The Reader

In a used-books store, I recently found Reading for a Living: How to be a Professional Story Analyst for Film & Television (Pacific Palisades: Blue Arrow Books) for only Php 45.

The author, who identifies himself as T. L. Katahn, begins with his own back story of landing the job of a reader. Then he points to what to look for in a submission, and to how to identify a beginner's script and a professional script.

So why do companies have a reader? Katahn says:

"Since these are the companies that shell out the money to make the films, they tend to be very picky about the ones they choose to produce. You may not always agree with their criteria, but it behooves you to be aware of their preferences."

Katahn demonstrates how to write a synopsis and how to break down a character. He also explains what a log line is, and what a reader should take note of in a plot line: continuity, complications, and the hook. On characters, it's motivation, flaws, and evolution.

After taking up writing the cover sheet, Katahn centers on how to get a job, formulating a job search plan and presenting the possibilities of where reading can lead. For example, he cites the rise of Sherry Lansing from story analyst to president of 20th Century Fox Studios. There is also practical advice on keeping books and producing sample coverages.

Additionally, Katahn throws in some things you might not know, as when you are in a library or an archive:

"You are not allowed to check scripts out or photocopy them, but you may read them and take notes on the premises."

In its appendices, the book offers a glossary, a list of proofreader's marks, sample scripts, and coverage.

Here's Katahn on how much money there is to make:

"You can expect to be paid about fifty to a hundred dollars for book coverages depending on how long or complex the manuscript is."

Because the book was published in 1990, some facts and figures have dated. For instance, this is Katahn on the tools of the trade:

"I'm writing this book on an IBM-compatible Tandy 4000 SX.... I use the FRAMEWORK word processing software by Ashton-Tate....Many writers swear by Microsoft WORD, however." (italics his)

In general, though, the book still captures the essence of a story analyst as it is still practiced today.

Battlefield Coals

The subtitle of the book "In the Can" (Emmis Books, 2005) announces what it is about: "The greatest career missteps, sophomore slumps, what-were-they-thinking decisions, and fire-your-agent moves in the history of the movies." Whew! what a subtitle!

The authors Lou Harry and Eric Furman choose the biggest critical and commercial duds for many of contemporary Hollywood stars. There are box-office champions (Tom Cruise, Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, Mel Gibson) and master thespians (De Niro, Streep, Hoffman, Lange); there are old favorites (Jack Nicholson, Al Pacino, Jane Fonda, Barbra Streisand) and there are new players (Johnny Depp, Will Smith, Nicole Kidman, Julianne Moore).

In their introduction, Harry and Furman first note that James Dean and John Cazale (above) are the only actors to have a perfect record in the movies. Consider:

James Dean- Rebel Without a Cause; East of Eden; Giant

John Cazale- The Godfather Parts I and II; The Conversation; Dog Day Afternoon; The Deer Hunter

Not a clunker for each of them. May I add that Cazale's filmography consists of three best picture Oscar winners, and the other two were nominated in the category (The Conversation and Dog Day Afternoon).

Harry and Furman clarify that they are not out to make a list of the worst films of all time, but one that declares the worst movie for each actor. For example, there is Town & Country for Warren Beatty; Beyond Borders for Angelina Jolie; The Adventures of Pluto Nash for Eddie Murphy; and Waking Up in Reno for Charlize Theron.

Of course, there are the usual suspects: Kevin Costner in The Postman; Jennifer Lopez in Gigli; Demi Moore in The Scarlet Letter; Adam Sandler in Little Nicky; and, naturally, Madonna in Swept Away.

Some of their select entries:

On Michael Keaton in Jack Frost- "Actors: Don't take a role that has you die in the early stages of a film and then brought back as something that doesn't look at all like you. Rarely- and, by rarely, we mean occasional parts of Robocop- will the results be anything but embarrassing."

On Keanu Reeves- "Here's a strategy: If you have a reputation as one of the stiffest actors in movies, perhaps appearing in a movie with even worse actors might help. Problem with that strategy: It doesn't work. Case in point: Johnny Mnemonic...."

On Vin Diesel in The Chronicles of Riddick: "In the case of most actors in this book, there's an expectation of quality- otherwise, how could one be disappointed? Vin Diesel is a different matter."

On the one hand, you might be disappointed that some stars are not included when many A-listers are. Like, where's Leonardo DiCaprio or Susan Sarandon? On the other hand, it is comforting that they do not make this particular list.

"In the Can" also deflates the notion that Brad Pitt and Drew Barrymore have been some of the biggest movie stars in the last two, three decades. On Pitt: "It's hard to give him credit for bringing viewers in to Interview with a Vampire or Seven. Other factors (Tom Cruise; graphic, gimmicky serial killing) held more sway. And when he was paired with other big, big stars [The Mexican, The Devil's Own, Twelve Monkeys, Sleepers], the films actually underperformed." And, of Barrymore: "(She) was more of a cultural icon than an actress for most of her first 20 years."

If you cannot take their word for it, they turn to reviews by critics like John Simon, J. Hoberman, Manohla Dargis, and Kenneth Turan. For example, in their entry for Kevin Spacey, they quote John Anderson from Newsday: "The real problem seems to be that Spacey has caught might be called Kevin Costner-itis - a sense that he thinks he's doing the audience a favor every time he appears on screen. He isn't doing anyone a favor with Beyond the Sea and that, sadly, includes Bobby Darin."

For a book that thrives on actors doing bad movies, it is somewhat surprising that some are mentioned only in passing. No main entries for Dan Aykroyd, Garry Shandling, or Michael Caine, for instance. The book throws in some praise, though, for such players as David Paymer.

Harry and Furman also take note of some guiding principles that Hollywood- and you- should already know about. In the entry for Gwyneth Paltrow, they write of Huey Lewis: "Watching Duets, you start to get an idea as to why smart directors, like Moulin Rouge's Baz Luhrman (sic), use real actors who can kind of sing (e.g., Nicole Kidman and Ewan McGregor), as opposed to real singers who can kind of act (Neil Young, Tom Petty and Ric Ocasek in Made in Heaven anybody?....)

"In the Can" also notes that TV stars probably ought to stay TV stars, that actors who make bombs will most likely bounce back, and that even the best directors like Martin Scorsese and Billy Wilder can stumble. As for Robert Altman, it is possible to make a flop out of a John Grisham (The Gingerbread Man).

The book, though, could have used some more proofreading. The factual errors are most noticeable, as in spelling (Jon Voigt?) and history (Bruce Davison did not get an Oscar for Longtime Companion- or any other movie).

Harry and Furman claim to have learned a few lessons while doing the book, the biggest one being, "...we can't help but appreciate how hard it must be to make a decent film. Hell, look at all the terrific actors and directors involved in these turkeys. If they can't figure out a formula that always works, then who could?" But when they spend the next 158 pages taking glee at these failures, it is hard to take their word on that one.

Other than that, this is an enjoyable collection of reviews of bad movies, even when you can't agree with a few of the choices.

You Can Read This Book

Pamela Wallace is one of the Academy Award-winning screenwriters of Witness (1985).

In her book "You Can Write a Movie," Wallace captures the power of the basic idea, especially by pointing to the ratio between cost and profit in making a movie.

She gives us the conventions and expectations that override genres, with the love story getting special mention. She explains why the logline is necessary, and the strengths and flaws in a premise.

She demonstrates how theme determines the success of a movie, pitting Good Will Hunting against Rounders (Matt Damon movies both).  

How to write a screenplay? Wallace shows how to format a screenplay, and samples her CBS movie Borrowed Hearts. She submits that a writer's age and sex will help- or hinder- the writing. She suggests questions to ask in writing a treatment, showing what one should look like. 

"You Can Write a Movie" will guide you in conceiving and personalizing your characters. It asks, Why is a defining moment necessary? What does it provide a character? It takes on villains and supporting characters, as well as relationships and triangles.

Wallace takes up types of conflict, and how to create internal conflict. Here she is on how to play out the struggle between characters:

"The goals of the protagonist and antagonist must be seen to be diametrically opposed. Conflict must be expressed in the strongest possible visual and emotional terms. It isn't enough for your hero to say to the villain, "I'll do my best to see to it that you're defeated." Instead, he must vow to stop him, no matter what the cost."  

Wallace explores the elements of scene design, exposition and speeches, and subtext. She also quotes other professionals, like Joseph Campbell, Robert McKee, and Ron Bass. 

She reflects on how to adapt a book, from securing the rights to fashioning it to cinematic form. She cites her own difficulties in having adapted books, supplying tricks such as axing a character, modifying an arc or subplot, and changing professions to magnify a role.

On top of this, Wallace gives tips on how to pitch a story, and shows a sample for it. She also shows an unproduced work of her own to underline the importance of a coverage (or a written critique of a screenplay). She answers questions on how to get an agent, and how those agents work and what they look for. 

Curiously, "You Can Write a Movie" lacks gravitas, even though it is written by an Oscar winner. That can be attributed to its easy language, but it does prove to be helpful to anyone interested in the craft and the business.

This Way

"They Went Thataway" (1994, Mercury House) by the National Society of Film Critics is that densest of books- offering page by page informed critical opinions of the highest order in engaging writing styles. 

Here's Jonathan Rosenbaum (right) on Fatal Attraction: "Some other critics have compared this picture to a Hitchcock thriller. But while the Master of Suspense was certainly capable of working with an audience's guilty feelings about illicit sex to generate tension, he always gave this tension a moral weight and a certain amount of moral ambiguity." 

And Kenneth Turan on Reservoir Dogs: "...Quentin Tarantino has arrived, in your face and on the screen. His brash debut film... is as much a calling card as a movie, an audacious high-wire act announcing that he is here and to be reckoned with. Strong violence is (his) passion and he embraces it with gleeful, almost religious fervor. An energetic macho stunt, (it) glories in its excess of blood and profanity, delighting- in classic Grand Guignol fashion- in going as far over the top as the man's imagination will take it. Tarantino does have the filmmaking flair to go along with his zeal."

Its editor Richard T. Jameson demonstrates the nature of genre and our awareness of it, and tells us about its mutations and cross-pollinations.

In his introduction, "The Repeatable Experience, " Stephen Schiff relates the explosion of genre to the rise of genre spoof and the recombinant genre. He also shows what a true film noir is, and differentiates genre from trend.

In "On Mob Rule," Carrie Rickey traces the history of the gangster movie, noting the mythologization of the three types of heroes: the cop, the cowboy, and the gangster.

On the other hand, J. Hoberman reflects on the sacredness of the Western in American mythology, recognizing its truths and totems, in "On How the Western Was Lost."

Peter Keough's "On Women, Films, and the Women's Film" is a meditation on the stock images of the woman in cinema. He examines the gap between actresses of the old and now, and the reduction of their roles into the delimited and the dehumanized.

Meanwhile, Dave Kehr touts a filmmaker's sensibility that goes with an adaptation. He cites Tim Burton's Batman Returns as an accomplished example of such personalization. 

The Society treats us with choices both obvious ( Roxanne, The Grifters, Raising Arizona) and unexpected (Angels Hard as They Come!).

Prominent critics give us their take on some of the most important movies: David Ansen on Aliens; Roger Ebert on The Big Red One; Andrew Sarris on Groundhog Day; Owen Gleiberman on The Silence of the Lambs; and Michael Sragow on Invasion of the Body Snatchers, among others.

There are also tributes to some of the most distinguished directors. For example, Kehr on Anthony Mann, and Michael Wilmington on Howard Hawks. 

Moreover, there are separate sections on the director and the star as genres in themselves. Different critics interrogate different Woody Allen movies, and Jay Carr attempts to explain why contemporary stars like Glenn Close don't hold a candle to supernovas of old like Katharine Hepburn. 

Try Richard Schickel on Crimes and Misdemeanors: "Allen is suggesting that if the deity himself is not dead, then he must be suffering from severely impaired vision."

Or Richard Corliss on Spike Lee and Malcolm X: "... he sees so much riding on each of his films: the future of cinema, precious testimony from an African-American perspective, and, not least, the reputation- carefully nourished, always vulnerable- of Spike Lee.... Some other director will have to find a way to merge the danger of a brilliant, racist orator with the seismic jolt of energized filmmaking."

Or David Denby on Body of Evidence: " Does (it) make it as a trash classic, a howl for the ages? No. Edel doesn't have enough fantasy and warmth to make enjoyable trash. The only dream here is Madonna's- that men will become so aroused by her they will begin dropping dead all over the place."

Along the way, we see what thespians such as Frank Langella, Virginia Madsen and Terry O'Quinn had been working on 10, 20 years ago.

The book ends with a list of movies considered genre classics, citing more recent fare along with easier picks: swashbucklers and epics (The Right Stuff), biopics (The Elephant Man), and political films (The Great McGinty, Hail the Conquering Hero) among them.

Other contributors include Bruce Williamson, Gary Arnold, Morris Dickstein, Julie Salamon, Andy Klein, Henry Sheehan and Kevin Thomas.

All told, "They Went Thataway" does not aim to be the last word on movies, but it certainly points the way to a lively discussion within the community- critics, filmmakers, moviegoers, and readers. 

The book, just like the society, is as good as it gets.

A Window Into Hayes, and the Trouble with Hitch

It was announced Monday that John Michael Hayes had died of natural causes November 19 at a retirement community. He was 89.

He was a screenwriter who wrote four scripts for Alfred Hitchcock: Rear Window (1954), To Catch a Thief (1955), The Trouble with Harry (1955), and The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956), the latter being a remake of Hitchcock's own 1934 movie of the same title. Among other things, these films were noted for the wordplay, the double entendres, the clever ways through which they worked around censorship at the time.

Rear Window earned Hayes an Oscar nomination, and he got another for Mark Robson's Peyton Place. 

His other movies include Butterfield Eight, for which Elizabeth Taylor won her first best actress Oscar. He also worked with directors such as Budd Boetticher, Edward Dmytryk and Anthony Mann.

In an interview with Susan Green (Backstory 3: Interviews with Screenwriters of the 60s,  edited by Patrick McGilligan, University of California Press, 1997) a little over a decade ago, he remembers growing up, his marriage and his career. 

He was the first in his family to go to college, which he did by maintaining scholarships and by working. He was on police beat covering homicides and suicides, and he wrote mysteries for radio, which may account for his skills in plot, dialogue and character. You could say it was fated that he and Hitch get- well, hitched.

Hayes talks about being on the set with Hitchcock, how he was given the freedom to write, and the locations they had been to. He notes that the movies were Hitch's life, and how the Master of Suspense shot the movies in his head, with specific camera angles and all.

Then he started getting prominent mentions in the reviews and the trade papers. Hitchcock, he says, did not want to share billing with him- he wanted to be the sole creator of his movies. Hayes notes that, when you mention Hitch's titles, what comes to mind is that they are Alfred Hitchcock Films. You would not have guessed the screenwriters who worked on them, including playwrights and Pulitzer Prize winners: Robert Sherwood (Rebecca, 1940), Thornton Wilder (Shadow of a Doubt, 1943), Samson Raphaelson (Suspicion, 1947) and Maxwell Anderson ( The Wrong Man, 1956).

Yet Hayes also says Hitchcock was the easiest to work with. He lets us in on working with William Wyler, whom he calls the most difficult ever. He recalls an argument they had, after which Wyler tours him around, reading the inscriptions on his awards. It all takes about half an hour, then Wyler says: "Now tell me I'm wrong. What does all this mean?" To which Hayes retorts: "Well, those were things you've done in the past. I think you're wrong now. "

Yes, the William Wyler. Who directed Ben-Hur (1959), Roman Holiday (1953), The Best Years of Our Lives (1946) and others.

Hayes has already secured his place, if only for Rear Window, ranked 83rd in the 2007 poll of screenwriters by the Writers Guild of America on the 101 greatest screenplays of all time.

In 1954 it was nominated best written drama in the Screen Writers Guild of America Awards. The prize went to On the Waterfront.

It was also awarded best motion picture in the Edgar Allan Poe Awards by the Mystery Writers of America. 

It competed for an Academy Award as well, which went to George Seaton for The Country Girl, also a Grace Kelly movie, the one for which she won her own Oscar. 

Make Space for This

"Negative space, the command of experience which an artist can set resonating within a film, is a sense of terrain created partly by the audience's imaginationand partly by camera-actors-director." 

In Negative Space (Hillstone Publishing, 1971), Manny Farber tackles the basic nature of the movies, and the role of the critic and the power he wields.

Farber pays homage to the true masters of the male action film such as Howard Hawks (whom he hails as a bravado specialist, a genius, a poet), Raoul Walsh, and Anthony Mann- and John Ford pre-Stagecoach. He approves of the witty economy and the free-wheeling dialogue in the movies of Preston Sturges, and the lyricism and the wackiness in Samuel Fuller’s. He counts Jean-Luc Godard, George Kuchar, Satyajit Ray and Andy Warhol among the smart people in films.

(But what do we make of it when he writes that of the French wizards Godard-Malle- Truffaut, it is the former who has so consistently made him feel like a stupid ass?)

Farber also salutes the underappreciated lesser directors of movies about cowboys, gangsters and soldiers: William Wellman, Keighley, Robert Aldrich, Zoltan Korda, John Farrow, and Phil Karlson. He believes Michael Snow is incapable of a callow, clumsy, schmaltzy move; and he thinks his Wavelength couldn’t be more taut or intelligent.

He contends that what separates them is their ability to handle drab material. A great director finds ways to work within the confines of a particular genre, and yet makes it his own.

Additionally, he cites the obsessive themes running through the movies of Sam Peckinpah and Orson Welles.

Here in Negative Space, Farber looks for earthiness, humanism and shape in the movies. While doing so, he displays his amazing powers of description and classification. For example, here’s what he has to say about a few actors:

On Belmondo: outlandishly coy and unfinished

On Bardot: coarse, spunky shrewdness

On Palance: fiercely elegant, better silent

 

As for acting itself, it can be distorted, emotionalized, stylized, or understated.

Here you will see how a star like Joan Crawford can have more authenticity, even though she may have less real skills. Or how a thespian like Liv Ullmann can let another actor take over the screen, yet still leave a mark.

Among the movies he reviews in this book, Farber finds Detective Story to be way more engaging than melodramas such as A Place in the Sun and A Streetcar Named Desire, which are equally lurid. He also proposes Sam Fuller’s Fixed Bayonets as the best war film since Bataan.

 

Naturally, one of the biggest pleasures in reading books like this is how certain personalities and movies fail upon assessment of the writer, like when he takes a shot at Catherine Deneuve.

For Farber, Frank Capra is a preacher and John Huston, Message Mad. He says Don Siegel has been wrongly deified by auteurists and Luis Bunuel, a man of fits and starts.

He bemoans “the success of efficient, hard-working mediocrities” in such fields as jazz, painting, the novel (Bellow! Cheever! Salinger!) and film (Delbert Mann, Kazan, Chayefsky).

Farber also takes jabs at the less talented De Sicas and Zinnemanns, and “the water buffaloes of film art: Stevens, Wilder, Clouzot.”

He points out the flaws of Huston and De Mille, and the defects of Antonioni, Richardson and Truffaut, even as he acknowledges that they are important directors.

He takes a stab at Psycho for its suppositions, and the movie’s advocates for heralding off-the-camera tricks rather than taking the movie for what is up on the screen.

Negative Space also covers the New York Film Festival in the late ‘60s, and explores the myths you can find in a film festival. He expounds on the particulars that make watching Eric Rohmer’s Ma Nuit Chez Maud a pleasure, and the levels that Bresson’s Mouchette moves on. He hails Faces as a real break-through in movie acting.

Farber discusses such movie trends and techniques as the Flat Man, the lead who does not have a past or a discernible future. Another is the Gimp, a string that is jerked by the film-maker when the movie has become safe, a shock tactic to make the movie artful. He charges A Place in the Sun and A Streetcar Named Desire particularly guilty.

Furthermore, he sings the praises of the bit player, who may not have range, but who has the power to stir those brief moments that energize a movie to life.

This is one book that bears re-reading.