Introduction to structure
David Mamet likens the well structured script to an airplane. If it has been constructed well, it will fly under the guidance of a pilot. If it hasn't, it will at one point or the other crash. This is what happens when we halfway through a film or play begin to loose interest, because the plot logic and/or emotional logic doesn't lead us on towards a satisfying conclusion. Because we get confused, irritated or in other words, we are simply not persuaded by the universe of the drama. This has a lot to do with structure.
There is no single way to structure your drama. Although Mamet's airplane metaphor is not wrong, it points too much in the direction of an exact science. Rather than linear engineering the structure of drama is more of an organic thing. It should change according to the purpose and material. Any idea of 'the ideal model' for structuring scripts is nonsenses. It is like in nature, where there is vast variety of living creatures, yet there are general principles and formative patterns which always apply. And as the first principle for life is the existence of carbon-oxide, the first principle for drama is the existence of conflict.
One of the reasons to work with structure is to have a way to simplify the complex universe of your drama. The most simple thing we can say about structure is: A drama has a beginning, a middle and an end. These three parts should be connected, so one leads to the next. It is like a fish, it has a head, body and tail. As with the fishes, you can find them in many different proportions and colours, yet like the fishes, if they don't fit well together, the drama will not swim well.
This leads us intuitively to a three-act structure. An opening act to introduce characters, conflicts, locations and themes. A middle act to further develop these with complications, nuances and additional layers to the point where everything is such as mess, that something needs to be done. The final act do exactly that: it cleans up the mess (more or less) and conclude the drama's fundamental conflict. The idea of the three-act structure is very strong and widely used, both in theater and film.
Famous script gurus like Syd Field have made their models based upon the classic three act-model, inspired especially by Henrik Ibsen, the grandfather of modern dramatic structure. I don't believe these structural models are artificial inventions per se. They try to sum up our experience of how the human mind understands and interprets events unfolding in time. As all attempts at summing up experience, they are however never complete. When you examine some of these contemporary film models, like Syd Fields, they are actually four-act models, because the middle act takes up double as much time as the first and last act. So it makes more sense to call it a four act model, at least to me.
The sense is that each act, as a unit of the drama, should be similar to the others in respect to length and the basic purpose of moving us from one point and to the next. The sense is not only logical, but has to do with a sense of rhythm. Drama is in its form strongly related to music, much more than it is to literature, because as with music, drama is played out in real time. It takes place in front of us, moment by moment. I cannot stress how important it is to grasp this difference, to understand the importance of structure.
Another way to think of structure is to compare it to the structure of language. When we form sentences, our language has structural rules which helps us understand the meaning of the sentence. These rules are more or less flexible. Even though it is normal in English to begin a sentence with a personal pronoun, followed by a verb and conclude with a noun, like He walked home, we can play around with these rules, using a poetic license, like Home he walked. Exactly because the last sentence varies from the standard rules, it gives us a different impression. The first sentence seems to simply state the fact. In the second, the words home and walked are lend more significance and could for example carry a meaning that he longed for home and it was a very long walk.
We also know from language that rhythm and length plays a vital role in conveying the sense of what is being said. Urgent or commanding communication needs short staccato-like sentences. Pleasant conversation relies on harmonic structure with longer, developed sentences and a mellow rhythm.
In the structure of a drama, these basic insights from language applies. The sequence, the lenght and the rhythm are as important for the perception of the drama, as the actions taking place are in themselves.
The point is to structure your drama in a way confluent with its nature. To select a number of acts by which you separate different parts of the drama. Depending on the length and nature of your material it can be any reasonable number of acts. A short film of 10-15 minutes or a short theater play of 20-30 minutes normally consist of only one act. Most feature films running 90 minutes or more usually have four acts. Each act should be like a drama unto itself, with a beginning, a middle and an end.
The end of each act functions as the transition into the following act. The transition between acts should be major plot points, which reveal crucial new information, raise new questions and add another level of pressure to the main character(s) situation. The major plot points are of the greatest importance, as they give us the push forward, deeper into the drama, and they should always be integral with the drama's and the characters' main conflict.
Acts can also be broken down into separate units. If an act has a length of, say, 30 pages, then it could consist of three sequences of scenes. The sequences should more or less be of equal length and also have a beginning middle and an end, working as a mini-act in themselves. Scenes are the smallest dramatic unit and are of course also structured in the same way, beginning, middle and end, but unlike the act and the sequence, we get to play around with the length of the scenes. Normally they can be from just below half a page and up to around seven pages in an ordinary film script - with the standard lenght being around one to three pages for contemporary films.
The number of pages are crucial to the process of structuring a script and this is one of the reasons why the film industry is almost religious about using a standard lay-out format for scripts, making the page count reliable - and close to one minute of film per page. Before actually writing your script, when planning the acts and major plot points, as well as making an outline for the sequence of scenes within the acts, you can't be sure of the exact length, but you can, surprisingly well, make an estimate of how long each scene should be, giving you a total count that lets you affirm your structural ideas.
Some writers begin to feel mightily uncreative with all this talk of structure and page counting. That's perfectly understandable, but it is a very necessary discipline to master to create scripts, especially for a feature film script. The longer, the more need for structure. This is for example why comedians, making their first feature film, often fail as they don't haven't acquired the grasp of the feature films need for over-arching dramatic structure. A few writers have an innate sense of structure and need not think too much about it - the structure emerges by itself from their writing. Others need to do the math from the ground up, while most of us are somewhere in between, switching between the intuitive and planned.
In my experience, many writers of drama that have shortcomings, have them exactly because they haven't learned to love to play around with structure. We easily become too focused on the story itself, and forget the equally important part: How we tell it. Anyone who has ever failed in telling a joke knows exactly how important the 'how' is. The sequence of the information given, the tone and the timing. To master the structure of drama is not unlike mastering the structure of a joke. Its all about knowing what the joke is, how to build up expectation and then play against it. In postings to come, we'll take a look at the specifics of script structure.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
One to One
The dead-end-argument called reality
Strangely enough, when discussing the construction of a script, you can often meet arguments based upon reality: "This would never happen in reality". Of course the argument is almost always right. It wouldn't happen, at least not in reality as we have experienced it. Maybe it could happen or maybe not. The argument is despite its relative correctness, more or less invalid when discussing the construction of a fictitious script.
We are not trying to construct reality. If we were scientists trying to construct a computer simulation of reality, it would be a valid argument. We are trying to represent reality in an artistic form (yes, even when making mainstream entertainment). 'Represent' means that we somehow translate our experience of reality into a different form than reality itself. It is not 1:1 - not even in so-called realistic films. If it were 1:1 it would actually be reality. And we, the creators, would be God.
The argument should be: "This is not convincing" or "The audience will be lost" or something similar. And the argument doesn't necessarily mean that you can't have a man falling 50 meters down to a concrete surface and survive. It all depends on how important that action is for you. If you as a creator want this to happen, then the only question should be, how do you pull it of in a convincing way. Not if it could happen or has ever happened in reality.
The question if something is convincing or not has a lot more to do with your plotting, structure and the fictional universe you are establishing than it has to do with reality. In a super-hero or a cartoon universe characters can easily fall extraordinary lengths and survive intact. In the seemingly realistic french film "Small Change" a child falls from the 4th or 5th floor of a building and survives without a scratch - and although the universe of the film seems realistic, this event is convincing, because the whole rhythmic build-up to the event and a certain lyrical tone underscoring the seemingly real world, allows us to experience the survival of the child as a poetic miracle.
Reality should never be a dead-end, a stone blocking your path to fulfilling your narrative and dramatic desire. It can be an inspiration. The reality of the audience is the reality you have to struggle with, because if you can't convince them of entering your dramatic universe, suspending belief and enjoying the dramatic events you have cooked up, then it is completely irrelevant how much you have researched and obeyed the real reality.
Strangely enough, when discussing the construction of a script, you can often meet arguments based upon reality: "This would never happen in reality". Of course the argument is almost always right. It wouldn't happen, at least not in reality as we have experienced it. Maybe it could happen or maybe not. The argument is despite its relative correctness, more or less invalid when discussing the construction of a fictitious script.
We are not trying to construct reality. If we were scientists trying to construct a computer simulation of reality, it would be a valid argument. We are trying to represent reality in an artistic form (yes, even when making mainstream entertainment). 'Represent' means that we somehow translate our experience of reality into a different form than reality itself. It is not 1:1 - not even in so-called realistic films. If it were 1:1 it would actually be reality. And we, the creators, would be God.
The argument should be: "This is not convincing" or "The audience will be lost" or something similar. And the argument doesn't necessarily mean that you can't have a man falling 50 meters down to a concrete surface and survive. It all depends on how important that action is for you. If you as a creator want this to happen, then the only question should be, how do you pull it of in a convincing way. Not if it could happen or has ever happened in reality.
The question if something is convincing or not has a lot more to do with your plotting, structure and the fictional universe you are establishing than it has to do with reality. In a super-hero or a cartoon universe characters can easily fall extraordinary lengths and survive intact. In the seemingly realistic french film "Small Change" a child falls from the 4th or 5th floor of a building and survives without a scratch - and although the universe of the film seems realistic, this event is convincing, because the whole rhythmic build-up to the event and a certain lyrical tone underscoring the seemingly real world, allows us to experience the survival of the child as a poetic miracle.
Reality should never be a dead-end, a stone blocking your path to fulfilling your narrative and dramatic desire. It can be an inspiration. The reality of the audience is the reality you have to struggle with, because if you can't convince them of entering your dramatic universe, suspending belief and enjoying the dramatic events you have cooked up, then it is completely irrelevant how much you have researched and obeyed the real reality.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?
The principle of uncertainty
“It is difficult to make accurate predictions, especially about the future” – Storm P.
Drama is exciting because we don’t know what will happen in the next moment. We are observing a conflict playing out in the moment, but we don’t know how the conflict will be resolved. Which one of the opposing forces win? Is the conflict of such a nature that only one of them can win? Or will they find a compromise, or maybe even the unknown, unexpected solution that will fully satisfy each of their wants or needs? As stated in the first principle this is the engine of drama, and the derived principle of uncertainty is a focus for one aspect of this. The uncertainty.
It is an evident fact of life that we can’t predict the future. The unexpected will happen, coming at us from an unseen direction. How we handle the unexpected when it arrives shows a lot about our character. It is the moment of truth, when we are taken by surprise and can’t easily hide behind careful laid plans or well-meaning attitudes. Do we run and hide? Do we face the difficult choice? Can we act with integrity?
Especially the main plot points of your drama should be dominated by the unexpected, because the plot points are there to dramatically change the direction, the stakes or the perception of what is going on. Nothing does this better than the unexpected. From all the plays and films we have watched these are the moments we remember. In Silence of the Lambs the initiating plot point happens when Clarice Starling for the first time is interviewing Hannibal Lecter, and we unexpectedly meet a highly intelligent and civilized serial killer, and at first she doesn’t succeed in getting information from him, but when the prisoner in the next cell, Multiple-Miggs, unexpected throws sperm at her, it also offends Hannibal and in return he gives her a clue to the Buffalo Bill-case. In Romeo and Juliet, Romeos aggressive monologue of despair as he kills Tybalt is the unexpected midpoint, which suddenly changes all plans and our sense of hope for the lovers. In Last Tango in Paris the Marlon Brando-characters confrontation with his dead wife, suddenly revealing to us the depth of his despair and the reason behind his almost nihilistic behaviour, is the point of no return. In The Sixth Sense the point of resolution comes with the unexpected realization that the main character has been dead throughout most of the movie.
How do we create the unexpected? First of all you have to constantly challenge your own confirmed beliefs. You think you know what will happen in the next scene. You think you know how your main character will convince his father to let him borrow the car. You think you know what is good and what is bad. You shouldn’t. Any kind of preconception you have about your drama should be open to a new interpretation, to taking a new direction and to reversals of beliefs. Challenge yourself by questioning these firm ideas. Play with them – the beautiful game of ‘what if…’
When you meet negative response to your script, maybe the real reason is that your script is too predictable. Mind you, I am not at all advocating for a haphazard story, because to surprise convincingly demands a lot of logic. You have to build an expectation and at the same time prepare for the ‘hidden’ logic of its reversal. See again the initiating plot point of Silence of the Lambs. In the previous scenes two clear and obvious expectations have been build up. Two men of authority have stated that Hannibal Lecter is impossible to get any information from. And one suggests that maybe Clarice can entice Hannibal because she is a woman. Clarice fails because he is too clever, but when Multiple-Miggs surprises Clarice (and us) with his sperm-assault, this unexpectedly offends Lecter’s sense of courtesy and manners and as a reparation he offers a clue. But it still seems convincing and believable that he would act like this, because we have just seen him as a man who values courtesy, who likes sophisticated behaviour, but it has been played out at a more subconscious level, and therefore still comes as a surprising turn.
If you always play on two horses, if you let interpretation remain open, if there is value on both sides, then you have a general approach to maintaining uncertainty and finding the unexpected. Even the most negative character has to have something positive, the most necessarily successful action needs a chance to go awry, or we will be bored, because as the Germans put it so well: “Mann merkt den Absicht und wird verstimmt” or in English: “You sense the intention and become resigned”.
I can recommend two ways to train your sense of scenario – that the characters and the action is a dynamic field in fluctuation, where we never know what happens next. It is all about playing. Get together with some actors and play around with some of your scenes, give changing directions about what could happen in the scenes, about the character’s intentions and also let the actors offer their take, their interpretations and improvisations. Or get together with some friends and play role-playing games, yes, that’s right, games like Dungeon&Dragons, only try and find some better ones than that old horse. There is a bunch of more dramatic, narrative, character-oriented rpg-games on the net, to be downloaded for free or bought cheaply. Play around with some stories in this form, and see how it is when you do storytelling with an interactive, participating audience.
“It is difficult to make accurate predictions, especially about the future” – Storm P.
Drama is exciting because we don’t know what will happen in the next moment. We are observing a conflict playing out in the moment, but we don’t know how the conflict will be resolved. Which one of the opposing forces win? Is the conflict of such a nature that only one of them can win? Or will they find a compromise, or maybe even the unknown, unexpected solution that will fully satisfy each of their wants or needs? As stated in the first principle this is the engine of drama, and the derived principle of uncertainty is a focus for one aspect of this. The uncertainty.
It is an evident fact of life that we can’t predict the future. The unexpected will happen, coming at us from an unseen direction. How we handle the unexpected when it arrives shows a lot about our character. It is the moment of truth, when we are taken by surprise and can’t easily hide behind careful laid plans or well-meaning attitudes. Do we run and hide? Do we face the difficult choice? Can we act with integrity?
Especially the main plot points of your drama should be dominated by the unexpected, because the plot points are there to dramatically change the direction, the stakes or the perception of what is going on. Nothing does this better than the unexpected. From all the plays and films we have watched these are the moments we remember. In Silence of the Lambs the initiating plot point happens when Clarice Starling for the first time is interviewing Hannibal Lecter, and we unexpectedly meet a highly intelligent and civilized serial killer, and at first she doesn’t succeed in getting information from him, but when the prisoner in the next cell, Multiple-Miggs, unexpected throws sperm at her, it also offends Hannibal and in return he gives her a clue to the Buffalo Bill-case. In Romeo and Juliet, Romeos aggressive monologue of despair as he kills Tybalt is the unexpected midpoint, which suddenly changes all plans and our sense of hope for the lovers. In Last Tango in Paris the Marlon Brando-characters confrontation with his dead wife, suddenly revealing to us the depth of his despair and the reason behind his almost nihilistic behaviour, is the point of no return. In The Sixth Sense the point of resolution comes with the unexpected realization that the main character has been dead throughout most of the movie.
How do we create the unexpected? First of all you have to constantly challenge your own confirmed beliefs. You think you know what will happen in the next scene. You think you know how your main character will convince his father to let him borrow the car. You think you know what is good and what is bad. You shouldn’t. Any kind of preconception you have about your drama should be open to a new interpretation, to taking a new direction and to reversals of beliefs. Challenge yourself by questioning these firm ideas. Play with them – the beautiful game of ‘what if…’
When you meet negative response to your script, maybe the real reason is that your script is too predictable. Mind you, I am not at all advocating for a haphazard story, because to surprise convincingly demands a lot of logic. You have to build an expectation and at the same time prepare for the ‘hidden’ logic of its reversal. See again the initiating plot point of Silence of the Lambs. In the previous scenes two clear and obvious expectations have been build up. Two men of authority have stated that Hannibal Lecter is impossible to get any information from. And one suggests that maybe Clarice can entice Hannibal because she is a woman. Clarice fails because he is too clever, but when Multiple-Miggs surprises Clarice (and us) with his sperm-assault, this unexpectedly offends Lecter’s sense of courtesy and manners and as a reparation he offers a clue. But it still seems convincing and believable that he would act like this, because we have just seen him as a man who values courtesy, who likes sophisticated behaviour, but it has been played out at a more subconscious level, and therefore still comes as a surprising turn.
If you always play on two horses, if you let interpretation remain open, if there is value on both sides, then you have a general approach to maintaining uncertainty and finding the unexpected. Even the most negative character has to have something positive, the most necessarily successful action needs a chance to go awry, or we will be bored, because as the Germans put it so well: “Mann merkt den Absicht und wird verstimmt” or in English: “You sense the intention and become resigned”.
I can recommend two ways to train your sense of scenario – that the characters and the action is a dynamic field in fluctuation, where we never know what happens next. It is all about playing. Get together with some actors and play around with some of your scenes, give changing directions about what could happen in the scenes, about the character’s intentions and also let the actors offer their take, their interpretations and improvisations. Or get together with some friends and play role-playing games, yes, that’s right, games like Dungeon&Dragons, only try and find some better ones than that old horse. There is a bunch of more dramatic, narrative, character-oriented rpg-games on the net, to be downloaded for free or bought cheaply. Play around with some stories in this form, and see how it is when you do storytelling with an interactive, participating audience.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
IT’S THE ECONOMY, STUPID!
The principle of economics (unity+story)
This is about spending the least to gain the most. And this is a really beautiful principle, because it not only help you to increase the chances of your script being produced as it will be a more financial appealing project, but also because the construction and cohesiveness of the script will be more convincing.
It’s about using the same locations, characters and ideas over and over again, and thus it goes hand in hand with the principle of unity, if it’s not really just another way of looking at the same fundamental quality of drama.
It also relates to the principle of story, because you will focus on being economical in starting it, developing it and ending it, meaning that when you introduce a character, you have to ask where he is going and where he is ending up. Neither leaving him as an unfinished story or over-story him in different directions.
Every time we introduce something new in a script it will cost us – time, money and energy. We will spend an amount of the script’s time in presenting the location, character or idea. We will spend production money on moving to a new location/creating an extra set-piece, hiring another actor or simply shooting/rehearsing something extra. And even more importantly we will spend the audiences’ mental energy on grasping this new locale, person or idea. On the other hand when we are using the same characters, locations or ideas, by elaborating on them, extending them, we add to them, and thereby increase our investment in them. We will be able to develop and show new aspect or depths, without spending as much time, money or energy, as we would have by introducing a new. Unless you have good reason, you should never introduce a new character, location or idea. Always check your script – as you develop it – to see if you can merge characters, re-use locations and streamline or connect your ideas into one.
It is also beneficial for the director, especially when we talk films or TV, as he or she will save energy (by not spending it on moving to new locations, dealing with new characters/actors) and can focus on getting the most out of the script in terms of acting and staging.
Many scripts look good for the first 30-60 pages, but then when closing time begins after the mid-point, they fail to do so, and this problem be could solved if this principle was adhered to. It happens either because they have introduced too many elements and forget or are unable to finish them, or because they keep introducing new elements.
This is about spending the least to gain the most. And this is a really beautiful principle, because it not only help you to increase the chances of your script being produced as it will be a more financial appealing project, but also because the construction and cohesiveness of the script will be more convincing.
It’s about using the same locations, characters and ideas over and over again, and thus it goes hand in hand with the principle of unity, if it’s not really just another way of looking at the same fundamental quality of drama.
It also relates to the principle of story, because you will focus on being economical in starting it, developing it and ending it, meaning that when you introduce a character, you have to ask where he is going and where he is ending up. Neither leaving him as an unfinished story or over-story him in different directions.
Every time we introduce something new in a script it will cost us – time, money and energy. We will spend an amount of the script’s time in presenting the location, character or idea. We will spend production money on moving to a new location/creating an extra set-piece, hiring another actor or simply shooting/rehearsing something extra. And even more importantly we will spend the audiences’ mental energy on grasping this new locale, person or idea. On the other hand when we are using the same characters, locations or ideas, by elaborating on them, extending them, we add to them, and thereby increase our investment in them. We will be able to develop and show new aspect or depths, without spending as much time, money or energy, as we would have by introducing a new. Unless you have good reason, you should never introduce a new character, location or idea. Always check your script – as you develop it – to see if you can merge characters, re-use locations and streamline or connect your ideas into one.
It is also beneficial for the director, especially when we talk films or TV, as he or she will save energy (by not spending it on moving to new locations, dealing with new characters/actors) and can focus on getting the most out of the script in terms of acting and staging.
Many scripts look good for the first 30-60 pages, but then when closing time begins after the mid-point, they fail to do so, and this problem be could solved if this principle was adhered to. It happens either because they have introduced too many elements and forget or are unable to finish them, or because they keep introducing new elements.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Receiving response
Tricks and advice
It is can be difficult to handle response and criticism when readers, directors or producers have read your script. There are a lot of pitfalls. But it is an essential part of our job, and unavoidable because it is a collective art form. Teach yourself how to get the most out of the collective.
The ideal responder will never pass judgment on you or the script, but try to understand the logic of the dramatic universe you are creating, and give all responses as either questions, suggestions or impressions, and perhaps supporting these with reasoning within the perceived logic of the universe.
But in most scriptwriters' experience there are very few ideal responders, even though it is actually pretty simple rules of engagement you have to follow, to be one.
So often we find ourselves in a situation with less- or much-less-than-ideal responders. You can't escape this, as they might be the ones who decide if your script will get produced, and neither should you try it, as even the daftest responder might actually lead you to improve upon your script, if you know how to use them.
The first step to handling this situation is to have a strong script you believe in, and more so, one where you know how the construction works. Why every element is there and how it plays together with other elements connecting to the fundamental conflict, and leading forward to its final resolution. Even when you are not that clear about everything in your script, at least be clear about what the fundamental conflict and logic is, and what you believe is your strong points.
Because then when you meet response you''ll be able to deal with it constructively. You can sort between relevant and irrelevant response. Sometimes people will say things that have much more to do with their own issues than with your script. Lets say you have a character who is controversial - she might be gay - and a reader who is not entirely comfortable with homosexuals, this person might not say this directly, but it comes out as irrational criticisms of details or concepts in the script. Obviously you should never let yourself be persuaded in any degree by this, and you will be able to argue why it makes sense that this character is gay. And you might also realize, that if you want this person and persons like him or her, as audience to your drama, then you could perhaps try and introduce this character in a way, that would make it easier for them to take the bait.
Then there is the kind of response which might be funded in something substantial but is phrased in a non-constructive way. It is often the case, when a reader is not able to phrase his or hers criticism within the logic of the script, or even within the logic of drama, and it is more rooted in a subjectivity. In this case you should try to translate it into something constructive - either by questioning the reader to find the logic behind, what disturbs them, or by making the translation by yourself - often it can be quite obvious - like if you have missed to give a proper set-up for a reader to understand a subsequent action.
Often you'll receive very specific suggestions about how to solve perceived weaknesses. Be courteous and appreciate the suggestions, but never take it at face value. Yes, maybe your main character seems to in-active, and you need her to show more initiative, for us, the audience to understand her and take an interest in her, but perhaps not by accepting the first and best suggestion of making her have a fight with her boyfriend in the opening scene, as your fundamental conflict is exactly about her problem taking a conflict into the open - so instead you have to find other ways of showing us what she wants and what she is trying to do.
Many times people might use comparisons to what they see as bad examples - other films, plays, stories - to convince you, that your ideas are wrong. This always makes my alarm go off. Most often these examples are quite superficial, and can be like "Oh, no, I don't like you have a transvestite in the script, it's like all those spanish movies by that guy Almodovar, it's passé and boring". Yes, maybe it seems so, but what if the transvestite is essential to basic logic? Maybe we don't need to get rid of him, but only to make sure, he is presented in a new original way? In these cases it is mostly about the reader's taste, and not about the quality or weakness of the script.
One of my favourite tricks when I am finishing a draft of a script is to leave something in there, which obviously doesn't work. I do this because no matter how good you make a script, people like to find something they can comment on. So I leave them this 'obvious' weakness that I know they will pick up, because then they can feel clever and better than me - and I can play the 'good collaborative writer' who accepts criticism. Also if they fail to see the obvious, then I know they haven't read it very carefully.
I will finish this post with reminding people of the test that the British film magazine Empire did in the early 90s, when they took the script from Sex, Lies and Videotapes, changed the title, the author name, the names of the characters and other superficial stuff, and then mailed it to a wide range of production companies. Not one of them realized that they had been reading Sex, Lies and Videotapes, and almost all of them completely rejected the script. This is what you are up against. Be brave and clever.
It is can be difficult to handle response and criticism when readers, directors or producers have read your script. There are a lot of pitfalls. But it is an essential part of our job, and unavoidable because it is a collective art form. Teach yourself how to get the most out of the collective.
The ideal responder will never pass judgment on you or the script, but try to understand the logic of the dramatic universe you are creating, and give all responses as either questions, suggestions or impressions, and perhaps supporting these with reasoning within the perceived logic of the universe.
But in most scriptwriters' experience there are very few ideal responders, even though it is actually pretty simple rules of engagement you have to follow, to be one.
So often we find ourselves in a situation with less- or much-less-than-ideal responders. You can't escape this, as they might be the ones who decide if your script will get produced, and neither should you try it, as even the daftest responder might actually lead you to improve upon your script, if you know how to use them.
The first step to handling this situation is to have a strong script you believe in, and more so, one where you know how the construction works. Why every element is there and how it plays together with other elements connecting to the fundamental conflict, and leading forward to its final resolution. Even when you are not that clear about everything in your script, at least be clear about what the fundamental conflict and logic is, and what you believe is your strong points.
Because then when you meet response you''ll be able to deal with it constructively. You can sort between relevant and irrelevant response. Sometimes people will say things that have much more to do with their own issues than with your script. Lets say you have a character who is controversial - she might be gay - and a reader who is not entirely comfortable with homosexuals, this person might not say this directly, but it comes out as irrational criticisms of details or concepts in the script. Obviously you should never let yourself be persuaded in any degree by this, and you will be able to argue why it makes sense that this character is gay. And you might also realize, that if you want this person and persons like him or her, as audience to your drama, then you could perhaps try and introduce this character in a way, that would make it easier for them to take the bait.
Then there is the kind of response which might be funded in something substantial but is phrased in a non-constructive way. It is often the case, when a reader is not able to phrase his or hers criticism within the logic of the script, or even within the logic of drama, and it is more rooted in a subjectivity. In this case you should try to translate it into something constructive - either by questioning the reader to find the logic behind, what disturbs them, or by making the translation by yourself - often it can be quite obvious - like if you have missed to give a proper set-up for a reader to understand a subsequent action.
Often you'll receive very specific suggestions about how to solve perceived weaknesses. Be courteous and appreciate the suggestions, but never take it at face value. Yes, maybe your main character seems to in-active, and you need her to show more initiative, for us, the audience to understand her and take an interest in her, but perhaps not by accepting the first and best suggestion of making her have a fight with her boyfriend in the opening scene, as your fundamental conflict is exactly about her problem taking a conflict into the open - so instead you have to find other ways of showing us what she wants and what she is trying to do.
Many times people might use comparisons to what they see as bad examples - other films, plays, stories - to convince you, that your ideas are wrong. This always makes my alarm go off. Most often these examples are quite superficial, and can be like "Oh, no, I don't like you have a transvestite in the script, it's like all those spanish movies by that guy Almodovar, it's passé and boring". Yes, maybe it seems so, but what if the transvestite is essential to basic logic? Maybe we don't need to get rid of him, but only to make sure, he is presented in a new original way? In these cases it is mostly about the reader's taste, and not about the quality or weakness of the script.
One of my favourite tricks when I am finishing a draft of a script is to leave something in there, which obviously doesn't work. I do this because no matter how good you make a script, people like to find something they can comment on. So I leave them this 'obvious' weakness that I know they will pick up, because then they can feel clever and better than me - and I can play the 'good collaborative writer' who accepts criticism. Also if they fail to see the obvious, then I know they haven't read it very carefully.
I will finish this post with reminding people of the test that the British film magazine Empire did in the early 90s, when they took the script from Sex, Lies and Videotapes, changed the title, the author name, the names of the characters and other superficial stuff, and then mailed it to a wide range of production companies. Not one of them realized that they had been reading Sex, Lies and Videotapes, and almost all of them completely rejected the script. This is what you are up against. Be brave and clever.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
The principle of character
“The strictest observation of the rules (of composition) cannot outweigh the tinniest fault made in the characters” – G. E. Lessing.
The defining aspect of a character is the will. This means everything can be a character as long as it has a will it can act upon. Remember we are talking construction here. Of course the background, the feelings, the profession, the relations and the psychology of a character can be extremely important – but in terms of construction all we really need is the will. What the character wants, what its intentions are in any given scene. How you go about ‘finding’ or inventing your characters are entirely up to you. But when you get down to constructing your script, you must be clear about what the basic will of the character is. This is the will, the intention that will guide the characters’ actions throughout the script. Romeo wants love – everything he does in Romeo and Juliet is done out of this basic will to find love. Even when he kills Tybalt, he does so beset by rage out of love for his best friend Mercutio, newly slain by Tybalt.
The complementary aspect of 'want' is 'need', which is a way of expressing an internal conflict or dynamic in the character. We may want something, but often what we really need differs from that. Romeo wants personal love, but maybe his need is to find the compassion that his world seems to lack. If you look at the incidents in the play, which sends Romeo on his tragic course, they might arise from lack of compassion. He kills Tybalt, which gets him expelled from Verona. For Romeo this seems almost like the end of the world, because it means separation from his personal love, and only the priest's compassionate words, which are able to encompass a broader view on the situation, persuade Romeo to leave for Mantua and bide his time. But when confusion muddles the intricate and dangerous plan to reunite Romeo and Juliet - who are being kept apart because of the lack of compassion from the parents - Romeo finally succumbs, feeling mortally wounded by the apparent loss of Juliet, exactly because what he wants is his personal love and he is not able to balance that with a compassion, which extends beyond his own personal interest, he chooses to take his own life.
Another aspect of character is what I call – a little simplistic – the heroic quality. Romeo has faith in love. Batman is resourceful. Chaplin’s vagabond never gives up. Pacino’s Michael Corleone understands the danger of the mafia-game. The knight in Bergmann’s The 7th Seal is self-sacrificing. All great characters have one fundamental quality, which makes them able to strive for they want in their world. It may or may not be enough to get them what they want. This depends on the world and their weakness.
The heroic weakness is the last main aspect of character. This is the Achilles’ heel of the hero. Romeo has doubts about love. Batman carries a personal tragedy, the loss of his parents. Chaplin’s vagabond is poor and without means. Michael Corleone has a blind love for his father or psychological speaking a father-complex. The knight doubts the meaning of life after his sacrifices in the holy crusade seems pointless. As much as the heroes will struggle with the world, they will also struggle with their weakness.
You can create a drama where you only operate with the will of the character, but adding the other two aspects and linking them together in a simple meaningful triangle, you create a dynamic which will steer the drama, and give rise to the unfolding of conflicts and their resolutions. You will probably add other characteristics to your characters, but you have to stay focused on these three. In every major conflict and turning point of the drama, it has to be this trinity, which is at play. The construction questions will every time be: What opposes what the character wants, how will the he apply his heroic quality to overcome it and how will the weakness go against him?
“The strictest observation of the rules (of composition) cannot outweigh the tinniest fault made in the characters” – G. E. Lessing.
The defining aspect of a character is the will. This means everything can be a character as long as it has a will it can act upon. Remember we are talking construction here. Of course the background, the feelings, the profession, the relations and the psychology of a character can be extremely important – but in terms of construction all we really need is the will. What the character wants, what its intentions are in any given scene. How you go about ‘finding’ or inventing your characters are entirely up to you. But when you get down to constructing your script, you must be clear about what the basic will of the character is. This is the will, the intention that will guide the characters’ actions throughout the script. Romeo wants love – everything he does in Romeo and Juliet is done out of this basic will to find love. Even when he kills Tybalt, he does so beset by rage out of love for his best friend Mercutio, newly slain by Tybalt.
The complementary aspect of 'want' is 'need', which is a way of expressing an internal conflict or dynamic in the character. We may want something, but often what we really need differs from that. Romeo wants personal love, but maybe his need is to find the compassion that his world seems to lack. If you look at the incidents in the play, which sends Romeo on his tragic course, they might arise from lack of compassion. He kills Tybalt, which gets him expelled from Verona. For Romeo this seems almost like the end of the world, because it means separation from his personal love, and only the priest's compassionate words, which are able to encompass a broader view on the situation, persuade Romeo to leave for Mantua and bide his time. But when confusion muddles the intricate and dangerous plan to reunite Romeo and Juliet - who are being kept apart because of the lack of compassion from the parents - Romeo finally succumbs, feeling mortally wounded by the apparent loss of Juliet, exactly because what he wants is his personal love and he is not able to balance that with a compassion, which extends beyond his own personal interest, he chooses to take his own life.
Another aspect of character is what I call – a little simplistic – the heroic quality. Romeo has faith in love. Batman is resourceful. Chaplin’s vagabond never gives up. Pacino’s Michael Corleone understands the danger of the mafia-game. The knight in Bergmann’s The 7th Seal is self-sacrificing. All great characters have one fundamental quality, which makes them able to strive for they want in their world. It may or may not be enough to get them what they want. This depends on the world and their weakness.
The heroic weakness is the last main aspect of character. This is the Achilles’ heel of the hero. Romeo has doubts about love. Batman carries a personal tragedy, the loss of his parents. Chaplin’s vagabond is poor and without means. Michael Corleone has a blind love for his father or psychological speaking a father-complex. The knight doubts the meaning of life after his sacrifices in the holy crusade seems pointless. As much as the heroes will struggle with the world, they will also struggle with their weakness.
You can create a drama where you only operate with the will of the character, but adding the other two aspects and linking them together in a simple meaningful triangle, you create a dynamic which will steer the drama, and give rise to the unfolding of conflicts and their resolutions. You will probably add other characteristics to your characters, but you have to stay focused on these three. In every major conflict and turning point of the drama, it has to be this trinity, which is at play. The construction questions will every time be: What opposes what the character wants, how will the he apply his heroic quality to overcome it and how will the weakness go against him?
Monday, July 14, 2008
BUTTERFLIES AND TORNADOES
The principle of unity
“Unity can only be manifested by the Binary. Unity itself and the idea of Unity are already two.” - Prince Gautama Siddharta.
Nothing stands alone. It is unified in both obvious and subtle ways. This is more or less what the first philosopher of drama, Aristotle, was talking about with the “The unity of place, action and time”. Traditionally this has been taken in a more or less literal sense. Many theatre plays take place in a single day, in the same location and all about a singular event. And this normally works really well, because they follow this Aristotelian principle to the letter. But taken in a broader sense, the principle means that things are connected. They don’t exist in and by themselves.
The reference above to the famous butterfly-effect, the idea of the so-called chaos-theory, which uses the image of a butterfly flapping its wing in Japan, which initiates a chain of reactions that leads to tornado in America, as a metaphor to explain the immensely complex and connected systems that determines events all over the world. Actually this is not chaos at all, but something called self-organizing critical systems. It only seems like chaos if you are used to think within the framework of the classical physics of linear cause-and-effect.
What we do, when we create a drama is basically to create a self-contained universe, a micro-cosmos. And the peculiar thing is that both in aesthetic and scientific terms such a universe, or system, seems to work most convincingly when we make sure that all elements are somehow connected. And this goes for any level of your script, from the obvious plot-connections, over the psychology of the characters, the weaving of your theme(s), use of visual imagery and all the way to signaling of your grand motif (the big fat secret of your drama). All these should have as many plain visible or hidden connections as possible, because this creates complexity – not in the sense of being intellectual high-brow – but in the simple sense of creating a system (a work of art) that each and every time you immerse yourself into it seems alive and able to generate a fulfilling reflection of human experience and life.
There is quite a number of well-known script techniques and models, which relates to this principle – that I will return to later on – but as a principle it simply means that when you are creating a script, you just have to keep connecting your dots inside whatever universe you have chosen, with whatever logic rules that cosmos. Every time you introduce new elements you will know that eventually they have to be integrated into your system, in the sense that they connect to other elements. If for example you have a character that only appears once, maybe it doesn’t really belong in your universe, or maybe you need to take a good long look at how the character connects, how this character, within the logic of your world, creates more ‘meaning’ than what it is in itself. This is the mechanism behind the idea that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts – exactly because the parts ‘interact’ they generate more meaning than they have in themselves.
Again with the example of a single appearance of a character, I want to mention “Apocalypse Now” as film where even though the ‘villain’, the Marlon Brando-character, Colonel Kurtz only appears in the final scenes of the film, the script constantly creates connections to him in advance of his appearance, so when we finally experience him, it is with the full resonance of all that has gone before.
This is a good example of why I don’t really believe in rules and models, even though they can be really helpful, because what we are dealing with in drama is so complex that for every rule you can come up with, there will always come along a new rule to undo it. For me at least is has been more creative and productive to focus on principles, and only use the rules as temporary tools.
“Unity can only be manifested by the Binary. Unity itself and the idea of Unity are already two.” - Prince Gautama Siddharta.
Nothing stands alone. It is unified in both obvious and subtle ways. This is more or less what the first philosopher of drama, Aristotle, was talking about with the “The unity of place, action and time”. Traditionally this has been taken in a more or less literal sense. Many theatre plays take place in a single day, in the same location and all about a singular event. And this normally works really well, because they follow this Aristotelian principle to the letter. But taken in a broader sense, the principle means that things are connected. They don’t exist in and by themselves.
The reference above to the famous butterfly-effect, the idea of the so-called chaos-theory, which uses the image of a butterfly flapping its wing in Japan, which initiates a chain of reactions that leads to tornado in America, as a metaphor to explain the immensely complex and connected systems that determines events all over the world. Actually this is not chaos at all, but something called self-organizing critical systems. It only seems like chaos if you are used to think within the framework of the classical physics of linear cause-and-effect.
What we do, when we create a drama is basically to create a self-contained universe, a micro-cosmos. And the peculiar thing is that both in aesthetic and scientific terms such a universe, or system, seems to work most convincingly when we make sure that all elements are somehow connected. And this goes for any level of your script, from the obvious plot-connections, over the psychology of the characters, the weaving of your theme(s), use of visual imagery and all the way to signaling of your grand motif (the big fat secret of your drama). All these should have as many plain visible or hidden connections as possible, because this creates complexity – not in the sense of being intellectual high-brow – but in the simple sense of creating a system (a work of art) that each and every time you immerse yourself into it seems alive and able to generate a fulfilling reflection of human experience and life.
There is quite a number of well-known script techniques and models, which relates to this principle – that I will return to later on – but as a principle it simply means that when you are creating a script, you just have to keep connecting your dots inside whatever universe you have chosen, with whatever logic rules that cosmos. Every time you introduce new elements you will know that eventually they have to be integrated into your system, in the sense that they connect to other elements. If for example you have a character that only appears once, maybe it doesn’t really belong in your universe, or maybe you need to take a good long look at how the character connects, how this character, within the logic of your world, creates more ‘meaning’ than what it is in itself. This is the mechanism behind the idea that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts – exactly because the parts ‘interact’ they generate more meaning than they have in themselves.
Again with the example of a single appearance of a character, I want to mention “Apocalypse Now” as film where even though the ‘villain’, the Marlon Brando-character, Colonel Kurtz only appears in the final scenes of the film, the script constantly creates connections to him in advance of his appearance, so when we finally experience him, it is with the full resonance of all that has gone before.
This is a good example of why I don’t really believe in rules and models, even though they can be really helpful, because what we are dealing with in drama is so complex that for every rule you can come up with, there will always come along a new rule to undo it. For me at least is has been more creative and productive to focus on principles, and only use the rules as temporary tools.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
TO LAUGH AND CRY
The complementary principle of comedy and tragedy
"A triviality is a statement whose opposite is false. However, a great truth is a statement whose opposite may well be another great truth." – Niels Bohr
This is obvious stuff, but often sadly neglected, especially outside mainstream drama, which of course is always painstakingly aware if they are trying to make a comedy or a tragedy. In my opinion any work of drama is either a comedy or a tragedy. At the bottom-line, that is. Because of course it might mix comedy and tragedy in any number of ways. It might seem like a tragedy, but in reality be a comedy. Or the other way around. In other words there is a lot of fun to be had in playing around with these two fundamentally different perspectives on the human condition. But in terms of the basic design of a drama, at the end of the day it is either-or. You can’t have it both ways. Or not at all.
When I’m coaching, consulting or teaching, if this is not clear, then it is always my first question to the director/writer. Is this a comedy or a tragedy? And of course most of the time it is initially a difficult question to answer (since I had to ask it). My next question will then be something like: “Will the protagonist get what he/she needs in the end?” or “Does it end in some kind of harmony or in despair”. Some people object a lot to this idea. “I am just writing a story about real people - I want it to be real, not some sort of comedy or tragedy”. Fine, but first of all, you a creating a drama, you are not creating reality (unless by chance you happen to be God), and by creating a drama, you are choosing a perspective, a reflection of reality, and the two fundamental ones concerning human reality are the comedic and tragic. All the other genres are essentially based on these two major ones. Melodrama is a kind of tragedy with some well-hidden comedy in the mix. Pure horror is a kind of grotesque tragedy. Fantasy and fairy-tales are mainly comedies as they end in harmony. Naturalism is most often some kind of tragedy. Farce is comedy in up-tempo with a razor sharp focus on the follies of our self-conceptions. Realism seems mostly to be tragedies, but has been known to spot the humorous side of real life. Teenage-silly-movies are slapstick comedies with extreme focus on sex and bodily functions. And so on.
The comedic perspective is characterized by seeing the human experience from a certain distance. It believes that none of us are so special that any kind of suffering or pain is to be taken too seriously. You are just one out of many – a number in an endless row of numbers. It makes fun of those who think they are above the rest. It sides with the little man. It believes a lot in earthly things, like sex, food, money and the body (including bodily fluids and excrement) – that these things are natural and good for us, and it readily pokes fun at any taboo regarding these, but on the other hand if any one is obsessed with them, it is also ready to bring them down to the general laughter of the rest of us – although then often with a softer landing than the one granted the high and mighty. In general the comedy doesn’t believe in very hard landings – people has to get up again and go on with their lives – because this is the ultimate credo of the comedy: Life goes on.
The tragic perspective is completely opposite. For the tragedy, each and every one of us is something unique. Tragedy demands compassion and total identification with it’s subject. It sees the human condition as a striving for the higher goals, be they justice, the truth, passion, love, immortality or whatever ideal you might have. But tragedy is a tricky bedfellow, because there’s always a price to pay for the higher aspirations. When a tragedy is closer to and tempered by comedy, then the price might be a partial sacrifice – the hero achieves his goal, but will always be marred by the sacrifice he had to pay. Or in the case of the pure tragedy, the hero must utterly fall. Oedipus is the example per se. The guy is like the greatest hero of his time. He has answered the riddle of the Sphinx (a metaphor for understanding the human condition), he has become king of Thebes, which is now smitten by a plague send by the Gods. Oedipus is a man of action and determined to save his kingdom, but eventually discovers that he is the cause of the plague, as he unbeknownst to himself has broken the taboos of the Gods by killing his father and bedding his mother. There is no way out for the poor fellow, he has to rip out his own eyes and live in torment. What we see here in the pure tragedy is what I call the blind spot. The hero is by all measures almost perfect. We can admire and identify, but there is a blind spot, a hidden truth about the hero that despite all his heroic qualities will lead to his undoing. There is no mercy in the pure tragedy – because whoever stands tall, must fall.
And here we come full circle with the comedy, as this almost sounds like something a comedy would do. The only difference being that in comedy the fall is never so hard, that life can’t go on, whereas in tragedy life as it has been known is destroyed. Now I claim this to be the complementary principle of comedy and tragedy because the two perspectives basically counter each other. One says we nothing special. The other says we are. They can’t both be right. But it works like yin and yang (if you like Eastern philosophy) where the two basic forces of the universe a mutual exclusive but in their center contains each other or like the paradox of quantum physics (if you like science) where your choice of perspective determines if you are observing a particle or a wave – something not possible as it is supposed to be either-or. And here we are with our drama – it is either a tragedy or a comedy in terms of creating it, playing it and describing it, but of course behind the outer forms they are the same, feed of each other in an eternal dialectic.
So when you go about creating your drama, you cannot escape choosing a perspective – like the scientist cannot avoid making a choice when observing the sub-atomic waves/particles – like each of us has to be either male or female, even though we contain the opposite qualities – and not only should you – at least at some point – do this knowingly, but also enjoy the kind of almost musical sense of tonal sensitivity this choice will open up for you. The choice you make never exclude the other perspective, it just means that if you choose comedy, then it has to begin with some kind of comedic harmony and also end likewise. In between that beginning and end, you can cross the line as many times as you want. Going with the tragedy, you must strike a tone of despair, loss, death or however you want to put it, in your opening, then – if you want – you can lead on with all kinds of temptations of hope, but then reaching the end, let that initial note of gloom bear the full fruit in it’s inevitable cruel logic – matching the degree of tragedy you are playing at. Let me say this in another way: To miss out on the interplay of comedy and tragedy is like missing out on the joy of sex. And like sex, its something you will never get tired of fooling around with, once you have gotten the hang of it.
"A triviality is a statement whose opposite is false. However, a great truth is a statement whose opposite may well be another great truth." – Niels Bohr
This is obvious stuff, but often sadly neglected, especially outside mainstream drama, which of course is always painstakingly aware if they are trying to make a comedy or a tragedy. In my opinion any work of drama is either a comedy or a tragedy. At the bottom-line, that is. Because of course it might mix comedy and tragedy in any number of ways. It might seem like a tragedy, but in reality be a comedy. Or the other way around. In other words there is a lot of fun to be had in playing around with these two fundamentally different perspectives on the human condition. But in terms of the basic design of a drama, at the end of the day it is either-or. You can’t have it both ways. Or not at all.
When I’m coaching, consulting or teaching, if this is not clear, then it is always my first question to the director/writer. Is this a comedy or a tragedy? And of course most of the time it is initially a difficult question to answer (since I had to ask it). My next question will then be something like: “Will the protagonist get what he/she needs in the end?” or “Does it end in some kind of harmony or in despair”. Some people object a lot to this idea. “I am just writing a story about real people - I want it to be real, not some sort of comedy or tragedy”. Fine, but first of all, you a creating a drama, you are not creating reality (unless by chance you happen to be God), and by creating a drama, you are choosing a perspective, a reflection of reality, and the two fundamental ones concerning human reality are the comedic and tragic. All the other genres are essentially based on these two major ones. Melodrama is a kind of tragedy with some well-hidden comedy in the mix. Pure horror is a kind of grotesque tragedy. Fantasy and fairy-tales are mainly comedies as they end in harmony. Naturalism is most often some kind of tragedy. Farce is comedy in up-tempo with a razor sharp focus on the follies of our self-conceptions. Realism seems mostly to be tragedies, but has been known to spot the humorous side of real life. Teenage-silly-movies are slapstick comedies with extreme focus on sex and bodily functions. And so on.
The comedic perspective is characterized by seeing the human experience from a certain distance. It believes that none of us are so special that any kind of suffering or pain is to be taken too seriously. You are just one out of many – a number in an endless row of numbers. It makes fun of those who think they are above the rest. It sides with the little man. It believes a lot in earthly things, like sex, food, money and the body (including bodily fluids and excrement) – that these things are natural and good for us, and it readily pokes fun at any taboo regarding these, but on the other hand if any one is obsessed with them, it is also ready to bring them down to the general laughter of the rest of us – although then often with a softer landing than the one granted the high and mighty. In general the comedy doesn’t believe in very hard landings – people has to get up again and go on with their lives – because this is the ultimate credo of the comedy: Life goes on.
The tragic perspective is completely opposite. For the tragedy, each and every one of us is something unique. Tragedy demands compassion and total identification with it’s subject. It sees the human condition as a striving for the higher goals, be they justice, the truth, passion, love, immortality or whatever ideal you might have. But tragedy is a tricky bedfellow, because there’s always a price to pay for the higher aspirations. When a tragedy is closer to and tempered by comedy, then the price might be a partial sacrifice – the hero achieves his goal, but will always be marred by the sacrifice he had to pay. Or in the case of the pure tragedy, the hero must utterly fall. Oedipus is the example per se. The guy is like the greatest hero of his time. He has answered the riddle of the Sphinx (a metaphor for understanding the human condition), he has become king of Thebes, which is now smitten by a plague send by the Gods. Oedipus is a man of action and determined to save his kingdom, but eventually discovers that he is the cause of the plague, as he unbeknownst to himself has broken the taboos of the Gods by killing his father and bedding his mother. There is no way out for the poor fellow, he has to rip out his own eyes and live in torment. What we see here in the pure tragedy is what I call the blind spot. The hero is by all measures almost perfect. We can admire and identify, but there is a blind spot, a hidden truth about the hero that despite all his heroic qualities will lead to his undoing. There is no mercy in the pure tragedy – because whoever stands tall, must fall.
And here we come full circle with the comedy, as this almost sounds like something a comedy would do. The only difference being that in comedy the fall is never so hard, that life can’t go on, whereas in tragedy life as it has been known is destroyed. Now I claim this to be the complementary principle of comedy and tragedy because the two perspectives basically counter each other. One says we nothing special. The other says we are. They can’t both be right. But it works like yin and yang (if you like Eastern philosophy) where the two basic forces of the universe a mutual exclusive but in their center contains each other or like the paradox of quantum physics (if you like science) where your choice of perspective determines if you are observing a particle or a wave – something not possible as it is supposed to be either-or. And here we are with our drama – it is either a tragedy or a comedy in terms of creating it, playing it and describing it, but of course behind the outer forms they are the same, feed of each other in an eternal dialectic.
So when you go about creating your drama, you cannot escape choosing a perspective – like the scientist cannot avoid making a choice when observing the sub-atomic waves/particles – like each of us has to be either male or female, even though we contain the opposite qualities – and not only should you – at least at some point – do this knowingly, but also enjoy the kind of almost musical sense of tonal sensitivity this choice will open up for you. The choice you make never exclude the other perspective, it just means that if you choose comedy, then it has to begin with some kind of comedic harmony and also end likewise. In between that beginning and end, you can cross the line as many times as you want. Going with the tragedy, you must strike a tone of despair, loss, death or however you want to put it, in your opening, then – if you want – you can lead on with all kinds of temptations of hope, but then reaching the end, let that initial note of gloom bear the full fruit in it’s inevitable cruel logic – matching the degree of tragedy you are playing at. Let me say this in another way: To miss out on the interplay of comedy and tragedy is like missing out on the joy of sex. And like sex, its something you will never get tired of fooling around with, once you have gotten the hang of it.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
IT CANNOT BE TOLD
The principle of mystery
”The cause is hidden. The result obvious to all.” – Ovid
The famous Danish author Karen Blixen (pen name Isak Dinesen) said the human being is like a plant that needs roots deeply buried in the dark soil, away from the light, hidden safely. And that if you tried bare the roots, dig them up, examine them under the glaring light of the sun, the human being would wither away. She said so, amongst other things, because she was in opposition to the psychoanalysis and the academic literary analysis, which seeks to uncover all hidden motives.
That opposition is understandable, but perhaps it is more difficult than that to go about and uncover the secrets of the human existence. It might be possible to explore the realms beneath without digging up the whole tree, roots and all. At least it seems that in Karen Blixen’s own works, she was constantly referring indirectly to those forces beneath that motivate and orchestrate so much of our lives. She tried to tell stories about those forces without ever exposing them to direct light.
The root of drama, our ancestor, is the mystery play, the ritual - the enactment of the hidden. It is exactly being enacted because it cannot be told, explained or communicated in any other way than through experience. You just had to be there. The deepest kind of secrets, knowledge and insights are the founding base of drama. It is the force that keeps making us re-visit the greatest works of art, because their mystery runs deep and is really beyond the consciousness of our rational mind. We have to experience them by immersing ourselves in the drama.
This might come off as either very ambitious or pretentious, but for me it is simply a design principle. Even if you are ‘just’ trying to write a good, solid mainstream script, you should apply the principle of the mystery to some degree. Take a good mainstream movie like “The 6th Sense” which translates this principle beautifully into a story that brings us face to face with the great mystery of our mortality. It even does so almost literally on the plot-level by withholding the fact that our protagonist is already dead, and we realize this ‘secret’ simultaneous with him.
The presence of the secret should permeate the script from beginning to end, sending out constant signals just below the threshold of our ordinary level of consciousness. The tragedy deals with the basic mysteries of death, mortality and fear. The comedy deals with the mysteries of life, the birth, the marriage of opposites and joy. There are many ways to approach the great mysteries and sometimes we might find them in the most unexpected places, both as creators and as audiences.
When you work, creating a script, you have to know what your secret is. When I say 'know' it can mean a lot of things. You might know it quite clearly, like “This is a comedy about a guy with an extreme fear of dying, it controls his whole life, and the script lingers constantly on the side of tragedy, but towards the end, when it seems our guy for sure is going to die, the miracle of love let him live on”. Or you might just have a feeling guiding you to send out those signals as you write, and leading you to the eventual revelation of your mystery.
”The cause is hidden. The result obvious to all.” – Ovid
The famous Danish author Karen Blixen (pen name Isak Dinesen) said the human being is like a plant that needs roots deeply buried in the dark soil, away from the light, hidden safely. And that if you tried bare the roots, dig them up, examine them under the glaring light of the sun, the human being would wither away. She said so, amongst other things, because she was in opposition to the psychoanalysis and the academic literary analysis, which seeks to uncover all hidden motives.
That opposition is understandable, but perhaps it is more difficult than that to go about and uncover the secrets of the human existence. It might be possible to explore the realms beneath without digging up the whole tree, roots and all. At least it seems that in Karen Blixen’s own works, she was constantly referring indirectly to those forces beneath that motivate and orchestrate so much of our lives. She tried to tell stories about those forces without ever exposing them to direct light.
The root of drama, our ancestor, is the mystery play, the ritual - the enactment of the hidden. It is exactly being enacted because it cannot be told, explained or communicated in any other way than through experience. You just had to be there. The deepest kind of secrets, knowledge and insights are the founding base of drama. It is the force that keeps making us re-visit the greatest works of art, because their mystery runs deep and is really beyond the consciousness of our rational mind. We have to experience them by immersing ourselves in the drama.
This might come off as either very ambitious or pretentious, but for me it is simply a design principle. Even if you are ‘just’ trying to write a good, solid mainstream script, you should apply the principle of the mystery to some degree. Take a good mainstream movie like “The 6th Sense” which translates this principle beautifully into a story that brings us face to face with the great mystery of our mortality. It even does so almost literally on the plot-level by withholding the fact that our protagonist is already dead, and we realize this ‘secret’ simultaneous with him.
The presence of the secret should permeate the script from beginning to end, sending out constant signals just below the threshold of our ordinary level of consciousness. The tragedy deals with the basic mysteries of death, mortality and fear. The comedy deals with the mysteries of life, the birth, the marriage of opposites and joy. There are many ways to approach the great mysteries and sometimes we might find them in the most unexpected places, both as creators and as audiences.
When you work, creating a script, you have to know what your secret is. When I say 'know' it can mean a lot of things. You might know it quite clearly, like “This is a comedy about a guy with an extreme fear of dying, it controls his whole life, and the script lingers constantly on the side of tragedy, but towards the end, when it seems our guy for sure is going to die, the miracle of love let him live on”. Or you might just have a feeling guiding you to send out those signals as you write, and leading you to the eventual revelation of your mystery.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
OUT OF TWO OPPOSED, A THIRD WILL RISE
THE FIRST PRINCIPLE
"Conflict is the beginning of consciousness" - M. Esther Harding
Before anything else, we need to understand who and what we are - ‘we’ being the drama. A way to understand yourself is to look at what separates you from the others – what separates drama from the other major genres – prose, poetry and music? Each major genre has a fundamental nature – the core strength – what it’s all about. I believe drama is about conflict, the moment – the stuff that makes us ask, “what will happen next?” This is the core value of film and theatre – the drama. Conflicts. Who will win the conflict? How? And what will then happen? This is obvious in mainstream films and theater, but it also goes for art house films and off-off Broadway productions – only maybe in a more subtle way.
The other major genres also make use of conflict, yes, that’s correct, but let’s take prose as an example. This is the most obvious mirror for drama as this genre also deals mainly with stories. What really makes a novel great is the reflection – it’s ability to take a step back and reflect upon the moment instead of being immersed in it. To go inside people’s heads and let us listen in on their thoughts. The ability – by reflection - to connect events in time and space that are not otherwise connected. And to give meaning to events, places and persons only by description (which is reflection) is the strength of prose. We can also use reflection in drama, but if we rely on it as a major quality, the audience seems to loose interest. This has something to do – I think – with the fact that the film or the play is taking place in front of our eyes right here and now. It is unfolding in time second by second – and we watch it almost as we would watch real life. We have no time or patience for too much reflection. It takes us out of the moment.
This blog is not about the other genres, and so the analysis of their basic nature is not that well developed – but let’s say poetry is about feeling and music is about emotion - the difference being that the feeling of poetry is about a state, where the emotion of music is about a flow. So if you want to give a word for the nature of drama in the same manner, it could be ‘will’. Drama is about the will, because a character’s will to achieve an objective eventually lead to conflict with other characters or the environment.
This is the first principle of drama. The will of the character leads to conflict. This is what creates drama. This is where it all begins. Don’t ever forget that. It will save you every time you are stuck with a problem. Every time. Don’t underestimate this. It is always about the will of the character and the conflict. This is the fundamental principle of drama, so this is the thing you should check every time you are stuck. Again: Every time. Yes, I repeat this because I have seen in workshops, as a consultant and in my own work, how easy it is to forget this very simple thing. To become entangled with more complex ideas, the models, the theory, the psychology or whatever else we may use as tools when we are stuck with a problem. Because the very nature of drama is about the will of the character and the derived conflicts, then more often than not, this is were the problem and solution is found.
By stating the first principle in this way, I also take side in the old question: What is most important, the plot or the characters? The logic answer to this question must be: The characters.
The plot, and the plotting you do when creating a script, is of course immensely important. But the moment you say that the plot is more important than the characters, you will end up – to some degree – making the characters behave like marionettes to suit the needs of the plot – and thereby bereaving them their true will – their autonomy. But if you go the other way, saying characters are the most important, then you are not necessarily endangering the plot – because the plot can spring from the will of the characters, in the actions and conflicts revolving around them. Now remember we are talking principles here. In my experience, when working, there’s nothing so black and white. At moments the plot is most important – when you do the plotting. But the principle matters, because it’s your touchstone. Even when you have a great plot-idea, you want to pull off; you have to be dead sure, that it can be generated by the will of your characters. But on the other hand if you have great characters, you can let the plot be formed by them. This question of character and plot will be re-visited several times later on, when discussing the principle of character and the principle of uncertainty.
"Conflict is the beginning of consciousness" - M. Esther Harding
Before anything else, we need to understand who and what we are - ‘we’ being the drama. A way to understand yourself is to look at what separates you from the others – what separates drama from the other major genres – prose, poetry and music? Each major genre has a fundamental nature – the core strength – what it’s all about. I believe drama is about conflict, the moment – the stuff that makes us ask, “what will happen next?” This is the core value of film and theatre – the drama. Conflicts. Who will win the conflict? How? And what will then happen? This is obvious in mainstream films and theater, but it also goes for art house films and off-off Broadway productions – only maybe in a more subtle way.
The other major genres also make use of conflict, yes, that’s correct, but let’s take prose as an example. This is the most obvious mirror for drama as this genre also deals mainly with stories. What really makes a novel great is the reflection – it’s ability to take a step back and reflect upon the moment instead of being immersed in it. To go inside people’s heads and let us listen in on their thoughts. The ability – by reflection - to connect events in time and space that are not otherwise connected. And to give meaning to events, places and persons only by description (which is reflection) is the strength of prose. We can also use reflection in drama, but if we rely on it as a major quality, the audience seems to loose interest. This has something to do – I think – with the fact that the film or the play is taking place in front of our eyes right here and now. It is unfolding in time second by second – and we watch it almost as we would watch real life. We have no time or patience for too much reflection. It takes us out of the moment.
This blog is not about the other genres, and so the analysis of their basic nature is not that well developed – but let’s say poetry is about feeling and music is about emotion - the difference being that the feeling of poetry is about a state, where the emotion of music is about a flow. So if you want to give a word for the nature of drama in the same manner, it could be ‘will’. Drama is about the will, because a character’s will to achieve an objective eventually lead to conflict with other characters or the environment.
This is the first principle of drama. The will of the character leads to conflict. This is what creates drama. This is where it all begins. Don’t ever forget that. It will save you every time you are stuck with a problem. Every time. Don’t underestimate this. It is always about the will of the character and the conflict. This is the fundamental principle of drama, so this is the thing you should check every time you are stuck. Again: Every time. Yes, I repeat this because I have seen in workshops, as a consultant and in my own work, how easy it is to forget this very simple thing. To become entangled with more complex ideas, the models, the theory, the psychology or whatever else we may use as tools when we are stuck with a problem. Because the very nature of drama is about the will of the character and the derived conflicts, then more often than not, this is were the problem and solution is found.
By stating the first principle in this way, I also take side in the old question: What is most important, the plot or the characters? The logic answer to this question must be: The characters.
The plot, and the plotting you do when creating a script, is of course immensely important. But the moment you say that the plot is more important than the characters, you will end up – to some degree – making the characters behave like marionettes to suit the needs of the plot – and thereby bereaving them their true will – their autonomy. But if you go the other way, saying characters are the most important, then you are not necessarily endangering the plot – because the plot can spring from the will of the characters, in the actions and conflicts revolving around them. Now remember we are talking principles here. In my experience, when working, there’s nothing so black and white. At moments the plot is most important – when you do the plotting. But the principle matters, because it’s your touchstone. Even when you have a great plot-idea, you want to pull off; you have to be dead sure, that it can be generated by the will of your characters. But on the other hand if you have great characters, you can let the plot be formed by them. This question of character and plot will be re-visited several times later on, when discussing the principle of character and the principle of uncertainty.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
INTRO: WHAT IS THIS DRAMA-THING?
”With certainty there are laws for drama, as it is an art-form; but it is uncertain in what they consist” – Pierre Corneille, french playwright.
This has mainly been written to develop a greater understanding of the principles of drama and how to apply them when you create a script for one of the dramatic media – the original live theater and the younger electronic brethren, film, radio or TV.
I always use this word – drama – to define what my job is about. Many people, when they hear this word, think about the kind of serious, sort-of-tragedy movies that has a lot of emotions and stuff – the one you find in the video store exactly under that heading: Drama. This is a misconception. Drama is the word used to describe the whole major genre, which this blog is dealing with. Any kind of play for theater, any type of script for a film – funny, sad, scary or whatever – is a dramatic work. This is our major genre. The other major genres are prose, poetry and music. We are the drama.
This is important. Over the years of struggling with creating good scripts for both theater and film – and failing a lot - I learned that - despite my failings - I was in this game for good reasons. I wanted the drama. I believed in drama as a way of approaching and understanding the world. The more I realized this and the principles of drama – the stuff that makes drama, drama – the more I could go with the flow and create scripts I could believe in.
I liked to study the many how-to-books with different script models – you know, the ones that describe how to structure a script – how many acts, different plot points and such stuff. The form is important – but form will always change – whereas principles stay the same. My advice has always been to learn about the models, but never believe in them. Principles are the stuff you should believe in. This blog will also present a variation of an act-model that I find useful when forming a script. I certainly like to think about structure and models – but they also leave me unsatisfied as a basic explanation of drama. They only deal with a form – this is how it looks. Then I always end up asking why? This is where the search for principles comes into the picture.
In our work we have to understand these founding principles of drama, so not to work against them, but with them. During our years of working with drama, we can continue to meditate upon them, deepening our understanding of drama. They will guide us in any difficult passage when creating a script. They are really simple, but that doesn’t make it easy. The simple is often the most difficult art.
I talk about creating a script, because I don’t really any longer see it as writing. There is a trap in thinking of ourselves as writers, because it associates to literature. It is not the writing that’s important. Very few people are going to read it. Most people will watch a film, a play or a TV-series. We create the script as a basis for a production. Actually instead of script I very much like the word the French and Greeks use: Scenario. The word is perfect because it implies that things will maybe turn out in another way in production, than what was imagined when creating the scenario.
Another and maybe more important reason not to think of it as writing has to do with the process of creating and experiencing a drama. A play, a film or a TV-episode has so precious few minutes. When you create a script, you have to be deliberate. There’s no time to waste. Also it is a very expensive art form. Every minute costs a lot of money, even in a small theater production, compared to literature or music. You have to construct carefully, think about production economy, a whole lot about how the audience perceive things (and here I’m not even talking about hitting mainstream, just about communicating the drama in a understandable way), and you have to think even more about what is really, really satisfying for you – because you are going to spend a massive amount of energy on the script. This is why I always spend the majority of my energy and time on a script in planning the construction of it. I never sit down to write the first draft of a script until I’m sure where I’m going and how to get there. And in my experience getting it right from the beginning saves you a lot of energy, time and anguish.
This stuff I'm going to write about here in the blog, it can’t really teach you to write a good script. This is an undertaking you have to struggle with yourself, making the mistakes and finding your answers to how it's done. But maybe I can save you some energy, time and anguish. It took me 10 years of writing not so good scripts – working for TV, film and theater - before I eventually created my first good script. One, I could read over and over without feeling bad about it, and one for which I could get a positive response from production companies. This happened after I had realized the thing. And that’s the thing I’m going to talk about here. And maybe we can even have a qualified exchange and discussion of our experiences with that thing called drama.
This has mainly been written to develop a greater understanding of the principles of drama and how to apply them when you create a script for one of the dramatic media – the original live theater and the younger electronic brethren, film, radio or TV.
I always use this word – drama – to define what my job is about. Many people, when they hear this word, think about the kind of serious, sort-of-tragedy movies that has a lot of emotions and stuff – the one you find in the video store exactly under that heading: Drama. This is a misconception. Drama is the word used to describe the whole major genre, which this blog is dealing with. Any kind of play for theater, any type of script for a film – funny, sad, scary or whatever – is a dramatic work. This is our major genre. The other major genres are prose, poetry and music. We are the drama.
This is important. Over the years of struggling with creating good scripts for both theater and film – and failing a lot - I learned that - despite my failings - I was in this game for good reasons. I wanted the drama. I believed in drama as a way of approaching and understanding the world. The more I realized this and the principles of drama – the stuff that makes drama, drama – the more I could go with the flow and create scripts I could believe in.
I liked to study the many how-to-books with different script models – you know, the ones that describe how to structure a script – how many acts, different plot points and such stuff. The form is important – but form will always change – whereas principles stay the same. My advice has always been to learn about the models, but never believe in them. Principles are the stuff you should believe in. This blog will also present a variation of an act-model that I find useful when forming a script. I certainly like to think about structure and models – but they also leave me unsatisfied as a basic explanation of drama. They only deal with a form – this is how it looks. Then I always end up asking why? This is where the search for principles comes into the picture.
In our work we have to understand these founding principles of drama, so not to work against them, but with them. During our years of working with drama, we can continue to meditate upon them, deepening our understanding of drama. They will guide us in any difficult passage when creating a script. They are really simple, but that doesn’t make it easy. The simple is often the most difficult art.
I talk about creating a script, because I don’t really any longer see it as writing. There is a trap in thinking of ourselves as writers, because it associates to literature. It is not the writing that’s important. Very few people are going to read it. Most people will watch a film, a play or a TV-series. We create the script as a basis for a production. Actually instead of script I very much like the word the French and Greeks use: Scenario. The word is perfect because it implies that things will maybe turn out in another way in production, than what was imagined when creating the scenario.
Another and maybe more important reason not to think of it as writing has to do with the process of creating and experiencing a drama. A play, a film or a TV-episode has so precious few minutes. When you create a script, you have to be deliberate. There’s no time to waste. Also it is a very expensive art form. Every minute costs a lot of money, even in a small theater production, compared to literature or music. You have to construct carefully, think about production economy, a whole lot about how the audience perceive things (and here I’m not even talking about hitting mainstream, just about communicating the drama in a understandable way), and you have to think even more about what is really, really satisfying for you – because you are going to spend a massive amount of energy on the script. This is why I always spend the majority of my energy and time on a script in planning the construction of it. I never sit down to write the first draft of a script until I’m sure where I’m going and how to get there. And in my experience getting it right from the beginning saves you a lot of energy, time and anguish.
This stuff I'm going to write about here in the blog, it can’t really teach you to write a good script. This is an undertaking you have to struggle with yourself, making the mistakes and finding your answers to how it's done. But maybe I can save you some energy, time and anguish. It took me 10 years of writing not so good scripts – working for TV, film and theater - before I eventually created my first good script. One, I could read over and over without feeling bad about it, and one for which I could get a positive response from production companies. This happened after I had realized the thing. And that’s the thing I’m going to talk about here. And maybe we can even have a qualified exchange and discussion of our experiences with that thing called drama.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Giorgos Siougas
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
I met Christian through a producer friend with whom I’m developing a feature film and it quickly became apparent that I was talking to someone who had deep knowledge of movie-structure. Christian came onboard the feature project and is currently writing the script but at the same time we developed a short film together. He was highly professional, he worked very fast, he was very methodical and organized, he listened to my input and filtered it accordingly, he was enthusiastic and meticulous and ultimately delivered a solid script. The film was accepted to compete at the Drama Film Festival, the biggest short film festival in Greece. Having gone through the pressed-for-time short film process with him (three weeks from writing to completion of principal photography) I am even more excited about working with him on the feature. In these tough times in Greece were good screenwriters are rare, Christian is the light at the end of the tunnel. I would recommend him anytime.
Please do not hesitate to contact me via e-mail should you have any questions.
Sincerely,
George Siougas
DIRECTOR
TV MINI-SERIES (MEGA CHANNEL), SHORTS
gsiou at otenet dot gr
I met Christian through a producer friend with whom I’m developing a feature film and it quickly became apparent that I was talking to someone who had deep knowledge of movie-structure. Christian came onboard the feature project and is currently writing the script but at the same time we developed a short film together. He was highly professional, he worked very fast, he was very methodical and organized, he listened to my input and filtered it accordingly, he was enthusiastic and meticulous and ultimately delivered a solid script. The film was accepted to compete at the Drama Film Festival, the biggest short film festival in Greece. Having gone through the pressed-for-time short film process with him (three weeks from writing to completion of principal photography) I am even more excited about working with him on the feature. In these tough times in Greece were good screenwriters are rare, Christian is the light at the end of the tunnel. I would recommend him anytime.
Please do not hesitate to contact me via e-mail should you have any questions.
Sincerely,
George Siougas
DIRECTOR
TV MINI-SERIES (MEGA CHANNEL), SHORTS
gsiou at otenet dot gr
Constantine Giannaris
Recommendation of Christian Jakobsen
After 15 months work on my script “Welcome Aboard” I was tired and had come to an impasse. I found it impossible to create an emotional connection with two of my main characters. External readers were very praiseful of the idea, the story line and the dramatic thrust of the story but missed precisely this emotional bond. Along with this praise of course came much rather ill suited and ill conceived ‘advice’ as to what I should ‘change’, ‘get rid of’, ‘restructure’, ‘rewrite’ and ‘reconfigure’. Meeting Christian and working with him over the summer was really a breakthrough. For the first time someone was able to make me to see the emotional logic of what I was writing. Much like a psychoanalyst is able to guide their patient towards a self-awareness. Working with Christian was for me a form of analysis. At times paralyzing, scary and very demanding. He is erudite direct and grounded in cinema and drama of which he has an intense love. I believe the discussions with him were crucial in unblocking me, making the writing a joy again and in taking the script forward.
Constantine Giannaris
After 15 months work on my script “Welcome Aboard” I was tired and had come to an impasse. I found it impossible to create an emotional connection with two of my main characters. External readers were very praiseful of the idea, the story line and the dramatic thrust of the story but missed precisely this emotional bond. Along with this praise of course came much rather ill suited and ill conceived ‘advice’ as to what I should ‘change’, ‘get rid of’, ‘restructure’, ‘rewrite’ and ‘reconfigure’. Meeting Christian and working with him over the summer was really a breakthrough. For the first time someone was able to make me to see the emotional logic of what I was writing. Much like a psychoanalyst is able to guide their patient towards a self-awareness. Working with Christian was for me a form of analysis. At times paralyzing, scary and very demanding. He is erudite direct and grounded in cinema and drama of which he has an intense love. I believe the discussions with him were crucial in unblocking me, making the writing a joy again and in taking the script forward.
Constantine Giannaris
Vardis Marinakis
Recommendation for Christian Jakobsen
Christian was the consultant and editor of the script for my feature film “Black Field” which is going to be shot in spring 2008. With Christian we collaborated over a 3-month period.
With professional knowledge, patience, fantasy, preciseness, intuition and philosophical spirit Christian guided me to find again the core of what I wanted to say with this film. He also helped me to penetrate the deepest possible into my subject matter and create a script, which is bold and moving.
Hard work, square logic and humility are some basic ingredients to create poetry. This is something that the Greek directors usually forget. Christian without being dogmatic he always adjusted the scriptwriting techniques towards my personal style. He brought to life the story that was hidden in my script and he built up inside me a strong base of a scriptwriting technique that will help me in the future. The language was no barrier at all. Instead I was forced to express my self clearly avoiding the empty words we sometimes use to avoid talking about the subject matter.
Over all I am glad I worked with Christian because I met a wonderful guy, sensitive, smart and with great humor.
Vardis Marinakis
3/9/2007
Christian was the consultant and editor of the script for my feature film “Black Field” which is going to be shot in spring 2008. With Christian we collaborated over a 3-month period.
With professional knowledge, patience, fantasy, preciseness, intuition and philosophical spirit Christian guided me to find again the core of what I wanted to say with this film. He also helped me to penetrate the deepest possible into my subject matter and create a script, which is bold and moving.
Hard work, square logic and humility are some basic ingredients to create poetry. This is something that the Greek directors usually forget. Christian without being dogmatic he always adjusted the scriptwriting techniques towards my personal style. He brought to life the story that was hidden in my script and he built up inside me a strong base of a scriptwriting technique that will help me in the future. The language was no barrier at all. Instead I was forced to express my self clearly avoiding the empty words we sometimes use to avoid talking about the subject matter.
Over all I am glad I worked with Christian because I met a wonderful guy, sensitive, smart and with great humor.
Vardis Marinakis
3/9/2007
PER BRASK
RE: Troels Christian Jakobsen
During the last eight weeks, April 28 – June 20, 2003, Mr. Troels Christian Jakobsen has been doing a Directing Intensive with me. He has directed student actors in various projects, amounting to 18 scenes and 12 monologues. The work was presented every two weeks, three batches of scenes and a batch of monologues. The particular focus of Mr. Jakobsen’s work was the interaction with actors, specifically in terms of discovering the kinds of director-actor communication, which would release the best possible performance from the individual acting student.
Throughout the session Mr. Jakobsen’s work was sensitive to each acting student’s needs and the requirements of the scene or monologue being worked on. Though not working in his mother tongue, he was often remarkably subtle in his communications and always effective. The acting student benefited greatly from working with him.
During this Directing Intensive, it became clear to me that Mr. Jakobsen has a rare gift for zeroing in on the fundamental human dilemma a well-written scene provides and from there leading his actors into a persuasive theatricality vested in their own persons. Consequently, Mr. Jakobsen’s theatre is deeply engaging and thought-provoking.
Mr. Jakobsen is a very talented theatre artist and I am delighted to give him my highest recommendations.
Yours sincerely, Per Brask
During the last eight weeks, April 28 – June 20, 2003, Mr. Troels Christian Jakobsen has been doing a Directing Intensive with me. He has directed student actors in various projects, amounting to 18 scenes and 12 monologues. The work was presented every two weeks, three batches of scenes and a batch of monologues. The particular focus of Mr. Jakobsen’s work was the interaction with actors, specifically in terms of discovering the kinds of director-actor communication, which would release the best possible performance from the individual acting student.
Throughout the session Mr. Jakobsen’s work was sensitive to each acting student’s needs and the requirements of the scene or monologue being worked on. Though not working in his mother tongue, he was often remarkably subtle in his communications and always effective. The acting student benefited greatly from working with him.
During this Directing Intensive, it became clear to me that Mr. Jakobsen has a rare gift for zeroing in on the fundamental human dilemma a well-written scene provides and from there leading his actors into a persuasive theatricality vested in their own persons. Consequently, Mr. Jakobsen’s theatre is deeply engaging and thought-provoking.
Mr. Jakobsen is a very talented theatre artist and I am delighted to give him my highest recommendations.
Yours sincerely, Per Brask
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