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Make
it happen off screen
Of course, something huge and dramatic needs to
happen in every good story and in
movies, this usually translates to something expensive.
Don't let this restrict writing
a
no-budget screenplay. In my aforementioned story
that is now in a cheaper genre,
I
wrote a scene that, if seen by the audience, would
be the most horrific display of
corpses in a mansion dining room ever shot. This
scene had to be in the story.
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In this situation, I have no interest in trying to
create this display within the confines of my production.
And the truth is, as an artist, this isn't my taste
anyway. However, showing the actors react and never
showing the audience but having them think about it
in their own minds because they have a pretty good
idea what the characters saw, not only saves me from
trying to compete with decades of brilliant gore that
I could never match but keeps the movie in the realm
of melodrama where this particular story belongs.
I've made my boundaries serve me in this case.
Of course, filmmaking is show don't tell. But this
shouldn't restrict you on what to show, only to show.
Therefore, think about finding a way to show actors
or even an inanimate object relevant to the story
while something very important and exciting to the
story is happening but not onscreen due to low-budget
constraints. Constraints are not inherently bad; use
them to advantage. Good music and sound goes a long
way here, as well.
Don't
make mistakes of big-budget films
As everyone knows, just because a movie has money
behind it-even tens of millions of dollars-it is
no guarantee that the movie will be good. It must
always start with a strong script. Don't use the
words "good" or "compelling"
when thinking about a screenplay.
A screenplay is a tool, a blueprint. It will change
and evolve as shooting unfolds, as actors and characters
mesh more, and footage itself of what is shot helps
shape what is yet to be shot.
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I'm
a filmmaker!
When
I was about three months into the shoot of
my first movie, "The Haunted Heart,"
things were a bit glum. The consulting producer
was mad at me for not following her shooting
schedule exactly. The leading lady was mad
at me for telling her it would be a short
shoot instead of the summer-long monopolization
of her weekends (eventually, years!) it had
become. The DP was mad at me for forgetting
a costume and if I wanted to dwell, I could
come up with a few more reasons to be bummed.
Suffice to say, my lifelong dream of being
a filmmaker was not meeting my grandiose preconceptions.
I
had no girlfriend, lived only with Herbie
the cat, and had no one to console me except
the executive producer, and he lived in another
state. I considered starting from scratch,
giving up or making something else.
And
that's when it hit me: I'm a real filmmaker.
Wasn't Lucas miserable making "Star Wars?"
Wasn't "Jaws" a disaster? Didn't
Hollywood assume "Gone with the Wind"
would be the biggest white elephant of all
time? Yes … yes! I am a filmmaker because
this is filmmaking. Suffering, solitude, self-doubt,
all these things are part of the experience.
Don't
get me wrong. I'd loved to have a cast and
crew that idolize me and do everything to
make me happy. But that just isn't real life
and it was my job to make them happy not the
other way around. The writer/producer/director,
the auteur, is always indebted to the cast
and crew willing to work for nothing to make
this thing happen. It is owed to them that
a strong screenplay be competently delivered.
They are there for you. Make them happy and
never feel sorry for yourself.
After
all, you're a filmmaker.
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