Wacky Wendigos: The Group Pre-Production Project

It’s remarkable to really delve into your work. When I write my script and truly quiet my mind, my focus only attribute to the creativity and flow of each scene. I can see it perfectly in my mind, from each perspective, each shot clearly delineated from particular angles; it’s as if I’m experiencing it right alongside the characters. The words create a visual pathway for any reader, but as I gleaned from this particular project, it may not be exactly the same.

The project had no bounds. From a different perspective, that could’ve hampered the creative process. Instead, when each week rolled around and our diverse group consisting of a director/actress, a singer/actress, a costume/set designer, and a screenwriter sat to discuss the project, each week we came up with new and crazy ideas. At first, we thought about creating a short film, but quickly realized that craziness and diversity of each person’s schedule could not settle on even a single weekend in which the shooting could take place. So we thought, hey, maybe a stop motion animation parody of a horror film using Barbies and shot in the basement of the creepy PE building on campus would do. Again, time became an issue. I immediately began to question the creative team that could come together from so many different backgrounds. But then, it dawned on me.

Somebody had to take the first initial step in order to get the process moving. Screenwriting has often been referred to as the “blueprint” of the filmmaking process. It’s a jumping point in which any other artist on a film, including the director, producer, cinematographer, and even the actor can work with to contribute their own art form. So I stepped forward, bearing my soul in taking a scene from a feature film that I had been writing this entire semester, and giving it to them. We sat together and read it, and I basically asked them to describe to me the visuals within the scene that stuck the most. It came as no surprise that the graphic imagery of the scene had a special staying power with each of them, so we decided from there that we would delve into one of many pre-production processes: developing a shot list.

At first, we began drawing each scene, but quickly realized we didn’t have the capability to really show what we meant. After all, most directors create a shot list that means something to them, but if others were looking at it, would look like a bunch of jibberish. The costume designer was able to conceive a few, but for all of us to contribute, we pulled shots from different horror movies/tv shows in order to convey to the class the true angles and imagery used. What surprised me the most, however, was how different each person saw it. 

When you say “an old house surrounded by police cars”, some perceive it as a wide shot encompassing trees and the house small on a hill. Others see it close up. What if it’s on the right side vs. the left side of the frame? Is it from the policeman’s perspective? With every question they would ask, I had to be very precise and try to communicate my original vision, while also incorporating their different viewpoints. I quickly realized that no matter how precise the language, it is continually up for interpretation. From everyone’s differing perspectives, a true art piece can be made, and is more likely to reach a wider audience.

Artist's *non* Statement

I sat in the midst of a gaggle of theater students in acting class the other day. A lighting professional, one that seemed to think that even his speech was a symphony coming from his lips, asked the question “Who in here considers themselves an artist?” I sat for a moment, pondering the question, only to quickly realize that I had been outnumbered. The resounding response from my classmates was to all raise their hands whilst I sat and thought to myself, “You’re not an artist. Don’t you even begin to think that.” Let me explain my reasoning before I come to the pinnacle of this tale. 

When I think about art, I think about painting. I’m not entirely sure of the origin of this thought, but it’s probably because I consider art to be the entirely realistic Renaissance portraitures with a menagerie of lifelike details within the frame. If someone were to ask me my definition, I’d have to say that I consider art to imitate life fully with every detail exact and perfect. While I realize that perfection is, to say the least, unattainable, I think some people come very close. What does this have to do with screenwriting, you ask? Well, we’re called to imitate life. We hold a mirror up to human nature and are to record, in the most entertaining yet sparse style, human behavior. I didn’t make that up, mind you. That came from the seasoned wise words of Professor Paul Wolff, a man who truly knew his place as a screenwriter. He taught me all my habits, of digging into the soul of the character, becoming the character, their physicality, holding a conversation with them, none of that is art. It’s just research.

The only possible means of considering screenwriting an art form is when it truly does mimic life completely. When the characters are so lifelike in every behavior and the dialogue is conversational and not stinted, then maybe it’s going to be art. But forming words on a page or imitating characters isn’t enough. Screenwriting depends on adaptation to the screen, on another artist’s perspective on words (the director), on the actors to bring life to the characters, who all run on the same belief that human reality can be brought to life via simulation. Even then, movies and television shows offer the audience this: an escapism from their own human reality. We provide that reality, the happy reality, the imagined reality, the reality that in the midst of everything can suck in your mind and make you forget about pain. And yet, I can’t forget about pain, because without it, I wouldn’t be a writer.

 I can’t say documenting another person’s life is art. I can’t say that I’ve experienced every emotion that I’ve written; I’m too young, I haven’t enough life experience. But give me a character, and I’ll write him. I’ll explore every last fear, hope, sadness, joy, and pain if it means I’m coming closer to human life experience. It’s a process unlike any other, and many an artist has probably attempted this craft and given in to its impossible nature. Writing is the most difficult craft to master, and yet strangely, the most rewarding.

 I’ll finish the anecdote now. While feeling awkward that I didn’t raise my hand, the lighting professional looks at me with a snide doubt in his face, asking another question. “Why don’t you think you’re an artist?” Straight faced, not a waver in my voice, I answer, “If I considered my work as art, I would’ve already obtained everything, and would have nothing to work for. It’s a craft.” I won out. He had nothing to say but, “That’s an interesting philosophy.” Take that all you artist wannabes.

Dance Revival: USC Chamber Ballet Company

I had the opportunity to both perform in and attend a dance performance entitled Journey on March 5, 2009. As I am a member of the Trojan Marching Band, I knew about the gig from a fellow mellophone section member Stephanie Graves who also is the co-director of the Chamber Ballet Company. I can say that I was pleasantly surprised at the intertwining of current pop songs and the more classical style of ballet dance and the harmony created as a result. 

The duet number choreographed and performed by Jonathan Sharp and Catherine Ricafort first impressed me. A jazzy number musically aided by the Frank Sinatra duets, the dancers seemed to move with such attitude and pizzazz. At any particular moment the chemistry between the man and woman dancer was clearly annunciated by their body language and a fire in their stares. Each dancer took on a clear cut character and communicated only nonverbally through their movements. I was captivated.

Another duet number entitled “Life—Rediscovered” featuring choreography and dance by Stephanie Graves and Jonathan Langley took One Republic’s popular song “Say” and turned it into an entirely different piece. Two battling couples fought with each other at the beginning, and at once a girl and a guy from each were left alone. These two were Stephanie and Jonathan, and in their duet they clearly conveyed what it’s like to be renewed in a new relationship. They supported each other’s weight and their movements seemed to cry out for attention. Blue lighting and smoky air only enhanced the mood. This was probably my favorite number.
 

My only criticism would be the Company’s group performance to the Avenged Sevenfold number “Almost Easy”. Although also choreographed by Stephanie Graves, the live performance from the USC Trojan Marching Band didn’t seem to quite fit the dancer’s movements. While they twirled and moved gracefully, we rocked out to the overly brassy rock chart. It seemed an abrasive song to the dancers, as they seemed to wince at the loudness emitted from the several horns. They moved accurately to the tempo, but it seemed like two disconnected attitudes.

That being said, I would definitely recommend this show to anyone that thinks ballet is a dead dance form. It has grown to incorporate all styles of music, take on a vast amount of themes and attitudes, and continue to move the audience. Go and see the next USC Chamber Ballet Company performance. You won’t be disappointed.

Screenwriting at its Best: Andrew Stanton

I consider screenwriting in itself to be an obscure art form. When I tell people that I'm a screenwriting major, or that I write movie scripts, most (if not involved in the film business) will look at me like I'm crazy. Isn't the dialogue concocted from the actors? You wouldn't believe how many times I've been faced with that question. And don't even get me started on the director being the  "auteur" of the film. Where would they be without a script? No story to work from, no characters to make come to life, no visual construction of the scene? They'd be nowhere. No, it's the screenwriter who makes the movie in its purest form, the screenwriter who makes the characters come to life, the SCREENWRITER as auteur. But that doesn't mean we are exclusive. Some do both writing and directing.

I've seen a lot of movies. There are a lot of good ones out there, in case you haven't noticed. But the one that still continues to blow my mind is Disney/Pixar's Wall-E. A story is told about the life of a small trash-collecting robot who goes on an adventure to save the fate of mankind while chasing the love of his life. It's complex, moving, brings you to laughter and tears and yet there is almost no dialogue between the two main characters: Wall-E and Eve. They communicate through emotive beeping, sometimes saying each other's name in a tonally different way each time, and the audience gets it. Their behavior in each scene is what defines them, and to me, that's screenwriting at it's best.

One of the many rules of screenwriting is "show, don't tell". Dialogue is not like any natural conversation that wanders about from topic to topic; no, it moves the story forward. It should be sparse. Character should develop from not what they say, but what they do. It is said that you should be able to turn the volume off of a movie and still be able to understand what's going on. That's all action-based. So being the innovative company that Pixar is, talking about their introduction of 3-D animation to the feature film world, they decided that they could do away with dialogue and still produce a heartwarming film. The credit, I feel, goes to Andrew Stanton, who is credited with the original story and screenplay of Wall-E.

This name may or may not ring a bell for you. But if I were to mention the other movies he's done: Finding Nemo, Monsters Inc., A Bug's Life, and Toy Story, you'd probably recognize them all. As the second animator hired at Pixar, he's been around since 1990. I love all of these films, don't get me wrong, but there's something about Wall-E that transcends them all. The secret, I believe, lies in the script. When you read it, it's pure poetry. Every detail is so exact that you feel like you're right alongside Wall-E, the structure is sparse but effective, like pure poetry in action. To quote Mr. Stanton in an interview about his recent slew of six Academy Award nominations:

"But it was actually harder to write 'cause screenplays are all about structure, and dialogue is usually there to support the structure. So here we had just structure. I worked really hard on that screenplay so it was really a huge boost to have that acknowledged."

And it shows. I don't often cry at movies, but the climax of this movie is so effective that even after watching it three times, it still gets me.

(note: it's around 2:12 in the video)

The filmmakers at Pixar are doing something right. I hope that Wall-E gets all of its nominated awards, but especially the one for Best Original Screenplay. Andrew Stanton deserves it.