Today was script read through day. I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time, but I think I might be a little unique amongst screenwriters as to why. For those who don’t know, an optional tool for getting your screenplay as good as it can be in the time that you are allowed is to gather some actors around a table, read through your script, take notes on how it plays, and get their comments on what worked and what didn’t. Even though it’s not the first time we had shown the screenplay to anyone, it was pretty much the first time it had been put ‘out there’; interpreted by people into a performance. Almost all movie and TV productions will have a read through, but that’s usually with the cast that have actually been hired to make them. That’s more of a rehearsal than a critical review.

Which leads me to my potentially unique reason for looking forward to it. They can be absolutely brutal. I have always found that when you bring a group of people together to review a piece of art, and that group is empowered by the realisation that what they say will matter, they will not hesitate to rip you to shreds. Ryan and I want to get the screenplay into the best possible shape we can in the time we have left. If you’re a writer, that means seeking out criticism, however devastating, and using it for the gold that it is to improve your work. It’s my opinion that if, as a writer, you have difficulty doing that – if you can’t lube up, bend over, and take everything someone reviewing your work is giving you and then genuinely be grateful for the experience at the end – well, you’re not really a writer yet. And even if you can do that, there are few writers who enjoy the experience. I love it. Every time a comment resonates with me, I just see the days, weeks, and months of work it would take to get to that point evaporated with one great observation that I can use to make my work better. I want to hug them for helping my work be better than it is.

The key, of course, is getting the right people for the read through. Unlike the actual casting process, where there are so many considerations when deciding on who to hire, the read through workshop, let’s call it, allows you to get anyone that you think will give you a great read. The plan was to get one of my oldest friends in the world and exceptionally talented Ross Buchanan, the brilliant and funny Martin Blum (of Waterborne the short fame) who has become a friend very dear to me, and Ryan’s wife; who in addition to being the awesome person I described in an earlier section, is also an exceptional choreographer, dancer, singer and actor, to participate. Ryan and I would alternate being the ‘narrator’ – reading slug lines and big print – and we would get what we need with a nice, intimate and very talented group. Perfect.

So of course, it didn’t turn out that way. In the late afternoon yesterday, I tried to call Ryan to discuss the prep for the workshop, and he didn’t pick up. Then he sent me a text a bit after that:

Ryan
Hey mate. Sorry I missed call. I caught virus off kids and it landed me on my arse. I’m in a world of pain. Migraine, nausea, all over pain. It’s fucked. Can’t stand up with fainting or move without spewing. I’m crossing my fingers that I come good tonight so I’ll be ok tomorrow. It’s entirely fucked.

Richard
Holy crap. Screw everything else, your health is what matters. Can u see a doc?

Ryan
Can’t move. Wife has it too. She went to doctor last night. He said have to ride it out, nothing you can do. Both kids had it all week. I’m hoping rest will get me across the line.

Hmmm. Not a great development, it must be said. As time wore on, Ryan continued to give me updates on his health, which was getting incrementally better. I demanded specific details of his bowel movements, in the vain attempt that it would make him throw up – you gotta find amusement in bad situations – and it became apparent that Ryan would attempt to soldier on, but his wife was out for the count.

Thankfully, I was able to find a co-worker, Catherine, who had acting experience and was available to help us out in her place. Disaster averted.

When I picked Ryan up this morning, he was a functioning spew zombie, pale and a bit weak. We loaded up the camera and audio gear to record the session and off we went. A few hours later and I had picked up Ross, and the remaining participants started to file into our writing office.

Marty was brilliant, as ever. He fully engaged in the screenplay, his performances were fantastic given the lack of preparation time anyone was afforded, and really made the screenplay come to life.

Catherine held her own against the two professional actors, and had some really great notes on the screenplay. I had spoken to her about my concerns around the depth – or lack thereof – of Susan’s character, the one prominent female role in the very restricted story canvas, and she showed us where we had dropped the ball.

Ryan was a champion. Charming, engaging, involving people in active discussion. What they didn’t know was that he felt so bad before the workshop that he was losing his balance a few times when he was setting up the camera and mic, and pretty much fell apart physically when everyone left.

I was particularly looking forward to Ross’ performance of a monologue we had written for the character ‘Roy’. Roy is an old sea dog type, who has worked the commercial shipping lanes for decades. Think an Australian version of ‘Quint’, from Jaws. In this monologue, he tells the hero of the film the story of the car accident that took his family. We wrote it for a couple of reasons; we wanted something attractive for an actor to perform, the reveal has to be emotionally impactful to help the hero along on his thematic journey, and it was great fun to create.

Ross was already kicking goals with his performance in the read-through, as we knew he would. When he started the monologue, everything was going great and his performance was consistent. But then, something crazy happened. He achieved this emotional connection with what he was performing that was just mesmerising. While in character, he got choked up. His voice tremored as he told the story of the death of his family, and he spoke with hesitation and instant regret. Tears flowed. I watched as his fellow readers looked up from their screenplays to confirm the incredible performance they were hearing, and then keep watching him as he worked his magic.

Later, when I was driving him home, I told him how excited I was to watch him read that monologue, and then how happy I was to see him absolutely own it.

Ross shrugged. “I just allowed myself to connect emotionally to what you guys wrote on the page,” he said. “It was all there, I just tapped into how I felt about it.”

I mentioned Marty’s incredible performance as well, and Ross agreed. He said that it was obvious that Marty did the same thing – having the courage to tap into his emotions and express them – which is why he enjoyed reading with him so much.

He made it sound so easy. As he turned his head to watch the passing view outside his passenger window, I reflected on the fact that Ross was also a fantastic screenwriter. I knew that, because I’ve worked with him on a number of projects in the past. Hell, Marty is as well. I’ve worked with him, too.

Don’t you hate people like that?