I would rather:

Sell something for a lot of money
29% (2 votes)
Write or direct something that's critically acclaimed but is not financially rewarding
71% (5 votes)
Total votes: 7

Simple.

Submitted by Thirteen on Mon, 09/27/2010 - 9:17pm.

This should be pretty simple, really. If you sell something for a huge amount of money, then congrats to you. It could have been horrible beyond belief, but hey, at least you made some money. Now on the other hand, you made something that is critically acclaimed and will forever be remembered. With that, your name shall be remembered as well. Now, while you may not have made as much money going down this route, writing something like that almost guarantees that you will have job offers presenting themselves faster than you can turn them down.

.. I'll take the latter, please.

Hyper Boy's picture

Money or critical acclaim? A dilemma?

Submitted by Hyper Boy on Mon, 01/25/2010 - 1:58pm.

 

“Would you rather sell something for a lot of money, or write or direct something that's critically acclaimed but is not financially rewarding?”
 
Is this a real question? 
 
Honestly, I’m the nicest guy in the world. I mean it. When I direct, a dozen people in the crew ask me why I never get angry or cynical. “I’m solving problems, dude.” 
 
When I teach screenwriting, I am the most supportive non-sarcastic teacher in the world; I treat each student – and each student’s story – as a gem. My rule in the class: If you don’t like something in a story, and would like to make a comment, then you must not only identify the problem, but you must also state a number of possible solutions. It’s all problem-solving, dude.
 
“Would you rather sell something for a lot of money, or write or direct something that's critically acclaimed but is not financially rewarding?”
 
I don’t want to be known at the OCScreenwriters.com as the sardonic guy, but is this a real question? 
 
At the end of THE PRODUCERS, Matthew Broderick announces his problem (and I’m paraphrasing horribly): “Hmmm, shall I take the four million dollars and run away with Uma Thurman to Europe, or should I go to jail for ten years with Nathan Lane. What a dilemma!”
 
The question: Would you rather sell something for a lot of money, or write or direct something that's critically acclaimed but is not financially rewarding?
 
This pre-supposes the most preposterous assumption in the entire Universe: That critics mean squat. Uh, I mean, that they mean more than squat. Because they don’t mean squat. (Unless the definition of squat is nada. Then, they do mean squat.)
 
Also, this presupposes the second most preposterous thing in the universe: That critics know more about film, storytelling, and screenwriting than you do.
 
Those of us who have been to film school and who teach film school and who have sold a dozen screenplays and produced a small handful of films know that critics are only good for one thing: If they say something nice, then it can be used by the marketing people in a newspaper advertisement.
 
But, more often than not, critics dislike films audiences love. There are two reasons for this: 
 
One: Critics emphasize style over content. It doesn’t matter that a story sucks, as long as the camera moves in a new and cool way; some way that may lend itself to the critic coining anew cool name: Hong Kong New Wave, Italian Neo-Realism, German Expressionism, Soviet Montage. (Hollywood Classic Storytelling-ism sucks.)
 
Two: The politics and values of the critics. The values of people who cannot succeed in their chosen profession. It offends critics to see a hero succeed in his goal.
 
I have experienced critical studies courses at UCLA, USC, Chapman, UCI, and CSULB. 
 
ONE of these schools emphasizes critical studies with the aim of teaching the students how to make better films. The others have instructors who believe in critical studies for the sake of critical studies, that the audience’s values are unimportant, and that the reason for film school is to advance the instructor’s personal socio-political values... and this better be true because the instructor sure couldn’t get a real job producing valuable product in the major of his or her choice: Film. 
 
Try getting through a critical studies course at UCI while disagreeing with Feminist ideology. 
 
Try getting through any film school’s courses by demonstrating that post-modernism is a bullsh*t theory that doesn’t help make films better at all. Try pointing out that the term “post-modernism” itself is an anti-concept designed to fry the brain and make well-meaning students come running to their instructors for “enlightenment.” 
 
Post-modernism: Stuff that happened after modernism. 
 
So, who are you dating these days?
 
Oh, I’m dating “post-Cynthia.”
 
Yeah, that tells me a lot.
 
Worse, if a critic RECOGNIZES a filmmaking technique, or a story archetype, then the film is eligible to be thrashed by the critic because the film “isn’t original.”
 
In these courses you will learn the following: George Lucas sucks. James Cameron sucks. Martin Scorsese doesn’t suck. And any new filmmaker from Europe or the mid-East is a genius.
 
“Wow, one semester in film school, and I’m cool enough to bad-mouth George Lucas.” 
 
Talk about a quick ego-fix.
 
It is simply “hatred of the good for being good.”
 
It’s called jealousy. Plain and simple.
 
So, do which is more important: Critical acclaim, or making a lot of money?
 
If I sell something for a lot of money (I assume this means the movie makes a lot of money, too), then that means I have reached a large audience who is happy with the product I have presented to them.
 
The following article was printed in the Orange County Register. It sums up what the job of the critic SHOULD be:
 
 
When Craig Outhier reviewed National Treasure [Orange County Register, Show Section: Can’t keep up with Indy Jones, Friday, Nov. 19, 2004], he saw the movie, but – like some of the unenlightened map readers in the film – he missed the clues. He neglected to use analysis tools and failed to find the riches that lay immediately beneath his critical boots. Instead, Outhier used implements made blunt through the ignorance and laziness of reviewers who are quick to condemn rather than analyze. 
A major premise of Outhier’s critique is that the film borrows from The DaVinci Code and Indiana Jones, but doesn’t live up to the strength of either. Sitting through the previews of Disney cartoons prior to the film, I understood I was going to see a film without the adult subject matter of The DaVinci Code. Nor, was I going to be experiencing the grandeur and periodic seriousness which are, indeed, wonderful elements of the Indiana Jones series. The latter comparison is false, anyway: Raiders of the Lost Ark had little to do with treasure hunting; one map, one clue, one object uncovered halfway through the film, but why be troubled with inconvenient details? Hey, at least there were tombs in both films. 
In addition to being a produced screenwriter and a member of the WGA, I teach screenwriting, directing, producing, critical studies, and film history at UCLA, CSULB, OCC, LBCC, and CSUF. It is my job to demonstrate the relevance of movies to my students who consist of Baby Boomers, Generation Xers, Yers, Gangbangers, Working Writers, Athletes, Debutantes, Retirees and Punk Rockers. It does no good to screen Ali, Born on the Fourth of July, and Tucker, and say to my class, “These aren’t as good as Citizen Kane.” 
National Treasure is – to borrow a Disney phrase – a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down. Sadly, the founding of this nation and the wig-wearing founding fathers who founded it are potentially disastrous subject matters. So, the filmmakers have injected the story with lighthearted comedy. Outhier says, “History can be fun,” as if this is a bad thing; hatred of the good for being the good? Even Amadeus was forced to have a successful run on Broadway for several years before producers were willing to risk making it into an Academy Award winning film that reaped a healthy profit; men wearing wigs sells, but it’s risky. (I’ve been experiencing similar resistance when proclaiming the accessibility of my easily-adaptable-for-the-screen award-winning stage play about Edgar Allan Poe, but I digress. Interested? Call my people!)
Outhier’s specific peeves bother no one except critics and lazy film students who pretend to make their mark while contributing little of value. He cites storytelling devices as clichés. They are simply devices. Because he recognizes one does not mean the device is invalid. It implies the critic finds value only in that which is new. We can, therefore, conclude the “reality” of Cops and Survivor are superior to the well-plotted writing of The Godfather, Platoon, and The Raven.
He begins his criticism with an assault on the director. Outhier wastes almost a third of his article to list Jon Turtletaub’s “sins.” A reviewer should spend more time analyzing the film rather than indulging a preoccupation with the director’s resume. Perhaps this is due to dependence on the auteur theory – a non sequitur responsible for haughty and useless film analysis that indicates just enough schooling to make a student feel educated without going through the trouble of actually exerting intellectual or creative effort. 
Outhier derides the film’s use of a “Eurotrash” villain explaining that the device is “so 80s.” Could it be, rather, that the storytellers wanted to bring to mind the oppressive British of the American Revolution? Sean Bean’s character name is Howe (a British General during the American Revolution), and Cage’s heroic character is Gates (a Colonial General).
Outhier then criticizes the use of actress Diane Kruger because she and her character are German; this is “bad” because, according to Outhier, it implies the filmmakers used a “good” European to counter-balance their misuse of Eurotrash Sean Bean. Kruger was a passionate professional in her field; she is an American document archivist, a government employee who took her job because of her love for history and freedom. She grew to realize that Cage was not a crackpot as everyone said, and that they were both on the same team. Perhaps the film uses Kruger to say Germans (members of what could arguable be called the worst tyranny of the 20th Century) have changed ideals and have become more “American” than the British. Or, maybe the filmmakers are suggesting that being “American” is an idea, a philosophy that can be the chosen by any individual regardless of origin. Or, maybe the filmmakers were counting on Troy (where she portrayed Helen) to boost Kruger’s box-office appeal and hoped to cash in on her star-value. Or, maybe they’re saying she is simply a good actress who visually complimented Cage and exhibited his strength. 
With all these valid and easily deduced reasons, the “Counter Eurotrash Casting” Theory reeks of political correctness that even Outhier finds ridiculous; so why express the theory in the first place? Was it the first thing that came to mind?
Which brings me to Outhier’s next peeve: He says the budding romance between Cage and Kruger was a nuisance. Apparently he’s never known what it is like to be morally correct (alas, we miserable few) and to find a member of the opposite sex who shares the same sense of life. Their on-screen kiss was further motivated by the sense of their imminent deaths. Outhier criticized the kiss as incredibly sentimental. When it comes to kissing girls, sentimentality is a good thing. Then again, one would have to have actually kissed a girl to know that. Cage portrayed a brainy brawny nerd who wasn’t about to find the all-brains-and-this-too-busty-blonde-woman-of-his-dreams, and then go to his grave without at least getting to first base. Outhier probably disapproved of the romance between Daniel Day-Lewis and Madeline Stowe in Last of the Mohicans. But no audience ever doubted that Day-Lewis meant it when after knowing the woman for only three days he said, “Stay alive…I will find you!” Go, man, go! It’s Madeline Stowe for Pete’s sake! I confess I prefer all-brains-and-this-too-brunettes to blondes, anyway. But, again, I digress.
Outhier’s greatest misfire was his disdain for the film’s funny Generation X Sidekick portrayed by Justin Bartha. This storytelling device is readily “defensible.” Quotation marks intentional; the device requires no defense. Let’s treat ourselves to an explanation which was actually the job of you-know-who: The subject matter of this film is the treasure left behind by the founding fathers. Mentioning this to my students would cause 90% of them to roll their eyes. But, young people are the intended audience. Cage portrays a character who represents an ideal – a full-blown romantic literature hero. He is an obsessed weirdo to whom very few can relate. He also happens to be 100% right. (Alas, we happy few.) The GenX Sidekick is a perfect complement; he is ignorant, sarcastic, and in the hunt for the short-term money just like the 90% of my students who would roll their eyes. He travels with Cage on the hero’s journey and it makes the journey easier for the audience to handle because the audience sees Cage through the eyes of the Sidekick. If the GenX Sidekick fails to fully comprehend the gravity of the heroic journey, the filmmakers have left it to the viewer to realize more is being said. I hope the audience invests more calories than the reviewer did when they partake in after-the-movie discussions at Starbucks.
Cage reads his favorite quote from the Declaration of Independence: “But when a long train of abuses and usurpations… evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.” Cage comments, “No one talks like that anymore.” It’s because no one thinks like that anymore and the filmmakers might like to jumpstart some minds. The GenX Sidekick reacts with ignorance: “I have no idea what you just said.” This is a valid comedic retort and – like a treasure map – points directly to the premise of the film: If Generation Xers are in line to take over the world, then it is in the best interests of the world that they understand what the Declaration says, or the concepts contained within it may be lost to another Dark Ages.
Here’s a tough one: Outhier seems annoyed when Nicholas Cage and Sean Bean discover “…a centuries-old American warship buried under a conveniently thin layer of snow.” A critic is valuable only if he understands the zeitgeist (a really cool film school word meaning “current attitudes and values of a culture”) of the audience. The film (and possibly the zeitgeist of Orange County and the rest of America) expresses the desire for the U.S. to return to its original free roots. The Constitution and Declaration of Independence are no longer functional documents; even a cursory investigation will reveal they hold little legal power. The frozen boat is a metaphor for current maritime law brought onto land with the treasure of freedom originally outlined in the Declaration and the Constitution buried just beneath the surface; Cage digs it up. One does not expect “normal” audience members to walk out of movies making such identifications. However, it would be nice if the alleged experts would exert the effort. Alack, our reviewer is not alone; I recall critics saying The Matrix was about “computer kung fu.”
Outhier’s dismissal of the film’s climax was disturbing; when compared to Indiana Jones, National Treasure “has so little hidden in its coffers.” Hidden is the key word, and while it is the task of the reviewer to dig deeper than the average audience member in every movie, it is especially obligatory in this movie about hidden treasure, hidden meaning, and ciphers. It is the reviewer’s task to pay attention, investigate, understand story, and be aware of this society’s zeitgeist (the cool film school word that we should use as much as possible). Outhier failed to do any of these, or he could have seen beyond the surface of the screen and realize the climax boasted several magnificent treasures.
First is a stack of scrolls recovered from the Library of Alexandria! During the course of the film I realized nothing less than a concept would be worthy of being the treasure; how much “gold and jewels” would be enough? These scrolls contain the wisdom of the ages and are believed to have been burned by religious and government zealots; the library has become a symbol of knowledge itself. The metaphor: The founding fathers saved wisdom. 
The second part of the treasure is the idea uttered by Cage: He is deciding what to do about the “treasure which is so great no single man should own it,” and he thinks it should be split between the museums of Washington D.C., Paris, and Cairo in the same way the founding fathers established a system of checks-and-balances in government; that so much power should not be held by a single man, or it threatens the very freedom upon which this country was founded. The ring in Lord of the Rings is a metaphor for a similar power; no one man should own it, it will lead to the downfall of all.
The remaining portion of the treasure is a whole bunch of gold and artifacts which Cage calculates to be worth about ten billion dollars. Not much by today’s standards and Outhier is quick to point out it is not as wonderful as Raiders of the Lost Ark. However, wealth is a good thing and the protagonists receive a finder’s fee. If I did my calculations correctly, the Generation X Sidekick’s share is five-million bucks. The message? Return the nation to its original form and prosperity will be possible.
The film ends with graphic animation of lines from the Declaration of Independence and the final image is the signature of its author, Thomas Jefferson. If this movie succeeds in getting the audience to read the document, then it will have done more good than several years of history classes. Is this important? To paraphrase Dennis Miller, “The founding fathers slapped the British around to protest a 1% tax on their breakfast beverage.” In these days, when bureaucrats propose taxing every mile of your very movement, movies like National Treasure are maps designed to lead us to secret treasure… if the clues are identified. Decoding the symbolic ciphers points to the fortune buried for us by the Founding Fathers… Thomas Jefferson and fifty-five enlightened sidekicks
In the movie, Benjamin Franklin had constructed a special set of eye-glasses so a wise hero in the future could see the many clues printed in invisible ink on the back of the Declaration of Independence. The magic glasses – like the magic lens of cinema – got the job done, but critic Outhier would have criticized Ben Franklin for lack-of-style and neglected to try them on his nose (Outhier’s, not Franklin’s). It would behoove the reviewer to dig beneath the “conveniently thin” layers and reveal to the reader-moviegoer the wonderful hidden secrets. He’ll have more fun in his chosen profession, too. 
 
 
In closing: A student in my screenwriting course presented the following different question:
 
Quiz: Which of these two people is full of shit?

"I regard criticism as an art, and if in this country and in this age it is practiced with honesty, it is no more remunerative than the work of an avant-garde film artist. …If you think it is so easy to be a critic, so difficult to be a poet or a painter or film experimenter, may I suggest you try both? You may discover why there are so few critics, so many poets."
—Pauline Kael

or:

"It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena…

—Theodore Roosevelt
 
 
 
quade's picture

Kind of a Hobson's choice on this one.

Submitted by quade on Mon, 01/04/2010 - 2:57pm.

The choices imply those are the only two driving motivations; Greed or Fame.

I picked "critically acclaimed" because that was the closer of the two, but in reality I just want to have a good story.  I don't care if the critics like it as much as I care that the story fits my aesthetic and somebody else agrees with it enough to produce it.  All the other stuff is completely secondary.

I think it's a horrible mistake for anybody to get into screenwriting "for the money" and doing it "for the fame" is just so silly it's laughable.  Unless you have a great script and win the screenwriting equivalent of the lottery, neither is ever going to happen.

Write because you have a story to tell.  The rest will either happen or not happen, but the only thing you have control over are the words on the page.