A Letter Home from a Children’s Film Screenplay Lab
Dear Mummy and Papa,
I am safe, and as sound as I’ll ever be.
I reached just in time to see them close the airport for the day (dusk) and the locals told me to catch a cab to the guesthouse before the vampires come out. The roads here are wide and empty, a testament to the state of the state.
Much like the weather, the people here are warm and moist. I am the least experienced participant of this lab, but not the youngest! The youngest participant is a girl who is currently working on her 8th project (a crowd-sourced community-funded digital release video installation about relocated lower-income migrant workers in conflict areas being economically exploited by the bourgeoisie paramilitary) She calls me ‘Sir’ and gets her braces off in a month.
I slept like a baby that first night — waking up every three hours to wet my bed and cry. On the bright side, I don’t have to share a room with someone any more!
I am very happy at this International Screenwriter’s Lab. The selection committee was very keen to have equal representation of all three genres of children’s films –
1. Child wants to go to school, but can’t, but oh wait then he does.
2. Bad shit happens to Child, but then it gets better.
3. Harry Potter.
The third genre is a little under-represented (since this is an Indian government backed project) so there is a little extra pressure on me.
It really is a privilege to be mentored by some of the best, not to mention most encouraging filmmakers and screenwriters. On the very first day my mentor said to me “I wouldn’t use this script as toilet paper.” I feel sorry for the ones he would; especially those that deal with the hot-button issues.
The other participants are people too. More than half of them say they are from Mumbai, but none of them can speak Marathi, and they are very keen to show me their films and ask me what I think of it but not actually listen to what I think of it.
I feel strange sometimes, being the only one here with not even one ‘short’ to show. But I think I’ve gotten the hang of how to have conversations about film now — the correct way to respond to someone talking about a brilliant film is to mention another obscure film that is somewhat similar, and then nodding along the rest of the way. Sometimes I make up names and no one catches on.
I thought I could make some friends by being my usual, funny self, but every time I begin a funny story all they ask me is what stage my story is in and have I registered it yet. Like, just last night,
Me — “So this guy was trying to climb some stairs-”
Goatee guy — “Ok, so, what’s his motivation here?”
Me — “Uh… he wants to get to the other floor? Anyway, he’s climbing, and-”
Brooding girl — “I see, it’s a metaphor for his need for upward mobility and his ambition?”
Me — “Well… no, he’s just going somewhere, but on the top of the stairs there’s this guy who says-”
Seedy older guy who hasn’t made eye-contact with the female participants even once — “You know, I worked on a similar premise with Kumar Saini in the 1980s. It was called Seedhi Dar Seedhi, I don’t know if all of you all will remember it…”
Suck-up Younger Guy — “Oh how can I not Sir it was brilliant sir it affected me in such a deep way sir I thought it would either be you or Muzaffar Ali sir, sir.”
Goatee guy — “I think your script could use a little more background — where is this guy coming from? What is he carrying? Why isn’t the lift working?”
Brooding girl — “Which comes with its own political connotations — maybe he hasn’t been allowed to use the lift, maybe he’s walking upstairs in defiance?”
Hippie / Film School Student — “Our professor showed us a reel from Seedhi Dar Seedhi one time, it was quite something (leaning forward, in a softer voice) any of you carrying?”
Despite the participants, the whole lab is organized splendidly. We are fed on time, and well. We are taken on regular field trips, have a strict timetable and someone said at the end of the ten days there would be a test.
I need to get back to writing now; my 5th rewrite is due later today. I’m afraid if I ask other people for opinions I’ll have to write a new story completely.
Your Son,
Adhiraj Singh
(Originally published 2012)
