Les, you horse’s ass. You’ve never had any problem visualizing Lisa’s thoughts before–why not grab a thermos, a legal pad, and head on out to the park bench? Lisa can dictate the entire damned script to you. Problem solved. Cayla can do the rest of the yard work. I mean, Cayla has to be good for something, right?
Now, let’s leave aside the fact that you were LIVING with Lisa all through this time, because if we bring that up, it might just indicate how much of a self-obsessed jerk-clod you are. It might explain why you can’t (or don’t care to) remember when Lisa confided in you about what she was going through. You know–the kind of thoughts you’re having so much trouble with right now.
Of course, none of her thoughts and fears back then had anything to do with you, Les, and to be honest it kind of moved the spotlight a little too much away from where it should have been. After all, what about your needs!
But that’s not really the point I was trying to make, Les. You are supposed to be writing a movie. Movies have things happen, and scenes where people speak. They’re a visual medium. They are not endless interior monologues, unless they were made in France back in the late 1950’s. You are adapting a book about a woman who died of cancer. If there was an audience who wanted to see such a film, they’d want to see how she copes with her illness, how her friends react, how her life changes, perhaps how her priorities shift and how she now sees the remainder of her life in a different light.
The Japanese film Ikiru is a fine example of such a film.
The idea that Lisa’s thoughts should be part of this script is really just begging for a nice case of Writer’s Block excuse (“How can I possibly write her thoughts for Hollywood,” Les preened). Her thoughts would naturally be expressed, visually and through dialogue, in how she interacts with her friends, her family, her doctors and so on. It’s all about relationships and how cancer would impact them. All things that could be shown on screen without too much difficulty. It’s called writing.
As for you, Tom Batiuk, you really don’t know how to write, do you?
Actually, I secretly think Tom Batiuk regrets the whole “serious issues” path he’s taken, and wishes he were doing gag-a-day again. It would explain why the strip is so half-hearted and bland. Well, heck, here’s an easy out for you: teenage Les awakens in study hall. “Whew!” he says. “It was all a dream!” Then Bull punches him. There you go, that’s funnier than all of 2013’s Funky strips…which admittedly isn’t saying much.