Character bio

[The Better Version]

So, this isn't a story, yet but rather a character bio for this short movie my friends and I are doing for this 48 hour film fest. The basic gist of the story is about this young guy who plunges down the path of madness, only to kill a gas station clerk at the end. All of this happened right before he was going to go on christmas break to see his family. Anyway, the following is a description of the character and how he went from being an intelligent college student to a bat-shit insane individual. Let me know if this explanation makes sense and if its good:

The story centers around a broken young man named Ben Fincher. For years, he floated around college, lost in the disillusionment of reality. After 6 years, he stopped switching majors, not out of aimlessness but contempt for the very institutions that "fostered" his interests. He still had many passions, and he still loved to learn and do things as a means to its own end. Like many, he established his own goals and interests but unlike many, he couldn't accept abandoning them for a steady 9 to 5 job even if that job was in the same market as his interests. He never once attended a single class nor did he ever have a single job that catered to anyone's real interests because it was always about someone else's. He had come to the harsh conclusion that things were as they had always been and that he was destined to work for someone else's dream; a ballad of Machiavellianism.

At this point, his life went to shit. In a desperate attempt to avoid this de facto of human existence, he lunged himself into an abyss full of drugs and other self-destructive behavior. He started writing, not as a way of venting, but as a way of latching on to his last beacon of hope. It was the only chance he had in getting any real fulfillment in life. His writing was the life raft that would carry him on through the decisions he made.

He often scribbled notes full of chronicles and digressions that led nowhere and often did this at his favorite strip club. Though barmy on the surface, it was actually fitting for him to dwell in such a cave because it gave him peace of mind. To Ben, the chaotic under dwellings of the crude American culture served as a safe haven. He was able to center himself with an assurance that he could never be worse than the people around him. Nothing can be worse than a cease pool of hollowed people, basquing in their own self-pity. And at least here, they don’t try to hide their lust for sex or money. They don’t try to smother their reality with hard work and fancy suits. No. At the end of the day we all want sex and the basic necessities for living. That’s why we strive for money. That’s why we strive for jobs. That’s why we strive for an education. But, we never strive for dreams. We never strive for a better world, according to Ben.

His nightly outings at the downtown strip clubs didn’t happen immediately. After dropping out of his classes and stumbling into a drug binge, he got into a fight with his last remaining friend. He was down town and although he had forgotten why they fought, he remembers why he walked into that strip club all those months ago….“Dave’s Dream Girls”. He needed to get away from him. He needed to get away from anyone and everything that reminded Ben of his old life. When he walked into that homely underworld, he felt right again, or at least more right than he had in months. His mind was no longer cluttered with the false pretenses evoked by so many in middle-class society, who used these fallacies to justify their self-worth. Maybe it was the vice and uncomfortable atmosphere. Maybe, it was the transparency and lack of bullshit that enveloped the club but for the first time, Ben could form a single thought, which prompted him to write.

But, what could he write about? His experiences as a yuppie college kid? His struggle for an identity? Perhaps, his newly formed drug addiction? No. All of this was boring and cliché. For months he sat there, furiously writing whatever came to mind and as he grew more and more frustrated by his lack of inspiration, he took more and more drugs, thinking they would inspire him. He spent hours on end in his favorite corner of the club writing until the paper was tattered….His life raft was crumbling. One night while at the strip club he met a group of young locals, just as he was walking out the door in utter defeat. Hocked up on benzos and depressants, he had no idea what he said to befriend them. Within minutes….or maybe an hour, he was in their car and out on a night of mischievous fun. The problem was that Ben or any of them didn’t know what was brewing inside him. Everything he had done for the last few months from the drugs to the writing was a sub-conscious drive to free himself from the shackles of 21st century trap he put himself in. And, when all of Ben’s attempts faltered a sudden desperation grew and his desire for freedom transcended to a new level urgency. Now, he was willing to go beyond the social boundaries. He was willing do anything. He wanted to dream again.

[curioushat]

Originally Posted by The Better Version

So, this isn't a story, yet but rather a character bio for this short movie my friends and I are doing for this 48 hour film fest. The basic gist of the story is about this young guy who plunges down the path of madness, only to kill a gas station clerk at the end. All of this happened right before he was going to go on christmas break to see his family. Anyway, the following is a description of the character and how he went from being an intelligent college student to a bat-shit insane individual. Let me know if this explanation makes sense and if its good:

The story centers around a broken young man named Ben Fincher. For years, he floated around college, lost in the disillusionment of reality. After 6 years, he stopped switching majors, not out of aimlessness but contempt for the very institutions that "fostered" his interests. He still had many passions, and he still loved to learn and do things as a means to its own end. Like many, he established his own goals and interests but unlike many, he couldn't accept abandoning them for a steady 9 to 5 job even if that job was in the same market as his interests. He never once attended a single class nor did he ever have a single job that catered to anyone's real interests because it was always about someone else's. He had come to the harsh conclusion that things were as they had always been and that he was destined to work for someone else's dream; a ballad of Machiavellianism.

At this point, his life went to shit. In a desperate attempt to avoid this de facto of human existence, he lunged himself into an abyss full of drugs and other self-destructive behavior. He started writing, not as a way of venting, but as a way of latching on to his last beacon of hope. It was the only chance he had in getting any real fulfillment in life. His writing was the life raft that would carry him on through the decisions he made.

He often scribbled notes full of chronicles and digressions that led nowhere and often did this at his favorite strip club. Though barmy on the surface, it was actually fitting for him to dwell in such a cave because it gave him peace of mind. To Ben, the chaotic under dwellings of the crude American culture served as a safe haven. He was able to center himself with an assurance that he could never be worse than the people around him. Nothing can be worse than a cease pool of hollowed people, basquing in their own self-pity. And at least here, they don’t try to hide their lust for sex or money. They don’t try to smother their reality with hard work and fancy suits. No. At the end of the day we all want sex and the basic necessities for living. That’s why we strive for money. That’s why we strive for jobs. That’s why we strive for an education. But, we never strive for dreams. We never strive for a better world, according to Ben.

His nightly outings at the downtown strip clubs didn’t happen immediately. After dropping out of his classes and stumbling into a drug binge, he got into a fight with his last remaining friend. He was down town and although he had forgotten why they fought, he remembers why he walked into that strip club all those months ago….“Dave’s Dream Girls”. He needed to get away from him. He needed to get away from anyone and everything that reminded Ben of his old life. When he walked into that homely underworld, he felt right again, or at least more right than he had in months. His mind was no longer cluttered with the false pretenses evoked by so many in middle-class society, who used these fallacies to justify their self-worth. Maybe it was the vice and uncomfortable atmosphere. Maybe, it was the transparency and lack of bullshit that enveloped the club but for the first time, Ben could form a single thought, which prompted him to write.

But, what could he write about? His experiences as a yuppie college kid? His struggle for an identity? Perhaps, his newly formed drug addiction? No. All of this was boring and cliché. For months he sat there, furiously writing whatever came to mind and as he grew more and more frustrated by his lack of inspiration, he took more and more drugs, thinking they would inspire him. He spent hours on end in his favorite corner of the club writing until the paper was tattered….His life raft was crumbling. One night while at the strip club he met a group of young locals, just as he was walking out the door in utter defeat. Hocked up on benzos and depressants, he had no idea what he said to befriend them. Within minutes….or maybe an hour, he was in their car and out on a night of mischievous fun. The problem was that Ben or any of them didn’t know what was brewing inside him. Everything he had done for the last few months from the drugs to the writing was a sub-conscious drive to free himself from the shackles of 21st century trap he put himself in. And, when all of Ben’s attempts faltered a sudden desperation grew and his desire for freedom transcended to a new level urgency. Now, he was willing to go beyond the social boundaries. He was willing do anything. He wanted to dream again.

I think it is great, but could use some work.

[cellophane]

Not bad. Not exactly wonderful, but it has potential.

[The Better Version]

Got any suggestions for how I can really drive it home?

[Euda]

You're trying to do too much with the character. It looks busy and would probably bring too much baggage to the rest of the story. KISS it.

[The Better Version]

Originally Posted by Euda

You're trying to do too much with the character. It looks busy and would probably bring too much baggage to the rest of the story. KISS it.

Oh I know that. This is just my own analysis of what I'm trying to say. The problem now is, how do I translate all of this into a five minute movie that has limited dialogue and voice over?