Writer’s Block!
There … I said it … I dared speak the name of the condition that every writer dreads!
Writers fear it the way amorous men fear a failed erection. It can strike at any time, unseen and without warning, like a virus.
On screen, I’ve watched David Duchovny bounce his laptop off the wall in Californication … Jack Nicholson bounce a ball off the walls, rant at his wife and prowl the hotel corridors in The Shining … a manic Nicolas Cage sweat an ocean over his typewriter in Adaptation … Johnny Depp take to the comfort zone of his couch in Secret Window … all because of writer’s block … and that’s just a few examples out of fiction. When it happens for real, it can be just as debilitating. The blank page has suddenly become a seemingly insurmountable obstacle that only gets more difficult with time.
It’s happened to me several times over the years, but my worst period with it came during the writing of God’s Soldiers. I have already written about how that final part of the quartet began as the first part, with large elements of the other three books in the narrative. Writer’s block struck when I was a third of the way through God’s Soldiers. Panic gripped me. This was the final part of the quartet and all of a sudden the story wasn’t gelling the way it should. Something was drastically wrong and it seemed like the house of cards I’d spent so long building was about to come tumbling down around me. I went through long nights, agonizing over it. Eventually, I got all the notes I had on the story and spread them out around the room. The place was a mess of loose papers, covering the furniture and floor space, with barely enough room left for me to walk between them. However, I was then at an advantage of being able to look at the problem in a different way and the answer came to me: I was attempting to write two stories in one. There was a subplot that didn’t fit with the rest of the narrative and it was tearing the story apart. So I got rid of it. At that time, the project was almost 160,000 words long and I ended up deleting just under 70,000 words. That’s a lot of work to dump, but it took an act of destruction to fix the problem. I had to tear it apart to rebuild it again the way it should be. It was what was needed and I'm now thankful for it happening because the story is better because of it.
I don’t often listen to music while working, but I listened to Evanescence almost constantly when I got through the block. Their Fallen album became the soundtrack to God’s Soldiers. Some music can work to clear the mind before beginning work and encourage a certain mood, putting a writer into the zone of their story.
Some writers procrastinate – even if they never admit to it - and look for things to distract them from their project(s), hoping for a knock at the door, a delivery, or a telephone call, even if it is a telemarketer, anything just to give them the excuse to get up out of the chair and walk away from the desk.
At other times, I have found that simply taking a break from it helps. A block can cause anxiety and even depression. Dwelling on the blank page and long, wasted hours can often serve to add to those negative feelings. So take a break. Put the work away and go out for the day. Just make sure you take a notepad and pen with you in the event that inspiration suddenly strikes and you need to scribble furiously. Ideas come from nowhere, so always be ready to catch them when they do. A change can be as good as a rest, so take a walk, get some exercise, read a book, do some word puzzles, watch a movie, have friends around for a meal … it’s better than brooding. You may need to take more than a day. It doesn’t matter. Take however long you need and you will return to the project with a mind that is rested and refreshed.
Another way I beat it was to simply write about how I felt at the time: I wrote about not being able to write. By doing so, the act of writing solved the problem of not being able to write! It sounds like a contradiction but, at the time, it worked. I also moved to the window and wrote about what I saw going on in the street. This is a useful habit to get into, wherever you are, because sometimes you will note down something that later proves useful in a story.
Talking to other writers helps, sharing the pain and comparing notes on how to get through it.
Discipline also works for me. Making the time and creating an environment in which I can both relax into the mindset of writing and know I won’t be distracted.
Staying in good health is a necessity. Eat well, keep a balanced diet with plenty of fruit and vegetables and exercise every. I recently took up yoga and I find that practicing my routine for an hour in the morning helps clear my mind and relax me.
The causes of writer’s block can be numerous and complex, but this I know for sure: it’s a temporary lull in the creative process. Sometimes it can even be a necessary part of the arc and can help a project the way it helped me during God’s Soldiers. It's all a matter of how you look at it. I say again: whatever the reason … it’s temporary! Sooner or later, it goes away, the fog lifts, the ideas flow again and productivity regains momentum. Relax. All writers, even the most famous and successful ones, have gone through it.
Breaking through that dreaded block is a problem that many writers have asked me about. I hope that by describing my own struggles and ways of conquering it I've helped others.
You’ll have to excuse me now. I have to end this blog and go back to working on my book.
I’ve just had an idea.
Tuesday 19 May 2009
Call him Lenny … for he is many
I can’t resist the reference to scripture (Mark 5: 9) I used in the title to this blog and whenever I’m asked about how I came to write about the evil little bastard Lenny Durning. He first raises his ugly head in Wrath and Remembrance, where he breaks into the wrong home and gets the beating he deserves. In Hitting Back, he retells that incident, along with many others, from his own perspective.
Inspiration for the character came from many individuals I have known and observed since my teens. Lenny Durning is a composite of all of them. During my late-twenties to mid-thirties, I lived in an area where a group of guys my age always hung around at the top end of the street. They dressed the same, spoke and acted the same, and seemingly made a life-career out of avoiding conventional employment. However else they made their money, I didn’t know because I wasn’t a part of their group and I didn’t want to know. I lived in the same area and was on nodding acquaintance, but that was all. They didn't seem to have any long-term goals, dreams or ambitions. They just seemed to live in the moment, content simply to make it through the day. I wouldn’t have trusted any of them as far as I could have picked them up and thrown them. I was content to keep my distance, observe, collate notes as I passed by on my way and caught snatches of their conversations. People inspire me and for that reason I’ve always been a compulsive “people-watcher”, taking mental note of the way people relate to each other, along with their mannerisms, gestures, traits and characterists.
Six minutes into Shane Meadows’ 1997 movie TwentyFourSeven, Bob Hoskins, narrating as the character Darcy, makes this sadly only-too-topical point:
"The lads and the people in this town have been living in the same day their whole lives. None of them is singularly strong enough to break away and say: Wait a minute, there must be something more than this! No one. That’s why nothing ever changes."
The character Darcy, along with his real-life counterparts, are the die-hards of society: they stand up, often ignoring cynicism, scorn and derision, and they try to make a difference. Some fall short of achieving what they set out to do … but at least they get off their ass and try!
The dialogue I’ve quoted from TwentyFourSeven is so apt for the guys who I used to see every day. They sat around on walls near their homes, drank and smoked long into the night. These weren’t kids, but they still acted the same way they did when they were twelve-years-old, hanging around the streets, sitting on walls, peddling around the streets on their bicycles and making ramps out of loose planks and bricks to jump over, just like they probably remember seeing the stunt riders Evel Knievel and Eddie Kidd do on TV. My guess is that if I went back to that street … they’d probably still be there … doing the exact same things … talking about the same stuff … admiring and comparing their Anti-Social Behavior Orders (ASBOs) … living the same day since their early teens. Where I grew up, they’re called “charvers”. Other parts of Britain would call them “chavs” or “chavas”, but it all means the same. Other countries will no doubt have their own derogatory terms.
Like everyone else, they had their dark side. Get on the wrong side of them and they would hold a grudge against you for the rest of their life. There was no forgiveness in them.
My inspiration for the character came when I suddenly thought: what if a guy like that came back to the city holding an almighty grudge against a group who’d wronged him ...
From that single idea, Lenny Durning came to life in my imagination.
Inspiration for the character came from many individuals I have known and observed since my teens. Lenny Durning is a composite of all of them. During my late-twenties to mid-thirties, I lived in an area where a group of guys my age always hung around at the top end of the street. They dressed the same, spoke and acted the same, and seemingly made a life-career out of avoiding conventional employment. However else they made their money, I didn’t know because I wasn’t a part of their group and I didn’t want to know. I lived in the same area and was on nodding acquaintance, but that was all. They didn't seem to have any long-term goals, dreams or ambitions. They just seemed to live in the moment, content simply to make it through the day. I wouldn’t have trusted any of them as far as I could have picked them up and thrown them. I was content to keep my distance, observe, collate notes as I passed by on my way and caught snatches of their conversations. People inspire me and for that reason I’ve always been a compulsive “people-watcher”, taking mental note of the way people relate to each other, along with their mannerisms, gestures, traits and characterists.
Six minutes into Shane Meadows’ 1997 movie TwentyFourSeven, Bob Hoskins, narrating as the character Darcy, makes this sadly only-too-topical point:
"The lads and the people in this town have been living in the same day their whole lives. None of them is singularly strong enough to break away and say: Wait a minute, there must be something more than this! No one. That’s why nothing ever changes."
The character Darcy, along with his real-life counterparts, are the die-hards of society: they stand up, often ignoring cynicism, scorn and derision, and they try to make a difference. Some fall short of achieving what they set out to do … but at least they get off their ass and try!
The dialogue I’ve quoted from TwentyFourSeven is so apt for the guys who I used to see every day. They sat around on walls near their homes, drank and smoked long into the night. These weren’t kids, but they still acted the same way they did when they were twelve-years-old, hanging around the streets, sitting on walls, peddling around the streets on their bicycles and making ramps out of loose planks and bricks to jump over, just like they probably remember seeing the stunt riders Evel Knievel and Eddie Kidd do on TV. My guess is that if I went back to that street … they’d probably still be there … doing the exact same things … talking about the same stuff … admiring and comparing their Anti-Social Behavior Orders (ASBOs) … living the same day since their early teens. Where I grew up, they’re called “charvers”. Other parts of Britain would call them “chavs” or “chavas”, but it all means the same. Other countries will no doubt have their own derogatory terms.
Like everyone else, they had their dark side. Get on the wrong side of them and they would hold a grudge against you for the rest of their life. There was no forgiveness in them.
My inspiration for the character came when I suddenly thought: what if a guy like that came back to the city holding an almighty grudge against a group who’d wronged him ...
From that single idea, Lenny Durning came to life in my imagination.
I'm off the java wagon!
I gave up caffeine drinks over eighteen months ago as my addiction to coffee (I’m only a very occasional tea drinker) was getting worse, my daily intake was rising and after twelve large mugs a day (minimum) I could barely sleep and my nerves were frazzled. My hands trembled and my eyes resembled a cartoon animal suddenly mesmerized by the glare of the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, or those unfortunate, brain-washed individuals who try to stop you in the street and push some bizarre sect/cult dogma onto you. In addition, I was getting frequent bouts of acid-indigestion and I was crunching on stomach settlers every day.
Not good!
So … after decades of strong black coffee (no sugar) consumption, I decided to see what abstinence was like and I went cold-turkey. The first day passed without much incident, I was alone in the house and the TV wasn’t on to tempt me with coffee advertisements.
So far, so good.
Two days passed and I experienced only a few pangs in the morning which I fought back by drinking lots of mugs of hot water with a spoonful of honey stirred in. It may look like a urine specimen but tastes great. It's also a great additional remedy for sore throats and colds ... just in case you were wondering.
The tremors didn’t hit until I was into the third day and that was the hardest to get through … headaches, sweats, stomach cramps, paranoia … I never dreamed that addiction to just caffeine and coming off it like this would result in these symptoms. Caffeine really is a drug!
The following day, I was over the three-day-hump and it was plain-sailing after that.
I was officially on the caffeine wagon!
I hardly missed the black stuff at all, apart from those times when I was eating my favorite Subway in a diner and someone nearby was sipping coffee. The smell of their drink would drift by my table and the pangs would strike again.
However … the past couple of months I’ve being feeling more tired and less able to concentrate. I have two book projects in the works, along with other stuff pending.
My daily work quota is suffering and I'm missing my liquid helper.
This morning, I had my first cup of black coffee (no sugar, as usual) and that first hit was like an explosion in my skull. I couldn’t drink it fast enough. The second mug was a leveler. I ate two slices of toast with it and enjoyed the caffeine high. I made my third cup as I settled down to write and I was wired! My mind buzzed and my fingertips flew over the keyboard.
I could write more on this … but the pangs are back … so, I’m off to fix myself another mug of black java.
I am officially back off the caffeine wagon and will be until further notice.
Judge me as you will - but I have work to do!
Want to join me for a mug of java?
Not good!
So … after decades of strong black coffee (no sugar) consumption, I decided to see what abstinence was like and I went cold-turkey. The first day passed without much incident, I was alone in the house and the TV wasn’t on to tempt me with coffee advertisements.
So far, so good.
Two days passed and I experienced only a few pangs in the morning which I fought back by drinking lots of mugs of hot water with a spoonful of honey stirred in. It may look like a urine specimen but tastes great. It's also a great additional remedy for sore throats and colds ... just in case you were wondering.
The tremors didn’t hit until I was into the third day and that was the hardest to get through … headaches, sweats, stomach cramps, paranoia … I never dreamed that addiction to just caffeine and coming off it like this would result in these symptoms. Caffeine really is a drug!
The following day, I was over the three-day-hump and it was plain-sailing after that.
I was officially on the caffeine wagon!
I hardly missed the black stuff at all, apart from those times when I was eating my favorite Subway in a diner and someone nearby was sipping coffee. The smell of their drink would drift by my table and the pangs would strike again.
However … the past couple of months I’ve being feeling more tired and less able to concentrate. I have two book projects in the works, along with other stuff pending.
My daily work quota is suffering and I'm missing my liquid helper.
This morning, I had my first cup of black coffee (no sugar, as usual) and that first hit was like an explosion in my skull. I couldn’t drink it fast enough. The second mug was a leveler. I ate two slices of toast with it and enjoyed the caffeine high. I made my third cup as I settled down to write and I was wired! My mind buzzed and my fingertips flew over the keyboard.
I could write more on this … but the pangs are back … so, I’m off to fix myself another mug of black java.
I am officially back off the caffeine wagon and will be until further notice.
Judge me as you will - but I have work to do!
Want to join me for a mug of java?
Coffee, café conversation and all that “undead” paranoia
“I’ve read that one,” the stranger told me from the next table. “It’s a cool book.”
The book I had with me was Cell, by Stephen King. I’d just reached the end of the book and was setting my mind to finishing my black coffee and working on some book notes while I had a second cup.
“What did you think of the story?” I asked and that was all the invitation Todd and his girlfriend, Annalese, needed to leave their table and join me on mine. I welcomed the unexpected company and interruption because I had time to kill and I love talking books and movies anyway. They were both in their early-thirties, optimistic, happy with themselves and their place in the world and loved the arts, making me warm to them straight away.
I liked the variation on the zombie-infected-crazies theme: a frequency transmitted via cell phones that would affect the brain in such a way that it would reboot it, like a computer program, and send it back to its base-instinct. In this case, being murder! With this story, King revisited some of the apocalyptic themes he covered in The Stand. The chaos of the population tearing each other apart when the “pulse” first zaps those with a cell phone to their ear is well described.
For the most part, this story is believable … sort of. The controversy and fears about cell phone signals frying brains with radiation and the same being sent out by the signal booster masts has been well-documented. But what let it all down for me was the part in the story where the “phoners” levitate along the side of the road, in single-file, and float over the tops of the trees. That gave me a laugh-out-loud moment I’m sure King didn’t intend and killed the momentum of the story for me.
Talking about Cell led us to compare it with other stories of the genre: Romero’s Dead series of zombie movies and a nod to Romero’s The Crazies (1973) … more recent movies like 28 Days Later and the sequel 28 Weeks Later, and others … how the genre now seems to be done to un-death and if there could possibly be anywhere left for it to go from here.
Cell is an enjoyable enough read, but nowhere near the best of what King has produced. Over the course of his writing career, King seems to have been aiming to cover every category in the horror genre: ghosts and an axe-wielding maniac in The Shining ... psychics in Carrie, The Dead Zone and Firestarter ... werewolves in Silver Bullet ... vampires in Salem’s Lot ... invading aliens in The Tommyknockers ... the end of the world by plague in The Stand ... nature turning on man with a vengeance in Cujo ... machines turning on man with a vengeance in Christine and in his short story Trucks, which he later directed himself as the movie Maximum Overdrive. It was later filmed again as Trucks in 1997, by Chris Thomson. King's homage to The Lord of the Rings was his Dark Tower series and Cell is obviously his own take on the zombie-infected-crazies genre.
Overall, I wasn't disappointed with Cell, apart from the levitating bit, and I'm looking forward to the forthcoming movie adaptation. I just hope they don't include the levitating bit.
We talked for over an hour. When the time came for Todd and Annalese to leave, they gathered up their things and we shook hands and wished each other well. Then something happened that made us all laugh: my cell phone rang in my coat pocket.
YIKES!
I held my phone out to Todd, asked him if he would answer it for me and warned Annalese that she may want to step away from him when he took the call.
Todd shook his head firmly and refused to take the phone from me.
It was a funny moment that I think we’ll always remember when our cell phones ring and we tense a little before taking the call.
When they'd reached minimum safe distance, I answered the call … and guess what … it was a damned telemarketer who refused to tell me how he’d got my number.
Annoyed, I refused to answer any of his questions, told him to remove my number from his call list and then hung up on him!
Maybe I’ve read Stephen King's Cell wrong and missed an important plot point … maybe it’s actually the telemarketers and not the “pulse” that sent them all crazy.
The book I had with me was Cell, by Stephen King. I’d just reached the end of the book and was setting my mind to finishing my black coffee and working on some book notes while I had a second cup.
“What did you think of the story?” I asked and that was all the invitation Todd and his girlfriend, Annalese, needed to leave their table and join me on mine. I welcomed the unexpected company and interruption because I had time to kill and I love talking books and movies anyway. They were both in their early-thirties, optimistic, happy with themselves and their place in the world and loved the arts, making me warm to them straight away.
I liked the variation on the zombie-infected-crazies theme: a frequency transmitted via cell phones that would affect the brain in such a way that it would reboot it, like a computer program, and send it back to its base-instinct. In this case, being murder! With this story, King revisited some of the apocalyptic themes he covered in The Stand. The chaos of the population tearing each other apart when the “pulse” first zaps those with a cell phone to their ear is well described.
For the most part, this story is believable … sort of. The controversy and fears about cell phone signals frying brains with radiation and the same being sent out by the signal booster masts has been well-documented. But what let it all down for me was the part in the story where the “phoners” levitate along the side of the road, in single-file, and float over the tops of the trees. That gave me a laugh-out-loud moment I’m sure King didn’t intend and killed the momentum of the story for me.
Talking about Cell led us to compare it with other stories of the genre: Romero’s Dead series of zombie movies and a nod to Romero’s The Crazies (1973) … more recent movies like 28 Days Later and the sequel 28 Weeks Later, and others … how the genre now seems to be done to un-death and if there could possibly be anywhere left for it to go from here.
Cell is an enjoyable enough read, but nowhere near the best of what King has produced. Over the course of his writing career, King seems to have been aiming to cover every category in the horror genre: ghosts and an axe-wielding maniac in The Shining ... psychics in Carrie, The Dead Zone and Firestarter ... werewolves in Silver Bullet ... vampires in Salem’s Lot ... invading aliens in The Tommyknockers ... the end of the world by plague in The Stand ... nature turning on man with a vengeance in Cujo ... machines turning on man with a vengeance in Christine and in his short story Trucks, which he later directed himself as the movie Maximum Overdrive. It was later filmed again as Trucks in 1997, by Chris Thomson. King's homage to The Lord of the Rings was his Dark Tower series and Cell is obviously his own take on the zombie-infected-crazies genre.
Overall, I wasn't disappointed with Cell, apart from the levitating bit, and I'm looking forward to the forthcoming movie adaptation. I just hope they don't include the levitating bit.
We talked for over an hour. When the time came for Todd and Annalese to leave, they gathered up their things and we shook hands and wished each other well. Then something happened that made us all laugh: my cell phone rang in my coat pocket.
YIKES!
I held my phone out to Todd, asked him if he would answer it for me and warned Annalese that she may want to step away from him when he took the call.
Todd shook his head firmly and refused to take the phone from me.
It was a funny moment that I think we’ll always remember when our cell phones ring and we tense a little before taking the call.
When they'd reached minimum safe distance, I answered the call … and guess what … it was a damned telemarketer who refused to tell me how he’d got my number.
Annoyed, I refused to answer any of his questions, told him to remove my number from his call list and then hung up on him!
Maybe I’ve read Stephen King's Cell wrong and missed an important plot point … maybe it’s actually the telemarketers and not the “pulse” that sent them all crazy.
Rollerball (1975)
“Corporate society was an inevitable destiny. A material dream world. Everything man touched became obtainable.”
– John Houseman, as Bartholomew.
In the modern world, we are more fortunate than those who struggle under the strangle-hold of dictatorships and feel that we are free. But what if the freedom we enjoy was just an illusion? What if comfort and privileges were used to lull us into a false sense of security and ultimately as tools to control us?
Rollerball (1975), the movie adaptation of William Harrison’s futuristic short story, Roller Ball Murder, is one of the most prophetic and realistic visions of the fate of society put to film.
James Caan, at that time a keen rodeo rider, plays Rollerball champion Jonathan E. His team is Houston, the Energy city, in a world where multi-national Corporations have taken over from all collapsed systems of government. A league of Executives now run everything and make decisions on a global basis, for the supposed good of everyone. They are split into six factions: Energy, Food, Luxury, Transport, Communication and Housing. Poverty, need and sickness are a thing of the past. However, not all is as it seems; this warm and cozy world is superficial and Jonathan E discovers that no one is really free at all.
The game of Rollerball is a ferocious, high-speed, full-contact, bloody and often lethal sport where bikers and skaters speed along a slanted hard-wood track. Steel balls are fired from cannons at the top of the track and the two opposing teams battle to score the most points by throwing the ball into a cone-shaped magnet.
This game has replaced war and is used as a spectacle to placate the masses, providing them with an outlet for their aggressions and subsequently making them easier to control. When they aren’t cheering to the violence in the Rollerball arena, they are taking happy pills to give themselves another high. It is a game of the future but parallels to the Roman era and the blood sports held in the coliseums are evident, even down to the detail of the Rollerball players/gladiators being “assigned” women companions to keep them happy, reminiscent of Spartacus (1960). During the party scene, one woman gazes admiringly at the players and comments: “They’re really quite beautiful in a wild kind of way. You can almost smell the lions.” To which her male companion sarcastically retorts: “Don’t be silly. They’re made in Detroit.” The cruel, destructive side of human nature is cleverly demonstrated during the scene where a group of revelers leave the party and excitedly take turns shooting explosive bullets at a line of trees, laughing and cheering as they watch them burn. In the end game, as Jonathan E floors an opposing biker, then raises the ball as if to smash it into the biker’s face, he pauses to look up, as if waiting for the Caesar to give him the thumb up or down verdict on the biker’s life.
Although few other than the controlling Executives know it, they are living under tight control and Jonathan E, by excelling in the game, is defeating the purpose for which it was created: to show the futility of individual effort. For this reason, the Executives at first simply demand that Jonathan retires from the game. When Jonathan resists, they bring pressure to bear by making the game more difficult, hoping that he will either see sense and quit, or actually be killed during the course of the game.
John Houseman plays Mr. Bartholomew, in a brilliant performance that commands the movie, by turns patronizing and threatening to those he manipulates for the benefit of the Corporation. There are excellent performances throughout and the supporting cast includes many fine actors: particularly John Beck, as Moonpie, Jonathan E’s best friend and team mate, who falls victim to his own arrogance when he underestimates the deadly skill of the Tokyo team. Maud Adams, as Ella, Jonathan E’s ex-wife, ordered to leave him because an Executive wanted her. Real-life hockey announcer Bob Miller lends his voice to the game commentary, making the game more authentic to the viewer. Pamela Hensley, as Mackie, one of the women companions assigned to Jonathan E. Shane Rimmer, as Rusty, the Executive for the Houston team who urges Jonathan to keep his mouth shut and get out for his own good. Barbara Trentham, as Daphne, another companion who replaces Mackie and who turns out to be a spy for the Corporation. Moses Gunn, as Cletus, Jonathan’s friend and trainer. Burt Kwouk as a Japanese doctor who attempts to get permission from Jonathan to turn off Moonpie’s life-support system, and Robert Ito, as a strategy coach brought in to advise the Houston players about the Tokyo team’s martial arts-based game strategy, only to be jeered at.
In desperation, after discovering that books have been censored by the Corporations, Jonathan E flies to the computer centre in Geneva. During this scene, Ralph Richardson gives a comedic touch to the story with his cameo role as an eccentric librarian. Zero, the worlds most advanced computer, runs on “fluidics”, its waters flow out into its memory banks, touching all knowledge. At least, that’s the theory. It often fails, as the librarian confides to Jonathan that it had glitched again the morning he arrived and lost all information it held on the thirteenth century. When Jonathan puts to Zero his question about Corporate decisions, how they’re made and who makes them, the computer is suddenly trapped, much like HAL 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), and implodes on itself, the fluid inside seeming to boil as the librarian kicks the panels housing it and demands that it gives Jonathan a straight answer.
The last straw for Jonathan comes when Ella returns to him, but he discovers that she is just another pawn of the Corporation, sent to convince him to quit and stay with him as a reward if he agrees. In disgust, Jonathan erases a collection of home movies he has collected, of happier times with Ella, in an act of self-destruction, signifying to Ella and the audience that their relationship is over.
Jonathan E has only one option left: to face possible death in the Rollerball arena, in a final game where the rules have crumbled to the point where there are no penalties, no substitutions, no time limit and the game will go on until the Corporate-sponsored slaughter leaves only one player standing – or everyone dead.
Technically, the movie is brilliant. In 1975, there was no blue screen or CGI effects, so they built the Rollerball arena at Munich stadium and they played the game for real. The actors and stunt men enjoyed the game so much they played it in between filming.
As brutal as the game is depicted in the movie, it is still nothing compared to that described in William Harrison’s original short story, in which the shape of the ball is changed so that it ricochets in every direction. As the game rules crumble, multiple balls are then used at any one time, so players spend more time dodging hits by them than from the opposing players. After reading the short story again recently, I realized that there’s no way they could have filmed this back in 1975 and ensure the safety of the actors and stunt men, without the safety net of special effects.
Science fiction has often been prophetic and much in this movie has been realised: like the large ornate fireplaces with the gas-fueled flames burning through decorative stones. Business meetings and conferences are held via video link, made easier today with the invention of the internet and webcam. So many homes now have large, wall-mounted TV monitors. How many of us go to sports events as a break from the routine of our lives? Athletes are often given star-status, high-earnings and media exposure.
I was just 12-years-old when I first watched Rollerball, and it instantly became a favorite of mine. It was also the first time I heard the beautiful Adagio, by Tomaso Albinoni, music that has since become a permanent part of my own collection, along with the DVD of this movie.
I have only one comment to make on the atrocious 2002 remake: it deserves to be ignored and forgotten!
Take a long look at where we are as a society and where we’re heading.
Hopefully, our fate is not destined to be played out on a hardwood track slicked with blood.
How many of us will be like Jonathan E and take a stand against it?
– John Houseman, as Bartholomew.
In the modern world, we are more fortunate than those who struggle under the strangle-hold of dictatorships and feel that we are free. But what if the freedom we enjoy was just an illusion? What if comfort and privileges were used to lull us into a false sense of security and ultimately as tools to control us?
Rollerball (1975), the movie adaptation of William Harrison’s futuristic short story, Roller Ball Murder, is one of the most prophetic and realistic visions of the fate of society put to film.
James Caan, at that time a keen rodeo rider, plays Rollerball champion Jonathan E. His team is Houston, the Energy city, in a world where multi-national Corporations have taken over from all collapsed systems of government. A league of Executives now run everything and make decisions on a global basis, for the supposed good of everyone. They are split into six factions: Energy, Food, Luxury, Transport, Communication and Housing. Poverty, need and sickness are a thing of the past. However, not all is as it seems; this warm and cozy world is superficial and Jonathan E discovers that no one is really free at all.
The game of Rollerball is a ferocious, high-speed, full-contact, bloody and often lethal sport where bikers and skaters speed along a slanted hard-wood track. Steel balls are fired from cannons at the top of the track and the two opposing teams battle to score the most points by throwing the ball into a cone-shaped magnet.
This game has replaced war and is used as a spectacle to placate the masses, providing them with an outlet for their aggressions and subsequently making them easier to control. When they aren’t cheering to the violence in the Rollerball arena, they are taking happy pills to give themselves another high. It is a game of the future but parallels to the Roman era and the blood sports held in the coliseums are evident, even down to the detail of the Rollerball players/gladiators being “assigned” women companions to keep them happy, reminiscent of Spartacus (1960). During the party scene, one woman gazes admiringly at the players and comments: “They’re really quite beautiful in a wild kind of way. You can almost smell the lions.” To which her male companion sarcastically retorts: “Don’t be silly. They’re made in Detroit.” The cruel, destructive side of human nature is cleverly demonstrated during the scene where a group of revelers leave the party and excitedly take turns shooting explosive bullets at a line of trees, laughing and cheering as they watch them burn. In the end game, as Jonathan E floors an opposing biker, then raises the ball as if to smash it into the biker’s face, he pauses to look up, as if waiting for the Caesar to give him the thumb up or down verdict on the biker’s life.
Although few other than the controlling Executives know it, they are living under tight control and Jonathan E, by excelling in the game, is defeating the purpose for which it was created: to show the futility of individual effort. For this reason, the Executives at first simply demand that Jonathan retires from the game. When Jonathan resists, they bring pressure to bear by making the game more difficult, hoping that he will either see sense and quit, or actually be killed during the course of the game.
John Houseman plays Mr. Bartholomew, in a brilliant performance that commands the movie, by turns patronizing and threatening to those he manipulates for the benefit of the Corporation. There are excellent performances throughout and the supporting cast includes many fine actors: particularly John Beck, as Moonpie, Jonathan E’s best friend and team mate, who falls victim to his own arrogance when he underestimates the deadly skill of the Tokyo team. Maud Adams, as Ella, Jonathan E’s ex-wife, ordered to leave him because an Executive wanted her. Real-life hockey announcer Bob Miller lends his voice to the game commentary, making the game more authentic to the viewer. Pamela Hensley, as Mackie, one of the women companions assigned to Jonathan E. Shane Rimmer, as Rusty, the Executive for the Houston team who urges Jonathan to keep his mouth shut and get out for his own good. Barbara Trentham, as Daphne, another companion who replaces Mackie and who turns out to be a spy for the Corporation. Moses Gunn, as Cletus, Jonathan’s friend and trainer. Burt Kwouk as a Japanese doctor who attempts to get permission from Jonathan to turn off Moonpie’s life-support system, and Robert Ito, as a strategy coach brought in to advise the Houston players about the Tokyo team’s martial arts-based game strategy, only to be jeered at.
In desperation, after discovering that books have been censored by the Corporations, Jonathan E flies to the computer centre in Geneva. During this scene, Ralph Richardson gives a comedic touch to the story with his cameo role as an eccentric librarian. Zero, the worlds most advanced computer, runs on “fluidics”, its waters flow out into its memory banks, touching all knowledge. At least, that’s the theory. It often fails, as the librarian confides to Jonathan that it had glitched again the morning he arrived and lost all information it held on the thirteenth century. When Jonathan puts to Zero his question about Corporate decisions, how they’re made and who makes them, the computer is suddenly trapped, much like HAL 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), and implodes on itself, the fluid inside seeming to boil as the librarian kicks the panels housing it and demands that it gives Jonathan a straight answer.
The last straw for Jonathan comes when Ella returns to him, but he discovers that she is just another pawn of the Corporation, sent to convince him to quit and stay with him as a reward if he agrees. In disgust, Jonathan erases a collection of home movies he has collected, of happier times with Ella, in an act of self-destruction, signifying to Ella and the audience that their relationship is over.
Jonathan E has only one option left: to face possible death in the Rollerball arena, in a final game where the rules have crumbled to the point where there are no penalties, no substitutions, no time limit and the game will go on until the Corporate-sponsored slaughter leaves only one player standing – or everyone dead.
Technically, the movie is brilliant. In 1975, there was no blue screen or CGI effects, so they built the Rollerball arena at Munich stadium and they played the game for real. The actors and stunt men enjoyed the game so much they played it in between filming.
As brutal as the game is depicted in the movie, it is still nothing compared to that described in William Harrison’s original short story, in which the shape of the ball is changed so that it ricochets in every direction. As the game rules crumble, multiple balls are then used at any one time, so players spend more time dodging hits by them than from the opposing players. After reading the short story again recently, I realized that there’s no way they could have filmed this back in 1975 and ensure the safety of the actors and stunt men, without the safety net of special effects.
Science fiction has often been prophetic and much in this movie has been realised: like the large ornate fireplaces with the gas-fueled flames burning through decorative stones. Business meetings and conferences are held via video link, made easier today with the invention of the internet and webcam. So many homes now have large, wall-mounted TV monitors. How many of us go to sports events as a break from the routine of our lives? Athletes are often given star-status, high-earnings and media exposure.
I was just 12-years-old when I first watched Rollerball, and it instantly became a favorite of mine. It was also the first time I heard the beautiful Adagio, by Tomaso Albinoni, music that has since become a permanent part of my own collection, along with the DVD of this movie.
I have only one comment to make on the atrocious 2002 remake: it deserves to be ignored and forgotten!
Take a long look at where we are as a society and where we’re heading.
Hopefully, our fate is not destined to be played out on a hardwood track slicked with blood.
How many of us will be like Jonathan E and take a stand against it?
The Driver (1978)
“My line of work is kinda hard to come by.”
- Ryan O'Neal, as The Driver.
Walter Hill has made some of the best action thriller movies. His 1978 crime caper The Driver is by-far one of the original and best in the genre and a movie I never tire of watching. The style of the movie is low key, minimalist and lean on characterisation. Writer and director Walter Hill proves that using a lot less can result in a lot more.
The characters are known only by either their job description, or distinguishing features.
Ryan O’Neal is The Driver of the title, a highly skilled getaway driver for hire with a talent for eluding justice. He is a loner and existentialist, a man who speaks and moves only when necessary, but his every word and action are delivered with deliberate purpose. His only form of relaxation and escape seems to be when he listens to Don Williams' songs on his small cassette player.
In the opening scene, he scopes the cars in a multi-storey car park and steals the model most suited to the heist he is about to become involved in.
Isabella Adjani is The Player, a 22-year-old professional gambler and high-class call girl. She emerges from a casino as The Driver, after making an impromptu short-cut by crashing through a wooden fence, pulls up outside. They look at each other for a long moment as he opens the rear door and waits for the two robbers to exit the building with the loot.
Bruce Dern is The Detective, an obsessive, arrogant, antagonistic and abrasive bad cop who has no problem with roughing up suspects and spilling hot coffee onto The Driver’s hands in an effort to provoke him into losing his temper and throwing a punch so he can put him away for two years on a charge of assaulting a police officer. When this fails, The Detective resorts to blackmailing the leader of another gang of criminals into hiring The Driver for a bank heist, hoping to lead The Driver into a trap and scoring a big conviction, turning his pursuit into a game, gambling his badge and pension on capturing him. The Detective threatens the gang with a long term in jail for a supermarket robbery. Disliked by his partners on the case, The Detective recommends reading the sports page of the daily newspaper as preparation for a cop’s working day, holding the same contempt for his fellow cops, regarding them as losers, as much as the criminals he hunts in the course of his duty. Bruce Dern’s harsh and uncompromising performance adds tremendously to the movie and the brief scene at 0:27:49, in which he is standing in a glass-walled elevator, on his way up to further question and harass The Player, observing the lights of the night-time cityscape outside, provides one of the best noir moments.
The Player willingly provides The Driver with an alibi, knowing that he will pay her off. They instantly form a bond, seeing in each other a mirror of their own character. The Detective checks into her past and discovers a shady history he tries to use to blackmail her with. This is The Detectives mistake, his attempt to intimidate her fail and he only succeeds in pushing her closer to The Driver.
Ronee Blackley is The Contact, the go-between who informs The Driver of the gang who wish to hire him for the bank heist.
Tara King plays Frizzy, a receptionist in a cheap, rundown hotel, a role she also played in Walter Hill’s 48 Hours (1983).
The Driver takes an instant dislike to the gang, seeing them for the lowlifes and second-raters they are. They have their first meeting meet in an underground car park and, after one of them challenges The Driver’s expertise he dramatically trashes their car and then turns down their offer.
But after a little taunting by The Detective, The Driver takes up the challenge and accepts the job and increases his price as an added insult to the gang.
The high-speed chase sequences that bookend the movie are realistic as well as exciting, like those of The French Connection (1971) and Bullitt (1968), and the resulting car wreck of the climax is bone-jarring to watch.
Forget the cgi-laden, impossible car chases and stunts of more recent movies and revisit this noir classic where the cars are driven for real … not in a computer!
Fast-paced, gripping, atmospheric and stylish, with an effective soundtrack composed and conducted by Michael Small, The Driver delivers on many levels with a clever twist in the finale.
In the end, when the game has played out, there are no winners, but is it merely financial gain or the thrill of the chase that ultimately drives The Driver?
- Ryan O'Neal, as The Driver.
Walter Hill has made some of the best action thriller movies. His 1978 crime caper The Driver is by-far one of the original and best in the genre and a movie I never tire of watching. The style of the movie is low key, minimalist and lean on characterisation. Writer and director Walter Hill proves that using a lot less can result in a lot more.
The characters are known only by either their job description, or distinguishing features.
Ryan O’Neal is The Driver of the title, a highly skilled getaway driver for hire with a talent for eluding justice. He is a loner and existentialist, a man who speaks and moves only when necessary, but his every word and action are delivered with deliberate purpose. His only form of relaxation and escape seems to be when he listens to Don Williams' songs on his small cassette player.
In the opening scene, he scopes the cars in a multi-storey car park and steals the model most suited to the heist he is about to become involved in.
Isabella Adjani is The Player, a 22-year-old professional gambler and high-class call girl. She emerges from a casino as The Driver, after making an impromptu short-cut by crashing through a wooden fence, pulls up outside. They look at each other for a long moment as he opens the rear door and waits for the two robbers to exit the building with the loot.
Bruce Dern is The Detective, an obsessive, arrogant, antagonistic and abrasive bad cop who has no problem with roughing up suspects and spilling hot coffee onto The Driver’s hands in an effort to provoke him into losing his temper and throwing a punch so he can put him away for two years on a charge of assaulting a police officer. When this fails, The Detective resorts to blackmailing the leader of another gang of criminals into hiring The Driver for a bank heist, hoping to lead The Driver into a trap and scoring a big conviction, turning his pursuit into a game, gambling his badge and pension on capturing him. The Detective threatens the gang with a long term in jail for a supermarket robbery. Disliked by his partners on the case, The Detective recommends reading the sports page of the daily newspaper as preparation for a cop’s working day, holding the same contempt for his fellow cops, regarding them as losers, as much as the criminals he hunts in the course of his duty. Bruce Dern’s harsh and uncompromising performance adds tremendously to the movie and the brief scene at 0:27:49, in which he is standing in a glass-walled elevator, on his way up to further question and harass The Player, observing the lights of the night-time cityscape outside, provides one of the best noir moments.
The Player willingly provides The Driver with an alibi, knowing that he will pay her off. They instantly form a bond, seeing in each other a mirror of their own character. The Detective checks into her past and discovers a shady history he tries to use to blackmail her with. This is The Detectives mistake, his attempt to intimidate her fail and he only succeeds in pushing her closer to The Driver.
Ronee Blackley is The Contact, the go-between who informs The Driver of the gang who wish to hire him for the bank heist.
Tara King plays Frizzy, a receptionist in a cheap, rundown hotel, a role she also played in Walter Hill’s 48 Hours (1983).
The Driver takes an instant dislike to the gang, seeing them for the lowlifes and second-raters they are. They have their first meeting meet in an underground car park and, after one of them challenges The Driver’s expertise he dramatically trashes their car and then turns down their offer.
But after a little taunting by The Detective, The Driver takes up the challenge and accepts the job and increases his price as an added insult to the gang.
The high-speed chase sequences that bookend the movie are realistic as well as exciting, like those of The French Connection (1971) and Bullitt (1968), and the resulting car wreck of the climax is bone-jarring to watch.
Forget the cgi-laden, impossible car chases and stunts of more recent movies and revisit this noir classic where the cars are driven for real … not in a computer!
Fast-paced, gripping, atmospheric and stylish, with an effective soundtrack composed and conducted by Michael Small, The Driver delivers on many levels with a clever twist in the finale.
In the end, when the game has played out, there are no winners, but is it merely financial gain or the thrill of the chase that ultimately drives The Driver?
Carrie (1976)
“I got invited to the prom.”
- Cissy Spacek, as Carrie white.
Brian De Palma’s adaptation of Stephen King’s novel succeeds on levels that not many horror movies ever have: it is both chilling and heart-breaking.
We are first introduced to Carrie White (Cissy Spacek) in an opening scene that sets the tone for the entire movie, as she fumbles a play, resulting in her team losing a volley ball game. One bully, Norma (P.J. Soles), slaps her with a baseball cap moments before another, Chris Hargenson (Nancy Allen), informs her that she eats shit!
Carrie is small, fragile and vulnerable, the school misfit and outcast everyone bullies when they aren’t ignoring. However, by underestimating Carrie, her tormentors have made the biggest mistake of their lives. Carrie is gifted with telekinesis, which we see as a power-spike of her emotions whenever she reaches a peak of her anguish or rage: the light bulb exploding in the ceiling of the shower room, an ashtray spinning from a desktop, a cruel child suddenly from his bike after chanting at her: “crazy Carrie”, mirrors shattering, windows and shutters slamming closed.”
Home life proves to be equally as hellish as the hours she endures at school. She’s ruled over and punished at every turn by her deranged, religious maniac mother, superbly portrayed by Piper Laurie.
Upon discovering that Carrie has begun to menstruate, her mother immediately jumps to the conclusion that it’s God punishing her for some sin she believes she must be guilty of committing. After ranting twisted dogma, Margaret White drags Carrie kicking and screaming into a small closet, where she makes her stay for hours, praying to a strange-looking effigy. In later scenes, Margaret tells her: “pimples are the Lord’s way of chastising you” and refers to women’s breasts as “dirty pillows”. Then she resorts to self-harming, scratching her own face and yanking at her hair because she is losing her hold over Carrie.
Amy Irving plays Sue Snell, seemingly the only student in the entire school with a conscience. She feels guilty after joining the others and mocking Carrie in the shower room and persuades her boyfriend, Tommy Ross (William Katt) to take her to the prom as a way of redeeming herself. Unbeknownst to her, chief bully Chris has plans of her own for Carrie, the prank to top them all, the ultimate humiliation in front of the entire school.
At first, Carrie and her compassionate gym teacher, Miss Collins (Betty Buckley), are suspicious of Tommy’s motivations, fearing that they are attempting to set her up again. But Carrie finally gives in and agrees to be his prom date.
My favorite scene is the dance they share during the prom. It’s perfectly filmed as the camera and directions spin in one direction and they turn the opposite way as they dance. Carrie shares her first kiss with Tommy and her suspicions evaporate as he puts her mind at ease and confesses that the poem he wrote during class, which she loved, wasn’t his work. They laugh and spin faster, as the music swells to the lyrics: “I Never Dreamed Someone Like You (Could Love Someone Like Me)”, beautifully sung by Katie Irving. At this point, Carrie, caught up in the magic of the moment, is at her happiest and she believes that she has finally been accepted and her life has changed for the better. Cissy Spacek is superb in the role and it’s impossible not to feel sympathy for the character she plays. Her joy and childlike innocence is also well portrayed in an earlier scene at the pharmacy, as she experiments with lipsticks.
We see Carrie at her best, beautiful inside and out, before she is humiliated for the last time and we see the worst side of her rage. She takes her revenge in a scene bathed in a blood-red light, matching the blood her tormentors have drenched her in.
Albeit a horror movie, this is a powerful examination of victimization and it’s consequences for perpetrators and innocent bystanders alike – the latter of which happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time (as is often sadly true in real life) when Carrie was pushed over the edge.
Can Carrie be blamed for venting her wrath on the perpetrators who played one prank too many?
How far is too far?
Carrie is one of those rare horror movies with a great script, humorous and terrifying by equal measure, classily directed and brilliantly acted throughout, giving the movie a beating heart at the core and one of the best shock endings in movie history.
Watch out for the quiet ones; they can often be hiding the sharpest temper.
- Cissy Spacek, as Carrie white.
Brian De Palma’s adaptation of Stephen King’s novel succeeds on levels that not many horror movies ever have: it is both chilling and heart-breaking.
We are first introduced to Carrie White (Cissy Spacek) in an opening scene that sets the tone for the entire movie, as she fumbles a play, resulting in her team losing a volley ball game. One bully, Norma (P.J. Soles), slaps her with a baseball cap moments before another, Chris Hargenson (Nancy Allen), informs her that she eats shit!
Carrie is small, fragile and vulnerable, the school misfit and outcast everyone bullies when they aren’t ignoring. However, by underestimating Carrie, her tormentors have made the biggest mistake of their lives. Carrie is gifted with telekinesis, which we see as a power-spike of her emotions whenever she reaches a peak of her anguish or rage: the light bulb exploding in the ceiling of the shower room, an ashtray spinning from a desktop, a cruel child suddenly from his bike after chanting at her: “crazy Carrie”, mirrors shattering, windows and shutters slamming closed.”
Home life proves to be equally as hellish as the hours she endures at school. She’s ruled over and punished at every turn by her deranged, religious maniac mother, superbly portrayed by Piper Laurie.
Upon discovering that Carrie has begun to menstruate, her mother immediately jumps to the conclusion that it’s God punishing her for some sin she believes she must be guilty of committing. After ranting twisted dogma, Margaret White drags Carrie kicking and screaming into a small closet, where she makes her stay for hours, praying to a strange-looking effigy. In later scenes, Margaret tells her: “pimples are the Lord’s way of chastising you” and refers to women’s breasts as “dirty pillows”. Then she resorts to self-harming, scratching her own face and yanking at her hair because she is losing her hold over Carrie.
Amy Irving plays Sue Snell, seemingly the only student in the entire school with a conscience. She feels guilty after joining the others and mocking Carrie in the shower room and persuades her boyfriend, Tommy Ross (William Katt) to take her to the prom as a way of redeeming herself. Unbeknownst to her, chief bully Chris has plans of her own for Carrie, the prank to top them all, the ultimate humiliation in front of the entire school.
At first, Carrie and her compassionate gym teacher, Miss Collins (Betty Buckley), are suspicious of Tommy’s motivations, fearing that they are attempting to set her up again. But Carrie finally gives in and agrees to be his prom date.
My favorite scene is the dance they share during the prom. It’s perfectly filmed as the camera and directions spin in one direction and they turn the opposite way as they dance. Carrie shares her first kiss with Tommy and her suspicions evaporate as he puts her mind at ease and confesses that the poem he wrote during class, which she loved, wasn’t his work. They laugh and spin faster, as the music swells to the lyrics: “I Never Dreamed Someone Like You (Could Love Someone Like Me)”, beautifully sung by Katie Irving. At this point, Carrie, caught up in the magic of the moment, is at her happiest and she believes that she has finally been accepted and her life has changed for the better. Cissy Spacek is superb in the role and it’s impossible not to feel sympathy for the character she plays. Her joy and childlike innocence is also well portrayed in an earlier scene at the pharmacy, as she experiments with lipsticks.
We see Carrie at her best, beautiful inside and out, before she is humiliated for the last time and we see the worst side of her rage. She takes her revenge in a scene bathed in a blood-red light, matching the blood her tormentors have drenched her in.
Albeit a horror movie, this is a powerful examination of victimization and it’s consequences for perpetrators and innocent bystanders alike – the latter of which happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time (as is often sadly true in real life) when Carrie was pushed over the edge.
Can Carrie be blamed for venting her wrath on the perpetrators who played one prank too many?
How far is too far?
Carrie is one of those rare horror movies with a great script, humorous and terrifying by equal measure, classily directed and brilliantly acted throughout, giving the movie a beating heart at the core and one of the best shock endings in movie history.
Watch out for the quiet ones; they can often be hiding the sharpest temper.
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