..... that pretty much anything is possible.
Monday, 11 January 2010
In Search Of The Magic Formula For Screenwriting - Figuring Out What A Producer Or Studio Executive Wants
There's this weird thing that screenwriters have to go through - a battle between their natural instincts and pandering to what a studio/producer will want. And pretty soon, that wonderfully original idea about a piece of cabbage that invents a spaceship becomes... A standard rom-com about a 22 year old fashion designer. And the script never gets bought anyway, and the sad thing is that the idea about the cabbage never gets written.
I wonder, how much of this is based on the reality of the industry, and how much of it is based on this myth that's been built up? You feel it every time you watch an awful film - like at the end of 'Hancock' when Will Smith puts the heart thing on the moon, it just leaves you wanting to scream at how predictable and pathetic Hollywood can be. And you feel even worse about that idea you had, about the pensioner who who turns his bingo club into a terrorist training camp-- you tell yourself 'nobody will want this,' 'this won't sell.' and you're right.. But it's not because no-one likes the idea but because you never wrote the script.. Instead you wrote a film about an FBI man who tells the NYPD man "this isn't your jurisdiction." And the producer says "I don't like your FBI script, it has no imagination," and he's right.. Because instead of writing your passion piece, you anchored it to suit a bunch of producers and executives you've never met, who've never told you what they do and don't want. You're going on the basis of the big thing you just saw at the cinema where robots threw each other around, or based on what some script-reading-girl-turned-blogger told you to do.
For some people - this is fine. I've met many writers who just enjoy writing and then having meetings and going to lunch and redrafting. They're happy to do the FBI script with no imagination whilst they start a draft of a World War 2 screenplay even though World War 2 means nothing too them. And for these people, they can write happily like this and it's not soul destroying at all.
But the more artistic writers, who struggle and fight with themselves over one piece of work, they also battle with the worry of who will buy/produce/fund it - and it affects the work.
It's commonplace for writers and film lovers to bemoan the lack of original scripts. The writers often feel the industry is polarizing them and their ideas, but actually - us writers do it to ourselves. We end up conforming more and more to this idea in our head of what a commercial screenplay is meant to be.
There are legitimate reasons why we think like this -- but I just want to stand up for that artistic part of you (and me) that needs supporting. That part that says write what you want. Fuck, write it backwards, one word per page, if that's really what you want to do.
Film is only a hundred and twenty years old - no-one can say, definitively, what works and what doesn't--- and it's a long time since something truly unique and wonderful has come along - and I'm hoping it's going to be you who's reading this.
I wonder, how much of this is based on the reality of the industry, and how much of it is based on this myth that's been built up? You feel it every time you watch an awful film - like at the end of 'Hancock' when Will Smith puts the heart thing on the moon, it just leaves you wanting to scream at how predictable and pathetic Hollywood can be. And you feel even worse about that idea you had, about the pensioner who who turns his bingo club into a terrorist training camp-- you tell yourself 'nobody will want this,' 'this won't sell.' and you're right.. But it's not because no-one likes the idea but because you never wrote the script.. Instead you wrote a film about an FBI man who tells the NYPD man "this isn't your jurisdiction." And the producer says "I don't like your FBI script, it has no imagination," and he's right.. Because instead of writing your passion piece, you anchored it to suit a bunch of producers and executives you've never met, who've never told you what they do and don't want. You're going on the basis of the big thing you just saw at the cinema where robots threw each other around, or based on what some script-reading-girl-turned-blogger told you to do.
For some people - this is fine. I've met many writers who just enjoy writing and then having meetings and going to lunch and redrafting. They're happy to do the FBI script with no imagination whilst they start a draft of a World War 2 screenplay even though World War 2 means nothing too them. And for these people, they can write happily like this and it's not soul destroying at all.
But the more artistic writers, who struggle and fight with themselves over one piece of work, they also battle with the worry of who will buy/produce/fund it - and it affects the work.
It's commonplace for writers and film lovers to bemoan the lack of original scripts. The writers often feel the industry is polarizing them and their ideas, but actually - us writers do it to ourselves. We end up conforming more and more to this idea in our head of what a commercial screenplay is meant to be.There are legitimate reasons why we think like this -- but I just want to stand up for that artistic part of you (and me) that needs supporting. That part that says write what you want. Fuck, write it backwards, one word per page, if that's really what you want to do.
Film is only a hundred and twenty years old - no-one can say, definitively, what works and what doesn't--- and it's a long time since something truly unique and wonderful has come along - and I'm hoping it's going to be you who's reading this.
"you can't start a fire -- can't start a fire without a spark"
-Springsteen
Saturday, 9 January 2010
How An Upcoming Writer Can Get To Meet Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks.
This is one for the screenwriters, especially those who may be struggling with their projects right now - or wondering how on Earth you might ever make it in the industry. What I'd like for you to do is to read this article all the way through - and then go and do what is suggested, for real.
I want you to relax - maybe lay down on your bed. And allow yourself to drift into your imagination. And I want you to imagine the following scenario.
You have finished your feature film screenplay. You've sent it out to a few places, posted it on a few writers websites; and you're hopeful about it.
You get a phone call. The man on the other end asks for you by name. When you confirm it's you, he says, "My name's Steven Spielberg. A friend of mine passed on your screenplay to me and I really like it." After you disbelieve him and sit in shock for about five minutes, he follows up with, "I would like to meet you, I'm going to be in your town next week with a colleague of mine, and we'd like to discuss your project with you."
I want you to relax - maybe lay down on your bed. And allow yourself to drift into your imagination. And I want you to imagine the following scenario.
You have finished your feature film screenplay. You've sent it out to a few places, posted it on a few writers websites; and you're hopeful about it.
You get a phone call. The man on the other end asks for you by name. When you confirm it's you, he says, "My name's Steven Spielberg. A friend of mine passed on your screenplay to me and I really like it." After you disbelieve him and sit in shock for about five minutes, he follows up with, "I would like to meet you, I'm going to be in your town next week with a colleague of mine, and we'd like to discuss your project with you."
A week later - you are making your way to an office you've been summoned to. you feel apprehensive, in fact-- you feel ridiculous, who set you up to this? And then you arrive. You tell the pretty reception lady your name and say that you have a meeting, she tells you to take a seat.
Thirty seconds later; Steven Spielberg is in front of you. He has a big beaming smile and he shakes your hand. He walks you to an office - and he's rambling away excitedly about some trailer he just saw -- you're struggling to listen because you're so scared and excited. You enter a meeting room.
"This is my friend Tom, I wanted you to meet him too."
Tom Hanks throws out his hand to shake. "Hi I'm Tom Hanks," he says, as if he needs introducing. It's down to business.
Spielberg faces you excitedly. "Some of the people who work for me spend a bit of time on the internet, looking around for talent, for something fresh and exciting, and one of them came across your screenplay and sent it to me."
You sit there, frozen.
"I want to Produce this." he says. You think it needs repeating. "So, Tom here has been looking for another project to Direct, it's something he's been wanting to do for a while.."
Tom effortlessly glides into the conversation, like he's trying to charm Meg Ryan in Zabars. "I read the first page of your script, and I just knew there was something about it. This is definitely something I would like to develop."
Steven Spielberg looks at you with a serious face -- you try your best to look relaxed. "We can only pay you $100,000, I'm afraid. Things are changing in the industry right now and there's no guarantee we can bring this into production.. but uh, we can pay you $100,000 which is something - how does that sound?"
You mutter something about it being okay. Tom stands up and goes to shake your hand again. "This is exciting," he says, noticing your beaming smile. "So who you wanna cast? Megan Fox? Kristen Stewart?" -- you look towards him, wondering if he really wants an answer. "you know, my wife Rita would like the role - you think she could pass for 22?"
You leave the meeting - you have MADE IT. Through sheer luck, MENTAL CRAZINESS and plain absurdity, Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks have not only read - but decided to buy and produce your screenplay.
Now - as you come out of this conversation in your imagination -- how do you feel? How does it feel to have sold a screenplay to two of the biggest names in the industry? How does it feel to know you've finally got everything you always wanted and deep down knew you were capable of?
You probably feel calmer, more at ease, and happier. Notice your body language now - you're sitting a lot more comfortably - you're even breathing better.
Is this new feeling something you could use when working on your screenplay? Is this feeling of ease, of being you, of having achieved, something you could take out into your life more? Does it feel more like who you really are?
Helping You with Your Creative Projects.
For the next week - I am going to open myself up to assisting you with your creative projects. If you need some advice on a script, or maybe you're angry with yourself because writers block keeps appearing, or maybe you're having trouble motivating your crew on set, or you're panicking because you can't find a location --- I will help you out. This week, it's about YOU.
From this Sunday until next Sunday - I am here to help you, for free, on your projects.
My particular skills are: Screenwriting, Directing, and helping inspire creativity through tools of psychotherapy and psychology that I have been privileged to learn by being involved with the work of some wonderful people - along with some theories and ideas that I have made up myself, that may only work for me, who knows.
But even if it's something more simple - like you need help casting a good actor, or you need help figuring out what camera to shoot on, or you need help deciding what wallpaper to get. Email me - I plan to be a soldier on your side for the next seven days.
This should be fun.
Kid
http://twitter.com/kidinfrontrow
The One Where The Kid Produces A Feature Film.
It was the day before shooting and we were on our way to pick up the equipment. We would have got it earlier in the week but we were on an extremely tight budget so had to do things as cheaply as possible.
To pick up the equipment we needed a van, but we didn't have a van, so the Director, George, got a van. He borrowed it from his friend. He said to his friend "I need to borrow your van for a day to move something from my house." He probably should have told him the truth, which was "I'm borrowing your van to go and pick up some unlicensed weaponry and Nazi uniforms."
So the Director, George, said to me "should we pick up the camera first or the weapons?" and using my authority as Producer I said "I don't know, what do you think?" so he said "I'm asking you," and I said "can we get a cup of tea first?" We began arguing because he didn't think it was necessary to get a cup of tea but I told him I was really thirsty and that maybe we could pick up a bacon sandwich too.
So George was driving the van and I was sat next to him thinking about bacon sandwiches. We decided, first of all, to play it safe and pick up the unlicensed World War 2 weapons. But don't worry readers, they were de-activated. So we picked up the guns and put them in the back of the unlicensed van. I was a bit worried but George insured me that the fact he didn't have insurance for the van wouldn't be a problem as all we were doing was picking up some guns and Nazi uniforms for a film.
We went to pick up the Nazi uniforms, which was fun, except that George was unsure about some of the sizes. "I don't think that one will fit Michael," he said. "Who's Michael?" I asked. "One of the lead actors," came the reply, which led to me promptly scribbling on the call sheet. "Find out who Michael is and send him a schedule." George was convinced it wouldn't fit so he told me to try it on as I was similar in build to Michael, well I probably still am.
"It looks good," said George.
"I look like a war criminal." I cried
"Exactly."
At this point, George realised we needed to rush as we still had to pick up the camera kit and he had to be back home for lunch otherwise his girlfriend would go mad. "Hurry up and get in the car," he said. "But I just need to.." - he cut me off, "just get in the car and deal with it later," he said, which is exactly why I was still dressed in a Nazi uniform.
So we zoomed down the street towards the camera rental company-- and as we turned into a semi-busy road, a truck driver decided to pull into our lane--- he smashed into the side of George's friends Van, hitting the wing-mirror; which then flew through the drivers window, smacking him directly on the head, as shards of glass covered and cut both of us. George, being a wise driver, pulled us safely into the drive-way of a house. The truck driver disappeared and was never to be seen again.
So George and I got out of the uninsured van with illegal WW2 weapons, at which point a little old lady came out of the house and trundled towards the film director and the producer dressed as a Nazi.
As I wiped blood off of my head and George looked all the more dizzy, the woman said "We'll need a broom, we'll definitely need a broom. Clean away this glass. You're on my driveway. You're blocking my driveway."
"We just got hit by a truck," one of us mentioned.
"Oh right, but you're on my driveway" said the little old bag.
"I'm bleeding, I was just in a road accident." I offered.
"You need to move your vehicle," she responded.
We realised that our uninsured van was now pretty smashed up with the windows blown out, no wing-mirrors, and we were bleeding-- to say nothing of the rifles. The woman went to get her broom; and we realised we really needed to get the camera.
We'd never used this rental company before as they are one of the biggest in the industry; and with rental companies it's all about building relationships, so we wanted to wait for the right project - which we felt this was. So it's hard to explain us turning up to them looking like we'd just escaped from a bomb site.
"We'll help you carry this stuff to your car," said the helpful guy with a weird hairstyle. "NO!" we both yelled. We carried the thousands of pounds worth of camera kit and lighting gear and placed it through the non-existent window, in between a German submachine gun and a few authentic Lugers.
George and I headed back to his, doing our best to avoid any eye contact with people, or the many police cars we passed. "How about a bacon sandwich?" I asked George. He didn't answer.
The point of this story, in case you were wondering - is that you must never hire me as a Producer.
To pick up the equipment we needed a van, but we didn't have a van, so the Director, George, got a van. He borrowed it from his friend. He said to his friend "I need to borrow your van for a day to move something from my house." He probably should have told him the truth, which was "I'm borrowing your van to go and pick up some unlicensed weaponry and Nazi uniforms."
So the Director, George, said to me "should we pick up the camera first or the weapons?" and using my authority as Producer I said "I don't know, what do you think?" so he said "I'm asking you," and I said "can we get a cup of tea first?" We began arguing because he didn't think it was necessary to get a cup of tea but I told him I was really thirsty and that maybe we could pick up a bacon sandwich too.So George was driving the van and I was sat next to him thinking about bacon sandwiches. We decided, first of all, to play it safe and pick up the unlicensed World War 2 weapons. But don't worry readers, they were de-activated. So we picked up the guns and put them in the back of the unlicensed van. I was a bit worried but George insured me that the fact he didn't have insurance for the van wouldn't be a problem as all we were doing was picking up some guns and Nazi uniforms for a film.
We went to pick up the Nazi uniforms, which was fun, except that George was unsure about some of the sizes. "I don't think that one will fit Michael," he said. "Who's Michael?" I asked. "One of the lead actors," came the reply, which led to me promptly scribbling on the call sheet. "Find out who Michael is and send him a schedule." George was convinced it wouldn't fit so he told me to try it on as I was similar in build to Michael, well I probably still am. (this is actor Tom Cruise. Not Me. What I am saying, to clear up any confusion - is that I am not Tom Cruise.)
"It looks good," said George.
"I look like a war criminal." I cried
"Exactly."
At this point, George realised we needed to rush as we still had to pick up the camera kit and he had to be back home for lunch otherwise his girlfriend would go mad. "Hurry up and get in the car," he said. "But I just need to.." - he cut me off, "just get in the car and deal with it later," he said, which is exactly why I was still dressed in a Nazi uniform.
So we zoomed down the street towards the camera rental company-- and as we turned into a semi-busy road, a truck driver decided to pull into our lane--- he smashed into the side of George's friends Van, hitting the wing-mirror; which then flew through the drivers window, smacking him directly on the head, as shards of glass covered and cut both of us. George, being a wise driver, pulled us safely into the drive-way of a house. The truck driver disappeared and was never to be seen again.
So George and I got out of the uninsured van with illegal WW2 weapons, at which point a little old lady came out of the house and trundled towards the film director and the producer dressed as a Nazi.
As I wiped blood off of my head and George looked all the more dizzy, the woman said "We'll need a broom, we'll definitely need a broom. Clean away this glass. You're on my driveway. You're blocking my driveway."
"We just got hit by a truck," one of us mentioned.
"Oh right, but you're on my driveway" said the little old bag.
"I'm bleeding, I was just in a road accident." I offered.
"You need to move your vehicle," she responded.
We realised that our uninsured van was now pretty smashed up with the windows blown out, no wing-mirrors, and we were bleeding-- to say nothing of the rifles. The woman went to get her broom; and we realised we really needed to get the camera.
We'd never used this rental company before as they are one of the biggest in the industry; and with rental companies it's all about building relationships, so we wanted to wait for the right project - which we felt this was. So it's hard to explain us turning up to them looking like we'd just escaped from a bomb site.
"We'll help you carry this stuff to your car," said the helpful guy with a weird hairstyle. "NO!" we both yelled. We carried the thousands of pounds worth of camera kit and lighting gear and placed it through the non-existent window, in between a German submachine gun and a few authentic Lugers.
George and I headed back to his, doing our best to avoid any eye contact with people, or the many police cars we passed. "How about a bacon sandwich?" I asked George. He didn't answer.
The point of this story, in case you were wondering - is that you must never hire me as a Producer.
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