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.
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