Positive opinions

It’s easy to criticise.

But who am I? How do we know I'm not an idiot?

Well, frankly, we don't. And neither do I, no matter how many times I ask.

And I’ll admit my blogs so far have been about picking things apart, questioning perceptions, finding things that frustrate or repel me and wagging my finger at them. So I thought I’d start today by talking about a bunch of arty things I've enjoyed recently.

Misfits. If you haven’t seen this UK TV show at all, do check it out. A bunch of reject community service teens are granted superpowers by circumstance and feel compelled to try to do the right thing. They rarely DO do the right thing, but that’s the whole fun of the show. It’s just finished its final season (five total) and I’ve loved almost every minute of it. From clever horror to ridiculous conversations about pick n’ mix and shagging a tortoise, this is one of my favourite TV series ever.

Captain America: The Winter Soldier. I joined Twitter recently (I’m a man of the times) and my first pearl of wisdom was: Captain America: The Winter Soldier is like being punched in the face by fun over and over again. And that pretty much sums it up. So much better than the first movie, which I felt lost a lot of its oomph after the first act, it consistently surprises and entertains in all the ways an action adventure should. It makes Cap as interesting as I’ve ever found him as he battles with the idea of grey morality and bounds from fight to fight with a good balance of humour and pathos.

Chuck Wendig’s blog. http://terribleminds.com/ramble/blog/

This guy is a swearing, imagery-slinging novelist who’s blog I recently stumbled across in search for inspiration for my own. He has a number of his own short stories up on the site, along with loads of articles and interviews about writing and creativity. He is eloquent in a violent sort of way and his views are sharp and refreshing. Plus he’s written quite a few successful books so he’s obviously doing something right.

Peter Clines. http://thoth-amon.blogspot.com.au/

This guy is one of my two favourite novelists of this century and is definitely one of my all-time favourite writers. His series Ex-Heroes is nothing short of kick-arse, and his blog is full of inspiring, no-nonsense, funny insights into the creative process of prose and screenwriters. He is one of only a handful of novelists who has never written a sentence I found boring.

The Lego Movie. Movies so awesome don’t come along very often, but this one was cool and slick and knew exactly what it was doing the whole way through. It never missed an opportunity or dropped the story ball, and I laughed like a broken record. Two hearty claw-hands up.

The West Wing. I once went to a Q & A with one of the ex-writing staff on this show. He said that although it was a fantastic show to work on, Aaron Sorkin, the show’s creator, was a terrorising dictator with a rock star ego. He apparently assumed all credit for all episodes, rewrote the other writers constantly and basically saw himself as a word-god. For many years I avoided all Sorkin shows based on this character profile. Then I saw The Newsroom accidentally and became enamoured. Such a brilliant show, seriously. And you can see where West Wing is a big step in that direction. I’m currently into season four and still enjoying the cyclical conversations and wily idealism Sorkin is so good at. Still not sure if he’s a dick. Good writer, though.

So that’s my praise for stuff. And there is a lot more where that came from. I just wanted to give the positive stuff some air time. Because it is easy to criticise. Much too easy for some. Even easier because of the internet. Its like we all think that a voice you can hear is a voice worth listening to. But at the risk of being negative, I think that's stupid. Because all opinions are not created equal.

But I'll leave that for next time because this week is all about being positive. Now go like some art.

Why the world needs art

There are two types of people in the world. Those who make it possible to live here and those who make it worth living here.

You can't have one without the other.

Why do you think it is that the most famous, the most idolised, the most widely revered people on earth are all entertainers? Scientists don’t have massive fan clubs. Even the cancer-curing ones. They don’t trend as often or get as many hits. They don’t get in the news every day.

But Miley Cyrus does. So do the Kardashians.

And while it’s hard to classify reality TV and certain publicity stunts as art, they do fall into the category of entertainment that is expressing something. So, technically, art is what they are. Even if only because they fulfill our basic emotional need to feel good about ourselves by watching others fail.

So why do we work all week, wearing ourselves out, to earn money in reliable jobs that don't necessarily make us happy, and then spend it all on movies, music, and some food and booze to wash it all down with?

Because we need art. We love art. Without music life would be unbearable. Without stories we would curl up and die. Because humans are defined by their stories. By their art. It's what separates us from the rest of the animals. We tell each other stories to make life worth living.

So why do we all think artists are lazy for not getting real jobs? Why is a ‘real job’ defined as something that is guaranteed to benefit the doer, that takes no risks in keeping them comfortable, when a ‘real job’ should be defined by how it benefits everyone else? Like a nurse. Or a charity worker. Or a philosopher. Or an artist.

Why do we get angry at them for chasing things that aren’t guaranteed? For trying when they might fail? Why would they strive to make something meaningful when they could just sit, safe and sound, in front of their TVs and criticize people for trying stuff that might not work?

All good questions.

I think it's because it's scary to hope and it's easy to despair. I think it’s because it's hard to risk failure and easy to guarantee mediocrity. I think it’s because it’s foolish to act on courage without knowing things will work out. Brave is only brave if you know everything will work out in the end. Apparently.

So we hate the people who have the balls to try. And its not like artists have exclusivity on this. Loads of people do jobs with no guarantees. But NO artist works with a guarantee. Not in the same way that an engineer might, or a gardener might, or a liquor store clerk might.

We resent artists in particular because deep down we know we need art as much as anything else. From the ladies gossiping about the latest celeb scandal, to the scientists turning up the Bach as they study the universe. And the reason we get angry at artists - call them deluded and lazy - is because we know they've chosen the harder option. The option that has all the work of 'real jobs' with much fewer guarantees. The option we couldn't so even if we did have every guarantee.

We recognise the need in ourselves to have stories and art and music. Because this is what connects us. It's what we work for. What we wait for. What gives us hope when hope seems foolish. When we need courage. This is what makes the world turn.

So if you think it’s not a real job to try to make things better. To make art and give hope and bring new ideas to the world, then maybe you should turn off your TV, stop listening to music and going to the movies – and see how you deal with your life then. See how long it takes before you lose your way, or your will. Because making art is just as hard as building a house or balancing accounts. And we need it like we need houses. Like we need medicine. Like we need air.

Because we all know deep down that there are two types of people in the world. And we need both kinds for the world to work.

Unless you think surviving is the same as living. Then you're on your own.

Structure-phobia

For some writers, structure is a dirty word. It is boring and restrictive and the polar opposite of creativity. They might admit that there are certain patterns in the human psyche and the logic of the universe, but they would never intentionally ‘impose’ structure upon their stories, lest they lose their magical essence.

I find this slightly ridiculous. Stories don’t work because they’re magic. They work because they play with human psychology to expose beautiful truths about the human experience. I think a fear of structure is really just a lack of understanding of human psychology. Because if you understand human psychology, you know pretty well why a story point moves you, why a character is interesting, why one story doesn't work but another one does. There is, as ever, an unknown quantity that floats at the heart of any brilliant artwork, but again, this is simply the magic we don’t understand yet. Good writing means peering behind the curtain at all the best magicians’ blueprints and using them to make your own magic. Bad writing is watching magic shows then putting your hand into a hat over and over again until you pull out a rabbit.

People often think coming up with ideas is the hard part of writing. It’s not. Shaping the idea into something that makes sense and means something to other people is what is hard. A writer who doesn’t use structure is grabbing ideas out of the air and saying, “Look at what I did.” But anyone can grab ideas out of the air. Only good writers can shape them into something meaningful. And that requires tools.

And these tools aren't strait jackets. They can’t tell you who your characters are or what they have to do. They merely outline patterns of emotion; stages of learning; the undeniable framework of the human mind. These structures are fundamental to human behaviour, to human society, to every level of human existence, and ignoring them means ignoring the things that makes stories – and people – so magical.

Is it depressing to writers that almost every character in a story has to be either male or female? Is it restrictive to know that the human mind goes through five stages of response when something upsets it? Is it creatively stifling to break human learning down into Unconscious Ineptitude, Conscious Ineptitude, Conscious Aptitude and Unconscious Aptitude?

No, it’s not. Because humans are all about stories and stories are all about humans. The limitations of one are the limitations of the other. Every so often an individual will go off course and do something completely unpredictable – but it always has an explanation that fits a pattern or structure from the world as we know it.

So why is it so hard for structure-phobes to deal with the idea that a story should have three acts – a beginning, middle, and end? Or a hero’s journey? Or a ‘saving the cat’? Isn’t that pretty much every story, every anecdote, every joke ever told?

Knock, knock (Call to adventure)

Who’s there? (answering the call)

Cash (new world)

Cash who? (adapting to new world)

No thanks, I like peanuts. (resolution/catharsis/lesson learned i.e. “Don’t answer knock-knock jokes”)

I challenge anyone to compare the Snyder Beat Sheet or the Hero's Journey to any popular story and not be convinced. From Aesop’s fables to gossip, every good story contains inherent structures. Ebbs and flows. Ups and downs. They are the reason stories work. And good writers are using them whether they’re aware of it or not.

The next argument from a structure-phobe is usually that the need for structure in stories is predicated on the fact that stories need to have lessons. Many structure-phobes reject the idea that stories need lessons. My argument to this is that a story without a lesson isn't a story, it’s an incident report.

There is a reason why other people’s dreams are usually boring and anecdotes are only worth telling if they ‘have a point’. If a story is just as chaotic and incoherent as everyday life, then what is it providing us that life cannot? 

The point of stories is to shape life experience into truths that we can take back with us into the real world. If we don’t come out of a story feeling changed in some way, then that story has failed. Like an anecdote that ‘went nowhere’ or someone else’s dream. A story without structure isn't a story because stories always ‘go somewhere’.

Another argument I hear is that structure impedes character, and ‘good stories are all based on character’. But I’d argue that this is exactly what these structures do. From Blake Snyder’s Beat Sheet (from the fantastic Save the Cat) to Christopher Volger’s A Hero’s Journey and Aristotle’s Poetics, all good story structure models are based on the patterns of human character. All they do is quantify the rhythm and patterns of the human mind (as it relates to story) that we've known for years. Their use can only help to strengthen character because they act as a foundation for believable human response in any given situation. And believable characters are what we want because we will listen to the lessons they have to teach us.

The final gambit of the structure-phobe is to say that they don’t want their character to follow normal patterns of human behaviour. They want them to be unique. They want them to do this really cool thing they just thought of. That’s why the writer can’t use structures. Well, I’m sorry, but nobody is so unique a human being that they cease to be a human being. And if you want human beings to enjoy or even understand your story then you HAVE to follow believable patterns of human response. It’s how you play with the minutiae of these responses that makes your characters unique. So stop just writing something ‘because it’s cool’ and start doing it because it’s meaningful to other humans.

So that’s my rant for the day. Structure is king because character is king because meaning is king. If you’re still on the fence about it take a look at the work of Blake Snyder, Christopher Volger, and Robert McKee. Read through their books; get to understand where these terrible creativity-crushing structures come from and you’ll realise that peering behind the curtain doesn't destroy the magic, it makes you a magician.

Sequels = re-gifting?

I’d like to talk about sequels.

Sequels are what happens when a movie is successful. They are a continuation of a story that may or may not have been intended for continuation. Sometimes they are good. Sometimes they are the other thing. Sometimes we feel like they’re totally justified, sometimes we wonder why the hell we’re getting a fourth movie about pirates who are now, by the way, having all the magics. Whether or not we feel they are justified, there is one justification no one can argue with.

Sequels get made when originals make money, to the point that getting butts in seats is more important than actually making a worthy second movie. All a sequel needs to do is promise the effect of the original and people will pay to see it. Delivering on that promise is not a requirement.

‘The flop’ is not a new concept. Every movie runs the risk of not making money. But it seems that over the last few decades movies have changed in how they deal with risk by sticking to what they know.

When you look at all the blockbusters - the family movies, the animations, the films that pull the crowds and get the press – they all now seem to have one thing in common. They’ve been done before. They’re books of films. Or comics. Or remakes or reboots. The only original films seem to be the indies, the Rom-Coms and the thrillers. Though a lot of those come from books too.

And it’s all about the risk. Basically, film companies don’t want to take any. If they can find a story that’s already been told, that people already love, they can have a guaranteed audience before they even decide on the story. Why risk paying a writer to spend a year on a script, then pay a director and actors and a film crew for another year to shoot a film, then promote the film, all to simply ‘see how it goes’? Business doesn’t work that way (says the Arts major).

And why take risks on ‘unknown quantities’ when you've got thirty years of popular cartoons, forty years of popular TV, eighty years of popular comics, and fifteen years of popular films that can all be remade and then remade again. ‘Giving it a new spin’, ‘taking it to a new place’, ‘exploring new territory’ – they’re all code for ‘we’re making something we already know you’ll like’.

Part of the problem is the idea of ‘giving the audience what they want’. As technology accelerates, audiences want to see their favourite characters up on screen again, in more vivid colour, in more epic adventures, with better CGI and bigger explosions, played by their latest celebrity crush. But all the best writers and directors and producers know that audiences are not writers or directors or producers. They are audiences. And what an audience wants ultimately does not matter as much as what they need.

And what they need is to be challenged.  To be engaged. To be shaken up. Because stories only matter when they change us. Even in the tiniest way. A movie that doesn't change us is a waste of time.

But some sequels do change us. So do some remakes. The Lego Movie is one of the best movies I’ve seen in a while and it has the same marketing origins as the Transformers series and Barbie and the Mermaids of Mermaidia.

What makes it special is its original story.

And some movies have the conceptual depth to justify more stories. The Toy Story’s are great examples, as are the 28 Days/Weeks Later films. Both worked perfectly well as solo outings but had enough success, and contained enough story potential, to spawn strong sequels. Even Sister Act 2 and Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey are worthy successors, in my opinion.

But it’s the movies that strain to be sequels that are the problem. The ones try to repeat the ‘magic’ of the original instead of finding fresh souls of their own. Cars 2, The Transformers movies, the Pirates of the Caribbean sequels were all parasitic growths on the backs of their predecessors, with few original stories to tell. They tried to give the audiences what they wanted – ‘more of the same’ - without giving thought to what they needed: something new.

And therein lies the problem. How can you give more of something new?

Granted, both the Transformers and Pirates films did very well at the box office. And a lot of people can watch all eight without feeling too underwhelmed. But these people still comment on the reduction in quality between the original and the sequels in both series. It makes me wonder if they like the sequels on their own merits, or merely because they let them re-enter the world they loved so much in movie number one.

One film company that seems to buck this trend is Pixar. Since Toy Story in 1995 (I know, right? A whole year after The Lion King) they have managed to bring us original stories again and again. That’s nearly 20 years of successfully original storytelling, and similar returns at the box office.

Though, there have been some dips in their success. With the exception of the Toy Story’s – and now Monsters University – Pixar films began to suffer when they start worrying more about what the audience wants than what they need.

Cars 2 was an attempt to recapture the glory of Cars. I don’t have loads of love for either film, but the first was much more well received than the second (paradoxically, or perhaps predictably, the second has grossed more worldwide). And as for the recent ‘moderate successes’ of Brave, Planes, and my personal problems with Frozen, my theory is that these recent films have all suffered, not from sequelitis, but from having too many cooks.

Various podcasts and interviews appear to indicate that from Brave onward Pixar changed its attitude about audience screenings. These are preview screenings of unfinished versions of a film to gauge audience response and adjust a film accordingly before the final release.

I’m delving into conjecture here, but my theory is that around the time Pixar merged with Disney (I’m still not sure which bought who) test screenings became more numerous, and so did preemptive changes to improve box office response. This is why I feel Brave, Planes, Wreck-It-Ralph and Frozen all seem sort of cobbled together and generally not as impressive as Wall-E, The Incredibles and Toy Story. As if too many people were being given what they wanted so no one got what they needed.

Though, in that sense, I speak entirely for myself. I know loads of people that think Planes has a great story, Frozen has good female role models, Wreck-It-Ralph has a lovable hero, and Brave has a second act. So maybe giving people what they want isn't that bad after all.

But I still worry about the idea of the guarantee. Not that filmmakers need it to invest in million dollar projects, but that they seem to think original stories won’t provide it for them.

Or maybe that’s it. It’s not that original stories won’t get butts in seats.We know original stories make money. Avatar is the highest grossing film of all time and that’s original (except that it is kind of like Pocahontas) and Titanic is the second highest, and that was original (except the part where we knew how it would end). I was going to say here that original stories still get butts in seats, it’s just harder than using a cardboard cut-out.

But I've just taken another look at the top grossing films of all time, which include The Avengers, Harry Potter Part 8, Frozen, Iron Man 3, Skyfall and The Dark Knight Rises. Despite my general point of view, I’m still surprised to find that the top 18 films are all sequels or book/comic adaptations. With the possible exception of Avatar at the number one spot, there are no original movies until we get to number 19, which is The Lion King.

I’m not sure what that says about us as film goers. I know that the ‘highest grossing films ever’ list has almost no correlation to the ‘most critically-acclaimed films ever’ list. But I wonder if that matters.

Either way, it’s clear these trends are not about risk after all. They’re about effort. Loss vs gain. Creation vs recycling. Gift vs Re-Gift.

And that’s all it comes down to. Sequels can be good if they have something new to say, but why make something new when you can make something comfortable? Its really up to us ticket-buyers as to how the trend continues. So I guess the question now is: would you rather watch a safe movie or a great movie?

Because you can’t have both.

Except for the Matrix sequels, obviously. Everyone loves those.