Screenwriting

Hilary asked me for some thoughts on screenwriting the other day, as she's one of the presenters at the Critics' Circle Awards tonight. "Some thoughts" turned into 500 words as I was incensed by the disparity between directors and writers. And, since the assignment is a part of my daily life here, I thought I'd post it.

Some thoughts on screenwriting

The screenwriter occupies an unusual space. He (or she) is essential, writing the words that convey and define if not how, then what will be told in a given stretch of celluloid. The director develops the action and sometimes, audaciously, seems to create a singular vision from the pulp and clay of the story. But where is the story but with the screenwriter? And yet, some would have him be a kind of glorified storyboardist, rather than a key player in the persistent conflict between author and auteur.

While there is some truth to the belief that a good director can elevate a mediocre script into a great movie, and a great script can seldom survive in the fumbling hands of a bad director, this is not a dig at the screenwriter. Rather, it highlights the inequities of a system that takes power away from the story-weaver and puts it in the hands of the story-teller. In a perfect world there would be some semblance of equality; a synergy between the director and writer and a realization that writer and illustrator are natural peers.

As it stands, the pinnacle of achievement for the screenwriter is often to be or become a director himself (Tarantino, Linklater, Aranofsky, Lynch). And maybe this is the only way: to take the reins which he has been formerly lashed and claim control of his storytelling. But this lofty goal aside, I would like to think the ideal would be a great collaboration: screenwriters who pair directors who feed each other with mutual vision, respect, and dedication, and thus build something beautiful together out of light and sound, color, character, and words. (There are some writers who manage this – Charlie Kaufman and Robert Towne come to mind – but the current system makes it harder, not easier for the next generation of Kaufmans to fight their way out of being permanent journeymen.)

None of this is to denigrate the worth of the workman screenwriter and the workman director. Every piece need not be high art, nor is it wrong to belong to a team that writes the next light-hearted summer fare. Everyone needs to eat. It is noble to be an artist as it is noble to be a workman. It is noble to create, no matter how small. Of course, films are prone to go through any number of writers and revisions, any number of directors and budgets – and the screenwriter must be applauded for his patience and resolve in weathering the myriad difficulties of the business. Does that make these practices correct? No. There is nothing more depressing than watching a painfully moulded piece of work lose its personality in superfluous editing and interjection just to fit a demographic.

The screenwriter writes the story, and stories are powerful objects – not mere commodities. Don't take that away. Fund partnerships. Fund genuine vision. Let the artists breathe!

Interning: First Days

This is the first of my "internship journal" I have to do to fulfill my credit requirement, but I figured it's insight into how I've felt and what I've been doing since I started, so here goes:

Expectations

I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about what my expectations were for this internship before I walked in for my interview the first day. The information sheet provided by CAPA was vague: "Cameo Productions. This company prepares interviews and reviews of films for radio," followed by an address and a contact number. No indication of size, scope, or even what they really what they did. Prepares interviews? Qu'est-ce que c'est?

So it was that I came to the office the first day, full of anxiety and trepidation, but enough curiosity to null the effects of either. I found Cameo in an alley off of Oxford Street, one of the main shopping districts in center city. There was a café and a few office buildings, all scrunched together and so clean and picturesque that they seemed pulled from a movie set or crafted by professionals building Epcot London. Fearing a lack of punctuality, I got there far earlier than I should have, and found the place locked and dark. No one would be there for another half hour, so I leaned up against the metal fence and waited, opening my copy of Herman Hesse's Steppenwolf and admiring the similarities between the book's theme and the bourgeois Mecca that surrounded me.

Eventually the gate was open and I went inside, meeting Tom, who carried himself with the air of some authority but was also clearly not the person in charge. He offered me a glass of water, which I accepted, putting down my backpack and taking a seat at the black leather divan in the corner.

The rest of the office trickled in until half-ten, and I met the other players. Hilary, a short older woman with a slight possible-Welsh accent ran the company. Shelly, the office manager, was a tall and pretty black girl with big brown eyes and an accent that liked to exchange "th's" with "f's." Ian, the webmaster, had a pale complexion and blue eyes, with a face that seemed to slope slighty downward toward his chin. Sam, a handsome and loquacious fellow, ran the sound booth. He had animated eyes, and, as I would learn, full of wild dreams and liquid ambitions. Tom, the second-in-command, was part bearish and thoroughly geeky, with a mostly-bald head, a beard that extended halfway down his neck and round spectacles. My first actual day of work we spent talking about comic books, video games, and Back to the Future.

The five of us (minus Hilary, who had her own office) sat at a big oval table with six computers and no partitions. Thus, my first days at Cameo were spent knocking out little bits of work (putting data into programs, proofreading documents, and writing questions for interviews) while everyone else chugged along, chit-chatting as they day went by at a relaxed pace.

All I could hope or expect for was to learn something and to have genuine work to do. While there is some "grunt" office work I've been employed at, in general everyone pitches in with this work under what seems to be an "everyone does everything; everyone can do anything" attitude. The upside of this is that I've found myself writing, editing, thinking of interview questions, giving input on audio selection, and proofing copy. So far, nothing has been hectic – the relaxed pace is quite refreshing – and yet things still seem to get done. If this is the status quo for the rest of the semester, I'd be satisfied.