Archive for the ‘Voice’ Category
Wednesday, April 8th, 20092009-04-08T14:37:00Zl, F jS, Y
About a week or 10 days ago, I found the Robotard 8000 online. At first, I thought it was a joke. But the reviews of this script are by some pretty well known people. The site streaked around the intertubes with comments like – Have you SEEN this? Is this for real? ROFL what is this??
Is it a hoax? Is it a stunt? Is this by some unknown writer from Nebraska, desperate for attention? And if so – is this a genius move or is it the move of a, well, robotard?
I am told that this script is actually written by an A-lister associated with Will Ferrell. I have also been told this script was written by a collective of A-listers. I don’t think anybody knows for sure but I’ll tell you this – the script is hilarious. Not the most brilliant script I’ve ever read but what I like about it is that it is totally in keeping with the title of the script – BALLS OUT. Any script that starts with “fade the f*ck in” has my attention. The script is playful and ridiculous and offensive. And it’s a quick, funny read.
Publicity stunt by a collective of A-listers or a hoax, you really should read the script for a sense of what “having fun on the page” looks like. The premise may not be the most original, but it’s evident on page one and every page thereafter. The action lines are pithy, yes there are a few typos here and there, but it moves quickly and it’s just so entertaining that you can’t put it down. I read the first 30 pages while I was supposed to be doing something else. I just couldn’t stop.
And that, Wavers, is how you want people to feel about your script. They just can’t put it down.
So for a quick, fun, totally offensive read, stop by the Robotard 8000 and check out the script. The loglines on the very last page are the comedy topper of toppers.
Saturday, January 3rd, 20092009-01-03T18:03:00Zl, F jS, Y
The other day I took a meeting at the legendary Beverly Hills Hotel. In the Polo Lounge, to be exact. The type of place I used to frequent in my past (married) life. All white gloves, caps, red carpets and deferential greetings. It’s not that the food at a place such is this really is that much better – some of my favorite eateries in San Francisco and Los Angeles are in the funky neighborhoods – no, it’s the service. The unmitigated, all out attentiveness. That’s what you have to pay more for and that’s what you get at high end establishments. And you know what? It’s pretty darn nice to be treated as though you are important and your needs and comfort matter.
That’s how I felt when the Mini-W and I saw THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON at the Arclight Cinema in Hollywood yesterday. The movie clocks in at something like two hours and 45 minutes but for us, it was two hours and 45 minutes of white glove, tip capping, door opening “good morning, ma’am.” Every detail of the movie was designed for your viewing pleasure and satisfaction. From the clever button CGI Paramount logo at the beginning, to the lush soundtrack, gorgeous set design with fastidious period detail, to the exacting makeup and beautiful cinematography to the stellar acting, resonant theme and satisfying ending.
Now, when you’re writing a script and if you should get so lucky as to sell it and if you should be so spectacularly fortunate to see it produced, the production values and budget are totally out of your hands. But you want to write a script that is so fantastic that the producers of the subsequent movie are so passionate about it that there is a beautiful collaboration in bringing your story to life. But the most wonderful production values in the world cannot elevate a hollow story. So the lowest paid, least glamorous, generally unknown writer of a movie really does play the most important part. Because without the heart and skill you pour onto your pages, nothing else really matters.
Most aspiring screenwriters think they have to please an agent or manager with their writing. And they do. But you want to write a script that not only gets an agent or manager excited, but also gets a production company excited as well. And not just one guy at the production company but several. A great number of people have to get on board in order to push your project forward. That any movie ever gets produced is a miracle. When that movie is good, it is a major miracle. When it is great – well, that’s some kind of magic.
Your script has to generate a viral excitement. No matter what the budget is, you are writing something that needs to fuel the passion of a cinematographer to do her best work, for a director to get excited with his or her vision for the movie, for a set designer to pull out the stops, for costume designers, makeup artists and grips to do their best work. Because when everybody is passionate about your script, when they really GET IT and LOVE IT, then movie magic can happen.
The amount of collaboration on a movie is staggering. If you’ve ever visited the set of a major motion picture, you know that it takes a small city to make a movie. The number of people on a set is absolutely mind-blowing to me. Every time. I don’t get over my awe.
A good friend of mine who has worked in production for over 20 years now likens film production to launching a small, highly organized army for an offensive. Every single day. For weeks. Walkie talkies buzz, people ride by on bicycles, trucks pull in and out loaded with lighting and equipment, assistants scurry, stars rehearse their lines, extras await direction, caterers provide a never-ending supply of hot food, directors sit behind the camera, brows furrowed, having long conversations with producers and the DP over this or that scene or shot. Booms raise and lower and huge cables snake everywhere. It is another day at work for many, but to me, it is mindboggling how this organized chaos coalesces into a movie.
Everyone is working on making your story come to life. They’re happy for the work and happy for the opportunity to have a credit that highlights their respective technical or creative skills. Everybody wants the movie to do well – of course.
But it all starts with you. One line of thinking is that you should write what YOU are passionate about. Period. Don’t try to second guess the market, this line of reasoning continues, just write your heart out. Don’t worry about what is “hot” right now or what feedback you might get from a producer – just write what totally ignites and inspires you.
And I do subscribe to that philosophy, very much. But something begins to happen over time, as your screenwriting skill and intuition sharpens – there is an intersection of what makes you passionate and what makes others passionate as well. The more you write, the more you begin to intuit universal resonance in film.
This is what usually happens for screenwriters*
Write semi-autobiographical, dramatic, fairly dull script with your very low, newbie skill set.
Write a derivative riff on some movie (or movies) you really personally liked – but fall short.
Write about three more of those.
Have some kind of existential crisis and write a slasher when you hate slashers.
Write a script that you like and that others like too but that is not commercial enough.
Write about three more of those.
*I say generally because by and large this is the pattern. But there are always exceptions, so stuff it, Anonymous.
Then, one day, after having written about 10 scripts that went nowhere, you have a flash of insight. It’s almost a religious experience, this insight. You get an idea to write something you really love and you have a very rebellious “screw it” attitude. But you smile to yourself while writing it because you have a weird feeling deep in your gut that you have in some way arrived at the creative crossroads of writing what YOU love but with an understanding of what audiences love too. And it is usually THIS script that finally gets you repped, optioned or sold. Because you simultaneously don’t give a good god damn what anybody else thinks and know that this is exactly the attitude that’s going to show on the pages and make them sing. You’ve stopped being so careful about your writing. You’ve stopped second-guessing every idea, every page, every character. You’re finally in the zone. You feel confident. You’ve found your voice.
Now, there are no guarantees that that script really will sell or be produced. But now you are a real contender because you can replicate this experience into your next script and your next.
You can’t go around it, you can’t go over it, you have to go through it. Which is why screenwriters don’t generally skip crappy scripts one through ten and just write a great one. Because there is a learning curve. It’s repetition and frustration and learning. It’s wax on, wax off. One day, everything just clicks. But scripts one through ten were important too. They were part of the learning curve.
We’d all like to hit the fast forward button and just arrive at total balance, abundance, wisdom and maturity. We’d all rather have skipped the painful, acne prone high school years or the bad marriage entered into too young or the unfortunate incident at the margarita mixer party. But we become the sum of our experiences and if we hadn’t had them – the good and the bad – we wouldn’t be who we are today. It’s the same with writing. How could it not be?
Well then, how does one start off screenwriting with the knowledge that your first few scripts are going to be terrible? You can’t. You have to believe each one will be great – just like you really believed that electric blue suit you wore to the prom was really great. But when the script falls short because you get no read requests, or you get a set of notes with global notes advocating a total page one rewrite, you simply have to shrug your shoulders and go for it. Again. Writing is not a destination, it’s a journey. A pretty long one. Know that now and embrace it. Nothing worth having comes easy. But tell you one thing, when you slid into that electric blue suit for prom, you looked in the mirror and you thought – damn. Right? Am I right? You had to. Else you never would have gotten out the door.
Now here’s a truth difficult to hear: Only a few writers will write 10 scripts and then experience success by way of a sale. A tiny fraction of all aspiring writers, in fact. I know. It’s depressing. But it’s the case. Because we have an unknowable, unquantifable quality at play here – talent. Do you have it? If you could know that now, with certainty, the game wouldn’t be very fun to play, would it? You knew before you started writing scripts that there is absolutely no guarantee of anything, right?
And yet – there’s pleasure to be had in the undertaking. Because like all those dancers, musicians, sculptors, poets and writers that came before you – the unsung and the successful – you are driven to create. So that’s what you should be doing. Regardless of the outcome.
That’s my wish for you in 2009: Enjoy this journey of creation. Keep it real, keep your eyes wide open, but when you open up your computer to write, do it with all your heart. No matter what the outcome of your writing is, you’re doing something that is in my view pretty mystical – you are creating something from nothing. And there’s nothing more meaningful and worthwhile than that.
Friday, July 18th, 20082008-07-18T18:48:00Zl, F jS, Y
So this voice thing. It is muy importanté, no? Manolo the Shoeblogger is, naturally, a good friend of the Wave-inatrix. We are two sling back sandals of a leather. Very, very few people in this world have met the real Manolo and I am proud to be one of them. In fact, we’re having a sidecar together tomorrow afternoon. Because the Manolo and the Wave-inatrix, we like the good cocktail. Besos, Manolo, besos.
Here’s the thing with the Manolo – he’s brilliant. Is his creator exactly like his persona? Exactly. Or perhaps not. I’ll never tell. But I know one thing, this excerpt from Manolo’s upcoming memoir, Super Fantastic, is an example of voice like nobody’s business. Enjoy.
***
It was late spring when the Manolo, laying about himself like Samson with the jawbone of the ass, had attempted to kill his brother Maximo with the giant wooden ladle.
Unfortunately, each time the Manolo would swing, Maximo would leap just beyond the reach of the heavy spoon, leaving the other party guests to take the errant blow.
The first had struck Don Alvaro in the ribs, sending the ancient and respectable tanner to the ground like the bag of broken twigs. The second had caught Maria Eulalia flat on the back of the buttocks with the great slapping sound. And the third, the mightiest of all, missed Maximo by the mere centimeters, swooshed past the Maestro Tampopo’s wife’s ear, and connected powerfully with Señor Chiquitita, sending the tiny dog, and the tip of the lovely Esmeralda’s nose (which he had just clenched between his teeth in righteous anger and would not release) flying many meters through the air.
His fury subsiding, the Manolo surveyed the carnage around him; three peoples lying on the ground injured and moaning, Esmeralda disfigured, Senor Chiquitita yipping into the thicket at the edge of the encampment, and the hated Maximo still standing, unscathed, his eyes aflame with malicious delight.
In that instant the Manolo decided to run away.
To Madrid
The old shepherd had said the Guardia Civil were hunting for the Manolo, believing that he was not merely the runaway apprentice guilty of assaulting his master’s family, but also of robbing that family of their fortune, which has disappeared from the strong box in the caravan where it had resided peacefully for many years.
Clearly it was the malign Maximo who had taken the money, but it was Manolo who was now apportioned the blame.
So, the Manolo turned to the north, away from the caravans of home, toward Madrid, the one place where he could perhaps be assured of anonymity.
Mostly he traveled alone, walking northward through the hills and across the dry plains along the sheltered and isolated paths, slowly making his progression to the city, each day taking him closer to Madrid, and deeper into the summer.
He was not yet fifteen years of age, more than the boy, but less than the man, and such isolation as he often now knew at night, alone in the wide empty spaces of the mountains and the
meseta, would have been more than many older men could have borne. But the long hours he had spent at night in the caravan, working on the miraculous shoes that would have (but for Maximo’s evil!) graced the feets of the fair Esmeralda, had taught him the self-discipline and the courage to be alone with his own thoughts and fears
The kindness of those he had met along his trip had also eased his difficulty, with friendliness and good humor, and with the needed provisions. He now traveled with the small pack on his back, filled with food and clothing and with the blankets, and as dusk approached each evening he would find the sheltered place, unroll his bed, make his humble dinner, and say his prayers, and then he would try to sleep.
But the night was full of noises and often the Manolo’s own thoughts raced on, heedless of any attempt to silence them. In these wakeful nighttimes he often stared at the stars, and thought of his family, of his mother and father, and his sisters and brothers, and of the horses and the caravans of home, but mostly he thought about the shoes. It was clear to him that no matter what happened his life now belonged to the shoes, and that he must by both necessity and personal choice build his life around service to the noble ideals expressed in good shoes.
But first, he would have to avenge himself on Maximo
Friday, July 18th, 20082008-07-18T17:02:00Zl, F jS, Y
Voice. Doesn’t it sound sort of pretentious and indefinable? Does your writing have a “voice”? Can “voice” be taught? Where does it come from? What exactly does it even mean, really?
Voice in your writing – whether that’s screenwriting, poetry, prose or non-fiction writing like essays, memoirs or articles, refers to a particular, unique style in the writing. It means that no one but you could have written the material in question because it has a particular rhythm, point of view and flavor.
It’s still a little ineffable until we think about writing examples which (purposely) are totally devoid of “voice”. When is the last time you read the newspaper, for example? This is straight journalism – you aren’t intended to identify with the writer, just to glean the facts. What about National Geographic Magazine? Anyone still read that besides the Wave-inatrix? Last month’s article about the Altiplano in Bolivia was fact-filled and…fact filled. Because, again, in venues such as those, voice is not the point. I don’t exactly want my doctor’s “voice” in his prescriptions, know what I mean? I want the facts. Same with the grocery list. Or analytic piece in the Atlantic Monthly about whatever happened to Hilary Clinton. Of course, there are brilliant non-fiction writers who lightly combine voice with fact but let’s set that aside for the moment for the sake of simplicity. Ahem.
When writing prose, voice is indispensable. It is the delivery system for the story, without which one is reading a third rate pulp romance novel. Does Danielle Steele have a “voice”? Not so much. And, by the way, the Wave-inatrix feels pretty confident that my theory that Steele employs a cadre of mini-Steeles who churn out her books is not a myth – in the same way that Nancy Drew author Carolyn Keene was like, in fact, eighteen people. But I digress.
So – what is voice? How do you know if you have one or not? Can you download one on your iPod?
Voice is something that takes time to develop. The Rouge Wave is written in a voice, is it not? Those who know the Wave-inatrix personally know that the voice with which I write the Rouge Wave is not terribly different from my own. But it’s still a voice. And not the same voice I employ when I write scripts, short stories or stern notes left behind for the Mini-W.
It is a conscious choice used to evoke a specific tone and reader reaction. But – voice is also a paradox – it is both conscious and unconscious – it is who the writer unapologetically is and it is also a way to evoke a specific reaction to the writing. It is a tool and a gift. A scalpel and an aura. An eclair with cream filling.
And that, dear Wavers, gets us down to the heart of the matter. How does one go about obtaining a voice? So often, new writers and particularly new screenwriters become, and rightly so, very pedantic about the craft of screenwriting itself. So pedantic that they are more concerned about getting it right than just letting loose and being themselves. If there’s one thing most readers LOVE in a script – it’s voice. It’s the writer who lets loose a bit and is fearless in the writing.
However, particularly relative to screenwriting, voice is dessert while execution is the vegetables. By execution/broccoli I mean that voice will get you exactly nowhere in a script if you don’t have an excellent premise, tight structure, proper action lines and unique characters with a distinct arc. So yes, you really do need to nail the craft before you start popping wheelies with voice. But be thinking about it now – be developing your voice alongside your craft skill set. Who are you? We know that writers are liars, thieves, truth tellers and magicians. We illuminate, we entertain, we provoke and we reflect ourselves back to ourselves. We are living proof both that no two people are alike and yet – we are all one.
Don’t hold back – develop your voice and do it now. Because voice is indeed something that cannot be taught – only unleashed.
Here is a very short list of fiction writers, in no time/date order, who have made a living and a contribution to the medium with fearless VOICE.
Garrison Keillor
Raymond Chandler
Dave Eggers
Jonathan Safran Foer
TC Boyle
Stephen King
PG Wodehouse
Evelyn Waugh
Truman Capote
Flannery O’Connor
Sherman Alexie
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Tim O’Brien
And here is a very short list of screenwriters who have distinctive voices:
Quentin Tarrantino
Richard Linklater
John August
Chuck Palahniuk
Kevin Smith
Diablo Cody
Shane Black
So – what’s your voice? Who are you? Where are you from? Where are you going? What is your opinion about things large and small like love, death, betrayal, growing up, dope smoking, bike riding, mothers, fathers and easter egg hunts?
Don’t make the mistake of trying to please everyone with your point of view. Develop a voice that is totally distinctive. Just effing entertain us. And maybe teach us a little something, too.
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