What can writers learn from movie trailers?

Movie trailers have always been a real pleasure of mine, I watch them all the time to reset my brain between writing sessions. And then there's that old fashioned excitement that comes from seeing the big, neon-ish green "Preview" page in the movie theater. Lately, I've become really fascinated with the idea of trailer editing - and how a longer story can be compressed into a short story with an enticement and suspense all its own. Personally, I think it requires an incredible skillset and vision for an editor that's probably rare among editors. I have one friend who's a trailer editor and I'll have to ask him his philosophy for his cuts and follow up to this post with his knowledge.

But in the meantime, I just wanted to post two recent trailers: 

THE FRONT RUNNER

BAD TIMES AT THE EL ROYALE

It's interesting, given the films themselves I'd guess I'd be more drawn to BAD TIMES just with my own personal preferences - FRONT RUNNER seems like pretty dry subject matter. And yet, I found the structure of the FRONT RUNNER much more compelling. It paints a steady portrait of Gary Hart, then introduces the idea of scandal, then still somehow retain empathy for Hart while making us question his inner self. Then, following some great classic music, it spirals out of control -- a sense of existential excitement - how bad can things get?

Meanwhile BAD TIMES AT THE EL ROYALE should be chock-full of actual action and excitement and yet I feel like the opening half wastes a lot of time telling us that there will be 7 vague character-caricatures at a motel where everyone's up to no good. It doesn't feel as compelling as it should, and its style points aren't worth anything without a concrete plot or character dynamics. 

I'm not sure what the translatable lessons are for screenwriters, but certainly it pays to write real trailer moments into the project. The more telling and layered a moment can be in the script, the richer a single blip of the project will be in completion. 

Meandering Thought: Notes

One skill it's taken me a long time to recognize as essential (and just plain existent) in the entertainment industry, is the careful dance of respectfully fielding notes. It's not just that you need to address them. Sometimes you specifically need to not address them, in order to maintain the quality of your work -- but you need to make them feel like it's been addressed, like wizardry it feels like. Unless you're trying to make a statement about your voice or your intent. Some combination of these notes-responses has come up every time I've worked on a development project with execs or producers. 

"Why is Die Hard So Good?" Essay

Here's the opening segment from my video essay text on Die Hard -- hopefully will be produced and available online soon, will be sure to share...

"Thirty years ago, a movie came out starring a comedic TV actor and an unknown British thespian. Ebert gave the film two stars, apparently a dumb police chief undermined the whole thing... Just another summer flick following a long line of action films that’d been churned out since the early 80s.

Regardless, it started pulling in money – and wouldn’t stop. It’d go on to make $140,000,000 on a $28,000,000 budget. It’d spawn four sequels, launch Bruce Willis to superstardom, and become the new gold standard for action films. One might say it’s the movie that just wouldn’t die.

We’re talking about Die Hard here, and on its 30th anniversary we’re going to look at how it became the greatest action film ever made. “Welcome to the party, pal!”

So, why is Die Hard the G.O.A.T.? Simple: A Midsummer Night’s Dream and French New Wave cinema! Okay, maybe not so simple. We’ll get there."

Handwriting

Ernest Hemingway, in some of his letters, has said that he preferred to write different sorts of scenes in physically different ways. Specifically, that he'd hand-write descriptions of scenery and setting. He wanted his visuals to be flowing and purposeful -- it took longer to write and hand-writing it would allow for a sort of intentional flow to take shape. Meanwhile, he liked to write dialogue on a typewriter since he felt the movement of it more accurately mimicked how people talk (or, how he wanted his characters to talk) - quick, staccato, fast-as-can-be. 

I wonder about this strategy and if there are ways to apply it to my writing, whether fiction or if it applies to TV. I think film and TV writing is a bit too mercenary a field to allow for this sort of time-consuming experimentation (not to mention, the scene-description cannot be flowing but demands to be as tight as possible). But it would be a great experiment to try in an updated respect. Will have to brainstorm how that'd work...

Meandering Thought: Forces Writers Digest

Generally, I think it's worthwhile to consider how writers digest the societal and environmental changes of their life, in terms of their process. Because what comes out on the other end tends to be persuasive (especially if lots of good writers are telling similar, powerful stories) and thus affect the next stage of society, right? In my case I'm interested in climate change. 

"Born into this -- into these carefully mad wars -- into bars where people no longer speak to each other -- into hospitals that are so expensive its cheaper to die -- born into this -- walking and living through this -- made crazy and sick by this -- made violent -- made inhuman -- money will be useless -- explosions will continually shake the earth" 

(sections taken from Bukowski's Dionsauria, We -- a terrifyingly apt description of an America today and an apocalyptic vision of America 50 years from now, pending climate change effects)

Personally, I feel that massive change on earth and in our geopolitical landscape is inevitable within my lifetime. It's why I read guys like Roy Scranton and survivalist notebooks to at once ease my anxiety and increase it tenfold. Personally, I try to grapple with feelings of guilt and helplessness while also trying to adopt a ruthless realpolitik (while still staying optimistic) about what I'll do when things really turn south. But more importantly, I can't be the only writer who feels like this in some regard. So I wonder, how is an entire generation of writers who are potentially petrified with a helpless anxiety in the face of climate change writing? Will our stories change anything or just be a time capsule? It's difficult to even self-analyze my own writing let alone others, but I am confident there will be shared resonancies and themes to be found in the years to come. 

Circadian Writing Rhythms

It's funny how much people try to assign tasks to certain times of day based on what they think they should be doing then, rather than what's most naturally fitting. A lot of people assert that the best time for writing is the early morning. I have yet to figure out if that's really true or if it's just the only time of day when in theory you won't be distracted from the rest of the world. 

When I was working my first job out of college at FilmNation Entertainment (2013-2015), I was working from 8AM - 9PM most days and attempting to exercise to stay sane before work. But eventually I decided I needed to be writing every day, so for a block of about 4-5 months I forced myself to write from 4AM-6:30AM at least every other day. And you know what? It actually worked pretty well. I was drinking more coffee than should be humanly possible, but I also wrote my first pilot pretty quickly - all things considered. Nowadays, I struggle to get up at 6AM and really get to work writing productively before 8AM. Is it just because I'm older? Or because I don't have the immense pressure of that day job driving me anymore? Or are my circadian rhythms changing? I fear that this trend will continue to slide until I'm only writing well late at night, and destroying my sleep from the other side of the coin. 

All this makes me wonder, if writing rhythms aren't related to anything biologically speaking but instead draw on some sort of self-tricked Pavlovian stimulus. For me, back in NY, it was the thrill of being up during the dark of the early morning and knowing this was my one true window to get anything done (that I enjoyed doing). There was a bit of a sick thrill to it, probably a little masochistic too. I imagine it's the same for writers who can only write late at night -- the idea that you're throwing responsibility to the wind all for the sake of your craft, you're doing something no one else is... The followup question is: if the same writer were to only write during these strange times vs. a copy of him to only write like a normal human being during the day's work hours - would the products be completely different? 

American Samurai

This is an idea for a weekly webseries that I pitched to a company with a new digital channel (I'm writing video essays for them right now). I don't think they're moving forward with new series at the moment, and this was the least likely contender of the ones I pitched, so I just wanted to save it here: 

AMERICAN SAMURAI

Logline: Why has this striking aspect of Japan’s history captured the imagination of the western world? This series explores the complex ways America (and the west) has at times honored or appropriated the Samurai – through films, television, comic books, fashion, and even food.

Format: Video Series

Synopsis: In the vein of Nerdwriter1 or Channel Criswell’s programs, but with an in-depth dive into a more specific theme, “American Samurai” takes a single, recognizable world (and history) and explores it across all of American culture – with a weight especially towards cinema and graphic novels.

Why does the idea of the Samurai resonate within our culture? And to what extent do we appropriate and simplify its history for our own ends – a part of the larger “orientalism” problem? And does the river flow only one way – or are we only absorbing an idea already adapted and revived by the Japanese people?

“American Samurai” would hold appeal for both fanatics as well as the casual viewer, since it covers such a broad array of pop culture and history alike – all of which would supply a rich visual foundation of videos, images, and interviews for the substance of the videos themselves.

Take for instance the first obvious reference, Akira Kurosawa. His prolific work has gone on to infuse the west with samurai culture and inspire countless remakes. Yojimbo inspired Sergio Leone to make A Fistful of Dollars, Seven Samurai to Magnificent Seven, Hidden Fortress to Star Wars.

Was it just plot that was lifted out of a feudal Japanese setting – or were their intrinsic philosophies (Bushido, stoicism) too? What was it about these ideas that connected so well with the American audience time and time again?

But complicating things further, was that Kurosawa himself drew from western noir classics like The Glass Key – making his version of samurai a thing unto themselves. Cinema is certainly a rich playground for the series, from Melville’s Le Samourai to Jarmusch’s Ghost Dog, Tarantino’s Kill Bill to the potentially problematic The Last Samurai or 47 Ronin (and countless others).

In addition to movies, there is a wide array of other areas to dissect and discuss: television (Samurai Jack), graphic novels (Frank Miller, Lone Wolf & Cub), food (themed restaurants), to fashion and even martial arts.

Beyond pop culture, this series would seek to go back to the historical roots and condense them for a contemporary audience – classic Japanese texts like Bushido: Soul of Japan, The Unfettered Mind, and The Demon’s Sermon on Martial Arts. What has changed from these powerful texts and Samurai in feudal Japan, to our depiction of them today?

As a series written by an American, “American Samurai” would not position itself as an authority on Japanese culture – but seek instead to identify and discuss the ways in which America has engaged with it. Hopefully in such a way to teach and inspire the audience to learn more.

Continuing Series Potential: Beyond Samurai, the series could expand (in a “seasons” type of format) to explore other cultural histories that have osmosed into American culture: Native American traditions (e.g. sports teams), Norse/Viking mythology (e.g. biker gangs), etc.

 -- there were a whole bunch of images that went with it, but I'm just going to re-post the one that does the most work here...

Resurgence of the Classic White Patriarchy Show?

Succession (HBO), The Son (AMC), Yellowstone (Paramount Network). In different ways, these new shows are all relatively successful for their networks. They're all certified "prestige" and Son and Yellowstone are certainly epic in scope. They're part of the flagship of their home networks -- Yellowstone especially which is their first big release since Waco. They come after a string of failed shows in their vein like Blood and Oil (ABC).

It's a bit odd, no? They're all founded on classic white patriarchal clans who have risen on the strengths of their sins (monopolization and oppression, violence and backstabbing, disregard for the common man). I get that the creators behind these shows are trying to undermine the various forces and stereotypes -- The Son and Yellowstone both feature rebellious older sons who dare to be with a woman of "the other race" and that makes things tough for them, as well as for their harsh yet caring fathers. Well, boo hoo I guess? 

I say it's odd that these are in resurgence right now because they come at a time when transgressive and format-bending shows are on the rise (Atlanta, Random Acts of Flyness, Vida, and so many others). But these C.W.P. shows aren't some reflexive, way-of-the-Dodo rejoinder to what's happening in society now. In fact, they're trying to stay relevant. As I said, they want to undermine their own stories. We don't admire the family in Succession, we're supposed to laugh at them. I'm not sure about The Son but we can safely assumed the patriarch's brutal and ancient values will ultimately lead to his destruction. Yellowstone I've barely watched any of, so I'm not the authority, but it feels like we're supposed to be equal parts in admiration and judgment of Costner's head of the ranching clan. They're all bad guys, for sure. But we're still all in, watching them up-close for 10-12 hours a season. So, what's the takeaway? 

Personally, I think the creators of these shows want to frame these stories as "lessons on America" or "historical learning" but that is problematic. Yes, Succession could be teaching us the ways of the .00001% of our corpocracy -- how they behave, their flaws, their detachment from humanity. The Son can illustrate through a historical lens, the barbaric nature of American expansionism, jingoism, and evolution of white power. Yellowstone may indeed show us a mixture of the two other shows; how does lingering white landed power maintain itself in the face of racial empowerment and a rising corpocracy? Is that relevant to America today? Sure. But the flipside is that we are only into these stories so much as we are empathetic to these characters. Is whatever lessons they're trying to teach us worth us learning to root for these nasty vestiges that we're so desperately trying to shed in reality?

It's intoxicating to watch carefully constructed power -- and these shows do a convincing job of making classic white patriarchal families with the history of America behind them... well, seem like the most powerful thing in existence. They are their own worst enemy, sort of thing. Externally, these families' internal "flaws" only contribute to its power. And I'm not sure that's a healthy lesson. What's more, the creators of these shows claim these stories are still relevant and progressive because they're asserting the death of these families in their shows. They're comedic, cathartic tragedies! I get it, but the way these storytellers are writing this tragedy -- the C.W.P. is like a great, cornered, wounded beast. It's never been so dangerous, so powerful, never been more potentially awe-inspiring in its anger and ability to destroy to defend itself. As a result, there's a heavy smell of admiration in the air. We know they're bad, we know they're doomed and therefore we're tricked into being comfortable rooting for them -- and not just rooting for them to fight, but to fight dirty. Because we know that's in their nature and so what's the harm if we're just rooting for the bad guy before they die? I think there is harm though. Hopefully the beast doesn't live much longer. 

Succession (HBO)

Right now, Succession is one of the more popular shows on premium cable (at least, within my friend group). I've had friends from very different taste-groups rave about the writing, the acting, but more often than not they rave about the world. Specifically, isn't it so cathartic and devilishly fun to get access to the upper-upper echelon of society and watch them tear themselves apart?

Honestly, for me the answer is no. Ultimately what Succession focuses on is a group of people who have no discernible values, integrity, or personality beyond the desire to maintain or accrue money and power. There is some sad, dark humor that comes from their ineptitude to do so - but I find the humor is canceled out by the sheer repetitive, blunt ruthlessness with which they treat each other and everything. Relationships only degrade, temporarily propped up by Machiavellian alliances, nothing important is learned about characters' inner-demons, weaknesses, or strengths other than how it plays out in their battle to keep a generic media company running under their control. 

To me this isn't cathartic, or funny, or more importantly - it's not compelling storytelling. There's no character involvement of anyone outside the immediate family or at broadest, there's no one outside the upper-upper echelon world. So, we can reasonably expect that regardless of the "succession" or other calamitous situations that form the backbone of the show -- it will only take place in a small box made of mirrors. Meaning, the show has a claustrophobic setting -- everything just reflects and refracts off the similar main characters behaving in the same way to get at the same thing.

I get that there's an obsession with power that inherently makes this interesting to some audiences. But the power of the head of a media conglomerate really isn't the focus on the show, as far as I can tell. We don't witness the great actions they can instigate with the swish of a pen, it's more about making the swings of stock prices and who-gets-what-board-seat feel like great actions and forces. But, man, isn't that dry? And when it's only despicable, frantic, hopelessly egotistical people that are feeling these forces - who cares?

There's still a lot to like about the show. The actors bring a vitality to it, regardless. The aesthetic is a calm, cool, corporate sort of thing -- it doesn't focus on the ostentatious wealth and textures that come with it, rather it wants to imply that they're so rich we don't even need to get into that. It's well balanced between the various despicable family members, we definitely get perfect amounts of time with each one but in the end it just doesn't help me care. Or more specifically, I can't find a reason to justify my watching this show. 

So, my next task is to understand why people like it so much more than me? Is it because they only need the fireworks of a destructive, uber-family to enjoy an hour of TV? I'm sure there are character arcs that'll form past ep 3 (as far as I've gotten), but they won't be arcs I'll care about. But, other people will. 

And honestly, the old-man (and simultaneously lefty-liberal) voice in my head says: should we be worried that people are enjoying this show? If we're watching a whole show just to enjoy a family imploding because it's cathartic to our social and economic environment... well, that's a problem. If we're watching the show to want to feel the rush of being a soul-less, power-obese maniac... well, that's a different but equally problematic drive. Or if we're watching it to neither enjoy the schadenfreude nor be the surrogate, then why are we watching it? Because we feel it'll teach us something the upper society we live under? Or about American culture? We don't need to understand inequality and machinations in this way, do we? We already know it's wrong, it's destructive and oppressive. So, why get so close so as to be empathetic? Regardless of the reason, the vicious humor teaches us a lesson I don't think anyone needs to learn right now. To angrily laugh at characters whose own angry humor is their only defense says something about us -- and it's probably not a healthy statement. 

I'm going to do a follow-up post tomorrow about this weird resurgence of the Classic White Patriarchy Show (Yellowstone, the Son, etc.). 

Breaths Between Drafts

Currently, I'm working on a development project that's moving at breakneck speed. It's a serious learning experience for me. Specifically, working on revisions and taking huge notes with only a day or two max to apply them. My present mindset is that it's going to be a failure, but I think that's a standard writer's response when they're way out of their comfort zone. We can't really know how your work will come across when you've just barely emerged from writing it. The important lesson I've learned is that there is true value to taking long breaths between drafts. One day to absorb the notes, and to forget what you wrote -- let the optic residue of it burn away. Then another day to review the notes from a thousand feet up, rather than think about them practically. Another day still to start mapping out your true blue prints for changes, maybe discuss them. Finally, the time needed to apply them meticulously. When you have a third that time, for me at least, I lose the value of a bird's eye view and end up repeating some of the same mistakes in different ways. But as I said, we'll just have to wait and see what happens with the last draft.