Recently went to a screening of student films. If you are a student, you want to try very hard NOT to make a student film. One hallmark of student films is the unwilling suspension of disbelief that often must occur for the story to work.
The student filmmaker sometimes asks the audience to buy something that is impossible or ridiculous or just idiotic. The student filmmaker often asks the viewer to make excuses for the student filmmaker’s youth and lack of money.
This is great when you are in sixth grade. Fine. No problem. I get it. You tape a sign saying “Nuclear Reactor Room” to your bedroom door, shoot your movie, show it to your buddies, and it’s fantastic. Everyone has a good time, and understands the rules. No problemo. However. Unwilling suspension of disbelief must fall by the wayside fairly soon, though, if the filmmaker is to advance in her learning.
In one scene I saw the other night, a group of people were held captive by an evil scientist. The door was locked, and they repeatedly threw themselves against it in a vain effort to break it down so they could escape. SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. However, the hinges were on the inside of the room. The INSIDE. That means the door opens inward. There was no way that door was going to bust open, unless one clever character suddenly found a Mack truck under a blanket in the room. The filmmakers were asking the viewer to accept the fact that the door might break down.
They were asking us to pretend.
You can’t do that. You can’t do it in filmmaking and you can’t do it in writing. If it works, it works. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. It’s binary. It is right. Or it is not right. There is zero gray area.
You’re pregnant. You’re not pregnant. Easy to tell which.
Hoping is NOT going to make it work on the page.
Do not hope we’ll get it.
Do not hope we’ll pretend it works, when, deep in your guts, you know it doesn’t. Do the work and rewrite your scene until it is right.
And when it is, you’ll know.
And it will feel very very good.