Round 9.11 [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by kza

Okay, so the following is an attempt at sketching out a story for The Atheist that takes place on Earth, instead of an alien planet. As I’m writing this, I feel I should point out that I have absolutely no idea what’s going to come out, which is why I used the word “sketch” — this, in all likelihood, will not be using the sequence method, at least not in any kind of conscious, direct way. Hell, to be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure if the following will even be a story, in the usual sense, but more of a… “communication of a vision”, if that makes any sense. Probably not. Maybe I should just start writing, huh?

The Atheist

So the big idea here is that the Earth is, in reality, a prison planet. A long, long, long time ago, before there were any humans, aliens came by and deposited their criminals here, like some giant Australia. These criminals apparently did something so horrible that the best possible punishment was to drop them off on a planet that had only the most primitive form of life and leave them there forever. What did these criminals do? I’m not sure yet, so I’ll try and get to that later. More importantly, what kind of creatures are these aliens? How would they survive on a planet that contained only primordial soup?

Here’s an idea: what if the alien criminals are our own mitochondria, in our cells? Apparently (for reals, yo), mitochondria are actually ancient bacterial hitchhikers that wormed their way into our single-celled progenitor organisms billions of years ago — they even have their own separate DNA from ours. (Some theorize that humans and other living things are just vessels for the transference of information, both our regular DNA and the mitochondria’s.) What if these warden aliens dropped these critters off, thinking they’d just swim around in the goop for eternity, but they were clever enough to hop onto the evolution bandwagon?

So the warden aliens take off for the Warden Homeworld, leaving the Mitochondria Bandits to serve their sentence, but the Mitochondria Bandits — feeling they have nothing to lose? for kicks? to avoid being eaten by protozoa or something? — make their home in our progenitor cells. Every living creature has mitochondria, so they’re everywhere — it’s possible they’re the reason we’re here today.

Billions of years pass.

Now we’re in 2007. This is where the story would start, presumably, so we need a protagonist. Let’s call him Joe for now. (Obviously, the protag could easily be a woman — no reason why not — but I’m going with a guy for now. Latent sexism, I know. Sorry.) So who is Joe? I see two possibilities — either he’s some scientist-type (because a scientist-type will be necessary at some point, I think) or he’s just Regular Joe. I’m not sure which yet, though. Either way, he’s Joe, and he’s got the usual Joe problems. What are the usual Joe problems? Well, they can be anything, up to and including: spouse troubles, dad issues, mom issues, child issues, sibling is a no good rotter, sibling is a saint and makes Joe look like a no good rotter, health issues, mental issues, job insecurity, spiritual insecurity, and Geriatric Profanity Disorder, or G.P.D.

Since this is called The Atheist, spiritual issues seem like a shoo-in, but we’ll save that for a moment. The reason Joe has problems is because a) we’ll need them to make Joe relatable, and b) we’ll need them to help fill out the story, and hopefully the real problem of the story (the Mitochondria Bandits) and Joe’s problems will inform and affect each other.

But what is the real problem of the story? Right now, every living thing has millions of mitochondria in them, which are in reality the clones of interstellar terrorists (or something), but at the same time, they’re necessary for the survival of every living thing. It’s a status quo, and a static one at that. Something must upset it, or we’ve got an essay instead of a story.

Two things come to mind: One, in a direct rip from a good but very strange book by Greg Bear called Blood Music, someone (probably Joe) somehow is able to communicate with his mitochondria. More on that in a minute. Two, the Warden Aliens come back — maybe to check up on the Bandits, or maybe they’ve decided to free the Bandits. (Their billion-year appeal finally made it through the courts?) If they want to free the Bandits (Free the Mitochondria Trillion!), well, that’s gonna suck for Earth, cuz that means everyone’s gonna die.

It seems obvious to me that both events are needed, and are connected casually — the communication between human and mitochondria results in the Wardens coming back, which threatens the existence of humanity. Also, I think, in order to tie back in with the title and the notion of spiritual insecurity, the communication starts as one-on-one, but eventually spreads, so that by that last 1/3, either everyone on earth is talking to their mitochondria, or the reality of the situation is clear enough and everyone understands the possibility of extinction. This is the point that, to my mind at least, threatens the paradigms of most religions — that humans, all life, really, are the equivalent of automobiles, there to help move inhuman, value-less information (DNA) through time and survive.

But let’s get back to the guy who can talk to his cells. How the hell does that happen, anyway? Well, that’s the main reason to bring in a scientist-type, for some kinda bullshit scientist-type yada yada to get us to that point. (Is there a problem inherent to this sketch, that I use real science for the basis of the story, but am willing to relegate an important plot point to a fakey, bullshit explanation? Probably.) Still, bullshit or not, some kind of definition is needed here. Joe could be the subject of some kind of test, that has the (intentional or accidental) effect of allowing him to talk to his mitochondria. Or he could be the scientist that comes up with the test and tries it out on himself (the Blood Music option). It also could just happen one day. (For no good reason? Because this particular mitochondria has a conscience and wants to warn him that the Wardens are coming?) Regardless, it happens.

There’s a number of problems (both in the good “conflict” sense of the word and the bad “conceptual” sense) with a guy (let’s just say it’s Joe for now) talking with his cells. How, exactly do they communicate? In Hal Clement’s Needle (another book I’m, uh, “inspired” by), a cop virus on Earth looking for a criminal virus gets inside a teenager, and it communicates with the kid by using flashing words on his retina, that he can see when he’s looking at blank wall. So there’s one idea. Of course, it could just talk in Joe’s head in English, like as if it were his own thoughts or a conscience. (It seems like the first one works if the technical details of communication are important, but the second one, while easier — and thus, less interesting — has more thematic and metaphoric possibilities.) Dreams are another possibility, but I can already tell I don’t like that one. Another idea: Morse code. Maybe the mitochondria causes throbbing in Joe’s body that he can read as Morse code. While that makes sense from one perspective (that the mitochondria communicates in pure information, binary code, off and on), from another it looks pretty silly.

Regardless, there’s a communication, and clearly that’s going to have an affect on Joe’s “Joe Problems”. One possible way of structuring the early part of the story is that Joe’s getting these messages and no one believes him — he’s not even sure if it’s real or he’s going crazy. This could be even more difficult if he’s from a religious background or has a religious background that he’s rejected. What the mitochondria is whispering into his head is probably pretty blasphemous at the least, and pretty shocking even if he really is an atheist or an agnostic.

But what is the mitochondria telling him, exactly? And why is it telling him anything to begin with? Earlier, I suggested that this particular mitochondria has a conscience, and knows that the coming of the Wardens means the death of all life on Earth. (This brings up another question: are all the mitochondria in the world individuals? Or all they all clones of the same, say, 12 original convicts? And if they’re clones, do they have telepathic communication with each other? Do they act as one organism? Or are we, in effect, back to the individuals again? The answer is necessary for an important question: why this mitochondria, and why Joe?) But back to the other question: what is it telling Joe, and why is it telling him?

It’s probably telling him the background that we’ve already set up: alien convicts, billions of years ago, life is ultimately a vehicle for their own continued survival — everything that is important to humans (love, morality, power, fame, etc.) is truly meaningless, a byproduct not unlike the exhaust from an SUV. All well and good. But why? Assuming I don’t want to use the conscience thing, what else could motivate this particular Bandit? Well, the flipside to a “good” motivation is a “bad” motivation. What if the Bandit is manipulating Joe for some reason? I’m not sure what that reason would be, though. Right now, though, I’m presuming that the Wardens are on their way and are going to kill everything on Earth if nothing unusual happens — unusual here meaning that one of the convicts starts talking. So maybe with a bad convict, it wants to somehow manipulate Joe so that he brings the Wardens that will free the convicts at the expense of the Earth. Good idea, but I have no idea how he’d do that. Still, the notion that not only are there intelligent cells in Joe’s body that can talk to him, but can also lie to him is pretty tasty.

Clearly, however, at some point Joe comes to believe this communication to be real. This no doubt causes all kinds of problems in his family, friend, and work relationships, but it seems like there should be at least one person (child? spouse?) that believes him. Nothing original there — the “supportive character” is pure archetype — but it seems necessary. So right now, I see the first 1/3 or so of this story being about Joe realizing that he has these convicts inside him, and his acceptance of that and his belief in their story. What then?

Joe has likely changed because of this experience. He’s not going to be the same guy he was at the beginning. (Although the usual “arc” for a character is that he/she changes at the end of the second act, and that change is tested in the third act, a change can technically happen at any point, and be tested from that point on.) It’s likely that he’s broken ties with a number of people, and has changed his views on a number of subjects. How does he feel about his newborn son, knowing that the only purpose of his existence is for the criminals inside his wife to continue their existence? How does he reconcile his life as a human being, what it means to be a human being, with the knowledge of the true purpose of life on Earth? There’s a temptation to fall into nihilism — does he resist?

Okay, I’ve hit my personal limit of 2000 words, and I’m far from finished sketching out what this story is to me. I’ll continue this in Round 9.13 if it’s warranted.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Weekly Wrap-Up + 2! (3/18/06 - 3/26/06) posted by kza

Kinda like the Funky Four + One More… only, y’know, not.

So this week’s been full of discussion, if very little forward momentum. Sometimes that happens, y’all.

The big thing this week has been Round Nine, The Atheist v. Atmosphere. By Shockah’s estimate, this round probably would’ve been over by now, but Shockah and Burley got sidetracked by whether or not an autistic character is appropriate for the Atmosphere story, and other meta-discussions relating to such, even though it’s highly likely that we won’t be writing any autistic characters in whatever wins the Spitball! Tourney of Story Ideas. Also, Shockah owes a story sketch of The Atheist, one that takes place on our modern-day Earth and not on an alien planet, and he swears he’ll have it done soon, but really, nothing’s gonna move forward until he does.

Then, there was some rules discussion about how to gracefully exit a Round for the time being if it looks like it aint going anywhere anytime soon, known by the more elegant name tabling. Unfortunately, that discussion also ground to a halt, which was so ironic that all the anemics in a fifty mile radius were instantly cured.

Also, Burley is getting ready to do a sequence method analysis of Blue Fuckin’ Velvet. He had a few questions, that Shockah, as designated expert (snort), answered the best he could. We’re all quite excited to see what Burley comes up with.

Finally, both Shockah and Burley posted their philosophies behind creating character sketches for the story ideas. Why? Because it’s fun. Burley, by simply explaining why he likes to name characters, has pretty much volunteered himself to name every character, as far as I’m concerned. (I hate doing it, y’see.) (Another aside: He credits me with “Valerie Plum”, but I’m pretty sure that’s his, too. He has enough names for both of us.)

Odds for next week:

Finishing Round Nine: 2-1
Figuring out rules for tabling: 4-1
Getting hung up on minutiae of space travel: Even
Someone suggests that the “Rasputin” character be autistic: 900-1

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re: Character Sketches: My Philosophy (I Think Very Deeply) posted by Martin

I’ve never really sat down and thought very hard about my philosophy in characters sketches, but reading your post I realized that my unthunk philosophy follows yours very closely. Which is why it took me a while to respond to this. I had to thunk about it for awhile.

Just a few points of interest or divergence:

1. I love naming characters.
Love love love it. If I had to pick my favorite part of the whole shebang, this would be in the top five, and possibly even pushing the top 2. Give me a character and I’ll find you a name. Not, that I am not claiming any ascendancy here—my names might just stink up the script, but that does nothing to mitigate the unadulterated pleasure I get from actually doing it.

My names usually follow historical people who have inspired me. In YELLOW the college is named the Bierce Academy, after Ambrose Bierce. There is a character named Sharpe, after radio man-on-the-street masters Coyle & Sharpe (we had a Coyle in an early draft, but he’s dropped into the background. Shockah brilliantly named a musician Valerie Plum (from Plame), and her CD is titled Identity Exposed. Or, my latest historical homage, Zheng James McNab, named after the great Chinese mariner Zheng He, with James because it sounds cool with Zheng, and McNab is the name of the clan in Scotland that looked out for us much smaller McClellans. Plus, I love the idea of a Chinese-Scottish family (yes, I know that Zheng is a surname, but that too tells you something about the characters background, doesn’t it?).

Other times, I’ll name them after lesser known, but still deserving people. In YELLOW there is the artist that helped found the Bierce Institute named Hart Frenkel. He was named after my friend Nina Frenkel, who is a brilliant artist and illustrator (not to mention exceptionally kind and cool human being), and the name also serves as an ode to her Hungarian roots, that included a number of artists, designers and amazing creative types.

My rule for names is that they have to be unique enough that you can remember them for the movie, they have to be interesting enough to entertain me as I’m writing them hundreds of times and not get sick of them, and then have to be lyrical to say. I always say the names I pick aloud to myself to make sure they sound good.

2. On the sketch being not so interesting.
I see your point here, but my goal is to entertain myself, and that usually means forming some sort of story in the backstory. Still, what you say is true—if it’s stronger then the story in the script, then something is wrong there. But that in of itself could be an indicator that the script isn’t as solid as it could be, and maybe the interesting story about this character you’ve dreamt up is actually an event that takes place earlier in their lives. My criteria for this is that my character sketches have to be entertaining to myself.

3. Support Network
This is a very good point, and one to always refer back to. No person lives in a vacuum, even if they’re completely anti-social. Even insane loner criminals encounter people—land lords, clerks, psychiatrists. They leave traces. A more normal people will have an extended social network, so says Malcolm Gladwell, of 150 people or so. That’s a big world to draw on and learn about characters through their interactions with other characters.

4. The Well
Also a very good idea. I can’t say that I’ve ever considered this, but in my own way I do something similar. My well, though, is made up on the spot of losing interest. What is the thing that would energize the script when it’s getting boring? What is the subplot I’m missing? Sometimes those things take on lives of their own and become fully fleshed out subplots. In our script YELLOW, our character Bernardo’s father is a somewhat well known film director. He had his son, when quite young, act in a scene that has been an embarrassment his entire life, and when people in the school find out about it, the of course give it to him. This small idea grew when we needed something to happen to embarrass Bernardo, and grew into one of the themes of his life—trying to live outside of his father’s shadow.

5. Character’s Personality
I agree that this is no place to discuss it. For me, it goes back to “show don’t tell.” The sketch should be biographical about the bullet points in the persons life. Where have they been, what have they done, and how did they come to the place where the story really starts?

Besides, I don’t feel that personality is a good way to get to know somebody on paper. In real life, yes, but their actions, reactions and the paths they’ve chosen (there must be choice in those paths at some point, no matter how crazy their childhood) are all more important to summing up a fictional character then what their personality supposedly is.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Re[3]: Motion: Rules Addendum posted by Martin

Sorry if I was unclear. Here’s what I think:

1. Anybody who wants to table a battle at anytime for any reason need only say that this is their desire and the battle is tabled.
2. The other person has the right to lodge an official approval or complaint about the lodging, but this has no bearing on the fact that the battle is tabled. It’s only for self-satisfaction and to allow a voice to the other party. There should never be any punishment for tabling a battle.

As for calling a vote, I think that a member can always call a vote at any stage if they really wanted to, and this could be an interesting thing here, but what if the tabling party refuses the vote?

The timing of this is all very funny in lieu of the fact that Christine and I went to go see the Seattle Rep’s performance of Private Lives last night, and the main couple forms a pack early on that every time they start fighting and bickering one of them calls “Solomon Isaacs!” and they have to stop talking completely for two minutes to cool down.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re[2]: Motion: Rules Addendum posted by kza

REJECTED on technicality. I don’t like the idea of placing an arbitrary number of posts to tabling, I’d rather it be in human hands. What if we get up to 20 on a post, but are really digging the exchange?

Excellent point, and one I should’ve realized. Although I’m 100% sure that a twenty post battle is just going ‘round and ‘round, there’s always the chance that it isn’t, and we should protect that possibility.

The other member can respond that the tabling exists with their approval or veto, but either way the tabling will continue.

I am confused here, however. If I table a battle, it’s automatically tabled? And you can say you agree or disagree, but it gets tabled anyway? I think a battle should only be tabled with the agreement of both parties — or is that what you’re saying?

I’m also playing with the idea that if someone moves to table a battle, the other person may call for an immediate vote on the battle, but I’m not sure what I think about that yet.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re: Motion: Rules Addendum posted by Martin

REJECTED on technicality. I don’t like the idea of placing an arbitrary number of posts to tabling, I’d rather it be in human hands. What if we get up to 20 on a post, but are really digging the exchange?

So, I propose the following:

Any member, for any reason without explanation at any time may table a round, which is then automatically added to the end of the queue. If the heat is at the end and the discussion is the lone holdout, then the discussion must continue until the issues are resolved.

The other member can respond that the tabling exists with their approval or veto, but either way the tabling will continue.

What say you?

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Motion: Rules Addendum posted by kza

I move that when a Round lasts ten posts, five on each side, that said Round is immediately tabled, to be resumed after the next Rounds in the current Heat are dealt with.

What say you?

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Round 9.10 [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by Martin

I can’t imagine walking into a movie about an autistic person and thinking, “This guy can’t make an emotional connection to people, so I can’t make an emotional connection with him.” That doesn’t make any sense. I literally don’t understand or recognize what you’re describing. It’s totally contrary to everything I know about stories and films.

Two points on this:
1. To paraphrase Mamet, they call a confidence man a confidence man not because you give him your confidence, but because he gives his confidence to you. We fall in love with actors in love stories because they give their love to us by proxy of their screen love interest. We get scared in horror films because the character gives us their fear. The most successful actors are the clearest emotional conduits, that can effortlessly project the inner emotions of a character while seeming not to do so. Movies are, in one great sense, about the emotional states of people. This is one reason that film is such a powerful medium. Having a character who, by definition of his disorder, has trouble emotionally connecting to other people is an impediment to projecting his emotional state.
2. You keep speaking in grand terms, about “our jobs as artists” and “everything you know about stories and films.” I’m talking about one instance of one character in one story. I’m making no statements that autism can’t be used successfully, I’m simply saying that for the way I see this story, having the character be autistic is an artificial barrier to the points I would like to stress. Namely, as I’ve said, the emotional manipulation of the audience members. Having them like, then dislike, then sympathize with a nasty character. That’s the point of entry and interest for me in this story.

But again, what I’m penultimately saying isn’t that it has to be an autistic guy, simply that my version and your version are on the same level, imo — that is, my “autism made me do it” and your “it was a mistake cuz I fell asleep” are more or less equivalent. I still think the culpability of the protagonist needs to be raised.

I don’t think they are equal. One killed people because of something he could, but didn’t, control. The other killed people because of a disorder that he has that is no fault of his own. The former makes him culpable. The latter gives, again, mitigating circumstances to his culpability.

Furthermore, mine makes a series of missteps in the face of good reasons not to. He paved his own road. Falling asleep was not the reason the event happened, but only that he didn’t recognize the alarms. But, frankly, maybe he went to the bathroom to snort some coke instead. Maybe their were no alarms. Either way the deaths of thousands of people were the direct result of his actions, with nothing mitigating them in the slightest.

And what I’m ultimately saying is that I’m tired of considering the audience and trying to imagine what they will or won’t accept. It’s cart before the horse. Figure out the story first, then figure out how to “sell” it to an audience.

Tell that to the people that made new coke in the 80s.

Or, if you’re not considering the audience at all, why take traditional form? Why not make the movie 700 pages? Why follow the sequence method? These are all concessions to audiences and humans ability to sit and watch a story for an extended time period. You already are considering the audience. Actually, the story itself is the audience, really, and the question that we seem to be disagreeing on is whether or not the story is strengthened by this one attribute you’ve assigned a character.

But you know what? I’m willing to be wrong. Lay it out for me. Lay out the story as you see it, and tell me why the autism is so important in service to the story.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Round 9.9 [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by kza

In this case the story rests on a fulcrum: the audiences ability to make an emotional connection with the protag. Making him autistic seems like an artificial barrier to doing that.

I totally disagree with this premise. I can’t imagine walking into a movie about an autistic person and thinking, “This guy can’t make an emotional connection to people, so I can’t make an emotional connection with him.” That doesn’t make any sense. I literally don’t understand or recognize what you’re describing. It’s totally contrary to everything I know about stories and films.

The question is whether this story will be enhanced or troubled by having the protag be autistic. I think the latter.

And I think the former.

• His autism is an inner incarceration, a thematic reflection of his external incarceration.
• It connects with his obsession with terraforming, and its symbolic connection to alchemy: he desires an inner change, and can only attempt it by making an external change in the world around him.
• It makes his relationships within the jail and his goal of transforming the atmosphere around the jail more difficult, and thus more interesting.

The fact that he’s, again, for lack of a better phrase, “mentally handicapped” is problematic, but it seems more like an opportunity than a crisis. It’s strange, because putting the deaths of hundreds or thousands of people on the head of a mentally handicapped man is an odd premise for a story. But I don’t think it’s an excuse — he’s still responsible, and there are still ramifications: meaning, this guy with mental problems goes to jail. I think that’s interesting, and invites a complicated response.

But again, what I’m penultimately saying isn’t that it has to be an autistic guy, simply that my version and your version are on the same level, imo — that is, my “autism made me do it” and your “it was a mistake cuz I fell asleep” are more or less equivalent. I still think the culpability of the protagonist needs to be raised.

And what I’m ultimately saying is that I’m tired of considering the audience and trying to imagine what they will or won’t accept. It’s cart before the horse. Figure out the story first, then figure out how to “sell” it to an audience.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Round 9.8 [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by Martin

Well, that’s our job as artists: to find a way in to a specific viewpoint and express it to the best of our ability.

I can’t speak to being an artist. My question is simply this: does the autism aid the story? In this case the story rests on a fulcrum: the audiences ability to make an emotional connection with the protag. Making him autistic seems like an artificial barrier to doing that.

The author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time found a way.

Yes he did. He had the autistic guy write the book in first person, because from the outside autistic people are much harder to relate to. You can’t read their emotions. Unless you give them a Tom Cruise to bounce off of. I ask you: do you really want to re-write Rain Man?

But, the issue isn’t whether or not we could make a story work with an autistic character. I’m sure we could. And, to put a fine point on it, I’m not objecting to an autistic protagonist specifically (being as I just wrote one into one of my descriptions). I’m objecting to a particular character in a particular situation. The question is whether this story will be enhanced or troubled by having the protag be autistic. I think the latter.

Additionally, autism gives him an excuse for his reprehensible actions. If he has a built in excuse, there is no reason to redeem him, so the emotional arc that I’m seeking in this character is unavailable from the word go because he’s already forgiven or explained due to his disorder.

Hitchcock was always finding ways getting audiences to connect with characters whom they would otherwise despise.

Yes, and that’s exactly what I’m saying I want to do: set up a character that the audiences has good reason to not like, and then help the audience relate to them. That’s my goal plain and simple.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Re:[10] Sequence Method Question posted by Martin

I’ll formalize a technique and form with my Blue Velvet post, and then you can tweak it and suggest changes as need be.

I’m on board for the Matrix. Let me just finish chewing what I’ve already bit off.

Maybe we can start a database of these.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Re:[9] Sequence Method Question posted by kza

That’s a little more detailed than I was planning, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. I’ll see how big my workload is, and start doing this.

Well, the time stamps are completely optional — I like them for the info they provide, but also because I’m anal-retentive that way :-)

But I can’t imagine doing a breakdown without a scene list. I mean, if you can do it, more power to ya, but that’s out of my range.

Which reminds me, maybe we should start defining a format for breaking a film down. A form, if you will, that we could follow to aid in our dissections, analyzation and discussions.

Good idea. I’ll be looking at your Blue Velvet post carefully.

Also, when I have a few of these under my belt, it might be interesting to pick a film—a non-obvious one, if possible—and each do a breakdown on it. Then, we can compare notes and see if we were both on the same page.

I had the same idea. I was going to save The Matrix for myself, but since I know we both own it, should we go with that? (Also, it’s an “easy” one to start with.)

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Re:[8] Sequence Method Question posted by Martin

a list of the scenes, in chronological order, and with time stamps

That’s a little more detailed than I was planning, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. I’ll see how big my workload is, and start doing this.

Which reminds me, maybe we should start defining a format for breaking a film down. A form, if you will, that we could follow to aid in our dissections, analyzation and discussions.

Also, when I have a few of these under my belt, it might be interesting to pick a film—a non-obvious one, if possible—and each do a breakdown on it. Then, we can compare notes and see if we were both on the same page.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Re:[7] Sequence Method Question posted by kza

What I would like to see (if you have it, but maybe this is exactly what you’re working on!) is a list of the scenes, in chronological order, and with time stamps, if you got ‘em. I don’t think I’ll be watching Blue Velvet anytime soon, but I’d love to get my hands dirty with this.

That said, I think I’ve settled on the PONR being the moment where Dorothy discovers him in the closet. This propels him from voyeur and passive (at least in this sequence) observer to active participant.

That sounds pretty good to me!

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Round 9.7 [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by kza

I think you put your finger on something here: with him being autistic, he exists outside of the normal spectrum of emotions. So, how—as an audience—are we suppose to care about him at all? How can we connect with someone who emotionally is unable to connect?

Well, that’s our job as artists: to find a way in to a specific viewpoint and express it to the best of our ability. The author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time found a way. Hitchcock was always finding ways getting audiences to connect with characters whom they would otherwise despise.

Or put another way: why should we care about any character, in any story? What tools do we have as artists that allow us to make an audience care for a character? And why should those tools suddenly not work because a character is autistic? I don’t think any of this has anything to do with whether a character can emotionally connect to another character or not.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Re:[6] Sequence Method Question posted by Martin

Going by what info I have, it sounds like you’re trying to slice it too thin.

That’s very likely. In my quest for understanding and applying these techniques I tend towards the microscopic, and have to remember to zoom out and look at the big picture.

But, it would difficult to include all of my potential PONR into one broad PONR because then the entire 3rd sequence would be the PONR.

That said, I think I’ve settled on the PONR being the moment where Dorothy discovers him in the closet. This propels him from voyeur and passive (at least in this sequence) observer to active participant. The events that take place at her knife seduce him into desiring her, and it either answers or makes more ambiguous the question that seemingly innocent Sandy raises when she tells him:

“I can’t tell if you’re a detective or a pervert.”

As I post my theories and break down of this, I’d be very curious for more feedback from you, of course, and from readers if there are any challenges to the logic of my breakdown.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Re:[5] Sequence Method Question posted by kza

That’s the rub, in a way, because four out of the five events I’ve described take place during the third sequence.

Ah — if they’re all in the same sequence, then the PONR is probably a sentence that takes them all into account (Jeffrey sneaks into Dorothy’s closet but gets caught by Frank, or whatever.) Going by what info I have, it sounds like you’re trying to slice it too thin.

But part of the confusion comes because later Jeffrey has the opportunity to leave the situation for good. If that opportunity is presented to the Protagonist, doesn’t that sort of negate the PONR?

No, not necessarily. If the opportunity arises, and Jeffrey doesn’t take it, then what’s compelling him to stay? (I’m assuming something emotional.) That answer would probably be another kind of PONR.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Round 9.6 [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by Martin

The Atheist

I don’t get this. Why? If one particular religion is wrong, then X number of religions are wrong.

Well, the main reason I have the population believing in one god is to simplify. If you’re really talking about setting it on Earth and taking on “real” religions, then which ones? The big three? What about smaller ones? If we’re taking on Christianity, are we taking on the Catholics, the Episcopalians, the Congregationalists, the Anglicans, the Mormons, the Christian Scientists, or the Jehovah’s Witnesses? And if you do take on one of those, then how is it taking on all of them? I could argue against the doctrine of virginal birth with a Catholic, but the Congregationalists don’t literally believe in that. In other words, if we come up with a scathing indictment of Christianity, it could just be a scathing indictment of one sect and not even matter to another. We’ve learned that the Catholics really don’t like the idea of a human christ—who is ultimately redeemed—dreaming on the cross of being married thanks the devil, but they love the idea of having his suffering brought to snuff film reality. How can you insult people who love the most violent film ever made?

And the same sub-divisions exist for Islam and for Judaism. What if they’re based on multiple gods instead of one god? What about the ones that aren’t connected to gods at all? How do we explain, or avoid, Wicca, or Rastafarianism? Is the version of God that is wrong the peaceful leftist-Christ, or the vengeful big-daddy Christ who is going to come and kill the mass of the population for not believing in him?

If we make one culture with one god, we can neatly avoid these issues. One god, one planet, one belief system that we define that, of course, metaphorically represents Earth religions—or more directly, the human need for religion.

But, mostly this is an issue of scope. You want to take on all religion and atheists? And you want to do this within 2 hours? Well, maybe this is all conjecture, because at this point I’m not arguing against anything but a belief of where to put the movie, and I don’t know anything about the movie set on Earth except the history of the protag.

So, at this point, I say: show your hand. What’s the story here of the guy on Earth? What happens and how does it play out in your view?

Atmosphere

I think you put your finger on something here: with him being autistic, he exists outside of the normal spectrum of emotions. So, how—as an audience—are we suppose to care about him at all? How can we connect with someone who emotionally is unable to connect?

But maybe unredeemable is too strong of a word. Let’s just say that I’d like to protagonist to be at a severe disadvantage due to his actions, although this can be revealed a bit later in the story maybe, so that at first we think he is the guy we’re going to root for, then we learn he isn’t, then we start to root for him despite ourselves. If we could set up that dynamic, I would be very happy. The rest is window dressing, as far as I’m concerned.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Re:[4] Sequence Method Question posted by Martin

See, this is where I start to get confused over the (seemingly, to me) arbitrary rules placed around events in the narrative line. More to the point, I find the dividing line between sequences occasionally arbitrary. In Blue Velvet, some are very clear (fade to black, pause, fade up), while some are much less clear, but only exist in my head so that I can define the movie given the constraints of the model we’re using.

You said:

the PONR is generally slotted in the third sequence (the very first sequence in the second act), that’s the latest it can appear.

That’s the rub, in a way, because four out of the five events I’ve described take place during the third sequence. However, only one (Jeffrey sneaking into her place) really propels him into the drama where he emotionally is trapped, and physically, at least for awhile, is trapped as well.

But part of the confusion comes because later Jeffrey has the opportunity to leave the situation for good. If that opportunity is presented to the Protagonist, doesn’t that sort of negate the PONR?

In any case, your clarification did help me figure out a few things, so I’m forging on. Thanks also for clarifying the difference between the Predicament and the the PONR.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Re:[3] Sequence Method Question posted by kza

Remember, although the PONR is generally slotted in the third sequence (the very first sequence in the second act), that’s the latest it can appear. It can appear in the very first moment of the screenplay, if it makes sense. And there should always be moments throughout that “lock in” the protagonist further, a continuous tightening, like a giant python.

But the question is: when can Jeffrey simply not turn around and leave town? And I think either the answer can be either physical or emotional in nature (i.e., either Frank or Dorothy). Unfortunately, I haven’t seen Blue Velvet in years, so I can’t really offer anything past this. Except: assuming that, per David Howard, that Lynch’s stories are only unusual in that they don’t offer character motivation, I’d look around the 20 to 30 minute mark and see what scenes are there. That could answer your question.

One last thing: the PONR doesn’t draw the action into the second act; the Predicament, and the protagonist’s choice towards the Predicament, does.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Round 9.5 [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by kza

The Atheist

First off, we need the entire population believing in one god.

I don’t get this. Why? If one particular religion is wrong, then X number of religions are wrong.

Secondly, in my view, we actually need to disprove that this god exists—or, at least, that the historical evidence for this god was made by their imprisoned forefathers.

How can we disprove a god that real people actually believe in (when some people can’t even draw cartoons of one version of him)?

I guess this is where our visions of this completely differ, as I don’t see how we can disprove an imaginary god either. To me, this is a story about faith and belief — the character comes to believe, against all the believers of various religions and the atheists, that the planet is a giant prison for their ancestors — and he turns out to be right. To put it another way, a planet with a made-up culture is too distancing to me, ultimately too watered-down. I guess what I’m saying is, the belief systems of aliens are completely uninteresting to me, especially when the ones we’ve got here on Earth are fascinating enough.

Maybe it’s because the story of your protagonist just wasn’t as compelling to me.

Which was kind of the point, for me. He’s an ordinary guy with ordinary, slightly banal problems. His story doesn’t really begin until the screenplay. And when he starts to believe the world is a prison planet, how does that affect him as an environmentalist? As a potential father who will be bringing another “prisoner” into the world?

Atmosphere

for some reason (and I’m not sure if this is purely in my head or is on the page) your guy seems more redeemable.

You think? I don’t necessarily disagree, but remember he is autistic. He doesn’t really get regular emotions, he doesn’t really have empathy. He knows there’s something abnormal with himself, but he can’t see outside of himself to really “get it”. I’m wondering if it’s because he has a mental impairment (for lack of a better phrase), and such characters aren’t usually villains in this sense, that you’re confusing your empathy for him with his potential for redemption. [Because sometimes I feel like I do — edit for clarity and to sound a little less accusatory.]

Basically, if you want him to unredeemable, then we need to take the plunge and have him make a choice between sacrificing something he wants and saving the people of the colony, or sacrificing the people of the colony for something he wants… and he sacrifices the people. I’m not sure an accident is going to cut it anymore.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Re:[2] Sequence Method Question posted by Martin

If, however you’re dealing with some Altman Short Cuts type shit, then you’ve got several stories on your hands, and you probably should chart out each one.

I don’t think my ambiguity is really serving any purpose here but to guard me from potential failure and looking foolish, and that’s not a very good reason. In fact, it might be more useful to myself and everybody if I reasoned this breakdown I’m doing out loud, since it’s the first I’ve attempted.

The movie I picked is: Blue Velvet (I just watched it again for the first time in quite a while). So, the questions of PONR come up in conjunction with protagonist Jeffrey Beaumont. Here are a few of the PONR I’ve identified: (it goes without saying, but we’re just the type to say things that might usually go without: SPOILERS AHEAD).

1. When he hides in Dorothy Vallen’s apartment (can’t go back then!). This relates to the plot thread of Jeffrey as detective and / or voyeur, which is his motivation for getting involved in what happens.
2. When Dorothy discovers him in his closet, and attempts to seduce (er, rape?) him at knife point.
3. When he witnesses the “ritualistic rape” (as it is often referred to) and first sees Frank. This relates to his emotional involvement and sexual attraction to Dorothy Vallens. He is pulled so far into the story that he won’t let himself back out.
4. When he is discovered with Dorothy by Frank. This PONR, like number 2, is completely out of his hands, so may actually be the one that stands the strongest in relation to the sequence method since it compels a lot of action and thrusts him into a very dangerous situation. But, it doesn’t really speak to the fact that he already was drawn in and completely absorbed. This event is actually a consequence of 1 and 2 and 3 combined, which pulled him back to her apartment when he probably should have just stayed away. Which leads me to (out of linear order)
5. Going back to Dorothy Vallens apartment of his own free will. Twice.

I guess one question can be: 1. Which of those five draws the action into the second act? That’s tricky, because I’m still deciding where the dividing line for the sequences are, especially during the long second act.

Obviously, this is very different than an Altman sort of many-threads-converging thing. It’s all one story, but very layered and nuanced, so the line is anything but direct. Any ideas?

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Round 9.4 [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by Martin

Hmmm… I’m not entirely sure what we’re supposed to do now.

Me neither…my god. Did we actually make too few rules?

Anyway, I agree with Shockah that the rabble should be rousing—if you have the slightest inkling of an opinion on this one, please do let us know.

So, without further adieu:

The Atheist

Interesting that you want to place this one on Earth, because the way that I’ve been looking at it, it would be impossible to do that. First off, we need the entire population believing in one god. Secondly, in my view, we actually need to disprove that this god exists—or, at least, that the historical evidence for this god was made by their imprisoned forefathers.

How can we disprove a god that real people actually believe in (when some people can’t even draw cartoons of one version of him)? By touching that issue at all, we’ll be either burdened by our own opinions or by attempts to attempt to show that we don’t have any. Moving it to a self-contained (and totally defined-by-us) community had the advantage of avoiding the trappings of religion here on Earth.

But understanding your reason for wanting to keep this on Earth is so that we have a candidate that is not on another planet (although Rasputin the Translator take place on Earth, at least), but I don’t know if I’m convinced yet. Maybe it’s because the story of your protagonist just wasn’t as compelling to me. And that could be because I didn’t see the story in the description—and, to be fair, that’s not a bad thing—it’s just that since I had seen this taking place on a different land than Earth, I wanted to know more about how it’s going to play out with this guy.

So, I’ll withhold any further pondering until you come up with some more terrestrial ideas on this one—I’m curious and willing to be open minded about it, but I’ll need to be pointed in a direction to ponder it. Get crackin’ on Winter Light!

Atmosphere
First off, it’s funny that we both gave a character autism. I didn’t read yours before doing mine, so that was totally coincidence.

I do agree that our bios are very similar, and could be condensed into one. Although, for some reason (and I’m not sure if this is purely in my head or is on the page) your guy seems more redeemable.

Part of my interest in this story has to do with confronting a nearly unredeemable protagonist. Somebody who really did something terrible and selfish and who really deserved the punishment given to him. That’s why I was arguing that the company and government shouldn’t be the bad guys in this. It’s really about one man coming to terms with what he did and trying to turn around and personally redeem himself.

If we have a character with such a difficult past, I think interest and sympathy will be forged through seeing his remorse. Then, we could really play with people by having his myopia be endangering to other people again—as if his attempts to redeem himself are looking like they’ll just lead him down the same path again.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Re: Character Sketches: My Philosophy (I Think Very Deeply) posted by Martin

I doubt I could force him even if I wanted to, at least not without the use of a whip and cheese-covered apple pie

I’m replying properly to today’s posts here, but I couldn’t let this slide. Can a fella get anybody to testify to the greatness of hot apple pie with cheddar cheese for breakfast? Mr. Shockah’s palate won’t allow for such deliciosity, and I’m eager to prove to him that this is not an personal idiosyncrasy, but accepted culinary practice.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Character Sketches: My Philosophy (I Think Very Deeply) posted by kza

Note: The following has absolutely nothing to do with Burley’s excellent character bios, as seen below. It’s just that, when I started my bios, I felt like I needed to definitively state what it was I was trying to accomplish, so I created a list of guidelines and “talking points”, if you will, to guide me. While I certainly hope that I can engage Burley into a conversation about this topic, he’s not honor-bound to share my philosophy or use my ideas. (I doubt I could force him even if I wanted to, at least not without the use of a whip and cheese-covered apple pie.) I share them with you now because… well, when it comes to grand theorizing about writing, I’m a Chatty Cathy.

The following are my notes, and expanded thoughts, on creating a character sketch for a screenplay.

Name. Obvious, sure, but god, I’m awful at names. I really, really hate coming up with them, and I don’t have the cojones to name deities after candies. But I force myself anyway, but because I force myself, I usually end up with very bland, WASPy names. Sometimes I wish I could create names like Vonnegut or Bester, but I bet they’d just look silly to me. I usually look at movies or other media that inspired the original story in some way and steal that (i.e., Atmosphere = “Curtis Ian”, the Dario Argento-inspired Yellow = “Fiore”, Argento’s daughter’s name.)

Support Network: Too often when I think of a story and just start writing, it’s like I have a main character, a handful of necessary supporting characters, and that’s it. The problem is that, at least in a screenplay, it starts to feel like the world is severely underpopulated, like an old cartoon. What I keep failing to take into account is that nearly everyone has some kind of support network in their life. Who are the character’s friends? What would they do for him or her? Who takes care of this character when she’s sick? Who does the character go to when he’s in love and needs to talk to someone? Sometimes this is family, but sometimes it isn’t. And if it isn’t, why not?

The purpose of the Support Network is two-fold: one, to provide a realistic backdrop for the story (assuming it needs one) and two, to be a Well.

The Well: The Well is for people like me who sometimes need a kick in the butt to get a story going, particularly while deep in the hell of the second act. The Well is like a goodie bag that you can reach into and draw some kind of prize that can (hopefully) inspire you when you’re stuck. It could be filled with just about anything: you could literally create a bag and fill it with pictures or Oblique Strategy-styled bits of prose to help inspire, or just keep it all in your head. What I do (because this is an area I’m weak in) is to use the Support Network as my well. If I’m stuck and I don’t know where to take my protagonist, I can reach into the Well and remember that he has a sister he loves but had a falling out with. What if he has to go to the sister to proceed towards his goal? Now the protagonist has a goal and an obstacle (the sister), and the collision of the two is going to reveal background information in an organic way, and deepen the material. (Well, we hope.)

3 Significant Events. This is here mostly to structure the sketch material in some way, and add stuff to the Well. I do add one requirement, however: that each event has some kind of common theme. For example, in my sketch for The Atheist, issues of belief and faith run through the bio, and in Atmosphere, the sketch is held together by the character’s autism — a kind of stasis or wall — and the character’s attempt to transform himself.

Status Quo: This (along with the Well) is actually the whole purpose of the sketch exercise. If a story is pretty much defined as the upending of a character’s status quo and his/her attempt to right it again, then that Status Quo needs to be defined. Obviously, this is built from the Support Network, but is defined by the long-standing but unresolved conflicts in the character’s life. In terms of the sequence method, I think it’s okay to include Status Quo material in the first act, if necessary, but it should the sketch should never include the Predicament. Everything up until that point, sure, but not the actual event that upsets the Status Quo. While I suspect that a lot of us think of the Status Quo as a kind of large, heavy boulder — tough to move — I prefer to think of it as more like a station wagon that’s balanced precariously on the edge of a precipice — one ounce of pressure from safety or certain doom. (I’m not always successful in this, I’ll admit.)

However: Despite all this (potentially) interesting stuff, I feel that the sketch should not be so interesting that it could be the screenplay itself. While there should be dramatic events in the life of the character, they’re only there to be drawn upon for the actual screenplay — the character’s life up until the Status Quo-altering Predicament should, ideally, be as chaotic and unstructured and maybe a little boring as a real person’s life.

(I’ll admit, again, that I probably failed here re: Atmosphere. The problem there was, to understand the character’s background, details of this future world had to be explained, and expository material like that works best when couched in terms of a flowing story. In fact, after our two sketches, I’m thinking Atmosphere might work best with the prison sequence as the third act, with the character’s life up until that point filling the first two acts. In a sense, that’s a failure, but you have to eventually go with what works.)

I also feel that, as counter-intuitive as it sounds, the character sketch is no place for talking about a character’s personality. You won’t see me write something like “He’s a happy-go-lucky guy” or “She’s moody and depressive”. I’m kind of a “existence precedes essence” guy when it comes to this stuff. I just want the fact’s, ma’am, about a character’s life, and when I go to write the script, I’ll use that as a basis as to determining the character’s personality. (Which isn’t to say that the personality, as it develops, won’t change the story somewhat — I think it’s imperative that the story remain elastic enough to incorporate on-the-fly change — just that starting with personality seems backwards to me.)

Ultimately, the character sketch should ask more questions than it answers. If there are answers, they will be provided by the screenplay. If not, then they’re there for thematic purposes or jumping off points for the plot.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Re: Sequence Method Question posted by kza

Since I don’t know what film you’re doing, it’s a little tough. I’ll start with: where does the film fall on that McKee story triangle thingie? That is, if it’s pretty much a standard, mainstream story, or even a “miniplot”, you probably should only have one PONR and one Predicament. If, however you’re dealing with some Altman Short Cuts type shit, then you’ve got several stories on your hands, and you probably should chart out each one. (Or I suppose, if you have a film that has one strong, but somewhat tangential subplot — like an old Simpsons episode — then that subplot should probably be charted out on its own.)

Then again, it’s not like an exact science or anything, so make up new rules if you have to!

Does that help or hinder?

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Sequence Method Question posted by Martin

Should each plot thread have its own Point of no return? I’m dissecting a movie right now, and I think I’ve identified five potential PONR, but each have different impact on the primary story (which is muddy to begin with, and cross pollinated with other issues). Any feedback on this? Should the PONR focus on the primary story line, or should each have its own?

And, if it does, should each also have its own predicament and main tension? How microscopic should one get with these things.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Round 9.3 [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by kza

Hmmm… I’m not entirely sure what we’re supposed to do now. I suppose it’s no different than before and we start talking about the pros and cons of the various stories and character bios, but for some reason this round feels different than the others. Maybe ‘cause we’re one step closer to the real thang?

To all the Forum posters out there, actual and potential: Now’s the time to make your voice heard. I don’t know about Burley, but I love all these ideas, so I could use some outside guidance, now that we’re getting into specifics. What do you like? What don’t you like? Why? Again, I can’t speak for Burley, but what you say will have an effect on my decisions.

Anyway:

The Atheist
Amish… In… Spaaaace! I’m a little torn by this — I really like the alien world you’ve created here, and I really like some of the details. At the same time, I saw this one as an opportunity to not create a whole new world from scratch, since so many of our ideas have that already as a built-in cost. I figured, in our present world situation (wow, now there’s a euphemism), issues of faith and belief are so important that we may as well take them head-on without any distancing effects.

Which isn’t to say we can’t use yours. Maybe a start-off point of an Amish-like community is a better opportunity, rather than my “once-religious guy isn’t so religious anymore, but now he’s found a new calling” idea — I’ll admit, it’s a little too close to Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

Looks like the real problem here is that, like some of our other ideas, it’s coasted in on its potential without revealing its specifics to us. (In case it wasn’t obvious, my bio was pure backstory — there isn’t a moment in it that directly relates to the actual screen story, since I still don’t really know what it is yet.) But is that a problem? Well, yes it is, but I’m still in love with the potential and I think I’m afraid of getting into specifics, for fear of spoiling it — which is silly, of course, because it ultimately has to be about something and things have to happen in it. Nonetheless, I still see this as a drama (again, like an Ingmar Bergman film) with SF underpinnings — I just wish I knew how to turn my feeling about how this story should, uh, feel, while providing specifics. I have a copy of Bergman’s script for Winter Light; maybe I should read that real quick before my next response.

Atmosphere
As far as character bios go, I think this one’s a dead-end. Not that I won’t vote for it or I don’t think the story idea isn’t any good anymore, simply that I don’t think there’s any real difference between our two bios. Really smart guy invents something, gets blinded by something, ends up killing a lot of people, goes to jail. The rest is whether you prefer chocolate or peanut butter. I think my addition of autism makes for a slightly different twist, but it’s really there to be an additional obstacle while in jail. And maybe it’s one obstacle too many, or maybe the idea of an autistic protagonist is too difficult to attempt at this time. (I also really like my alchemy symbolism — the idea of lead-into-gold as a representation of inner spiritual change — but it’s easily ported into your bio.) I dunno. I don’t think I have anymore to say about this one, unless you do.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Round 9.2 [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by Martin

The Atheist (Shockah rank: #4, Burley rank: #1)

v.

Atmosphere (neé Methane Madness) (Shockah rank: #7, Burley rank: #9)

Note that I’ve added the “relationship to story” line, just in case we start to diverge from the primary characters into minor, but influential ones. Also, your idea of The Atheist, which takes place on Earth, was very different than mine, so I was a bit confused at first. This line should help clarify things.

And now, without further adieu:

The Atheist
In a world devout to an all powerful god, one man uncovers exposes an unspeakable truth: their planet wasn’t carved by a deity, it was created to hold the most dangerous prisoners in the galaxy: their ancestors. What crime is so unspeakable that not only you will be punished for committing it, but all of your heirs will as well? And what happens when you find out that your captors are still watching your every move?

Character Sketch: Salisbury Jonathan
Relationship to story: Protagonist

(note: I think it’s nearly impossible to write Sci-fi and / or fantasy names that aren’t laughable, so I’ve used candy names for now. Better names to come).

Salisbury was always different. In this devout world, whose praise be to the god Caramel was all consuming, children were taken from their families at birth and placed in parochial schools. Segregated by sex at the age of 10 and not allowed to keep company until they reached the age of maturity, around 16. At that age, they were married to their promised one—a member of the opposite sex who was born closest to them in age without being a family member. The society believed in the theory of Truffle, which states that Caramel places soul mates on the planet Frango at nearly identical times—the division of one soul into two bodies, and through their union the souls become one.

Before the age of 10, Salisbury spent all of his time with his future betrothed (a practice the church encouraged to solidify later bonds), the precocious tomboy Natasha. Salisbury was slightly autistic, and the other boys found his ways peculiar and outcast him. Natasha, however, worked as his social barrier, creating paths for him when other children would simply exclude him. She protected him with fists and words, which made her outcast as well among the more normal girls. He trusted her like no other, and she him.

When they were separated at 10, life for both of them degraded. Salisbury found little escape in his studies, and was abused and harassed by the other boys because he wouldn’t fit in. He turned to Caramel, and spent many hours worshipping devoutly at the temple. Through becoming a candidate for the priestly class, Salisbury found solace from the mocking, since religious leaders were expected, on a social level, to be relative outcasts.

Natasha had a similar experience with the girls keeping her at an arms-length, but she also had an early puberty, and grew into an adult’s body quite quickly. A more lecherous teacher sexually abused her, and Natasha turned dark. When she was 15—a half year away from her union with Salisbury—she committed a ritualistic suicide—-an act seen as the ultimate statement in their culture. An investigation led to the uncovering of the abuse, and as her betrothed, Salisbury was the judge. He had the option of punishment. The socially acceptable thing, which his classmates encouraged him towards, was to murder the teacher with his own hands, but he could also choose banishment if he so desired.

Salisbury, who took the word of Caramel very seriously, was torn. On one hand he was murderously angry that he had lost his beloved, and was therefore destined to a life of lonely bachelorhood. On the other hand, Caramel taught to do no violence against other people, and that only the lord Caramel had ownership over life and death.

Salisbury repressed his rage and went with the teachings of the church, punishing the teacher to banishment but not death. Salisbury himself went into a very dark time, and upon completing his studies at 16 went into the wilderness to live a hermits life for awhile.

It was there, living in a makeshift shelter and surviving off the land, that Salisbury first noticed the satellites. Most stars in the sky were stationary, but certain ones moved in both north-to-south and east-to-west directions. He became fascinated with the “moving stars”, and started tracking them, realizing that before too long he could predict their appearance, location and trajectory.

This did not jive with anything about Salisbury that he had ever been taught. He returned to the city to talk to some of the religious leaders, but found when he went to point out the moving stars to them, that they were nowhere to be found.

He left the city again, people assuming the wilderness had driven him crazy, as legends always predicted it does. But, outside of the city, the satellites appeared again exactly where he predicted they would. After trial and error, he realized there was a line drawn around the city, inside of which the satellite’s were not visible, but outside of which they were. By doing some simple geometry, he discovered the radius of the curve, and after identifying it, followed the line.

Salisbury stumbled across an outbuilding that, while once hidden by shrubbery, was now exposed. It contained some sort of machine that generated a force field around the city. He destroyed it, and found that he was able to see the satellites inside of the radius, as if the machine was a generator making a force field that blocked view of the satellites. .

He set up camp to study the generator that he broke, but was shocked when a space craft landed nearby and strange men, speaking a strange language got out and repaired the generator. Caramel taught that they were alone in the universe, but now Salisbury learns that this isn’t true. His faith is shaken, and the deeper he starts to look, the stranger the mystery becomes.

Atmosphere
In a World where stranded humans must guard themselves from a poisonous atmosphere, one scientist finds a process for rendering the air on the planet breathable. The only problem is, the planet is a prison and the guards will kill them all if they found out about the experiments.

Character Sketch: Dr. Zheng James McNab
Relationship to story: Protagonist

(note: this is a rewrite and expansion of the bio that I wrote in this post . Also, please note that any science mentioned here is purely plot driven script science, and shouldn’t at all indicate that I think I know what the fuck I’m talking about).

Born in Chicago, 2113. Mother was an psychologist, Father a historian in Ancient Chinese cultures whose alcoholism kept him from ever making tenure at the university. His childhood was relatively uneventful, and upon showing an early aptitude in the sciences, his mother pushed him into physics.

Young Zheng took the challenge. Named for the great Chinese Mariner Zheng He, he always felt it was his destiny to create, discover, and better the world for future generations. His myopia towards his studies, encouraged strongly by his mother and pretty much ignored by his father, led him to break new ground in high school and take a full ride to MIT, majoring in physics.

He graduated top of his class, doing groundbreaking research into small fissile reactions with methane. He followed his research at Stanford for his doctorate, making a breakthrough discovery that using small controlled explosions, he could create large amounts of oxygen. This discovery shepherded in a new era in space exploration and atmospheric work.

His post-doc work was spent developing a hockey-puck size device that could be used to refill 30 or so tanks of oxygen. All you needed was the puck and and a tank to store the product in. This device was bought out by Syncprocess, Inc. in Madison Wisconsin, where Dr. Zheng went to work as the chief engineer in atmospheric sciences.

While doing more research, Zheng worked on a theory that his process could be expanded to convert Methane based planets to breathable oxygen. He gives a talk in which he makes grandiose claims about his process, how safe it is, how effective, how it can terra form environments in extremely short time periods.

His bosses at Syncprocess just want him to focus on the smaller picture—they are not interested in grand atmospherics, simply in making sellable products to please the stock holders. But he is convinced that he could bring himself and his company great riches and fame if he could solve the problems presented to him with terra forming.

He sets up a small lab at home, and works nights and weekends. He eschews sleep for work, and to that end starts taking speed to keep his mind clear and awake. But, the drugs have their toll, and Zheng becomes convinced that his company is out to kill his artistry and research. He turns against his bosses, and doubles his pace of research.

After increasingly erratic behavior, he is asked to take a leave of absence to pull himself together. He takes advantage of his free time to work 24/7 on his process, but needs the resources of the company to run his final experiment. He breaks onto campus at night, and plugs his process into the computer to run it. He falls asleep at the computer, though, and doesn’t notice the warnings as the program compiles.

It executes with errors, and instead of changing a small canister of methane into an amazingly large quantity of oxygen, it changes all oxygen within a four mile radius of the campus to pure methane, killing thousands.

Zheng was awakened by warning bells, and had time to jump into an environment suit before the tragedy struck. He lived, but by his errors he murdered thousands. He was tried and convicted of mass murder, and sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole on the Prison Planet, an (ironically) Methane covered planet where he is asked to do manual labor in orr mines to at least partially repay his sins.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Round Nine [The Atheist v. Atmosphere] posted by kza

The Atheist (Shockah rank: #4, Burley rank: #1)

v.

Atmosphere (neé Methane Madness) (Shockah rank: #7, Burley rank: #9)

ROPE A DOPE!

(Note: We’ve added a new requirement to the battles — a character sketch of the protagonist, of about 600 words. “Character sketch” can be defined anyway that I or Burley choose to interpret it. Although the idea is to have two very different sketches for each story, if one of us thinks one of the other’s sketches is top-notch, another option is to expand on that sketch for 600 more words.)

The Atheist
In a world devout to an all powerful god, one man uncovers exposes an unspeakable truth: their planet wasn’t carved by a deity, it was created to hold the most dangerous prisoners in the galaxy: their ancestors. What crime is so unspeakable that not only you will be punished for committing it, but all of your heirs will as well? And what happens when you find out that your captors are still watching your every move?

Character Sketch: Ronald Brenner
Ronald Brenner — born 1970, in Wichita, Kansas. Parents: Harry and Rochelle, and two younger siblings, Louise (Lulu) and Henry (Hank). Ronald grew up in a Presbyterian household, which, although not strict, was very devout — church every Sunday, tithing, the whole shebang. When Ronald was eight, his newborn brother Hank got sick. It looked like the baby would die, but Ronald prayed all night, and the following day, Hank’s fever broke and he survived. Ronald’s faith was strengthened, and he thought nothing could ever break it.

When he was eighteen, Ronald’s parents divorced. While this didn’t directly affect his faith in God, it did damage his faith in people and his parents specifically. Ronald, along with eight year old Hank and twelve year old Lulu stayed with his mother. His father soon remarried (to the woman who broke up the marriage), and his mother never got over it, and her health, physical and mental, deteriorated. Ronald gave up college to take care of his mother and his siblings, but his mother go worse and worse, and eventually passed away five years later.

Ronald got a job and tried to raise the two kids as best he could. He tried to find solace in the church, but his family was socially ostracized because of the divorce, and they lost one of their support networks. Lulu left home at 18 for California — ran away, really — and Hank got the chance to live, on the east coast, with a wealthy aunt and uncle on their dad’s side. For the first time (although at a cost), Ronald had the chance to focus on himself.

He decided to go back to school to get a degree in marine biology. There, he met his future wife, Aileen. They dated through college, and when they graduated, got married. Although Aileen was nominally Jewish, she wasn’t particularly religious, and by this time, the loss of his mother, the loss of his siblings, and the uncaring treatment from his church had so chipped away at his faith that he wasn’t, either. Through his college years, Ronald had some contact with his estranged family. He went to see his father just before his marriage to Aileen, and found him separated from his new wife and carrying on a relationship with another woman. (He also finally met the second wife, Kris, who, to his surprise, was a gentle soul and not the villain he built up in his mind.) He’d also heard through friends-of-friends that Lulu had fallen in with shady characters in Eugene, Oregon, and traveled out to find her. He discovered her with a group of anarchists, and Lulu was resentful of his intrusion into her life. Lastly, he’d maintained contact with Hank via letters. But when Hank came to visit Ronald at college, they realized that they’d grown apart, now that Hank was ensconced in wealth and Ronald had to work his way through school.

Ronald has been married to Aileen for about six years now. He works for a large environmental activist coalition, and she is a lawyer who has just obtained a position at a major firm. Most of their friends and general support network are made up of people from both of these areas (which occasionally overlap). Ronald best friend is Davis, his boss.

Ronald and Aileen have agreed that they don’t want to have kids — Aileen says she simply doesn’t like them and doesn’t think bringing a new one into the world is such a great idea, and Ronald agrees with this. Secretly, though, Ronald is afraid of his potential incompetence as a father. Of course, Aileen’s become pregnant, and although neither is against abortion, they’re both hesitant about doing it without a great deal of thought.

Atmosphere
In a World where stranded humans must guard themselves from a poisonous atmosphere, one scientist finds a process for rendering the air on the planet breathable. The only problem is, the planet is a prison and the guards will kill them all if they found out about the experiments.

Character Sketch: Curtis Ian Jeffries
Curtis Ian Jeffries was born on August 23, 2112, on Earth, the only child of Kendrick and Lillian Jeffries. In 2112, gene research has progressed to a point where couples can eliminate birth defects, choose sex, and a host of other choices. While there are social pressures to do so, it isn’t mandated, and some parents choose, for moral (but usually financial) reasons to have a “natural” birth. Kendrick and Lillian went with this option, and Curtis Ian was born seemingly healthy. What’s more, he appeared to be an extremely bright child, even compared to the genetically altered children, capable of doing advanced math at an early age. It wasn’t until later, when little Curtis had a tantrum of unbelievable ferocity that it was apparent that he was autistic.

Such abnormalities were close to extinct, and thus were looked at with fear, disgust, and incomprehension. No school would accept him, and his parents were forced to teach him themselves somehow. The next ten years were monstrously difficult for the Jeffries, but in the end, they were able to get him to adjust and acclimate to the world as best as he possibly could. His intelligence and grasp of science was without measure, but he still could not relate or empathize with other human beings. However, he could (except in cases of extreme stress) function in the public world.

This is primarily because they were able to educate Curtis (via computer and other long-distance systems) and before he was 18, he had already graduated with a double degree in Chemistry and Engineering. Despite his condition, he was feted by all the major corporations and governments of the world, who knew a good thing when they saw it. Against conventional wisdom, Jeffries decided to sign on with a comparatively small and unknown company — Hermes Technology — that couldn’t offer him the salary or benefits a larger firm could. What they did offer though, was far more important: they had the most experience, knowledge, and personnel dealing with a nascent technology, one that captivated Curtis: terraforming.

Mars and the moons of Jupiter had been colonized for decades, but the colonists there were still living in tin cans, using the colonies as mining operations and scientific bases. The dream was to turn these planets and moons into fertile, Earth-like territories, exploitable for producing food and as place to import people off the overpopulated homeworld. Hermes Technology was making incremental progress towards this reality, but it wasn’t until Jeffries came on board that it seemed like something this could be accomplished within most people’s lifetime.

During the next ten years, Jeffries was key in spearheading experiments and research towards this goal. He also won over his various co-workers and superiors with his hard work and natural brilliance. Although his autism was still a wall between him and the rest of humanity, Jeffries was aware of this wall, even though there was no way for him to penetrate it. He built devices to help him deal with his autism — devices that recognized human expressions and relayed that information to him — but they were never a cure for it. At one point, he looked into having brain surgery to genuinely cure it, but he was warned that it could, at the very least, remove his genius, and at worst change his personality completely. He decided not to do it.

Finally, technology caught up with theory, and Jeffries’ team made the first attempt at minor terraforming. They chose a small moon covered with ice to create a stable, breathable atmosphere for the first time. They set up the equipment, turned it on… and covered the moon with a toxic fog. The fog wasn’t breathable, and it instantly corroded and destroyed any metal it touched. The team was safe in a satellite orbiting the moon, but their equipment — a billion dollars worth — was destroyed.

Jeffries was frustrated by the failure of the experiment — by his calculations, it should’ve worked. He dived back into the calculations and into the research, and when he finally emerged, five years had passed. He had the solution now, he was sure. Unfortunately, Hermes took a big hit from the first failure, and they were moving away from terraforming. Jeffries explained what went wrong and how he’d fixed it, but the execs were not convinced. Jeffries, going above the heads of the execs, took his case straight to the CEO of Hermes, locking himself in the office to force the CEO to listen.

He listened.

Within a year, everything was in place for the second attempt at terraforming, this time within a crater of Mars called Daedalia. The button was pushed… and it worked. Within nine months, the first flower — a blue delphinium — was grown. Jeffries was lauded for his work and given a raise.

Then, near the first anniversary of the successful terraforming of Daedalia, a problem was reported with the reactor that was providing the breathable atmosphere, a problem that threatened the existence of the colony if it wasn’t quickly solved. Jeffries and his team were brought in to fix it. Jeffries spent hours upon hours deep within the reactor, working on it non-stop, obsessed with getting the reactor fixed, and becoming fatigued without realizing it. His normally sharp and all-encompassing intelligence became myopic, focused on certain details of the problem but losing sight of the forest for the trees. He began to tune out the voices of his team he heard over his radio. Just when it seemed like time was about to run out, he discovered a solution for the problem, and implemented it. He returned to the surface and saw through the window a hellish landscape he didn’t recognize — he wondered if he’d somehow teleported to a different world. He was confused by the lack of radio chatter, now that he was listening again. It soon hit him: the solution he implemented didn’t take certain factors into account, notably the presence of humans on the surface. Although there were some survivors, 90% of the colony were killed.

Jeffries was tried, convicted of killing the colonists and his team, and given a life sentence. He was sent to a recently constructed prison, known as the “Alcatraz of Jupiter” — a prison constructed entirely of plastic, on the very moon rendered toxic by Jeffries himself.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Weekly Wrap-Up (3/11/06 - 3/17/06) posted by kza

Lots of activity this week!

First, Shockah posted the second half of his Jaws analysis. (Part One is here.)

Then, after the constipation of being unable to come up with a story for Rachel, My Dear, Shockah was forced to forfeit, the first (and hopefully last) such instance in the short history of the Spitball! Tourney of Story Ideas. This meant that Burley could either pick his favorite (Rachel) to automatically move ahead, or he could pick Shockah’s (Methane Madness) and take a “trump card”, meaning he can force Shockah to write a 1000 word essay on a topic of Burley’s choice at any time. Do you even have to ask which one Burley picked? I mean, seriously.

So Methane Madness moved on, and Shockah requested that the title be changed to Atmosphere, in honor of his adopted cousin on his father’s side, the late great Ian Curtis. It was approved.

Then Round Eight, Cop on the Hunt v. The Scabs commenced, and it was kind of like a Yankees v. Devil Rays game — one of these story ideas just didn’t belong here. Maybe in some kind of Spitball! AAA club, but not here buddy — this is the major leagues.

So, Heat #1, where we pitted 16 ideas against each other to come out with eight, now becomes Heat #2, where those eight will become four. These battles will now include short, 600 word character sketches of each story’s protagonist.

Round Nine, The Atheist v. Atmosphere, will begin shortly. Today. I swear. On the grave of my late adopted cousin.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re:[2] The Spitball! Tourney of Story Ideas -- Heat #2! posted by kza

My Top Four:

1. The Atheist
2. Rasputin the Translator
3. Little Black Stray
4. La Commune Planet

(Unlikely that anyone cares, but I did not look at Burley’s list until I composed my own.)

Thus, Heat #2 consists of the following:

1. The Atheist v. Atmosphere
2. Rasputin the Translator v. Time to Die
3. Little Black Stray v. Terminal Connection
4. La Commune Planet v. The Scabs

Round Nine (thought I’d keep the numbers continuous — it’ll make searches easier) belongs to me, and should make an appearance tomorrow.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re: The Spitball! Tourney of Story Ideas -- Heat #2! posted by Martin

From most to least favorite:

1. The Scabs
2. Terminal Connection
3. Time to Die
4. Atmosphere

I accept all of the terms and conditions. Awaaaay we go!

Comments (0) — Category: communications

The Spitball! Tourney of Story Ideas -- Heat #2! posted by kza

Now that Heat #1 has wrapped up, we’re now onto Heat #2, where things really start to heat up! Big Money! Big Prizes! I looooove it!

So, there’s gonna be two parts to this. First, we’re going to determine the order of battle. I’m going to take the first four winners (Rasputin the Translator, La Commune Planet, Little Black Stray, and The Atheist) and order them #1-#4, and Burley is going to take the next four winners (Terminal Connection, Time to Die, Atmosphere [mad props to my late uncle thrice removed], and The Scabs) and order them #1-#4, and the they will go against each other, my #1 vs. his #4, all the way down to my #4 to his #1.

(God, this heat’s gonna be trouble. I like all these ideas a lot.)

Then, the battles will be conducted as usual, with pros and cons, with one major difference: each of us will have to contribute a page-length character sketch of the protagonist for each story (thus, each story will have two character sketches of the same character, and each battle will have four character sketches total).

And that’s about it. Same voting rules, same tie-breaker scenarios, same penalties of forfeiture — unless Burley has some suggestions. Burley?

(Oh, and post your Top 4 anytime you’re ready.)

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re:[2] Round 8: Rise to Vote, Sir! posted by Martin

Wouldn’t it be funny if I voted for Cop?

But, I’m not! I’m picking the Scabs (eeeewwwww). Ladies and Gentleman, this means that heat one of the first Spitball! plot dilution and expansion project has come to an end. To recap our winners:

1. Rasputin the Translator
2. La Commune Planet
3. Little Black Stray
4. The Atheist
5. Terminal Connection (formerly the Infected + If It Pleases The Court)
6. Time to Die
7. Atmosphere (formerly Methane Madness, named after Shockah’s paternal grandfather Ian Curtis)
8. The Scabs

For those that don’t remember the plots, we’ll recap as we go. Which leaves us now with the question of procedure, so I will punt to the master of our arbitrary and needlessly complex® rules. Please sir, steer us into the next phase of Spitball!

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Re: Round 8: Rise to Vote, Sir! posted by kza

I’m Scabbin’ it uptown, uptown!
I’m moving it uptown!
People goin’, people goin’
I’m Scabbin’ it uptown! Uptown!

You better Scab it up slowly…

You better Scab it up slowly…

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Round 8: Rise to Vote, Sir! posted by Martin

I suspect we’re both ready to put the hammer down on this one.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Round 8.2 [Cop On the Hunt v. The Scabs] posted by kza

Cop on the Hunt (Shockah rank: #8, Burley rank: #20)

v.

The Scabs (Shockah rank: #19, Burley rank: #1)

404 ERROR — PITHY QUIP NOT FOUND

Cop On the Hunt
In a world where galactic criminals are rounded and left to die on one planet, one man—a crooked cop—must penetrate their violent society to spring a prison break with the leader of the most ruthless gang. If he succeeds, his name is clear. If he fails, Earth will fall to INVADING IMPATIENT ALIENS.

Pro
Bwah ha ha! I love this concept — it’s so straight-to-video, so ready to be Van Dammed, that anything we do to it will immediately raise it above its schlocky origins. Which makes me think: what’s the best approach for something like this — try to (sm)art it up, think it through logically, make well-rounded characters, etc., or embrace the schlock, go straight to the heart of schlockness and try to transcend it that way?

Um, no real answers here. Pretty straightforward — that’s always a plus in my book.

Con
So anyway, this is basically what John Carpenter’s been doing for years, with varying degrees of success. In fact, this could easily be the next Escape From movie. I’m not really sure if that’s a pro or con, just thought I’d mention it.

Also, not sure what aliens invading has to do with leader of the gang. I mean, presumably he knows something that can stop it, but nothing suggests itself right away.

The Scabs
In a world designed by engineers to be a self-sufficient, endlessly exploitable resource for the rest of the known galaxy, robots toil tirelessly in the fields, the forests and the mountains, providing food and raw materials for a rapidly expanding market. But when a series of accidents destroys some of the mining robots, the rest of the metal workforce decide to strike and power off, leaving the humans that depend on the planet in the lurch. A taskforce is assembled to get the planet up and running again while a negotiator tries to get the robots back online. While the taskforce tries to relearn the long-forgotten principles of farming and manufacturing, the negotiator accidentally reveals the existence of the taskforce… and the robots, realizing that their existence could be usurped by the humans, decide to go on the offensive.

Pro
I’ll admit, I’ve come around on this one. Wish I could adequately remember my objections to this one (why do I always object to the ones I came up with?), but I guess time makes fools of us all. Speaking of that reference (what reference?), it should be noted that I see this as a comedy, kind of in the Futurama mold. I mean, striking robots? That’s hilarious. I don’t think there’s any way I could take that seriously as straight drama. Which isn’t to say that I don’t take the issues raised by the story seriously, just that these issues should probably take the form of comedy. In fact, going back to the image that originally suggested this story, I remember making a conscious decision that if I was going to create a story dealing with capitalism, exploitation, labor, etc., it had to be both as abstracted from modern life as possible (hence, the robots) and it should be funny. Right now, come to think of it, I see this less as Futurama and more like Arrested Development in Spaaaace! — imagine a Jason Bateman as the negotiator character and a team of Gobs and Busters as the taskforce.

More pros: Pretty clear conflict (robots vs. the humans), that can branch out to other “fronts” — I see the negotiator character growing a conscience and defending the robots, and I can see the taskforce getting fed up with their superiors and with each other. And what happens to the taskforce if the negotiator comes to side with the robots? That’s a conflict of interest (the best kind of conflict :-)

Another pro: I like how that, until probably the third act, there’s potentially a lot of characters in lots of different places, that don’t have any real contact with each other, but their fates are entwined. Like, I see one storyline being the negotiator dealing with the robot labor representative, another storyline about the taskforce trying to learn to farm, and maybe another about the government dealing with the strike in public — none of these people need meet, but what they do affects the others. That’s exciting to me. (So maybe it’s like Futurama’s version of Syriana. Futuriana?)

Unintentional irony dept.: I chose the title as a literal reference to the taskforce, not realizing until later that these scabs are literally biological, as opposed to their metallic counterparts.

Oh, and just to give you an idea of my vision and lame sense of humor: I see a whole spectrum of robots, designed for different functions, and one type of robot is constructed of three spheres attached to each other (like a snowman, but each sphere can roll independently across the “skin” of the other spheres). What’s the human nickname for these robots?

Wobblies.

Con
If we’re concerned with some kind of realism or plausibility (and if this is slanted towards a Futurama-esque sense of comedy, I’m not sure that we are), then the idea of a single planet that provides sustenance for an entire galactic empire (or whatever it is) might be iffy. Regardless, some kind of history (how did we get to this point) will be necessary, even if it isn’t used, and some kind of idea of how the planet works on a day-to-day basis before the Point of Attack and Predicament occur.

Also, not so much Prison Planet, unless looked at metaphorically from the robots’ POV (and maybe, at some point, the taskforce’s).

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Round Eight [Cop On the Hunt v. The Scabs] posted by Martin

Cop on the Hunt (Shockah rank: #8, Burley rank: #20)

v.

The Scabs (Shockah rank: #19, Burley rank: #1)

This is the end, my only friend, the end…

Cop On the Hunt
In a world where galactic criminals are rounded and left to die on one planet, one man—a crooked cop—must penetrate their violent society to spring a prison break with the leader of the most ruthless gang. If he succeeds, his name is clear. If he fails, Earth will fall to INVADING IMPATIENT ALIENS.

Pro
I’m feeling a bit prosaic about this (no pun intended). This was one of my first ideas, and I ranked it purty durn low. It not only doesn’t really spell anything out, but it ends in an ALL CAPS JOKE, but obviously you found something redeemable in it, so I am very eager to hear your point of view.

This is ironic, because this plot vaguely follows an actual Prison Planet idea I had which I still quite like, but I feel like using that would be cheating in the context of Spitball!, so instead of bringing it to the table, I will subtly manipulate you until you re-write it.

Or, I guess I could just say: I see this as a tough-guy film, with lots of dirt and dust and fist fights. Mad Max-y, but there would have to be some twists on the Prison Planet.

Another approach, which I like more actually, would be to do a Heart of Darkness / Apocalypse Now sort of thing, even making it like Apocalypse Now Redux, where we have this Odyssean journey through the underworld.

Con
See, even though I’m saying it should be Mad Max-y, I think the Mad Max dusty-tough guy aesthetic is so overdone and archetypal now that it is hard to avoid. We would have to style this very carefully to avoid falling into the traps that these films lay. What could we do to overcome it? Maybe we have a woman character in there who (GASP!) doesn’t turn into a super hero. Maybe we have a weak protagonist who is nearly led astray by his own passivity. But what compels him?

I’ll be interested to hear what you have to say, but in the meantime I’m leaning one way pretty hard.

The Scabs
In a world designed by engineers to be a self-sufficient, endlessly exploitable resource for the rest of the known galaxy, robots toil tirelessly in the fields, the forests and the mountains, providing food and raw materials for a rapidly expanding market. But when a series of accidents destroys some of the mining robots, the rest of the metal workforce decide to strike and power off, leaving the humans that depend on the planet in the lurch. A taskforce is assembled to get the planet up and running again while a negotiator tries to get the robots back online. While the taskforce tries to relearn the long-forgotten principles of farming and manufacturing, the negotiator accidentally reveals the existence of the taskforce… and the robots, realizing that their existence could be usurped by the humans, decide to go on the offensive.

Pro
I fucking love this one. I would hug it if I could. This movie, to me, is a perfect exploration of the strengths and weaknesses of communism and capitalism far enough removed from Earth politics so that we could really dig in and throw some barbs. And I don’t mean barbs like MONEY IS EVIL, RETREAT AND JOIN HANDS BROTHERS! And by evil I don’t mean McCARTHY WAS A FUCKING SAINT YOU COFFEE DRINKING COMMIE BASTARD.

I like the idea of ridiculing a rich upper class used to being served, and ridiculing an underclass used to being shit on and just accepting it, and ridiculing idealism and dogmatism on both sides. Mostly, to paraphrase Robert Anton Wilson, I want to show how people’s convictions turn them into convicts.

That said, I don’t really want to make a point. That is, my idea here is not to make a political statement movie, but more a movie with an interesting plot that brings up some of these issues, and then lets them float out there without really resolving them. I might be tempted to call this the South Park approach. All ridicule, no answers! Actually the real model for this would be Starship Troopers, that told an engaging story that, on further exploration, turned out to be about the nature of facism.

Here’s my quickie: Open in a robot mine. Things are humming like everything is normal, but one robot—a slightly humanoid one—puts down his tools and stands there. Robot foremen come over and try to fix him, but the robot won’t let them near. Soon, all the robots around stop working and drop their tools. Because a robot isn’t doing his job, pressure builds up in a boiler and explodes, destroying all the other robots around. Film of the event creeps around the globe, and soon all robots are stopping work. The humans are going crazy trying to figure out what has happened. Virus? Hostile takeover?

From there we can go a lot of different ways, but let me move a little quicker: the humans, unable to take care of themselves, start rioting and going apeshit. Deaths occur, chaos reigns, the robots are silent through it all. Then, a coalition of humans starts regaining control and starts communicating with the robots, who are in wireless (kind of telepathic, eh?) communication with each other. The robots have demands, the humans, learning that their hardships were started by deliberate mischief rather than broken equipment, stage huge protests and start robot killing vendettas. Robots do nothing to retaliate, but demand that the destruction of their bodies stops through their translator.

Then the humans grow desperate and beg for help or they will all die. A few robots break ranks and show some humans how to farm and take care of themselves, but these robots, now moving, are easy targets for those who hate robots and they are publicly lynched. So, we have good humans and bad humans, good robots and bad robots, and now the motherfucking bad robots are pissed, and use their martyred brothers as reason to rampage. They take over the compounds and force the humans to wait on them, in demeaning slave-like fashion.

All the while, the more reasonable on both side try to continue their negotiations. What do the robots want? What do the humans want? The humans want robot slaves, but it turns out the robots only want to dance. In roller skates.

No, sorry. I’m not sure what the robots want yet. But, that can be worked out. I see this as a fast paced, lots of twists, a shoe-in for the sequence method. We’ll have to find some central characters, but this movie would totally kick ass. Kind of like Silent Running mixed with Starship Troopers mixed with the 12th Man.

Con
Con? This was my number-fucking-one choice. There is no con. There is only Xanadu (Olivia, oh Olivia…).

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Re:[3] Motion for Title Change posted by Martin

Um, no. That was my attempt at heart-tugging propaganda in order to get my way.

Sneaky. A little too sneaky. But, never let it be said that we—who are making up stories all the time—shouldn’t celebrate lying. Viva your fake-famial relations. Have I ever told you that Ambrose Bierce was my godfather?

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re:[2] Motion for Title Change posted by kza

Holy shit, dude—you’re related to Ian Curtis?

Um, no. That was my attempt at heart-tugging propaganda in order to get my way.

And it worked ;-)

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re: Motion for Title Change posted by Martin

Holy shit, dude—you’re related to Ian Curtis?

Well, motion passes. Joy Division got me through many a long dark night of the teenage soul. Or, maybe it put me there? In any case, motion passes, motion passes.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Motion for Title Change posted by kza

I move that the title Methane Madness be changed to Atmosphere, in honor of my mom’s uncle’s cousin across the Atlantic, the late Ian Curtis (1956 - 1980).

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re: Round Seven -- I Forfeit posted by Martin

Sir, I say to you: good try. I know this man well enough to say that if he says he tried, he went down fighting.

For that reason, because my decision was a difficult one to start with, and for a little essaytainment, I hereby declare Methane Madness the winner of this round.

For those of you not following our needlessly complex® rules, this means that I get the Trump Card, which is to assign an essay to Mr. Shockah, 1000 words, one week to finish, on the topic of my choice. I will be playing this card before too long, but for now I say with good cheer that it is time, dear time, to move on to the final heat of this round.

My hat is off to you, Urban Shockah. My hat is off.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Round Seven -- I Forfeit posted by kza

Nope. Couldn’t do it. I tried, several times, but I simply can’t make a story about a woman trapped in a house work. (And by work, I mean come up with a second act, let alone a third.) I only had three requirements: that it be interesting enough that I’d want to spend time writing it, that it make sense (even if only in a poetic or metaphoric way), and that it be suspenseful. I could get one, sometimes I could get two, but never all three.

I thought I was maybe onto something with my latest idea (which was promising, I thought, because it went in a slightly different direction than what the original concept suggested — think a supernatural version of Primer) but a) I ran out of time, and b) my enthusiasm for it kept waxing and waning. If Rachel, My Dear survives, I’ll keep working on it and share it at some point.

So, it’s all in your hands, Burley.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re:[2] Structurally Speaking: Jaws (Part II) posted by kza

Lindbergh’s publicist or wife can now take center stage for awhile.

Dude, does it really say publicist? Before wife? If so, Howard’s book’s a lot funnier than I remembered.

Spitball! Tourney update: I apologize to everyone for the lateness of my reply. Things kept getting in the way of work and the Jaws thing took a little more time than expected. However! Because this train must roll, I’m giving myself a deadline of tomorrow at 8pm. Some kind of reply regarding Rachel, My Dear will be posted here at that time — I gare-un-tee it.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re: Structurally Speaking: Jaws (Part II) posted by Martin

(The example subplot given in David Howard’s book is, during a story about Lindbergh crossing the Atlantic, about his wife worrying about him. Something like that. Maybe Burley can fill in the details here. Did I mention I don’t have the books in front of me?)

Not only do I got your books, I got your back too. Howard, How to Build a Great Screenplay. pgs 328-329.

Main Subplot and Main Character

After the intensity of the midpoint, there is a tendency for a story to suffer what is known as the second-act sag. This is a sense of letdown we experience after a major emotional event. Our hero has made a concerted effort and it has not had the result he and we had hoped. He might have succeeded in what he was trying to do, but that merely turned the dilemma upside down. Or he might have failed and the failure has made the predicament even worse. Either way, we have just come from a major high or low contrasting moment — the midpoint — and there is a tendency to sink, lose energy, or lose focus. The best way to overcome second-act sag is to let the major subplot take over for a while. We haven’t yet had any truly significant change or first culmination in that second most important story, so it can arrive energized, hopeful or fearful, and very tense.

The mention to Linbergh’s wife is brief and in the next paragraph:

Linbergh’s publicist or wife can now take center stage for awhile.

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Structurally Speaking: Jaws (Part II) posted by kza

Welcome back to my “sequence method” analysis of Jaws. For those just tuning in, an explanation of the sequence method can be found here (the first four points) and here (the last four points), but you may want to start with the “Why structure, anyway?” post. The first part of the Jaws analysis can be found here. Questions? Disagreements? Think I should be discussing the brilliance of Jaws 4? Go to the Forums, by clicking here. Finally, there’s a discussion about casting a theoretical remake of Jaws that needs, nay, demands your input.

And now… Part II.

Sequence Five (15:34)

The fifth sequence in the story consists of three scenes. In the first, Brody is depressed because of his failure as a sheriff, but Hooper comes to his house to convince him to cut up the caught shark and prove that it isn’t Jaws. (For those new here, I refer to the villainous shark as “Jaws”.) In the second scene, they sneak onto the dock and cut up the shark; when it’s clear it’s not Jaws, they go out onto the water and find Ben Gardner’s boat, Ben Gardner’s head, and the shark tooth (dropped). In the third scene, Brody and Hooper try to convince the Mayor to close the beaches on the 4th of July, but the Mayor aint havin’ it — especially with no tooth.

In a screenplay constructed “by-the-book”, if you will, Sequence Five is kind of an odd duck. If you’ll remember, there are eight sequences in an average screenplay, and eight points that hold the sequences together. Seems natch’ral that each point would correspond with a sequence, but they don’t — Sequence Three has two points associated with it (the Main Tension and the Point of No Return), and so Sequence Five doesn’t have any any. Instead, it’s suggested that Sequence Five is the “Subplot Sequence” — a moment in the story when the focus is redirected towards one of the supporting characters and their subplot. (The example subplot given in David Howard’s book is, during a story about Lindbergh crossing the Atlantic, about his wife worrying about him. Something like that. Maybe Burley can fill in the details here. Did I mention I don’t have the books in front of me?)

What’s interesting is that while there is no subplot in Jaws, look at the scene list for this sequence carefully. Notice anything? Throughout nearly the entirety of the sequence, it’s Hooper who’s calling the shots, in a sense taking over the protagonist role from Brody. It’s Hooper’s idea to cut up the shark, it’s Hooper’s idea to go out on the water, it’s Hooper that finds the tooth, and it’s Hooper that argues most vociferously with Mayor Larry Vaughn. It follows the sequence method, in spirit if not to the letter.

Sequence Six (19:07)

Three scenes in Sequence Six, although, like Sequence Four, more could be argued. The first scene is the 4th of July. It starts with the arrival of the tourists (no, not those tourists), builds as the extent of Brody’s police security is revealed and the Mayor urges people to go into the water, and finally climaxes — one false (the kids with the cardboard fin) and the real one, the sh-sh-sh-shark! In the pond! While definitely the highlight of the sequence, there are two more scenes necessary to make it complete. In the second scene, Brody finally gets the Mayor’s approval to hire Quint to kill the shark. In the third scene, Brody convinces Quint to allow him and Hooper to accompany him, setting up the third act.

The structuring point of Sequence Six is the Second Culmination. To recap, the Second Culmination answers the question posed by the Main Tension, back in Sequence Three. Back in Part I, I stated the Main Tension as “Will Brody be able to solve the shark problem before the beaches open up again?” The answer, of course, is “No”. While the Second Culmination is intended to match up with the highest point of action and tension in Sequence Six (and that’s what happens here; the Fourth of July scene answers the Main Tension), note that, in this case, it doesn’t come at the end of the sequence — in fact, it starts the sequence. While we generally associate words like culmination, climax, action, tension with a story’s ending, in actuality these qualities can come at any time. Since the answer to the Main Tension creates such chaos, there needs to be enough scenes for this chaos to be absorbed by the characters so that some kind of response can be given (and the third act set up); hence, the much slower-paced scene at Quint’s place, where Brody negotiates his and Hooper’s place on the boat.

Please note again, however, that every part of this sequence method analysis is a judgment call — there are no right answers. And every choice made can create difficulties or oddities that may not seem to fit in with the sequence method structure. For example, I’ve decided that the end of the second act is when Brody goes off with Quint and Hooper to find Jaws. Seems right, doesn’t it? The first act ends and the second act begins with the city council meeting, and the second act ends and third act begins with the trio out at sea. I mean, doesn’t that feel right? I think it does, yet it brings up an interesting conundrum: it means the third act is 49 minute and 56 seconds long — only 4 minutes and 29 seconds shorter than the second act.

That’s a long third act. Most third acts are usually, at most, 30 minutes long, and usually in the 15-20 minute range. Did I do something wrong, or does Jaws simply have a longer-than-normal third act? As I’ve suggested, there is no right answer. If I’ve demonstrated that Jaws has a 50 minute third act, then it does. And someone else can come along and demonstrate how the real end of the second act doesn’t occur for another 30 minutes, making the story more “normal”, and they’d be right, too. (And hopefully said someone will post their findings in the Forum.)

After much deliberation, I’ve decided that the extra-long third act is the way to go. However, this has some unintended effects, detailed below.

Sequence Seven (23:46)

Three scenes here as well, each organized by an encounter with Jaws. In the first, Quint hooks the shark, but loses him. In the second, Jaws makes his first real appearance (“We’re gonna need a bigger boat”) and they hit him with a barrel, but he gets away. In the third scene, Quint gives his Indianapolis monologue, and Jaws hits them again, disabling the boat.

A note here about sequences. Two things define a sequence, I believe, and they’re interrelated. One, a sequence, while part of a larger whole, also has a beginning, middle, and end, and is held together by some idea or action or theme. Second, there is a real time limit to a sequence — generally, a sequence should not be much longer than 20 minutes. Although this originated from real physical limits (the length of a film reel) now overcome through technology, I think twenty minutes is a real (for lack of a better word) psychic limit. How long can a person pay attention to a dramatic story before they begin to break what they’re seeing into comprehensible chunks? If this is going to happen anyway (and I believe it will), then it makes sense to take control of that process at the beginning, during the writing, and use that natural inclination to tell stories better. (It should be stated that, although the Platonically Ideal screenplay has eight sequences, longer movies, like The Godfather or The Lord of the Rings, have more than eight. A normal length movie can also have more, or fewer, than eight sequences if circumstances call for it.)

That said, note the length of this sequence. While it clearly breaks the “rules” I’ve just set up, it has an excuse: Quint’s monologue. The famous monologue, of Quint’s experience during WWII, is an incredible moment, a revealing look into the hard-hearted sea captain and the soul of the movie. It’s also, in terms of plot, completely superfluous, and if the four-minute story were excised, the sequence would drop to a more manageable 19 minutes. But pushing the time envelope here is a good move — I can’t imagine Jaws without this moment.

Now, normally, Sequence Seven is the location of the seventh point: The Third Act Twist/Tension. However, having such a long third act means one of two things: either having two extremely long sequences of nearly 30 minutes apiece… or having an extra sequence. I’ve opted for the latter, and since this, the Seventh Sequence, doesn’t have any correlating sequence points, I’m considering it to be the extra sequence.

Sequence Eight (14:24)

Another three scenes. Scene one: They repair the boat, but when Brody tries to use the radio to call for help, Quint destroys it. Scene two: They hit Jaws with a second barrel, and Jaws responds by towing the boat, damaging it further. Scene three: Quint tries to lure Jaws into the shallows, but he burns out the engine in the process, stranding them.

In the sequence method, the third act is, like the second act, kind of its own little story. Although the third act is (usually) fairly short, it also needs something like a Predicament or a Point of No Return to turn the story upside-down, to goose it and keep the audience on their toes. Enter the Third Act Twist/Tension. What is the twist in this sequence? The destruction of the radio is a truly shocking moment, as it’s the only moment on the boat where one of the characters takes a dangerous, antagonist stance towards another character, a stance that’s been reserved for Jaws up until this point. This would be a fine choice; however, I’m going to choose the engine burn-out instead, if only for more writerly reasons. (The loss of the radio is unfortunate, but it isn’t until they’re dead in the water, so to speak, that the story really twists — their options are now extremely limited.)

It should be noted that the David Howard book calls it simply “The Third Act Twist”. I’ve added the “Tension” part of it, since it seems that the Twist portion of it suggests a question, much like the Main Tension of Sequence Three. Since I’m adding it and it’s not “official”, I’m not going to demand that the question be answered with a simple Yes or No; instead, I’ll suggest that the question posed here is something along the lines of “How will they defeat the shark now?”

Sequence Nine (11:37)
Four scenes conclude the movie. In the first, Brody and Quint lower Hooper into the cage to poison Jaws, but Jaws destroys the cage and chases Hooper away. The second scene is Jaws getting onto the boat and eating Quint right in front Brody. The third scene quickly follows: Brody tosses the tank into Jaws’ mouth, and as the shark rushes towards him, Brody shoots the tank, blowing Jaws to smithereens. In the final scene, Hooper reemerges, and he and Brody paddle back to shore.

The final point of the method is the Resolution. The Resolution is pretty simple, and I imagine most people grasp it intuitively. Simply stated, the Resolution answers any outstanding questions raised by the movie, so that the movie can end. Using more literary terms as a reference, the Resolution combines both the Climax and the Denouement. The shark blows up. Quint is eaten. Brody and Hooper are alive, and they get back to shore alive (watch the end credits if you doubt this). We can imagine more questions and scenarios from this point (for example, will the town of Amity survive, even though Jaws is now dead?), but in terms of the questions raised and conflicts established by the story, there is nothing else that needs to be said.

(It’s true that some endings can be “open” or ambiguous — but I seriously question if films with those kinds of endings truly don’t have a Resolution. For example, Limbo has a ridiculously open ending — but the questions and conflicts of the story, the ones that matter, are answered before that moment. For a film that really, truly doesn’t have a Resolution — and is amusingly self-conscious about it — see the previously mentioned Valdez is Coming.)

And that’s that. I hope this look at Jaws, while not as deep as it could be, was a good introduction to the somewhat-obscure ideas of the sequence method. I plan to do a few more of these (starting with The Matrix), but now that I feel like I’ve explained these terms as well as I can for now, they’ll probably be a lot shorter. If you have any questions, or would like to suggest your own structural breakdown of Jaws, please post here. Thanks!

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Weekly Wrap-Up (3/4/06 - 3/10/06) posted by kza

Nine posts this week, but only two topics!

Earlier in the week, Shockah posted Part I of his analysis of Jaws, covering the first four points of the sequence method. Part II coming up soon.

Then the Spitball! Tourney of Story Ideas came to a screeching halt, as the other eight posts were devoted to a drawn-out, slightly contentious and lovingly pedantic discussion about the penalties of forfeiture. (Yes, we make our screenwriting blog sound like tax law; y’wanna fight about it?) Last week, if you’ll remember, was the very first tied vote in the history of the Tourney. Our rules dictated that Shockah and Burley had to come up with a version of the story they didn’t vote for to continue the discussion. While Burley was able to do so for Methane Madness, Shockah wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to do the same for Rachel, My Dear. What would happen if he couldn’t fulfill his obligation?

After much, much discussion, the rule of forfeiture was agreed upon and there was much rejoicing. No, not rejoicing — something else. Now, the world waits with much anticipation to see if Shockah does indeed forfeit or pulls it together with a blazingly brilliant post about a story idea he ranked fifteenth out of twenty-five. Should be (better be) interesting — there’s a trump card at stake!

We’ll be back in two and two.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re: [7] Point of Order: Rules Clarification posted by Martin

in my mind, contradicts what you wrote previously about “reneging on the forfeiture”

Sorry if I was unclear. I meant that if you forfeited, and then later came back and wrote your response to Rachel, that would be reneging on the forfeiture and might confuse issues.

No worries, though, we’re on the right path, and your last paragraph and two points are correct. We are ready to move on. So, sir, I say to you: Play or forfeit the round.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re: [6] Point of Order: Rules Clarification posted by kza

I guess we’re talking across each other, because this—

As far as I am concerned, we’re still negotiating terms now, so the forfeiture is not officially on the table until terms have been agreed upon. If, when we agree on terms in the abstract (terms which, remember, I myself may become beholden to in the future), you decide to forfeit, then the terms will be enforced. Otherwise, you can decide not to forfeit and forward your ideas on Rachel, if any of this inspires you.

—unless I’m misunderstanding what you just wrote, is what I was arguing for, and in my mind, contradicts what you wrote previously about “reneging on the forfeiture”, hence my last post. Also, I never had anything against the terms of the penalty, merely about when they would be applied — that was my only issue.

So, to be clear:

1. We agree on the penalty for forfeiture, then;

2. I may either continue the battle as normal or forfeit.

And to be clear about your further explanation of the penalty, using this battle as an example: I’m the backer of Methane Madness, and you are the backer of Rachel, My Dear. If I forfeit, then you can either a) choose Rachel, My Dear and we move on to the next battle, or b) choose Methane Madness and you also get a trump card.

Is that correct?

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re:[5] Point of Order: Rules Clarification posted by Martin

after all, if I knew what the penalties were going in, it’s possible I wouldn’t have forfeited in the first place. Right?

As far as I am concerned, we’re still negotiating terms now, so the forfeiture is not officially on the table until terms have been agreed upon. If, when we agree on terms in the abstract (terms which, remember, I myself may become beholden to in the future), you decide to forfeit, then the terms will be enforced. Otherwise, you can decide not to forfeit and forward your ideas on Rachel, if any of this inspires you.

But, to be very clear, I don’t see picking the winning entry as a reward, I see it as a necessary duty because the forfeiting party has, for whatever reason, given up or felt that they couldn’t continue their explorations. So, my evaluation will be not what do I personally desire, but what will be best for the (in micro) game and (in macro) eventual screenplay. If, for instance, I was to say that Rachel wins because it’s my favorite, then we’re going to run into an issue when Rachel, the winner of a round, goes up against whatever actual winner it goes up against in the next round—one that both of us chose— and you’re going to have to argue for Rachel which, currently, you don’t feel that you can do successfully, and you doubtfully will like as much as the other, which you had a distinct opinion on. So, the choice before me is a devil’s bargain: win and potentially make a weaker game, or give way to the other idea and keep the game strong but suppress my personal wishes to some degree. Since this position was not chosen by me, but awarded me by default by the forfeiting party, then I feel I should have a reward for being put in the position of having to choose.

My personal preference is always to argue it through, but if I have to make the choice and choose one, then I think the party who is taking the easier way out needs the penalty, thus the trump card essay. However, in the spirit of compromise and moving things forward, how about this:

If one party forfeits a round, the other party has the choice of which story to send forward. If the non-forfeiting party picks their own favorite, then the forfeiting party owes nothing more, but only gains a delay in their defense of that idea, for they will have to defend it in the next round. If, however, the non-forfeiting party decides to further the other idea, then they are awarded the trump card, which can be played for an essay.

This addresses both of our issues, I believe, and is excessively needless and potentially strategic. Do you like these terms?

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re: [4] Point of Order: Rules Clarification posted by kza

Wait, just so I understand this correctly: you want a renegable forfeiture? Sir, I’m afraid I must say that forfeiting is forfeiting, and you accept the penalties. Otherwise, the can of worms is open. I started to give many examples, but then decided that I’d just say this:

Well, let’s be fair: I said I would forfeit, and the penalty would be the “automatic win” of Rachel, My Dear. You said if I forfeit, then the penalty would not be the automatic win, but instead you would get to choose the automatic winner and you would get a “trump card”. Since those are radically different terms, it seems fair that I should be given the chance to avoid these new, agreed upon and binding penalties of forfeiture if possible, as it is fair that I would submit to them if I feel I must, after all is said and done, forfeit. Yes? Or put another way: Just because I forfeit, doesn’t mean that you get to set the penalties and enforce them in one fell swoop — after all, if I knew what the penalties were going in, it’s possible I wouldn’t have forfeited in the first place. Right?

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re:[3] Point of Order: Rules Clarification posted by Martin

First: TV Shows?

Oops—yes, for those of you who are confused, I accidentally filed my last entry into the category “TV Shows” of which it is obviously not. I am the first to admit that an essay writing TV show would be very boring. I have remedied this by placing this entry into the negative TV shows category, so everything is balanced out.

I only accept it on condition that I may rescind my initial forfeiture and attempt to try again, however futile that attempt may be.

Wait, just so I understand this correctly: you want a renegable forfeiture? Sir, I’m afraid I must say that forfeiting is forfeiting, and you accept the penalties. Otherwise, the can of worms is open. I started to give many examples, but then decided that I’d just say this:

I see the point of the forfeiture not as the forfeited party giving up, but as the other party simply gaining a bit of control. Remember, that should you agree to the terms, I can pick either story I want, so the point of re-writing later may be a moot one. The ability to make you write an essay (of which, I will mention, that I am not sadistic and will choose an appropriate topic intended to challenge, but not frustrate, the writer) may actually be enough payment for me to switch sides and start batting Methane Madness. One will never know until they agree to the terms fully…

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re:[2] Point of Order: Rules Clarification posted by kza

First: TV Shows?

Second: This is a good plan. While you don’t think it should move ahead because I’m having trouble creating a vision of it, I don’t think it should be held back just because I’m having trouble creating a vision of it, and this is a good compromise. I accept this amendment.

However!

I only accept it on condition that I may rescind my initial forfeiture and attempt to try again, however futile that attempt may be. You think I’m just going to give you a trump card? Not likely, buddy. You’re too essay-crazed to be allowed to have one.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Re: Point of Order: Rules Clarification posted by Martin

I’m torn about this. On one hand, I do want Rachel, My Dear to move forward, and also want to keep the competition moving forward. On the other hand, it seems that the argument is that Rachel should win because you aren’t finding it compelling enough to find your way into it. That tells me that it’s not a good candidate for moving on, since in the next rounds I want the competition to be stiff and full of it. Ideas, that is.

So, thinking about those things, I think we should establish the following rule: forfeiture. You forfeit the round if you feel that you can’t further the story of the disputed work. Forfeiture means that the other player gets to pick which work moves forward, and also receives a trump card.

What does the trump card do? Hmmm, since I’m about to receive one, I should shoot the moon. I think instead I’ll just say this: the trump card can be played at any time to make the other player write an essay. The essay will have to be 1000 words or more on a topic of the trump card holder’s choice written within one week.

If you accept these terms, we’ll move forward, and I will post which story I choose to forward this round.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Point of Order: Rules Clarification posted by kza

Well, after spending several days on it, I’ve found that I simply can’t come through on my end of the tie-breaker round. Here’s how my Round 7.9 post began:

So, my big problem with Rachel was that, despite the interesting premise and all the notes and discussion on it, I still didn’t feel like I knew what happened in it. What were the Cool Scenes, that you might see in a trailer? How exactly was Rachel confined to the house? Does the house have some freaky supernatural powers, or is it simply constructed in a strange, but logical, manner? Why doesn’t she just break a damn window? There were still so many variables that hadn’t even been penciled in, that it felt like it was in a kind of holding pattern, and it really needs to move forward.

Yet, every attempt I made to come up with some kind of structure, some kind of skeleton that gave me an idea as to what actually happened in the story (i.e. the second act), was met with defeat. While I could’ve simply went with one of my lesser attempts, anyone who knows me knows I’m loathe to put up anything I consider shoddy or uninspired work — especially when the whole point was to give a version of the story that I could get behind. If I put up a version that, ultimately, I think is crap, then that’s a kind of cheating, I think.

The only way to resolve this, as I see it, is to simply move Rachel, My Dear forward, since I failed to adhere to the rules of the game. What say you?

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Structurally Speaking: Jaws (Part I) posted by kza

So now that we’ve gone through the sequence method (albeit in a brief, condensed form), let’s apply that to some popular movies and see what happens.

I’m going to start with my favorite movie of all-time, bar none: Jaws. As you probably know, Jaws was the movie that, for better or worse, kick-started the concept of the “blockbuster summer movie”. It’s a pretty straightforward story (a clear protagonist, a clear antagonist, no flashbacks or other narrative tricks), and it seems like it should be a prime example of basic mainstream film structure.

Well… yes and no. Although for the most part it follows the sequence method mark for mark, there is a little twist, one that demonstrates the elasticity of the sequence method.

Let’s take a gander (the length of each sequence is indicated in bold):

Sequence One (3:56, or 5:09 if you count the opening credits)
In the first five minutes, two hippie-ish youths at a beach bonfire run off to the ocean, but the guy passes out drunk on the sand and the woman, Chrissie Watkins, is eaten by a shark, whom we’ll call Jaws, because we can. Sequence one consists of a single scene, and this scene contains the Point of Attack. The Point of Attack, you’ll recall, is when we see the dark storm clouds on the horizon for the protagonist, and know that his or her life is about to be turned upside down. Clearly, the PoA here is the appearance of Jaws, literally disrupting the surface by chomping a young woman in half. Note that no one else sees the attack, and at this point, we don’t know who the protagonist is yet. (It could be the drunk guy for all we know.)

Sequence Two (13:04)
The next sequence consists of (by my count) three scenes. In the first one, we are introduced to Martin Brody, the sheriff of Amity Island, as he wakes up to a call that leads to the discovery of the Chrissie’s dismembered hand. In the second scene, Brody decides to shut down the beach by his own authority, but the Mayor talks him out of it. In the third scene, Brody is trying to relax on the beach with his wife (but not succeeding, his mind playing tricks on him due to his conscience and his fears) when a little boy and his yellow raft are eaten by Jaws in front of everyone. (Also, the dog “Pippet” is probably eaten as well, but no one ever mentions poor Pippet. Well, I will. R.I.P., Pippet.)

In sequence two, the key moment is the identification of the Predicament. The Predicament is when the Protagonist’s world goes topsy-turvy, and this happens with the death of Alex Kintner. Up until this point, it seems like (within the world of the story) the problem of the shark is taken care of (if only by ignoring it). Brody is on the beach — is he there at the behest of his wife, or is he there to make sure nothing happens, or perhaps both? — and his conscience and his fears are bugging him, which Spielberg visualizes with a number of nifty cinematic tricks. Brody has essentially covered up the shark attack, and has the most to lose if the shark reappears. If it doesn’t, then life can continue as normal. But of course, Jaws is hungry, and so the eating of little Alex and his yellow raft changes Brody’s status-quo — not only does he have a damaging secret, but as the designated protector of the community, he has a shark problem on his hands. What is he going to do about it?

The first two sequences comprise the first act.

Sequence Three (9:29)

There are three scenes in Sequence Three. In the first, the city council convenes to figure out what to do about the shark. The second is primarily expositional: Brody reads up on sharks, and passes information on to his wife, and by extension, the audience. There is a small amount of drama, as Brody and his wife argue about their sons sitting in a boat not faaaah from the yaaaaahd. In the third scene, two locals attempt to get the reward money for Jaws by using a “holiday roast” as bait, but get more than they bargained for.

The two important points of Sequence Three are the Main Tension and the Point of No Return.

The Point of No Return is what keeps the protagonist from simply walking away from the Predicament. While this is an important quality to consider for most stories, especially those that use relationships as the stakes for the drama, I think it’s fair to consider that Brody’s position as sheriff creates an “automatic”, permanent state of PONR. True, he could walk away, but its clear by this point that at the very least, his wife enjoys their position in this society (even though they will never be considered “islanders”), not to mention they just bought a beachside house. However, I think there is an additional PONR, one that ties into the Main Tension. Brody’s solution to the shark problem is to close the beaches, but the Mayor amends that: “Only twenty-four hours.” The closing of the beaches is somewhat of a passive move on Brody’s part; it’s an attempt to buy time, to keep the story, in a meta sense, under his control. But stories are rarely controlled by the protagonists — they are more often playing catchup and having to react instinctively to the stuff the world throws at them — and the time limit imposed upon Brody is an example of that. And it’s a PONR because he’s locked into producing results in a specific amount of time.

A quick detour: when using some kind of model, like the sequence method, to analyze a story, it must be understood that there are no correct answers. Some answers are better than others, and technically one answer could be the best, but, if you can make a case, that, for example, Quint is the protagonist of Jaws, then Quint is the protagonist of Jaws. It’s perfectly okay for two radically different interpretations to stand side by side. (And to be clear, I don’t for a minute consider my analysis to be the best.)

With that in mind, the Main Tension is a question posed by the story (always starting with “Will”), relating to the protagonist, that is answered at the end of the second act. It (like any point of the story core) is a choice, but this choice has implications beyond itself. By choosing a Main Tension, you’re also choosing a scene or a moment in which to answer the Main Tension, and in the process, determining the beginning and the ending of the second act. This can create some interesting results, as we’ll see later on.

What’s interesting about the city council scene is that the council and the townspeople aren’t so much worried about the shark per se, but about how the presence of the shark affects them economically. The question that arises isn’t, “Will you kill the shark?” but “Will you close the beaches?”. If the beaches aren’t open, then, as Quint says, they’ll be on welfare for the winter. So, Brody, the protector of the community, is not asked to keep them safe physically (although there is that), but to keep them safe financially. The Main Tension is “Will Brody be able to solve the shark problem before the beaches open up again?”

Sequence Four (10:16)

I count only two scenes in Sequence Four, although it could be argued there are actually three. In the first scene, Hooper arrives to help out Brody, while at the same time, a mass of local fishermen go after Jaws in attempt to cash in on Mrs. Kinter’s bounty. In the second scene, one group of fishermen come back with a shark, that Hooper doesn’t believe is the real culprit, and at the end, Mrs. Kintner reveals that she found out about Brody’s cover-up and shames him.

The key point of Sequence Four is the First Culmination. I’ll admit, the concept of the First Culmination is still a little nebulous to me. As I wrote earlier, it seems to be more of a construction for the writer than the audience, although it has its uses for the audience as well. If we think of the mainstream screenplay as a series of beginnings, middles, and ends, from the “atomic level” of the beat to the larger level of the scene, all the way to the macro level of the act, then the First Culmination is an “end” that occurs within the first part of the second act. The idea is to have a moment that occurs around the midpoint of the story that represents a kind of climax — not a final one, obviously, but one that looks back at where the story has been and where the story is going.

In Jaws, this sequence reflects on both the past (the deaths of the Chrissie Watkins and Alex Kintner seem to have been avenged, and Brody pays for his mistake in the cover-up) and the future (Hooper, whose technical expertise we’ve been convinced of, believes the shark is still at large). Since we understand (from years of examples) that a mainstream film story ends with a confrontation between the protagonist and the antagonist, the image of the dead shark is a suggestion of the film’s end, without being literal — we know that the real shark is much bigger (thanks to Hooper), much smarter (by avoiding capture by the multitude of reward-crazy fishermen, not to mention nearly eating the two men who tried to capture him earlier) and likely, much tougher. The dead shark on the pier is as much a representation of the folly of trying to kill Jaws as it is the possible death of Jaws — so the outcome is still in doubt.

(That’s enough for now, until Part II. A note, however: an analysis like this, because it can never be absolutely right, is always, at worst, a conversation with the film itself, and at best, a conversation with other people. I invite everyone to continue this conversation about structure, the sequence method, and Jaws in the Spitball! forums.)

Comments (0) — Category: technique

Weekly Wrap-Up (2/24/06 - 3/3/06) posted by kza

Stealing an idea straight from the Stranger’s Slog, we’re going to do a weekly wrap-up, covering every Friday to Friday. Although we don’t post as often as other blogs (nor should we, when there’s only two of us and the posts are part of a conversation, and not celebrity gossip or something stupid like that), there’s usually a lot going on nonetheless. To wit:

The Spitball! Tourney of Story Ideas rolls on, as this week Burley and Shockah discussed Round Seven, which pitted Rachel, My Dear (a woman trapped in a crazy house designed by her mad fiancé) against Methane Madness (an inmate on a prison planet surrounded by a toxic atmosphere tries to escape by inventing, underneath the guards’ noses, a process to make the atmosphere breathable). After 7 posts of back and forth, we went to vote… and for the first time in the history of the contest, we voted for different stories. We’re now dealing with the post-tied-vote process, which means that each person has to spell out a version they like of the story they didn’t vote for. Burley has already put up a character bio for the imprisoned scientist of Methane Madness, while Shockah is preparing a post that will pitch a story outline for Rachel, My Dear.

Another continuing series is Shockah’s posts about the sequence method, a theory of screenplay structure that will probably be used to help shape the winner of the Spitball! Tourney of Story Ideas. (“[H]e can give you a succinct overview of points of the sequence method better than the guys who write books about it” — Burley Grymz, Spitball!) Right now, there’s three posts about the subject: an intro, an explanation of the first four points of what I call “the story core”, and an explanation about the last four points. (Burley has a couple responses to these posts, here and here.) Coming up, Shockah will take an arty, little-known indie from 30 years ago called Jaws and break it down using the sequence method. Should be good for a few laughs; stay tuned.

(Oh, and in the Forum, Shockah and Burley posted their ideas for recasting a remake of Jaws and it’s totally awesome. Check it out and add your two cents!)

Finally, Burley is inventing his own theory of structure based around the game of cricket (which he knows nothing about), which goes by the name of… *sigh*… Tip Scum. See Shockah’s reaction here; and Burley’s reaction to the reaction here.

Comments (0) — Category: communications

Round 7.8 [Rachel, My Dear v. Methane Madness] posted by Martin

So, now I have to figure out how I could change Methane Madness to make it more attractive to me than Rachel, My Dear.

Well, as ironic as it sounds (since I usually start broad and get specific), I actually think we’re too broad with Methane Madness. I realize that much of the information was back story, and not intended for the page, but I still feel the need to get myopic on our character. Let me start here by giving him a bio, and a name.

Dr. Zheng James McNab is a scientist doing research on atmosphere, specifically on a new brand of oxygen tank that is refillable through small fissile reactions with methane. These miniature, contained nuclear reactions take place in a pack the size of a hockey puck and fill 30 air tanks or so. This allows workers to stay in the vacuum of space for long periods of time with renewable oxygen. Same for underwater experiences. Zheng gives a talk in which he claims that this process can work on a large scale, terra forming entire planets. He is warned by his bosses to not attempt such a thing, since it is consider too dangerous. But, he knows great rewards would come to him if he could succeed.

He sets up a lab in his home and gets to work, using improvised equipment and occasionally sneaking research into the better funded lab where he works. He knows that if he can complete this item, he will be famous beyond words.

He works tirelessly, but working nights and days has its toll on him, and he starts becoming delusional. During one such event his carelessness sets off a nuclear reaction that reverses the process and changes all the breathable air for a large radius into methane. Zheng, working in the lab with safety equipment, lived through the event, but thousands die. On trial he is sentenced to life on the prison planet, an orr mine ironically located on a methane atmosphere planet.

So, that’s my background. Important points: his motivation is greed and personal acclaim, and we’re not relying on the old “corporation” saw. It also, really, IS his fault. He is a flawed character. Maybe we even make him a bit more evil. Point is, I think it should be clear that his punishment isn’t unfair, per se. Actually, for a twist, it would be kind of fun to portray the government and corporations as kind of good fatherly figures who tried to help him from hurting himself and others, but they failed. Sure, it’s totally unreal, but hey—this IS a fictional world after all.

To sum: if we had a nearly unredeemable character and then a myopic goal that shuns all else, I could start to wrap my head around it. Then, we need some kick ass sub plots to pick it up and make it interesting. Okay—that’s my first stab at it. Dunno if it changes my mind, but it’s a closer vote this way. What say you?

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Re:[2] Round Seven: Rise to Vote, sir! posted by Martin

I feel like these stories have both been described and laid out in great detail, and despite the fact that my preference is to move on to the last round of the first heat, I have to stay true to my desires. I reject Methane Madness. I vote for Rachel, My Dear. Going into the competition it was actually reversed, but the more I dug into the story the more intriguing it got. Creepy, psychological—I don’t think the questions are all answered, but the questions that are being raised interest me far more than Methane Madness.

So, according to rules of play, each of us has to go and give a version of the story that we didn’t vote for that would be acceptable to them, and then we can vote again. So, next up: Round 7.8, 7.9 and then we’ll see where we are. Since you took 7.7, I’ll take 7.8.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Re: Round Seven: Rise to Vote, sir! posted by kza

Wow, so many mixed feelings about this, about a couple of things. First, we did pretty much reach the end on this one (or at least, I feel like we’re holding back, because one of them is destined for more discussion anyway), but can I say I’ve really enjoyed this round? It felt like, because I didn’t have very strong feelings about either story idea, I could stand back and be somewhat neutral and just enjoy looking at each plot from different angles. It really felt like spitballing, I guess because I felt like I didn’t have to pimp one of the nominees.

(But that could easily change if we vote for different stories!)

And I came to really like both ideas, and it’s a shame that they didn’t lend themselves towards consolidation. I sorta don’t want to vote, because my personal inclination is that I vote when I feel 70/30 about the two nominees, and I’m only at about 55/45 with these two.

But one has to win, and so I’m going to back the one that I feel is the furthest along the development path:

Methane Madness.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Round Seven: Rise to Vote, sir! posted by Martin

I feel like I’ve gone as far as I can with this one at this point. I move that we call a vote.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Round 7.7 [Rachel, My Dear v. Methane Madness] posted by kza

Rachel, My Dear
I can see your problem with Rachel-as-architect, but I’m not sure if I like Gabe-as-contractor. (Or maybe I don’t know enough about the biz to know whether that scenario is likely or believable.) But I think what’s clear is that Rachel, whatever she does, needs Tha Skillz to fight the house on an intellectual level as well as a physical one. Is there another job like “architect” that could do the same job?

Maybe when he looks at the house he sees the house Rachel designed, but when she sees the house she sees a nightmare.

Heh — when I read that, it makes me wonder if Rachel isn’t the crazy one. Is there room for that kind of ambiguity (not necessarily through the whole thing — we can still find out at the end that Gabe’s the crazy one) or should it be clear from the outset who’s crazy?

Methane Madness

I’m kind of tired of the “corporation” being evil.

Oh, true dat. Unfortunately, if I were to hold off on posting that background until I had something more original… well, I’d still be writing it. :-)

What if the mistake that killed the people really was his fault?

Actually, what I was trying for with that writeup was something that could be interpreted different ways — he could’ve been framed, but maybe he really was to blame. But I guess that didn’t come through. (Or I guess what you’re saying is that he takes responsibility for it upfront. That’s cool, too.)

I see this like the process in the Spanish Prisoner: MacGuffin.

I didn’t care for that movie, but I hear what you’re saying, and it reminds me of one the better bits, IIRC: Someone (Campbell Scott?) writes a dollar amount on a chalkboard — how much the company stood to gain from his magic process — but all we can see is the dollar sign. That’d be nice if we could get away with that kind of narrative elision with regards to the science experiment.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay

Round 7.6 [Rachel, My Dear v. Methane Madness] posted by Martin

Rachel, My Dear

I’m going to get pedantic for a minute here. I really like the idea of Rachel as architect, but one thing bothers me about it: if Rachel were an architect, then she wouldn’t just let her husband build a house for her, she would be involved in it. So, what I suggest to fix this issue is that we make Rachel the architect, and her husband a contractor. They have a deal on this house—she designs whatever she wants with his interference, and he builds it how he wants without her interference. But, her curiosity and his strange behavior drive her to seek out the site and see what’s happening. It’s not at all what she has expected….

I agree with you that Gabe is unaware of his madness. In his mind, he IS building Rachel’s house, and doesn’t understand her strong reaction to his work. Maybe when he looks at the house he sees the house Rachel designed, but when she sees the house she sees a nightmare. Like some of Sacks’ patients, he is deluded without knowing he is deluded.

Methane Madness

I like your take on it, but I’m kind of tired of the “corporation” being evil. I mean, they are, but as a plot point it’s so overused. What if the mistake that killed the people really was his fault? What if his guilt is palpable, and there is no way to clear his name? What if his race to fix the atmosphere on the planet would have no benefit to anybody but himself? I say we set him up as a protagonist with a lot going against him, and then watch him struggle for redemption.

As for the process—I see this like the process in the Spanish Prisoner: MacGuffin. I say we’re deliberately vague about it—or, play it off as a sub atomic radical re-shifting. In any case, if we take this path I will speak to physicists I know to come up with some idea that is far fetched but not absolutely mind numbing, and that we can play off.

This is, at heart, I think a human drama: man against himself.

Comments (0) — Category: the screenplay