Tag: moviesetmemes

The false McGuffin

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In fiction, a MacGuffin (sometimes McGuffin) is an object, device, or event that is necessary to the plot and the motivation of the characters, but insignificant, unimportant, or irrelevant in itself. The term was originated by Angus MacPhail for film, adopted by Alfred Hitchcock,and later extended to a similar device in fiction.The MacGuffin technique is common in films, especially thrillers. Usually, the MacGuffin is revealed in the first act, and thereafter declines in importance. It can reappear at the climax of the story but may actually be forgotten by the end of the story.

So you write and write and think about writing and you dream about writing and you write about writing and you mechanically answer to the inevitable question what you are working on at the moment:  “I am writing. Can’t really explain, too complicated. To give you a picture: You hold threads in all of your fingers and try to tie them together and sometimes you think you have a really, really good knot, only to discover that you have three loose ends and a muddy middle part.” With an intriguing regularity, the friend/producer/fellow filmmaker (if worse comes to worst: all of these three together) asks to read it, because “they would love to read it and maybe they can give you useful feedback”. You know, in your guts, neither you, nor your script is ready, but sometimes you feel flattered/curious/eager and so you send it to them. You formulate a mail where you stammer around, that the script is not done and you know work has to be done on this or that and that they should note that this is a very, very early draft of the idea and not at all set in stone…Aaaand: Sent!

And now the horrible part begins: waiting for a reply. Although you sent the script swiftly (for it is an ongoing process and maybe early feedback would come in handy!), the reply takes its time. By sending the script too early to a random person, a false need is created. You need the reader to understand that you are not done and that the script needs work, you may even cling to the feeble hope that the reader could suggest solutions to specific plot problems. In all your vulnerability you fill that McGuffin-suitcase with expectations, which the reader of your script cannot, by all means, fulfill. Additionally, you need them to like the script, to understand its full capacity and that they lovingly fill the blanks the unfinished draft contains. By having sent that script too early, you created your own need for their approval.

Finally, the mailbox blinks, the feedback is here. It says: “Really liked it, although I really don’ understand the middle part, it has this unfinished touch. Plus, I would prefer the girl to be a guy, who maybe steals a boat instead of falling in love with that other person I forgot the name of. Have a similar idea, would you maybe read? Great work, xoxo producer/friend/fellow filmmaker.”

I don’t say that feedback is not very helpful and one should consider giving the finished draft to a person, which you trust to be able to read screenplays of that particular genre and who is able to not only criticise it, but also to give it a constructive feedback. Don’t be demotivated by a false MacGuffin-suitcase full of expectations, don’t run after the approval of everyone, for you will never have the approval of everyone (there are people out there who dislike “the Joker” or “Parasite” or “Scarface” or “insert your favourite film”) The only critic you ought to satisfy in the end is yourself.

Interviewed in 1966 by François Truffaut, Hitchcock illustrated the term “MacGuffin” with this story:

It might be a Scottish name, taken from a story about two men in a train. One man says, ‘What’s that package up there in the baggage rack?’ And the other answers, ‘Oh that’s a McGuffin.’ The first one asks ‘What’s a McGuffin?’ ‘Well’ the other man says, ‘It’s an apparatus for trapping lions in the Scottish Highlands.’ The first man says, ‘But there are no lions in the Scottish Highlands,’ and the other one answers ‘Well, then that’s no McGuffin!’ So you see, a McGuffin is nothing at all.

Have you experienced similar feedback? Or did you get useful Feedback? Tell me in the comments, I would love to ‘hear’ from you.

A Marriage Story

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The husband and I usually take an eternity to decide which movie to watch. When finally a decision has being made, he falls asleep during the first act, second act at weekends. So I end up watching them alone. And I am stuck with all my feelings, trapped inside, my pounding heart basslined by his rhythmic breathing.

I watched Noah Baumbach’s ‘A Marriage Story’ tonight. Quite late in the game, but I often catch myself postpoing intense cinematic experiences, because they throw you into a pit and if it’s done perfectly, they will not let you out for a long time. This film exceeded these expectations:  It feels so honest and in its honesty, it is so intense that I as a spectator felt raw. The acting is immaculate and the script masterfully brought me to root for both of the protagonists. I was mad with Nicole, I cried with Charlie. The letter at the end catapults the film into such a bitter-sweet ending that you want to rewatch the whole thing. ‘A Marriage story’ tells its love story in such a well-crafted manner, that the spectator rethinks their own relationship and lets them wonder, if they should wake their husband to apologize for all the times they were yelling to get heard, instead of also listening to their side.

For me, magic happens if fiction crosses the border to reality. You are part of an intimacy that you can’t escape from, but often want to escape to again. The key to this magic would be honesty, be it in movies, music or any other arts. The spectator doesn’t (always) know it, but honesty is what they are always looking for. Does the author or director or musician or artist honestly want to tell this story? Is there honesty and integrity in this storyline or shot or charcacter or lyrics? If truly so, magic happens and we are part of the story. It becomes our story. If a script is honest, it feels honest and that is something which makes it very hard to reject. Honesty sells or as William Shakespeare put it:

‘No legacy is so rich as honesty.’

Murphy’s law or: That’s setlife, baby!

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/ˈmɜːrfiːz ˌlɔː/ Murphy’s law is an adage or epigram that is typically stated as: “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong”.

You know the beginning of a 90’s movie? You have this upbeat, poppy music (‘There she goes’ or maybe something from Placebo), the setting is revealed, the sun comes up, the universe of the main character is revealed through a smooth dolly shot.

It’s four in the morning (you get up early, to catch that early light). On other mornings, this light would feel harsh, unwelcoming, but in your state as a director who is going to start their first shooting day, it is the most beautiful light you’ll ever feel prickling on your thumbs, erm… skin. Before pocketing the call sheet some nice assistant printed out for me, I skim it with pride, this is what I worked and fought for what feels like an eternity. I step in front of the door and fill my lungs with that cold air, that is soon going to heat up.

A tracking shot is used to show me driving from my home to location, on a field in the middle of nowhere. A few tents and a few scattered people in black waiting for crafty to put the coffee machine up, they look like a classic Satan’s cult, but in a Midsommar’s setting.  I get out of the car, the music stops. The First and the DP say hi. ‘Do you want to have the good or the bad first?’ the First asks. The DP and I lock eyes. ‘The bad, of course.’ ‘Well, the bad is that it looks like we don’t get the cherry picker here on time, so we’ll have to ask production to book it again for tomorrow, or we could inverse the shots 2.4 and 1.2 and  we’ll have a free spot at 17:00 sharp to shoot the cherry picker scene, but we’ll only have a window of 18 minutes, before we have to do the unit move.” I say: ‘It’s all going to be fine. I need coffee.’ I head to the crafty tent, they follow me. I impatiently wait for the thick excuse they call coffee here to run into my plastic cup (that was before green shooting). The coffee machine makes the exact noise Christopher Nolan used for his ‘Inception’-trailer and has henceforth been used for every sci-fi-trailer ever. ‘What are the good ones?’ ‘The good ones are that there are none. Yet. Ah and maybe that the producers aren’t coming today. Only tomorrow for the crew picture.’ ‘I see’, I say.

I turn around to my DP. ‘How are you?’ ‘Broke, tired, without hope for the better in the present nor the future and scared that the first is not going to be happy about this.’ He inclines his head to the right, where about a 10 extras chase each other in their animal costumes. ‘Pretty sure, he won’t.’ The First sees the scene and runs over, call sheet and walkie talkie frantically waving. We look at each other and chuckle. I take a sip of the blissful, horribly sweet coffee.

‘How are you? Ready for this?’ I look straight ahead, watching the First chasing the extras into their tent and shouting into his walkie –talkie where the fudge the extra casting is? I light a cigarette, take a deep drag: ‘Gonna find out, won’t we?’ The DP gives me a pat on the back and heads to the best boy, who seems to roll up cables instead of installing them.

That’s when the music starts again, camera zooms out, the set in its whole glory is revealed, technical crew running around, actors standing around in their bathrobe and hair rollers, trucks coming up, when the music is interrupted by a little, squeaky voice:  ’The boom is not here.’ The sound engineer is standing next to me. ‘Well, where is she?’ ‘Car accident, but she is alright. Only mild concussion. She is going to come in about two hours, had to talk to the police, some asshole on a cherry picker ran into her, can you believe?’ I put out my cigarette in the sad rest of my coffee. I wave a hearty wave at the first, who still chases gorillas, zebras, elephants and one big butterfly. ‘Soo…’, Sound says. ‘MOS?’ I nod. ‘Yepp! MOS’ Cut to black screen containingo the opening credits. This and this production company proudly presents:

‘Murphy’s law, or: Anything that can go wrong on a set, will go wrong. A romcom/coming-of-age/slowburn thriller-dramedy based on real events. No animals were harmed during this production, except Dave, the fly. But that’s another story.’