Giving Notes and Kicking Ass
December 15, 2010
“I really want to hear what you think. Good, bad, whatever…”
These are the words that are said before someone gives me a script to read. I have no doubt that in their minds, they actually mean it. They want to know where characters come off as clichéd or a plot point just a little too convenient. At least they think they do. Until they actually hear it.
This is why I don’t like giving notes. It’s fairly certain that giving me a script will crush someone’s spirit just a bit (assuming it’s good), and quite a lot (when it isn’t). A friend of mine gave a script a little while back and I should have put it down after ten pages because I didn’t like it at all. As a general I do this because if I don’t like the first ten, I’m not going to like whatever follows. But he was a friend and I wanted to give him something useful to go back to the drawing board with. There were so many problems throughout that I was at a loss about what to say.
This is always a difficult conversation because part of me is aware of the “Who the fuck are you to tell me my script isn’t good,” reaction that has to be on their minds. I don’t like having black clouds over me when I sit down to give notes, but such, evidently, was to be my burden.
When we finally sat down, I began by saying this was going to be a rough discussion and if he didn’t want to hear the thoughts, I’d understand. He did. So I went into where all the problems were. He nodded politely, asking questions every now and again, explaining why certain choices were made. I could see it though. With each passing comment he hated me more and more. By the end of the conversation it had turned into an epic loathing.
I asked a fellow screenwriter what he does when someone asks for notes on a script he doesn’t like. His approach is to find the three best things in the script and talk about how they could be better. “Very few people want to hear how bad their script is. And you know what, it’s not my place to tell them.”
“But they’ve asked you to tell them,” I answer.
“They’ve asked me for thoughts. These are some of my thoughts. Not all of them. What’s the point in devastating them?”
“Maybe you’re helping by devastating them. Maybe that ass-kicking is what they need to get to a good draft.”
“Maybe,” he said, “but I just don’t want to hurt someone in that way.”
The obvious message was that I, of course, do.
On the last script I wrote, when I turned it in to the producer, I couldn’t have been more pleased. I had knocked it out of the park. Home run. Slam dunk. I had the tune “Walking on Sunshine” in my head all day.
Then I got the call. They didn’t like it. Not even a little. If I wanted to start over and rebuild it from the ground up…
What the fuck had gone wrong? Somewhere there was a massive disconnect, and clearly it was mine. I showed it to my agent and manager. My manager gently suggested moving on to something else. My agent stopped reading after thirty or so pages with the simple, “This doesn’t sell.”
This was mind-numbingly painful. The kind of pain that makes me climb into bed and hope that someone has the decency to inject me with an overdose of heroin to make all the pain go away forever.
Unfortunately, the heroin savior never arrived and eventually I had to get out of bed. Now I had a choice: I could just move on to another story, or go back to the beginning and figure out where I went wrong. I did the latter. It was a far longer journey than I ever anticipated. Months of work to really dig out the cavity and find the core of what I loved so much to begin with.
The story is world’s better now. Had I not gotten savagely beaten, I wouldn’t have understood what it really wanted to become.
Sometimes a good ol’ fashioned ass-kicking is exactly what you need.
Until later -
Burning Pictures
I too have had that experience. Of loathing you more and more with each word that escapes your mouth. Should you find yourself in need of an ass kicking, please feel free to give me a call. Perhaps its what you need? I’d like to help.
By the way, did you send this blog to the writer whose work you ridiculed?
Ivan you’ve outdone yourself with vitriolic rage. Even I’m impressed.
Ivan, don’t give in to h8.
Writing is rewriting.
In this town, writing is being rewritten by someone else.
The second sentence happens if you either cannot or will not hear what must be said about your writing.
Who doesn’t have a shelf dedicated to the babies that were too precious to rewrite based on the contributions of others?
I work on the other side of the phone, desk, conference table.
As one insightful wank once stated, “You do book reports on other people’s writing.”
Apt.
Yes, I do.
Go ahead, be angry. You can afford it.
Ultimately, like Colonel Nathan R Jessep, you need people like me up on that wall.
Notes basically boil down to, “you can’t get what you want, ’til you know what you want.”
Writers work in an anonymous bubble. People in solitary tend to become myopic. So do a lot of writers.
From our perspective, we cannot get what we need if we don’t know what we want. And we cannot get what we need from you without clearly communicating it in no uncertain terms to you because you are the creator of the project we’re investing in.
Lennon sang it, “Hit me with the truth.” Sometimes the truth hurts.
Well, if you love telling stories and you want your story to be told as a film, you’ve got to find a way to hear even the harshest words about your writing. Even when it sounds like someone doesn’t love your baby. It’s not personal, it’s necessary. It’s so you can get from “is this any good” to rewriting the next draft and hopefully sell it and get it produced and released.
Success has many fathers while failure is an orphan.
You want harsh? Open and close a film over one weekend. Shall we blame the writer? Or share the blame?
It ain’t about you, it’s about the writing, it’s about the story.
Then again, it can be about you if you make it about you.
The thing is I’ve yet to meet a truly talented scribe who didn’t want to know what the prodco/studio wanted from the material.
Gino sang it, “What you won’t do, you’ll do for love. You’ll give anything, but you won’t give up.”
Don’t give up.
We don’t want you to give up.
Find a way to connect with your love for what you do. Write.
And don’t take it personally.
At least not in public.
Then again, maybe you go Ephron, “How should I take it, as a group?”
It’s true. It’s tough to separate the work from the man. And yet, it’s either that or rage rage against the hollywood machine.
Loved this, honey. And now I know I should keep heroin in the bedside table.
would be nice just knowing it’s there.