And why haven't you, is my next question...)
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
THE POETRY OF SCREENWRITING
It's not a new thought that screenplays are more like poetry than like any other literary form. I believe I first saw that concept proposed in the Writers Guild journal some years ago, and it's popped up again from time to time.
The points of comparision generally drawn include:
(1) Both are structure-dependent. With certain forms of poetry, this is quite clear. If it's not 14 lines, iambic pentameter, and either of a couple of highly restricted rhyme schemes, it's simply not a sonnet. With screenplays, the structure is less obvious. But if it's not there, it may look like a screenplay in terms of format. But it isn't one.
(2) Both tend to be attempts to verbalize visual images. More so in screenplays, of course, where the visual is paramount. (Yes, we all remember great lines. But try watching a movie while doing something else, like you do when you're watching TV. You'll miss something important, guaranteed.)
(3) Both are restricted in length. Hard to remember the last 500 page poem I read. And any screenplay over (let's be generous) 129 pages is highly suspect. A novelist doesn't have these restrictions, can go on for over 1000 pages even. Poets and screenwriters don't have that option available.
Those are all interesting. But most people, if asked to define poetry, wouldn't talk about structure or length. They'd probably (remembering high school essays on sonnets and haiku and limericks) talk about meter. And definitely the concept of rhyme would come up.
So I began to think: If screenplays truly are like poetry, what is the equivalent of meter and rhyme?
The concept of meter isn't hard to transfer. It was right in my face, as I read in-progress scripts by my UCLA students. One student has an almost-one-location screenplay, where the passage of time becomes quite important. And in early drafts, it just wasn't working.
A nighttime scene would be followed by another nighttime scene in the same location (How do we know time has passed?) A very, very short scene would be followed by another very, very short scene, then by a 10-page scene, then by a 13-page scene. The whole rhythm of the script was off.
I haven't sat down and analyzed the defining features of a well-paced script. (Clearly much harder than defining iambic tetrameter!) But it's clear when you read one. And more clear when you read a badly paced script. As clear as when the meter is off in a poem or a song.
Rhyme was a bit trickier to suss out. What is the screenwriting equivalent of rhyme?
And then, as I was wrapping up teaching in D.C., I realized: Great set-ups and payoffs do the same thing for us as rhyme does in a poem or song. In fact, I'd say that rhyme is a version of set-up/payoff, just like the pattern of 3 (a priest, a rabbi and a minister...) in a joke. The satisfaction -- even the joy -- of the payoff is dependent on the presence and appropriateness of the set-ups.
Just an example. Here's the bridge of a terrifically-crafted song with great rhymes set up and paid off throughout (for those of you w/o young daughters, it's "A Whole New World" from The Little Mermaid by Howard Ashman and Alan Menken):
What would I give (a) if I could live (a)
Out of these waters? (b)
What would I pay (c) to spend a day (c)
Warm on the sand? (d)
Betcha on land (d) they understand (d)
Bet they don't reprimand (d) their daughters (b)
Bright young women (e), sick of swimmin' (e)
Ready to stand (d)....
Compare the interweaving -- and the satisfaction they produce -- with that of watching, say Back to the Future, with its impeccable set-ups and payoffs. And think about how sloppy songwriting (rhyming "them" with "him," "girl" with "world," etc.) doesn't produce that feeling. Same with bad screenwriting, with not enough thought given to set-ups and payoffs.
Anyway, I think this is cool!
The points of comparision generally drawn include:
(1) Both are structure-dependent. With certain forms of poetry, this is quite clear. If it's not 14 lines, iambic pentameter, and either of a couple of highly restricted rhyme schemes, it's simply not a sonnet. With screenplays, the structure is less obvious. But if it's not there, it may look like a screenplay in terms of format. But it isn't one.
(2) Both tend to be attempts to verbalize visual images. More so in screenplays, of course, where the visual is paramount. (Yes, we all remember great lines. But try watching a movie while doing something else, like you do when you're watching TV. You'll miss something important, guaranteed.)
(3) Both are restricted in length. Hard to remember the last 500 page poem I read. And any screenplay over (let's be generous) 129 pages is highly suspect. A novelist doesn't have these restrictions, can go on for over 1000 pages even. Poets and screenwriters don't have that option available.
Those are all interesting. But most people, if asked to define poetry, wouldn't talk about structure or length. They'd probably (remembering high school essays on sonnets and haiku and limericks) talk about meter. And definitely the concept of rhyme would come up.
So I began to think: If screenplays truly are like poetry, what is the equivalent of meter and rhyme?
The concept of meter isn't hard to transfer. It was right in my face, as I read in-progress scripts by my UCLA students. One student has an almost-one-location screenplay, where the passage of time becomes quite important. And in early drafts, it just wasn't working.
A nighttime scene would be followed by another nighttime scene in the same location (How do we know time has passed?) A very, very short scene would be followed by another very, very short scene, then by a 10-page scene, then by a 13-page scene. The whole rhythm of the script was off.
I haven't sat down and analyzed the defining features of a well-paced script. (Clearly much harder than defining iambic tetrameter!) But it's clear when you read one. And more clear when you read a badly paced script. As clear as when the meter is off in a poem or a song.
Rhyme was a bit trickier to suss out. What is the screenwriting equivalent of rhyme?
And then, as I was wrapping up teaching in D.C., I realized: Great set-ups and payoffs do the same thing for us as rhyme does in a poem or song. In fact, I'd say that rhyme is a version of set-up/payoff, just like the pattern of 3 (a priest, a rabbi and a minister...) in a joke. The satisfaction -- even the joy -- of the payoff is dependent on the presence and appropriateness of the set-ups.
Just an example. Here's the bridge of a terrifically-crafted song with great rhymes set up and paid off throughout (for those of you w/o young daughters, it's "A Whole New World" from The Little Mermaid by Howard Ashman and Alan Menken):
What would I give (a) if I could live (a)
Out of these waters? (b)
What would I pay (c) to spend a day (c)
Warm on the sand? (d)
Betcha on land (d) they understand (d)
Bet they don't reprimand (d) their daughters (b)
Bright young women (e), sick of swimmin' (e)
Ready to stand (d)....
Compare the interweaving -- and the satisfaction they produce -- with that of watching, say Back to the Future, with its impeccable set-ups and payoffs. And think about how sloppy songwriting (rhyming "them" with "him," "girl" with "world," etc.) doesn't produce that feeling. Same with bad screenwriting, with not enough thought given to set-ups and payoffs.
Anyway, I think this is cool!
Friday, June 11, 2004
BOOK THOUGHTS: THE MAILROOM
There are lot of "Hollywood business" books out there. But so many of them are written either as let-me-tell-the-story-that-puts-me-in-the-best-light-before-anyone-else-tells-it or as bitter screeds ranting about what bastards everyone else is, it's hard to get much out of them.
The Mailroom: Hollywood History from the Bottom Up by David Rensin is a different animal altogether.
Unlike the highly edited Hollywood history books out there, "The Mailroom" is an oral history, quotes from people who lived it. Often -- and this gets fun at times -- the quotes contradict each other. We hear the "true" story of various incidents (e.g., David Geffen's lying on his resume about his education, and then covering it up when discovered) from different points of view, and not everyone agrees on what happened.
"The Mailroom" talks about the humiliation, the manipulation, the flagrant ass-kissing, and, above all, the ambition that fuels the lowliest jobs in Hollywood (yet those with the highest potential payoff): The agent trainee mailroom jobs in the major talent agencies.
The book starts in the 1930s, with remembrances from those (very old now!) who went through the original William Morris mailroom in New York. It traces the evolution of the industry, the agency wars, the rise and fall of Michael Ovitz -- all from the point of view of the lowest man (and later, woman) on the totem pole. And a fascinating journey it is.
The nastiness, the I-will-do-anything-I-mean-ANYTHING attitude that fuels the successful mainroom alums is sometimes hard to believe -- and yet, not that hard to believe. The truth they tell about their bosses, also hard (and not hard) to believe.
We hear from Ron Meyer, Sandy Gallin, David Geffen, Jeremy Zimmer, Doc O'Connor, Bernie Brillstein, Kevin Misher, Bryan Lourd and dozens of other players in the biz. We get a real sense of the personality differences between the major agencies -- the old-fashioned (not a good thing!) gentlemanliness behind William Morris, the cutthroat ambition behind CAA, the knives-sharpened infighting at ICM...
Also -- fun for me -- was reading the words of people I actually know. One was the ever gracious Sam Haskell at William Morris (and a member of our church). Another was Cory's best friend's dad (who carefully said nothing compromising whatsoever!).
If you want to understand Hollywood, read this book.
The Mailroom: Hollywood History from the Bottom Up by David Rensin is a different animal altogether.
Unlike the highly edited Hollywood history books out there, "The Mailroom" is an oral history, quotes from people who lived it. Often -- and this gets fun at times -- the quotes contradict each other. We hear the "true" story of various incidents (e.g., David Geffen's lying on his resume about his education, and then covering it up when discovered) from different points of view, and not everyone agrees on what happened.
"The Mailroom" talks about the humiliation, the manipulation, the flagrant ass-kissing, and, above all, the ambition that fuels the lowliest jobs in Hollywood (yet those with the highest potential payoff): The agent trainee mailroom jobs in the major talent agencies.
The book starts in the 1930s, with remembrances from those (very old now!) who went through the original William Morris mailroom in New York. It traces the evolution of the industry, the agency wars, the rise and fall of Michael Ovitz -- all from the point of view of the lowest man (and later, woman) on the totem pole. And a fascinating journey it is.
The nastiness, the I-will-do-anything-I-mean-ANYTHING attitude that fuels the successful mainroom alums is sometimes hard to believe -- and yet, not that hard to believe. The truth they tell about their bosses, also hard (and not hard) to believe.
We hear from Ron Meyer, Sandy Gallin, David Geffen, Jeremy Zimmer, Doc O'Connor, Bernie Brillstein, Kevin Misher, Bryan Lourd and dozens of other players in the biz. We get a real sense of the personality differences between the major agencies -- the old-fashioned (not a good thing!) gentlemanliness behind William Morris, the cutthroat ambition behind CAA, the knives-sharpened infighting at ICM...
Also -- fun for me -- was reading the words of people I actually know. One was the ever gracious Sam Haskell at William Morris (and a member of our church). Another was Cory's best friend's dad (who carefully said nothing compromising whatsoever!).
If you want to understand Hollywood, read this book.
Monday, June 07, 2004
HOME FROM D.C.
Well, I'm back from my four days in Washington, D.C. And I didn't see a single cicada.
(Cory's actually a bit disappointed about that. Every night he'd ask if I'd seen any. I think he wanted me to bring one home.)
The D.C. class of Act One was pretty strong. Some bright folks there, though none of them yet real screenwriters. They seemed to form a sort of competition with the Chicago 2002 class (possibly because a lot of instructors talked up what a great class Chicago was)... We'll see how they live up to the challenge, but I think we'll see some good things from this class.
I did discourage some of them a bit during our Career Strategies seminar, when I told them they had to move to L.A. to begin a screenwriting career. Some distraught reactions in the room at that. But several are already thinking of making the move.
It was very weird traveling on my own -- Lee stayed behind to schlepp the kids to all their activities. I really don't like traveling alone. I get bored.
Anyway, I'm back, glad to have gone but glad to be home. And now I can start up blogging again. Thanks for waiting!
(Cory's actually a bit disappointed about that. Every night he'd ask if I'd seen any. I think he wanted me to bring one home.)
The D.C. class of Act One was pretty strong. Some bright folks there, though none of them yet real screenwriters. They seemed to form a sort of competition with the Chicago 2002 class (possibly because a lot of instructors talked up what a great class Chicago was)... We'll see how they live up to the challenge, but I think we'll see some good things from this class.
I did discourage some of them a bit during our Career Strategies seminar, when I told them they had to move to L.A. to begin a screenwriting career. Some distraught reactions in the room at that. But several are already thinking of making the move.
It was very weird traveling on my own -- Lee stayed behind to schlepp the kids to all their activities. I really don't like traveling alone. I get bored.
Anyway, I'm back, glad to have gone but glad to be home. And now I can start up blogging again. Thanks for waiting!
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
OFF TO D.C.... AGAIN
My blogging may be a tad light for a couple of days. I'm off to Washington, D.C. (again) with Act One.
This time I'll be helping out on a "Career Strategies" panel. (The main career strategy for a would-be screenwriter living in D.C. or other points east: Move to L.A. As our agent says, "You can have a screenwriting career outside L.A., but you can't start a screenwriting career outside L.A.")
I'll be attending the Closing Banquet, with the guest speaker Dana Gioia, the head of the National Endowment of the Arts.
And the day after the Closing Banquet, I'll be teaching a seminar on a subject no one ever teaches: Writing scene description (focusing on transitions, how to use camera directions, and how to write action scenes). It's a bit weird to teach after the program is "officially" over -- I don't know whether I'm dessert or leftovers!
Other than that, I'll spend most of my time cooped up in my hotel room, trying to get some writing done. And calling in instructions to poor Lee, who is stuck back in L.A. with the kids, packing backpacks, taking Sabrina to her preschool reunion, going to Cory's "portfolio party" (where he shows off all the work he's done this semester), taking Sabrina to her end-of-the-year Brownies party, and lugging them both to the summer kickoff party of Premise, our industry prayer group. All things I wish I could go to.
Sigh. Oh well, all I ask is no cicadas. That's not too much to ask, is it?
This time I'll be helping out on a "Career Strategies" panel. (The main career strategy for a would-be screenwriter living in D.C. or other points east: Move to L.A. As our agent says, "You can have a screenwriting career outside L.A., but you can't start a screenwriting career outside L.A.")
I'll be attending the Closing Banquet, with the guest speaker Dana Gioia, the head of the National Endowment of the Arts.
And the day after the Closing Banquet, I'll be teaching a seminar on a subject no one ever teaches: Writing scene description (focusing on transitions, how to use camera directions, and how to write action scenes). It's a bit weird to teach after the program is "officially" over -- I don't know whether I'm dessert or leftovers!
Other than that, I'll spend most of my time cooped up in my hotel room, trying to get some writing done. And calling in instructions to poor Lee, who is stuck back in L.A. with the kids, packing backpacks, taking Sabrina to her preschool reunion, going to Cory's "portfolio party" (where he shows off all the work he's done this semester), taking Sabrina to her end-of-the-year Brownies party, and lugging them both to the summer kickoff party of Premise, our industry prayer group. All things I wish I could go to.
Sigh. Oh well, all I ask is no cicadas. That's not too much to ask, is it?
MOVIE THOUGHTS: SHREK 2
I am one of the few people I know who wasn't a huge fan of the original Shrek. It's not that I didn't enjoy it -- I enjoyed it immensely. But I had a problem with the ending.
Clever though it was, the ending seemed to say to me that beautiful people (e.g., Princess Fiona) can't be with ugly people (i.e., Shrek). A beautiful person has to be uglified to be with an ugly person. Like must marry like. Really, an expression of bigotry.
I strongly doubt, in this P.C. age, that that's what the filmmakers intended. But that's how the ending came across to me, leaving the first movie on a very sour note.
I'm happy to say that Shrek 2 avoids that pitfall, resulting in a delightful 2 hours. It's now quite clear that Fiona chooses to be an ogre, and that Shrek himself would rather stay an ogre even when he has the opportunity to be the handsome stud that most people would prefer. A much healthier message (although, one suspects, not one that most of the people associated with the film would live out in real life).
What I suspect from the conflicting messages in these two movies is that no one really gave any thought whatsoever to what message they were sending. They just wanted to make a clever movie.
And a very clever movie they have made with Shrek 2. In the first movie, they milked the world of fairy tales, and took a slam at Disneyland (echoing, of course, the deep hostility between Disney and DreamWorks Animation). This time, it's Beverly Hills that gets the satire -- and it's very aptly done, as Lee and I (who lived in Beverly Hills for 4 years when we were first married) can attest.
I'm not going to run down the plot because chances are, you've already seen it (given the record-breaking box office these last two weeks) or are about to. But do be on the watch for my favorite background moment: When the "Farbucks" coffee house on the main drag of Far Far Away is destroyed, look carefully to see where all the inhabitants run. Priceless!
What I find interesting is what a great character they have created in Shrek. (And props to the author of the original picture book, William Steig, but DreamWorks has taken the character way beyond what he did!)
With Shrek 2, they've managed to get a full movie out of the simple premise: Shrek and Fiona go home to meet her parents. It takes a terrific central character and a fully-realized world to make that work without a lot of painful stretching.
And the character of Shrek is so rich, I can think of several sequels without even trying: Shrek and Fiona have kids (and what if the kids take after her side of the family and come out human rather than ogres?). Fiona's dad dies or abdicates, and Fiona takes the throne, with Shrek becoming Prince Consort (and longing for his old hut in the swamp instead). And we could just keep on going -- there are a lot of great story ideas to be mined from this character.
So kudos, DreamWorks -- a terrific movie (better than the first, I think, both in message and in sheer enjoyability). And even better: A real, honest-to-goodness franchise that won't have to squeak out its sequels painfully. We want to know what happens to Shrek and Fiona -- and when was the last time you left a movie wanting more in that way?
Good work. Go see it. Or even see it again (I think this one is going to be satisfying the 2nd time around).
Clever though it was, the ending seemed to say to me that beautiful people (e.g., Princess Fiona) can't be with ugly people (i.e., Shrek). A beautiful person has to be uglified to be with an ugly person. Like must marry like. Really, an expression of bigotry.
I strongly doubt, in this P.C. age, that that's what the filmmakers intended. But that's how the ending came across to me, leaving the first movie on a very sour note.
I'm happy to say that Shrek 2 avoids that pitfall, resulting in a delightful 2 hours. It's now quite clear that Fiona chooses to be an ogre, and that Shrek himself would rather stay an ogre even when he has the opportunity to be the handsome stud that most people would prefer. A much healthier message (although, one suspects, not one that most of the people associated with the film would live out in real life).
What I suspect from the conflicting messages in these two movies is that no one really gave any thought whatsoever to what message they were sending. They just wanted to make a clever movie.
And a very clever movie they have made with Shrek 2. In the first movie, they milked the world of fairy tales, and took a slam at Disneyland (echoing, of course, the deep hostility between Disney and DreamWorks Animation). This time, it's Beverly Hills that gets the satire -- and it's very aptly done, as Lee and I (who lived in Beverly Hills for 4 years when we were first married) can attest.
I'm not going to run down the plot because chances are, you've already seen it (given the record-breaking box office these last two weeks) or are about to. But do be on the watch for my favorite background moment: When the "Farbucks" coffee house on the main drag of Far Far Away is destroyed, look carefully to see where all the inhabitants run. Priceless!
What I find interesting is what a great character they have created in Shrek. (And props to the author of the original picture book, William Steig, but DreamWorks has taken the character way beyond what he did!)
With Shrek 2, they've managed to get a full movie out of the simple premise: Shrek and Fiona go home to meet her parents. It takes a terrific central character and a fully-realized world to make that work without a lot of painful stretching.
And the character of Shrek is so rich, I can think of several sequels without even trying: Shrek and Fiona have kids (and what if the kids take after her side of the family and come out human rather than ogres?). Fiona's dad dies or abdicates, and Fiona takes the throne, with Shrek becoming Prince Consort (and longing for his old hut in the swamp instead). And we could just keep on going -- there are a lot of great story ideas to be mined from this character.
So kudos, DreamWorks -- a terrific movie (better than the first, I think, both in message and in sheer enjoyability). And even better: A real, honest-to-goodness franchise that won't have to squeak out its sequels painfully. We want to know what happens to Shrek and Fiona -- and when was the last time you left a movie wanting more in that way?
Good work. Go see it. Or even see it again (I think this one is going to be satisfying the 2nd time around).
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