The Man Who Cant Be Moved - The Script
the lyrics (and videoclip) to this song, although quite literal and simple actually have a much profound meaning behind them. when you listen to the song you can imagine it unfolding in your mind thanks to the fantastic composer but basically all it is saying is that its about a man who wishes his love would return to him and has the hope she will even though she has obviously moved on. in the song he sings about going to a corner and not moving but i think "the corner" is a metaphor for a state of mind in which he will never leave his feelings for the girl, although everyone tells him to move on (eg, the police officer) he'll always hold onto the hope.
The Man Who Cant Be Moved - The Script
this song is about waiting, and waiting, and waiting, for that love to come back to you. you have hope even though you probably know its not going to happen you want it to. you know that if that love does come and look for you everything would be right and perfect. its that one person you cant live without but they have moved on and that is one of the worst feelings in the world.
He read the read the new draft and congratulated me on a much improved draft. However, then he laid a bombshell on me that I still have trouble understanding: My protagonist happens to be a screenwriter and the bulk of the second act involves the making of this fictional movie. My mentor told me that regardless of how good he thinks the script is screenplays about moviemaking get thrown into the trash.
John: Agreed. I would say there may be very good reasons why he said this thing about your script, partly because of what he read on the page and partly because of the genre and sort of the nature of trying to make a movie about Hollywood, or a movie about screenwriters.
John: I will begin. Oh, so we start in a football game, and football games are not my forte. It was an okay description of a football game. There was nothing kind of unique or magical about this one football game. It felt like a Texas football game.
John: Cool. I want to thank our two writers this week, Greg and Vance, for sending in their scripts, because that was hugely brave of you, and useful, and helpful, and I got something out of it. I hope people did who are listening. And I hoped we helped some.
So let me just kill this movie and blame it on the script. That sort of thing happens all the time. So, when they say that it suffered from script issues all you can know for sure is that the screenwriter was the least powerful person involved.
"Don't get excited, Herb! That's what I've got to decide. But if theycan really write it just as well, why not? You remember Hartridge,don't you? Class behind me at college, majored in electronics? He's incharge of the machine experiment and he's about convinced us that hismachines can turn out manuscripts at lower cost, more rapidly and ofbetter quality than you Writers can. And he says the public like hisproduct better. Have you seen any of it?"
Once again Carre took the escalator to the Airway and moved across thecity. He tried to think of fiction plots, but he could not control hismind. He was worried. The people standing near him were quarreling,their shrill voices hurt his ears, and the crowd was so dense that hecould not move away.
Herbert sat, that evening, in his book-lined room, reading manuscripts.He looked more and more puzzled, and ill at ease. He got up, after atime, to pace the room, and on a sudden impulse he left the apartmentand hurried up the street.
Ludwig read through the manuscript with his accustomed rapidity. "Idon't see anything particularly wrong about it," he said. "Murdermysteries have never been to my taste, and I don't know that I exactlyapprove of the hero's killing his benefactress with an undetectablepoison, and then inheriting her fortune and marrying her niece.Undetectable poisons are all nonsense, anyway."
"I think there's a difference. I know I've written a few mysteries,and even some tragic stories, but I don't believe I've ever writtenanything exactly like this. And this is typical. They're doingreprints, too, of books that were destroyed or lost during the AtomicWars. Do you remember Joan of Arc? Mark Twain's version? Here is a pagefrom Script-Lab's manuscript."
Hartridge was still studying the typescript, and he spoke withdefiance. "Number Seven's excerpt from your monologue seems perfectlysensible to me," he said. "For some reason of your own you must belying about it. Why, the version you say you remember is utterlyillogical!"
I live alone 40 miles from Tucson and work at home translating movie scripts from German into English. Before this, for ten years, I worked at Farrar, Strauss in New York, handling German novels and film rights, which I parlayed into freelance. Agents send me scripts from Zurich, Berlin, Los Angeles. A translator might have any name, but let me call myself Ruth.
When I first moved in last fall, I tried to befriend her. I offered peaches and plums from the slight trees in my backyard, firewood a friend gave me, cookies I baked. Once I took over an article I cut from the newspaper about rabies in raccoons and foxes I thought she might not have seen, but each time, though my Spanish is sufficient, I was met with silence. 041b061a72
