Not So Fast.

I really liked The Hurt Locker, but I’m not sure how I can explain the damn thing to you. The film has been called a lot of things: Epic War Journal, Suspenseful Thriller, Action Extravaganza, Insular Character Study; the list goes on. It’s a little bit of each of these, but not really all of any of it, which makes the thing so hard to categorize — but is also more than a little responsible for its success.

“War Movie” is probably the most obvious and misleading of its descriptors. Sure, almost all of it takes place during a war, and most of what we learn about the characters comes to light because of (and is heavily informed toward) a life of neverending battle on Whatever Constitutes The Front Lines These Days. But it’s not at all your typical Hollywood peacenik “My God, War is Hell” diatribe, which might have made for some quality post-Vietnam stories but can’t seem to find an audience with this century’s ever-jaded audiences.

A lot of critics have been calling this the first great film about the Iraq War, and I think that’s exactly because the film isn’t trying to be. At least, not exactly.

The Hurt Locker does something very simple: it seeks nothing more than to tell a story in the best way it can. Nothing gets in the way: not ideology, not inflated egos, not mass-market paranoia.

Wait, in Hollywood? (This is probably why it started as an arthouse film, only growing to wide release thanks to overwhelmingly positive word of mouth. Look, I don’t need to tell anyone that arthouse fare is generally better-written and more insightful than the average megaplex feature. I guess the reason this film throws these differences into such sharp relief is that, on first glance, it looks like it belongs at the megaplex, what with the explosions and expansive sets and even Guy Pearce. We all have such strong expectations of how a film like this typically behaves, and Locker so deftly subverts them within its first ten minutes that you can’t help but sit up and wonder, now more than ever, why more films can’t not just look but also feel so real.)

Locker explores a small number of characters in a wartime situation that happens to be Iraq. The rationale for the war is never explored; the soldiers’ place in an infamously contentious situation never outright questioned. There are no grandstanding judgments or righteous crusades, no Ultimate Antagonists without or within. Even the protagonist, who suffers from a kind of cowboy-action-hero syndrome, is shown as neither Perfect American Hero nor out-of-touch goofball. The film explores these characters and how they live with a situation that exists beyond their control or understanding. And it’s that deceptively simple framework that produces results far more interesting and surprising than anything you’re going to see in those other war movies that decided they were going to be “important” from day one.

It speaks to a larger idea of what’s supposed to be important versus what is important; the divide between intent and execution. If you’re creating something, there should never be such a divide – unless you’re creating some experimental wankery about artist vs. audience and all that, and if so, best of luck to you – but how do you ensure that intent is execution? It’s the same deceptively simple answer as before: make sure your intent is to tell your story the best you possibly can.

That may be unfairly reductive, especially when many have to deal with the whims of financiers, editors, deadlines, feeding one’s family, etc. But I see it more as an umbrella term with a lot of possible manifestations, like Keep Revising, Do Your Research, Let the Story Tell Itself. Don’t Discount Someone’s Feedback Because They Don’t Understand Your Big Ideas. Do Not Expect to Win an Oscar. And however many other rules you can think of.

And this extends to other walks of life too. If all you can think about at the office is getting that promotion, you’re not going to be able to put in the work necessary to earn it. If you’re killing yourself always trying to look flawless for the opposite sex, you won’t be able to loosen up and actually engage with anyone. (This last one, I am still working on.)

So the moral of the story is… well, I guess you could boil it down to one of many familiar idioms, in one way or another. Look Before You Leap. Don’t Count Your Eggs Before They’re Hatched. It’s All in the Follow-Through. You get the idea. But just spouting the idiom kind of takes away from all the work you put in to get to that point, and the understanding you reach from having achieved that knowledge on your own. Which, I guess, is an inverted way of saying what I already said. Maybe this wasn’t so hard to explain after all.

But how does it make you feel…?

So far, one of the most critically-praised albums released this year has been Dirty Projectors’ Bitte Orca. I like the album a lot, though I’m kind of surprised to see just how wide a range of accolades it’s received; for all its arhythmic constructions and obtuse lyrics, the thing seems well on its way to the kind of success enjoyed by more mainstream-friendly bands like Spoon and TV on the Radio. (2009 has also, of course, been The Year of Animal Collective, but that’s another story.)

I read a recent interview with Dirty Projectors frontman Dave Longstreth, hoping he would illuminate an album which I enjoy but have a hard time understanding. But maybe understanding isn’t really the point. When asked about the meaning behind the album’s title, Longstreth said:

“There’s not really a literal meaning to draw out of the phrase. But I like the way the words sound together. I feel like there’s some kind of sense just in the relation between the two. Sort of like, “please please me” or something. There’s a part that’s sort of gentle, and supple, and then there’s a part that’s barbed, and demanding. “Bitte” is a polite word, but it’s sharp.”

And later on, with reagrds to the same phrase used in the song “Useful Chamber”:

“Lyrically, it’s just the sense of the words become aural rather than literal. I guess I don’t think of it as dodging and weaving in terms of coherence, or you know, like as you were saying, emotional forthrightness.

“But yeah, one of the beautiful things about music is how simple and direct a line of communication it is. And I guess what I want to do, and what we want to do, is try to make music that feels good, and feels expressive– even as it does so in a new vocabulary.”

In other words, it’s not really about the words in the context of linguistics or grammar; it’s about the meaning behind those words, an almost subconscious association we make between sound and expression.

An emphasis on lyricism over syntax is nothing new in the world of art, of course; you could look at James Joyce’s Ulysses or Finnegans Wake or even half the nursery rhymes your mother sang to you at bedtime. Even in indie rock: reading an interview with The National frontman Matt Berninger, I was kind of disappointed to hear that they’d actively avoided specific interpretation while putting together one of my favorite albums, Alligator. (At the time I guess I wanted a back-pat for “cracking the code” or whatever. I’d like to think my listening habits have since changed.)

Even Edgar Allan Poe, a poet obsessed with details and structural minutae, has also long championed the meaning behind the words above all else. But Poe also admitted that discovering meaning was no easy task. Near the beginning of “Eleonora”, he writes:

“the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence — whether much that is glorious – whether all that is profound — does not spring from disease of thought — from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in awakening, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret.”

Now, I’ve always been pretty awful at poetry. Legendarily awful. And maybe it’s because, as Poe speculates, I’m not all that mad. (Though I do daydream a lot.) Though now I’m thinking it’s because I may just be too literal. And really, the media I’m writing for at the moment are too consumer-oriented to dip into the pool of subconscious; can you imagine if an episode of Lost was a stream-of-consciousness Paean To Summer, where all the actors shirked their lines and instead gesticulated, hummed and bellowed nonsense to each other for forty minutes?

Actually, I would totally watch that.

But I can’t be totally jaded about this, right? Surely there’s some example of modern filmmaking or television that expertly splits the difference between syntax and feeling; something less stilted than broad comedies but more accessible than The Tim & Eric Awesome Show. I mean, right? Maybe?

Watching out for myself

I haven’t posted in a while because – I swear! – I’ve been doing a lot of work towards getting my projects together, researching, rewriting, all that. I’ve also been trying to watch more films lately. I’ve seen very few movies over the last few years, because planning to spend 2 hours watching a movie often strikes me as a colossal waste of my free time, because think of how much other stuff I could be getting done in that time, right (even if not much actually ends up getting done, but it’s the thought that counts, I guess?). But I find it’s easier to commit to that time if I know I’m going to think critically about the film I’m about to watch, in terms of its script and story structure, and how I can use that information to better my own process.

In other words, I’ve been on the front end of the screenwriting process for so long that I need to regain a clearer view of the back end; it does no good to sit around and assume I know what studios are looking for if I don’t get out there and see the kinds of stories they do pick up, and which ones are successful.

(Granted, many scripts purchased or optioned never see the light of day, and those that do are often rewritten and mucked about with by studio, director, actor, test audience, etc. So it’s an imperfect science. But, like everything else, if you can’t predict the future you should at least try to make an educated guess.)

So I engaged a few recent films with my Critical Writerly Eye, hard-forged from constant peer review and structural study, to see what I could see. Results and SPOILERS! after the jump.

Slumdog Millionaire: Oscar®-Winner for Best Picture 2008! Wow! This movie must be amazing, right? I had high expectations, which were mostly filled out by Danny Boyle’s typically expert and unique direction, strong performances from many age groups of actors, and some really beautiful locations. It’s impossible not to feel for Jamal and his eternal quest for Latika, and there are some incredibly emotional moments in the film. But the resolution left me feeling a little flat, and it took me a while to figure out why.

For all its skill and flavor, the Slumdog story is missing one of the cardinal components of what constitutes a “structurally sound” script: its protagonist, Jamal, has no real flaw. Sure, the guy is a little nerdy and does have to resort to crime at a young age to survive, but none of this causes an internal struggle that must be overcome in order for Jamal to succeed in his quest (to win Latika and, to a lesser extent, to be able to support her financially). Even Jamal’s status as a Slumdog in caste-obsessed Mumbai takes the form of an external impediment to his success; we get no hint of internal turmoil when he strives and searches in settings and lifestyles far beyond his own. Jamal simply continues on his single-minded quest to win Latika and succeeds at the end, his personality remaining the same as it was at the story’s beginning (even, arguably, as it was a decade earlier in the character’s life).

Is this a bad thing? It may depend on your point of view. If I had brought this script to a peer review, I almost certainly would have been lambasted for such an omission (and would have been referred to several memorable protagonists who do have to overcome an inner obstacle over the course of their journey, like Lethal Weapon‘s near-suicidal Sgt. Riggs or As Good as it Gets‘s misanthropic Melvin Udall). But I’ve spoken with several writers about this and most seem strangely OK with it. Most of their reasoning has to do with it either being adapted from a book, or purposefully trying to feel like a modern fairy tale. I understand both of these points, but I’m not sure I agree with either one. Would Slumdog have been better and more interesting if Jamal had a deep flaw to overcome? Maybe. I personally find it hard to root for idealized characters, but your mileage may vary.

District B13: Watched this for research on Parkour and freewalking. A French film that went by with not a lot of fanfare in 05/06, it was a really enjoyable action flick with a fairly solid script and enough humor to keep the whole experience really enjoyable.

As noted, Parkour was a huge component, thanks in no small part to the presence of co-star David Belle, who actually helped create the Parkour movement in the late ’90s. His Parkour sequences are breathtaking to watch; you’re not likely to find this stuff anywhere else (though Casino Royale has a pretty good sequence in its own right). In fitting with the Parkour aesthetic, his movements aren’t flashy or aggressive (he’s typically running and escaping, not fighting or showing off), but they’re no less impressive for their ingenuity, proficiency and audacity. (The hour-long making-of doc on the DVD does reference Parkour, though I was hoping for more than a brief mention of one of the film’s most unique dimensions.)

Story-wise, there are a few ridiculous and inexplicable moments, sure, but for the most part it’s solid and even fits a few cool spins on old ideas here and there; the typical action tropes of “tacked-on love interest” and “bad guy gets his just desserts” do surface, but here too, a little innovation goes a long way. Even the clichéd “some problems can’t be solved with violence” message really fits – again, in no small part thanks to the philosophy behind Parkour. At any rate, I enjoyed the film a lot.

Terminator: Salvation: Woof. The less said about this, the better.

The Hangover: Absolutely hysterical. And as a broad, high-concept comedy, this is exactly the kind of film I stand to learn the most from. If there’s one thing the script does best, it’s the sheer volume of real jokes, packed into almost every line; and here I’ve been using entire scenes to build up to one punchline! Everyone in Hollywood has been amazed that a film with no bankable stars has made so much money. I’m not, really, and anyone who’s seen the film probably shouldn’t be: with such a funny script (finely acted by all involved), easily explained to Joe Public and more than able to be cut into a hilarious trailer, why wouldn’t droves of people want to see it? Some even twice, because they were too drunk to remember much of it the first time, appropriately enough?

As with most broad comedies, the bellylaughs do disguise some plot holes and character development, though it’s far more infrequent (and the quibbles more minor) than you’d expect. The gang’s visit to the Tyson residence doesn’t move the plot or their quest forward (especially glaring since the rest of the scenes do such a good job of this) – it only shows them, via security camera feed, that their missing buddy Doug was with them at that point in the night, which doesn’t really propel the story anywhere. And this is further complicated by a later discovery of photos of the night, which show the guys going off to Tyson’s after they put Doug to bed? I also would have loved for Heather Graham’s character to have evolved past the typical sweet-smiling, ever-understanding love interest typical in broad comedies like this. At least she’s a hooker. (Which is probably the first time I’ve ever used that phrase.)

Finally – and this might say more about me than it does the movie, but – in keeping with my focus on plot, structure, character, etc, I felt there was a lost opportunity in the character development of Phil (Bradley Cooper), so deftly introduced to us as he swindles his students out of money for his Vegas trip. Here’s another kind of misanthrope, who will nevertheless pull out all the stops for his best friend; I wanted to know more about this guy, especially when he says early on, and with very little irony in his voice, “I hate my life”. I saw this as the starting point for his character’s journey over the next debaucherous days; but, as he marshaled the search for Doug, kept his motley crew of groomsmen alive and motivated, and finally reached the wedding only to lovingly embrace his wife and son, I realized that journey never came. Maybe that “telling” line was poorly delivered or poorly interpreted by me; maybe his character scenes got cut (we’ll see when the DVD comes out). And maybe it’s just in my head: I brought this up to my friends as we left the theater, and they didn’t seem bothered. They actually liked that it wasn’t a Thing; that if his character did evolve, it happened beneath the surface. Maybe because not everything needs to be fully explained, or it would have detracted from the laughs, or it just wasn’t necessary. It bothered me, but again, there’s varying mileage.

***

So what did I learn? I think after all of this I came out with more questions than answers. When it comes to writing and story structure, do “rules” really count for anything? Am I already interpreting movies in a far different light from most other people? Am I paying too much attention to the plot to be able to forgive or enjoy the rest of the film? Is there an incorrect way to watch films, or a correct way to watch anything? Or should I, you know, sit back, shut up, and enjoy the ride?

I wish I knew.

The Geometry of Identity

I have this batshit theory that character traits may actually work across a multi-dimensional spectrum, and that formalizing such a spectrum may help us more easily understand and identify character type and… well, honestly I think it would help with a lot of things. It’s probably too complex for someone like me to be able to define, but I could at least get the ball rolling.

Imagine something like a color wheel, but with gradients of personality instead of hue. There’s basically an infinite amount of sets of axes that could be plotted around the center point (which I guess would symbolize the most balanced/boring person in existence), with each axis symbolizing one extreme versus its opposite (selfish vs. selfless, fearless vs. paranoid, etc). This is kind of headed in the right direction, but it seems too focused on defining traits as inherently “positive” or “negative” to feel very accurate or useful to me.

But anyway, just like the code E62802 defines a specific point on a color wheel, so could the name “Jack Sparrow” define a specific point on the personality wheel. If you can see the point at which their personality resides, you immediately discover a lot about them. Their opinions, ideals, how they would react to certain things. Or – more importantly, if you’re a creator – you could use the chart to get a sense of what needs to be shown to the audience, and what can remain a mystery.

So here’s a way-oversimplified mock-up:

It’s pretty arbitrary and comes nowhere close to describing the full spectrum of our personalities, but still, for example.

Let’s say we start watching a film. In the first scene, the protagonist gives some bum five bucks. Okay, the guy’s not too selfish. So if we’re following along on the wheel, we could black out some areas where we’re pretty sure his personality won’t fall:

(We don’t go all the way up to the midpoint, since a trait in the center can swing either way depending on the situation.)

In the next scene, a biker narrowly misses hitting him on a busy street. Our protagonist yells “Watch it, buddy”. Fairly normal behavior, sure, but not exactly lenient. So we can further amend our wheel:

The next scene is on the bus, where our protagonist strikes up a conversation with a stranger. “I just lost my job and can’t afford medication for my wife,” says the stranger. “With the economy this bad, I don’t know how I can hope to keep her healthy.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” says our protagonist, “something will turn up, you’ll see. No problem is insurmountable.”

Pretty damn optimistic, right? OK, we’re getting a good bead on this character now:

Finally our protagonist arrives at a nondescript old building. As he enters and prepares for something, we realize he’s at his job. He cleans himself up and heads into a dark room… where a bloody, broken man sits tied to a chair. Our protagonist sharpens a knife. Only shit, this guy is a TORTURER. And, we find out, he works for a shadowy right-wing group that has taken domestic terrorist watch into its own hands. As he approaches his quarry, we make the final big change to our chart:

Didn’t see that one coming, huh?

But it’s pretty much in line with what we’ve seen so far, and that’s the power of the whole thing. Once you have a good idea of the spot your character occupies on the chart, it becomes much easier to decide what to tell your audience, and when to tell it for maximum dramatic effect.

If limited stories (i.e. feature films) are about the protagonist overcoming a major character flaw, then open-ended ones (i.e. television series) are about slower character evolution. Your movie hero will (ideally) jump from one spot on the chart to another by the end of the film, while serial characters will move slowly along different axes as they encounter new situations. And all of this can be easily charted and predicted in similar ways to what we’ve just done.

The question is, I guess, how far do we take this methodology? How much can, or should, we reduce our personalities to geometric formulas and loci? And, someone who’s not me, please weigh in: does this idea even work in the first place?

This ain’t no pedestrian shit!

Sorry I’ve been ignoring the Blog lately. I’ve actually had some very productive days in the last two weeks, getting a lot done creatively (if not in other areas). I’ve had some great new script ideas and it’s been taking a lot of time to shape them, to figure out what works and what doesn’t. But it’s all been really energizing in that new-idea way. Sometimes when you get the momentum you just have go to with it, because who knows how long it’ll last?

I actually made a decision earlier this week to try to change my way of living. (Sounds pretty radical, I know, but hopefully it won’t turn my world upside-down right away.) Basically, I need to shift my focus more to the creative, to self-expression. I need to look at areas in my life more as how they would benefit me creatively than how they would benefit my social life or my bank account. Not that I’m going to quit my job, turn into a hippie and throw my TV out the window, but I do feel like a lot of aspects of my life are fairly devoid of creativity – and, in a few cases, actively retard any form of self-expression. So I want to do what I can to reverse that. It won’t be easy or immediate, but no permanent lifestyle change ever is.

(Weirdly enough, when it comes to changing aspects of your life, I think the slower the better: ten years ago I couldn’t have imagined exercising 2-4 days a week. Now, thanks to a slow immersion into that lifestyle, it’s weird if I don’t get that much exercise. And technically I should be exercising at least 5 days a week, so there’s still room for improvement; again, it’s the slow immersion that’s key.)

So it’s starting off relatively simply. I’m keeping a stack of notebooks around, and am trying to get into a habit of using them to record any flash of a good idea I have. Creativity can’t be controlled or predicted; so, if my mind is shooting out random ideas, I have to be ready to catch as many of them as I can. I figure one for names, one for plot points, one for funny stories, maybe a dream journal, and so on. Many, many creative types already do this, and I’ve known about the technique for a while, but I’ve shied away from it for so long because God, it’s so much more work… but actually, even more than that, my egotism has always convinced me that if Idea X, which occurs at let’s say 4:45 pm on Friday, is a truly good idea, of course I’ll keep it in the back of my mind until it comes time to fit it into a suitable story I’m writing, whether it’s 9 pm on Friday, or Sunday afternoon, or six months from now. Surely my brain will help me and hold onto Idea X for as long as I need it, right?

Well, that’s a laugh.

For me, part of being able to improve your craft is recognizing your faults. And it goes deeper than “I don’t know much about Science” or “I have trouble writing female characters” or whatever. It’s an embrace of the idea that You, Yourself, Are Not Perfect. You are not going to just remember every awesome detail or name you think up on a whim. Your first draft is not going to be flawless. Your grand ideas are not beyond criticism. Most of your “original” stories have, actually, already been told by someone else before you. None of this is a knock on your skills or your drive; it’s just an acknowledgment of our shared histories and our very human imperfections.

It’s the same in many other fields. Kobe Bryant didn’t get to his skill level without improving his weaknesses first. But for us to improve our own weaknesses, we have to be able to recognize them. And sometimes that can only be done through trying new things, a third-person perspective, or sheer, brutal honesty.

Anyway, keeping the notebooks around (or, if I’m traveling, the Notes application on my phone) is a good start. It’s admittedly a small step, but hopefully a serious first one on the road to a lifestyle that’s more attuned to (and a greater product of) my creativity. Maybe it’ll lead me to other, greater ways of harnessing my creative potential. Maybe someday, God forbid, I’ll even be that hippie wearing homemade clothes and painting the dog. At least that hippie will also be exercising 5 times a week.

There be Traps!

Having just finished a script a few weeks ago, I’m now kind of floating wild in the wind, looking for the next direction to take. The next big thing that requires my focus. I’ve been sketching out ideas for a couple new scripts – or, I guess, new ideas that I’m turning into script form, but could easily morph into a different format further down the line. Point is, I’m throwing a lot of ideas at the wall and seeing what sticks.

And in some ways this is my favorite part of the process. It’s just wild, untamed crazy stream-of-consciousness for the most part, where I fill pages of Word Documents with rambling speculation and false starts and conversations with myself. And as I do this more and more, I’m beginning to get a good grasp on what to write and what not to write. Yeah – as paradoxical as it sounds, even when you’re brainstorming and anything goes, there are still major things you should avoid. You wanna know what they are? Well, okay:

-Negativity. In sketching out my main character’s goals, I realized I’d set myself up for a challenging balancing act. And, in written conversation with myself, the next phrase I wrote was literally “Man! That is going to be so hard to pull off.” And those words just hung on the screen as the end of the thought. Where could I go from there? As I looked over the words I’d just typed, all I could think about was how hard it was going to be. But you can never overcome an obstacle if all you do is focus on the obstacle itself. I couldn’t type any further. I was at a mental roadblock. So… I backed up and deleted that sentence. And suddenly I could work again. As simplistic and reductive as it sounds, ignoring negativity was all I needed to start brainstorming again. I guess you could say that creativity is by nature inclusive, not exclusive; so putting some kind of negative value judgment on it won’t help you much at this stage. (I still don’t know how to pass that particular obstacle, but that’s ok; I have several other directions I can work in. The important thing is that the creative process continues.)

-Egotism. The story I’m working on is high school-centric, a coming-of-age story about a kid who enters high school with specific expectations only to discover he’s been pretty misinformed. (At least, that’s what I’m thinking right now.) And I’ve been making a lot of headway on the major characters, their desires, obstacles, the really important story points. But at one point a weird thought popped into my head: “This script is going to be my revenge on high school.” I really did not enjoy high school for several reasons – and, appropriately enough, a lot of the turmoil I went through then will probably pop up here or there in the script, at least on a subconscious level. But suddenly, revenge was first and foremost in my mind. How exactly was I going to do this? Was I going to target the system itself, or students, or cliques, or parents or… well, after a minute I realized I wasn’t helping things. If I’m focused on using my writing as some (pretty hollow) form of revenge, against whatever or whoever, I’m not helping the story. I’m not helping the characters, and I’m not helping the audience. In the end all I’m doing is… well, you know the title of this blog. The point is, write a story for the sake of the story! Don’t come at it trying to make a grand statement or exact revenge or make yourself look cool. In the best stories, the creator(s) should be invisible. Take your ego out of the equation and you’ve already taken a huge step.

The ego thing is actually tricky to balance. On the one hand, you have to trust yourself enough to put your ideas down, and you have to assume whatever story you create is going to be compelling enough to find an audience. You need self-confidence for this or you’ll never get past daydreaming. On the other hand, you also need to mistrust yourself enough to be able to take criticism and – gasp! – make changes to your work. But it’s not like anybody has an Ego Dial on their head that can be turned between Low, High and Off – so things can get complicated. For every writer screaming “Kill Your Darlings!”, there’s another successful guy admitting “I just write for myself”. I guess, if anything, that shows you there’s more than one path to success.

Anyway, my point is that it’s very easy to hinder your own creativity, so don’t do it! You’ll have enough people trying to do that eventually as it is. But that’s a topic for another time.