The feedback I received from my presentation was mostly positive, with a lot of praise for the visual world that I had managed to capture. This is something that I found both easy to do and really effective in creating my screen world, as it’s something that from early on I was able to visualise if not yet able to write within it or completely contextualise how and why it exists. Before I had more solid ideas on how the world came to be, I knew how it was, and especially how it looked.

The main criticism I received was my lack of focus or explanation on how this middle-class only society I have described has affected the culture and social norms. I did briefly mention the dilapidation and decay of society, both physically and I suppose symbolically in the breakdown of the relationship between George and Martha, but I haven’t explained well what everyday life is like for people living in this “classless” society. I feel like one of the reasons for this is that it can be very hard to demonstrate a lack of something, particularly when it manifests in a negative way; if we’re portraying a classless society in a positive way, it’s very easy to show everyone happy, healthy, wealthy etc., but the negative view is much more subtle and therefore more difficult to demonstrate and describe. A step I will take to build on this feedback is make sure that both the classlessness of society and the decay that comes with it is apparent in whatever audiovisual work I submit in my final project brief; this will most likely be in the form of a mood reel or teaser that shows this futuristic, modern world that is beginning to wear down and fall apart. Secondly, as I progress through writing more of my screenplay, I must clearly demonstrate this gap of class and then show how easily it is filled (since it is almost necessary that it is filled) when the android turns up at the house of George and Martha; I want to show how natural it is for this class divide to exist, but also how toxic this interclass relationship can be. My script will need further development before I believe this is possible.

In this reflection, I want to explore two aspects of my screen world that I have begun to develop: the texts that have influenced my work aesthetically, narratively and world-wise, and the first few pages of the screenplay that I have begun to develop. The influences, which I briefly covered in my presentation, will explain how I am situating my screen world and how I reached this juncture, and the screenplay will hopefully give some context as to how my world will look and I believe highlight the areas that are weak.

PART ONE – INFLUENTIAL TEXTS

2001: A Space Odyssey (Stanley Kubrick, 1968): 2001 is probably the most influential science fiction film period, in that it really set a standard of aesthetic and production that countless films, TV shows and other media texts have imitated since. However, the slick white rounded aesthetic employed in 2001 I feel is a real compliment to my screen story; it displays an unmistakable modernity that can be highlighted or, in the case of my screen world, contrasted with images of dilapidation and decay. I’ve also had a look at the work of Eero Saarinen, the Finnish neo-futurist interior designer, who had many of his works featured in 2001 by Kubrick. Apart from the aesthetics, 2001 also provides a score of other influences. The mood of the spacecraft, particularly the silence punctuated only by this dull, unique space drone is something I’d like to recreate in my screen world. A large section of 2001 also chronicles the battle between man and artificial intelligence, with significant distrust and paranoia shared between both parties; this battle will be reenacted between George/Martha and their android assistant.

Moon (Duncan Jones, 2009): Just one look at Moon will tell you how influenced it is by 2001; its long, monotonous sequences of work being done, the sleek white interiors, the isolation of space, a robot companion. However, Moon is perhaps a more realistic version of what the spaceship from 2001 would look like if it was properly inhabited; these white, neo-futurist structures are covered in posters, markings and repurposed by Sam Bell, the protagonist. The future isn’t as glossy and pristine as we thought, but it looks more like home, and more importantly more human. Moon is a much more emotional film than 2001 in that the latter focuses a lot on rather terse, quiet characters, whereas Sam Bell is a richly expressive everyman in a lot of ways. In my screen world, I hope to capture a nice synthesis of the aesthetics and emotions of these two films: Martha and George may begin as fairly emotionless characters through their placidity, but perhaps the imitation of human feeling that the android will bring can evoke some emotional response from them.

Her (Spike Jonze, 2013): I think one of the best things about Her is not its narrative or exploration of artificial intelligence and other technologies, but the world it creates through a set design and colouration that is very contrary for a science fiction film. Whereas most scifi films have a blue, white, grey overlay, Her focuses a lot on pinks, reds, browns and pastels, creating a warmer feel but also imitating a sort of “hipster” upper-middle class that most of the film’s characters seem to be a part of. In terms of how my characters appear, I want them to be more like those of Jonze’s film; working in vaguely creative, well-paid jobs, searching for some purpose beyond their at times menial work, but most importantly wearing all sorts of pastel coloured clothing. The cinematographer said he was very inspired by the Japanese photographer Rinko Kawauchi, who aims to capture the little moments of our everyday, domestic lives through her work (below). I really like the way she focuses on individual objects in this almost nostalgic way that shows both their use and their fragility, and this is something I want to utilise when building the settings within my screen world.

Untitled (from the series: Utatane), 2001

Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (Mike Nichols, 1966): I think this is probably one of the quintessential representations of a failing (American) upper-middle class marriage, as the relationships between both George and Martha (full of passion, emotion but ultimately vitriol and a deep sadness) and Nick and Honey (reserved, non-confrontational and ultimately built on false or obscured pretences) is applicable to almost all relationships. I don’t want to use the dialogue between George and Marta specifically for my same-named characters, but instead the delusions they dream up (in the film an imaginary son) to deal with their failing marriage; my husband-wife duo will become increasingly paranoid that the android is out to get them, and conspiring against him will bring them together again. The mess they create in their apartment is something else I”m very interested in using; despite being quite affluent and having plenty of free time, they live in a strange squalor that seems to envelope everything they do. Finally, the final scenes between George and Martha, the melancholy and realisation that nothing can truly make them love each other like they once did, is something I’d like to capture in my climax.

PART TWO – SCREENPLAY ANALYSIS

Click here to read the first two pages of my screenplay.

This is a very rough draft I’ve put together of the opening scene of my screen world, meant to introduce our two main characters, the immediate and larger world they live in and the current state of affairs in their life, perhaps most importantly highlighting the absurdity and irony of their situation.

The first section of this sequence is heavily inspired by our work surrounding the screenplay of Frozen River; it is a huge chunk of action text, but I wanted to really engage with that idea of the camera focusing specifically on different parts of the kitchen to give a real sense of place. I think I’ve outlined quite a bit in my presentation and what texts influenced me that setting and set design is really important to my screen world; therefore, I believe a good section of my screenplay should be dedicated to building these places and their little details. Although, if I come up with or am presented with a way to do is more subtly, perhaps through the storytelling itself, I’d be open to changing it as it feels slightly clunky at the moment.

I really struggled to portray the dullness pervading the two characters in this scene; I tried to keep them monotonous and monosyllabic in their first interactions with each other, but the nature of the scene doesn’t allow me to communicate too much through their person-to-person interaction since the dialogue is more focused on the delusional nature of their world. However, in future scenes I plan to make this more evident.

Finally, I’m not entirely happy with George’s “monologue” but I believe it does what I intend it to do, even if it is slightly clunky and verbose. In this scene I really want to portray the hypocrisy of both the characters and the society that has created this situation. This unnamed off-world colony is supposed to be a symbol of ideals that futurists hold so dear, such as innovation, excitement, peace, order and functionality. However, as demonstrated by our characters (their surroundings, their interactions, George’s dinner), none of these ideals are actually being met by the people who still diligently, yet with great boredom, espouse them. The society they have dreamt about has not really functioned in its real world application.

This week we’ve spent a lot of time talking about genre, and its relation both to our focus of world and to the more general storytelling technique and the plots it produces. During our discussion on definitions of genre on Thursday, Stayci mentioned a theorist by the name of Blake Snyder who dismissed the idea of genre as they don’t actually tell you what a film is about, what happens in the story. Instead, he suggested the concept of 10 story types, which are essentially semi-formulaic tropes that span across genres. The Golden Fleece story type, for example, chronicles the quest for a clearly defined prize, physical or otherwise, that is hard to achieve, and follows our character/s on a journey of self-discovery and internal change. The Fool Triumphant, in contrast, pits an underdog character of seemingly poor character/skills (pathetic, you might call them) pitted against and eventually triumphing over the establishment.

When thinking about what we discussed regarding genre this week, I felt that many of the films we put in specific genres or grouped together were often only cosmetically similar. The setting of their world/story was very similar, similar character cropped up again and again and even filming techniques, colouring and soundtrack recurred between films of a particular genre. I particular found the definitions in Dancyger and Rush (2013) problematic as although generally what they said about films of particular genres was true, you couldn’t envision a particular story just by reading their descriptions. Everything was very vague and gave you no sense of what the plot of a film might look like.

I found Snyder’s story types very interesting because upon reading them I could instantly a) imagine what sort of story they were referring to and b) recall dozens of films I’d seen that fit that story type, despite the individual story types seeming very specific. This is what I think is so powerful about them for describing story rather than traditional understandings of genre; despite their specificity, they’re instantly recognisable and salient to almost every (mainstream) film. For example, two particular films came to mind when I was reading about the Golden Fleece story type: O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2004) and Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle (2004). The former is very explicitly a version of Homer’s Odyssey, and thus it’s no surprise that it borrows story elements from the Greek myth of Jason and the Golden Fleece. However, to call O Brother an epic or an adventure would be incorrect; although it mimics the schemes of these genres at times, it is more of a comedy and period satire than anything else. These terms don’t capture what the film is really about; however, if you frame it in terms of the Golden Fleece, you gain a much clearer idea of what actually goes on in Coen brothers’ film. Harold & Kumar is even further from what you’d imagine a Golden Fleece tale to look like; one can safely say that it is a stoner comedy. However, it features two protagonists (Harold and Kumar) on both a physical quest for a known goal (White Castle) and a mental journey of self-discovery (what they want to do with their lives), throughout which they face a variety of obstacles which they must overcome (the police, their family, their neighbours, Neil Patrick Harris, being high). Despite the Golden Fleece seemingly being a story type most commonly ascribed to adventures and epics, it is actually one of the most common story types in stoner comedy (Tenacious D in the Pick of Destiny, Pineapple Express, Dude Where’s My Car?, Friday etc.)

However, there is one thing that these story types seem to lack, which, despite how interesting and useful they are to screenwriting in general, is the most important thing to our practice this semester: because they can encompass so many different stories, they rarely can tell you what sort of world said story will take place in. Because the Golden Fleece can be used to describe an historical epic, a modern-day adventure or a film about two dudes smoking weed, it means it can’t be used to indicate what sort of world this journey will take place in. However, personally I am able to imagine elements that are in many ways unique to the world (setting, tone, logic, pacing, history) when I hear a genre. If something is science fiction, 90% of the time it’s going to be set in space, the future or have some brush with extraterrestrials or advanced technology. If something is noir, it’s going to sombre, pessimistic and feature lots of rain and dark colours. Genre should be used as a basic template for the world we want to create; however, when we get into the specifics of our characters and story, I believe story types are a lot more useful.

“Throwing ideas back and forth” – I wrote this in Week 1 but edited it significantly to more explicitly fit the Cleese prompt.
The Lens, the Novel and Screenwriting
“Look Both Ways”: A Reflection

I declare that in submitting all work for this assessment I have read, understood and agree to the content and expectations of the assessment declaration.

Look Both Ways by Marco Holden Jeffery

They have that look of new love, innocent and fresh, yet so fragile. Everything they encounter in the world is a new delight to be experienced in tandem. They stroll slowly, hand firmly in hand, dawdling as they travel through the campus. Their only pressing matter is the other, and the precious time they have together; they are in no rush to waste it.

But perhaps the signs were there from the beginning; how could a world so cruel allow a love so pure to persist? They exit the campus, their pace still at a snail’s, lost in deep conversation, lost deep in one another. Why would their gaze drift anywhere else but the face and eyes of their love? The rest of the world holds no interest in them, not their own presence within it, not the BEWARE VEHICLES sign to their back, not the soft dip onto the road before them, not the accelerating Ford to their left, manned by a gentleman entirely focused on himself, his importance, the urgency of his problems and the world around him.

Love ends too quickly, the Ford screeches abruptly to a halt all too late, the smell of burning rubber fills the air. The boy extends his still-warm hand, and lets out a scream, but the world is numb and silent as the facade of new love falls away. Time barrels by quickly, the flashing lights and piercing sirens, the assuring voices doing little to soothe his pain. All of a sudden it’s much later, he’s not sure if it’s hours or days, and he finds himself at a towering stone structure, a green wooden door, the cold words emblazoned on the stone: CITY MORGUE. He strikes the door in desperation and disbelief, but it’s far too late.

I wrote this piece with the intention of conveying how all-consuming “love” can be and how it can be a distraction from other happenings in your life. Of course, I’m not just trying to say you should pay attention to your surroundings when with your significant other; it’s more a comment on making sure you’re on top of your life and not focus all your efforts on one relationship. I think the images that were put together for this story also beautifully conveyed how fleeting moments and relationships with other people can be; we’re introduced to these characters and the world they lived in so briefly, before it’s torn apart.

I feel like my piece captured this idea of how delicate human relationships can be. From the second paragraph, we start to feel the uncertainty of this world, and even from the first paragraph the immediacy of the couple, their need to be with each other conveys how precious moments are when they can be lost so quickly. I try to create a sort of sphere around the couple, through which the outside world filters as tiny pieces, sounds and sights leaking through the cracks, and I feel like this may haven’t been fully achieved but there are a few aspects that could be fleshed out or refined to convey this.

I feel like I struggled to capture the brevity within which a lot screenwriters and other storytellers manage to paint a strong world. In the screenplays we have looked at during this course, although admittedly written by incredibly talented and experienced screenwriters, manage to say so little in so few words. Frozen River (Courtney Hunt, 2009) manages to convey so much about a world and the characters within it with very little dialogue and very select descriptive language. I feel like my piece is somewhat overwritten, and relies on prose and flowery expressions too much to communicate its story world. Obviously when I write something resembling a screenplay for my final product, I won’t be able to use this style, but I must keep in mind the techniques the screenwriters we have examined use to capture tone, setting, character and history with such brevity.

In this week’s reading (Ganz 2013) the author spends a lot of time focusing on the idea of the lens. A screenwriter, following a tradition he posits started with natural scientists and early novelists, writes the world as if he/she is observing it through a lens of some sort; in the case of natural scientists a telescope or a microscope, but in the case of screenwriters a camera lens. Detail is noticed as a camera lens might, focusing on specifics, seeing things our characters might not and presenting things as they change, rather than as static objects. Things are included and omitted to best tell our story as ‘looking through a lens involves a simultaneous act of looking and framing – a mediatization occurs at the moment of looking’ (Ganz 2013, p. 10); by choosing to observe a particular “frame”, we are deciding what should and should not exist in our media work, what should and should not be noticed and focused on. I found it particularly interesting how Ganz related this practice to forms of creative writing; in many fictional works, our authors or narrators aren’t necessarily omnipresent but do observe the world from a particular perspective, noting particular things that give clues to other things but not necessarily being aware of everything.

David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas was fairly poorly adapted in 2012 but the same concept of single-character perspective was employed in the film adaptation.

A couple of years ago, I went to a talk by English novelist David Mitchell, the author of several genre-spanning novels including Cloud Atlas, which was adapted into a Hollywood film in 2012. At this talk, Mitchell spent a lot of time talking about his writing craft and process. Most of Mitchell’s books are written in a series of parts/sections, with most or each one from the perspective of a different character; it’s important to note that these characters aren’t necessarily regular humans but can be beings with supernatural powers (and therefore expanded senses and perception). Asked how he writes so effectively and clearly from character to character, Mitchell replied that he imagines himself as a “perspective cap”; when he is writing for a character, he imagines that he sees and thinks and feels only what they see, think and feel. This produces a really effective representation of character that Mitchell is often lauded for.

When I first encountered this discussion of the lens as a screenwriting tool, I immediately thought of this anecdote. The similarities are certainly there, as both techniques equally include and exclude detail relevant to the perspective. I began thinking of the lens as a sort of third-person perspective cap; it doesn’t have the omnipresence a third-person narrator in a novel might have, but it sees more than a single character can. In many ways, the lens approach imagines the camera as a character and watches from its perspective.

This will obviously be an important thing to think about when it comes to actually writing a screenplay in my practice. I have understood the idea of writing what is seen before, but not to the detail which the reading advises. When you write, it seems Ganz is implying, you must not only include all the rich detail your world demands, but also make sure you state what you want your camera, and eventually your audience, to be focusing on, and how much focus should be dedicated to these particular details. Ganz also provides a relatively pragmatic way to achieve this when thinking about screenplay writing; write as if writing for the camera. This isn’t a fully prescriptive statement, and the nuances are many, but is a good starting point when writing a highly-detailed scene or sequence that you want to particularly focus on building your world. Hopefully I can combine this with my previous experience in writing for perspective, as I outlined in my discussion of David Mitchell above; although his techniques focus on character, I believe the level of detail he includes in these perspective-based writings can be useful for this lens-based writing for screen.

I watched “Malcolm in the Middle”, and it got me thinking…

When I first learned about the content of this studio, the idea of a story world, my mind immediately drifted to the worlds of science fiction, fantasy and alternate history, worlds where the rules and structures of our own are almost unrecognisable. However, as we have discussed during the last two weeks every (but not limited to) work of film takes place in a particular story world, with its own setting, characters, history, boundaries and internal logic. These worlds range in scope from entire galaxies with thousands of featured characters to just a few characters in a setting of one or two household rooms.

Television sitcoms generally occupy a fairly similar world: a relatively undisturbed group of friends or family, existing almost exclusively in a couple of households, live a peaceful existence that is disrupted every week by some problem, obstacle or opportunity. Nine times out of ten, the pleasant status quo is restored as the episode ends. “Malcolm in the Middle” generally follows this formula episode-to-episode, except the status quo is far from pleasant; Malcolm’s family fight constantly, live in squalor and are completely financially unstable. In many episodes, the weekly problem is not a problem but a temporary elevation of one or more of the characters out of their position, before eventually tumbling back to their miserable normalcy. At the outset of the series, Malcolm is placed in a high-achievers class, a position that should allow him to transcend his dysfunctional working-class family; instead, it makes him an even larger target for bullies. In the season one episode “Malcolm Babysits”, Malcolm gets a high-paying job babysitting that allows him to escape his family in favour of his clients’ lavish house; as the reality of his conditions are revealed, Malcolm ends up back in his starting position by the episode’s end.

At first, to me this trend in sitcoms seemed like more of a plot issue than a world issue; the plot structure of episodic TV comedies demand that the status quo is restored at the episode’s end. However, through our discussions, particularly the one regarding “Sex and the City”, I realised this forms part of the internal logic of the shows’ story worlds. Much like in “Sex and the City” where New York exists as a safe space in many ways dominated by upper class women, sitcom characters and their situations must exist in an almost static state of being, generally fairly positive. The show logic dictates that, if there is a problem, it must be solved to restore the balance of the world by the end of the episode. “Malcolm in the Middle”, then, is interesting because its internal logic calls for a world that is NOT positive and happy; instead, the show and its characters must return to a state of squalor and dysfunction.

How will this relate to my eventual creation of my own story world? In many cases, it seems very easy to create a world modelled on pre-existing worlds in similar settings. When you construct your own world, you look to other worlds for characters, histories and, of course, internal logics: sci-fi worlds include interplanetary governance and faster-than-light travel; fantasy worlds include a hierarchical monarchy and swordplay; or, as we discussed in class, coming-of-age film worlds feature male protagonists who must achieve certain tasks or undergo great change to “get the girl”. Rarely do we see a teen male protagonist “get the girl” through his own original self-being, but maybe it is these worlds that are the most interesting. “Malcolm in the Middle” takes the sitcom genre’s archetypal internal logic, and flips it on its head, because in reality things don’t always reset to a happy and peaceful status quo. Perhaps when considering my story world, I should try and differ my work from other works that might share its genre or setting by giving it a unique, among other things, internal logic.

(I borrowed some ideas about “Malcolm in the Middle”‘s structure from this article: https://www.vice.com/en_ca/article/why-malcolm-in-the-middle-is-a-socialist-masterpiece)

“I always find that if two (or more) of us throw ideas backwards and forwards I get to more interesting and original places than I could have ever have gotten to on my own” (Cleese, John 1991)

In our most recent tute, tasked with coming up with an ensuing plot and ending for an extended version of the 2002 French short film “J’attendrai le suivant (I’ll wait for the next one)”, our group, like some others in the class, touched on some fairly outlandish ideas during our discussion, before agreeing on a final story. Someone would propose something, and we’d extend the idea as far as possible, even if it became, as it often did, unbelievable and humorous. However, it was important that we submitted these ideas to a wider discussion, rather than just going with our sustained point of focus. This is something that John Cleese actually recommends in his lecture “On Creativity”, stating:

“Once we’ve taken our decision [read: idea], we should narrow our focus while we’re implementing it, and then after it’s been carried out, we should once again switch back to the open mode to review the feedback arising from our action in order to decide whether the course we have taken is successful … we tend to maintain tunnel vision at times we really need to step back and contemplate the wider view.”

Through this method of narrow focus and then group review, we’d be able to select portions of our extended discussion and incorporate them into our final story. What in many ways appeared to be a fruitless and insincere discussion ended up producing some “serious” and useable ideas and forming the core of our story.

However, it wasn’t the outlandish nature of our conversations that produced and honed our story, but rather the collaborative nature of our discussion. It was important that we as individuals or even pairs going down a particular path, extending a particular idea, had others to reel us in; many times, someone would pull someone up an idea for being too unrealistic, being too far removed from the existing story or not fitting the genre, tone and characters of our proposed story. When you’re stuck on a particular idea, although it’s useful for you to explore this idea to its fullest extent to extract all of its potential, you also need something to make sure you stay within the boundaries of the story you are aiming to tell, which more often than not is a collaborative partner of some kind (as discussed in this week’s reading).

The collaborative process wasn’t only important in limiting the scope of our ideas but also in their expansion. As an individual, when exploring an idea it feels like you stay on one track, following one aspect of the idea and, most times unintentionally, ignoring the others. However, by simply verbalising your idea to another person, you can elicit in them an entire range of other perspectives and possibilities from your starting point. Discussing an idea in a group, then, even one that you feel you have fleshed out to its fullest, is important for realising its full potential.

In terms of relating this to my own practice: in the past I have rarely asked others for this sort of creative input into works I’ve created; although I might consult with other people once I have the story fleshed out and in some sort of demonstrable form, I don’t think I’ve ever collaborated or consulted with others on the actual underlying ideas. However, I can now see the strength of doing so; by using this “back and forth” collaborative method, you’re able to, more times than not, reveal the most effective and fitting possibility for every thread of your story idea. Although you might have a set starting and ending point to your story, your exploration of what can happen in between may not be exhaustive; therefore, collaborating or consulting with someone else seems advisable. Although we haven’t embarked on any solid creative projects so far this semester, I’ll keep this exercise in mind and make sure to present things to my peers in the future.