I’ve had this story kicking around in my mindchamber for about two years now. And it’s the best kind of story to be constantly thinking about because it’s all plot; there’s nary a theme or character arc within fifteen miles of the logline and poster that’s been burned inside my goddamn head since that one fateful afternoon I smoked too much pot and got a little too confident with the pen, crafting the outline for an intricately layered genre film while unabashedly borrowing pieces of works that I greatly admired* and others that presented interesting yet ultimately under-cooked ideas**. I threw it all into my usual mirepoix of dialogue-heavy black comedy and inactive protagonists, hoping for a ragged commentary on reality television and our fame-seeking culture. But hello darkness, my old friend: doubt surfaced and I began to fear and still fear I am not clever enough to write this shepherd’s pie of social commentary. It’s maddening because it’s like I have a bunch of nails and nothing to slam them into the wall with.
Plot without theme and you’re just running around looking for the fucking Wizard because you want to hang out. The Lion doesn’t get his courage and Dorthy doesn’t go home.