Archive for Jim Sheridan

Script Creepers

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 27, 2015 by dcairns

screencraft

I’m addicted to screenwriting books — searching for the ultimate secret! — and to books of interviews with film practitioners, so I should have liked Declan McGrath and Felim MacDermott’s book more than I did. It’s either called Screencraft Screenwriting, which is what it says on the front, or Screenwriting Screencraft, which is what the spine says. And that’s a clue to the central problem. (In fact, it’s an entry in a series called Screencraft, with this being the volume devoted to the script. But you wouldn’t know that.)

A book about writing should be readable, but this one is hampered by a weird format. George Axelrod is just saying “As you write the script, you know Audrey couldn’t possibly say something so ~” and you turn the page, and instead of the end of the sentence you have four pages of stills of Marilyn Monroe and Frank Sinatra, with lengthy captions and a letter about censorship problems. Should I read this now, before I find out what Audrey couldn’t possibly say?

But there’s worse. William Goldman is saying “You are seeing the city at night, you are seeing this kid in terrible pain, you are seeing the bad guys coming after ~” and then we get four pages of stills and script pages (printed very small so you need a jeweller’s eyeglass to read) with accompanying commentary by Goldman on the pages. It’s a whole essay embedded within the essay.

This makes the book kind of a nuisance, even though most of what’s said in it is interesting. It’s probably more the publisher’s fault than the authors’.

Goldman probably needed nudging to say something he hasn’t already said in his various books, and it’s a shame to have Jim Sheridan, one of the maddest, most brilliant raconteurs I’ve ever heard, simply explaining the basics of three-act structure. He does come up with some good suggestions as to WHY the structure is useful — a script needs to have a strong point of view, but unless you’re careful, “It is like being stuck in the pub with someone who is telling you a very personal story and you begin to feel that this person is compelled to tell you that story whether you want to hear it or not. You start to feel uncomfortable. Structure can help the writer avoid creating that uncomfortable feeling in the audience. It works as a necessary impediment to that potential torrent of emotion.”

danton

It’s also great that the book has contributions from Kaneto Shindo and Suso D’Amico and Krzysztof Piesiewicz, people who don’t usually get asked questions about screenwriting in this kind of study. One screenwriting book uses THE KARATE KID as its example of a perfect screenplay. It’s very nice to have a broader and, let’s face it, better range of references. Unfortunately, while the Americans (Schrader, Towne, Zaillian, Andrew Stanton) love to talk about the nuts and bolts of craft, writers outside Hollywood seem reluctant to get into specifics. There are some stories about directors (Vittorio De Sica was very superstitious), some generalities about working hard and using your own psychology, but nothing you can take to the bank, as Robert Blake would say. The exceptions are Ruth Prawer Jhabvalla, who is very explicit about her technique, and the great Jean-Claude Carriere, who has a very practical mind as well as a poetic one — some of which he seems to have learned from Tati. Writing is problem solving — or problem creation, perhaps.

Here’s a good bit ~

In DANTON, an important part of the script was that the two main characters, Danton and Robespierre, should meet only once. Before shooting we rehearsed the scene where they met, in Wajda’s apartment. The dialogue worked but there was some spark missing. I said to Depardieu (who played Danton), “I think there needs to be a physical contact between the two of you. Consider that it is easy for a judge to sentence someone to death but much more difficult to kill someone with his own hands. Now, what will you say to Robespierre?” Depardieu understood immediately. He took Robespierre’s hand and put it round his neck saying, “You feel this flesh, this neck, if you keep going your way you will be obliged to cut it.” This became one of the best moments in the film and it came from the collaboration with a great actor who gives more than he is asked for.

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Home Theater

Posted in FILM, Science, Television with tags , , , , , , , on September 5, 2014 by dcairns

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The Knick, created by Jack Amiel and Michael Begler, is a ten-part TV show which may be the best thing Steven Soderbergh has ever done. Since I haven’t always liked Soderbergh’s films, this may seem like faint praise, but on the other hand I like a bunch of them plenty, and really this show would stand out as a high point on anybody’s filmography. It can’t be because Soderbergh is suddenly allowed greater freedom by TV, even though he complained about the way film directors were being treated (it’s probably true that directors are afforded less respect today, are regarded as “presumptively wrong” during any discussion — but it could be that it’s Soderbergh’s status that had fallen) — but Soderbergh chose his own projects, sometimes wrote and produced them, always photographed and edited them, and would seem to have a certain amount of clout. Nor can it really be that the lack of control in TV, traditionally a writer’s medium, is constraining Soderbergh in a favourable way. It just feels like he has an incredibly good set of scripts and has risen to the challenge.

As I hinted when discussing Parade’s End, period dramas on TV have started trying to seem modern and feisty and to throw off the musty mantle of “quality” and “classic” — in the UK, this has mainly resulted in bizarre and inappropriate directorial choices which seem overly self-conscious and artificial (the blatant swiping from JULES ET JIM in Michael Winterbottom’s JUDE can serve as a warning here). Soderbergh gives us a 1900 New York with electronic music (Cliff Martinez), hand-held camera and wide lenses, freeze frames and a shots taken with the camera strapped to the actor (a very effective drunken brawl in ep. 3) and all manner of modernistic flourishes, and it all feels JUST RIGHT. (However ultimately successful his films, Soderbergh’s stylistic choices have always been smart, and only in THE GOOD GERMAN did he prove not equal to achieving them — turns out the b&w classic Hollywood aesthetic is about the hardest trick there is).

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Partly the unusual visuals work because they are supported by really impressive visual detail in the set design and costumes, and also in the script, which shows all the evidence of a tone of research not only performed but digested and then transfigured into solid drama. So we have a living, breathing world full of unpredictable and unfamiliar-but-credible characters, and so almost any filming choice would work — Soderbergh’s just happens to be interesting.

I can illustrate this idea — that a credible world trumps any stylistic choice — using the words of Jim Sheridan (as I recall them). The MY LEFT FOOT guy is one of the most entertaining raconteurs in cinema, at least in small doses, and he said, approximately: “The first question a novice director wants to answer is ‘Where do I put the camera?’ which is dead wrong, because your job is to create a moment of emotional truth, and if you do that right, it doesn’t matter where you put the camera. You might not even need a camera.”

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Like all the Great Truths, this is only true sometimes, but Sheridan was able to neatly illustrate the most boggling [art of his assertion by pointing to the documentary CAPTURING THE FRIEDMANS, in which a crucial, emotionally renching scene occurs after the camcorder has been knocked to the ground — the entire scene is delivered as audio only, and it’s devastating.

Of course, one of the things I like about films is when a composition or a movement or a cut makes visible an underlying truth — you can see it in the frame above, snatched almost at random from the first episode.

Anyway, The Knick was shot with a camera, for which we can be grateful — many medical atrocities are thus presented in graphic detail, but also:

Matt Frewer sterilising his beard; André Holland teaching a laundress to sew chicken skin; a beautiful girl with no nose; a novelty striptease entitled “The Busy Flea”; the wonders of cocaine.

Punchy

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , on January 12, 2008 by dcairns

Jim?

Jim Sheridan (pictured) gave an onstage interview at the Edinburgh Film Festival a few years back. MY GOD he was brilliant. He’s a very good filmmaker but a SENSATIONAL talker (Karl Francis was very good too — if his films were half as good as his storytelling he’d have been one of the greats). Huge long anecdotes that were hilarious and extreme, and then he’d draw remarkable life lessons out of them too.

One little story I remember concerns prep for THE BOXER. Sheridan and his wife watched a video of ON THE WATERFRONT with Daniel Day-Lewis. ‘He came at me with a left, I hit him with a right,’ says Brando at one point (or words to that effect), his fists making little jabs as he re-stages the scene in his memory.

‘What mistake did he make?’ asked Mrs Sheridan.

The menfolk admit to being baffled.

Jim’s wife explains: ‘He moved his right hand when he said “left” and his left when he said “right”.’

‘And then I realised,’ Jim said to us, ‘that women triangulate violence. They always have to know where the next punch is coming from.’

boondock Saint