The Days Are Long

This is going to be a tough semester. I mean, I knew that, but knowing it is way different that experiencing it. I'm going to be taking 14 units this semester, whereas the norm is 12.

Tuesday

I don't remember what I did during the day. Hashed out more of my script idea, I think.

At night I had a class which I think is actually entitled "Economic Practices of the Entertainment Industry," but is colloquially known as "The Really Hard Math Class Taught By The Crazy Guy." This class, or fear of it, is what has caused the major split in our class between "the old program," which has to take it, and "the new program," in which this biz class is no longer required but three Critical Studies classes are. All incoming students are immediately in the new program; about half of our class switched over.

Thanks, but I've been there and suffered through "The History of International Silent Film" already.

So I went to class, not knowing what to expect. All the writers sat in the back. Art Murphy, the teacher who is always said to be "insane," walked in: an older guy, wearing a white t-shirt and jeans and sporting a day's growth of beard.

Is this what crazy people look like? I wondered.

He proceeded to prove, over the next three hours, that he's not crazy, he's opinionated. At first none of us wanted to giggle, but by the end of the class we were laughing hysterically. This guy is great. I love this class. "Here are 21 maxims of the film industry," he said. "Why 21? Because I love blackjack."

Of course, I haven't a clue as to what the math is going to be like, but I have to buy a calculator.

Wednesday

The longest day of my life.

I got up at 6:30 and went for a run.

At 9, I headed down to USC for Episodic Pilot class, which despite my dropping it I still wanted to attend for a class or two, because she was going to analyze the pilots of The X-Files (which I'd never seen) and NYPD Blue.

We went over The X-Files and she pointed out all the elements that have to be stuck into a pilot: how the main characters are introduced, how the show is going to be structured, what the tone is, what the look is...

Class let out at 12:15; I had to wait until 6 for my next class. I went to the library and read the script for Ransom (see, I told you I was on a Gary Sinise kick--but this wasn't the final script, because I've read synopses of the final film and this script didn't bear any relation to that) and then tried to plot out my film for thesis class. Screenplays are all about manipulation: this outline was feeling more manipulative than most. Sigh.

At 6 I headed over to the Norris Theatre, where the Crit Studies class "Comedy" is held. Evan was right: this class is packed (and the Norris Theatre is fairly large). I think I managed to add this class via the phone, but I'm not sure. Every semester everything goes wrong with my schedule. Sigh.

Anyhow, class began, and it's taught by the crazy guy (the actual crazy guy) who taught the second half of the American Sound Film class last semester. He's frenetic, he shouts, he dances, he acts out the scenes. He gives 6 pages of notes in an hour without missing a beat. He's enthusiastic about his subject matter.

He's also showing 3 to 4 hours of movies per night.

We watched Harold Lloyd in The Freshman, Harry Langdon in Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, and Clara Bow in It. They were pretty funny. I think the class enjoyed them.

Getting out at 11...not as enjoyable.

14 units is going to be tough.

I called Darin and asked him to make me something for dinner. He told me he'd already made a pan of brownies. I love this guy.

Thursday

Slept late: 8am. Which was bad, because I had a little homework to get done for my classes. Synopsize the A, B, and C stories of the TV script we were given (that, not coincidentally, was written by the teacher) and write up a half-page summary of our movie idea for thesis class.

I got to Episodic class and was grumpy not only because I'd arrived with no time to spare (I like to have a little breathing room, amble to class, maybe stop for a coffee) but I'd once again almost been killed by someone careening through the parking structure without regard for life, limb, or property. Mostly the life part bothered me.

We got out of Episodic late, which meant we had no time to get lunch. (There's a plot under way, I was told, for the first few weeks, not to get any organized lunch thing going so as to shake one person in particular. I don't think it's going to work: Bernice does not pick up hints, even when they're tattooed on her face. I think every week she's going to see whether we're going to lunch and invite herself along.)

We went to class and Len had two things in mind: talk about some of the scripts we finished last semester (he'd only read 2 so far) and then talk about our summaries.

Class let out at 6:20pm. It's scheduled to end at 4. To get through all of us, together with Len's tangents, we went that far over. Frankly, his spending this much time on us is going to be great when we actually have something. Right now it's painful, because we're at the stage (as he puts it) of playing with our shit in public. What we're doing sounds contrived, it is contrived, that's what screenplays are--they are completely contrived stories.

I choked, thankyouverymuch. And I'm very sure of it this time.

I have been working on a plot for a suspense movie. What came out of my mouth sounded more like a light romantic comedy, which would be fine except that's not my movie. I'm far more likely to write a light, fluffy romantic comedy in which everyone whips out a gun and shoots everyone in sight.

But from what I said in class...it wasn't a plot so much as it was a mumble. Len said, "Either put something together or find a new story. We don't have time to waste here." He wasn't being mean, just honest.

At the end of class, as Carolann and Linda and I walked to the parking structure, they reassured me that everything was okay. (Of course, they have full plots they can tell people!) These two also told me that I didn't come off as a drooling dork last week; they didn't know that I was self-conscious. I asked them if I could call this weekend and try telling them my story and get it straight for next week's class.

I drove home--traffic isn't absolutely horrible at 6:30, surprisingly enough--and I sat around like a vegetable until 10:30, when I couldn't keep my eyes open a second more.

Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics

Went for 3 miles on Wednesday morning.

Wrote pages and pages on a screenplay idea I couldn't even squeak out in class.