Kaminsky visits Shannon at a rehab center and forces him to walk by shouting at him and telling him not to be such a goddam baby.
* * *
So what have we learned about structure? Well, if you pull your dick out your ear and listen up: E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. Let’s analyze this mother.
ACT I …
… is where you start her up. We meet the main actor, find out what ‘character’ he’s pretending to play this time, finger the assholes in his way, discover which dame’s gonna be sticking her damn beak in and whose ass he’ll need to kick at the end of Act III. At some point during Act I our HERO will do something that means he’ll need to leave his ZONE OF COMFORT. And I ain’t talkin’ ’bout your momma’s house – I’m talkin’ ’bout A HUGE CHANGE THAT’S ACTUALLY PRETTY MAJOR. In Deal it’s when Kaminsky fakes his own death at the chemical plant, something I’ve only had to do twice. At this point the protagonist CANNOT GO BACK. In this way, each one of my divorces has been a HERO’S JOURNEY.
ACT IIA …
… shows the hero getting used to his new role. This often involves TRAINING MONTAGES. After some initial awkwardness, he starts to ACE SHIT LIKE A BADASS, until something unexpected happens that makes things ALL FUCKED UP. This is the mid-point, the part of the movie where things are at their most ‘mid’. In Deal, it’s when a cowardly flunky blows Kaminsky’s cover.
ACT IIB …
… is a bunch of shit going south, and just like life, the middle part is a son of a gun.§ Long, boring, aimless – you can’t get through it sober. Finally, you get to the point where you can’t take it anymore, so you MAN UP AND START ACTING LIKE A BOSS.
ACT III …
… is the final ASS-KICKING RAMPAGE, which culminates in a specific, HIGH-LEVEL ASS-KICK OF A TOUGH MOTHERFUCKER. As such, before we go full tilt, the hero needs to …
TOOL UP – stash guns in boots/holsters/holdalls; feed a ton of bullets into bullet belts; strap knives to himself, etc.
SUIT UP – leather jacket/shades. (Not actual suits, unless it’s a courtroom drama, like Legally Blonde.)
MAN UP – e.g. a SLOW-MOTION POWER STRIDE toward
THE ULTIMATE SITE OF ASS-KICKING. If the story concerns a MULTIPLE-HERO TEAM, like Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle, then it’s advisable to have at least one scene where they SLO-MO STRIDE IN A LINE.
TRACK DOWN AND EXECUTE A BUNCH OF ASSHOLES. Note: (barbed) put-downs regarding previous conduct should only be exchanged with NAMED CHARACTERS.
THE EPILOGUE …
… ties up outstanding plot holes. (Dealing with them earlier would have interfered with the rhythm of the EXTENDED ASS-KICK.) It’s also an opportunity for everyone to THANK THE HERO for being so selflessly great throughout.
So that’s structure, fuckers.¶ All you gotta do is put some meat on dem bones.
See: ASS DEPTH; ASS-KICKING, ULTIMATE SITE OF; ASS-KICKS, EXTENDED ACT III; BACKSTORY; BAD PEOPLE; BADASS, ACING SHIT LIKE A; CALL TO ACTION (AS AN ACTUAL CALL); CALL, REFUSAL OF THE; CALL, REFUSING THE REFUSAL OF THE; CHANGES THAT ARE ACTUALLY PRETTY MAJOR, HUGE; CHEMICAL PLANT EXPLOSION, FAKING DEATH BY PRECIPITATING A; DIALOGUE WITH THEM, CHARACTERS HAVING A NAME BEING A PREREQUISITE OF ENGAGING IN; FUCKEDUPNESS, MID-POINT AS APEX OF; HERO, THE; HERO’S INHERENT SUPERIORITY, CAMERA’S LOVING GAZE AS INDICATION OF; HOT TAMALES, PRIME PIECE OF BEEF’S ABILITY TO EASILY HANDLE; LINES, STRIDING FORWARD PURPOSEFULLY IN; MANNING UP, ACTING LIKE A BOSS AS A WAY OF; MAN’S BUSINESS; OBSTACLE, WOMAN AS; PAIN-IN-THE-ASS WIVES; POWER STRIDES, SLOW-MOTION; RAMPAGES, ASS-KICKING; SONS OF BITCHES, PEN-PUSHIN’; THANKING THE HERO, IMPORTANCE OF; TOUGH MOTHERFUCKER, HIGH-LEVEL ASS-KICKING OF A; TRAINING MONTAGES; VERBAL MODES OF ASSENT, HERO’S PREFERRED; ZONES YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE COMFORT FROM
* I really don’t want to be a pedant, but this isn’t a dramatic structure at all. Birth and death are relatively short, even in their most protracted forms. What we’re left with is an ungoverned blob between these two generally unsolicited events – Ayo.
† What? Supplementary payback? A city break? – Ayo.
‡ Is this meant to be a saying? Or a pun? ‘Bake’ doesn’t sound anything like ‘drive’. If she had been intoxicated while jumping head first into a swimming pool, Schwarzenegger would have had a better chance of a choice rejoinder. But you feel that, even then, he would probably have said, ‘You should not drink and then jump head first into a pool’ – Ayo.
§ I’ve always assumed that a son of a gun would be an initially smaller gun, a plucky little pistol, always getting into scrapes – Ayo.
¶ I’m no prude – I’ll leaf through GQ magazine if I’m waiting at the dentist – but I do find the relentlessness of Gordy’s profanity exhausting. It’s like he’s sponsored by the word ‘fuck’ – Ayo.
ACTORS, AMATEUR
Every so often an ‘auteur’ will use AMATEUR ACTORS in a film. They’d have you believe it makes things more ‘authentic’.
Italian neo-realism was one such nadir. Suddenly, every fisherman with sad eyes was thumbing a ride to Casting Centrale. But these boner-killing fads never last long.
One of the reasons The Avengers is among the highest-grossing films of all time is that it’s filled with people who act for a living. They don’t care whether the dialogue makes any sense! For the correct fee, they’ll pretend it does!
This is their career.
‘Loki, turn off the Tesseract or I’ll destroy it’ is a line that can only be said by a professional. An amateur wouldn’t be able to make it halfway through without laughing.
See: TURNING OFF A TESSERACT (TO PREVENT ITS DESTRUCTION)
ACTORS, HAVING MORE THAN ONE ASIAN ONE
Will there ever be a Hollywood film starring more than one Asian person?
Maybe if every non-Asian actor dies. And if the cost of revivifying those dead non-Asian actors is prohibitive.
Some people are gonna cry ‘racism’. Well, cry me a river and meet me down the delta of DontGiveAFuck.
Not hiring people because of their race is a constitutional right. That’s one of the reasons I came to this country.
Should I go to jail because I don’t trust Caucasians to do valet parking? Apparently, yes. And I have.
The fact that Hollywood won’t hire Asian people except as background players clustered round a computer has precisely jack shit to do with typing, let alone stereos.
Fact is, the only stereo type I’ll even think about buying is a Yamaha.
And I’m the racist?
Please.
See: REVIVIFICATION, ACCURATELY COSTING; VALET PARKING, QUESTIONABILITY OF CAUCASIANS’ ABILITY TO SUCCESSFULLY PERFORM
ADR
ADR stands for AUTOMATED DIALOGUE RECORDING. It refers to the process by which a filmmaker may re-record lines of dialogue after shooting is complete. ‘Looping’ is used to make lines clearer, or to change the nature of the lines altogether, and is a terrific opportunity to clarify/embellish.
In a Steven Seagal film, ADR is often used to help audiences better understand the sheer ferocity of Seagal’s blows: e.g. ‘Son of a bitch broke my jaw’; ‘I’ve never been hit so hard in my life’; or ‘Good God, that handsome man is powerful.’
It’s a technique that would have eradicated an unhelpful ambiguity in the otherwise excellent erotic thriller, Body of Evidence.
Hot-shot lawyer Frank Dulaney (Willem Dafoe) has begun a torrid sadomasochistic affair with his client, Rebecca Carlson (Madonna), whose potent congress allegedly killed her late lover.* During Dulaney and Carlson’s first sexual encounter, she restrains him with his own belt and pours hot candle wax on his chest, stomach and, we are led to infer, his genitals. But we do not get a close-up of Dafoe’s engorged tip or sack, meaning the wax could have missed; his anguished facial expression could be a delayed reaction to the still-scalding wax on his nips.
Director Uli Idel would have been wise to insist Dafoe add a line of explanation, the audio of which could have played over a shot of Madonna’s face: e.g. ‘Watch out
! That hot wax is perilously close to my balls!’
As it stands, the confusion bounces me out of the narrative, completely killing my boner.
See: HOT WAX ON BALLS
* The film’s tagline: ‘This is the murder weapon. Her name is Rebecca.’ But wouldn’t the same go for Barry the Strangler? – Ayo.
AESTHETIC
In the opening shot of Rowdy Herrington’s 1989 magnum opus about the secret world of security guards, the camera frames a pair of high heels pivoting out of a recently opened car door, before panning up to a HOT GIRL walking toward a club in a CLINGY DRESS. The title comes up, salmon pink: Road House.
Straight off the bat we know this film has style.
The title of this chapter is a fancy word for it.
Movies need an AESTHETIC. Why do you think James Bond is so popular? I distrust Foreign Nationals and women as much as the next intimacy-shy sociopath, but these films have much more to offer than the admittedly soothing balm of xenophobia and casual misogyny.
The reason Bond movies give everyone a BONER THAT WON’T SQUASH BACK is simple: they shit style.
Dinner jackets, cufflinks, crisp white shirts, slinky dresses, orchestral swells, après-ski, thin guns, chalets, cars that only seat one passenger – Jesus, it’s so sophisticated I’m getting a semi.
Is your movie giving the audience a semi?
See: BONERS, UNSQUASHABLE; CLINGY DRESSES; FOREIGN NATIONALS; GIRLS, HOT; SEMIS, IMPORTANCE OF GIVING THE AUDIENCE
ALCHEMY
Danny DeVito on his own is goddam magnificent. Schwarzenegger solo ain’t too shabby. But put them together and what you got?
The filmmakers called it Twins.
I call it ALCHEMY.
Because although base materials can’t turn into gold, high concepts can.
See: WHITE CHICKS
ANSWERING QUESTIONS WITH A QUESTION
Like Jesus, the wise protagonist ANSWERS A QUESTION WITH A QUESTION. In Paco Cabezas’s 2014 house invasion dramedy Tokarev, Paul Maguire (Nicolas Cage), an ex-career criminal tracking down the killer of his teenage daughter, enlists the support of former associates Danny Doherty (Michael McGrady) and Kane (Max Ryan), a man without a surname.
When Doherty asks Maguire, ‘How deep do you want to go?’ Maguire responds with an inquiry of his own:
‘How deep is hell?’
When Doherty, flummoxed, fails to respond, Maguire doesn’t follow up the inquiry by saying, ‘Seriously, I know it’s meant to be hot and all, but how deep do you think it is?’ Because Maguire doesn’t care how deep hell is. Maguire rejects parameters of any kind: height, breadth, volume – they’re all meaningless to him.
Do you think Maguire gives a solitary shit about the distance between the top of something and its bottom?
This is mid-period Nicolas Cage.
Check his jet-black hair. It looks like it’s been sprayed from a can. It’s a completely different color from anything that exists in the natural world. It’s darker than space. His chest hair is white. He looks like a kabuki panda. Do you think this man is going to answer any of your questions? A question about dimension? He don’t got time for geometry.
He’s only got time for one thing: AN ASS-KICKING RAMPAGE.
See: ASS-KICKING RAMPAGE, AVOIDING SETTING PRE-EMPTIVE PARAMETERS FOR; HELL DEPTHS, DIFFICULTY OF ACCURATELY MEASURING
ASS
High-end philosopher Plato (dead, Greek) thought that everything on earth was an imperfect copy of its ‘ideal form’.
‘What is a bicycle pump?’ Plato would have said. ‘Not the imperfect one I’m pointlessly pummeling – this is but a shadow. Nay, in some other dimension there exists an absolute bicycle pump, where its pumpiness is at its most bicycley. And when we picture a bicycle pump, it’s this perfect pump of memory that we do behold.’
But a philosophy of pumps won’t get us any further down the freeway than a piece-of-shit bicycle.
So what about Man? What is our Platonic form? What is our essential nature? Where might we find our soul?
The Movies, more than 200 years later, have an answer:
In our ASS.
During the climactic showdown of Rowdy Herrington’s transcendent 1989 doorman dramedy Road House,* local business magnate Brad Wesley (Ben Gazzara) taunts Dalton (Patrick Swayze): ‘I see you’ve found my trophy room, Dalton. The only thing missing is your ass.’ Why does Wesley want Dalton’s ass so bad?†
We instinctively understand Dalton’s ass to be something important, and yet we know that this particular ass – like all ass – does not exist in its own right. Dalton’s ass is not something separate from the rest of Dalton; it is not a severable component. Dalton cannot hand over his ass.‡ Dalton handing his ass to Wesley would be the same as giving Wesley his essence. Dalton’s ass is Dalton at his most distilled. To take Dalton’s ass is to take Dalton himself.
Because Dalton is ass.
And this kind of ass is something far bigger than the ‘arses’ I grew up with in Glasgow (and that’s saying something). Cos an ‘arse’ is just a coupla cheeks and a syphon system.
So while it’s possible to act like an ‘arse’, to be an ‘arse’ or even to select a gear for your ‘arse’ to be in, there’s something shrunken about the term, which corresponds to the provincial nature of UK cinema in general.
British Arse lacks the life-affirming expansiveness of American Ass.
That kind of ass – American Movie Ass – is made of groin, guts and anus. It’s so much bigger than an ‘arse’. It’s the site of our true selves.
Where ‘we’ are most ‘us’.
Ass.
See: AMERICAN ASS, THE LIFE-AFFIRMING EXPANSIVENESS OF
* I agree with Gordy on this one: the Christ parallels in Road House are far richer than those in Spielberg’s vastly overrated E.T., which is just an upmarket feature-length episode of Fraggle Rock – Ayo.
† I mean – duh – have you seen Patrick Swayze’s ass in Road House? Plato would’ve been on that thing like it was the last dinghy left – Ayo.
‡ Although it seems that you can have your ass ‘handed to you’. Maybe Ass Exchange is a one-way street? – Ayo.
ASS VS HEAD
The enemy of ASS is the HEAD.
The head as represented by The Front Office, The Court House, The Big House and The Country House, all tied up with a Fuck-Off Big Bow of Red Tape.
The head that tries to ‘be considerate of other people’s feelings’ rather than telling it how it is. The head that ‘plans’ and ‘remembers birthdays’. The head that tries to civilize the ass, to make it soft.
But no one wants a soft ass.
We want an ass like a boulder.
Because if you get your ass right, you don’t need a head. Frankly, the head is just a fancy funnel.
The HEART is the ass’s defense against the head. When we listen to our heart, it feels right in our ass. When we ignore our heart and listen to our head, we lose our ass for ever.
And a man without an ass is no man at all. Look at Ronnie Wood.
Arnie, Sly, Lundgren: their heads are actually quite unpleasant, like putty gone soft in the heat. But no one’s looking at their heads … you’re paying to see their rocking bods and beefy bots.
Movie heroes endure because of their asses, not their heads.
See: BEEFY BOTS; HEART, THE; RED TAPE, FUCK-OFF BIG BOW OF; SOFT ASS, UNDESIRABILITY OF
ASS, FEELING IT IN THE
People talk about their gut. I talk about my ass.
If I know something’s right, if something’s really right, I’ll FEEL IT IN MY ASS. I’ve come to rely on my ass. I know my ass and my ass knows me. My ass won’t take any shit from me, and I sure as hell won’t take any shit from my ass.
No one in this Town ever came up with a decent pitch using their head.
That thing came out their ass.
See: ASS, RELYING ON YOUR; ASS TALK; GUT TALK; KNOWING YOUR ASS; WRITING FROM YOUR ASS
ASS, GETTING OFF YOUR
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The worst spot a movie character can be in is the same place I spent my entire twenties …
On my ass.*
Being on your ass is a fact of life. As soon as Love’s Open Throat is squeezed tight by Jealousy’s Fist, you can forward any remaining post to: Gordy LaSure, His Ass, Bumsville. It’s understandable. It’s relatable. It’s the Building Block of Narrative.
Act I: In which our HERO gets off his ass.
Act II: In which our hero gets knocked on his ass.
Act III: In which our hero gets back off his ass (and kicks some ass).
That’s why the United States has always been wary of a welfare system that functions. It’d be like providing a permanent parking space for ass. I’ve found that the only way to GET OFF YOUR ASS is to look for a new piece.
In Bruno Barreto’s 2003 cabin-crew dramedy View from the Top, Donna Jensen (Gwyneth Paltrow) dreams of being a flight attendant. This chick wants to get as far off her ass as it’s possible to get within the earth’s atmospheric system. This is the kind of gal we can spend eighty-seven minutes with (incl. bloopers and credits).
The hero’s struggle is to keep off his ass for as long as possible. That’s why every Aaron Sorkin hero walks fast along corridors, while people holding clipboards try to keep up with him. They’re literally trying to outrun their own asses. And Sorkin knows that a rolling ass gathers no moss. Heroes power-slide under rapidly dropping portcullises, punch Foreign Nationals, shoot at people for whom we have no narrative empathy and make sweet love to women of above-average attractiveness. Try doing any of these things while keeping your ass still. You kinda can, but no one will thank you. If your characters stay on their asses, the audience will get off theirs and haul them outta the theater.
The Grip of Film Page 3