Second Guessing

To say my first encounter with second guessing occured within the last decade would surely be false. Just as we sometimes hear something many times, there comes a point when we really understand it. Perhaps when our receptors are ready or when the strength of the transmission signal is irrepressible.
Such was the case with second guessing. I had just started studying with Cay Patten in New York. I felt immediately at ease with her during our interview. She was not the touchy-feely, new age teacher I had when younger. She was a New York intellectual. And a fat Greek lady, just like my mother. Anyway the interview went well and she admitted me to intermediate scene study. I was happy not to start in the beginning class, yet nervous. Especially when I saw a couple people in the lobby wearing national tour jackets from shows.
One of the show vets was an actor called Steven. In one of my first classes Steven was making a salad in his scene. Or he was going through the motions of making a salad. Every question Cay asked him about the salad, Steven answered with a defense of his choice, citing his (mis-)interpretation of Cay's input rather than an answer to her simple questions. Finally she had enough and told him she was finished with him. Not just for the day, but forever. She told him he was never going to be a good actor if he second guessed clear, simple direction.
I thought, Yes!, she's absolutely right. I further deduced that good actors don't second guess impulses. Just like people don't second guess the sunlight of the spirit, except when our neuroses get in our way, of course.

I optioned Original Glory to a producer with limited experience and we went through a long phase of development during which the script improved in some ways and died in others. I've always had a hard time pitching the script. It is not a high concept script for one. But the plot covers a lot of ground. To get from A to Z, I've had to leap over certain plot developments, expecting the audience to jump with me.
It seems that readers in Hollywood all stumble at those junctures. They say things like, I don't feel you earn the murder of the father. Or, He makes a phone call for help and then he's thirty days sober.
My response is usually something along the lines of, I don't really want the audience to be concentrating on the details of the plot, I want them to go on the journey with the characters.
Those with money need plot points. They need structure. They need a package that they feel is marketable. In the past, I've second guessed this. Resisted it. Judged it.
I've been seeing it differently of late. It's giving me a lot of freedom. I realize that what people are objecting to is the structure of the script. They love the stories and the characters and the physical world that I've created. But I've packed too much into its 100 pages. I've spoiled them. If I rewrite it using only the first act, they'll miss the ending or something in the second act. I've created this smorgasboord that incites gluttony.
I realized this after hearing the same feedback for years on this project. The first producer I worked with belabored the details, when I should have gone back and simplified the structure. Recently, I watched a few films that are similar to Original Glory with a careful eye toward plot development. If I were to shoot my film and expect it to come in around ninety minutes, it would be a ruthless whirlwind. While I want it pack a wallop, I want the story to be able to breathe. Think of spaghetti westerns -- three or four gunfights and a lot of quiet space between them.
In developing the script a couple of years ago I killed a lot of darlings in order to make room for more plot devices that still aren't working entirely. No more second guessing Hollywood.

I read Mark Medoff's great play, When You Comin Back, Red Ryder? Teddy, the outlaw, is ruthless, raw and honest. Every moment counts. It's like Shakespeare -- no need for stage directions. Reading it, I recalled the rawness of the characters in my script before all the second guessing under the guise of polishing.

I spoke to Michael Cassidy about this with some trepidation a couple of days back. He had just watched Peckinpah's The Getaway and Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia.
Once again, we were on the same page.

In the past, I've always been anxious to do the rewriting on Original Glory. Seemed there was always a deadline, real or imagined. I'm sitting back on this one. Gonna let it simmer. Gonna figure on where I want to start and where I want to finish. Then I'm gong to write a logline. Then I'm going to work up an outline. I'm going to let it come to me.
I'm not going to second guess it.

¡Viva!
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