Ethan Coen & Joel Coen, �O Brother, Where Art Thou?�
Hoo crap, it figures that I would be reading this screenplay on this particular day. I�ve mentioned that I was working on a screenplay for my class last semester. It wasn�t my idea to take this class; it�s one of the requirements for a degree. As it turns out, the class is divided into two sections � when you first take it you are required to turn in 60 pages worth of material on the final day of class. If the professor liked what you wrote, you were invited to repeat the course to concentrate on finishing the screenplay. As it turned out, this fit under a course requirement as well, so this would be one of the last classes I needed for my final semester at SJSU.
But some information is needed about my professor. By his own admission, he is deemed �Loud Guy� by a number of people. He bellows at the top of his lungs most of the time, and this is a class that lasts for two and a half hours. But that�s just a small idiosyncrasy. What�s odd about the man is that he seems to have the WORST taste in movies.
He has repeatedly commented how he hates the Coen Brothers and their movies, but he has expressed admiration for Armageddon. He told me that he walked out of Bob Roberts and hated Brazil, but he really thought You�ve Got Mail was funny and charming. He railed against Roger & Me, and on the same day marveled about the comic genius of Wayne�s World. In other words, he hates every movie I like, and vice-versa.
And I�ve read his screenplay, which was required. I should mention that his screenplay is unpublished, meaning we had to go to the local copy mart and have them run off a copy for us, and it was never made into a film. There�s a reason for that. As bad as some of the movies are that have been made, this is too awful to be made by anybody. Trite, unbelievable, and flat out dull, his screenplay seemed more like a lesson in what NOT to do while writing.
So when I started my screenplay, I was worried to say the least. If he likes everything I hate, what does that mean if he likes my script? Or if he hates it, should I take it as a sign that it is actually pretty good? As it turned out he loved it.
LOVED it.
We had two assignments during that course, the first to turn in 17 pages to make sure we were on track and then turning in 60 pages at the end of the semester. I got the script back in the mail after the semester finished and the first sentence read, �Excellent, excellent, lots of fun, very sophisticated and stylish.� After a bit more praise, he wrote, �Even better than before!� Along with my grade and script came an invitation to repeat the class in order to finish the script, urging me to continue working over the summer.
And so I did. The 60 pages grew to 86 and I was nearly at the end, all the while taking his suggestions to heart and reworking the weaker parts. It may not be on the level on Wayne�s World, but I thought it was pretty damn good.
Since I�d already listened to him bellow out his lectures, I was now only required to meet with him once during the entire semester to tell him where I�m at in terms of the script�s progress. I march into his office, feeling pretty upbeat, despite the fact that the last two books I�ve read were shit, and I have to think about moving all my stuff out in a little over a month. I take a seat.
After some initial pleasantries, we get to the heart of the meeting � the script.
�Dean,� he says, �I loved your first 17 pages, but after that you were boring me to tears. There�s a lot that you have to take out of there. You�ve constructed all these scenes that sound nice, and are well written, but they don�t go anywhere. You�re 60 pages into the story, and it�s barely begun.�
It went like that for a while, but I don�t think I was really listening. Really, if somebody (whose opinion you don�t really hold in high regard anyway) starts telling you how much your writing sucks, how long would you listen? But I could feel my face tightening up, my lips squeezing tight, my eyes flashing in anger as he went on and on. My face was involuntarily contorting into �The Look;� the same look that had reduced my roommate to tears last month; the look that can kill all the flies in a room.
He didn�t notice at first as he blathered on. But when he did, he stopped short.
�You know Dean,� he said hesitantly, �you may be too in love with your material. Perhaps you should drop this class and take it at a later time.�
He may not have broken down into tears like my roommate, but he definitely sounded nervous. But I need this class in order to graduate, and I�ve no intention on staying here another semester. I have to get rid of the look in a hurry. And I did. It felt like fish hooks were holding my lips up in order to keep a pleasant look, but I did it, goddamn it. I sat there and smiled and told him that any input he can provide would be helpful.
�But I have a question,� I said, �If you liked the first 17 pages so much...�
�I LOVED your first 17 pages.�
�Thank you. But if you LOVED them so much, but hated the remainder, why did you write, �excellent, excellent � even better than before�?�
�I lied,� he said, waving his hand dismissingly.
I should point out that he had left his seat from behind his desk and had taken a new chair right next to the front door � in case he felt he needed to run suddenly, I suppose.
�Well,� I said, sucking air between my teeth, �I really wish you hadn�t done that, as I�m nearly finished with a script that I worked on all summer because I thought I was on the right track.�
�Sorry.�
�Do you have suggestions on what you think needs to be cut out?�
�Oh, several! The entire thing with the gates at the beginning. The first meeting with the girl in the club. And all that early stuff with the editor.�
In other words, the first 17 pages of my script.
The man is insane. There is no other explanation.
As for the Coen Brother�s screenplay (which I�m sure my professor would hate), do I really need to say anything? Funny, funny stuff. There�s no reason for me to read it, but I�m glad I did in any case.
