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thelondonfilmschool · 7 years

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Making a Scene

Article by Sophie McVeigh, photography by Cameron Ward

The London Film School (LFS) prides itself on the collaborative nature of its courses, and while that’s more often than not related to film making itself, recent graduates Shalini Adnani and George Bartlett are proof that opportunities are everywhere if you’re open to them.

Having met in the LFS dark room, they discovered not only a shared love of photography, but also a passion for seeing the screenplay as a literary form aside from the film making process. With this in mind, Shalini, a Chilean-Indian graduate of the Filmmaking programme with a background in publishing and George, a recent British graduate from last year’s screenwriting masters who had previously worked as a journalist, decided to create Scenes - a bi-annual screenwriting and photography journal (the first print-version of its kind) to showcase the talents of budding screenwriters and photographers, and to foster critical thinking around the themes of each issue. We caught up with them at the BFI for its launch.

Sophie McVeigh: Hi, George and Shalini. It’s great to be here with you at the launch of Scenes Journal. How did you two come to be working together and what was the inspiration behind the journal?

G.B: We met each other during a dark room class and found we had similar taste in films and wanted to work together as a screenwriter and film maker. Then we started discussing how we read screenplays and how it’s perhaps misunderstood as a piece of literature in and of itself. So we wanted to push it out to a wider audience and get people reading screenplays.

S.M: Had you worked on anything similar before? And what was the process of getting it off the ground?

S.A: We hadn’t really worked on anything similar together but I worked in publishing before and that was my background. So, I just love books, I love touching things, and I wanted it to be tangible for us. I think there was a motivation to get screenplays on paper, in a format that people would appreciate reading. And the process… the process was quite long, especially for the first one. It required curating quite a bit, reaching out to people, trying to get them interested, and I think one of the hardest bits was trying to get people to understand what we were doing. Because a lot of people don’t understand, or didn’t grasp the concept of, reading screenplays. But, slowly, as people understood what we were trying to do, they actually really enjoyed it, because we watch all these films, and we love certain films, but then to read them and to see how a director actually envisaged it is kind of special. It’s very special. So the process really involved a mixture of all kinds of things, talking to people, getting things together, and then getting a designer involved and bringing it all together in a way that would be cohesive.

S.M: The theme of the first issue is ‘Our Past’. What was behind the choice of that subject and what are some of the highlights of the first issue?

S.A: The reason we ended up going for the past, at first we were really attracted to the idea of talking about the self, actually, and the way that people in our generation are just looking inwards, and we’re obsessed with selfies and that kind of things. But, as it started progressing, we actually realised that for our first issue it was really important to start with the genesis of things and the beginning of things, and the past is really powerful for us. We are part of a generation that is constantly looking backwards, we’re obsessed with just, generally, the past, y’know.

G.B: Our culture has become obsessed with looking backwards but not learning from history, not learning from the past but gaining short term pleasure from reaching back to memories that gave us that pleasure. Things like vinyl and Instagram, that started as exactly that – filters to give a nostalgic feel. That’s what we’re interested in, and then perhaps by looking at and examining our past, we can try and learn something about what’s going on.

S.A: I think one of the biggest highlights is the interview with Gonzalo. Gonzalo Maza is the screenwriter of Gloria, A Fantastic Woman and The Year of the Tiger. It was really interesting for me to interview him. I think that, as people that go to film school and learn about film making in a very structured way, speaking to him broke down any of those rules. He was constantly talking about screenwriting as something that is very mysterious, that you don’t have answers to, that doesn’t have a structure, that shouldn’t be formulaic … And so the interview is definitely a highlight. I think another highlight is the piece that Sabrina Mahfouz wrote, who is a poet and a screenwriter but primarily a poet. I think that what she did was take the screenwriting format and experiment with it in a very literary and experimental way, which I think is what we really want to do: take the format and have people understand that in a different way. And a lot of the photo essays are really special.

G.B: It’s a screenwriting and photography journal. Even though we’d love personally to just have a book of screenplays, I understand that people need something visual, and at the end of the day cinema is a visual format. We’re not expecting people just to take it and go, oh yeah, that is literature, but to understand that as a screenwriter, to get it in the hands of a producer, in the hands of someone with money, it has to be literary. Cinema is a visual medium and in the screenplay the screenwriter has to understand the tools of the director. It can’t just read like a novel, it has to read, some would say, like a shot list and it has to evoke some sort of visual and emotional response. By pairing the screenplays loosely with the photo essays, that’s what we wanted to get across. And a lot of the photo essays are documentary form, some of them are set up. But they all, again, pertain to that theme of the past.

S.A: I think another highlight is the essay by Ekua Agha on Ousmane Sembène who, I didn’t know this, but he was what is so-called the father of African film making. I think that what he really did was challenge the European aesthetic of what film was and was one of the founders of third cinema, I suppose. And that to me was really special because I didn’t know who he was, I didn’t learn about him at film school, but this person that was really interested in the film maker brought him into my world and highlighted what I think is really important in film making.

S.M: You’re planning to release two issues a year – what can we expect from future issues and how can people get involved if they want to contribute?

G.B: The next issue we hope to be longer – I think the first issue runs at almost 130 pages, ideally it would be thicker, longer, more screenplays, more essays and more critical thinking about screenplays and the theme. The next issue is going to be on the theme of fractured societies, which kind of needs no explanation as to why it’s relevant now. So we’re looking for scripts from anybody, whether it’s your first screenplay or you know someone that is a talented or established screenwriter, get in touch with us. In an ideal world we’d have a system where people could send us stuff, even if it’s just an idea, and we’ll work with them to develop that script.

S.M: You’ve both graduated now. How did you find LFS as an environment for collaboration?

G.B: I think the fact that the screenwriting department is just over the road from film making one is really crucial and I’d encourage any student in either department at the school to take the time and the advantage of having that as an opportunity and to use it. 9:25-9.30. It’s been said a million times but film school has to do with what you’re willing to put in. The opportunity’s there, it just has to be taken.

S.M: Thank you very much for talking to us, we’ll let you get back to enjoying your launch party and congratulations on the first issue.

***EXCLUSIVE! LFS Students can get a 10% discount when they order online using code LFS10. Hurry, offer ends September 26th 2017! ***

Follow @scenesjournal on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram for regular updates:

https://www.facebook.com/scenesjournal

https://twitter.com/ScenesJournal

https://www.instagram.com/scnjournal/

Below is an extract from the interview with Gonzalo Maza, writer of the Silver Bear-winning Una Mujer Fantástica and recent graduate of the MA Screenwriting at LFS. To read the rest of the article and a journal’s worth of other inspiring, thought-provoking new work, go to https://www.scenesjournal.com/ to order your copy and find out how to submit your work.

You can also buy Scenes from the BFI library and bookstore and Magculture (270 St John Street, Clerkenwell, London, EC1V 4PE).

EXTRACT FROM ‘INTERVIEW WITH A SCREENWRITER’ NO. 1

GONZALO MAZA

Article by Shalini Adnani, photography by Cameron Ward

Gonzalo Maza likes women — especially complex ones. Both Gloria and his latest film, Una Mujer Fantástica (A Fantastic Woman), for which he was awarded Best Screenplay at Berlinale, celebrate female endurance and resilience. So it was no surprise that Gonzalo, when I met him at the dimly-lit cafe at the London Film School, proposed, apologetically, that I lead the way, as long as I fed him. The cash machine had just swallowed his card, he was one week late on a deadline, and, with no cash or accessible money in his pocket, he was back to being a penniless screenwriter from his younger years. It was the least I could do for him in his frazzled state, which I soon came to realise was a constant for this prolific screenwriter who is always fighting against the next deadline. To talk of Gonzalo Maza’s life and work is to speak of a man who is on a quest to understand the human condition and is willing to risk reason in doing so. In his eternal mission, one still sees a teenager in the forty-two year old who exclaims he loves “the contradictions of melancholy and cheery beats of Britpop” — a juxtaposition that runs through his work.

Born in Valparaiso, Chile, a port city not far from Santiago, he spent most of his childhood in a beach town nearby, Viña del Mar. A cinephile since he can remember, Gonzalo’s first job was working as a VHS store clerk for his mother’s store, but it wasn’t until an exchange program at the University of Texas that his hope of pursuing screenwriting was solidified. Since his powerful collaboration with the Chilean director and good friend, Sebastián Lelio, Gonzalo has decided to pursue a Masters in Screenwriting at the London Film School, and a PhD exploring the use of current events in screenwriting.

I first encountered Gonzalo’s work in my early twenties when I was back in my hometown, Santiago, and experiencing what some refer to as post-graduation existentialism. I walked into the national cinema buried underneath La Moneda, the national palace, to watch El Año del Tigre (The Year of the Tiger), the only feature film Gonzalo has been the sole writer for. I left the cinema that day deciding I wanted to tell stories that were simple and poignant, and since then have observed Gonzalo’s work and knack for tragicomedy with great admiration. I sat down with Gonzalo in a quiet courtyard in Central London to have a chat.

When did you know you wanted to be a writer?

I wrote a short story once and showed it to a teacher. He didn’t like it. He wanted to change the end. Then I showed it to my father, he didn’t like it either, or he didn’t totally understand it. So I ended up dedicating myself to math, but I always liked journalism — I wrote for a school paper, I had a column, I took workshops and so on and I was also part of a theatre group. When I joined the theatre group, I wanted to be an actor but I quickly realised I had no talent for that - which was very liberating. But one day I wrote a play. This was all when I was about 12. I wrote the play in one evening, showed it to my professor, he liked it — it was very funny. So we got together as a class to make it play happen. We went on to win some awards and went to a national theatre competition.

That was my only ‘dramatic’ event. Then I just dedicated myself to journalism, studied it and continued on that career path. Until 1999 when I did a year abroad at the University of Texas where I took lots of film classes. In this class, I realised that I really liked this medium, and it was what I wanted to do, but I had no idea how to go about it. I had a friend who worked for TV in Chile, so I started writing for TV where I learned lots about docudrama and melodrama. I worked on one TV series that would take real-life events and sort of have a talk show. They would take articles written in magazines and create fictionalised cases on them. That was a really good learning process for me, because they had pretty low expectations and it gave me more liberty. No one ever told me I was any good, but that was my melodrama school—in its purest form, very Latin American. Then I quit journalism completely and joined a production company that did television for children.

I was a producer on this show and wrote various episodes. This is when I met Sebastián Lelio, who was finishing up his first feature film, and I wanted to know if he wanted a screenwriter. He didn’t want a screenwriter, but at the same time he needed one because he didn’t really know how to take on some elements of writing. I told him I wasn’t a screenwriter with much experience but thought we could get together to work on certain things and bounce ideas around and talk. So, we would get together and just talk about films.

What kind of stories or characters are you attracted to?

There are two things I am very attracted to. One being people who try to seem strong, externally, but are weak or emotional at heart. I think people hide emotion a lot. That get’s me excited - people who hide their feelings. And what excites me even more is when a person who hides their feelings, knows how to hide them really well. Those kind of characters are very touching to me. And I always find myself gravitating towards that. Even though we don’t know where that pain comes from, I like the mix those characters create.

I like Britpop a lot, the basis for which is sad lyrics set against upbeat melodies. I think my spirit towards life is absolutely happiness, but in my interior I’m a very sad person. And that — which happens to me, happens to everyone.

So, I tend to do two things if I am stuck. One is if the character is a man, I turn him into a woman and he becomes infinitely better and more interesting. If they are kind of flat, I just turn them into women and they automatically have problems or just come into being and have more shape. Or I go back to this premise of people who hide their feelings. In fact, at the moment I am editing a film I wrote and directed, my first feature I’ve directed, where that is the main conflict I’m tackling. How do you show that construct of happiness and sadness at the same time? It’s generally easier to do something like this through comedy rather than drama. I’m more attracted to comedy. I don’t know if my comedy is that funny, but I still laugh at it. I think I also belong to the school of anti-male.

What do you mean by anti-male?

I guess it has to do with my upbringing. I went to an all boys school and hated it, I thought it was very prosaic and primitive. I just found it very primitive. I just don’t find men very interesting. What I find interesting is their blindness and not being capable of seeing themselves as they actually are. But I just find women more interesting. I’ve always listened to women, everywhere I go I want to talk to them, it’s the world I want to know and understand. I think they are funnier and entertaining and I admire them. In college, I would be in love with a girl and in my eternal insecurities and fear, I never told them anything. So I always liked being the friend that was close and could hear everything they had to say, rather than confess my love which wouldn’t amount to anything, they would reject me and I would just be miserable. And on top of that, I wouldn’t be able to hear the stories anymore. So, I preferred staying with the experiences these women would give me.

The character of Gloria is very much like the actress who played her, did you have her in mind before you started writing?

We started writing Gloria when we found this character of our ‘mothers’, just this world of our mothers that no one pays attention to, or falls into the background in life. A woman of a certain age, she’s an old lady; she has no more meaning in her life, and therefore is neurotic, and therefore, is everything we complain about. Someone that complains, is bitter. So we saw that and realized how unjust it was to view certain women this way, as a society. So based on that idea, we decided to make a film about our mothers, and then started investigating it until we found Paulina Garcia. I remember being in love with Paulina when I was younger, when she was acting at 18, but we eventually thought of her and started looking through her Facebook photographs. We realised we kept talking about her and had to ask her because the film, wouldn’t exist without her. So she came over, and we pitched the idea to her. She liked it. So it was a kind of mix between an idea that we wanted to explore and Paulina who was the character and actress we imagined. A kind of character we thought only existed in Chile and had no idea it would be so universal.

Did you specifically think about post-dictatorial Chile in your writing of Gloria?

I think that film and politics are inevitably intertwined. A film is political because it belongs to a time and place. And when you have a character in a specific space, it is a document of that time and place. We all live in political moments and we are a consequence of that. So that was something we took into account. Seeing the generational difference between our mothers and the students who were out in the streets protesting, it was a very strong contrast between Gloria’s generation who didn’t protest at all. They protested against the government but because of that it meant they were constantly thinking of others, especially if a family member was missing or killed, and they always put their needs in second place. These women were always putting themselves in the second place, never really having a moment for themselves, to liberate themselves, have their moment of glory. In that sense, the film is political.

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