I had directing class today. Since my professor was shooting something or other, we had an acting session instead, so that we know how to talk to actors and how to work with them and what to look for acting-wise in a script and how to write better scripts in terms of acting. [Jon Lovitz] Acting! [/Jon Lovitz] It was run by Lindsay Crouse, an actress that you would probably recognize even if you didn't know her by name right off the bat. Places in the Heart, The Verdict, and All the President's Men are some of the more high-profile films she's done, but I know her as Professor Walsh from Buffy. She was really cool, very intelligent and articulate, and she also really knows her craft, inside and out. She showed us the method she uses and how to apply that to actors we work with, and even went through one guy's script to make it work in terms of character. It was a really rewarding experience, and we get to have these sessions twice more this semester, which is neat.
Our air conditioner quit working. It puts out air, but on high it barely cools the area in a foot radius around it, so our apartment is just sweltering. Couple that with the heat wave in Los Angeles right now, and it's been a sticky few days. Hopefully they'll fix it soon, if not, I'll have to resign myself to getting four hours a sleep a night. I lay there, thinking about how hot I am. Temperature hot. Maya, you know the context. Shoosh. Then I wake up later, and lay some more thinking about how hot I am. It's not much fun.
I have to pitch story ideas for screenwriting tomorrow. I have one (1) idea thus far. Anyone with movie ideas?
Tuesday, September 3, 2002
Monday, September 2, 2002
So, I was reading Caroline's rant about Angel and Cordelia
and you know, she is so right. But there's another reason why Angel and Cordy should never, ever get together, and the reason's name starts with "w."
Wesley.
Besides being by far my favorite character on Angel (the show, not to be confused with Angel, the large Neanderthal vampire), because of his depth and strength of character and almost noble bearing, Wesley is also the perfect guy for Cordelia. Now, I didn't start watching Buffy until the fifth season, way after Cordelia and Wesley's odd, and played for laughs, UST in the third season. For a lot of people, their awkward kiss while getting ready to battle the Mayor ruined any idea of the two of them as a couple. Luckily for me, I didn't see this until way after I had decided I wanted to see the Wesley and Cordelia ship set sail.
Cordelia is a fun, biting, deeply sarcastic character with an overabundance of joie de vivre. (Well, until recently, when she became Saint Cordelia the Glowy and Blonde, but that's a whole 'nother blog.) Wesley is rather staid, dignified, and quiet. (Well, until recently, when he became Wesley of the Beard Growth and Lilah Shagging, although I rather like that Wesley too.) They balance each other out, both in personality and in strengths and weaknesses. More importantly, though, at least as far as I'm concerned, they're friends. In almost every television romance on pretty much any show, it seems that the becoming friends part is skipped. People meet and instantly fall in love, and it never rings true to me. Sometimes a relationship isn't angsty and romantic and searing passion. Sometimes it's two people who have known each other through the good and the bad, who are friends that care about each other, and just fall into it. That's what I want for Wes and Cordy.
'Cept, it ain't gonna happen. They'll pair her with Angel because his name is the title of the show. Gah.
and you know, she is so right. But there's another reason why Angel and Cordy should never, ever get together, and the reason's name starts with "w."
Wesley.
Besides being by far my favorite character on Angel (the show, not to be confused with Angel, the large Neanderthal vampire), because of his depth and strength of character and almost noble bearing, Wesley is also the perfect guy for Cordelia. Now, I didn't start watching Buffy until the fifth season, way after Cordelia and Wesley's odd, and played for laughs, UST in the third season. For a lot of people, their awkward kiss while getting ready to battle the Mayor ruined any idea of the two of them as a couple. Luckily for me, I didn't see this until way after I had decided I wanted to see the Wesley and Cordelia ship set sail.
Cordelia is a fun, biting, deeply sarcastic character with an overabundance of joie de vivre. (Well, until recently, when she became Saint Cordelia the Glowy and Blonde, but that's a whole 'nother blog.) Wesley is rather staid, dignified, and quiet. (Well, until recently, when he became Wesley of the Beard Growth and Lilah Shagging, although I rather like that Wesley too.) They balance each other out, both in personality and in strengths and weaknesses. More importantly, though, at least as far as I'm concerned, they're friends. In almost every television romance on pretty much any show, it seems that the becoming friends part is skipped. People meet and instantly fall in love, and it never rings true to me. Sometimes a relationship isn't angsty and romantic and searing passion. Sometimes it's two people who have known each other through the good and the bad, who are friends that care about each other, and just fall into it. That's what I want for Wes and Cordy.
'Cept, it ain't gonna happen. They'll pair her with Angel because his name is the title of the show. Gah.
I got an email from my film class TA today, and we have picture lock due the Monday after Thanksgiving. Picture lock, by the way, is when you've finally got the picture of the film edited just the way you want it, and after that's done, you start editing sound. Why does this suck? Because in essence it makes it really difficult for me to go home for the break. Y'see, USC cinema, there's a reason the university doesn't have classes on Thanksgiving and the day after, and it's so people can go home. So when you have something like that due immediately following, and people have to edit on campus, and they live in sodding Kansas, it makes it rather difficult! Gah.
So much anger! I really need some chocolate.
So much anger! I really need some chocolate.
Sunday, September 1, 2002
Oh dear sweet mother of Buddha (Maya, that's you); it is frelling hot here in LA. Earlier today it was, like, 110 degrees. Which is far too hot. You can make hot chocolate with milk that temperature, and that's how hot the air is. Hee, I had to edit because I used the word "hot" about seven times in that last sentence.
Caroline and I went to go see "Signs" again last night, viewing number three for me. I tried to write directly afterwards, but I had too much brewing around in my head to be able to articulate it clearly. Now, hopefully, I'll be able to get on paper (metaphorically speaking) what it is that hits me so strongly about this movie.
Mel Gibson's character, Graham Hess, was a reverend, but packed away the cloth when his wife was hit by a truck while walking and died. Six months later, a casual observer might think that he was handling things quite well. His younger brother, Merrill, has moved in with him to help with his two children, and they seem to have set up a nice family unit. But you can see the weight in Graham's face, in his eyes. He's tired, and he's lost, and I got the very real sense that he's not sure anymore how to fulfill the obligation he has to take care of and comfort his children and, to some extent, his brother. See, Graham hasn't lost his faith. He still believes in God, he just hates Him. His entire life had been built around his loyalty to God and to his family, and he feels betrayed. So when a crop circle appears in his backyard, when lights appear in the sky, and when an alien appears in a neighbor's pantry, it isn't a miracle or a revelation or a sign to Graham, not like it is for everyone else.
The alien invasion is only a device, albeit a creepy, well-done device, to isolate Graham and his family. The idea is to strip everything away; he's already lost his wife and his trust in God, and now he loses everything else besides his children and brother, all waiting for Graham to tell them words that will make their fear go away. But Graham doesn't have any comforting platitudes. When talking to Merrill on the couch the night the alien ships first showed up, he tells Merrill that there is no one watching out for us, and that there is no meaning to any of this. His wife's dying words were drivel, and she ended up bleeding out between a truck and a tree, and the lights in the sky aren't a miracle or a harbinger of doom, they just are.
Things get worse for Graham. On the final night of the invasion, the Hesses board up their home. In the middle of this, Graham decides that rather than grabbing a quick bite to eat, they should all have whatever they want, no matter how extravagent or time consuming to prepare. He decides this in the manner of a man on death row deciding to really enjoy his final meal. Graham doesn't think they're going to survive, so why not have French toast? Everyone else eventually realizes this, and they sit solemn at the table, not willing to dig in. Graham becomes manic, refusing to pray, to pray to a God that would abandon him with no clue of how to go on. Later, boarding up the last doors, he tells each of his children stories of their births. I haven't completely sussed this out yet, because these are beautiful moments between a father and his child. To tell them how precious they are, how unique, or even as a last ditch attempt at comfort and calming, I don't know what the purpose was, but it's too late. The aliens are in the house, and they finally have to sequester themselves in the basement, in the dark. After a long, tense night and Morgan's terrifying asthma attack, the Hesses come back upstairs, sure that everything is back to normal.
Then a lone alien grabs Morgan, ready to spray poison gas in his face. This is the climax of the film, but more importantly it is the turning point for Graham. He remembers the last thing his wife said to him, "Tell Graham to see." And he does see. He sees that his son's lungs are closed to the gas, he sees the toxic glasses of water his daughter has left on every flat surface, and he sees the bat his brother once used to belt a ball 507 feet. These facts are important to resolve the plot and defeat the alien, but they're not all that Graham sees. Maybe things are meant to be, and maybe they aren't. Maybe there's a reason Merrill couldn't make it to the majors, because otherwise he wouldn't be at home with his bat. Maybe there's a reason Morgan has asthma, because otherwise he would breathe in the gas. Maybe there's a reason Bo can't finish a glass of water and has premonitions in her dreams, because otherwise the alien would be almost unstoppable. Maybe it's fate, or God. But maybe it isn't. Maybe these all are just coincidences.
Graham sees that just because things happen for no apparent reason doesn't mean that he's alone, that he was betrayed. Losing his faith in God made him feel as though there was no one watching out for him, no one there for him. But he sees that he isn't alone; he has two children and a brother that have these amazing things inside of them that in any other situation might be seen as faults or foibles or harmless quirks. But when the world and everything in it fades away, when the television and radios quit working, when alien ships descend from the heavens, Graham sees that he already has everything he could ever want or need, right in front of him.
Throughout the film we see the outline of where a cross used to hang on the wall, and we see the same imprint on Graham. He's thrown away the trappings of his faith, the cross and the collar, but he still carries it with him, in his eyes and in the slump of his shoulders. At the end of the film, however, he's put up pictures of his family on the wall where the cross had hung. Not because his family has managed to restore his faith in God, although that's true in its own right. No, his family hangs because they are what saved him, not just his life but his spirit. He puts the collar back on, ready to face the world again. He knows now that sometimes everything comes together, and sometimes everything falls apart, but he will always see that it's not just random sparks or pointless occurances, but instead the beautiful unpredictability of life in all its twists and glory.
Mel Gibson's character, Graham Hess, was a reverend, but packed away the cloth when his wife was hit by a truck while walking and died. Six months later, a casual observer might think that he was handling things quite well. His younger brother, Merrill, has moved in with him to help with his two children, and they seem to have set up a nice family unit. But you can see the weight in Graham's face, in his eyes. He's tired, and he's lost, and I got the very real sense that he's not sure anymore how to fulfill the obligation he has to take care of and comfort his children and, to some extent, his brother. See, Graham hasn't lost his faith. He still believes in God, he just hates Him. His entire life had been built around his loyalty to God and to his family, and he feels betrayed. So when a crop circle appears in his backyard, when lights appear in the sky, and when an alien appears in a neighbor's pantry, it isn't a miracle or a revelation or a sign to Graham, not like it is for everyone else.
The alien invasion is only a device, albeit a creepy, well-done device, to isolate Graham and his family. The idea is to strip everything away; he's already lost his wife and his trust in God, and now he loses everything else besides his children and brother, all waiting for Graham to tell them words that will make their fear go away. But Graham doesn't have any comforting platitudes. When talking to Merrill on the couch the night the alien ships first showed up, he tells Merrill that there is no one watching out for us, and that there is no meaning to any of this. His wife's dying words were drivel, and she ended up bleeding out between a truck and a tree, and the lights in the sky aren't a miracle or a harbinger of doom, they just are.
Things get worse for Graham. On the final night of the invasion, the Hesses board up their home. In the middle of this, Graham decides that rather than grabbing a quick bite to eat, they should all have whatever they want, no matter how extravagent or time consuming to prepare. He decides this in the manner of a man on death row deciding to really enjoy his final meal. Graham doesn't think they're going to survive, so why not have French toast? Everyone else eventually realizes this, and they sit solemn at the table, not willing to dig in. Graham becomes manic, refusing to pray, to pray to a God that would abandon him with no clue of how to go on. Later, boarding up the last doors, he tells each of his children stories of their births. I haven't completely sussed this out yet, because these are beautiful moments between a father and his child. To tell them how precious they are, how unique, or even as a last ditch attempt at comfort and calming, I don't know what the purpose was, but it's too late. The aliens are in the house, and they finally have to sequester themselves in the basement, in the dark. After a long, tense night and Morgan's terrifying asthma attack, the Hesses come back upstairs, sure that everything is back to normal.
Then a lone alien grabs Morgan, ready to spray poison gas in his face. This is the climax of the film, but more importantly it is the turning point for Graham. He remembers the last thing his wife said to him, "Tell Graham to see." And he does see. He sees that his son's lungs are closed to the gas, he sees the toxic glasses of water his daughter has left on every flat surface, and he sees the bat his brother once used to belt a ball 507 feet. These facts are important to resolve the plot and defeat the alien, but they're not all that Graham sees. Maybe things are meant to be, and maybe they aren't. Maybe there's a reason Merrill couldn't make it to the majors, because otherwise he wouldn't be at home with his bat. Maybe there's a reason Morgan has asthma, because otherwise he would breathe in the gas. Maybe there's a reason Bo can't finish a glass of water and has premonitions in her dreams, because otherwise the alien would be almost unstoppable. Maybe it's fate, or God. But maybe it isn't. Maybe these all are just coincidences.
Graham sees that just because things happen for no apparent reason doesn't mean that he's alone, that he was betrayed. Losing his faith in God made him feel as though there was no one watching out for him, no one there for him. But he sees that he isn't alone; he has two children and a brother that have these amazing things inside of them that in any other situation might be seen as faults or foibles or harmless quirks. But when the world and everything in it fades away, when the television and radios quit working, when alien ships descend from the heavens, Graham sees that he already has everything he could ever want or need, right in front of him.
Throughout the film we see the outline of where a cross used to hang on the wall, and we see the same imprint on Graham. He's thrown away the trappings of his faith, the cross and the collar, but he still carries it with him, in his eyes and in the slump of his shoulders. At the end of the film, however, he's put up pictures of his family on the wall where the cross had hung. Not because his family has managed to restore his faith in God, although that's true in its own right. No, his family hangs because they are what saved him, not just his life but his spirit. He puts the collar back on, ready to face the world again. He knows now that sometimes everything comes together, and sometimes everything falls apart, but he will always see that it's not just random sparks or pointless occurances, but instead the beautiful unpredictability of life in all its twists and glory.