Could It Be a Movie

by Christina Hamlett

  What problems would you have envisioned as a screenwriter if the film had been based on the novel’s premise of an enemy American warship during the War of 1812 rather than a French warship during the Napoleonic Wars?

  Financial problems (for myself and for the movie). The primary market for this film is North America. Making Americans the bad guys would not have been good for box office! For 95% of the film, anyway, the enemy ship is a cipher -- a ghost they are chasing into the unknown. The nationality of its crewmen is kind of irrelevant.

  When writing a movie whose underlying theme is war, do you try to focus on resolution of that underlying conflict or do you focus on the effects of that conflict upon the people so engaged? If the latter, does that also change the nature of the characters who represent the enemy in this conflict and, if so, how? For instance, do you make the French equally honorable and somewhat sympathetic or do you make them even more vile in order to evoke a strong emotional response in the audience for the heroes?

  You write about the effects of the conflict on the characters, anything else is liable to be polemical. Master and Commander is one of those war films like Platoon, or Das Boot where the enemy is largely invisible. You see the whole conflict from one side (The Americans in Platoon, the Germans in Das Boot, The Brits in Master and Commander), but every character has a slightly different view on not only on how to prosecute this war but also on the rights and wrongs of the conflict -- and that’s where the real drama comes from.

  How long did it take you to write Master and Commander?

  It was a couple of years from first meeting to start of filming. Not all of that was spent writing, of course. The first draft took three or four months, then we showed it to the studio and got feedback. The other drafts took progressively less time, but they continued until we started shooting.

  How many rewrites did you go through?

  Peter and I did many drafts of the synopsis, then four or five complete drafts of the script. There were rewrites to get the story right and rewrites to get the budget down and a couple of radical changes such as when we decided that the sole woman on board was skewing the plot and would have to go. On one draft we lost 30 pages off the opening. On another draft we totally reconceived that last act.

  Do you prefer adaptations or scripting an original story from scratch?

  I like writing fiction. I'm less keen on dramatizations of real life events where you're limited by your obligation to tell the truth, especially when you’re dealing with living memory. The script I’m currently working on is based on a true story, and I find myself constantly having to check the impulse to rewrite history! Between doing adaptations or rewrites and doing my own stuff, it’s weird but there’s surprisingly little difference. With the exception of my own second novel, Paper Mask, most novels I've adapted are so un-filmic in their structure that you have to deconstruct the book and re-invent the story. The Far Side of the World was a case in point.

  What did you like to read when you were growing up and how did it impact your writing/storytelling style as an adult?

  I read Steinbeck, Jack London, Hemmingway, and Graham Greene. I liked strong narratives with a sense of authentic lived experience. That’s what I always try to write

  What’s the first thing you ever sold and how long had you been writing prior to the sale?

  I trained as a doctor and that was my job off and on until six or seven years ago. I sold a short story when I was 26, then took a few months out to write my first novel, Kingsley's Touch, which was finally published three years later. I wrote two more novels after that, but kept going back to medicine.

  Why did you decide to become a writer?

  I'm a romantic. I was in love with the idea of the solitary dreamer who travels the world sees everything, understands everything, and writes about it. Of course being a writer is nothing like that….

  Complete this sentence: If I weren’t a writer, I would be _________.

  Still a doctor, I guess. Probably doing aid work in the third world, which is what I was doing up to nine years ago when we had our first child and I had to start making money.

  (Author note: Collee and his wife, Debs, moved to Sydney, Australia in 1996 where they are raising their three children, Lauren, Isla, and Jack.)

  What are you working on now?

  Another war movie, this time for Stephen Spielberg. It’s a Fox Dreamworks co-production.

  If you could adapt any existing novel to a feature film and cast it with whomever you wanted, what would it be and who would star?

  I'd write a film about the homecoming of Odysseus and I'd cast Liam Neeson. Actually I wrote this already for Fox Searchlight. Edward Bond rewrote it and Neil Jordan is doing another rewrite. They're still trying to pull together funding. That’s the business.

  What’s the best career advice that anyone ever gave you?

  "You have to enjoy the process." Once a film is written, it’s out of your hands and the chances are that it will never get made. You have to enjoy the process of researching and writing and discussing and rewriting a story until it’s as perfect as you can make it. If you wait for the delayed gratification of seeing your name on screen, you'll wait your whole life and probably die embittered.

  And what’s the worst advice you ever got?

  "It’s a great idea -- keep it to yourself.” We're social animals. I no longer see writing as a solitary profession. Fictional ideas grow and flourish when you talk about them and share them. They die when you get protective and secretive. Film writing is the best fun because it’s so collaborative and pitching a story to everyone who will listen is the best way I know to enhance the storyline. Being obsessive and solitary is the best way to kill it.

  What words of wisdom would you like to leave with new writers who are still struggling to find their own voice?

  Forget your own voice. Write something mainstream and entertaining. Work with people you like.

  CHAPTER 4: CONFLICT MANAGEMENT

  & THE VIEW FROM HERE

  In the time of the ancient Greeks, the gist of their dramatic performances focused on man versus the gods. By Shakespeare’s era, stories about man versus other men gave royals and peasantry alike something tangible to relate to. By the turn of the 20th century, storytellers had found yet another mercurial enemy with whom man could wage battle; specifically, himself.

  What do these three diverse venues have in common? The answer is conflict, the most critical ingredient in keeping audiences glued to their seats. In order to make that conflict credible, of course, you need to be able to identify which of your characters has the most persuasive voice to deliver it and how much he or she will be transformed by story’s end.

  WHAT CONSTITUTES CONFLICT?

  The crux of all conflict involves moving your characters from Point A to Point B. Thwarting that journey — whether it be on a physical, emotional, or spiritual plane — are the following obstacles:

  The Ticking Clock Syndrome

  The protagonist has 48 hours to locate a bomb, deliver a ransom, rescue a hostage, etc. Example: Run Lola Run.

  Mistaken Identity/Identity Theft

  The inability to prove one’s true identity places a character in comically compromising or life-threatening positions. Example: The Net.

  Diametrical Differences

  He’s Catholic; she’s Jewish. He’s dead; she’s alive. He’s married; she’s available. Can a relationship be saved if concession isn’t an option? Example: The Age Of Innocence.

  Insufficient Resources

  The protagonist is rich in idealism but light on cash, time, manpower, etc. to orchestrate a rebellion, a takeover, or preservation of the status quo. Example: Braveheart.

  Trading Places

  The lead character is empathy-deficient until he/she is forced to experience life through the eyes of another. Example: Freaky Friday.

  Straying Hearts

  You can love some of the people all of the time and all of the people some of the
time. It just gets messy when they find out about each other. Example: Fatal Attraction.

  The Isolation Factor/Fish Out of Water

  Whether the label of loneliness is self-imposed or ascribed by society, conflict is inevitable when extraordinary people attempt to function in an ordinary environment. Example: Good Will Hunting. On the flip side, ordinary individuals who are suddenly thrust into extraordinary circumstances are forced to rise to challenges that life had not previously prepared them for. Example: Star Wars.

  WHAT CONFLICT ISN’T

  If “The Big Problem” you have posed could be resolved in just one conversation between the characters, it’s not enough to constitute a full-length script. Television sitcoms are an example of this, wherein misunderstandings, missteps, and missed connections can all be fixed in the space of 22 minutes.

  Nor is conflict a tableau in which your characters simply sit around Starbucks wondering whether they should be doing something different with their lives. In the absence of an inciting incident that will challenge their sensibilities, pull the rug out from under them, or threaten their existence, they are doing little more than killing time, time that could be better spent on a story that has actual substance.

  CONFLICT AND THE SOLAR SYSTEM

  Unlike real life, which serves up daily a full plate of conflicts for us to juggle, a screenplay centers on one specific problem, a problem around which everything else must revolve. The tendency of fledgling writers to try to mimic the complexities of reality by putting in more than one conflict results in a scatter-gun script that misses the mark on all levels.

  As of this writing, I am in the midst of revisiting my own fondness for penning “ensemble” works and restructuring a particular story so that the main character’s personal crisis is never ignored for more than half a page. Much as I admittedly favor the original version and its more equitable distribution of screen time among the players, it was pointed out to me that, in order for this script to be successfully launched with a name star, the name star needs to be front and center for at least 85% of it. Even a math flunkie can see that this translates to very little time left over for anybody else’s dilemmas to be examined, much less resolved.

  In order to put this requirement in perspective, think of your central conflict as the sun. Think of Earth as your main character, subjected to moments of light and dark pursuant to his/her invariable rotation. The rest of the planets are the other characters and extraneous issues in your protagonist’s life. While he or she is always aware of their presence and their respective proximity to the central issue, a decision to break formation and revolve around Pluto for a while or to go count rings around Saturn simply never comes up. A situation that occurs on Venus is likewise only of significance if it in some way impacts what Venus and Earth both have in common; specifically, their orbits around the sun.

  Let’s say that your story is about a new employee named Ernie who is madly in love with his boss’ daughter. She is, literally, the center of his whole universe. Everything that he does relates to his quest for a happily-ever-after with her.

  While Ernie’s life is peopled with a lot of colorful characters, you need to resist the temptation to let Ernie wander off and go schlep their emotional baggage for them. Why? Because it detracts from his primary objective of pursuing his damsel fair. What you can let Ernie do, though, is allow him to engage in peripheral conflicts that will ultimately advance his own cause.

  For example:

  As a new employee, Ernie’s abilities and reputation are under scrutiny. He needs to make a good impression with the boss who, hopefully, will perceive him as quality son-in-law material and ultimately give the relationship his blessing.

  He needs to vanquish his rival who works for the same firm. Again, the actions in which he engages to accomplish this serve the twofold purpose of impressing his lady-love and her father, as well as dispatching the competition.

  He also needs to land a major account that will solidify his professional standing with the firm, provide the financial wherewithal to start a comfortable life with the girl he loves, and affirm his own faith that he can accomplish anything he sets his mind to.

  Much as you might like to weave in backstory elements of Ernie’s prior relationships with other women, his estrangement from his older brother, his roommate’s bouts with alcoholism, his cleaning lady’s impending deportation to Uruguay, or even the weekends he selflessly spends making recordings for the blind, none of them have any bearing on whether he gets the girl and makes that long-sought trip to the altar.

  POINTS TO PONDER

  What is the central conflict of your own movie idea?

  Is it of sufficient sustainability to fill 1-1/2 to 2 hours of screen time? If not, could it work as a short?

  From the earlier list in this chapter, what type of conflict is it?

  How is your idea similar to the sample movie identified for that type of conflict? How is it different?

  Identify three peripheral conflicts that will directly or indirectly impact the resolution of the main problem being addressed in your film.

  WHOSE STORY IS IT ANYWAY?

  As anyone who has ever grown up with siblings can easily attest, there are always at least three versions of any given incident: (1) their story, (2) your story, and (3) what really happened. Throw in the observations of other household members, eavesdropping neighbors, casual passers-by and even the family pet and that single incident can be interpreted in any number of different ways.

  A screenplay is subject to the same level of viewpoint variety. It just depends on whose rendition you — as the author — would like it to be.

  Let’s say that you’ve decided to adapt Little Red Riding Hood into a feature film. In its original fairy tale format, the viewpoint is omnipresent; we see the plot unfold from the narrator’s third-person perspective. Although Red herself is the title character, she is only knowledgeable of those scenes in which she personally participates. Accordingly, her presumably innocent disclosure that she is on her way to her grandmother’s house can be construed as either a polite way to get the wolf to buzz off or a carefully orchestrated set-up to dispatch a relative she wasn’t particularly fond of anyway.

  “Did I mention that she’s frail and helpless and lives alone?” Red tells him. “Here, let me write down the address for you…”

  How would the telling of the tale be different from the standpoint of the wolf? Certainly as a creature at the top of the forest food chain, he wouldn’t be very likely to judge his acts as criminal behavior. After all, a wolf’s gotta do what a wolf’s gotta do, right? Since his first opportunity to make a meal of Red didn’t work out, he resorts to his next available option: a granny snack down the road.

  But what if he were trying to warn the grandmother that the woodsman who worked in her neighborhood was, in actuality, a serial killer? Motivated by his desperation to save the old woman’s life, the only safe hiding place Mr. Wolf could think of on such short notice was… in his stomach. (Doesn’t the fact he swallowed her whole suggest it was just a temporary plan?)

  What about the character of the grandmother? Was she just a victim of her own naiveté in opening the front door without first establishing who was there? Perhaps if we heard the story from her side of things, we’d learn that Red’s motivation in bringing fattening treats every week was to hasten her elderly relative’s demise so as to inherit that sweet little cottage on a prime piece of real estate. Annoyed with such duplicity, the grandmother hired a contract killer in the form of a local carnivore, little knowing that the latter had his own spin on the phrase “meal ticket.”