There are folk out there who like to set challenges for themselves, simply just to see if they can complete them. The goal at the end, is not necessarily something they could use in practicality, nor is it perhaps something they even covet. Rather, they just wish to see if they can execute a difficult trial or achieve what others do not expect them to. It's something to do with proving oneself to oneself and is probably a symptom of suffering a childhood with an absence of older or guardian figures expressing pride and appreciation. If only more fathers would regularly tell their kids that they are proud of them, we'd have less dickheads jumping off bridges in New Zealand, with giant elastic-bands attached to their ankles. Then again, if this happened no one would have any real reason to go to New Zealand, so perhaps for their economy, this is a good thing. (I am, of course, joking. There's plenty of reasons to go to NZ. If you're a Lord of the Rings uber-fan, you could go there to see Middle Earth. If you work in the wine industry, there's many amazing wineries expressing a wide variety of Terriors. There's the great skiing and snowboarding in winter or perhaps you just want to chill out for a few weeks, whilst being exposed to great food and unique Pacific culture. And then of course, if you want to fornicate with a sheep or two....)
I'm not sure if I still belong to the ranks of the above mentioned folks, but I certainly used to. (I'm referring to The Challenge Setters, not the NZ visitors - I definitely don't belong to a group that would waste any time in that half-a-country.) Whilst still in my teens, I decided that I wanted to make a movie. I didn't harbor any real desires to act or direct, but I really liked writing, so writing a script and getting it made into a movie, was the challenge I set myself. Now, I know this doesn't sound like a life-risking, muscle-bounding, spirit-crushing mission to set out on, but for a 18 year old, high school drop out, who could neither type, spell nor write in legible hand writing, I felt this would prove something to myself. It did. It proved that I couldn't spell, type nor hand-write. Great lesson.
I just jest. I learnt a massive amount about myself and destiny over the four or so years that I called myself a Screenwriter (However presumptuously foolhardy it was announcing myself to people as a Screenwriter, I take solace in the fact that I still wasn't being as big a dickhead as the Bartenders who feel the need to call themselves Mixoligists. Wankers!). The process itself, turned out to be fodder rich enough for a movie or two in it's own right.
The movie that first inspired me, was Richard Linklater's 'Dazed and Confused'. I thought that the guys and girls that I grew up with were funnier, louder, far more interesting and took way more drugs than the one's portrayed in that film. If he could make such a loose, rambling, evocative piece, that had such a strong auto-biographical tone, then surely I could too (Yes, I was as arrogant then, as I am now). This would be my staring point and if I got lost, I could use Linklater's work for reference and guidance. This was the initial plan.
In the center of the peaceful, leafy, family friendly and affluent central Melbourne neighborhoods of Caulfield and East St. Kilda, sat a tiny little park that the local council had decided to inject some money into. They erected a border of flimsy, hurricane fencing and then wrapped it in dirty grey canvas, to block outsiders from seeing the works inside. This was the perfect, resting habitat for a large group of marauding Jewish youths, looking for somewhere to congregate and smoke themselves silly. ('marauding' and 'congregating' is something Jews of all ages really love to do. Not quite sure what that's all about.) After a couple of months of us meeting up there virtually every night, the renovated park soon become known to quite a wide circle as 'Emancipation Park'. I'm sure an overly sensitive descendant of African-American Slaves, would find it offensive that we compared our plight to those of the salves in The South, but Australians don't really go in for Political Correctness much. Neither do I. I had no compunction in calling my movie, 'Emancipation Park.
Around this same time, I used to go every Thursday and most Sundays, to watch some of the best stand-up comedians my country has ever produced. Melbourne had a ripe and burgeoning comedy scene and for the matter of only a few dollars, one could see such geniuses as Dave Hughes, Eric Bana, Tony Martin, Mick Malloy, Pommy Johnston and so many more. One of the biggest names on the circuit was Dave Grant. He was definitely the favourite of our little group. He was a brutish, direct Australian Yob, whose lines could cut a room open like a sledgehammer and yet still have the subtlety and tenderness to hold an audience for a full set. Alot of his material dealt with stories from his late adolescence. I felt my skeleton of a script needed more jokes to flesh it out. Approaching a fairly large and quite successful personality, with a request to come onboard as a co-writer, seemed perfectly feasible to my blindly optimistic courage.
I called The Aramadale Hotel and got the phone number of his agent. I then called the agent and left an answering machine message, stating only my name and number. That very afternoon, Mr. Grant himself, called me right back. Turns out, that at the time, a fellow by the name Michel Hirsch was one of the most powerful men in Melbourne Show Business. His company, Working Dog, produced the TV comedy hits 'The Late Show' and 'Frontline' and they had just released the international hit movie, 'The Castle'. Inside the industry, he was known by the nickname 'Hershy'. The agent just assumed that this Hershy and I were one and the same person and phoned Dave to immediately call me back. After, the initial disappointment of the realisation that this was not to be a career changing phone call, Dave turned out to be quite magnanimous and extremely generous with his time. He agreed to meet up with me and for a number of subsequent months, we'd have weekly 'Script Meetings' at a mafia-run, cafe by the beach.
He'd regale me with drug bust stories that occurred in the very cafe we were sitting, run new pieces for his set past me, convert me off ever ingesting milk again and onto soy smoothies and school me in the fundamentals of writing. I would not be the writer I now think I am, if it wasn't for these meetings. He injected teenage growing pains, emotional repression and the fear of mediocrity into the storyline of the script. Suddenly, teenage suicide became one of the script’s central themes. The irony was, that after going to a comedian for comedic help, the script grew into a dark and intense drama. As I sit here now, and scan my mind ever so hard as to how we drifted apart, I come up with a blank. I could insert a bit of fiction, to provide flow to the story, but one of the things that Dave taught me was to leave space and gaps for the audience to place their own fillings. This allows them to become personally invested in a story. Never spoon feed.
(Can I just digress for one moment: I haven't thought about those Thursday meetings at Deveroli's with Dave, for years. Just writing the above paragraphs, brought back so many warm memories. I jumped onto Google, to see if I could find any videos of his old performances. In what I can only describe as a heart crushing coincidence, I discovered that David Grant passed away last Sunday afternoon. Dave was so full of life, that I just never assumed he would ever pass. Over the past decade, I would occasional bump into him, at really odd moments. He'd always remember me and, no matter how short or long we'd chat for, he would always leave me with a spark that could carry and cure me through any ill or hurdle. He was a giant man, with a giant heart, who taught me to never be embarrassed of showing emotion, passion or pain- when it's all stripped down, that's all we’ve really got. Just because some of his peers found more fame than him on the national and international stage, to my discerning view, he was and will always be a far bigger legend than them. R.I.P, mate.)
The 'Screenwriter' tag I attached to myself, gave me a platform to falsely justify so many of my 'radical life choices'. It was why I experimented with drugs so much, why I refused to take a Straight-Job and finally, gave me the main line of reasoning behind packing up and escaping halfway up the Australian East Coast. Ostensibly, I felt the aloneness and independence up there would spur on completion and success quicker. I can't explain to you the logic behind this, for, as stated above, this was simply a 'false justification'.
Despite nearly selling the script to a company that turned out to be a money-laundering front for a massive drug dealer, my dreams of turning into the next Ben Hecht faded.(obscure reference, but look him up! Man, what a writer.) I never completed that mission I set for myself. I completed the actual script, but I never had it produced. I suppose you could say, I completed only half my challenge. Does that mean, that I'm only half the man I thought? Does that mean my challenge was a waste of time?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
I set out to find myself and that I did. I discovered that I really don't need to prove anything to myself. Why tie one’s self down to missions without practical conclusions and get locked into identity-tags? Life throws out enough challenges, without us feeling the need to add to the load. Just do what makes you happy. Live with passion and live with emotion. And if your true passions or emotions suddenly takes you off Everest, as you are halfway up to the peak, don’t get too down. It could be worse - you could live in New Zealand!
