Movie Reviews for Writers: Snowed Under

There's something special -- at least to me -- about those screwball, over-the-top, situation-gone-from-bad-to-loony comedies of yesteryear. Snowed Under is no less effective than the classic greats. 

Alan Tanner is a playwright with a rotten case of what we call writer's block. It's so bad that his play is set to begin practice in one week, but he still doesn't have a third act. 

To that, let's add the screwball situations. 

1. He's seeing a new girl who won't leave him alone so he can write during his retreat to the country cottage.
   
   
2. His producer sends his first ex-wife to help him finish the work like she did when they were married. 
   
   
3. His second ex-wife and her lawyer are arriving to either take his back alimony or, failing that, send him to jail until he does pay it. 
   
   
4. They're about to be snowed in together. 

So, as you can predict, hijinks ensue. I won't spoil it for you, but let's just say it's not a good day for our hero, Alan Tanner. 

One of my favorite parts is when Alan tries to explain writer's block to his housekeeper, Mrs. Canterbury. 

MRS. CANTERBURY: I figured you’d be coming up again sooner or later. Nice to see somebody in the old place again.

ALAN: I thought, if I drove up here for even one night, I could crash through the wall . . .

MRS. CANTERBURY: . . . crash through the wall . . !

ALAN: Of my writer’s block. I just can’t seem to get any work done.

MRS. CANTERBURY: Mmph. If Luke used that excuse in the barn, the work’d just keep piling up, anyway!

I love this way of looking at writer's block. It's something that only creatives seem to run into. I've often heard that plumbers don't get plumbers' block. Electricians don't get electricians' block. Middle managers don't get middle managers' block. Nor do marketing consultants don't get marketing consultant's block. They either work through any "funks" or they lose paying business opportunities. 

As much as I think creative endeavors are a different sort of animal, at the base mechanics of it all, writing is still a skill that one can begin. Want to get past writer's block? Write something. It doesn't have to be part of your current work. It doesn't even have to be something you want to see published. You just need to get the muscles working, need to get the stopping stopped and get the starting started. 

Step one is quite often getting free of distractions. In an effort to do just that, our hero tries to get his new girl, Pat, to leave the cottage. As he tells Mrs. Canterbury good-bye, he adds a "good-bye, darling" to go along with it. Pat takes humbrage. 

PAT: I’m glad that "Good-bye, darling" wasn't for me.

ALAN: But it was. Good-bye, darling!

PAT: But, I just got here!

ALAN: And you're just going.

PAT: What are you doing?

ALAN: Removing distractions.

PAT: Is that all I am – a distraction?

ALAN: With a capital “DIS”.

PAT: Don't you want me to stay?

ALAN: Yes – but, no! I mean, you're going, right now.

Sometimes convincing that our distractions they are the "problem" can be the biggest issue, right?

Shortly after finally getting Pat out of the cottage, Alan sits down to work again. His housekeeper pops in to let him know she's leaving, and she has nothing but compassion for his situation. 

MRS. CANTERBURY: Oh, Mister Tanner, you're all wore out. Ever since your second wife divorced you, you've been living like a hermit, trying to write your plays with one hand and keep house with the other.

ALAN: Maybe I should change hands.

I love Alan's response to her. What it tells me is that when a process isn't working, maybe it's time to change the process, or as he puts it "change hands."

I like thinking of it this way. It's not a recreation. It's not going back to square one. Sometimes it may be a small or subtle change, like taking a coffee break or turning down the background music. Sometimes it might be bigger, like a change of venue or shifting from writing a chapter to building up an outline for the work as a whole. But when something isn't working, it doesn't mean you've forgotten how to do the work. It only means you need to change the way you're working. (After all, remember that snide definition of insanity, doing things the same way as before and expecting different results.)

Before she leaves for her home for the night, Mrs. Canterbury offers to clean up the pile of papers in the floor. 

MRS. CANTERBURY: Say, don't you want me to put a broom to this floor before I go?

ALAN: Oh, no! Don't touch that. There may be a third act in there, somewhere.

This gets to the heart of the matter -- saving ideas. Maybe something doesn't feel right and you start over a scene only to find there was something worth salvaging in what you did before. Where do you find that kernal? For Alan it was among the typewritten pages on the floor. For me it's in my notes app on my phone, or from the printed "rough" outline stapled to my short story draft or three-hole punched and put in a binder with the working draft for a novel. Regardless, that information is too important to throw away. Even if it doesn't work. At first. 

Sometimes, as Alan learns when his first ex-wife Alice arrives, we just need another voice, another perspective, to help us refocus. 

ALICE: Now, Alan, be serious. Tell me about your third act: what’s wrong with it?

ALAN: Oh, everything’s wrong with it. I can’t even figure out what time of year it takes

place. I've gone from winter to spring to summer.

ALICE: Well, when does the third act take place now?

ALAN: Right after the second intermission.

This exchange is only made better by the addition of the joke at the end. Still, it establishes where Alan's problem is coming from. So, to help Alice help him more effectively, he hands her the copies of the first two acts to familiarize herself with. 

ALAN: Here are the first two acts. Read them, let me know what you think and then we'll talk about the third act.

ALICE: All right, but you have to leave the room. I don't want you hanging over my shoulder to see if I laugh. I know you of old.

ALAN: But, I've got to stare at your face and see whether you like it or not.

I understand, Alan, I really do. I want to see the amazement and joy light up on a reader's face when he/she/they read my sparkling prose and literary wit. (Because, of course, it would never be disgust or disillusionment, no, not with MY writing. LOL) 

But, to be fair, that's part of the letting go process. We have to trust our baby to live outside our protection, even when in the hands of someone who is holding it only review it critically (not a synonym of negative, but meaning with a eye for detailed examination). We can't always be there to explain how scenes that don't seem to fit worked absolutely perfectly in our heads, how character interactions that made sense to us aren't quite as clear to the reader. 

We must let go so we can see their review and critique honestly. 

Ultimately (potential spoilers, but come on, the movie's older than several dead presidents), Alan learns that compromise is the key to making the manuscript work. Only, in his case, it also becomes a symbol for a renewed romance. 

ALAN: Alice, we’re just like our two third acts – you’re too sweet, and I’m too sharp, but if we put them together, they’re great! What do you say we put ours together?

All in all, Snowed Under is a lot of fun, and ends up having a lot to say about this writing life.