Effects
Laura J. Mixon March 1st, 2007
I’ve been thinking about special effects, in part because they are making a movie of my husband, Steve Gould’s, book JUMPER. They made some significant changes to the story, as Hollywood is wont to do. And frankly, I ain’t complaining, because they paid enough to do so to take a lot of financial pressure off Steve and me. Some of the changes they’ve made appear to me to have been chosen specifically to make the work have lots of visual appeal. Iow, for the sake of cool special effects. Again, I ain’t complaining; I love cool special effects.
However, the changes have had this sort of ripple effect that I’ve watched Steve wrestle with (successfully, fortunately) in the prequel he has written. One of Steve’s great strengths as a writer is that he really thinks through the logical consequences of everything in his books. Every single thing that happens, every piece of technology, every character’s motivations and actions, Steve has examined all these story elements from every angle, and fitted neatly together into these tightly plotted, cleanly written tales whose characters feel so real, you really care about them. Watching how he has managed to turn what were, imo, things thrown in just for visual effect, and making them make sense — making them “real” in that way that good stories feel real — has been interesting to watch. He is truly an masterful craftsman, in addition to a great storyteller. I’ve learned a lot as a writer, just watching him work.
And one thing Steve never, ever does, is put things into his stories that don’t strictly serve the needs of the story. Doesn’t matter how cool the special effect is. Doesn’t matter how much he’d love to throw in bells and whistles and kitchen sinks. If it doesn’t serve the story, no matter how much he may want it to be there for other reasons, it’s out. (He does like explosions; I’ll give him that. But in that case, he finds a way to make it have meaning.) He has tremendous self-discipline.
I have a very different process than Steve’s. One of my biggest challenges as a writer is that one of the things that keeps me writing is the cool ideas and stuff. So I have this impulse to keep throwing more stuff in: more plot twists, more weird tech, more character interactions, more world building. By the time I am 100 pages in, I am staggering under the burden of all the stuff I’ve given myself — and the reader — to carry.
I don’t think I’ll ever be as pared down as a writer as Steve is. But with this current book, I’ve decided to clear through some of the brush — sacrifice some of the coolth, for the sake of making what remains more “real.”
I think I’ll put a big sign on the wall above my monitor: “Does it serve the story?” If no, out it goes.
Thanks, Stevie.
Over on his website, Terry Rossio often talked about the process of making PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN. He said there was a scene added by the director solely for its visual appeal (the scene where Elizabeth is tossed around the pirate ship while the zombie pirates sing).
He said the scene didn’t serve a narrative purpose, but it did give the audience the emotional rush that was just right for that part of the movie. It was a welcome bit of spectacle that he would never have put in there himself.
My knee-jerk assumption is that it’s a function of the different media. Film is more passive and visceral[1], and it comes at you continuously[2]. There’s more room for–and expectation of–spectacle and emotional manipulation.
[1] I don’t use “passive” as a pejorative[3] here. Some of the best things in life are basically passive activities. Same for “visceral”
[2] Especially if I have the remote.
[3] Why am I using the word “pejorative” here as though I say it all the time? I have no idea. It must be because I’m slammed at work and don’t have the spare brain power to think of a better word.
Hmmm. Interesting notion, if I understand you correctly. Iow, you seem to be saying that movies tend to need more spectacle to hold the viewer’s interest, because, unlike prose, they are not pulled in by their own imaginative filling in of gaps, as they are in written prose.
As I said, I actually like spectacle and special effects, and whatnot. I do think it’s overused in SFF in the visual media, though — or perhaps I should say, badly used. And it’s so wonderful when it’s used properly. I’d say the first “Pirates of the Carribean” movie is a good example of effects used well — in service of the story. So is the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I also think “The Matrix” is an excellent example of special effects applied well.
And in most cases, a single author’s/ director’s choice to include spectacle doesn’t tip the scales into overdoing-it territory. It’s the cumulative effect, and the fact that, especially in the visual media, there is often a kind of laxity with regard to what the real consequences of a given scene/ technology/ whatever would mean… that’s what gets me.
I don’t think movies are more visual to hold the audience’s interest. I think they’re more visual because that’s what they have to offer. Personally, I love the visual stuff, because I rarely get that from my reading. I just don’t visualize books all that well.
I think that a lot of movies place more value on controlling the audience’s emotion rather than create a rigorous narrative. I was watching a David Lynch movie (the one with Naomi Watts–I can’t remember the title and my job allows me to type a sentence and a half between calls) when I realized that the movie wasn’t actually supposed to make literal sense. It was supposed to bring about a series of emotional reactions and to hell with the rest.
And then I began to understand much better all the things about movies that drove me crazy–the plot holes and dopey monsters and formulaic story beats. The movie audiences value the emotion more than story logic. That’s why we so often see the same story moments at just when we expect them: Mr. Right turns out to be engaged already, Mr. Big Corporate Boss turns out to be In On It All Along, Sidekick gets captured by Mob Boss, Skeptical Cops take away Heroes Silver Bullets.
So we get New! Bigger! Spectacle! laid on top of the same old forms. And poor sf/f has such opportunity for spectacle that it relies on it too much.
I’m with you on narrative laxity, though. I wish more people cared.
I love film, but I think you’re right, guys, in the elements of narrative laxity that can drive me crazy. Maybe I keep wanting the same narrative form as in books when the medium isn’t built for that (of course).
Detail is an interesting issue. I once had a great quote by Akira Kurosawa (director of perhaps my favorite movie ever, Seven Samurai) in which he disagrees with the idea that every detail must serve the story. Sometimes, he says as I paraphrase wildly and no doubt screw up the entire thought, details build a sense of being or atmosphere or mood - which might be a way of pointing out that these intangibles are also part of the story.
However, having said that, I also struggle with the same issues you do, being one of those writers who tend to pile on things and get geekily caught up in the background. I also, in my current WIP, am struggling to pare down details to those which, well, serve the story.
We should wish each other luck!
Harry, good post. I see no reason why we can’t hold movies to the same standards we hold books, in terms of plot coherence.
Kate, your point about ambience is well taken… however, I see that sort of thing as very much in service of story. By “in service of,” I am referring to *all* the elements that make a story powerful, gripping, and the kind of thing you want to read (or watch) over and over.
On one level, I think I misled in the original post, by talking about movies. I was talking mostly about special effects, spectacle, and other clutter in prose. There is a kind of rigor that certain writers bring to their work that makes it so rewarding to read. I want to strive more toward that ideal in my own work.
I harp on this all the time — for short stories in particular. Making every scene (every word) serve the story is one of the reason writing short stories does a novel writer good.
I heard it put this way: every scene must sit on the three-legged stool of plot, characterization, and setting. When I started holding myself up to such rigorous standards, writing took on a whole new perspective and joy.
Laura, I think you and I are in the class of worldbuilding geeks who get caught up in the coolth. I have to agree with you, though: in the end, the coolth is not the story. The story is the story.
Finding the balance between something so stripped down it is little more than a stage set and endless descriptions of details that don’t actually matter to anyone but the writer - that’s a struggle for me. That, and figuring out the weight of information load in relation to how much the reader knows, how much the reader needs to know, and how much I know. My head hurts.
Hmmph. Stop, you’re making me go bright red.
But I think our subconsciouses are smarter than we think. I often add details that are not (apparently) serving the story. I don’t know how it relates. But then, at the end–son-of-a-bitch–it needed to be there all along.
I was halfway through this book when I was informed that a set design feature not in the script meant that Griffin, the character I was writing this backstory about, was a sketcher, an almost compulsive artist. He has drawings all over his place–the art department of the movie spent a couple of weeks just doing drawings so they could be taped, pinned, thumbtacked, etc, all over his lair.
So, I had to backtrack and add this ability and interest to what I’d written already and, boom, major plot points suddenly appeared in the next stuff I wrote that turned on drawing and images drawn and the process of drawing–sitting in one place long enough to draw.
As I said over at Eat Our Brains, this is the most constrained novel I’ve ever written, but, oddly enough, that really helps.
The notion of Steve bright red is a pleasing one.
I know what you mean about constraint, though: when I wrote a Marvel comics tie-in novel there were all sorts of things I had to write in or leave out (and since the hero, Daredevil, is blind, I had to write his scenes using other sensory input, which was a fabulous constraint). It made the writing curiously swift and easy, perhaps because I was so focused on dealing with the constraints that I forgot to worry about some other things.
I do think the subconscious often adds things that wind up later to have been absolutely necessary. What I call Back Office Thinking–they don’t tell you what you’re doing until you need it.
I find that the most constrained chapters I write go easiest. It’s when I start to sprawl that I get into trouble. In fact, I’m procrastinating right now because the first chapter of the new Part is trying to get out of hand, and I am gathering the strength to beat it down and put it back in the box.
Steve, I often discover that a throwaway detail stuck in earlier becomes crucial (even if only in small ways) later on. Thematic details can follow the same pattern, especially when I suddenly see how they sink into and color the narrative.
Hi guys, I’ve just discovered DeepGenre and this thread caught my eye. I’m a UK based writer whose novels straddle the SF and mystery genres. My new novel, Season of the Witch, will be released in the US next month by Dutton.
I think once your novels stray into SF, you’re entitled to the special effects and the inspired chaotic! Take Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash: dense writing, off-the-wall concepts, each line containing a concept, which falls outside the normal frame of reference. Is all of it necessary for the story? Probably not — but as SF writers we tend to build new worlds…and this requires a lot of bricks…
I don’t advocate puffery, slack plot lines or self-indulgent exposition. But sometimes you need stuff inside your plot that does not drive the story along but creates that wonderful conjunctive dissonance that punches the reader between the eyes and makes him say “whoah”!
In Season of the Witch I have two witches, an information thief, a memory palace, remote viewers, African masks, a tarantula, a cat, a quest for enlightenment via techgnosis and…what did I leave out? Oh, yes — a diary.
Remember what Mae West said: Too much of a good thing can be wonderful…
Great to meet you guys!
Natasha, thanks for weighing in! I do agree with your assessment. I love the eyeball kick SF gives you. I don’t think it’s an either-or kind of thing; more like a recipe where the writer has to get the balance of ingredients right. You know what I mean?