Take the fourteen pilots they are presenting this week through “Amazon Studios.” Browsing these shows, I have seen more creativity here than anything that has come over network TV in the past decade. They are giving voice to a new wave of television creators less concerned with the medium than the message. I wish there were a more generous and thoughtful way to choose which shows were greenlit than user ratings. I worry some of the quieter comedies will be passed over in favor of big names or broad laughs.

The Boys from Betas

“Betas” is one of those sitcom surprises that I could see falling to the wayside. The show chronicles a Silicon Valley startup and the quirkballs who run it. We have Jon Daly as Hobbes, the cynical older brother, and Joe Dinicol and Karan Soni as Trey and Nash, the geniuses in charge. No one does any work at the office except these three. They fret about not getting funded. They crash “angel investor” parties and Trey gets into an awkward conversation with music legend Moby. And after twenty-six minutes I feel like I know these characters, which is no small feat for a pilot.

Yet there is life beyond this zaniness. In one of my favorite scenes, Hobbes corners Trey in the men’s room and tells him that at thirty-five, he feels ancient for the Valley. He needs to know that this app will get funded. Trey lies and tells him yes, which makes this scene, and the show, that more heartbreaking. Anyone can tell this app is no Facebook and Trey is no Jeff Bezos. This show is laugh out loud funny, but when the writers step back and take their characters seriously, it becomes something far more worthwhile.

I hope that this pilot gets a full season. I worry that it won’t. But don’t take my word, watch it here. In fact, watch all fourteen and make up your own mind. Welcome to the future.

What are they saying?

For the longest time, I thought that Aerosmith’s “Dream On” was about single women: Single women, live for today, maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away. The lyrics actually go “Sing with me, sing it for the year, sing for the laughter and sing for the tear,” which really does not make much more sense when you think about it. According to the Internet, I’m not the only one who thinks like this.

But does it really matter what we hear versus what the author intends we hear? If I have a richer appreciation for a work, whether it be a misheard lyric, or a personal meaning I attached to a film, does it detract from the author’s vision? I enjoyed Goodbye Lenin! much more because it was the first film I watched after graduating high school and one of the final movies I watched in the house I grew up in. If you even mention Goodbye Lenin! I have the tendency to go all misty-eyed. Of course, if you ask me about any details from the plot, you will most likely stump me.

Of course, it works the other way, too. Some interpretations can ruin my appreciation. I cannot help but think that U2′s “With or Without You” is really about heroin addiction because of a lone Youtube commenter (his reading really does make sense when you review the lyrics). It’s just not the same song anymore.

Not to get too deconstructionist, but I think the way stories and songs survive is because of the meanings we attach to them through the generations. The first wave may think Moby Dick is just a story about man’s obsession with overcoming nature, while the next may take a wholly different, and far more analytical, approach. It doesn’t matter, though, what matters is appreciation of the work.

Tommy Wiseau’s The Room was supposed to be a serious, high-minded drama in the style of Tennessee Williams. Anyone who has watched even the trailer knows it is not. It is a goofy comedy, a serious drama made stupid by bad acting all around. The midnight screenings and internet fame may not have been what anyone attached to the film could have expected. It certainly was not the way Wiseau wanted the movie to be received. But you gotta admit, though, it’s kind of hilarious.

We are only the writers. The rest belongs to the audience.

 
Let me explain that one. An improvised scene only works if each actor has the same understanding. That’s tough when everyone has several ideas about what a scene should be. But the scene only works when the other improvisers work together. We’re ape zombies? But how? How do you play an ape zombie? How do zombies even talk to each other? Why are we slapping each other silly on stage? These questions will quickly ruin the scene. In other words, just go with it.

It’s not just improv though. Many aspects of the arts involve a leap of faith. I think the best advice I ever received from a friend was when I was first unemployed: Go out for coffee with everyone you can. You never know who has a job. And in a matter of weeks, I had that job in TV I so badly wanted.

Think of this little advert from London’s Jazz News. Sure, it doesn’t look like much on paper. A rhythm and blues band? Who cares? Keen to rehearse? What does that even mean? The ad doesn’t give the name of the band or the details of where they will perform, only that suggestive little sentence at the end, “Plenty of interesting work available.”

But imagine if you had taken that leap of faith. You could have ended up a charter member of the Rolling Stones.

The Culprit Revealed

Only after I wrote my last blog post on favorite endings, I realized I was missing an important category, The Reveal. You know, that moment at the end of every great (and not-so-great) mystery or thriller when the culprit is brought to light or the truth is revealed. When The Sixth Sense came out, I think I stayed indoors for a week, all due to that creepy ending (I See Dead People). This may not have made it my favorite movie ending, but indelible enough to keep me far away from the supernatural section at Blockbuster for a year or two.

It’s exciting to wait for the reveal. I think of that Alfred Hitchcock quote: “There is no terror in a bang, only in the anticipation of it.” And it can be fun to solve the mystery at the heart of any good movie; it is also a way to become an active audience member. The best of these films, like The Sixth Sense, can bear repeated viewings, as elements of plot are explained and clues revealed.

The Thin Man (1934) provided me a textbook version of The Reveal. In what has become a film cliché, private detective Nick Charles invites over every suspect in a triple-homicide to a lavish dinner party. The police play at waiters, which leads to some very funny exchanges. You kind of have to try the cocktail, at least to avoid physical punishment. After Nick details the case, he sets in on the suspects. Each guest is culpable, but only one is the killer. I won’t ruin it for you, but needless to say, it’s unexpected and up to the very last moment he is treated like a dinner guest, not a murderer.

I had already read The Thin Man, and knew who it was. And to be truly honest, already knowing this fact did kind of ruin The Reveal. Maybe I’m not a fan of director W.S. Van Dyke (known as “one take Woody” to friends for the obvious reasons). Perhaps the dialogue felt a little dated, or maybe I just don’t like the story that much. More than all of that, though, there was no mystery. I knew what was going to happen and how. There’s a lot to be said for the anticipation of the bang.

Please tell me about some of yours in the comments!

Raging Bull (Scorsese, 1980)

“You was my brother, you shoulda looked out for me a little bit…”

De Niro reposes Brando’s famous lines from On The Waterfront in this classic ending. But as boxer Jake LaMotta, they take on a new meaning. While Brando’s boxer is still a young man on the cusp of a right decision, LaMotta has no second chances. His is a life marked by tragedy and regret. He was a contender. Things didn’t work out. Now he’s reduced to doing nightclub shows, replacing rage for self-effacement. It is the right kind of repurposing, because De Niro only adds to the original meaning of those lines. It’s a brave move by Scorsese, but one that pays off.

Slacker (Linklater, 1991)

I don’t remember learning about independent cinema until I was well into my college years. But somehow, at a very young age, I picked up Richard Linklater’s Slacker and it kind of inspired me, especially this final scene. I think Kevin Smith said the same thing; after watching Slacker, it seemed possible to make a movie. That moment in the final scene when they throw the camera amazed me. Making a film could even be fun. The walls were coming down, and I couldn’t wait to get started.

This clip includes a great commentary from Linklater as well.

The Muppet Movie (Frawley, 1979) 

This is one of those movie endings that makes you feel better about life. Something about that final scene, when the rainbow pokes through the dusty studio set, and the Muppets sing, “Life’s like a movie, make your own ending” always makes me tear up a little bit. Let’s face it: Hollywood endings are the best, however unreproducible they are in real life. And I love the Orson Welles cameo.

Shane (Stevens, 1953)

Usually an ending wraps up the movie. Not here. First, we don’t know why Shane left–did he go off to die? Or did his love for the already married Marian make him unable to stay at the homestead? Are the evil ranchers about to bring in reinforcements? It’s unclear.

But a little mystery is OK. Shane is a cathartic viewing experience, sure, but it challenges you too. There aren’t any easy answers here, and candidly, it feels more honest than a dozen happy endings. And that Paramount logo at the end makes everything feel that much more final (unfortunately, the HQ clip I found cuts it out).

Annie Hall (Allen, 1977)

I guess we need the eggs. You can’t put love any better than that. Alvie may not have gotten the girl, he may not have even been very successful in his career, but he did come to an important realization. What more can you really ask for from life?

Cinema Paradiso (Tornatore, 1988)

Salvatore, now an adult and filmmaker in his own right, returns to his Sicilian village. He finds his projectionist friend and mentor, Alfredo has left behind a mysterious canister of film. Coming home to his empty life in Rome, he finds a willing projectionist (director Tornatore) and pops in the film.

These three minutes of poorly spliced nitrile film, set to the remarkable music of Ennio Morricone, encapsulate everything I love about the movies. The romance, the lyricism, the lovely essence of the adventure of filmmaking flits through my mind as I watch these “censored” kisses play on. It’s one of the most beautiful and inspiring moments in film, and a classic ending to a classic film. It is as if Alfredo is saying “Here is the answer, Salvatore, hidden from view all this time,” as if film can communicate that message better than words.

“The sessions of psychiatric therapy are supposed to contain the moments of the film’s most visible insights, I suppose. But even more effective, for me, were the scenes involving the kid and his two teen-age girlfriends.“

Calvin (Donald Sutherland), counsels his son Conrad (Timothy Hutton)

I think Judd Hirsch did a fine job as Conrad’s therapist, but there’s something missing there. It does feel staged, closed, and really rather predictable. But outside the office, in the real world, with friends, Hutton comes alive as Conrad. With his friends, he’s subject to mood swings, disappointments, and random moments of anger. Director Robert Redford’s direction takes a backseat to Hutton’s impulses and it shows. There’s a greatness on Redford’s part here, because he’s letting his characters speak. He set the film in Conrad’s world, and did not shy away from the awkwardness Hutton exudes among his friends.

I think improv complements theater and film for many reasons, but foremost improv allows directors to develop character outside the confines of a script. Writing something out and directing that same script are two different things. The directors who understand this, and just go with it, like Redford, are better for it.

Write the script. But be prepared to tuck it away during certain scenes. If you know the characters, and your actors know who the characters are, then they will be prepared to lead them to the right places. Honestly, if I were making a movie, I would rather have a good script and great actors than a great script and bad actors. To be blessed with both takes a lifetime of work, but when it happens, it reveals a nice little truth, the best acting is real, and the best writing makes it more so.

I had heard “Songbird” before, but never like this. The goofy production was stripped. Christine McVie’s voice didn’t feel put on and massaged. Most importantly, it didn’t feel like the treacle on Rumours; this “Songbird” was a beautiful folk song.

It made me think about rough drafts and how quick we are to dismiss them. An old saying goes “Writing is in the editing” and I agree. But I also think good writing can be overlooked because we’re ashamed of it. It’s always the first thing we write, in the heat of the moment, pen in hand, emotions afire, the same stuff we hide away when the morning comes and we look over last night’s output.

I tend to think that’s the good stuff. Sure, it’s not polished, but who cares? Don’t fear the rough draft, embrace it for what it is, a chance to be honest and fast and wrong, all at the same time.

Last music reference, I promise. There’s an early George Harrison demo on the Beatles’ Anthology 1 that I’ve loved for years. Until I looked it up on Wikipedia, I thought that “You Know What to Do” had made it onto a Beatles album. I mean, it was definitely one of their best early songs and felt like a first step to their more mature Beatles for Sale sound. Turns out that after Harrison recorded it, the other Beatles didn’t care for it, the song was chucked, and the tape went missing for about thirty years. Hard to believe that such a good song could be overlooked, but true.

Don’t chuck the first draft. Some of the best stuff gets lost in the mix.

Gene Siskel

This article got me thinking about writing. Over the past year, I have been examining the why of writing. Why do people do it? Why do people read? Why do I write? For me, it’s never been merely a hobby. I think that good writing is good communication. It’s the way for me to get things off of my chest. It’s the way that I can talk to people I would otherwise not have a chance to. It’s a way to make peace, a way to laugh, a way to find a resolution. It’s a last word, spread over however many days of writing I have left.

When the right words work, they work. Boiled down, though, they have a similar essence. Here’s a quote I like from the article: “After working with terminal patients for over 30 years, Dr. Byock recommends four simple expressions. ‘Please forgive me.’ ‘I forgive you.’ ‘Thank you.’ ‘I love you.’” When we write, what more are we saying than those four things? I believe in most cases we’re just finding fancier ways to say them.

There is a grace to silence, too. Roger Ebert, Siskel’s friend, offers some advice in the article: “When all else fails, Mr. Ebert added, say, ‘Words fail me.’” There is always that option. Of course, I choose words, perhaps out of habit, maybe because I still feel they can fix things.

I had to tell someone about this new discovery. I happened to run into a buddy from freshman year on the way back from the cafeteria. I mentioned something about my newfound love of Jens and sure enough, his response was something like “Oh yeah, I got into him last summer. He’s kind of flat.”

It took me about six months to listen to that album again. I had been put in my place. Only later did I realize I could have mentioned practically anyone or anything and he would have given the same dismissive remark. “Portabello mushrooms, really? I think all of my friends have moved onto porcini.” That’s the way hipsters are. Once something is a thing, it stops being a thing.

Feeling uncomfortable about my taste has set me back. I think it has led me to not enjoy a lot of artists I should have, only because I was scared to admit I liked them. I was afraid that my passion would be misdirected, that I would be wrong. I was really afraid of being called out. It’s kind of silly to think about now. There’s no wrong in terms of taste. Whatever you like, you like. You don’t have to defend it. You don’t have to feel ashamed. In fact, I think that’s how all great art is made, in the face of people who don’t understand or accept it.

There’s good taste, sure. I would never recommend anyone listen to Nickelback, but if you love that type of music, I’ll try not to judge you for it.

Red Riding Hood

Red Riding Hood by Sir John Millials

This one actually goes for all Brothers Grimm adaptations. I get it, the stories are spookier than we thought. Enough with the dull allegory, hit-me-over-the-head Freudianism, and other adult adulterations. Fairy tales really are twisted. Move on. Everybody.

George VI

I loved The King’s Speech Hollywood, but let’s leave it at that. That written, I will take fifty George VI biopics over one on Edward VIII, c.f. Madonna’s insipid tale of love-plagued appeasers W.E.

Die Hard

Are they really making another Die Hard movie? They’re not all dead yet?

“Talking Things”

You are a grown man, but your teddy bear talks to you. The Smurfs are blue toadstools, but they talk to you. You have a hand-puppet beaver, and he talks to you. I get it. These things should not talk back, but they do. We have been dealing with this filmic idiosyncrasy since at least Georges Méliès. I am done suspending my disbelief and I am ready to grow up.

I will take another Scooby Doo movie, if done tastefully.

And finally, this needs no explanation. I leave you with but two words: Charlie Sheen.

On the positive side, here are a couple of movies I hope they make:

Grumpy Old Dudes

Denis Leary and Louis CK need to make a movie together. Granted, I think both are hilarious on their own, but together, these aging alt-comics could hit it out of the park. Grumpy Old Men Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau have sadly passed. These people are my heroes and can never be replaced, but we can still pass the torch. Matthew Broderick, who buffers them in the only picture I could find of the pair on the internet, can be their brother-in-law or cousin or something. Hollywood, get on this.

Robin Williams 

Aladdin changed my life. Specifically, Williams’ Genie from Aladdin changed my life. I loved that movie so much I saw it in theaters over three consecutive weekends. I can still watch that movie and tear up during that final scene when Genie gets his freedom.

Robin, just make a movie. Do it on a small budget. Make it independent like One Hour Photo. Get Alexander Payne to direct. I don’t care what it’s about, but death and aging gracefully are two topics you may not have covered in your career yet (we’ll both forget about What Dreams May Come). Honestly, though, it doesn’t matter what the movie is about. Robin Williams, I believe in you.

Paul Giamatti 

There is one more actor on my list. Paul, it really doesn’t matter what your next movie is about. I will watch you as Friar Laurence in the next Romeo and Juliet, I will even watch you as Monsieur Homais in Madame Bovary, but you’re better than a character actor. It’s time to make your next American Splendor or Sideways. When is your Philip K. Dick biopic coming out? Do it for me.

As Good As It Gets II

To paraphrase Robert Kennedy, You say why, I say why not? The film was pretty good the first time around. Jack Nicholson won an Oscar. Helen Hunt was incredible. There are scenes I still watch today and hold my breath. And I am not ashamed to say I cry during this movie.

There have to be more stories there. How did Melvin Udall get so bitter? What happened to his relationship to waitress Carol Connelly? How is Simon Bishop doing? There are very few movies with such a strong heart; if Hollywood doesn’t make this movie, I hope they are making films with the same sentiment in mind.

Untitled Drew Barrymore Project

Whip It was charming and had a pretty good message. I know I sound old-fashioned, but there are few movies about teenagers that show them doing anything but mooning over each other, and fewer directors brave enough to take on these stories. And Drew Barrymore doesn’t just have the legacy, she has the film knowledge. I saw her introduce Preston Sturges’ Sullivan’s Travels on Turner Classic Movies, and surprisingly enough for an actor, she sounded pretty cogent. Again, I say why not?