Chapter Two: Low Level Mischief and the Rise of the Go-go Zombies

The inevitable return to The Roxy has some baring here, but very little when it comes to the Go-go zombies. I wandered into the place at midday and was grateful for the silent stillness of the joint. David Bowie's Rebel Rebel echoed from the the distant jukebox. A caseworker with a patient a few tables over were the only company in the dining room. I sat in a leopard print diner chair and decided, much to my surprise, to order a cheeseburger rather than a pastrami sandwich. That's right, a burger rather than pastrami. I'm obsessed with pastrami sandwiches and everyone knows it.

In our last short screenplay exercise we investigated the anecdote. We used the anecdote as a springboard to story. We also analyzed scene. After all, when I got involved initially at Rocket House, it was because the director of Pastrami on Rye had the set built. We were in Belgium 1945. Limiting, perhaps, but what I learned was pretty vast: scene as a background or as a major driving force for story is a considerably good place to start.

But there are other springboards for story and there are other elements to story too. Characters, namely.

As we discussed in the short film, dialogue is key. Dialogue, especially in the case of Rocket House products was the primary importance. Where do characters fit in? Well, someone has to do the talking?

After the completion of Pastrami on Rye, there were the associated viewings and parties. It was a wonder to see this seven minute film in public, which I did a few times. I watched the world premier of the film in the basement of St. Mark's Coffeehouse in Denver with about six other people. I saw it again at DUFF (Denver Underground Film Festival) where it won best animated short. DUFF also hosted my student film, New Boots back in 1997. I saw Pastrami on Rye for the last time at the 2010 Vail Film Festival. It was delighted that the film got laughs when intended and I loved that at the moment of denouement the only sounds in the audience were hearts beating and careful breaths. The film traveled to New York where is showed at Tribeca, it traveled to Brazil and it traveled with the GI Joe Stop-motion Animation Film Festival all over North America. Great!

In the wake of the buzz, I returned to the studio. There was talk of subsequent films. Of course I wanted to be on new assignments and a part of new projects. But things weren't so cut and dry. There was no commission this time such as, “it's Belgium 1945, and there are two men in a foxhole.” There was no set, no fresh ideas, and unlimited options.

Cold Fried Chicken Chapter One: Pastrami on Rye

I left Gio at the bar. There were the multitudes of thought which always happen to me during the onset of a new project. As for my own work, I had just completed Dysphoric Notions which was an episodic novel about drought crusaders, murder victims, bookstore owners, lackeys, adulterers and those who want to change. The novel was, for all intents and purposes, a grossly realistic realism about people who I thought might be walking the streets of Denver with hangovers. What the novel represented for me was an untethered opportunity to flex my writer's muscle. As the novel's work dwindled and I completed it, I was eager to begin the next novel. The characters in the next piece were not at all dissimilar to those in Dysphoric Notions, by which I mean they were everyday people in an everyday world.

I made it home after the bar conversation with Gio. He wanted to make a short stop-motion film with dialogue, with two characters in 1945 Beligum. The first thought: I'd been to a GI Joe Stop-motion Animation Film Festival. I had that going for me. I had paid attention to the films. Some were very cool. Others? Well, the animation was clever. Imagine GI Joe dolls come to life through a series of still pictures, in some cases, 16 exposures per second of film. In a way, stop-motion is the very roots of film. As I recall that first film festival, I don't remember anything being overtly dramatic. Some of the animators had clever stories, but the dialogue was just as stiff as the characters. Other filmmakers like Hutt Wigley, made wonderful films set to music and great spoofs of movies from where the dolls were spawn.

I had seen perhaps a dozen of these films. Not nearly enough to understand not only the genre, but I barely understood the medium.

Gio had said that it was Belgium, 1945. Two men in foxhole was the second detail. How could I go, as a writer from the novel where anything can happen to a screenplay with two characters? And furthermore, how would I go from modern street scenes to a foxhole in Belgium, 1945?

The added facet, of course, is that Gio had the notion that there were two men, one gas mask and one sandwich. How is that for a premise?

How many writing instructors out there give this advice: write what you know? Many, I guess. Even though I often write about what I don't know, I chose to pay heed to the old advice for this project.

I drew on my experience in the Army. I drew on my experience in war too. Granted that Belgium 1945 was vastly different from 1991 Iraq, but men are men and conversations don't change.

In February of 1991 while with 1/1 Calvary, I rode around the desert in a Bradley, the illustrious M3A3. I was with three other soldiers who were my only friends. During the late night hours of the first or second night of the invasion, Patrick Baty and I watched the missiles around us. We sat on top of our little armored vehicle and watched the war on the front lines like an old couple would watch fourth of July fireworks. We talked about what we were going to do when we “got back to the world.” I was eighteen and I had no answer. But Baty did, he had a notion to go home and comb women's hair. Peaceful thought. This is really a very charming anecdote even if it's a war story. I could put this anecdote in 1945 and it would still be believable, right?

This was the first enlightenment for me about the construction of the short screenplay: the anecdote.

An anecdote is a short-short retelling of an incident, a person, or a time. And anecdote, generally speaking, is the teller and the audience. The anecdote may be interesting and it may even be pertinent with the context of something, but it does not serve was a story.

Let's consider the anecdote for a minute. We all have them, I just told you one of mine.

As I say in my writing workshops: now it's time to write.

We'll do this: we'll pick an incident, a happening that happened to us and we'll tell that anecdote on paper.

Next: same thing but with a person, tell an anecdote about a person you know.

Last: same thing, but about a time. For instance I once listened to two Hawaiians explain the Banana Spider. They one upped one another. The last anecdote was one time, one spider and the outcome as an object of time, it was the sum of his life in Hawaii.

Now, you should have three written anecdotes. They may only be a paragraph or two, which is good.

Next:

There is someone you know who tells a lot of stories. We all have someone like this. My grandfather was like that. Some of his stories I heard so often that I could repeat them verbatim. Others I could tell better than he could. Write an anecdote you've heard from someone you know.

You now have four written anecdotes.

Next: pick one and change the point of view. Change the dialect, the accent, or the order of events.

Success for this exercise is a small number of anecdotes (pieces you've written) which could be strung together, drawn out or developed.

Now, back to Pastrami on Rye.

As I thought about the project, I thought about the confines first. Belgium, 1945, a foxhole. That means little or no movement. I thought about the films I'd seen: all less than ten minutes. I thought about Gio's joke about masks, sandwiches and gas. I then thought about my own anecdote.

The resulting combination came to this nine page screenplay:

REV 05/08/09

Pastrami on Rye

Ext. Ruins. Day.

Carter (voice-over)

I'll be revising the field manual when we get back to the world.

Med shot. Ruins. Day.

Carter

You know? The field manuals don't say nothing too much, I say.

Bellamy

Dunno, I didn't read the goddamn thing.

Carter

You got nerve! (BEAT) I think you got nerve.

Bellamy

Nerve, you say? What difference does it make? Don't do no good anyway, like you say.

Carter

Of course it does good. I'm just saying it could do a little better, that's all. It could be easier to read.

Bellamy

That's a pretty tall order.

Carter

Some rear eslong dandy does the writing, you know? That means he don't come into the field to test this, if he did, then it would be a true field manual.

Bellamy

When I get back to the world, I'm going to comb women's hair.

Carter

Comb women's hair? What the hell does that mean?

Bellamy

Barbers, all the men in my family—barbers. People always need a trimmin' a shave.

Carter

Sure, I could use one now.

Bellamy

But I'm tired of all that. See, I think after this is all over, we going home and when people are happy again, I'm going to stop the barberin' in the sense of it. (BEAT) And I'm just going to do women.

Carter

Yeah, I'd like to be doing women too.

Bellamy

Yup, I see it like the dames all goin' to be flush by then too.

Carter

Yeah? Sure.

Bellamy

See. They all at the rubber factory in town right now, they're all collecting fat paychecks. (BEAT) Flush. They all flush.

Carter

I sure could use some coffee.

Bellamy

Some in the can. (Points off screen) Probably cold.

Carter

Cold coffee? Too bad. I'd still drink it, yeah.

Bellamy

Why wouldn't you?

Carter

Hot coffee's the best, even tepid it's all right. (BEAT) But when it gets cold, it's oily.

Bellamy

Not this mud, too thin. I think the grounds were used before.

Carter

All the rations are getting pretty thin.

Bellamy

They didn't tell you?

Carter

About the coffee?

Bellamy

To be ready for thin rations.

Carter

Where's the coffee?

Bellamy

(Points off screen) That way.

Carter

Need a cup of mud?

Bellamy

Thanks. No.

Carter

Suit yourself. (Gets up and leaves set)

Far Shot. Rubble. Day.

Close shot. Bellamy. Day.

Bellamy is clearly dead. Shot through the head. It appears he's been dead for some time. The death and destruction around him is vast, gruesome. Anything nasty that could happen has already happened. Artistically here, remember how Bill Waterson portrayed Calvin and Hobbes. In this situation Hobbes is Bellamy who is only alive to Carter.

Ext. Rubble. Night.

(Sounds of residual urban combat)

Med shot. Bellamy/Carter. Night.

Carter

To hell with the field manual.

Bellamy

What?

Carter

I said, to hell with the field manual, I ain't writing it when I get back to the world.

Bellamy

No?

Carter

Hell no!

Bellamy

What're you going to do?

Carter

I'm going to stay out all night and drink a lot of beer.

Bellamy

That's as sound a plan as any.

Carter

Yeah? Sure. Plan. (BEAT) I ain't got no wife, no girl, no family business. (BEAT) This coffee ain't working. It's just sourin' my stomach. (Takes a sip from cup)

Close shot. Bellamy. Night.

Bellamy opens gas mask carrier and removes a deli sandwich. Removes the paper, and starts to eat it.

Carter

What do you have there?

Bellamy

Pastrami on rye.

Carter

Where'd you get that?

Bellamy

They said to pack a lunch.

Carter

Who?

Bellamy

I don't know, they. They said rations were pretty thin.

Carter

So you packed a lunch?

Bellamy

Sure.

Carter

Didja git some cold fried chicken too?

Bellamy

No, just the sandwich.

Carter

Well, give me a bite.

Bellamy

No.

Carter

No? What do you mean no?

Bellamy

No. You know. No, it means no.

Carter

Dog.

Bellamy

Well, I did come prepared.

Carter

Like a Boy Scout.

Bellamy

Yeah, and being mean and calling me names ain't helping your cause.

Carter

Yeah. Sure. I see that, but come on, pastrami and rye.

Bellamy

Yup, and they didn't scrimp on the meat either. Bringing this along was the best thing I could have done.

Carter

Apparently.

Bellamy

Yeah, beats carrying a mask.

Carter

You brought a sandwich instead of your mask.

Bellamy

Sure. I figured if I needed one I could get one off a dead Kraut.

Carter

Sure. Yeah. What if there ain't any?

Bellamy

Well, it was worth the gamble.

Carter

All right. Was it?

Bellamy

Sure it was, the odds are pretty good.

Carter

For a dead Kraut?

Bellamy

Well, sure. Because a dead Kraut is going to have a gas mask, but he ain't going to have a pastrami and rye sandwich.

Carter

Can I have a bite, just a little one?

Bellamy

No.

Long Shot. Ext. Night.

Search lights, heightened sounds come out.

Carter (Voice-over)

They're back, goddamn Krauts.

Bellamy (Voice-over)

You're the last one Carter.

Carter (Voice-over)

The last one?

Bellamy (Voice-over)

Those masks don't work.

Carter (Voice-over)

Sure they do. They don't?

Close shot. Bellamy/Carter. Night.

Bellamy

Put it in your new field manual. The masks don't save you from a bullet. (BEAT) They're getting closer.

Carter

The coffee ain't working.

Bellamy

I'll have a pastrami and rye waiting for you.

Heightened sounds of urban warfare.

Fade to red, then to black.

Carter (Voice-over)

And cold fried chicken?

When that Friday rolled around, I went to Gio's place, Rocket House Studio. I saw the set. I played with the two dolls, and I handed over the script. We read it. He loved it. He cast the movie that afternoon. Total people on the project, six: two actors, sound guy, writer, director and Gio's wife the patient and encouraging Jenna whose input was invaluable.

Within a month, the soundtrack was recorded and by mid-summer the piece was finished. I was then told these words: “Anthony, whatever you write, I'll make.”

Whatever you write, I'll make? Now those are the words every writer wants to hear. I hold no illusions about it, I am not the best writer, nor am I the best screenwriter. After all, this was my first time. It takes time. Seldom will a writer have something like this the first time around.

Here are a few lessons I learned:

a) the short screenplay is just that, short. Make your dialogue concise. Neither character in Pastrami on Rye take up time with long soliloquy. In fact, it's a quick back and forth, it's a dialogue.

b) after you complete the first draft, read it. Chances are you can, and you should cut the lines after the first period.

c) in the brief film, especially if it's dialogue driven, you must make it believable and plausible. With both Carter and Bellamy, they each have a desire: to go home, to drink coffee (or beer) and to do women.

d) think about the premise, think about it deeply and then as you treat it, use the anecdote, use a joke (they come in threes, typically), or use one underlying statement.

e) treat your script as a fluid document. It will change. Film is a collaborative process. Of the two actors in Pastrami on Rye, one held fast to the script and did not stray one syllable. The second actor, well, he changed his portion of the script and he changed it with each take. It still worked and furthermore, his performance made the short film absolutely spectacular.

f) know your filmmakers, their desires, their experience and their limitations. As long as we're on the subject of war, I loved Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried. I doubt the book would make a good film, I say this because of those beautiful scenes when he writes about the plane and the ride home. That almost mythical account within the story would not have been feasible at Rocket House. However, a conversation about combing women's hair worked wonderfully.

Now, back to you.

You have a series of anecdotes. Let's mold them into a script. From your favorite anecdote, pick out a few characters. Now, as they speak, make that anecdote a part of their dialogue.

Your assignment: a ten pages screenplay. A general rule, one page will equal about a minute of film. In the case of Pastrami on Rye, it was nine pages and it yielded seven minutes.

Good luck and happy writing.

Cold Fried Chicken: Short Screenplays and My Rocket House Days 3

Introduction

The attempt of Cold Fried Chicken is to one thing and one thing alone: to get you, the writer, the director or the maker of film to write. Ultimately the hope is for you to write the short screenplay, but the very act of writing, writing anything, is to meet with success.

There are a plethora of books available on the market today that explain, some better than others, the art of the screenplay. I read AFI's book when began with screenwriting, and I felt it was a helpful book, especially when I tried my hand at the feature length screenplay. AFI suggests that the pursuit of the great American novel has now been replaced by the pursuit of the great American screenplay. This may be true. And writing a good screenplay takes prowess as a writer. Where the screenplay differs from the novel is this: film is very much a collaborative process whereas, generally speaking, the novel is not.

The discussion of the feature length screenplay comes much later on in the Film for Fiction Writers portion of this text. However, long before we get there, we're going to focus on the short. Short screenplays have a very different set of parameters. When we consider the length of time for the short subject, we know that our tactics must be different. We know that long scenes of exposition or long scenes of cinematographic optics cannot be crucial. We know that large scenes of action, car chases or kung fu battles will not work. Rather, we must think in the confines of a five to twenty minute span as a story with a beginning, a middle and an end. In my time as an instructor of fiction and my time as a magazine fiction editor, I've also preached the beginning, middle and end of story telling business. We must consider the writing absolutely essential too. After all, we see plenty of short film, everyday, where the filmmaker tells a story without dialogue—music videos and some commercials on the television do just that. The filmmaker can impose or suggest or push a story that has nothing to do with a pop song or an automobile.

Additionally, much of the short film has to do with passion, I say this because outside of the Internet, or the film festival circuit, there isn't much of a market. As far the market for short film, it isn't a wide spread enough medium to make a living either. Rather, consider a final project of a short film to do one or more of these three things: resume builder, curriculum vitae enhancer, or great barroom story. Some short films do go on to make waves, and some become the predecessors to feature films. Nine and Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow both became feature films.

Using some of Rocket House Studio's experiences we'll look at the screenplays they used. Also, we'll think about smaller elements as exercises. After all, the point is to get the pen to paper, or the fingers to keys.

For your success, and from this moment on, watch as many short films as you can. Pay attention to the dialogue. Keep notes on each one. Do this, make a habit of it and your frame of reference and experience as a viewer will enhance what you can produce as a writer. As for exercises in this manual, think of them as a springboard. Think of them as an investment in future products.

Last, if you are a filmmaker, a manual as such will help you improve the writing. If you are a writer, hopefully, you'll be able to think like a filmmaker a little bit too. I hope the work you produce will enhance your knowledge, build your community, and enhance your life.

Cold Fried Chicken: Short Screenplays and My Rocket House Days 2

The Forward

And again, at the risk of sounding like a barfly, my brief career as a screenwriter began in a bar. In a bar. I feel like most writers for the screen study the form in school and then tirelessly market themselves and their work with query letters and anxiety.

My story is not so arduous. I was drinking gin and tonic and talking to my good friend Gio. Gio was drinking shots of Jim Beam and Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. I illustrate the drinks here only because what we decided to do was during the fifth or sixth round once we were sauced.

Gio had done some writing, good stuff too, in a web series called Pond Patrol. The series went on weekly for two years and gained so much support that it was bittersweet for him to end it. The end of Pond Patrol, Gio decided, was to put the celebration in the hands of his readers and fans. Since Pond Patrol was a far flung story of giant turtles and soldiers which Gio used GI Joe dolls as models, his audience was just as varied: turtle herders, GI Joe collectors, and readers of science fiction.

Gio opened up the Pond Patrol site as a stop-motion animation film festival party. The submissions came in like an avalanche. Gio, photographer/writer became a film curator. Thus was born The GI Joe Stop-motion Animation Film Festival.

It would take a few years yet for Rocket House Studio to be born. And it would take years for that one night in the bar when the two of us would discuss screenplays, dramatic structure and dialogue as a concept for a medium which up to then relied solely on action.

“It's Belgium, 1945,” Gio said. “Two men in a foxhole.”

“Okay,” I said. “You have a set?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“What's the story?”

“One brings a sandwich and won't share it with the other guy. Then when the gas comes, the second guy won't share the gas mask.” Gio began to laugh.

“I don't get it,” I said.

“The guy packed a lunch in his mask carrier.”

“Oh, see,” I said. He laughed. I got it, but not why it was funny. “Interesting concept.”

“Yeah, come over, you got Friday off?” he asked. I nodded. “Come over Friday and we can write it.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said. I worked on the next gin and tonic. This was March of 2009. I had just graduated form Goddard College and I was actively pursuing novel writing. This project Gio was suggesting was outside of anything I had ever done before. “I don't think it's a funny premise,” I said. “We need something more.”

What we needed, I would find completely by chance. What I needed we all found completely by chance.