In Treatment

Posted on February 8, 2008 by Gordon

“There are way too many autobiographies. I mean, who cares?” – Paul Weston

By now, you know the premise for this HBO series: one therapist sees five patients, each with their own half-hour session once a week, a new episode every weeknight for nine weeks. Two episodes in, I was intrigued. After ten, I’m sold more than The Black-Eyed Peas’ souls on the floor of the Satanic Stock Exchange.

The frequency alone is an innovation for dramatic television (though first by its Israeli version). Its true genius, though, is in its programming: a completely modular show that embraces today’s time-shifted viewing habits. It begs for DVR or On Demand viewing. If only one of the patient threads interests you, tune in once a week like a regular show. Or record and watch all of that patient’s episodes back-to-back. Or hold out for the inevitable DVD set and choose from any of the 45. The most immersive option of all is on their HBO Signature channel, where each episode airs at the prescribed time of its patient’s session (the threads are named by their times, like “Alex – Tuesday 10:00 am”). Of course, the only viewers with that kind of couch-time flexibility either can’t afford HBO or are trophy wives bouncing from gym to plastic surgeon.

None of this would matter if the show itself weren’t compelling, and it absolutely is. The patients confront issues each of us can relate to, even if we mostly identify with one specific character. The acting is top-shelf, supported by writing equally praise-worthy. Emmy bait, all. Poor Gabriel Byrne. As therapist Paul Weston, he’s in every episode – that’s one thousand pages of dialogue! Friday’s sessions are a recap of sorts, as we flip point-of-view and learn how much these patients impact Weston’s own troubled life as he visits his therapist, projecting just as much evasion and defensiveness as he receives on his own turf.

As for production, they shot one episode every two days, in chronological order, on one consecutive schedule. Byrne says that he never read beyond the current episode (who’d have time?) so he could approach each one naturally, like the doctor who might need a slight refresher after being away from a patient for a week while treating others in between. It also helps with the onion-peeling effect, not knowing too much until it’s time. The actors portraying patients, however, needed at least an outline of their entire arc to inform why they might reveal current information in the way they do.

Both in writing and directing, In Treatment is a master class in dialogue scene-making, as each episode is basically a one-act play, with no action to lean on. Because there’s so little of it, my eye was drawn to the coverage (camera angles), and it’s textbook, for those students of the craft. They employ subtle tracking and pushing as we’d expect, and the angle and lens length are selected based on emotional weight. The more intimate the revelation, the more on-axis we are (the actor looking almost directly into camera). Lighter convo goes wider and further off-axis. They also effectively break the 180 line, by either going really wide or tracking behind the actor, and then re-establishing it on their other side. Of course these shifts are completely motivated either by subject transitions or shifts in balance of power in the conversation.

The first 15 episodes are available for free online.

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Perjiarism

Posted on October 13, 2007 by Gordon

She stole a piece of him. Now he wants it back.

That’s the tagline to what is now my least-favorite movie, based on one of my all-time favorite novels. When you understand that the woman who “wrote” and directed it thieved it literally scene-for-scene from a man’s ten-years-published novel, you’ll appreciate its irony. I wonder if she’ll direct the (theoretical) sequel, the one where the legit production company who owns the rights to the book sues her distributor and ensures that this hack scribe “never works in this town again.” No, I imagine they’ll have to get someone else to lens that one. Oh, and I’ve already got that sequel script on file with the copyright office, so don’t get any delusions of career resuscitation.

Most plagiarism treads a grey area, difficult to prove. Maybe the concept appears derivative, the characters sketched in similar strokes, or a snatch of dialogue is reminiscent. The above example is an extreme one, with often-verbatim dialogue from the mouths of identically-adjectived characters who follow the exact plotted paths of their literary twins on the page in chronological order. Even an officially-blessed adaptation would rarely shadow its source material so closely. Fortunately, the movie is terrible in every way, not even worth the 35mm stock that it sullied, yet I’m conflicted about drawing even more undeserved attention to it. The larger issue is what makes this a worthwhile discussion.

We analyze media around here, per our namesake mandate. In this era of highly-specialized TV networks, direct-to-DVD, web series, blogs, vlogs, and podcasts, there’s an exponential amount of content saturating the ether these days. Most of it nonfiction infotainment (like this site), and most of that, noise. Still, the so-called “demand” for fictional content is far greater as well due to these outlets’ existence/capacity, while its audience is more segmented than ever (one positive evolution). Unfortunately creativity, talent, and professional execution can’t grow at the same rate as demand and production. It’s like having a restaurant’s line cook create their new menu. The ability to operate a microwave doesn’t legitimize your published cookbook. And just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

The new generation of media consumers is very tolerant of poor production values as a by-product of greater choice of voices. They’ve grown up with YouTube and iPods and reality television dominating their diets, rendering the term broadcast quality meaningless. We now trade development for diversity, polish for portability. But pass or fail, truth or consequences, at least come up with your own material! If you’re going to offend my senses, it had better be original. I can sometimes overlook one side of that equation, but not both.

All artists borrow. Especially in their early efforts, influences are often worn on sleeves. It’s how we learn, and why so many student projects suck. They’re exercises, dumpster abortions at best, and not meant for public consumption (or DVD distribution). For years, every riff I wrote sounded like Van Halen, but they never left my bedroom. And while Edward’s ghost still pervades my phrasing to this day, I’m picking my own notes.

Look, the number of pleasing chord progressions is somewhat finite. Complementary colors will be used together more often than others. Time-tested techniques are mastered and passed on. We humans have a fairly small palette of expressible emotions, and only a handful of mythological themes drive nearly all fiction. We accept this, even if it’s largely unspoken. What we want are new interpretations. Change the point of view, put those twelve notes in a different order, select a new medium – simple alterations at the conceptual level will lead to exponential originality as the silk of your ideas is spun and woven into a web of brainstorming that eventually becomes the finished work. That, or I’ll see you in court.

Let’s get some comment discussion going on this one. Release the hounds!

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Truths, Vol. 4

Posted on September 25, 2007 by Gordon

No one knows anything, least of all those who claim to.

If you’re a guitarist with more than three fingers and use a capo, you’re playing the song in the wrong key.

Buying a cool new iPhone won’t make it ring any more frequently.

Size may matter, but you should never cease trimming.

Actors are best seen and heard – not touched, smelled, or tasted.

If the singer actually had anything important to say, he wouldn’t have to scream it at us.

Sometimes perfection can meet you halfway at good enough.

Drummers’ importance must never be revealed to them.

The first cut is more like the final draft of a script.

An artist cannot interpret her own work any more than a critic can define it.

Tuning your instrument is not optional.

The search for that perfect word is a worthwhile pursuit. Economy is the um . . . you know, best . . . uh, quality of a . . . person who writes good . . . stuff.

Quality catering is a better use of budget than that second Steadicam.

Don’t ever write a shitty song, else it may chart and necessitate its performance until the day you die.

If your sound guy stashes his car keys in the refrigerator, he’ll remember to turn it back on before he leaves location.

Talking about your project before it’s done is a recipe for failure. Look at The Bible. That whole ending seemed very tacked-on to me, not to mention all the violence and sex. But I am trying to track down a first edition if anyone’s got one. Signed, preferably.

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Artists vs. Performers

Posted on July 24, 2007 by Gordon

This article had me foaming at the mouth. I’d long suspected this happened, but it’s the first time I’ve heard anyone go on record about it.

Musical performers who take a piece of the writer’s publishing.

Okay, so you’re gorgeous. You spend countless hours at the gym sculpting that perfect diva body. You have vocal talent, whether coached and groomed or god-given. You have an adoring fan base with money to burn and high expectations.

I possess none of these. The years you slaved in the gym, I toiled on a piano bench. While you were getting your eyebrow manicure, I was trying to find a way to bridge the instrumental breakdown to the third verse. You partied in Ibiza, sunning and wooing suits on that yacht while I inscribed pathos-laden lyrics that transcended my gender, race, and age from my 400 square feet in Harlem.

This song, the single that will define your career for the next six months, is what I have to offer. You made no creative contribution whatsoever, and you want a shared credit? Fuck that noise. Yes, you may be doing me a favor by “letting me” let you record one of my songs that could launch or revitalize my career through your celebrity. And true, there’s money to be made in publishing long after the chart lifespan of a song (ain’t no retirement plan for songwriters). But . . . you didn’t write it. That’s why I’m on this side of the curtain. You want the fame, I’m entitled to my full share of “fortune” that enabled it.

Sadly, many aspiring songwriters see this common practice as a dues-paying right of passage. But they’re the ones who need it most! The solution is simple: you want some of my publishing points, you help write the damned song. At least the lyrics – I mean, you’re the one who’s gotta sing them. Collaborate, learn an instrument, mine your feelings and learn to capture them. If you want compensation for the “opportunity,” I’ll find some way to show my gratitude: buy you dinner, some bling, a small country – whatever – but I’m not paying for it over the rest of my life. And I won’t be getting a cut of the merch from your 2027 comeback tour when you’re still singing it.

Some performers (or their managers) perpetrate this theft for credibility; they want to be perceived as singer/songwriters. Artists instead of just performers. There’s often a giant chasm between the two disciplines. A great singer can bring a lyric to life for an audience, translate it in a way the songsmith never could. But while that craft is admirable, without the song, it remains just a vehicle and the performer an empty vessel. We want to believe this awesome projection of emotion we’ve witnessed was seeded in the singer’s soul, and 87% of the audience will assume this without question, anyway. I might watch American Idol if the contestants were required to perform their own material.

Starpower is a function of talent and reputation. While their risks are considerable, the rewards are far, far greater. My song and any artistic cred are all I have to get by on, and I expect to be fully compensated for them. It’s a misconception that artists (pure artists, I mean) “get all the chicks.” Until there’s a public performance of it, they’re likely unknown, and even then . . . it really only applies if the artist also happens to be really good-looking. No one wants to be with some miserable schlub. Unless they’re famous, but that’s a different topic.

Anyway, yeah, if you want to be an artist, create art. Otherwise, you can rent mine for a fair price.

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On-Set Translation

Posted on July 8, 2007 by Gordon

What they say. What they mean.

“Picture’s up.”
Get out of the frame and shut your pie holes.

“Let’s go again; that shot went a little soft.”
Because you’re also an exec producer, I’m blaming the focus puller for your wooden acting.

“Check the gate.”
If we have to do another take of this, I’ll slit my wrists.

“One more for safety.”
Maybe if you think the pressure’s off, you’ll give me one usable take.

“I need more energy.”
Your performance sucks, but I don’t speak actor language and can’t provide the direction needed to get you where I want, so I’ll use a meaningless, unactionable term like energy instead – one that I’ll be forced to reinterpret after the next shitty take.

“Let’s toss a ProMist in there.”
I know the number of a good dermatologist.
“Your character’s very vulnerable in this scene.”
You’ll be naked.

“Honey, I need you to help us maintain continuity.”
Please keep your nipples tweaked between takes.

“We’ll get a pick-up shot of it later.”
No, we won’t.

“Let’s reset with the 85mm and flip the room.”
You guys keep working. I gotta take a dump, a bump, and call my agent back.
“We’re losing the light,” or “wait out these clouds.”
I now punish you for my having overruled your insistence that the whole scene be shot under HMIs.

“This is the Abby Singer, people.”
We’re setting up for the penultimate shot of the day (the final being called the martini), and since many have no clue what this means, it gives me a chance to appear smart while demeaning your inexperience by having to explain the story of the infamous namesake AD who’d routinely mistakenly call the martini shot too soon. This will probably be followed by an additional unforeseen setup, resulting in me being an Abby Singer false prophet myself.

“Good work, everyone. We’ll see you in the morning.”
Please congratulate me on my own visionary genius. And be back in six hours.

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Book Learnin vs. Dirty Hands

Posted on May 21, 2007 by Gordon

I would love to hear, from your point of view, whether a fine arts degree worth its pursuit. Our province has many opportunities for folks in the creative community to work in the industry — both amateur and professional — and I am beginning to hear from people who work in the field that hands-on experience far surpasses a degree in terms of getting work and learning the craft.

The debate rages on: experience versus education. I’ll admit up front that any bias is because I have a B.S. in Broadcasting. Still, I’d wager that in this industry the advantages are about 70/30 experience over education.

A lot of people go to school to get a head start on that experience. Most of my college evenings weren’t spent in the library, they were at the radio station, in the editing room, production meetings, the engineering shop. And on the barstool. At the time, I wouldn’t have had access to these resources otherwise (and I was as far from either coast as one could be). Being in a community of driven, competitive, like-minded students was invaluable as well – folks I could recruit for my vanity projects and vice-versa.

School forces you to work on a variety of skills that are probably outside your comfort zone that you’ll thank them for later. Most people just want to learn how to run the camera and some desktop software. No one aspires to be a boom operator, but it’s solid work. Script supervision is a critical, underappreciated skill.

College for me was right on the cusp of the internet’s coming-out party. Since then, I can honestly say that I probably learned as much in a couple of years lurking in the shadows of the masters on Cinematography.com as I did in four years at university. But it can’t make you feel the unreal stress of deadlines, equipment failures, and personnel issues that are a daily reality. Only getting your hands dirty can do that.

Thus far, I’ve been referring to production jobs. Those are experience-driven. But that’s only one facet of the industry. School teaches you a lot of things most people wouldn’t seek out on their own, but are practical in the white-collar or no-collar sector. Law, theory, ethics, history, management, etc.

I realize the focus of your question was screenwriting. That’s a trickier one. I’m all for novelists or academic writers getting degrees, especially post-graduate ones. Screenwriting, however, to me is not a literary pursuit as most of us understand it. It’s about being able to tell a compelling story purely through visual and auditory clues, and doing so within a standard industry-accepted format that directors and actors and producers can interpret. It’s only a slight exaggeration that I would probably enlist a graphic designer or a video editor to write a script before I would someone who had a newspaper column. School can teach you how to pace your acts, how to develop characters, why past works were great, etc., but once you’re trying to sell that first spec script, you’re in a field of competition where no one cares if you’re degreed, only if your idea can make them millions. A huge part of successful screenwriting is marketing. Knowing how to sell your ideas. Also understanding actors, both feeding their egos with juicy parts and appreciating their process. Thinking like a director, making your camera cuts on the page.

There are many writing jobs that don’t involve writing features. I made a living writing video scripts and ad copy for awhile. Those were skills honed in school. But they came as a result of making contacts and networking and self-promotion.

Long story short (too late!), I wouldn’t go to school strictly for screenwriting. There isn’t much they can teach that you can’t learn through your own resourcefulness, if you naturally have what it takes otherwise. The competition in the script world is so beyond ridiculous, you’re better off using the money to buy yourself some time off, and spend it writing. A lot. That’s what writers do. And thickening your skin and exercising your tenacity. Sounds like you’re on the right path, getting exposure at every level you can.

What do you guys think?

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Truths, Vol. 3

Posted on March 1, 2007 by Gordon

The quality of a magazine is inversely proportional to the number of ad pages before its table of contents.

Perfection is possible, just unlikely.

One single sentence can conjure more imagery than a reel of film. Not that sentence, but, you know, a really, really good one.

Even Jennifer Lopez gets diarrhea sometimes.

No, I do not think your MySpace blog would make a good screenplay.

All art is the physical expression or representation of an emotion.

No one can stop you from following your dreams – until they intersect with mine, and then I’ll have to discourage your no-talent ass.

Media critics should be voted upon yearly to be retained/expelled by their constituents, just like municipal judges.

The more whooshes and thuds in a movie trailer, the less likely I am to go see it.

Your book is not worth my week spent reading, much less your two years’ writing. Don’t waste either of our time.

Music should stimulate the hips first, and the heart second. The brain is far down the list, below even the neck.

Fame and talent are not synonymous. You can buy an audience’s ticket, but you can’t make them come.

More money should be spent on what’s in front of the camera than behind it.

A televised nipple never inspired a child to shoot his classmates.

Michael Medved is no more credible a critic than Michael Moore is a documentarian.

Songs are what they play between commercials on the radio.

I already know there are twelve notes, yet every American Idol diva-in-training must remind me of each of them before concluding a vocal phrase.

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Oscar® Hangover

Posted on February 26, 2007 by Gordon

How original, an Oscars post!

Though neither nominated nor invited this year, I thought last night’s Academy Awards was a class broadcast all around. Sure, there were a few technical/timing gaffes, but having directed live variety shows before, I can tell you Murphy’s Law is in effect, you just have to be prepared.

I really loved the international flavor, especially with Mexico’s proliferation in cinema. Personally, I thought Babel, Children of Men, and Pan’s Labyrinth were the three best films of the year, coincidentally all directed by The Three Amigos. Children of Men really got the shaft, even in nominations. That motorcycle chase scene from the inside of the car was the single most exciting thing I saw on screen all year.

Eddie Murphy’s snub was no surprise. Eff him. Many in the industry see him as standoffish and judge him by his frequent poor choices, just as the opposite helped Marty win Best Director in a tough field. Gore getting played off was classic, and his film is certainly worthy of attention, though not the award. Other than Babel not getting Best Picture, the only other true disappointment for me was Adriana Barraza (the Mexican nanny) not winning for her heartbreaking supporting role in that same picture. But what are ya gonna do, Jennifer Hudson was in the same category.

I was yelling at the screen during E!’s pre-show coverage as Ryan Seacrest interviewed Gael Garcia Bernal. Here’s one of the finest actors of his generation (Bernal), and in his sixty seconds of screen time, Seacrest felt the need to mention Brad Pitt at least six times – a man Bernal has never met.

As usual, some of the best things about the broadcast were the preproduced tribute packages. Just spectacular editing, especially the In Memoriam, which usually puts me to sleep. Errol Morris’s “It’s All About the Nominees” intro video was stellar, giving us a glimpse at the nominee experience, especially those behind the scenes, through his innovative Interrotron style. The writers tribute, the Morricone tribute, Mann’s americana thing, all thoughtful.

Many would agree the absolute highlight was the interpretive dancers behind the scrim who formed an iconic silhouetted image from each of the Best Picture nominees using only their own bodies. Another favorite was the Costume Design nominee presentation, with live re-enactment vignettes featuring their wardrobes.

I don’t care who everyone was wearing. I don’t care about the host. I don’t care about the catering, or the raging after-parties. But they selected some great films this year, and truly did celebrate the nominees.

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Awards Show Etiquette

Posted on January 28, 2007 by Gordon

‘Tis the Season, and since I know all the industry insiders read this blog between meetings and lighting setups in their trailers, for your consideration I present the following tips to make your big night a memorable, gaffe-free one.

• Orange is the new tan. With February nearing, it’s time to externalize your inner Oompa Loompa. And don’t forget the eyebrow manicure.

• Don’t put the red carpet host(ess) in the awkward position of having to include your unfamous date in the on-camera chat out of courtesy. They’re lucky to get your own name right, Best Sound Editing guy.

• Guys, the Jimmy Fallon just-got-out-of-bed coif is over. Step into a comb.

• As your friend I can tell you that you’ve gotten a little fat this winter. Three or four days’ starvation is not too much to ask if you want to nail that “gaunt” look. Plus, this year I hear they’re giving away eight-balls in the gift baskets. You are getting soooo laid tonight once we realize that we could eat our morning cereal out of your solar plexus.

• Always blame the TelePrompTer; break that fourth wall and spoil the illusion of chemistry for us.

• Go ahead and unseal the envelope while the clips are playing so I don’t have to endure your fumblings with it like a prom dress zipper.

• Nominees, that guy with the big camera on his shoulder in your aisle? He’s in cue and ready to broadcast the slightest change in your facial expression. Use those performance instincts to at least feign grace until he points in a different direction. Especially when you’ve just been robbed by that no-talent hack from Gray’s Anatomy.

• Get your ass down the aisle when your name pops out of the envelope. The clock is ticking, the orchestra’s only charted the first four measures of your theme, and there will be plenty of time to high-five your entourage when you return to your table.

• If you’re in the can when your name is called, California law states that your seat-filler can accept the award on your behalf.

• You have a 20-25% chance of winning, so pretend that you’ve at least considered this fact in advance, in spite of your modesty.

• The podium mic is already at the proper height. I realize you rap for a living, but you don’t have to eat the damn thing.

• Actors, if you can memorize a two-page monologue, surely the name of your agent shouldn’t escape you.

• Always good to point out Jack Nicholson in the front row. The guy needs some more face time.

• If we wanted to hear your opinions on foreign policy or social causes, the U.N. would book you. Tonight is about celebrating your craft. Give the booth a URL to your Web site, and they can key it in during your speech. “For the complete list of my gratitude, and opinions on fur, please visit GordonHighland.com.”

• Best Animated Short is fascinating, really, but please donate as much of your thirty-second speech as possible so they don’t have to play off Scorsese later.

• Could you ask someone if we can limit the In Memoriam segment to past nominees and winners only, please? You didn’t recognize them during their lifetime, so a postmortem three-second clip of a forgettable role is insulting.

• Go ahead and announce your new asking fee on the podium. It’s an honor just to be nominated, but those statues pad your back end.

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