After Hours tells the story of Paul Hackett (coolest film name ever) played by Griffin Dunne. Paul Hackett is having the worst night of his life. Trying to make his way home from Soho, he faces a series of maddingly surreal and dangerous misadventures that make his pointless journey rather “Kafkaesque.” Scorcese actually called this film ”an exercise completely in style.”

Layman’s film critic, Roger Ebert, who has written a book on the work of Scorcese, is also a fan of After Hours. In  the Great Films section of his website he includes his take on this sometimes forgotten masterpiece. He describes this film as something approaching “pure filmmaking.” He says “it’s a nearly flawless example of — itself. It lacks, as nearly as I can determine, a lesson or message.” Many viewers have found the level of suspense in After Hours to be unbearbale. Ebert explains that while the film “is technically a comedy [it] plays like a satanic version of the classic Hitchcock plot formula.” Ebert has always been better at exlaining things than describing them.

The film should be available from most major movie outlets. You can read what Roger Ebert has to say about it in his review The time is three a.m. Do you know where your sanity is?

For me the review was worth reading for the quotable:

What happens to Paul Hackett is like what happens to Buster Keaton: just one damned thing after another.

That may not necessarily describe my life, but it’s a cool way to see my name used in print.

I recall The Comebacks from 2007 had an amusing Don’t Stop Believin’ musical moment. But this is really enough. Any further use of Journey in a Hollywood movie is officially camp.

Thankfully the last movie I saw, Milk,  didn’t include a single Journey song, even though Journey enjoyed their first heyday in 1978 – the most significant year of Harvey Milk’s life.

Update: Who’s Crying Now by Journey is played in Monsters vs. Aliens.

• The Best Years of Our Lives (William Wyler, 1946)
• Sunset Blvd. (Billy Wilder, 1950)
• Double Indemnity (Billy Wilder, 1944)
• Shane (George Stevens, 1953)
• Red River (Howard Hawks, 1948)
• Raging Bull (Martin Scorcese, 1980)
• Vertigo (Alfred Hitchcock, 1958)
• Groundhog Day (Harold Ramis, 1993)
• Meet Me In St. Louis (Vincente Minnelli, 1944)
• A Tree Grows In Brooklyn (Elia Kazan, 1945)

You can read the entire Times article for the commentary that goes with each choice.

The list heavily favors classics from the forties and fifties. I agree that all of these films are exceptional, and some of them are even my personal favorites, such as: Red River, The Best Years of Our Lives and Sunset Blvd. The Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler Double Indeminity screenplay is also one of my favorites from that period.

I’m amused to see Groundog Day featured on this list. This isn’t even the first time I’ve noticed the film getting notable critical acclaim. It may not be one of the ten best American films, but it’s frequently mentioned positively in several screenwriting books.

I suppose if I were to quickly throw together a top ten list, I’d name my ten favorite Bill Murray movies (in no particular order): Caddyshack, Ghost Busters, Stripes, Meatballs, Rushmore, Groundhog Day, Kingpin….

What? No Lost In Translation?

Sorry. But that’s a little boring and irrelevant for me.

An excellent example of a reveal is John Milius’ Conan The Barbarian (1982). Anyone who has seen the film is unlikely to forget the “Wheel of Pain” sequence. Conan is introduced through a montage sequence that follows his torturous passage to manhood. A young Conan is chained to a punishing device and made to walk in circles through all seasons. As weaker men die Conan presses on. His muscles grow. We see his feet plod on as the years pass. Finally, the full grown Conan looks up and stares into the camera. He’s already a hero in our minds because he has survived an ordeal that finished off weaker men. He’s now ready to embark on any journey.

It’s generally best to reveal characters by having them doing something when we first meet them. The first glimpse we get is going to tell us almost everything we need to know about them. I call it a reveal because it should share something about both the inner and outer life of the hero.

Imagine your protagonist is a taxi driver. The scene opens inside the taxi dispatch. We see someone fastidiously cleaning a taxi at the start of their shift. A person who begins their shift in this way is probably honest, hard working and perhaps has dreams of doing something greater. This sounds a lot like the reveal from Collateral (Stuart Beattie, 2004).

• INT. TAXI DISPATCH – L.A. – DAY
• ORANGE and YELLOW FORD CROWN VICTORIAS are wiping screen. We find ourselves in a busy garage at change of shift. A balletic convergence of arriving and departing cars. One’s door’s flung open…
• INT. ONE CAB – MAX’S HANDS
• enter. They wipe the seats with paper towels and 409…a DMV LICENSE fitted into the small Lexan holder. On it is a picture of Max.

  Lights being checked. Indicators. Hazards. Switches. Similar to a pilot doing an aircraft check list. Fast. All fine.

• REVEAL NOW: MAX’S BRIEFCASE
• He opens it, preparing for his workday. CD caddy of personal mixes goes on a visor. Spreadsheet peaks out a worn Mercedes S500 brochure, clipped open. A submarine sandwich from Subway.
• LONG LENS: OTHER CABBIES – OTHER FACES
• load-in. Southern California diversity – some unshaven, swapping stories, counting cash, one stands on the passenger seat to shout over the roof to his pal, spills his coffee, couldn’t care less…

  Not Max. His cab is fly. Among cabbies he is GQ.

  And as CAR HORNS BLARE. AD LIB BANTER. CABBIES SHOUT. Max gets behind the wheel, closes the door…

• INT. CAB – DAY
• …and WHAM! The noise evaporates. Welcome silence. Max takes a moment to savor it.

  He starts the engine. RAP MUSIC BLARES from the radio. Max turns it off.

  He dumps a CD into the changer. MOZART SONATA fills the cab.

  From the open briefcase, Max also pulls out one last thing…

  A TATTERED POSTCARD

  which depicts the whitest sand and bluest sea you can imagine. A dream place. An endorphin-releasing groove. Limitless horizon. It’s the Maldives Islands in the Indian Ocean.

  MAX

  slips the postcard under the rubber bands on the visor. He can see it whenever he wants to. But not now. He flips the visor up, puts the car in gear and pulls out.

This script is an excellent example of a reveal. We are already able to empathize with the hero. He’s doing his best while still dreaming of something greater for himself. That’s something we can respect.

Reveals can be humorous, endearing and insightful all at the same time. Check out the classic reveal from Cool Hand Luke (Donn Pearce and Frank Pierson, 1967):

• FADE IN:
• EXT. SOUTHERN CITY STREET EXTREME CLOSEUP PARKING METER (NIGHT)
• Its irritating head opens a glaring red eye: the red flag pops across the entire screen:
• VIOLATION
• INSERT: PARKING METER SUPPORT (NIGHT)
• CLOSEUP of a pipe cutter attached to the meter neck, metal slivers curling out. From o.s. we HEAR — LUCAS JACKSON cheerfully humming and mumbling Auld Lang Syne and then:
• LUKE
• Okay, Mister General, you son of a bitch. Sir. Think you can put things right with a piece of tin with a ribbon hangin’ on it? Gonna put you right.
• CLOSEUP PARKING METER (NIGHT)
• as the meter head falls out of FRAME.
• NEW ANGLE ON METER (NIGHT)
• as it falls to the ground amidst a forest of meter stands and Luke’s hand comes into the FRAME to pick it up and we SEE him in CLOSEUP for the first time. He is cheerful, drunk, wearing a faded GI Field jacket. A bottle opener hangs on a silver chain around his neck. He addresses the next meter.
• LUKE
• All right. Helen, honey. I lost my head over you. Now its your turn.

Today’s screenwriter generally pays a lot of attention to white space. The opening lines from Judd Apatow’s Knocked Up (2007) reveals entire character personalities:

• EXT. BEN’S HOUSE – DAY
• BEN STONE, 23, cute in a chunky Jewish guy sort of way, boxes one of his roommates, MARTIN. His other roommates, JAY and JASON fight with broom sticks. JONAH drinks beer on the couch spectating.

Half of the characters in this movie are set up in just a few lines. We already have a sense of who our hero is and what is in store for him. Taking into account the film’s title we already have a pretty good idea where this story is going.

When putting characters on the page for the first time, it’s not just important to describe them in a way that makes them memorable. You also need to reveal something about them. Show them at work or play in such a way that the reader can see much more than what’s on the page – their inner and outer lives intertwined.

In a career spanning 50 years Newman acted in over 65 movies. His New York Times obituary describes him as “one of the last of the great 20th-century movie stars.” For more on the life of this Hollywood titan, check out his Washington Post obituary: Forget Cool: Paul Newman Knew How to Play It Smart.

For me, characters start to come to life as soon as they have a name. It’s a starting point. And while it is possible to write a script referring to the main characters as GUY and GIRL, giving them names makes them appear more realistic. But this raises an immediate problem for writers: where do you come up with good names?

Over thinking names can get you into trouble. It’s tempting to go for something with a lot of meaning. But when you take a movie like The Legend of Bagger Vance (2000), which has character names derived from The Bhagavad Gita you are lining yourself up to alienate a lot of readers. Good names are ones that sound like real people and can actually tell you something about them. A good example of simple yet symbolic names can be found in Oliver Stone’s Wall Street (1987): Bud Fox (Charlie Sheen) and Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglas). Their names suit their relative social statuses, but watch the film again with the names in mind and Fox and Gekko take on a deeper layer of meaning.

Sometimes choosing names quickly can help you get started quickly. There is a cool random name generator at http://www.unled.net/ that gathers names from the U.S. Census Bureau. It never fails to spit out believable and interesting sounding names. I only have a couple problems with it. It’s somewhat limited to American sounding names and it’s based on census data from 1990. So it’s not exactly up to date.

Recently I’ve been working on a new script that has a lot of characters. Fortunately, I found a great new place to explore randomly generated names. It’s the junk mail folder. Most of the names there are pieced together from software that tries to make the names sound real and believable. And that’s exactly what I am looking for. Now there is actually a reason to reread the headers on junk mail.

I’ve been working hard to get my writing to the level where I can complete a 120 screenplay in 3 to 4 months. Unfortunately, I do get distracted easily. During the past year I have moved twice and gone traveling dozens of times. Anything to avoid finishing those last ten pages.

The truth is, it took me six months to finish the last 5% of this draft. I took off so many times that I struggled to bring my writing back up to the level it was in the early stages. I make a point not to start something new until I’ve finished my current script. The best way to benefit from the writing process is to actually complete the process. I was so adamant about not shelving this script that I got stuck on the last ten pages for six months.

To wrap things up I ended up dropping two scenes at the last minute. I had so carefully plotted out my story that I really believed every scene was necessary. By this point I had been over every page so many times that I forgot my audience would be reading it for the first time. If I’m the only one who misses the cut scenes they probably didn’t belong in the first place.

It is a great feeling for a writer to have written something. I’m glad I stuck it out and finished the entire process. It will make me a better writer on my next project.

What’s next? Tomorrow I begin the next script in the pipeline.

One of the things I admire most about Sydney’s work is that he is a real storyteller. While the movie landscape changed so much over his long career, he always made movies that were story centered. He may be known to many as an actor’s director, but to me, he is a wonderful storyteller.

If you’re interested in reading more about this great American director, The New York Times obituary is here: Sydney Pollack, Film Director, Is Dead at 73.

It seems to me that there are a lot of people out there that don’t want other people to have fun. GTA comes with with a “mature” rating and an explicit warning about what the game contains. While GTA is an incredibly popular franchise it certainly doesn’t appeal to everyone. A study that sets out to link video games and violence is going to prove just that. It’s no different than a study aiming to disprove the link achieving its goal.

There is no conclusive connection between video games and violence. Just as there is no clear link between movies and violence. Blaming media for problems in society is simplistic. Video game players and their developers are going to defend their efforts, just as the producers of an ultra-violent movie would stand by their work. No one knows what comes first: the violence or the depictions of violence.

Now leave us alone and let us play video games. They’re fun!

The Thinking Writer tracked down and shared links to the studios that were basically giving scripts away for free. The links are More Scripts and More Scripts, Pt. 2.

Being earnest, I read all of them. In fact, I printed them all and what a mountain of paper it made.

I was not at all surprised that Cody Diablo’s Juno won the Academy Award award for Best Original Screenplay. I was quite happy with the choice, in fact. As I pored over every script I could find from the past year, Juno is the one that struck me as the most original. It is written with a unique voice. As I read, I could see the movie playing in my mind. It hooked me from the first page. And by the last page I was feeling jealous that my writing isn’t nearly as good.

It stands head and shoulders above the other original scripts I read this year. And those were good scripts too.

As for the Best Adapated Screenplay, I did enjoy reading No Country For Old Men. But it wasn’t my favorite. Of those nominated, I think The Diving Bell and The Butterfly is the one I’d rather read again.

In a play, the author typically has to devise several ways of getting the actors on and off the stage. The action occurs in only a few locations. In a screenplay, however, the action takes place over several locations. The heightened pace of film also makes entrances and exits seem staged. They are best avoided unless there is a dramatic reason for them.

When I’m writing a scene, I like to build the four walls first. The scratch scene, my first pass at writing, often has both an entrance and exit. Then I very quickly begin to rework the scene, cutting it down until only the bare essentials are left. It’s almost like a director giving lines for actors to speak before the actual scene begins. They won’t appear in the film, but still help bring the performance up to speed. I find this also works well in writing.

In his memoirs, Elia Kazan compared the difference between directing for stage and screen:

A film director can choose to leap into the “meat” of a scene or from high moment to high moment, leaving out what, in his opinion, is not worth the attention of the audience. Entrances and exits – unless they’re freighted with dramatic substance – mean nothing. It doesn’t matter how the character got there. He’s there. Cut to the heart of the scene.

Good screenplays also cut straight to the heart of the scene.

Take a screenplay like Woody Allen’s Annie Hall (1977). There are very few entrances in the entire script, even though the story jumps from location to location. There is an excellent party scene at a Beverly Hills mansion. It begins with two men chatting. This cuts to a wider shot and another man joins the conversation. Another cut, and Alvy (Woody Allen) and Rob (Tony Roberts) are at the center of the scene. They arrive at the party without actually making an entrance. It’s economical. It’s also good writing.

“The first casualty of war is innocence.” That’s the tagline for Oliver Stone’s Platoon (1986), a film that’s different from other Viet Nam war stories because it’s not about two countries fighting each other. Rather, it’s a story about a country at war with itself. Although the story centers on the thoughts and fears of one soldier, everyone in the platoon faces similar moral choices, and must decide for themselves what is right and wrong.

The men in Chris Taylor’s (Charlie Sheen) platoon divide into two groups: the heavy drinkers loyal to Barnes (Tom Berenger) and the pot smokers who follow Elias (Willem Dafoe). The main difference between them is that Elias already believes the war can’t be won, but keeps fighting in it with honor. The audience roots for him because he’s a moral compass and mentor to the liberal minded members of the platoon. Barnes and his men, however, have a different take on the war. They lash out at the Vietnamese and each other; committing atrocities that turn them into the real bad guys.

With a story as multi-layered as this, it’s not surprising to find a moral center – someone who voices the author’s perspective. The moral center steers the theme, so that is not about surviving war, but surviving war with humanity still intact. The moral center of Platoon is King (Keith David), introduced early in the script:

• KING looks like a king. A lion of a black man but with a sleepy, gentle face, not to be roused, is painfully trying to scrawl a letter home with the pencil held awkwardly, mouthing the words.

He has many of the film’s key lines and entertains the platoon with his home-spun wisdom and sense of humor.

King wonders how an educated man like Chris wound up in Viet Nam. The boy’s idealistic view of the war makes him laugh. He calls Chris a crusader for thinking dropping out of school and signing up would make a difference. (Stone reportedly dropped out of Yale twice and based Platoon on his own experiences serving in Viet Nam.)

After the hero survives an injury, King – whose very name is symbolic – accepts him as part of the group. He takes Chris under his wing, shrugging off the possibility that he might have let the platoon down. King tells him there is “no such thing here as a coward,” a line that he repeats later in the film.

As an ally, King introduces Chris to the “head,” an underground world where Elias’ crew smoke pot and escape the war. He gets Chris high for the first time, which not only relieves the pain of his injury, but initiates him into the underworld. The symbolism of this occasion isn’t lost on King:

• KING
• (smiling)
• This ain’t Taylor. Taylor been shot. This man Chris been resurrected…

King is not the only moral guide in Platoon. The Christ like figure Elias is another strong force of good and the focal point of Chris’ admiration.

In my mind, the moral center is generally a less active participant in the story and more of an observer. Elias plays a big part; staying very involved in the plot. He helps the men prepare for missions and teaches them what he can about survival. When faced with difficult tasks he crusades for good. King is more of a witness and commentator on the action. His actions never influence the direction of the story.

When the platoon suspects that Barnes actually killed Elias they talk about getting revenge. Barnes turns up drunk and challenges them, giving them a chance to get even.

• King, the biggest one there, is about to say something, but the moment passes.

He knows that an eye for an eye is not justice; and remains an observer. As an observer King is also the only that notices Chris isn’t writing home anymore. In case the audience hasn’t noticed Chris’ transformation, King is there to point it out.

We don’t know what happens to Chris and the other members of the platoon at the end. King makes it out alive before the final battle and he gives Chris some final advice:

• KING
• Make it outta here, it’s all gravy, every day of the rest of your life man – gravy.

If anything, this is the delivery of the film’s real message. War is a terrible experience for everyone involved. Surviving it is one thing, but surviving it and still remaining human is another.

For King, to have another chance at life, and to live life to the fullest, every day is gravy. It’s an extra gift that is worth staying alive for.

I’ve found that many screenplays contain a special character type that is somewhere between a stock character and an archetypal character. This figure is someone who will help the hero on his journey, and I call him or her: the moral center. It’s possible that the moral center also doubles as one of the archetypal roles such as the mentor or shapeshifter. This may be less common though, otherwise all stories would have moral centers and I don’t think that’s the case.

Aside from helping the hero in some small way, the true job of the moral center is to introduce the film’s theme, and clue us in to what the movie is all about. The voice of the moral center illustrates the writer’s perspective.

While the hero may be the moral compass of the film – the one who will strive to right the wrongs and reestablish the status quo – he is never the moral center. The hero is too busy with his quest, battling the villain, driving the story forward and facing obstacles. As the audience roots for him, he will make a series of choices – some of them will turn out to be right, others wrong. If he were also the story’s moral center, the film would assume a tone of preaching, and be of little interest to most audiences.

The moral center is almost always a minor character; someone often allied with the hero, but corrupted neither by him nor the villain. He brings to the story a voice of wisdom; shedding light on what the story is really about. With a few key lines, this enlightened individual will represent understanding and insight in a nearly godlike way.

If you really want to know who the moral center is: he’s the one dude in the film that you’d really want to hang out with.

I’ll elaborate more on the moral center in my next post with a few examples from popular films.

John has posted to his site the text of a recent speech he gave at Drake University, The Challenge of Writing in a Digital Age. Sometimes all it takes is an expert to say something obvious for it to resonate clearly. John offers up the following definition:

Writing is how we demonstrate that we understand something.

For the screenwriter that means your story. If you’re going to write a movie you should have something important to say. You can’t tell a good story if you don’t understand it yourself. A good script should adhere to a certain structure and follow a logical plan. There are as many books as there are blogs on screenwriting, but real insight and understanding only comes through hard work. This is the day to day routine of writing.

This applies equally to other kinds of writing. A songwriter needs to understand the mechanics of emotion. Songs may tell stories too, but if anything, the true purpose of music is to stir an emotional response. What remains true to all kinds writing is not only what you say, but how you say it. As John said at the end of his speech, we should all write like our lives depend on it.

Traveling is waiting out the single line check in at the airport for a flight that is going to be delayed several hours. Traveling is also the 12 hour bus ride that is nauseating enough to make a robot feel car sick. It is dealing with foreign languages, sleeping somewhere different every night, trying foods you can’t identify and battling tropical storms. When you add all the small things together any respectable trip entails a fair amount of struggles.

But ultimately, a good trip is one you come out of with new insights and perspectives. It’s only natural that it should take a little suffering to make that leap.

On my last trip to Viet Nam I thought it was slow going getting through customs. I don’t mean the line in front of me was slow; I was at the front. The guy checking my passport was just taking a really long time. I thought it might be because of my passport photo. When it was taken my hairdo was something akin to Henry Rollins’. On the day of my arrival I was sporting something more like an unwashed Pat Metheny.

Anyway, I started to suspect there might be a real problem when the young officer went off in search of a supervisor. That’s never a comforting sign at the border. Fortunately, he soon returned with no further questions or delay. He stamped my passport, smiled at me, and let me in. It was only as I getting ready for this trip that I realized what was the matter.

On my last trip to Viet Nam, my visa to enter the country was valid from June 16th. I hadn’t paid careful attention to this point and arrived in Hanoi on June 15th!

I’m sure there were all sorts of unpleasant scenarios that could have followed. Instead, they treated me like a welcome guest and made my arrival hassle free. They didn’t even say anything about it. Now that I’ve clued into it three months later, it has me thinking about the all little things people do when you’re traveling to make your stay in their country better. Quite often we don’t even notice the ways in which people go out of their way to accommodate us.. I’ll certainly enjoy this trip that much more, knowing the kindness that was extended me last time.

To add now to my litany of writing sins, I want to discuss the power of sleep. Besides providing your body with the rest that it needs, sleep is the time when your conscious mind gets turned off, and the unconscious takes over. Fortunately for the writer, the unconscious mind is often better at solving story problems than you’re awake and incessantly thinking about them.

Whenever possible, I do my writing in the morning. One’s energy is always on the increase until about mid-day, so it makes sense to write as much as possible before noon. I spend my afternoons on story planning, organization and other work. If I’m in a hot climate I’ll try and take a nap in the afternoon. I also walk a lot in the afternoons and evenings, which is another great way to think about my story.

But when it comes to stubborn story problems that I can’t think my way out off, I’ll turn to a good night’s sleep. Lots of writers like to feed their subconscious in this way, and I was not altogether surprised when I found this passage in Graham Greene’s autobiography Ways of Escape:

Dreams, perhaps because I was psychoanalysed as a boy, have always had great importance when I write…Sometimes identification with a character goes so far that one may dream his dream and not one’s own.

I have never personally had that experience. But many seemingly insurmountable story problems have vanished thanks to several hours sleep. Graham also had this to say on the subject:

I imagine all authors have found the same aid from the unconscious. The unconscious collaborates in all our work: it is a nègre we keep in the cellar to aid us. When an obstacle seems insurmountable, I read the day’s work before sleep and leave the nègre to labour in my place. When I wake the obstacle has nearly always been removed: the solution is there and obvious – perhaps it came in a dream which I have forgotten.

I had already been doing this before I knew of Graham’s methods. And I can absolutely vouch for it. If you are really doing your work, sleep does help.

Of course, thinking too much before trying to sleep has it hazards. If you’re not careful it can lead to bouts of insomnia. That will certainly adversely affect your ability to write and maybe even sap your interest in the story altogether. But I have found that by considering a single problem as I drift off to sleep, I will invariably wake up with the solution at hand. It’s not magic, and it’s probably not science either. But it does have a lot to do with making writing a balanced part of your life. Never let writing consume all of your time.

I don’t want to fall into the trap of stereotyping actors. Yet, as evinced from his style of writing, Laurence is more concerned with creating an esoteric emotion rather than relaying a clarity of thought. This may be an approach that satisfies the author, but it leaves the reader feeling puzzled. Confessions of an Actor reads like the product of an actor with a frazzled brain, who isn’t interested in details or clarity. It’s difficult to turn the pages when you haven’t made much sense of the page you’re on. In the end, Laurence only seems to be a shadow of the larger than life roles he played.

I was hoping to find some deep insight from this mighty thespian and occasional director. Instead, I spent most of the time reading passages over again trying to figure out what he was talking about. Does he even have a point? What is this chapter about? Is there any purpose to this book? These questions kept coming up as I read.

Confessions of an Actor puts things together with no sense of chronology or relatedness. The greatest revelation into Laurence’s work is his penchant for changing his appearance with a fake nose to help him find the character he is trying to become. I finished the book disappointed that he didn’t fill it with that special magical light he brings to movies.

John Huston, on the other hand, is a natural and gifted storyteller. An Open Book is basically one great story after another. Each chapter reads like a movie, ending with either a significant observation or a cliffhanger moment that keeps you enthusiastically turning the pages. John’s life is anything but dull. This is a veritable collection of rip roaring adventures from a man who truly did great things. When he relates his war experiences, or opinions of the anti-communist blacklisting in Hollywood, you really feel you are listening to an authority figure.

When I read an autobiography, I want to read honest accounts that let me into a bygone era. John shares his great admiration for his many friends and speaks modestly about his own achievements. He never sounds apologetic about his shortcomings either. Even when he glosses over a significant part of his life, he does it with flair. There is a picture in the photo section of his adopted Mexican son, Pablo. This is a great story that is only afforded two paragraphs. Throughout the book there isn’t a trace of bitterness for things that didn’t turn out favorably.

After reading both these books, I asked myself who I’d rather sit down and have dinner with. The answer of course is John Huston. Laurence’s writing makes the actor seem stuffy and a bit insecure. He’s neither elegant or enlightening with his words. John is a master storyteller who knows how to keep his audience captivated. Dinner with him every night of the week would be a real treat.

Lately it seems as if I’ve been traveling as much as I’ve been working. Travel is the greatest of escapes. It sure beats that other favorite writer’s excuse for not working – cleaning the fridge!

Not only does a trip take me outside the box, it also stimulates me with new ideas and experiences. It’s more likely that a real life situation I wouldn’t get in my regular writing space will produce that key line that transforms a scene and saves the story. Whatever I’m working on, inevitably, turns out better for a little time spent on the road. It’s not always possible to go away mid-project, so I make a point of going somewhere after completing each draft, and again before starting a new one.

I see why the writers from the classic Hollywood era did a lot of their work in hotels. I’m thinking of Robert Riskin writing for Frank Capra in Palm Springs, or Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur churning out scripts for Howard Hawks in Manhattan hotel rooms. For some reason, it’s just easier for me to get work done in hotel rooms. (Yeah I know, the above writers were all notorious for partying it up – but they completed some of their most famous work under those conditions.)

This advice, if it can be termed advice, should come with a warning. Travel can offer some great inspiration; but inspiration only accounts for two percent of a great story. The rest is perspiration – hard work!

When I settle into the hotel room after a long day of activity, I can do a whole day’s work in less time than usual. Most of the time the work is better too. If I had to guess, I’d say it has to do with the fact that while my mind was busy doing other things, the subconscious had all day to work on the story by itself. We writers carry our stories around with us for a long time, sometimes years. The mind simply can’t put it to rest because you’ve gone into escape mode. As Graham Greene wrote in Ways of Escape, “the unconscious collaborates in all our work.” I think I’ll have more to say about this later.

This rather sensational program does a pretty good job of laying out the mountains of evidence from plane crashes. In under an hour it illustrates the tiny details that resulted in a shocking loss of life.

I always thought it was an odd show to watch in Hong Kong. Most people in hotels here are probably like me – they’re flying in from one place and will soon be flying off somewhere else. Hong Kong has one of the world’s busiest airports and the average visitor only stays here for 1 or 2 nights. The day after watching Crash Scene Investigation at the hotel, they could be in a plane waiting for take-off, and start looking around the cabin for some tiny flaw that could lead to disaster.

The day before I left for Hong Kong, a 737 owned by China Airlines burst into flames after landing in Japan. It was a spectacular scene, and fortunately no one was seriously hurt. As I waited for my flight to Hong Kong, all the free newspapers in the waiting lounge had full color photos of the burning plane. No one seemed to mind these shocking images. Maybe it’s time to start showing movies with plane crashes as part of the in-flight movie.