Before becoming a proud parent of the cubist movement, Pablo Picasso was a classically trained artist so adept at realism he could give a mirror a run for its money (as evidenced in his 1896 self-portrait.) 
One could argue that had he not previously displayed mastery of his craft before attempting a work like the one to the left from 1965, Pablo Picasso not only wouldn’t have succeeded in shifting the paradigms of the art milieu of his day, he might have been locked away. Or worse -- ignored.
What’s more, one can argue that Picasso couldn’t have created the second painting without first thoroughly understanding the fundamental principles needed to create the first. Brush technique, color, depth, lighting, shadow, perspective, and proportion are only a few of the elements he used to tell these two very different stationary stories.
Which brings us to another type of storytelling -- Screenwriting. It may not be immediately obvious, but the two forms of expression (and in fact all forms of expression) have a great deal in common.
Painting, screenwriting, furniture making, and cooking for example, all require a great deal of skill and understanding which we call craft. The scribe’s analogs to the painter’s skills are language, character, dialogue, action, pacing, structure, etc. Guiding these skills are simple rules learned over time through observation, education, and trial and error.
Without fully internalizing the rules governing the most rudimentary cinematic stories, a novice screenwriter attempting to write a masterpiece would be as likely to do so as the proverbial chimp at the typewriter hammering out a draft of Hamlet --
"To be or...poop!"
There are exceptions of course. The rare savant, the Mozart, the intuitive wunderkind who crawls out of the womb and taps out a two hour gem over a long weekend. But they’re one in ten million, and their careers are often as ephemeral as a Hollywood marriage.
The most successful writers, those who have earned the right to break the rules and forge their own, have done so by slogging their way through the trenches.
Charlie Kaufman wrote for Chris Elliot's sitcom Get a Life, then for Ned and Stacey, and even The Dana Carvey Show long before Being John Malkovich propelled him onto the list of notable rulebreakers alongside Pablo Picasso.
Kaufman’s Adaptation is a post-modern, self-reflexive screenplay that mirrors the internal struggle of a craftsman searching for a new way to tell an old story. In a sense, Adaptation and Being John Malkovich heralded in for Kaufman a new, more thoughtful and mature artistic era akin to Picasso’s cubist period.
I’m certainly not suggesting that all aspiring screenwriters must start out in television, but if a novice wants to achieve mastery of the craft, it might be best to practice the types of stories that have been and will continue to be the staples of our cinematic and small-screen diets.
When I was 12 years old my father bought me a banjo. I took lessons for about two months, and like many kids, I became frustrated with scales and chords and all the rules you have to learn in order to actually play music. Long story short, I decided that instead of learning the banjo I would invent my own instrument.
So like a young Thomas Edison I set about deconstructing my brand new banjo. And after only a few days of blood, sweat, and tears I had created -- a useless pile of strings and tuning knobs. Why did I think I could invent a new instrument when I didn’t understand the first thing about the one I had?
When a head chef is hiring a new cook, he might test the skill of the applicant by having him cook an omelet. Though it may look simple, cooking an omelet perfectly each time takes a lot of craft which can only be attained through experience. In Japan, apprentice sushi chefs often spend an entire year doing nothing but cooking rice.
Mastering the deceptively simple stories before trying to reinvent the medium will give the aspiring screenwriter more traction on his or her way up the mountain.
“Do not try to go beyond where you haven’t yet begun.”
Thursday, February 22, 2007
