William Horberg

Ricky Jay Tells A Good Story

My friend teacher and screenwriter Howard Rodman hosted a talk with magician, historian, raconteur, actor and author Ricky Jay as part of the "Vision" series at USC the other night, and as to be expected from that colorful chronicler of the art of the con, Jay closed the evening with a great anecdote that I wanted to share with you here.

(It's a bit "blue" in the tradition of these kind of apocryphal stories, so forewarned!)

A guy walks into a bank. 

On Monday promptly at noon he brings $25,000 to open an account. The following day at the same time he brings another $40,000 to deposit. The next day, the same. Tellers take notice, and when he comes back in on Thursday with another large cash deposit, word goes up to the president of the bank, who makes a point to be there to meet the well-dressed man when he shows up at 12:00 p.m. sharp on Friday to make his largest cash deposit yet.

The president introduces himself to the well-heeled customer and asks after the source of his steady stream of greenbacks. The man shamelessly declares himself to be a "proposition" bettor, a type of gambler who will bet on just about anything, like which cube of sugar a fly will alight on first, or which rain drop will make it to the window sill ahead of the other.

The president is surprised, and finds it incredible when the man boasts that he never loses a wager. Sure enough, the gambler soon makes a proposition to the banker guaranteed to put lie to the old truism "you can't cheat an honest man". 

The bet is simple. 

He wagers the president $50,000 that when he comes back on Monday at noon the man's balls will be square, not round. Knowing a sure thing when he hears it, however squeamish it makes him, this respected man of finance agrees. The gambler spends the weekend as gamblers do, on his boat, enjoying the fruits of his sin; while the banker retreats to his quiet rectitude, taking extra care of his health regimen, perhaps even abstaining from marital intimacy as a further precaution, as if that was even necessary.

Sure enough, Monday at noon sharp finds the gambler back at the bank, this time ushered into the president's private office, but he does not come alone. A smallish man with a moustache and an air of wealth and class himself, has accompanied the gambler to bear witness to the denouement of the proposition.

Confidant of his success and increased wealth the banker drops his trousers without hesitation or conversation, and then, encouraged by the gambler, his boxers as well. The man slowly reaches out his hand to confirm the shape that will decide the wager, but doesn't get very far when he is interrupted by the sudden sharp sound of his guest, who has passed out and collapsed to the floor next to him.

"What is going on?" the bank president asks, hastily pulling up his pants, as the gambler hands him his $50,000 winnings.

"I think the shock was just too much for him", the fraudster exclaims, "you see, I bet the man $100,000 that if he came to this financial institution with me today, I would have the bank president's balls in my hands before we left."

A sharp-eyed student of the swindle and of human nature, Ricky Jay knows the deeper truth that they are usually one and the same thing!

william

Moverman pt 3

TALKING TO WRITERS

Part three of my interview with writer/director Oren Moverman.

Patricia Clarkson in "Married Life"

You've written films for other directors and now you've directed your own screenplay for "The Messenger". Was writing always a means for you to direct, or did you start out writing, and realize through the experience of having other people direct your work that you wanted to have more control over the entire process?

 As you can tell from my nostalgic answers at the beginning, I set out to direct. That was the plan even before there was a plan. When A HIDING PLACE collapsed I tried to revive it.  I wrote another screenplay, CORDLESS, to direct.  We didn’t even come close to making it.  I was always trying to direct, even when I was working with others or writing for others, that was the intention.  But I also wanted to be home.  With my wife and kids.  I couldn’t reconcile working in film and being a dad and a husband except through writing.  It shielded me.

After Roger Michel dropped out of THE MESSENGER, Ben Affleck was considering it to direct.  When he dropped out the producers offered the job to me.  I said No.  It needed a real director, an experienced director, and I was almost ready to revive A HIDING PLACE as LOOKING GLASS.  Finally convinced, I took over as the director and it all came together for me: Louis Malle, and Sydney and Nicholas Ray, and Ron and Walter  – I’ve met all my teachers and now it was time to do it and stop hiding at home.  And I must say, I enjoyed it tremendously.  It was a gift.

How did The Messenger get developed and made? You've pulled together an incredible cast with Ben Foster, Samantha Morton and Woody Harrelson for your first feature - what was it like for you finally being on the floor giving direction to these actors? What did you learn about your own writing by having to direct the script yourself this time? When is the film coming out?

 Actors were drawn to THE MESSENGER and it was just a matter of finding the right ones for the roles.  I knew Samantha Morton from JESUS’ SON and that was a no brainer.  There’s no one like her.  When I met Ben, when I looked into those piercing eyes, I knew he was our man for the lead.  We spent hours drinking and talking and I loved the man as much as I liked the actor.  He became a partner immediately.  He’s really a brilliant guy and a very good writer in his own right.  Woody was offered a smaller part, but when we met he told me we got it all wrong and that he is right for the second lead.  He was so convincing that we shook on it then and there.  He was absolutely right.

I’ve been told not to admit it too much, but I really enjoyed directing.  The job was so clear, so pleasurable.  I had a really terrific crew and my DP was Bobby Bukowski who is a great artist and a real collaborator.  He made things very easy for me because he had all the questions and many of the answers.  I wanted everything to be quiet and respectful on set.  It was well run by Curtis Smith, my AD, and there was just a very still vibe to the work.

I learned that you could direct actors like a screenwriter, that you can communicate on character level and that is all you need.  It’s a character driven film.  I learned that I overwrite and that a script can be much more minimal, but that the overwriting informs what’s left on screen.  I made a hundred mistakes every day, and corrected fifty the next day until there were no more days left and it was over.  And I learned to ignore what’s on the page when needed, when you are making something in the moment that is better.

I read an interview with Krystof Kieslowski once where he talked about how in his most fully realized film - perhaps it was "Blue"? - he felt that he had achieved about thirty percent of what he had in his mind when he started out, and that guy was a master!

First, I'm curious about this notion of "what you have in mind" - do you start with a thematic idea, key visual images, the voice of a character, or a tone or mood or vibe when you start a project?

 I think we all have little tricks here and there for starting a project.  Mine is simple.  I spend days thinking about the first line of the screenplay.  That’s all I have in mind.  The first line.  I feel that once I have that I’ll be okay.  Funny, but I don’t really think in terms of images anymore, I think in terms of translation – I think of how things look on the page and try to imagine how they translate to the screen.  It’s really dangerous, but I often think in terms of the format, the script page, if it looks “right” to me, the layout on the page, not just the scene - does it have a script rhythm that is translatable? 

Chris Cooper in "Married Life"

Then, can you talk about how your films have evolved from concept to script to screen, the compromises along the way, and the end result?

Man, this is a question that needs to be answered seriously.  And I’m not sure I have just one answer. Or any. At this point there are a lot of scripts to talk about, but only five produced films.  One thing I can say truthfully is that I am never disappointed with a film I’m involved with because it’s so goddamn hard to get these things made and if they are, I’m very grateful.  The compromises ARE the process, and the more specific they get, the easier they are to accept because they are about production logic - how much money we have versus what we can really do versus what we can turn into a miracle.  Films are creative and economic structures, it’s that contradiction that gets them made.  So I never feel like kicking and screaming at the injustices of the world that force artistic compromises.  It doesn’t mean I won’t fight for what I believe in when I need to.  It just means that I look for the best compromises and choose my battles carefully. We work in a very privileged field, our ideas become words on the page and some make the leap into images, and, wow, there’s a film there my kids could see, even though they’re too young for the rating.  I try to keep that perspective, I try not to agonize.  Film is my work and my passion, but life is short and there’s lots of living to do outside work, lots to be passionate about and with.

Not to touch on a touchy subject for most writers, but because I'm always learning in my role as a producer and I think others would be curious to know - what do you find helpful in both the development and filmmaking process when it comes to "notes"?  Do you welcome other people's free and frank opinion as part of the process, or do you feel like it dilutes your voice or vision? How and when have notes helped you make something better, or conversely, how have they compromised what you were trying to do?

I have no problems with notes.  Notes are never the problem.  I like hearing other opinions and I like getting other perspectives.  The problem is the way notes are communicated.  I happen to think film scripts have no integrity.  Now, I don’t mean that in a condescending way, it’s not to say they have no true intention behind them, but I can’t really think of them as fixed truths.  Or truths at all.  Films are lies in search of a real emotion.  There are endless ways of telling a single story and there are departures that are just as interesting as the writer’s intentions.  And intentions can change.  People change.  Writers develop as human beings and as craftsmen.  Other people can help that development.  So, if someone has an idea, I want to hear it, it may make things better, or make me clearer, it may bring a certain reality into the decision making process, a financial reality or a creative one. 

How to communicate these notes in order to make them helpful?  That’s the challenge. And that’s where everything becomes complicated. Because giving notes is a skill I think most people struggle with, and, frankly, it is personality and power based.  It comes down to what kids are taught in third grade – constructive criticism is helpful, plain criticism can be harmful.

How to make notes constructive and not ego based is the challenge.  I never think I’m more right than anyone else just because I wrote something, but I am more intimate with the material and I would expect the notes to address that.  I loved the way Sydney gave notes, also Roger Michel, they presented questions, and by answering them we would come up with new ideas.  It was like defending a thesis and it was a solid process.

When I get notes, some dictated down, some suggested, I always have to consider the source, not as a way of discounting their voice, but as a way of understanding what are they going after, what is their agenda, both creatively but also in terms of control of material.  Producers give different notes from directors, but actors sometimes give similar notes to screenwriters’ notes, they often have the same agenda – the characters.

So, as I said, the problem, for me, is not the substance of notes but the way notes are presented and discussed, usually undiplomatically and indelicately, taking some but not all elements of the script into account. And so I learned how to listen to notes, I learned to try to find the essence of what someone is saying as opposed to what it sounds like they’re saying.

I don’t really think I have a voice. The characters have a voice and they are different from script to script, I’m more interested in finding their voice than mine.  So I never feel my voice is attacked by notes, we’re all working on other voices.

I’ve gotten notes from people I didn’t like or respect that were given in a vulgar way and were ultimately very helpful.  I’ve gotten notes from people I love and respect that were just never useful.  My job is to always cut through the bullshit of the personal drive of notes, or to evade the way notes are sometimes given to demonstrate that someone is more powerful than the writer in the final decision-making process.  I have to find something I could take or reject, but find something to consider.  Because then we have a dialogue.  And when there’s dialogue there’s a chance for solutions and a possibility of moving on toward finishing the script.  It’s a dance of sorts, but my approach is that people are giving notes that usually have to do with who they are and where they come from and what they know and how they feel about themselves in the world.  And that’s fine.  That’s very human.  If I hear something I like and can work with to make the script better, I’ll steal it and take credit for it.

Finally, what is next for you? What can we look forward to from the mind of Oren Moverman?

 I don’t know what’s next.  I feel very lucky to have directed a film, and I would love to do it again.  I also need to work, to write, because nothing’s really changed for me, there are still bills to pay.  I’d like to take a vacation.  Or a nap.

THANKS, OREN.

william

Moverman pt 2

TALKING TO WRITERS

Part two of my talk with screenwriter and director Oren Moverman.

Cate Blanchett as Bob Dylan in I'm Not There, co-written by Oren Moverman

I first heard of you and was introduced to your writing by my own mentor and former partner, actor-director-producer Sydney Pollack. Can you talk a little about how you came to meet Sydney, and the role he played in your life?

One of the reasons I wanted to do this interview, aside from the fact that we’re friends and I never say no to a friend, is that I wanted to revisit all these episodes.  It so happens that I just locked my first film as a director and I wanted to walk down memory lane.  I hope these stories aren’t too boring.  They’re all the same story really.  About a hungry guy who puts himself in a position to be lucky and is rewarded by good people who become his temporary mentors whether they want to or not.  Sydney is at the top of that list. 

I met Sydney at a Starbucks on First Avenue and 54^th street in the late nineties.  Those were the days when Starbucks was a relative novelty in NY, and at this particular location they would have a Jazz band playing on Saturday mornings.  It closed down a couple of months after Sydney died. 

I lived a few blocks away from this Starbucks and so did he, but in the other direction.  He walked in, holding a bunch of pressed shirts he obviously just picked up at the dry cleaners and he was just looking around, taking in the music and the crowd.

I was there working on a screenplay about Nicholas Ray, the notorious director of REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE, IN A LONELY PLACE and many more, and my eye caught Sydney’s.  I thought to myself, “that’s Sydney Pollack, the great director, he must have met Nick Ray at some point.”  Being who I am, I walked up to him, told him my name and that I had a question, and he looked a bit alarmed.  He was obviously in a contemplative mood and I was an interruption.  Since the script I was writing was called INTERRUPTED I thought it was appropriate.  His face relaxed when I asked him about Nick.  Turns out he never met him, but he knew his son from acting school.  We spoke about acting and I recognized that this man is the most natural teacher I’ve ever met.  All I had to do was listen.  I thanked him for talking with me.  He thanked me for taking him back to people and places he hadn’t thought about in awhile. 

You know, God invented the Internet for a purpose; I found Sydney’s email address online.  

I wrote to him and reminded him of our encounter and I asked him if he wanted to read a screenplay I almost directed called A HIDING PLACE.  To my shock, he replied within ten minutes and told me to send it along.

Two weeks later, he wrote to me that he loved it.  He had questions, mostly about how I came up with certain scenes.  A HIDING PLACE is about a man hired to kill an older writer who lost all his creative power. The mystery is, why bother?  The man is dying.  He means nothing to no one.  Why is someone torturing him psychologically?  Why kill him at all? What kind of monster did he use to be?   Sydney said he wouldn’t know how to produce it; he already tried producing an independent with a writer/director named Ira Sachs and it didn’t work out.  I made a mental note to look up whom this Sachs guy was.  I never did.  Sydney encouraged me to send him more scripts and wished me luck.  Years later I found out, from David Rubin, or was it Geoff Steir, that Sydney acted out the first ten pages of my script in the Mirage office.  I don’t know if that’s true, but it warms my heart to think it is.

We kept in touch.  Mostly short emails.  He invited me to the set of THE INTERPRETER.  He was shooting it a block away from my house in the UN building.  I came to set and one of the producers told me I had to leave because she thought I was lying about being invited by Sydney.  She asked me if I was Sydney’s friend.  It made me pause.  I was honest, I said I couldn’t really say he was my friend, it wouldn’t be an truthful portrayal of our relationship, he was someone who was kind to me for some reason, I didn’t know why.  “You must leave now,” she said, “he’s very busy”.  Uncharacteristically, I left.  But I caught a glimpse of Sydney sitting by himself with the monitor as a shot was being set up.  Just for a moment, he looked like the loneliest guy in the world.  I thought, “that’s the director right there all alone.  It can’t be easy no matter who you are.”

I finally met Ira Sachs through a mutual friend, Jonathan Nossiter, and we wrote MARRIED LIFE together.  Sydney emailed me his congratulations.  He liked the script a lot.

Two years ago the writer/producer Alessandro Camon and I wrote a screenplay called THE MESSENGER and when the producer asked who should direct it, I suggested Sydney. 

I sent him the script and I got a call from his office.  He was interested.  We spoke on the phone for over an hour and he asked him to remind him how we met.  I did.  He couldn’t believe it.  In his mind we met because we were both working in film.  He wanted to direct THE MESSENGER.  We met with him.  He gave us his notes, which was a thrill. He was modest and brilliant and funny and we couldn’t believe we were getting page-by-page notes from Sydney Pollack.  We were giddy.  It was one of those moments where you think; this is why I wanted to work in film.

We wrote a couple of drafts for him before we all realized that the movie could not be the love story Sydney was looking for.  It was a movie about Casualty Notification Officers during the Iraq war.  It was going to be a movie about men.  He dropped out and Roger Michel came on board. Sydney thought Roger was a great idea.

The last time I saw Sydney was with Alessandro in the Mirage office.  It was like lovers getting together to say goodbye in a very civilized way.  We talked movies, and politics and airplanes, and gossiped for a bit and then it was over. He wished us luck.

He read another script of mine, THE SECOND WIFE, a 9^th century love story based on an AB Yehoshua novel, a few weeks later and told me it was a page turner and that he doesn’t understand who I am and where I came from and what it is I do, but that I should just keep going.  It was a huge compliment.

He was diagnosed shortly after.

As it turned out, I ended up directing THE MESSENGER.

Pierce Brosnan and Rachel McAdams in "Married Life"

Tell us about how your first produced screenplay Jesus' Son came about? You're one of three writers credited - did you collaborate on the screenplay, or was it a case of you coming in to rewrite an existing script? And you're also an Associate Producer on that film - were you involved with the production beyond your role as a writer?

Talking my way onto Louis Malle’s set I met a young man named Ayad Akhtar.  He was working for Andre Gregory.  He introduced me to his friend Elizabeth Cuthrell because she was an actress and I was writing A HIDING PLACE and looking for an actress.  Elizabeth and I became friends and she invited me to join a company she was forming called Evenstar.  She brought in another actor, a friend, David Urritia.  She wanted to write and produce films.  Denis Johnson was her favorite writer. I thought he was a basketball player.  She had some money and we got the rights to JESUS’ SON, a collection of short stories.  We talked about how to adapt it as an unusual voice-over driven film with a confused narrator and fragmented narrative, and we divided the stories up.  We would write separately, the three of us, and then come together and blend the work into a screenplay.  It was a long, organic process.  Three people just putting their minds together.  We were going to produce it together as well.  We brought Alison McLean on board early and the money came together through some very capable people in Elizabeth’s world.  Heading into production, I was being pulled away by the possibility of directing A HIDING PLACE and I told them I couldn’t function as a producer on the film.  In truth, my role on that end was not equal to theirs, and they asked me what credit I would want.  I said Associate Producer because I thought it meant something.  Live and learn!  I was involved in the editing to the extent that I was asked to get involved.  Saw cuts, gave notes, voiced my opinion.  Elizabeth would call me every day on her way to the editing room and she made me feel like my opinion mattered.  It was a great lesson.

"Married Life" director Ira Sachs with Brosnan and McAdams on set

I'm curious about your somewhat unusual niche as a writer who has co-authored several screenplays with directors, most recently with Todd Haynes on "I'm Not There", and with Ira Sachs on "Married Life". Were they similar experiences in regards to process? Do you sit in a room together and write things out line for line? Or do you discuss an overall theme and structure and then divide up the writing of individual scenes before coming back together? Do you prefer the process of writing as a team and having a partner to challenge you or to bounce ideas off of, to writing by yourself?

I love working with writer/directors because I get to take on their vision.  I leave mine behind.  My job with Ira, Todd Haynes or Phil Kaufman, Bertha Bay Sa Pan, Steve Buscemi and other write/directors I worked with, is always to understand what they need in order to direct the movie, it’s never about me, and I like that sort of discipline, it really enriches my understanding of filmmaking.  Most directors allow me to ask stupid questions and be very silly as the guy who has to catch up with their thinking, and so most collaborations for me are quite pleasurable.  Writer/directors are like genres.  They have their conventions and set of rules, whether they can articulate them or not, and my job is to understand the rules, work with them, change them if I can, but always serve at their pleasure.  Always voice my opinion and articulate options before they make the final decision.  It doesn’t mean I’m not passionate about the work, quite contrary, it just means that I acknowledge the film as ultimately their responsibility.  If they don’t understand what’s on the page, they won’t be able to make it work on screen.  I’m always the vice president for them, which is really fun if you’re into vice.

It’s rare that we sit in the same room for more than a few sessions.  Most of the writing I’ve done with writer/directors involved lots of conversations and planning, but the actual work is done separately.  But every director is different, so every process is different. Also, my point of entry into the process is different on each project, sometimes I come into a rewrite, and sometimes I’m there at the beginning.  In every case I remind myself it is not about me and it makes things so much easier.

In my experience no two directors are alike in how they work and think about filmmaking and storytelling; can you share anything about what you've learned from your various collaborators?

I’ve learned so much from my collaborators; I wouldn’t even know where to start.  The two most important things I’ve learned are how to listen and how to sit. Everything else is just work.

TOMORROW: The final part of my talk with writer-director Oren Moverman!!

william

Moverman

TALKING TO WRITERS

Today is part one of an interview with my friend Oren Moverman, Israeli-born and New York based screenwriter and filmmaker.

Oren has written some of the more interesting and provocative independent features of the last several years, from Alison Maclean's "Jesus' Son" to Todd Haynes' "I'm Not There" to Ira Sach's "Married Life".

Now he has made his directorial debut with his upcoming feature "The Messenger" starring Ben Foster, Samantha Morton and Woody Harrelson. 

Oren Moverman interview

What was your relationship to movies growing up in Israel? Were you one of those movie nuts as a kid, or were you more interested in other things?

I saw my first movie when I was seven years old in my school gym, which doubled as a bomb shelter, in Givaatayim, just east of Tel Aviv.  The lights were turned off and I was terrified.  I didn’t know there would be a moment of darkness before the movie started.  I spent the next two hours shivering, scared out of my mind.  The film was THE WIZARD OF OZ, and the images paralyzed me.  It was a nightmare I couldn’t NOT watch.  I came home with very high fever, and spent the next few days in bed.  There was quite a bit of vomiting involved if I remember correctly.  I’m sure I was coming down with something already before the screening, but I always associated that illness with watching my first movie.  I didn’t dare watch THE WIZARD OF OZ again for thirty ears.  My kids forced me.  It was pretty sweet.  That was my introduction to my chosen profession.

When I was nine I was part of an Israeli youth movement called HaNoar HaOved VeHaLomed (Working and Studying Youth.)  It was quasi-socialist, Zionist association.  We wore solid blue shirts with red strings for buttons and talked about social responsibility and communal living, but I was there mostly because all the pretty girls went and because there was not much else to do.  We’d meet every Tuesday and Saturday at a center that seemed to be centuries away from my house.  One day we couldn’t go in the building because they were shooting a movie inside.  I caught a glimpse of a young guy named Avi Nesher directing actors.  The film was called THE TROUP.  It was about an Army singing group.  I noticed a very big camera.  I put two and two together and realized that movies are made with actors and a camera and someone who told everyone what to do.  It sounds silly, but I guess it was the first time I realized films involved a process of making.  I probably wasn’t a very bright kid, never really thought about this thing called creativity, about making something out of nothing.  Suddenly, I was imagining movies in my head about nine-year old boys who didn’t want to be kids anymore, didn’t want to live where they lived, didn’t want to be who they were.  I never articulated it, but I knew somehow movies had something to do with my future.

What kinds of films were available to you? Was there a distinction between commercial and more artistic films there? Were you attracted to American films? Which ones made a big impression on you?

There was no film culture where I grew up.  For my family, there was no culture period. This was Israel in the seventies, a relatively young country in a rough neighborhood with much to worry about.  Our culture was survival and chaos.

My older cousin, Ronen, would take me to see French farces every year on my birthday. I’m not sure why. Not even sure what they were.  It was a serial of sorts.

TV was black and white and mostly educational.  Every Saturday evening, after the Sabbath, when broadcast would resume, my family would get together to watch cartoons. A colorless Bugs Bunny was the closest thing to a movie star in my house.

Every Friday there would be Arabic movies on TV in the afternoon.  I watched them religiously.  Can’t say that I remember one plot line, but I do recall a lot of crying and the occasional kiss. There were songs too.  I think it solidified the sense of being an outsider looking in.  These images were important to me.  I had no access to other films.  There was no VHS.  I didn’t know that a few miles away there was a cinematheque showing the new Kurosawa movie.  Didn’t know much at all.

I came to the States when I was twelve. Finished school here and went back to join the military.  The New York years opened me up to cinema.  On TV (color TV, what a revelation!) and in movie theaters I discovered filmmakers and truly fell in love with films.  Still, I had yet to meet anyone who worked in movies.  Hell, I’d yet to meet anyone who did anything remotely creative or artistic.

In the military, again, I had no access to movies.  So I would read.  I would read about movies, absurd things: Totems and Movies, The Evolution of the Western, From Logos to Lens, On the Notion of Cinematographic language, Toward a Non-Bourgeois Camera Style – heady stuff; Feminist, Marxist, Genre, Auteur Criticism.  I would familiarize myself with Japanese, Italian, French, British and American cinema.  It felt right.  I became very familiar with films I’ve never seen.  I memorized filmographies of directors I admired at the time, Truffaut, Ophuls, Lubitsch, Altman, and I would always try to remember who was the DP on every one of these films.  I don’t know why.  Maybe because I read about Raoul Coutard and it sounded like the director of photography is a character in himself.

I left Israel after the military with the desire to get involved in film, made stronger by the desire not to live in Israel.  If I was going to be an outsider, I may as well be in a place I didn’t belong.  I was hungry to meet the people who made movies.  I still knew next to nothing about how films were really made, but I could talk a good game about things like diegetic sound, Wabi-Sabi readings of Ozu films, and current problems in film theory.

Looking back I would say I wasn’t a nut about movies, I was addicted to the ways movies made me feel and I was dedicated to trying to find out why they made me feel this way.  I was addicted to the feeling I got, and still get sometimes, when the lights go down and I get scared and worried something just might happen that will change my world forever. 

When did you realize or decide that you might want to or have the possibility of pursuing a career in filmmaking? Did you have friends or peers in Israel with similar interests? Was the idea of going to "film school" a reality for your generation?

I had no way of moving to the States legally save for becoming a foreign student.  I applied to Brooklyn College because I found out they had a film program and I applied to SUNY Purchase because I read about some young talent being discovered there.  Hal Hartley just graduated, I believe.  This was 1988.  I got accepted to Brooklyn and left Israel with no idea how I would be able to afford it.  No job. No skills, if you discount jumping out of airplanes, shooting semi-automatic rifles and humiliating an oppressed people.  But I had a student visa, and I was ready to put myself in a position of getting lucky.  I confess that I did think about studying film in Israel for five minutes.  At that time there was basically Tel Aviv University and another school, I forget its name, where you could study filmmaking.  But I wanted to be an American filmmaker.  I wanted to be a part of that tradition.  Nowadays, Israel has some fine opportunities for young filmmakers, there’s a great school in Jerusalem, named after Sam Spiegel of all people, that is molding some real talent, and there are foreign-educated filmmakers coming back and doing great work. I guess for me going to the States to study film was about identity.  I wanted to learn how to be someone else from who I was, and film seemed like the way to go.  I’m not sure how to explain it without lying on your couch and talking it through for hours and paying you to listen. 

I know it sounds ridiculous, but I never ever thought about another type of career.  It doesn’t mean I didn’t have other interests.  I studied Genetics, Art, English and Philosophy among many other subjects I really loved.  I had other jobs, but film was where I was going, and there was no need to doubt it.  Years later there would be nothing but doubt.   

Director Alison Maclean on the set of Jesus' Son with Billy Crudup and Dennis Hopper

How did you learn to write screenplays? Who were your mentors? Who were your influences? Did you start out to write for film, or were you already writing fiction or non-fiction while you were working as a journalist and before you took up screenwriting?

I started writing while attending Brooklyn College, but I never took a screenwriting class.  A history professor, Stuart Schaar, was offering an advanced Middle Eastern seminar and we were required to write a long research paper.  Now, he was, and still is, a very cool guy and I told him I didn’t want to write the paper because I found it boring.  I was never a fan of footnotes.  He told me I could write a short story instead.  I wrote a story called A SAINT IN HIS VILLAGE about a Palestinian working in Jerusalem who encounters violence just by sitting on an Israeli bus.  It was all about how I felt about being Israeli and about some experiences I had in the first intifada, and I must say, it was pretty damn good.  Or good enough to surprise me into thinking I could write fiction in English.  He told me I should write more.

Then I found my way into journalism. Sort of. First, in Hebrew for a newspaper where I wrote film reviews under my then girlfriend’s name, because by then I was working for the Israeli government in security and I thought it wasn’t right to use my own name.  Also, it allowed me to write about films from a woman’s perspective, which was a good exercise. I became a character, I guess. 

I met a wonderful man named Walter Donohue on a film I was working on as a PA and he introduced me to the film editor at Interview magazine who gave me some work interviewing people like Spike Lee, Ang Lee, young actors like Sam Rockwell, Anne Hache, Noah Taylor, and more.  I made them all my teachers and mentors.  I was finally spending time talking with the people who made movies.  I was going to press screenings and I was in the know.

Walter then invited me to work for the British publishers Faber & Faber, as an editor-at-large, mostly scouting for film books and then doing some interviews and writing for books, the Projections series among them. 

Years before, when I was a soldier, I met a tourist named Ron Yoshida in the occupied Palestinian territories. He gave me his card and told me he worked as a soundman in NY.  I held on to that card and when I came here he got me a job working for Albert Maysles as an office PA.  Ron’s a warm, sweet, smart guy and he told me the day we reconnected in New York that I will be directing my first feature in five years.  He was off by fifteen years. 

My life in film came together through a lot of luck, through some really generous people who were willing to give me opportunities way before I had the chance to hone in any skills.  Everything was on the job training.

I wrote my first screenplay, A HIDING PLACE, intuitively, not knowing what I was doing, but feeling my way through it, out of the experience of sneaking onto the set of Louis Malle’s last film VANYA ON 42^ND STREET.  I was a PA, but Louis also put me in the film.  It’s a long story, but out of that experience I came to work on JESUS’ SON. 

A HIDING PLACE took off and I got financing out of France to direct it.  I had a very excited young producer I met through a director I admired and met through Faber named Lodge Kerrigan, who was making it all happen.  Screenwriting was not going to be my job.  I was a writer/director all of a sudden.  We started casting, then pre-production, hired an entire crew, and three days before shooting, on the second day of tech-scout, the film fell apart.  I’m still not sure what happened.  The financier didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak French.  I was told all kinds of things by my producer, but it never added up.  I thought it was the worst day of my life.

Boy, was I wrong.

I was left with a screenplay, which became my writing sample and started my career as a screenwriter.  

TOMORROW: The second part of my talk with writer/director Oren Moverman.

william

More Talk With The Real Real Girl

TALKING TO WRITERS

Part two of my interview with "Lars and the Real Girl" screenwriter Nancy Oliver.

And a special "hola" to all of the wonderful visitors who have stopped by from Elsita's blog. Thanks for all of your comments and support.

"Kelli Garner as MARGO"

5. What was the genesis of "Lars"? How did you have the original
idea, and what came next? Did you know where the story was going
when you started writing it? Did the story all come at once, or
did you go through false steps or many revisions to get it all in
place? What changed, if anything?

it's taken me till now to face the genesis of "Lars." i've told
various stories at various times, but they're partly lies. to be
honest, it's too private to share. only a couple of people know the
truth and i didn't tell them either, they guessed. and it doesn't
have anything to do with a sex doll.

no long narrative piece comes all at once for me. it's not a linear
process. there's a long gestation period, usually years, five for
Lars, before i start to type. it's not like i'm thinking about it all
the time -- but it's always present and developing in my subconscious
and rises to the surface of my mind from time to time, more and more, till the pressure to write is inescapable. i have to get it out of
myself and onto the page in order to move on with life.

i didn't really know where the story would end when i started it. i
knew that it would be about resurrection, so a death and rebirth was
involved, but i didn't know what form that would take. i constantly
revise. if the movie hadn't been made i'd still be rewriting. unless
i'm forced to by contract, i don't do complete drafts. generally by
the time i show anybody anything, the script has been through 100,000 rewrites and revisions. the shooting draft for Lars was essentially the draft i first showed my agents. there was one big structural rebuild early on -- the doctor was originally two characters, but i couldn't get the story to go forward until i made the fix and Dagmar emerged.

"Emily Mortimer, Paul Schneider, Ryan Gosling and BIANCA"

6. Was there anything that influenced you, an author, a film, a
photograph or song, when it came to finding the appropriate tone
for "Lars"?

no. the tone was born of the story and the way i look at the world.

7. How would you compare the film you made in your own imagination when you were writing to what ended up on the screen?

they're quite different. there was a different look for the film in
my head, and the town was bigger and Lars's neighborhood set-up was different and i could do a big long list, but that's always the way
it is. and it's part of the fun and torture of production, watching
the changes take place. it's not a question of right or wrong,
making a movie or play is about collaboration and interpretation and
compromise. i think the film succeeds in so many ways thanks to so
many people -- the casting is beautiful, everyone held the tone,
often what was shot was much better than what was in my head. i'm so grateful for the respect with which the script was treated. it almost never happens that way. i don't know how i got so lucky.

"Director Craig Gillespie and Ryan Gosling"

8. Are you equally comfortable writing for film or television? Do
you approach either medium differently?

" comfortable" is not a word i associate with writing, which kind of
hurts. in a good way. sort of. each form has its challenges -- a
screenplay takes a long time and it's a lonely experience and tests
your determination and endurance and patience. i don't like to work
with an outline, it feels too confining, so there's a lot of trial
and error and groping around and experimenting. it cannot be rushed. television is about writing by committee. you have to play nicely with others and you work from a group-generated, very specific outline according to a very specific schedule and budget and
locations. and there's an immediate gratification factor, because
usually your episode will go right into production. it's fun to do
both -- they feed different creative cravings and i like the variety.

9. How do you follow an act like being nominated for an Oscar for
your first produced screenplay, and winning the Humanitas Award? Do you feel the pressure of expectations, from others or yourself?
What's next?

you know, the awards thing was a crazy, interesting trip, but if it
weren't for all those black dresses in my closet, i would think it
was all a dream. "Lars" wasn't just my first produced screenplay, it
was the first real screenplay i ever wrote, so it was always like i
was living somebody else's karma. i do feel the pressure of
expectations from others, but i try not to let that enter the mental/
emotional space where i work. my own expectations are so high that
i'm never satisfied with anything, that's enough pressure.

what's next is three projects: True Blood, Alan Ball's southern
vampire series, a screenplay for Warner Brothers called "handyman,"
and a pilot for HBO called "Bad Girls," adapted from the long-
running British series about women in prison.

and a vacation. definitely a vacation.

AMEN to that, Nancy. Thanks so much for sharing your time and insights and experience.

william

TOMORROW: Travel back in time with me to another country: Cuba!!!

The Real Real Girl

TALKING TO WRITERS

"Lars and the Real Girl starring Ryan Gosling"

Today is part one of my recent talk with a truly gifted writer. I'll post the second part tomorrow.

I've spent most of my career out here working with writers, hearing their original ideas, pitching them mine, helping them to develop their work, editing it, trying to decipher it, trying to inspire them, being inspired by them, being educated by them, being bored or frustrated or confused by what they write, or moved or tickled or terrified or electrified, trying to protect them from the vagaries and brutality of the system, and most of all, trying to protect the intentions of their words and ideas as they get translated to the screen through all of the myriad collaborators and pressures that are part of the wild, wooly enterprise of filmmaking.

Having started writing again here through the medium of this blog, I thought it would be interesting to circle back around and play a role I haven't really ever played with writers, other than inadvertently, the interviewer. I feel there is a lot I can learn from talking to smart, talented people, and look forward to sharing their insights with you.

INTERVIEW with Nancy Oliver
screenwriter
Lars and the Real Girl, Six Feet Under, True Blood

1. How did you get in to this racket?

i've always written and directed, since childhood. it's compulsive. i
would rather have been an actress or a rock star but strangely, that
never happened. i started serious writing with sketches and short
plays in college, helped found a theater company with friends
producing our original material, supported myself mostly with menial office jobs and never stopped working. 27 years later, i finally
scored a paying gig in television, Six Feet Under.

2. Why screenwriting?

although i've tried every kind of writing, writing for actors is
really my best thing and i'm interested in every form that involves.
it was natural to move from playwriting into film and tv.

"Ryan Gosling as LARS"

3. How did you learn how to write a screenplay?

i'm still learning how to write a screenplay. it hasn't been an easy
transition and it's taken years because moving from stage to screen
involved not only a change in form but also a change in perception. i had to change myself, i had to change the way i see and experience the world and consciously develop my visual sense and comprehension. i had to figure out a new balance between communication through language and communication through image. and that balance shifts from piece to piece, depending on story, so every new project is like starting at the beginning again.

4. What were the movies that inspired you then? Have you seen
anything lately that stuck to your ribs? Where do you go for inspiration these days?

it's blasphemy, i know, but i'm more into real life than movies and
i'd rather make movies than watch them. so while there are many
movies i like, i'm not sure that there are any that have had a huge
impact on my work. i could be wrong. i don't like to get cerebral or
intellectual about it. too much thinking and talking and analysis
always gives me a completely unjustified sense of importance and
kills ideas.

oh here's an inspiration -- one day a colleague laid out his system
for writing movies -- something happens on page one, then there's a
kiss on page 15, then a death on page 30, then a twist on page 45 --
scary. i was inspired to never ever have a system.

there are films and filmmakers i turn to for company, though --
fellini and bergman in particular, there are many more -- because i
feel so much freedom in their work. they don't give a crap about
rules or formulae, they take huge risks, they hit and they miss,
there's a depth and breadth and scale to them that's Shakespearean --
now there's an inspiration for you. all things human are found in
shakespeare. i return to his plays over and over and over.

"Patricia Clarkson as DAGMAR"

TOMORROW: Part two of my talk with screenwriter Nancy Oliver

william