John August

QandA

Getting a job from a pre-visualization

Pitches, QandA

I am going to be a writer/director. I have done neither professionally before, but I have previsualized the movie with my script. My question is what’s the next step? Can I just call the studio for a appointment to show them the pre-viz, or do I buy the Hollywood Creative Directory of Agents and Producers and send it to each one of them and maybe they will be impressed enough to show it around to get a deal?

–Geoff B
Nova Scotia, Canada

For readers who are unfamiliar with the term, a pre-visualization consists of artwork — often animated — which demonstrates the look and style of a film before it’s shot. It’s a technique often used for movies that involve elaborate set pieces (such as battle scenes) to help all the departments plan and budget for the work ahead. For instance, when prepping for CHARLIE’S ANGELS: FULL THROTTLE, the helicopter stunt at the opening was extensively animated before a frame of film was shot. That way, the director could focus on getting exactly the pieces he needed, replacing the roughly-animated polygonal figures with real angels.

But that’s an expensive Hollywood movie. Why would Geoff want or need pre-visualization?

Well, if he’s trying to do a movie that has a very different visual style, it might help. For instance, the upcoming SKY CAPTAIN AND THE WORLD OF TOMORROW has an incredibly stylized, retro-futuristic look, achieved by computer animation and actors shot against green screen. The only way the director could convince a studio (in this case, Paramount) to gamble on the project was to shoot an extensive pre-visualization that explained his vision.

If Geoff’s movie is a simple romantic comedy, or a cop drama, then pre-visualization isn’t necessary, and probably won’t help him get a deal. But if his movie is more unusual or elaborate, it just might.

Since it sounds like Geoff is starting out from scratch, without any contacts, his “shotgun” approach of going through the Hollywood Creative Directory might make sense. Whatever he sends out — a videotape, storyboards, artwork — should be absolutely professional, concise, and well-edited. I wouldn’t send out the script until people respond.

Does lack of confidence lead to great writing?

Psych 101, QandA

In an earlier question about finding confidence as a writer, you stated: “Most good writers weren’t popular growing up.” While this is true in my case (that I wasn’t popular growing up), do you think also being an unpopular adult (which I am as well) could make a GREAT writer? Or just a whiny, self-obsessed loser who writes nothing but whiny, self-obsessed drivel (which I’m starting to suspect I do)?

–Dave
Albany, NY

Just to be clear, I don’t think childhood unpopularity is a golden ticket to success as a screenwriter. I would never give my child a bad haircut, or rub him with cat litter, just in the hope that he’ll win the Oscar when he’s 40. There are many, many unpopular children who grow up to be terrible writers. Maybe, Dave, you’re one of them.

Or maybe not. The simple fact is, one can’t judge a writer’s talent based on how many Friendsters he has. But I would posit that at least in terms of screenwriting, being extremely unpopular is a detriment. Unlike, say, a novelist, the screenwriter has to put on a clean shirt and meet with executives, humoring them when they offer insipid notes and feigning interest in their personal lives. These delicate social skills are hard to pick up if you frighten small children and annoy the elderly.

It’s this social component of screenwriting that explains why some less-talented writers (the proper term is “hacks”) seem to have undeserved success. They’re good at being screenwriters, if not particularly good at screenwriting.

My advice to you, Dave, is contrary to what I’d tell most writers. Don’t write about what you know, since that seems to be limited to whiny self-obsession. Instead, write like the kind of writer you wish you were: bold, courageous, unafraid to piss people off. Think Hemmingway, but with marketable good-looks.

In summary: Pretend you’re confident. Eventually, you will be.

Metaphors in Big Fish

Big Fish, QandA

My wife and I just saw Big Fish and loved it. We spent hours talking about the metaphors you used, especially what Spectre represented. How do you decide whether to hit people over the head with it or leave it up for interpretation? And are you okay with people coming up with different interpretations?

–Pete Safran

Like pornography and irony, metaphors are hard to define, but easy to spot: “The ship plowed the sea,” or “She was a bobcat in the sack.” Ships don’t plow, and bobcats don’t sleep in beds, but in both cases the author’s intention is clear. Essentially, a metaphor uses the meaning of one term (the “meta” part) to carry over (the “phor” part) to an otherwise unrelated situation. Basically, a metaphor is a comparison — something “like” something else — but without using the word “like,” which would make it a simile.

Still with me?

In terms of Big Fish, metaphor doesn’t feel like quite the right word to describe Spectre. While there are lots of things Spectre is “like” — Heaven, Hell, the Afterlife, a ghost town, Utopia, Oz, Shangri-La — any comparisons the viewer draws are based on how he interprets the imagery and events of the scene. For instance, everyone is dressed in shimmering whites and yellows (which seems Heavenly), but the river is full of leeches and alluring sirens (not Heavenly). The town’s mayor welcomes Edward with a clipboard and finds Edward’s name (which feels like the Afterlife), but people grow old (which doesn’t).

So if you try to force just one interpretation onto Spectre, you’re going to be disappointed. And in fact, Spectre is supposed to be a lot of different things at once. It’s the mythical town that Edward was hoping to find, but he found it too quickly. It’s a poor Southern town subject to liens and bankruptcy, which only Edward can save. It’s the location of Edward’s sexual awakening (the girl in the river) and his near-affair (with Jenny Hill). If anything, it’s a beautiful trap that Edward stumbles into twice.

Interestingly, the original inspiration for Spectre was quite a lot darker. In Daniel Wallace’s novel, this section is the road out of Ashland, and features a dog that bites your fingers off. For the movie, Spectre became its own place, and the dog got moved to the circus scene.

Am I okay with people coming up with their own interpretations? Well, I have to be. Unless I want a character to explicitly state what a story element represents, there will always be different interpretations. And the point of the film is that finding the actual, hard truth behind things is often a fool’s errand. The issue of whether Edward Bloom ever visited Spectre in his youth is ultimately less important than what he said, and why.

Good day jobs for writers and others

Film Industry, QandA

What are good “day jobs” for writers, actors or others looking to break in in LA? Are there certain jobs that provide flexibility and are not entirely draining of the soul?

–Ron
Myrtle Beach, SC

To me, the criteria for a good day job are the following:

1) It should pay enough that you can live, but not much more. If you’re raking in enough money for a nice new car, there’s less motivation to pursue your “real” career.

2) You shouldn’t work with crazy people. Life is too short. There are enough insane people in the film industry; you don’t need them in your day job too.

3) Some flexibility. You need to be able to take a meeting on 24 hours notice.

4) Not too physically, emotionally, or intellectually draining. You need to have enough juice left to do your real work after hours.

5) Tolerable enough that you don’t dread going to work, but you’ll happily quit when given the chance.

Obviously, the cliché for actors is to work as waiters. In truth, this can be a good choice. If you work nights, you have your days free for call-backs and classes, and there’s always the hope that a big producer or director will notice your striking talents while you refill their passion-fruit ice tea. For almost exactly the same reason — being noticed — many actors deliberately avoid restaurant jobs, on the fear that the same guy they auditioned for this morning will recognize them. Writers are in much the same boat, although since writers are almost never good-looking, there’s very little chance they’ll be discovered at Mastro’s Steak House.

The other classic choice is to work as an assistant, answering phones and making copies. This is what I did, as did Rawson and Dana, my two-former-now-powerful former assistants. If you work for the right person, in or out of the film industry, this can be a good job. But for every good boss, there are two or three psychos, so it’s a risk. But you’ll almost certainly learn more as an assistant than as a waiter.

Beyond these two paths, there are a thousand other things people do as day jobs in Los Angeles: dog walkers, tutors, computer fix-it guys. Two of my friends index books, which pays well but is crushingly boring. Another friend is a freelance business manager, handling the daily accounting for rock stars. And many screenwriters work as readers, writing coverage on other screenplays while writing their own.

In finding a day job, ask yourself what other people always say you’re good at. Then do it. But never stop paying attention to your real career: the one you’re not getting paid for yet.