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Monday, April 25, 2011

Organizational Bureaucracy at Odds with Creativity in Film and Television

Art through corporate bureaucracy can be likened to oil and water. The rise of the studio system to produce film as an art form thus evinces a necessary evil. To be sure, organization is necessary to literally organize the various facets involved in the production of a film. However, needless managerial levels have gone beyond what is needed for coordination, particularly in television, and have stifled good narrative in the process.

Ken Loach, a feature and television film director, declared, “Television kills creativity; work is produced beneath a pyramid of producers, executive producers, commissioning editors, heads of department, assistant heads of department, and so on, that sit on top of the group of people doing the work, and stifle the life out of them” (p. 40). These suits are told to control the creativity even though the latter cannot be controlled without dying out in the process. According to Loach, “if you’ve got ten people sitting on your shoulder you can’t be good, you can’t be creative” (p. 41). For example, directors say they are told that they are not allowed to work with the writers. Instead, the directors work with managers, who somehow view themselves as qualified to write narrative because they are oriented to business factors. The result has been artificially-constructed television programing akin to politicians running solely off polls. Although financial concerns have a legitimate place, they are of such import to the layers of managers that cheap reality shows have trumped serious drama with a coherent, thought-out plot.

According to Loach, television, which “began with such high hopes,” has become “a grotesque reality show” (p. 41). To be sure, Loach admits that “some good work gets through” (p. 41). Even so, it is much too hard for it to survive the inevitable onslaught of the bureaucratic knives unscathed. The editing done by managers is fundamentally different than that which writers would do—and not for the better.

Perhaps rather than tearing up scripts that have been accepted, managers could have confidence in their own decisions in accepting the scripts by letting the writers themselves work out any changes with the directors. In other words, in putting an accepted script through the meat-grinder, are not executives and their staff undercutting their own decision to accept the script?  Of course, a particular acceptance could be to say that a script is only “good enough to get through the door.”  In other words, it would be understood that the script is to be considered as only partially done when it arrives. I would caution against such an “acceptance” because managers oriented to business matters are not likely to function as surrogate writers in finishing the job. A writer is a writer whereas a manager is a manager. Business expertise does not proffer the ability to tell a story.

Therefore, I contend that scripts ought to be accepted that can stand on their own as scripts. That is to say, the accepting executive ought to believe that the scripts he or she pays for are good already, and thus that the respective writers can be trusted to accommodate changes that the director believes are necessary.  

A producer ought to be on the look-out for the following: “What writers need to write are original stories, original characters, plot, conflict, things that dig into our current experience. Things that really show us how we’re living, give us a perspective on what is happening” (p. 41). Sometimes in watching a movie, I can sense what will come next because the formula has already become hackneyed.  I have even thought that nearly a century of films has perhaps exhausted good narrative.

The screenplay’s structure is so “scripted” that the exactitude of the uniform structure may itself willow away originality and creativity. It is perhaps like trying to fit lots of different shapes through a very small hole.  The defining structure, such as there being three acts—the first running twelve to fifteen pages and ending in a triggering event that in turn leads in act two to a critical event that is seen to be resolved in the last act—seems needlessly confining. Are there not other possible structures compossible with film narrative? 

On the other hand, I suspect that creativity can still be applied through the existing structure if there are original stories and characters out there in someone’s imagination. However, the standard structure ought not be allowed to exclude any stories that are original yet not conducive to that particular structure. Perhaps a new structure could naturally come out of such an original story. I suspect that the specificity of the formatting and length is primarily a means of standardizing incoming scripts so they can be more easily compared. While convenient, the guidelines may be contributing to movie-goers viewing the films as too formulaic.  For example, boy meets girl, girl pushes boy away, boy wins back girl, and the two embrace. Girl goes with other boy is scarcely off the formula.

In any case, creativity is urgently needed among screenwriters, and the protection (and respect) of creativity is urgently needed among managers having control over the art. Just because a person can control something doesn’t mean they should hold it so tightly—squeezing the air out of it.


Ken Loach, “Between Commodity and Communication: Has Film Fulfilled Its Potential?” International Socialist Review, 76 (March-April 2011), 28-44.

On American Business: Is Money-Making the Means and End?

In the month before the Oscars, Turner Classic Movies runs films under the promo, "Thirty One Days of Oscar."  Interestingly, in promoting this series, the network reminds views to watch the Oscars on another network.  Although the strategy could be that if people watch the Oscars, they will be more likely to watch TCM, it could also be that the people who operate TCM really do love movies and they are not bothered at all by viewers going to another network to view the Mecca of cinema: the Oscars. In other words, it could be that a passion for film trumps the incessant drive for more profit that typically occupies the attention of business managers. The culture of cinemateque may eclipse greed.  The implication is that business as usual--the typical rationale for going to work at a given business--can and should be questioned.  All of us can ask ourselves whether we feel the way about our respective industries the way ciinophiles feel about theirs. A way to test whether you are in the right field is if you find yourself saying, "I can't believe someone pays me to do this."  I suspect that few people can marvel at being in such a situation.  Even so, I contend that human nature relishes in it and dies in a sense without it.  That something so vital is so commonly relegated or dismissed in favor of expediency (or greed) is short-sighted, for he who does what he loves is apt to do it better than otherwise. We in the West at least are so used to businesses being constantly attuned to getting the next dollar or euro that it is surprising when the managers of a company put the interests of their passion above their own company's narrow interests. We ought not, in other words, to take business as usual for our default. Rather, we ought to look for creaks of passion particularly where it checks greed, even if just for special events, at the balcony.  If passion spreads such that we put things before ourselves, society would feel much different. I suspect that we have no idea how much, being locked in as though frozen in constant motion.

On doing what you love, see http://thewordenreport.blogspot.com/2011/04/corporate-metaphors-money-making-and.html

On curtailing greed, see: http://thewordenreport.blogspot.com/2011/02/godliness-greed-how-effective-is.html

Is the Moneyed Interest Oriented to Ending American Federalism?

James Madison wrote in Federalist #10, “a rage for paper money, for an abolition of debts, for an equal division of property, or for any other improper or wicked project, will be less apt to pervade the whole body of the Union, than a particular member of it.” That is to say, it is in the interest of the wealthy (and especially creditors) that federalism be replaced by a consolidated central government.

In the case of Shays' Rebellion in 1786 in Massachusetts, the debtors were soldiers who had not been paid by the Continental Congress yet still faced payments on their farms. Under such conditions, was stopping such payments an "improper or wicked project"? Moreover, in a republic wherein each citizen of age has one vote, is a tendency to equalize property (as opposed to a concentrating of wealth) so very improper or wicked? Perhaps whether such things are wicked depends on where one stands, though I suspect the good of the whole--the public interest--does not reduce to a partisan position based on self-interest.

Given the diversity that naturally exists in an “extended republic” the size of an empire, such as the U.S. or E.U., the one-size-fits-all interest of the rich is ultimately suffocating. Diversity over such a number of republics in a union must be allowed its breathing room or the pressure from the consolidation will prompt some of the republics to secede. In 2010, for example, there was a movement in Texas to leave the union because the sense was that law from Washington D.C. was not fitting for that republic.

The question is perhaps whether the financial elite can be oriented to the long term, and, thus public interest in the pursuit of a more paricular interest. Moreover, is the public good simply the aggregation of everyone following his or her own particular interest? Even if that works in an Adam Smith economy of competitive markets, does the same logic work for polities?  It could be argued, for example, that unlike a market, a polity requires leadership. The U.S. President can say the U.S. will move against Libya, but does it make sense to say that the American economy is moving as an entity when the market is simply the individual buyers and sellers? Furthermore, nations can explicitly stand for certain principles, whereas a market's principles such as efficiency are given, or inherent.

In the case of the United States, a decision is needed by the citizens on whether to continue to allow the propertied interest to enervate federalism or to reinvigorate the checks and balance in federalism wherein one government checks another. In the end, it is the public's comfort with concentrated power that is at issue. Historically, that comfort was pretty low, but may have subtly changed over decades wiithout being made transparent. One function of leadership in a polity is to act on behalf of such transparency and proffer a directionality.

Corporate Analogies: Money-Making as War-Games as a Sign of Boredom

What to do when analogies go over the top. As an aspiring writer, I was chastised by more than one writing tutor for mixing analogies. The device can add color to otherwise drab prose to be sure, but too many colors at once can be daunting to even a captivated reader. Consider, for example, the following passage from Larry McDonald about the management at Lehman Brothers:

“In a way, Lehman was run by a junta of platoon officers . . . I think of them as battle-hardened, iron-souled regulars” (p. 89). Richard Fuld, Lehman Brothers’ former CEO, was “our spiritual leader and battlefield commander . . . surrounded by a close coterie of cronies, with almost no contact with anyone else. . . . I suppose that was fine so long as the place was chugging along without civil war or mutiny breaking out, and continuing to coin money, which is after all the prime objective of the merchant bank” (p. 90). Fuld “worked within a tight palace guard, protected from the lower ranks, communicating only through his handpicked lieutenants” (p. 90).

The full essay has been incorporated into On the Arrogance of False Entitlement: A Nietzschean Critique of Business Ethics and Managementwhich is available in print and as an ebook at Amazon.