only i'm not doing it for the benjamins, honest
Once again, my life's problems are nailed by Cat and Girl.
Tonight I showed the most-of-act-one portion of the script currently lazily titled Mexico, and then we ran over Jeff's proto-script. Mexico was pretty well received, though as Jeff pointed out, people seemed more interested in some good scenes than in where the story would go next. Probably because it's derivative and based in the formula of genre, so the set-up of a heist/getaway story isn't, as Brie put it, the most original thing I've written.
The main point that stuck with me tonight is when we got to talking about humor in the scripts, and specifically the lack of it -- most particularly in mine. We agreed that part of the problem is my natural tendency to consider more the clever plotting, the delivery of information, the intellectual and philosophical aspects of my story or characters. I do get into their heads, but only in a sense of what they need and feel vs. what they can get and want... I don't really stop to think what the audience's emotional reaction is to each scene -- to any scene, let alone each scene -- and that's a huge shortcoming in my writing skills. One of the manifestations of which is, no matter how funny I am in real life, I'm not funny in script form. There's a disconnect. As I've said before, even Bergman can make you laugh.
And so, as I write the darkest meanest story I've ever written, that's my new goal: inject some moments of wit, if not outright humor. Make the story alive and emotionally rich and dynamic and ideally charming (not to be confused with its bastard trashy cousin, whimsy) and above all: fun.
And in addressing that goal, as I rewrite a couple of scenes in Mexico tonight and plan to spend the weekend pushing forward into act two, I will go back to the classics, to the most fruitful well I know, to the source of inspiration countless times over; I am turning to the Coens.