4B — Thursday, March 26, 2015
b-side
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

Before Shere knew it, a mere 

eight months into bumbling 
around L.A., he sold “Goat 
Cheese is Dead” to United 
Artists. 
Though 
his 
script 

eventually ended up shelved next 
to with Wheezy the Penguin 
(much like the fate of Burnstein’s 
first project), “Goat Cheese is 
Dead” lodged his foot in the 
door — and more importantly, it 
inspired him to continue pushing 
dark, 
personal 
experiences 

from pejorative to positive. His 
original script was based on his 
own heavy metal garage band 
during high school.

“I think a lot of comedy 

frankly comes from things that 
were once really painful — so, 
at the time, playing that gig that 
no one showed up to,” Shere 
chuckled as he recounted the 
experience. “I think there’s a 
sort of empowerment to that 
when you can laugh at yourself 
or experiences that were cruel or 
demeaning,” he added.

Shere 
has 
since 
written 

commissions for monster studios 
such as DreamWorks and Sony. 
Quite recently, he co-wrote the 
animated feature film “Epic.” 
Though 
he 
had 
extensive 

experience in the L.A. scene, like 
Burnstein, he eventually relocated 
back to the University where it 
all began. Now, as a lecturer of 
more than 10 years, he becomes 
animated whenever he teaches 
Michael 
Arndt’s 
“Little 
Miss 

Sunshine” or talks about “Toy 
Story 3.” He always makes time in 
class for personal anecdotes about 
spontaneous 
encounters 
with 

Dustin Hoffman at L.A . coffee 
shops and run-ins with Paula 
Abdul at fro-yo. It’s clear teaching 
has become an ancillary passion.

“Just as Jim was able to 

guide me into this new world of 
screenwriting, I think that in my 
years here, I’ve been able to do that 
with some students.” Shere said. 
“There’s always something very 
special to me about this place.”

Looking into the future as 

a writer, Shere has an array 
of projects including a new 
animation, a live-action comedy, 
a bit of music — and perhaps 
even a novel. Though he is solely 
a 
screenwriting 
teacher, 
he 

encourages all his students to 
experiment with the multifaceted 
aspects of film — an openness to a 
variety of mediums he attempts to 
emulate himself.

“Screenwriting was never the 

only thing I saw myself doing … I’m 
open to other kinds of writing, and 
I just want to continue to explore,” 
Shere explained. “The main thing 
is to just develop a wide range of 
interests and to be able to look at 
things from different perspectives 
… I think creativity is a lot more 
fluid than people maybe assume.”

Shere’s main pieces of advice 

drew 
from 
his 
liberal 
arts 

background, 
highlighting 
the 

importance of growth by opening 
up to new challenges. Especially 
in today’s fluxing screenwriting 
world, he stressed how writers 
only have one thing to fall back on: 
trusting good stories.

“You just have to really follow 

what excites you, what inspires 
you as a writer … Don’t just aim at 
where you think the marketplace 
is, but aim at what entertains 
you. The vast majority of people 
who try their hand at writing or 
directing fail. You may as well 
fail being true to yourself,” Shere 
advised. “For me, ‘Goat Cheese is 
Dead’ is what I wanted to do,” he 
chuckled.

“The other great thing about 

being a philosophy major is 
… you’re pretty much free in 
terms of exploring,” he finally 
added. 
“There’s 
nothing 
that 

sounds crazier when that’s your 
background. It’s not like I had an 
engineering degree or anything.”

Just then, Prasad entered their 

office, a perfect segue into his even 
more egregiously atypical start 
to screenwriting. Prasad laughed 
heartily when I brought up his 
electrical engineering past, an 
undergraduate major his parents 
nudged him into. However, his 
unrelenting 
Martin 
Scorsese 

obsession that stemmed in high 
school prevailed and carried him 
through today.

Pensive 
and 
meditative 
in 

nature — Prasad beamed a quieter 
enthusiasm than his colleagues, 
but he also unraveled a reel of 
insight I had never heard before. 
A graduate of the University’s 
1997 class and an alumnus of 
Burnstein’s 
first 
screenwriting 

classes like Shere, Prasad is now 
a University lecturer. Indian by 

descent and Ann Arborite by 
birth, Prasad grew up before the 
emergence of prominent Indian 
filmmakers, a period he refers to 
as “pre-M. Night Shyamalan.”

“The only Indian people I knew 

were either engineers or doctors,” 
he explained. “The only Indian 
person I would see on TV was Apu 
from ‘The Simpsons.’ ”

It wasn’t until halfway through 

college when he decided to pursue 
this elusive passion, with few 
footsteps to follow except the 
guidance of a passion rooted from 
youth. It was his discontent with 
the stagnation of stability that 
launched him into the lucrative, 
but engaging world of film – 
landing him among the prestigious 
American 
Film 
Institute’s 

graduating class of 2000.

“A lot of people (said), ‘Oh, 

it’s really brave of you to follow 
your dreams,’ but it never really 
seemed that way. It seemed like 
that was the natural thing for me 
to do,” Prasad recounted. “The 
risk would’ve been more staying 
in engineering and knowing I 
would’ve been unhappy.”

Upon obtaining a degree from 

one of the most renowned film 
schools in the world, he was asked 
by a Michigan doctor to write 
“Ocean of Pearls,” the feature film 
that first grounded him into the 
working industry.

“I’m 
a 
big 
believer 
in 

bisociation,” Prasad said, “This 
idea that creative breakthroughs 
come from putting two things that 
don’t necessarily belong together, 
together.”

In this respect, he refers to 

“Ocean of Pearls,” which attempts 
to find common thematic ground 
between Sikhism and health care. 
Prasad, raised Hindu, is interested 
in his religious roots as creative 
inspiration. His current projects 
include 
“Head 
on 
Straight” 

which is about a gay Indian man’s 
arranged marriage, as well as 
a ghost story set in India and 
another feature linking classical 
Indian dance and piety — tales 
which all amalgamate his cultural 
and spiritual background with 
other challenging aspects of life.

It is this dedication to telling 

unique ethnic stories that he 
credits to Burnstein for spark-
ing within him 18 years ago. He 
recalled his script for his intro-
ductory 
screenwriting 
class 

about a taxi driver in a college 
campus, and how he had initial 
qualms about creating an Indi-
an protagonist. However, Burn-
stein motivated him to “write 
what you know,” giving way to 
Prasad’s aspirations to blaze an 
industry trail for his heritage.

“There weren’t a lot of people 

making stories about (Indian 
characters). I always want to 
do something that hasn’t been 
done before — whether it’s 
telling a story in a new way or 
telling a story that hasn’t been 
told before,” Prasad said.

In his pursuit of originality, 

he has since been a story 
consultant 
for 
Lionsgate 

Entertainment and a features 
juror for the Traverse City 
Film Festival, among other 
achievements. However, after 
seven years in Los Angeles, 
the Midwest called him back — 
with an offer from Burnstein at 
their alma mater, and with the 
understanding that Burnstein 
himself 
made 
a 
successful 

career remote of Hollywood.

“I love L.A., but I think the 

one downside of being there 
is sometimes it breeds this 
culture of waiting — waiting for 
other people to tell you you can 
make a movie,” Prasad says. “If 
I could go back in time and give 
myself advice, I would’ve just 
jumped into making things.”

After reading a New York 

Times article about college 
students finding sugar daddies 
to help pay for tuition, he became 
the director of the feature-
length film, “Consideration,” 
which grew from modest roots 
into a project that inspired the 
filmmaking fire within many 
other students.

He 
recounted 
his 
initial 

mission: “Start writing, shoot it 
in a year with whatever money 
we can find, with whatever 
locations we can find, with 
whatever script we have.”

“Consideration” 
has 

since been premiered at the 
Cinetopia International Film 
Festival in Ann Arbor and at 
the Massachusetts Independent 
Film Festival. The feature will 
soon be available for streaming 
rental online.

Recently, after bouncing his 

career between Ann Arbor and 
Los Angeles, Prasad made the 
move to Chicago for a fresh com-
munity. Just like he once doubled 
in engineering and screenwrit-
ing in college, he now wishes to 
simultaneously teach and pursue 
independent filmmaking proj-
ects. Despite a lengthy weekly 
commute, 
he 
mentions 
how 

he’d like to direct more, perhaps 
working projects into his curri-
cula or shooting stories pertinent 
to campus issues.

“There’s so much content out 

there so diversity is survival, 
Prasad stated. “You need to dis-
tinguish yourself in some way. 
So write the story you want to 
see that no one else will make.”

Burnstein 
reflected 
on 

Prasad’s humble beginnings: 
“(Prasad’s) first five pages were 
the first five pages I ever read in 
that class. I remember reading 
it and saying to my wife, ‘Holy 
shit, if they’re all this good ... ’ ”

While Prasad and Shere 

may have been more modest 
about their accomplishments, 
Burnstein openly showcased his 
pride for his students, boasting 
accolades of achievements he 
had a part in initiating. For both 
Shere and Prasad, Burnstein’s 
introductory 
screenwriting 

and rewrite class summed up 
the entirety of their formal film 
education. Like Burnstein, they 
have all taken their winding 
paths 
to 
the 
intersection 

between pursuing — and now 
passing on — their passion for 
screenwriting.

“Most writers are in a hurry 

to fail, which means they send 
their first draft out.” Burnstein 
continued, “If I had sent my 
first draft out ... I’d never get 
to meet Prasad, Dan Shere … 
I’m not teaching at Michigan. 
If I had not learned that you 
don’t send something out before 
you’re sure it’s good …” he trails 
off in contemplation.

It is this drive and perspective 

Burnstein offers that has paved 
his speedway to success. His 
career has soared because of his 
refusal to submit anything less 
than his highest potential. He 
understands how every aspirant 
must pay their toll to the top. He 
understands how success in the 
film industry — or any field, for 
that matter — is dependent on 
his patience and perseverance.

Burnstein took a breath. He 

had spoken for about an hour 
straight. Despite his affinity for 
loquacity, he uttered one final 
phrase of wisdom: “Learn to 
rewrite.”

SCREENWRITING
From Page 1B

When people I know say they 

don’t like rap music, the first artist 
I usually play for them is Common. 
It’s not that Common is the greatest 
rapper of all time, but when he’s 
at his best, Common is a shining 
example 
of 

how hip hop 
can be so much 
more 
than 

just a genre 
of music, and 
he can serve 
as 
a 
stark 

counterpoint 
to 
the 

commercial 
hip hop that 
many think defines the genre 
completely. 
Through 
socially 

conscious lyrics and innovative 
instrumentation, 
the 
most 

intelligent and most ambitious 
hip-hop artists of today are, by 
extension, the best artists in all of 
music. No genre is at the moment 
more relevant, more transcendent 
or more important than hip hop.

The most obvious example of 

Common’s transcendence is in the 
song “Glory,” his Oscar-winning 
collaboration with John Legend 
that closed out the film “Selma.” 
It’s the first end-credits song that 
I’ve ever seen keep an entire the-
ater in its seats for its entire dura-
tion, and it’s the first performance 
at the Oscars that I’ve ever seen 
get the standing ovation that it 
did. Common’s verses on the song 
aren’t technically incredible, but 
his clear enunciation gives spe-
cial emphasis to the issues he raps 
about, connecting the struggle 
we’ve just seen in “Selma” to 
recent protests in places like Fer-
guson, MO.

But Common has been doing 

this long before “Selma” was 
released. Back in 1994, he spoke 
out about the mainstreaming of 
gangsta rap and the fall of social 
consciousness in hip hop with 
“I Used to Love H.E.R.” And 
though his career has been slightly 
inconsistent since that breakout 
song, his best records (led by 

2000’s Like Water For Chocolate) 
stand up as classics of afro-
centricity, experimentation and 
intellectual lyrics. I play Common 
for people who claim to dislike hip 
hop because his earnest message 
and old-school style make him 
like a more poetic Motown song — 
learned and likable.

I’m not by any means saying that 

hip-hop artists have to be acces-
sible to all to be valid. Cutting-edge 
artists like Young Thug or Migos 
are great because they’re weird, 
unique and unafraid to hide it. 
Their songs are relevant not just 
because they’re bangers, but also 
because they break down musical 
boundaries. I mean, have you ever 
heard any sound that even remote-
ly resembles Young Thug’s voice?

What also shouldn’t be lost is 

that hip hop will always be a Black 
genre of music, and most people 
who claim not to “get” it are white. 
Hip hop shouldn’t have to dumb 
itself down to appeal to white 
Middle America — as we’ve seen 
with artists like Macklemore and 
Iggy Azalea, those attempts can be 
painful. However, more accessible 
artists like Common, The Roots 
or A Tribe Called Quest — artists 
who make clear, easy-to-listen-to 
music but don’t compromise their 
messages — can serve as gateways 
to the rest of hip hop, a genre that 
music fans need to accept and listen 
to because it’s the most vital and 
important genre of this generation.

I used to think that Kendrick 

Lamar thought he was too good for 
hip hop. In the past, he’s insisted 
on calling himself a “writer” 
not a rapper, and while yes, he’s 
undeniably a writer, the “rapper” 
label is so much more important. 
By 
calling 
himself 
a 
writer, 

Kendrick seemed, in a way, to be 
disavowing his blackness. It was as 
if rap wasn’t a valid enough means 
of expression for one of its brightest 
stars, and he sought the credibility 
of a more “respectable” art form.

To Pimp a Butterfly changed all 

of that. From its opening sample of 
Boris Gardiner’s “Every N*gger is 

a Star” and its name-checking of 
Black icons like Kunta Kinte and 
Marcus Garvey to its covering 
of seemingly every aspect of the 
Black American experience (or 
at least as many as he could fit 
in), Kendrick’s latest release is 
one of the defining albums of our 
time, made even more important 
because 
of 
its 
overwhelming 

blackness. To Pimp a Butterfly 
completely redefined the most 
relevant genre in America today, 
and even if you claim to dislike rap, 
if you’re a fan of any kind of music, 
you need to listen to this album. 
Hopefully, it will lead to your 
discovery of tons of other fantastic 
hip-hop artists.

From longtime legends like 

Public Enemy to great turn-of-
the-century artists like Black 
Star and modern torch-carriers 
like Killer Mike, hip hop’s 
political and social relevance has 
lasted for over three decades now, 
and even become more powerful 
as the clout of other genres has 
waned. It used to be rock music, 
with protest songs from artists 
like Bob Dylan or Crosby, Stills, 
Nash and Young, that dominated 
the charts and captured the 
nation. But it has been a long time 
since any band with the ambition 
and creativity of The Beatles, U2 
or even Radiohead in its prime 
has been on the national radar. 
Now, with bluesy leaders like 
Jack White and The Black Keys, 
rock is a genre that’s constantly 
looking backwards, where its 
artists think all the “real” music 
is. By contrast, hip hop is a 
perpetually 
forward-thinking 

genre that features some of the 
smartest, most creative minds 
of today. Even if what you hear 
on the radio doesn’t strike you 
as particularly great, you owe it 
to yourself to dig a little deeper 
to find the pulse of modern 
America’s best music.

Theisen’s wondering if he 

can kick it. To assure him, 

email ajtheis@umich.edu

MUSIC COLUMN

Hip-hop superiority

VIRGINIA LOZANO/Daily

Prof. Jim Burnstein directs the University’s screenwriting program.

“Write the story 
you want to see 
that no one else 

will make.”

ADAM 

THEISEN

