Played out

I have written another screenplay for my the Writing For Performance part of the course.

This one was inspired by the short films we have been obliged to watch as part of the course. We had to watch some over the weekend. Fortunately I did not say anything about them when I got into class on Monday evening, because it turned out that the director was there as the Guest Speaker.

Having watched them I was inspired to write one of my own. The homework was that we had to write something in which a FLAW, which they write in capital letters, in somebody’s character has to be corrected before they can move on. We discussed various ways in which this might happen.

The point of writing a screenplay is that it is not about the story but the arc of somebody’s character. It turns out that I was wrong in thinking films are about a jolly good story and a happy ever after. They are not. Films are about Characters. They have an Arc.

This is why so many films are about irritating idiots. Their characters are arcing like mad. I was surprised and downcast to learn this. I like best films that are written to tell a good story, and that people change and become different during the story because that is what happens when you have adventures.

It turns out that these days people get together and come up with a character, which has got to Arc, and then a story which might facilitate the Arc. They jot down the story in note form and then some lowly-paid grunt gets to write the script.

I have crossed Screenwriter off my list of things I might like to do when I grow up.

For my homework I have written a screenplay during which a perfectly nice chap becomes a rotter through the medium of film.  It does everything it was supposed to do but will possibly make me unpopular anyway, because it was inspired by the Guest Speaker at last night’s class.

I tried hard to admire her but I didn’t manage it.

In other news, Oliver is at work as I write and Mark has just come home. Mark was soaked having been installing rural broadband on the deck at the Marina in the pouring rain, and had to undress as soon as he came in through the back door in order not to drip on the carpets. I hope none of the neighbours were watching.

I have not been to work. I thought perhaps I might but there is nobody here. Instead I have been upstairs in Lucy’s newly-vacated room. I have taken the sheets off the bed and filled it instead with Oliver’s luggage, which we have unpacked and reorganised. It was fairly organised already, actually, although he seems to have mislaid one of his slippers. I have written to Matron about this but am not holding my breath, he will just have to hop if there is a fire drill.

I am going to go and get dinner ready.

Have a screenplay.

The Marketing Men. Episode Two.

A well-appointed office. A senior EXECUTIVE sits behind a vast oak desk in a leather chair. There is a suede sofa and a sheepskin rug on the floor, and two empty leather chairs opposite the desk. The impression is of cosy opulence.

The EXECUTIVE wears an expensive suit but without a tie. He is large and successful. There are no computers on the desk, just a blotter with a few papers, and an expensive pen.

There is a knock on the door and a YOUNG MAN enters. His suit is cheaper, but aspirational. He is also tieless.

YOUNG MAN:  You wanted to see me, sir?

EXECUTIVE:   Yes. I’ve got a meeting scheduled and I want you to be in on it because I’m going to pass this one over to you. You can cut your teeth on it and see how you get on.

YOUNG MAN:   That’s great, sir, how exciting. Can I ask what it’s all about?

EXECUTIVE:  Yes, I’ve called you in a few minutes early to brief you. Sit down and just glance quickly through this.

(He hands the papers over to the YOUNG MAN, who flicks through them eagerly. The EXECUTIVE watches him. He is assessing him.

The YOUNG MAN looks up.)

YOUNG MAN:    Somebody’s asking for sponsorship, sir, is that right?

EXECUTIVE:    Right. A film-maker.

YOUNG MAN:   Is that really our sort of thing, sir? What are you thinking?

EXECUTIVE:  I want to hear what you think. Tell me what you’re seeing.

YOUNG MAN:   Okay, well, to summarize. There’s a short biog of this film maker, and a photograph, she’s pretty.

EXECUTIVE:  Quite. Always a good start.

YOUNG MAN:   She’s been a psychotherapist and now she’s making short films, and she wants us to pay for one, is that about it?

EXECUTIVE:  That’s about it. She’s made a couple already but she needs cash to make some more. I sent some of her work to you. Did you watch them?

YOUNG MAN:   Yes sir, I did. I watched them.  Black and white films.

EXECUTIVE:   And what did you think?

There is a silence for a moment. The YOUNG MAN looks at his shoes for a moment, and then meets the EXECUTIVE’s eyes. He swallows.

YOUNG MAN:   Well, they were clever, sir. Great camera angles. Not much dialogue. Picture tells the story, that kind of thing.

EXECUTIVE:   Art.

YOUNG MAN:   Oh yes. Art. Plenty of it. Great use of…of dreary backgrounds. Visible plumbing and peeling paint. Art.

EXECUTIVE:    And did you like them?

There is a silence.

YOUNG MAN:    Well, to be honest, I know there’s a huge audience for that kind of thing, but I’m more of a Captain Marvel man myself.

EXECUTIVE:    Go on.

YOUNG MAN:    Well, they seemed a bit…well, depressing. You know. The sad one about the two men shagging each other and one of them might have had AIDS. Not very cheering stuff, sir.

EXECUTIVE:   Read what she says about it.

The YOUNG MAN glances through the papers and comes to a paragraph.

YOUNG MAN:   (reading).  “I used silence to create a sense of heightened anxiety in the audience. I wanted them to feel the character’s fear and despair, and to empathise. I wanted them to understand that he is helpless in the face of the tsunami that is about to overwhelm him…”

(He pauses.)

Look, sir, I don’t want to be rude, but is this really the sort of stuff we want to be promoting? It’s unadulterated misery from beginning to end, hardly going to make the world a better place. I mean, it’s not very likely to improve anybody’s day, is it, watching this sort of stuff. I know she’s won loads of awards, but really, sir, it’s awful.

EXECUTIVE:   Exactly. Dreary, depressing, makes the audience feel anxious, and she does it really well.

YOUNG MAN:   So we’re not going to fund her, then?

EXECUTIVE:   Not? No, far from it, boy, we’re going to give her fifty grand.

The YOUNG MAN is astonished. He swallows, and it takes him some courage to ask.

YOUNG MAN:   Okay, what’s your thinking on this one, sir? I don’t follow. That isn’t us at all. We’re all Scandinavian products, sheepskin rugs and scented candles. Wooden floors and Hygge. We do warm fires and beautiful soft blankets. Why would we fund this…this…

EXECUTIVE:   You got it right, son. Unadulterated misery from beginning to end. Helpless, miserable audience. Tell me, boy, when do people spend most?

YOUNG MAN:   Sir?

EXECUTIVE:  You’ve read the Facebook algorithm research? You tell me. When do people reach for the credit card?

YOUNG MAN:   (automatically) To fill gaps in their lives. When they feel unhappy. They’re buying a lifestyle that they don’t have but that they want.

EXECUTIVE:   When they feel helpless and miserable. This one’s yours, boy.

Show her in. The project’s yours to handle.

FADE OUT.