The worst part of filmmaking—speaking only for myself—is staring at a blank page. 0 pages down, 120 to go – maybe 210 if I’m feeling ambitious, which theoretically I am, but I’m also lazy. How to fill this empty space? And not just with random words: if it isn’t Madame Bovary, Middlemarch, Moby Dick, whose fault is it but my own? Nothing is standing between me and the greatest masterpiece ever written except my own mediocrity. The first thing to do is to stop exclusively comparing my unwritten screenplay to great novels. At least compare it to something that can be easily performed – like Hamlet.
Why write a screenplay? Who's asking for this? No one, of course. I have to will this into being under my own self-critical gaze, and in spite of my innovative procrastination techniques. Unfortunately the weight of not writing is too much to bear. The potential film, even in its unrealized, muddled form, is a demon possessing me and the only way to exorcise it is to get it onto the page and finally to the “big screen,” to unleash it into the world. A poor metaphor. My film is not a demon, it’s a divine thing coming from a place of love, integrity, virtue. Or ego: my fundamental need, shameful as it is, to be seen and heard, to express parts of myself that have been denied.
For the sake of this note, I dug up the very first thing I wrote for what eventually became A Different Man, which is being released in theaters around the country today.
Let these half-assed scribbles serve as a reminder and an inspiration to me. This unpromising, barely coherent scene which once filled me with a sense of despondency has, through hard work, long periods of inactivity, manic bursts of inspiration, the faith of others, and the brilliance of many magnificent artists, been transformed into a film of which I am immensely proud.
If a filmmaker (who writes) can get through those 120 or so pages, the fun part begins. Actually, every stage of filmmaking is full of torment and endless setbacks, but you’re no longer alone. The truth is, I’m never as happy as when I’m making a film, not so much because I'm actively enjoying it; the unrelenting stress, the prospect of failure, the money flying out the window, it all takes a toll and shaves years off of my life. But I don't have a second to waste. I have a mission, with an outcome I’ve vaguely envisioned. I’ve been granted an immense privilege, I’m filled with purpose, the clock is ticking, and it’s all or nothing.
What makes filmmaking so rewarding is the chance to work with so many talented people bringing pieces of themselves to a vision which was initially compromised by my own limitations. With their help, I’ve transcended myself.
On one hand, the film is an accurate, nearly identical, reflection of the script I finished four years ago. On the other hand, that's a preposterously self-serving view. It wasn’t me who brought each of these characters to life, their physicality, the nuances of their speech; I didn't scour vintage stores for their clothing, I didn't set-dress their rooms, I didn't design and apply the prosthetics that turned Edward Lemuel from a vague idea into a real person; I didn't rig the lights, load the camera, push the dolly, I didn't compose and perform the music which gives the film such emotional resonance; I didn't manage the bank account, I didn’t control the street traffic, or reassure (or pay off) annoyed proprietors of various locations.
I would block a scene, but I sat on an apple box while it was brought to life. I offered guidance, ideas and references but I was not personally responsible for the act of realizing most facets of the film, even if I always felt the weight of those responsibilities. Mostly I said “yes” or “no.” Occasionally "I don't know, what do you think?" I'd accept, I'd reject, I'd adjust, I’d refine, I’d ask politely, I’d put my foot down, I'd change my mind – though not too often, with only 22 days at our disposal. The first idea is usually the one we had to act upon. I cast great actors, I hired amazing collaborators, I trusted the right people, and they trusted me.
I'm honored to share A Different Man with you today - to unleash it into the world after all. Though it belongs to everyone who made it, the film remains extremely personal to me, and even if it's not Moby Dick, there are some feelings and ideas I've expressed in this film that I've longed to share for most of my life. I hope you get a chance to see it, and that it speaks to you.
