Stereotypes

I have noticed a disturbing trend among the younger male screenwriters I read. When they write of love, sex and romance they consistently – and I mean consistently – feature two kinds of girls. The hot girl, with big breasts or long legs, blonde hair or brunette, depending on the taste of the writer, and the nice girl – similar physical attributes but just a little more ordinary looking. The hot girl puts out and this is the source of the sex scenes early on in the script. The nice girl does not put out but more than that, she is “sweet”, she often cooks, she is definitely maternal and she is the one our main character will choose to either marry or fall in love with in the end. If I had a quarter for every time I have seen this dynamic in scripts written by younger males, I would be very rich. This disturbing, archaic, binary view of women is, well, disturbing and archaic. Largely this is the result of inexperienced writers being simply too youthful to understand that real women are too complex to pigeon hole and so they fall back on stereotype.

Falling back on stereotype is not only lazy writing it can even be offensive. All readers have seen cringe-inducing scripts in which ethnic characters are portrayed in a deeply offensive light. Other likely victims of stereotype are women, cops, priests, bratty children or just generally any character that the writer just couldn’t wrap his or her mind around. I think we all remember with a collective shudder the Mickey Rooney character in BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY’S.

Stereotype can be a beautiful thing - if it is a conscious choice. For example, teens are famously myopic and self-centered, yes? Naturally, the teen comedy is from the teenaged point of view - so even if you are a thirty-seven year old writer who knows better, the best choice for the parents in your teen comedy would be the repressed work-a-holic dad and the horny and bored mom. Is it true to life? Not really. But it is true to life for a teenager. And that’s the genre you’re writing.

The young male screenwriter who winds up with Jezebel the horny cheerleader versus Jenny the fresh-faced home ec sweetheart who also does his homework and bakes cookies is most definitely simply lacking in life experience and perspective. (See blog about distance). But for any other writer, stereotype is inexcusable – unless you are making a conscious choice that is in service to your story.

Check in with yourself and your story. What is the functionality of each character relative to each other and relative to the story, genre and tone? Are you maximizing each character? Do you need that character to make a larger thematic point? In other words, if the character is a stereotype, are you aware of it? Can you justify it?

Good character and dialogue work is considered one of the crown jewels in the toolkit of sought-after screenwriters. Stereotypes have a place and serve a function – sometimes the cop really should just eat a donut. Just make sure that as a writer, you are making a conscious choice that works within the world of your story because nothing says PASS writer faster than unfunny, unromantic or unscary stereotypes.

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Life, Love, Truth – and Distance

I often read scripts by young writers that are, ironically enough, coming-of-age stories. These scripts are passionate, epic and generally involve an overbearing father who wishes the main character would go into the family business. The main character usually victoriously tells dad off in the end and goes his merry way, barefoot and with his banjo, free at last to truly be himself. Such sturm und drang from a writer just over the legal drinking age. And as I read such material, I really do feel the intensity of feeling which wrought the work; it’s just that it’s not generally matched by a skill set or perspective to pull it off. Younger writers tend, very often, to write a thinly veiled version of their own experiences because these experiences have been recent and painful. Just as often, inexperienced writers write thinly veiled fantasy versions of their lives in which their ex-girlfriend bears a striking resemblance to Angelina Jolie and their boss at the Dairy Freeze is shredded by the razor sharp claws of the monster living in the dumpster.

Don’t get me wrong; I have nothing against young or inexperienced writers. I love the new, fresh voices and perspectives that they contribute to the world. But writers, like fine wine, need to age just a little before they take on the personal stuff. A synergy of life experience and the cultivation of voice imbues a writer with the ability to look back with clarity and write something that is personal – yet universal. It’s not about me, it’s about we.

Some time ago, I went through a bad break up. I had ever so many feelings about it, most of them homicidal, and nowhere to put them. So I decided to write a bleakly black comedy about the experience. Two weeks after the breakup, my writing group stared at me kindly, the way you would a doubled-over old lady in a parking lot, as I pitched them my idea. It was all over the map, it was ridiculous and it was most certainly not a movie. Suddenly I became aware of the embarrassed silence in the room. And it is a testament to the integrity of my writing group that a volunteer stepped forward and softly said: I think it’s too soon.

Naturally writers must be passionate about their subject. But our emotions need to be indirect; embedded in theme or character, not overt. Studio readers can attest to the painful experience of reading you-had-to-be-there comedy. No matter the genre or really, the venue, fiction is universally resonant precisely because it is specific and non-specific at the same time.

My advice to writers young and old is that if you feel a strong urge to write about your life – don’t. Resist the temptation. Let it sit for a few months or even years. Trust me, when it is time to tell that story, it will emerge from you with an elegance, hilarity, poignancy or razor-sharp anger which takes a story into the realm of a STORY. Take the time to allow the experience which shaped you to become an experience that will shape us – collectively.

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20 Things I Know For Sure: Do's and Don'ts in Your Spec Script

1. Don’t give your script a mysterious or esoteric title. It won’t be understood and this will annoy the reader and put them off the script before they even get started.

2. Don’t let your script go over 110 pages – max – unless this is an epic.

3. Don’t write an epic spec until you are experienced enough to do so.

4. Don’t forget to proofread; errors and clumsy language usage mark you as an amateur immediately.

5. Don’t write dense action lines.

6. Don’t over or under-describe your characters when we first meet them.

7. Don’t write dialogue that doesn’t sound natural. Try reading the line aloud yourself: how does it sound?

8. Don’t be sloppy; errors in logic, slug lines, locations etc. make you look lazy, untalented or both.

9. Don’t complicate your story overly much; you don’t want the reader to have to flip back and forth between pages and use their highlighter in order to grasp the trajectory.

10. Don’t bore readers. Treat them as if they have ADD. Your script is the center of the world to you; to a reader it’s one of many scripts they’ve read this week so far. Blow their ennui out of the water on page one.

Some writers still cling to the urban myth that a good story can trump bad writing. This, in my experience, is untrue. The ability to conceptualize a good idea cannot exist separately from the ability to execute it. In fact, over hundreds and hundreds of scripts, we readers notice patterns that emerge. Most scripts fall into only a very few categories:

Bad story: bad writing
Soft story: soft writing
Good story: mediocre writing
Great story: great writing

Don’t be discouraged; know that as part of the natural evolution of your writing, you are more or less destined to start at the bad story: bad writing end of the spectrum and move your way up slowly until you have a great story beautifully written.

Here is a list of Do’s to help you get there:

1. Do title the script in such a way that it both piques interest and tips the reader off to the nature of the script.

2. Do keep the script down to a nice, tidy 100-ish pages long. Many readers and execs flip to the last page first so we know what we’re up against. The number of pages gives us a sense of your discipline and skill set as a writer; 120 pages of romcom telegraphs to the reader immediately that this script is not working on a fundamental level.

3. Do make sure the script is clean in presentation and absent of spelling errors, typos or poor language usage. Proofread it eighty times.

4. Do write your action lines so that they read easily and are entertaining in and of themselves.

5. Do write characters that are unique and yet instantly recognizable; they should tell volumes about themselves in even their small details. Inventive economy. Make it your mantra.

6. Do write dialogue that feels natural, is never superfluous and moves the story along quickly.

7. Do check and double check that your writing is spare and simple: everything should make perfect sense as the reader moves along so that they never flip back or get bored and check emails; once you’ve lost the reader’s interest it’s an uphill battle to get it back.

8. Do pay a great deal of attention to keeping the story moving; nail your three act structure; readers won’t notice it consciously, but it will make the read faster and more interesting.

9. Do pay off the ending; the reader has invested most of their morning or afternoon in your script, make the ending count. Surprise us!

10. Do us one favor: write a story so entertaining that if only for that hour, we forget we are readers and simply enjoy the experience.

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The Language of Film is Universal

My best friend Angela and I have a terrible habit and we worry about ourselves sometimes; not only can – and do - we quote lines if not vast tracts from movies, we find more and more that we use these phrases and lines of dialogue to answer each other. Me: Bad day at work? Angela: (Jeremy Irons accent) You have no idea. Movies have been so much a part of our lives that they have in some sense become our shorthand. I couldn’t count the number of times I have asked her: …’t hell’s going on Bob?

As writers, we often worry so much about premise, structure, the “universal and resonant resolution” and so on. But we forget, sometimes, that we are writing scripts so that they may become movies. And movies are entertainment. Meant to be enjoyed. But more than that, movies are a collective cultural experience which tells us a lot about who we are as a society. Movies are maps and relics; treasured gems and warm comfort.

Take a few moments and think of the movies you love. Now think of the scenes in those movies you will never forget. Debra Winger’s deathbed scene in TERMS OF ENDEARMENT. Timothy Hutton’s break-through moment with his therapist in ORDINARY PEOPLE. Jack Nicholson’s iconic “Here’s Johnny!” in THE SHINING. Often what we are visualizing in our favorite scenes or moments is stellar acting. But don’t forget – someone wrote that scene. Yes, yes, yes you know this.

But here’s my point. As you are writing your script, get those memorable dialogue, moments and set pieces down on paper. Aim high. Not for just one golden moment in your script – many. Give an actor a role they might just win an Oscar for. Write a sequence that a director and cinematographer will be totally excited to shoot. Write lines of dialogue that audiences will never forget. I’m not talking, necessarily, about high-brow dialogue either. How often have you said Groovy, baby! Come on, be honest…more than you’d care to admit.

View every sequence and every scene within that sequence as an opportunity not only to move the story forward and develop character but to write dialogue that will be quoted by movie-goers into perpetuity. Go above and beyond merely servicing your story. Because more than the whole of your narrative, it is the memorable moments that audiences will share with each other sadly, laughingly or disbelievingly for months if not years - not your particularly clever second act break. Great movie moments lift, inspire and ultimately become part of us. Don’t be intimidated that you’re not Alan Ball, William Goldman, Shane Black or Billy Wilder. The door is wide open; new writers are creating memorable moments every day – and so can you.

Most days, life is decidedly pedestrian. So we go to the movies, settle down in our seats and wait for a movie to tell us the spectacular, hysterical, terrifying truth about who we are - if only for a couple of precious hours.

Here is only a fraction of this cinefile’s quotable movie lexicon. I invite readers to contribute their own as well!

…t’ hell’s going on Bob?
DOWN BY LAW

And your little dog, too!
THE WIZARD OF OZ

You have no idea.
REVERSAL OF FORTUNE

We’ve got a piper down!
SO I MARRIED AN AX MURDERER

Go ahead, cry yourself to sleep on your huuuuge pillah!
SO I MARRIED AN AX MURDERER

I always get the fuzzy end of the lollypop.
SOME LIKE IT HOT

Would you look at that? It’s like jello on springs!
SOME LIKE IT HOT

Give her the goddamned camera!
ORDINARY PEOPLE

I AM crazy!
BARFLY

Put. The Candle. Back.
YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN

More?!
OLIVER

And that, folks, is why I won’t do two shows a night. I won’t do it.
BEETLEJUICE

You think I’m too dumb to know what a eugoology is?
ZOOLANDER

That’s all.
THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA

What do you think I am, dumb or somethin’?
SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN

Well if it isn’t Ethel Barrymore!
SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN

What have the Romans ever done for us?
THE LIFE OF BRIAN

We-wease Wog-ah.
THE LIFE OF BRIAN

S-u-r-r-e-n-d-e-r- D-o-r-o-t-h-y
THE WIZARD OF OZ

Yippy ki-yay motherfucker.
DIE HARD

Welcome to Mindhead.
BOWFINGER

I wrestled with reality for 35 years, doctor, and I’m happy. I finally won out over it.
HARVEY

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Wrylies or Parentheticals

(silent) was actually contained within a wrylie in a script I just read. The funny part was the character then had a line of dialogue – so – I really wasn’t sure what that was all about. Wrylies are what I actually prefer to call parentheticals – what writers use to indicate tone, attitude and sometimes an action that implies a tone or an attitude.

John (sarcastically) Your blog is great.

Now, I have seen some strange things in wrylies. I have seen entire, long action lines in wrylies like:

Gertrude: (She sips his coffee, stares at him then thinks about last night. She smiles) Really? Your blog’s not bad either.

You think I’m kidding. I do not make these stories up. Welcome to the tragi-comic world of the reader. That last parenthetical is of course is an example of a gross misinterpretation of what might be acceptable in a wrylie. Generally speaking, writers should use them sparingly and keep their contents, on the whole, to things like:

(coyly)
(softly)
(distracted)
(under her breath)
(to himself)
(chewing)
(tiredly)
(bewildered)
(cringing)
(blushing)

Ask yourself, before using a parenthetical, if it is really necessary. In other words, can the emotion or action you wish to describe be conveyed in the action line or in the dialogue itself? Whenever that is possible, please, please don’t use a wrylie.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s no law against wrylies, they won’t get your script tossed into the circular immediately, but the more you use them, the more I think your writing skills are not terrific. Be judicious, limit the usage as much as possible and remember these simple wrylie rules:

1) Never put in a wrylie what can be indicated in an action line. No (walking faster) or (remembering last night) or (wondering if the coffee is too strong) or (looking her up and down).

2) Don’t indicate emotion in the wrylie unless there is no other possible choice. Maybe your character is hurtling toward earth after his parachute has broken.

Douglas: (sarcastically) Oh, this was a good idea.

Since he is hurtling, it would be tough to show him rolling his eyes or shifting his weight as he’s being a wiseacre.

3) Don’t use wrylies more than occasionally. A plethora will only lead to this:

Reader: (annoyed) Please kill me now.

4) Don’t use wrylies as an aside to the reader. Again, you think I’m kidding: (what you see next will amaze you) or (she is dressed up).

Reader: (icy disdain) This is such a PASS writer.

Action lines are just that – indicating action, movement, description, location. Yes? Yes. Wrylies are very small asides (laughing) (wheezing) (amazed). Used with restraint, they add a very light touch to a moment. It is better to use (to himself) than taking up the space in an action line to say:

John mumbles to himself -

John: Parachuting was your idea, idiot!

versus

John: (to himself) Parachuting was your idea, idiot!

Wrylies are about flow – they are shorthand way to give us, in a word or maybe two, a snapshot of the situation. Nothing more, nothing less. Wrylies should not impose; they should have quiet impact. Consider the wrylie the shy cousin who lives in the attic. Emerging rarely but to great effect.

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Lovely Bones: The essence of your script

My writing partner and I work together just about every day and over time, we have developed a shorthand; our secret partner-language so to speak. We say things like “placeholdit”, “throw it in the scene bank” “throw it on the heap”, “Dench-it-up” and “Don’t make me go all KOZIES on you”. That one has a particularly funny genesis but I digress…

One of the terms we use a lot is DNA. In our usage, DNA is the very essence of the material we are working on. My consulting clients hear me say, repetitively, that they need to “find the thematic connectivity” between events in their story. DNA is taking that idea a step further. In our last psychological thriller, the DNA of the script was primal mother love. And so in every scene, at every opportunity, we imbued our script with that DNA. Mother love and every permutation of it, from loving nurturing to ferocious protectiveness.

I am not necessarily talking about the use of an image system but rather a subtextual emotional system. And this can be done from the ground up: character details, locations, even the very use of language in the action line. Everybody knows that poets choose each word they use with great precision to create an overall effect. All writers know that words literally create moods and color. What I am talking about here is rather subversive and sneaky; weaving the essence of the story over and through every single aspect of the script so that the cumulative affect on the executive or producer will evoke particular emotions and unconscious associations.

It’s easy for writers to name a character in their horror script something like Van Scaredigan. That is part of the DNA – sort of – but only in the loosest sense; names are actually fairly broad associations. Some writers like to choose names with mythological associations which frankly goes over the heads of everybody but the writer and other writers. DNA goes deeper than just names; if your script is about loss and grief, for example, how can you as the writer, take advantage of that over-arching feeling and throughout the script, make sure that the DNA of grief is on every page, somewhere, somehow.

DNA might seem elusive to discuss or even esoteric. Does DNA overlap into theme? Yes and no. Where theme is the unmistakable aroma of something cooking in the kitchen, DNA is the subtle whiff of perfume… it’s there but it’s very hard to put your finger on. When I talk to writers about theme they often take the easy way out and say that the theme of their script is “loss” or “finding true love” or “growing up” or “searching for your dreams”. Those are not themes. But those are lovely bones indeed.

If your script is about destiny, then make sure that on every page, from the mouth of every character, from the plot to the theme to the location, destiny is the ephemeral subtext. I’m making it sound quite academic; it’s really not. An example from the thriller my partner and I wrote – remember, the DNA is primal mother love (and loss) - a character says of her garden: My roses are my babies. She could have said I love my roses or I’m proud of my roses but we chose the word “babies”. Now, in the same way that dousing yourself with an entire bottle of perfume is a bad idea, so is going overboard with obvious thematic and DNA references. Just a dab’ll do ya.

Here’s a great exercise: take a highlighter and go through every page of your script, highlighting every line of dialogue or phrase in an action line that speaks to your DNA. Your script should wind up with quite a lot of highlights.

DNA is one of the subtle differences between a well written script and an outstanding script. It’s important not because someone is going to read your script and say: Well done there, Hank! I see you’ve used the phrase “inky night” in your script about a giant squid! No, actually, DNA should be stealthy and invisible to a reader. Really, the use of DNA as a concept is a tool for you, the writer. It helps bring you closer to your material. It answers the question: What am I really writing about? And that would be the DNA of your story. Completely emphemeral and yet totally central. An omnipresent, indispensable building block. That which traces your script back to its very roots around the fire a thousand years ago.

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Know your Genre

Drum roll, please…This is the moment you’ve been waiting for…the number one thing that annoys this reader:

A writer who has no idea what he or she is doing. By that I mean, a writer who thinks they understand a genre (or even the craft in general) but is woefully, horribly mistaken. I worked with a writer recently who had written a “comedy”. That actually translated to over one hundred pages of what I can only assume were highlights of a drunken evening back in college. From what I read, I can only thank the Goddess I was not there. I asked the writer – what are you satirizing, exactly? And she said: What do you mean? What bothered me about that is the cavalier attitude that writing comedy is easy. As if Judd Apatow just sits down and writes this stuff and therefore so can you. As if that were true of Larry Gelbart, Nora Ephron, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks and too many others to name. It is a lack of respect for the craft that I must admit gets me very, very cranky.

Each genre has a history with high and low points, with expectations, transmutations and sub-genres. But let’s back up. Each genre has expectations. The thing is, you already know this. Because when we see movies, a primal part of us takes over. We await the romance to come to fruition just as much as we pleasantly dread the dissembling of the same romance – because it must be. We expect it. When we sit in the dark with our malted milk balls watching a horror movie, we cringe pleasurably as we wait for the…..JUMP OUT. But it can’t just be a jump out. It has to happen like this: Huh, what was that sound in the basement? Should I go look in the basement? I go down the stairs. I WHIRL AROUND. It’s just the cat. Phew, now I’m safe. I head back up the stairs. A HAND GRABS MY LEG.

In comedy, we expect to see set pieces highlighting the kind of comedy we’re watching. I could write a whole column about the kinds of comedy: satire, farce, slapstick, romantic verbal, black, political, parody and gross-out to name only a few. When you are writing a comedy, firstly it is critical that you know what kind of comedy and then from that decision, do your homework both in watching other movies in the genre and also studying up a little on comedy. Mel Brooks once said: Tragedy is when I get a hangnail. Comedy is when you fall down the staircase. Understand what “the topper” is in comedy. Understand the number of comic beats necessary to deliver the comedy most hilariously. Understand comedy from different eras. Watch the greats. And just as importantly – what makes you laugh? If you aren’t laughing when you write comedy, something is wrong.

Something newer writers don’t understand is that funny isn’t funny without the quiet moments in-between. And scary isn’t scary without the quiet bits either. A constant stream of action, horror or comedy disallows us from relating to the character these things are happening to.

In thriller the expectations will be centered around building dread, suspense, scares, thrills, chills and a helluva mind-bending, exciting showdown in the end. Here again, it depends on what kind of thriller you are writing: action-thriller, political-thriller, supernatural-thriller, horror-thriller and so forth.

Drama naturally has a million subsets because the word “drama’ in and of itself isn’t all that descriptive from the point of view of an executive. To name only a few subsets we might have sports-drama, historical-drama, political-drama or coming-of-age drama. If I’m going to the movies to see WE ARE MARSHALL, a sports-drama (and true story) you better believe I will expect to see moments of triumph, heartbreak, setbacks and victories. If I see a historical epic, I know I am going to see some really huge battle sequences. And in those sequences I will probably see that soldier who has a pregnant wife back home get killed. But he’ll die a martyr, he won’t be forgotten!

In each genre, set pieces highlighting and embodying the expectations of that genre should be plentiful and satisfying.

The first thing you need to do after you’ve come up with an idea is to ask yourself which genre you are in. It shouldn’t be difficult to figure it out. Once you’ve done that, go rent several movies in that genre and particularly movies that bear any resemblance to your idea whatsoever. Go see a movie in current release that is in your genre as well. Take notes and pay special attention. What beats are present, regardless of differences in story, in each movie? And very importantly, what pattern are the beats in?

I am not suggesting that writers attempt to cookie-cutter their writing to be completely derivative of pre-existing movies. Why was JUON so much better than THE GRUDGE? Because THE GRUDGE got put through the cookie-cutter and wound up limp and average. Derivative or imitative is not what I am suggesting here but rather an awareness of what makes certain genres work on that ancient, universal level. Lajos Egri’s book The Art of Dramatic Writing is a great resource for getting down to the fundamentals of drama. Harold Bloom’s Shakespeare: the Invention of the Human is not only a great reference book for the work of Shakespeare but a tremendous lesson for any and all writers who wish to understand what moves audiences. Donald Spoto’s book The Art of Alfred Hitchcock is a fascinating read. I’m sure others can name many more great references.

Whether you read scripts professionally, or for a friend you will notice the genre expectations – or lack of them – in your bones. You will find yourself losing interest because you haven’t had a nice, scary set piece in a few pages. Or because the romantic relationship has hit a plateau with no misunderstandings or fights. Or because no bad guy has entered, stage left, to challenge the sheriff of the town. As he should. As we expect.

Movies have been around as popular entertainment for less than a century. Yet collectively, Americans have consumed countless movies over our lifetimes. Part of the pleasure of seeing a movie is having a primal itch scratched. I feel like seeing a horror movie tonight. Not me, I want to see a romcom. No way, give me an action picture. I’m in the mood for a war movie. While audiences enjoy a good twist, a surprise ending or an unexpected development, they also look forward to, and in fact expect, certain notes to be hit.

The truth is that audiences are moved by very elemental emotions: being heartbroken, being chased, being lonely, laughter, joy, birth, death, mothers, fathers, growing up and too many others to name. And audiences pay for the privilege of being taken on a journey of both pleasurable familiarity and thrilling surprises.

Get to know your genre and the expectations of that genre so that while the story will be totally unique, the underlying, universally resonant moments are there for the reader. And ultimately, the viewer. And bear in mind, no matter which genre, this story is happening to and about a character. If we can’t relate to the character, the funny won’t be funny, the scary won’t be scary and the horror might even be funny.

Give the people what they want. Be it thriller, drama, comedy, western or romantic comedy. As Donald O’Connor sang so memorably: Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em laugh, make ‘em laugh!

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The Reader Cabal: Sorting Fact from Fiction

It is a little known fact that we readers are a secret society with an underground headquarters, special hand signals and a hazing ritual that few survive. Conspiracy theorists have speculated as to the location of our lair but so far we have eluded discovery. We are super elite, we know more about films, writing and life than you ever will. We are trained killers, just waiting to assassinate your script. We want to crush your hopes and dreams beyond repair. We laugh about you during our secret meetings.

None of those things could be further from the truth. Except the secret handshake. But here are some truths that might be helpful:

Readers are usually also writers. We usually work at home. We read for generally two or three companies at the same time. We don’t really care which companies they are but in Reader World, the higher profile the company, the more respect we gain. We read between five and ten scripts a week depending on time, energy and the availability of scripts. We have to drive to go pick up scripts. We do not get paid mileage. If we do not make ourselves available to pick up scripts, the work goes to someone else. If we are not available for a week or two, we stop receiving requests. During the holidays and film festivals, we don’t get much work. We bill for our work and sometimes it takes upwards of four weeks to get paid. We get paid extra for “overnights” which is to say dropping everything at say 5pm, driving to the production company, picking up the work and then turning it in before 9am the next day. Sometimes executives are really nice to us, they ask how we are and they talk with us about what we’ve read. Other times, they only cast us cold, reptilian stares as if we are the algae on the bottom of a rock.

We don’t care which genre we read. The first thing we do is pour a big cup of coffee or tea, sit down and flip to page one. We read about two lines. Then we flip to the last page and see how many pages there are. We learn something about what kind of writer you are instantly, from that page count. We take out the brads and get out a highlighter and a pen. Sometimes a notepad too. We read quickly and scan over action lines that are poorly written and dense. Dialogue lines tell us what is happening the most, so we zoom in on those. We highlight names, places and dates so the script is easier to synopsize. If the script is boring or otherwise bad, we take breaks to put another load of laundry in or answer the phone. If the script is really great, we look up and notice we haven’t budged for the hour it took to read it. When we read something really great or funny we scribble – GREAT – next to it. When we read something really awful or poorly written we write things like KILL ME NOW or NO WAY next to it.

We finish the script and pull the pages with notes. We write the synopsis usually from memory only. We have to write about a page and a half of synopsis; it depends. Some production companies want really detailed synopses, others not so much. If the script was really great, we spend more time on the synopsis. If we have to refer to the script pages more than once or twice to write the synopsis, this tells us the writer didn’t execute the story that well because it was convoluted or confusing. Then we write about one and a half pages of commentary. We start off with a nice comment, even if it’s lukewarm. We have to. The writer could be the executive’s wife, cousin or best friend. We never know. And we have had bad experiences with that before. After the nice comment in which we find something – anything – nice to say, we say in one sentence why the script is a go or no-go. Top reasons the script is a pass would include:

• Unoriginal premise
• Two dimensional characters/bad dialogue
• Poor structure, unsatisfying payoff
• Little or no commercial appeal; this is not a money maker
• This script is too much like some other movie this company already made or another movie currently out in theaters
• This script does not match the mandate of the company

Then in the coverage, we dig a little deeper and cite examples of our no-go reasons. We hesitate to give a script a “consider”. Sometimes we wuss out and give a script a “consider with reservation”. We do this because once we say “consider”, our asses are on the line. Remember the execs with the cold, reptilian gaze? You haven’t lived until you’ve had one of those call you into their office and ask why you gave this script a consider. Now you have to defend the script. It’s rare that we really want to put our reputations on the line for a script. Sometimes we pass on a script and later read about a six-figure sale of the same script in the trades. We just shrug it off and chalk it up to subjectivity. Sometimes the weight of our subjectivity wears on us; we are paid for our opinions. It’s a big responsibility. Are we correct? How do we know the market – that’s the execs job! But this is what we are paid to do. And if we buckle, if we show weakness, another reader will take our job. Confidence, speed and professionalism help us keep our jobs. It helps if our own writing is pretty good. That way the execs respect us. We might get a Christmas card or small gift during the holidays. Depends on the company. We hang on to our good jobs because they are hard to come by. We learn a lot from your mistakes. We feel bad for you sometimes. Sometimes you make us pretty cranky. We get inordinately happy when your work is good. You just made our day. We can’t believe we get paid to read such good stuff. At the end of the day, we are you. We are writers too. And we’re pulling for you.

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Developing Voice

A lot of new screenwriters are afraid to really let ‘er rip when they write. They’ve read all the books on screenwriting, they’ve maybe gotten beaten up a little on Triggerstreet or DoneDeal and, well, they become dogmatic, pedantic or both. The truth is a writer with a “voice” is the one that readers really notice and appreciate. This whole writing thing is supposed to be fun; yes it’s a serious business and yes it’s a difficult business but if you aren’t being entertained while you’re working on your script, chances are the reader won’t be entertained while they read it.

Of course there are many elements to hammer out that aren’t exactly a gas: premise, theme, character work, dialogue, structure and narrative, but assuming you have a fairly good grasp of those elements, you will grab your reader very quickly if your personality comes through on the pages. I have a client who wrote a fantastic horror script. But I wasn’t sure how fantastic it was on page two; I just knew that this writer was cracking me up! He just went all out and wrote the action lines in a way that reflected his South Boston roots. When we spoke of it later, he said really? I was worried that my attitude might be too much on the pages. No. Way. I loved it. That is what kept me turning the pages because it was a double-whammy; a good premise executed in a very compelling, entertaining way.

What is “voice” anyway? It’s personality. Read Shane Black for a great example of “voice”. William Goldman would be another great example. In fact, Goldman reads like a person telling you a story around a campfire. I read an unproduced script by Goldman a few months ago in which he said (to paraphrase slightly) that the mayor of Los Angeles “…turns around and IT’S WILFORD BRIMLELY! No, it’s not. But it looks like him.” I mean, that was just so golden. We get it, we laugh and we move on. Clever, funny, entertaining. Above and beyond the story itself. Again, paraphrased, Shane Black in LETHAL WEAPON describes a fight scene thusly: “I basically pulverized him.” Again, funny, entertaining and most importantly, we get it.

When writers try to keep it serious and technical the material begins to feel sodden. And for a weary reader, already frankly exhausted, the affect is sleep-inducing. Scripts are blueprints, yes. But a script also exists in and of itself. I remember a young girl in a writing program I was in for a couple of years. She was writing a very complicated science-fiction drama. During class, we would sometimes read pages aloud for feedback. She would sit there and read her pages in a monotone and we’d all grow completely glassy-eyed and slowly slump lower and lower until she was done. There followed a bored silence. The thing was – interesting things were happening on the page, but the execution on the page was so deadly dull nobody cared. I’ve never heard a chase scene executed in a duller way, honestly. It doesn’t have to be that way. In fact – it better not be that way. In my experience, nothing gives away a newbie faster than dull pages.

But – can you go too far in the other direction? Yes. That I have seen too. Sometimes a writer will use the same jokey tone that they might share with their friends. The pages feel very “insidey” and har har. And worse – the talent level and material simply don’t warrant a smart-alec tone. That’s when you’re just about sunk as far as the reader is concerned. The more experienced you are, the more naturally your own “voice” seeps into the material effortlessly and organically. It becomes a matter of course.

I recommend writing your first couple of drafts in a fairly straight up manner. At this point you are working on nailing your premise and structure. As the drafts progress, then you can start to loosen up and imbue the pages with your personality. Let your attitude toward the characters and situations show. Until scripts can be generated by computers – and that day may come – all we have at our disposal is human beings or as we like to call them in the business – writers. Show the reader that no one else could have written this story but you. It is your voice that is going to make this story special. There’s a good reason for this. When you’re up for an assignment? The executive is going to review the notes on any other material you may have submitted in the past. Say the exec is looking for a writer to rewrite a horror script. The exec will thumb through the files and he will see writers who had a very elegant, understated, serious voice. He will see writers who had a very playful, intense voice. He will see writers who had a very gruesome, graphic, scary voice. He will not see, among the writers to choose from, the guy whose writing was just okay. You simply won’t be on the radar.

Readers are using a magnifying glass while we examine your script, true enough. But don’t forget – we’re people too. And we like to laugh. Or be horrified or scared. I’ve cried reading scripts because the writer just let loose and went to the poignant place and imbued the script with such feeling. You’re reading scripts all day. You’re pooped. Which would you rather read: the mayor turns and he’s older with gray hair, a friendly face and a pot belly. Or he “…turns around and IT’S WILFORD BRIMLELY! See, now you’ve made me laugh. And I want more.

This business we’re in is called the entertainment industry. So entertain the reader* and you’re ten steps ahead.

*Moms and friends excluded.

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Take a Number in Development Hell

I have a client who got a manager recently. I was very proud of him and he was beyond excited. As he should be. Having representation puts a writer in a completely different sphere. Suddenly, you feel legitimate. You get to say things like “I don’t know, I have to talk to my manager.” Other, unrepresented writers will look upon you with envy. After having belly-crawled through the desolate landscape of the Unrepresented, your new manager or agent will look like an oasis, fragrant with dates and cool, sweet water. You will pore over his credits and clients. You will look for his name-ergo-reputation in every conceivable corner. You will boast to the unrepped that your manager is very busy and probably won’t read their work.

Then some time passes. You’re not getting the meetings or the sale you wanted. Or maybe you are. Maybe you get your script to a producer who is very serious about your work. Then you go into what we like to call “development hell”. Development hell is an unpleasant place to be. It’s right there in the name – hell. Meeting after meeting; pushed meetings, late meetings, long meetings, cranky meetings, excited meetings during which your material, which the producer originally LOVED is slowly picked apart. You may develop an eye-twitch. You may notice a racing heart, insomnia and the temptation to crush a butterfly’s wings. Other people will tell you how lucky you are to be “in development” with “x producer”. You will smile thinly and pretend to agree. You will beg your manager to just option the stupid thing because your credit card is close to being maxed out. He will refuse, saying boldly, that this material will not fall into the producer’s hands so cheaply. No – a sale is what we want. You note that it’s been some months since the producer has “loved” this script. Soon, your manager says with a smile. So soon. Your eye twitches.

My client with the brand-new manager called me in a panic. My new manager has some changes! He doesn’t like the ending! Is he going to drop me? No. He won’t drop you. This is normal. A rep’s first response to new material is, in order, a) can I sell this? and b) can this person write worth a damn? Once the material is repped and has “gone out” to various producers, the real work begins which is a) can I make this movie and profit from it? and b) how can I improve this script to that end? You will be asked to change x element in your script. You will do so. At the next meeting, you will be asked to change it back to the way it was. Ridiculous suggestions will be made and you will be required to keep a straight face. Your manager will continue to cheer you on, saying how great this is and how close you are. Your eye will twitch. Visiting the lot has now changed from an exhilarating experience filled with wonder to a grueling trek during which you seriously think about carjacking a golf cart and going postal in the commissary.

This story can and usually does end in one of two ways. It starts with a phone call. And ends either with a euphoric spending spree or a phone call to mom and dad asking to borrow some cash to help pay the rent. The end of my story has not yet come. I’m not sure which it will be but I feel really bad about the golf cart thing and I am making up for that with community service.

This is a nerve-wracking business and for every new level of accomplishment I have reached, there has been a whole new vista of challenges, both good and bad. Sorta like life. Being repped is fantastic, and something to be proud of. Being in development is also fantastic and something to be proud of. But it’s not the end-all be-all. Holding on to my perspective as a human being is the most important thing. Yes my writing is important to me and yes I need to pay down that credit card. But in the big picture I know this is just one interesting chapter of many in my life. And whatever I experience on the other end of this, at least I’ll always have my eye twitch.

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Handling Notes

You just didn’t get it! That’s what a fair percentage of writers say when they don’t like the notes they receive. I just didn’t get it. This to a person who reads anywhere between six and eight scripts a week. That’s right. I didn’t get it. Because it wasn’t on the page. I know that sounds callous. But remember, I am a writer too. I have a manager and work that “goes out” to executives in the industry. That means I am also on the receiving end of “notes”. It’s tough to handle, I understand that from experience. But because I work with so many writers myself, I have noticed a trend: the more experienced the writer is, the easier notes go down. Because experienced writers know how to handle receiving notes. It is the inexperienced writers who shriek like the Wicked Witch of the West after the bucket of water has been thrown on her. Or you sometimes get the quiet, disgruntled writer. Oh. I see. Well. I worked really hard on that. I guess you just - wait for it – didn’t get it.

Handling notes is easy when you can remember one simple thing. It’s not about you. It’s about the story. If you don’t have to kill some darlings then you may not be getting totally honest notes. Want to know how to handle notes better? Here’s how: Just write all the notes down. Don’t judge them, don’t get your hackles up, just nod and scribble. If you are in a meeting situation you may need to dialogue about the notes right there in the moment. But I am talking about receiving notes from a consultant, coverage or even a friend who was nice enough to read your script.

There are different kinds of notes. Notes about set up (I didn’t buy that the character was really all that desperate). Notes about logic (how could the murderer have been in all those places at once?). Notes about tone or genre (I know it was supposed to be a comedy but I didn’t laugh.) Notes about execution (I got confused. Was the murder in space or on earth?). Notes about the premise itself (I feel like the story was very familiar to me).

Notes are not personal attacks. Notes are opportunities for you, the writer, to improve your story. Set your ego aside and get selfish. Yes, selfish. Do you want the best script ever? Grab those notes, wring them out and see what you can use to improve your script. Check your ego, kill your darlings and don’t get defensive.

Some of the hardest notes to handle are the outright suggestions: Why don’t you make the husband a cross-dresser? What if the killer is from Poughkeepsie? Oh! I know! If you make the lion a hippo, it would be *way* scarier! The way to handle notes like this is exactly the same. Nod and write them down…

Because what you are going to do later (and it’s not only permissible it’s wise not to have answers right there in the moment) is look at your notes and separate them by element. This note is a character issue. This note is a tone issue. This note is a premise or logic issue. This note is structural in nature. Take an inventory – do your notes all have something in common? Maybe your structure is not working. Maybe your characters need a lot more development. Some of the notes will feel vague and you won’t be sure how to interpret them. But here’s how you can try. If the note is something like – it would be really cool if the killer attacked the police woman in this scene! This note probably translates to there’s not enough exciting action in this segment of the script. If the note is – I didn’t buy that the character really *had* to find the treasure. This note is about character motivation and set up.

Make sure you do some quality control when seeking notes. Get notes from experienced writers and get notes from some regular folks – who are smart and like movies. Don’t get notes from your cousin Jimmy or your mom. They won’t be helpful. Absolutely, no matter what, you will get some notes that are ridiculous. That’s okay. Write them down, categorize and evaluate them – and toss them out. This is your story after all. If you use a consultant, you shouldn’t really get any completely ridiculous notes. If the consultant is any good, the notes will be fairly organized and generally spot-on. Yes, personality comes into it. Some people just won’t like your script. Full stop. They don’t like the genre, the type of humor or a particular character. A professional won’t have those personal issues; they will remain objective and judge the script in a mechanical way.

An interesting litmus test is this: if the note really upsets you? Take a hard look at that note. Sleep on it. What is pinging for you? Why are you feeling defensive? Nine times out of ten it’s because the note is spot on but the issue at hand is a darling and you’ll be damned if you’ll kill it. These are the most valuable notes of all. The ones that really get to you.

So here’s the primer on receiving notes:

• Breathe it out – don’t take it personally. That’s rule one.
• Nod and scribble. Write it all down.
• Sort out the notes, look for a pattern.
• Interpret notes that weren’t clear to you. Look for the underlying note.
• Thank the note giver and buy them a drink. They deserve it. If you react with graciousness and sincerity – they might just read for you again.

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Commercial Potential

Considering the commercial potential of your story idea is crucial to your growth as a writer and to your success as a working writer. As they say, they don’t call this show friends. The movies are business just like widgets. Well, not quite like widgets but Hollywood markets products and those products are meant to but behinds in seats and keep them there. We writers tend to get pretty enamored of our ideas but maintaining a level of objectivity when it comes to the market prospects of the story is what will set you apart from writers who work in their mom’s basement, wearing wife-beaters and drinking Jolt. There are a lot of writers out there who have seen APOCALYPSE NOW one too many times and fancy themselves screenwriters. Trust me on this one.

Before you even begin to write your script, think: is this story something that will draw an A-list star? Will it open big on a Friday night? Or is it more of a character-driven, rainy Sunday afternoon movie? That second category is perfectly respectable, by the way. There is a market for smaller movies. Not every writer has any interest in writing a huge-tentpole-franchise with blaring music. Not that you’re going to sell *that* right now either.

Okay so you’ve ascertained that your idea might actually attract some good talent. And sure, it’s a Sunday afternoon matinee. Make a list of five other movies you can think of that are remotely like it. Really wrack your brain. Now, do some research. Use IMDB. When did the movies you listed come out? And how did they do at the box office? Trends tend to be cyclical. In other words if you have a hard-bitten, philosophical cowboy movie like UNFORGIVEN, comparisons might not be drawn immediately since that movie was released about fifteen years ago, in 1992. There is much more to consider for you though, cowboy writer: have you seen any cowboy movies released lately? Heard of any in production? What ever happened to Deadwood by the way? Mmmmm, maybe the cowboy movie is not the best sell at the moment. Oh, I know, how about a movie about this female boxer who nobody believes in? Ah…maybe not. How is your idea different? How is it uniquely entertaining?

A common mistake that newer writers make is that the trip they made to Switzerland? To see their Grandma? Is going to entertain anyone outside the family. Remember, you are asking an executive to spend potentially twenty five million dollars and up to commit your story to celluloid forever. Movie-making is a very risky business. Most movies lose money; the blockbusters tend to plug up the holes in the dike from all the miscalculations earlier in the year. While the old saying that if we knew what made hit movies – every movie would be a hit is true (who could have predicted the success of LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE?) you can count on the fact that nobody cares about your grandma in Switzerland. Unless you can find a way to make that so compelling and entertaining that it is unlike anything we have seen before.

Another way to determine commercial potential is to follow the trades. Go to www.hollywoodwiretap.com for a thumbnail on trade news. In a recent January edition of the New Yorker, David Denby wrote a great article about the state of the movies. Understand what’s going on in the business you are trying to get into. It will serve you well.

But back to you, the writer, at your desk. You’ve got this great idea. Test it for commercial potential before committing yourself to 115 pages of oh-well-that was-a-good-way-to-spend-six-months. And if you do find yourself having written a script that nobody is interested in: sock puppets in the basement *could* make you a Youtube star anyway. Maybe throw in some treadmills.

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