Gurinder Chadha on the careers officer, Bend It Like Beckham after 9/11, and whether your idea is worth seventeen pounds

How did you get into this?

I had no plans to do anything I’ve done.

At school I said I wanted to go to university and the careers officer said, oh, I think you should go to secretarial college.

I said I don’t want to be a secretary.

She said: men really need good secretaries.

That was probably a defining moment.

Then I became a journalist, because I thought — why do you want to change the world? I thought I could do it as a BBC journalist.

Wrong.

Then I thought, actually, I’d like to tell the story of who I am, because people like me aren’t represented. Having grown up with the whole National Front thing in my teenage years, I was looking for ways to combat prejudice and racism, and I decided the way to do it was through storytelling.

So it became a political thing for me, rather than I want to be a writer. I never planned on being a writer. I never planned on being a director.

Storytelling for me is about having something to say, and knowing you have a reason to say it. If you have that, it’ll get you through the highs and lows.

What did journalism give you?

I was a broadcast journalist working in radio, and I’d spend hours at night doing little packages — which was effectively editing.

The five-link package was the thing everyone aimed for: an interview, a bit of actuality, another bit of interview, another sound. I was building little stories in the edit room, and I liked the way two plus two equalled five. One person saying this, someone else saying that, add a bit of music, and suddenly everything changes.

That was my eureka moment, in the newsroom.

What journalism gives me now is that I’m always asking: what is the point of this scene? What am I trying to say? What are these characters trying to say? What’s their worldview? It’s very tight in that way.

I’m in awe of directors like Lynne Ramsay, who is so evocative and lets the storytelling happen completely differently. I’ve always felt I don’t have that luxury, because I’m negotiating so many things I’m trying to say.

Anyone can have a good idea. But can you sustain it for ninety minutes?

Gurinder Chadha speaking on stage at State of the Story, BFI Southbank, London

Do you think about how it’ll be received while you’re writing?

I think what we all fear when we sit down to write is rejection. It doesn’t matter how successful you are.

You already know what the notes are going to be from the studio or the producers as you’re writing. Journalism means I’m always second-guessing what someone’s going to say.

You’re also writing knowing who’s watching, who’ll criticise it, who’ll call it woke.

Bend It Like Beckham came out just after 9/11.

That film was released in every country in the world. Including North Korea.

And at that moment, it put Sikhs in turbans on screen as people who were emphatically not the enemy. That mattered enormously in that particular year.

What do you tell writers about structure?

I did the Robert McKee course very early on, and I’ve stood by it. That three-act structure is the best advice I give young writers.

Used as intended, it doesn’t give you all the answers, but it’s a fantastic framework for looking at what story you’re actually telling.

He called it the negation of the negation. For about twenty years I had no idea what that meant. What he means is: the worst thing that can happen to your characters — keep pushing it. Push it, push it, all the way through ninety pages.

And when people bring you ideas?

I always ask: would you spend seventeen pounds going to the cinema to watch that?

How do you expect other people to spend that money? Is your idea worth it? Can you sustain it?

People write to me saying, I’ve got this really good idea, it should be told. Everyone’s got a story. My response is: anyone can have a good idea, but can you sustain it for ninety minutes? What’s going to make me still be there after thirty pages? After sixty?

Writers often feel, especially starting out, that I have such a brilliant idea, the world has to hear me.

And sadly the world doesn’t give a sht, really — unless you pitch it well. Unless you bring yourself to it and write about what you know, and bring an authentic emotion so that you demand* our attention.

Why should we sit and listen to you? Because you’ve had a hard time? We’ve all got that.

What is it about your story that makes us go: oh my God, I’m hooked.

What’s your advice?

You have to write for yourself. Be proud of what you’re writing.

The world might not love it, the world is probably not ready for it — but as long as you do your very best to push yourself and write interesting, engaging, emotional stuff, you’re really writing for yourself.

It’s an absolute marathon and it’s really hard. If you want it badly enough, you keep going.