CANDY
Ask me a question, Buck!
BUCK
Didn’t I just ask you a question?
CANDY
Ask! Ask! Ask!
BUCK
Does this count as a question?
CANDY
You are killing me! You are literally killing me!
BUCK
Could I get a little clarification on how you’re using the words ‘question’ and ‘literally’?
Ad infinitum.
This isn’t a dialogue scene. This is what happens before you call an exorcist.
Candy detests the blameless Buck, and there’s nothing he can do. Nothing will change. There will be no redemption.
Contrast this sorry affair with a bitchin’ exchange from Peter Hyams’s 1994 futural procedural Timecop.
SOME PERSON
Is this T.E.C.* thing dangerous?
WALKER
I don’t bake cookies for a living.
Walker (Jean-Claude Van Damme) doesn’t even answer the question; he just mentions one of the many jobs that he hasn’t chosen to pursue professionally. He may as well have said, ‘I’m not currently on a kayak.’ This is a guy who says what he wants, when he wants, whether it makes sense or not.
Let’s close up shop with some tips for memorable dialogue:
– Listen to how people talk. Don’t just tune them out. It’s tempting, especially when they start talking about their summers or how this person said this thing to them and how they felt about it, like some in-store listening party for petty grievances.
– How do people talk? Do they have funny foreign accents? Write out their dialogue phonetically. Don’t worry about being racist!
– Are they capable of reason, or is everything they say a barely veiled attack on you?
– Do they use profanity, or do they just judge you for using it?
– Do they stop using profanity around a child because they’re under the quaint illusion that a six-year-old has never heard the ‘c’-word before?
– Are they deluded? Are they completely blind and deluded in a way that’s kind of frightening?
– Are they capable of laughing? Like would it kill them to sometimes laugh when they know you’re being funny, or do they just do a tight, ugly, place-holder snort?
– Are her eyes alive? Or are they like matte oval tiles?
– Start to secretly record everything she says to you, and then make sure you back up the files. It can be useful for arbitration, or even a script, if that script is about an immature person unable to experience gratitude.
* BTW, if you’re wondering what T.E.C. is, it’s explained in an earlier briefing scene with commendable economy: ‘We have to form a new agency to police this technology and protect time. It will be called the Time Enforcement Commission, or the T.E.C.’ – Ayo.
DRIVING CARS THROUGH WALLS/WIRE FENCES/SHOP WINDOWS
Don’t be a baby about it, just put your foot to the floor and step outta the rubble before the whole thing blows.
You’ll need to kick YET MORE ASS once the Feds catch up.
See: ASS, YET MORE
DUTY
In movies, as in life, women are always trying to stop men from doing what they need to do.
Men, in response, invoke the language of necessity:
‘I don’t have a choice.’
‘I have to go.’
‘The city needs me.’
He cannot say:
‘Although both options are open to me, I’d rather risk my life out there than spend another second with you.’
A woman will not allow you to do anything unless you convince her that you are being compelled against your will.
The movies reflect this.
See: WOMEN, ALL
E
‘When the job’s done, I walk …’
EDUCATION
I’ll tell you a coupla scenes you’ll never see in a Steven Seagal joint:
The scene where he goes through a list of his academic qualifications.
The scene where he recounts his gap year.
You wanna know where I went to school?
I’ll give you a clue.
If you ain’t dead, you’re in the catchment area.
I’m talking what Cosby oughta get:
LIFE.
It’s the only school I ever went to.*
See: LIFE, SCHOOL OF
* With the exception of the actual schools he attended – Ayo.
EXPRESSIONS
You can write a pretty decent script by putting the following EXPRESSIONS in any order you like:
‘Let’s smoke these guys.’
‘That’s chump change.’
‘We need to talk.’
‘You look like shit.’
‘Afternoon, gentlemen.’
‘I have a report to file.’
‘Ring a bell?’
‘He was my partner.’
‘I never quit.’
‘You’re shitting me.’
‘Who sent you?’
‘I can live with that.’
‘I run the show.’
‘Come on, hotshot.’
‘I’m outta here.’
‘When the job’s done, I walk.’
‘Anybody wants to walk, do it now.’
‘Take the train, buddy.’
‘Your ass is mine.’
‘He’s got this whole town in his pocket.’
‘You can leave any time you want to.’
‘Let me fix it.’ ‘I’ll handle it.’
‘I’ll find them.’
‘Finish him.’
‘The guy’s got a rap sheet as long as my dick.’
EYES
If EYES are the windows to the soul, [name withheld]* has double glazing. He’s less readable than a court order. But at least you can ignore a court order. This guy’s everywhere. This is a man who does most of his acting with his teeth. Goddam that flat-stomached, smooth-assed bastard.
See: SOME OTHER GUYS FOR A CHANGE
* The actor in question is a frequently named party in Gordy’s last deposition – Ayo.
F
‘You gotta have faith …’
FAITH
When forgiveness becomes impossible, the greatest gift you can give someone is FAITH.
Faith in their talent.
Faith in their potential.
Faith in their testimony.
That no matter what their eyes told them was real, it could well have been a trick of the light.
Think of the people who’ve shown faith in you.
Didn’t take long, did it?
We remember those who showed faith in us. We remember them for the rest of our lives. People who look deep inside, peer past the poor credit history and see the man your father wouldn’t let you be. And we remember the thousands who have scorned us just as vividly, be they studio execs, faculty heads or the morally conservative parents of girls who weren’t even minors in some parts of Europe.
That’s why acts of faith are so crucial in movies. In George Lucas’s 1977 robots-on-the-lam dramedy Star Wars: A New Hope, Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) has to place his trust in The Force, even though it’s a concept made up by George Lucas with no spiritual underpinning. When he shoots the laser into the hole bit that means the big black sphere thing blows up, everyone in orange is delighted. And so are we, not just because we know the film is nearly over now, but because the heart has won out over computer-guidance systems. Lucas, that great imaginer, managed to predict the frustrations of satellite navigation and how empty it feels when you arrive at your destination without having done anything yourself.
I’ve always driven without a satnav. Oftentimes I get lost, but when I get there (eventually) I know I’ve done it myself. I once had an argument with a woman over losing our way that was so bad she tried to suffocate me with the recently deployed air bag. But we connected. Now that woman is part of my legal team.
That’s the power of cinema. That’s the power
of faith.
Goddam it if that other George* wasn’t right.
You gotta have faith.
And it would be nice if I could touch your body.
* So now there are only two Georges? – Ayo.
FAMILY
In movies, FAMILY comes first, yet few people in Hollywood can hold down a relationship because they’re too busy making films about how important family is. Do you think Mary Poppins filmed itself?
FEMALE DOCTORS/SCIENTISTS
In a movie’s second half the FEMALE DOCTOR/SCIENTIST may take off those large glasses to reveal her beauty. At this point the HERO may give her the gift of his private length.
But the glasses must come off. Glasses are an impenetrable barrier to the audience’s affection. Name one movie star who wears glasses and isn’t publicly regarded as a degenerate.
In Rowdy Herrington’s 1989 doorman dramedy Road House, we first see Doc (Kelly Lynch) in ‘professional’ mode. She is treating top-class bouncer James Dalton (Patrick Swayze) for stab wounds incurred while shaking down a piece of shit in a bar. Her hair is in a plait and she is wearing large glasses – a total boner killer. But, as someone pertinently remarks later, ‘That girl’s got entirely too many brains to have an ass like that.’
Next time we see Doc, she’s wisely let down her hair and lost the lenses.
It won’t be long before she receives Dalton’s secret meat.
See: DEVIANCY, GLASSES AS INCONTROVERTIBLE SIGNIFIER OF; HERO, THE
FEMINISM
In Richard Fleischer’s 1985 medieval dramedy Red Sonja, the titular heroine and would-be warrioress (Brigitte Nielsen) tells Lord Kalidor (Arnold Schwarzenegger) that she ‘doesn’t need a man’s help’. Some critics see this as a FEMINIST statement.
But when she’s surrounded by a large group of warriors seeking to avenge their slain master, who comes to her aid?
When a mechanical sea serpent sends her cowering into a crevice, who leaps in and wrestles the confounded beast?
When a portcullis doth threaten to crush her, who halts its descent with an arm that out-circumferences her womanish waist?
When an uncredited guard hastens to fasten his dev’lish trident betwixt her girlish shoulder blades, who smites that guard with the powerful thrust of his broadsword?
When her lust o’er-spills near the film’s last breath, who is there to sate it?
And who gets top billing above the titular heroine?
Your boy Kalidor.
FEMMES FATALES
FEMMES FATALES speak in low, sarcastic voices and rarely offer constructive feedback. They smirk, smoke and slink about the joint, barely displaying gratitude when the HERO gives them the gift of his secret length. As a result, we are seldom sad when they die in Act III.
See: HERO, THE; WELCOME DEATH OF THE SARCASTIC, THE
FILM THEORY
A ‘film’ is made by a ‘director’. For the purposes of reality, let’s assume this director is a man.
Before each film, the director decides what he wants to ‘say’.
He then communicates this ‘vision’ by pointing at other people and telling them what to do.*
Then he takes all the credit.
No one really likes films. Except for directors.
A ‘movie’ is made by a ‘studio’.
Studios hire actors they think the public still likes to act in a story that’s like something the public used to like three years ago. Then they hire a director who once made a good film to take the blame if it all goes wrong. If it’s successful, everyone takes credit, except if it’s a female director, in which case she probably just got lucky or blew someone. But if it all goes wrong and the director is female, it’s totally her fault.
Everyone likes movies. Except for directors.
* Even though he cannot do anything that they do – Ayo.
FIRST LINES
This ain’t about transitioning from your chosen gateway drug to the good stuff. This is about dialogue.
In other words,* do you have a good opening?
Let’s examine the beginning of Peter Hyams’s 1994 sci-fi procedural Timecop. Its two themes are TIME and BEING A COP, so let’s take a look at how this movie’s first scene, without being heavy-handed, introduces them.
Walker (Jean-Claude Van Damme) approaches Melissa (Mia Sara) outside a shop. A clock is deftly foregrounded.
WALKER
There’s never enough time.
MELISSA
Never enough for what?
WALKER
To satisfy a woman.
Three lines. That’s all it takes.
Thesis. Antithesis. Synthesis.
Thesis: we establish Walker as a philosopher, an inquirer looking at the whole Continuum of Finitude,* always craving more. But right away he meets his …
Anithesis: we establish Melissa, with her sassy retort, ‘Never enough for what?’, as a strong, independent woman who isn’t afraid of speaking her mind. The fact that she’s got a rocking bod is just so much gravy.
Synthesis: the radical, ultimately post-feminist notion that in a society where men are increasingly time-poor, we might be better off focusing on our own pleasure rather than wasting valuable man-hours on that ultimate oxymoron: the female orgasm.
See: BEING A COP; TIME
* I always think that if you’re using the phrase ‘in other words’, why did you need the first set of words? – Ayo.
* Discarded James Bond title? – Ayo.
FOREIGN FILMS
FOREIGN FILMS are any NON-AMERICAN MOVIE. To be born foreign is one of the great tragedies of life.
Sometimes you can get a really hot Brazilian chick, but she’s never going to sound right. She’ll always sound like something got stuck in her throat, and you can only perform the Heimlich maneuver so many times before you’re asked to leave the restaurant. Because that’s not a real doctor’s bag.
Foreignness was less of a problem in the silent era. SILENT ASS knew no borders. Especially if that silent ass was WHITE. But as soon as we get into the business of chitty-chat, when we start talking talkies, sounding anything other than American becomes a hell of a problem, unless your tits go into next week.
British actors are often cast as villains. This is because there’s something inherently evil about not being American. There’s an uncanniness to seeing someone look like they could be a relatable white American, and then their mouth opens and this tightass noise comes out.
There is a small exception w/r/t some Celts – e.g. me/Sean Connery, in which cases virility trumps ethnicity.
See: BORDERLESS ASS; WHITE SILENT ASS
Don’t see: NON-AMERICAN MOVIES
FUCK
FUCK may be the most important word in cinema.
Which is more urgent?
‘Let’s get out of here!’
or
‘Let’s get the fuck out of here!’
Too fucking right.
Some sentences don’t even make sense without the word ‘fuck’. Take the line ‘We’re totally fucked’. Without the ‘fucked’ the sentence is a nonsense and has zero plot function. Sometimes the presence of the word ‘fuck’ is implied, as in ‘What the – ?’ This person was not about to say, ‘Dickens’! In fact, if a word is deliberately missing in a screenplay, you can assume that the word is ‘fuck’.
So can simply adding the word ‘fuck’ and/or derivatives of the word ‘fuck’ help your screenplay?
Fuck, yes.
Take the standard movie phrase ‘What the fuck?’ If someone is REALLY angry, try ‘What the fuckin’ fuck?’
But be cautious. The rule of ‘three’ does not apply. ‘What the fuckity fuckin’ fuck?’ is one fuck too much and could risk making your character seem indecisive.
The prominent film critic Pauline Kael once claimed, ‘The words “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang”, which I saw on an Italian movie poster, are perhaps the briefest statement imaginable of the basic appeal of movies.’* But those were simpler, less good ti
mes.
Now, any decent action film could be summarized as: FUCK ME? FUCK YOU!
See: FUCKS, IMPLIED
* Surely ‘Kiss Bang’ would be more succinct? – Ayo.
G
‘Try doing any of these things while keeping your ass still …’
GENRE
Filmmakers are sometimes called storytellers. But they’re really salesmen, a dwindling special-interest group with a rapidly dating set of non-transferable skills looking to self-sustain. What are they selling? Stories. But who the hell wants to buy stories? Stories are long and boring. How do you get any right-thinking American to sit in a dark room and listen to a bunch of made-up shit?
You have to promise it’s going to contain something interesting – like violence or tits.
Paul Verhoeven’s 1990 time-travel dramedy Total Recall is such a great GENRE film that in one particularly memorable scene you get a bonus tit. That’s why when Verhoeven came back with his 1992 ice-pick-com Basic Instinct, we knew we could trust him to deliver.
Am I gonna get violence?
Yes.
Am I going to get tits?
Yes.
What else you gonna give me?
Wait till the interrogation scene.
When do you think you’ll start printing money?
Opening weekend.
What do you get when you watch a Mike Leigh film? Nothing. Except the uncomfortable feeling that a group of actors have been denied a writing credit.
This is why genre is so useful. It tells you exactly what service you are going to receive. Imagine going to a restaurant that didn’t have pictures of the various dishes they serve. How would you know what you wanted to eat!? It’s the same with movies.
The Grip of Film Page 8