dialogue
Random thoughts.
My grandmother smoked. I remember it quite well. One invariable mental image of my childhood is sitting on the family room floor of my parents' house while my gandmother reclined in the red-cushioned rocking chair. She would light up, and that odor of the struck match aroused and delighted my sense of smell. I would breathe deeply through my little boy nose in an attempt to inhale every lingering trace of that acrid-sweet phosphorus and sulfide combustion. That odor and gasoline have always been my favorite smells. And I still miss my grandparents.
I enjoy staying in the city on holiday weekends. Sure, I've left town in the past to visit one place or another (generally the family unit upstate), but it so happens I am here in New York over this July 4th. The city is half-empty. Much of the population has hit the road for their relaxation destinations. Their exodus thins the traffic, the sidewalks, and (most importantly?) the bars. Though it was crowded on the Lower East Side on Friday night, the rest of the city seemed somehow abandoned. On my soused taxi ride home at 3:30 in the morning, straight up Third Avenue through the Village, Murray Hill, and Midtown, the sidewalks were particularly barren. Not the norm for New York. But it provided for a welcome, albeit spectral, change of pace. Tonight it looks like it might be pool with the boys. On a Sunday night on a holiday weekend there shouldn't be much of a crowd. We might as well take advantage of the absence of the masses while we can.
I finished the first draft of my "commercial" screenplay last night. Roughly two months of research, writing, formatting and the creation of a little written world in my Final Draft program and it is basically complete. Sure, there will be editing and revisions, but the story is there. I must say, despite its commercially viable nature (which my art house and foreign film instincts want to reject), I am proud of this script. It was also as if I rediscovered my ability to write a cohesive, feature-length screenplay. I had few problems with continuity, characters, or scenes. Whereas many screenwriters will hit snags and roadblocks with the middle act (usually pages 30 to 90), I had a comprehensive outline that pushed the action and conflict forward. No wasted space and no superfluous content. I have high hopes for this one. Now comes a test reading with a group of New York actors for dialogue and flow, and of course, their ideas and suggestions for improvement. Constructive criticism is always advantageous. Then, I get the damn thing out there and sell it. And after that? Well, maybe I'll go back to my hallowed film school roots and write something that would make Bergman or Buñuel proud.
Ah, Stand Inside Your Love, one of my favorite Smashing Pumpkins songs, just came on.
Earlier today I watched The Set-Up, an intense noir from 1949, starring Robert Ryan and Audrey Totter, and directed by prodigious Robert Wise (he also directed Star Trek: The Motion Picture, The Sound of Music, The Sand Pebbles, and The Day the Earth Stood Still, among numerous other pictures). The Set-Up plays out in "real time," and it is a masterwork of film design. It's the brutal story of a pugilist on his last legs and the sacrifices he must make to finish his career on his feet. The film presents scenes of feral human nature - cruelty, avarice, and bloodlust - so it's not always easy to watch. But it comes highly recommended, obviously. Pick it up in the "Film Noir Classic Collection" DVD boxset along with other classics like Out of the Past, Asphalt Jungle, Gun Crazy, and Murder, My Sweet. It's worth every dime, see?
I realize that I am drawn to the damaged, or perhaps they are drawn to me. They lure me into their lives and I welcome their souls and hearts and eyes and baggage. I can only listen with rapt attention and a scintilla of empathy, and hope that the words I return strike with the sincerity I intend.
I run with joy to the great and imperfect ones, their confusion nourishes me; their stuttering is like divine music to my ears - Henry Miller
My grandmother smoked. I remember it quite well. One invariable mental image of my childhood is sitting on the family room floor of my parents' house while my gandmother reclined in the red-cushioned rocking chair. She would light up, and that odor of the struck match aroused and delighted my sense of smell. I would breathe deeply through my little boy nose in an attempt to inhale every lingering trace of that acrid-sweet phosphorus and sulfide combustion. That odor and gasoline have always been my favorite smells. And I still miss my grandparents.
I enjoy staying in the city on holiday weekends. Sure, I've left town in the past to visit one place or another (generally the family unit upstate), but it so happens I am here in New York over this July 4th. The city is half-empty. Much of the population has hit the road for their relaxation destinations. Their exodus thins the traffic, the sidewalks, and (most importantly?) the bars. Though it was crowded on the Lower East Side on Friday night, the rest of the city seemed somehow abandoned. On my soused taxi ride home at 3:30 in the morning, straight up Third Avenue through the Village, Murray Hill, and Midtown, the sidewalks were particularly barren. Not the norm for New York. But it provided for a welcome, albeit spectral, change of pace. Tonight it looks like it might be pool with the boys. On a Sunday night on a holiday weekend there shouldn't be much of a crowd. We might as well take advantage of the absence of the masses while we can.
I finished the first draft of my "commercial" screenplay last night. Roughly two months of research, writing, formatting and the creation of a little written world in my Final Draft program and it is basically complete. Sure, there will be editing and revisions, but the story is there. I must say, despite its commercially viable nature (which my art house and foreign film instincts want to reject), I am proud of this script. It was also as if I rediscovered my ability to write a cohesive, feature-length screenplay. I had few problems with continuity, characters, or scenes. Whereas many screenwriters will hit snags and roadblocks with the middle act (usually pages 30 to 90), I had a comprehensive outline that pushed the action and conflict forward. No wasted space and no superfluous content. I have high hopes for this one. Now comes a test reading with a group of New York actors for dialogue and flow, and of course, their ideas and suggestions for improvement. Constructive criticism is always advantageous. Then, I get the damn thing out there and sell it. And after that? Well, maybe I'll go back to my hallowed film school roots and write something that would make Bergman or Buñuel proud.
Ah, Stand Inside Your Love, one of my favorite Smashing Pumpkins songs, just came on.
Earlier today I watched The Set-Up, an intense noir from 1949, starring Robert Ryan and Audrey Totter, and directed by prodigious Robert Wise (he also directed Star Trek: The Motion Picture, The Sound of Music, The Sand Pebbles, and The Day the Earth Stood Still, among numerous other pictures). The Set-Up plays out in "real time," and it is a masterwork of film design. It's the brutal story of a pugilist on his last legs and the sacrifices he must make to finish his career on his feet. The film presents scenes of feral human nature - cruelty, avarice, and bloodlust - so it's not always easy to watch. But it comes highly recommended, obviously. Pick it up in the "Film Noir Classic Collection" DVD boxset along with other classics like Out of the Past, Asphalt Jungle, Gun Crazy, and Murder, My Sweet. It's worth every dime, see?
I realize that I am drawn to the damaged, or perhaps they are drawn to me. They lure me into their lives and I welcome their souls and hearts and eyes and baggage. I can only listen with rapt attention and a scintilla of empathy, and hope that the words I return strike with the sincerity I intend.
I run with joy to the great and imperfect ones, their confusion nourishes me; their stuttering is like divine music to my ears - Henry Miller
posted by Walls Falling at 5:28 PM
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