Being A Writer

One of the final films to be released in 2010, True Grit has been a bit of a last minute surprise to many folk. First, True Grit has thrown critics for a curve. A heartfelt Christmas movie from the Coen brothers? Could it be? The movie seems a straightforward and unlikely foray into the Western genre by two filmmakers better known for darker, more comedic flicks like The Big Lebowski and Fargo. Second, it’s the Coen brothers’ most financially successful flick to date. Made on a budget of about $35 million (peanuts for a genre film: see Inception, which cost $160 million to make), the movie has already doubled the U.S. take of the Coen’s previously largest grossing film, the quasi-action flick No Country For Old Men, pulling in $165 million to date. True Grit, like many Oscar nominees this season, including The King’s Speech, is the smaller movie that could.

The Coen brothers have a devoted cult fan base and much critical successes. Now they have on their hands a veritable box office hit. What accounts for this movie’s huge breakout? And how far a departure for the Coen brothers is True Grit? Finally, is there any connection between these two things? Delving into the script—one of my favorites of the year—I look at some of the elements contributing to the film’s multiple levels of success.

When we think of the Oscars, we inevitably think of swelling music, the gutsy underdog of Slumdog Millionaire, the powerful real-life heroes of Gandhi or Schindler’s List, or even the ordinary heroes of Rainman and Forrest Gump. The Academy, or so the common wisdom goes, favors stories of truth, justice, and the noble, courageous way. And though Oscar heroes are also sometimes tragic or flawed, they are rarely as downright unsympathetic as the “hero” of The Social Network, a film that’s one of the frontrunners of the 2011 season.

Whatever you think of The Social Network’s ultimate chances at the Academy Awards, it’s generally conceded that it took kickass writing (not to mention top-of-the-game directing and fearless acting) for this story of an antihero to make it quite this far. Antiheroes pose a unique challenge for writers—and for audiences. How to imbue with sympathy a character we’re also asking viewers to dislike? In my second post on some of the screenwriting talent behind this year’s Oscar nominees (see here for previous post), I take a closer look at some of the techniques Aaron Sorkin uses to bring The Social Network’s antihero, Mark Zuckerberg, to vivid life.

(Dedi Felman, who has written previously here about the art of film adaptation, was particularly impressed with the way a screenwriter handled the challenges of a recently released historical film. Here's Dedi on The King's Speech, a new hit that's been generating a lot of Oscar nominations, and some controversy as well. -- Levi)

“Two men sitting in a room talking.” That’s how director Tom Hooper and screenwriter David Seidler described, in a recent post-screening talk, their marvel of a film, The King’s Speech. Hooper and Seidler even said that they cut back on some of the original script’s history and pageantry scenes (e.g. King George V's funeral) because they wanted to nudge us ever closer to the film’s heart: a stammerer and his speech therapist sitting around talking about how a would-be king can find his voice.

But how does one make a film about two men sitting around talking gripping? Especially if one of those men has a stammer and makes us “wait a long time” for the punchline to his jokes? And how does one create even a modicum of suspense in a story of a family about whom the basic facts are part of the history books? The wartime broadcasts that lie at the core of this story made a huge impression on their listeners and so, spoilers or no, many audience members are aware that George VI does make it through the speech. Similarly, Edward’s deliciously scandalous abdication on account of an American divorcee is common lore. So we know a great deal going in. Yet we're still completely drawn into Bertie's plight. Will he find his voice?

(As a longtime Ramones fan, I was very moved by Mickey Leigh's memoir about growing up as the younger brother of Joey Ramone, who died tragically of cancer in 2001. The book has just come out in paperback with a new epilogue. I was thrilled to have a chance to ask Mickey Leigh a few questions. -- Levi)

Levi: Though it has a sort of jokey title, I sense that I Slept With Joey Ramone is meant to be a serious entry in the field of punk rock literature, along with many other good books like Rotten by Johnny Rotten, Go Now by Richard Hell, Poison Heart by Dee Dee, Please Kill Me by Legs, the new Just Kids by Patti Smith, even And I Don't Want To Live This Life by Deborah Spungen. Why do you think punk rock has become so literary, or has it always been so?