Let’s improv, again?
If you haven’t watched the film Going in Style (2017) yet, reading this piece would be pretty useless. Also, spoilers alert. Directed by Zach Braff, it stars three glorious oldies—Morgan Freeman, Michael Caine and Alan Arkin — and takes you on a geriatric yet heartwarming adventure. Warts and all, for real.
OK. That’s enough praise for a day.
Film-making is an entirely different ball game from film-watching. Still, a lot of us don’t acknowledge the distinction. Many a time while watching a film, you elevate yourself to a position you haven’t earned. Although you’ve never even made a short film in your miserable life, let alone a feature-length movie, you want to advise the director on how s/he could have done things differently. You don’t stop there. You hope to admonish the actors for letting you down in pivotal scenes. This, despite the fact that you don’t know anything about acting or theatre. You’ve got your opinion and they’ve got your money. Fair deal.
For people like me who are heavily tuned into words all the time, most of my cinematic grievances or suggestions stem from the writers’ end. The screenwriter could have elaborated a bit more or s/he could have toned down the conflict a bit. Stuff that emanates from words but translates into actions on the screen; sometimes in the form of dialogues and sometimes in the form of expressions. One of the reasons why there is a boom in franchises (comics and otherwise) and biopics and remakes is writers have either turned lazy or they have begun to see the world as it is. And what’s this world without some improvisation every now and then?
For example, if i were to write the funniest scene in the aforementioned film, i’d have taken a slightly different approach.
Alan Arkin [watching the boy play a musical instrument]: “I think you should stop playing.”
Boy [expecting encouraging words]: “Am I doing good?”
Alan Arkin [firmly]: “I meant it when I said you should stop playing.”
Boy [a bit dejected]: “But I’ve been practising a lot.”
Alan Arkin [a bit cranky]: “I don’t know it’s possible but it must be a miracle. You’re getting worse every passing week. Maybe you should stop practising altogether.”
Boy’s grandma [enthusiastically]: “Isn’t he promising?”
Alan Arkin [straight-faced]: “Not at all. The boy is allergic to music.”
Boy’s grandma [shocked]: “Are you serious?”
Alan Arkin [normal]: “Yes, absolutely. He doesn’t have a musical bone in his body.”
Boy’s grandma [touching her chin]: “Not even the one between his ears?”
Alan Arkin [sternly]: “Especially that!”
Boy’s grandma [lose shoulders]: “I thought he was special. It sounded like noise but who am I to judge a musical talent?”
Alan Arkin [amused]: “He’s a threat to music. And I’m not teaching him anymore.”
Boy’s grandma [visibly sarcastic]: “At least you get paid for listening to his crap!” [giggles]
So, the improvised version helps in establishing two factors:
- We get to see how the grandma was playing Alan from the very beginning as she was already aware of her grandson’s utter lack of gift.
- Thanks to her deceitful vacillation, the hilarity quotient rises a bit because now the center-of-joke isn’t the hopeless boy alone.
Makes sense? I don’t know. I am just talking about of my not-so-funny ass here.
