By Charlee Vale
It seems to me that lately, there have been an influx of book based movies hitting the theatre. As both a writer and an actress, this makes me immensely happy! But I know that others aren't as happy, especially when they see their favorite books 'ruined' by it being made into a movie.
As an example, I'll tell you about my experience seeing The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones, this past week.
I went to a tiny theater near my house. It was a late showing, and there were only a few people waiting for the movie with me. Of these people, there was a group of teens, completely decked out in costume. They had every major character covered, we're talking dedication. I gathered from not-so-subtle eavesdropping and a little conversation, that they were overjoyed to be seeing the movie for the first time, some of them fans of the book since it first came out in 2007.
So we went in and watched the movie. (For the record, I really enjoyed it--and I recommend everyone see it) As soon as the credits rolled I looked over at the costumed group to gauge their reaction. They all seemed overwhelmingly confused and saddened. Not understanding 'what had just happened.' (This despite us talking about how books and movies have to be different before entering the theater)
While thinking about this, it occurred to me that in fact, many times I've known people who are 'okay with it being different from the book,' and then walk out of the movie furious for that same reason. This makes me sad, because hollywood is finally paying attention to books! Their making book movies! But if everyone keeps hating them, they'll stop.
As a person who crosses the book/movie world, I thought I'd talk about a couple of the reasons books and movies can't be the same, and why that's okay.
1. Length
The book you read was most likely in between 200-300 pages, maybe more. The standard rule of thumb in the movie industry for screenplays is 'a minute per page.' If movies literally took the book you read and put it on the screen, even the shortest books would be almost three hours long. (The City of Bones hardcover is 485 pages--an 8 hour movie!)
2. Investment vs. Payoff
Because the aforementioned problem with length, movie producers have to look at the story and what's going to be the best way to deliver the required information, and still keep the tone of the story. A good example of this is the Hunger Games movie.
For those of you who have both read the book and seen the movie, you know that the person who gives Katniss the Mockingjay pin is different. A lot of people were upset that in the movie 'Madge' was cut out as a character. However, the time the movie would have spent developing that character would have been wasted. Why? Because Madge does nothing else. In fact she has little presence through the entire series. So spending ten precious minutes of film time on a character that doesn't affect the audience, is silly. The payoff wasn't worth the investment.
3. Different Mediums
This should be fairly straight-forward, but I find it's always good to remind people that books and movies are different. And that's okay.
In books, we have the time to describe something, to let the mind piece together an image as it goes along. Movies, as a visual medium, have to give us things that our minds can both interpret immediately, keep us engaged, and keep the story moving.
This is why I find I enjoy book-to-movie adaptations much more the second time I watch them. The second time, I already know what's different from the book--there are no surprises. That way, I can relax and enjoy the movie for what it is. Unfortunately, I know a lot of people don't get that far because they're upset.
As a final note, I hope that you will go and support book movies. Even if the particular book isn't your thing. I would hate for Hollywood to think we're giving them a message to stop making these movies. There are so many wonderful book stories that can be told with film. Let's keep making it happen!
Charlee Vale is a Young Adult writer, photographer, and tea lover living in New York City. You can also find her at her website, and on Twitter, and at the movies, absorbing all the stories.
Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Monday, August 26, 2013
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Could The Next Hollywood Be New York?
by R.S. Mellette
To work in the film industry, one goes to Hollywood; for publishing, New York. But could that paradigm change in the near future?
To work in the film industry, one goes to Hollywood; for publishing, New York. But could that paradigm change in the near future?
Way back in the 1990's, a book was something that came on paper and a movie on film. To buy a book, you went to the bookstore. To see a movie, you went to the theatre or a video store. They were two very different businesses.
Today, both movies and books are digital files. If you want to buy a book, you go to Amazon, iTunes, or Nook. To see a movie you go to ... Amazon, iTunes or Nook.
For computers, the only difference between film and literature is the size of the file. Tour a publishing house or a digital film lab without looking at the computer screens and you'll be hard-pressed to know which was which. They are both transcoding files for different platforms, QCing those files, preparing metadata and art (posters or covers), checking chapter breaks, compressing, and uploading them to the providers.
So, consider ... Motion Picture Studios don't really make movies anymore; haven't for a long time. Sure, they find the projects. They develop the material. They finance the productions, and they distribute them, but the nuts and bolts of turning ink-on-paper into images on the screen is jobbed out to production companies. Imagine makes movies mostly for Universal. Village Road Show for Warner Bros. etc. Of course there is a tight partnership, since the Studios are often putting in most of the money, but even that is beginning to lean more heavily in the direction of the production companies.
Let's say you're a publishing house. The book industry has become so volatile that you need some ballast. You need to leverage the assets you have in a way that can spread the risk. But what assets are those? You have a company full of people who know a good book when they read one, and they are willing to read a ton of them to find the gems. You have a library of good stories, and you're buying new ones all the time. But does that make you a valuable company, or the most insane person in your neighborhood book club?
What's the first thing a movie studio does? They find the projects. You, as a publisher, are sitting on a mountain of them. Not only have you found the diamonds in the rough, you've polished them and presented them to market. You have developed the material.
In your library are Romance Novels that could become a money machine in your own Harlequin YouTube channel. And you're buying new stuff. You just shelled out cash and resources for Mindy McGinnis's Not a Drop to Drink, which is screaming for a wide theatrical release. If you're good, you can lock up the film rights before Hollywood knows what hit them.
In fact, the right of first refusal on the movie is now going to be in your standard contract.
What's the next thing a studio does? They finance. You're a publishing company. You're in New York. You can't swing a big black cat without hitting a handful of hedge fund managers who would love to place a bet on a Big Six project. Where the independent film producer has to beg and explain what they are doing, you can say, "I'm the person who found Hunger Games and Harry Potter. Wanna play with me?"
So, you've got the money. You've got the properties. Now comes the tricky part every homeowner can attest to, finding the right contractor to build on your property. If only there was a high turnover rate in Hollywood. Then there would be plenty of experienced executives looking for the chance to get back into producing. They'd have the connections to put together a string of companies to produce your entire slate.
Oh, wait! There IS a high turnover rate of executives in Hollywood. You can't swing a hedge fund manager without hitting a former studio executive. Or, in my case, a current festival director who gave you this idea in the first place.
So if this is such a brilliant plan, why hasn't anyone done it before?
Not everyone has access to the intellectual property you do, and there's distribution. In the theatrical days, a company had to have a strong relationship with the theatre owners to squeeze their films into the crowded market. That's still true of theatres, but the future is on line. You, as a new studio, are going to have to have a working relationship with the platforms that distribute films, and – bingo! You do.
Amazon, iTunes, Nook, etc. You've been delivering to them for years. You have servers and staff in place to QC, package, and upload to all of these platforms. Once you are delivering films, Netflix, Playstation, Hulu, Vudu, Cinema Now and more will come knocking.
And you're vertically integrated. When people like the book they just read on their iPad; one click and they're watching the movie. What? The movie hasn't been made? They can pre-order it You'll send it directly to their device as soon as it's ready. Talk about crowd funding, a movie could be profitable before it's even shot.
And none of this takes into account the lower budgets on films. The guilds all have "made for New Media" contracts in place with attractive rates. Shooting digitally is a fraction of the cost of the old film days. You could crank out low budget Romance Movies as fast as Cali MacKay can write the books. For the bigger budget theatrical releases, you can partner up with – and learn from – a major studio. In fact, they probably own your company anyway, so the good faith negotiations will be a breeze.
But what about the writers? Will new writers be willing to sell their film rights at the same time they do their book? That's an individual choice, of course, and I hope agents and writers alike will comment here about their thoughts on the subject. Personally, I'd say yes for a few reasons.
First, you're not selling the rights, you're selling the exclusive option to buy the rights within a certain time period. At the end of that time - if they haven't sold it - you get to keep the money you were advanced, and go try to sell the option to someone else. If your agent is good, you might sell a 3 year option from the contract date. It will take two years to get your manuscript to market, and then one year to establish sales. Hollywood will read an unpublished manuscript, but they won't take a lot of interest if it doesn't have sales behind it, so you've been paid for three years of an option, when it's only costing you about six months of post-publising time.
Another reason to sell your film rights to your publisher is that they will be into your project for a lot of money. Turning the red ink on your balance sheet to black is a big motivator in the corporate world. They are going to want your manuscript to be as big of a hit as possible, and that larger investment is going to keep you on their hot sheet.
And finally, it's money! Take it! Sure, most Hollywood movies are based on books these days, but most books don't get made into movies. Yes, there's a chance that they'll hold onto the rights and do nothing, but they paid you. That's better than you and your agent shopping the project around to production companies for nothing. Let your publisher take the project to the same producers with the sales pitch, "and we have the money to produce it." You're in a win-win all the way.
Now, if only I could figure out how to make this a win for me... because, you know, it's all about me.
R.S. Mellette is an experienced screenwriter, actor, director, and novelist. You can find him at the Dances With Films festival blog, and on Twitter, or read him in the Spring Fevers and The Fall: Tales of the Apocalypse anthologies.
R.S. Mellette is an experienced screenwriter, actor, director, and novelist. You can find him at the Dances With Films festival blog, and on Twitter, or read him in the Spring Fevers and The Fall: Tales of the Apocalypse anthologies.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Buzz vs Word-of-Mouth: What Hollywood Could Learn From Publishing
by R. S. Mellette
I moderated a conference of film industry professors a while back, and when one of them said that Hollywood relies heavily on word-of-mouth marketing, I laughed.
I couldn't help myself. Here is an industry that considers a 20% or 30% drop in sales a success! That's not word-of-mouth. Or if it is, good words are not being spoken.
Interestingly, the Hollywood insiders on the panel thought I was the crazy one for doing a spit-take with the Koolaid they were serving. But of course, none of them had theatre or publishing experience.
In those disciplines, word-of-mouth marketing means sales INCREASE with time, not drop. A play that is worth the time, money and effort of going to see will build an audience. A book worth the read will see an increase in sales.
In Hollywood, my filmmaking brothers and sisters have forgotten the difference between Buzz and Word-of-Mouth. So let's take a look at them side-by-side.
Buzz: "I want to see that movie," says one friend to another before it premieres. "Yes," says the friend, "I've heard it's good."
Word-Of-Mouth: "I saw the best movie this weekend, you should see it."
In writing, we call that passive vs. active voice. In court, it's called a firsthand account vs. hearsay.
Marketing generates buzz. The product itself creates word-of-mouth.
Why is that a distinction worth discussing? Because buzz owes only a passing fealty to the quality of the product. Producers in Hollywood will actually judge a script on "trailer beats," meaning juicy stuff they can put in the preview to create buzz. A script that tells a good story but has no trailer beats will be passed over in favor of another script that is more easily marketable.
Compare this to the world of self-publishing today. Sure, sure, there is a sub-culture of writers trying to get good reviews—or spam their competition with bad ones—in an effort to increase buzz. There is nothing wrong with an honest pursuit of good buzz, but the runaway hits in the self-publishing world come almost exclusively from word-of-mouth marketing.
And word-of-mouth marketing is entirely dependent on the quality of the work. It is first-person, active, marketing. One friend telling another, "I enjoyed that, and I think you'll like it, too."
What does this product-oriented marketing technique look like on the sales charts, graphs, and tables? That's easy. No drop off. Sales go up the longer the product is available. And when the same people create a new product, their sales start higher because they have become a trusted brand. As long as they keep up the quality, then their work will generate its own buzz.
And the opposite is also true. How many of us have been fooled so many times by a great preview for a lousy film that we no longer trust the studios? Like so much of the rest of American Industry, studios have lost sight of long term success in favor of instant gratification. They have confused buzz with word-of-mouth.
So the work suffers. We, as consumers, suffer. And worst of all, we artists who must try to make a living in this environment suffer.
R.S. Mellette is an experienced screenwriter, actor, director, and novelist. You can find him at the Dances With Films festival blog, and on Twitter, or read him in the Spring Fevers and The Fall: Tales of the Apocalypse anthologies.
I moderated a conference of film industry professors a while back, and when one of them said that Hollywood relies heavily on word-of-mouth marketing, I laughed.
I couldn't help myself. Here is an industry that considers a 20% or 30% drop in sales a success! That's not word-of-mouth. Or if it is, good words are not being spoken.
Interestingly, the Hollywood insiders on the panel thought I was the crazy one for doing a spit-take with the Koolaid they were serving. But of course, none of them had theatre or publishing experience.
In those disciplines, word-of-mouth marketing means sales INCREASE with time, not drop. A play that is worth the time, money and effort of going to see will build an audience. A book worth the read will see an increase in sales.
In Hollywood, my filmmaking brothers and sisters have forgotten the difference between Buzz and Word-of-Mouth. So let's take a look at them side-by-side.
Buzz: "I want to see that movie," says one friend to another before it premieres. "Yes," says the friend, "I've heard it's good."
Word-Of-Mouth: "I saw the best movie this weekend, you should see it."
In writing, we call that passive vs. active voice. In court, it's called a firsthand account vs. hearsay.
Marketing generates buzz. The product itself creates word-of-mouth.
Why is that a distinction worth discussing? Because buzz owes only a passing fealty to the quality of the product. Producers in Hollywood will actually judge a script on "trailer beats," meaning juicy stuff they can put in the preview to create buzz. A script that tells a good story but has no trailer beats will be passed over in favor of another script that is more easily marketable.
Compare this to the world of self-publishing today. Sure, sure, there is a sub-culture of writers trying to get good reviews—or spam their competition with bad ones—in an effort to increase buzz. There is nothing wrong with an honest pursuit of good buzz, but the runaway hits in the self-publishing world come almost exclusively from word-of-mouth marketing.
And word-of-mouth marketing is entirely dependent on the quality of the work. It is first-person, active, marketing. One friend telling another, "I enjoyed that, and I think you'll like it, too."
What does this product-oriented marketing technique look like on the sales charts, graphs, and tables? That's easy. No drop off. Sales go up the longer the product is available. And when the same people create a new product, their sales start higher because they have become a trusted brand. As long as they keep up the quality, then their work will generate its own buzz.
And the opposite is also true. How many of us have been fooled so many times by a great preview for a lousy film that we no longer trust the studios? Like so much of the rest of American Industry, studios have lost sight of long term success in favor of instant gratification. They have confused buzz with word-of-mouth.
So the work suffers. We, as consumers, suffer. And worst of all, we artists who must try to make a living in this environment suffer.
R.S. Mellette is an experienced screenwriter, actor, director, and novelist. You can find him at the Dances With Films festival blog, and on Twitter, or read him in the Spring Fevers and The Fall: Tales of the Apocalypse anthologies.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Book to Film ... Is That A Good Thing?
by Mindy McGinnis and R.S. Mellette
A conversation between a Hollywood screenwriter and a Midwestern librarian about the different mediums for delivering a story, and the perception that one is better than the other.
MM: Lately I've been thinking about books becoming movies. Especially with the current YA trends, I've had a lot of people asking me if my book is going to be a movie. As with The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, the general public reaction when a much-loved book is turned into a film is—"Well, FINALLY!" I feel like there's a pervading perception that the film is the epitome of the story being told, not the book itself. As if graduating from paper to screen is a step up, if that makes sense.
I'm wondering why this is. Is it because film is a more easily digestible media that reaches more people? Is it because the amount of money required to create a film as opposed to a book implies that there is more worth in those stories that "make it" to becoming films?
RSM: I think it's the fact that it reaches more people. We all want to share our experiences, whether it's a book, play, movie, or whatever. Think about when you see one person notice someone else reading a book they've read: "I love that book!" and—Wham! An energetic conversation will start between two people who otherwise might have never met. Of course, e-readers ruin all of that, but that's the topic of another post.
With the mass marketing of a movie, the whole world shares the experience of that story. Even if they don't go to the movie, they can say something about it. It's a shared story, and I think human beings need that like we need food.
MM: We don't ever see movies being made into books. No one ever says, "Hey, you know that awesome movie blah blah blah? It's a BOOK NOW!" And people run out to buy it. That doesn't happen.
RSM: (laughs). No, it doesn't, does it? I think they used to write books based on movies, but I don't know if there's still a market for it. That would be more of the fault of the people producing the books than the fans. On Xena: Warrior Princess, the books were terrible. A marketing person years later told me, "None of us really got Xena." They novelized the series, but the fans didn't buy the books. They could tell there was no heart in them.
MM: There is a counterargument there in that movies directed at children do become "junior novelizations" and such, but to me that's much more marketing and dollar-driven than actually saying, "Wow, this NEEDS to be made into a book."
RSM: Yeah, and it's a shame, because—if done correctly—a book can tell the story more thoroughly. I've adapted novels into screenplays, and screenplays into novels, and I can tell you, a movie is just a sampler plate of the entire meal of a novel.
Plus, an artist has more freedom in a book. There is no budget. On Xena, when she faced an army, it was fifteen people on horseback because that's all we could afford. I read an early draft of the first book, and the author did the same thing. In my notes, I suggested that she open it up. An army should be the size of an army. Ink and paper (or now, electrons) costs the same no matter what the words are. And you don't have to feed them every six hours.
On another note, I imagine people are salivating over your book becoming a film, and that must feel weird to you, huh? What's that like?
MM: Yeah, it’s definitely odd. I’m not sure how I feel about it, to be honest. My books are exactly that—movies in my head. So I know exactly what it looks like already. No one is going to be able to reproduce that, and I’ll have to adjust.
I feel like it already is a movie with an audience of one, cast with people who don’t really exist and don’t look like famous actors. And it’ll be like that in the head of every reader I get my hands on. They can cast themselves as the main character, their friends as the supporting characters, their crush as the love interest. Doesn’t having it cemented in place by Hollywood kind of ruin that?
RSM: I think it absolutely ruins that, but be honest—don't you fantasize about what it would be like to be on the set of your own movie? How have those expectations changed from before you had an agent, to before you had a deal, to now?
MM: I think about it, sure. But like I said, I’m definitely not convinced it would be a good thing. I’ve read stories about authors showing up on set and being endlessly controlling and making it a horror for everyone until they leave. I don’t want to be that person, and I know my place. But I also don’t want to see someone else’s variation of my story being the one that gets the mass media attention.
How has that changed? Actually it kind of went backward. Before I had an agent or a deal I was convinced that was exactly what I wanted—the big film, the big exposure, the must-see movie of the season. Now I’m not so sure. If it’s not mine, or I’m not involved with it in any way, does it actually bear any relation to me?
RSM: Absolutely it relates to you. Without you, none of those people ruining your work would have a job! One thing that's good to keep in mind if you're writer on a film set is that you worked as hard as any of the crew for months or years before they even knew there was a movie to make. Some crew don't realize that, so they think the writer is useless. If you're not careful, you might find yourself believing it, too.
MM: I think that's a very valid and pervading fear for me. That once it's out of my hands it has become its own thing, and I'm no longer of consequence. I've always been under the impression that writers in Hollywood are unsung heroes. Is that the case?
RSM: In LA, if you tell people you're writing a screenplay, they look at you like you have plague. But if you say you're a novelist, you can hear respect in their voice as they say, "Really? Good for you."
MM: Yeah, but what if you say you’re writing a novelization of a screenplay?
RSM: I've heard, "That's a good idea." If only they knew that finishing a novel and finishing a movie are equally difficult.
How do you feel about books being made into movies? Does it make you cringe at the idea of someone else executing your story? Or do you think it's the culmination of years of your effort?
Mindy McGinnis is a YA author and librarian. Her debut, NOT A DROP TO DRINK, is a post-apocalyptic survival tale set in a world where freshwater is almost non-existent, available from Katherine Tegen / Harper Collins September 9, 2013. She blogs at Writer, Writer Pants on Fire and contributes to the group blogs Book Pregnant, Friday the Thirteeners, From the Write Angle, The Class of 2k13 and The Lucky 13s. You can also find her on Twitter, Tumblr & Facebook.
R.S. Mellette is an experienced screenwriter, actor, director, and novelist. You can find him at the Dances With Films festival blog, and on Twitter, or read him in the Spring Fevers and The Fall: Tales of the Apocalypse anthologies.
A conversation between a Hollywood screenwriter and a Midwestern librarian about the different mediums for delivering a story, and the perception that one is better than the other.
MM: Lately I've been thinking about books becoming movies. Especially with the current YA trends, I've had a lot of people asking me if my book is going to be a movie. As with The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, the general public reaction when a much-loved book is turned into a film is—"Well, FINALLY!" I feel like there's a pervading perception that the film is the epitome of the story being told, not the book itself. As if graduating from paper to screen is a step up, if that makes sense.
I'm wondering why this is. Is it because film is a more easily digestible media that reaches more people? Is it because the amount of money required to create a film as opposed to a book implies that there is more worth in those stories that "make it" to becoming films?
RSM: I think it's the fact that it reaches more people. We all want to share our experiences, whether it's a book, play, movie, or whatever. Think about when you see one person notice someone else reading a book they've read: "I love that book!" and—Wham! An energetic conversation will start between two people who otherwise might have never met. Of course, e-readers ruin all of that, but that's the topic of another post.
With the mass marketing of a movie, the whole world shares the experience of that story. Even if they don't go to the movie, they can say something about it. It's a shared story, and I think human beings need that like we need food.
MM: We don't ever see movies being made into books. No one ever says, "Hey, you know that awesome movie blah blah blah? It's a BOOK NOW!" And people run out to buy it. That doesn't happen.
RSM: (laughs). No, it doesn't, does it? I think they used to write books based on movies, but I don't know if there's still a market for it. That would be more of the fault of the people producing the books than the fans. On Xena: Warrior Princess, the books were terrible. A marketing person years later told me, "None of us really got Xena." They novelized the series, but the fans didn't buy the books. They could tell there was no heart in them.
MM: There is a counterargument there in that movies directed at children do become "junior novelizations" and such, but to me that's much more marketing and dollar-driven than actually saying, "Wow, this NEEDS to be made into a book."
RSM: Yeah, and it's a shame, because—if done correctly—a book can tell the story more thoroughly. I've adapted novels into screenplays, and screenplays into novels, and I can tell you, a movie is just a sampler plate of the entire meal of a novel.
Plus, an artist has more freedom in a book. There is no budget. On Xena, when she faced an army, it was fifteen people on horseback because that's all we could afford. I read an early draft of the first book, and the author did the same thing. In my notes, I suggested that she open it up. An army should be the size of an army. Ink and paper (or now, electrons) costs the same no matter what the words are. And you don't have to feed them every six hours.
On another note, I imagine people are salivating over your book becoming a film, and that must feel weird to you, huh? What's that like?
MM: Yeah, it’s definitely odd. I’m not sure how I feel about it, to be honest. My books are exactly that—movies in my head. So I know exactly what it looks like already. No one is going to be able to reproduce that, and I’ll have to adjust.
I feel like it already is a movie with an audience of one, cast with people who don’t really exist and don’t look like famous actors. And it’ll be like that in the head of every reader I get my hands on. They can cast themselves as the main character, their friends as the supporting characters, their crush as the love interest. Doesn’t having it cemented in place by Hollywood kind of ruin that?
RSM: I think it absolutely ruins that, but be honest—don't you fantasize about what it would be like to be on the set of your own movie? How have those expectations changed from before you had an agent, to before you had a deal, to now?
MM: I think about it, sure. But like I said, I’m definitely not convinced it would be a good thing. I’ve read stories about authors showing up on set and being endlessly controlling and making it a horror for everyone until they leave. I don’t want to be that person, and I know my place. But I also don’t want to see someone else’s variation of my story being the one that gets the mass media attention.
How has that changed? Actually it kind of went backward. Before I had an agent or a deal I was convinced that was exactly what I wanted—the big film, the big exposure, the must-see movie of the season. Now I’m not so sure. If it’s not mine, or I’m not involved with it in any way, does it actually bear any relation to me?
RSM: Absolutely it relates to you. Without you, none of those people ruining your work would have a job! One thing that's good to keep in mind if you're writer on a film set is that you worked as hard as any of the crew for months or years before they even knew there was a movie to make. Some crew don't realize that, so they think the writer is useless. If you're not careful, you might find yourself believing it, too.
MM: I think that's a very valid and pervading fear for me. That once it's out of my hands it has become its own thing, and I'm no longer of consequence. I've always been under the impression that writers in Hollywood are unsung heroes. Is that the case?
RSM: In LA, if you tell people you're writing a screenplay, they look at you like you have plague. But if you say you're a novelist, you can hear respect in their voice as they say, "Really? Good for you."
MM: Yeah, but what if you say you’re writing a novelization of a screenplay?
RSM: I've heard, "That's a good idea." If only they knew that finishing a novel and finishing a movie are equally difficult.
How do you feel about books being made into movies? Does it make you cringe at the idea of someone else executing your story? Or do you think it's the culmination of years of your effort?
Mindy McGinnis is a YA author and librarian. Her debut, NOT A DROP TO DRINK, is a post-apocalyptic survival tale set in a world where freshwater is almost non-existent, available from Katherine Tegen / Harper Collins September 9, 2013. She blogs at Writer, Writer Pants on Fire and contributes to the group blogs Book Pregnant, Friday the Thirteeners, From the Write Angle, The Class of 2k13 and The Lucky 13s. You can also find her on Twitter, Tumblr & Facebook.
R.S. Mellette is an experienced screenwriter, actor, director, and novelist. You can find him at the Dances With Films festival blog, and on Twitter, or read him in the Spring Fevers and The Fall: Tales of the Apocalypse anthologies.
Monday, July 30, 2012
On Budget: Page vs. Screen
by Riley Redgate
Last weekend, The Dark Knight Rises made $160.9 million.
Last weekend—as in, within roughly seventy-two hours—this film made a little more than fifty cents off every human living in the United States. Let's just let that sink in for a hot second.
Has it sunk in? Excellent. Moving on:
I saw The Dark Knight Rises in IMAX. (In fact, I saw it in IMAX from the front row, which was both terrifying and extraordinarily painful, but that's beside the point.) And it hit me while I was watching how much impact the phrase "high-budget" or "low-budget" has on the movie industry. All the spectacle of Nolan's film—I can imagine the creators burning through money, mowing it down, eating it up. Money for every explosion, every costume, every special effect. Would it have been remotely the same film if they hadn't spent $280 million on the thing? One can only imagine.
It's interesting on the other end, too—the output end. Only the rarest of authors make obscene amounts of cash, as opposed to the realm of wide-release films, a realm where $13 million in three days can be described as "paltry".
When it comes to cash, no one can deny that films have a higher throughput. Massive amounts in, and (hopefully) massive amounts out. Of course, artistic vision and creativity also have tremendous influence on the film industry—but budget has a huge impact on the final product, and of course, on the existence of the product in the first place. A film that costs zero dollars to put together would be quite an interesting film indeed.
In book-land, on the other hand, the place of origin—the author's brain—isn't necessarily influenced by money. (I say "necessarily" because I'm speaking as someone who has made exactly zero dollars from writing. There's probably someone out there who makes better first drafts when they're having money thrown at them, but whatever.)
The question: Is there a "budget" of sorts when it comes to writerly ways? I believe there is, and I've drawn up a list enumerating the sources that feed into this creative budget:
1) Time. Because there are never enough hours in the day. Time is a crucial resource, and authors who are lucky enough to have an abundance of it will probably see more productivity.
2) Command of language. Because a strong vocabulary, a good sense of orthography, and sentence-to-sentence flow are gifts that keep giving.
3) Familiarity with genre. Because knowing what's become a trope, what's fresh and original, what's familiar and loved, and what's expected from the genre is a well of knowledge you can draw on with every step down the noveling path.
4) Support. Because one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do. (Two can be as bad as one; it's the loneliest number since the number one.) A network of friends, beta readers, critique partners, and cheerleaders is on the "priceless" end of the value scale.
5) Inner peace. Because seriously, have you tried to write when you're having one of those no-confidence days? Don't know about you guys, but for me, that tends to degenerate into me typing one letter repeatedly and staring at my word processor. Confidence: vital contributing factor, in my opinion.
6) Emotional investment. Because it'd be mighty tough to make yourself write about your characters if you don't care about them.
Oh, and 7) Divine inspiration. Because life isn't fair.
People may rant and rave about how different books and films are, and how one shouldn't compare them. But when it comes to budget, the two mediums run on the same principle: When you make a high-budget film (hey there, James Cameron's Avatar) you're hoping to get at least as much as you spent back, right? The more you put in, the more you'll expect out. And similarly, when you put more time into writing, or when you read books in your genre and take mental notes, or when you edit until you're personally satisfied with it, you'll get output. Maybe not monetary output, necessarily, but hey, raise your hand if you think authors are in it for the money.
... yeah, heh, that's what I thought. But what you might get as payback from a big creative budget: personal satisfaction. Satisfied readers. And hopefully—most importantly—a damn good read. Here's hoping yours is a blockbuster!
Can you think of any other contributing factors to your personal Writer's Budget (tm)?
Riley Redgate, enthusiast of all things YA, is a bookstore-and-Starbucks-dweller from North Carolina. She blogs here and speaks with considerably more brevity here.
Last weekend, The Dark Knight Rises made $160.9 million.
Last weekend—as in, within roughly seventy-two hours—this film made a little more than fifty cents off every human living in the United States. Let's just let that sink in for a hot second.
Has it sunk in? Excellent. Moving on:
I saw The Dark Knight Rises in IMAX. (In fact, I saw it in IMAX from the front row, which was both terrifying and extraordinarily painful, but that's beside the point.) And it hit me while I was watching how much impact the phrase "high-budget" or "low-budget" has on the movie industry. All the spectacle of Nolan's film—I can imagine the creators burning through money, mowing it down, eating it up. Money for every explosion, every costume, every special effect. Would it have been remotely the same film if they hadn't spent $280 million on the thing? One can only imagine.
It's interesting on the other end, too—the output end. Only the rarest of authors make obscene amounts of cash, as opposed to the realm of wide-release films, a realm where $13 million in three days can be described as "paltry".
When it comes to cash, no one can deny that films have a higher throughput. Massive amounts in, and (hopefully) massive amounts out. Of course, artistic vision and creativity also have tremendous influence on the film industry—but budget has a huge impact on the final product, and of course, on the existence of the product in the first place. A film that costs zero dollars to put together would be quite an interesting film indeed.
In book-land, on the other hand, the place of origin—the author's brain—isn't necessarily influenced by money. (I say "necessarily" because I'm speaking as someone who has made exactly zero dollars from writing. There's probably someone out there who makes better first drafts when they're having money thrown at them, but whatever.)
The question: Is there a "budget" of sorts when it comes to writerly ways? I believe there is, and I've drawn up a list enumerating the sources that feed into this creative budget:
1) Time. Because there are never enough hours in the day. Time is a crucial resource, and authors who are lucky enough to have an abundance of it will probably see more productivity.
2) Command of language. Because a strong vocabulary, a good sense of orthography, and sentence-to-sentence flow are gifts that keep giving.
3) Familiarity with genre. Because knowing what's become a trope, what's fresh and original, what's familiar and loved, and what's expected from the genre is a well of knowledge you can draw on with every step down the noveling path.
4) Support. Because one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do. (Two can be as bad as one; it's the loneliest number since the number one.) A network of friends, beta readers, critique partners, and cheerleaders is on the "priceless" end of the value scale.
5) Inner peace. Because seriously, have you tried to write when you're having one of those no-confidence days? Don't know about you guys, but for me, that tends to degenerate into me typing one letter repeatedly and staring at my word processor. Confidence: vital contributing factor, in my opinion.
6) Emotional investment. Because it'd be mighty tough to make yourself write about your characters if you don't care about them.
Oh, and 7) Divine inspiration. Because life isn't fair.
People may rant and rave about how different books and films are, and how one shouldn't compare them. But when it comes to budget, the two mediums run on the same principle: When you make a high-budget film (hey there, James Cameron's Avatar) you're hoping to get at least as much as you spent back, right? The more you put in, the more you'll expect out. And similarly, when you put more time into writing, or when you read books in your genre and take mental notes, or when you edit until you're personally satisfied with it, you'll get output. Maybe not monetary output, necessarily, but hey, raise your hand if you think authors are in it for the money.
... yeah, heh, that's what I thought. But what you might get as payback from a big creative budget: personal satisfaction. Satisfied readers. And hopefully—most importantly—a damn good read. Here's hoping yours is a blockbuster!
Can you think of any other contributing factors to your personal Writer's Budget (tm)?
Riley Redgate, enthusiast of all things YA, is a bookstore-and-Starbucks-dweller from North Carolina. She blogs here and speaks with considerably more brevity here.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Novelist vs Screenwriter vs Playwright
by R.S. Mellette
I've written stage plays, screenplays (large and small) and novels with nearly the same success, and lack thereof, so I thought a comparison of how I feel about each might be useful. I have no doubt arguments will abound, which is a good thing. Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis.
THE STAGE: "Theatre is dead." That proclamation was made to me by the late, great, set designer, John Paoletti, as we met to discuss the set for a 99-seat production in Los Angeles. Such "Equity Waiver" plays are to theatre what garage bands are to Rock & Roll. This particular play had an all-star cast, so it was a great little garage band—but could only be considered professional by the quality of the work, not the dollars earned. Paoletti designed sets for theatre all over the country. As we talked about the production, he was drawing pieces for a play back in Chicago. He worked constantly. In any other profession his labor and skill would have made him a rich man, but he was far from it. This is what prompted him to say what he did. "Theatre is dead, and television killed it."
I had no argument against it. Still don't. But the skills of the stage, the lessons learned in front of a live audience night-after-night, are invaluable when it comes to film and television—where the artist may never hear or feel the audience's initial response to their work. In film, 1920 is ancient history. You're considered a scholar if you know what Thomas Edison might have to do with Steven Spielberg's success.
Theatre can trace her roots back to before God. An understanding of what moved an audience in ancient Egypt, or Greece, or what made Italians in the 16th Century laugh, or how Theatre survived the hard economic times of English reconstruction—and how these same human storytelling techniques have worked in our day—give a writer a deep pool of knowledge to work from. Damn the marketing people and their test screenings—a writer with a strong theatre background has 3,000+ years of research and feedback from billions of people to draw from. Better still if this writer has spent time on stage performing other writers' work. The best teacher is the instant feedback of a paying audience.
In writing for the stage you are capturing the power and majesty of the human voice, from kings to paupers, the supremacy of the words are yours to wield. Sure, you might write in a deus ex machine, but without the deity to speak from atop the device, the special effect isn't much good.
With minimal stage effects and limited settings, a playwright is forced to entertain and educate with nothing but words and the interaction of characters—but this is the basis of all writing, isn't it? The stage demands a higher level than books or film, and is the only medium that offers the immediacy of the moment. An actor speaks the words, the audience hears them, and the playwright is there to gauge the reaction. Quickly, the author learns what resonates and what doesn't. Soon, he or she can play the audience like a violin. Actors often say they can literally control how an audience breathes, but it is the writer that gave them the setting and words to exercise that power.
THE SCREEN: No critic or academic can speak intelligently about film if they haven't rolled up their sleeves and done the grunt work of production. If they haven't worked as a grip, a producer, or director, then they have no real idea of where the writer fits into the picture. The production crew see the writer as someone who lounges around with the director and producers, or who might talk to the cast from time-to-time. More often than not, they have no idea who the writer is at all. He, she or they might not ever come to the set. The director and producers, working with the cast, may make last minute tweaks to the script, and so the writer is seen as superfluous.
But a good producer or director knows what the writer has done. Months or years prior to production, they've been working together to turn blank paper into living, breathing characters in a real world. The author can be so cavalier on the set because their hard work was done long before anyone else had a job on this project. If the script started as speculative—written first and sold later—then the author has worked more hours on the film than anyone else has or will.
But if the screenwriter faces the blank page, he or she does not face a blank audience. They are writing for other professionals in the business for whom a shorthand has evolved.
INT. NEW YORK APARTMENT—DAY
Brad's studio apartment is as much of a wreck as his life.
That's all the writer needs to include to give those crew members who work so hard during production the picture of what they need to achieve.
Some writers find it hard to learn this shorthand, and I think their work suffers for it. They lack trust in their designers, directors and cast to do the detective work necessary to flush out the details of the world everyone is trying to create. The designers are going to read the entire script. They will know what kind of wreck Brad's life is, and can then apply their talents to reflecting this in the set. No spoon-feeding necessary, and by allowing more input from various sources, the finished product has a depth to it that a spelled out description might lack.
This type of writing, once mastered, can become a lot of fun. All the author need deal with are characters and story—the meat and potatoes. They have a cast, crew and editors to take care of the minutiae. The art of screenwriting is to use the least amount of words to make a clear image pop into the minds of trained, professional, readers—and to be able to make them all see a similar picture.
NOVELS: You're a control freak? You want to be the auteur? Forget about film, become a novelist. Here you are the art department, the cast, crew, editor, director and craft service person picking up the trash—and yet, if you are successful, you will still have to collaborate with editors, marketing people, agents, etc.
The novelist faces a blank page in both the creation and production of the work. All that can be assumed about the audience is that they can read the language that's on the page—and yet, the author has to put the same story into every reader's head. They have no soundtrack. No special effects. No magic of the theatre. Nothing between their brain and their audience's but the written word.
I can tell you, having made a feature film (on film) and written two novels, they are comparable in their tedium. An editor will work for sometimes an hour or more on a single cut of a film that flashes by in one 24th of a second and is never seen by the audience again. An author will do the same with a word in a sentence.
An animator once told me that cartoon characters must blink when they turn their heads, or they don't look real. A novelist once said, "If you use the word 'suddenly' then whatever follows, isn't."
With all of these differences, what I'm finding as I work in the three media is how they are becoming more similar. Modern novels require less description than their 18th-early 20th century counterparts. Perhaps it is because television has shown us so much of the world that the details of exotic locations or people are now common knowledge. Perhaps it's because we have so many ways to fill our free time, that a book had better cut to the chase or it will never compete with the explosions and spectacle of the big screen or video games. What theatre that has been successful lately has been based on movies—just as they used to be based on histories or commonly known tales.
No matter what medium a writer chooses to work in, they seek the same result—resonance. They must touch the audience in a way that it amplifies within them. That's the art of it, and it's the same for all. The craft is what will differ.
Thanks for reading.
I've written stage plays, screenplays (large and small) and novels with nearly the same success, and lack thereof, so I thought a comparison of how I feel about each might be useful. I have no doubt arguments will abound, which is a good thing. Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis.
THE STAGE: "Theatre is dead." That proclamation was made to me by the late, great, set designer, John Paoletti, as we met to discuss the set for a 99-seat production in Los Angeles. Such "Equity Waiver" plays are to theatre what garage bands are to Rock & Roll. This particular play had an all-star cast, so it was a great little garage band—but could only be considered professional by the quality of the work, not the dollars earned. Paoletti designed sets for theatre all over the country. As we talked about the production, he was drawing pieces for a play back in Chicago. He worked constantly. In any other profession his labor and skill would have made him a rich man, but he was far from it. This is what prompted him to say what he did. "Theatre is dead, and television killed it."
I had no argument against it. Still don't. But the skills of the stage, the lessons learned in front of a live audience night-after-night, are invaluable when it comes to film and television—where the artist may never hear or feel the audience's initial response to their work. In film, 1920 is ancient history. You're considered a scholar if you know what Thomas Edison might have to do with Steven Spielberg's success.
Theatre can trace her roots back to before God. An understanding of what moved an audience in ancient Egypt, or Greece, or what made Italians in the 16th Century laugh, or how Theatre survived the hard economic times of English reconstruction—and how these same human storytelling techniques have worked in our day—give a writer a deep pool of knowledge to work from. Damn the marketing people and their test screenings—a writer with a strong theatre background has 3,000+ years of research and feedback from billions of people to draw from. Better still if this writer has spent time on stage performing other writers' work. The best teacher is the instant feedback of a paying audience.
In writing for the stage you are capturing the power and majesty of the human voice, from kings to paupers, the supremacy of the words are yours to wield. Sure, you might write in a deus ex machine, but without the deity to speak from atop the device, the special effect isn't much good.
With minimal stage effects and limited settings, a playwright is forced to entertain and educate with nothing but words and the interaction of characters—but this is the basis of all writing, isn't it? The stage demands a higher level than books or film, and is the only medium that offers the immediacy of the moment. An actor speaks the words, the audience hears them, and the playwright is there to gauge the reaction. Quickly, the author learns what resonates and what doesn't. Soon, he or she can play the audience like a violin. Actors often say they can literally control how an audience breathes, but it is the writer that gave them the setting and words to exercise that power.
THE SCREEN: No critic or academic can speak intelligently about film if they haven't rolled up their sleeves and done the grunt work of production. If they haven't worked as a grip, a producer, or director, then they have no real idea of where the writer fits into the picture. The production crew see the writer as someone who lounges around with the director and producers, or who might talk to the cast from time-to-time. More often than not, they have no idea who the writer is at all. He, she or they might not ever come to the set. The director and producers, working with the cast, may make last minute tweaks to the script, and so the writer is seen as superfluous.
But a good producer or director knows what the writer has done. Months or years prior to production, they've been working together to turn blank paper into living, breathing characters in a real world. The author can be so cavalier on the set because their hard work was done long before anyone else had a job on this project. If the script started as speculative—written first and sold later—then the author has worked more hours on the film than anyone else has or will.
But if the screenwriter faces the blank page, he or she does not face a blank audience. They are writing for other professionals in the business for whom a shorthand has evolved.
INT. NEW YORK APARTMENT—DAY
Brad's studio apartment is as much of a wreck as his life.
That's all the writer needs to include to give those crew members who work so hard during production the picture of what they need to achieve.
Some writers find it hard to learn this shorthand, and I think their work suffers for it. They lack trust in their designers, directors and cast to do the detective work necessary to flush out the details of the world everyone is trying to create. The designers are going to read the entire script. They will know what kind of wreck Brad's life is, and can then apply their talents to reflecting this in the set. No spoon-feeding necessary, and by allowing more input from various sources, the finished product has a depth to it that a spelled out description might lack.
This type of writing, once mastered, can become a lot of fun. All the author need deal with are characters and story—the meat and potatoes. They have a cast, crew and editors to take care of the minutiae. The art of screenwriting is to use the least amount of words to make a clear image pop into the minds of trained, professional, readers—and to be able to make them all see a similar picture.
NOVELS: You're a control freak? You want to be the auteur? Forget about film, become a novelist. Here you are the art department, the cast, crew, editor, director and craft service person picking up the trash—and yet, if you are successful, you will still have to collaborate with editors, marketing people, agents, etc.
The novelist faces a blank page in both the creation and production of the work. All that can be assumed about the audience is that they can read the language that's on the page—and yet, the author has to put the same story into every reader's head. They have no soundtrack. No special effects. No magic of the theatre. Nothing between their brain and their audience's but the written word.
I can tell you, having made a feature film (on film) and written two novels, they are comparable in their tedium. An editor will work for sometimes an hour or more on a single cut of a film that flashes by in one 24th of a second and is never seen by the audience again. An author will do the same with a word in a sentence.
An animator once told me that cartoon characters must blink when they turn their heads, or they don't look real. A novelist once said, "If you use the word 'suddenly' then whatever follows, isn't."
With all of these differences, what I'm finding as I work in the three media is how they are becoming more similar. Modern novels require less description than their 18th-early 20th century counterparts. Perhaps it is because television has shown us so much of the world that the details of exotic locations or people are now common knowledge. Perhaps it's because we have so many ways to fill our free time, that a book had better cut to the chase or it will never compete with the explosions and spectacle of the big screen or video games. What theatre that has been successful lately has been based on movies—just as they used to be based on histories or commonly known tales.
No matter what medium a writer chooses to work in, they seek the same result—resonance. They must touch the audience in a way that it amplifies within them. That's the art of it, and it's the same for all. The craft is what will differ.
Thanks for reading.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)