Sunday, July 27, 2003
Lesson 18: The Smoking Fishbowl
It’s a cliché of storytelling that if you put a gun in your story in the first act, it had darned well better go off by your third act. Writer Stephen King joked that whenever he got lost in a story HE was writing, he just have one of his characters pull out a gun and make something happen.
But let’s say you’re not writing a story or a script that is, well, gun-friendly. Take the movie DARLING, directed by the late John Schlesinger, written by Frederick Raphael. DARLING, set smack in the middle of the swinging 60s in London, is the story of a narcissistic, but utterly compelling, fashion model, played by the luminous Julie Christie. Christie is a woman on the make, full of conflicting appetites. She wants to be a star, but she also wants a boyfriend who will spoil her and show her the good life. She wants to be a good person—but she also wants what she wants when she wants it.
And throughout her journey, which spirals up and down, through various places and people, she carries with her a fishbowl full of fish. She doesn’t name the fish, or even really refer much to them—but the bowl is much in evidence. When Christie moves in with t.v. personality Dirk Bogarde, the fish in the fishbowl represent their uneasy domesticity. Later on, when Christie is in thrall to the manipulative, perverse Laurence Harvey, they represent a kind of fragile normalcy. Finally, when they are gone (and you’ll have to rent the movie to find out how they go), they symbolize Christie’s rock bottom.
Writers often look for new characters and new settings to underscore the things they are trying to say, but sometimes you can find your answer at the bottom of a fishbowl. In a more sentimental movie, Christie’s character would have had a dog or a cat, but the writer knew that Christie’s flighty model wouldn’t have been home often enough to be a responsible pet owner. Nonetheless, the fishbowl planted in the first act has clearly exploded by the story’s end, along with Christie’s expectations about her life.
Do this with you own work: ask yourself what physical symbol in your story could work as well as DARLING’s fishbowl did? Ten extra points for people who don’t immediately decide to use a puppy.
It’s a cliché of storytelling that if you put a gun in your story in the first act, it had darned well better go off by your third act. Writer Stephen King joked that whenever he got lost in a story HE was writing, he just have one of his characters pull out a gun and make something happen.
But let’s say you’re not writing a story or a script that is, well, gun-friendly. Take the movie DARLING, directed by the late John Schlesinger, written by Frederick Raphael. DARLING, set smack in the middle of the swinging 60s in London, is the story of a narcissistic, but utterly compelling, fashion model, played by the luminous Julie Christie. Christie is a woman on the make, full of conflicting appetites. She wants to be a star, but she also wants a boyfriend who will spoil her and show her the good life. She wants to be a good person—but she also wants what she wants when she wants it.
And throughout her journey, which spirals up and down, through various places and people, she carries with her a fishbowl full of fish. She doesn’t name the fish, or even really refer much to them—but the bowl is much in evidence. When Christie moves in with t.v. personality Dirk Bogarde, the fish in the fishbowl represent their uneasy domesticity. Later on, when Christie is in thrall to the manipulative, perverse Laurence Harvey, they represent a kind of fragile normalcy. Finally, when they are gone (and you’ll have to rent the movie to find out how they go), they symbolize Christie’s rock bottom.
Writers often look for new characters and new settings to underscore the things they are trying to say, but sometimes you can find your answer at the bottom of a fishbowl. In a more sentimental movie, Christie’s character would have had a dog or a cat, but the writer knew that Christie’s flighty model wouldn’t have been home often enough to be a responsible pet owner. Nonetheless, the fishbowl planted in the first act has clearly exploded by the story’s end, along with Christie’s expectations about her life.
Do this with you own work: ask yourself what physical symbol in your story could work as well as DARLING’s fishbowl did? Ten extra points for people who don’t immediately decide to use a puppy.
Friday, July 25, 2003
Lesson 17: Tone
In French filmmaker Catherine Breillat’s film ROMANCE, a young female teacher who lives with a male model suddenly confronts a sex drought. The model tells the teacher that he’s just not interested in sex anymore. Sorry. Nothing personal. He just always loses interest after three months. Love him or leave him.
The female teacher tells us—and tells us—and tells us—that she loves the model above all others, wants a baby only with him. But she cannot do without sex, and the majority of the film graphically treats her search for sex with a variety of male partners, from a sexy encounter with a stranger to an elaborate and yet dull encounter with her S&M-oriented boss.
There is much that is daring about this film, and much to admire. But the film’s tone—flat, sad, sterile---never allows us to connect with any of the characters. There are lots of ways in which this film pushes us away, from the lighting, to the monotone delivery of most of the actors. (You know you’re in trouble when the most lively performance is given by a real live porn star—albeit a handsome porn star legendary for his onscreen enthusiasm.) There’s a miserable feeling to this movie, and while many movies about sex have an undeniable melancholy about them, ROMANCE just goes straight to dreary and stays there, despite the attractive and bold actress, despite the shocking content. It alienates its audience, so even though the script is sprinkled with provocative ideas about men and women, in the end, we just don’t care. It’s a disconnect. The tone separates us from the content, and therefore the movie separates itself from the audience.
What’s the tone of YOUR script? If your script had a theme song, what would it be? Is it where you want it? Did you decide to write a comedy, but now notice, after 50 pages, that it is joke-free? This is where you get to get bold. Give your script to a reader who will tell you the truth. And: this is important. Don’t tell your reader what genre your script is. Let him or her tell you. That’s one surefire way to make sure that you’re on track. And if you're not, ask yourself if this is really the kind of movie that you want to write...or go back to the drawing board.
In French filmmaker Catherine Breillat’s film ROMANCE, a young female teacher who lives with a male model suddenly confronts a sex drought. The model tells the teacher that he’s just not interested in sex anymore. Sorry. Nothing personal. He just always loses interest after three months. Love him or leave him.
The female teacher tells us—and tells us—and tells us—that she loves the model above all others, wants a baby only with him. But she cannot do without sex, and the majority of the film graphically treats her search for sex with a variety of male partners, from a sexy encounter with a stranger to an elaborate and yet dull encounter with her S&M-oriented boss.
There is much that is daring about this film, and much to admire. But the film’s tone—flat, sad, sterile---never allows us to connect with any of the characters. There are lots of ways in which this film pushes us away, from the lighting, to the monotone delivery of most of the actors. (You know you’re in trouble when the most lively performance is given by a real live porn star—albeit a handsome porn star legendary for his onscreen enthusiasm.) There’s a miserable feeling to this movie, and while many movies about sex have an undeniable melancholy about them, ROMANCE just goes straight to dreary and stays there, despite the attractive and bold actress, despite the shocking content. It alienates its audience, so even though the script is sprinkled with provocative ideas about men and women, in the end, we just don’t care. It’s a disconnect. The tone separates us from the content, and therefore the movie separates itself from the audience.
What’s the tone of YOUR script? If your script had a theme song, what would it be? Is it where you want it? Did you decide to write a comedy, but now notice, after 50 pages, that it is joke-free? This is where you get to get bold. Give your script to a reader who will tell you the truth. And: this is important. Don’t tell your reader what genre your script is. Let him or her tell you. That’s one surefire way to make sure that you’re on track. And if you're not, ask yourself if this is really the kind of movie that you want to write...or go back to the drawing board.
