Strippers vs. Werewolves – AFM Promo

Another post pretty much described by the title.

Below is the AFM Promo, it’s not a trailer as such. It won’t tell you anything about the story (it’s about Strippers vs. Werewolves … seriously, what else do you need to know?); it’s more a collection of images designed to pique the interest.

The film is directed by Jonathan Glendening, written by Pat Higgins and me, produced by Jonathan Sothcott and stars Adele Silva, Ali Bastian, Sarah Douglas, Billy Murray, Robert Englund, Lysette Anthony, Steven Berkoff, Alan Ford, Barbara Nedeljakova, Lucy Pinder, Martin Compston and Martin Kemp.

And here it is (mildly NSFW if you work somewhere really dull):

Fade In?

I’ve been having a little fiddle with the Fade In scriptwriting software.

It’s not that I’m unhappy with Final Draft and actively seeking a new program; but rather because I want to be able to view and edit scripts on my phone, laptop or desktop as I see fit.

What I want is simplicity and choice (two things some technology companies seem to feel are mutually exclusive). If I’m writing a script on my desktop, wander out for the day and suddenly feel the need to edit or add something – I want to be able to just pick up my phone and carry on where I left off.

I can do that with Word, Excel or Powerpoint files (even though I use neither Excel nor Powerpoint) so why can’t I do it with a script?

Well, Fade In seems to let me do exactly that.

To be fair here, I’ve only been playing with the free Windows & Android versions. If you’re working in an Apple environment it may be better or worse or exactly the same. Similarly, if you’ve paid for the app/program then it might be totally different again.

THE GOOD

Fade In seems to work in a very similar manner to Final Draft, everything’s clear and logical (to me, possibly based on years of familiarity with FD) and it does pretty much what I want it to do in the way I want it to do it. Including, showing each page as a separate page instead of a single, 90-page-long, roll of paper.

This doesn’t seem to be a massive issue for everyone, but for me I need to see what each individual page looks like. The film isn’t my artform, the script is. This is my finished product and I want it to look as good as possible.

One of my massive bug bears with Final Draft is the paper size is derived from the printer settings. If you write a 100 page A4 script and send it to America, it opens up at 100 and something pages. If you’re working with American and British producers, then you have a translation nightmare as one person’s telling the other they don’t like page 95 … which is different for each person. No matter how many times you explain that to people … one of them just won’t get it. Fade In doesn’t do that – you specify the page size.

Fade In can open and save as .fdx as well as .rtf, .pdf and .celtx among others – this, to me, is essential in a world which frequently asks for the script as .fdx (actually, more commonly as an .fdr) and .pdf file.

In general, it’s a scriptwriting program which does pretty much the same as all the others. Including the bits I don’t use like navigation and colour coding and scene synopses and all the other gubbins I don’t want.

THE COOL

Fade In syncs with Dropbox. So does the phone app. I can literally stop work on my laptop, pick up my phone and carry on. If I’m on the Secret Writing Island, I can finish work at night then review or edit what I’ve done in the restaurant on my phone the next morning.

Okay, so it’s not a fully featured script program – you don’t seem to be able to edit the title page or the margins or … well, pretty much anything really; but you can add text in the right format (dialogue, action, scene heading … etc.) and you can still access the navigation (if you use it, which I don’t).

In other words, you can quickly add to or edit the script on the move – which is all I want. I don’t expect to be able to write one from scratch (which you can, sort of, do). As a phone app, it works exactly as I want it to. I don’t even mind the continuous roll of paper thing – just isn’t really a problem for me here.

THE BAD

The main program is missing a couple of features. One minor and one which would really irritate me.

The minor one is a button to quickly toggle between upper/lower case. I frequently introduce characters, then go back and add another scene which introduces them earlier. I need to be able to highlight and switch cases quickly. Not all the time, but quite often. I couldn’t see a way of doing that without going through the menu, which is a bit annoying but not the end of the world.

Actually, there is a shortcut (ctrl + K) but I just prefer a button. The more I think about it, this is an exceptionally minor point.

Please ignore it.

The irritating one is there’s no ruler and doesn’t seem to be an option to view one.

By the way, if I’m wrong about either of these points, please correct me.

I need a ruler, because I’m forever tweaking margins to hide widows and orphans. It annoys me no end when the last word of a sentence drops onto the next line simply because of a full stop. Over a 100 page script, it can add a couple of pages.

Yes, I’m anal. Sorry.

If it’s one or two characters, I adjust the margins. If it’s a whole word, I’ll spend a lot of time looking at the sentence to see if I can re-write it to make it shorter.

I spend so much time doing this, when I read scripts full of orphans, I get unreasonably angry and assume the writer just doesn’t care about their script.

Yes, I know it’s nothing to do with the quality of the story or the writing … but it just fucking annoys me. I know you think I’m wrong, I do to (a little bit) but there you go. Next time the producer asks you to lose five pages from your script, fiddle until you’ve got rid of the widows and orphans and you’ll probably lose two pages instantly.

If there’s no ruler, and no way to visually tweak each line … you can’t do this.

At least, not easily.

So both of those points are a bit of a non-issue really. I could easily export to Final Draft to fix them.

But then that’s the other issue. One which might only be to do with the free version or maybe something which needs addressing; but when I converted a 96 page script from .fdx to .fadein and back … it added 20 pages.

Fiddling with the font in FD put it back to 98, and I’m assuming the extra 2 pages is the result of all my widow/oprhan fiddling being reset.

This worries me, since I can’t guarantee how long my script will be when opened by someone else.

Mind you, you can’t really guarantee it in Final Draft either – if the other person has their printer settings wrong, the page count is all over the place.

To be fair again, I think this is a problem with converting there and back and using the free program which doesn’t have all the formatting options available. I think either purchasing the full program and/or writing from scratch in Fade In would fix that.

Maybe.

So overall, Fade In is almost exactly what I want. To be honest, it’s just that lack of ruler thing which stops me buying it right now. Being able to switch to phone and back is something I really, really want … but not at the expense of not being able to format my script the way I want to.

If the ruler is something you never use, check out Fade In – it’s cheap and it looks great. In fact, check it out anyway, make up your own mind.

And if I’m wrong about the ruler, please let me know so I can publicly apologise.

Strippers vs. Werewolves AFM art

Um … pretty much what it says:

I think I prefer the earlier UK art:

One says Strippers vs. (Elvis) Werewolves – the other says Violent Strippers. Or possibly hookers.

Mind you, the AFM one is certainly eye-catching.

Posters – I loves ’em!

Mid-point blues

 

 

I always get a bit depressed somewhere around the middle of writing a feature script. The black wave rolls over me, the black clouds draw in and the black dog pisses all over my foot.

This is shit. It’s awful, what was the fucking point again? It’s taking far too long to tell this tale, nothing’s happening to people no one will care about and it’s all fucking bullshit anyway.

 

At times like this it feels like I’ve got three options:

1. Give up.
2. Carry on and hope it’s fixable in the next draft.
3. Trust the treatment.

1. is only an option if no one is waiting for the script.
2. usually results in a total mess since the second half is written with an impending sense of doom and a lack of care – this draft doesn’t count.
3. is the way forward. For me.

I don’t know how you folks who don’t outline cope with the mid-point blues without a treatment to fall back on. Actually, I don’t know if you do get the mid-point blues. Maybe it’s just me? Maybe everyone else writes in the assured knowledge their work is a golden stream of delight roaring forth from Thalia’s frothy lips?

Me, I get depressed somewhere around the middle of act two; but I have the treatment to put my trust in.

My reasoning goes something like this:

• I began with a single sentence which sounded interesting.
• I fleshed it out into a synopsis, which sounded interesting.
• I wrote it up as a treatment, which read well and kept the attention of the producer/director/whoever from beginning to end enough for them to want the script.
• The story works, even if the script doesn’t. Trust the treatment, follow it as closely as writing a script will allow and the end result should be okay.

I think sometimes the problem is writing the script feels like being in a trench. Only the trench is part of a maze. I can’t see where I’m going when I’m in the trench because the walls are too high, so I make a map of the maze before I enter.

The black wave/cloud/dog comes because I get halfway through the maze and I start to think the way I’m experiencing the script is the same way the audience/reader will … and it’s boring. I’ve spent too long on this section of trench, I’ve been it for days! There’s no end in sight and the whole thing is so tedious I’d rather rearrange Alice’s toys into colour order than sit at my desk.

What I forget sometimes (and it’s worth scrolling back to check) is although a scene may feel like it’s 12 pages long and taken days to write … it’s probably only two or three.

Also, I find the first half of the script takes much, much longer to write than the second half. It’s excruciatingly slow going introducing all those characters, locations and situations for the first time. Once they’re there and I know what it all looks, sounds, feels like … the second half is usually a breeze. In fact, the second half frequently takes less time to write than the first ten pages.

It’s all about the perception of movement: movement through the story, movement through the character’s emotions, even movement of eyes across a page. When I’m reading a script, a page takes a minute to read (I really try to slow down and read in real time these days); when I’m writing a script, a page can take hours.

Sometimes.

Or at least it can feel that way.

When the audience/reader comes through this way, they should be running down the only route available instead of having to pick and choose their direction with every footstep (which makes no sense in a trench, but sort of sense in a maze).

If a story is a maze, then the film is the best route through the maze as found by the writer. The audience can only follow your route (and then bitch about it afterwards in the pub).

Which is where the treatment comes in.

Or the map.

If I feel I’ve been wandering along the same trench for too long, I try and trust in the map – I sketched out the best way through the maze, so long as I follow it I should be fine. It didn’t feel like tedious when I drew the map, so as long as I’m sticking to the one page of treatment = (roughly) ten pages of script … I should be fine.

And the black waves breaks harmlessly against the prow of my ego, the black cloud dissipates with no ill effects and the black dog … can just fuck off.

Plough through the mid-point blues to the sunshine and the pint at the other end.

Until the next draft …

The Pythons, in today’s money

Did you all watch BBC 4’s Holy Flying Circus on Wednesday? I thought it was fantastic.* Everyone seems to be singling Darren Boyd out as being amazing (and he was) but I think the others performed equally brilliantly and should be applauded and lauded too. Obviously, since this is a writer’s blog – the main bulk of the praise has to go to Tony Roche for being awesome.

Well done, you.

I was thinking about the Terry Jones snippet at the end, about how if they were doing it today (or was it again?) they probably wouldn’t bother, and I was wondering what would happen if Monty Python was trying to get on the air today?

I know each member had already proved themselves multiple times over before being given (more or less) free rein to do what they wanted; but if they were new writers who had to go through a development process, would the results have been similar?

Take one of the classic sketches, like the Dead Parrot Sketch:

Would that still be a classic if they’d had to take extensive notes on it? Or would it have gone something like this:

Hi guys,

love the script, love it!!! I’ve attached some notes, only minor things. A mere polish really; but enough to turn it up to 11!!!! This is going to be great, really looking forward to it!!!!!

Love ya!

A. Dickhead

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(There’s a PDF of this here for those of you who prefer such things)

A month or two later, during which time no communication whatsoever has been sent:

Hi guys,

so here it is!!!! We’re filming tomorrow. I know you wanted to play one of the parts yourself and that’s great, but you’re just too old to play either part as they’ve been re-written. Sorry about that, but this really is for the good of the show, I know you’ll understand. Anyway, read, laugh and love it!!!!!!

This show is going to be huge!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love ya!

A. Dickhead

 

 

 

 

 

 

(PDF here)

A year goes by before this email arrives on the day of broadcast, dated two days after the last email:

Hi guys,

so we filmed yesterday … and things didn’t go quite to plan. Hey, what does in this industry!!!!! You know how it is during production, sometimes things change last minute. I think we got the essence of it down though; but basically:

We couldn’t get a pet shop so we filmed in a petrol station. Obviously, the whole dead parrot thing doesn’t work so we said it’s a packet of cheese and onion crisps (nation’s favourite flavour!!!!) which had gone a bit soft. Hilarious.

The actress playing the owner (great tits!!!!!) couldn’t make the whole of the shoot, so we gave half her lines to the ASSISTANT OWNER (who was, wait for it, KATIE PRICE!!!!!! (even better tits!!!!)). It was quite brilliant really, we made the owner refer the problem to the assitant owner!!!! Actually, maybe that should have been MANAGER? We can probably fix that with ADR.

The actor playing Mr. Pra (we shortened it so it sounded ‘hip’!!!!) forgot a few of his lines, but he covered it with some really funny swearing. Don’t worry, it looks great!!!! The whole crew fell about laughing!!!!

We had a small problem while we were changing to the other pet shop, the director had a small nervous breakdown. Luckily, we got a new guy in who’s done loads of MTV videos and he really gave it a dark and edgy feel for the last thirty seconds – lots of whip pans and explosions!!!!!!!!! He didn’t like the actor playing Mr. Pra though, so he fired him and divvied his line out between the OWNER (who’d come back by that point, but had lost her costume – her new one is even sexier!!!!) and the ASSISTANT OWNER (who will probably become the MANAGER).

Other than that though, it’s exactly as you wrote it and you’ll love it!!!! I’ve decided it’s not fair me being a co-writer on this, so I’ve decided to withdraw my credit – you’ll get sole, joint writing credit!!!!!! I know that’s what you wanted.

See you at the BAFTAs!!!!!!!!!!!

Love ya!

A. Dickhead

When the show inevitably flops and is soundly trounced in reviews … you can pretty much guarantee they’ll all share one sentiment:

Cleese and Chapman can’t write! They have no concept of how to string two funny words together let alone create an entire sketch.

With the unproduced writers’ lament echoing across forums the length and breadth of the nation:

Who commissions this shit? I can do better than this, why will no one give me a chance?

If comedy is all about timing, thank fuck Monty Python happened forty odd years ago.

———————————————————————————————————————————–

* I had a slight wobble over how John Cleese came across during the debate, I understand the dramatic reasons for it and I know it was heavily prefaced with THIS DIDN’T HAPPEN but I can’t help thinking I’d be a little pissed off if that was me; but apart from that minor quibble I thought it was brilliant.

Revenge!

Yesterday I was discussing a post on one of the forums I occasionally lurk in the background of and the conversation turned towards how vitriolic and unpleasant some unproduced writers can be. If you’ve never wallowed in the bile spewed by those who rant in public, then save yourself the bother … they’re just nasty and unpleasant and make you feel vaguely ashamed of humanity.

There’s a temptation to call them bitter and frustrated, but I don’t know if that’s really true or even an excuse. Would they be nicer people if they’d been produced?

Maybe.

 

I certainly think it’s an eye opener when you get personally attacked for the first time. You spend years working away in isolation and no one ever really gives you negative feedback. If you’re lucky, you get constructive criticism; but in general if someone doesn’t like your work, they lie, fob you off or just don’t really respond.

All you focus on is that first commission and it can take years. Years of self-doubt and frustration … and when you get it, when someone actually wants to produce your work … the euphoric high is better than any drug can supply.

And then the project is released and it’s not really how you imagined it. It’s been re-written. It’s been improvised all over. It’s been edited badly and it’s clear the director may have been aware of the script, but he probably didn’t actually read or understand it.

Still, it’s done. It’s your first produced work! You’re a proper writer, you’ve realised your lifelong dream and the proof is in the wild!

For about ten minutes before people start calling you a cunt, assuming you’re somehow related to the imaginary ‘powers that be’ and wishing you caught something unpleasant and died.

Eventually, you stop reading other people’s thoughts. Especially the nutjobs who seem to have decided you’re their nemesis and the reason they’re not getting work. You toughen up or stop caring or just learn to judge the finished project on how it makes you feel, not others.*

But that first time. That first batch of aggressive, violence laden, vitriol … the moment when you go from a person who’s achieved something they’ve always wanted to do … to a public entity who somehow deserves to be insulted and ridiculed … it hurts. It is, as has often been stated, exactly like being mugged. It’s bewildering and upsetting and … it’s just fucking wrong. Don’t do it! If you don’t like the project, fair enough … but how does that translate into personal name calling? Especially hurling abuse at the writer for writing a script they haven’t even read.

That’s really worth repeating. They haven’t read the script. The film or TV show or whatever is what happens to a script when other people (people the writer has no control over) get involved and change things. For good or for bad – the finished product is not what the writer wrote. The writer wrote the script. Which no one spewing insults has read.

And even if they had, criticise the product, not the person.

“I think the third act was rubbish.”§ is nicer than “You’re a cunt. I wish someone would maim your children.”

Anyway, the conversation reminded me of some of the abuse I got a few years back … stuff I still remember, even though it’s no longer upsetting.

Recently, while performing my duties as Lead Writer for Persona, I’ve had several writers contacting me and asking if they can write for the show. Which they can, there’s an open (if very long) list and everyone is welcome to have a go. The irony being two of the most prolific bile-spewers have asked me for a job.

Now, I don’t know if they remember insulting me. Maybe they insult so many people they don’t remember specific cases? Or maybe they don’t see calling someone they’ve never met names and wishing they were dead as insulting? Maybe they just see that as normal behaviour?

Maybe they do remember and think I won’t?

I don’t know.

What I do know is I remember them and my first thought is one of fury. Crush the imbeciles! Slap them down for their impudence! Time to wreak my revenge!

What shall I do? Shall I email them and remind them of their cuntishness? Shall I phone them and call them names in return? Shall I get them to write a script and then copy and paste their own bile into the feedback? No, wait, I should arrange a meeting, hand them a print out of their own abuse and then beat the living shit out of them, film it and put it on YouTube!

These idiots want something from me! They want me to help them after they were very, very insulting about me as a person (not a writer, not my work; but me as a person)! I could show them, I could teach them a fucking lesson …

But I won’t. Because … despite this long and rambling post … I don’t really care. If they want to write something for the show, they can and I will judge their work the same as everyone else’s. Revenge is an ugly thing to want and although a tiny bit of me will always dislike these people … I just don’t care enough about their opinions to act on them. Besides, maybe they were young or mentally ill or whatever … maybe they’ve learnt? I’ve done some awful things I’ve lived to regret, maybe they don’t do that sort of thing any more?

Who knows.

But I’ll leave you with this thought:

The Internet is a public forum. You are connecting directly with the people you’re trying to work with and people would rather work with people they like. Even if you’re not slagging off the people you’re hoping will commission you, they can read. They will Google you and they will form opinions of your work coloured by what they know about you from blogs, forums and the opinion of their friends.

You know, the ones you slagged off.

————————————————————————————————-

* This is a lie. It’s upsetting. It’s always upsetting, but you can’t help reading these things. It’s like poking at a sore tooth – it’s irresistible.

§ That’s still upsetting, but at least it’s about your work, not you. And is probably true. Maybe.

Strippers vs. Werewolves: Bizarre Magazine

Earlier this year, Bizarre Magazine‘s Billy Chainsaw paid a visit to the Stripppers vs. Werewolves set.

If you didn’t see the four page spread in the magazine, then the gist of it has been posted at their website here.

There are some exclusive photos there too, extra to the ones printed in the magazine, including *gasp* some boobs!

One of the photos is a bit of a spoiler, so view at your own risk.

To preserve the mystery, I’m not going to tell you which one and just assure you, it’s not what you think.

Unless it is what you think.

In which case … um … I might lie.

Stalker – London Première

Stalker had its London Première last night at the Empire Leicester Square, which is cool.

Even cooler, the film won three awards at Scream Horror Magazine‘s British Horror Film Awards:

Martin Kemp – Best Director

Billy Murray – Best Supporting Actor

Stalker – Best Picture

 

All of which is fantastic news. Congratulations to Billy and everyone else involved for their sterling efforts; but the most praise has to go to Martin Kemp for writing and directing this, his first feature film.

For those who want to know more about last night, there are some photos and a post about the evening over at Shirlie Kemp’s blog.

The film is in selected cinemas this week, I would give you a list; but I haven’t got one. So I’m not. If, however, you happen to live near a cinema where it’s showing, then it’s showing at a cinema near you!

If you don’t, it’s not.

Does that help?

Stalker trailer and competition

If you haven’t seen it, here’s the trailer for Stalker:

The London gala première is on this Saturday, the 15th October, at Empire Leicester Square. There’s a competition on the Facebook page to win tickets to see the film as Martin Kemp’s guest, including the opportunity to have a drink with Martin before the film.

That’s actually pretty cool and definitely worth entering for four reasons:

1. Ladies (or men who are so inclined), he’s gorgeous.
2. Men (or ladies who are so inclined), he’s a really nice bloke.
3. Scriptwriters (of either gender or persuasion) he runs his own production company, has directed one film and will probably want to do so again.
4. It’s Martin Kemp! He’s awesome!

The closing date is midnight tomorrow, so … I haven’t really given you enough notice. Sorry. ENTER NOW! GO!

Then come back and watch the trailer again.

Now showing: stomach churning horror

There’s something you’re not supposed to talk about when you work on a produced project. Not a subject you’re forbidden from talking about per se, but one you don’t talk about out of respect for the people who’ve toiled on the film and the vain hope you’re mistaken.

It’s a horrible, horrible realisation which crawls over you and fills you with utter dread … the moment when you see the film made from your script for the first time and realise … it’s fucking awful.

The level of input required from you varies with every project. Sometimes you’re deeply involved in the entire film making process, even down to the editing and the ADR. Other times you’re shut out completely – you’re a writer, shut up, write then get back in your fucking box.

With the first scenario, if the film’s bad – you’ve got the opportunity to turn it around. You can give notes to the director, producer or editor; you can be valuable. You can actually be the story expert they hired you to be. Okay, sometimes all that means is you get exposed to the shitness for longer; but at least there’s a chance of salvaging something.

With the second scenario, when you don’t get to see the finished product until the première … it’s horrible. You sit down in a room full of excited people, the lights roll … and years of your life unravel before your eyes.

It’s an awful feeling; truly, truly awful. Sometimes you blame yourself for what seemed like obvious mistakes in the script (although, if they were that obvious, why didn’t any of the fifty-odd people working on the production notice?); sometimes it’s not your fault and it’s just gone horribly wrong. There may be someone to blame, there may not … but sitting there watching how bad the finished product is … it’s feels like it does when you’ve been caught murdering someone.

Probably.

You mouth goes dry, your hands shake, the pit of your stomach just sinks to somewhere between your ankles … it’s just … awful.

And then you have to pretend you like it.

Even when you know, deep down, everyone else involved thinks it’s a massive pile of camel crap … you just don’t voice it. Not in public, you just can’t for several reasons:

1. You might be wrong. In the pub on Saturday we were discussing the last season of Doctor Who – no one could agree on which episodes were sublime and which were gobsmackingly awful; everyone had a different opinion. What if, on this occasion, you’re wrong? What if this film is a smash hit or maybe grows into a cult classic? You just don’t know and do you really want to publicly decry your own work when everyone else thinks it’s brilliant? You might be wrong.
2. People involved in the film might think you’re wrong. They might love their work, it might be everything they dreamt it would be and genuinely believe they’ve achieved something wonderful. Do you really want to be the one who pisses on their deluded chips? Even months later on your own blog … these people might be reading it. When the bad reviews roll in and they feel like they’ve been mugged (which is what it can feel like), do you really want to add to their misery by agreeing with their detractors?
3. You don’t want to colour the audience’s perception before they see the film, because … then they might not see the film. This is a business and you’re technically an employee of the producer/production company/studio. If you had an employee who told everyone the product you’re selling was rubbish … would you want to hire them again? Besides, if no one buys the DVD then you don’t make any money. That may be crass and self-serving but … well, fuck it: I want to eat. So does my family. And if my opinion about the film’s shitness is wrong then I may have needlessly ruined my own career.
4. There is probably a 4) … but I can’t think of one right now. In fact, since I stopped for a cuppa after 3) I’ve gone right off the boil. What the hell was my point?

Oh yes. The point is, it’s horrible, gut wrenching experience. One not made any better by having to pretend you like the damn thing for months or even years afterwards.

Weirdly, at some point down the line, everyone quietly comes to an agreement about the level of direness and you’re suddenly free to admit you thought it was awful.

The knowledge this day will come doesn’t help.It doesn’t help when industry friends want to watch it and you can’t tell them not to because you have no idea who they might be friends with; it doesn’t help when the reviews attack you personally and you have to pretend they’ve just missed the point; and it really doesn’t help at the after-première party when you introduce yourself as the writer and no one can look you in the eye.

Hopefully this doesn’t happen to you too often in your career.

Hopefully you might never, ever experience this and only ever work with talented people who understand how to do their own jobs and lift you to a higher level.

Honestly, I hope you never have to sit through an hour and a half of pure turd with every minute feeling worse than the last and the ever increasing feeling of doom which just keeps getting worse and worse and worse until you think the only way to get out of here with your sanity intact is to murder everyone and burn the print …

But for those who have, are or will experience it … I feel your pain, you are not alone and it’s perfectly natural. Better days will come, just grin and bear it.