Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Volcanic Shutters, Failed Connections and One Befuddled Seahorse
Here
we are. I am here, and you are there. You are far away, or at the
very least I am not particularly close. It's already 2012, the world is
fixing to end, and everyone knows it. But what if the world has ended
before and several times too? What about the abandon? What about the
love affair that became what it was going to become? Wrapped in ash as
we sleep at the height of Pompeii.
“Pay attention to this,” I said. I stunk of gin. I always stunk of gin. Juliana swung around me. We laughed. It was nearing four in the morning. And the party was in full swing. This was August, after all, Tucson, Arizona, four in the morning is the only time for a party. “We'll be writing about this for years to come,” I said. And to this day, I don't think either of us has mentioned it.
What happens when groups form? The Beats formed. There was Joanie and Edie and Lucien and Jack and William and Allen. The Romantics formed. There was Percy, John, Mary and Byron. There Lost generation formed. There as Scott and Papa and Gertrude. Groups. And they always seem so haphazard until seen from the future.
Then there is the volcano. This is no metaphor, but the eruption has a double meaning. It's no secret. It's pressure and then, boom, pressure relieved.
And then we were far away, you and me. I am here, and you are there. This is possibly a Brautigan riff, but it isn't very clear.
All we really needed to do was to hold onto the drinks and the smokes and the parties and our youths. But even that slipped away. It's all gone, the booze and the cigarettes and youth. And it has come down to this: once when we were young we partied for a cool summer in the heated desert and the end was near. It wasn't 2012 then, but the end was near.
This is not memoir. This is not fiction. This is worlds on a page. This is an operatic soapy thingy on the page. This is minutia. This is parlor tricks. This is one Befuddle Seahorse. Read it here on August 1, 2012.
“Pay attention to this,” I said. I stunk of gin. I always stunk of gin. Juliana swung around me. We laughed. It was nearing four in the morning. And the party was in full swing. This was August, after all, Tucson, Arizona, four in the morning is the only time for a party. “We'll be writing about this for years to come,” I said. And to this day, I don't think either of us has mentioned it.
What happens when groups form? The Beats formed. There was Joanie and Edie and Lucien and Jack and William and Allen. The Romantics formed. There was Percy, John, Mary and Byron. There Lost generation formed. There as Scott and Papa and Gertrude. Groups. And they always seem so haphazard until seen from the future.
Then there is the volcano. This is no metaphor, but the eruption has a double meaning. It's no secret. It's pressure and then, boom, pressure relieved.
And then we were far away, you and me. I am here, and you are there. This is possibly a Brautigan riff, but it isn't very clear.
All we really needed to do was to hold onto the drinks and the smokes and the parties and our youths. But even that slipped away. It's all gone, the booze and the cigarettes and youth. And it has come down to this: once when we were young we partied for a cool summer in the heated desert and the end was near. It wasn't 2012 then, but the end was near.
This is not memoir. This is not fiction. This is worlds on a page. This is an operatic soapy thingy on the page. This is minutia. This is parlor tricks. This is one Befuddle Seahorse. Read it here on August 1, 2012.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
My Sophia Ballou Bio
The Soundtrack: Whipped Cream and Other Delights by
Herb Alpert.
The Scene: a strange mixture of
the American Ideal overlaid on police sirens, helicopters and the
racing of engines. Outside the place and backstage, there are all
manners of people migrating. They're moving from their hideouts,
caves, dugouts or hovels and moving on toward the cornershops,
pawnshops, pornshops or late night churches. But inside the place,
“the scene” are potted plants drying out by the moment, and Herb
Alpert channels bliss from beyond the vinyl dumpyard.
The Characters: this is a tricky
mix. There's a dishwasher, a picture framer; a Boy Scout, a soldier.
They're all talking at once: recounting tales of war, dirty dishes,
beveled picture frames and singing summer camp songs. “You
can't ride in my little red wagon, the backseat's broken and the
axle's draggin'...” The doorbell rings, enter stage left: a
trumpet player, a tap dancer; ancient car restorer, movie actor. The
movie actor says, “The bartender, the waiter; the student, and the
once jailed speeder are on the corner by the liquor store. They said
something about gin and tonic, Manhattans; grappa, and blood and
sand.”
The Action: the party gets
swinging. The picture framer is in the kitchen washing dishes, much
the dismay of the dishwasher. The bartender explains the finer
points of a particularly violent game of cards to the soldier who
quietly explains the reason why he's not allowed to play games, much
less the violent ones. The trumpet player and the tap dancer look
through the vast collection of Herb Alpert records. These two are
pretty close in proximity, both time and space. And Herb Alpert's
pretty cool.
The Conflict: enter the writer.
He comes from stage right, some hidden, darker hallow from the
depths of the house. He moves into the room and the record stops.
The soldier fits inside the student, the student then into the Boy
Scout. The bartender and the waiter, down their drinks and fade into
the walls, the ancient car restorer follows suit then the once jailed
speeder. They dispense into the room, the walls, thin air, each
other. The writer flows through the house and into the kitchen. The
picture framer continues his work at the sink, soap suds rippling
heat waves through his cut fingers. He turns off the tap, the job's
done. He faces the writer and in stride vanishes into the dish soap
smelling air of the stale kitchen.
The Sound: a faucet hiss, a
sigh, the refrigerator’s hum.
The Motion: the filling of a
water glass. The view from here, out the kitchen window: Ansbach, or
Al Basra, or Denver. Beyond the lilacs it could be San Francisco or
Vermont, or Portland, or Tucson.
The Spread: ten to one. No one
here gets off easily, at least not that easily.
The Outcome: Law suits, lawn
suits; leisure suits, Umbrella Factory suits.
The Writer: like all the other
dudes, call this one: Anthony.
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
Building the CV, Teach a Workshop
A few months back, I met a fella who was, at least partly, in charge of a local film festival. After introductions, I told him that I have a film that in recent months had been making a very short tour of film festivals. He urged me to submit. In the course of conversation, he also invited me to teach a writing workshop for animators. Having worked with animators before I eager jumped at the opportunity. Unfortunately, it was all talk. His counterpart at the film fest declined my film and I did not teach the workshop. I submit, humbly, to this blog: my workshop outline.
Into to Screenwriting for Animators
Objective: a basic introduction to
writing for the screen with a focus on 1) Dramatic Situations, 2)
Plotting 3) Definition of characters and their roles and 4) dialogue
construction.
The method: Write a short screenplay in
an anecdotal tone based on a joke.
Preamble: The joke. Common structure of
jokes coming in threes, the predictability and the punchline
(denouement/outcome). What jokes appropriate for this exercise.
Anthony's joke:
Three guys are on a deserted island. One of them finds a genie
lamp and rubs it...out pops a genie. The genie grants three wishes
(ever notice how these things come in threes?). The three guys
decided, very democratically that they each get one wish. The first
guy wishes that he was home with his friends and family. Poof! He's
gone. The second guy decides that he wants the same thing, and poof!
He's gone too. The third guy looks around and says “Man, this place
is lonely without those other guys, I wish they were back here with
me.”
Part one: Intro to the 36 Dramatic
Situations. Handout: the list
of all 36. In this workshop we will on two or three of these dramatic
situations. It's good to have exposure to all 36, but for the sake of
this workshop, limiting the dramatic situation to the less
complicated ones is best. For instance, in Anthony's joke: Erroneous
Judgment or Recovery
of a Lost One are the likeliest
situations.
Part
two: Intro to the seven basic plot lines. Handout:
the list of all 7. Like the Dramatic Situations, we will focus on
just two or three of these. Anthony's joke: The Voyage and
the Return is probably the
likeliest definition. Or more rudimentary: human vs. nature.
Part
three: Characters defined and their roles in the telling of a story.
Handout: the list of
Types of Characters. We will focus on the Protagonist,
Antagonist and the
Foil. Anthony's joke: The first
two guys are protagonist, since we can sympathize with them and their
situation. The situation itself functions as antagonist and the third
guy functions as the foil.
Part four:
Construction of dialogue: This is the bulk of the workshop. Writing
exercise first, a reading of the script and an individual mentoring
with each script. Anthony's practice, to end each characters line at
the first period (.), the notion that we talk through one another
rather than talking to each other and natural speech.
Conclusion: How do
these elements work on the screen? Group discussion about a popular
movie and a deconstructing of it by Dramatic Situations, Plot line,
Characters and their dialogue.
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