What have we learned from Exodus: Gods and Kings, my children?

1. Do Your Research.
2. Remember that storytelling is teaching.

Do Your Research

It really doesn't take that much. Now, I ask you. If you're about to sink $145 million into a film, should you worry about the cost of a phone call to your local Department of Archaeology? Should you? Just ask things like, 'Would a high-class man be walking around ancient Memphis in a beard and without makeup? Why did they wear all that makeup, anyway?'

The answers, of course, would be, 'No, and it was sunscreen.'

Whereupon you might ask, casually, 'What colour were ancient Egyptians, anyway? Should I cast Iman or Sigourney Weaver?'

Whereupon you'd have to sit through a really long lecture on the history of racial attitudes, the genetics of the region, and the difficulties of facial reconstruction through CT scans. Then the expert would probably send you off to study the Fayum mummy portraits. This will at least get you back to the First Century CE, and give you an argumentative leg to stand on.

Once again, I ask: why wasn't Alexander Siddig (Siddig El Fadil) in this movie? (My guess is that he had a very intelligent agent.)

The moral is: yes, research is work. But it's work that pays off. And making stuff up off the top of your head? Insulting to readers, viewers, audiences everywhere. The second I decide that the writer is too lazy to do the research, I hurl the book out the window. I don't mind opinionated, but I will not abide uninformed.

The worst of it is, in the 'old days' – a mere twenty or so years ago – research was work. Now, you don't even have to get up out of the chair, except to push the button on your coffeemaker. You can do all this research online. Visit a few websites. Pick up the phone, or send an email, and ask questions. It won't kill you. And it will make what you do so much more valuable.

Storytelling Is Teaching

When you tell a story, you're also teaching it. The listener/reader/viewer has to learn the language of what you're telling. Like this:

Once upon a time, in a kingdom that looked very much like Merrie Old England, but wasn't, really, there was a little old lady with problems. What were her problems, you ask? As well you might.

First of all, this little old lady was little, and old, and couldn't earn her living at her previous employment, which was as a pole dancer in the Red Lion. The sailors didn't throw the money quite like they used to, and the last time she leaned very far from the pole, she threw her back out, and they had to call the doctor. Let's face it, she didn't look like Demi Moore any longer, either. So her bank balance was looking rather grim.

The little old lady's other problem was her son Jack. Now, Jack wasn't what you'd call bright. In fact, he was thick as two-and-a-half planks. The last time he'd got thrown out of second grade – which was last year, when he was 18 – the head of the school had written a note suggesting that Jack be sent to sea…'as far out to sea as humanly possible.' So Jack's earning power wasn't what she'd hoped it would be.

Now came her third problem: the Cow. Cow had been with her a long time. Not quite as long as Jack, but let's face it, Cow had done the little old lady a lot more good than Jack ever had. Or his useless absentee father, for that matter. But Cow, too, was getting up there in cow years, and the milk wasn't coming, and it was time to part ways. The little old lady was worried that she wouldn't get much for Cow. Cow didn't exactly look like Elsie, the Contented Cow on the Borden packet any longer, either…

See what I mean by teaching? As you tell this familiar story, you are teaching the audience how to read it. You're letting them know:

• Which parts of the old folktale you're going to use.
• How you're going to approach the material: with reverence, or a bit snarky.
• You're setting up expectations of how the story will progress.

Now, admittedly, researching Jack and the Beanstalk may be as simple as dredging up a childhood memory. You probably won't have to check JSTOR for the latest scholarly articles on folklore theory, or even visit the Christmas panto. But you will be drawing on a lot of knowledge you have about the tale, similar tales, historical settings, even magical realism. You'll be making choices every bit as informed¹ as those made by those big-budget-picture directors when they lay out the Crossing of the Red Sea.

Anything you do can be honest, or dishonest. You can retell Jack and the Beanstalk in a way that's fresh, respectful of story and reader…or you can be flip and rude and ridiculous, and waste everybody's time. The same thing is true for stories with historical settings. They can be well or badly imagined. You don't actually need a Tardis – but you do need a solid, common sense approach to checking your facts, stabilising your verisimilitude, and being straightforward in your instructions to the readers.

Such as, 'Ignore the little writer behind the curtain.' Who knows? You could write an award-winning script like this. You know what? This honest effort, in at under six minutes, is worth a whole cinemaful of bombastic sandal epics.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

19.01.15 Front Page

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