“An Extraordinary Conversation About Weather”
My first solo film-making production was the short “Too Many I’s” in 2004. Like so many writers who produce their own work, my first step ostensibly played out like an experiment. I had to answer significant questions. Could I assemble a decent crew? Getting the right people to the church on time, until you’ve done it once, is one daunting prospect. Could I continuously rewrite something until it fit into the parameters of my production? Would I stay interested? Another question continued coming up: how would I direct two actors?
What happened as a result wasn’t so much an act of creativity but one of discovery.
Anyone who saw the 18-minute short didn’t walk away terribly impressed. It was choppy. We ran through a couple of takes to get something close to the intended meaning. When I see it, even now though, something forces me to recall each and every direction I have. Good or bad, I relive each and every motivation. The smallest eye twitch came from something I imbued in that actor. I had to pocket that experience, otherwise waste it.
The next thing I tried was something more outrageous entitled, “An Extraordinary Conversation About Weather” (or in earlier screenplay drafts, “A Delightfully Sorrowful Exit”). It was the most unrealistic writing in my drawer. The producer eye I developed said it was too much for my neophyte film-making skills. I soon learned to understand those thirteen pages were the opposite of its predecessor. Whereas, when I wrote and rewrote, “Too Many I’s” it was for cut strictly for economy and convenience. The most compelling elements of “Extraordinary Conversation” were by necessity, uneconomical (for us in the moment, at least).
It was an unpractical project. Telling this story, if we got that far, would be terribly inconvenient.
The premise was of two “Stand In Actors” performing a scene from an unnamed (and unwritten by anyone) stage play. They are the old meta-fiction-stand-by: the “play within the play”. The characters of “Director” and “Producer” sit out amid the theater seats. They pay little attention to the “Stand In Actors” as they are more interested in discussions with the two real performers. Behind the “Stand In Actors” a handful of “Stage Hands” and “Lighting Designers” work to assemble the as of yet incomplete stage. It’s rehearsal time. The anticipated audience just a few nights away would never get a glimpse of this precise moment.
What draws the viewer into “Extraordinary Conversation” is first that the “Stand In Actors” are performing the very heart of the unwritten play. It deals with crushing mental illness, identity and an impending emotional breakdown. The “Stand In Actors” are asked to come into the midst of a busy production and boldly perform the most heart-wrenching and difficult emotional moment of the piece. Second draw is that these two actors are giving it all they’ve got and absolutely nailing it. No one is leafing through the script while rolling their eyes. Tom and Lowell, as we learn they’re called, are going at this moment, alive and creating character.
By the end of the short walk through, they have wrapped the characters of “Director” and “Producer” around their fingers. It’s a compelling performance and as we view its end, everyone, cast and crew, and viewer, is pulled toward that moment — that hopeful, authentic moment of awe, of seeing something one of a kind as it unfurls before you.
They pause. They all watch.
Then it shifts back. Then the real actors come on the stage.
We never made the film. The budget came out at least 7x what we could reasonably afford. Still, as I look back into the archives of short screenwriting work, I feel renewed pull toward this story, “An Extraordinary Conversation About Weather.” Give it a read. Perhaps it’s time to resurrect this long dust covered and forgotten work and try to bring it out into the light.
Posted: August 2nd, 2009 under Collected Writings.