In the bag was the dress she’d bought for every bad reason. $90 poorer and she found herself getting angry, hating the colorful dress that didn’t fit right and hating herself for buying it. As she crossed the 5th St. bridge she fought an irrational urge to throw the bag into the river. Nice work, to go out by herself on a sunny morning and end up like this less than an hour later, brimming with self-reproach and wanting to scream. Not that she would. At the halfway point on the bridge she stopped, not knowing if she was turning around to go return the damned dress and what a scene that would be, crazy lady who changed her mind, 10 minutes ago she said “I love it…” or if she was really going to drop the bag into the water. A stupid gesture, and frugality wouldn’t let her make it. No, instead she’d waste the money and this perfectly good terrible stupid fucking dress too by shoving it in the closet forever and feeling a dim stab of regret each time she came across it until years from now when she donated it, or until she died.
And with that thought, a picture flashed through her mind of the shopping bag sitting here on the sidewalk next to the railing, and it’s her, her that’s gone. Because, swear to God, it would be easier for her to jump in the river than to throw away this perfectly good $90 dress.
She stared into the eddying water, leaning hard on the railing: thick steel, no chance it would give way. She willed herself to slow her breathing, already knowing she wouldn’t jump. Suicide was something to daydream about, like a hammock on a Mexican beach.
In her imagination she A/B tested taking the dress home vs. taking it back to the shop. She was currently midpoint on the span, at the top of the gently humpbacked road. The shop and her apartment were equidistant, though of course walking back to the shop would lengthen her overall trip. But she had nowhere to be, and could always use the exercise. And she’d feel worse arriving home with the dress as compared to the awkward interaction at the shop required in order to get a refund. She made her decision and started back, feeling good about her choice. She was doing the right thing, the harder thing. Maybe this tiny act would be the first of many, of a series of better choices that would mend her broken heart. She imagined a life where waking up in the morning wasn’t a disappointment. Other people seemed to be enjoying their lives, at least part of the time: maybe she could be like that too. As she dreamed of a more fulfilling life, the task of returning the dress became lighter, not a mortifying thing to be endured but a slightly absurd interaction; she imagined how she’d lighten things up with some wry, self-deprecating humor, and make the clerk laugh. She could do that.
I mostly write screenplays, and very seldom prose. Recently this little vignette squirted out of my pen during a 10-minute timed writing exercise. I tinkered some before hitting “publish” but it’s basically improv.
2017 Goal #1: Finish my feature screenplay spec BARTENDER OF THE YEAR and submit it to the Nicholl Fellowship in April.
Goal achieved? NO
Not only did I blow past the Nicholl Fellowship and every other contest deadline this past year, I am nicely on-track to miss a bunch of 2018 deadlines too. I’m currently 100+ pages into a terrible, no good, very bad first draft. Writers sometimes call the first draft the “vomit draft,” the goal being getting it done, not making it good. But rather than a full-throated purge, progress on BARTENDER OF THE YEAR has advanced in a series of minuscule puke-belches.
BARTENDER is a comedy-drama about a popular local mixologist who runs for office in his small town. It’s also my challenge to myself to write a movie outside my comfort zone: one with no science fiction elements or high-concept gimmicks to propel the story. And it’s propulsion, sure enough, that has been lacking. In my darkest moments of plotting this thing I’m convinced I know nothing about writing, human nature, normal human speech, or how the everyday affairs of human beings are conducted. I feel as if I’m bluffing my way through everything.
And then other days… it’s better. A lot better. Experience has taught me the only way out is through. Push, work, WRITE until the work becomes the thing that occupies your mind instead of the fear.
Goal #2: Search for material
Goal achieved? YES
Itching to get a project into prep, this year I decided to put on my producer hat and start looking for screenplays. I didn’t find anything I wanted to option, but I made the effort and read a pile of scripts. (I’m still itchy. If you’re interested in sending me something, please read this to learn more.)
Goal #3: AFX training
Goal achieved? NO
This year I bought myself a nifty (and pricey) new MacBook with the intention of updating my knowledge of Adobe After Effects. The ability to create pro-level motion graphics and visual effects “in-house” would hugely expand the range of projects I can execute DIY-style. And, it’s never a bad thing to have more marketable skills. But I had an ambitious list of goals for 2017 and something had to give, so this one resides on the back-burner. I needed a new computer anyway, honey. Really.
Goal #4. Take a beginning improv class
Goal achieved? YES
Every Monday for 10 weeks this past year I stood up with a group of strangers, playing silly improv games with them and making up scenes on the spot. I said and did the first stupid-ass thing that came into my mind. Something different, to maybe blow some cobwebs out of the brain. Not as embarrassing as anticipated. Signing up for the intermediate class in January.
Goal #5. Other writing
Goal achieved? YES
OK, admittedly “other writing” is a pretty nebulous goal, so it’s easy to call this one a win. I did work on things besides BARTENDER OF THE YEAR in 2017… and even finished some of them. For instance, an 8-page short called FROG, which I’m pretty happy with. It’s a two-hander about a disabled intern who befriends the super-intelligent frog she meets one night in a university computer lab. It was written expressly for the Jameson First Shot contest and if it had won, the script would have been produced with actor Dominic West providing the voice of the frog. Alas, that didn’t happen, but FROG did quarter-final in the ScreenCraft Short Screenplay contest in September.
One of the best writing experiences I had this past year happened at the day job, imagine that: Armstrong Creates, the agency I’ve worked at for mumble-mumble years now. I’m a generalist there, which means I might be retouching photos one day and cooking up an ad campaign the next. When a client (a manufacturer of corks for the wine industry) decided they wanted a concepts for a promotional video, I whipped up a script for a comedy sketch that takes place entirely inside a wine bottle. The wine and the cork are personified (think the Fruit of the Loom guys), best buddies who’ve grown very close over the years as the wine ages. They even sing a duet together. Like so many concepts, this pitch never made it out of the conference room. Too bad: I think it would have turned out well. Would have been an absolute blast to shoot, too. Given that, what exactly made this a good writing experience? Well, I got paid, for one thing. But more to the point: starting from zero I cranked out a completed script – one I was really happy with – in the matter of a couple of hours. It was exhilarating, and a welcome reminder that I don’t really need inspiration. I just need a deadline. So sure, my concept got rejected, but I went home happy that day. And the experience helped me shake off the torpor I’d been fighting much of the year.
Back at home and re-energized, I finally wrote up a first draft of ANAESTHESIA, another short film idea that I’d been kicking around for too many years. I’m also compiling notes for a new feature script, the one I’ll write once BARTENDER is in the bag. I don’t know the title yet. But it’s a sci-fi comedy about an alien invasion. Yeah, back to the comfort zone. I gotta be me, I guess.
Currently I’m watching two very different TV shows: SyFy’s The Expanse and CBS’s Supergirl. The differences between them, and how I find myself reacting to them, is making me think a lot about what’s really important in storytelling.
The Expanse is SyFy Channel’s prestige programming. It’s complex. It’s dark. It looks expensive. It takes itself very seriously. It tries very hard, but often to little effect. Supergirl, on the other hand, doesn’t hardly seem to be trying at all, but the emotional payoffs have been surprisingly powerful.
The storylines in Supergirl are your basic, primary-colors comic book stuff. No gritty re-imagining here. It’s not a perfect show: dialogue can be clunky, and effects and production design are often pretty cheesy as well. The stories are quite simple. But they resonate, because the writers are working basic, relatable themes: family loyalty, prejudice, anger vs. self-control.
The character of Supergirl (aka Kara) illuminates how important backstory can be to creating a relatable character. Like her more famous cousin, Kara was rocketed to Earth in a little space capsule by parents who stayed behind to die on doomed homeworld Krypton. The big difference between the two of them: Kal-el (Superman) was a baby when he left Krypton. Kara was 12. This simple fact makes Supergirl a much more interesting character than Superman, and has been driving the best story moments all season. Kara remembers her home, and her parents, and she misses them terribly. At times, torn between her human and Kryptonian identities, she literally feels alienated from the human race. She has anger issues. Think about that one for a minute: Supergirl has all the powers of her cousin. If she really came unglued, she could do a lot of damage.
We got a glimpse of that in the episode where Supergirl was temporarily turned bad by some red kryptonite. It revealed an inner life full of resentments, and made me think about her in a way I never had with Superman. (This hour also featured some of the best acting ever seen on the show, and yes, this is the one that made me cry.)
Ultimately, Supergirl’s corn and goofiness don’t matter: I understand the characters and I want to know what they’ll do next. I am entertained.
“Entertainment,” I imagine, is probably not a word that comes up much as often as it should in The Expanse writers’ room. To their credit, it feels like they are smart people working very hard at the 10,000-foot level to honor the big story arcs of the books (I haven’t read them).
The show plays a long game, over the course of the first season setting up political tensions on an interplanetary scale between Earth, colonial Mars (now an independent state), and the Belters, roughneck denizens of the industrialized asteroid belt. But big things are made up of little things. And The Expanse is rarely compelling at the smaller scale, the scale of viewer engagement – that is to say, individual scenes and episodes. (See Game of Thrones to observe how a show develops big story arcs while simultaneously making things work moment-to-moment. Personally, I’m not much into swords-and-sorcery stuff, but I’ll make an exception for GoT because… well, because that shit is undeniably gripping.)
The weaknesses of The Expanse are instructive to me because as a sci-fi guy I’m enamored with all the things it counts as virtues: the detailed world-building, the realistic hardware, the getting the physics of space travel (mostly) right. Yet, all through season 1, I struggled to stay with it because I didn’t much care about what was happening. There was a glimmer of hope in episode 2, when space-freighter guy Holden logged a distress call in direct violation of captain’s orders, forcing them to change course & try to help. Stakes! Conflict! Characters are what they do, and I saw Holden make a hard choice to do the right thing, regardless of the consequences. So now I’m in his corner. As the show has progressed, it’s been interesting to see Holden become the de facto leader of the Rocinante crew, despite the fact that they all rightly blame him for the pickle they’re in. I hang onto Holden and his gang to stay afloat in a sea of I-don’t-care.
But those scenes aboard the Rocinante are only about one-third of the show. The UN/Earth scenes are all talk. I just wait for them to end. The Ceres scenes are tough going too, but for different reasons. Sorry, maybe I’m a bad person, but I don’t care about the downtrodden people of Ceres. Oh, hey, you know who I cared about? Those mutants on Mars in Paul Verhoeven’s TOTAL RECALL. The Ceres scenes kinda bring those guys to mind. Again, stylistically far goofier than the grimness of The Expanse, but in TOTAL RECALL the basic requirements of drama had been met: I got to know the mutants. Early scenes introduced some of them to me as individuals, so when their oxygen got cut off, it hurt. The people on Ceres, by comparison, are an undifferentiated bunch of rabble. They are a symbol. And because they are a symboI, it doesn’t much matter to me whether they have air and water.
Furthermore, I didn’t care about the missing girl – the other part of the Ceres storyline – because again, I’ve been given no reason to care. Onscreen for maybe 10 seconds, at the beginning of episode 1, what we were shown of her was totally cryptic. I understand we were building a mystery, but if I can’t be told any info about the girl because it’s a mystery, I better damn well care about the guy who’s trying to solve the mystery for 10 episodes… but I come up empty there too. I don’t know why he’s working on this case except that his boss told him to. Oh, and I think he fell in love with a snapshot of the girl. Really?
There’s also the problem of uniformity of characters. Personalities in The Expanse range in disposition from “tough-but-fair” to “mass-murderer,” so inevitably we’re steeped in hard-boiled dialogue, all delivered with unblinking stares. It gets old. To differentiate the characters, some of them have accents, and a few of them are women (UN lady and mohawk girl*). This is the same flaw – wall-to-wall second-rate tough talk – that very nearly made me bail on season 1 of Netflix’s Jessica Jones, before that show was redeemed around mid-season by virtue of its terrific villain.
There are other things about The Expanse that make watching something of a chore. There’s a triple-whammy of accents, slang, and an invented language, compounded by characters who mumble, or whisper, or struggle with English pronunciation (UN lady). I’m not sure how much a crummy stereo mix has to do with it, but I for one am constantly rolling the DVR back trying to tell what’s being said. I should just turn on the subtitles I guess.
Finally, The Expanse is sometimes hobbled by what seems like indifferent direction. There are fumbled opportunities to build suspense and pay it off with action. Setups are poor, so when action comes, I’m surprised or confused. Moments that should have visceral impact slip by because I’m trying to interpret them. Hey, somebody in a spacesuit (can’t tell who) just did something! A gun went off! Whose gun? Which way was it pointed?
Happily, there are exceptions to this. Most notably, a terrific scene in the season’s final episode, set in the lobby of a seedy space hotel. Pretty much every character in the show arrived there at once, all of them looking for the mystery girl. What transpired next was a long, wordless scene as the suspense built, and built, and built… and was finally paid off with a shootout that was absolutely bananas. I was grinning.
The Expanse is telling a complicated story. For that, it should be applauded. I’ll bet I’ve been more patient with it than your average viewer, but, like an average viewer, I am tuning in for entertainment. I want a payoff. So far, The Expanse’s payoffs have been kind of meager. I’m hanging in there, hoping it will get better. Rooting for it, really, because on many levels The Expanse is just what I always wanted in a sci-fi TV show. It’s been renewed for a second season, and I’m glad. It would be a shame to see it go away. There’s a lot of potential there.
*After an entire season I can’t remember anybody’s name except Holden’s. For that I’m not going to apologize… or Google, for that matter.
Oh crap, I wrote a listicle. Recently a university film student wrote to me with some questions about my short film New. One of his questions was “what three tips can you give to a filmmaker entering a short film in festivals?” This is what I told him.
1) Have you made your film yet? If not, I’d say, make sure the script is as great as you can make it before you do anything else. If writing isn’t your forté, find some help. Once you have a script, get opinions from people you trust. Listen to them. Get some decent actors and do a table read. Listen to them.
2) Keep it under 10 minutes. The longer a short film is, the harder it is for programmers to fit it into their schedules. Once you pass 10 minutes TRT, you’d better have a fucking awesome film if you want to see it screen at a festival. “Gosh we all really love it, we just wish it were a little shorter” is not the call you want to get from the programmers at Sundance. Trust me. (The film in question was my short La vie d’un chien. 13 minutes.)
3) And if the film is done: do your research about festivals. It costs money to enter them, and there are LOTS of festivals. You could spend a fortune and have little to show for it. Find festivals that show the kind of film you have. Beyond that, I always ask myself: is this a prestigious festival to play at? …and if not, is it in a city I can drive to and get home from in one day? …and if not, is it in a city I’d like to visit?
I’ve been thinking about this drawing I want to do. It’s going to be awesome. It would be a house, with a door, two windows, and a chimney. There will be a line of smoke coming up out of the chimney, spiraling up like a bedspring. Next to the house, there will be a big green tree, and me, playing with a ball. There will be one puffy cloud in the sky. And right up in the corner of the picture I will put a yellow semi-circle with lines coming out. That’s the sun.
I’ve got some good paper, and some crayons. I spent some time researching what crayons to get. I read reviews online and talked to my friends. The Crayola 64-pack was clearly the only choice. My mom got me the 24 box. That’s okay. You’ll see; I’m gonna work it! I’ll make these 24 colors sing.
My mom has really enjoyed drawings I’ve done in the past, so, there is some pressure on me. This new one has to measure up, you know? In fact, ideally it should be at least a little bit better than the last thing I drew. (It was a horse. I drew two horse pictures yesterday. I don’t want her to think that’s all I can do, is draw horses. I’m not a one-trick-pony. Hah! Get it?)
I’m gonna start my drawing now.
OK, before I start, I think I’ll have a juice box and walk around in the backyard a little, just to clear my head.
I’m back. I’m gonna start drawing the house.
You know what? You can’t rush things like this. There’s a lot to think about. This is not *just* a picture of a house. This drawing could open doors for me. Mom might put it on the refrigerator. If she’s really impressed, she might get me that 64-pack. Man!
I wish I had the 64-pack. Then I could really draw the picture I have in my head. It sucks I have to make do with the 24. Billy Johnson has the 64-pack. He’s a really good artist. I am too, but nobody is going to say, “this isn’t as good as Billy’s house, but then again, Johnny didn’t have 64 colors to choose from.” Nobody cuts you any slack; nobody cares what you had to overcome. Billy’s an ass anyway. He traces.
OK, time to get started. With my 24 shitty crayons. If this stupid house picture thing crashes and burns it’s all mom’s fault, really. She’s denying me tools I need to express my inner vision.
She’d find a way to get me that 64-pack, if she really loved me.
You know what? I can’t draw this house today. I am just in the wrong head space altogether. Plus I’m just not prepared. I’ll draw the house tomorrow.
“What would that consist of?”
“Basically, a whole bunch of cats, marching down the street.”
“Yeah, you know, cats don’t generally march. They’re not big marchers.”
“Why are you trying to kill my dream?”
“Why do you think this is a good idea?”
“It’s never been done.”
“There’s a reason.”
“Also it would be cheap. All you’d need is a bunch of cats.”
“So why are you collecting money?”
“First I have to adopt the cats. And, I’ll need cat food.”
“Do you own a cat?”
“Have you ever owned one?”
“OK, I have a suggestion. Why don’t you start small. Get one cat.”
“How can you have a cat parade with one cat. You’re stupid.”
“Hear me out. Get one cat, and see if you can get it to march down the street.”
“What’s that going to prove?”
“It’s going to prove it can’t be done.”
“There we are, back to killing the dream.”
“IT’S NOT A GOOD DREAM”
“It’s a beautiful dream. Cats are beautiful animals.”
“Yes they are.”
“No argument there.”
“So, if ONE cat is beautiful… I’m just saying: Cats in formation. Multiple cats. Can you picture it?”
“Am I not being clear?”