Let’s Write A Screenplay, Part 1 – The Idea

Apologies, Alas Smith & Jones

Greg: Mate, you see that flick on the weekend?

Tony: Which one?

Greg: The one I told you about.

Tony: The searing warts and all examination of the human condition?

Greg: No, the one with the sharks coming out of the tornado.

Tony: Yeah, that one.

Greg: Well?

Tony: I thought the cinematography was pretty good.

Greg: You didn’t see it, did you?

Tony: I have, in fact, not seen it.

Greg: We could do something like that.

Tony: Do we even have tornadoes in Australia?

Greg: I meant… you know what I mean.

Tony: Hardly ever.

Greg: We could write something along the same lines!

Tony: A film script?

Greg: Sure, how hard can it be?

Tony: You spelt your name wrong on your final year English exam.

Greg: It was the original European spelling.

Tony: I don’t even know what that means.

Greg: Fine. I’ll be the ideas man, you can write it down.

Tony: And this big idea would be?

Greg: Divanami!

Tony: Excuse me?

Greg: Get this, a thousand washed up actresses wash up in New York and start terrorising the locals by aggressively auditioning for Broadway roles that don’t exist.

Tony: I’m still on, “excuse me?”

Greg: It’ll be huge!

Tony: Well, sure, what with a thousand actresses and all.

Greg: Washed up actresses. Think Lindsay Lohan, think Tara Reid --

Tony: Who?

Greg: Exactly!

Tony: It doesn’t sound very Australian.

Greg: We can throw in a few Home and Away stars.

Tony: Last time I checked New York isn’t an outer suburb of Sydney.

Greg: The home of Broadway, my friend. Remember that girl from school?

Tony: The one who took out a restraining order on you?

Greg: No, the other one.

Tony: I think she ended up taking out one too.

Greg: No, the one who wanted to be a big star, singing and dancing on Broadway.

Tony: Did she ever move to New York?

Greg: No, she couldn’t sing or dance to save herself but that doesn’t matter.

Tony: Probably matters to the people who put on shows in New York.

Greg: The point is that was her dream, to be on stage in the Big Apple.

Tony: Okay.

Greg: Think how many other aspiring actresses have exactly the same fantasy?

Tony: I thought they were washed up?

Greg: You know what I… look, what do they call it when you play around with words?

Tony: Wordplay?

Greg: That’s it. Divanami, actresses, tsunami, washed up, get it?

Tony: Don’t you think that might be a little insensitive in light of recent events?

Greg: The Miley Cyrus thing?

Tony: I was thinking more the people drowning thing.

Greg: No, they’re all dumped in New York alive by some big wave.

Tony: Seems a little implausible, don’t you think?

Greg: They made a movie about sharks in a tornado. 

Tony: Point taken.

Greg: So what do you think?

Tony: Well, what’s the story?

Greg: What do you mean?

Tony: What happens next?

Greg: They start auditioning on the streets of New York.

Tony: Not really the same as sharks on the loose though, is it?

Greg: Have you ever been the victim of a really bad audition?

Tony: I’ve heard stories.

Greg: Terrifying.

Tony: Do you know anything about writing a screenplay?

Greg: Adaptation is one of my favourite movies.

Tony: We’re all set then.

Greg: What do you say?

Tony: New York here we come?

To be continued...

Screenwriting and the Sounds of Silence

There I was sitting in a café having a late night meeting about two months ago - option agreement, lawyer’s advice, a little haggling, a lot of momentum, a sense of excitement. In principle agreement is reached between me, my director and the two producers we’re meeting with. Plans made, actions assigned, market to attend.

Word finally filters back that there’s interest in the project – potential sales agents on two continents. Fantastic! Further details to follow. “Full steam ahead”, I think to myself.

Since then the following has happened:

Well…

Um…

There was that… oh, no, that was for something else…

We had a great meeti—hmmmm, nup, that was for the other thing…

*thinking*

Oh, I know!!!

No, no, don’t tell me…

It’ll come to me…

That’s right!

There was a change of government in Australia!

Think of something really quiet then attach a silencer to it then put it in a padded chest in a soundproof room with extra sound dampeners and maybe some hi-tech gear not yet invented that enhances noiselessness and that would be the extent of what I’ve heard from my producers. Well, I think they are. I’m not sure anymore.

Yep, not even crickets. I’m talking NOTHING. Not a call, “how’s it going?” Not an email to finalise the option paperwork. Not a meeting to discuss the next draft.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip. Stuff all.

DEAD. FUCKING. SILENCE.

My director assures me this is standard practice.

This strikes me as beyond odd.

Momentum. Interest. Excitement… Silence.

An odd sequence.

So what’s a writer to do?

Well, it’s my fucking baby so in the absence of any direction or guidance I’ll raise the damn thing how I see fit.

I have been working spasmodically on the draft, more regularly recently. And you know what? I like it. It’s got promise. It makes me excited. I’m changing things. I’m omitting a ton of scenes and really making it tighter. I’m adding stuff that addresses character issues and story points from the reading and my subsequent discussions with the director. I like delving back into the script. I’m in a writing mood.

I have absolutely no idea what the situation is with the option, the supposed market interest or what the producers are doing. Right now, I couldn’t care less. I’m simply going to write. This version of the script only exists in my head and on my netbook. You want it you have to chase me. I’m done chasing people who can afford to invent hi-tech, anti-noise technology from the future.

Silence.

As a writer I hate fucking silence.

No, not the serene, peaceful, productive kind; the “why the fuck aren’t you talking to me, I thought we were a creative team on this together” kind.

I feel better now.

I’ll go work on the script some more... in silence…

The good kind.