Going Under
June 26, 2007
Today I’m going back into my screenplay/graphic novel script about a teenage painter whose creations come to life thanks to their exposure to a new type of gasoline called Ultratest. The story is called The Collection: Legend of Fortunate Son. Why am I announcing it to you? I dunno, really. Maybe because the process I use to create my worlds puts me very much into a trance. My thoughts become so focused that I’m worthless when it comes to normal human interaction. I may respond to you, but like that brilliant line from Patrick Bateman in American Psycho, “I’m simply not there”.
So if you’re looking for me, come back later.
The Collection calls up a lot of brooding and isolating feelings that I have stored in my creative reserves and that also plays a part in my social self-exile. My main character, Patrick (oddly enough) is a lonely and angry 17 year-old on the cusp of drafting age. You see, the story takes place in the recent future where the draft has been reinstated and the world is in constant conflict over a new and very powerful crude oil that has been discovered. His brother’s been culled from society to fight in it, and Patrick could be next. However, he doesn’t strike anyone as soldier material, as he’s rather small and frail and spends all his time locked away in his basement bedroom/studio painting all sorts of macabre and horrific subject matter. To make matters worse, Patrick’s just been enrolled at a private school where the rich and connected are, for all intents and purposes, babysat, sheltering them from the horrors of the world. If he does well there, he may find his way out of the same fate that has taken his beloved brother. However, he’s strongly against attending the school, and in part due to the torturous bullying he receives there, seems bent on letting the opportunity to join the “favorite sons” slip right by. His only refuge is his art. With it, he channels his various demons into his creations, and if they are anything to go on, this boy is more than a little tetched. When by accident he discovers a way to bring them to life, he goes from powerless to powerful in an instant – like a terrorist cell of one stumbling across an arsenal of atomic weaponry. And believe me, this lad’s got a few bones to pick.
But instead of going on a huge, bloody tirade (and this is where things become more “fantasy” than “horror”), his attempted response is more thoughtful and muted thanks to the grounding influence of a few people in his life that love him – his mother, his uncle, and a fellow misfit at school. With some success he experiments with his new found power as he attempts to understand who he really is and even pursues a closeted square peg love interest whom he is convinced belongs in the portrait of his life. But despite his best efforts, his demons still have a way of touching his reality and tragically setting things in motion. As well as a fanciful and spooky yarn that uses fantastic elements to chill and thrill a reader, it’s a cautionary tale about sudden power and the dangers of possessing it without intensive introspection and meditation. Its also a story, I hope, about the effects a culture of ubiquitous violence can have on a family and one’s own indentity in the modern age.
Having already completed a very detailed treatment stage, all that is left to do is immerse myself into the myth and construct the blueprint in the most engaging and entertaining way possible. I want it to excite our imaginations, yet ring true somewhere inside. I also want its themes to resonate without preaching, forcing us to question who and what we are as individuals and as global citizens. But if I just manage to draw one person into where I’m about to disappear, I promise an extreme experience of kick-ass storytelling. That’s my first reponsibility, and really why I bother to do this at all.
Oh, and there’s a very good reason you see Edward Furlong up there. I’ll explain later.
See you all when I come up for air.
I Hate Goodbyes
June 25, 2007
Its been a difficult couple of weeks for me, as I’ve been involved in saying all manners of farewell. As much as I meditate on the “one door closes, another one opens” theory, I’m not built to dispatch with this breed of sorrow the instant some good sense reaches my reason centers. I tend to play with it like vegetables on a plate before I reluctantly shovel the first helping into my maw. Once that happens, it’s not long before I’m scraping the plate, incredulous that I ever doubted their nutritional, crunchy goodness. But I’m not quite there at the moment, and the rain that greeted me this morning seemed to support whatever masochistic need I had for mourning the setting of my various suns just a wee but longer.
There was a death in my extended family that seemed unnecessary. A great person and creative mind had passed and even though I only really spent a small amount of time with her, it was always inspiring and special. Rest your gentle soul, and damn to hell the state who made inheriting that beautiful place where you lived untenable due to the taxes. Getting close to her has been made that much harder for her loved ones, and it’s made me sick.
Add to that the loss of a great player from my beloved Arsenal FC, done in a very “Dear John” manor swollen with half-truths and forced platitudes, and each drop of rain that hit my head this morning felt like it weighed a stone. But as obviously devastating as this sort of thing can be, it too is not really the goodbye that has me out of sorts this morning.
No, today I mourn the long past ending of “Firefly”, the series. It came to a close most unceremoniously back in 2003, only to resurface with a final episode shot as a feature called Serenity in 2005. But I’ve only just completed the viewing of the series in full on DVD, and having squeezed out every last bit of Whedonesque magic from the special features, I find myself deeply solicitous. Now, I’ve more recently suffered the lamenting of the final “Sopranos” episode, the remnants of a “Rome” hangover, and even the wonderfully warm and sunny weekend that had me feeling relaxed for large portions of time. Those things are trivial to many and I can’t argue that, but in collection, their passing can be taxing in their own way all the same. Still, the dimming of the Firefly light has me especially reeling, and I think I may have figured out why.
Firefly was under intense scrutiny and criticism by Fox from the very beginning, who were trying to cash in on Joss Whedon’s contractual obligation to give them another show. For those who aren’t famliar with the it, Wiki’s description of the series is more than serviceable:
The series is set in the year 2517, after humans have arrived at a new star system, and follows the adventures of the renegade crew of Serenity, a Firefly-class spaceship. The ensemble cast portrays the nine characters who live on Serenity. Whedon pitched the show as “nine people looking into the blackness of space and seeing nine different things”.
What that description is missing, however, is key to why I’m a little more depressed than maybe the average fan of the show. Firefly was a hybrid of the sci-fi genre and the western, complete with spaceships flying over stampeding horses, and even gunfights with holstered laser pistols. The dialogue had an O.K. Corral cadence and syntax, and there were several archytypal characters floating about the ship including the polarly opposing yet soulfully kindred whore and preacher. Also, the series onfolded with a simmer, forcing us to slowly get under the skin of his characters until they were as funny and real as our neighbors (only, a lot cooler), and allowing the action sequences to be significantly poignant and loaded with character based dread. Whedon was excited at the marrying of this old world and new world perspective that would create a wide, universal berth for his humanly rich storylines. It was daring, fresh, and brilliant – and it made FOX as downright fidgety as to be expected. Spit.
Having explained my penchant for blending genres and going against the grain, the poor treatment of Firefly, now relegated to DVD parties and perhaps the occasional convention appearance, makes me feel as if another wall has been erected between me and my dreams. If they could so readily close the door on Whedon’s kilowatt star power, what would they do with my dim twinkle? And even though Rome’s Kevin McKidd is scheduled to return to television this fall on Fox with “Journeyman”, about a time-traveling family man, I’m not encouraged by how my vision for storytelling doesn’t seem to be aligning with what is selling. I know, old news, but it’s my news and this is my blog so I have to purge.
After a cup of coffee and some more thinking, I’m sure I’ll fall into some familiar headspace about the whole thing; I need to write what interests me, even if it requires that I remain a loitering rebel told in no uncertain terms to remain a reasonable distance from TV and film’s hallowed inner circle. I’ll take that and I’ll use it to fuel my determination, so that Firefly and its special group of 9 would not have vanished into the cosmos in vain.
Into the Grey
June 21, 2007
As I’ve said before, I like to mix genres, horror and fantasy or horror and science fiction being my two most frequently practiced interbreeding experiments. Its a headache for agents and industry folk because if you don’t get it right, it’s difficult to market. Of course, lots of examples of successful hybrid screenwriting exist: Alien(s) (horror, sci-fi), Blade Runner (film noir, sci-fi), DOOM (horror, sci-fi), Pan’s Labyrinth (fantasy, horror) – the list goes on and on. But there’s a grey area that one can find themselves, where something fantastic and fanciful may also be dark and dangerous. So where is the line between “fantasy” and “horror”? If you don’t use elves and ogres and talking trees, but you do incorporate magical elements into your fancies of fright, when have you crossed the line from wonder into plunder?
I’m working on a screenplay/graphic novel that involves just such a challenge. Tonally, I believe I’ve got it sound; the setting is bleak with a background of violence and war, thereby foreshadowing something wicked this way coming. However it also involves a manifestation of sorts of my main character’s imagination. It’s one of those hero versus himself stories, where the antagonist is more the circumstances that surround his life and his own demons than a big monster out to impregnate someone with their multi-fanged, demon seed. So there’s no clear-cut villain in my story, or rather, it’s up to the reader (viewer?) to decide where their loyalties reside. One could attribute the same sort of description to a film about, say, a serial killer. Although, something like Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer isn’t exactly “horror”, is it? It’s more thriller/documentary/drama, I think. Yet if he was possessed by the devil and did the exact same things, it would be horror, right? To be honest, I just don’t know anymore. It’s kind of like that loose judicial definition of obscene: I know it when I see it.
As far as I’m concerned, horror makes the viewer or reader feel scared all the time. You constantly dread a possible event or series of events that will render your character irrevocably changed forever in what is likely the worst possible way. It’s the participation of an extreme experience just for the thrill of it, like jumping out of an airplane or sticking your tongue on a nine-volt battery. In fantasy, we sense we’re being lead on a journey of discovery and that, while we may come up against evil things that want to suck the eyeballs out of our heads, we will prevail and be better for the battle – kind of like the difference between suffering pain for gain, as opposed to just a hangover.
If those assertions are to be regarded as fact, what, then, is fantasy/horror? Well, in my case, the reader is full of dread, scared a lot, shocked out of their comfort zone, but can see that their hero is on a journey where he will ultimately fulfill his true destiny. There will be triumph, but at a dire cost. There will be shouts of victory, but they will be misted with bile.
And to quote our good old pal Jigsaw, “Oh yes, there will be blood.”
*photo courtesy of Lisa de Araujo
Mental Mitosis
June 20, 2007
It happens all the time: I come up with a title that I feel is catchy and rife with possibility, and I can’t decide which story that has budded from it to go with (for the armchair pedants in the audience, I do end sentences with prepositions if they sound more conversational). And today is one of those times.
It’s not a particularly good time to be stuck with this dilemma either, as I have to take another story out of treatment phase and into screenplay format. See, that’s another thing I tend to do: hold off a project in the “chamber” until I have one ready to go in the “magazine”. I’m not entirely sure why I do that, really. Maybe it’s to do with the fact that I work faster knowing there’s something I’m looking forward to on hold, or that I tend to work with more confidence, knowing that I’ve got another project loaded with potential up ahead that will give me another shot at hooking some representation. I don’t generally work on two projects at once, preferring to submerge into the tone of one without the danger of inhaling the fumes of another. In my experience, that can get confusing, and possibly, contaminating.
The projects that are dueling it out in my head couldn’t be any more different from one another either, yet both utilize the title both in theme, and in a really juicy story element. One is action-oriented, with a sort of mystical sci-fi theme that could also get pretty scary. It’s something I would normally love to sink my teeth into, and my main character taps into a few personal issues of mine that would give him a little more depth, in my opinion, than most action heroes that I’ve run into recently. You know, at the Action Hero Mall. In the Action Hero Food Court. Eating…erm…heroes?
So sorry.
Anyway, the second idea involves a very hip, urban character whose raison de etre involves a very popular illegal activity that not only presents a host of visual possibilities, but allows me to imagine that activities’ evolution about 25 years in the future. Sort of like the way Back to the Future gave us floating skateboards, only my concept is far more subversive – and classically demonstrative. Oh what the hell, I’m talking about graffiti. Go ahead and run with it, if you like. Through its use by our main character, I imagine a revolt against an oppressive future society that gives me nervous tics just thinking about it. I guess it could be described as Turk 182 updated for the subcultural elite of this and the next generation. What’s more, I love to scratch that Art v. Homogenous Society itch so much, I could easily have the outline to this one done long before the other one is past a loose dramatis personae.
So which direction I take might depend on which one begins to overtake my mind the most in the next few days as it develops faster and begins to take on a vibrant life of its own. Sure, I could just change the title of one of them, and add two fresh files to my story folder, but these two words match both stories so well, and are so hook-filled, that I’ll always regret changing it more than I’ll regret giving up on the other story, which may recycle in some way later. Yep, one must win the duel to the death for The Name. I mean, how else do I attract representation who will undoubtedly demand I change it?
Funny world. And no, that’s not it.
Is Horror Sick?
June 15, 2007
Someone on another site forum recently brought to my attention a very good article about horror films suffering a slump at the box office. It offers several compelling reasons as to why the genre has found itself being pulled by the ankles into the abyss, and I think many of them have merit. Check it out, cause it’s worth a look.
One might also blame the war, the Virginia Tech massacre and gas prices, not necessarily in that order. Real life is far more scary right now, and horror isn’t exactly an escape at the moment. We don’t feel safe, so we’re not doing the work as an audience to root for a picture. We’re being passive, sitting there waiting for it to take us along. Our hearts aren’t in it, and the “bigger” the project, the less we feel connected to it.
Of course that’s a big, dumb generalization that may or may not be true for some, but for me, I need subversive right now. And that lies with the indie filmmakers and auteurs that aren’t dressing up horror with blue screens and non-stop – and forgettable – CGI, but finding the zeitgeist itch and scratching it with a good, well told story loaded with well peeled dread. The more stuff that comes up that seems patronizing, the less confident a viewer will be. A sequel to a film is almost de riguer, but sometimes it sends the message that we’re being fleeced. Don’t do a movie because you might as well because the first one made lots of cash, do it because the filmmaker and the story demands it.
To wit, Hostel was a solid film, and even had a little foreign policy subtext for eggheads to chew on. Same goes with SAW, which held its own among larger, broader fare and generated a rabid cult following. But both seemed to have sequels squeezed out of them like toothpaste. Even Grindhouse was made under no pretense to impress anyone but the whims of Rodriquez and Tarantino, still it was a self-conscious piece of tribute art. And it was too long. I loved most of it, but it should never have been expected to make so much money, and should have been taken on artistic merit alone. In fact, the cheaper the budget sometimes, the better for the film. It isn’t trying to pull blockbuster weight, and is more free to take chances and deviate from the Hollywood norm.
I’m a die-hard horror fan. I write the stuff. But I never have in mind to write a big fuck-off star vehicle because I know its a career move formula script they’re looking for. Don’t get me wrong, those can be very good. But I think audiences are feeling “sold” right now, and good horror, if nothing else, is about pushing people away and daring them to walk in.
Just my two cents. Well, it was a bit long, so maybe it was more like a nickel.
A Novel Approach
June 15, 2007
On more than one occasion my work has been regarded as too much this or that for what currently passes for filmable genre fare. Even if it hits all the beats, its not black and white enough or there’s too much violence or not enough “warm puppy” moments. To hell with that, I write what I think is good, and if the middle men who make up 50% of the industry aren’t willing to take some small risks, I may have to pay the lonely and quiet consequences. I guess that’s what I get for being inspired by films that started out being box office “challenges” before eventually becoming influential cult classics.
So the pressure is continuously on to compete with the deluge of by-numbers genre pictures that flood Hollywood, and frankly, I’m never going to be able to get an edge unless I happen to marry someone connected. Don’t get me wrong, I do have a few connections, but they don’t seem to be the kind I can use despite their heartwarming efforts to help me. So what do I do? I’m amassing some very high concept ideas to throw at potential managers and agents, but I know myself all too well and there will always be a rub in my work that I think sets me apart, and that someone else gatekeeping my future will see as an obstacle.
Maybe I’m being overly cynical? Maybe my stuff is budgeted too high? Why should anyone take a risk on my stuff if they can’t feel it? There are pitch meetings available at expos around the country, and more avenues to get something read than ever before, so perhaps I should quit whinging and get on with selling them with my heart behind it.
But just in case I’m right, or those experiences don’t pan out, I’ve begun to give deep consideration to producing portions of my works as graphic novels. I’ve got an idea that would make hiring an artist affordable, and perhaps it’s just helping a few folks visualize what I’m seeing that will make the difference. It could be fun, too, and I might learn quite a bit. Graphic novels seem to allow for a lot of narrative and character stretching, as having them safely on a page gives the ideas a tone that is traditionally more experimental. It’s not like my ideas are that off the beaten path, but I don’t want to be long dead before some distant relative unearths something I’ve bequeathed to them and it finally has enough posthumous cachet to excite someone with power.
So if there are any artists out there looking for a rich imagination, or anyone out there at all who has an opinion about this approach to getting one’s story into circulation, I’m listening. I envision a future where many more graphic novels are optioned as films, just like Tolkien and Matheson and their proseworthy ilk with built-in audiences. Heck, Stan Lee’s had to wait how long? I would just love a shot before that time comes and I’m too frail to lift the screen on my laptop.
In the end, it’s up to me to make it happen, top to bottom, far and wide. I’m grateful for even the faintest whiff of an opportunity, and I plan on making the most of it. I love to write. I need to write. So I might as well.
Outside Men
June 14, 2007
A three-part horror story about the survival and redemption of one of Hitler’s treasured youth, set after the fall of the Third Reich.
This feature screenplay started with an idea to make a horror trilogy much in the same vein as multi-chaptered films like Creepshow. I was drawn to the ability to hit on three different ways to chill an audience, instead of clinging to the same myth for the entire story. But instead of having my host be a creepy grindhouse usher or crypt keeper, I weaved the breaks in between into a story of their own, connected circumstantially to the three major segments of the narrative.
I think it works, and it was fun to try and up the scare ante as I went along while sticking to the theme suggested in the title: that some men on the fringes of life become skilled adaptors, and have hidden strengths and gifts that can always see them to freedom. The title also alludes to the source of terror in the third act.
Logline: A former member of The Hitler Youth recounts horrifying tales of monsters and supernatural evil during his journey across Europe immediately after the war.
That’s the snappier version, written to appeal to a more commercial mindset. The longer one allows for a wider breadth of summary…
Logline: A former Nazi youth member receives an appraisal of his missing and assumed to be dead partner’s property after their bayside tavern full of exotic artifacts is destroyed in a storm. While the skeptical insurance agent works to uncover the mystery, the old man recounts fantastic tales of horror of their journey after the war that may include clues to his partner’s disappearance.
Which is better? Dunno, really. The one that gets the read, I guess.
Pitch/Synopsis: Outside Men is set up as a trilogy of stories told by our main character to a skeptical insurance adjustor who is intent on discovering the truth behind the missing partner. If he does, he believes it’ll make his services more attractive to larger and more lucrative contracts, plus he can put it to what he considers to be the more unappreciative and unsavory members of our society. His more down-to-earth brother, a rugged, commercial diver, is at odds with him over his version of the “value” of things but is often outfoxed in conversation about it. This obvious strain in their relationship allows our main character to exploit it to his purposes, and he lets rip with tales of undead concentration camp prisoners, vampires on a trans-Siberian railway journey to hell, and finally, vengeful spirits know as Outside Men still haunting and protecting a stretch of war-torn beach in the bowels of the Aleutian Island Chain. The structure recalls popular anthology horror films like Creepshow and Tales from the Crypt, however the individual stories are all part of another suspenseful and concurrent, larger mystery. Thematically, his experiences tell a story of a man born into one of history’s most evil chapters and his long, arduous journey to redemption. The question is, how much of what he says is the truth that saved his soul, and how much is created to save his skin?
B.L.O.O.M.
June 14, 2007
A sci-fi miniseries about humans becoming androids told with a Shakespearean flair. And Tiki.
B.L.O.O.M. is a five-night miniseries – or a five-book graphic novel series – with each episode running one hour each. Its audience is intended to be broad, but there are a few salty passages that may need to be rewritten at some point depending on where it might end up. I decided to write it for a more adult age group but tweaking it here and there wouldn’t be the end of the world. Oh, speaking of…
Logline: A brilliant but misanthropic android engineer is lured back into a program to push humankind into its next evolutionary step – android containers – in order to survive a self-destructing planet earth. If he fails to fix their dangerously schizophrenic prototype, he and his colleagues with whom he shares a troubled history will lose their place on an “ark” built to continue life in space.
If you’d like to read a more detailed synopsis, shoot me an email.
Fade In…
June 14, 2007
This blog is a running diary about the stories I write, stories in general, characters, settings, dialog…and me, I suppose. I’ve learned a lot about myself through writing, and I’m sure behind my desire to create what I experience in my mind’s universe, there is someone seeking to learn who they are now, throughout their lifetime – and maybe one day soon, their shelf-lifetime.
I welcome any and all to share in the discussion of creating worlds and storytelling, and to download any of my work for their enjoyment. Feedback would be fantastic, too. Also, from time to time I intend to openly ponder ideas involved in my creation of stories, characters and the tricks and techniques of storytelling and would love to hear from others who may ponder the same stuff or just find it interesting.
I tend to concentrate on Science Fiction, Speculative Fiction, Fantasy and Horror, but love to mix genres to keep things fresh and formidable. And, like with all my favorite stories, I find I’ve been fortunate enough to engage nearly everyone and every taste. I may speak of things never seen, but I promise things that are ever-felt.
