THOUGHTFUL SAVAGERY

KURT SAVAGE, Veteran/Writer

Month: September 2016

Do NOT Go In There!

September 14, 2016 / / 0 Comments

titanic-facehuggerTrying something new this week: Over at Terrible Minds, writer Chuck Wendig posts a Flash Fiction Challenge each Friday. This week’s challenge was to genre-flip a familiar scene from a book or film. That is, take a well-known scene from a movie or book and rewrite it in an entirely different genre. In a word, my reaction to the idea was, “Shiny!”

I tossed around a few ideas: The bar scene in Good Will Hunting, the fake orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally. And then I woke up at 2 am this morning wondering what would happen if the crew of the Nostromo showed up to take care of the spider in Annie Hall’s bathroom.

So here you go:

 

INT. ANNIE’S LIVINGROOM

     Annie, looking slightly distraught.
     Opens the door to Ripley’s knock. 
     Ripley, Parker, and Brett enter stealthily.
     Ripley motioning silence.
     Finger to her lips. 
     Dallas, Lambert, and Ash climb through the window.
     Off the fire escape.

            ANNIE
Oh.

            DALLAS
      (to ANNIE)
You called. It was garbled, but we understood something was in your apartment.

            ASH
We assumed it was a distress call.

            RIPLEY
Mother was able to make some sense of it by applying Advanced Crying Filters. It sounded like a warning.

            ASH
Or a distress call.

            ANNIE
There’s a spider in the bathroom.

            LAMBERT
No. No, no, no.

            BRETT
A spider. Jesus.

            ANNIE
A big black one.

            DALLAS
      (to ANNIE)
And it’s in the bathroom. You’re certain?

     Annie nods vigorously.

            RIPLEY
You got us out of hypersleep at three in the morning for a spider?

            ANNIE
Well, you know how I am about insects.

            PARKER
Kill it! For God’s sake. What is wrong with you?

            BRETT
Don’t you have a can of Raid in the house?

            ANNIE
      (shaking her head)
No.

            RIPLEY
Protocol requires insecticide, Annie.

            ANNIE
I know, I know. And a first aid kit. And a fire extinguisher. Tsch.

            ASH
I think it would be better if it wasn’t killed.

            RIPLEY
She put herself in danger. She put us all in danger.

            DALLAS
Aw, she does what the company tells her to, Ripley. Same as all of us.

            RIPLEY
You all can make fun of me all you want, but I’m the one who’s prepared. I’m always the one who’s prepared.

            LAMBERT
Is it cold in here?

            ANNIE
Would you like a sweater? I have a really cute one that might fit you.

            RIPLEY
Can we just focus on the problem? Are we sure it’s still in the bathroom? It could be anywhere by now.

            DALLAS
We’ll have to split up, search the apartment. Lambert. Ash. You’re with me.

     He and Ripley start moving.
     Arrive at the door to the hallway simultaneously. 
     A moment of confusion.
     All six crew try to squeeze through the door at once.

            RIPLEY
Hold it. Just stop.

     She gestures to Dallas, who steps into the hallway. 
     She follows, and then the rest, zipper-fashion.

INT. ANNIE’S LIVINGROOM - LATER

     Empty.
     Except for Annie pacing the center of the room.
     Ignoring the cat.
     A brief commotion at the hallway door again.
     Then several seconds of silence. 
     Parker, Brett, and Ripley enter from the hallway. 
     Dallas, Lambert, and Ash come in from the fire escape.

            BRETT
What was that? What the Christ was that?

            ASH
Parasteatoda tepidariorum. Referred to internationally as the American house spider.

            RIPLEY
How do you know so much about that thing?

            ASH
I am the Science Officer. It is my job to know.

            PARKER
Did anyone else notice that it wasn’t alone?

            LAMBERT
I did.

            RIPLEY
Dammit. That means we’ve got another one.

            LAMBERT
Yeah. And they’re loose. Who knows how many of them there are?

            DALLAS
We’re going to have to catch them and eject them from the apartment.

            ASH
Sounds great. But, how?

            DALLAS
Room by room.

            RIPLEY
That could take forever.

            ANNIE
Guys? I do have to go to work in the morning.

            ASH
And our supplies are based on us spending a limited amount of time out of hypersleep.

            LAMBERT
We can’t kill them. They have acid for blood. It’ll eat right through the walls.

            RIPLEY
Where the hell did you get that idea? Acid for blood. I mean, really.

            ANNIE
Please don’t stain my Persian rug.

            PARKER
I say we put on our pressure suits and blow all the air out of the apartment. That might kill them.

            ASH
I hate to point this out, but there’s no way to evacuate all the air from the apartment.

     Everyone looks at Annie.

            ANNIE
What? How was I supposed to know? Tsch.

            RIPLEY
The longer we wait, the greater the chance that those things will spread out and we’ll have to find them again.

            LAMBERT
And what do we do when we find them?

            DALLAS
Trap them somehow.

            BRETT
If we had a really strong, very fine net, we could bag them. I could put something together.

            LAMBERT
Why do we listen to you, exactly?

            DALLAS
He might be right.

     Annie hands him a paper cup.

            DALLAS
Or we could use this.

INT. ANNIE’S BATHROOM

     Dark. 
     Parker and Brett move silently.
     Ripley ahead, carrying a flashlight.

            RIPLEY
Nothing. Tell me again why we’re looking for spiders in the dark.

     Ripley pans the beam around the room
     Stops on Annie’s cat, sitting on the side of the tub. 
     Startled, it arches its back and hisses
     Falls into the tub with a splash.
     Scrambles over the side of the tub. 
     Darts out of the room.

            BRETT
She must have been getting ready for a bath.

            PARKER
Cats are always giving them—

            BRETT
Not the cat. Her, you idiot.

            RIPLEY
Shut up, both of you.
      (to Brett)
Go get it. We’ll keep looking.

            BRETT
Right.

     Ripley and Parker continue.
     Searching the bathroom by flashlight.
     Brett moves into the hallway.
     Following the wet trail left by the cat. 
     He moves across the hallway to the bedroom.

INT. ANNIE’S BEDROOM

     Brett walking carefully across the darkened room. 
     Looking for the cat. 
     Nervous.

            BRETT
Jones. Here, kitty. Come on, kitty. Jones.
Goddamn it, cat.

     A soft thump.
     The blind flies up, bathing the room in eerie half-light.
     Silhouetting the cat on the window sill.
     It uses a paw to hold something against the window.
     Something moving.
     The cat lunges.
     An arm reaches for Brett.
     He screams.
     A sudden shadow in the doorway.
     The lights come on.
     Parker is holding Brett’s elbow. 
     Ripley stands in the doorway, her hand on the light switch.

            RIPLEY
Quit screwing around.

            BRETT
Oh, Christ. Is that what I think it is?

     They all follow Brett’s gaze.
     Looking at the cat.
     A spider leg hangs out of its mouth.

            PARKER
That’s...

            BRETT
Disgusting.

            PARKER
The size of a Buick.

            RIPLEY
Well, one down, one to go.

     Annie appears in the doorway.

            ANNIE
Ew. Would anybody like a glass of chocolate milk?

     Disbelief.

            RIPLEY
Do we look like kids to you?

            ANNIE
      (touching Ripley’s chest with the palm of her hand)
I got the good chocolate, Ripley.

            RIPLEY
Yeah. There’s still another spider.

            ANNIE
Are you sure? It really is good chocolate. Hey, don’t squish the spider, okay? Even if it might not have acid blood, I’d rather not risk it, you know? Just flush it down the toilet, okay? And flush twice?

            RIPLEY
I know the protocols for killing spiders, Annie.

     Ripley disappears across the hall, returns almost immediately.

            RIPLEY
Big spider. Very big.

     She snatches the cup out of Parker’s hand.
     Returns to the bathroom.
     A shout.
     Parker and Brett high tail it to the living room.
     A flush.
     Then another.
     Then several more, staccato-style.
     Ripley returns to the bedroom. 
     Annie is sitting on the bed, her face in her hands.

            RIPLEY
Problem solved. What’s wrong?

            ANNIE
Don’t go, Ripley. Please?

            RIPLEY
      (sitting down next to her)
What do you mean, don’t go? None of this makes sense.

            ANNIE
Oh, I don’t know. I mean don’t go, I miss you. Tsch.

     Ripley puts her arms around Annie.

            RIPLEY
That could be a problem.

            ANNIE
Oh, yeah.
      (they kiss)
Oh! Ripley!

            RIPLEY
What?

     Ripley is tender now, wiping Annie’s tears.

            ANNIE
Was there somebody in your room when I called you?

            RIPLEY
What? No!

            ANNIE
Why did the whole crew show up, then?

            RIPLEY
Protocol. Your distress call met certain parameters in Mother’s programming and she woke us all up.

     Annie looks dubious.

            RIPLEY
Also, I had the television on.

            ANNIE
      (accepting this)
Oh.

      Ripley pulls her close and they kiss again.

INT. HYPERSLEEP VAULT

     Seven hypersleep beds.
     Dallas, Lambert, Ash, Parker, and Brett are all settled in.
     Waiting for sleep.
     Ripley paces.
     Dressed only in a T-shirt and underpants. 
     She is holding the cat.

            RIPLEY
What could possibly be taking so long?

            DALLAS
I’ve never seen you so agitated.

            RIPLEY
I don’t... There are no protocols.

            DALLAS
Sure there are.

            RIPLEY
There must be a problem.

      The bathroom door opens.
      Annie stands for a moment in the doorway.
      Her attire matches Ripley’s.

            ANNIE
Ripley, there’s a spider. It’s kind of a big one.

FIN

Two Sides: Writer and Actor

September 8, 2016 / / 0 Comments

1564-1616 englischer Dichter.Bedeutendster Dramatiker der Weltliteratur.CDV-Foto 5,4 x 8,3 cm, nach einem Gemälde, Nr.1198.

“Hi Kurt,

I am casting the role of Vincentio STILL in Shrew and I was wondering if you might be interested and/or available to play the part?

Carla”

This on a Tuesday morning after a long weekend. My reactions went something like this:

  1. I can’t say no to Carla.
  2. Damnit, Carla! I’m a writer, not an actor!
  3. But, but, but, SHAKESPEARE!
  4. Oh, shit! I can’t do Shakespeare! I’m a writer, not an actor!
  5. What conflicts do I have?
  6. Nothing that can’t be changed.
  7. Shit! Nothing that can’t be changed! I’m not an actor and it’s SHAKESPEARE!
  8. I can’t say no to Carla.
  9. I’m a writer, I want to write for the stage, and this will give me insight into the actor’s experience.
  10. I can’t say no to this.

A year and a half ago, I appeared as Chief Bromden in a stage production of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but I still didn’t consider myself an actor. Sure, I’d mimicked a North American Indian accent I hoped sounded like guys I’d known who’d grown up on reservations, I thought about how Chief might move (or carry himself when he’s not moving), and I even managed to get myself to the point of real tears for that final scene during every one of nineteen performances, but really, I’m not an actor.

Which is silly, because, yeah, I am an actor. I’m just inexperienced. So, I tried to approach this role with humility: I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m learning from watching you, my cast mates. I made jokes about my role being “The Shakespeare Starter Kit for Newbie Actors,” and I believed those jokes. I was deeply grateful that very few of my lines scanned da-DA-da-DA-da-DA-da-DA, sparing me the temptation to deliver them like Ted “Theodore” Logan desperately trying to avoid military school.

Only once during the rehearsal process or the run did I ever feel like I knew what I was doing. After a rehearsal, our dramaturge gave me a note regarding Vincentio’s reaction to the discovery of his servant impersonating his son: It’s about the cost of dressing a servant in a gentleman’s finery.

Her note prompted me to dig deeper into Vincentio’s character, diving in to identify my character’s emotional arc. Several of the characters who have never met him say they know who he is. Vincentio is not merely wealthy, he’s famous for being wealthy. He’s rich enough that he probably doesn’t care about the cost of extravagant clothing. He’s upset about something far more valuable: his identity. When Vincentio arrives in Padua, someone claiming to be him answers the door at his son’s house, and his servant shows up claiming to be his son. If you’ve ever found something on your credit card bill that you couldn’t possibly have purchased, you know exactly why Vincentio is angry in that moment.

I wrote her back with my “discovery.”

As soon as I sent the e-mail, I stopped feeling like I knew what I was doing. I worried that I’d overstepped my bounds. Our dramaturge knows her Shakespeare, has directed Shakespeare. In New York. I sweated over the way I’d parsed my character. I lost sleep over it. When we talked about it, I asked her if I was out of line, and she just laughed and said, “Not at all. It makes sense, and you’ve clearly thought about it more than I have.”

I realized later that I’d arrived at my characterization of Vincentio via the obverse of what we should do as writers when we’re developing a character. I’d gone to the text, read what my character says and does, what other characters say about him, and arrived at an understanding of who he is. As writers, it’s incumbent on us to figure out who the character is and then write stuff that provides clues for the actors.

In her book, “A Challenge for the Actor”, Uta Hagen offers six steps toward understanding a character. Though he’s speaking to writers, Chuck Sambuchino’s article on character development for Writer’s Digest covers the same ground.

Put some hooks on your characters, bits of information in your dialogue that help the actors understand how to bring your characters to life.

If you’re a writer, I encourage you to become an actor, as well. Even if you never plan to write for the stage. And don’t sweat it if you don’t get any parts. Just as you don’t have to have a list of your published works to be called a writer, it isn’t necessary for you to actually land a role to become an actor. Take a class on acting for writers. Go out on a few auditions. Read aloud in your living room, and walk through the physicality of becoming a character. Take Uta Hagen’s challenge.

See if that doesn’t make your characters, and your writing, stronger.

It worked for Shakespeare.

 

Will Shakespeare and the Unsatisfying Ending

September 6, 2016 / / 0 Comments

taming-of-the-shrew

William Shakespeare could tell a pretty mean story, and the rest of us are mere mortals. Or at least, that’s how the narrative goes, right? I’m not talking about the conventional narrative, I’m talking about all of the narrative. A Google search of “Shakespeare ‘not that great’” will get you Tripadvisor.com reviews of Shakespeare’s birthplace and of a pizza joint in Columbia, MO. Several spots down the list, and more relevant to the search, you’ll come across the first of a series of rants by Holger Syme on the subject of people’s opinions of Shakespeare: “Not only is Shakespeare universal, and specific, and translates, he’s also, amazingly, totally comprehensible to teenagers, would you believe it.”

Shakespeare’s language being what it is, students presented with one or two of his plays inevitably ask why he should be studied, and equally inevitably, the answer is, “Because William Shakespeare is totally awesome, Dude!”

As an unapologetic Shakespeare fanboy, I wholeheartedly agree that The Bard fully deserves his lofty pedestal, which is why I was stunned to discover a hole in the plot of The Taming of the Shrew big enough for E. L. James to drive an Audi through. As a writer, I felt as though the metaphorical ground had dropped away, leaving me with a profound sense of literary vertigo. Maybe there’s hope for us mortal writers, after all!

The secondary storyline in Shakespeare’s Shrew centers on the deceitful actions of a young college student seeking to marry a wealthy man’s exceptionally pretty daughter. This plot line climaxes with the arrival of the student’s famously rich father, who gets arrested in the ensuing comic confusion and only escapes jail when his son reveals that the two young people have eloped. The two fathers angrily declare that they’ll get revenge for the whole mess and exit the stage. The next scene is the wedding feast for the two young people, and there’s no further mention of either villainy or knavery.

Wait, what? What just happened? Two of the wealthiest, most powerful men in Italy just got conned, and one of them nearly thrown into a sixteenth century Italian jail! These are not men to be trifled with: there’s ample evidence that one does not get to be an extremely rich businessman in Italy by letting anyone get away with cheating you out of anything. But no, Will sends the two men offstage, where they apparently agree that this will never be spoken of again.

Why doesn’t Shakespeare show us what happens to satisfy them? Did he feel he was out of time? The play is more than two hours long, but then, Hamlet, in its complete form, runs over four hours. Ranked by length, Shrew is only twenty-sixth of William Shakespeare’s thirty-eight plays. It’s not likely that the revenges of Baptista and Vincentio were omitted to be kind to the audience.

It is also unlikely that the scene was written and is simply missing. The Taming of the Shrew comes to us from the First Folio, which was published seven years after William Shakespeare’s death and thirty years after the play was first performed. It would be odd if it were simply left out of the compilation, since that scene seems to be the only one missing. So, yeah, there’s probably no “lost scene.”

The two men do get a revenge of sorts when the college student receives his comeuppance in the final scene. I say, “of sorts,” because it isn’t brought about by their actions. The newlywed student bets a fairly large sum that his bride will come when he summons her, but she refuses, preferring the company of the other ladies by the parlor fire. When the young man confronts her with his loss, she calls him a fool, thus showing herself to be the real shrew. The young man’s final lines are fairly bitter, and his father’s reply somewhat sarcastic.

Perhaps Shakespeare’s intention there was to show that to get their revenge, old men often only have to wait for the young and foolish to do themselves in. It’s a vague, unsatisfying ending, especially for a comedy.

And therein lies a clue to Shakespeare’s genius. By contrasting strong-willed Katharina’s jarringly submissive speech against a bride refusing her new husband’s simple request to join him in the main room at their wedding celebration, Shakespeare’s ending turns the world on its head, both inside his story and outside the theater, carried there by an audience that’s been encouraged to think.

There’s the hope for us mortal writers, right there, or at least the standard we need to work toward: Make the audience think uncomfortable thoughts.

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