A Lake Wobegon Thanksgiving

If you have yet not seen it, rent A Prairie Home Companion this weekend. I saw it last weekend. Yesterday, the director Robert Altman passed away. On the television news last night they mentioned how some people felt a certain melancholy during the movie. I did.

"Mr. Altman loved making movies. He loved the chaos of shooting and the sociability of the crew and actors — he adored actors — and he loved the editing room and he especially loved sitting in a screening room and watching the thing over and over with other people. He didn't care for the money end of things, he didn't mind doing publicity, but when he was working he was in heaven.

He and I once talked about making a movie about a man coming back to Lake Wobegon to bury his father, and Mr. Altman said, "The death of an old man is not a tragedy." I used that line in the movie we wound up making — the Angel of Death says it to the Lunch Lady, comforting her on the death of her lover Chuck Akers in his dressing room, "The death of an old man is not a tragedy." Mr. Altman's death seems so honorable and righteous — to go in full-flight, doing what you love — like his comrades in the Army Air Force in WWII who got shot out of the sky and simply vanished into blue air — and all of us who worked with him had the great privilege of seeing an 81-year-old guy doing what he loved to do. I'm sorry that our movie turned out to be his last, but I do know that he loved making it. It's a great thing to be 81 and in love."

Sonnett for Bob

He fought in the European campaign, flying the B-24,
A kid in a flight jacket, in the clean blue cold,
And all his life he didn't say much about the war
But down deep he was always 25 years old.
And he looked at authority with a narrow eye
And when they told him to line up here, he went over there.
A long life and right up until he waved goodbye
He was independent, flying on a wing and a prayer.
Skirting the clouds, looking for what is real,
Poking his camera through the door, lifting the lid,
Watching, looking, listening: that was his deal,
And in his memory, we could do the same, kid.
To give up authority and simply try to see.
I'll look out for you, kid, you watch for me.


Now if death is not on your weekend menu, why don't you try writing something funny, maybe even ask your kids how to start your own blog.

New York Times, November 12, 2006
How to be Funny
By John Hodgman

How to Write Your First Hollywood Comedy
By Garrison Keillor, star and screenwriter, ''Prairie Home Companion''

1. Don't start writing yet. (Very important.) Postpone writing. Too many writers make the mistake of plunging right in -- Scene 1. Ext: the home of the zany holmberg clan. The camera pans slowly across toward the driveway, where the young couple are necking in the back seat of the white Buick, and we see the three figures approaching with the water hose don't do this. Writing the screenplay will only tangle you up in a lot of minutiae and inevitably lead to discouragement. Get the money first, then write.

2. Find a director. A famous one who is older than you and who is famous for improvised dialogue. This takes so much pressure off the screenwriter. Let's say you choose Robert Altman. Call up your friend who knows a guy who went to college with a guy who is now Robert Altman's attorney and wangle a dinner date with Mr. Altman. A threecourse meal in a place with ficus plants and white tablecloths. Mr. Altman has just finished shooting a new picture and he is in a grand mood. He regales you with stories about his famous movies, and then, polite man that he is (he is from the Midwest), he asks if there was something you wished to talk about. ''Yes, sir,'' you say, ''there is.''

3. Do not lead with your best idea. Your first idea is going to get shot down. Do not lead the ace. Lead the two of clubs.

You say: ''Mr. Altman, I want to make a movie about a family named Boblett whose grandpa dies, and they have to bring his ashes to South Dakota and scatter them at Mount Rushmore -- Gramps was a crusty old Republican and wanted his remains to be put up Jefferson's left nostril. Anyway, it's all about this family -- one is into heavy metal and one is obsessive-compulsive about nasal cleanliness and one is a Wiccan covered with tattoos -- and they have various misadventures and car breakdowns and then must try to climb up to the nostril. And there's a lady park ranger named Chloe who accidentally takes a love potion.''

Mr. Altman looks off into the distance, pauses a decent interval and says: ''It's not for me. But keep in touch. Maybe we could come up with something else.''

4. Start writing Something Else. You set Mr. Altman up with the ''Looking for Jefferson'' idea, a weak one, and now he will read your new screenplay and say, ''I can't believe this came from the same bozo who tried to sell me the nostril picture.''

5. And here's how you write the thing. You rewrite it, that's how you write it. You rewrite the rewrite, then prune that and add other stuff. Your wife reads it and does not laugh at any of the hilarious parts, so you replace them with funny stuff. You turn the script over to Mr. Altman, and as he reads it, you reach over his shoulder and cross out lines.

Then Mr. Altman directs in his own inimitable style, encouraging improvisation, so in the end nobody quite understands it, and critics hail it as ''one of his better pictures, if not among the very best,'' which is not bad for you, and they offer you a nice deal to write your second picture. But that's another problem. I can't help you there.