by Phyllis Foundis

I. Had. A. Ball.

Why? Well, aside from the fact that there were regular displays of honed male muscle (take that as you will, dear readers), it was a thoroughly immersive, enjoyable cinematic experience.

Okay, before the purists tweet up a storm about the supposed script deficiencies, single dimensional characters, blah, blah, wank, I am not, for a millisecond, suggesting Magic Mike is Citizen Kane.

The film’s naked men are unlikely to attract other naked men (of the golden, bare-buttocked variety). Magic Mike simply did what all good movies should do and that is, entertain.

As the scenes unfolded, I turned off the writer inside and got lost in the magic.

Magic Mike simply did what all good movies should do and that is, entertain.

‘Story, schmory, I whispered to myself as yet another set piece assaulted the senses; smiles and sweat, and dance routines that were nothing short of eye-popping – particularly when Mr Tatum showed us he was more than just a ‘cock-rockingly’ good stripper (the film’s description, not mine).

And frankly, when the fuss subsided between one’s loins, the narrative was actually a viable one. Yes, Virginia, there is a story in Magic Mike. A very believable and often touching tale.

Midway through the flick, I managed to unglue my eyes from the screen to look at the audience (female and male) and they were all doing what they were supposed to be doing – watching, unflinching. No sly texting, talking, fidgeting, not even any popcorn nibbling. All eyeballs faced forward.

So it got me wondering… could you improve on this perfect audience response? Surely Mr Soderbergh should have considered the wonders of 3D in the sharing of Mike’s magic?

To 3D or not to 3D

Well this is the $64,000,000 question isn’t it? And for a measured, informed response unfettered by the libidos of horny audience members, we need to take an intimate glimpse inside the 3D argument.

So here goes…

3D cinema has raised the ire of many a filmmaker, critic and fan ever since moviegoers were persuaded to strap on a pair of ill-fitting cardboard frames for the earliest recorded screening of a 3D film,The Power of Love. It premiered in LA (where else) on September 27, 1922 and decades later the technology has exploded and now nearly every movie that has its day in the dark, is in 3D.
But does this trend reflect the stunning technology on offer?

Not now baby, I’ve got a headache. No, really.

At a recent Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas, Reuters interviewed two leading opthalmologists who basically shot down the 3D argument in big, explosive, Hollywood-tastic flames.

Basically, a lot of us are walking around with minor eye problems, for example a muscle imbalance. It’s not a big deal because the brain can deal with this issue naturally. But the minute we subject our eyes to the largely unfamiliar experience that is 3D – our eyes have to work harder, which means our brains have to work harder which translates into one big, fat headache, folks.

In fact, a recently published article in Consumer Reports claims that 15% of moviegoers experience headaches and eyestrain during 3D movies.

Essentially, when you’re looking at something in real life, each of your eyes sees it at a slightly different angle. And the perception of depth is created when this image is processed in your brain. But the illusions you see in a 3D movie just aren’t calibrated in the way your brain and eyes are.

Put simply, your eyes weren’t made for 3D! And uber film critic Roger Eber concurs (very loudly on his blog),
“3D doesn’t work with our brains and never will.”
Shots in the dark.

Put simply, your eyes weren’t made for 3D!

You’ve probably already gathered from the tone in this article that I am not a 3D-ophile. What man can do with technology has never really twiddled my proverbials. It’s fun, sure. But will I be buying a 3D TV so I can see Spiderman’s arachnid ass whip past my cheek as he slings over to the next skyscraper on his way to lunch? Er, no.

But aside from the very real physiological reasons why film lovers should steer clear of 3D, there are some hard and fast technical reasons why it’s actually not such a great visual treat.

3D movies are either produced specifically for the format during filming (a’la Gatsby) or converted in post-production. Either way, in order to create the illusions, 3D movies are screened at significantly lower light levels.

Did you know a typical 3D system can lose as much as 80% of the light used to project 2D images up on the silver screen? Basically, the image you see is projected at only two or three foot-lamberts* as opposed to the traditional 2D film system that projects its images at a giant 16 foot lamberts.

Oh Mr Luhrmann, what were you thinking? Thankfully, not all big-shot directors are seduced by 3D. Director, Christopher Nolan refused to make Batman in 3D because of the darkness issue,

Oh Mr Luhrmann, what were you thinking?

“On a technical level, it’s fascinating, but on an experiential level, I find the dimness of the 3D image extremely alienating.”
So instead of creating a closer connection between the audience and the movie it’s having the totally opposite effect.

For the love of Leo’s baby blues, why, Baz, why?

When a filmmaker announces that his next film will be in 3D – I don’t care how big the budget (or his ego) is, it feels like a desperate attempt to force some kind of connection between the audience and the story. You will like this movie, you will connect, you will feel like a part of the action, the love, the horror, the squillion dollar sets I had to sell my first born’s soul to afford.

My counsel to the ticket-buying public is simple… If you want real, in your face life – leave the cinema. Get up out of your seat and go outside. You won’t need to wear cumbersome, plastic glasses to get it, it’s all there in full, you-can-touch-it, colour.

If you want real, in your face life – leave the cinema.

As you know, the next big 3D splash will be Baz Lurhmann’s, Great Gatsby. The movie community and DiCaprio fans at large are eagerly anticipating the release. And needless to say, Lurhmann’s take on Gatsby is bound to be a feast for the senses, it’s part of the man’s genius. Which is why his compulsion to mess with tech bothers me.

Baz can make great movies. Big ones, funny, splashy, larger-than-life, colourful, even small-budget forays (Strictly Ballroom anyone?). So why, oh why, can’t we just enjoy the pleasures of Mr Gatsby’s opulent world without the gimmicks? Aren’t the stupendous displays of wealth, hedonism and Leo’s baby blues enough? I thought they were.

When crotch-clutching doesn’t need a crutch.

The argument against the (literally) dizzying effects of 3D is almost fairytale-like, but rings very, very true…

If the story is gripping enough, you will already be ‘in’ the picture in a pleasurable, altered kind of state; as if you’re floating around in the best lucid dream you’ve ever had. You know it’s a movie, you know it’s fiction, but you’re a willing passenger on the joyride.
In other words, if the movie’s world is engaging enough you’ll enjoy more dimensions than your head and your heart can ever cope with.

How spectacular does that sound?

if the movie’s world is engaging enough you’ll enjoy more dimensions than your head and your heart can ever cope with.

I’m a traditional moviegoer. For me it’s all about the story and more importantly the world this narrative creates. Is it a world I want to spend 90 minutes in? Does it make me feel good, provoke thought, laughter, tears… then, yes, I’m yours, in the dark, without question.

The 3D argument is a long and hairy one. And we’re certainly not going to cover all of it in this modest article. Suffice to say, filmmakers should beware – it’s not the be all and end all of storytelling. Let your stories, your characters, your dialogue (!) do the talking.
If a story is written well, it’s engaging and it should have you at, ‘hello’. You don’t need whiz bang to get more for your movie buck.
Which is a natural segueway back to ol’ Mike and his magic.

If a 3D movie is supposed to bring you closer to the action, immerse you in moments as if it were real life, then Magic Mike is as close to 3D as it’s ever going to get. And it could’ve been because of Mr Soderbergh’s skillful direction, or the raw energy of the script, or the copious flashes of glistening naked flesh. But ultimately, I think the movie did what it said on the tin – it succssfully portrayed the magic of Mike.
So the question still begs…

Would this hip-swivelling extravaganza have blown more minds in 3D?
(Somewhere a worried mother cries,‘You’ll have your eye out with that thing!)

Well, given that 3D images are often dark, small and generally distance you from the action on the screen… Ladies and gentlemen, dear fans of the celluloid artform, male, female and beyond – the answer is an unequivocal, resounding, holler it from the multiplex rooftops…

No.

* The unit of luminance by which screen brightness is measured.

Performer, producer, writer, Phyllis Foundis has written for ad campaigns, books, one-woman shows, online articles, scripts and speeches. In 2004, she performed in her self-penned, one-woman show, the virgin club on London’s West End, the Edinburgh Festival and Melbourne’s International Comedy Festival.
Phyllis has also written coverage for Hugh Jackman’s production company and acted alongside John Waters in Burleigh Smith’s, Ragtime.
She is the host of her own TV chat show, Foundis for Television Sydney (TVS).

Huge-never-to-be-repeated-all-stock-must-go-(no-really)-sales are in full festive swing.

Resistance is futile. The silly season is upon us once more.

Some people rue this time of year because they’re single or their family’s nuts – or both. For me, this time, especially New Year’s Eve cranks up the volume on my self-doubting voice…

So, this is Christmas – and what have you written, produced, sold?

Another year over and… now what? I’m still writing. Still knocking on doors (okay not that many owing to nappy, sleeping and routine patrol in my house – but that’s another story). But my screenplay idles in its first draft stage – the characters are now giving me the silent treatment until I lavish them with the attention they deserve.

What have you written, produced, sold?

You’d be pissed off too if someone gave you a sparkling life and then put your journey on hold to go and change a nappy – and never came back.

So where was I? Oh yes. Another festive season, another reason to lament and let that inner critic celebrate another year of unsuccess.

Depressing, huh?

Yep. It sucks. Which is precisely what I heard from a very dear friend as she considered throwing it all in – and ending her movie-making dreams once and for all. Goodbye, cruel world.

While I may sound glib, my reaction to her decision was anything but.

This vivacious, tenacious woman* is probably the most driven filmmaker I know. We met a little over two years ago and in this time I’ve watched her write shorts, direct ‘em, edit them, enter them into festivals, sweat over cast (and crew) egos – and still not get the big, shining break we all dream about. I’ve watched her fly with confidence and consoled her when her dreams slipped out of her reach, yet again. It’s been a rollercoaster ride that I’ve enjoyed and suffered vicariously through her. So much so that sometimes I wished she’d give it up to be happy again.

But the other day when she announced,

‘My life sucks. Everything I’ve done has been a waste of time.’

I was desperate to shout her down, hug her and try to talk over her deafening insecurites – surely you know the suckers I speak of.

But she was determined to beat herself up. And as I listened to her destroy the last shreds of confidence, I remembered six little words actress Gillian Anderson uttered in London a few years ago.

My life sucks. Everything I’ve done
has been a waste of time.

I had a free ticket to a ‘masterclass’ Anderson was giving on acting, so I went along – together with a few hundred, breathless X-File spotters.

A few seconds into the masterclass, I was thankful for my freebie. Anderson shuffled onto the stage, head bowed. She fumbled with her bag. Cleared her throat. Perched herself awkwardly on a stool. Apologised for being there. And then proceeded to give a largely unremarkable talk about her career. A wet fish had more presence.

But then it happened…

Someone asked her how she’s been able to stay positive in an industry famed for its knockbacks and her reply redeemed her in milliseconds.

‘Don’t give up before the miracle.’ She said with a quiet strength.

I looked up immediately. Yes! Oh God, it’s a scary concept, not giving up, staying true to your convictions, ignoring the naysayers – but it makes sense. The eleventh hour is a key player in any creative endeavour. Don’t give up before the miracle. Yes.

And so to all of you out there desperate to give up, because it’s too hard, you’ve had enough, you’re a talentless hack anyway (your thoughts, not mine!) allow me to fling a few home truths at you.

Don’t give up
before the miracle.

You just haven’t met the kindred spirits, made the right connections, created the ‘right’ thing. It will happen for you. Whatever ‘it’ is. And that’s the point – showbusiness may not be the world where you will truly make your mark. But nothing is a waste of time. Everything you have ever written, produced, filmed, edited to this day is all part of a fantastic path that’s so perfect for you, it’s impossible to imagine it right now in the middle of your ‘blahs’.

Okay, I’ve come over all evangelical – but it befits the season, don’tcha think? Besides, I believe in this stuff – I’ve seen it play out in my life over and over again.

So this festive season, do a little carol singing. Decorate a tree. Sit on Santa’s knee.

Whatever you do, don’t give up before the miracle. Your dreams are still out there. And all they want for Christmas is, you.

* My friend is still tenacious about her movie-making and back to being her fabulously annoying driven self. Love your work, P.

-Phyllis Foundis

Writer, producer, presenter Phyllis Foundis has written and bellydanced her way to the tender age of 39-ish. She’s been writing stories, ads, one-woman shows and to-do lists forever. Not so much a budding screenwriter than a scribe that’s bloomin’ ready to see her stories up on the silver screen. Phyllis loves her boys and big, feelgood movies – that appeal to people not funding bodies.

photo credit: kevindooley

photo credit: Shandi-lee

As I write this I’m knee-deep in dirty words. No, not the four-letter variety, although I may mouth off a few if I don’t meet my self-imposed deadline this weekend and finish a first draft of a script. And therein lies the rub.

If I write dirty I can meet even the most supernaturally tight deadline in hours and not agonising, revise-heavy months. But like a lot of you, I wanna be perfect. Or at least write perfectly, first time around.

And somewhere in the collective unconscious a gaggle (?) of Muses laugh hysterically. Write. Perfectly. First. Time. Around. Sure.

Dishin’ the dirt.

Superb screenplays, ie fast-paced, economically written, fresh, original stories stuffed full of quirky, yet believable characters and high stakes (phew) don’t spring out of a writer’s head fully-formed.

They really, really don’t.

A great script is deceptively simple. Looks great on paper but it doesn’t just happen when you let fly with the ol’ courier font and double spacing. If a script reads beautifully and simply it’s usually because the writer has worked long and hard on giving you a great, easy, free-flowing experience.

According to Pixar maestro, Andrew Stanton – and I paraphrase –

A good screenplay takes 10 man-years of labor. That’s two writers working five years or 10 guys working one year. Apparently, for Toy Story 3, 10 people toiled and spelt for two to three years.

So if it generally takes this long, why not have some fun when you first let your story free on the page?

Enter the Dirty Draft.

Get dirty. Feel free.

Unless you go back in time ten years with a copy of a Pixar script or Little Miss Sunshine or any other screenplay that whispers genius – and then you type it up, pass it off as your own, (…win tons of awards, designer goodie bags, endless acclaim – no this isn’t my fantasy), you ain’t going to write a watertight script first go.

The Dirty Draft is effectively your first draft. It’s all about staying in-flow and moving forward page after page in spite of mistakes, cardboard characters and nowhere plots that make Lost read like William Goldman penned it.

It can be a liberating writing experience and, here’s the crazy part, it can also be fabulous, mistake-happy, fun.

The purpose ain’t perfection. It’s about transferring the thoughts the notions, concepts and big dreams from your head onto the page. Don’t be precious about this process.

Just get your story down. And don’t interrupt your flow or allow vanity to sidle up to you and whisper,

‘Hey, go back and read that last scene – it was genius!’

The Great Write Hope.

You may be writing a script that’s going to get you noticed, kudos, be an incredible calling card in Holly / Bolly / Ozzywood (thank you, Mr Segers), but nothing will murder inspiration faster than expectation.

Yours. Mine. Theirs.

Weighing your script down with the hopes of a small village namely parents, spouse – your bank manager, will shoot the storytelling dead. The Dirty Draft should free you of any grand ideals especially if it’s typically, fabulously, crap – but only the first time around, of course.

The Dirty Draft gives your story space to breathe. It also alleviates the pressure to be scene-perfect.

How to do the dirty.

1. Shut up your censor.

We’ve all got one; it’s the nagging little voice that urges us to read the last bloody scene 15 times before moving on with the rest of the script. It’s a saboteur, a spoil-sport, an awesome pain in the butt.

So how to silence it? Wait until it goes to sleep. No, really. All censors need a snooze – even yours. And when they sign-off for the night you can unlock some amazing stuff inside you.

Just wait until you’re craving warm sheets and 8 horizontal hours and then, write. Your eyes need to be closing as you type. Do it for about 20 minutes and then go to sleep.

In the morning go back and read what you wrote. Granted, some of it will be otherwordly nonsense but you may experience the weird sensation of reading words that’ll make you think,

“Hey, that’s not bad. Who the hell wrote it?”

2. Find someone to get dirty with.

A fellow scribe who’s working on their own dirty draft will push you to meet your deadline and stay in-flow.

Make sure it’s a writer you feel safe with and enjoy a healthy, competitive relationship – otherwise you’ll be writing to impress them – not yourself.

3. Stuck? Write scene place-holders.
You need that big, watershed scene between Penny the porn star and Daryl the deer hunter*. It’s a challenging moment in the story, but you can’t get your head around it right now. Fine. Don’t labour it.

Write a few lines of explanatory copy, describe the scene, maybe even write some dialogue – it’s okay, no one has to know – except you and your Dirty Draft confidante.

* not real characters. Just made ‘em up.

4. Pound out a page in 60 seconds.
Don’t think. Don’t analyse. Just enjoy feeling nervous about mindless writing. In many ways, the liberating nature of writing a Dirty Draft can be a silver bullet for writer’s block.

You’re creating art, but not as you know it.

The point of all this madness (and creating any art requires a modicum of insanity otherwise, what’s the point, right? Actually forget modicum – anyone who would tackle this intangible artform is an out and out stark raving, padded-cell loving lunatic – and loving it.)…

The point is, you’re getting it ALL down – every last little emotional, insane, sexy, hilarious, terrifying story beat that, up until the Dirty Draft, was just a hazy notion in your head. An anecdote you wheeled out at chi chi cocktail parties as you played ‘budding screenwriter’,

“So I’ve got this great idea for a scene in my movie, listen to this…”

Come on, you know you’ve done it, er, haven’t you?

When full-fat is fabulous.

The minute you release yourself from the shackles of creating immaculate art the first time around, you’ll liberate your muse.

And you’ll know you’ve got a Dirty Draft when you do the first read-through and discover a full-fat, over-written, flabtastic extravaganza. Now you can start cutting back on dialogue-saturated scenes, over-processed plot-lines and fatty big print.

Now…

If you still think the superscribes don’t write filthy first…

I have it on good authority that, a certain world-famous Aussie director with a predilection for jubilant penguins, draws pictures into his first drafts, eschews the sacred courier font and generally makes it look so unlike a screenplay it’s unbelievable.

Now we’re really talking dirty.

-Phyllis Foundis

Writer, media presenter — and stage diva (on hiatus) Phyllis Foundis has written and bellydanced her way to the tender age of 36. She’s been writing stories, ads, one-woman shows and to-do lists for as long as she can remember. She loves big shower heads and loathes coriander.

photo credit ‘free clean dirt’: betterbethany
photo credit : Gibson Claire McGuire Regester
photo credit paper: designshard

No! Stop! Rid your writer’s mind of such blasphemy. Okay, I’m standing too tall on my soapbox. I hear ya.

Let me get down and make my point…

The most powerful screenplays are based in truth – otherwise you might as well be writing an ad.

Stories that come from your life, conversations, experiences – even your pillow talk are all script fodder. It’s all valid – even if you don’t think it – and that’s the point.

Too many writers think too much when that blank page taunts.

And while storytellers can spin wonderful, fanciful tales, stories really sparkle with universal resonance when the ‘truth’ is told.

When you write what you know, you’re creating an instant connection with your audience – people identify with the truth, they feel it when they see it – just like an audience can sniff out big, fat lying narratives.

So – are you only allowed to write if you have wikipedic knowledge of the world?

Er, I hope not.

People identify with the truth, they feel it when they see it –
just like an audience can sniff out big, fat lying narratives.

Of mice and blue men.

Obviously James Cameron has never done battle on Pandora nor soared over floating mountains on a dragon / serpent hybrid thingy. And, I would wager, the only experience he’s ever had with blue body parts is on a bad date with a supermodel. But I digress.

When penning his latest blockbuster, Jim knew he wanted to write about war and the plight of the ‘little people’ against the superpower. He was passionate about it. He also knew he wanted to blow a small nation’s Gross National Product on awesome special effects – but that’s another article.

In a sense, he was writing what he knew.

Heart is the matter.

I’ve met lots of budding screenwriters over the last few years and most seem hell-bent on telling stories beyond their emotional frame of reference. Dangerous.

You can write fantasy, rom-com, shoot ‘em up action, pimpled junkie drama flicks to your heart’s content, just make sure the content of your heart informs 99.9% of your writing. Otherwise it will fall flat.

Make sure the content of your heart
informs 99.9% of your writing.

While the worlds you describe can be fanciful and populated with the most far-out characters your imagination can muster, if the emotion is inauthentic, the lie will stand out like an Oscar on AFI night.

Write what you know.

It’s a general rule of thumb, but I would strengthen this old adage with, write what you’re passionate about, write what you’ve researched diligently, write what you love.

Write what you’re passionate about,
write what you’ve researched diligently,
write what you love.

It’s all about having the guts to write the truth down – even when it scares you silly – actually, especially when it scares you silly.

Don’t hit a nerve, annihilate it.

If you’re scared to write about a particular story – fantastic! Fear is a great barometer – it’s a sure sign that you’re onto a story that will challenge you to be a better, more authentic writer – and your audience will love you for it. Their journey will be so much more meaningful and relevant. Simply tell the truth and people will follow your story to the ends of the earth.

Or to paraphrase ballsy columnist of the 90s – Cynthia Hiemel –

‘Write down your inner most demons, crazy, bizarre – write it all down. People will connect with you – it’s like magic. Wrench your weirdest thoughts, stories into the light and you will make a million dollars.’

Write what you know. Who you are. How you are.

Write down your inner most demons, crazy, bizarre –
write it all down. People will connect with you – it’s like magic.

And no, you won’t have to kill a man in order to write about a murderer, or lap dance for a living to pen a script about strip joints (though this didn’t harm Diablo Cody’s Hollywood trajectory – and if you’ve got the butt cheeks for it, why the hell not?), just write ‘you’.

Your ‘warts and all’ view of life could turn a good script into a ‘far-out-this-has-Oscar-written-all-over-it kinda screenplay.

I know which I’d choose. And that’s the truth.

-Phyllis Foundis

Writer, media presenter — and stage diva (on hiatus) Phyllis Foundis has written and bellydanced her way to the tender age of 36. She’s been writing stories, ads, one-woman shows and to-do lists for as long as she can remember. She loves big shower heads and loathes coriander.

photo credit whisper: jin.thai

photo credit Pinocchio: kennymatic

photo credit Caution: Hoggheff aka Hank Ashby aka Mr. Freshtags

Those who rip through our darlings, scribble down notes and then disseminate our precious stories to their even sweeter-smelling bosses?

After receiving yet another ‘Thank you so much for your screenplay, we can see why you’re so enthusiastic about this story (but we just ain’t)…’ letter – have you ever wondered,

well what the hell do these readers want? Can’t they spot raw, raging talent when they read it?

Er no, not exactly. ‘Raw, raging talent’ is a little thin on the ground.

You see, recently I was a reader for a production company,

(I signed a pesky confidentiality agreement, so can’t say much more about said company except that the owner still calls Australia home, enjoys tap dancing in the shadow of Oscar and has something of the wolverine about him.).

Can’t they spot raw, raging talent when they read it?

I clocked up ‘coverage’ (fancy flick-speak for reports) for 25 feature screenplays. And man, what a rollercoaster ride it was. Bit like a movie actually. Spills, thrills – but, sadly, not too many happy endings for this reader.

You know when you see a bad movie and you think to yourself – now there’s two hours of my life I can’t get back? Imagine thinking that script after script after script.

With stories that ran the gamut from vampires and drug addicts to gay nurses in the outback – I read my fair share of crap.

But I struck gold too.

Here’s what you can do to help keep your screenplay in the latter half of that broad-ish spectrum.

Be anal with format.

I read scripts from award-winning filmmakers that were riddled with typos, double pages and stains. It’s distracting. It’s dumb. And you wouldn’t believe how common. Too perfect, never is.

I read scripts from award-winning filmmakers that were riddled with typos, double pages and stains.

Let go of the art, think business.

Your script is ultimately a business document – so make it look like one. The industry standard typeface is ‘courier’ – yes, it’s archaic, but it’s the standard, don’t reinvent the wheel – save that for your PR.

Pretend you only have limited words to play with.

Keep your pages simple. Economical. Hell, reader-friendly. And don’t knock people over the head with interminable BIG PRINT. Just because it’s big, doesn’t mean it’s clever.

Keep the sex simple.

We all know what it is, how it is. So unless gratuituous descriptions of nipples propels your plot forward, don’t waste your words. Good taste can tip over into porn very quickly – which is fine if you’re going to Mr Hefner for finance.

Look Ma, I can do the 3-Act structure.

Readers want to be entertained, but more importantly they want to trust you as a storyteller – that you know how to get from ACT 1 to ACT 3 with speed, confidence and literary flair.

The best reading experiences I had were when I realised from the first page that this writer knew what they were doing and I could just surrender and not work too hard to ‘get them’ or their story.

Readers want to be entertained, but more importantly they want to trust you as a storyteller.

But good ol’ Bill Goldman did say, nobody knows anything.

And in some (rare) cases, not all readers will know a white-hot script when they read it. But hand on my heart (and in my humble opinion), out of the scripts I covered, two, maybe three were outstanding examples of the artform.

The best scripts I read had these qualities in common –

• Big, cinematic stories
• Well observed, believable characters I cared about
• Sparse dialogue and big print
• Confident writing without trying too hard

A reader isn’t God. No, really.

You probably already know a certain amount of pixie-dust is required to make it in this sparkling business they call, ‘show’. And the reality is, it may take a few postage stamps before you find the ‘right reader’ for your work.

But take heart. Cream floats to the top. So if you really have written the next ‘Milk’ or ‘Little Miss Sunshine’, your script will get noticed – and not necessarily by a reader.

After all, isn’t that what you really, really want?

-Phyllis Foundis

Writer, media presenter — and stage diva (on hiatus) Phyllis Foundis has written and bellydanced her way to the tender age of 36. She’s been writing stories, ads, one-woman shows and to-do lists for as long as she can remember.  She loves big shower heads and loathes coriander.

photo credits:
cyberuly
Svenstorm

A benevolent, unshaven fat guy in a red suit will be hauled around the globe on a ten tonne sleigh stuffed with toys by a team of reindeer (one red-nosed) who can fly.

Who would’ve dreamed it? Well someone did.

They found a hero. Crafted a narrative. Developed a structure. And most importantly, they believed it was a story worth telling – however large and fanciful. Budget? What budget?

Fast forward a hundred years later to the i-age of Pod, Phone, paparazzi insanity and climate-crazed politicians and this bewitching story of possibility survives. The result? New, pint-sized imaginations are ignited every year – and for one brief, shining moment on Christmas Day the world’s a little happier.

My point, and I do have one, is simple.

Lofty dreams are necessary for successful creativity.

Question is, do you have a dream?

If you’re reading this, chances are you have something spectacular brewing in your head right now. Some of you may even be bold enough to chase it; congratulations if you are – you’re a rarity. For it seems the world would rather we keep our larger, fatter dreams for bedtime. Funnily enough, that’s what the Aussie film stalwarts would have you do too.

At the recent Metro Screen debate on Aussie films versus Aussie audiences, Rachel Ward was mortified when Tony Ginane suggested we encourage our writers to pen $100 million screenplays. To paraphrase… we shouldn’t tease our writers with grand ideals we can’t possibly fund.

We’re not in America now, Dorothy.

Hm. So let me get this straight… Our storytellers should only be allowed to wallow in existential, suburban mash and then write stories about it? Not for us any glitzy, special-effects-laden or star powered movies thank you very much. Why should we ever aspire to big budget greatness when we can scrounge around for small wads of government cash instead?

Society’s expectations outside the Aussie film biz are a little similar. Unless you’re blessed with friends and family who are supportive of your ‘lofty’ aspirations, you’re encouraged to stay in your little box of an office, occupation and just ‘do what you know’. It’s safer that way.

Well – poo to all of that.

If you’re an artist, scratch that, if you’re a HUMAN BEING, it’s your right – no, your obligation to dream – dream it large, dream it strong, in 3D, with every friggin’ special effect you can imagine.

And if someone shoots your concept down in flames, ask yourself, what is it about your idea that threatens them? Let your critics blather on. Press the snooze button on them and keep dreaming. Make 2010 the year you conjure up your grandest creative projects – screenplays, short films, plays, books – and then, pull everything into focus and holler, action.

So.

If you can dream it – you SHOULD do it.

The future of fat, dynamic, inspiring UNIVERSAL storytelling in Oz depends on it.

And you.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

-Phyllis Foundis

Writer, media presenter — and stage diva (on hiatus) Phyllis Foundis has written and bellydanced her way to the tender age of 36. She’s been writing stories, ads, one-woman shows and to-do lists for as long as she can remember.  She loves big shower heads and loathes coriander.