Up - The Genius of Pixar

I'm off to David Freeman's lecture on the Genius of Pixar. Jane Goldman, of Kick Ass writing fame, has taken his weekend course and recommends it, and so I am looking forward to it.

I had a big eureka moment the first time I saw "UP". I realised that the books I've read (thank you Blake Snyder) and courses I've done (thank you Soho Screenwriters), have worked, because here the structure was so easy to see. This excited me because it meant thought I had a chance of improving my own scripts, structurally, or at least, making them more commercial. These are the thunderbolts that hit me.

Up is a film about obsession.

Carl Frederickson can't let go of the memory of his dead wife. He holds onto her by holding onto the house they renovated together. The cause of this flaw is the guilt he feels at not taking his wife on their life long mission - to go to the falls. He puts the house first and people second.

This misplaced loyalty is the flaw that creates his initial problem: a worker damages his mailbox and the fight he gets into as a result leads to a court order which threatens to put Carl into a retirement home. This will mean losing the house completely. He's finally pushed into making a decision, to go on an adventure with Elle's house, and take it to the falls.

Carl and his wife Ellie wanted to be explorers, because they wanted to emulate the real explorer Muntz. As a younger man Muntz had found the remains of a new species of bird, but was accused of faking the find and disappeared into the wilderness in search of proof. Just like Carl is obsessed in getting his house across the falls, Muntz is obsessed with proving this bird exists and will do whatever it takes to clear his name. Even murder.

Muntz is what is known as a shadow figure, he has the same obsessive flaw as our hero in waiting Carl but worse. He is what Carl is heading towards becoming some would argue, unless he changes, and is a mirror to Carl, to test him. How far will Carl go to complete his mission?

The Mentor in this film is Russell, a little boy who likes exploring - just as Carl did. His job is to show Carl the an alternative way of behaving (if Muntz is Darth Vader, Russell is Obi-won Kenobi).

Carl's flaw of hanging onto the house, and putting it before people (and animals), is tested throughout the film. But by the time of the final showdown, Carl has learnt his lessons. He defeats Muntz by letting go of the house physically. He wins because he puts the tribe first.

Carl changes for many reasons: the light thrown up by Russell, and the darkness cast by Muntz and the consequences of this flaw. Importantly the script addresses the cause of his flaw too. This is the thing that has transformed my writing: screenplays are about being tough on a characters flaw, but also are about dealing with the cause of that flaw.

To see the mentors point of view, we need first to bond with them. Carl initially is stuck with Russell, then is helped by him, bonds with him by seeing they share an emotional connection (they both have a similar pain, Russell is acting for his Dad, Carl for his lost wife). Russell also gives, a lot: he solves problems for Carl when they get stuck on a mountain, suggesting they walk it across the falls, he saves his life by grabbing and holding onto him as Carl, holding on to his house is about to fall over the cliff.

Carl's paternal instinct kicks in when he sees possible danger from the big bird, and for the first time makes physical contact with Russell. In many films we see this moment: first physical contact by protagonist is often forged under a time of threat, but once that bond has been struck, it sticks.

The biggest bonding moment, as with all films, has to be forged by the threat of a joint aggressor. This is where allegiances are really forged.

The bonding raises the stakes of decisions which are consequences of the flaw. Carl putting the house before people is fine if you don't care about the people, but what if you do? What if you've bonded with that person and made promises to them. Emotional stakes are raised.

The important thing is that Carl has a flaw, and that there are consequences to this flaw and that he sees a different way of looking at things through the actions of his mentor.

But what about the cause of the flaw? The cause is the guilt he feels at not going on an exploration with Ellie. This is neutralized, when he finds out she was happy with a life with him, that this was her adventure with him. The effect neutralized. In most films the cause of a flaw isn't always that easy to fix.

Muntz himself was another cause of the flaw. Carl idolised him as a child. This is who he wanted to become. The mere fact that his idol is false, again takes a lynchpin out of his beliefs.

In short, I learnt one big thing when watching "Up": that films are tough on a characters flaw, but also tough on the cause of their flaw.

I felt good about myself. Yeah, I can do this I think. My writing even improves. Then I look at the script again, and see more brilliant skill and talent. I looked deeper and deeper. And realised how good these hollywood writers are. How good you have to be to make it. The mountain gets bigger the closer I get, and the skills that are required, and the knowledge and natural ability needed to write this stuff increases. Why the heck did I start climbing this mountain in the first place I think? I was happy, on the ground, making my own little rock garden, now it's raining and I'm cold, and I don't know if I have all the equipment for a trip to the summit. And if I get stuck there's a chance I'll freeze to death. Must remember to make a packed lunch next time.

Voiceovers in Film

There are a lot of films out there at the moment that start with a voiceover. “Kick Ass”, “Clash of the Titans”, “How to train your Dragon” and "Repo Men" all open with one. Many more too. I had expected this recent spate of voiceover openings to dent certain egos.

One of the ten commandments of screenplay law, according to some soothsayers is that on no account, ever - and they really mean ever - should you use a voiceover. Never. Ever. Ever.

Throughout the centuries wars have raged, blood has been spilt, towns pillaged, marriages wrecked all in the name of voiceover heresy. “Your script will not be read if it contains a voiceover” a soothsayer once preached at me, before taking me aside and whispering ”It is our duty to hunt down and kill anybody who thinks otherwise. Are you with us?” Believe me, I’m not exaggerating here. More people were killed last year of voiceover related injuries than in car accidents. And that’s the truth.

Unbeknownst to these powers that be, I myself have been using voiceover in secret. For years I’ve been squirreling away manuscripts like dead sea scrolls, fearing recrimination and waiting for a time when the voiceover was welcomed into the bosom of screenplay land. And yet despite Hollywood’s latest releases I feared admitting it.

It was Tuesday morning that things changed. I had a call from the man who is reputed to be the source of these laws: the grand master. Fearing recrimination he asked to meet in secret, under cover of darkness. He has retired, he told me, and the current powers that be must never know we have met, for he is willing to reveal all. He told me that I could ask him any question, but only one. I chose it with care.

“What is the foundation of your voiceover beliefs?” I asked. “Where does this commandment come from?”

“My father passed it down to me,” he replied. “ Never use a voiceover. It was passed to my father by my father's father, and to him by my father's father's father. ”

“And where did he get it from?” I asked eagerly.

“He read it in a book.”

“Ahh.”

“A biblical book?” I asked. “A book written by some omnipotent sage of screenwriting?”

“No, just a book.”

See, this is the problem with the olden days. When I was 10 I believed every single thing I read in a book. It’s got to be true, I’d think, why else would they put it in a book?

The old man went on to say that now he came to think about it, it might not have been an all encompassing rule, but more of a gentle guideline to stop misuse, to stop people using it as an afterthought when they realised they'd forgot to write a proper story. And he is very sorry but he’s always had bad hearing and it might be a case of what is called Chinese whispers.

After this meeting I felt younger and more confident than ever before.

Liberated, I met with the assistant to the current soothsayer and fearlessly declare “My film starts with a voiceover!”

“You’re just writing it like that to be trendy, copying those other films” was his reply. It wasn’t the response I’d been expecting. This was the bit where we were supposed to duel to the death. I demanded to speak to his boss. And in front of a crowded room I outlined my film.

The soothsayer was most flattering about my pitch.

“Yes Bryan, that’s a good opening, compulsory even” he said. “After all, all films must start with a voiceover. Always. It’s the new law. Always. Always. Always.” Then he took me to one side and said “It is our duty to hunt down and kill anybody who thinks otherwise. Are you with us?”

To which I replied “No”.

Sci-Fi-London Film Festival

The festival runs from 28th April to 3rd May. It's jam packed with quirky films and events including a free Sci-Fi script treatment workshop hosted by professional scriptwriters and scientists.

Here's a link to Sci-Fi-London's programme, and one to their Scriptwriting Workshop.

Kick Ass - And bitter sweet endings

My first request. Somebody wants my opinion on Kick Ass, and so here it is.

But warning, this contains spoilers.

Firstly, I like the film a lot. It’s punky. It fights screenplay structure in the same way its central character fights crime, and as a writer myself I like this. Throw away the screenplay books, a little voice in my head says, you can do this your way Bryan. I’m ignoring at this point, the many aspects of the film that that follow the screenplay bibles as I see them and am concentrating on the few points that I can’t quite fathom, plotting that appears to stick two fingers up to the rules.

I’m sure that in screenplay classes through out the land hands will be rising and kids will be saying “But what about Kick Ass sir”, “What is Kick Ass’s goal in the second act?” To which some tutors will reply “Never mind that son, it was financed outside the studio system, and independent producers can do what they like!”

The question is posed early in this film by Dave Lizewski as to why people don’t ever try to become real superheros. His friend responds by telling him what we all know – because they’ll get their asses kicked.

But after getting mugged one too many times, and seeing a bystander doing nothing to help, he buys a suit, becomes the superhero "Kick Ass" and tests out this theory. Turns out his friend was right: Kick Ass not only gets his ass kicked but gets stabbed as well, and run over. But this doesn’t deter him from his mission. In my eyes Dave Lizewski is already a superman because of this: because he’s fighting for a noble cause, fighting for example, to stop a gang violently beating up a lone man. Isn’t this what being a true superhero is about?

What’s interesting is that at this point in a film, a debate normally rages. It is where Spiderman has his powers and the question is raised as to what to do with them. It’s a section of the film which ends with our hero usually deciding to embark on his mission - fighting crime for example in the case of Spiderman. Kick Ass though is already a crime fighter by this point but will decide to stop.

Kick Ass is about to be killed by some gangster types when some hard core vigilantes in superhero outfits arrive and save him. After seeing Hit Girl violently slay all the gangsters in the room, (some unarmed and running for their lives), he decides to give up superhero dom. Who can really blame him?

This section like so many others, is in short why it’s such a good film to watch. We are engaged morally on many levels at the same time: Is Hit Girl morally good, saving the day, or is she a murderer in a superhero outfit. The internal debate that rages while I watch is absorbing.

Structurally, central characters usually have pro-active goals througout the second act. They want something and take steps to get it. But Kick Ass isn’t really interested any more in crime fighting. He does want Erika, a girl who's become his friend because she thinks he's gay, to be his girlfriend, but he gets her very quickly, and for most of the rest of the film we’re engaged by worrying and concern for his future as the head mobster closes in on him, mistakenly believing he’s the vigilante that’s been slaying his team.

The secondary characters, have much stronger goals, particularly Big Daddy who holds the king mobster responsible for the death of his wife and wants revenge. These characters are so rich in detail that the film becomes multi protagonist.

It's the way the film ends that intrigues me most, story wise. Film endings are usually about how a character becomes a hero, how he transcends to a higher version of himself, getting rid of his flaws to stop the bad guys doing something terrible. Here though, Kick Ass’s journey has led him to helping Hit Girl avenge the death of her father. It left a sour taste in my mouth: the superhero Kick Ass has gone from defending the man in the street against an onslaught from a violent gang, to slaying criminals with a machine gun. He has joined the vigilantes. It’s a complicated bitter sweet note, that plays with our emotions once more. I liked it all the more for it.

In short, it’s a great film, rich with characterization. If it followed the rules more would it be even better? I have no idea.

Doctor Who: The Eleventh Doctor

Warning – contains spoilers.

It has been remarked, by Steven Moffat himself, that the opening episode to the new Dr Who would be a movie sized story. It was a tantalising promise from the new genius writer head honcho that left people like me a tad concerned: would his potential be fully realised? Strangely, my concern for him was almost paternal: I found myself sitting closer to the set as the show started secretly saying “Come on Steven, you’re a great writer and have a great show to improve, please don’t make a glaring error”. The problem is that with great genius comes great expectation. For me this expectation was exceeded.

Steven made good on his movie-like promise. The new camera format, camera movement, central location and art direction are welcome revamps to that make the new series look very cinematic. Story wise too, Mr Moffat employs cinema storytelling techniques to brilliant effect. As soon as we realise the new sidekick to be Amy Pond is an orphan, we’re already on her side. Having at least one missing parent is a technique many Hollywood films use – on hearing about it we subconsciously say “Ahh that’s so sad, you poor little thing” and begin to like them. Look at most Hollywood films and you’ll find at least one missing parent: “How to Train Your Dragon”, “Kick Ass”, “Clash of the Titans” and “Alice in Wonderland” are all recent examples. We like the characters more if they’re stoic about this fact, more if they’re funny because of it, or brave despite it, and the new ”Who” sidekick has all these facets, yet feels vibrant and original.

Structurally the plot opening has a similar pattern to Moffat’s famous “Girl in the Fireplace” episode: a portal through which the aliens are coming, the doctor meeting the a child, seeing she’s in danger, popping away for a few minutes only to return much later than he’d expected. This time though the Dramatic irony is much greater. With “Girl in the Fireplace” the action takes place in the alien world with the Doctor and we know their target hasn’t been locked onto yet. In the Eleventh Doctor though we’re just left with a sense of Dramatic irony and mystery: we know the alien prison escapee was in the house 12 years previously and are concerned as to what has been happening in the mean time.

First Mr Moffat makes us like the child then he leaves her in the house with the monster for 12 years, keeping us on tenterhooks as to what has been happening.

The main plot – finding and exposing the alien while the clock ticks down – is reminiscent of the “Smith and Jones” episode from season 3, where as the time counts down the doctor must reveal the alien hiding in a human body. But the eleventh doctor is certainly not cliché, if anything the opposite. Economical too. Even the way the Doctors choose his new wardrobe has been written in a refreshing way and tightly woven into the plot. Such is Moffat’s story telling prowess, that it makes you wonder what other seeds of story have been interwoven into this episode.

So much is set up with the first episode. Not just the wedding dress cliff-hanger shown at the end of the show. There are other smaller questions that leave us wanting to know more. We can’t help but wonder who the aunty is? Why Amy is an orphan? What’s going on in the post office? Will there be consequence to the Doctors clothes stealing? And above all why are there no ducks in the pond?

The only disappointment for me was that while the soundtrack to the show was improved, I found the music still to be too heavy handed. Such good story telling doesn’t need for example, laboured “light hearted music” to tell us when something is funny. Apart from this, and the opening title sequence, this new episode has succeeded in raising expectations once more. I look forward to them being exceeded again.