Friday, 28 October 2011

The 'Role' Of FILM DIRECTOR

I think everyone in the film industry has met directors who identify a little too heavily with the role. That's all a director is, a role, a function. People can get hypnotised by the role and become dictatorial or egotistical.

Let's be honest -- sometimes these directors get great results. But for me, the best directors are able to step in and out of the authoritative aspects of the role as and when necessary.

If a director is too strong, demanding, or Hitleristic, people suffer. The actors are less free, the crew are pressurized and the director himself is locked into a role. It's as if he's acting. Playing the role of director man.

Film directors are human beings too. They turn up to the film shoot crippled by family problems, headaches, insecurities. That's why the dictator style directing is so false, it oppresses the insecurity, the real life.

Directors have a vision. Sometimes the actors can't get there, sometimes the director of photography is adamant it should look different, sometimes you run out of daylight and everyone becomes an amateur again struggling to do anything to get the take.

There is a huge amount of psychology to directing. Are the actors feeling supported and valued? Do your crew respect you and believe in you? Great moments of artistic flow and magic are always balanced with moments of humble failure and confused insecurity.

Let's not forget: most films are terrible. Often the instincts of the director are flat out wrong. Sometimes it's a lack of talent, sometimes it's simply making a mistake in the room. You get asked "Should it be faster?", "Should the gun be in shot?" and you make a decision in the moment. You're a human being and sometimes you get it wrong.

Try as any filmmaker might, the fact remains that no director has total control. Films are living, breathing things. They're like the weather. You plan for sun but sometimes it pours. How can any director be in control when the secret to great art is so elusive?

Some of the best moments of cinema have been accidents, things that arrived in the moment. You have to be open to that. But you also have to know exactly what you want.

That's why practice is the key. In this day and age there is no excuse for upcoming directors to be sitting on their asses. Tarantino and Kevin Smith made it look like they just landed with a debut hit, but the truth is they both had previous projects which they stashed away.

Spielberg was making films at eight years old. That's a huge reason why he's one of the masters. But as we see, he doesn't always nail it. That's directing. That's art. Never stay too long with being discouraged.

The flip side is when you're precise and certain about something and no-one else gets it. The crew and cast doubt your judgement. Maybe you are certain of how to get the laugh in a scene, or how to have a chilling or tense moment. The job of the director is to catch these moments and nurture them into fruition. Sometimes; in fact, often, people will doubt your wisdom in the moment and be strong in resisting your direction.

These are usually the moments that make or break a film. If you're certain of something, if it's integral to your vision, insist on it. The director sees things others don't see. It's your job to confidently stride forth and bring it home. The best moments in my films are nearly always things that the actors resisted the most.

That's film directing.

Care to share?

Tuesday, 25 October 2011

Come Live With Me (1941)

This film is absolutely delightful!

Illegal immigrant Johnny Jones (Hedy Lamarr) needs to get married for a visa. The man she loves is already married, so when she meets down on his luck Bill Smith (Jimmy Stewart), she offers to settle all his bills each week, in return for a marriage.

He accepts.

But then Bill begins falling in love with this mystery woman who comes by on a weekly basis. Unfortunately, her heart is with another man who happens to be a wealthy book publisher. 



Our hero Johnny Jones happens to be a struggling author. Inspired by his mysterious wife, he pens a great novel about their bizarre relationship. It's so good that the publishers get interested. 


Of course, when book publisher Barton Kendrick reads the story of a Viennese woman who has married a man for a Visa, it strikes a chord, it's too coincidental to be fiction.

Here's where it gets hilarious. The publisher, Barton, wants to meet this author who is clearly writing about his woman. Bill comes to the office, excited about the prospect of being published. One problem, they disagree on the ending. Bill wants a happy ending, whereas Barton thinks she should run off with the other guy. Barton's wife Diane (Verree Teasdale) watches them argue in the meeting, wondering why they're both so passionate about these characters.


Barton pays Bill an advance for the story; and then asks his wife for a divorce. He's going after his true love Johnny Jones.

But of course; now the poor author Bill has a big advance! So he goes to see Johnny and demands she take a trip with him. Barton had unwittingly played a part in his own demise.

And on it goes and various other things happen to take the film to its ending. I'll hold back taking you directly to the finishing line, just in case you decide to watch it, which I think you should.

Don't you just love old movies? Give me some black, some white, a Jimmy Stewart and a beauty like Hedy Lamarr and I'm the happiest guy in the world. 

Care to share?

Tuesday Dialogue #2 - Joshua Lyman and Amy Gardner

Setting the scene: Joshua Lyman is Deputy Chief Of Staff in the Whitehouse. Amy Gardner is the Director of the Women's Leadership Coalition. Josh is good with politics, good with arguments. 

Being in a relationship with a woman is not a luxury he's allowed himself in a long time. He was able to ignore this problem until Amy Gardner came along. 


AMY
You owe me half a million dollars and a drink. 

JOSH
I paid for the drinks.

AMY
Alright, five hundred grand.

JOSH
What are you doing here?

AMY
I'm just hanging out. Why, do you live here?

JOSH
I do. I'm sorry I had to leave quickly before, I still can't tell you why.

AMY
Was it a matter of national security? 

JOSH
No. 

AMY
Would you tell me if it was a matter of national security?

JOSH
No.


AMY
Okay. You didn't talk to me much at school.

JOSH
You was having quite a lot of sex with Chris.

AMY
There were times I wasn't

JOSH
I studied a lot in school. I studied hard in high school, and at Harvard and in law school. My IQ doesn't break the bank and I wanted to do this, so I studied all the time. And -- I missed something, or it's like I skipped a year, Cause I never learned what you do after you think you like somebody, what you do next. And everyone did learn, a lot of other people anyway. I didn't walk out tonight. When my phone rings at eleven o'clock it's important. Not important to me, important-- and I'm not puffing myself so you that you're--

AMY
You know what? Maybe not so much for you with the talking. 

Care to share?

Monday, 24 October 2011

New Logo / Banner

Here is the newly designed logo for Kid In The Front Row. Many of you have asked in the past for a banner so that you can link to my site. If you want to do that, please use this image. I hope you like it.

You may also have noticed a modified header at the top of the blog, which I'm extremely happy with! Credit goes to my wonderful friend Elena.

Care to share?

Catching The Wave

A spark can come from anywhere. Being an artist is not just about producing the art, but learning how to catch it, bottle it, and release it. I would imagine there isn't a writer reading this who hasn't often had the experience of profound insight, followed by a horrific attempt at getting it down on the page. 

Art touches us the most when it captures a piece of who we are on the page, the screen, the stage, the canvas. But how does the artist get it there? This is perhaps the hardest thing of all. That's why artists aren't impressed when someone says "I have an idea". We all have ideas. The professional gets it down on the page. 

But I don't mean professional in a traditional sense. This isn't about the discipline of starting your masterpiece every morning at 9am. This is about catching the waves however they may come.

It's as if there are thousands of spirits floating up in the sky; some of them are beautiful and hazy, some are like fierce rockets. You have to be a martial artist, adept at attracting the falling stars.

The information is in the moment. Remember your first kiss? First job offer? Remember when someone you love died? Remember when your favorite team scored? Remember when you were fired? They carry the juice. But how to get into those feelings? How to indulge in them, enjoy them, and then turn them into your art? 

It doesn't have to be the signposted life moments that provide the juice. The quieter moments are often more profound. Ever been sitting in the garden staring up at the night time sky, and felt a big wave of the essence of yourself and life? That feeling is unique to you. That essence you need to get into your art. 

There are times when I write in a very purposeful and disciplined way, like my recent post about Bridesmaids. Sometimes I just catch a feeling and write from that place in me, like with new york gone. The feeling came without capital letters, without traditional sentencing, it was like a wave, a memory, a feeling. I tried to capture that.

and the last time i left new york i left all my favourite people. and the guy who showed me around queens moved to la and the guy from the plane could be anywhere now and me and the artist kinda fell out and the girl who waited for me that time in jfk packed up her bags and got gone across the world and now i could go back, and i will go back, but so much is gone.

Sometimes you need to be open to exploring the wilderness, to not block any thought that comes, to jump on the wave and see where it goes. Those moments are often the most truthful.

But the thing about my New York post is that it didn't resonate with many people, even though it did resonate with me. This is where you see your own limitations as an artist, or perhaps a lack of experience. It takes people ten, twenty or thirty years to be great. It's a balancing act -- matching your insights with skills and understanding. 

There's so much in those extremities. The misery. The hope. The excitement. The romance. The depression. The confusion. There's gold to be mined -- but you can't be too disciplined or writerly about it, because then you miss it! Or crush it! Or scare it away! You need to deeply experience things for them to be of any true use. 

That's the problem with blogs. The writers get addicted to their followers, addicted to the comments, comforted by their place on the interweb. The posts become by-the-numbers, shop-front-profound but never quite real. 

It's a thing we all struggle with, staying true, capturing the real essence of the life we're going through. That's why we admire the greats, they lived life and reflected it back to us. The geniuses did it again and again. 

Care to share?