12.12 – We Bought a Zoo

And this continues our series of stories about buying a story and then ruining it.

As a friend of mine put it, “I didn’t know there was more to this story than what looked like a silly movie.” Well, there is. The book is an autobiographical tale about a British journalist living in Southern France who moved back to the UK and went in with the rest of his family to buy (and save) a zoo, against all odds. It’s an at-once romantic, pragmatic, and educational study of the animal kingdom, the value of persistence, and what it’s like to launch into such a high-risk yet high-reward (both financially and emotionally) business that you know nothing about. It delves into all kinds of topics, from homosexuality in the animal kingdom to losing a loved one to cancer.

And the movie could not have been more different.

What I don’t understand is why. There’s so much drama already in the story – why do you feel the need to mess it all up with a teenage romance, a phony excuse for why he’s getting into it, have him trying to go it alone (without his family), a deus ex machina in his (already dead) wife leaving him money to spend on the zoo, no one showing up on opening day BUT OH WAIT JUST KIDDING!, blah blah blah?

The drama was there already. You’ve got a wife who’s dying of cancer. You’ve got family members suing you to keep you from buying this zoo. You’ve got dozens of loan processors all but guaranteeing a loan and then backing out at the last minute. You’ve got animals escaping, animals you think have escaped (but turn out actually to be wild and indigenous to the region), and animals you have to give away, reducing the (perceived) value of the site.

They could’ve told this story – the one that was in the book – and though they obviously would’ve had to abbreviate it, and possibly combine a few characters, they easily could have made it into a great film. As it was, the movie was simply mildly entertaining slush.

Let this be a lesson to all: when the drama is there, don’t try to “add story elements” that the gurus tell you need to be there. Just tell a good story.

Truly Gritty Dialogue

Last week I finished ScreenwritingU‘s 10-day dialogue class, and then last night watched True Grit. So naturally, as I was watching this 10-time Oscar-nominated movie (including Best Adapted Screenplay), I was paying pretty close attention to the dialogue. Something Hal Croasmun, creator of ScreenwritingU, has said is that good voice in dialogue is not about ums and ahs or anything like that. It’s about having distinctive personality traits and/or interests for each character, and then making sure that every line they speak has some element of that character.

A few days ago I was reading a screenplay where a partner in a law firm was a cyclist. Though he was a minor character, he was extremely memorable. The first time we see him, he’s wearing no-modesty shorts, with his package staring at our protagonist as they ride the elevator. After that, every line he says is about Lance Armstrong or the Tour de France, which he uses as a metaphor for everything that’s going on at work. It’s all hilarious, and as the old advice goes, I could have covered up the character names and identified, beyond a shadow of a doubt, every line that belonged to him.

In watching True Grit, the best example that came to mind was Matt Damon’s character, LaBoeuf. First, notice the name. He’s called “the beef,” because he’s got a beef with everyone about everything. From there, almost all of his lines show his bordering-on-hubris pride. Probably half of them reflect the fact that he’s a Texas Ranger, and most of the rest are meant to impress/dominate our tweenage protagonist, Mattie Ross.

Speaking Mattie Ross (side note: Supporting Actress? Are you kidding? Come on, Academy!), she’s precocious and bullheaded, so most every line that comes out of her reflects that. For example: ‘And “futile”, Marshal Cogburn, “pursuit would be futile”? It’s not spelled “f-u-d-e-l.”‘ The whole negotiation scene where she threatens to sue the man who held her father’s horse showed these characteristics every step of the way. And with every line, she speaks in perfect elocution.

Which is in contrast, of course, to Rooster Cogburn. Again, notice the name. He’s not just arrogant – he’s cocky, hence the name, “Rooster.” And what does “Cogburn” imply? He’s fiery, yet thoughtful, perhaps? Speaking with a heavy southern slang, some of his lines: “Them men wanted a decent burial, they should have got themselves killed in summer,” or “You go for a man hard enough and fast enough, he don’t have time to think about how many’s with him; he thinks about himself, and how he might get clear of that wrath that’s about to set down on him.”

Although it’s tough at this point to distinguish the dialogue as written from the character as played by Jeff Bridges, it’s clear that the Coen Brothers know what they’re doing when it comes to creating characters — and dialogue — that speaks to the viewer and to the actor.

The Meet of My Thighs (11.11)

Harmony Eichsteadt is the kind of woman most men dream of. Or at least most men like me.

A self-described sex-positive feminist, she’s a fan of Neil Strauss, is writing a book–from the woman’s perspective–on how to be an effective pick up artist, and in a few weeks will be performing a strip-tease at her book-launch party as punishment for failing, on one particularly day, to write for an hour. (You can thank yours truly for suggesting the punishment.)

The launch party is for her book of “feminist erotic poetry,” which is a nice way of saying “a graphic depiction of my sex life for all the world to see.” Aptly titled The Meet of My Thighs, it is a salacious exploration of the boundary between the erotic and the obscene; challenging the limits of what can be eroticized: from farts to bestiality to menstruation to rape, leaving few stones unturned (I didn’t see anything about gynecologists, but I probably wasn’t paying close enough attention) and pulling the reader into a fantasy world that many would no doubt prefer to pretend doesn’t exist.

The poems range from the sacred to the profane; from the not-quite-subtle “Ghost” (which is either about a dead relationship or necrophelia) to the even-less-subtle “Odes to My New Dildo” and “Things I Have (and Have Not) Masturbated To.” Perhaps the most controversial piece is “Love Song to My Rapist,” written from the perspective of the raped and murdered woman, but in such a dulcet tone that it comes across as a romance. Fresh off a viewing of the movie Hereafter, I was left with the peace of the dead, who bear no grudges and hold no hate and have nothing but forgiveness and compassion in their hearts. But nevertheless, it takes courage to publish this kind of story, whose title alone is enough to invite hate mail from all kinds of grieving and wounded individuals.

I’ll be performing one of the poems at the launch party on May 14th, along with some good old fashioned roasting of the lady of honor. It’ll be an entire night of sex and poetry. After all, what could be a more perfect combination?