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Genre: Animation
Premise (from writer): When a young canary discovers the true purpose of canaries in a 1930s coal mine, he teams with a boy miner to improve working conditions for birds and boys alike.
Why You Should Read (from writer): Canary in a Coal Mine is a Nicholl Fellowship semi-finalist and Austin Film Fest Second Rounder. It was discussed on John August’s ScriptNotes podcast as part of their 3-Page Challenge, and it’s garnered attention from Disney and Sony Animation. So it’s got that going for it, which is nice. — As for me, I’m a persistent writer who has submitted to ScriptShadow 8 or 9 times, but this is the first in 2014. I love the website and the scripts. However, I’ve noticed one thing missing — CANARY MINERS. You need canary miners wearing tiny helmet lamps and speaking Scranton lingo to be complete. Trust me.
Writer: Steven D’Arcangelo
Details: 108 pages
You’ve heard it here before. Don’t write an animation spec. Animation specs don’t sell. Well, they have sold, but at a rate of something like one every ten years.
Ya gotta wonder why that is. I heard once that animation studios don’t like to give all the fun away. If they’re going to spend five years making a movie, why hand the idea off to some schlub in Burbank when they can all come together and make one up themselves!
That never made sense to me though. Cause then why do other studios buy material? Why don’t they just “come up with it themselves” also? I guess because they’re responsible for more output. I don’t know.
But ya gotta think that despite the odds being waaaaaaay way way way against you, that if you did write an amazing animated spec, that someone would buy it. Because that’s the one rule that’s true across the board in Hollywood. I know some people will argue with me on that. But to me it’s obvious: If you write something great, no matter what it is, SOMEBODY will pick it up, because great material is hard to find.
But therein lies the catch. If you’re writing spec animation, “Good” isn’t good enough. “Really good” isn’t even good enough. It must be amazing. And those are some lofty goals to shoot for. Does Canary in a Coal Mine meet those goals? Or does it chirp and tweet its way to mediocrity?
“Canary” follows a young crooning canary named Cole in the rip-roaring year of 1937, a time where it seemed like every other town had a mine full of coal. Which is, in fact, relevant, as every coal mine needs itself some canaries.
We aren’t sure why this is at first, but Cole’s assumption is that all canaries sing wonderful happy tunes, tunes that keep coal miners upbeat and enjoying their jobs.
In the canary world, getting one of these coveted mine-spots, where you actually GO IN the mine and sing, is decided by a sort of Pigeon Idol, where you sing in front of a group of bird judges and they decide if you have the goods. And if you’re REALLY good, like GREAT, you graduate to the ultimate mine, a far off place known, angelically, as “Skyhaven.”
Cole doesn’t have to worry about Skyhaven though. Cause he can’t carry a tune to regurgitate his feathers. He’s stuck in the aviary with all the other “normal” canaries, watching the studs go off to work every day.
Until he gets curious. You see, Cole’s dad graduated to Skyhaven a long time ago. The problem is, none of the canaries have actually seen Skyhaven. Wanting to see his long-lost papa again, Cole heads outside the aviary, only to eventually stumble across the REAL Skyhaven (spoiler), which is a actually a graveyard!
Yes, the truth is, canaries are used to identify carbon monoxide in the mines. If they keep singing, that means that section of the mine is okay. If they stop, that means they’re dead! And the miners know not to go there. Cole rushes home to tell everyone in Canary Country the truth. But when they don’t believe him, he’s forced to save people on his own accord.
I’ll give Steven this, he wasn’t afraid to get dark. I admire that. If you’re going to invade this space, a space that’s nearly impossible to sell a script in, you gotta take some chances. And a dreary setting, some intense adult themes, and more canary deaths than you can shake your tailfeather at, is a fearless way to go about it.
But he probably went too dark. Here’s the thing. With any animated film, I think you SHOULD go dark. The animated films that resonate the most typically go there, dating all the way back to Bambi. The threat of death, the most final of finalities, ups the stakes of the story. Because if we know someone can die, then nobody is safe. And there’s something that works even better with that in an animated setting for some reason. Cause animated movies, with their cuddly characters and bountiful colors, are supposed to be safe. That juxtaposition makes them feel harsher for some reason. So I believe Steven probably made the right call there.
But when you write, you gotta know your audience, and with the key demo being kids here, I don’t see snuffing out the lives of a bunch of canaries, singing their cute little songs until they can’t breath anymore, resulting in kids leaving the theater asking about a sequel. It’s a tad morbid.
Also with these animated movies, since they always involve animals, you have to come up with universal rules on how the animals communicate with each other, and if they can communicate with humans. If the rules aren’t clear, the audience gets frustrated. I remember this was a problem with Jerry Seinfeld’s “Bee Movie” a few years back. In that universe, bees could apparently talk to humans. That didn’t fly well with a lot of viewers. So if you introduce an unbelievable rule, you can kill the suspension of disbelief, which has repercussions throughout the script (once you stop believing, it’s hard to stay invested).
Here, Cole could communicate with the young boy who takes care of the birds. They talked to each other in English. But the birds couldn’t talk to the adult miners for some reason. I guess kids have a “special” level of intuitiveness that makes this somewhat believable, but it was hard to buy at face value. Something felt a little off about it.
Finally, the second act didn’t pack enough punch for me. Everything else being equal, you keep readers reading with a good plot. Which means your plot points have to be interesting. (spoiler) Skyhaven being a graveyard wasn’t a big enough plot point for me. We all knew something like that was probably coming, so the 25 pages that surrounded that plot point felt kind of obvious. It wasn’t until we realize that canaries we know are in danger of dying in the mines that the script ramps up. And unfortunately that happens really late.
If I were Steven, I’d try to get to that part of the story sooner. The sooner we know the canaries are in danger of dying, the sooner we can introduce a goal, a ticking time bomb, and all of that. So say we set up that the miners are going to a new part of the mine, the deepest part of it yet, a tunnel that’s been closed for 20 years because of how dangerous it was (but they need more output – so the evil owner sends them down there). There are tons of carbon monoxide pockets in there. They will need almost all the canaries. Many many canaries are going to die. And Cole has to stop it all somehow, despite the fact that nobody believes him. If we got to that sooner, the narrative would be a lot simpler, and the second act wouldn’t feel so janky.
There’s definitely SOMETHING here and Steven is a good writer for sure. That was almost enough for a “worth the read” (it was super-close) but the tone going too dark and a slow-going unfocused second act kept this from meeting its potential.
Script link: Canary in a Coal Mine
[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Sometimes we believe our reveals are better than they actually are, and waste too much time building them up. Since the audience already knows what to expect, the reveal (i.e. Skyhaven being a graveyard) doesn’t hit with the intended force, and the reader’s frustrated because he spent the last 20 pages prepping for a twist that he already knew about. If you have a big reveal, make sure it truly is a) BIG and b) unexpected. That may mean being more original, it may mean hiding the reveal better, or it may mean throwing in a few red herrings. But if I know a specific twist is coming 20 pages before it happens, the story is in trouble.
