The Attraction of Transformation

The film award season is upon us again. Rather typically, this year there are a disparate collection of films under consideration by the relevant academies, associations and members that will culminate in acceptance speeches that range from the touching and inspiring to those that make you shake your head and reach for the remote.

Despite the eclectic range of films, most if not all follow the tropes of Joseph Campbell’s archetypal storytelling structure. The protagonist (hero or anti-hero) is confronted with an obstacle (whether real or imagined, in human form or circumstance) that they struggle to at first accept before moving past the point of no return headlong into the story. Add a three-act structure, applicable tension and subsequent reprieves, culminating in a fitting climax and denouement and you have the skeleton of a universal story on your hands.

Movie-buffs, or really, anyone who possesses even a smidge of situational awareness, also picks up on another award season trend that at times proves even more obvious than Campbell’s aforementioned structure. When it comes to awarding artists in the categories of Best Actor/Actress in lead and supportive roles, (convincingly) portraying a character that requires a transformation – the more blatantly physical the metamorphosis the better, seems to be a lock in receiving a nomination if not an outright win (Hollywood politics and machinations notwithstanding). Cast your mind back over the last decade and try to recall all the weight loss/weight gain; prosthetics; uglifying/beautifying, and ‘against type’ roles. Chances are you’ll easily manage to find a whole bunch of them.

So why do we tend to salute these characterizations?

Is it because such roles overtly display what is usually more nuanced in other less ‘flashy’ roles – that is, it heavily showcases the individual artist’s skill? Do such roles come with a neon sign that says: Quiet! Serious thespian at work: for the consideration of the Academy. Or conversely, is the portrayal so quietly riveting, uncanny, haunting, etc., that the viewer plum forgets that they’re watching a film and a person who is at the end of the day just ‘playing pretend?’

Perhaps the answer is one, none, or a combination of the above. What is certain is that the ability to successfully take a viewer (or reader) on a journey – and to make them feel, think or simply escape whilst they’re in the middle of the applicable medium, is a potent one, which seems to hold us in its thrall.

Campbell’s storytelling arc can only truly resonate when the characters that play out the drama are as fully fleshed, idiosyncratic and complex as we ourselves are. It’s most definitely something to keep in mind for those who feel compelled to create.

For the Love of Horror!

It used to be frowned upon to admit that one liked watching horror films - it was usually accompanied by a snort of derision and a roll of the eyes, especially by serious film critics. And while there are plenty of awful, just awful, entries in the canon, there are also films that lock you into a metaphorical roller-coaster car and take you for a thrilling - and yes, horrifying, ride.

Any writer (or reader for that matter) of horror, thriller, action, science fiction and the like are either fans of scary movies or have at the very least plundered the storytelling archetypes inherent in the genre. When uber-successful directors such as JJ Abrams and Joss Whedon openly admit to having gorged on a diet of horror and sci-fi in their formative years, the genre suddenly achieves a modicum of gravitas.

When one thinks of a storyteller, one conjures the image of a campfire surrounded with eager listeners who are enraptured by the narrator's ability to lure, enthrall, surprise, frighten and ultimately delight them with a yarn. As a writer or filmmaker accomplishing the above emotions is most definitely a goal, if not 'the' goal of entertainment. (There's even a theory that being scared in a safe environment actually helps people deal with the real evils of the world).

I too find that studying (and unabashedly enjoying) the horror genre has definitely helped hone my idiosyncratic set of storytelling skills. I may not be a horror writer per se, but any narrator who wishes to take his or her readers on a Joseph Campbell (arche)type journey can surely learn a thing or two from those who have successfully scared the pants off the public! As a writer of fast-paced and Dickensian YA, it has assisted me in crafting an appropriately shadowy atmosphere.

So, count me in as another creative who both enjoys and has been influenced by all-things-scary.

Boo!

Aussie Icons

Since joining the blogging-set I have had the pleasure of interacting with people all over the world, which has been truly enjoyable. A few of the conversations have come from people who live clear on the other side of the planet, and some of who view Australia as an exotic outpost at the bottom of the globe. Perhaps in some way it is. To Australians it is simply home, and one that has many cultural similarities with the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada and New Zealand to name but a few. As someone who works in the aviation industry and has traveled somewhat, going to these countries feels very familiar.

There was one particular person who asked me whom I admired or looked up to. Once I responded with my well-worn list, the reply I received was ‘What? Isn’t there one Australian man you look up to?”

I had never thought about it that way. In truth, I love my country very much but I’m not into die-hard nationalism. Nor am I into looking up to other men for the simple fact that they share my gender. In truth, the others on my list were mostly female. But it got me thinking, that as a male, which famous Aussie ‘blokes’ align with the man I consider myself to be most like. There are proudly quite a few to choose from. May I add, that the reason I am narrowing this conversation to admiring ‘famous’ people for this exercise is simply for their instantly identifiable name. Giving an obscure name to someone across the planet will not elicit as much understanding as perhaps the following names will. So without further ado…

Patrick Rafter – as a tennis fan I was pleased to see that nice guys can finish on top. When he won the US Open in 1997 & 1998, climbed to the top spot in the rankings and contested some wonderful matches against some of the greats of his generation (some he won, others he lost), I watched as a teenager with pride that Aussies were being so wonderfully represented by such a hard-working, fair minded and genial sportsman. In the world of competitive sports (really, any entertainment industry), where the stakes are high and to be monstrously self-centered is to be expected, even exalted, it was refreshing to see that you can squeeze the best out of yourself and not lose yourself in the process. That has stayed with me.

Keith Urban – simply put, what’s not to admire about a person who has achieved an insane level of success in his chosen field, has married and fathered children with his soul mate (who happens to be a talented artist in her own right) – and remains a genuinely humble and grateful man who is down-to-earth and relatable. In an industry where people pretend to be magnanimous for public adulation, you can spot the real thing. I’d like to think I share his genuine nature, easy humor, kind temperament and his loyalty and protectiveness over those most dearest to him. That to me is the epitome of being a gentleman.

Hugh Jackman – as a film lover (and someone who once loved singing, dancing and acting up on stage), how can you not respect someone who (like Keith) puts family and loved ones above all else while fashioning an enviable career in Hollywood without succumbing to its infamous trappings? To be talented, be able to make fun of yourself (which is a uniquely Aussie characteristic), enjoy life and simply be a nice person…these wonderfully grounded traits are ones that really should be emulated more than they sometimes are.

Thank you gents, for standing so tall.

Cry Me A River – Spoiler Alert!

To balance out my last post about loving to laugh (but hating the use of canned laughter), I thought I’d add an entry regarding enjoying – or enduring – a good ol’ cry.

Here are some of the films I’ve watched that have caused the tears to flow freely; sometimes to the point of using a brown paper bag and having friends tease me to this day…

UP

I dare anyone to deny that they weren’t a quivering mess during the opening set-up when the touching montage of an animated husband and wife’s living, loving and dreaming of one day traveling together ends with the wife’s sad passing. Sniff.

(I thought I’d start with a safe one – there may be snorts of derision for the upcoming choices. See how I lay myself bare for the blogosphere?! ;-)

TITANIC

I know. I know. Look, it was 1997. I was a naïve innocent boy that believed in one day finding their soul mate and the power of love…blah blah blah. (Have I convinced you that I’m now awfully cynical? No? Well, you’d be right. I’ll always be a hopeless romantic). Back to this choice… When Jack let go and slowly sank to the bottom of the Atlantic and then Celine Dion brought the credits rolling in, my heart could not go on. I started to gasp and pinch my nostrils while my whole body convulsed. It was a full theater and I had my friend, Kat, rub my back as my head was in between my legs and I was crying like a child. I literally had to wait until everyone had left the cinema to compose myself and sheepishly escape. I was all too aware of people passing me and making comment. And if some of you think I’ve exaggerated this to be witty, I so wish you were right, but you’re not. Cringe.


MILLION DOLLAR BABY

Heartless is he or she who watched Hilary Swank’s Maggie climb out of trailer-park hell to make it as a boxer, only to suffer the ultimate injustice and become a quadriplegic. Her hideous vulture-like family circling her broken body and her trainer Frankie's devotion (a suitably grizzled Clint Eastwood) – culminating in the revelation of the meaning of his nickname for her - ‘mo cuishle’ - and his ultimate act of love via the administration of a fatal dose of adrenaline… oh boy…I watched it at the theater alone during the day and was glad it was an almost empty session. Still, I pulled my peaked cap as far down as I could and cried both as hard and as quietly as I could manage. I remember driving to the beach and sitting on the sand for a good while afterwards.

Stop laughing at me, I can hear you!


THE NOTEBOOK

I can hear the snorts all over the Internet regarding this one, especially from fellow men. I’ll keep it short. Watching James Garner’s Noah reading a romantic love story – their love story - to Gena Rowlands’ Alzheimer-affected Allie at a nursing home, hurt the heart a bit. Okay, a lot. Watching the actors do justice to the horrors of the disease dotted with periods of lucidity for Allie was heart-wrenching. At the end of his storytelling, when the nurse finds them together in bed, having passed away, hand-in-hand…it was simultaneously beautiful and tragic. Take a bow author Nicholas Sparks who wrote the novel after being inspired by his wife’s grandparents.


PHILADELPHIA

An Oscar-winning turn by the affable Tom Hanks held my interest throughout but had me blubbering uncontrollably in front of the television at the end of the film when the mourners at his funeral watch home movies of Hanks’ Andrew Beckett as a playful and healthy child. Add Springsteen’s haunting ‘Streets of Philadelphia’ title track and you get absolute viewer devastation. 


HOW TO MAKE AN AMERICAN QUILT

Can I just cut to the chase and tell you how my friends, Jenny and Brooke, still tease me about my hyperventilation over this film. Yes, I’m aware it was a chick flick, and more than acutely aware that the two girls I was with didn’t shed a tear, but the quilt! And the women and their stories! And finding ‘The One’ all conspired to… alright alright, I admit it. You can join my friends and laugh.


THE GREEN MILE

Stephen King! Who knew? The Shawshank Redemption AND The Green Mile? Seriously ridiculous, mate! Masterpieces – both of them. And may I add beautifully acted and superbly handled by the irrepressible Frank Darabont. When Michael Clarke Duncan’s innocent and angelic John Coffey walks the ubiquitous mile to his tragic execution, both Kat and I (she cried as much as I did this time) held hands tightly  - if the lights were on in the theater our knuckles would have been white as we gasped and choked all the way through the scene. When he asks Tom Hanks’ Paul Edgecombe not to put the black hood over his head because he was afraid of the dark as he sits in the electric chair, I think we both let out an anguished cry in unison. After the film ended we went to a café to order some lunch. We looked so devastated that the waitress actually asked us if we were okay. Her gorgeous concern made us cry again, this time with laughter.

Which films get your waterworks flowing?