This is a short essay about why I hate technology. It came from a discussion during one of Claudia's theory seminars. I had to get some of this stuff out there.
BARGAINING
Mankind has built barriers and set boundaries around itself for a reason. We have clearly forgotten why. It would seem these barriers are beginning to break down. Some would argue that the barriers are there to keep the many imprisoned in their primitive beliefs and close their minds to the idea of the possibilities in science. The argument between science and religion shall exist for as long as men and women dominate the planet, but the answer is not so clear cut as to who is right and who is wrong. Sometimes the argument extends beyond a mere ideological debate and tussle for control between the two opposing sides. I pose the idea that a new faction splinters this ages-old struggle between science and faith. I like to call it The Humanist Factor.
Did we draw lines in the sand so we could work towards crossing them, or to understand our own limits? Technology is growing ever more dominant in the modern world and we are becoming ever more reliant on it in our day to day lives. Progressions in virtual reality, artificial intelligence, automated machines, medical breakthroughs and the evolution of interactive entertainment are primary focuses of the new world we seem to be embracing. The public think positively about the benefits they will reap in the future. It has been sold to us as a potential catalyst for a harmonious utopian future of relaxed and easier living, but what of the consequences? What of the price that comes attached to the bargain we are making with science?
We have always encouraged the explorations beyond human means and the endless possibilities of new frontiers to reach and conquer. We landed on the moon. We dissected the atom. We created a communication tool that has spread across the world and into every home. We have achieved greatness in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. Taken risks and invested time and money into discovering answers that could help benefit the world. Or even change the world. The vision of the future has been the pinnacle of 20th century optimism and hope. Our curiosity has accomplished amazing progressions so fast that perhaps we have yet to really consider the downside to all this.
Imagine a virtual entertainment system that puts you inside your favourite television show or blockbuster movie. Where you have a panoramic view of the entire fictional dimension the characters you love inhabit. The barrier between the viewer and the fictional world has always been the screen, whether it be a TV screen or a laptop monitor. There is a clear divide between realities. If that barrier were to be broken, where would people go then? Where does the clear line that separates truth from fiction exist if we can literally enter these worlds without apprehension or psychical effort? Reality ceases to be tangible. It then becomes that of a human integrated video game capable of preoccupying the minds of everyday people for days at a time. Who would want to leave this virtual construct? Who would want to return to the land of painful heart beats and under paid employments? The hook is escapism, only in this instance we are taking that term very literally. Could the mind survive such regular visits to the unreal? What happens to the body? Inside the virtual world we are Gods of our own making, in a sense we reject the reality of natural life given by the Earth and become slaves to the convenience of complacency. This is part of our bargain with embracing the future. In a sense, laziness will be not only encouraged, but inevitably demanded from us.
Now imagine automated work stations and a new industrial revolution where people become obsolete because a computer is created that never sleeps or takes a sick day. It manages complaint calls and never loses its temper, it sorts out your bills at the restaurant so mathematical skills become redundant as to how to split the payment, it does the labour in the factories and never wears a frown upside down at the tills in Tesco (we have already been given the self-serve tills. A day I remember first using one was the day I knew this was the beginning of the end). What does the working stiff do when he is replaced by a programmed student of perfection? That is the word I suppose that counts really. Perfection. Man is far from perfect yet we believe we can create something that is. An entity that will be controlled to make our lives easier, yet in the same instance what will it take away from us? Self-driving vehicles will also disaffect people and turn the imposed self-survival of daily living into complacency. While the machines and computers do all the work, what will we be doing? Entering our virtual domains no doubt. The material world will disintegrate as we disown the pain and purpose of living and breathing because downloading our fragile minds into a box or tube of wiring is so much easier then facing the troubles and trials that life brings us. And like the masses that already worship at the altars of daytime television we will slowly become addicted to this complacency until all we are then, is human meat hooked into wires and microchips that reprogram our emotions to a digital plane of little ones and zeros. We become complex binary codes simplified into something no more impressive then that of a human barcode.
What of the soul? Spirituality is not religion. Spirituality is something deep within a person that exists in the heart and mind. It could be classed as a feeling, or a way of being. Some people believe in a soul but not in God. Some people believe in neither. But let us hypothesise that the soul is a real thing. Does it exist in the mind? If so what happens to it when we jack in? Does it corrupt like a downloaded file off of the Internet? And what of our children thirty years from now? How will they cope without their new Ipod upgrade which by then can fit into your ear, acting as both a phone, computer and entertainment system rolled into one? Lunchtimes will no longer require playgrounds because kids can simply plug themselves into a socket, close their eyes and surf the web over their closed eyelids. Children will become more and more disconnected from what it means to strive and experience real emotion. Techno-literates and Futurists (the optimists of the techno-age) see only the good. That evolutions in Internet and communication technology will bring people closer together. Knowledge will be accessible to everyone and anyone. But wisdom is not gained from simply knowing. It is gained from actual life experience. People do not grow from simply knowing, they must interact, learn and exorcise that knowledge in the real world in order to understand it. What would John Lennon think these days? Now we no longer envision the world linking hands and singing “We are the World.” Now we can envision an online community of growing numbers where we can practice democratic freedoms without censorship or control. But make no mistake, corporations run everything. Not governments. Where the money is, is where the power is. Where else does the funding come from to invest so much research into these new process’ and products? This is all about consumerism. Science may have good intention, but the road to hell is always paved with those, and we know how that can end. Witness Hiroshima. Witness NASA’s Challenger disaster. Witness biological warfare. Witness man’s inability to control his own future. As soon as something is invented and proved to work, it is patented, mass produced and sold at a costly sum until other companies follow in the footsteps and create cheaper models that bring prices crashing down. Then people consume the new technologies, eating up every last crumb of a fad fashion of the time just to say they have the latest piece of junk hardware that contains the most out-of-this-world graphics and vision quality. Corporations are not out to benefit mankind. They are out to benefit themselves, and we all know this. Technology is not simply about breaking down boundaries, its about breaking our banks to get our money so it may be invested in other assorted materials. I consider it a rape of our souls. If you believe in a soul that is.
For those of you who don’t, let’s look at a different aspect. Consider western governments consistent encouragement that pushes us towards “a brighter tomorrow.” Anyone who has seen an apocalyptic sci-fi movie will know phrases like that are always promptly followed by a big downfall soon to come. Orwellian distopian futures are not simply sci-fi cynics looking to get kicks out of dissing everyone’s favourite new religion. It’s just as possible we could go down that road. Flying cars for everyone? First we have to avoid economical breakdown, natural disasters possibly caused by increased global warming and everyday crime that sucks the money out from tax payers arses like no man’s business. If we want state-of-the-art flying cars and public pornography hologram suites then it will come by way of hugely increased taxes. Nothing is for free. If the government thinks it will be beneficial for all then they will add it to the already rising costs of daily living. What’s the everyman gonna do when a computer takes his job? How will he afford to pay for his new solar power heated toilet seat? What then? And speaking of crime, forget drug running, soon we will have a whole new evolution in criminal techno-theft and smuggling. The criminal element has already latched onto the lucrative idea of using technology for financial gain. Imagine when we have all kinds of pirated products falling off the back of lorries and into the hands of the laid-off, pissed-off everyman. Will a new faction rise up against Techno-literates and Futurists then? It will probably be too late. Could you imagine computer prejudice one day becoming a crime? Maybe I am getting a little too fantastical for some people’s tastes, but I am merely following in the footsteps of the “better tomorrow” optimists, only I want to see the other, much darker side to it all. The process of technological change has already begun to shape our world substantially.
Government research into stem cells and cloning has stirred controversy on more than one occasion and I understand why. Whether you believe in God or not, for human beings to cosmetically manufacture life in the attempts at pushing our limits as mortal creatures is clearly a symbol for how man’s ego has grown since the early 20th century. It is more than playing God. It is playing with the fabric of moral law and mother nature‘s design. And mother nature certainly exists. Hurricane Katrina proved that. The Tsunami in Thailand was no day at the beach either. Anyone remember those storms in 2006 that whipped our British summer into a flood fest? I do. Mother Nature was pissed off. If you believe in a force beyond human means then surely that could be taken as a warning? Don’t fuck with the natural order of things. Don’t try to break free of the confines of our own mortality. It was designed that way for a reason. We are born, we live, we die. Cloning, cryogenically freezing or downloading conscious thought into a computer are ideas beyond the realm of exploration and are simply about man’s need to extend his natural existence unnaturally because he is afraid of death. Afraid of the unknown. This is not about conquering frontiers, this is about fear of extinction. Fear of destruction. Our own self-destruction.
“Man is the most dangerous animal of all.” - The Most Dangerous Game
Most dangerous indeed. Human nature is self-destructive. With all the positives that come with new technologies and research into sciences of the body and mind, how can we possibly handle the overwhelming design of such dangerous avenues when primitive man used a simple rock to smash in the head of another man? In our hands we cannot wield anything without causing our own destruction or the destruction of others. We feed off chaos in order to continue surviving, or else, where does this compulsion to dream of a utopian future come from? It is our light at the end of the tunnel. But the light is just a train passing through. The tunnel is dark, and long, and possibly never ending. There is no future except for the ones we are living now. The only thing that counts are the human lives that exist in the here and the now and the blood that binds us all together. Human morality must continue to exist. The Humanist Factor is what separates us, whether it is our souls or our collective morality, from the machines built from plastic, metals, wiring fused together to create artificial existence to brainwash and tangibly disconnect us from each other.
I for one do not wish to be around when the mite of armies resides in the hands of a self-manned computer without conscious or compassion. Then again, we do already have George Bush. J
Keep The Humanist Factor intact. It might eventually be all we have left to hold onto. Fight the future and thanks for reading.
Friday, 28 March 2008
Monday, 28 January 2008
Get It Done...
This blog is becoming increasingly like a diary. And diaries are not very manly things. So I shall refocus my attention on getting stuff done...
First, its essay time. The dreaded clock is about to strike its final deadline. We have been tasked with writing a discussion paper on narrative related business with multiple questions to choose from. How lucky are we? Some people get wine, other people get chocolate, we screenwriters get multiple choice. I've decided to go with the Little Red Riding Hood comparison piece that basically asks for the writer to draw similarities and/or find discrepancies between the original fairy tale story and a modern update of the same tale. How have narratives evolved and changed? Why have they changed? etc, etc, etc...
I have researched updates on Little Red and found a multiplicity of incarnations from short films to TV one-off specials, to cartoons, to Buffy the Vampire Slayer and beyond. However, my chosen piece is a film called "Hard Candy," which is a clear and distinct rebirth of the Little Red story, updated for modern times (internet, paedophilia, guns) with a contemporary twist (this time its the Big Bad Wolf who has to watch his back).
As I stated before in the blog, my disdain for this process is undiminished, but I have managed to find a neat little way of comparing said stories so that I may invest this discussion paper with some bite (pun intended). Meanwhile, my narrative related script assignment is ever changing. I have written many drafts of an idea that I have changed so many times it resembles my original concept in only but theme (basically I'm saying that sex trafficking is a miserable business. Not staggeringly original but surely more preferable to all the teen angst bullshit the lecturers have read a thousand times over). Such I suppose is the process of scriptwriting. Ever developing a person's script, whether it's good or bad, becomes like a living organism which moves and breathes with endless fluidity. Oh, aren't I getting up my own arse? One can get lost up there for days. I should know, my head's been up my rectum half my life anyway.
Anyway, speaking of anyways, things are looking a bit brighter now that I have latched onto clarity of thought regarding this unit's elusive materials and over-convoluted language, reinvigorating my faith in the course somewhat (it is about the work you put in after all, I still like to blame everyone else though, it's more fun). Plus my six minute short has been chosen for production, so I've crowned myself director and all-round creative fuck-a-roo and started to assemble a motley crew of fellow writers to help make it. Hopefully it won't suck.
Otherwise, the current assignment as a complete entity is due in within seven days from my typing this. The clock is ticking and I seem to be getting frequently distracted by pretty girls (even the non-pretty ones), sitting around in my underwear drinking coffee and scratching my balls, and watching old TV shows I enjoyed as a kid. One hundred pounds to the person who can guess which one. Either way, the title of my script embodies my new found attitude - Get It Done.
First, its essay time. The dreaded clock is about to strike its final deadline. We have been tasked with writing a discussion paper on narrative related business with multiple questions to choose from. How lucky are we? Some people get wine, other people get chocolate, we screenwriters get multiple choice. I've decided to go with the Little Red Riding Hood comparison piece that basically asks for the writer to draw similarities and/or find discrepancies between the original fairy tale story and a modern update of the same tale. How have narratives evolved and changed? Why have they changed? etc, etc, etc...
I have researched updates on Little Red and found a multiplicity of incarnations from short films to TV one-off specials, to cartoons, to Buffy the Vampire Slayer and beyond. However, my chosen piece is a film called "Hard Candy," which is a clear and distinct rebirth of the Little Red story, updated for modern times (internet, paedophilia, guns) with a contemporary twist (this time its the Big Bad Wolf who has to watch his back).
As I stated before in the blog, my disdain for this process is undiminished, but I have managed to find a neat little way of comparing said stories so that I may invest this discussion paper with some bite (pun intended). Meanwhile, my narrative related script assignment is ever changing. I have written many drafts of an idea that I have changed so many times it resembles my original concept in only but theme (basically I'm saying that sex trafficking is a miserable business. Not staggeringly original but surely more preferable to all the teen angst bullshit the lecturers have read a thousand times over). Such I suppose is the process of scriptwriting. Ever developing a person's script, whether it's good or bad, becomes like a living organism which moves and breathes with endless fluidity. Oh, aren't I getting up my own arse? One can get lost up there for days. I should know, my head's been up my rectum half my life anyway.
Anyway, speaking of anyways, things are looking a bit brighter now that I have latched onto clarity of thought regarding this unit's elusive materials and over-convoluted language, reinvigorating my faith in the course somewhat (it is about the work you put in after all, I still like to blame everyone else though, it's more fun). Plus my six minute short has been chosen for production, so I've crowned myself director and all-round creative fuck-a-roo and started to assemble a motley crew of fellow writers to help make it. Hopefully it won't suck.
Otherwise, the current assignment as a complete entity is due in within seven days from my typing this. The clock is ticking and I seem to be getting frequently distracted by pretty girls (even the non-pretty ones), sitting around in my underwear drinking coffee and scratching my balls, and watching old TV shows I enjoyed as a kid. One hundred pounds to the person who can guess which one. Either way, the title of my script embodies my new found attitude - Get It Done.
Saturday, 19 January 2008
Thinking about doing some work...
This narratives business got me to thinking. Then thinking got me to procrastinating....
I once thought I understood the term 'narrative.' In fact, until recently, I really thought I understood a whole lot more than it turns out I actually do. The first step to becoming wiser is admitting that you know nothing. And personally, I like to think I know everything. It's apart of the rites-of-passage, coming-of-age hoopla that we all go through between the ages of 18-21. I'm a student, it's my stubborn and oblivious right to be ignorant to the facts through self-absorption and be smart-arsedly flippant about everything and everyone. I don't mind being an asshole if that's indeed what I have to be. I do wear sunglasses indoors afterall.
The objective of the post was originally going to be an attempt to discuss the narrative on a selected piece of television and how it works in a linear or non-linear capacity. I cannot, unfortunately, bring myself to do this. I have thought long and hard about it but just feel too preoccupied by thoughts of essay and script writing to tackle it satisfyingly. Truth is, I simply don't get it. Not the narrative thing, but the whole analytical deconstruction thing. Yes, it is true, it will help me to become a better writer. Yes, maybe knowing the rules and being able to analyse the conventions inherent within those rules will allow me to one day be able to break them in my own cute way. But in the end, this course is merely gearing us towards a schematically mundane future of disappointment where unfulfilled potential is a mandatory requirement on your Curriculum Vitae. We are slowly being prepared for mediocrity I believe. There is no belief, or that is, no true belief that real inspiration, real creativity, actually exists anymore and that's probably true. At least not in the hands of inexperienced and idealized, young 'wanabe' writers. This is why the academic portion of said course is leaving a bitter aftetaste I think. Is the destiny of the aspiring writer to never exceed the limited boundaries of their peers or mentors? If the jaded cynics before you could not excel beyond their own dreams and ambitions, does that mean we ourselves must prepare for the worst and accept the crushingly pessimistic present as our anonymously written near future? Is there a difference between cynicism and being realistic?
I don't do this for fun. I do it because its the only thing between me and spiralling into the mundane depression of everyday life. Writing keeps me relatively sane, and gives me hope that I will not live out my years in anonymity, filing papers and nursing paper cuts, advising customers on the softest type of toilet tissue paper or scanning numerical barcodes until my brain falls out of my ass. Writing releases me into my sacred imagination where I create my own reality that others may experience without having to compromise on their own. It's a fluid process, and yes, no matter what I write, I understand it will get rewritten, by me or by other countless people, but it's the journey of that process which no matter how painful, is the only journey I want to take. But I don't want to invest all this time, energy, money and creativity into three years just to work on "Emmerdale." Had this course been advertised as it is in reality, it would be called SCRIPTWIRITNG FOR TV. Film is only relevant in the cleverly marketed name of said course. We are tempted and lured in by the film focused first year, before being deflated and let in on the mission statement a lot later. It's like Tom Cruise in The Firm. Let the dude live it up in style, dig in, soak up the sun, then tell him its all under the thumb and at the whim of the mafia when he's at his most comfortable.
So, as for this narrative business? Yeah, I wanna get charged up with the learning but my brain doesn't absorb stuff like it used to and I'm getting worried. I won’t deny my understanding of screenwriting is of a competent standard (even after ten dedicated years I have much to improve on), and that I revile the essay process like it was a cancerous growth on my penis, but I feel constrained, disillusioned and betrayed in many ways by my own lack of personal commitment.
I like to inject personality into my work. With essays, you must concede to this lethargic instruction manual mentality where as a writer you are asked to castrate yourself and be just like any other academic student. Should the rules not be different for our course? Is the marriage of the academic and the creative too much a contrast of opposites to one another? Like here I could discuss "Heroes," as I intended and waffle on about how the narrative in the first few minutes uses montage and music to reflect on the last season's underwhelming events while subtly foreboding what is to come. Narrative is simply a structured series of events that are determined through the nature of cause and effect, or the consequences of action (or inaction). Narrative also informs not only the structure, but thematic points and subtext built into the material, which can be determined by genre, culture, history, or even socio-political standing. Is that an adequate summary? If that represents my basic grasp of narrative, and if it is indeed correct, does that mean I need to prove further that I can dissect a piece of 'art' to evidence this? Is that what these essays ultimately are for? Evidence of understanding? The pending essay is making me shit bricks. I wish I could write about something that I can invest with passion, though still abiding by the confines of this narrative unit's needs. Is that naive of me? Am I that idealized 'wanabe' writer I mentioned earlier?
If I decide to go my own way, I fail in the eyes of my peers, but I retain my own creative integrity, at least on the most personal level. But then I prove that I have thrown money at something that I do not truly believe in nor want to follow, and for all I know my lack of investment led to my own disillusionment, and it was nothing to do with the course itself. I don't like to do things I feel to be unnecessary, unrelated or superfluous in conception and execution. I could analyse a film until the cows came home, put their feet up on the table, smoked cigars, watched 'Oprah,' and commenced an orgy in the barn, but will that help me to become a better scriptwriter? I would love to write a thesis on something I truly love (whatever the aspect), and would give myself over completely to the process, if I could only maintain my own voice. I get the message that writing will ultimately be all about selling-out (an inevitability of the industry), watering your ideas down and then whoring them out, suffocating creativity and settling for what is convenient. I am to compromise and neuter myself in every way until all I am is exactly what I was striving to avoid becoming - another anonymous face in a crowd, where my own, unique voice is drowned out in a cacophony of murmurs and mumbles. The struggle is to either be the academic achiever (who can learn and consume the information handed to them, then apply it to their work) or the creative mind (the writer who invests all their time into producing the 'art' and nothing else).
Narrative is the last thing on my mind I am afraid, when it should be a priority. But I digress. In the end, I will do what is asked of me, and whether I succeed or fail, I guess it's all up to me in the end anyway. Independent learning really means to learn alone. I just wish I knew whether I was the idealist 'wanabe' or the jaded cynic. And which one would make me the better writer.
I once thought I understood the term 'narrative.' In fact, until recently, I really thought I understood a whole lot more than it turns out I actually do. The first step to becoming wiser is admitting that you know nothing. And personally, I like to think I know everything. It's apart of the rites-of-passage, coming-of-age hoopla that we all go through between the ages of 18-21. I'm a student, it's my stubborn and oblivious right to be ignorant to the facts through self-absorption and be smart-arsedly flippant about everything and everyone. I don't mind being an asshole if that's indeed what I have to be. I do wear sunglasses indoors afterall.
The objective of the post was originally going to be an attempt to discuss the narrative on a selected piece of television and how it works in a linear or non-linear capacity. I cannot, unfortunately, bring myself to do this. I have thought long and hard about it but just feel too preoccupied by thoughts of essay and script writing to tackle it satisfyingly. Truth is, I simply don't get it. Not the narrative thing, but the whole analytical deconstruction thing. Yes, it is true, it will help me to become a better writer. Yes, maybe knowing the rules and being able to analyse the conventions inherent within those rules will allow me to one day be able to break them in my own cute way. But in the end, this course is merely gearing us towards a schematically mundane future of disappointment where unfulfilled potential is a mandatory requirement on your Curriculum Vitae. We are slowly being prepared for mediocrity I believe. There is no belief, or that is, no true belief that real inspiration, real creativity, actually exists anymore and that's probably true. At least not in the hands of inexperienced and idealized, young 'wanabe' writers. This is why the academic portion of said course is leaving a bitter aftetaste I think. Is the destiny of the aspiring writer to never exceed the limited boundaries of their peers or mentors? If the jaded cynics before you could not excel beyond their own dreams and ambitions, does that mean we ourselves must prepare for the worst and accept the crushingly pessimistic present as our anonymously written near future? Is there a difference between cynicism and being realistic?
I don't do this for fun. I do it because its the only thing between me and spiralling into the mundane depression of everyday life. Writing keeps me relatively sane, and gives me hope that I will not live out my years in anonymity, filing papers and nursing paper cuts, advising customers on the softest type of toilet tissue paper or scanning numerical barcodes until my brain falls out of my ass. Writing releases me into my sacred imagination where I create my own reality that others may experience without having to compromise on their own. It's a fluid process, and yes, no matter what I write, I understand it will get rewritten, by me or by other countless people, but it's the journey of that process which no matter how painful, is the only journey I want to take. But I don't want to invest all this time, energy, money and creativity into three years just to work on "Emmerdale." Had this course been advertised as it is in reality, it would be called SCRIPTWIRITNG FOR TV. Film is only relevant in the cleverly marketed name of said course. We are tempted and lured in by the film focused first year, before being deflated and let in on the mission statement a lot later. It's like Tom Cruise in The Firm. Let the dude live it up in style, dig in, soak up the sun, then tell him its all under the thumb and at the whim of the mafia when he's at his most comfortable.
So, as for this narrative business? Yeah, I wanna get charged up with the learning but my brain doesn't absorb stuff like it used to and I'm getting worried. I won’t deny my understanding of screenwriting is of a competent standard (even after ten dedicated years I have much to improve on), and that I revile the essay process like it was a cancerous growth on my penis, but I feel constrained, disillusioned and betrayed in many ways by my own lack of personal commitment.
I like to inject personality into my work. With essays, you must concede to this lethargic instruction manual mentality where as a writer you are asked to castrate yourself and be just like any other academic student. Should the rules not be different for our course? Is the marriage of the academic and the creative too much a contrast of opposites to one another? Like here I could discuss "Heroes," as I intended and waffle on about how the narrative in the first few minutes uses montage and music to reflect on the last season's underwhelming events while subtly foreboding what is to come. Narrative is simply a structured series of events that are determined through the nature of cause and effect, or the consequences of action (or inaction). Narrative also informs not only the structure, but thematic points and subtext built into the material, which can be determined by genre, culture, history, or even socio-political standing. Is that an adequate summary? If that represents my basic grasp of narrative, and if it is indeed correct, does that mean I need to prove further that I can dissect a piece of 'art' to evidence this? Is that what these essays ultimately are for? Evidence of understanding? The pending essay is making me shit bricks. I wish I could write about something that I can invest with passion, though still abiding by the confines of this narrative unit's needs. Is that naive of me? Am I that idealized 'wanabe' writer I mentioned earlier?
If I decide to go my own way, I fail in the eyes of my peers, but I retain my own creative integrity, at least on the most personal level. But then I prove that I have thrown money at something that I do not truly believe in nor want to follow, and for all I know my lack of investment led to my own disillusionment, and it was nothing to do with the course itself. I don't like to do things I feel to be unnecessary, unrelated or superfluous in conception and execution. I could analyse a film until the cows came home, put their feet up on the table, smoked cigars, watched 'Oprah,' and commenced an orgy in the barn, but will that help me to become a better scriptwriter? I would love to write a thesis on something I truly love (whatever the aspect), and would give myself over completely to the process, if I could only maintain my own voice. I get the message that writing will ultimately be all about selling-out (an inevitability of the industry), watering your ideas down and then whoring them out, suffocating creativity and settling for what is convenient. I am to compromise and neuter myself in every way until all I am is exactly what I was striving to avoid becoming - another anonymous face in a crowd, where my own, unique voice is drowned out in a cacophony of murmurs and mumbles. The struggle is to either be the academic achiever (who can learn and consume the information handed to them, then apply it to their work) or the creative mind (the writer who invests all their time into producing the 'art' and nothing else).
Narrative is the last thing on my mind I am afraid, when it should be a priority. But I digress. In the end, I will do what is asked of me, and whether I succeed or fail, I guess it's all up to me in the end anyway. Independent learning really means to learn alone. I just wish I knew whether I was the idealist 'wanabe' or the jaded cynic. And which one would make me the better writer.
Sunday, 16 December 2007
The problem with universities teaching Screenwriting...
…is you cannot really teach it, but only impart personal advice and explain the rules of the writing game that should be adhered to in order to be successful.
If this blog were a script, then picture this as the halfway twist in the tale where you suddenly discover what is really going on. At the beginning of this superfluous waffle in complete and utter bullshit I failed to establish the reasons for what this story (or blog) was really attempting to do. So either this is the twist that changes your perception of events, or simply poor storytelling on my part. Or both.
The purpose of this blog is purely for the work effort side of university, so the extreme lack of assignments on the screenwriting course can be justified through throwing in rather tenuous links to general media theory and mandatory random side orders such as this little pain in the ass. So I must address the concerns of such work on this blog today.
The first assignment consisted of a six minute script to be partnered with an essay analysing the images within the screenplay. This is to be expected from a course that marries two contrasting elements of this particular educational experience; creative free thinking and automated, analytical academia. I understand the academic essay writing makes this a course that acts beyond being a simply extended Robert McKee lecture, but like these blogs, we are ordained by the course tutor powers-that-be to keep, I find the whole academic part of the experience incredibly repellent.
The problems I have with this started right from the off. Regardless of a convincing surplus of experienced and approachable lecturers (all whom are exceptionally good and engaging in what they do), the assignment brief for this essay was vague and simply no one on the job could flat out explain what needed to be considered when writing it. Not a single fellow scriptwriter on this course understood just what in the hell they were supposed to be writing about and continued to curse a fast approaching deadline with total frustration and complete fear o failure.
I even saw a smattering of people banging out their first drafts in the library the night before the essay was due in!! People were so unprepared, uninformed and universally bewildered by the details required they left it up to last minute pressures to force their hands (to write something). Now, I am happy with the course's actual content and the respective teaching styles, but the lack of hours and the disturbing lack of information regarding the academic side of our work is inducing schizoid embolisms in more than a few of us. We get told one thing by one lecturer only for that to be undermined later by another. Scriptwriting is a creatively fluid process that is an art form because there are soooo many elements needed to construct a script to a professional standard that you cannot simply put pen to paper, or fingertip to key, because an enormous amount of planning must go into creating and giving birth to an idea. This is what they teach, and that is what we are there to learn. But where are the essay breakdown lectures?
Another gripe is that the lack of collective agreement in marking someone's work on a purely subjective basis does not for a good grade make. For instance a friend of mine on the course was told by one lecturer his script was perfect and not to change a thing, but because another lecturer wound up marking his work, he received a frankly shit grade. He was needless to say very pissed off, and for a guy who is very dead-set on riding out the full three years, turned out to be disheartened so much by this final mark, he let slip that he is considering dropping out if his next script does not achieve an above-average-grade. The disjointed nature of our timetable has brought up many questions about whether or not significant changes need to be implemented in order to improve the quantity of seminars during a week. Yes, we understand this is independent learning, but for pity's sake, if we wanted to be entirely independent and educate ourselves on this medium then we would have saved our twenty grand debt and fucking did that!! The fact is, we want exposition just as if we were living inside one of our own scripts and like any good script the exposition needs to be clear and concise so that NO MEMEBERS OF THE AUDIENCE FAIL TO FOLLOW THE REST OF THE STORY!! Some characters are close to being written out of this story if you get my analogy.
Other than my fuming anger towards the baffling lack of time spent in actual lectures and seminars, the confusing subjective nature of the marking, and the ridiculous lack of CLEAR explanation on these (to be honest) redundant academic companion pieces to our scripts, I am enjoying the experience and the people. My essay came out at 57% and my six minute script hit the 68% mark, and I was happy to see that I had constructive criticism attached with them upon their return, plus a validation of the knowledge I already harboured that I have much to improve upon in the realm of character development, and that my research must be a helluva lot stronger in order to attain much more worthy grades. I am sure that my complaints are shared by many, if not all, of the students enrolled onto this course. We are enjoying it for the most part, and respect the advice and decisions of the lecturers the best we can, but I really would like to see something done about my above concerns, and the answer, “well, this is independent learning,” is not fucking good enough for apparently the best course in the country for screenwriting. Let’s get something done. Amen, and goodnight.
If this blog were a script, then picture this as the halfway twist in the tale where you suddenly discover what is really going on. At the beginning of this superfluous waffle in complete and utter bullshit I failed to establish the reasons for what this story (or blog) was really attempting to do. So either this is the twist that changes your perception of events, or simply poor storytelling on my part. Or both.
The purpose of this blog is purely for the work effort side of university, so the extreme lack of assignments on the screenwriting course can be justified through throwing in rather tenuous links to general media theory and mandatory random side orders such as this little pain in the ass. So I must address the concerns of such work on this blog today.
The first assignment consisted of a six minute script to be partnered with an essay analysing the images within the screenplay. This is to be expected from a course that marries two contrasting elements of this particular educational experience; creative free thinking and automated, analytical academia. I understand the academic essay writing makes this a course that acts beyond being a simply extended Robert McKee lecture, but like these blogs, we are ordained by the course tutor powers-that-be to keep, I find the whole academic part of the experience incredibly repellent.
The problems I have with this started right from the off. Regardless of a convincing surplus of experienced and approachable lecturers (all whom are exceptionally good and engaging in what they do), the assignment brief for this essay was vague and simply no one on the job could flat out explain what needed to be considered when writing it. Not a single fellow scriptwriter on this course understood just what in the hell they were supposed to be writing about and continued to curse a fast approaching deadline with total frustration and complete fear o failure.
I even saw a smattering of people banging out their first drafts in the library the night before the essay was due in!! People were so unprepared, uninformed and universally bewildered by the details required they left it up to last minute pressures to force their hands (to write something). Now, I am happy with the course's actual content and the respective teaching styles, but the lack of hours and the disturbing lack of information regarding the academic side of our work is inducing schizoid embolisms in more than a few of us. We get told one thing by one lecturer only for that to be undermined later by another. Scriptwriting is a creatively fluid process that is an art form because there are soooo many elements needed to construct a script to a professional standard that you cannot simply put pen to paper, or fingertip to key, because an enormous amount of planning must go into creating and giving birth to an idea. This is what they teach, and that is what we are there to learn. But where are the essay breakdown lectures?
Another gripe is that the lack of collective agreement in marking someone's work on a purely subjective basis does not for a good grade make. For instance a friend of mine on the course was told by one lecturer his script was perfect and not to change a thing, but because another lecturer wound up marking his work, he received a frankly shit grade. He was needless to say very pissed off, and for a guy who is very dead-set on riding out the full three years, turned out to be disheartened so much by this final mark, he let slip that he is considering dropping out if his next script does not achieve an above-average-grade. The disjointed nature of our timetable has brought up many questions about whether or not significant changes need to be implemented in order to improve the quantity of seminars during a week. Yes, we understand this is independent learning, but for pity's sake, if we wanted to be entirely independent and educate ourselves on this medium then we would have saved our twenty grand debt and fucking did that!! The fact is, we want exposition just as if we were living inside one of our own scripts and like any good script the exposition needs to be clear and concise so that NO MEMEBERS OF THE AUDIENCE FAIL TO FOLLOW THE REST OF THE STORY!! Some characters are close to being written out of this story if you get my analogy.
Other than my fuming anger towards the baffling lack of time spent in actual lectures and seminars, the confusing subjective nature of the marking, and the ridiculous lack of CLEAR explanation on these (to be honest) redundant academic companion pieces to our scripts, I am enjoying the experience and the people. My essay came out at 57% and my six minute script hit the 68% mark, and I was happy to see that I had constructive criticism attached with them upon their return, plus a validation of the knowledge I already harboured that I have much to improve upon in the realm of character development, and that my research must be a helluva lot stronger in order to attain much more worthy grades. I am sure that my complaints are shared by many, if not all, of the students enrolled onto this course. We are enjoying it for the most part, and respect the advice and decisions of the lecturers the best we can, but I really would like to see something done about my above concerns, and the answer, “well, this is independent learning,” is not fucking good enough for apparently the best course in the country for screenwriting. Let’s get something done. Amen, and goodnight.
Saturday, 27 October 2007
Tony Almeida
I'm going geek speak now.
Last night I came home to find a message for me on Facebook regarding a trailer for the new series of 24. Now, people who watch will be familiar with this, as for the people who don't, well, you should be watching - there are no excuses.
Tony Almeida played by Carlos Bernard started life on 24 as a bit of an asshole type character. Him and Jack Bauer played by Kiefer Sutherland did not get on at all,
A) because they had both porked the same co-worker (not each other)
B) because they were both alpha males
C) because Jack broke the rules while Tony followed them
During the course of Day One, Tony grew to identify with and help assist Jack Bauer, and by the time Day Two hit, they had grown to respect each other. By Day Three they were friends, by Day Four they were best friends, and then by Day Five Tony was abruptly killed in a halfway point episode that shocked a legion of 24 fans.
I myself was relatively expecting his demise, since they had killed off everyone else from previous seasons. He dies in Jack's arms, in an unspoken moment of homoerotic love, and as Jack breaks down into tears, Tony slips away into the unknown. Now... two years and one and a half seasons later, Tony returns to 24. How? Nobody knows. Half the people who believed he was still alive have now been vindicated after so much lambasting from those who believed he was dead. A trailer online finally validates the theory that he never died and now Tony is back... as a villain by the looks of it. The 24 writers always start their seasons strong, but unfortunately right around the halfway mark everything falls apart, so here's hoping the return of Almeida will deliver the required thrills and spills.
I was so fucking shocked and surprised, it felt like I was in a really bizarre wet-dream. I woke up today and had to double check that it really happened. It did. I am happy. I am very excited. I think this should go a long way to making up for some terrible decisions made in the latter half of Season 6. Tony has always been one of the best characters, and now he gets a rebirth in one of the most exciting tv shows on American television.
I told you it was gonna get geeky.
UPDATED EDIT: The writer's strike pushed back 24 season seven's airing by like a whole year. Bummer.
Last night I came home to find a message for me on Facebook regarding a trailer for the new series of 24. Now, people who watch will be familiar with this, as for the people who don't, well, you should be watching - there are no excuses.
Tony Almeida played by Carlos Bernard started life on 24 as a bit of an asshole type character. Him and Jack Bauer played by Kiefer Sutherland did not get on at all,
A) because they had both porked the same co-worker (not each other)
B) because they were both alpha males
C) because Jack broke the rules while Tony followed them
During the course of Day One, Tony grew to identify with and help assist Jack Bauer, and by the time Day Two hit, they had grown to respect each other. By Day Three they were friends, by Day Four they were best friends, and then by Day Five Tony was abruptly killed in a halfway point episode that shocked a legion of 24 fans.
I myself was relatively expecting his demise, since they had killed off everyone else from previous seasons. He dies in Jack's arms, in an unspoken moment of homoerotic love, and as Jack breaks down into tears, Tony slips away into the unknown. Now... two years and one and a half seasons later, Tony returns to 24. How? Nobody knows. Half the people who believed he was still alive have now been vindicated after so much lambasting from those who believed he was dead. A trailer online finally validates the theory that he never died and now Tony is back... as a villain by the looks of it. The 24 writers always start their seasons strong, but unfortunately right around the halfway mark everything falls apart, so here's hoping the return of Almeida will deliver the required thrills and spills.
I was so fucking shocked and surprised, it felt like I was in a really bizarre wet-dream. I woke up today and had to double check that it really happened. It did. I am happy. I am very excited. I think this should go a long way to making up for some terrible decisions made in the latter half of Season 6. Tony has always been one of the best characters, and now he gets a rebirth in one of the most exciting tv shows on American television.
I told you it was gonna get geeky.
UPDATED EDIT: The writer's strike pushed back 24 season seven's airing by like a whole year. Bummer.
Friday, 26 October 2007
The End of a Chapter titled : The Tripod
Starting university is very much a daunting prospect, especially for a guy who has been out of education for the last four years of his rambling, know-nothing life. Its about finding focus and direction and preparing to become 'an expert' in your chosen field of study. It is about starting a new chapter in your life, and finding the means in which to carry on. Along the way you make new friends and forge new relationships amongst your fellow students, but it can never erase the memories of the friends you left behind.
I remember a very special group of people I knew. They were all different, all talented in their individual ways, each with a quirky humour that made them likeable to each other and a keen intelligence that gave them vast adaptability within social networks and circles. Together we seemed to live in a bubble for a temporary time, like the kids in "Stand By Me," we all had our own demons, our own dreams and our own flaws, but when we were together for a while it felt like nothing could hold us back. The warmth of our circle attracted others who saw, who could feel, the bond that had birthed between us. We began as a two, then grew to a three, but it was only when we drew a fourth member it felt complete.
I think of these friends often, where they are in their lives now, who they were when I first met them, their moments of doubt, their moments of pain, especially the times when I was not there for them. Friendship is not about what you owe to one another, it is about what you give, no strings attached. If I could go back and be there in their times of need and hurt I wouldn't even hesitate because they were there for me. Today, there are moments when I feel lost without their advice. Lost without their support. Lost without their camaraderie. Through all our petty squabbling that went on over the years, the moments we all thought, "Man, we will never come back from this," and all the heated, embittered animosities bred of our own weaknesses and jealousies, all of that bad shit just mended itself, you know? I remember so much the laughter. Sometimes the laughing would just overwhelm every conversation we would have. Like it was healing old wounds, like it regenerated that friendship time after time. Even when in the times gone by we would sometimes feel like strangers after not having seen each other for a while, give us ten minutes and we would remember why we considered ourselves good friends.
In 2006, to me, it felt like one of the greatest years of my life. These guys were the glue that held me together through some dark times in my life, although they never really knew it, and all the laughter and jokes, and all the conversations that lasted until sunrise made me feel like I belonged to something very rare, and very special. It was the time of my life when everything seemed to boil down to friendship, even though we had known each other for years, that year we just clicked. We were there for each other, sometimes when no one else was there for us. We could be geeks and freaks and never have to apologise for it. We could be rude and obnoxious and always be forgiven. We could talk expressively about our weakest moments and our deepest dreams and never be laughed at.
Yes, the friends you make in university are supposed to be the ones that last your whole life, but the friends that I made, the friends that I will always remember were the ones who were there to make life easier when it got hard, and while everything else in the world seemed to be going to shit, just a phone call away were the people who mattered most. They were my friends. The greatest I have ever had, and I only realise looking back in retrospect. Our paths will split, and we will move on in our lives, but I know those guys will always have the warmest place in my heart, and the most thoughtful place in my memories. They saved my life in every possible way over the years, and I owe them a great deal of the strength I have obtained over that time.
University is a new chapter, but I will never close the book on the previous one. Here's to George, Yoni and Trishul, the TRIPOD that held me up.
I remember a very special group of people I knew. They were all different, all talented in their individual ways, each with a quirky humour that made them likeable to each other and a keen intelligence that gave them vast adaptability within social networks and circles. Together we seemed to live in a bubble for a temporary time, like the kids in "Stand By Me," we all had our own demons, our own dreams and our own flaws, but when we were together for a while it felt like nothing could hold us back. The warmth of our circle attracted others who saw, who could feel, the bond that had birthed between us. We began as a two, then grew to a three, but it was only when we drew a fourth member it felt complete.
I think of these friends often, where they are in their lives now, who they were when I first met them, their moments of doubt, their moments of pain, especially the times when I was not there for them. Friendship is not about what you owe to one another, it is about what you give, no strings attached. If I could go back and be there in their times of need and hurt I wouldn't even hesitate because they were there for me. Today, there are moments when I feel lost without their advice. Lost without their support. Lost without their camaraderie. Through all our petty squabbling that went on over the years, the moments we all thought, "Man, we will never come back from this," and all the heated, embittered animosities bred of our own weaknesses and jealousies, all of that bad shit just mended itself, you know? I remember so much the laughter. Sometimes the laughing would just overwhelm every conversation we would have. Like it was healing old wounds, like it regenerated that friendship time after time. Even when in the times gone by we would sometimes feel like strangers after not having seen each other for a while, give us ten minutes and we would remember why we considered ourselves good friends.
In 2006, to me, it felt like one of the greatest years of my life. These guys were the glue that held me together through some dark times in my life, although they never really knew it, and all the laughter and jokes, and all the conversations that lasted until sunrise made me feel like I belonged to something very rare, and very special. It was the time of my life when everything seemed to boil down to friendship, even though we had known each other for years, that year we just clicked. We were there for each other, sometimes when no one else was there for us. We could be geeks and freaks and never have to apologise for it. We could be rude and obnoxious and always be forgiven. We could talk expressively about our weakest moments and our deepest dreams and never be laughed at.
Yes, the friends you make in university are supposed to be the ones that last your whole life, but the friends that I made, the friends that I will always remember were the ones who were there to make life easier when it got hard, and while everything else in the world seemed to be going to shit, just a phone call away were the people who mattered most. They were my friends. The greatest I have ever had, and I only realise looking back in retrospect. Our paths will split, and we will move on in our lives, but I know those guys will always have the warmest place in my heart, and the most thoughtful place in my memories. They saved my life in every possible way over the years, and I owe them a great deal of the strength I have obtained over that time.
University is a new chapter, but I will never close the book on the previous one. Here's to George, Yoni and Trishul, the TRIPOD that held me up.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
