It’s Good to Have a Little Elbow Room
One of the most difficult things to deal with when trying to get into any field, it seems, is people trying to get you to specialize. I’m not sure why, but most people expect you to be able to describe yourself with a single title. “I’m a doctor,” or “I’m a police officer,” or maybe “I’m a writer.”
But the thing of it is, most of us just aren’t that way, especially in arts and entertainment. Throughout my schooling and career, I was always asked what I wanted to be, or what I was going to school for. Most often, I would have to resort to describing my major, “Digital Media,” or maybe whatever happened to be the focus of my studies that semester, like “Film.”
This can be especially problematic when you start looking for jobs, and people are surprised that you’ve worked a wide swath of jobs. For me, I’ve worked as a film grip, a key grip, and an electritian. I’ve worked as a producer, a production assistant, and an art director. I’ve been a writer, a UPM, a graphic producer, and a retail salesman. I’ve worked in landscaping, food service, and as a roadie. All of these things apply to who I am and what I know how to do, and how I can approach a situation or problem, and it does me a serious discredit for someone to ask me “what I do,” and expect a simple, no-frills answer.
Over the past year, however, I’ve come to better understand what I want to do in my life. Gaming, to me, has always been a great passion of mine. I’ve sunk more time into video games than I have into anything except perhaps my writing, and that drive to experiences these interactive stories and situations finally just clicked for me. Getting accepted to Grad School to start my gaming career finally just solidified my course for me. I knew what I wanted to do.
What’s been more freeing for me, however, is that I finally am able to portray myself the way that I want to. When you’re working in film, people tend to want a certain kind of person for a certain kind of work. They want you to be focused on the job at hand, and your experiences outside of the scope of that job seem to be mostly disregarded, because you’re expected to be compartmentalized.
But now, my hobby and my career are starting to blend. I can be a gamer, and that’s finally a good thing. I can start to portray myself as having this passion, and it’s not only understood, it’s encouraged. Of course, there’s a healthy dose of work to go along with it all, but it’s just good to have a little elbow room. It’s nice to not be stuck in a compartment that wasn’t exactly of my own choosing.
And when people ask me what I want to be, then I can explain that I want to be a producer. But when I go to explain myself, I’m not above telling people that I’m a Gamer, Producer, Writer, Artist, and a Jack-of-All-Trades. I’m finally starting to realize that it’s not a bad thing to just be who I am, and let the chips fall where they may. No need to worry anymore what “the masses” think, because I’m going to find a group that wants me for who I am.
I’m ready to rebrand myself so my brand is more true to me, and I’m ready to show what I can be. Here’s hoping that the hard work is going to pay off.
- K
Uncharted Movie – Thick-Skulled Filmmakers
Okay, so here’s a situation. You have a gaming franchise that has garnered extensive praise and an unsurprisingly large amount of money for it’s developers. With two excellent games in, and a highly-anticipated sequel on the way, this is what’s known in the entertainment industry as a “hot property.”
You’ve got action, story, suspense, romance, more action, betrayal, intrigue, a lot more action, shooting, jumping, running, explosions and a little more action thrown in for good measure. Mix that in with unforgettable characters, outstanding visuals and some of the greatest interactive settings that have been achieved in gaming, and it’s no wonder that so many people are paying attention to this game. I mean, making a movie based on it is almost a virtual certainty, isn’t it?
So with all this hype, you’re looking for a leading man. Hmm… Well, you need someone who’s got some star power, who can play the role convincingly, and who has some experience in a swashbuckling, action-filled Indiana Jones-esque world of intrigue, character, and character interaction. You’ve also got to get someone who is going to get people to fill the seats. You ask the fans, they give you a name. You ask that actor, he gives you an excited affirmative. And then…
…You cast someone who is the complete opposite.
Nathan Drake, the star of Uncharted, is a smiling, handsome, intelligent doofus who constantly finds himself in unbelievably dangerous and crazy situations, yet who is always ready with a little quip or joke to let you know that he’s not taking things too seriously, but can be counted on when the chips are down to do the right thing and to somehow come out on top while still having the last sarcastic word. Think Indiana Jones, or maybe John McClane. Think of Malcolm Reynolds – Captain of the Serenity.
The fans (me included) immediately had Nathan Fillion in mind for the role of Nathan Drake, an opinion that Fillion himself even encouraged, acknowledging that he was very eager for a chance at the part. As a game that sold over 1,000,000 copies in the first two weeks, you would think that fan-opinion would matter a little bit. Hmm… The people who are going to see this are very likely to be people who have played the game, and are interested in seeing it on the big screen. You would think that if a large majority of them agreed that Fillion would make a great Nathan Drake, the director David O. Russell would have at least given it some thought. Given Fillion a screen test. Something.
Instead, Russell decided that he’s going to change the storyline, and Mark Wahlberg is going to get the part. You know, the guy from such hit action classics as Invincible, The Departed, The Happening, or most recently, The Fighter. Without giving you my personal review of any of these films, I’ll tell you this – Mark Wahlberg usually plays the same role. He’s the straight-laced, even-humored fellow who has a hard time even offering a convincing smile. So with this kind of acting history, how does this role even match up at all?
It doesn’t. Not even a little bit.
I don’t claim to know everything, but I’ll tell you my opinion. Russell needed a 30-ish star who he can work with, with a recognizable name. And that’s as far as he’s thought through it. After I Heart Huckabees and the Fighter, he’s figured that Wahlberg can do the job. I don’t agree.
Basically, like so many video game franchises before it, Uncharted’s cinematic debut is destined to be mishandled, ill-understood, and ultimately discarded as an unfortunate cash in. And yet again, we gaming fans get to have our hopes dashed because of a filmmaker’s ignorance. But I guess until people start to see games as an actual storytelling tool instead of just as frivolous playthings, it’ll be difficult to expect anything more from “busy” directors than to simply skim over the game’s logline.
- K
8-Part Story Structure: Eighth Sequence
Sequence 8: Riding Off Into the Sunset
So, the story has reached its end. Every little thing that should happen, has happened, and hopefully we’ve resolved all, or at least most, of the questions surrounding the particular tale that we’re telling. No, we don’t have to know every little detail about every single person that we’ve mentioned in the story, but the story should feel complete at this point.
So what’s the point of the eighth sequence, then?
The eighth sequence shows the protagonist(s) in a restful state, again in homeostasis, with no immediate, pressing concerns. The hero has survived the adventure, and so he has a chance to rest. Though it has definitely become a cliché, this is the time where the heroes ride off into the sunset, their current story done, headed off to seek a new journey. Usually it’s a time of peace, of contemplation, of catharsis, and often a little humor.
This is usually the shortest sequence in any film, (the half-hour ending of Lord of the Rings: Return of the King is a notable exception), and has the sole purpose of placing the protagonist into their new state of being. It shows the audience what the new “normal” is for the protagonist, but ends before a new journey starts. Often, though, there is the promise of more, but the audience is meant to feel that all is right again in the world.
Now, because the sequence is so short, I’ve decided that it would be more beneficial to, instead of detailing a single film, to briefly explain the eighth sequence of the seven films that we’ve explained throughout the other seven sequences, so that the blurred line between the seventh and eighth sequences may be made more clear. And just to reiterate this again, these are all very short, and obviously, contain the end of each movie.
Raiders of the Lost Ark – Indy is angry, on the steps of the Capitol Building, because the government authorities don’t want to listen to his pleas for the Ark’s study, yet Marion comforts him as they walk away. We then watch an inauspicious worker push the Ark of the Covenant into the bowels of an endless warehouse, seemingly leaving the mystical Ark to rot in storage for eternity. This ending leaves the audience feeling that now Indy and Marion are together, and that the journey of the Ark, (at least as far as Indy is concerned), is at an end. It also has the bonus of showing that, once again, Indy is going home empty-handed, which was how he started out the movie in the first place.
Paycheck – After all is said and done, Jennings, Rachel, and Shorty end up together in Rachel’s apartment, talking about the adventure. In the final twist, Jennings realizes that he would have known that Rachel would have kept her birds with her. The final piece of the puzzle fits when he reads, “If you only look where you can’t go, you might just miss the riches below.” He looks underneath the bottom of the birdcage, and pulls out a winning lottery ticket, eliminating their worry about their future. This shows that Jennings really had planned out everything, and though Shorty and the other two start playfully bickering about who gets what amount, there is no real worry, at least in the audience’s mind, that everything will work out all right for everyone involved. It would have been fine if there had been no lotto ticket, but it adds a final little grin for the audience as a final bookend.
Alladin – After Alladin wishes for the Genie’s freedom, and the Sultan allows Jasmine to choose her own suitor, the eighth sequence begins. The Genie makes a wide sweeping number of comic references, there’s a big “group hug”, and then Alladin and Jasmine fly off into the moonlight. (And then, the moon turns out to be the Genie, just as a last poke of humor.) Again, this is a testament to how short the eighth sequence really is. We are simply left to assume that everyone, (except for Jafar and Iago), are left to live happily ever after. The Genie is free, the “lovebirds” end up together, and all is well in the world.
Who Framed Roger Rabbit? – Soon after Eddie hands over the rope to Lt. Santino, the stain on his shirt reappears. Roger reveals that it was disappearing/reappearing ink. But it’s that clue that makes Eddie realize where Acme’s will has been all along, and Roger reads it aloud. As soon as the will is read, we begin sequence eight. The two couples, Eddie and Dolores, Roger and Jessica, both walk off into the unknown, with peace having been restored, and Eddie finally having allowed happiness back into his life. (As the Roger kiss illustrates.) The toons also have been saved, and so they celebrate. The effect is, again, very quick, and very simple. There’s really nothing left but a last little joke from Porky Pig as he exclaims, “That’s All, Folks!”
The Dark Knight – This one is a little tricky, but still recognizable. The eighth sequence begins when Batman says to Gordon, “I can do those things.” He willingly sacrifices himself yet again, to save Gotham, and to preserve Harvey’s reputation. At that point, the story of the Dark Knight is finished, and we get a small montage and Gordon’s ironic voice-over as Batman “rides off into the sunset.” Though the ending is not exactly “happy”, we understand that this is what must be done, and we understand what Batman’s mission from here on will entail. Batman’s new “normal” is established, and so the story ends.
While You Were Sleeping – This may be one of the shortest on the list, because it begins as soon as Lucy begins her ending voice-over. You watch as Lucy and Jack ride, (yet again), off into the distance, this time on the back of Lucy’s commuter train, with the sign “Just Married” above them. It’s a very iconic, happily ever after ending, and we see that Lucy is going to be just fine.
The Sixth Sense – This is a very interesting “split-eighth.” Because there are two very separate main characters, we have two sevenths, and two eighths. The first eighth involves Cole and his mother, as she finally is able to accept that Cole is not crazy, but instead is actually helping people, albeit dead ones. For Malcolm, the eighth sequence begins as we transfer attention to his old wedding video. Because he has, in essence, “released” his wife from care, we are offered hope at a new beginning for her, as represented by the beginning of the couple’s life together as recorded on tape.
As you can see, there are a number of different ways to accomplish the eighth sequence, and every film has its own quirks, all depending on the story involved. What is important to note, however, is that the eighth sequence doesn’t have to be long. It doesn’t have to be complicated. In fact, it’s very simple, and often involves just a few moments for the audience to be “at peace” with the story that they’ve just been told.
But a recommendation just from me – It’s the last thing that people are going to see, so I would do my best to make it memorable.
Summary
- Used to invoke catharsis, peace, understanding, and oft-times, humor at the end of the story.
- Often the shortest sequence of the film.
- Quite often involves some variation of “riding off into the sunset.”
8-Part Story Structure: Seventh Sequence
Sequence 7: You Live With the Consequences
If you were to imagine story structure as a mountain, and the protagonist as the climber who must conquer it, then the seventh sequence would be that part of the journey just after cresting the peak. The final climax has been brought to its end, and we often see a few moments of calm. The protagonist has conquered the antagonist, and the final choice has been made. The internal struggle, and the external one have, for the most part, been resolved. Now, we see what that choice has brought about.
Often times, the seventh and eighth sequences are some of the shortest, encompassing very little of a film’s viewing time. The purpose of the seventh sequence is simply to show what the consequences of that final action were, and then to tie up whatever loose ends may still be floating about. The sense of urgency that is present in the sixth sequence is virtually gone, replaced instead with an often distinct lack of tension. This is why the seventh sequence can often be encapsulated in a montage, or even a brief conversation.
The only exception comes during a “twist” ending, which is created when the writer reveals that, in the mist at the top of the mountain, there is, in fact, one more hill yet to climb. A twist ending’s structure is accomplished in a fashion similar to the fifth and sixth sequences, often mirroring the original storyline’s conflict, but in a different way.
The key to creating a successful twist is that this final part of the story must be necessary. It must be crucial to the story, to the point that, if it was missing, the audience would feel like there is definitely something else that should be there. Certain storytellers are masters of this type of the craft, and so we’ll look at the M. Night Shyamalan classic, The Sixth Sense.
In the film, we follow the story of child psychologist Malcom Crowe, whose life is altered drastically by an ex-patient who confronts the doctor, shooting Crowe in the stomach and then killing himself. Some time later, Crowe takes on the case of Cole Sear, a nine-year old boy who sees the spirits of dead people who are not aware that they are deceased. In this case, Crowe seeks redemption for his perceived “failure” with his ex-patient, and looks to help this boy with his malady.
As the story continues, however, Crowe slowly begins to believe the boy, spending more and more time with Cole in order to better understand this unbelievable phenomenon. The time spent away from his wife, however, seems to be putting a definite strain on their relationship, as is evidenced by the depressing, almost heartbreaking scenes where Malcolm eventually just leaves her alone.
But in spending time with the boy, Malcolm and Cole discover that there may, in fact, be a purpose for Cole to fulfill. Perhaps there is a reason that this boy can see the spirits of the dead. Each of the “dead people” that Cole is visited by seems to have some amount of unfinished business that needs to be resolved, culminating in a visit to the funeral reception of a young girl.
Though Cole and Malcolm definitely do not belong, Cole walks right into the late girl’s room. The girl appears, and offers Cole a box, in which the boy finds a videotape. He walks quietly into the main room, and hands the tape to the girl’s father. The man puts the tape on. The tape is from a hidden camera, which shows the dead girl’s mother pouring Pine Sol into the sick girl’s food, keeping her sick, and fatally poisoning her after too much exposure to the chemicals, which resolves the death of the girl, and allows her to move on.
Cole finally confesses the truth of the situation to his mother, convincing her with personal details about her relationship to her own mother, and allowing him to come to grips with his own lot in life. The boy then offers some advice to Malcolm, suggesting to the psychologist that he try speaking to his wife while she is asleep.
And now comes the twist: During this brief conversation, Malcolm finally realizes that he is, in fact, no longer living. The gunshot wound that his ex-patient had inflicted was unknowingly fatal, and it wasn’t Cole who sought out Malcolm, but instead it was the doctor who, unwittingly, sought out the child. Malcolm was finally able to rectify his failure to understand his ex-patient, which allows him to “move on.” He then speaks to his wife, expressing his love for her and releasing her to go on living her own life.
The key to this twist is that while everything is leading up to it, and all the pieces are in place for the audience to realize it, there is nothing blatant. In this case, the seventh sequence is only a few minutes long, encompassing just the reveal that Malcolm is no longer alive, and that he was another spirit that the boy helped to “move on.”
All the loose ends are tied up, and while there is still some things to ponder, the story itself is now complete. The seventh sequence is a tricky one to “nail down” in a story, simply because it, along with the eighth, are usually short, and sometimes even barely present in a film. However, they are present, and that makes them important to recognize.
Summary
- The seventh sequence begins at the conclusion of the climax.
- Because the climactic “choice” is irreversible, it is in the seventh sequence that we see the consequence of that choice.
- The seventh sequence is the place for the “unexpected twist” ending.
- All loose ends should be resolved, and the protagonist(s) should be placed into a new homeostasis.
8-Part Story Structure: Sixth Sequence
Sequence 6: The Final Test
Of all the different sequences, this one is probably the easiest to explain, as well as the easiest to identify during a story. This is the epic battle, the last great struggle, and the final showdown where there’s no holding back, no escape, and no giving up. Only one person is getting out of this event on top, and we hope against hope that it’s going to be the protagonist.
Now, while there often isn’t a direct cut between the fifth and sixth sequences, the Climax of the film is almost always recognizable, and often is the part that the audience remembers best. It’s the big bang, the last hurrah, the super struggle that forces the protagonist to face down and defeat (or lose to) the antagonist. It can be serious, it can be horrifying, or it can be hilarious, but it’s the huge, epic, high point of the film where everything depends on the outcome of this fight for both the protagonist and the antagonist.
And often, it’s not even about a fight to the death. Sometimes it’s about the fight for the truth, or to overcome an internal struggle. Sometimes it has nothing to with defeating something, but instead the hero’s goal is simply to survive. While there are many different examples of very traditional climaxes, (ie Hero vs Villian), it would be beneficial to recognize the less-understood climaxes, or those without an easily discernible beginning and end to the actual “sixth sequence.”
Some films are less traditional as far as having a personified antagonist, especially in films like Romantic Comedies, or even many comedies in general. Quite often, these stories revolve around a single protagonist or two, both of whom often act as antagonists for one another throughout the story as their relationships change. Because of these shifting in relationships, often the sixth sequence, or the climax, involves the two of them finally being honest with each other, and finally making a clear choice about the relationship.
To illustrate what I’m talking about, let’s tale a look at the film While You Were Sleeping, which has less to do with the more obvious action-oriented “fight to the death”, but still utilizes the sixth sequence correctly to give us the climax of the film.
In the film, Lucy has found herself in a convoluted and awkward situation. She has been mistaken for the fiancé of Peter, a comatose man who she barely knows, and through a strange set of circumstances has been accepted into his quirky, yet wonderful surrogate family. But by the time Peter wakes up, Lucy has fallen for Jack, her “fiancé’s” brother, is worried about living a lie, and at the same time is concerned that she’s going to lose the relationships that she’s built up with this family that she’s never really known.
All of this comes to a peak at Lucy and Peter’s wedding, where the titular walking-down-the-aisle could be easily interpreted as climbing up a proverbial mountain. With Peter on one side, and his best man, Jack, on the other, the visual representation of Lucy’s choice is unmistakable. We, as the audience, watch as she struggles, trying to make this decision that will drastically affect her life forever. And it is this decision, this action, that is key. This is the crux of climax. Where the story hits its highest point, where this one moment will irreversibly alter the protagonist’s path, creating a fork in the road which can never be changed.
For Lucy, this choice came down to dishonesty vs honesty, and dealing with the consequences of either choice. Either she could go on living a lie forever, or she could come clean with the truth, and face the music. Now, as a storyteller, this set-up is obvious.
It’s the underlying dilemma that has pervaded the story for the entire film, and signs pointed to this being the final confrontation. It’s not about Lucy vs someone else, but instead it’s about Lucy facing herself. In her struggle to learn and grow, we’ve come to understand who this character is. We are rooting for her happiness. And we know that she has to go through this trial, but we hope that she’s going to be alright.
You see, the audience doesn’t necessarily need some super-surprise ending here. There need not be some impressive meteor that comes crashing down, interrupting everything. Instead, the audience is going to expect Lucy to tell the truth, because that’s who we know her to be. She’s only “herself” when she’s being honest, and for her to be happy, she’s going to have to do that.
Now, the climax does NOT include the final resolution, or even the consequences of the final showdown. Instead, it leads up to and ends at the choice. When the choice is made, the momentum shifts down, over the hill. The climax is the road up, and the peak, but the next sequence begins as that decision is made.
Summary
- The climax begins with the proverbial climb to the final summit.
- There can be no chance for escape, at least reasonably. This final action should be one that must happen.
- The choice/action of the climax must be irreversible. There is no turning back after this has occurred.
- The protagonist will be changed forever because of the actions of the climax.
8-Part Story Structure: Fifth Sequence
Sequence 5: The Calm Before the Storm
After pushing the protagonist to his or her limits at the end of the fourth sequence, there needs to be a moment of calm where our hero can rebuild his strength. Often times, this is the part in the story where the hero is at his lowest. He’s lost something tantamount. He feels like he can’t go on, but knows that he must. Very often, there is someone at his side who is there to remind him not only of his duty, but also of what he must do.
This scene is essential, because it allows us to empathize with the characters in a way that helps us to feel like we truly know them. We’ve seen them through several highs and lows, but now we’re seeing them handling their greatest failure. Do they force through it reluctantly? Or are they unflinching? If you want to deepen the audience understanding of the character, you must show what happens when they are at their lowest.
This sequence is often short, but unbelievably powerful, and memorable if done right. And to illustrate this, let’s take a look at the Christopher Nolan film, The Dark Knight.
In the film, Bruce Wayne was resigned to give himself to the police in an effort to stem The Joker’s tide of murders across Gotham. But at the last moment, Harvey Dent took his place, claiming that he himself was The Batman, and offering himself up to be arrested.
This leads to a difficult chase as Bruce, as Batman, must rescue Harvey from The Joker’s attempt to destroy the police convoy, and at the same time capture the Joker once and for all.
But of course, nothing with The Joker is ever so simple. After a powerful scene in the interrogation room, Batman is only able to save Harvey, during which time the former DA is horribly disfigured, and his childhood friend Rachel is obliterated in a violent warehouse explosion.
It is at this time that we see Bruce in his home, clutching the Batman cowl, and peering with agony into the events that his becoming the Dark Knight has brought upon him and Gotham.
Bruce Wayne: Alfred…
Alfred: Yes, Master Wayne?
Bruce Wayne: Did I bring this on her? I was meant to inspire good. Not…madness. Not…death.
Alfred: You have inspired good. But you spat in the faces of Gotham’s criminals; didn’t you think there might be some casualties? Things were always gonna get worse before they got better.
Bruce Wayne: But Rachel, Alfred…
Alfred: Rachel believed in what you stood for. What we stand for. Gotham needs you.
Bruce Wayne: No, Gotham needs its true hero…and I let that murdering psychopath blow him half to hell.
Alfred: Which is why, for now, they’re gonna have to make do with you.
Alfred acts as Bruce’s conscience, telling him what he already knows, comforting him in his time of need, but not allowing him simply to give up. Bruce must take up the mantle of The Batman, and he can’t simply let The Joker win. Now the calm is over, and the storm of climax is just in front of us.
The fifth sequence is about the protagonist gathering his forces. It’s a point in the film that is often called the “False Ending”. It looks like the antagonist has won, and that all hope is lost. If the hero were to give up right now, the story would be complete, and the ending would be such that the villain had won. Now, of course, that would leave some questions unanswered, but the audience at this point should get a sense of calm, and the action should take a lull.
But, of course, it’s not going to stay that way for long.
Summary
- This is the lowest point of the story for the protagonist.
- This is truly a calm before the storm of the climax, where the protagonist must muster his forces for one last, final strike against the antagonist.
- Often, other characters will act as the protagonist’s conscience, showing them what they must do to overcome this seemingly insurmountable enemy.
a beautiful oblivion
Even as I sit here, typing on my keyboard, I realize that I should be getting to bed, not click-clacking away in front of the computer screen. But there’s just something compelling me right now. For some reason, I have this urge to write something out. It’s this need to be typing, to be creating. It’s as if the blank page here is an invitation that I just can’t ignore, and I must somehow fill it with something. I just can’t leave space white any longer.
This need is only compounded by the fact that I haven’t put anything up in a few weeks, even though I’ve checked the page several times, and often said out-loud to myself, “I should really put up a post.” It’s like my dust-gathering journal that I will often write in out of guilt, simply because I’d committed to myself to do it, wrote in it for a grand total of a couple days, and then placed it on the shelf with a number of other unfulfilled good intentions.
Another reason for this obtuse barrage of prose comes from the fact that I just finished a 12-hour day on a set that didn’t really need me. I mean, yeah, I did move a couple of things from here to there, but there was no challenge, there was no hustle, and there was no brainpower to my entire day. The most stimulation that I got out of today was the four cans of Dr. Pepper that I downed from craft services.
Honestly, standing around for 12-hours in the snow while having to move a shiny board a couple feet every half hour or so is anything but fulfilling, and I guess I just need some kind of outlet. While I’ve definitely worked some mind-numbing jobs in the past, I’ve never been on such a dull set before. It was just kind of absurd. And the problem is that I’m supposed to go to set again tomorrow, and I need to find some way to keep things interesting. Maybe I’ll bring a book or something, which is unbelievably taboo on most sets.
But geez, if they’re just having me do a free job for twelve hours that you could get any half-trained monkey to do, then I need something a little more interesting to dwell on.
And since I’m talking about life, why is it that my life seemed ready to pounce on me as soon as I got back from winter break? It was like everything was waiting for the moment that I returned to attack me all at once. I’ve got three shoots in the wings, my pilot jumping into production, my family needing help down south, on top of schoolwork that’s just starting up along with a broken heater that needs repairing and a mess of classes to go to that I would really rather just ignore.
Oh well. If I wasn’t able to juggle that kind of list on a daily basis, I just wouldn’t be me. My life is one that just demands constant organization, and I’ve just had to get used to that. So good to meet you, 2010. Welcome to my world. I’m going to kick your ass. Ha!
- K
wants and needs
You know, I remember once hearing my parents tell me that I needed to “go out of my comfort zone.” I needed to meet new people, try new things, and explore. While I’m not denying the wisdom in such a statement, I question the validity of revisiting those activities, those places, those experiences, after I’ve already decided that that’s not what I want to do.
I discovered, many moons ago, that I didn’t want to be a director. I love to write films, I love to work on films, and I’ve truly enjoyed all the opportunities and people that I’ve been able to meet as I’ve explored life making films. However, despite all of the curriculum of UVU trying to convert me, I have no desire to direct films.
Perhaps it’s something about the stigma that directors are where the filmmaking buck stops. If the film is a success, the director is a genius. If the film is a colossal failure, than again, it is the director’s fault. Which, of course, is discounting the hundreds of people who’s names appear on the ending credits, displaying exactly what each was responsible for during the making of the film. Instead, we hear things like “Ah, Spielberg must be losing his touch,” or “Nolan is a genius” or maybe “Bay just makes things blow up.”
And while it is true that directors determine much of the film, any good film will have many, many people working together to create it. It’s a collaborative art, one that requires the skills and talents of several individuals. But unfortunately, a lot of people who are near to the industry but not “in” it don’t seem to understand that.
When I tell people that I work as a grip, they have no idea what I’m talking about, and when I describe the job to them, they don’t seem very interested. (Which may actually bare truth to how boring I describe the career, but I’m willfully ignorant concerning that.) But whenever I would tell someone that I study film, invariably I would be asked if I was “gonna be the next Spielberg” or something like that. While I used to just laugh and shrug, now I find myself a little annoyed.
I don’t want to be the next Spielberg, Bay, Nolan, Columbus, Lucas, or anyone else. That’s not where my talent lies. I love to work with story, my craft is the written word. I enjoy acting, I enjoy getting down and getting my hands dirty in the trenches with the grips. I love to create the art of a scene, such as the real-looking faux press badges for a scene, or the file full of incriminating evidence. I would like to create a camera rig for a car, or figure out how to make a film-able car crash. I like the details that make things up, and I notice when something relatively small is out of place.
But there are no classes for such thing. There is no “Film Art Direction 101″ in my school. Instead, this “film program” is simply the study of writing for several semesters, a little bit of gripping, a little bit of camera work, and then a bunch of directing. I’m forced to direct films over and over, and I’m just so tired of it. I don’t need to do it anymore to realize that that isn’t the place where I need to be. I need to be behind the director, supporting him from out of the spotlight. He can count on me to get it done for him, and I don’t need to worry about the logistics of dealing with talent, acting as a producer, getting catering, and whatever else on top of actually directing the film.
This rant may seem a little nonsensical. After all, what aspiring filmmaker doesn’t want to be in the spotlight? Honestly, not me. For me, I try to pull people around me who can make up for my weaknesses, and I know that actually directing is one of those things. So director, you tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll have it done for you before you’re ready for it. But just don’t make me step out of that “comfort zone.” Because honestly, I’m sick and tired of being there.
- Karratti
8-Part Story Structure: Fourth Sequence
Sequence 4: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
At the end of the third sequence, the protagonist has usually met his first failure. He naively made an attempt, but perhaps his whole heart wasn’t in it, or he didn’t really have a true understanding of what he should have been doing. He hadn’t yet figured out his goal.
But at the beginning of the fourth sequence, he knows what he should be doing. The antagonist has become clear, and by the end of the sequence, he knows where he should be heading. This sequence is all about making a more determined, thoughtful, educated, sophisticated, and all around difficult attempt, where he’s willing to put himself on the line, and honestly try. He’s not just playing around anymore, and it will show in his demeanor.
However, despite how heart-felt this attempt may be, and despite the sheer determination in our hero’s actions, this attempt is going to end in failure, and the failure is going to be grand. The end of this sequence will bring the protagonist to the lowest point of the story – which is to say, he is going to have a deep sense of hopelessness, of despair, and he may even question whether he should go on.
Let’s take a look at one of my all-time favorite films that illustrates this beautifully, the Spielberg/Zemeckis classsic, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
After being introduced to the hard-drinking, toon-hating private eye Eddie Valiant, we watch as he quickly becomes involved, albeit unwillingly, in trying to figure out who framed Roger Rabbit for Marvin Acme’s murder, all the while venting repeatedly how much he dislikes toons, and adamantly refusing to go to Toon Town. While he makes several cursory attempts at solving Roger’s dilemma, and believes that he’s got the case figured out several times, it isn’t until he sees the connection between R. K. Maroon and Marvin Acme that he finds some real motivation to go after something, and he decides to confront Maroon, who he believes is behind Roger’s framing, and this is where the “fourth sequence” begins.
We watch Eddie make his way to Maroon, cautiously sneaking in through the back door, and surprising the armed man. Eddie is very confident, disarming Maroon and interrogating him, expecting to hear Maroon’s confession. But he’s surprised to find that it wasn’t Maroon who framed Roger, and that there’s a much larger scheme in the works than Eddie ever realized.
In a surprising twist of events, Jessica Rabbit conks Roger over the head, stuffing him in the trunk and kidnapping him. Eddie gets shot at through the window, but dodges out of the way, the bullets instead striking Maroon, killing him. Eddie makes his way to his car, chasing after Jessica Rabbit through the streets of Los Angeles.
Jessica Rabbit makes a sudden turn, and we see the sign “Toon Town” flash in the headlights. Eddie slams on the brakes as Jessica’s car disappears into the tunnel. Eddie curses, and steps out of the car, standing at the cusp of his greatest challenge – Toon Town. This is the place he’s been trying to desperately avoid for years, and finally he must face his past and, more importantly, face himself in order to figure out the case, and save his friend, Roger.
This is where we see Eddie at the lowest low, at his personal crossroads. He’s lost his best lead, (Maroon), he’s been shot at, and he’s rushing to save his Client, who’s already in mortal danger, and now is being taken to who-knows-where. And here he is at the entrance to Toon Town, and he doesn’t know if he can do it.
Just remember that this sequence must end with the character hitting his lowest point. He has to suffer an irreversible and powerful failure, loss, struggle, or whatever you want to call it. This will also act as a catalyst for the next sequence. We see that this is where the story has taken a more “serious” turn, where things aren’t necessarily just fun and games anymore. Even in a comedy, you’ll get a sense that the film is more sober, and while you may still be laughing, you can feel “weightier” subject matter in the dialog and pacing.
Summary
- This is the protagonist’s second attempt, with more planning and ambition than the first one.
- There should definitely be a more serious tone, despite whatever genre the film is in.
- The sequence should end with the protagonist hitting his lowest point. Do the worst possible thing you can do to this guy.
jury rigging and other grip traditions
While I’ve worked on numerous small films, commercials, as well as too many student films to count, I never really looked to gain any real credit for it. I mean, sure, I wanted a copy of the finished product to see the stuff that I’d worked on, but I was really more interested in just working the next job. You see, I like to work. I like to move, to lift, to tighten, to come up with unique solutions to problems that come up. (Though, I just found out that I’m listed several times on IMDB, which is a definite boost.)
As such, it makes sense that I often get hired as a grip, and several times as the Key Grip, though I actually prefer to be the Best Boy Grip instead. You see, gripping is all about the heavy lifting. It’s about trying to figure out how to get the lighting just right. It’s about figuring out how to rig up a dolly track so that it can be used smoothly. It’s about trying to figure out how to solve weird problems with the tools that you brought with you.
Enter the art of jury rigging. Jury rigging, (sometimes called jerry-rigging), is the art of making something work without having the actual tools for the job. It’s kind of the reason that duct tape was invented, if you know what I mean. It takes its origins from the rigging of a ship, and how sailors had to make do with the tools they had in order to repair their ship while it was on the sea, because there wasn’t exactly a convenience store around to stop by for spare parts.
On a film set, the mindset, especially for the grip and electrical crew, is to “Hurry up and wait”, which is basically that everything we set up needed to be set up yesterday, and as soon as it’s ready, we wait with anticipation for the shot to be finished so that we can tear it down and do another scene, starting the cycle up all over again. It creates a unique atmosphere of hustle in short bursts, so we have to move quickly to get everything ready, and then move just as quickly to get everything moving again.
While most professional shoots will have a production truck for the grip equipment filled with innumerable odds and ends, independent or “guerrilla” filmmakers often don’t have that luxury, instead relying on their own know-how and creativity to see them through. Right now in my filmmaking career, the former is the exception, rather than the rule, so I often find myself having to come up with unique solutions to unique problems, instead of being able to have the right item for the job.
These include using stones and wooden pallets to create a makeshift bridge for the dolly and track in the middle of a river, or creating a makeshift camera mount with some spare plywood and rope for use in a kitchen counter corner shot. I’ve built a dolly screen mount out of an old chair, duct tape, a cardellini clamp and a gobo head. This doesn’t count the numerous weird and “innovative” setups I’ve designed for attaching c-stands on top of combo stands with five-plus lights and diffusion pieces attached that seem to come up regularly on set.
I think that may be why I get hired. I like to work. I like to work solid hours, and I like to use my head. Filmmaking, especially in independent settings, always has some new problem that wasn’t thought all the way through. And here I am, able to put my head to the task with some gaff tape, a few c-47s, and a Gerber Multi-Tool. It’s like fighting an uphill battle every day.
And what a rush it is when you win.
- Karratti
8-Part Story Structure: Third Sequence
Sequence 3: Well, Let’s Give It a Try
Now that we’ve got all of the main groundwork laid out, we’re ready for the protagonist to take a first shot at achieving his goal. However, this sequence is often called the “naive attempt”, simply because it consists of a somewhat half-hearted attempt at achieving the goal that the characters already know that they need to achieve.
This first attempt is something of a knee-jerk reaction to getting what the character thinks he wants. Usually, it’s not fully thought-through, and often, the audience will know instinctively that this is probably not the best idea.
Let’s jump into a familiar family cartoon, and apply this sequence to Disney’s Alladin. After the title character is captured, condemned, and thrown into the dungeon, he’s not feeling so hot, especially since the new “love of his life” has been taken away, and they are both separated by several floors and a number of steel bars. But we know that this is part of the life of a “street rat”, and that sometimes bad things tend to happen.
He’s approached by an old man who tells him that the answers to his troubles lie within the mystical Cave of Wonders, and that he can have all the treasures that his heart desires if Alladin will just retrieve the lamp for him. Alladin, naive as can be, but with a little greed in his eye, decides to go along, and makes his way into the cave. He then, through a tumultuous chain of crazy events, gets the lamp, but is stuck yet again within the confines of another cave, even farther from the princess Jasmine that he wants to be with.
But wouldn’t you know it, there happens to be a genie in the little lamp, and as Alladin rubs it, out his flows in a cloud of smoke. After a song and dance number, and a lot of quick talking, Alladin and the Genie are at a little desert oasis, where Alladin explains his situation, and comes to the solution that the way to Jasmine’s heart is going to be through becoming a prince, despite the audience knowing that she doesn’t much care for that type. Well, here starts another little show tune, and we’re “introduced” to Prince Ali.
Now, how does Jasmine respond? Well, she responds by ignoring Ali completely, and walks away. Not exactly the warm welcome that he was expecting. Alladin, er, Ali tries again, this time on the princess’ balcony, where the Genie is encouraging Alladin to just be himself, (advice which Alladin ignores), and the princess rejects him yet again and tells him to jump off the balcony.
The key to the “failure” of this first attempt, is that it can’t be too great. The protagonist is not exactly putting his whole soul into this try, but is just being naive, believing that something this simple could be the solution to his problems. The third sequence is often one of fun, where we can feel alright laughing at the foolishness of the protagonist, and don’t have to take things too seriously. But, of course, that always depends on the story that’s being told.
The most important thing to remember in the third sequence is that it is designed to be a vehicle to get the protagonist actually working on the problem. Since he finally knows what he “wants”, he’s going to try and get it, and he’s got to try and fail at first, or the goal wasn’t all that difficult to obtain to begin with.
Summary
- At this point, the protagonist doesn’t have his whole heart in the attempt. He’s making a naive attempt.
- The tone here can still be relatively light-hearted, if the story permits.
- While the attempt is going to end in failure, the consequence shouldn’t be too great, because the attempt wasn’t all that great, either.
8-Part Story Structure: Second Sequence
Sequence 2: Excuse Me, But I Have a Concern
Just at the end of the first sequence, we are introduced to the first point of attack, where the main characters are faced with a problem that they didn’t really have before. No matter how hectic their lives might have daily been up to that point, this new problem was not part of their plan. Instead, it’s something unique, a problem that they hadn’t anticipated, but which presents an extremely large thorn in their side, or possibly a huge possible reward or goal for our hero to obtain.
This new “problem” presents the main objective for the protagonist(s), and the audience is able to realize what kind of ride that they’re going to be on.
In the movie Paycheck, we already know from the first sequence that Michael Jennings is a brilliant engineer who makes a comfortable living doing engineering work for other companies, and then having his memory erased so that he will not be able to betray that technology to anyone else. In return, he is paid very well, but he doesn’t have a clue as to what he might have worked on.
In the second sequence, he is presented with a chance to make a huge paycheck, in return for a job that would require him to lose three years of his life. He decides to take the chance, and when he “wakes up” after the job is all done, he goes out to retrieve his money, but finds out that his money is gone, and all he has is an envelope with twenty seemingly common objects that aren’t worth nearly enough to compensate him, and on top of that, he’s got a number of people after him trying to kill him for reasons unknown.
This second sequence, again, takes around 10-15 minutes, but lays out the main problem that the protagonist and we, as an audience, are going to be concerned with for the remainder of the film. It raises the questions in our minds that we expect to have answered by the end of the film:
“Why did he give up all the money?” “What do the objects have to do with anything?” “What was he working on for the past three years?” “What are these random flashbacks?”
The main purpose of the second sequence is the introduction of whatever it is that is going to occupy the time and efforts of the protagonist, but it also must be laid out in an interesting way. Just having a random person say “Well, here’s your new problem” like a plumber might identify the source of a leak, isn’t going to cut it. This is entertainment. This is something that people are paying money and sacrificing time to see. They deserve a well-crafted scenario creatively portrayed, and that’s what you have to give them.
By the end of this sequence, the protagonist should have set his goal as to what he needs to do, or at least have a semi-solid objective in mind. If not, then the sequence is not yet over, and it needs to be retooled until that is the result.
Summary
- What is the point of attack? Show the main problem that the protagonist is going to have to face for the remainder of the film.
- The character should also set the goal for themselves, regardless of their own amount of motivation in pursuing it.
8-Part Story Structure: First Sequence
Sequence 1: Homeostasis – Our New Ordinary World
The first act of the film is always extremely important. You have to grab the audience’s attention, and thrust them into this new world of your story as quickly as possible, immersing them into the adventure that they will be experiencing over the next one-and-a-half to two hours (or sometimes more, if trends continue). You also need to help the audience realize the main conflict that will dominate the tension in the film, so that by the end of the first act, all of the main players will have been introduced, the main problem is identified, and the second act can start the audience on their way to figuring out how things are going to be resolved.
The first sequence involves the audience being thrown right into the story without any prior knowledge. There should not be any explanation required, and we shouldn’t need any real narration. The story should just plain start.
Take, for example, The Raiders of the Lost Ark. In the opening sequence, we see just a few men walking through a South American jungle, following another man whose face we cannot see. Instead, we see his leather jacket and brown fedora, and we realize the dangers of this place by the expressions of the men following him. We come to understand that this leader misses very little, as one of the men tries to betray him with a revolver, but a whip strikes out fast as lightning to snap the weapon away, sending the man scurrying away into the darkness. And finally, we see the rougish face of Indiana Jones.
We follow him into a hidden temple, and watch with wonder as he expertly navigates a tomb that is riddled with booby-traps, all the while keeping his companion safe despite himself. We watch as he moves towards the golden idol, and we see the greediness in his eyes as he makes the fateful swap that sets the ancient machine traps in motion.
In a blur, he rushes through the tomb, renavigating the previous obstacles with lightning speed, just on the verge of death as he flees for his life with the idol in hand. We watch as he is betrayed by his other companion, and realize that as long as a person trusts in Indy, they’re going to be alright, but if they betray him, then they’re probably going to die.
He rushes from the caverns, and finally from a giant rolling stone ball, and eventually lands at the feet of Belloch, who relieves him of the idol at the point of several dozen blowguns. Then, Indy is forced to make his escape, dodging death yet again, and finally reaching the plane, and his rescue, in the nick of time. And as a final bonus, we find out that Indy absolutely cannot stand snakes, which will come into play later in the story.
Just in that little sequence, we’ve introduced Indiana Jones as a character, we’ve shown his traits, and his life, and we’ve introduced the main villian, all in about 15 minutes. In our own stories, we have to be sure that this in a similar fashion. This is a perfect example of an excellent first sequence.
We need to give the audience a taste of what to expect from the rest of the film, the kind of “flavor” that they should be ready for. We need to show at least the main character, and possibly the main villian (if applicable), and identify some of the traits of each of these characters. We need to establish the setting of the film, the time, setting, place, environment, and cultural situation. Each of these parts are essential to a successful first sequence, and a quality story will address them.
Other wonderful examples include the opening sequence of The Shawshank Redemption, as well as Jurassic Park, Star Wars, and even non-adventury type films such as While You Were Sleeping and In the Heat of the Night. Each does a wonderful job of opening the film, and giving the audience a chance to accustom themselves to the world that they’re going to be in for the next couple of hours.
Summary
- This is the first time that we’re seeing our protagonists, the setting, the time, and everything else about the story. Show the protagonist(s) in their homeostasis.
- See the conflict that pulls the protagonist out of their “norm”.
- Set the tone for the rest of the film.
The 8-Part Story Structure: Introduction
I’ve been running through my notes lately, of old classes and projects, all in an attempt to further hone my skills and better understand exactly what makes up the essence of story. It’s not a simply matter of cool characters, just an interesting idea, or whatever, but instead there’s a definite formula that seems to penetrate most stories, especially those of a presentative nature, such as film or theatre.
That’s not to say that every single story is exactly identical, but instead, there is a certain form that must be seriously considered when a story is created, or else the audience will not make sense of it. One of a writer’s chief concerns should always be the audience, and how they are going to react to any certain part of your presentation. And in that vein, the audience generally will respond favorably to a new, fresh, unfamiliar story, told using a familiar formula.
This formula was laid out best, I believe, by Czech filmmaker Frank Daniel, who’s largest contribution, at least to Western Cinema, was his “8-Sequence Structure” paradigm, which he developed during his time as head of the Graduate Screenwriting Program at the University of Southern California. With this structure, he outlines the very basic formula that most films, if not most stories, should follow.
The formula is to seperate the story into eight 10-15 minute sequences, with each sequence acting almost as its own “mini-movie”, with an individual three-act structure. In the overarching structure of the film, the first two sequences combine to form the film’s first act. The next four sequences then create the film’s second act. Finally, the last two sequences complete the resolution and dénouement of the story. Each sequence’s resolution creates the situation which sets up the next sequence.
This structure has its roots in the limitations of early films, where film reels were really only about 10-15 minutes in length, and the projectionist had to then swap the reels (in what is known as a changeover) for the film to continue. Early screenwriters, knowing these limitations, began to write their films with a definitive beginning and end to each reel, so that the story wouldn’t simply “jump” halfway through a scene. Feature films, which were often around 90-120 minutes in length, consisted of eight separate reels. Even in some older theaters, the changeover continues for feature films, which are delivered as a package of five to eight different reels that have to be threaded properly.
This rhythm became familiar to audiences and writers alike, and so even as technology has progressed to the point where the film no longer “jumps”, the film-viewing audience has been trained to understand that most films have that rhythm at their heart, regardless of what the film is about. As such, you’ll quickly see that when a story is not told with an understanding of this formula, it begins to be uncomfortable to watch. And as is said often in the business, you need to know the rules before you can break the rules.
What I’d like to explain over the next few installments are the different sequences as I understand them, in an attempt to help others in their own stories, and also to help myself to better internalize them. In my own life, whenever I’ve been able to share things with others, I tend to understand them a little better, and I get them permanently into my mind. So, feel free to follow along as we explore this amazing storymaking formula.
Smart and Stupid Characters, Howitshouldhaveended.com
I realize that the past couple of posts have been a little “moody”, so I thought I’d give you guys something with a lighter tone.
Have you ever been watching a movie or a TV show, and start wondering why these characters are so stupid? You just want to yell at the screen, “Hey, morons! Why don’t you try that rocket launcher that you had a few episodes ago?!” Or maybe, “You idiot, how ’bout you don’t just run in there with only a toothpick for protection!?”
I know there’s a number of times when I’ve just been annoyed that the characters in films act so stupid for no reason whatsoever. I mean, who doesn’t love the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where the big, sword-swinging guy comes at Indiana Jones, doing an elaborate bunch of swinging and posturing, only for Indy to look at him, annoyed, before pulling out his revolver and shooting him before walking away. Of course, it’s one of the most clever scenes in movie history, but it was actually a joke.
Originally, there was a huge, choreographed fight between the two characters, with Indy’s opponent having an upper hand with his gigantic sword. But when it came time for the scene, the star wasn’t really up to it. See, Harrison Ford was sick with dysentery at the time, and so when the shot came up, he just pulled out his gun and fired. The crew liked it so much that that’s the final cut that was left in.
But not only is that good characterization, and an excellent scene, but it’s just plain smart. It’s a character using a bit of sense, and that seems pretty rare in films nowadays, at least from what I’ve seen. I mean, work smarter, not harder, right? We don’t need big fight for the sake of big fight. Have a reason already.
Anyway, I was at work the other day and randomly happened upon a little site called “How It Should Have Ended”. Basically, it’s a bunch of cartoons (of pretty decent quality, actually) detailing how certain movies should have ended, with a funny, witty twist, of course.
I would highly recommend checking it out. My favorites are the ones on Spider-Man 3, Lord of the Rings, and It’s a Wonderful Life. Just some really funny stuff. Alright, I’m out.
- Kyle
The Soundtrack of Life
You know, I got myself a Sony MP3 player a couple of months ago, and since then I’ve really appreciated the vast amount of music that I’ve kind of collected over the years. It’s amazing the variety of music that you accumulate. I have everything from Smashmouth to Phantom of the Opera; YoungBloodz to Weezer to Vanilla Ice to Queen and Eve 6.
The thing is, I listen to a variety of music, all depending on either the mood that I’m in, or the mood that I want to be in. I’ve set up my playlists under certain themes or activities. I’ve got “Driving”, and “Dance” as well as “Slow” and “Fast”. In each of these is a bunch of songs with kind of the same rhythms, similar beats and tempos. It’s kind of like a hand-picked selection of Pandora™ related songs.
There are times when I want to be “pumped”, and so I start up the Workout mix. There are times when I want to calm myself down, and so I listen to my Smooth mix. I don’t know if I’m the only one who does this, but it works for me.
Music, to me, has a power to it. It’s got an ability to help you to see things in a different light. Imagine, if you will, a movie with no music whatsoever. No background music, no rise and fall of emotions. Just plain dialog and sound effects. You’d be missing out on some of the most powerful experiences ever.
There are some times when the music that I’m listening to almost becomes the soundtrack of my life. I can see in my mind’s eye the way that the camera would be viewing me driving down the road with a song like “Life is a Highway” playing. I can imagine myself some tough guy as I’m “pumping iron” while “I Am a Rock” is blaring through my headphones.
Maybe I’m just a little bit crazy, or perhaps I have an all-too overactive imagination. But music helps to define who I am at any certain moment. Music fills that silence in my mind, and can change a bad situation into something good. It can help me forget my troubles.
It could be that I’ve just seen way too many movies, but music is the soundtrack of life, and I can’t help but comment on the effects that it brings about.
- Kyle
I Am Legend
A lot of the trends in Hollywood these days tend to swirl around the apocalypse. Disaster movies are getting to be more and more common, from the well known (Resident Evil: Extinction), to the less publicized (Sunshine). It seems that the movie business is obsessed with the end of the world. I understand that there are a few more such films to be released in the near future, including Shelter and even the newest Pixar announcement, Wall-E. I don’t know what it is about a catstrophic end of the world that draws people in, but I guess that’s what we’re going to get. My personal opinion is that we as a culture are noticing the slip of control that we seem to have in our lives, and that gets played out on the screen. But enough human observation – let’s get to the review.
From the very first trailer I saw on this film, I was intrigued. As one of those who “haven’t read the book”, along with, I’m sure, much of the world, I had no real biases going in. All I knew was that the film was about this guy (Will Smith) who is the last man on Earth, walking the streets of New York City. That, and there was going to be a red Shelby flying through the city at some point in the film.
Right at the start, we see a cryptic broadcast of this “miracle virus” that was based on the measles, that has been “genetically altered” to cause the cure for cancer. And then, we’re thrown into a Castaway-esque situation following Robert Neville, a biologist in New York City who is now “the last man on earth” after this “miracle” turned into a nightmare, and apparently killed every single person on the planet.
Now, I’ve never really been one to go into too many details on my reviews, but I wanted to be especially careful with this one. If you don’t really know the story, your best bet at enjoying it is to go in without knowing anything else. Otherwise, you’ll miss out on the vibes that this film has the potential to give you.
Smith, who has already established himself as a superb actor in many different genres and themes, was absolutely the perfect choice to carry this film. His portrayal of a man obsessed with a dying cause and lonely for real human companionship plays very well, and you really feel for him. The other main character worth mentioning is Sam, Robert’s german shepherd, who is the perfect companion to Smith’s lonely character. For Neville, Sam seems to represent the last vestiges of sanity that he’s desperately trying to hold on to, the last breath of hope that keeps him optimistic that somehow, a solution is possible.
One of the most tender and heart-breaking scenes in the entire film revolves around Sam, and the affect that that incident has on Neville as he finally succumbs to his personal madness. (When you see the film, you’ll know exactly what I mean, and you’ll probably come close to tears.) There is a real power that the audience seems drawn to in Smith’s performance, and you’re brought to care deeply for these two characters.
Unfortunately for me, the ending of the film seemed a little rushed. I still, to this day, am not completely satisfied with it, but I guess that’s the way that films go. I felt that the end of the movie kind of disintegrated, and that the addition of those two extra characters was both unneeded and unnecessary. Just like the fly in the ointment, they just didn’t seem to belong.
Would I see this film again? Probably. But, Will Smith’s amazing portrayal notwithstanding, this isn’t one that you need to shell full price for. I don’t regret seeing it, but it’s one that you can wait for until it gets to the dollar theater.
- Kyle
Movie Review: Enchanted
I’ve been a huge Disney fan since I was old enough to be interested by a television screen, and of course, a lot of that has to do with being raised watching Disney’s animated feature films. From Alladin to The Lion King, Mulan to Hercules, Rescuers Down Under to The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and even the less-acclaimed such as Lilo and Stitch or Treasure Planet. And be it non-masculine or whatever, I really love the stories of a number of the “princess” stories such as The Little Mermaid, Pocahontas, or Beauty and the Beast. These are strong films in their own right, regardless of the medium in which they’re shown.
However, they’re also pretty quirky, and anyone who “grew up Disney” can tell you that there’s some pretty crazy things going on in just about every one of these films that just don’t happen in real life. The prince usually doesn’t just magically find the woman of his dreams. There usually isn’t a dragon or giant to slay for the fair maiden’s heart. And many princesses wait for a long time waiting for their prince to come, and when he does, he’s not nearly as handsome or charming as everyone made him out to be. And when all is said and done, and the music has been sung, “happily ever after” takes a lot more work than it seems.
So, with this kind of a background, I walked into the theater of Enchanted. I’d heard a number of good things about the film, from friends who had seen it, and good reviews, but I don’t think I was entirely ready for it.
The story starts with classic Disney animation, as we are introduced to the love-lorn beauty, Giselle (Amy Adams) in the kingdom of Andalasia. She’s singing with the animals, and waiting for her charming prince to come and sweep her off her feet, though she’s only ever seen him in a dream. Enter Prince Edward (James Marsden), who just happens to be a handsome young prince searching for a princess-to-be. After a troublesome encounter with an ogre, a little daring do and tree-climbing, Giselle falls into Edward’s arms where he romantically whisks her away with one of my favorite lines in the film: “We shall be married in the morning!”
But Edward’s mother, the evil Queen Narissa (Susan Sarandon), is not happy about this little engagement taking her crown away, and so she entices the gullible young girl to a magical wishing well, whereupon she pushes her inside, sending her to the world where there is no “happily ever after” – Our world. But more specifically, New York City.
After some rather funny encounters and misadventures, Giselle, lost and disoriented in a “strange” world that she doesn’t understand, is discovered by single-father Robert Phillip (Patrick Dempsey) and his clever little daughter, Morgan (Rachel Covey). So begins this tale of Disney magic and music meeting the so-called “harsh realities” of real life, as Giselle is simply trying to get back home to Prince Edward, who has leapt into the portal himself and is desperately searching for his bride-to-be, all the while with Queen Narissa trying to rid herself of this thorn in her side once and for all.
And that’s about as much as I can tell you without ruining the story, which you REALLY need to discover for yourself. This is the kind of movie that doesn’t come out very often. A satire on Disney films done by the masters themselves, who show that they aren’t ignorant of the silliness that surrounds their craft. But instead of just relying on cheap little laughs that are quickly forgotten, they’ve crafted a light-hearted but memorable drama that you can’t help but enjoy.
The acting is top-notch, from Adams’ amazing portrayal of Giselle to the perfect casting of little Rachel Covey, who has some of the best lines in the film. The characters are memorable and adorable, the lines are perfect, and the story is amazing. There are so many little moments, references, and lines to take in that it is just overwhelming, but the good, covered-up-with-fifteen-blankets-warm kind, including the strangest “clean the home” experience ever, the goofiest time of “slaying the dragon”, and one of the greatest musical numbers ever to grace Central Park.
All in all, I honestly have very little bad to say about this film. The only thing that I think could have been improved is Nancy, played by Idina Menzel of Wicked fame. I wish that they had really spent more time on her character, but in the end, you hardly notice her, which is both good and bad. It’s good in the fact that her character really is kind of secondary to the relationship between the main characters, but bad in that her acting and talent are actually pretty inconsequential to the story, as they really could have had just about anyone play that part.
Disney could have made a small little film that only relied on little gags to make it through, much like the parody films that have been recently gracing our cinemas. We all know how ”amazing” those films are. But instead, they “did it again”, showing that magic and heart are what make a family film work. That, and maybe a couple musical numbers that you’re sure to be humming as you smile your way out of the theater.
- Kyle
Why Critics Don't Make Movies
“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new.
Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau’s famous motto: Anyone can cook. But I realize that only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau’s, who is, in this critic’s opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau’s soon, hungry for more.”
- Anton Ego, Ratatouille
I tried and tried to come up with exactly what I wanted to say here, but I think that this quote from Brad Bird’s masterpiece more than tells the tale.
Critics are often able to be harsh on their judgements. They don’t have to risk hardly anything, because they can say their piece, and are lauded as brilliant, when in fact they usually don’t have to do much. Now, even in saying this, I know I’m largely being hypocritical, because I review and critique things all the time.
But I feel that, especially when it comes to film critics, they largely base their own critiques on just their own opinions, as opposed to the quality of a film. A critique should be based on fact, not opinion.
“Now wait a minute, Kyle,” you say. “Critiques are opinions.” That’s not entirely true, or at least, it shouldn’t be.
Any film can be analyzed through the use of techniques that aren’t necessarily based on opinions. Every story, be it about a single mother, the rogue hero, or two young lovers, or an older man finding his way home – they all have certain things that qualify them as full, complete, and usable stories.
I once took a class on text analysis, with this specific goal mind – the analyzation of scripts and text. This class helped me immensely, because instead of simply saying that “I didn’t like” a movie, I could finally tell you why the movie didn’t “work” or even why it did.
My personal belief is that critics don’t make movies because they wouldn’t know how if they tried. There may be exceptions, but I would bet money that the average critic couldn’t tell you anything about story analysis. But you don’t need to take my word for it. Read a gamut of reviews of a certain movie, and take note of how many things are all about opinions.
“The acting was dull,” they say, or “I just wasn’t convinced.” It’s always about opinion.
From now on, I’m going to do my best to avoid, or at least, identify the opinions in my reviews and critiques. Please, help me out. I’ll still provide my opinions on movies and ideas, but I’ll also try to support it with actual analysis. If it all works out, then the critiques will be more informative.
But then again, I guess that’s just my opinion.
- Kyle
Dan In Real Life
I prefer to go into films without knowing very much about them. I helps me to judge them a little more fairly than if I had any “previous biases.”
With that in mind, I went and saw Dan in Real Life this past weekend with a friend of mine, with the only thing that I knew about it being Steve Carell’s role as the main character. I’ll tell you right now that I recommend this movie. It’s really one of the best films that I’ve seen in quite some time.
Carell plays Dan Burns, an advice columnist for a local paper, who is struggling as a single parent to raise his three daughters after the death of his wife four years ago. He and his family are on their way to the family reunion in Rhode Island, at a family cabin. It’s obvious that Dan a break from his daughters, and that his daughters need a small break for him, and so Dan’s mother (Dianne West) sends him out to get the newspapers.
At the local bookstore, Dan inadvertantly meets Marie (Juliette Binoche), and the two strike up a great conversation. It’s obvious that Dan is interested, and Marie as well, but the “date” suddenly ends as Marie gets a phone call wondering why she’s late. Dan is able to get her phone number, however, and elatedly tells about his little adventure as he arrives back at the cabin.
Dan is wordless, however, when his brother Mitch (Dane Cook) introduces his new girlfriend to everyone, and she just so happens to be Annie “Marie”, the same woman Dan had met at the bookstore! This sets the stage for some of the most interesting, hilarious, and heart-touching scenes ever filmed.
Carell is amazing. I’d seen him The Office, as well as Bruce Almighty, Anchorman, and even Evan Almighty, but I don’t think I ever fully realized his full acting scope. He has an earnest quality in him that you can just easily relate to. He’s stuck in a situation where the woman that he’s fallen for is with someone else, and that someone else just so happens to be his brother. He’s struggling to raise his daughters without a mother, all the while just striving to keep himself afloat. You just feel for him, and you want him to succeed, despite his own failings.
Binoche, as Marie, plays the part so well. She’s an easily likable character that you can easily see either of these brothers falling in love with. With the situations that they get into, its amazing how she can pull off not only the poise of a smart and sophisticated woman, but also the easy-going personality of a human being who can appreciate the absurdity of each situation. (Think about the “shower scene”, and you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.)
I could go on and on about each of the characters, but the bottom line is, you have to see this movie. Your personality needs it, and your heart needs it. This is a film that will make you laugh, at least make you want to cry, and will help you to look at love in a whole new way. And who knows? Maybe you’ll know your soulmate’s identity in just three days.
- Kyle
New Film in the Pipeline – The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian
According to IMDB.com, the sequel to The Chronicles of Narnia is due for release in May 2008. I really liked the first film and that it was pretty good. In any case here’s the synopsis so far from the site:
“A year after their first adventure in Narnia, Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy are pulled back in by Susan’s magic horn. They find that hundreds of years have passed, and Narnia is now ruled by the bloodthirsty General Miraz, uncle to the true heir, Prince Caspian, now in exile. Now the children must find Caspian and help him depose Miraz…but how will they get home after it’s done?”
I liked the first book, as well as the first movie, but I never went any further with the series, so I’m hoping as much care and craft is taken to put together this new one. But usually, most Disney sequels that go to theatres are pretty good, so I’m hopeful that this is going to be a worthwhile film. We’ll see, eh? Cool stuff.
- Kyle
Sydney White
I love watching movies. (Now let’s hear a collective “duh” from everyone.) Something that has always bothered me, though, is that theaters tend to only show the “popular” or seemingly “well-advertised” films, in order to guarantee a large initial audience, regardless of whether the film is actually worthwhile or not. I remember walking into the theater, and looking to buy tickets to Ressurecting the Champ, which I’ve read some really great reviews for, but it wasn’t shown anywhere near my zip code. The same could be said for King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters, or a number of other films with original thought.
But every once and a while a film will be released quietly, and sheer word-of-mouth will help to spread it. It happened a few years ago with the classic My Big Fat Greek Wedding, where it was only shown in a few selected theaters, and the sheer unique nature of Tom Hanks’ film allowed it to generate quite a following. (And I still wonder if Windex sales were affected by it.)
Recently, I read a review about a film called Sydney White, explaining that it was just such a film. I searched throughout my area, and there was no showings, and I feared I might miss yet another interesting piece. But I was able to find a single screening about 30 minutes up the freeway at 6:50 PM, which was one of the most awkward times to hit a movie. Regardless, I’m glad that I took the time because this movie was definitely worth the effort.
Amanda Bynes (Hairspray) is Sydney White, a tomboyish college freshman who was raised by her father, a plumber, and the construction crew that he works with. As such, she has a much more practical view of life, especially compared to the social ladder-focus of her peers. Through a wonderful turn of events, though, she earns a scholarship to the same university that her mother attended, leaving a legacy at Kappa Phi Nu, the most popular sorority on campus for her daughter Sydney to follow.
Through a twist of events, however, she denounces the sorority, and is taken in by a lovable group of seven guys who are by all definitions of the words, dorks. Each unique and memorable in his own way, you’ll quickly draw the parallels in this adaptation of the classic tale, Snow White, as Sydney and her friends attempt to usurp the control that the “greek society”, led by Rachel Witchburn (I wonder who she could be?), has on the campus.
While it’s obvious that the filmmakers drew much of their inspiration from the Disney version, as opposed to the Grimms’ version, the references do nothing but enhance an already robust and well-written story. (Besides, its so interesting and fun how the writers used each reference.)
Bynes does an amazing job as Sydney, playing the part of the lovable tomboy so well that you can’t help but like her. There was one part of the film where Sydney is talking with Tyler Prince, (again, can you figure out who this character is?), and the subject turns to sports. Where most girls would have been lost in such a conversation, Sydney knows the subject intimately, and makes an obscure reference. Immediately, Tyler’s eyes widen, and he exclaims, “Marry me.” I’d have to agree.
It’s kind of hard to explain what exactly it was about the film that I loved so much. Each of the characters was played so well, they were unique and interesting, and the dialogue and one-liners were simply amazing. I don’t know if you’ll always be able to find it, but if you can, I encourage you to definitely track down Sydney White.
- Kyle
Wall•E – The Frog Princess – Toy Story 3
Pixar, the Disney partner and contender for best computer animation storytellers in the world, has announced its newest project. The teaser, which can be found at apple.com/trailers, identifies the newest film as Wall•E, about a small little trash-collecting robot who has been working for hundreds of years, but dreams of the stars.
The movie looks to be a little different from Pixar’s usual style. Apparently, Wall•E is the last of thousands of garbage-collecting robots that were sent to Earth after we, the humans left the planet for space because we ruined it. The robots were to clean up the planet, but after hundreds of years, all have broken down except for Wall•E, and it’s obvious that he won’t be able to do this job by himself.
Not a lot else is known about the film except that Wall•E has a little cockroach friend, and there is some sleek robot who Wall•E falls for somewhere in the plot. That’s it so far, though, aside from the short teaser trailer that Pixar always releases. (Remember The Incredibles and Monsters, Inc?)
—–
I just learned after some Google searching, that The Frog Princess is Disney’s newest animated film project, in the traditional hand-drawn style. As far as I can scope out, it involves a black princess (an awesome Disney first), a soulful alligator, and a setting in New Orleans. Other than that, the story is pretty sketchy.
It was John Lasseter, of Pixar fame, who spilled the beans on it. The details on the story and everything, however, are still pretty sketchy. I wonder if Disney even knows the whole story yet. The script is set to be written by Michael Arndt, the Oscar-winning screenwriter of Little Miss Sunshine, with music being written by Randy Newman, who is intimately familiar with just about every Pixar project to date. (His songs include You’ve Got a Friend in Me from Toy Story and It’s The Time of Your Life from A Bug’s Life.)
I’m not sure exactly what to expect, as I really don’t know much about New Orleans. (I’m a west coast-er.) As well, Lasseter didn’t confirm whether the film would feature the story of the Frog Prince (where the frog is kissed and turns into a prince), or some new source material. My guess? It’s a twist on the Frog Prince story. Disney has been notorious for mining fairy tales for their sources, as well as history and fiction in the past, and that would be right in line. But we’ll just have to wait and see.
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I know I’m a little behind the bandwagon on this one, but Toy Story 3 is back up and running, with a planned release date of 2010. Originally, during the struggles between Pixar and Michael Eisner in 2005, Eisner commisioned a Disney-based group called Circle 7 to write the original treatment. However, after Eisner finally stepped down in late 2005, and Disney purchased Pixar in January 2006, John Lasseter was brought into Disney as head of Disney Animation. His first act was to cease production of Toy Story 3 and shut down Circle 7.
In February 2006, Disney CEO Robert Iger confirmed that Disney was in the process of transferring the production to Pixar. John Lasseter, Andrew Stanton, Pete Docter, Joe Ranft and Lee Unkrich, (the original creative talent behind the first two Toy Story films), visited the house where they first pitched Toy Story and came up with Toy Story 3 story over a weekend. Stanton then wrote a treatment.
Circle 7′s original treatment involved a product recall of all Buzz Lightyear toys, which meant that Buzz had to get shipped to Taiwan for repairs. However, I personally believe that Buzz’s plot dynamic has been very well explored. I would think that another character might get put into the limelight, aside from Woody and Buzz. But that’s just my personal opinion.
I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know that it’s going to be a happinin’ time for Disney over the next few years. Lots of new stuff coming our way!
- Kyle
