The Complacent Smile- Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Imperfect Film

“You kill your film several times, mostly by talking about it. A film is a dream. You kill it writing it down, you kill it with a camera; the film might come back to life for a moment or two when your actors breathe life into it- but then it dies again, buried in the film cans. Mysteriously, sometimes, in the editing room, a miracle happens when you place one image next to another so that when, finally, an audience sits in the dark, if you’re lucky… the dream flickers back to life again. That’s why I’m secretive.”

This was a quote from Guido Contini (Daniel Day-Lewis) in Nine, which I saw a short while ago. While he was referring to why he doesn’t like to discuss his films publicly, its also a powerful comment on the tragic process of having a perfect image in your mind painfully destroyed before you for all the world to judge as your original vision.

It reminded me of when I went to see a SAG screening years ago of Shadow of the Vampire, directed by E Elias Merhige, who had this look on his face when he sat on the stage answering questions that could only be described as a complacent smile, covering extreme disappointment at what his film could have been. I’ve seen that look in different forms on many different directors. Merhige had it, Daniel Day-Lewis had it in his character in Nine, and all of my favorite directors seem to wear it as a permanent mask. They seem so wise, deeply disturbed, and simultaneously grateful to be in their current position. I wanted to know what was behind that façade of complacency.

I had the privilege of directing my first feature/web-series, The Bannen Way, for Sony this past year. I was proud of the script I created with my partner, Mark Gantt (along with the invisible force of producer, Bailey Williams). The original visions in my head were glorious. And we had a plan of execution. I affectionately referred to this project as “my baby”, knowing full-well the theoretical sacrifices that are made by directors on their “first-born” and how it affects them; that notion started as a naïve smile on my bright-eyed face as I set out to prove you can get everything you want as an artist and still make everyone happy…

And then I witnessed each day, throughout pre-production, production, and post-production, as the harsh realities of film-making on a budget set in, and tore my baby limb from limb…

It was at the culmination of these moments when I couldn’t watch my project any more that I fled to the theatre to watch something else- anything else- and I stumbled upon Nine. This opening monologue touched me to my very core; I started to shake. It was the epitome of what I had been feeling for the past several months.

It brought me back to another quote I had heard earlier on in the process (that’s what happens when you have A.D.D., by the way, you are constantly brought back to previous moments. Welcome to my world)…

“You have to sacrifice certain moments so that others may live.” Stated by my extremely talented DP, Roger Chingirian, he delivered it with such feigned importance- as if pretending the phrase was being created for the first time, though we mutually laughed at how tired that saying is. It was his attempt, without being too significant, to get us to cut down the script to make the shoot more manageable. But at that point I was done making sacrifices…

After all, in pre-production, I had already given up the parkour sequence…

Oh, the parkour sequence. If you don’t know what parkour (or parcour) is then rent Casino Royale and watch the opening action sequence. Or watch any portion of District 13. For now, just know that it that centers around the concept of getting from Point A to Point B as quickly and efficiently as possible. Its fun, its energetic, and its amazing to watch.

I had been taking classes on this new-ish craze as I fully planned on integrating it into The Bannen Way. The box that our hero, Neal Bannen, is desperately trying to recover is stolen by a group of these parkour thugs late in Act 2, headed by their French leader, Marcel. In Act 3, Bannen is to outwit them and run away with the box, only to be chased by twenty of these athletic geniuses.

My goal was to be on the cutting edge of anything like this before it became a well-known concept by the masses. And it was perfect trailer fodder…

Alas, we couldn’t afford it for our film and the ship has officially passed on any ingenuity it may have brought as there’s a big-budget movie called Parkour coming out and they’re doing the sequel to District 13; the market’s already becoming as over-saturated with parkour as vampires are these days.

This was the first time I experienced the mourning process over something that was in my head that would never end up on screen. My vision of how the story flowed, and the type of movement it would elicit had to be compromised because we simply couldn’t afford it.

Let me be clear that Sony was right to eliminate that first as we all had another goal to keep in mind: to make high-quality programming on the web that could actually make money. And if they funded every idea that came to Mark and me then they’d be broke. Our initial job was to dream up the best possible story and it was then, collectively, all our jobs to cut out what wasn’t cost-effective.

Our script got cut down to a point where we felt that the story would seriously be sacrificed if we got rid of any more. All car chases were gone. Many characters were eliminated. It was a real challenge keeping the integrity of the core of our story together. We were all finally convinced that what we had was doable, though extremely challenging to execute.

But there were many more sacrifices to be made in Production. Time was always a factor. And many of my “specialty” shots had to go. There were times we had to do the bare minimum to tell the story, Roger and I eking out as much style as we could within those constraints. We always had to consider how long it would take to light in a different direction so a lot of my “stylistic angles” were shelved in order to get through the day. It was heart-breaking, but totally necessary.

Granted, these kinds of constraints are not uncommon, though I was told on numerous occasions that if one could get through this then they could get through anything. And it didn’t stop there…

In post, dialogue that I thought was essential in defining a character was left on the virtual cutting floor so that we could keep the film at 90 minutes in order to sell it easier on DVD. I’m really into shows like Mad Men and I’m making my way through The Wire right now. They’re both examples where characters are given space to breathe and live in the space. Nothing feels rushed. It sets a tone. It positions the audience in such a way that creates a tension that can’t be attained by hastening through moments.

In our case, we simply needed the movie to be shorter. That meant chopping dialogue that everyone seemed to like; that meant cutting out space between lines that could have informed the audience about character; that surprisingly didn’t mean cutting out any scenes, although we did stylistically combine three scenes at one point to move the story along- which is an interesting by-product of creating ideas within constraints that wouldn’t have come about otherwise; Necessity being the mother of invention and all that…

As much as I pleaded with our development guys to keep the film longer, their hands were tied as well. As much as they wanted to give the movie everything it deserved, the reality of making a movie was rearing its ugly head. I was to be no exception to this rule. Thankfully my brilliant editor, Zack Arnold, was prepared for such limitations and helped me make compromises that appeased all parties.

Every element of filmmaking was affected by these constraints: Sound, lighting, time with actors, you name it…

But in a way that’s the beauty of it- the fleeting nature of filmmaking. Its about creating as many moments as possible. When those moments actually occur on screen it makes them all the more sweet because of the difficult spirit of this craft. Its not reserved for artistic endeavors though.

Athletes can train their entire lives for their big shot and have it taken away from them at the last second. As a former professional runner (when I used to go by my given name, Jess Strutzel) I wanted nothing more than to make the Olympic Team in the 800 meters. In 2000, I was in the lead in the final round with 100 meters to go only to physically fall apart and get passed by the field, missing the Olympic Team by 1 second…

Trying again in 2004, my first race of the season marked the fastest time in America that year; there was nothing that could stand in my way… Until I proceeded to fall in a local 5K, skinning up my knee, which I trained through. Then I got a virus, which slowed me down- but I continued to train through it. And finally I got a stress fracture in my foot due to over-training, which I couldn’t overcome and my Olympic Dreams were shelved forever.

That’s when I finally turned my full attention to filmmaking. Thankfully in this craft, its not all-or-nothing. You just try to create as many of those magical moments as possible- and strive to fulfill that original vision to the best of your ability.

While watching the rest of Nine, I realized that this happens to every director. For the most part, the audience never sees the imperfections but the director inevitably cringes at painfully obvious flaws, missed opportunities, and miniscule details that could have improved less-than-perfect moments.

This tragic, yet beautiful, reality sank in; and, in retrospect, as much as I like to keep that “divine dissatisfaction” in everything I do- that innate desire that keeps me striving for something better, I took a calming breath… And I whispered quietly to myself…

“I’m proud of my first feature film.” And a gentle, complacent smile settled on my somewhat-wiser face.

~ JW

10-2: Making Time to Write

A lot of people call themselves writers. Sure, there are many different kinds of writers: poets, screenwriters, novelists, journalists, bloggers...

But lets be honest. There are actually three types of writers...

A) Professional Writers: Those who are very apparently prolific and successful. Your Shakespeares and Hemingways. Even your Clancys and Rowlings out there. They make a solid living doing what they do. They're writers!

B) Practicing Writers: Those who write but haven't made it yet. These are your practicing poets, novelists, screenwriters. Maybe they've published a book, or even sold a small-budget screenplay. They keep cracking away at the nut but haven't busted it open yet. But no matter what they're working on their craft. I would categorize myself in this category, prepping myself for the "A" category.

C) Hack Writers: Then there's the area where most of the public actually resides. They call themselves writers but they don't really write. They talk about it a lot but they don't actually make time to do it on a regular basis. They're usually the ones complaining that someone stole their idea. I'm here to tell you your idea was most likely not original, that it was the one out of 1,000 people who actually executed the idea who got the credit- and they're professionals.

My focus right now is to at least move the people from the "C" category to the "B" category. You're talent and tenacity will bring you the rest of the way.

Very few writers starting out don’t have a day-job. I have a unique experience in that I had a little money saved up from my running days; writing is a great compliment to be a track athlete actually, time and energy-wise. Even after retiring from running I had a girlfriend who’s been doing quite well as an actress, so it allowed me to work on my own writing. I had to make the best use of my time.

But how do the best writers do it…?

Well, Hemingway got up at 6AM and walked across his little drawbridge and wrote in his private writing studio for 6 hours every day. And when noon came around he put his pen down and he went fishing… and then he drank.

"An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools." – Hemingway

But that’s Hemingway. What does he know? The point is you need to create your own schedule to write.

Early in my writing "career" I failed to do that. I wrote when I felt inspired. Some people like to write at night, some early in the morning. It took me years to come up with my own routine. I wish I had started a decade ago, I would have been much prolific. But here’s what I came up with…

10 to 2: My goal is to get up every morning and I write from 10AM to 2PM.

More specifically, I get up at 9AM and I do my morning routine. Shower, eat, coffee, emails, any outstanding tasks, etc.

At 10AM I check out of life and into my writing world. Emails- off. Facebook- off. Phone… on, in case of emergency but I typically don’t answer it. If I do then I let them know I’m in my 10-2 zone (and I usually don’t explain what that is because its more fun that way), but once all that shit is out of the way, I write…

Even if you don't have a specific project to work on, you must keep writing. It doesn't matter if you're in the middle of your screenplay, or in treatment form, or if you're brainstorming ideas, or if you're blogging like I am right now... well, eventually it matters. If you want to be a screen-writer then you're going to have to write a screenplay or two. But if there is a particular day you're not feel "inspired" you should sit down anyway and just write.

Because lets be honest- we're being honest here, right...?

If you want to be a writer… you have to write! Painters paint. Sculptors sculpt. Economists economize. And Architects… architect things. The point is you gotta actually do it. You can’t just call yourself a writer and not be diligent about it.

I think one of the hardest crafts to upkeep is acting. At least that’s what we- actors- convince ourselves of to stop ourselves from continuing our craft. Ideally an actor is working and, thus, executing their craft. But we all know that even for the working actor those actual moments are few and far between. But we have auditions as well. That’s practicing the craft. And rehearsing for those auditions is working the craft. And ideally when you’re not auditioning you’re in a class and rehearsing scenes. There’s a disgusting attitude that permeates this town that a legitimate actor doesn’t take class- only struggling actors. But class shouldn’t be thought of in that way. It’s a forum to try out material. If you’re an actor and are pigeon-holed as a certain type of character then you can use class to broaden your circle.

But I digress (that’s what happens when you have A.D.D.- you digress). But this example directly translates to the writing world. You have to keep honing your writing craft if you want to truly call yourself a writer.

I have a whole set of ritualistic things I do when I write. Its personal to me and not required of every writer, but I do find that listening to music helps; ideally, something that doesn’t have a lot of words that my mind will want to sing. Recently I’ve been listening to Ratatat. I also tend to pick scores from films that are tonally pertinent to what I’m writing (I'll blog on that later)

I do my free-association warm-ups for about 15 minutes (again- future blog) and then I write continuously for 4 hours. Not bad. If you do that at least Monday-Friday you get a good solid 20 hours in a week; 80 hours in a month, and roughly 1000 hours in a year…

And you really haven’t missed any of your everyday life. You still have time to do your tasks: shopping, playing poker, throwing rocks at stop signs, petting lizards, whatever you like to do with your day. And the best part is I’m starting my day off doing a creative and intellectual activity that enriches my social interactions. And trust me, you can get a lot of shit done in 1000 hours.

So set a schedule and stick to it. Then live your life.

I know what you’re thinking: “Fuck off, Jess. Or Jesse- whatever you go by. I don’t have a girlfriend who’s able to support me while I try to get a writing career going.” To that I say… “Well put.” But the I urge you to be creative and find what works with your own personal situation.

Even if you’re stuck with long work hours, at least create some time that is sacred for you. Get up earlier or write when you get home. Try 10-midnight. No interruptions. You can always TiVo Glee and watch it whenever you want.

There’s a novelist I know personally named Patricia Nell Warren who used to be married in a very patriarchal, abusive relationship. Her husband would have never allowed her to write so she took it upon herself to write on her lunch breaks. Every day for an hour or so she would put her passion project to paper. And eventually she created The Front Runner. She got it published and her real career was about to begin. She heard that her abusive husband found out what she had done and barged in the front door to confront her- only to find a shotgun in his face. Patricia said very calmly “I’m leaving you” and she started her life over.

When there’s will, there’s always a way.

~ JW