Rapid Pace of Change Means I Need To Take More Showers

Been rather busy as we near financing of a new mobile content series I created and which I'll be writing and directing. Having come from the world of television, it's an interesting exercise in taking those "old world" skills and translating them to new technologies. Certainly, shorter content suits my attention deficity nature. I really do love perfectly contained little stories. I could never write War and Peace. I do not have the "sitting power."

Anyhow, if the series goes ahead, I'll be blogging more regularly to chart the process and evolution. Right now, all I can say is many of the bigger players and broadcasters now have a hunger to get into mobile content. Boys aren't watching TV anymore. Well, neither am I, frankly, and I can only conclude that there's just one reason girls are still holding out with traditional Boob Tube rather than YouTube, and it's simply that technology is not a girl thing. As soon as the technology is fully integrated into a Boob Tube like interface (uh, point remote and click), then I expect more sisters to abandon conventional cable and satellite too.

Technological change is a tsunami, bearing down on us with landscape-changing consequences. I'm seeing it all around me, including right here in the cafe where I type this. Apparently my shitty neighborhood that no one wanted to live in five years ago is now a fashion mecca. It happened while no one was looking. I'm now surrounded by white people with glossy laptops and too perfect noses talking about vacation homes in San Miguel and it makes me sad, because it looks like I'll have to start showering before I leave the house. Or maybe I'll just move.

Love,

Helena

Acting Like A Pro

I want to talk about being a "pro" within the wild, wild west that is the digital revolution. Because while all the rules of media creation and delivery are being rewritten, my fear is that some of the valuable lessons learned in the trenches of traditional media creation are being left behind.

Certainly, the new world of digital creation pays less. At least so far. And it allows new, untried talents, as well as untried producers, to bust into the otherwise closed shop of the movie biz. But what inevitably accompanies this new, exciting, "anything-goes" philosophy is a tendency to throw out (or never learn to begin with) some of the processes that have helped deliver solid film and TV content for decades.

Hollywood has honed certain rules of procedure in order to maintain a powerfully effective (if sometimes dangerous) machine. For example, there are good reasons for many of the rules within the Hollywood script development process, and many of them should continue to apply within the decidedly un-Hollywood filmmaking world that is now emerging thanks to new technologies. In fact, as a DIY independent, you have a chance to not only do what Hollywood does right but also to avoid all the B.S. that Hollywood does wrong. Because Hollywood is also a machine with some worn out, oily cylinders.

So, in the interests of starting fresh, and speaking from my experience working within and without the "Hollywood system," I wanted to give some advice to independents setting out to make their digital masterpiece. Indeed, it's advice I think many Hollywood insiders too often disregard. But let's show 'em how we can do it a little better. We can have more fun and make good movies without 'em. And we'll start with some advice on giving notes to your writer. Or at least, advice on the notes not to give your writer.

Giving notes to a writer is a precarious business. You want your writer to deliver something exceptional. A great script is going to be the foundation of most great movies (I say most because there are freakish exceptions, but it's widely accepted that if it's not there on the page it's probably not going to be in your movie). In short, the screenplay is one of the fundamental building blocks to a good film. Treat it with the deference it deserves. Treat the process with the deference it deserves too. Assuming you've hired a good writer rather than a bad writer--there are more bad writers out there by far--then I want to make this the first of several posts about how to work with that good writer (who will still deliver "flawed" scripts by the way, and your job is to help make it the best it can be). My fundamental philosophy is that just because we're flying by the seat of our pants doesn't mean that my digital indie collaborators cannot function as professionally and with as much savvy as the pros in Hollywood.

I debated about putting together a long list of "good note-giving" versus "bad note-giving" techniques, but it would have taken me a month to write it, and this blog was already getting stale. So I thought I'd mete out these bon mots one at a time, as they came to me. I've certainly seen my share of good and bad notes, having written my fair share of good and bad scripts. So here goes:

#1 SCRIPT NOTE NOT TO GIVE YOUR SCREENWRITER: THE FLASH OF PRE-EXISTING GENIUS

This gets to be number one because it's my least favorite script note of all time. It demoralizes the writer and makes the note-giver look like an idiot. The Flash of Pre-Existing Genius is essentially a note wherein the note-giver (let's call him the "producer" for now) reads the writer's script (heck, let's call her the "writer") and the producer has a good idea for a script-change. Actually, it's a really great idea for a script-change, in this case a change to a scene, and he's sure it will make the whole thing work so much better. Sounds good so far.

The writer listens intently as the producer proceeds to describe precisely what he thinks the scene needs to really kick ass. And the writer agrees. It's a really good idea. It's fantastic. So how can that possibly be a bad note? Because in this case, the producer has actually given a note that describes exactly what's already in the freakin' script. You don't think that can happen? I tell you it happens more often than I can count. I have concluded that a couple of things could be going on here. Maybe the writer has written something with some subtlety. Too much subtlety obviously, because the producer has just read the damned thing, and he's clearly ingested the gist of it because he's reiterating it now apparently convinced it's just been birthed from his own imagination, completely failing to recognize that he was led to this idea because it's already there on the page (only perhaps subtly so). The other possibility is that the producer is a reader with such a short attention span that he actually forgot that he just finished reading the idea and then it occurs to him moments (days?) later and he assumes it's his own. Kind of like that poor guy in Memento who can't keep a thought in his head for more than a few minutes before it's gone. I'm convinced some producers have this problem, because they will give this sort of note repeatedly.

So, it might seem very simply corrected, right? It shouldn't be such a big deal, because the writer can just point out to the producer that it's already there on the page. That indeed the guy with the spot of blood on his shirt collar might be like, oh, I dunno, a bad guy (gee, what was the first clue). But the problem I have is that the note undermines the writer's trust in the producer. The producer is either dumb or inattentive or dismissive or, worst yet and still possible, sociopathic. Basically the producer is "stealing" the writer's ideas as his own. Okay, admittedly that's paranoid, but the point is that the process is undermined at least a little bit by this annoying note. The crux of it is that the producer isn't even asking himself whether the writer has actually led him there. The producer isn't giving the writer any credit for leading him to this "great idea," which even if it's not on the page or is only on the page too subtly, the producer should recognize that the genesis of his "flash of brilliance" was still the script itself.

The point of good note giving is to establish a trust between writer and producer. To preserve the writer's energy to deliver a better draft next round, not to exhaust her with notes that re-iterate ideas already present in the script. (Can you tell I hate this kind of note?) Ultimately, it just always shocks me that this kind of note is given so often. It must be human nature--any good idea must be ours and ours alone, right? I've seen people do it in writing rooms often enough: adopting an idea they heard moments ago as though they'd only just suddenly thought it up themselves. Something about our brains filter out the ideas of others, and we file them away, retrieving them later as our own. I've written whole scripts only to realize that some movie I saw as a kid was the long-forgotten precursor of it.

So what can you as a note-giver do to avoid it? Because surely it's unintentional. I simply suggest that you try to remain aware that your flash of brilliance might already be in there. Think about what led you to this idea and give some credit for the source of it. Acknowledge that the scene might already be heading in that direction. Look before you leap. You'll save face and your writer will proceed with more trust and vigor.

Stay tuned for the next NOTE NOT TO GIVE YOUR SCREENWRITER. Coming soon...