Tag Archives: screenwriting

Adaptable

I’m a total sucker for the Spirit Awards and Oscars. I know, but I am. I completely geek out, squeal with excitement and break out into enthusiastic applause when someone I’m rooting for gets the win. I know it’s gauche to have a competition between artists — and I shouldn’t refer to them as “winners”. It’s disturbing for it to come down to marketing and ratings. But, still, I love them.

Since I was a little girl watching the Academy Awards (which I have done religiously since I was six), I saw it as the great night. One in which the industry recognizes the work and celebrates the craft. Back then, all the awards were given out on the telecast, and the speeches could go on for days. The best ones were always the foreign films or documentaries and the winners, who had worked so hard for so long on the film, would give speeches that would leave me in tears. Heart welling up because you knew it meant so much. The speeches were always the best part. Now, you have to say all that in less than a minute (less than that if you are in a group of winners). Unless you win at the Spirit Awards, and then you can go on for days and curse all you want (and who doesn’t love that?).

I was thrilled with the wins Milk received, and Dustin Lance Black bringing home both the Spirit and Oscar awards for Original Screenplay. It was absolutely deserved I squealed and burst out into applause for him. And, on both shows, he delivered beautiful speeches for what it all meant to him. (Don’t even get me started on Sean’s speech…brilliant.)

But, as friends and I talked, we were wondering if a story based on history, should be considered “adapted” as opposed to “original”? Typically, an adapted screenplay is one based on a published work: Short story (Brokeback Mountain), Stage play (Doubt), Book (Slumdog Millionaire). But what about history? Newspaper articles, interviews with witnesses, friends and family? Wouldn’t that in fact make something like Milk, an adapted work, since it was biographical?

This, of course, does not take away from the originality of the piece, the art and skill it takes to write it. We are all inspired by something in real life that makes us rush to the page and put it all down, so one could argue what isn’t adapted from something. It just sparked an interesting debate — not about the awards or relevance of the work, but the category in which it fell. I’m wondering what you might think, as writers, filmmakers, audience members. Or is this only interesting after a couple of glasses of wine?

In any event, here’s to all those who made movies last year. That, in and of itself, is an accomplishment to be celebrated. And here’s to those who will make movies this year. Let’s hope they will be appreciated, and that there will be more work to come.

The Wall

I’ve been told that, when you run a marathon, you will hit “the wall”. I’ll take their word for it; I’m not so much a runner as a super-fast walker. They say this usually happens about mile 20, with only 6.2 miles to go. The irony of it happening so close to the end has not been missed by me. Today, I have hit my wall.

This is somewhat typical, though I can’t recall it happening to me to this degree since college. Every Spring Break, I was sick as a dog. I would go-go-go all term, function on minimal sleep, study, cram, test, create and be social, and the minute I slowed and my body would have a chance to rest, it would collapse in a heap. Usually some type of strep throat or upper-respiratory infection. Really fun and sexy, let me tell you. That’s why I never made it to Palm Beach, or even Palm Springs. I was in bed or on the sofa sleeping, having fever dreams or hacking up a lung. Like I said, sexy.

I’m not ill in this instance. I’ve been fortunate to avoid the Ebola going around town. I’m just utterly exhausted, and overly emotional (which is so not like me, let me assure you of that). I am so drained, I feel bloodless. I am flattened to the point that there is no inflection in my voice. And don’t get me started on the tears. Yes, tears! That so falls under the category of WTF?!? I save that stuff for things that matter. Like when Huckleberry Fox walks out of Debra Winger’s hospital room in Terms of Endearment (no matter how many times I see it, his teary nod makes me cry), or when Veuve Clicquot goes on sale.

This started last night after I sent out what we think is the draft that will go out to cast. I’ve been working on this project for absolute ages, but have been going full-tilt boogie for the last six months. The last four weeks of which have been incredibly intense, but in the most fabulous way. That’s the other thing: This entire experience has been a pleasure. Fun, in fact. Hard word? Sure. But, as I’ve mentioned before, I am working with three other really wonderful people. I can’t imagine it being any better (except to get a call that we’ve got our cast and full funding). But, just like in college, I have finally slowed down only to realize I have nothing left. Zip, zilch, zero. And there’s still more to go on this marathon. I would like to think we are at mile 20, but I think it’s safer to say we are at mile 2. From script to cast to funding, pre-production, production and post, we have a long, long, long way to go. I think I just need a rest, but I still have to prep for taxes and do a decent housecleaning. The personal life has quite fallen by the wayside. Happily, this is Hollywood’s high holy holiday weekend with the Spirit Awards and Oscars. The perfect time for me to snuggle in with a cheese-less pizza and a bottle of Veuve and listen to the acceptance speeches. Celebrate this small victory, and prepare for the rest of the run.

I have to smile, though, as I think of The Wall. It’s the reason I went to film school. Perhaps a little poetry plays with the irony here. In any event, I’m off now to this afternoon’s meeting, for which I hope I am able to exhibit some personality, and refrain from tearing up. I don’t think I could handle the mortification of that. And then home for a much needed nap.

Let This Be A Lesson

I had submitted the third — and hopefully final — revision to the script on Sunday night. Monday afternoon, I got an email from the director letting me know he was back in town and would read the screenplay ASAP.

This morning, coming out of the gym, my BlackBerry chimed. It was an email from the director that read:

sounds like another movie

I went right into “holy shit” mode. I mean, the guy didn’t even capitalize or punctuate the sentence. I emailed him back:

I know. Let’s talk later.

As I drove home, I called Producer 1. He hasn’t read it yet; it’s pilot season and he’s in the midst of it. I remained rather calm(ish) and suggested that he might want to get to it ASAP so we can all talk and go over what works for everyone and what doesn’t.

Walking in the house, I called Producer 2. I got her voicemail, and left her a message: “Not to be all TMI, but I’m just home from the gym and I’m about to get in the shower before going to a meeting, and I wanted to talk to you about the email I got from the D.” I went on to explain the brevity of his missive and that we should talk.

As I was stepping out of the shower, my cell phone rang. It was P2, who was on her way to a meeting. We attempted to decipher the email: sounds like another movie. “In a good way?” she asked. “I don’t think so,” I said. “He didn’t even end it with a period.” I shared with her my concerns that we might be going in a different direction, and that we needed to all get together, get on the same page. She was a little concerned that the D hadn’t called or emailed her about it. We decided a meeting was indeed in order.

As I walked back to the bathroom and adjusted my towel, I thought of the email I had sent the D:

Hope the christening was lovely. Did I mention that the guy who did mine was a conman wanted in Oklahoma?

Sounds like another movie. Oops.

So I called P2, got her voicemail and mentioned that I might have misinterpreted the email. I called P1, but his voicemail was having issues (or the guy who answered the phone was), so I sent him an email saying it was possible (or probable) that I read the comment wrong. Finally, I emailed the D:

BTW, at first, I thought your email was about the script…which it may yet be.

P2 called me back a little while later. We had a good laugh, which was followed by relief. Let me tell you, that’s one way to get everyone to read your revision super fast. I don’t really recommend it, though.

Only a few tweaks are needed. We are almost there. And in one piece.