Lesson? Speak too soon, look like an ass jacket.
Here’s another Q in search of an A:
Q: Why do we feel so insanely tired at the merest mention of a British film?
A: Because British films seem to think they should show what life is like to live, whereas good films (cf. the works of Steven Seagal) show you the life you’d like:
– being rewarded for mistrusting authority;
– wearing a ponytail without anyone giving you shit;
– using kung fu to deliver on-the-spot corrective justice.
Faced with the prospect of watching some British film about unattractive people in inadequate housing, your body automatically shuts down to protect itself.
On the rare occasions when a female student of mine suggests we watch a British film, I’m crippled with fatigue. How will we find one that’s still on? How will we sit through it? How will I cope with the overwhelming feelings of sadness that someone bothered making it?
I. Can’t. Do. It.
See: THE COMPLETE WORKS OF STEVEN SEAGAL DON’T SEE: BRITISH FILMS
BURNT-OUT HOMES
Going back to your HOME and finding it BURNT OUT is a bummer, but the true HERO will be quick to seize what is actually an opportunity to go back out into the world and KICK ASS with particular, though not exclusive, emphasis on those ASSHOLES who burnt out said home in the first place which, as well as having cash value, may also have emotional value, even if the home is essentially a modest home.
As the hero looks at his burnt-out home, he will also be able to avail himself of A PRIVATE CRY and/or an audience-empathy-building WHY ME WAIL.
At this point, the score swells, the sky darkens, the wind rises, and our hero is left silhouetted against a hungry wall of fire.
Next scene, this guy’s got ASS-KICKING on his mind.
These are the moments from which boners are made.
Fact is, at the start of any flick that’s worth a damn, the hero is AN UNOPENED CONTAINER OF ASS-KICKING. The job of a movie’s first ten minutes is to locate the ring pull.
See: ASS-KICKING, EFFECTIVE TRANSITIONING FROM CLOSED CONTAINER TO OPEN CONTAINER OF; ASS-KICKING GLOBALLY; ASSHOLES; PRIVATE CRIES; WHY ME WAILS
C
‘In life, people don’t change …’
CALL TO ACTION
Joseph Campbell, the famous mythologist and soup heir, coined the phrase CALL TO ACTION. It describes the moment in a narrative when the HERO is ‘called’ to start the adventure. In ancient times, this might be conveyed via a unicorn in a fiery vision, but these days it’s often easier to text.
The information delivered in such calls needs to be brief and intriguing. For example:
INT. CRAMPED APARTMENT
Buck lies face down on a single bed. The floor is covered with empty bottles of hooch. A baby rhino has gone to sleep on his back. Rough night. The telephone rings. Buck picks up, still groggy from his whiskey bath.
BUCK
(instead of ‘hello’) I don’t know where your wife is –
VOICE
(off screen)
Rico’s dead. You’re next.
We hear the click of a cradled receiver, then the dial tone.
BUCK
(to the rhino)
You’re gettin’ heavy.
RHINO
I’ll quit eating when you quit drinking.
This is a great scene. It’s punchy, and we know we’re going to have a crap-load of fun with that rhino.
Now let’s imagine a version of this same scene in the hands of a less skilled screenwriter …
INT. CRAMPED APARTMENT
Buck lies face down on a single bed. The floor is covered with empty bottles of hooch. A baby rhino has gone to sleep on his back. Rough night. The telephone rings. Buck picks up, still groggy from the whiskey bath.
BUCK
(instead of ‘hello’) I don’t know where your wife is –
VOICE
(off screen)
Rico’s dead. You’re next.
BUCK
Sorry, who is this?
VOICE
(off screen)
Excuse me?
BUCK
You heard me: to whom am I speaking?
VOICE
I’m not really meant to say. My evil superior just told me to ‘sound threatening’.
BUCK
Because what you’ve just said makes literally no sense: ‘Rico’s dead’ and then ‘I’m next’. What do you mean, ‘I’m next’? Is it, ‘Now you tell me someone who’s dead,’ or is it that I’m going to be dead next? Because the latter’s unlikely. In the time between your telling me Rico’s dead and that I’m next, someone else has probably already died. That’s just the life cycle. So I can only assume that you’re threatening to kill me. Sorry, I didn’t get your name –
VOICE
Adrian.
BUCK
Right. Adrian. So, Adrian, I can only assume that you’re threatening to kill me, which is against the law –
ADRIAN
It might not be me personally. It could be someone else within the organization. It really depends on scheduling and how difficult you’d be to kill.
BUCK
I want to say that I wouldn’t be the hardest person in the word to kill, but I’d like to think that I wouldn’t be the easiest.
ADRIAN
Okay, well, that’s helpful. So, assuming we initially sent some weaker operatives to kill you and they failed, what we’d do is send some slightly better ones, and after they failed, we’d slowly work our way up the ranks until it reached my evil boss who, at that quite late stage, would probably insist on handling it personally. He usually only gets ‘hands-on’ toward the end. Until then he’s normally on the phone being sarcastic or saying, ‘How difficult can it be to kill someone?’ And sometimes he’ll shoot a subordinate in the face – like totally out of nowhere – and we’ll all gasp and say sorry, and he’ll say, ‘I’m tired of your excuses!’ – all shouty. But I have to say I think that if our evil boss were more involved right up front rather than retrospectively picking apart the actions of his subordinates, he might come across as less erratic. Because sometimes I’m like – hello – I don’t live in your head – maybe tell me how to break up that rival crime cartel rather than just expecting me to do it without any guidance whatsoever and then making me feel shitty that I couldn’t do it when – if you think about it – I’m still a relatively new criminal – like I haven’t committed that much crime as such – I’ve been more of a coordinator – and there’s ZERO mentoring. It’s sink or swim, totally – but I’d say that’s how everything’s going – society has become so individualized that –
BUCK
Adrian, I’m going to stop you there – the failings of your organization’s management structure are of limited interest to me – so I’m just going to give you some bullet points –
ADRIAN
I’m sorry – I’m blurting – I think I keep this rage bottled up – so when I get a chance to express myself –
BUCK
Adrian. Eyes on the prize. Okay, so – one – I don’t know a Rico; two – this is a private residence, so you shouldn’t be calling so early –
ADRIAN
It’s 2 p.m.
BUCK
Is it? Wow, that’s embarrassing.
ADRIAN
I’m sorry, can I just check I have the right number? I’m looking for a ‘Fingers’ McClaw?
BUCK
No. I’m Buck ‘The Hammer’ Jackson.
ADRIAN
You’re kidding. Buck! This is Adrian.
BUCK
You said.
ADRIAN
‘Two-Faced’ Adrian!
BUCK
Stop it!
ADRIAN
It is! I can’t believe it. Do you still have that baby rhino that sleeps on your back?
BUCK
Sure do! He’s sleeping on my back right now!
RHINO
I was, until you two started yacking for about an hour.
ADRIAN
Still as sassy as ever, I hear!
RHINO
I’m too tired to be sassy.
BUCK
Some of the asides he makes are so cutting. Honestly, it’s as if he has them prepared. But, and this is the irony, he can’t take it. He gets so hurt if you make any kind of crack to him. I always say –
RHINO AND BUCK
‘I thought rhinos were meant to have thick skin!’
They all laugh.
BUCK
You sound so different!
ADRIAN
Well, the last time we met I was using the Mexican accent.
BUCK
Of course! I remember it being very generic and lazy.
ADRIAN
It was SO generic and SO lazy. It was kind of racist.
BUCK
It WAS kind of racist! Well, this has been great – we should meet.
ADRIAN
I would LOVE to meet. As soon as we’re done with this honor killing we should get dim sum. There’s a great All You Can Eat place quite close to where we bury our victims.
RHINO
We’ll be there!
They all laugh again.
Full confession: I started to write this scene as an example of what NOT to do, and ended up LOVING it. So go figure. Movies aren’t about rules; they’re about creating characters that endure. And those characters can be terse as shit or talkative as tits.
Let’s try again. How NOT to do the ‘call to adventure’. Here goes …
INT. SMALL APARTMENT – EVENING
Connor, a lithe, muscular man in the prime of his life (50s/60s), lies on his back staring straight up, his noble brow filled with dreams, darkness, danger … He is naked except for jeans, cowboy boots, gun belt, shirt and trucker hat + body warmer. The room’s only sound? The contented, post-multi-orgasmic sighs of his girlfriend, Candy (20s, huge tits), draped greedily over Connor’s compact chest. She is completely naked. The phone rings.
HARRIS
Connor?
CONNOR
Harris?
HARRIS
I have a situation.
CONNOR
Have you any idea how late it is? It’s like ten o’clock. If I hadn’t just had sex, I’d be in my pyjamas by now.
HARRIS
Connor, I ain’t fuckin’ with you, we have a situation.
CONNOR
Well, I’m certainly not fucking with you, Harris. It’s rude to ring so late. I could’ve been asleep. In fact, I was asleep.
CANDY
Who is it?
CONNOR
It’s Harris …
CANDY
Harris? Has he any idea how late it is? It’s ten already!
CONNOR
I’m trying to tell him! (to Harris) Now you’ve woken up Candy.
CANDY
Well, I’m going to say my last line in this scene now: fuck y’all, I’m taking a bubble bath.
CONNOR
Jesus, Harris, Candy’s so pissed she’s broken the fourth wall.
HARRIS
I’m sorry, Connor, the last thing I wanted to do was force Candy into a sudden meta gesture.
CONNOR
She’s always saying, ‘Unplug the phone after eight o’clock.’ I say, ‘What if it’s an emergency?’ She says, ‘What emergency can’t wait till the morning?’ I say, ‘What if my mom falls in the night?’ And she says, ‘She lives overseas – what are we going to do? Charter a jet in the middle of the night? There’s nothing that can’t wait till morning …’ You know she’s the very practical type … But she’s also physically attractive, which is important –
HARRIS
Connor!
CONNOR
What is your problem, Harris?
HARRIS
I need your help.
CONNOR
Well, spit it out then. My hot young girlfriend’s in a bubble bath aching for my secret meat.
HARRIS
I can’t tell you on the phone.
CONNOR
Oh, this is beautiful. You call me up in the middle of the night –
HARRIS
It’s nine forty-five.
CONNOR
It’s near enough ten!
HARRIS
Can we meet to discuss this in person?
CONNOR
Are you going to be on time?
HARRIS
What’s that meant to mean?
CONNOR
What do you mean, ‘What’s that meant to mean?’ It’s not a friggin’ riddle – it’s a simple question. Are you going to be on time?
HARRIS
Of course …
CONNOR
Because sometimes you’re late.
HARRIS
I’m rarely late. Look –
CONNOR
I would say you’re frequently late.
HARRIS
That’s not true.
CONNOR
I’d say one out of every three times is frequent.
HARRIS
I’ll be on time.
CONNOR
Okay. Where?
HARRIS
The docks.
CONNOR
Oh, not the docks. I hate the docks. We always meet by the docks and it’s SO windy.
And I never know what to wear. Should I dress docker-y or just normal? Either way, I stick out. Couldn’t we go to that new breakfast place …
HARRIS
What I need to say I can’t say over breakfast.
CONNOR
I could do a brunch …
HARRIS
Are you not detecting a tone of urgency in my voice?
CONNOR
What I am detecting is stress. And it seems to me that you’re just dumping your stress on me.
HARRIS
Oh, come on.
CONNOR
Which is what you always did, and why I couldn’t be your partner anymore. Why do you think Chad left? You did exactly the same thing to him …
HARRIS
Chad had emotional problems.
CONNOR
That’s right, blame the other person. It’s never you, is it? It could never be your fault. You could never even be part responsible. I loved being a cop. I loved the long hours, I loved being accountable to a team, I loved the paperwork, but what I could not bear, what I could never bear, was your stressiness. So, no, I will not meet you by the docks.
HARRIS
I’m sorry.
CONNOR
I don’t want to hear ‘sorry’. I’m not interested in sorry. I want to see a change in behavior. I want to see an alteration in manner. And when that happens, maybe we can go on a revenge mission together, but until then, I’m going to focus on being around people who want me to be the best me I can be. Good night.
Connor slams down the phone. End of scene.
As you get older, the less you feel the call to do anything. Seeing if you can stay awake once you sit down is an adventure. On the few occasions that my phone does ring (and it’s not me calling it to find out where the hell I left it), I look at the thing like it’s a French wasp, hoping it won’t bite. So although that was another great piece of dialogue that rings as true as Gabriel’s Own Bell, it’s probably best to keep your call to adventure brief.
Got gas in the tank for one more spin around the block?
Buckle up.
HARRIS
Connor?
CONNOR
Harris, you son of a bitch – it’s been a while.
HARRIS
I have a tricky situation.
CONNOR
What other type is there?
HARRIS
The type only you can handle. Be at the docks at 7 a.m. tomorrow. I’ll find you.
Click.
Rip this last page straight outta the book.
It’s ready to shoot.
CASTING
How do you keep an audience in The Grip of Film for ninety minutes or more?
CASTING Steven Seagal is a good start.
Why?
Because if you suspect the filmmakers have made bad decisions, like not casting Steven Seagal, you can’t truly give yourself over to the work.
Movies that don’t star Steven Seagal threaten to break the bond of trust between storyteller and audience.
Casting the right actor is crucial.
If there isn’t a part for Seagal, maybe you’re not done writing yet.
See: NOT CASTING STEVEN SEAGAL, THE INSANITY OF
CATHARSIS
One of the most cathartic acts in cinema is justifiably killing someone worse than you.
See: ANY GOOD MOVIE
CHANGE
Memorable movie characters tend to go through some kind of life-altering event. In Orson Welles’s 1941 multimedia mangle Citizen Kane, the shame of dropping a snow globe causes an old man to die.
In Bruno Barreto’s flight-attendant saga View from the Top,* Donna Jensen (Gwyneth Paltrow) changes from a small-town girl with cheaply dyed hair and tackily tight clothes to a commercial pilot with expensively dyed hair and costlier tight clothes. But these are merely circumstantial changes – not enough to convict someone. For the film to work (and it works like hell) it’s important that Jensen undergo an internal CHANGE. And I don’t mean the menopause (though she does look pretty tired by the end). What she learns is that having a good relationship is almost as important as being successful at work, but make sure you nail the work part first or you’ll always be a loser. (Note: w/r/t the American Dream there’s no such thing as being unsuccessful in your career and successful in relationships.)
Characters can change even more profoundly than in Top. In Russell Mulcahy’s 1986 medieval dramedy Highlander, a French Man (Christopher Lambert) transcends mortality to become both Scottish and a symbol for Ultimate Good, two things that were hitherto a contradiction in terms.
In The Works of Steven Seagal, our titular HERO is already a symbol for Ultimate Good. Seagal’s movies are really about the journey other people must undertake to realize his unlimited power, be they feisty yet vulnerable women aching for his touch, or pumped-up pricks who he’ll humiliate with his unique brand of slow karate.
The Grip of Film Page 6