Blade Runner, My Development as a Writer, and Other Things That Take Way Too Long

Review: Blade Runner

     So I finally watched Ridley Scott's highly-touted cult sci-fi film Blade Runner (the 1992 Director's Cut) last night.  It had been on my list for a while.  Its notable strengths included stunning production design, special effects, and its portrayal of a noir-infused dystopian future in which consumerism has become a substitute for humanity without anyone realizing it.  Unfortunately, a strong, engaging narrative was nowhere to be found.  Instead, the filmmakers give us broad thematic questions about what it means to be human, delivered largely via slow, under-lit shots that give the film a languid pace and, strangely, occasional bursts of on-the-nose exposition, presumably intended to snap the audience back to attention by reminding us - and the characters on-screen, for that matter - of the few narrative points we are supposed to care about.  Even Harrison Ford's Deckard seems listless and bored throughout the film as he hunts down murderous android "replicants" that look, think, and emote like humans.    

     

     Now let me take a second to admit that critical sentences like that last one are almost always unfair.  I realize that Blade Runner was never supposed to be Indiana Jones Kicks Robot Ass In The Future.  Ridley Scott was taking a risk, and in doing so, created the artistic template for every dark, futuristic sci-fi film that has been made since.  It was the first of its kind, and that is amazing!  But as a writer, I have to complain about the script, which can be called "loose" at best.  In the film's dark future, ambiguity and uncertainty are practically required, but Blade Runner shares so very little about any of its characters that it's nearly impossible for an audience to empathize with them.  Harrison Ford gives a conflicted, nuanced performance that is miles away from his typical charming, rebellious on-screen persona, but the audience is not privy to the demons that haunt Deckard, whether from his past or in his head, so the character just feels empty.  Sean Young's Rachel is even more wooden, but we accept her character more willingly since we know early on that she is a robot herself.  Don't get me wrong, I think both do as much as they can with their roles.  The audience is simply not allowed far enough into their individual worlds.   

     

     The four replicants, on the other hand, are much more vivid, relatable characters.  We are told these newest models of robots have the capacity to feel human emotion, but they only have a four-year lifespan.  Combining an adult's intellect with a child's naivete and lack of human experience yields unstable results, but all of the quirky replicants have a very "human" motivation - survival.  

     Perhaps it was Scott's intention to give the machines more humanity than the human characters - thematic commentary through unexpected juxtaposition.  If so, he certainly succeeded, but since I doubt he set out to make an intellectual art house film disguised as a sci-fi thriller, I believe this particular success comes at a detriment to the film overall.  The slow, seemingly incomplete script combined with the astounding-yet-ultimately-oppressing visual style are too much to ask an audience to overlook.  It will and should remain a classic example of trailblazing style, and though I haven't seen every sci-fi film that can be counted among Blade Runner's progeny, I am sure the best of the bunch have tighter narratives.  

     I believe incompletion is the ultimate culprit for Blade Runner falling short of its narrative potential.  Can you imagine the lauded classic it might be with a truly great script?  Instead, the film went at least $7 million over budget, was initially a critical and financial failure, and it has had no less than five incarnations from 1982 to 2007.  I can understand the fear that drove Warner Bros. studio executives to demand the addition of voice-over narration by Harrison Ford during postproduction.  Apparently the voice-over only called more attention to the lacking plot and, along with a forced happy ending that featured a borrowed shot from Stanley Kubrick's The Shining, both eleventh hour additions were removed from the 1992 Director's Cut.  Scott did not get around to really finalizing his version of the film until 2007, 25 years after its original release.  There are similar stories known and unknown concerning films that had great scripts from the beginning.  Still, I can't help but think a tighter script would have at least lessened the chances of such vast indecision when it came to releasing a definitive final product.

The Take-Home 

     Like any other film review, the preceding commentary is entirely subjective, take it or leave it.  So what's the point?  Do I just love reading my own words?  Of course I do, but hopefully that's not the only reason I love dissecting, interpreting, and arguing about film so much.  Whether good or bad, I am a big believer that any film tends to trick us into thinking about our own lives, even if by accident (What's the alternative, intentionally sitting down and thinking about real life?  Seriously, why don't we just all get together and do taxes?).  So as a burgeoning writer who's moved to Hollywood but not done nearly enough writing, what can I take away from Blade Runner?  Lots: 

1.  I might claim the narrative was incomplete at best, but Ridley Scott still moved forward and made a film that became hugely influential to later films and is now a classic in its own right.  Sure, the film might have been better if they'd improved the script prior to production, but it also might never have been made.  Thirty years later, Scott's newest sci-fi epic Prometheus is one of the most highly anticipated films of 2012.  I'd say he's pretty happy with the way things turned out.  Score one for shooting then aiming, not the other way around! 

2.  Whether on the page or in real life, you've got to know where your story is going.  When you wander aimlessly like the plot of Blade Runner, your audience becomes detached and tunes out.  As the writer of your own life, don't let that happen.  Make a plan and carry it out.  Will you falter?  Definitely.  But finish, and you can end up with a classic on your hands.

3.  Even the prettiest, most creative, well composed shot gets old in a hurry.  Keep things moving! 

4.  Even if he's played by Harrison Ford, don't write a character who's apparently on Prozac at all times. It's boring.  

5.  Whether robots or people, love scenes should be way more exciting than the one between Deckard and Rachel.  

Body Heat did it way better without robots or a dystopian future.  

    

                    

Clear Eyes, Full Heart, Clean Clothes

     So I've lived in LA for almost four months now.  Since moving, I've had two residences, five roommates, one internship, one wrecked car, one and a half house parties, one near-arrest, and zero jobs.  All in all, not too bad.  I've also learned new skills.  Since our "new" house in Van Nuys, CA came fully-equipped with a broken dryer, I have made numerous trips to some of the many "Lavandarias" in our neighborhood.  Somehow I've never gone to the same one twice, and these gringo-friendly laundromats can be surprisingly complicated.  Don't be fooled by the simple "Coin Laundry" signs outside.  The mechanism by which one causes the laundry machines to function has been different every time.  Sometimes it's load-then-pay, others it's pay-then-load.  Some places have coin slots in every machine, other require you to buy a rechargeagble card.  Some dryer doors lock by pushing and turning to the right, others require the customer to use the majority of his or her body weight to keep the door closed for the duration of use.  Veterans use a propped chair and go about their business.

(None of them are this nice in my hood)

     These shared laundry facilities are not entirely unpredictable though.  All of them have included the following: cute little kids sprinting up and down the rows of washers yelling in Spanish, a single-player Cruisin' USA arcade game (yes, the awesome kind you remember from childhood trips to the grocery store), and most thankfully, kindhearted four and a half foot Mexican women who first laugh but inevitably take pity on the white, privileged, college-educated goober who can't figure out how these mystical cloth-washing machines operate.  Breaking cultural and lingual barriers, these God-sends just smile at me and then demonstrate with amazing force the proper way to slam a dryer shut or snap the handle release on the door to allow me to retrieve my clothes.  

     After weeks of training, I finally ventured to the Lavandaria with confidence this weekend.  It went down something like this:

"I'm heeeeeerrrrrree....."

First of all, in the incredibly unlikely even that someone's been anxiously checking this blog, desperate for an update, let me remind you that although it has been a long while now, I gave you fair warning in my first post:

"I'll be here with frequent* updates...

*Frequent = 3 in the next week, 2-5 for all of 2012."

So far my prediction's been just about spot on. So what's been going on since December 6th? A great Christmas with family in St. Louis, not enough writing, and the worst team in the history of college athletics won the national championship because LSU's entire team forgot to show up.

Oh yeah, and I MOVED TO NORTH HOLLYWOOD! About a week before leaving Dallas, it hit me that talking about the move was way more fun when it was still a safe distance away. Leaving great friends from college and church and having to go back to long-distance with my girlfriend is not a fun prospect, but my window of opportunity to try LA was quickly closing, so I think being out here right now is the right call. For further proof, I offer this quote:

“Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones.” 
― Marcus Aurelius

The content of the quote has nothing to do with me moving to LA, but the way my brain chose to process the quote is quite relevant. The first time I read it (on someone's facebook wall, naturally), I thought, "Marcus Aurelius. Right, the old guy who's unjustly murdered by Joaquin Phoenix in Gladiator, got it." When Carlie's half marathon trainer told everyone in their group to find a motivational quote for the race, I told Carlie, "Oh I'll find you that cool one from Gladiator." I scoured Gladiator quotes on IMDB, yet it was nowhere to be found. Frustrated and hungry (the latter was coincidental), it finally it hit me: "Ohhhhh, that quote's from the REAL Marcus Aurelius!" It never even crossed my mind that it could be a historical quote from a real person. Lord, beer me strength.

So what have I done since arriving on the eve of Super Bowl XLVI? Well I went to Ikea and Target, cursed myself for going with "build-it-yourself" furniture and evaporating my bank account at the same time (last week's 30 Rock spoke directly to my life), acted in a weird short film with some SMU film friends, emailed every industry contact I can find who may be able to give me advice and/or a job, and binged on season 2 of Justified. It's a  modern shoot 'em up series that oozes Deep South and manages to be simultaneously ridiculous and realistic. God bless Elmore Leonard. But there I go getting lost in something fictional again. What was I saying? Oh right, of those contacts I've sought out, a staff writer for Modern Family and one of the producers of Good Will Hunting have already responded quickly and promised we could meet in person "when their schedules open up." Hey, I'll take it!

I also had the strange good fortune to find out a pair of siblings I know from high school in Mobile, AL now live in Hollywood as well and are pursuing improv and stand-up comedy, music, and writing. I spent my first Saturday night in LA having a drink with Britt Sanborn and watching her brother Brandon rock the bass for Lido Beach at the Roxy (Check them out! They've got a great sound inspired by The Foo Fighters, the good parts of Blink 182, and their own original flare, plus they know how to bring it live!). Britt is a Second City alum and has just completed a web series pilot called How to Succeed at Birth that will hopefully be expanded to half-hour series coming soon to your living room. It's nice to know I have fellow southerners  out here in LaLa Land -- even if they are originally from Chicago by way of Boston.

Come on Chase, playing a critical role in a catastrophic economic meltdown is one thing, but this is really crossing the line. If only it weren't so true...  

Southern Living: Los Angeles

No, not the magazine your grandmother clips delicious butter-driven Paula Dean recipes from or some kind of ridiculously plausible Law and Order spin-off. I'm talking about my number one lifestyle concern about my fast-approaching move to Los Angeles.

Traffic? Nah, I'll keep some golf clubs in the trunk and figure that out quickly enough.

Smog? I drink around 19 diet cokes a day, so the aspartame will probably kill me first.

Ridiculous new hipster wardrobe? Who are we kidding, I can't wait!

Saturdays in the fall DON'T revolve around SEC football?!? NOW we have a problem.

I traveled to L.A. just after Thanksgiving to see some film school friends, reconnect with some industry contacts, and get a feel for the city. Weirdly enough, I happened to travel on the single most important day of the year: THE DAY OF THE IRON BOWL.

(If you're lost, ask anyone around you what the biggest rivalry in the history of college sports is. If you're alone because you read blogs instead of talking to people, here's a little background.)

To sum it up without bias*, Alabama has a long tradition built on some coach who ruined houndstooth forever and found success in the sixties and seventies that sent Alabama flags flying in trailer parks all over the southeast and drew in bandwagon fans like first cousins to a Tuscaloosa wedding chapel.

Auburn University, meanwhile, has been a shining beacon of all the good American values, and only a few of the redneck ones. While becoming the dominant football school over the past couple of decades (look it up), the good people of Auburn found it in their hearts to help their neighbors in Tuscaloosa rebuild after a devastating tornado, even after a crazed Alabama fan did this:

Sir Charles' ending quote says it all. I come from a really cool, sometimes messed-up place where this rivalry is instilled into your being from day one. How am I to survive LA's blase attitudes about football? (If you guessed, "Quit being such a fanatic" then you haven't been paying attention.) Seriously, ESPN's College Game Day will start at 8 AM! They think USC, a school that gets its pick of recruits from all of California and rarely has to face real opposition, is a powerhouse. Ask poor Matt Leinart or even Reggie Bush how that's working out for them in the pro's.

Thankfully, I found Big Wangs. No, surprisingly, I am not referring to a hip new west coast Asian fuison cafe that only serves orange, gluten free fare. To my delight, Big Wangs in LA is exactly what it sounds like in any other city: an awesome sports bar that serves "big wangs" and shows every SEC game on big screens. LA's Auburn club hosts weekly game watching parties, and suddenly it felt like home! The place vibrated with the hum of "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr.........EAGLE! HEY!!!" at every kickoff and I felt my brethren around me become increasingly depressed and intoxicated as the game wore on. Whatever, this year was a victory lap. Wait til Chizik's recruits filter in and everyone meets a developed Kiehl "Baby Cam" Frazier next year.

My LA friends loved it despite having no tie to the rivalry and were thankful I'd introduced them to a  new favorite sports bar. They were of course highly entertained by my alternating joy/rage strokes, one of which nearly concussed a waitress passing by. I began to apologize but then realized she was wearing an Alabama shirt, so I said, "What are you doing with that shirt on in our section?!?" Shocked and offended, she turned to the Auburn fan next to me for sympathy. Of course he was a gentleman and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, you hurt your hea---GET THAT SHIRT OUT OF OUR SECTION! WAR DAMN EAGLE!"

Ahhh, it's good to find home away from home.        








*Extreme, unsubstantiated, and/or totally "false" information may be included. WDE.

Phluke

“Stop saying stupid sh*t.”          

--loving girlfriend, we'll call her Garlie Cotlieb

This has become a fairly regular refrain around either of our Dallas apartments. Don’t worry, she doesn’t say it in the mean way. Usually. It just tends to come out when I talk about Faithful, a screenplay that I’ve been working on for way too long (coming to 4-D holographic screens everywhere, Fall 2062!) and say things like, “I would only need about a $2 million budget to make Faithful a genuine career-starter. Can’t wait to watch it at Cannes next year!” or “When I write with Christopher Nolan on his next project…” or “When I have a leer jet piloted by a Victoria’s Secret model, I can work in both Nashville and L.A. Won’t be long now…” She says her new catch phrase with an understandably exasperated tone that conveys, “Normally your child-like ideas and naïve conviction that they will actually happen are adorable, but seriously, you’re being an idiot.”

Carlie is always excited and encouraging when I have a real idea and share it with her.  When I have been perpetuating scenarios in my brain that make less sense than Nancy Grace competing on Dancing With The Stars however, she's not afraid to call me on it.

SIDE NOTE: What kind of world are we living in when Janet Jackson, during one of her more attractive seasons, brings on heavy fines and gets banned from the super bowl for life by slipping out of her clothes, but when Nancy Grace does it, no biggie?!?

Seriously?

Right, where was I? Every now and then, Carlie and I’s very different brains collide in a perfect storm of probability vs. slim possibility, sensibility vs. high risk, Dunphy vs. Dunphy (see: Modern Family), and the results are typically hilarious to one of us and aggravating to the other. It's like a rigged carnival game that she can't win because the carney operator doesn't know the rules. Speaking of Modern Family, Carlie recently donned me with the nickname Phluke because my brain is a perfect mix of Phil Dunphy and his son Luke, which is simply to say the three of us have the same brain, we’re just different ages. Sorry parents, try to convince yourselves it’s not true while watching this clip. You can’t do it.

Carlie’s the one who immediately sees risks and so-called “consequences,” and I’m the one who helps her turn her brain off with nonsensical stories when she keeps herself up worrying that she isn’t getting enough sleep and talking about how little sleep she's getting. She gets me out of the grocery store alive. I save her from excelling at everything all the time and keep her laughing, preferably at my expense. It’s a give and take. We’re like two sides of a coin. Carlie’s side is on a coin that someone used to aid in the fulfillment of a goal, and my side is on a different coin of equal value that someone dropped in the crack between the driver’s seat and the center console that's just living for the ride and will eventually be there when you need that extra change at Chik Fil A.

Miraculously, all of these differences make us truly complementary. That’s the only possible way we could have dated happily for SIX YEARS! That’s more than 25% of our lives….wait…25/6….yep, the math checks out. That and we’re totally photogenic (see below). As we face the monster of long distance yet again, it’s easy to worry we’re moving backwards. Ok, it's a little easier for Carlie since I refuse to learn how to worry. Tough as it will be, I think being apart for my first months in Los Angeles will put things in perspective for us and remind me that I can't take my time getting places in LA the way I have in previous endeavors (learning to ride a bike, learning to read, giving up wetting the bed, graduating from college....all the major milestones). People like me need people like Carlie to stay grounded and focused, and people like Carlie need people like me to keep from being too grounded or focused. I'm sure we can keep helping each other with a few states in between us, but hopefully we won't have to for long. As you can see, we're going places:

On segways. 

Battlefield: Los Angeles

Oh yeah, there’s a blog here.

I’d forgotten. I’ve been busy not writing enough over the past year and a half since graduating from college in May 2010. Or “when hell freezes over” as my fourth grade teacher Mrs. Pointkowski called it. It’s ok, I’m pretty sure she was drunk when she said it. Well, at least the first time.

Anyway, as a world-class procrastinator-perfectionist with a learning disorder who takes forever to read or write yet aims to become a professional screenwriter, I figure I’ll take up blogging again. Every screenwriting book I’ve ever read the back cover of stresses the importance of writing all the time no matter what, whether it’s real work on a screenplay or self-gratifying drivel like this blog. I’ve done a lot of staring at my macbook in various Dallas-area Starbucks and far too little writing, so let’s do some blogging! At the very least I’ll not be lying when I say, “I’ve been writing all day.” At best, I’ll get over this “staring at the screen for hours” thing, tap into a more fluid writing style that I didn’t know was there, and maybe even entertain those few internet wayfarers who wander over to this blog by mistake in their search for literary articles and/or adult websites that contain “streaming” in the name. All are welcome!

Oh yeah, and the people who actually know me and care about me can stop complaining that I don’t ever verbalize what I’m thinking, because I’ll do my best to keep this blog true to its title. Well actually I guess I’ll just be typing, not speaking. Hmm. Ok if you’re one of those people, have your computer’s text-to-speech app read this to you in one of its exotic monotone accents. Problem solved.

I’m writing this in terminal D of the Salt Lake City airport, waiting for my connector flight to San Diego. I’m going to meet my parents there for Thanksgiving and then heading to Los Angeles for a recon trip. Oh right, I didn’t say this yet: I’m moving to Los Angeles in January to be a real boy!

Wait, I mean “film professional.” After too many years in Dallas, it’s time to put up or shut up. Don’t get me wrong, I love Dallas! But I think I’ll always feel like a student there, like I’m dependent on my parents. Even if I got a real job in the Big D, I think a change of scene is in order to jolt me forward. Also, see earlier in this post where I said I want to be a professional screenwriter. Those live in L.A. or are Blockbuster employees in some other town, and Blockbuster franchises are dropping like flies (thanks for nothing, Goldman Sachs!).

So I’m off to La La Land to reconnect with old contacts, meet new ones, and observe the hipsters to see what kind of awesome new clothes my wardrobe has in its future. I’m hoping burlap makes a comeback. Fortunately for me, my good friend and collaborator Rian Hawkings* grew up in Los Angeles and can house me for a few days while I discover "the Angeleno way" (This fall on TNT starring Jennifer Love Hewitt and Johnny Knoxville!). A few days is all it will take, right? Ok good. He and I have been working together with several other SMU film alums under the banner Institution One in Dallas on several music videos, industrials, shorts, and feature films. It’s been a blast and we’ve done some great work so far, so I really hope we can keep it up while surviving the war of attrition that will be L.A. I’ll be looking for any internship or P.A. (production assistant) work that might be remotely educational and/or will help build valuable connections. And of course I’ll have to keep writing, and write more efficiently and effectively than I’ve done before, cramming in an hour here and there whenever I’m not getting someone coffee to survive. Sounds pretty daunting and probably illogical, but after 25 years of being a white guy in America with all my needs covered for me, I’ve been fully convinced that anyone can do anything, no matter what! Don’t worry, you’ll hear it when the shoe drops. It will be loud, and I will be crying. Like a child.

I encourage you to check back in often, especially when your oppressive office job feels like too much. I’ll be here with frequent updates* reminding you why you were smart to take that job in the first place….bring on the smog, traffic, and egomaniacal studio execs, Tinsel Town. I'm ready.

*Name changed to maintain anonymity.

*Frequent = 3 in the next week, 2-5 for all of 2012.

Monsters

We love them. We love watching them. We love following them in secret as they commit all kinds of terrible crimes. Things we'd never dream of doing...right?

We fear for Norman Bates when the car stops sinking for a brief moment in the swamp behind his house.

We envy Hannibal Lecter's sophistication and intellect.

We feel the adrenaline rush when Dexter is finished stalking and finally lays the next deserving victim down on his table.

We watch in triumph as a young Lisbeth Salander tosses a carton of gasoline and a lit match through an open car window, savoring her victory as the flames that engulf the driver burn in her eyes.

What is the matter with us? Are we all longing to do these evil things ourselves? Are we just products of an increasingly violent society that demands constant escalation to combat our desensitized palettes? Or are we attracted to these characters because we know we will never do the things they do?

More than anything else, I believe these literary and cinematic monsters remind us of the depths of our humanity. That sounds a bit dramatic, but think. Monsters defy unbelievable odds just to survive. They all carry dark secrets. Some boast of what they've done, desperate for attention. Others cling to secrecy, terrified of being discovered for what they really are. All desire to be loved in one way or another. All desire to be remembered. Origins and secrets. Actions and reactions. Survival. Love. Legacy.

The devils we aren't merely afraid of -- the ones who make our pulses race before even lifting a finger, the ones we long to understand -- they're all holding up broken glass and forcing us to look at our own reflections. How far could we go to survive? Will we allow circumstances to dictate our lives or will we take control? Do we follow a code like Dexter or are we aimlessly chasing cars like the Joker? Do we only see the worst of our own natures and overlook the chance for redemption?

Don't dismiss these monsters as preposterous childhood imaginings run wild or perverse creations with which we have nothing in common.

They have a lot to teach us about ourselves.

Maybe that's what makes them so scary.