A film Treatment is basically just a rough blueprint—a short story outline meant to act as the backbone for the actual screenplay. I'm assuming you realize that a real script follows a very specific formatting standard because you have to include all those technical details like scene transitions, timestamps, locations, interior versus exterior shots... it’s a whole thing, but the Final draft really needs to hit all those structural requirements to be valid.
The treatment usually runs just a few pages and focuses heavily on the characters, the plot beats, and the core concept. In contrast, a completed screenplay typically lands somewhere between 80 and 150 pages, depending on whether you're channeling someone like Erice or Godard. 😬
As for hunting down scripts online, your best bet is just to Google the title of the movie or series. You can find plenty of them available for download if you know where to look.
Does "Back to the Future" count? You know, that part from the second one where McFly is tearing it up on that radioactive, ultra-supersonic hoverboard, leaving Biff Tannen's crew in the dust. That chase sequence was pure gold. 🙂
quietdriver3 is onto something here. There’s a certain legacy to the British scene—it’s built on deep traditions, heavy drama, and a massive theatrical footprint. These days, the worlds seem somewhat disconnected, though you still see young talents like Finnes and Bernal making their way onto the stage. It’s rarely the other way around, though; decades ago, it was perfectly standard for cinema to be dominated by stage veterans who honed their craft in the academy or at the Old Vic, much like how big studios like Olivier & Co. or Guinness used to operate.
As for the Pythons, I suspect their DNA was primarily shaped by The Goon Show, which is something the guys have admitted themselves. Using eggshells to represent horse hooves? Anyone who caught the Goons back in the fifties during those chaotic episodes of "a show called Fred" knows they were the ones pioneering that kind of absurdity. Honestly, after revisiting the Goon archives, there isn't actually much that feels uniquely "Python" in their early stages, aside from Gilliam's animations and a fresh batch of sketches tailored to changing social landscapes. Of course, you also have to account for the shift from the radio era, where the Goons reigned supreme, to the nuances of television. But hey, that’s a conversation for another day. The bottom line is they’re brilliant comedians, but everyone draws their inspiration from somewhere.
northerncrane4 said:There's another one that serves as a perfect catalog of stellar male acting—"Glengary Glen Ross".
Spot on, my friend! This one is an absolute gem, and I actually just picked up a copy on DVD recently. Bravo! 👋 When Lemmona really finds his groove, the man is practically a magician. Plus, having Jonathan Pryce in there is just priceless... mmm... and there's plenty to satisfy fans of Pacina, Kevin Spacey, or Ed Harris... are you guys seriously not interested yet? Huh? 🙏
Hey Xavi! 😘 Look, I know I’m a total old-school relic clinging to the past. There was just something about that cinematic era right after the old studio systems crumbled, before everything turned into this modern blockbuster madness.
Sure, you’ve got Dustin Hoffman, Johnny Depp, even Leonardo DiCaprio when he actually tries (take a look at Gilbert Grape), but honestly? To me, they aren't quite part of some untouchable pantheon. They’re incredibly talented—top-tier actors, really—but I see them more as masters of their specific psychological profiles who can stretch their range just far enough before hitting a limit. The only exception might be Steve Buscemi (since someone brought him up earlier); he’s basically my American Jim Broadbent. 🙂
In truth, I tend to appreciate individual performances rather than those rare instances where acting feels like a pure, disciplined craft. And if I'm being honest, there weren't any more of those back then than there are now. I suppose every era produces maybe two or three true masters, at least in my book... it all comes down to personal taste, after all... and honestly, who could resist Jason Spall in "All or Nothing"?! 😍 But then again, I can't exactly slot him into the same roles as someone like Rhys Ifans. 😍 That’s just my twisted way of looking at things...
I think we really need to draw a line between two distinct categories: a great actor stuck in a garbage role and a great actor delivering a subpar performance. To me, calling someone "good" should be reserved for those rare talents who can actually squeeze every ounce of potential out of mediocre material given the circumstances.
There’s a fundamental issue with acting in cinema today. When you actually sit down and talk to people in the industry—like a director, for instance; my cousin used to work as a cinematographer on some of Kusturica's films—they’ll tell you straight up that 99% of actors nowadays are just overacting. It’s this constant, forced performance, and it's an undeniable reality that you can spot from a mile away, even if a perceptive director hasn't explicitly pointed it out yet. Unfortunately, most younger viewers have already been conditioned to accept this exaggerated style as the gold standard.
Let's be honest: acting is a technical craft, one that you have to study and master with varying degrees of success. The final product on screen depends entirely on how refined that technique is; if the mechanics aren't there or they're just sloppy, you end up with that grating, over-the-top melodrama. On the flip side, there’s "underplaying"—that subtle, restrained approach that’s hard to quite put a finger on—which feels like finding the perfect dose of an invisible elixir. You can always tell when an actor actually possesses the technical skill versus when they're just riding on raw talent. It’s exactly like skiing or any other high-level sport: having natural talent is a great start, but if you aren't constantly honing your technique and upgrading your gear, you're never going to reach the top tier.
I was just thinking about the movie Iris, which serves as such a perfect case study for this. Judi Dench is an actress with truly exceptional technique, though she demands 100% concentration from her audience; she’s old school, a master of her craft, and a textbook example of technical precision. Then you have Jim Broadbent right there next to her, who I honestly think is the best living actor alive because his technique is practically invisible. He masters that perfect underplaying and builds a character flawlessly regardless of how thin the material is—it’s exactly what Allen would call a chameleon in Zelig. It was a pairing of two elite performers with completely different, yet equally successful, approaches to character work: one incredibly raw and the other profoundly subtle. And I'm not even talking about the characters themselves, but rather the sheer technical mastery of Dench and Broadbent.
Then you look at today’s movies, packed with these crowds of charismatic faces who have basically mastered the art of being a one-man show. They get shoved into a single frame and suddenly the whole thing just falls apart. Why? Most likely because none of them are actual professionals who prioritize technique over ego. It's complicated.
There’s this one incredible film that perfectly illustrates what happens when you put a bunch of heavyweights on a single set and let their collective talent actually cook. Honestly, I doubt most of you have even laid eyes on it, but if you can track it down... it's called It’s basically like watching a Wes Anderson film if he decided to trade the whimsical pastel palettes for a dark, twisted sense of humor—it’s clever, sharp, and just weird enough to work.It’s that perfect blend of powerhouse leads and sharp character actors, all working in total harmony without a single ego clash, just flawless pacing and timing—honestly, it’s masterfully handled.
That’s exactly what happens when someone actually relies on technique instead of letting their ego or whatever else get in the way of the work. It brings us right back to those "bad roles" and "poor interpretations" people always complain about; honestly, when you're dealing with real ham actors, even a solid foundation won't be enough to save a mediocre performance.
It’s a complicated mess, and experience is really just one piece of the puzzle. What you end up with is a final product shaped by pressure from several different directions at once. The real headache starts when you have a handful of massive personalities fighting over the vision behind a project; everyone thinks they know best. It’s like listening to people talk about football—having eleven virtuosos on the field doesn't automatically guarantee a winning team. Usually, it's that rare crew that actually vibrates on the same frequency for a long stretch that produces something legendary. Think Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. Or Scorsese and De Niro. Or even Wilder and Lemmon. ...
By that same token, an actor is rarely going to see a finished film that looks anything like what they imagined while reading the script. A script alone provides way too little data for a medium that relies so heavily on direction, cinematography, the score, and the editing. Plus, production budgets often shift mid-shoot due to political maneuvering within studios or messy interpersonal drama, which fundamentally alters the end result. Since actors are typically already locked into contracts before a single frame is shot, walking away because things are heading in a direction they didn't foresee would probably cost them more than just delivering a subpar performance. Sadly, that's the reality.
The cold truth is that actors are essentially disposable. Much like fashion trends, they're "in" one minute and "out" the next. You have all these legends out there—Olivier, Howard, Donat, Guinness, Sellers, and a few others are dead now—and everything else feels like it has nothing to do with actual acting. You have these pretty kids enrolling in elite acting workshops, some being more talented than others. Personally, I think Depp is among the more gifted ones, but everyone has to meet one non-negotiable requirement: box-office viability. Once they lose that leverage—take Walken, for example—they start grabbing at any random project just to pay the bills. Some manage to stage a comeback, like Travolta, while others simply don't.
Good grief, I just realized the whole story takes place somewhere in the 1930s. That’s actually brilliant! I guess I'll hunt down an original DVD for us to binge-watch online sometime. Though, honestly, it'll be the absolute last thing I spend money on this year!
But first, give me the previews, please... thanks a million, sweetie! 😍
Xavi, seriously, if it weren't for you, my entire understanding of cinema would probably just boil down to the visual vibes of Magnolia and Lost in Translation. I’ll get around to building out my thoughts on Maddin once I finally sit down with The Saddest Music... but for now, here's the gist: Van Sant operates on a completely different frequency than the mainstream, much like how Meirelles does. 🙄 : sramise:
Cinematography is usually the first thing that knocks me sideways in a movie, though I tend to sort similar films into a few different mental drawers. It’s much like how I handle comedies; that genre just doesn't work for me unless I break it down into its specific sub-categories.
When it comes to visuals, I put the romantic realist Jean Renoir in one drawer, mainly because his style feels so unforced and organic—which is exactly why his brother Claude did such a stellar job on several occasions in films like "A Village Brouhaha," "River," and "La Bête Humaine." Most people will claim Orson Welles was the pioneer of deep focus in "Citizen Kane," but Renoir had actually been utilizing that technique extensively years earlier, just look at "The Rules of the Game."
Then you have Sergei Urusevsky, who delivered over a dozen absolutely flawless displays of cinematic acrobatics and visual perversity for Mosfilm.
And then there’s the obvious perfectionist, a total control freak like Kubrick, who practically bled lenses for Alcott's "Barry Lyndon" via NASA. 🙄
Dreyer’s "The Testament" (Bendtsen) is a pure masterpiece of Protestant atmosphere, tapping into that entire supersensory spectrum centered around spirituality.
As for Kobayashi’s "Seppuku," it’s basically Kubrickian Zen to me. Pure madness.
There is also that sense of total immersion through purposeful, gorgeous close-ups found in "This Sporting Life"—which features work by D. Coop, who also contributed to "The Third Man," "A Fallen Idol," and "Lolita."
To me, they are all equally distinct and impossible to resist. Not to mention the countless other directors who are just as unfairly obsessed.
I finally managed to get my hands on this box set. It’s loaded with extra features, plus I snagged that "Return of the..." special that didn't even come with this DVD collection. Now that they're all lined up perfectly on my shelf, feel free to shoot me a DM if any of you good people happen to have anything remotely goth to trade. 🙂
Can we talk about the vocal similarities here? It’s like if Vincent Price and Michael York were tasked with voicing different characters in the same animated series—you honestly wouldn't be able to tell them apart. 🙂
Whether you’re looking at a movie or a book, you’re dealing with art—more often than not. Just like with literature, an author usually starts with a spark of inspiration, and it's perfectly natural for one medium to feed into the other.
Then there’s the fact that everyone sees things through their own lens. Some people will grasp a book or a film differently than others; some might miss the point entirely because the work just doesn't align with how they process information. In short, it all boils down to interpretation.
And honestly, how much does an author actually want their work dissected? It brings me back to the great Jean Renoir, who basically said he couldn't care less if some self-proclaimed intellectual tries to overanalyze his intentions behind a film. I’m with him on this—art is primarily an emotional experience. So, once again, we're back to interpretation.
Furthermore, a director is almost certainly going to interpret a book through their own personal prism, pulling out whatever resonates most deeply within them. This makes the idea of being "faithful" to the source material incredibly relative. Why do I say relative? Because not every book is equally ripe for the screen. For instance, how much can you really deviate from the likes of Charles Dickens, Victor Hugo, Anne Brontë, or Jane Austen? Not much, really. You get more wiggle room with someone like Ernest Hemingway or William Faulkner. And then, of course, you have those elusive modern authors from Europe and Asia.
Plus, interpretations shift as artistic expression evolves over time. The way people viewed Virginia Woolf in "to The Lighthouse" (though Kenneth Branagh tends to lean toward faithful adaptations) is worlds apart from how she was interpreted nearly twenty years later in "The Hours," which touches on "Dalloway." It would be fascinating to see even deeper parallels across larger spans of time.
Ultimately, so much depends on who is actually turning that book into a screenplay. Is it the original author, or a third party? Stanley Kubrick pulled a brilliant move with Lolita by essentially telling Vladimir Nabokov to step aside and let him handle the adaptation. The result, quite the opposite of what one might expect, was a purely Kubrickian vision—a film that served as a perfect vehicle for launching certain satirical arrows, even for Nabokov himself.
In the end, I find myself leaning toward the conclusions of thinkers like George Bluestone: film is a perceptual medium where the primary presentation is visual, whereas a novel is more conceptual, discursive, and verbal. Every work should be judged on its own merits based on the specific language and constraints of its medium. At the end of the day, the inspiration for any performance remains deeply personal.
Then again, it wasn't always this packed. It used to be just a screening with a handful of people showing up. I suppose this whole push just gave the place a bit of a publicity boost. I just hope it isn't some fleeting trend sparked by some cosmopolitan writer claiming that hanging out in Central Park is the latest thing to do.
Hey, Xavier. Between the dwarves, those bearded women, the dream sequences, and the whole surrealist theater vibe, it’s pretty much undeniable that we’re looking at Lynch operating at his absolute peak. 🙂
Honestly, things look a lot more promising when you see a crowd so packed they're practically sitting on the floor along the edges of the theater. Seeing a venue like Central Park absolutely overflowing during a black-and-white screening somehow gives me this quiet confidence that they’ll actually give us cinema one day!
I won't be able to make it this Tuesday. I'll swing by Thursday afternoon instead. I'm assuming the exhibition and signing aren't some one-off event strictly limited to Tuesday, right?
I’d love to actually add some value to this discussion, but this thread only works if there are people here who actually know what they're talking about—and unfortunately, I’m clearly not one of them. My attempts to dive into Atom Egoyan always seem to hit a dead end at The Sweet Hereafter; I just couldn't get into it, so I called it quits. Maybe that was a mistake? I've spent way too much time debating the backstory of Ararat with a colleague from the States, yet somehow, we still haven't managed to actually talk about the movie itself.