Away

This is an ideas blog, not a personal one, so the posts are generally about -- well, unless this is your first visit to the site, you know, and if you don't, just scroll down a little. But a big change that's happening for me personally is I'm getting married soon. My father and best friend from Canada arrived recently, and they've been staying at our apartment in Seoul while I spend weekdays at the university where I'm employed (it's a long commute). On evenings when I don't have evening classes or on days off, we meet.

Yesterday, we went downtown to Jonggaicheon, the ancient stream that travels through the heart of the city but was buried for several decades under urban sprawl. Recently, however, Jonggaicheon has been the focus of a massive redevelopment project, and it was finally reopened to the public last summer. It's a mixture of old history and new technology (fresh water is pumped into it via a complex hydraulics system), and, because it's several meters below street level, like a canal, it creates a very idyllic feeling. Its lower level creates a form of natural sound barrier, and suddenly the noise of the city streets recedes. And so you can walk along it, kilometer after kilometer, inside the city but outside it.

Once we emerged from Jonggaicheon, we walked north on Sejong-no -- one of the massive main arteries of the city -- past the monolithic Kyobo building, past the phalanxes of Korean riot police that are permanently stationed outside the U.S. embassy, and past a one-man demonstration against cuts to what is called the 스 크린 쾌타 (the screen quota) system; the system by which movie theaters here are obligated to screen a certain percentage of Korean movies. In the distance was Kyongbukgong, the largest of the Joseon dynasty palaces, and then a side-street along the palace where several private galleries are.

It's a beautiful walk, but it's only representative of the smallest slice of what Korea has to offer. It doesn't capture the vitality of the street, or the ragtag charm of the pochang matchas -- small tents where you can get a simple meal for 2,000 won or a cheap bottle of soju.

The pochang matchas can be sublimely beautiful: there's something inimitable about them, particularly at dusk. As the sky turns a deep blue, they light up as their owners turn on bare light-bulbs that shine through the orange plastic, and give the interior of the tent a warm yellowish tinge. Crowds of gregarious taxi drivers, store clerks and young office people sit at small (also plastic) tables. The entire atmosphere is one of casual yet deep happiness. However, there's a subtext to this street life: it's the subtext of the truth of how economies work -- some people who have filtered into the pochang matchas have an embittered, broken look. Other people pace the streets, too poor to even afford what the pochang matchas have to offer. There are too many levels to what happens at these places for them to be comprehended all at once.

And, just as I don't have time to describe all that here, so I won't have time to post for a couple of weeks, since the Big Event is coming up for my fiance and me. Thanks to the people who've visited the site so far. If you'd like to comment, please feel free to do so. I'll see you again in April.

THE RUNNER -- intro

THE RUNNER - 1


EXT. THE PLAZA OUTSIDE AN OFFICE BUILDING IN TORONTO. A WEEK-DAY IN EARLY SPRING. MORNING.

Young people stand in this plaza area, smoking cigarettes and chatting. The atmosphere is cheerful, gregarious.

Other people stream into the office building. Most of them are also young, and all of these, though middle-class in appearance, are dressed casually. They look like students. And this is in fact what they are. For although the office building is home to several enterprises, it is above all the location of a very popular language school.

And so the casual dress of the young people makes sense; they aren't here to work, they're here to study -- study the Imperial language of the moment -- English. And so when we look more closely at the students we realize they are almost all Latin American or Asian.

HANDSOME MEXICAN GUY WHO'S SMOKING A CIGARETTE AND STANDING AROUND WITH SEVERAL EQUALLY COOL MALE BUDDIES: [To a very attractive young woman in a baby-t, tight jeans, and flip-flops] Hey, Maria, where you go?

MARIA: [smiling] What you think? I go to the school.

HANDSOME MEXICAN GUY WHO'S SMOKING A CIGARETTE AND STANDING AROUND WITH SEVERAL EQUALLY COOL MALE BUDDIES: No, no. You come here.

Maria just smiles and ignores him. She enters the building.

HANDSOME MEXICAN GUY: [To an strongly built Asian friend] Eesh. Eh, what you think?

ASIAN FRIEND: She not like you, Luis.

LUIS, THE HANDSOME MEXICAN GUY: [astounded by the suggestion] Not like?!

ASIAN FRIEND: Yeah. She think you not handsome.

LUIS: Oh. Oh. So you think you handsome?

ASIAN FRIEND: [cocksure] Sure.

LUIS: Usted sueña. You dream. You try -- you talk to pretty girl.

ASIAN FRIEND: [spotting an enormously good-looking Asian woman with flowing long hair] Ji-nah! 안녕! 잘 지내?

LUIS: [mildly upset] No. You don't talk to Chinese girl --

ASIAN FRIEND: [amused and affronted at the same time] She not Chinese. She Korean.

LUIS: Okay, okay. But you choose different woman.

JUMP CUT: EXT. A BUSY MAIN STREET. IT'S THE HEIGHT OF RUSH HOUR AND CARS ARE FLOWING IN A STEADY STREAM.

BIKING VERY QUICKLY DOWN THE SIDE OF THE ROAD IS A YOUNG MAN. HE IS DRESSED WELL,TOO, BUT SOMEWHAT MORE FORMALLY THAN THE STUDENTS OUTSIDE THE LANGUAGE SCHOOL. HE WEARS A SPORTS JACKET, A WHITE SHIRT AND TIE. HE HAS BLACK HAIR AND PALE WHITE SKIN SPECKLED WITH A FEW PIMPLES. A TRUCK DRIVES TOO CLOSE TO COMFORT FOR HIM.

YOUNG MAN ON BIKE: [In a Canadian accent] Shit, dude, what're you trying to do? Kill me?

JUMP CUT: EXT. THE LANGUAGE SCHOOL. A MOMENT LATER. THE GANG OF COOL GUYS IS STILL STANDING AROUND, SMOKING.

AS THEY DO, A BEAUTIFUL BLOND-HAIRED WOMAN WEARING A GYPSY DRESS AND AN INDIAN COTTON BLOUSE WALKS UP THE STEPS OF THE PLAZA AS SHE HEADS TOWARD THE BUILDING ENTRANCE. SHE'S CLEARLY POPULAR. SEVERAL STUDENTS LINGERING ON THE PLAZA SMILE AT HER.

LUIS: [whisping conspiratorially in his Asian friend's ear] Jae-ok. Look. Here come Sarah teacher.

JAE-OK: Teacher?!

LUIS: Sure. Sure. You try.

JAE-OK: No. Not with teacher.

LUIS: [wolfishly] Why not? She so beautiful. And she not have boyfriend. It's true.They get kind of divorce. You try.

JAE-OK: [clearing his throat nervously] Sarah.

JUMP-CUT. THE BUSY STREET. THE YOUNG MAN ON A BIKE. ONE MOMENT LATER.

JUST AHEAD OF HIM, THE LIGHTS AT AN INTERSECTION ARE CHANGING TO YELLOW. THE YOUNG MAN STARTS PUMPING HIS BIKE PEDALS AS HARD AS HE CAN. HE ACCELERATES, BARELY MAKING IT THROUGH THE INTERSECTION BEFORE THE LIGHTS TURN RED. WE SEE A SLIGHT BUT TRIUMPHANT GRIN ON HIS FACE.

YOUNG MAN: [under his breath] Rocket to Russia.

THE YOUNG MAN KEEPS PEDALLING VIGOROUSLY. CLEARLY HE IS IN A HURRY. THE CAMERA FOLLOWS HIM AS HE SPEEDS DOWN THE STREET, SOMETIMES ALMOST GOING AS QUICKLY AS THE CARS BESIDE HIM. HE SEEMS TO BE "IN THE ZONE"; FILLED WITH A KIND OF HAPPY, AGGRESSIVE ENERGY.

SFX: A quick popping sound, followed by a rapid hiss.

YOUNG MAN: [looking at his front tire] What the fu--?!

HIS BIKE SUDDENLY LURCHES FORWARD AS ALL THE AIR SEEPS FROM HIS FRONT TIRE.

YOUNG MAN: Awwww, shit.

THE YOUNG MAN KEEPS PEDALLING. BUT IT'S NO USE. HIS BIKE SIMPLY WON'T MOVE AT ANYTHING APPROACHING A RAPID SPEED.

THE YOUNG MAN DISMOUNTS. HE LOOKS AT HIS WATCH, THE STREET.

YOUNG MAN: [forcefully] Shit! Not today! Not fuckin' today!!

TRAFFIC STREAMS PAST HIM.

THE YOUNG MAN SPOTS A PAY-PHONE. HE RUSHES TO IT, GRATEFUL. HE PUTS SOME A QUARTER INTO THE COIN SLOT. THERE'S A LOUND CLINK AS THE MONEY DROPS IMMEDIATELY INTO THE CHANGE BIN. HE TRIES AGAIN. BUT ONCE MORE, THE PHONE REFUSES TO TAKE HIS MONEY.

YOUNG MAN: [picking up handset, looking ready to get violent against the phone] Oh, you son-of-a ....

A MAN, BETTER-DRESSED THAN THE YOUNG MAN, WALKS BY, TALKING QUICKLY INTO A CELL-PHONE. THE YOUNG MAN LOOKS AT THE CELL WITH ENVY. THEN HE LOOKS AT HIS WATCH. HE SHAKES HIS HEAD. BUT CLEARLY HE'S REACHED A DECISION. HE BEGINS RUNNING -- RUNNING TOWARD HIS DESTINATION.

JUMP-CUT. EXT. THE SCHOOL. THE SAME MOMENT.

JAE-OK IS MAKING HIS MOVE.

JAE-OK: [very nervous -- almost unable to speak] Hi. Sarah. Teacher.

SARAH: [Off-handly] Oh, hi!

JAE-OK: Good.

SARAH: Great! So, who's your new teacher this term?

JAE-OK: [confused] New?

SARAH: Sure! For the term!

JAE-OK is truly speechless now. He simply looks at her.

SARAH: Silly! Didn't you know that you're switching classes today? You should check your schedule more carefully!

SARAH gives all the tough guys a "ta-da" gesture and lightly skips toward the building.

Beat.

LUIS: [laughing uproariously and slapping Jae-ok very hard on the shoulder] You don't know nothing, man! Boy, you ever look .... stoo-pid!

JAE-OK: [visibly defensive] I know. I know that.

LUIS: Oh yeah?

JAE-OK: Yeah. I have new teacher today. Paul.

LUIS: Who?

JAE-OK: Paul.

JUMP-CUT. A CITY STREET. VEHICULAR TRAFFIC STREAMS DOWN IT AS THE YOUNG MAN WHO WAS ON THE BIKE NOW JOGS, DESPERATELY TRYING TO GET TO HIS LOCATION IN TIME.

INT. THE LANGUAGE SCHOOL. A CLASSROOM. THREE OR F0UR MINUTES LAGTER.

Several students, including JAE-0K, sit down in a class-room and patiently wait for their teacher to arrive. There is a pregnant silence. A few students whisper to each other.

JUMP-CUT. ANOTHER STREET.

THE YOUNG MAN keeps jogging. By now his white shirt is soaking in sweat. His tie is dishevelled. His jacket looks somewhat damp, too.

YOUNG MAN: [almost on the verge of tears] Shit, shit, shit!

JUMP-CUT.

INT. THE LANGUAGE SCHOOL. THE SAME CLASSROOM.

STudents are getting more restless now. They begin chatting with each other more loudly. A few look at the wall clock.

JUMP-CUT.

INT. THE LOBBY OF THE LANGAUGE SCHOOL.

The young man has arrived here. He looks as exhausted as a marathon runner -- which, in a manner of speaking, he is. He looks forlornly at the elevator light as it slowly and frustratingly makes its way to the lobby.

JUMP-CUT. INT. THE CLASSROOM.

GIRL STUDENT: [With Russian accent] What is teacher name?

ANOTHER GIRL STUDENT: [looking at a sheet] Paul.

RUSSIAN GIRL: You know him?

ANOTHER GIRL: No. He new.

RUSSIAN STUDENT: Maybe mistake. [She looks at the sheet of paper more carefully].

ANOTHER GIRL: No mistake.

RUSSIAN GIRL: [determined] I go ask Lucille.

She leaves the classroom. As she does, more hubbub.

JUMP-CUT. THE LOBBY. THE YOUNG MAN IN FRONT OF AN ELEVATOR DOOR.

SFX: The elevator's cheerful, indifferent "ding!"

JUMP-CUT. INT. THE LANGUAGE SCHOOL. A HALLWAY.

The Russian girl and a young woman -- clearly a manager -- walk quickly toward the classroom where the other students wait.

RUSSIAN GIRL: Lucille. Where is teacher?

JUMP-CUT. INT. THE LANGAUGE SCHOOL'S LOBBY. AN ELEVATOR DOOR OPENS AND THE YOUNG MAN BURSTS OUT. AT THE SAME TIME, HE IS LOOKING THROUGH A NOTEBOOK HE'S GRABBED FROM HIS BACKPACK AS HE LOOKS FOR SOME CRITICAL INFORMATION.'

YOUNG MAN: [to himself] Room 214. Room 214. [He walks toward where the classrooms start and scans various room number plates]

INT. THE TEACHER-LESS CLASSROOM. THE SAME MOMENT.

the Russian girl and the school manager enter.

MANAGER: There seems to be a problem....

At this very moment, the YOUNG MAN bursts in, a smile on his face.

YOUNG MAN: [to students] Hi there! Hi everybody!

The students, looking at this intruder and then at the manager, regard both with blank faces.

YOUNG MAN: [Looking at students and then at the manager (who, apparently, he mistook for another student)] I -- I'm sorry. [Then, to manager] Oh. Hi, Lucille.

LUCILLE: [coldly] Hi, Paul. What happened? Wasn't Peter more clear about the start time when he hired you?

PAUL: [cracky-voice confessing] Yeah.

LUCILLE: Then what happened?! [Whispering sharply] Let's talk out here. [She exits to the hallway. Paul follows]

JUMP-CUT. THE HALLWAY.

PAUL: [Quickly] I'm so sorry. My bike tire burst.

LUCILLE: Why didn't you phone?!

PAUL: I'm so sorry. The pay-phone, it didn't work. There was just one. I was on Dupont Street. It's just car garages and stuff. I don't have a cell. I ran.

LUCILLE: Okay, well fine, whatever. You'd better get started. They've been waiting -- [she checks her wrist watch] twenty minutes.

PAUL: I'm really, really sorry.

LUCILLE: [harshly] Don't apologize. Teach.

STILLS WITHOUT SCRIPTS 4

A clarification and a call

One comment that I often receive is about the originality of the screenplay-novel idea. The comment usually goes like this: "Hmm, writing a novel in the form of a screenplay?... It seems to me I've heard of something like that before." Whether the commentator can cite a specific example is another matter. But they insist that the idea, the general concept, is not so new.

And the response I make usually has a standard form, too: Well, I didn't invent the idea of the screenplay. And I sure as hell didn't invent the novel. Instead, what I'm trying to do is get people, especially people in the publishing industry, to think differently about them. The idea of the screenplay-novel may not be original in the absolute and pure sense, but it can lay a certain claim to being original as a synthesis. (Much creativity is comprised of a combination of pure and synthesiziing originality, and we have to differentiate between them in a generous spirit because artists tend to produce both over their careers. )

When I started this site on September 9, 2005, I scoured dictionaries and search engines for the term "screenplay novel" and couldn't find it. The closest I could come was the term "screen-novel", which had been applied to the idea of a screenplay written in a novel form -- in other words, the reverse of what I wanted to do. The term "screen-novel" as it's meant in that first sense seems to have fallen out of use. Therefore, because I like the term, I tend to use it as a form of short-hand for what I'm talking about here. But I can't lay claim to the term, and that's why I created the somewhat clunkier neologism "screenplay novel".

That, then, covers the concept aspect of all this. But concepts are a dime-a-dozen, as anyone who posts one online soon finds out. I-had-the-same-idea emails tend to arrive as soon as one posts an ideas blog... which I imagine is a reflection of how many people there are out there whose minds tend to work the same way. But where do you draw the line between the creator of an idea and those who "simultaneously" thought of it? This is a question for the academics and journalists to decide.

In any event, when I started this blog I could not find anyone doing quite what I had in mind no matter how hard I looked. It was only after beginning the blog that others approached me and said they had a similar Idea. And more power to them, in my opinion. Ideas in and of themselves are worth very little. They have to be put into action. So I suppose I might add, even though it would carry the danger of sounding grandiose, that what this site is all about is starting a movement ... the Screenplay-Novel Movement, natch.

After all, isn't the important thing the work itself? As Thomas of Anatomy of Melancholy has commented, he is skeptical of the screenplay-novel idea but thinks that if he read a screenplay-novel he liked he would change his mind. And so the challenge of the screenplay novel isn't simply to come up with the idea of it. It's to do it.

**

One of the strengths of the term "screenplay novel" is that when it is explained to people, they grasp it right away. That is another sign of its synthesizing nature: people get the term because they are already conditioned to get movies. One of the mottos of this site is "we are all directors now". Our imaginations have been conditioned by the Ur-imagination of cinema.

Whether this is good or bad is too complicated a question to be debated in this post. For now it's enough to say this is just how our culture currently is. And that goes a long way toward explaining why it turns out that there are untold numbers of people who are gravitating toward the screenplay novel form instinctively. (By the way, I'm interested in hearing about writers who are working in this manner; any info you might have would be appreciated.) What needs to happen next is for major publishing houses to embrace this idea, and not dismiss it as a weird gimmick.

And this leads to the final point: for an idea which is supposedly not new, at the present moment there isn't much evidence of it at the end-point of cultural production: on the bookshelves and in the online shopping carts. In other words, if the screenplay novel idea "has been done", where, exactly, are all the screenplay novels? Even though I've found work that is experimental in a cinematic way (graphic novels naturally lend themselves to this, since many of them are arguably "story-board novels"), I have yet to find an original novel that is specifically written in the form of a screenplay. I've heard rumours of some. But I haven't seen them yet, and I certainly haven't seen them as a discrete form or genre. I haven't seen them recognized by critics and editors on a mass scale.

I can't repeat often enough that the screenplay-novel isn't intended to replace the traditional novel. But it is intended to be a form that is put into practice by many writers and many publishers.

If you know of screenplay-novel writers or are one yourself, let me know. Or create your own site and let me know about that. Link and be linked. Pass the word around. For an idea that's allegedly not new, it's feeling mighty lonesome in this corner of the cultural universe right now.

Paratext

Laura Carroll in a recent post at The Valve:

Do you read novelisations? If not why not, if you read other kinds of novel and other kinds of film paratext, e.g. screenplays? If you do read them, why? What does a novelisation supply that a movie lacks?

In case you're not entirely sure what a novelisation is, it's one of those books written after a movie has entered production, and usually sold around the time of its release as a kind of marketing tie-in. Think Star Wars.

As a form of writing, they seem so universally disliked I'm not sure why anyone bothers. But then, of course, novelisations are generally not about art, they're about money. Most of the time, the result is hack writing.

Carroll:

What I actually discovered was that most novelisations really, really suck. ... The novelisers had two aggravating habits: they filled in narrative blanks that worked better left blank, and the filler they used was inconsistent with the tone and texture of surrounding material. At least one contained interpolations that were obviously logically incompatible with plot material inherited from the movie.

As readers of this site will know, I think literary people need to take the idea of a film paratext to the next level, and allow the possibility of the screenplay-as-novel. One criticism that I've received more than once about this idea is that it is a diminishment of the traditional novel. This is a debate that can get complicated fast, because in truth there are so many forms of "traditional" novel out there. But in any case, at the risk of repeating myself, the screenplay novel is not meant to be the opposite of the traditional novel but a parallel form of it. For readers who might enjoy reading narrative this way, I think it's a very workable form. It also helps solve several creative problems that tend to confront writers during the novel-writing process. But more about all that later.

Also at the Valve is an associated post by Larry LaRiviere White about "Withnail and I". Both the post and the comments are well worth reading.

Do you read screenplays? If not why not, if you read plays? Or perhaps you do: then which? Are screenplays even readable? & come to think of it, do you really read plays? It’s been ages since I have.

But I’ve read a screenplay recently, a well-suited one: Withnail and I. I just saw the film last year, so I’m a decade plus late to the party. More British comedy, chock-a-block with catchphrases. A very readable script, because the movie was all dialogue. On the page I’m not embarassed by the excerable cinematography. & the staging directions are quite narratorly, novelistic:

110. EXT. REGENT’S PARK. CAMDEN TOWN. DAY.
The park is as bleak and deserted as its ever been. The afternoon is dissolving into threadbare rain. They walk the paths like they’ve done a dozen times before. But they were together then. And now they’re already alone. Strangers already. And the sweet and sour music is but an addition to the wider sentiment.

Screen-novel Manifesto 4 (Part B)

Before I started writing this current manifesto, a friend asked me to explain why I thought the screenplay-novel idea was good without referring to the current state of the publishing industry. It was a fair comment. It's always possible to justify a new movement, a new ism, within the context of the (godawful) times: "Why do I make bestiality porn? Well, horses have needs, too!"

Most issues can be seen in their simple or complex forms: this is just as true of the arguments being presented here. In their simple forms, they are: the human imagination has changed; image-based mediums such as TV and the movies have been what's done this. And in this sense, we are all directors now. The language of the movies works not only in terms of what we see at the theater or criticize if we sit down and talk analytically about a movie, but this language also now often works on the page. For example: "Exterior. A busy street in downtown New York. Mid-day. Summer" is all the description we need in order to successfully conjure an image in our minds.

There's a lot of injustice to this -- "Exterior. The busiest street in St. John, New Brunswick" simply doesn't work on the imagination in the same way, and that has a lot to do with the really massive amount of concentration within a few specific locales that the movie industry is even more prone to than the publishing industry. (New York has always done well, no matter what the cultural medium, and London has done all right too ... but "lesser" cities such as Ottawa, Toronto, Seoul or Pusan have not.)

Similarly, the language of movies has allowed us to achieve a similar short-hand where the reading of emotion is concerned. While it is true that the interior subjectivity that novels excel at isn't really imitable in movies (except for the rarely used voice-over), movies have achieved such an effective mixture of artful direction and acting that we, as viewers, find that we enter at least a certain understanding of a fictional character's subjectivity when that character is part of a movie. Jack Nicholson raises an eyebrow and sighs. We get it -- we get something about his state of mind.

And while it's true that there are no actors in a screenplay-novel, simple descriptive commentary can sum up a great deal about a character's inner life in a few words ("Neville: [nervously, clearly wanting to say something more] Sure. Let's go for coffee. I'd like that"). The same has been accomplished for years now in playwriting. Maybe this descriptive commentary is not enough for many readers. It certainly is very spare. But remember the underlying motto of the screenplay-novel form: we are all directors now. If you can accept that motto as essentially true, then you can accept the screenplay-novel. If you can't -- well, there are traditional novels to be read. They're still there. And they deserve your attention.

Speaking of novels, time and time again I have found that the two types that draw me most fall into two broad categories: the first is highly personal and is in many cases based on the author's own life. In a novel of this type, "fiction" is not a creative process the way we commonly define that term -- as something completely made-up -- but a tactic. It is necessary in order to tell what is essentially an autobiographical truth. This is a complicated issue, because autobiographical fiction comes in so many forms. Nevertheless, it is sometimes the case novelists and short story writers go directly to their own lives for source material. Literary people understand this: Not all lived truths can be expressed as unvarnished non-fiction.

(Three points here need especially strong emphasis. The first is that autobiographical literary fiction is not the same as memoir, exceedingly similar as the two can be. In the former case, the obligation of the writer is fineness of artistry; in the latter case, the obligation of the writer is honesty. The second point is that writers who tend -- tend! -- toward autobiographical fiction are often the most original stylistically. Their description has a nervy brilliance. Think Mary Gaitskill, Edna O'Brien, etc. The creativity of their work lies not as much in the story as in the telling. The third point is that because autobiographical fiction is not the same as memoir, the rules of each need to be understood by the writer and respected. Particularly with memoir, when this does not happen there is a breach of trust between writer and audience, as the James Frey affair showed with painful clarity.)

The other type of novel that I enjoy is the social novel -- a novel with several characters, and usually told in the third person. This is the novel in its truly fictional form: it moves back and forth between consciousnesses, and it tries to do so in a manner that respects the reality of life as human beings live it. It is not comic, it is not escapist. It is instead an attempt at authorial godhood. And that's a good thing. After all, this is what the movie and TV show attempt to do. And look at all the trouble they've gotten us into: all those action movies and now we have political leaders who start wars because they fantasize they are fighter pilots. But the proportionate prevalence of dreck within the sphere of movie-making is not because movies are inherently worse than novels; it's because movies are more expensive. There's a mathematical equation at work here. The more costly the investment, the more formulaic the art.

And here, I believe, is the heart of the matter: the screenplay novel cannot compete with the autobiographical literary novel (which needs to be defended more than it is being these days). And it cannot compete with the social novel in terms of the latter's grand scope. But it does have the potential to compete with the story that is told within the majority of actually-produced films and TV shows. It is an antidote as well as a possibility.

In a sense, we can reverse our perspective: instead of considering the novel as a movie, why not temporarily imagine the movie as a novel ... a "movie novel"? If we do so, we realize that compelling as movies are, they are hobbled by their tendency to pander to the whims of the producer, not the director or screenwriter. Because, in truth it is not only the literary novel that is in trouble these days ... serious, intelligent, indie movies are hurting too. Hurting because of inadequate funding, hurting because of studio-run distribution networks, hurting because mass audiences necessary for a film to break even have mass tastes, and often punish more personal movies with financial failure.

So in a sense the screenplay-novel idea is simply a marrying of two forms so that the writer -- the one who actually creates the narrative -- gains the freedom that novel writers still possess, while tuning into the energy of the movie-maker.

Movie making is only one means of expressing narrative. For people who prefer expressing it other ways, the means there also exist. That is happening with graphic novels (which are damn close to screenplays in and of themselves), and it is happening within the literary novel, which is much more protean than too many large publishing houses seem to still genuinely believe.

Nevertheless, a cultural fact remains, and it is the fact of dominant forms. Movies and TV are the most powerful forms of narrative in our culture. Not necessarily "better", and certainly not more sensitive. But there they are, and most people in our society are keyed into them, almost involuntarily.

We are all directors now. If you can accept that as true, you can accept the screenplay-novel as at least one possibility among many.

STILLS WITHOUT SCRIPTS 2

The Screen-Novel Manifesto 4 (Part A)

And then, what's so special about it? What makes the concept of a screenplay-novel unique? And why have a site about it? After all, the idea isn't original -- the idea of a screenplay, that is. And the idea of the novel -- well, I was only late by several centuries. And even the idea of publishing screenplays isn't original. So what's the point of a screenplay-novel? And even if it has a point, why bother doing it when screenplays by definition are stripped down narratives focussing mainly on dialogue that possess very little in the way of description, and, it would seem, nothing of a character's interior thoughts?

***

I don't know whether the concept of a screenplay novel is any good. I don't know whether it's publishable, either. (One comment that a few people have made to me is that it's a kind of pandering to mass tastes; but precisely because writing a novel in the form of a screenplay is not something writers regularly do, I have my doubts that when I finish the script I'm working on that many publishers would pay attention to it. These days, they don't seem to being paying attention to very much ... except last year's sure thing.)

But then, I didn't start working on a script like this because I thought it was more marketable than a regular novel. I started because it solved several artistic problems for me at once.

The first is quite simple: novel-writing is an enormously complicated task. The demands that it places on a writer in terms of sheer time and psychological energy are immense. It is vastly more consuming than a poem or a drawing. (Poetry and drawing are draining as well; but to finish one is not the same as finishing one where novel-writing is concerned.)

A play on the other hand -- any play: screen-play, theatrical play; radio play -- can be written relatively quickly. No, let me rephrase that. It can be written somewhat more quickly than a novel. Maybe not that much. But enough to constitute a different process.

So it is that simple, in terms of the commitment involved: a screenplay is a little quicker, a little easier, to complete. Because completion is one of the main challenges the novelist faces; not when the novelist is young ... and doesn't have much to write about. Rather, when the novelist has aged and experience presses down upon him like a weight, the raw material for the novel exists but suddenly the self-discipline necessary to bring the project to completion starts weakening. Call it the erectile dysfunction of narrative. Call it the menopause of story....

Call it the climax that cannot be medicated into existence.

***

But at its essence this sounds terribly sad, doesn't it? The novelist as flaccid male or menopausal female. And in any case, time isn't the main issue. For the novelist there's another, more vital reason for considering writing in the form of a screenplay.

We've entered a new age. A post-literate age. And we can all see the evidence of this: it's unavoidable. On the subway, people watch the TVs that are installed on the ceiling (of the newer lines), or built into their phones. Those phones! They play games on them, too, or simply text message: the haiku of our time.

In bars and restaurants, the TVs seem almost inescapable. They beam from corners like demonic, animated wallpaper. They glare at us, stimulate us ... tempt us.

And at home -- well, at home the TV just comes on naturally. That is, if we're not in front of computer screens (really, another TV).

And if we're not watching TV, we're going to the movies.

It's the image that all these mediums have in common. It's not really accurate to say we live in a post-literate age; people still do read. But it is accurate that we live in an image saturated age. These images surround us, rain down upon us, surprise us. We bathe in them, like fish in an electronic sea.

It's the image that's the great god of our time. The image surrounds us, enters us, changes us.

****

In essence, we are all movie makers now.

I remember the first time I read a screenplay "cold". There is an entire jargon that is specific to the film industry, and you see it in screenplays. It's not that hard to figure out, but it requires a certain mental adjustment. And yet, once this adjustment is made, it's extremely easy to not only read the screenplay but "scenario" it; when we read a screenplay, we are not merely readers -- we are directors. That is what the age has done to us: it has changed the way we approach a script that is the form of text.

[to be continued]