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| This will cost you extra with FedEx |
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| This is what it’s like… |
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| This will cost you extra with FedEx |
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| This is what it’s like… |
This isn’t so much a rant about Hollywood remakes as it is about the recurring idea that sequels, remakes, and adaptations are some awful, overwhelming blight that’s taken over Hollywood in the past few years. Humphrey Bogart’s version of The Maltese Falcon was a remake of an adaptation. So was John Carpenter’s The Thing. Casino Royale was a remake, too. Dracula is the most filmed fictional character in history. Seriously. How many remakes or adaptations are we talking about there?
Don’t get me wrong–there are some God-awful remakes out there. Nightmarishly bad ones. But there’s a lot of God-awful original films, too. And, hard as it may be to believe, they’re the majority.
Hollywood studios released just shy of 200 films in 2011. I believe the exact number is 194, but I might be off by two or three (that’s based off Box Office Mojo‘s records, if you care). This number does not include micro-releases that only played for a limited number of screenings or foreign films brought over by independent distributors. If we were all inclusive, the number of films at the box office last year is closer to five hundred.
2011 had more sequels released than any other year to date. There were 28–about one out of every seven films (14.2%) if we stick to that smaller number of studio releases.
If we’re extremely generous with the term “remake” (counting, for example, Captain America: The First Avenger as a remake of the low-budget 1990 film and Rise of the Planet of the Apes as a remake of the old Conquest of the Planet of the Apes) , 2011 had 13 remakes. Not even one in ten of the smaller studio number (6.66%, actually). And before anyone asks, there are overlaps between the remakes and sequels.
Which means, conservatively, that 80% of the films released in 2011 were original or based off new, never-before-filmed material. Probably a little more than that. Definitely more if we use all the numbers and not just the studio releases. This isn’t opinion, remember–these are cold, hard facts. You can go to Boxoffice Mojo or The Numbers or even just IMDb, count up releases, and you’ll get the same results.
I think what drives people nuts is that over the past ten years or so the average person has access to tons of news and information about the internal workings of Hollywood. But the film industry is a very weird business. There is nothing else like it and nothing to compare it to (from many, many folks, the closest comparison is life in the military). Having access to all that internal information doesn’t mean someone can understand Hollywood any more than having access to all the internal organs in someone’s torso can make you a heart surgeon.
So, anyway, people hear about movies going into development, don’t understand what that means, and assume these films are going to happen now. In film terms, going into development means… nothing. Absolutely nothing. Dozens of remakes, reboots, sequels, and original scripts are considered for development every day because that’s how development people keep their jobs. They get nine or ten projects “in the works” and about 95% of them fizzle out and die. Some of them are remakes, a bigger bunch of them are original. But the vast majority of them don’t come out. This is business as usual. Disney has had all of their sixties and seventies live movies in development as remakes or reboots for over a decade now. We’ve seen one make it out– Race To Witch Mountain. One in over ten years.
It’s not really a problem.
Just saying…
I haven’t babbled on about dialogue in a bit, so I thought I’d toss out a quick idea about that.
And I thought I’d make it interesting by telling a story.
As some of you know, I worked in the film industry for several years. This let me work with a lot of storytellers of all different types—most notably (for this little rant) directors. If the screenwriter is the person who creates the story, the director’s the one who decides how to tell the story. Some of them were very good at this. Others were not.
A common flaw I saw in bad directors was an urge to make every single shot special. It didn’t matter if it was a wide shot, a close-up, a master, or coverage. Every shot required tons of set up and rehearsals and discussions and little tweaks and adjustments.
Now, I’m sure some of you are saying “Isn’t that the director’s job? To make it look good?” Well, yes and no. That is one element of the job, yes. Another one is sticking to a schedule so material gets delivered on time (very important in television and the lower-budget realms), and another one is making sure the material that gets delivered is usable and cuts together well.
So what I’d see again and again is unskilled directors who would spend hours on their first scene or two of the day, then come back from lunch and discover they still had 85% of the day’s schedule to film. And they’d do this again and again. I worked with some directors who’d do this on every day of a shoot.
And this was bad for the final product, too. All this effort was put into those first scenes no matter what they were, and then later scenes had to be rushed through and skimmed—no matter what they were. So the final film was uneven. It had too much punch were it didn’t need it, not enough where it did. These guys were so focused on making each individual shot look amazing—no matter what that particular shot was—that they didn’t stop to think of the film as a whole.
Enter… Krishna. I worked with him on a Sci-Fi Channel show (yes, it was Sci-Fi back then) called The Chronicle and he was wonderful. Krishna started out as a lowly crew guy (one of his first film credits is John Carpenter’s Halloween) and worked his way up, learning the whole way. He had kind of an unwritten rule—I’m not even sure he ever put it into words. “One pretty shot a day.” Once a day we’d have an elaborate shot with the camera dolly or a crane (if we had one), or an elaborate one-er that involved lots of rehearsal. Everything else would just be master-overs-coverage-done.
I’m sure there’s a few film students reading this who might be muttering about the lack of art in television or making some snide comments about “real” directors, but keep these things in mind. Krishna made his schedule pretty much every day. The cast and crew loved working with him and worked twice as hard because of it. Because he didn’t overload himself trying to do too much, he had time to make sure all his material fit together just how he wanted. And he still had (on an average television schedule) seven pretty shots in a forty-odd minute episode. That’s a great shot every six minutes, which meant he could use them to punctuate the moments where he wanted to have visual impact.
And, like any rule, sometimes he’d bend it a bit. There were days we’d do two pretty shots, or maybe we’d have an elaborate stunt or effects sequence on top of the regular pretty shot. But these were always the exception, not the rule. And his episodes looked fantastic.
Many of you are probably wondering what this has to do with dialogue, yes?
I’ve mentioned the word said a few times before. Said is the workhorse of dialogue descriptors. It does the job without being showy or flashy, and it’s quick and simple to use.
I used to avoid said like the plague. I went out of my way to make sure all my dialogue descriptors were special and pretty. I’d actually spend time making sure I never used the same one more than once on a page. And I never used said. Said was for pedestrian writers with no skill. No art.
As some of you may recall, one of the very first critiques I ever received from a professional editor was to stop using so many flowery descriptors and start using said. It’s advice I took to heart, and still follow today. Hell, it’s number three on the late, great Elmore Leonard’s rules of writing.
That doesn’t mean I don’t use whispered or shouted or chuckledor any of those other colorful descriptors. I just use them less often. A lot less. I save them for when it really counts rather than wasting them. I want my words to have the most impact, and that means saving the good ones for the moments that count.
So when your characters have something to say… just have them say it.
Next time, author Thom Brannan’s going to step in here for a guest post so I can get some work done on a new project. But I’ll be back the week after that to talk about Easter eggs.
Until then, go write.
You noticed I said “us,” right? Lots of people think of Ex-Heroes as my first novel, but it wasn’t. There was Lizard Men from the Center of the Earth (two versions), a God-awful sci-fi novel called A Piece of Eternity, some Star Wars and Doctor Who fan fic, a puberty-fuelled fantasy novel (which I haven’t admitted to in twenty years or so), The Werewolf Detective of Newbury Street, The Trinity, The Suffering Map, about half of a novel called Mouth… and thenEx-Heroes. And I can tell you without question that most of those really sucked. It doesn’t mean I didn’t try to sell some of them (we’ll get to that in a minute), but I couldn’t improve as a writer until I accepted that I needed to improve.