Writer Movies

I just finished watching a writer movie, and was compelled to make a list of all the good writer films I’ve watched, so that you, dear fellow writer, may be inspired when you’re stuck and too lazy to read a book. Here are the ones I know of, in order of my knowing them:

1. Finding Forrester
2. Freedom Writers
3. Dead Poets Society
4. The Ghost Writer
5. Capote – though I haven’t watched it all the way through yet. The book was excellent – and I hope that when I say this you wonder why I said it, because you know that this is a given. If you don’t know this and are inclined to watch movies to not have to read books, well, I think you’d be better off elsewhere.

Those were the titles I could come up with, but not being satisfied with that paltry list, I went searching the troves of the internet. And of course I found stacks and stacks. But I also found something I was not expecting – a somewhat kindred spirit. As I hope you are. And this is what he said (my thoughts italicised):

“I first came to Los Angeles many years ago with the hopes of doing a lot of writing (always the hope, always the hope), but instead I did a lot of walking (sounds like my first time in London). Given the profoundly accustomed car culture (blech) of the landscape, I was an anomaly (don’t I know it – scenes of me biking along the freeway perilously close to the rushing traffic on the outskirts of Philadelphia come to mind) as I walked everywhere and glimpsed at apartments (no ‘at’ there, mate) I would never live in (is this a common writers’ pastime?), restaurants I wanted to eat at but never got around to, and bars where I wanted to drink at with friends I didn’t have yet (nice – that’s the spirit). Los Angeles was my compromise (hmm?), one of many in a lifetime (the truth hurts).  Los Angeles is the city where people who are too afraid to go to New York end up, in the same way that Chicago is the city where people who are too afraid to go to Los Angeles end up (he had me with this line – there’s a quote for sure). But in my heart, New York was supposed to be mine (wait – I thought it was supposed to be mine).  I had always wanted to be a writer living in the Big Apple (are you channeling me? Am I channeling you? Am I not alone in my dreams after all? I kid you not, I see this in my head all the time) – it was a desire straight out of a Woody Allen movie (will have to check out Woody Allen then).   The mosaic colors and mental acoustics were so vivid with this dream that it painted me as occupying a nice apartment in upper Manhattan (yep) with my junior editor at VOGUE Euro-Asian girlfriend who had enough style to make up for my lack thereof (this is reaching a self-fulfilling prophecy level of ridiculousness; the parallels, I mean), while I labored away at my great American novel (mm, guess it’s not a complete match), at my desk under my framed Velvet Underground poster, in the evenings after a full day’s work on the staff of THE NEW YORKER magazine.  Well, ahem (ahem, indeed).  In the cosmic battle of dream versus reality, reality won (I intend to win my cosmic battle, that’s why I’m wasting so much time right now not writing), and instead, I ended up in Hollywood (tough break, lad), suffering writer’s block on an untitled science fiction screenplay I couldn’t for the life of me figure out the ending (were you channeling Chuck Lorre as I channel you now?). So instead of hunkering down to finish my script I walked everyday to my local video store and rented movies about other people writing (such an alluring rut suddenly so deep when one wishes to climb out – immersing oneself in other lives when one’s own fails to provide, usually thanks to oneself). Something about watching movies about writers inspired me (and yet the inspiration is so short-lived; by the time the film finishes all I want to do is watch another).  I remember a former creative writing professor once told our class that when you sit down to write you should surround yourself with books (books, that’s the key) by your favorite authors.  It’s akin to the philosophy that being around smart and creative people will only challenge you to elevate your own game. “Hang out with your heroes,” the professor would trumpet (which leads me back to the ever-hanging question: why am I still not studying writing?). And hang with my heroes I did – some of them characters from these movies, some of them filmmakers of these movies.  Not only did movies about writers put the fire to my ass but it also kick-started a prodigious creative period that led to my first writing assignment at a studio (that could be the problem – TV being inspired by TV. The blind leading the blind, except in this case it’s those who can do nothing but watch leading the same. But I don’t mean to sound so harsh, man).  Oh Hollywood, compromise and all, I’ve finally arrived (I just prefer to hang on to my New York for now, thanks).

The art-critic Robert Hughes once wrote, “There is no tyranny like the tyranny of the unseen masterpiece.” (Oh the beauty of true words) For us writers, that is what inspires us to put pen to pad at our desks at home, in our cubicles at work in between spreadsheets, and in our beds before surrendering to slumber (These days I wish it would go more on the night-time offensive, not these mid-day ambushes). When our muse heads for the door (Oh Calliope, where art thou, and why hast thou forsaken me), we follow her outside to park benches, to cafes and restaurants, or as Chuck Palahniuk once did, wrote the pages to his novel Fight Club underneath the cars he was fixing or as Michael Martin who wrote the pages to his script Brooklyn’s Finest while working the New York subway system (is it really thought that Americans don’t get irony?). David Mamet deplores writers who write in public.  “When did writing become a performance art?”  He bitingly asked in one of his essays. As per usual, Mamet is right.  Writing is not a performance art.  Insular and singular in its act of cerebral stewing, writing lacks the dynamism of dance or the force of slam poetry (I find myself not much into slam poetry; it’s like the pop of music – obvious, beating, and usually shallow. But it has its place, and at least poetry continues to morph). The act of writing is dull to everyone but the writer (word).  Sometimes it’s even dull to the writer (double word).  Nothing is more boring than filming someone writing.  But yet there have been many great films about writers and about what inspires them and what tortures them. Here is my list of the 20 Greatest Movies About Writers.”

And you can check out this list if you’re still interested. I found that by this point I cared very little about what I’d originally come to the page in search of – that want was lost in the excitement of once again finding someone whose thoughts had at least once traveled along paths so similar to the ones mine traverse all the time.

I was inspired, not so much by the writer movie I’d just watched, though it did do a bit for me, but more by a post listing good writer movies. Ha. What are the odds. Oh, inspired enough to revisit my neglected blog page.

And here you are.

I am still writing up my December blog, by the way, slowly and not always surely, but it will get done. And I am still, though undeserving, being graced with various events taking place in rapid succession, connected in my mind to string me along to all sorts of cognitive destinations.

(I seldom end these on a note related to the bulk of the post, do I? Always promising more, never delivering. Always plagued by a guilty conscience for not.)

Day 18: Star Wars Marathon (Part 2)

Alright, where were we in my saga…ah yes. The remaining two movies came out, I duly enjoyed them, though I really don’t like Natalie Portman or Hayden Christensen and some parts were rather Hollywood-esque. Being older, I couldn’t help but notice the technical aspects a bit more – my youthful innocence-likeness replaced by the criticalness of age. But the story was still far more valuable to me. I even attempted to watch the animated series they made about the Clone Wars, taking place in between the second and third films, but that, I could not suffer through. The main character was a whiny American teenage girl, no discipline, completely went against the grain of Star Wars. Criminal. The Clone Wars books, on the other hand, are excellent, and I rue that I’ve only been able to get my hands on one of them (the video game was brilliant as well).

I haven’t read any Star Wars books in quite a while. I’ve accumulated a small collection of them which I intend to continue building on, but having moved around loads in the past few years, they’re boxed away and scattered across several continents. One day I’ll bring all my stuff together and have a nice flat in London that I return to every once in a while. Something like that. Would be nice if it had a music room as well. See, there’s my ideal life path, and there’s the actual life path which will be much better and may or may not incorporate aspects of my idealised version.

So that’s my story with Star Wars. It’s a big part of me, though I don’t access it as much anymore. I noticed again just how big it is after I got talking about it with a friend and realised I could go on and on (at his expense). If you could go on and on about it as well, I’d love to get together sometime. Just use this Grade A chat-up line I just heard on 30 Rock: (in a bar) “So, they make you leave your droids outside too?” Quality. I’d probably talk all night with someone who approached me with that line. I may use it. The reactions, at least, will be amusing.

My favourite character is Boba Fett. If you know anything about him beyond the films, you’ll know that he is straight-up BA. But with principles. And heart, way down. The best kind of BA. I actually did loads of research on him and Mandalorians in general at one point, drawing together every bit of info I could from the sprawling internets, organising it chronologically and classing it by level of canon (if you don’t know what canon is, I’m surprised you read this far; this is clearly not the post for you). Found so many stories, in addition to the ones I’d read in books. He took out an entire Imperial garrison one time, you know. He survived the Sarlacc, for crying out loud! (And you say, Twice!) And the whole multiple-encounters-with-Han-Solo-all-throughout-their-lives thing is just delicious.

So yeah, if you hadn’t already guessed, this and the previous post are devoted completely to my geeky side, because it’s definitely big enough to merit attention, and I think everyone should have at least a bit of a geek in them.

Okay, now the actual marathon. It was funny. We weren’t at someone’s home, we were at some community centre; I’m not sure what the connection was but it was a big room (and fortunately, a kitchen). Snacks, check (I brought some Japanese jellies that my parents sent over. Didn’t realise they would seem so strange here). Two projectors, check. Someone had brought a video games console with FIFA and the intent to play it, which was disheartening, but what can you do. The unfaithful ones.

It was freezing in there. Some had brought sleeping bags but there weren’t enough to go around, and even after I snagged one, it was chilly. It may’ve had a polarpoint presentation effect in keeping us awake, but it certainly wasn’t comfortable. Nevertheless, we began the challenge with The Phantom Menace. Man, it was good to hear those opening horn blasts. That tune will always get me pumped up. I used to feel the same way about the 20th Century Fox sound, and the THX vroom, until I realised those weren’t specific to Star Wars.

Despite coming dangerously close to dozing off in the middle of the later films, every time one finished we hurriedly popped in the next. I say that figuratively; one guy had them all downloaded on his computer. And thank goodness we had bacon sandwiches, though we nearly burnt down the building cooking them.

Tragically, with six films to get through it took longer than one night and we were forced to quit late Saturday morning in the middle of Episode V. Actually, ‘forced to quit’ is putting it forgivingly – a certain owner of the computer containing the gems decided he had to leave, and shut it off. To be honest, I wasn’t as engaged as I should’ve been. It’s hard to watch over ten hours of film and stay alert, all the more so at night after a pattern of nonexistent nighthood. (I watched the final two some time later.)

It was fascinating to watch them again; it’d been a long time and I was much younger then. Now I could see more underlying themes, like the imperialism of the Empire and the politics of the Galactic Senate.

One thing you observe when going from the new ones to the old ones (like I said before, we watched them chronologically, and though I was all for that, I’ve now been convinced that it’s better to go with the older films first, to not let them be shown up graphics-wise) is that the old ones have far fewer alien species and more ‘human’ characters, but less diversity among the humans. And while this is easily explainable considering the Empire’s anti-alien brand of racism, it does also reveal the evolution of film (I’m older, remember; I don’t have the luxury of taking in only the story – or being completely taken in, rather). Computer graphics are much more advanced, so aliens are easier to do without messing with costumes. Globalisation allows actors to come from all over for a big break at Hollywood, and it’s not so Cold War-nationalistic anymore (reference to the old Indiana Jones films which I also watched recently).

However, I am not a film critic; I am critical but I leave the review business to my friends. And I’ve delved deeply enough into my relationship with Star Wars for one (well, two) posts. Put simply, it was good to enter into that world again, and I do intend to one day write a Star Wars book. I have to become a good writer first, however, which is partly what this is about, though I really should be doing more fiction.

I didn’t do much for the rest of today; just finished up packing and attempted to finish off all my food, which turned out to be a bigger chore than I’d foreseen.

Going to bed excited about going to my favourite city in the world for the first time on the morrow! (Isn’t life wonderful when you decide that where you’re headed is where you most want to be? Or would it be: isn’t life wonderful when you decide to head where you most want to be?)

Day 17: Star Wars Marathon (Part 1)

I didn’t do much today during the day, understandably. But that was just fine, because that night was nothing near the return to regular sleeping hours I’d hoped it would be.

I mentioned that we were planning to do a Star Wars marathon sometime in December, right? Well, we were. Some friends and I. All six (episodes, that is). In chronological order, of course. Only…I thought it would be during the day sometime. My friend showed up at my door this afternoon saying they were planning to do it that night. I suppose that really was the only time left before we departed for London, but it was a surprise. Nevertheless, I said I was in. It’s Star Wars!

Star Wars…it’s hard to explain the magic to someone who isn’t a believer. I hope all of you are. Star Wars was a huge part of my childhood; no, scratch that, Star Wars is a huge part of my life.

My parents showed me the first one (Episode IV, which was Episode I back then) when I was…can’t remember how old. Young. I guess it would’ve been between 5 and 10, because we were in the apartment with the pink couch. (That’s how I organise my memories; they’re attached to where we were living at the time, seeing as we changed location every four years with one year intervals in the US. Conveniently, those single years corresponded to my multiples-of-five birthdays.) We didn’t get very far. Darth Vader stepped into the Rebel blockade runner, and I said my stomach hurt. It really did – I don’t know why. I guess I was scared. I was a very sensitive young boy. Haha. Something. We stopped it and that was that. Sometimes I thought I saw Vader’s outline in the darkness of my closet, so I always made sure the doors were closed before I got into bed.

Sometime after that I got a sticker book about Episode IV, the kind where you stick the stickers into the blanks to complete the story. My first Star Wars book…the first of many. I don’t remember really understanding the story but soon after that we tried the film again and made it all the way through.

I loved it – though I can’t remember my reaction to the films, a few things give evidence to the extent I was into the saga. First, I started collecting Star Wars action figures. There was a Toys R Us not too far from where we were living, and they had a whole shelf of them. I used to go there and just look at all of them. The first one I got was Luke Skywalker on a speeder bike, from Episode VI. Came with a green lightsaber, blaster, and removable brown rubber cloak. His knees even bent! That was the first of several. The next might’ve been Grand Moff Tarkin, or Boba Fett. Several years later I even received a cardboard fold-out diorama of the cantina from Episode IV. That was a treat. Even made little cardboard mugs and plates to go in it (yes, I was the type of kid who could get as much enjoyment out of the box something came in as the toy itself – I thank my parents).

Second, in early 1999, posters started appearing in the trains and train stations that I used for going to school. They pictured a desert, what looked like an igloo made out of sand – just like part of Luke’s house in Episode IV – a kid I didn’t recognise, and a shadow I very much recognised – Darth Vader. What was this??? I was intrigued, and very excited. A girl at school told me that another Star Wars movie was coming out. Dude.

IMDB tells me that Episode I came out July 16, 1999, and that was a summer we returned to the States, so I probably saw it in theatres there. Can’t remember. I was into it, though – people put down Episode I so much, and perhaps yes it wasn’t great as a movie, but I wasn’t watching them as movies. I was watching them as stories. Something massive was unfolding in a galaxy far far away; well, unfolded a long long time ago, and these movies were the only connection relating to me what had happened.

That is, until I discovered the books. Sometime during these years I started reading the stories that others wrote, which George Lucas approved. Taking place before the movies, after the movies, even between the movies – I devoured whatever I could get my hands on. By any means possible I was eager to enter into this other universe.

And enter in I did. I wasn’t content to merely consume, I had to be a part of it. And so at some point in all of this I began making up my own stories about my own character in this galaxy, interacting with the characters and plots from the books and films. At night before I drifted off to sleep, or even during the day when I didn’t have anything to focus on (or chose not to), I’d advance my own story in my mind. Sometimes I’d act it out with LEGO, or my action figures. But it all went on in my head, and if all the stories I played out were made into a TV show there would be enough content to fill at least several seasons. I still have those stories up in here, somewhere. I still know exactly where I left off, and every once in a while I revisit my personal saga. Kent Kenobi has been stuck in the hidden New Sith Order base for quite some now, however. Although…I just remembered I got him out of there a few days ago. He’s now in an escape pod headed who knows where.

This is the first time I’ve told anyone about this, come to think of it. People talk about vivid imagination, but is it normal to have such detailed storylines going on in one’s head, all alongside one’s real life? I did this with a bunch of things, though – Pokemon; Magic: The Gathering, when I got into that; Harry Potter, especially when the films came out (I mean, come on – who wouldn’t?). In fact, nearly any time I finished a movie or TV show or book that I really liked, I’d continue or expand the story with me inside it. Any of you do anything like this?

(It wasn’t a huge leap to go from that to making up stories about my actual life; for example, imagining that my day had gone differently. A favourite bedtime activity was taking a situation from the day and imagining how it could’ve gone if I’d said or done something else (something much cooler, of course) or playing out an upcoming situation in my mind (rife with things I would never do or say in real life, of course, and things others would never do or say). A few years ago I woke up, figuratively speaking, to the damage this was doing to me, because I was imagining and wishing for things that I would wouldn’t actually work to achieve, and shying away from taking risks in real life because I could just imagine a different life; escape to it, if you will. I was also reducing others to my conception of them, which was very shallow indeed, seeing as it was basically a projection of myself. But that’s a rumination for another post. In short, I didn’t need World of Warcraft or Dungeons and Dragons, I had my own mind. I have yet to kill off the habits I formed during those many, many years. )

I’m actually going to end this post on this low note simply because I don’t have much to say about the next day (this marathon took up half of it, after all), and this is getting long. Answer my question about imagination in a comment below, I’m really interested to hear about that.