Prognosis of a Movie Unmade
by Michael Steven Gregory
It's a matter best left to personal deliberation, why anyone elects to tackle the daunting task of making a movie. Whether short, feature-length, independent or otherwise, the process of getting a movie "in the can" is generally shared by all, i.e. getting the script, getting the money, getting the people and getting it done. The intangible quest for dreams and the hard, cold reality of business are the ingredients for our concoction called art. And the gratification of being part of the little civilizations of disassociated individuals who band together to build something from nothing--to turn "money into light," as director John Boorman said--can be immeasurable.
This is the first installment of a periodic series in which we will address four crucial factors of producing a successful, cohesive and coherent filmatic story: Script; Pre-production; Production; Post-production. Funding and Distribution are altogether different beasts. My definition of "successful" is having a completed project that: 1) Does not lose its audience because of lackadaisical storytelling or esoteric overkill; 2) Does not lose its audience because of technical oversight or inadequacy; and 3) Does not lose its audience! Inherent to the process are hurdles so contestable as to cause division and angst and remorse for all involved. High among them is ego.
Ego impedes progress. Ego weighs on the backs of those who bitch and moan and belabor lack of opportunity and the absence of possibility. Rife in them is an ego resolute in its notion that things can definitely change--just as long as they don't have to share the credit in having changed them. The result? Stories without riddles; films full of technical lackluster; projects which reek of promise, but deliver only disappointment.
Successful scriptwriting, a shrewd balance of words and plot and characters and action, is in itself no meager achievement. The ability to motivate a reader/agent/producer/prospective investor/director/actor to turn from one written page to the next, then deliver on expectations roused--that is what the business of writing screenplays is all about. Before any script is made a visual, viable commodity, it is first read. Having optioned or sold outright a respectable number of scripts over the course of fifteen years as a professional storyteller, I can honestly state that I have not made some of the greatest movies of all time, nor some of the worst, for that matter, for any number of reasons imaginable.
None of them, however, is because I refused to allow people better experienced than myself to build on the framework provided by my scripts. Although a good script provides the substance from which a movie is built, performance of talent, technical execution, editing and innumerable other bright and subtle contributions in every facet of production, funneled through the singular vision of a perceptive director, is what makes a good movie.
An additional reason for this series? We in San Diego's independent production community are fortunate in that we're surrounded by resources. Resources ranging from an expanding infrastructure of equipment and service facilities to myriad location possibilities. This, buttressed by a vast pool of talent and craftspeople eager to work with projects of merit, and the simply obvious, irrefutable fact that we're only two-hours away from the world's movie-making kingdom. What we don't have can be got in a hurry. By successfully cultivating these resources, by cleverly exploiting the best they have to offer, it is clearly possible that we can together complete one quality production that will facilitate means to produce yet another production. Then, still, another.
Production means work. Work means opportunity to learn new skills. Acquiring new skills means being able to focus in and hone a craft that makes you valuable. Being valuable can make you indispensable. And indispensability spells w-o-r-k!
Where does ego fit in?
No any one individual can shift the dynamics of independent film production enough to benefit the needs of a great many San Diego production artists. It will take the concentrated labor of many people working together to see a project through completion that is successful enough to tip the balance in such a way that makes funding and distribution readily obtainable. In this way, much like the collaborative art of the medium itself, through the accomplishments of a handful the dreams of the many are realized.
Dashiell Hammett's character, Sam Spade, called the elusive statuette in The Maltese Falcon, "The stuff dreams are made of." The mettle of these dreams is being forged right now. In the next issue, we start finding our own black bird.