scriptwriting
The Rewrite Man
I know little of the world of writing for screen and stage, apart from a minor dabble during my creative writing course many many moons ago. So I was intrigued by a book written by an actual scriptwriter, narrating a story about a Hollywood scriptwriter who comes to the rescue of a film director stranded in the south of France battling with a third-rate production.
The book is The Rewrite Man, published way back in 1983. I picked it up in the magical National Trust bookshop I told you about a few weeks ago. The author is Brian Forbes who himself had vast experience of every aspect of motion picture production as author, actor, screen director and producer; indeed one of the most respected directors in the world. And married to the famous actress Nanette Newman to boot. We’re in safe hands: this is a man who knows exactly who and what and where and how.
Harvey Burgess is an empathetic man, and his friends use him as their chosen confidant, the laundry basket for all their soiled linen … like some neutered father confessor available for free consultations at any hour of the day or night. We listen over his shoulder to a drunken phone call from France begging him to join the team to rescue a film from certain disaster. As the narrator, he takes us with him as he flies to Europe and becomes immersed in a world that changes his life and priorities for ever. It’s Harvey’s job to re-write the script about the French Revolution, and bring the story to life.
Director, Martin James, is the man who made the fateful call, unwittingly revealing that he’s besotted by one of the young actresses, his protegee, Laura Taylor. He’s a man with a Midas touch for mediocrity, and a would-be Professor Higgins accent, who gives the impression that he had bought a do-it-yourself Rex Harrison kit, but had never quite worked out the instructions. But Martin trusts Harvey to be a safe pair of hands protecting Laura from any competition.
And there’s plenty of competition – Laura is a very beautiful girl. Harvey himself falls under her spell and begins a passionate and obsessive relationship even though he knows Laura has other boyfriends of longer standing. He knows their time together is limited to the duration of the film’s production, but he quickly realises that he’s in deeper than he’s ever been before.
When he’s no longer needed for the film script, and instead accompanies the body of a colleague back to the States, he’s convinced they will stay in touch. But his letters go unanswered; his calls are not returned; her contact points are cut off. Though he does all in his power to track her career and her whereabouts he draws a blank. Until, that is, tragic news arrives from an unexpected source.
Forbes certainly knows how to create vivid characters and lively dialogue. He writes the scenes he clearly sees, weaving a tale of obsession and jealousy with skill and verve. It’s very much of its time, but it’s always useful to read good writing and this was a benign diversion from the pile of books I’m reading on death and dying!
Xanadu
Phew! That’s it over for another year.
Thinking up a viable storyline, writing it (11,000 words plus), that’s the easy bit of the annual McHaffie Christmas story/play. Putting it into dramatic effect is a far harder task, and this year involved more hours pouring over the detail than ever before. Several weeks went into hand-drawing scenery representing Victorian streets to cover the walls of the hallway, stairs and landing alone!
With no single theatre stage to work with, no stagehands, furniture had to be moved around in six rooms to create Victorian shops, a banqueting hall and a rambling attic in a mansion house.
But the dim light of rows of lanterns and a liberal helping of ivy, saved the day, successfully muting imperfections sufficiently to achieve the desired atmosphere. (Photos have been lightened for this blog.)
The storyline itself involved three youngsters from vastly different backgrounds learning from each other and the experiences they encountered, how to value and respect difference.
Weird gadgets, special boxes, changes of costume, cryptic messages, all added challenge and laughter to the mix.
The three friends discovered a remarkable doll in the attic of the local mansion house, a doll that took them to a magical place called Xanadu,
and underwent a dramatic transformation when danger threatened.
There, with the help of four colourful characters loosely based on Mr Pickwick,
and Rafiki from The Lion King,
they learned about transforming their own and others’ well-being by their attitudes and approach to life.
The four very different candle-lit shops offered paper/wood; gems and gold;
buttons and ribbons; and chocolates.
The names of the characters and their shops had to be worked out.
Only then were the premises thrown open to the time-travellers, allowing them to create ornaments of varying kinds,
with which they decorated all the trees in the town, bringing sparkle and joy to its dark streets.
I rather think it might take a few weeks for dodgy backs and creaking joints to recover from the contortions they’ve undergone, but it’s well worth all the effort to see – and hear! – the family’s enjoyment.
And this year I had the added delight of my eldest granddaughter helping with the behind-the-scenes production of the event to mark her milestone birthday as an adult.
It only remains for me to wish you all peace, joy and health for 2019. Thanks for visiting my blog!
Spinning out of control …
Eebie jeebie! Life’s on a steep slope and gathering frightening momentum this week. Where are the brakes …? Anyone seen the safety nets?
Outside, hard frosts have made works of incredible beauty out of ordinary spiders’ webs around here, and I couldn’t help but feel an affinity with them. Unbelievably strong, amazingly intricate, yet so fragile if touched carelessly. A bit like the ideas the brain conjures up in creative mode. So, why is the writing life more than usually frenetic at the moment?
Well, to begin with it’s Book Week Scotland; I’m doing a couple of author events locally for that. Lovely to go out there and meet real live people who read my books, and want to know about why and how I do what I do, and wonderful librarians who are so enthusiastic and dedicated to their task of encouraging reading, but space needs to be found to prepare mentally for each one.
I’m also writing not one, not two, but three books simultaneously right now. Three, do I hear you shriek? Yep, three. Completely unprecedented, as regular followers will know. Madness, probably. So why break my own rules?
Well, Christmas is fast approaching, so I absolutely MUST complete the grandchildren’s annual story/play due to be enacted on 28 December to a full house. I need to order props and make costumes before then, and allow for postal hiatuses, so first I have to finalise the text to be sure about what I still need/want. In spare moments, and by way of light relief, I’m also making monster heads – details are top secret (suffice to say that hair and glitter and strange white particles linger stubbornly in the warp and weft of certain carpets). And one whole room is definitely off limits to all, no exceptions.
Then my ongoing novel, Killing me Gently, mustn’t be allowed to lose momentum. Pleased to say I’m still with the thriller genre on that one. However, as a safety valve, I’m letting the back burner dictate the pace of this book at the moment, only sitting down to actually commit words to the document when they’re too insistent to ignore, or jotting down thoughts that wake me in the night.
And the third book? It’s brand spanking new, jostling for attention at crazy o’clock, keeping me at the desk long past the witching hour. It’s got a working title of Listen and is designed as a shorter story in my usual vein (contemporary fiction set in the world of medical ethics) which can be offered as a free download to give potential new readers a window into my books. I’m having a ball writing this! It’s about a Professor of Medical Ethics who goes on a train journey from Aberdeen to Penzance where a crisis awaits her … I now know some amazing statistics about high speed trains! And about atrocious experiments performed on black people in the 50s in America. Intrigued? Watch this space.
I keep reminding myself … this is all entirely self inflicted!
My annual foray into the world of scriptwriting
Ahhh, my last blog of 2015. Hard to believe another whole year has gone by since I was too ill to write.
Uppermost in my mind this week is the annual story/play which I write for my grandchildren (and direct and scene-set and costume-make and cater for – yep, definitely master of none but nobody’s caring). We held it yesterday (Wednesday 30th) giving us time to change the house from a family Christmas venue to a Community Hall on the remote island of Moorphunlesshasslepleez, somewhere in the ocean between the outer Hebrides and the USA. The plot revolved around the supreme ruler, His Excellency Elijah Balahoulie, deciding his time had come to give way to a new leader. I won’t bore you with the detail which is littered with in-house jokes and allusions. A few pictures might best capture the tone and spirit of the event.
Stars of the show were of course the grandchildren themselves who were citizens of this strange island where everyone wears a kind of uniform ‘habit’:
They were summonsed by the island’s town crier to hear a proclamation asking for nominations to head up a new era.
Applicants included: a schoolteacher cum precious gem prospector,
a glamorous seamstress,
an internationally famous ballerina,
who was also a brilliant teacher of all the citizens,
a couple of virtuosos on wind instruments playing their very own medley of tunes,
a recycling fanatic,
and a young mum of a baby born on Christmas Day. 
Some serious cooking and eating were involved too.
The adults rose nobly to the occasion and doubled as a farmer, a baker, a dotty old lady, and a banker cum magician who showed a quite remarkable sleight of hand with a pack of cards.
Everyone had to score each applicant on ten different parameters and the assessment certainly concentrated attention, although some of the scores seemed decidedly suspect!
As usual the main players entered into the spirit of the event with huge enthusiasm – it helps that they don’t know anything about the storyline until they arrive – and every minute spent sewing and constructing props and costumes, every footsore hour spent hunting down elusive objects, reaped rich dividends.
Naturally enough there’s a strange feeling of anti-climax today after months and months of thinking and preparation, and the frenzied last minute scene setting, and all the anxieties about precise timings and locations, but the next phase is to turn the play into a book illustrated with photos taken during the performance – of which there are 565 to choose from!
Thoughts can then turn to a new year, new opportunities, the latest novel. So it only remains for me to wish all my visitors and friends health and happiness, peace and prosperity in 2016. Thank you for sharing my world.