A British black comedy about family's undoing at a funeral. I should have loved this movie - but what started so promising and smart, spiraled into a pathetic gagfest - just one cinematic prank after another. There was ample opportunity to build a richer story - sibling rivalry, a mother's shallowness, a father's secret, the resulting family dynamics - all screaming out for more scrutiny - all sacrified for a laugh. Nothing ventured and therefore, nothing gained. Sigh.Still, it was time well wasted as it revealed to me much of what was wrong with my own work. My writing suffers from some of the same deficiencies. I tend to be a casual, detached observer with somewhat shallow analysis of my characters and I am over-indulgent with some of the more trivial aspects of my stories.
A story only breathes life when it's characters are real and there is ample friction between them to justify forward motion. Humour is great, but it means nothing without substance - same goes for men:)
I have been told (by my more more observant friends) that I use humour to distance myself emotionally, to hide from controversy or discomfort. I fear my writing suffers from the same inclination. I use humour way too much, dwell on it, perfect it, make it the consumate laugh, all the while running away from the real story.
It sounds so simple, but as "Death At A Funeral" demonstrated, it is all to easy to miss the obvious.
