As I edge towards the midpoint of my rewrite on Sam Bailey, I was confronted with some compelling reasons why the whole thing might just sink under it's own weight.  Because this blog is about the process of building my career, and because I'm hoping to explore whether or not Sam Bailey is legitimately a good movie, I'm going to air some dirty laundry...

Yesterday, I went to see a film with my friend Gerard.  One night prior, we got together to watch Let the Right One In, a Swedish vampire film which we'd both been anticipating, and which I recommend to anyone who loves cinema.  While we were there, we had the opportunity to meet a warm, gracious filmmaker (who shall remain nameless*) who was there grass-roots promoting his new independent release (which will also go unnamed*).  Both Gerard and I agreed to catch the film the next day, and that's what brings me to my current little conundrum:

One of the film's most pressing flaws was the action of the film, which was an unstructured series of short-term goals achieved without serious effort, peppered with weightless windfalls and moments of serendipity.  In this film, character was used to drive catchy one-liners told over appealingly fatty dinners, instead of a transformative experience.  With reflection and the benefit of Gerard's insight, I've come to see this kind of actor's indulgence (and yes, the film's star was also the writer, director, and producer) as a consequence of how Quentin Tarantino has made scenes about eating cool.

Thing is, about 50% of Sam Bailey takes place over meals.

Am I falling prey to the lure of loving my characters so much, I don't want to challenge them?

At first glance, I can say no.  At first glance my scenes are not about eating.  At first glance, the food is just an excuse to bring characters together, which causes confrontation on any number of levels.  At first glance, my movie's conflict comes from how the characters challenge each other, and they keep coming together to challenge one another through the rituals and rites of daily life.   Moonstruck, right

Here's the problem.  Gerard brought up the valid point that in Reservoir Dogs, Quentin's famous diner scene serves to build tension to a shootout, and that juxtaposition is why it works.  In Death Proof, Gerard argues, the same technique falls apart because the action isn't as climactic and it takes too long to get there.

Was the chit-chat in Death Proof about something other than being in a bar, having fun?  Was that the real reason it wasn't as engaging?  Or is Gerard right?  I don't know!

Gerard might be right.  If he is, Sam Bailey will not work.  I have no shootout.  Like the film I just saw, Sam Bailey aspires to use snappy dialogue and comic character dynamics to build to a character drama, rather than some kind of thriller.

Having just written this, I think I'm on the right track.  Lack of compelling objectives behind the story is a pretty big problem for a movie to have.  In short, I know what story I'm telling.  If I take my time getting there, that time needs to be justified by the needs of the characters.  So long as that's the case, I'm not railroading myself into bad movieland.

Right?  Right?

These are the issues that make writing so important to film, and these are the embarrassing reasons why writing is best done privately.




* Notice to regular readers:  I have no journalistic integrity, beyond telling the truth.  If anyone wants to avoid this film (and all the agonizing frustration and self-doubt that came out of watching it), shoot me a personal e-mail and I'll let you know which one it was.  I'm not about to make life harder for other struggling filmmakers.

In this business, our flaws are recorded and screened for all the world to see.  While I certainly have my judgments on how those flaws are presented, and I'm happy to point out craft and excellence when I see it, I'm not a film critic.  My critical insights are for the benefit of my own work, and for those who ask for my help.  Can you dig it?