Collaboration... from the screenwriter's POV

FADE IN:

INT. COMMERCIALIZED COFFEE SHOP - NIGHT

Two young artists command a table normally reserved for six. One is tall and softening from too much time away from the gym. He is in his late-20s. This is JEREMY. His cohort, sipping on a fresh latte, is the energy of the room. Focused, determined, early-20s, this is COLE.

Two LAPTOPS are opened before them. We join them in mid-conversation.

COLE
That's exactly what I was thinking.
And how about we try...

JEREMY
And then we just move this here,
take this over here... yeah... that's
gonna work.

That's one way to look at it. Jeremy here... musing on the symbiotic relationship that is the writer-director. In any film, there is a person (or people) who pen the script. The screenwriter(s). And then there's a director. The one who has to take the pages and put them onto the screen. And both sides of the coin have their own vision of what it will look like. One creates. The other interprets.

And I imagine there are varying levels of interaction between writer and director as you move through the pantheon of film. There are those that option a script, sell it, and step back as new writers come in to rewrite, reinvent, and depending on your viewpoint, destroy or improve your work. And there are those films where the screenwriter stays very, very involved. And perhaps, a few instances that fall along the in between.

Cole recently posted on this topic and brought up an idea that I'm used to seeing in theatre, and excited to see happening in film. Collaboration. As he mentioned, the script has been tightened and trimmed, and in parts, it's already evolved from its staged predecessor. As I began working with Cole and John on adapting the play, we spent hours on Skype, over email, taking up workspace at any local coffee shop that served anything worth drinking, and began to answer some of the big questions that were never fully tackled in the play. I won't give away state secrets here, but rest assured that moments of frustrating ambiguity you might have experienced if you've seen the play have been addressed to offer a more complete story arc that's more suited to film. And that was born out of many, many talks between the three of us.

Going into this new partnership, I (the writer) took a moment to think about how Cole (the director) might approach this. And then I realized two things. I'm not a mind-reader. And he just blogged about it. So, I stopped and thought about how I've directed others' writing in the past.

When I direct for theatre, I aim to realize the script as I feel the writer intended. And that choice effects how I direct actors to emote, how the pacing flows, and everything down to a costume or prop selection. And then I have to wonder if it's what the author even intended. In 2007, I directed a show called "Darkside". And it was well received. Awards were bestowed from the people in Columbus and Ohio who bestow such awards. And then, I went to see that very show, directed by the very man who wrote it, Ken Jones. We clearly had different visions for that story. Some similarities were there—mostly in the set and costumes and the number of actors on stage (actually, even there we found a way to differ).

And so I think, how great would it have been to have had Ken there to bounce ideas around with and get him to talk about why this character does what he does and all that. Make it a dialogue. The kicker? We're now connections on LinkedIn and he sent me three of his plays as a gift.

Point is, there's a want in any artist to produce the best art. Creating a conversation about a script between writer and director is one way to help ensure that happening. So, that brings us to the now, as the screenwriter (me) and the director (Cole) sit down and begin the task of polishing Separation Anxiety to the best it can be.



That's us. Being collaborators.

I was reading an interview recently featuring screenwriter Christopher Wilkinson, who co-wrote Nixon and Ali, among others. And in talking about his writing relationship with Stephen Rivele (Nixon, Ali) he made a wonderful observation about collaboration which I think is at the heart of how we are approaching the final stretch of rewrites for Separation Anxiety: "And we have absolutely no ego about the writing process; we will go with whoever has the best idea, scene to scene and line by line. If we don't agree, we go with whoever can make the most compelling or passionate case for a character, story turn, whatever."

I value Cole's artistic opinion and he value's mine, so I'm excited about the end result that sits upon the horizon. I'll be honest, Separation Anxiety is intensely personal for me, and so I won't be surprised if there are moments (as Cole mentioned) where I dig in my heels. And those heel-digging nights will be for those compelling cases that Wilkinson talks about. But in the end, I will always pen the words that serve the story in the best possible way. That is my ultimate goal with anything I write. What serves the story and the characters? And this is the one thing that any screenwriter and director need to agree on. Making the best art. Serving the story.

Thanks for reading. Coming up later in the week is a special guest posting from our Sound Designer, Jordan Fehr. Until next time...

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Topic #2: Character

First of all, apologies for the delay. You wouldn't know it yet, but we actually have a schedule that looks something like this:

John: Monday-Tuesday
Cole: Wednesday-Friday
Jeremy: Saturday-Sunday

So, as you can see, I've missed my deadline, and were it not for Cole's incessant pestering, I probably would have missed it further.

I've been delayed blog-wise due to final bits of color correction on the trailer and getting everything in order for our sound designer, Jordan Fehr, to take a quick look at any mixing and design tweaks necessary before next week. Why next week? Because Glass City Films is going to the Trail Dance Film Festival in Oklahoma, and we're hoping to have a solid version of the trailer and an investor packet to give to potential producers and distributors.


But enough with excuses and awesomeness. This week's topic centers entirely on character development, something that always seems to be lacking in most of the scripts I work on in Chicago as a cinematographer. One of my central edicts for good storytelling is that plot should follow character, not the other way around. I cite the difference between LOST and Heroes as prime examples of the former and the latter: whereas LOST's conspiracy theories and mythology are firmly rooted in the characters and the emotions that drive them to do such things, Heroes's characters seemingly change on a dime because the plot dictates that they must. One minute, someone has to be a villain; the next, that same person will be saving the life of a person who should be strong-willed yet has decided for this string of episodes to be a flip-flopper.

Cue frustration and rant. But I digress.

What drove me to Separation Anxiety, and what ignites me about its writing, is its to-the-core focus on character development, almost at the expense of what would be considered a typical three-act "plot". Bailey, Jess, and Quinn - and Lily and Mr. Palmer, as well - are all complex characters with shades of grey about their major characteristics, all of which are motivated by choices and events in their lives. I look forward to reading Jeremy's ramble on how he crafted those characters, but that is not my job on this film. My business is cinematography, and how to illustrate each character with imagery and lighting.

My favorite shots in the trailer - look for it next week - are those that evoke certain emotions and feelings about a character or a scene, regardless of what is prettier or not. For example, in Jess' initial confrontation with Mr. Palmer, as she goes to leave, her face is lit with a strong, cool side light, to separate her in color and feeling from Mr. Palmer, who is bathed in a more orange, gentle light. It's not to cast judgment, however, but rather to illustrate that, at this point in the story, Mr. Palmer has settled on his thoughts, and Jess is struggling to come to terms with all of it. And we see that in the wear and tear of the image.

The beauty of feature film work, as opposed to short films, is that the length of the project leaves room for a great deal more nuance. Rather than committing to a single style or a single visual arc, multiple arcs can co-exist. Robert Elswit (Magnolia, There Will Be Blood) and the late Conrad Hall (American Beauty, In Cold Blood) are terrific examples of cinematographers who use all the tools in their bag to achieve these multiple arcs. So too is Robert Richardson, who uses a minimum of six film stocks on almost every film he shoots (JFK, The Good Shepherd) because each stock has its own life and character.

For Separation Anxiety, a few thoughts we had discussed: Jess and Quinn's journey through grief can be a subtle transition from cool, flat tones and hard fixtures to more shapely soft light and warm color schemes. Mr. Palmer's rigid manner can be reflected in claustrophobic framings with longer lenses, but can give way later to wider shots that leave room to breathe. Lily and Quinn's relationship, over the course of the film, can start with a strong degree of contrast and morph into a less harsh, high-key low-fill lighting scheme. All within a general visual scheme dictated by the timeline of events: flashbacks are saturated, almost like porcelain dolls, and the present is melancholy, with a bleached, worn look to it. Think of the way memory is toyed with visually in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (my favorite film, but that's for another topic).

Another idea brought up was to keep elements of Bailey and Mr. Palmer's faith life present in the frame. As Mr. Palmer's faith is so tested by the possibility of Bailey having committed suicide, we thought it a nice visual reminder as opposed to a wordy explanation of Mr. Palmer's history with God and with church. In the trailer, there's a simple but effective image through the mirror of Mr. Palmer crying on Bailey's bed. A crucifix plays in the foreground, subtly, and the image is incredibly evocative.

So, that's it for my ramble. Don't want to give away ALL the surprises, do we?

Let's hear your thoughts and comments. Based on your general knowledge of the script, what visuals come to mind? What films best play in your head as using multiple visual paths to tell the same story? Do you prefer the more stylized visuals of, say, a Quentin Tarantino film or a Steven Spielberg film, or the subtle drawings of the Robert Elswits and the Anthony Dod Mantles of the world? (The latter, by the way, recently shot Slumdog Millionaire, and I encourage you all to go see it multiple times.) Have at it!

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