“You need to come watch this.”
Jeremy is looking at a post on FirstShowing.net, our favorite movie news site run by film geek, Alex Billington. It’s raving about this animated short/trailer concept made by a French art student named Gwenn Germain.
I sit down at the computer and he plays the trailer. Before it’s finished, I’m raving too: Omigosh omigosh omigosh omigosh!
This is just a concept, but it needs to be a movie. Because it’s so beautiful and the characters look so great (the happy guy with the white mask especially) and because there’s something awesome about how one generation of filmmakers/storytellers inspires another. Especially when the inspiration includes Hayao Miyazaki. For those of you who might not know, I’m a huge fan of his work.
The lovely animation is made even more amazing put to music by Joe Hisaishi who scored many of the Miyazaki films. The music in this piece is Hanna bi.
Please, please, please, pleeeeease someone make this into a movie.
Even as just a concept though, Gwenn Germain has made something truly wonderful and I shall watch her future progress with interest.
Plot is more often revealed than discovered. This week, two of my stubbornly quiet characters found voices. One told me where he came from and why he’s so painfully awkward. Another explained that she isn’t a mercenary, she’s a bodyguard. These two never meet (so far as I know), but her story affects his in a big way. With that revelation, a huge piece of the plot fell into place.
I love the moment when a story comes together. One digs and digs, sometimes for years, before the heart of a story emerges. My characters barely acknowledge my existence as the architect of their lives. I’m just the reporter. They do what they do and I scramble to capture it in words. In that way, they’re like real people. I know I could force them to live in the story I think I should write, but, being creatures of free will ourselves, we’d probably find them boring.
At the very idea, I can almost see them stop doing whatever they’re doing and turn to glare at me. “Don’t you dare make us forgettable,” they command. “Don’t force us to be boring.”
A smart writer listens to her characters, so I nod and resume my note-taking. Storytelling, at this phase of creation, isn’t about what I want, it’s about what they want. What drives them. That’s the real story. I’ll clean it up later, when they’re done showing me that story.