My Top 20 All-Time Favourite Film Composers

These are my personal choices based on:

• how each composer's music affects me emotionally, regardless of what I or others think of the particular movies or other media production in question;
• their ability to score a broad range of totally unique, totally different "soundscapes" from movie to movie, despite having an identifiable signature sound; 
• the degree to which their music complements what appears on screen, assisting in telling the film's story.

Enjoy!

1. John Williams

In my books, no one could touch Sir Boston Pops for the longest time, my earliest childhood memories steeped as they were in the soundtracks for Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Jaws, Superman and E.T. (Never mind Jurassic Park, Schindler's List, Harry Potter, and the gagillion other megafilms his star would get hitched to over the years. I mean, just who does this guy think he is, the twentieth century's Mozart?) And while his scores occasionally resemble Eddy Van Halen's guitar licks - indisputably cool and beyond his peers, yet so convoluted as to grate on the nerves - he is still the undisputed king of the hill. 

2. Hans Zimmer

If anyone can give Williams a run for his money, though, it's this guy. Three things stand out immediately. One, he (or one of his many cohort-proteges from Remote Control Productions) seems to do the music for EVERYTHING. Movies, TV, video games, you name it. (I smell a monopoly.) Two, his ability to create entirely unique music each time out of the gate is apparently limitless. Three, he's remarkably unfettered by any specific style or genre. Don't know what I mean? Just listen to the utterly-unlike-each-other scores for Driving Miss Daisy, The Lion King, Gladiator, Matchstick Men, The Dark Knight, and The Ring, one after the other. Dude's not human.    

3. Alexander Desplat

France's best modern composer threatened to dethrone both Williams and Zimmer in my pantheon when he rifled off a barrage of soaring (and Oscar-nominated) scores in less than a decade: Girl With a Pearl Earring, Syriana, Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, The King's Speech, The Tree of Life, Moonrise Kingdom, Argo, Zero Dark Thirty. When I'm writing a script, searching for inspiration for my own scores, or simply want to sit and contemplate existence, Desplat is my go-to sound guru. 

4. James Horner

From Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan forward, I was a confirmed Horner-Dog. Though his liberal use of tubular bells and rise-and-fall string runs sometimes make his scores feel a little samey at times (compare Khan with Titanic and Braveheart), he's still near the top of his game after nearly four decades in the saddle. (And he has the distinction of writing my all-time favourite score for Ron Howard's A Beautiful Mind.) 

5. Thomas Newman

Like Zimmer, he's done it all for a long, long time and it just keeps getting better and better, from 1984's Reckless to last year's Skyfall. Newman is a bottomless well. And again like Zimmer, he seems as comfortable with a synthesizer as he does with an orchestra. I mean, this guy did Revenge of the Nerds, Desperately Seeking Susan, and Less Than Zero, then followed up with The Shawshank Redemption, American Beauty, and The Green Mile before moving on to Finding Nemo, Wall-E, The Adjustment Bureau, Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and TV's The Newsroom. Come on!

6. Danny Elfman

Tim Burton's fave virtuoso didn't have a clue how to write music after he left the quirly 80's band, Oingo Boingo. But he figured it out and after Pee Wee's Big Adventure, Beetlejuice, Batman, Edward Scissorhands and The Nightmare Before Christmas (just to name a few Burton classics), he took on serious stuff like Delores Claiborne, Good Will Hunting, and Red Dragon before returning to his gothic fairy tale roots with Big Fish, Spiderman, Hellboy 2, Hitchcock, and the upcoming Oz, The Great and Powerful.  No other composer has simultaneously inspired me and freaked me out quite like Elfman. (Well, except maybe for Christopher Young. See #12.)   

7. Rachel Portman

It's no secret that there aren't nearly enough celebrated female composers in Hollywood. Whatever the reasons exactly, I know they're out there somewhere (Lisa Gerrard, Anne Dudley and Shirley Walker come to mind) and wish them well. At the top of the list is Portman, whose scores for A Little Princess, Chocolat, The Cider House Rules, The Manchurian Candidate, Never Let Me Go, and Snow Flower and the Secret Fan dance, play and elicit tears that could fill an ocean. I'm a kid again every time I hear one of her plaintiff violins or hopeful flutes. She just kills me. 

8. James Newton Howard

Hans Zimmer's prolific right-hand man seems to have hit the sweet spot when it comes to opportunities for scoring for both high concept and high art. With over a hundred films under his belt, Howard takes his role as musical storyteller seriously, knowing exactly what to put where to maximize the full-sensory impact of the films he's connected to. For me, it all started with Glengarry Glenn Ross, but his career was in swing for a full decade before that. Then came Falling Down, The Fugitive, Wyatt Earp, Outbreak, Primal Fear, The Devil's Advocate, The Sixth Sense (and all things Shyamalan), I Am Legend, Blood Diamond, The Dark Knight (with Zimmer), It's Complicated, The Hunger Games, The Bourne Legacy. . .sheesh, I could be here all day!  

9. Howard Shore

By the time The Lord of the Rings came out, I'd been enjoying Shore's scores for years without realizing it. Very sneaky, Mr. Shore. And I call myself a David Cronenberg fan! Yes, he's laid down tracks for every one of the Canadian director's films from The Brood to A Dangerous Method, but along the way he somehow also managed to work in The Silence of the Lambs, Mrs. Doubtfire, Philadelphia, Seven, That Thing You Do!, High Fidelity, The Cell, Gangs of New York, Hugo and, of course, The Hobbit. Like Horner, he does tend to repeat himself on occasion, but few composers have been able to pull off the range of musical styles represented in his impressive, Oscar-winning resume.  

10. Ennio Morricone

You don't mess with the legend who did The Good, The Bad and the Ugly and live to tell the tale. No, I don't mean Clint Eastwood. I'm talking about the iconic Italian composer who was born in 1928, has scored for over 500 film and TV productions, and is still scoring films as we speak! (What is the musical equivalent of Viagra? Whatever it is, I'll take two.) Even his works familiar to North American audiences speak for themselves (and I'm skipping literally hundreds of movies to get there): Days of Heaven, La Cage Aux Folles, The Thing, Once Upon A Time in America, The Mission, The Untouchables, Frantic, Casualties of War, Hamlet, Bugsy, City of Joy, Lolita, Bulworth, and Malena.    

11. Clint Mansell
The former lead singer of UK band Pop Will Eat Itself buddied up with Trent Reznor in the late 90s before landing two back-to-back gigs with director Darren Aronofsky on Pi and Requiem for a Dream (the latter with the Kronos Quartet). After this, came Suspect Zero, The Fountain, Smokin' Aces, Definitely, Maybe, Black Swan, Moon, and the video game, Mass Effect 3. For sheer cool factor, innovation, and mood, Mansell makes my list.

12. Christopher Young
Few composers apply ice directly to my skeleton like Mr. Young. Here's why: Hellraiser, A Nightmare on Elm Street 2, Flowers in the Attic, The Fly 2, Species, Copycat, Urban Legend, The Grudge, The Exorcism of Emily Rose, The Uninvited and Drag Me To Hell. (To be fair, he's also had his fair share of solid dramas, including Hard Rain, The Hurricane, Wonder Boys, The Shipping News, and Runaway Jury.) You'd think I'd have his formula for inducing fear figured out by now. Starting with a few safe, melancholic chords designed to lull one into a false sense of security, there suddenly cascades from the darkness a terrifying barrage of discordant strings that pretty much makes you want to run for your life. Gets me every time. Gawd!

13. Harry Gregson-Williams

Two things surprised me about 2007`s sleeper hit, Gone Baby Gone: that Ben Affleck directed it (great comeback, Sir Gigli) and the haunting score by another Zimmer disciple. As with Howard Shore, I'd dug his music for some time without knowing his name in great films like Smila's Sense of Snow, The Replacement Killers, Shrek, Veronica Guerin, Domino, and The Chronicles of Narnia. He followed up Gone, Baby, Gone with The Taking of Pelham 123, Prince of Persia, and Afleck's next hit, The Town. His music was my constant soundtrack throughout film school. Great stuff to write to.

14. Carter Burwell

New York City boy and former cartoonist, Burwell's quirky scores have helped the Coen Brothers deliver cinematic goodies like Blood Simple, Fargo, Burn After Reading, and True Grit. Filling the spaces between were The Hudsucker Proxy, Rob Roy, Conspiracy Theory, Gods and Monsters, Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, In Bruges, The Kids Are Alright, A Serious Man and Seven Psychopaths. And I'm just getting started. 

15. A.R. Rahman
Before this veteran, internationally-celebrated Indian composer came to the attention of North America thanks to a little film called Slumdog Millionaire, he was already dubbed "the Mozart of Madras". A master at synthesizing the sounds of east and west, his unique dramatic style earned him a gig on the critically-acclaimed (and Oscar-nominated) 127 Hours, even as he continued to score film after film in Bollywood. Slumdog continues to be one of my all-time favourite soundtracks, but don't stop there. There's plenty more where that came from.

16. Maurice Jarre

Sadly gone four years now, Jarre was another legend with a resume chock full of seminal work as influential and engaging in 1999's Sunshine as it was in 1962's Lawrence of Arabia. In between, he scored dozens of classic films including Doctor Zhivago, Gambit, The Man Who Would Be King, TV's Jesus of Nazareth, The Year of Living Dangerously, A Passage to India, Witness, Fatal Attraction, Dead Poets Society, Ghost, Jacob's Ladder, and the Jeff Bridges masterpiece, Fearless. Though hardly a classic, I must add Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, simply because I was 15 at the time and thought the movie rocked! Thank you, Mr. Jarre. You are truly missed.

17. Vangelis
With only a few films to his credit (though many more albums besides), Evangelos Odysseas Papathanassiou (please, call him Vangelis) nonetheless changed forever the way movies would incorporate music. In the early 80s, synthesizers were largely relegated to the few New Wave bands who dared to pass them off as "legitimate" instruments and the resulting sound as "legitimate" music. You certainly didn't use them as the musical backbone for a serious, mainstream Hollywood film. Then came Vangelis' Academy Award-winning score for Chariots of Fire (1981) and electronica was off to the races. He followed up with the infinitely-praiseworthy soundtrack for Blade Runner, then receded slowly on the horizon with Mask, 1492, and Oliver Stone's critical bomb, Alexander. But not without leaving a permanent mark on film for which every composer since has been eternally grateful. 

18. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross

Sure they've only scored a couple of major Hollywood movies (not including Reznor`s work on Seven and Ross's on Book of Eli), but those movies were The Social Network and The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo! You don't even have to be a Nine Inch Nails fan to enjoy and appreciate Reznor's genius here, although it doesn't hurt. In terms of capturing texture and tone to help convey the essence of a films' story, while at the same time presenting something we've never heard before, no one beats these guys who in their industrial, John Cage-y prime.

19. Cliff Martinez

Where has this guy been all my life? Maybe it's because his music sits so perfectly in the background, stealthily creating mood and ambiance without ever getting in the way, that I was able to overlook his music. At least until I was T-boned by his hypnotic score for 2011's Drive, (which quickly became my "Saturday Night Fever strut" music to and from school - paint can, not included). Check out any or all of the following: Sex, Lies and Videotape, Pump Up The Volume, The Limey, Traffic, Narc Solaris, Contagion, Arbitrage, and The Company You Keep.

20. Air
One of my favourite bands ever, France's Air has been pumping out masterpieces since the late 90s, including Premiers Symptomes, Moon Safari, 10,000 Hertz Legend, and Talkie Walkie. Though they've only  scored one film to date, Sofia Coppola's The Virgin Suicides, that soundtrack remains one of the coolest around.

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Honourable Mention:

Of course, I'll be pummeled by my closest friends if I don't include some of the following out of sheer respect (especially landmark composers like Bernard Herman, Jerry Goldsmith, Philip Glass, Nino Rota, and the Bernsteins). So without further ado, here are a host of others that could have easily made my list of 20 faves (by last name, not importance), but for whom there simply wasn't room:  

Craig Armstrong, Tyler Bates, John Barry, Elmer Bernstein, Leonard Bernstein, Terrence Blanchard, Ludovic Bource, John Brion, Mychael Danna, The Chemical Brothers, Bill Conti, John Debney, Ramin Djawadi, Tan Dun, Clint Eastwood, Peter Gabriel, Michael Giacchino, Elliot Goldenthal, Bernard Herman, Jerry Goldsmith, Philip Glass, Jonny Greenwood, Nicholas Hooper, Alberto Iglesias, Mark Isham, Jonsi, David Julyan, Shim Hyun Jung, Jan Kaczmarek, Abel Korzeniowski, Jesper Kyd, Paul Leonard-Morgan. Henry Mancini, Alan Menken, Javier Navarrete, Randy Newman, John Ottman, John Powell, Daft Punk, Max Richter, Graham Reynolds, Nino Rota, Garry Schyman, Edward Shearmur, Jeremy Soule, Yann Tiersen, Gabriel Yared, and Marcelo Zarvos.

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Write Now #3: Get Real & Study the Craft

It's my observation that there are two kinds of writers, and for that matter, two kinds of professionals in any field: Those who think they can do it completely on their own and those who feel they could benefit by learning a few things from others.

I hear from members of the first group all the time: "Come on, you don't need to go to school to become a good writer. You don't need to read books. What do those guys really know, anyway? Writing isn't some formula or technical process. What fun is that? When you sit down to write a story, you just feel it, man. The muse just hits you. You've either got the jam or you don't."

Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of jam. I agree wholeheartedly that all of the bottom-line raw materials for success - talent, passion, ability and drive - reside within. Unless you want to succeed, and are prepared to put your whole self into it, you won't. And sheer determination, combined with a natural flair for writing and a ton of practice, can take a person a long way. My guess is you already know that because you've experienced it. You've written stuff that that has surprised you and that others have said is anything from half decent to bloody brilliant. And when we get that kind of affirmation and experience the rush of excitement that comes from putting pen to page (especially when we're young), there's a natural temptation to want to bask in the glow of how we did it all by ourselves.

But to stay there, to believe that we don't need a little help along the way to becoming the best writer we could be, is, to put it mildly, a mistake. Because contrary to what some of us artist types think, good writing is a science. It doesn't just come out of the ether, out of our heads, or any other body part for that matter. We can read Dostoevsky or Larrson or Picoult and conclude that they "just got it", then spend the rest of our lives trying to "get it". Trying to catch and bottle their magic by simply reading enough of their books, memoirs and interviews. But if we're really paying attention, it's only a matter of time before we realize that their genius was no accident, no product of an extraterrestrial talent they possessed but which we do not.

The simple truth is that they took the time to learn how to write. They stuck their egos on shelves long enough to realize that talent and passion only go so far. They read books. They spent time with other successful writers. They latched onto a mentor. They studied how stories work, how they're constructed, how they assemble and utilize a cast of compelling characters, and build to a satisfying end. In other words, for a time they silenced their inner artistes and became scientists and business people. They found out what works, what truly satisfies readers, and what sells. This should be good news because it means that becoming a great writer is much closer and easier than we thought.

Concluding that a person doesn't need to take the time to learn how to write is simply a classic of case of "you don't know what you don't know". Until you actually sit down and see how things like theme, plot structure, character arcs, inciting incidents, escalating conflict, and "all-is-lost" moments contribute to effective storytelling, it might seem logical to assume that good writing boils down to simply having a way with words. In the same way that Mozart just had a "way" with the piano, Tiger Woods just has a "way" with a club, or President Obama just has a "way" with people. I think you get the point.

Writing may be an art, and you may have picked up the idea along the way that art is all about guts, intuition, and mystical influences, but good art (and certainly successful, marketable art) is also an applied science. If you don't like the way that tastes, get a glass of juice to wash it down, then go buy a good book on the subject and watch your writing start to improve within days if not immediately. Then consider taking a few classes. That's what I did and I've never regretted it.

Speaking of books, here are a few that have been a massive help to me. None of them are perfect. Some of them disagree on small points. But if you pick two or three and draw a circle around the big stuff they have in common (trust me, it won't take long), I promise they'll take you places in your writing that you didn't even know existed.

1. The Anatomy of Story (John Truby)
2. The Writer's Journey (Christopher Vogler)
3. Save the Cat and Save The Cat Goes To The Movies (Blake Snyder)
4. Story (Robert McKee)
5. Inside Story (Dara Marks)
6. Making a Good Script Great (Linda Seger)
7. Writing Screenplays That Sell (Michael Hauge)
8. How to Become A Famous Writer Before You're Dead (Ariel Gore)

Best of luck!

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My Resolutions for 2013

Computer, coffee, conscience - all systems go. Let's begin:

1. Meditate, reflect and relax my spirit for at least 20 minutes each morning and evening. Sprinkle the resulting good karma liberally at work and play. 

2. Appreciate, support and make love to my wife every day. (Proceed immediately to #6 to find the strength.)

3. Unless absolutely unavoidable, get to bed by or before 10pm. Every. Single. Night.

4. Consult a doctor re: my overall health. Comprehensive check, blood work, the works. Ask re: any questionable aches, pains, warning signs before they become a pain in the ass. Literally.

5. Consult a nutritionist about the diet that will achieve optimum health. (Something's got to be at the root of all this flatulence.)

6. Follow a regular, daily exercise plan that is simple, doable, and enjoyable. (Yoga, stretches, weights, red wine - whatever's required to strengthen my core, tone my muscles, and maintain my general sexiness.)

7. Brush and floss regularly. (As my grandad always used to say, keep the teeth God gave you.)

8. Map out a plan to reduce and eliminate debt. Take steps post-haste. Dream of winning the lottery, but remember, it's just a dream.

9. Consult a financial advisor re: preparations for retirement. (The last 20 years went by in a flash; I don't expect the next 20 to get any slower.)

10. Put aside money for fun (travel, entertainment, a better hairdresser, etc.).

11. Religiously avoid diverting money put aside for #10-12 to peppermint mochas, no matter how much you miss those little candy cane sprinkles.

12. Parent my kids with maximum intentionality, listening to their hearts, goals, fears and concerns, holding them accountable, helping them build plans for their future, and refusing to stop loving them. (They're teenagers, so yes, I have to remind myself on that last one.)

13. Writing-wise, maintain and finalize current projects, while (a) completing 1-3 scripts, (b) making progress on 1 book, and (c) blogging regularly. All other activity (including reading, PS3-ing, and internet "research") is secondary.

14. Continue to build and rigorously maintain solid, productive relationships with industry people who can move my writing and film career forward. (All work and no shmoozing makes Paul a dull boy. And a virtual unknown.)

15. Track all writing competitions and opportunities, and (sound of whip cracking) "submit, mule, submit!" 

I can do this!  Now where's my yoga mat?

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Write Now #2: Embrace the Business Side of Writing

Here's a story we've all heard before.

As a rule, we writers spend as much time as possible drinking coffee, pondering the human experience, and desperately trying to funnel the end product into a story idea or two. In the process, we sometimes forget to eat, sleep, pay our bills, or wear pants, to the occasional amusement (and semi-regular hand-wringing) of those with whom we share beds and/or bathroom space.

But, we remind them, there is good reason for all of this: we are artists, with bigger fish to fry than what these admittedly non-literary types refer to as “the responsibilities of real life”. What about the responsibilities of a writer seeking to radically reshape the thinking of an entire generation via the printed page? I mean, just who do they think they are, anyway? Sure, they look at us funny when we say this and drop silly, empty threats like, “I’m going to leave you if you don’t start bathing.” But that’s because they just don’t get it.

Or so the Bohemian dream goes.  A dream inherited from beloved (and notably neurotic, single, alcoholic and/or suicidal) hero-artists like Ernest Hemmingway, Hunter S. Thompson, Jackson Pollock, and Mozart. (Throw in Nick Cage’s fictionalized version of Charlie Kauffman in Adaptation, just to comfort the screenwriters among us.)  Creativity comes from chaos, we reassure ourselves. Ergo, the more chaotic the artist, the more brilliant the art. Right?

Maybe. Or maybe not at all.

It is true that these mad geniuses produced some truly innovative and brilliant works of literature, art and music that changed the world. And I don’t doubt that the ghosts and demons haunting their mental hallways played a role in the creative process, as is true for all artists. But please forgive my reluctance at using their various cognitive, emotional and social disorders as some kind of artistic blueprint to follow on my own writer’s journey. Call me Mr. Buzz-Kill, but I believe the true source of good writing is far less tragic, infused with much less magic, and fundamentally mundane: it is the result of organized, disciplined, hard work.

It's also a ton of fun, of course. When a great idea strikes, it’s like getting hit with a tidal wave and solar flare at the same time, but in a good way.  You’re at the mall, on a bus, or reading the morning paper, and suddenly a premise or a character pops out of nowhere. Weeks of writer’s block come crumbling down in an instant, you grab and pen and piece of paper and within minutes, have the spine of your next novel or screenplay. You phone a confidante and spill your guts, not caring if they love it or not because you love it, and that’s all the matters. And when other people read it or see it, they’re going to love it, too. Your story is going to change lives. That’s the fun part. It’s why we write!

Then comes the hard part: actually writing the story. That’s where the “hard work” comes in. And any way you slice it, this is the stage where the artist in you has to shake hands with the business person in you.

That’s right, I called you a business person. Sue me. For some of us artist types, the moniker induces a kind of Pavlovian nausea, conjuring up images of blood-sucking multinationals, sharks in suits and personal heroes-turned-sellouts. I mean, what have sacred artists to do with the profane world of business? “Business” is what artists satirize, lambast, and decry. It isn’t what artists do.

If that’s you, put down the brush (or the pencil or the guitar or the laptop), find a mirror, curl your hand comfortably into a fist, and knock your skull three times while shouting, “Hellooo!” Repeat as required. The sooner you make peace with the fact that successful artists are good at managing the business side of their art, the better. Especially if you want to sell your work in the end. That`s right, I said “sell.” Get over it.

To clarify, I’m not just talking about being able to navigate the industry, deal with agents, and sign contracts. Important as all that is, I’m addressing something more fundamental. I’m talking about the deeply personal business of you getting your story written. I’d be dead and all my best ideas with me if I didn’t do this, which, in my experience, comes down to doing five basic things:

1. Organizing myself: Listing and ranking my story ideas. Listing my writing goals and milestones. Establishing deadlines. Building a writing schedule. Keeping everything stored and filed for easy access.
2. Disciplining myself. Getting honest about how personal habits and lifestyle areas are impacting my writing, and adjusting accordingly. Shutting out distractions. Turning off the TV or internet. Sticking to my schedule. Monitoring and managing my emotions. Keeping a running list of new story ideas, but always staying focused on my priority projects. Ditching the computer now and again for family or “me” time (work-life balance).
3. Marketing myself. Until I sell that novel or screenplay, how else can I put my writing talents to use? Where can I network? What competitions, meetings or workshops are coming up? What writing groups can I join? Find out! Meanwhile, build a killer portfolio. Update my resume and customize it appropriately. Get business cards made. Build a website or blog.
4. Educating and expanding myself. Read, study, view, rub shoulders with other writers to improve my writing skills. Stretch myself beyond the forms and genres I’m most comfortable with and consider any writing project. Above all, remember that the best learning comes from experience, so get outside, meet people, and keep my eyes and ears open.  But careful on this one because in the end, I’ve still got to. . .
5. Write, Mule, Write! Organizing, disciplining, marketing and educating myself isn’t the work. Writing is. Those other things help create the process and environment that enable me to write with the greatest degree of freedom and potential for success. But they must never be allowed to become the work. With this in mind, no day shall pass without pen hitting paper.

Face it, if we want to succeed as writers, we’re going to have to figure out how to marry the art of our chosen profession with the business of it. In short, we’re going to have to do it like it’s our job. By the way, I’m not just talking about what it’s going to take to make a living as a writer. That would be great. No, I’m talking about getting anything written at all.

There’s one other benefit to treating writing like a business: it helps us zero in on stories people actually want to read or watch. I like the way John Truby puts it in his classic The Anatomy of Story:

“You should always writer first for yourself; write what you care about. But you shouldn’t write only for yourself. One of the biggest mistakes writers make is to fall into the trap of either-or thinking: either I write what I care about or I write what will sell. This a false distinction, born of the old romantic notion of writing in a garret and suffering for your art. . .Remember, you will have many more ideas in your life than you can possibly develop as full stories. Always try to write something that you care about and also think will appeal to an audience. Your writing should mean a lot to you personally. But writing for an audience makes it a lot easier to do what you love.”

What writer doesn’t want that?

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Write Now #1: Find Stories Wherever You Are

"It's over," Rachel yells as she drops her fork loudly. "Why can't you get that?"

Embarrassed, Steven scans the restaurant then glares back at her in a weak attempt to preserve what little dignity he has left.

"Keep your voice down," he hisses back. "This isn't the time or place."

"It's never the time or place," she counters.

Steven rises abruptly.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he declares. "You'd better still be here when I get back."

He brushes the crumbs like bad karma from his shirt and storms off. Nine feet away and failing to mind my own business, I write down every word before tucking my note pad away and pouring two cups of coffee for table twelve.

I have no idea what their real names are or why they chose to break up on a beautiful Sunday morning at the restaurant where I work. But I'm sure glad they did. It's going to make a hell of a story.

Meanwhile, an 80-something couple sits side-by-side at a booth by the front door, oblivious to "Rachel" and "Steven" as they work their way through a crossword puzzle and flirt with all the playfulness of lovers one-quarter their age. Oh, life's crazy little juxtapositions. And another great story.

One might argue that I shouldn't stick my nose where it doesn't belong. To that I say, I'm a writer, a busybody by trade, ever in search of a good story and delighted to find one wherever I can. I don`t wish the aforementioned unhappy couple any ill will and I`ll certainly work hard to maintain their anonymity, but I'd be a fool to turn a blind eye to their misery since that's where real life happens. Real life that translates into great ideas, which in turn produce the inspiring and/or cautionary tales that guide eager readers and audiences on their own journeys.

Unless you're Paul Haggis or Nora Ephron, writing isn't a full-time gig. It's fleeting, piecemeal, by contract, part-time, and more often than not, a thankless work of passion. Which means most of us have to take whatever jobs we can waiting tables, installing home theatre systems, or hawking our store's upcoming spring collection, aching for those precious, few hours at the end of the day when we can finally drop in front of our computers to dream up stories we hope will propel us to fame and fortune, or at least to something vaguely resembling full-time work. No sympathy required or expected - we chose this. Nonetheless, in said predicament, it can be easy to languish, to second-guess, to descend into self-pity, all the while resenting an industry that seems hell-bent on picking favourites and making life for the rest of us literary hopefuls so damned difficult.

You're thinking all this, certain beyond a doubt that your day job is wasting your valuable time as it slowly sucks the last drops of creative energy from your veins, when suddenly a couple begins shouting at each on the other side of the room. Or on the other side of the store. Or at the bus stop. Or wherever you happen to find yourself.

"Wait, what's this," you mutter.

Without warning, curiosity replaces despair. Ennui gives way to "Oh my!" The sense that life as a writer is over is consumed by a killer opening scene and the seeds of a compelling first act. Hopelessness gives way to restlessness - the good kind, out of which great stories are born, nurtured, and raised to adulthood.

In other words, that which you thought life was denying you was there all along - at your disposal, ready to be tapped, mined, and organized into the beats of your next big novel or screenplay! You just needed a good, swift kick to the ankles to realize it. Imagine what would happen if you started each day with a plan to actually look for these little gems, and a grateful heart for the crappy job that provides so many of them?

Now turn to the left. Turn the right. There it is: a story waiting to happen! But for heaven's sake, stop staring!

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The Job Hunt, Pt 2: Film School Was Totally Worth It

Nicholas Humphries, director and instructor at VFS

And, boom! That's how quickly two months fly by. Really? Sixty-six days since my last post? And I call myself a writer.

Speaking of writing, here's how that has been going lately: Much better than expected.

I'd love to be able to say the two restaurant jobs I secured since last I blogged have shut me in a dank, overworked, computerless prison where creativity deigns to tap me on the shoulder for fear I'll resentfully snap back, "Later!" (I say I'd love to only because it would make for a more tragic and compelling tale. Ah, we writers, always in search of an "angle", even if we have to pull it from our own wretched, if occasionally-hyperbolized, life experience. Sick, huh?) Yes, I now find myself working seven days a week in two uniforms not of my own choosing, taking orders and doling out martinis. Yes, this former oil field manager whose salary once kissed six figures occasionally pines for the good old days.

But the truth is, shortly after graduating from Vancouver Film School, I was able to secure a writing job, too. That`s right, a bona fide (and get this, paid) job as a co-writer on a sizable indie feature film set for production next summer. I can't give away a lot of details, but it's an Indian-American love story with all the ingredients of a truly great movie, and I have the equally great fortune of working in a room filled with committed, passionate souls that resembles those heady student workshops I loved and miss so much. And did I mention I'm getting paid? Not in credits, nachos and beer, either. I'm talking real money!

On top of that, I landed four gigs (most of them paid) composing music for various productions: A promo reel for Vancouver's Cineworks, a commercial for HootSuite, a corporate promo video for Timedrops Media, and a short horror film.

Meanwhile, I've got four other projects on the boil: an original feature of my own, a web series, a biography, and a teleplay I keep promising Sir Michael Baser I'll send him for review one day. (It's coming, Michael, it's coming.) All gratis, of course, but proof that there is life after film school if one is determined to fight for it. Many of my fellow former students would say the same. Matt is collaborating with a solid team on a feature. Piers is hard at work on his own web series. Hannah recently got roped in to a TV show! I could go on. The point is, whether still in the planning stages, just getting started or already ten miles down the road, we`re all very much on the move.

(Hence my online absence in the blog department. I`ll try not to let it happen again.)

I take all of this is an unequivocal validation that going to film school was worth it. Worth the cost, the time, the sleepless, angst-filled nights, the punctuated equilibrium of our life trajectories. Whatever precisely comes of our individual hopes, dreams, and collaborations; whichever projects languish in writer's purgatory, burst forth with wild success, or fizzle into nothing, I believe it's fair now, a short three months after graduating, to drive a flag deep into the ground and claim a victory for Vancouver Film School. And for us. They did it and we did it. Point being, we couldn't have done it without each other.

As I've said in previous posts, I can't speak for the experience of every student in every department. Maybe writers instinctively look for silver linings, I don't know. But I don't think so. Because I'm looking at a script and a pay stub with my name on it. You know, that thing scientists call "proof"?

So if you're an anxious but aspiring film school student wondering if all that tuition and a potentially big and inconvenient move west is worth the bother, take this occasionally-not-so-humble writer's word for it: Yes, it is very worth it.

But take heed: those of us who have found some measure of success have done so for a reason. And that is, we gave it everything. We weren't geniuses. We weren't necessarily the very best writers in the world. (Okay, I'll speak for myself.) But we showed up in class, did the work, had a realistic view of what miracles VFS could and couldn't accomplish for us, and in the words of a well-known astronaut, never gave up and never surrendered.

If you can do that, I dare say it's infinity and beyond for you, too!

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The Job Hunt, Pt. 1: You Are Not Alone

Shhhh, be vewy, vewy quiet. It's job huntin' season.

It’s two a.m. and I’m awakened from a dream in which I take home the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay by my cat, meowing to be let out. I am tempted to throw a shoe, roll over and ignore him (as is my usual custom), when a solitary word suddenly projects itself on the movie screen of my mind and sends me to the side of the bed in a cold sweat: Rent.

I search frantically for my Oscar, but it’s nowhere to be found. I sigh, grab my glasses from the nightstand, and head for the kitchen.

A swirl of sleepy yet utterly lucid thoughts follows me in my quest for a glass of milk.

Out of film school a month now. Rent due in seventeen days and I still haven’t found a job. Bills already a month behind. Two jobs may be necessary, although right now one would be nice.

I open the fridge and grab a bottle of Sunny D instead. Panic and self-doubt begin to compete for space in my brain. I don’t remember inviting either of them.

You had a perfectly good job in Alberta. Secure. Stable. Sweet money. Oil money.

I pour a glass, sit down at the dining table, and find my own reflection in the sliding glass window. I make faces at myself, but myself fails to find the humour in it.  

You had a house, two cars, a dog, half the debt. You could hit the pillow at night and sleep the sleep of the dead.

I turn to a stack of resumes on the chair beside me for solace, but they offer small comfort. I turn on my laptop and review the list of jobs I’ve applied to, recall the pavement thus far pounded. Forty-six and counting. Like the unemployed characters in my nascent web series, Men 4 Rent, I carefully weigh the pros and cons of becoming a dog sitter, a bodyguard for rich seniors, a male escort, an international jewel thief. Nothing sticks. 

But oh no, you just had to go and become a writer!

I open a browser and begin searching for work. Again. I find an article that tells me the average job hunt lasts six months. Encouraged by this good news, I click on another article that prescribes visualization and belly breathing as ways to relieve the stress of unemployment. I close my eyes and try to imagine a rainbow-covered wheat field littered with hundred dollar bills and spritely Hollywood producers calling me by my first name as they prance like pagans around a shrine built in honour of my first feature screenplay. I ponder how belly breathing differs from regular breathing.

The cat scratches at the window, still waiting to be let out. Get stuffed, I think in his direction, though not in those words.

Then I see it and all my fears melt away. A small, blue and red book sitting quietly on a shelf as if it had been waiting all week just to remind me that this, too, shall pass. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. (Ah yes, Miss Rowling, you know what it’s like.) And to the left, David Copperfield. (As do you, Charles.) And to the right, a biography of Walt Disney, who was told in a time of great personal poverty – and I quote – he “lacked imagination and had no good ideas” by the newspaper editor who then proceeded to fire him.

Alright, I get it: I'll find something if I simply keep at it. 

Stay positive.

Stay focused.

Stay connected to your network.

Remember who you are, what you love, why you're on this planet.
And no matter what, don’t. . .stop. . .writing!

I close my laptop, throw back the last of my highly-processed (but totally delicious) simulated orange drink, and stand, bleary-eyed but resolute.

Alright, cat. You can go out now. While you’re out there, you want to find me a job? Or a rabbit, whichever comes first.   

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My First IMDb Credit: Musical Score for "Away"

My first official IMDb credit for the musical score to Carlos Martinez's "Away", produced by Grace Smith in association with Vancouver Film School.

Listed September 6, 2012.

Exciting and surreal. Not quite the same as an Oscar and one day (hopefully) I'll look back and say, "Yeah, I guess that was a big deal?" But for now, it's a big milestone.

Gonna go make me a peanut butter and honey sandwich to celebrate!

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We Graduated! Now What?

Also published on Vancouver Film School's Blog (Friday, September 14, 2012)

We did it! A year ago, a few hundred of us assembled at Scotiabank Theatre for orientation, ready to learn, to prove ourselves, and ultimately, to conquer the world. On August 17, we graduated in a blaze of glory and gushy goodbyes.

Now I'm sitting here in my underwear, scrolling through the classifieds, desperately looking for any place showing even the remotest sign of considering me as an employee. Disney, CBC, Starbucks. Sigh. Such is life.

It's been over a month since my last entry. I promised myself I'd wait a week after graduating before blogging, partly to work the emotion and booze out of my system, mostly just to process a coherent thought before jotting down a worthy final chapter. Now here I sit. The computer's on. The coffee's poured. Here goes.

Time is a funny, elusive thing. Actually, it isn't a thing at all. Even as a concept, I can't quite pin it down. You have it, then it's gone. Life hands you more, and before you have time (ah, there it is) to say thank you, life takes the damn stuff back. For example, it feels like about five minutes ago that I completed my first class (a lecture on copyright law given by Ken Ashdown, August 31, 2011, main theatre), when in reality I've already been out of school nine days. What the hell? Ah, time; there is simply isn't enough of it.

However, if I measure time not as some abstract and cruel force of nature, but as a unit of experience I can ignore or grab hold of at will, it focuses me on the only "time" I really ever have: right now. And that's a good thing. Rummaging through the cupboards for a yummy analogy, I've concluded that time is like the merry-go-round that once stood tall in my elementary school playground: I can either worry about how fast that one unoccupied space keeps passing me by or bend enthusiastically at the knees and get ready to jump aboard. (Remember that one kid who would perpetually watch longingly from afar, afraid to leap? I wonder where he is today.)

What's my point? If this last wonderful, terrifying, clarifying year at Vancouver Film School taught me anything, it's this: life presents one opportunity after another but you've got to grab them while the gettin' is good. Luckily, I came in as a bit of an expert in fumbled chances and missed opportunities, so I was determined not to let anything or anyone pass me by, come hell or high water. Invitation to submit to a writing contest? Submit. Unfamiliar face in the hallway? Introduce yourself. Approaching deadline for an assignment? Don't put it off. Line-up of interesting but irrelevant shows on your PVR? Watch what you must and ignore the rest. Fridge full of beer? Alright, pop a top. Then back to work!

That pretty much explains how I got through this year, assembled a sexy portfolio, and met a whack of people I hope will assist in propelling me to riches and fame. Well, that plus yoga, white wine, and the support of the most courageous woman on the planet. I wanted this year to matter. I needed it to matter. Life's too short, man, and my dreams are too precious to just piss away and mourn at some later date. Whatever the future holds exactly, I'll always be able to tell myself that I threw everything I could at this past year, shook every hand, left no stone unturned. Well, expect for the ones that would have killed me had I added one more thing to my plate. And remembering that will always feel really, really, really good.

Graduation was a blast. Michael Baser, department head and screenwriting legend, waxed eloquent from the front even as he struggled to remember who the hell we were. Golden Bagel Awards (yes, that's right) and other assorted accolades were heaped upon us. Fellow students Kate Pragnell and Jeff McEnery delivered hilarious and touching speeches. As expected, Gillian Muller received all the Top Nerd awards. Piers Rae was voted Miss Congeniality. I took home the Networker of the Year Award, in part for being so incredibly handsome (though Baser will deny this) and also for whoring myself out every chance I got. A slideshow of the year's photos was projected from the back. Tears were shed. Cheeks were kissed. Vows to keep in touch were made.

I usually get a little antsy when a ceremony goes on too long, and ours certainly did. But I didn't care. This was our time, damn it, and I was going to enjoy every last sappy minute of it. Pass the Kleenex, please and thank you. It's simply impossible to spend as much time as we did together - walking through fire, sharing our deepest secrets, exposing ourselves so completely on the page, destroying, massaging and rebuilding each other's egos - and not feel a deep and abiding connection that's closer than we have with some of our own family and closest friends.

And we're going to need that because now it's showtime. A week to rest, maybe two, and then it's back on our feet, ready to do it all over again. For a year, we got to enjoy life in a beautiful bubble. An incredibly packed, tightly scheduled bubble, but a bubble nonetheless. Hey, maybe that's the secret; maybe we can keep living in that bubble! Yeah, yeah, we've got to get jobs, pay bills, etc., but as writers, we also need to make sure the lights in our mental "writer's room" stay on. Maybe it's not so unrealistic after all to think that we can still schedule a little writing time every day. Still get together to workshop each other's scripts and hand each other notes, building up that portfolio, staying tuned in to upcoming contests and festivals, keeping those literary muscles toned and supple. Like we're still going to class every day, pressed to write, chasing a deadline, burning the midnight oil until something finally clicks and our wildest dreams come true.

Maybe there's no maybe about it. Congrats, my forever homies! Now let's do this!

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Advice to a Struggling New Writing Student

Also published on Vancouver Film School's Blog (Friday, July 13, 2012)

Not long ago, my academic advisor, Sir Ryan Jarman, asked me if I’d be willing to talk to a new writing student. This guy (let’s call him Bill) was only into his year-long program about a month and was questioning whether he’d made the right decision or whether he should just bolt while he could rake back some of the (admittedly hefty) tuition he’d forked out.

Fair enough. I mean, if the program’s truly wasn’t up this gentleman’s alley, I could think of a lot of better ways to spend twenty grand! At the same time, I knew from experience that a month or two barely scratches the surface of what the school had to offer.

“Could you sit down with the guy,” Ryan asked, “and tell him what you think.”

So I agreed. I emailed Bill to set up a time to meet. Meanwhile, I started to imagine what his objections might be. Jumping back in my own mental time machine, I tried to remember where my head was at in term one. Granted, no two peoples’ experiences or motivations are exactly alike. But being in term five and knowing a tiny bit about human nature, I figured I could surmise a thing or two that might be irking him:  Was it really worth all that money? Would I really come out a better writer? Would my final portfolio have anything of real substance or worth? Would I actually be ready to work in the industry? Would the industry take me seriously? And what about all the people who go to VFS that never become successful? What about them, hmm?  

The day finally came for Bill and I to meet. I was ten minutes late – my own fault for lingering too long at the end of class to chat with a teacher. I rushed out into the fourth floor computer area and found Bill sitting patiently. I shook his hand and suggested we find someplace quiet. Then, standing in front of 198 Hastings with a rare Vancouver sun as our witness, he opened up.

I prefaced by telling him I wasn’t a VFS rep, that I had no personal stake in trying to persuade him to stay, and that the best I could offer in response was my own experience. He expressed his appreciation for this and then got into it.

It was easy to listen. He was pleasant, intelligent, well-spoken and earnest. He didn`t strike me as arrogant, didn’t hold himself up as too good for the program or too educated already to learn anything new. I didn’t smell fear on him, either. He wasn’t skittish or awkward, as if to suggest that all he needed was a little confidence and he’d be fine. And the guy clearly loved to write. He’d done it before, had even taken a few classes at the post-secondary level, and knew he wanted to do this for a living.

“So what’s bugging you,” I asked.

To summarize, his concerns boiled down to the following four:

1) “I feel like this program is too basic. I’ve already learned a lot of this stuff in other classes I’ve taken or in books I’ve read.” Fair enough, I said. Term one does feel like pretty basic stuff, especially if you’ve already done some writing or been studying the craft. And the curriculum does seem (at first) like a random mish-mash. Style. Dialogue. Building fully-dimensional characters. Proper formatting. And all that time just “sitting around”, watching movies! I mean, cool and everything, but if the subsequent five terms were just going to be like that, one lecture after another without introducing anything new or giving us a chance to get our hands dirty, the waste of time and money would be almost criminal.

How best to explain the ways in which it gets better, or why this is all important in the first place? I know: cite a movie! In this case, The Karate Kid. I’m talking the 1984 version with Daniel-san and Mr. Miyagi. Daniel wants to learn karate, but Miyagi “wastes his time” by making him paint fences and wash cars. This goes on for weeks. Daniel is ready to quit, sure he’s learning absolutely nothing about karate, only to find out that he’s learned not only the personal disciplines needed to succeed (hard work, persistence, attention to detail), but the requisite fighting skills as well.  The poor kid didn’t know what he didn’t know. Imagine if he had quit early. He never would have taken home the trophy and Elizabeth Shue!

Term One does feel like a lot of basic information thrown at you at once. But three things to note: First, this stuff all becomes insanely valuable in term two and onward, weapons in your arsenal you don’t dare leave home without. Second, while you may think you know all about storytelling because you’ve read McKee, got in A in grade twelve English, or have been told you’re a natural, trust me, there is still lots to learn. And third, in a word: workshops! Nothing, I mean nothing, can replace sitting in a room day after day and subjecting your work to the eyes and positive criticisms of other writers.  It’s tough, it’s does a number on your ego, but it’s absolutely indispensible. I spent years in my basement alone reading the best books, going to seminars, working on my novel, blogging like a demon, aspiring to greatness. I got more out of one month of workshops than all the books and good advice in the world could provide. Trust me, Daniel-san, you’re learning karate!

2) “Will I actually walk out of here with a portfolio I can use in the real world?” Where do I begin? First of all, if it was ever true that you get out what you put in, it is at VFS. If you treat your program like just another bunch of assignments to pass, or expect your teachers to wave a magic wand and make you brilliant, or give anything less than your all, you’re in trouble. But if you’re a true entrepreneur who believes this is your future to make, and are prepared to do whatever it takes to get good, I personally guarantee you’ll have a portfolio worth bragging about. And I don’t usually make guarantee. By the end of the second or third term alone, I knew he’d be blown away by what he’d written!

Three pieces of advice: First, create a Word document and keep a running tally of everything you’ve written (not just scripts, but outlines, beat sheets, Bibles, basic concepts, whatever) to remind and encourage yourself along the way. You’ll be blown away at every stage by what you’ve accomplished already!

Second, every time you hear about a submission opportunity – Compendium, contests, student projects from other departments, whatever – submit. Who cares if what you write isn’t “good enough”. (Submitting is how you get good!) Who cares how many times you’ve been rejected in the past? (I got two writing jobs alone this year after my work was rejected, yet people liked what I wrote enough to hire me onto other projects.) And who cares if you’re tired? By all means avoid burning out, but you just spent thousands of dollars to get good. So buck up, organize yourself, and get good! Read every email, check out every bulletin board, keep your ear to the ground. This is your time to shine - so use it!

Thirdly, if you’ve got any special talent beyond writing – directing, producing, set design, music – consider ways to add that to your portfolio. These days, a lot of successful writers are often producers as well, either turning their own stories into productions or working with other writers to. Don’t know what I mean or what the heck a producer does? Neither did I, and I’ve gobbled up numerous opportunities to produce this year. The great thing is you’re literally surrounded by people who can help you learn just about any position on a production. If you get a chance to put on a vest and simply be a watchdog (a.k.a. a production assistant) on set, do it. It`s great exposure to how movies get made and a wicked chance to network. Tap your resources, both internal and external. You’ll be amazed at what comes your way once you open yourself up!  

3) “Too much seems to depend on networking and I’m not really a self-promoter.” This is the tough one because the answer is simple, but the doing is a challenge for introverts. To some, promoting themselves feels too much like prostitution or selling used cars. I sympathize, but there’s just no way around it:  If you love writing and you want to do it for a living, you`re going to have get comfortable with meeting people and selling yourself.

4) "Will the industry really take me more serious because I've been to VFS?" In a word, yes. Because you've not only learned how to write better, you've also learned how the industry works and shown you have what it takes to gruel through the tough stuff. But don't take my word for it. Just ask around.

It doesn’t have to be icky or uncomfortable. Well, it might at first but you get used to it much quicker than you think. Refuse to be one of those people who crawls into a swimming pool slowly for fear of getting cold. Just dive in! Really. It’s that simple! Run out now and have some business cards made, then get to every event you hear about. That includes VFS events, dinners, parties, and all those Vancouver-based events outside of VFS like the Celluloid Social Club, The First Weekend Club, Women in Film, the Cold Reading Series, Praxis, VIFF, whatever.  Get to know your teachers. Meet students from other departments. It’s ridiculously easy in this city to build a growing network around you if you simply bust loose and say hello. Above all, though, be a person that people want to work with. You know what they say: it takes years to build a good reputation but only seconds to destroy it. That means being friendly, professional, reliable, and flexible. It also means listening, so learn to keep quiet when others are talking. It’s the ultimate show of respect. Who knows, you might learn a thing or two along the way! And make it a religious oath to never, ever burn a bridge.    

In the end, it’s the stuff that doesn’t appear on any curriculum that makes sticking around worth it. The stuff no course outline tells you you’re going to learn, but that you learn anyway. Things like disciplining your habits. Organizing your priorities. Managing your time. Meeting deadlines. Taking control of your emotions. Taming your ego. Getting real and calling yourself on your own excuses. Learning to take criticism with grace and processing it to your advantage. The list goes on. There’s no question in my mind that all of us, whatever our futures, will come out of VFS finely-tuned machines who are not only significantly better writers and filmmakers, but radically-improved people and surprisingly effective entrepreneurs.

Is VFS perfect? Are you kidding? Are they magicians? Hardly. Can they guarantee success? No one can, not even you. But they can take you from A to Z a lot quicker than you probably ever would all by yourself. Ultimately, each one of us has had to decide whether to stick with it or not and whether the ride is worth it. But you see, that’s my whole point. Some of us have waited for years for an opportunity like this. Now that we have it, why the heck would we run away? Fear of rejection? Fear of success? To quote Sir Eminem, “if you only had one chance or one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted in one moment [or one year], would you capture it or just let it slip?” Do not lose your chance to blow, baby. Time to lose yourself in the music!

P.S. Yes, he decided to stay. But that was his decision. ;)

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