http://www.nbcwashington.com/blogs/popcornbiz/Disney-Exec-Says-Theyand-You--Dont-Care-About-Story-127951908.html
We don’t care about story? … What?
We don’t care about story? … What??
We don’t care about story? … What???
Any way you interpret Disney Exec Andy Hendrickson’s assertion that they and we don’t care about story you can only be left rolling your eyes and tutting like an old English Teacher clutching ‘Pride and Prejudice’ faced with a detention class.
What am I telling you for? The fact you’re interested in this means you’re probably in the business of story-telling or film/TV making and this echoes what you’ve been thinking all along. You are the converted - we do care about story! We all know that story is the heart and soul of anything we do – along with Character. Without those key elements you end up with most of Tom Cruises career.
There is a huge assumption here – the idea that an audience doesn’t want something just because you’ve stopped supplying it. That’s getting away with it – it isn’t a fact in itself. How often do we see movies and think the trailer was better than the film itself? How often does your heart sink in a movie as you pass each sign post… here’s the action opening… here’s the first doorway of no return… here’s the second doorway into the third act…here’s the eleventh hour disaster… yawn yawn sigh sigh… that’s because there’s only a textbook formula.
Hendrickson talks about how Tim Burton’s ‘Alice’ had a poor story but the visuals brought people in in droves. True. But he doesn’t mention how people felt when they left. I am pretty convinced the majority of people left saying ‘It looked amazing but…’ His unspoken point is that getting people in, getting them to pay is what counts – they don’t pay on exit… What he’s missing is the we can see the formula at work, we can feel each beat of the plot, the problem is we don’t get much of an alternative.
We all pitch programmes and movies at a set of boxes that studios are waiting to tick. The boxes are the end result of their quest to quantify and control the magical elements of ‘Story’ and bottle it so they can reproduce it as often as they like. They need to reduce the variables. It’s an understandable attempt at protecting the huge investment film and TV needs these days – but it is a tactic that often ends up with unsatisfactory results – and worse than that – takes everybody’s eyes away from the truly inspiring and captivating stories that really would break through. The fact that we’ve come to tolerate this formulaic approach as the norm doesn’t mean we don’t crave more.
The industry in ‘How to write’ books, from McKee onwards, has resulted in a generation of execs who believe any successful movie can be formulaically created under laboratory conditions and then let loose. But that’s a little like cloning Eric Morecombe and expecting the clone to have the same comic timing, talent for ad-libbing and twinkle in the eye ….
And the model racks itself up – make more happen, blow more things up, raise the stakes – surely that MUST a good story make. Simply having two people stare at each other in an emotionally charged situation is way too scary. Too unpredictable. But I venture more people remember Hannibal Lecter staring at Claris than any of Mr Cruise’s Blast-Ups.
Yet everything has its place – and on many levels the formula works – it makes a film acceptable and gives the effects a solid base colour to shine against – that level of reliability is worth the compromise of quality. We as an audience accept it because we still go… so we can’t really complain.
But isn’t the net result of making things fit a formula best demonstrated by the transition of ‘The Killing’ to the US… it’s the same show… the shots, the music, the colour palette, it’s just lost something, a bit of it’s soul… a little of its magic. All the corners that have been knocked off, all the quirky characters who have been smoothed out and all the elements that didn’t ‘fit’ were exactly what made the original so compelling.
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
TWEET! - A Small Bird who wants to Be Heard...
When Little Tweep popped out of his egg the first thing he said was
‘TWEET!’
Which made his Mummy and Daddy smile proudly.
When Little Tweep met his brothers and sisters he said
'TWEET!
Which made them all give him a big squeezy hug. ‘What a lovely Tweet you have’ they said, and they carried on tweeting to each other all day long.
Life slipped by so quickly, and soon it was time to move to the Big Tree.
The Big Tree was full of Tweeps chattering away. Little Tweep flew straight into the middle of them all and said
'TWEET!
But nobody listened. ‘That’s odd!’ thought Little Tweep. ‘My Daddy likes my Tweet, My Mummy likes my tweet – and all my brothers and sisters like my tweet! But everyone here is too busy tweeting themselves!
Little Tweep wanted to Be Heard, so he took a deep breath in and.... he tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted!
It worked!… as long as Little Tweep never stopped some of the other tweeps heard him! It felt wonderful! At last he was a Little Bird who was actually Being Heard!
He tweeted as the sun rose through the misty morning, he tweeted as the sun shone bright and bold at noon… and he tweeted as the sun sleepily sank beneath the horizon and ushered in the Moon.
But it was exhausting! After a few days Little Tweep was terrifically tired!
‘Tweet!...Twee!...Twe!...Tw!...T….’ he wheezed. And when he finally stopped all together the strangest thing happened.
Everybody turned away.
Little Tweep didn’t like Not Being Heard, so he took a big deep breath in and… he tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted again!
Again it worked! Again he was a little bird who was actually Being Heard!
Before long he was even more exhausted than before, and couldn’t even raise the tiniest ‘T!’…
When Little Tweep wasn't tweeting - everyone went away again!
He tried being funny… ‘Twit!’
He tried being clever… ‘Tweet=MC2!’
He tried being LOUD! TWEEEEET!
But every time he stopped it felt like he didn’t even exist….
It was strange being all alone.
In his own little tree.
In the total quiet.
Little Tweep gazed over at the other trees, trees full of tweeps tweeting to each other, day in day out. Big trees where thousands of Tweeps listened to one big tweeter, smaller trees where everyone tweeted together. After a while Little Tweep shuffled around on his branch and sadly flew away.
He flew through a field of flowers, getting giddy on their perfumes.
He flew to the top of a mountain and listened to the wind whispering stories.
He flew into a waterfall and let the cold water make his feathers feel fizzy.
He flew to the edge of the sea and listened to the music of the waves.
He flew across the moon and between the stars, until he was covered in twinkles.
Little Tweep realised he wanted to tell everybody about his adventures, so he turned around and flew back home – back to his tree – back to the clatter and clamour of the tweeps.
Little Tweep tweeted the tales of his travels to his Mummy, Daddy, sisters and brothers - and as he told them of the whispering winds and musical waves more and more tweeps began to listen too.
‘Little Tweep!’ cried his Mummy ‘You really do have the most beautiful tweet we have Ever Heard!’
Now Little Tweep loves tweeting his stories to all the other tweeps. But if feels he has said everything he has to say, if he stops tweeting and they all turn away, Little Tweep doesn't mind. He likes to fly away to where nobody tweets at all….
THE END....
..No... no shotgun.... ;-)
‘TWEET!’
Which made his Mummy and Daddy smile proudly.
When Little Tweep met his brothers and sisters he said
'TWEET!
Which made them all give him a big squeezy hug. ‘What a lovely Tweet you have’ they said, and they carried on tweeting to each other all day long.
Life slipped by so quickly, and soon it was time to move to the Big Tree.
The Big Tree was full of Tweeps chattering away. Little Tweep flew straight into the middle of them all and said
'TWEET!
But nobody listened. ‘That’s odd!’ thought Little Tweep. ‘My Daddy likes my Tweet, My Mummy likes my tweet – and all my brothers and sisters like my tweet! But everyone here is too busy tweeting themselves!
Little Tweep wanted to Be Heard, so he took a deep breath in and.... he tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted!
It worked!… as long as Little Tweep never stopped some of the other tweeps heard him! It felt wonderful! At last he was a Little Bird who was actually Being Heard!
He tweeted as the sun rose through the misty morning, he tweeted as the sun shone bright and bold at noon… and he tweeted as the sun sleepily sank beneath the horizon and ushered in the Moon.
But it was exhausting! After a few days Little Tweep was terrifically tired!
‘Tweet!...Twee!...Twe!...Tw!...T….’ he wheezed. And when he finally stopped all together the strangest thing happened.
Everybody turned away.
Little Tweep didn’t like Not Being Heard, so he took a big deep breath in and… he tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted and tweeted again!
Again it worked! Again he was a little bird who was actually Being Heard!
Before long he was even more exhausted than before, and couldn’t even raise the tiniest ‘T!’…
When Little Tweep wasn't tweeting - everyone went away again!
He tried being funny… ‘Twit!’
He tried being clever… ‘Tweet=MC2!’
He tried being LOUD! TWEEEEET!
But every time he stopped it felt like he didn’t even exist….
It was strange being all alone.
In his own little tree.
In the total quiet.
Little Tweep gazed over at the other trees, trees full of tweeps tweeting to each other, day in day out. Big trees where thousands of Tweeps listened to one big tweeter, smaller trees where everyone tweeted together. After a while Little Tweep shuffled around on his branch and sadly flew away.
He flew through a field of flowers, getting giddy on their perfumes.
He flew to the top of a mountain and listened to the wind whispering stories.
He flew into a waterfall and let the cold water make his feathers feel fizzy.
He flew to the edge of the sea and listened to the music of the waves.
He flew across the moon and between the stars, until he was covered in twinkles.
Little Tweep realised he wanted to tell everybody about his adventures, so he turned around and flew back home – back to his tree – back to the clatter and clamour of the tweeps.
Little Tweep tweeted the tales of his travels to his Mummy, Daddy, sisters and brothers - and as he told them of the whispering winds and musical waves more and more tweeps began to listen too.
‘Little Tweep!’ cried his Mummy ‘You really do have the most beautiful tweet we have Ever Heard!’
Now Little Tweep loves tweeting his stories to all the other tweeps. But if feels he has said everything he has to say, if he stops tweeting and they all turn away, Little Tweep doesn't mind. He likes to fly away to where nobody tweets at all….
THE END....
..No... no shotgun.... ;-)
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