Final Draft

While I'm sure JVDB wants to shed the persona of Dawson very badly, it felt to me that this film was kind of picking up where the Creek left off. When we last left the DC crew, Pacey and Joey were living in NYC being romantic and creative and shit, Jen had died of some rare disease, and Dawson had made the leap to L.A. to become a successful movie maker, now with a hit show about his Norman Rockwell-ish childhood back east...

Now, in Final Draft, Dawson (albeit under a different name) has become a struggling screenwriter, living in some factory-warehouse loft space in what looks to be Allentown or Gary or someplace cold (in fact, this movie is Canadian, so the nameless place is probably Hamilton or Ottawa or something like that). He is mooching off his actor friend, who himself is desperate for a big role to jumpstart his career. Hollywood eats its own, right? Only the young survive...
Anyway, Dawson locks himself in his dump of a loft, and slowly goes insane writing a screenplay about a vengeful ghost of a circus clown. To be honest, I like Pacey's turn as a Hemingway wannabe in Americano much better. At least JVDB is getting work though...