Truth And Lies

The difference between great writing and shoddy writing isn’t about grammar, spelling or technique, it is the difference between truth and lies.

On a superficial level we can be deceived by those who tell lies to us; but, in fact, on a deep level we always, always know we’re being lied to. The difficultly isn’t that people tell lies, it’s that for our own reason we often chose to ignore what we truly know and decide to believe the lies. (How many times have each of us, when presented with overwhelming evidence of a loved one’s deception, said “deep down I knew.” We always know.

The real art in writing then, is to find enough quiet in your life, so you can tune into the truth. Not in order to make you a better person, but to make you a better writer.

Because, just as we can tell the difference between people who lie to us (pretty much everyone, all of the time) and those who tell the truth (exceeding rare) … then at the same time we can tell the difference between writing that’s based on deep human truths (again very rare) and that which is based on lies (pretty much all of it).

Good writing rings true.

This really follows on from yesterday’s post, because if our intention is to uncover the truth in our story, then we have some slim chance of creating something special, but if our intention is merely to create caricatures in order to make money, or to make a sale, then we are doomed to failure.

The real act of creation then, isn’t so much creating a set of fantasy characters, so much as uncovering our own vulnerabilities on the paper. As has been said on many occasions, all a writer needs to do is sit down at the typewriter and bleed onto the pages.

However, truth and self indulgence are not the same thing. But that’s a different post for a different day.

Intention Is Everything

What’s the difference between “House” and “Shark?”

They are both TV shows about unpleasant but brilliant loners, who get the job done, but who piss off everyone around them.

They are also both fronted by great actors.

However, where House is a truly exceptional show, Shark is limp in comparison.

And this is my theory.

With House a writer somewhere sat down and had a brilliant idea for both a central character and a show. They wrote it, pitched and a producer somewhere got behind the whole idea.

Whereas with Shark, my gut feeling is an exec somewhere went to a producer and said “Hey, how about we do House, but with lawyers! Find us some writers and let’s thrash it out”

Now, both programmes use the same structures, the same character dynamics, even the same shooting styles and yet one is much, much stronger than the other. Which when you think about it, isn’t logical. If they use the same techniques, they should both be incredible.

But, here’s the big truth about screen writing, or any creative process: the truth is when your intention is to create, then you have a reasonable shot at doing something good, but when your intention is to recreate success by blindly applying a formula, then you are doomed, not to failure, but to mediocrity.

Independent film makers and spec screen writers generally make two mistakes — one is a complete failure to understand that structure and technique are essential parts of the creative process — the other key mistake they make is to believe that blind use of formula alone will bring success.

This is the reason most spec scripts are appallingly knock offs of other movies/TV shows. They lack both technique and the drive to create something original.

This is the reason the the life of the screenwriter/indie producer is so hard. It’s not the lack of money, or even the living on your wits — it’s the relentless struggle to combine good technique with original ideas.

Deferred Payments In Micro-Budget Films

One way in which penniless filmmakers have turned micro-budgets into workable budgets, is by offering deferments.
A deferment is when you agree to pay the cast member or crew member the scale fee for the work they do on the film, as and when it goes into profit.
On paper this seems to solve a lot of production problems. Firstly, both you and the talent feel like they’re not working for free and the whole thing feels more professional.
Secondly, by taking the contract, the crew member or cast member becomes contractually bound to the project, exactly the same way they would on a waged project. You and they have agreed a fee for their labour; they are “under contract’ to complete the work as agreed.
And finally, when the distributors ask your for the budget on the production, instead of saying $1000, by adding in your deferments, you can legitimately say “Hey, it came out at just over $700,000.”
It sounds like a win, win, win situation.
The only problem is this…

EVERYONE ONE IN THE INDUSTRY KNOWS DEFERMENT MEANS:

YOU WILL NEVER, NEVER, EVER GET PAID!!!

So, at their core everyone knows deferments are a lie — and the truth is, even when everyone knows they are a lie and chose to go along with the lie, at some point down the road they’re going to forget they knew it was a lie and just call you, the producer, a liar.
Not only that, they’ll have a piece of paper which proves that you’re a liar.

On the $1000 movie there won’t be any deferments. Simply because I’d rather ask people to work for free, on the understanding that I’ll move heaven and hell to turn out a film they’ll be proud to have worked on, and on the understanding that if the film ever does make any money we’ll throw the best party we can with the cash that we make. Whether that’s a week long yacht party at Cannes (because the money really came in) or bag of chips and a can of lager all round, if the whole thing bombs.

In an industry full of BS merchants who promise big and deliver small, I’ve found it’s always better to do it the other way round.

In this game it always pays for your mouth to be smaller than your wallet. (Which means at the moment I have the smallest mouth of any producer in the world).

But, unlike sex, in the world of $1000 film making it REALLY isn’t about how big it is, it IS about what you do with it.

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