Colin Farrell's Tears

Well, this time I'll make no promises! Fall '08 was a blur of actual writing... leaving precious little time for writing-about-writing. But of late I've started to miss Chateau de Reversals, so I'm going to try to get a post up every now and then. When the urge strikes me...

...like it did when I saw In Bruges over the holidays this week. This one was a delightful surprise to many who saw it, and I'm no exception. If you've been wanting to see it, definitely go do that before reading on! The post'll still be here when you get back. Honest.

What really struck me about In Bruges was its contradictions. Often, in writing classes and how-to books (and I'm sure I'm guilty of passing on this misguided advice too...) we're told that characters must be defined. They are consistent in behaviour and voice and responses to adversity. When we like them -- or hate them, or empathize with them -- it's because we acknowledge that this particular little bundle of traits is recognizably our character.

But none of us should confuse consistency of character with great characters behaving one way and one way only. In Bruges is a brilliant example of this. Colin Farrell's character Ray is a bundle of contradictions -- and yet utterly and completely himself. He's an uneducated Irish asshole who refers to beer in a glass rather than a pint as "gay beer", and who has the simpleton's love of dwarves ("They're filming midgets!"). And yet this is also a character who, in our first scene with him, weeps in the bathroom over an as-yet-unrevealed tragedy. For a good chunk of the second act, this character divides his time between being utterly suicidal, and trying to bed a pretty Belgian girl.

Similarly, the villain of the film, Ralph Fiennes's Harry Waters, is at once compassionate, highly principled (especially when it comes to innocent children), and yet also an evil sonofabitch.

These gaps in expectation are where a lot of the humour in the film comes from... but they're also a great reminder that your characters don't have to be tidy to be internally consistent.

Also a great reminder that Colin Farrell really can act, and that Brendan Gleeson continues to kick. Ass.

You're Not My Real Mom

I'm baaaa-aaaack! Hmm, this should be a post about Poltergeist. It isn't. One day, one day.

Many apologies to the 6 of you who check in regularly -- you know how it is: sometimes the time you have for writing has to be spent, well, writing!

Today's post is about Enchanted. A movie that -- come on -- is pretty darn sweet. (Too sweet for some, maybe but I've got a wickedly tolerant sweet tooth.)

The film does a lot of things right. Its just over-the-top old-school Disney opening. Its musical numbers that border on satire ("Happy Working Song" sees rats and roaches helping Giselle tidy up the apartment). And the arcs are, for the most part, solid: Patrick Dempsey's divorce lawyer figures out what pure, un-cynical love is... the little chipmunk-lackey has his change of heart, as he witnesses the power of love...

My one real issue? This movie sends up fairy tales and princes and earnestness and even 'true love's kisses'. But it does nothing with the idea of the stepmother.

The evil stepmother's one of the most iconic villain archetypes ever. And this movie does absolutely nothing to turn that notion on its head. Evil Queen Narissa doesn't want her stepson to marry, so she'll remain queen. She's an evil stepmother who stays evil. Fine.

But there's also Nancy, Patrick Dempsey's fiancee -- and his daughter's soon-to-be-stepmother. The woman's clearly not comfortable with children, but nor is she evil. She's just apparently not the right woman for Prince Patrick. Nancy deserves true love, and in the end, finds it, becoming Edward's queen. Great, all great. But not once in there could we explore the notion that one can become a stepmother without being a child-hating bitch? The movie could spare no time for the plight of the beleaguered stepmother?

What an opportunity that was. Did they feel that other Susan Sarandon movie had said all there was to say?

One Bride's Redemption

Well, I'm newly engaged. Thank you. You're too kind.

To celebrate, let's talk about 27 Dresses, which I finally rented! I think there's a lot to like about this rom-com. I did laugh; thank God. And I liked that the hero had real choices to make (beyond "Hmm, do I pick the schmuck I came in with, or the mensch I just met?").

I also thought it was smart to have the rival/villain (the lying bridezilla sister) be redeemed in the end. Personally, I don't think enough villains get a shot at redemption these days. And I'm wondering if partly that's because it's tough to do.

So I present, for your consideration, 3 Easy Steps to Redeeming Your Rom-Com Rival (a la 27 Dresses):

1. Have the hero humiliate/punish the rival in a way that’s over the top (suddenly we feel badly for the rival, and upset at the hero – the hero doesn’t do this!). This creates sympathy for the rival, while providing a handy "darkest hour" for the hero.

2. Have the rival take responsibility for their actions, and have them acknowledge what it is that has led them to behave this way. Understanding + accountability = potential for change... and we'll hope they do.

3. Have the rival support the hero in the end. That's coming full circle, baby.

Now, go. Use this guide for good.

Mommie Dearest

It has occurred to me that some areas of human experience are hot-button issues for people... writers and non-writers alike. (That's right, there are two kinds of people in the world...) One is motherhood.

I've been thinking about this because I have a script I want to write (once I'm "done" with my ever-growing to-write list) that revolves around a mother who sometimes really can't stand her kids. She loves them, but Lord, does she sometimes want to kill them. (It's a comedy; think of Jane Kaczmarek in Malcolm in the Middle.) I've had some friends who are parents weigh in on the story, which is admittedly at a very early stage... and there seems to be some reluctance about this mother character. I'm kind of getting that many moms won't buy my mother character because she's just not authentic enough. Not loving enough. Not all-consumingly, self-sacrificingly devoted enough. This is such a tough area; how can I, a non-mom (there are two kinds of people in this world...) write a convincing mother? How can I know what it means to experience a love like motherhood?

I haven't figured it out yet. Or even if it's going to be a problem (I'm really still in the "What's the essential premise?" phase). But I have to say, sometimes, even as a non-mom, I see a mother on screen and want to call bullshit.

Case in point: Padme Amidala's expiration of a broken heart in Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith.

I know. She loved the dude. She loved him more than anyone in the universe has loved another person. And he betrayed her, and all the people she's ever cared about, and chose the dark side. And oh, by the way, she thinks he's dead.

Her heart is broken. No doubt.

Meanwhile, she has just given birth to twins. Two babies borne of this great, cosmic love. Two babies with her dude's DNA, his face, his deep-down goodness. Her children.

She names them, and dies.

WTF?

Maybe you want to stick around and honour the memory of your great love by raising your/his kids to be loving, wonderful people who will do good in this world, rather than, I don't know, leaving 'em in the hands of whoever'll take 'em?

I don't think anyone can possibly believe this particular example of motherhood. This choice just screams "the character has to die because 25 years ago I wrote the ending, and she's totally dead".

Anakin, as he wakes in his shiny-new Vader suit, asks after Padme. He's told that he himself killed her. I kind of wish he had.

For the Love of Toni Collette*

As a result of a script I'm struggling with right now, I've been thinking a lot lately about supporting characters. Major supporting characters, who have needs and arcs of their own, as well as those who simply have a function in a given story.

Sometimes, in a script, supporting players feel like supporting players -- they come in, do their thing, and go. On the page, they look pretty insubstantial. When you're reading a script, you just don't give them much thought.

But these are the people that populate the movie the script wants to be. And don't we want excellent actors to play even these less glory-filled roles?

Consider Toni Collette's career. Since her endearing Muriel, she has not really become a lead (despite my adoration for her, and everything, in About a Boy). She's not the superstar people will pay to see in any old thing. Instead, she largely takes the supporting role. The co-worker in Changing Lanes. The not-quite-love-interest in The Hours. The mom in Sixth Sense and Little Miss Sunshine. None of these roles is huge... and yet they all had enough meat to them to warrant Ms. Collette's signing on.

I'm thinking we need to pay attention to the supporting roles. I'm thinking that our movies are only going to be stronger if Toni Collette is in them.

Ergo: write meaty, interesting supporting roles, and Toni may follow...

*Toni Collette is simply one example. Feel free to consider your own: James Franco? Zooey Deschanel?

How to Be True

I thoroughly enjoyed re-watching True Romance last night; it remains a sentimental favourite. Now, I'm not so much about Elvis in the bathroom, or the Sicily history lesson, or the kung fu. Most of that stuff typed by anybody but Tarantino just sounds like it's trying too hard.

No, I'm more about plain old storytelling. Here are some True Romance lessons that endure:

1. The characters have colour. I'm not just talking about Clarence and Alabama. I'm talking about guys like Floyd (the stoner played by Brad Pitt). This is a character who has nothing to do except inadvertently lead the bad guys -- twice -- to the good guys. Why does he do it? Because he's so far out of his head that he just wants to be nice and show how helpful he can be. Anybody want a hit from his honey-bottle bong?

2. Speaking of leading the bad guys to the good guys... the structure of this story is predicated on a big coincidence in the inciting incident: Clarence leaves his driver's license in Drexl's (the dead pimp's) hand. Without this "oops", there is no way the gangsters would've figured out who stole the coke, and where he might be. But you know, you buy it... Clarence just shot up the place and killed some dudes and he's just a guy who works at a comic book shop, and he's a bit... stressed, the moment he's actually running out of the place. A good reminder of how you can still make a must-have plot point credible.

3. There's a ton of characters. But we don't meet anybody until we need to. Thank God we don't spend an hour checking in on cops Chris Penn and Tom Sizemore before they come into play, eh?

4. The scene where the gangster (James Gandolfini, who has not been at all typecast in his career) beats the crap out of our heroine Alabama. This scene is so brutal it's hard to watch, but I have to give the filmmakers credit: this scene, unlike how it might be played in another movie, never turns sexual. There's no threat of rape. How refreshing! And why does this beating never go there? I'd guess it's because the gangster is a professional. He's here to do a job. Not all gangsters are psychos, and not all scenes of violence against women must be sexual violence. (Yeah, I said it, Andrea Dworkin! Eat it!)

5. And then, of course, there's the romance: "Baby... you have blood in your eye." Awww.

And those are some of the reasons I still love True Romance. Feel free to share yours.

It's People, People

Saw Breach last week, and thought it was a tight, exciting spy thriller. No mean feat, considering it's based on the true story of Robert Hanssen, the biggest betrayer of CIA secrets in recent memory.

As a story, it almost shouldn't work. From the outset, we know this guy's doing wrong. And we know he's going to get caught (the movie isn't coy; we open with the press conference announcing his capture). Even the manner of Hanssen's downfall is fairly pedestrian -- one last dead drop.

Breach works because Robert Hanssen is one interesting sonovabitch. The man is a jumble of contradictions: an asshole boss, and a mentor. A devout Roman Catholic family man who attends mass regularly, with a behind-closed-doors lust for Catherine Zeta-Jones and a fetish for sharing sex tapes of he and his wife in bed. He's a paranoid egomaniac... and a man who desperately wants to be able to trust.

This mucky puddle of goo that is Hanssen's character is the draw of the film, and the source of all tension within it.

Just goes to show: if you've got an interesting character, you've got the meat of a story.

The Pretenders

I've been researching teen romantic comedies, because I'm fleshing out an outline for one of my own. In my travels (and, okay, over a number of months) I've watched and made notes on She's the Man, What a Girl Wants, Mean Girls, John Tucker Must Die, 13 Going on 30, and Freaky Friday. In case you're not on a similar mission (but have a passing interest?), here are a few things I've learned about the teen rom-com:

• Setpieces are absolutely crucial in this genre. Whether it's a school dance, huge "popular crowd" party, the "big game", a concert, a debutante ball, a school play... these movies are structured around their "everybody's gonna be there" events.
• The "right guy" is very often into music. Either he's a music geek (John Tucker) or a musician himself (What a Girl Wants).
• The right guy is also an outsider - he's not part of the "cool" crowd, though is, of course, in his non-conformist way, incredibly cool.
• This works out well, given that the heroine of these movies is almost always an outsider herself; she's not cool by conventional standards, and doesn't quite fit in, which is exactly what makes her cool - to us, and to the right guy.
• Our heroine's friends tend to represent varying degrees of trying too hard to fit in (the key theme of all of these films).
  
• The villain in these movies might be a rival girl (13 Going on 30, What a Girl Wants) or a jerkhead guy (John Tucker), but this physical presence is rarely the main source of antagonism in these movies, which is...

• Our heroine herself. It blows my mind, but each and every one of these movies is about the exact same thing - a girl who tries to be something she's not. This is the archetypal story for the teen rom-com. A girl who's pretty great to begin with pretends to be something else, falls into the trap of wanting it all, has a dark moment in which she discovers her real self has been lost, and, in the climax, publicly reveals her true self (thereby earning the respect of worthy friends and crushes).
  

What I want to know is, why does this story speak so powerfully to teenage girls, presumably the target audience for these movies? Or does it, even? Is it possible this story is what we as adults wish for, for teenage girls? We hope that girls will reject what (wait for it) "society" tells them they should be, and instead be the brave "outsider" (who, by the way, always ends up with more friends than she started with; even popular ones)? Finally, I would really like to know if the average teen girl relates to this archetypal one - do all teen girls see themselves as outsiders? Never popular enough, but are trying to embrace what they do have?

Anybody got a teenage daughter we could ask?

Lessons from the Incredibly Obvious File #5

Saw United 93 this week, and thought it was intense and powerful. There are lots of great lessons here, though many have to do with the specifics of this particular movie. It's a 9/11 story, we already know what's going to happen (both the tragedy and the heroism), and we also know that a lot of what we're going to see on the plane is going to be invented... the movie is a triumph of restraint in all of those ways. It feels absolutely real, and it doesn't ever cross the line into exploitation.

But I'm going to leave all that. Most of the positive things I would say have to do with the incredibly fine line this movie had to walk to not be gross.

Instead, here's a much more general/useful tidbit to concentrate on: every so often, I see a movie that really makes use of characters doing their jobs. Well. And caring about their work. Before United 93 itself is hijacked, the movie follows countless nameless characters in Air Traffic Control towers in multiple cities, as well as men and women at various levels in NORAD, as they desperately try to figure out how many aircraft have been hijacked and what can be done to prevent more planes-as-bombs.

And it is incredibly moving.

It is powerful to watch people being passionate in their work.

It's the reason Aaron Sorkin has a career.

Coming Full Circle

-Or-

Dammit, Syd Field Was Right

In which we sort of continue the biopic discussion from the last post & comments.

I've been endlessly incorporating notes into my wedding comedy, in which the protagonist does some not-very-nice things. She has motivation to do 'em. Frankly, I'd piled on the motivation. But something was missing. Something fundamental about her character was going unexplained. It was on maybe draft 9 that I took to heart the question: "What made her this way?"

I had to go back. Way back. I figured out her "circle of being"-- the movie-language moment in time that effectively makes a person who they are in the present, and that will be directly addressed by the climax of the movie and how the character changes. Think of it as an origin myth for non-superheroes. I'm not done rewriting, but finding that moment for this character went a looooong way.

So I've been thinking about these circles. Here are a couple of examples of The Good and The Bad.

Circle of Being - The Good. One word: Rosebud.

Okay, that's too easy.

How about this: The love affair with Ilsa in Paris.

Whoops-- damn, too obvious too. But it works, huh? What makes Rick so darn cranky and reluctant to get emotionally involved? Hello! Maybe standing on that train platform with nothing but a broken heart?

Anyway. To the real example. I hope my memory isn't too sketchy here, but I'm thinking of Gattaca. Gattaca follows a lower-caste drone type guy who aspires to be an astronaut. His genes prevent him reaching this dream-- in this world, based on his genetic makeup, he's considered unfit. Unhealthy. But once, as a teenager, this kid beat his genetically-superior brother in a swimming race. That moment provides all the support our hero needs to pursue his dream, which he knows is possible. The movie also happens to elegantly thread flashbacks to this origin story through the present action. We get to see the beginning and completion of the circle at more or less the same time. It's pretty powerful.

Circle of Being - The Bad: Just to pick on The Aviator yet again... I think we're meant to believe that Howard Hughes's neuroses (yes, including the jars of urine!) stem from a moment in his childhood in which his mother washes him down-- creepily-- during a quarantine.

I'm sorry, but this is a terrible circle of being. Is the movie suggesting this one moment made Hughes? The big dreams as well as the mental illness? This is where circles of being break down and become fodder for mockery. It's ludricous. It feels like an "insert trauma here" moment. It's where movie language loses its power.

So, yeah. If you're going to come full circle, do it good and not bad.

You Gotta Go Home With Somebody

I've been trying to decide whether or not I really wanted to post about The Departed... or whether I should just hold onto my bile so I can move on with my life. Guess what I've decided?

That's right! I've decided to slag this year's Best Picture publicly. (S'okay-- I've had lots of practice from last year.)

The Departed ultimately doesn't work. It's a crime thriller founded on double-crosses and infiltration from both the "bad" side and the "good" side. Why is a double-cross thrilling? Because there's something at stake: we care about the human beings on one side or the other -- occasionally both -- and are subsequently worried/shocked/horrified/ excited when it becomes clear their goals, and their lives, are in danger. The way we grow close to these human beings? By going home with them. Truly being with them. Seeing what they want for their life, what they believe, and why they're willing to risk so much.

Let's look at what we have in terms of major characters in The Departed:

1. Sullivan (Matt) - Pretty much a sneaky, conniving sonofabitch. Who occasionally plays at being "good boyfriend", but never convincingly. He's just too hollow a person. He was raised to look out for #1 and that's what he does. We're sometimes "at home" with him -- but we're never really on the inside.
   
2. Costigan (Leo) - An apparent protagonist. The good guy working to take down Costello, who sacrifices much to be able to do so. Except... who is this guy, again? What exactly is he sacrificing? I understand he "wants his identity back", but... sorry, buddy, your identity was missing long before you went undercover! This is a guy we literally do not "go home with" (I don't think we even see where he lives...). Why on earth would we be invested in him? We don't even know him well enough to know how his character is changed by the events of this story.
3. Costello (Jack) - Total jerkhead whose "rat-face" I can't get out of my head. This is a man who played both mentor and villain to both Sullivan and Costigan, but I still feel nothing for him one way or the other. I don't care about him or his coke-dusted prostitutes. He's not even quite interesting enough to hold my attention (his hateful opening monologue in the past was a good start, but the character kind of empties out after that).
4. Madolyn the Shrink - I think maybe we're meant to care about this character because she's a pretty lady who means well. And because she seems to see something in Sullivan and Costigan that we don't. The key being: we don't. Unfortunately, she just looks like the worst reader of human beings ever.
5. Oscar-Nominated Mark Wahlberg - Who yells "fuck" very loudly in his excellent Bostonian accent and wig reclaimed from Boogie Nights. Um-- is he a character?

So I think that's what we're left with: a bunch of twists and turns based on not a single character we really know.

You gotta go home with somebody.

Let's all go home with the characters in L.A. Confidential and Heat again, shall we?

A Kinder, Gentler Satire

I will tell you: I was really excited about Thank You For Smoking. A story about a charming smoking lobbyist without a conscience? What a brilliant world and character to explore and -- I'd hoped -- show me some difficult truths about our society while making me giggle in discomfort.

Well, those of you who've seen it know: it ain't no Network. Or Wag the Dog, or Bob Roberts, or Dr. Strangelove. I'm not actually sure this movie has seen those movies.

The big question is: what do you ask of your satire? For me, I want satire to fulfill some, if not all, of the following:

1) Make me laugh while cringing.
2) Explore some aspect/institution in our society and show me that it's much more corrupt than I could have imagined (or at least, it has the potential to be...).
3) Related to 2): Disturb/frighten me. Make me say to myself "they wouldn't...".
4) Tell a story with the regular stuff: characters, tension, consequences.
5) Explore characters that have the chance at redemption/change (whether or not they succeed).

Thank You For Smoking provided a few laughs, but once you've seen the lobbyists for tobacco, alcohol, and guns get together to compare death-stats, you've got to up the ante. The movie doesn't know how. (See, should've watched those other satires!) What's left is a very soft story about whether or not the tobacco lobbyist is going to lose his job. No kidding, that's what's at stake.

To which I ask: why do I frakkin' care?

The thing most absent from this film is the "they wouldn't..." factor. Here, there's no building to a "surely they wouldn't really allow the bomb to drop" or "surely they won't really kill Howard Beale on live TV".

This character -- slick as he is -- just isn't bad enough to be interesting. Now imagine the HBO, F/X or Showtime television series based on this same character and world. Then you realize how truly gentle Smoking is. And how big the gap between audacity on TV and audacity in film has become.

Instead, we're getting the NBC version. Oh well, win some, lose some.

Characters Should Act Human

Assuming they're, you know, human.

Another lesson from Jurassic Park Numero Trois: the minute humans don't act the way human beings should, you lose your cred. Case in point? The moment William H. Macy and Tea Leoni first encounter real-life dinosaurs, they do not catch their breath. They do not scream, or back away in awe. They do not say "Holy Mary, Mother of God." Instead, they ignore the dinosaurs and focus on calling out for their missing son.

I understand: their son is missing. That's awful. Unfathomable. But I do not believe that any human being could be so focused that they wouldn't have that "holy shit" moment.

Dinosaurs, people! Let's not forget that that's still a wild thing for human beings to see, even if they are three movies into the franchise.

Sheesh, the Marines in Aliens were less blasé!

Dial-an-Arc

A little while ago, I caught Jurassic Park III (imagine that claw-slashed typeface there) for the second time. In the theatre, I remember being disappointed-- but it's still a pretty good time. Especially if you have a thing for Sam Neill's "you people are fools" face. And I do.

This time around, a couple of really obvious not-good story points stuck out at me. The first is the annoying case of the character-arc-that-isn't. In this case, I'm talking about the divorced couple working together to find their son, who end up getting back together in the end.

This is the perfect recipe for a strong arc for these two. The couple hate each other, have moved on, don't even understand the other person anymore... but because of their shared love of their only child, they put their petty grievances aside and work together. Through this mutually agreed-upon peace, and through the many dangers they face while on the island, they see each other anew and let the positive memories back in. They realize they still love each other-- or, even better, they fall in love all over again.

Except, you know, none of that happens. Not a bit of it. They work together on the island without a single real moment of tension between them. There's no conflict, no old bitterness... in fact, they seem to quite like each other from the get-go. It's weird-- based on the reunion in the end, the film seems to believe these characters have really changed, and that the reunion is a surprise!

But when they do get together in the end? That silence you heard in the theatre? That was the sound of no one caring.

That's what happens when it all seems too easy.