Showing posts with label Chris Tugwell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chris Tugwell. Show all posts

Wednesday, 4 May 2016

Book review: "Dinosaur Theory"

Dinosaur Theory: Uncovering a New Approach to Screenwriting is one of those 'inevitable' books. It was inevitable that someone would write it one day. The surprise is that it was written by an Adelaide-based screenwriter. [In the interests of full disclosure, I have to tell you that Chris Tugwell was my first ever script editor.]

Even before I'd read it, when all I'd seen was the blurb outline, I knew I would like this book. Chris understands that the old Three-Act Structure Theory is misleading, and, when it comes to creating a story, unhelpful. In this he is neither first, nor alone.


Chris Tugwell
Some witnesses for the prosecution:
  • Paddy ChayefskyDramatic writing is really nothing more than telling a story, and nobody ever tells a story quite like anyone else.
  • Charlie KaufmanThere’s no template for a screenplay, or there shouldn’t be. There are at least as many screenplay possibilities as there are people who write them. We’ve been conned into thinking there is a pre-established form.
  • John Truby Three act structure, albeit a lot easier to understand than Aristotle, is hopelessly simplistic and in many ways just plain wrong. ... Three-act structure is a mechanical device superimposed on the story and has nothing to do with its internal logic—where the story should or should not go.
  • William FrougThe best way to tell your story is the way the story itself dictates. Do not try to contort it into a predetermined form.
  • Daniel PyneI completely eschew the formula of first, second, and third acts. I've run into too many writers who get lost in that old formula. They know where the first act ends, and they know where the second act ends, but their entire script is treading water because they're just writing from point to point.
  • Howard Suber With regard to any specific movie, everyone will agree on where the first act begins and where the third act ends, but there is often no agreement about where the second act begins and ends—even among the people who make the film.  
  • Bill Idelson The rich construction (read, 'structure') experts are not so much instructors as critics. They take a successful movie and dissect what the successful writer did. They remind me of wannabe painters who move a canvas chair into the museum and copy the brush strokes of Whistler's Mother. I only mention these charlatans to save student's time and money.
 
None of this helps the writer in the creation of their script

In Dinosaur Theory, Chris says this:
  • The trouble with all the graphs and diagrams that supposedly measure our emotional engagement in the script, and on precisely what page your turning point should occur, is that none of this helps the writer in the creation of their script. Worse, I believe it actually gets in the way.
  • I say this as a screenwriter, and as someone who over the past 20 years has edited, read and assessed literally thousands of screenplays by budding as well as highly skilled writers. In that time it has become clear to me that what all the good and great scripts have in common is not this mysterious Three Act structure. It isn't even that they have a great story, though that is pretty vital.
  • What each and every great script has is shape.

Yeah, shape. This might sound weird at first, but give it a chance.
  • I use the term 'shape' to distinguish what I'm talking about from what is described as 'structure,' of the Hollywood-guru-Three-Act variety. The two are fundamentally different.

They are focused on storytelling as an inorganic thing,
rather than part of the natural world

After studying structural theory for years, I went through an exercise whereby I reduced the major schemes—by Syd Field, Linda Seger, Michael Hauge, Christopher Vogler, Viki King, and Blake Snyder—to an overlapping chart, which highlighted the commonalities of their theories, and I submitted that chart to Brian McDonald (author of Invisible Ink) for comment. He approved my analysis, then said:
In the end we all say the same thing in slightly different ways. For each of us, I'm sure, there are subtleties that only matter to us. I think those authors are great, but they are focused on storytelling as an inorganic thing, rather than part of the natural world. They tend not to relate these structures to real life, or at least, to how we relate stories to one another in real life.

... the natural and obvious connection of events in your story ...

Chris Tugwell goes on to say: 
  • I'm talking about the natural and obvious connection of events in your story that draws it into one single, unified and sublime whole. Where everything fits like a jigsaw puzzle, where each piece has its own unique place, and the picture is incomplete without all the parts.
  • The shape provides the support, the skeleton, the bones on which your story hangs.

There are lots of different story 'shapes.' Just think about it. There is the 'Time' shape:
There is a 'Deadline' shape, a 'Task' shape, a 'Place' shape, a 'Journey' shape, 'Another Reality' shape, an 'Event' shape, an 'Anniversary' shape, an 'Object' shape, and so on. I can't reproduce all the information here; you'll have to read the book for yourself.
  • This is not new. The ancient Greeks and Persians knew about it. As did Chaucer and Boccaccio. Shakespeare used a wide variety of shapes in his plays; an island in The Tempest (a place), the Battle of Agincourt in Henry V (an event), the summer solstice in A Midsummer's Night Dream (one day). In Romeo and Juliet it is the length of a relationship from their first meeting to their deaths.
  • Each shape has particular features that make it powerful. Each has a certain character and qualities that make it suitable for particular stories. Although there will always be those writers who break the boundaries and find a way of using a shape in a surprising and unexpected way, whether it is Tarantino breaking a single day into out-of-sequence fragments (Pulp Fiction), or Pinter making time flow backwards (Betrayal). 
  • Genre isn't a lot of help in determining the shape of your film. It doesn't narrow your choices down that much. For this reason using a 'genre' can create as many problems as it solves; it is the ultimate one-size-fits-all approach. And genre doesn't help you explore your character's emotions and their response under stress. 
  • If it's a thriller genre, is it in the shape of a 'place' like the motel in Psycho, or is it in the shape of a 'journey' like Wolf Creek?
  • If it's a romantic comedy is it the Bridget Jones's Diary kind, that lets us into the head of the main character via the diary (relationship) shape, or is it the A Fish Called Wanda kind that is in the shape of a heist (task)?
  • Once the shape of your journey is clear, the way that events unfold will become more and more obvious and large parts of your script will fall into place.
  • And because it is so vital, uncovering the shape must happen before any thought of acts or turning points.

Stories are found things, like fossils in the ground

All of which leads into the theory element of Dinosaur Theory. Very few people ever get a complete idea for a story in a single instant. I usually think of a character in a situation. Then I have to scratch around to work out how that character in that situation translates into a complete story.

The bulk of Dinosaur Theory addresses the question of, How do I get my story fragment out of my subconscious? How do I dig up my complete dinosaur skeleton, without losing any of the vital pieces? It's a question Stephen King touched on briefly in his book On Writing.
  • My basic belief about the making of stories is that they pretty much make themselves. (p.188)
  • Stories are found things, like fossils in the ground. (p.188)
  • Stories are relics, part of an undiscovered pre-existing world. The writer’s job is to use the tools in his or her toolbox to get as much of each one out of the ground intact as possible. Sometimes the fossil you uncover is small; a seashell. Sometimes it’s enormous, a Tyrannosaurus Rex with all those gigantic ribs and grinning teeth. (p.189)
Whereas Stephen King just mentioned the problem, then moved his focus to what Brian McDonald calls 'wordsmithing,' Chris Tugwell spends a lot of time walking us through the process of discovering our own stories. If you struggle with the how of unearthing a complete story, this book is a good place to go for ideas.

However the breakthrough element in the book, for me, is Chris's idea of 'shape' as the predetermining element in devising the structure of a story. It’s a solid, accessible concept, easy to grasp and explain.

I'm already using it.

First posted:  6 August 2012

Monday, 6 August 2012

Book review: "Dinosaur Theory"

Dinosaur Theory: Uncovering a New Approach to Screenwriting is one of those 'inevitable' books. It was inevitable that someone would write it one day. The surprise is that it was written by an Adelaide-based screenwriter. [In the interests of full disclosure, I have to tell you that Chris Tugwell was my first ever script editor.]

Even before I'd read it, when all I'd seen was the blurb outline, I knew I would like this book. Chris understands that the old Three-Act Structure Theory is misleading, and, when it comes to creating a story, unhelpful. In this he is neither first, nor alone.


Chris Tugwell
Some witnesses for the prosecution:
  • Paddy ChayefskyDramatic writing is really nothing more than telling a story, and nobody ever tells a story quite like anyone else.
  • Charlie KaufmanThere’s no template for a screenplay, or there shouldn’t be. There are at least as many screenplay possibilities as there are people who write them. We’ve been conned into thinking there is a pre-established form.
  • John Truby Three act structure, albeit a lot easier to understand than Aristotle, is hopelessly simplistic and in many ways just plain wrong. ... Three-act structure is a mechanical device superimposed on the story and has nothing to do with its internal logic—where the story should or should not go.
  • William FrougThe best way to tell your story is the way the story itself dictates. Do not try to contort it into a predetermined form.
  • Daniel PyneI completely eschew the formula of first, second, and third acts. I've run into too many writers who get lost in that old formula. They know where the first act ends, and they know where the second act ends, but their entire script is treading water because they're just writing from point to point.
  • Howard Suber With regard to any specific movie, everyone will agree on where the first act begins and where the third act ends, but there is often no agreement about where the second act begins and ends—even among the people who make the film.  
  • Bill Idelson The rich construction (read, 'structure') experts are not so much instructors as critics. They take a successful movie and dissect what the successful writer did. They remind me of wannabe painters who move a canvas chair into the museum and copy the brush strokes of Whistler's Mother. I only mention these charlatans to save student's time and money.
 
None of this helps the writer in the creation of their script

In Dinosaur Theory, Chris says this:
  • The trouble with all the graphs and diagrams that supposedly measure our emotional engagement in the script, and on precisely what page your turning point should occur, is that none of this helps the writer in the creation of their script. Worse, I believe it actually gets in the way.
  • I say this as a screenwriter, and as someone who over the past 20 years has edited, read and assessed literally thousands of screenplays by budding as well as highly skilled writers. In that time it has become clear to me that what all the good and great scripts have in common is not this mysterious Three Act structure. It isn't even that they have a great story, though that is pretty vital.
  • What each and every great script has is shape.

Yeah, shape. This might sound weird at first, but give it a chance.
  • I use the term 'shape' to distinguish what I'm talking about from what is described as 'structure,' of the Hollywood-guru-Three-Act variety. The two are fundamentally different.

They are focused on storytelling as an inorganic thing,
rather than part of the natural world

After studying structural theory for years, I went through an exercise whereby I reduced the major schemes—by Syd Field, Linda Seger, Michael Hauge, Christopher Vogler, Viki King, and Blake Snyder—to an overlapping chart, which highlighted the commonalities of their theories, and I submitted that chart to Brian McDonald (author of Invisible Ink) for comment. He approved my analysis, then said:
In the end we all say the same thing in slightly different ways. For each of us, I'm sure, there are subtleties that only matter to us. I think those authors are great, but they are focused on storytelling as an inorganic thing, rather than part of the natural world. They tend not to relate these structures to real life, or at least, to how we relate stories to one another in real life.

... the natural and obvious connection of events in your story ...

Chris Tugwell goes on to say: 
  • I'm talking about the natural and obvious connection of events in your story that draws it into one single, unified and sublime whole. Where everything fits like a jigsaw puzzle, where each piece has its own unique place, and the picture is incomplete without all the parts.
  • The shape provides the support, the skeleton, the bones on which your story hangs.

There are lots of different story 'shapes.' Just think about it. There is the 'Time' shape:
There is a 'Deadline' shape, a 'Task' shape, a 'Place' shape, a 'Journey' shape, 'Another Reality' shape, an 'Event' shape, an 'Anniversary' shape, an 'Object' shape, and so on. I can't reproduce all the information here; you'll have to read the book for yourself.
  • This is not new. The ancient Greeks and Persians knew about it. As did Chaucer and Boccaccio. Shakespeare used a wide variety of shapes in his plays; an island in The Tempest (a place), the Battle of Agincourt in Henry V (an event), the summer solstice in A Midsummer's Night Dream (one day). In Romeo and Juliet it is the length of a relationship from their first meeting to their deaths.
  • Each shape has particular features that make it powerful. Each has a certain character and qualities that make it suitable for particular stories. Although there will always be those writers who break the boundaries and find a way of using a shape in a surprising and unexpected way, whether it is Tarantino breaking a single day into out-of-sequence fragments (Pulp Fiction), or Pinter making time flow backwards (Betrayal). 
  • Genre isn't a lot of help in determining the shape of your film. It doesn't narrow your choices down that much. For this reason using a 'genre' can create as many problems as it solves; it is the ultimate one-size-fits-all approach. And genre doesn't help you explore your character's emotions and their response under stress. 
  • If it's a thriller genre, is it in the shape of a 'place' like the motel in Psycho, or is it in the shape of a 'journey' like Wolf Creek?
  • If it's a romantic comedy is it the Bridget Jones's Diary kind, that lets us into the head of the main character via the diary (relationship) shape, or is it the A Fish Called Wanda kind that is in the shape of a heist (task)?
  • Once the shape of your journey is clear, the way that events unfold will become more and more obvious and large parts of your script will fall into place.
  • And because it is so vital, uncovering the shape must happen before any thought of acts or turning points.

Stories are found things, like fossils in the ground

All of which leads into the theory element of Dinosaur Theory. Very few people ever get a complete idea for a story in a single instant. I usually think of a character in a situation. Then I have to scratch around to work out how that character in that situation translates into a complete story.

The bulk of Dinosaur Theory addresses the question of, How do I get my story fragment out of my subconscious? How do I dig up my complete dinosaur skeleton, without losing any of the vital pieces? It's a question Stephen King touched on briefly in his book On Writing.
  • My basic belief about the making of stories is that they pretty much make themselves. (p.188)
  • Stories are found things, like fossils in the ground. (p.188)
  • Stories are relics, part of an undiscovered pre-existing world. The writer’s job is to use the tools in his or her toolbox to get as much of each one out of the ground intact as possible. Sometimes the fossil you uncover is small; a seashell. Sometimes it’s enormous, a Tyrannosaurus Rex with all those gigantic ribs and grinning teeth. (p.189)
Whereas Stephen King just mentioned the problem, then moved his focus to what Brian McDonald calls 'wordsmithing,' Chris Tugwell spends a lot of time walking us through the process of discovering our own stories. If you struggle with the how of unearthing a complete story, this book is a good place to go for ideas.

However the breakthrough element in the book, for me, is Chris's idea of 'shape' as the predetermining element in devising the structure of a story. It’s a solid, accessible concept, easy to grasp and explain.

I'm already using it.

Friday, 20 July 2012

Interview with Chris Tugwell

Chris Tugwell is an Adelaide-based screenwriter, playwright and author. He has written more than fifty scripts for film, stage, radio, television, documentary and multimedia. 
    Chris was a member of the National Executive of the Australian Writers' Guild from 1992 to 1996, a member of the South Australian Committee for sixteen years, and Chair of the SA Committee for ten years.
    He worked with Katrina Sedgwick to establish the Insite Unproduced Screenplay Competition for the Adelaide Film Festival. Chris was a member of the Board of the Australian Script Centre for six years. He was a founding member of the Australian Writers’ Guild Authorship Collecting Society (AWGACS), a Board member from 1995 to 2007, and Chair from 2004 to 2007. He was a member of the Board of the Australian Script Centre for six years.
    The man has been busy, but he made time to answer a few questions.
________________________________________________________________________

* Where were you born, and where did you grow up?

I was born in England and my family came to Adelaide when I was seven. Best thing we ever did.

*  Where did you go to school?

I went to private schools in Adelaide and then to Flinders University to study acting. When uni fees were removed by the Whitlam government it brought a flood of new people and really opened my eyes. At the time university was for privileged and rich private school kids (like me). We had always been told we were the best, but suddenly brilliant people from less wealthy families had this fantastic opportunity, and for the first time I had to work hard to keep up. This was a time of conscription, anti-war protest, aboriginal land rights, and women's liberation, all questions from which I had been sheltered.

Flinders University, in the afternoon sun.
*  What kind of a family did you grow up with?

My mother was an opera singer, my sister a dancer and circus performer, and I'm a writer and actor. My brother was a civil engineer. Where did we go wrong?

*  When did you first take an interest in storytelling?

I always thought writers were other people, clever people, not me. I only began writing when I started acting and worked with groups that put scripts together and then performed them. That seemed perfectly natural; not really "writing" at all.

*  What was your first paying job?

I had all sorts of part time jobs; delivery driver, road labourer, gardener, steel worker, clerk. My first full time job was as a high school English and Drama teacher in the steel town of Whyalla. That's also where I wrote my first play.

*  What was your first job in the writing business?

It doesn't work like that, I find. You have an idea, you write it. Someone might be interested, or you may get a few people together and put it on yourself. My first commissionwhere I got paid to write somethingwas for Patch Theatre (a children's theatre company in Adelaide). The play was about mail-order brides. By the time I'd finished it that director had left and the new one wasn't interested.

*  Who was the teacher who had the biggest influence on you?

Zora Semberova
There were two, both at Flinders Uni. One was Zora Semberova, a dance teacher and former prima ballerina from Moscow. In almost every lesson she would cry, "You are nothing, you are dilettante," to one or other of us. She was always right, we were taking the easy path, trying to get away with doing only as much as we had to. That always resulted in shallow work. The second was Yutaka Wada, my Japanese acting teacher at Flinders. When a student was late once, he listened to her excuses and then said to us all, "Death is the only excuse, death or fatal accident." No-one was ever late again. Both Madame Zora and Yutaka always expected us to give our best, and only accepted that.

*  Of all your writing projects over the years, which has been the most satisfying, and why?

The stage version of X Ray was an incredible experience. Not only did it get four productions, which is rare, but it was a piece that had a direct effect on the way people thought about an issue as it was unfolding. Also, having Major Michael Moriin full Marine uniformspeak to the audience on opening night, or seeing Terry Hicks sitting on the ground with local aboriginal leaders in Darwin, who also had family in prison, was incredibly moving. (For those who don't know, X Ray was about an Australian, David Hicks, who was held in Guantanamo Bay for seven years, and his dad's struggle to get justice.)

Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp
*  You spent many years developing your screenplay, X Ray, only to have the plug pulled on you at the last minute. I know it was a devastating experience emotionally and professionally. What steps did you take to recover and renew your vision?

I had worked on this for seven years, and the response to the script had been consistently positive, but that wasn't enough. So for a long time afterwards I did not write. I completely lost my belief in any ability I had. 

The village of Urada, Tokamachi, Niigata
My partner makes felt. In 2010 she was chosen by the Australian Embassy to be artist-in-residence for three months at Australia House in a tiny village in the mountains of Japan. As it was so remote they insisted she take someone with her. I almost had to beat friends and family off with a stick to get to go. 
    We lived in a 150 year old farm house on the edge of the rice fields and the forest. Part of the deal was to write a blog of our experiences. That gave me the chance to write for a totally different audience, but mostly for myself. 

An article in the local Niigata Nippo newspaper.
    The Japanese attitude to artists is one of remarkable respect. A writer is a valued person, so it was immensely satisfying to write purely for funfor an audience ready and willing to listenabout the amazing place we found ourselves in and the challenges we faced. We have just put that blog into book form and that too has been rewarding and energising.

*  Australian filmmaking inevitably involves government funding agencies at some point. What have your experiences with them been like?

Highest highs and deepest despair. I have both been on the committees making the decisions and on the receiving end of decisions. I have found people are dedicated and professional and have the best intentions, but don't always make the best decisions. Good projects can miss out for want of a key element, or because a similar project somewhere else on the planet beats them to it. Bad projects can get up because of the timing or it's just what a network is looking for. 
    I have been in meetings where I felt convinced I knew which projects would get funded, and been wrong about every one. What has surprised me, though, is how even the best writers and producers can stuff up an application by not being clear about their vision. I must say that the SA Film Corporation has been incredibly supportive of a number of projects of mine. Even when the projects haven't always progressed, the SAFC's belief in me hasn't wavered. That means a lot.

*  You have just released a screenwriting book called Dinosaur Theory. Can you pitch the central idea of that book in a few lines?

As I say on the back cover, each and every great screen story has a natural and seamless shape that lies within the script; that shape might be a journey, an event, a time limit or a place. Dinosaur Theory shows you how to find that shape and use it to create your own powerful and unique screenplay. You can get the book from amazon.com!

*  I’ve heard your next project involves African refugees in Australia. Are you free to tell us anything about that?

I rarely talk about a project as I work on it. What I can say is it involves men and cooking. In the past few weeks though, and totally out of the blue, I have been asked to write a big budget feature; which just shows you can never plan a career in writing. Things just come up.

*  You have taught screenwriting at the Adelaide College of the Arts. What one main idea do you try to impress on students?

What do we see?!

*  If you had to suggest just one screenwriting book (not your own) to a newbie screenwriter in Adelaide, which one would it be?

I find William Froug (Screenwriting Tricks of the Trade) to be the best of the 'Hollywood' bunch. Another book, one that asks writers themselves about how they work, is Top Secrets: Screenwriting, by Jurgen Wolff and Kerry Cox; and guess what, most of the writers quoted don't use three acts!

What are your ten favourite movies of all time?

This list changes all the time; but here goes. 
I'd also add any Buster Keaton silent movie. 

(Buster Keaton was arguably the greatest actor/director in movie history, and an inspiration to many comedians who followed, including—amongst many others—Jackie Chan. The following is a five minute clip which shows a few of Buster Keaton's finest moments. Thanks for giving me an excuse for showing this, Chris. Oh, and turn the sound up...)

Friday, 25 May 2012

"Dinosaur Theory" - New book by Chris Tugwell

Chris Tugwell
Years ago I applied to the South Australian Film Corporation for funding. The specific application related to funding for the rewriting of my first screenplay, no other path forward being obvious to me at the time. 

No, I didn't receive the funding, and no, that film was never made—to my lasting gratitude... I was greener than grass at the time and, having contrived to (unwittingly) write a story with a parallel plot, had bitten off more than I could chew. We're not always as ready for the next step as we imagine ourselves to be.

I found the funding process bureaucratic and serpentine, but ultimately instructive in a number of unexpected ways. Among other things, it required that I locate and attach a script editor to the project, an educational exercise in it's own right. At the end of that process, I met Chris Tugwell.

Another child discovers
one of Adelaide's more
placid pigs.

He was—as Jim Carrey said of the man with the rubber glove —surprisingly gentle. He started with the opening image of my screenplay [a young couple, with a child, playing on one of the pigs in Rundle Mall ] and asked me what it might convey to a viewer in, say, Paris. I learned more from thinking about that question than I would have believed possible. I won't bore you with details, but there is a surprising amount going on with pigs in the world of symbolism.  

After working in the film industry for more than twenty years, and teaching screenwriting at the Adelaide College of the Arts, Chris has now written a book. 

Dinosaur Theory elevates him into a world of screenwriting theorists which include Brian McDonald, Bill Idelson, David Mamet, John Truby, William Froug, Howard Suber, and others, who question the paint-by-numbers schools of structuralist screenwriting teachers.
Each and every great screen story has a natural and seamless shape that lies within the script. That shape might be a journey, a task, a place or a time limit. 
In his book, Chris introduces a revolutionary step-by-step approach to the problem of uncovering your story's own singular shape.

Dinosaur Theory helps free writers from the tyranny of three-act structure. It reveals the shape hidden within a story, and shows how to use that shape to create a powerful and unique screenplay.

I haven't read it yet, but I can't wait. Get your copy here.