Wednesday, August 25, 2010

The Voices


The characters of my next script are in my head and they won't shut up. Why won't the voices quiet themselves? Or, better, why won't they hop from my brain onto the page and write the awesome script I know they are meant for?

Recently, I mentioned to a friend that I've always wanted to write a great ghost story. A GREAT ghost story. Along the lines of A Christmas Carol, but less...lessony. At the end of my ghost story, you won't necessarily feel like you need to become a better person. But you WILL believe in ghosts. And you will turn on the light in the hall at night when you have to pee. And you won't vacation in old Italian Villas, or in Savannah, GA. You might still brave New Orleans, since you will probably be drunk and won't mind the ghosts so much. And if you wake up at 3 am for no apparent reason, you'll squeeze your eyes shut and pray to fall back to sleep.

On that cheerful note, here is a limited list containing some favorite ghost story films to queue up on Netflix if you're so inclined. In fact, you can see, living and breathing, in the flesh, the director, Guillermo del Toro, of the first two, EL ORFANATO and EL ESPINAZO DEL DIABLO, in person soon if you live in the Pacific NW--my dear friend and script mentor Warren Etheredge is interviewing him on September 30th at the world famous EMP in Seattle (see here for details on how to attend).

THE ORPHANAGE (EL ORFANATO, 2007)

THE DEVIL'S BACKBONE (EL ESPINAZO DEL DIABLO, 2001)

THE CHANGELING (1980)

THE CELEBRATION (1998)

AMITYVILLE HORROR (2005) -- believe it or not, this one really creeps me out as well as entertains me on several other levels

THE SHINING (1980) - duh

RINGU (1998) - and the American version, THE RING, aint too shabby either

What am I missing--I know they're out there. If you know of any, please comment!


Sunday, August 22, 2010

Summer Snapshot


I hope I can remember these sweet moments...my son, at 3 1/2, eating ice cream (hard earned ice cream--he had to finish his dinner for that!) at the kitchen table, at 8pm in summertime, with our rat terrier Edith nipping at his ankles, praying to her canine God that he drops some. Which he inevitably did. It's a not-so-delicate eco-system--stuff gets dropped, spilled, and eventually gets either cleaned up by me or Daddy, or licked up by Edith. This has been an exercise in some weird kind of Zen for an OCD Taurus like myself.

I hope I remember these moments and not the silly self-imposed stressful moments dealing with things like work and house-keeping and bills and finance and...things that when I look at Ellis eating ice cream at dusk in summertime, the summer before he starts pre-school---just don't matter all that much.