So yesterday’s guest post created quite a lot of discussion, as I figured it would. Facing the prospect of “giving up” as a screenwriter is one of the most terrifying things any writer can go through. Because we all have those questions on our mind, some of us right there at the tip of our forehead, and some buried deep within our subconscious. “Should I quit?” “Is it better to get a real job while I’m still young?” “Do people back home think I’m a talentless hack for not making it yet?” The questions get harder when you find a spouse and have children. Now you’re not just affecting yourself with your decisions. “Is it right to keep going?” “Am I spending enough time with my kids?” “Does it not matter since screenwriting is based so much on luck?”

The first thing to know is that everybody’s situation is different. Nobody can base their decision to write (or not write) on the experiences of someone else, because the experiences of others are probably nothing like yours. And you don’t know all the circumstances anyway. If someone says they gave up after five years, but failed to mention they were only writing a couple of hours a week, wouldn’t it have been foolish to let their decision influence your own?

Or take Randy from yesterday. From what he told us, he didn’t like mainstream material and wrote smaller character-driven faire. This is a mainstream material driven business. If you’re not writing mainstream material, it’s going to be very hard to break in. The indie world is more about “do-it-yourself.” It’s more about writing and then directing your own material. That tends to be the only way those movies get made. So if you’re in the same boat as Randy, you might want to shift your approach from trying to sell specs to trying to make them. And if directing isn’t your thing, become a writer-producer and find other people to make your movies.

I also think information helps. You need to study how the system works in order to increase your chances of becoming a professional screenwriter. Through the evolution of this site, for example, I’ve learned what genres have the best chance of selling. Knowing that piece of info right there increases your chances of selling a script a hundred-fold (probably more). I also know how important it is to write an interesting main character that an A-list actor would want to play. That also increases your chances. If you keep picking up and learning all these pieces of information (of which there are hundreds if not thousands), you continually position yourself higher and higher on the ladder for breaking in. Which is why it usually takes screenwriters so long to break through. Cause they don’t know all this stuff at first.

I also want to say something about managers and agents. Guys, you HAVE TO STOP thinking agents and managers are the end-all be-all. These people only do something for you twice – with your first big spec that they like, and then (if that spec doesn’t sell) when you’re generating consistent income for them. Between those two times, they don’t do anything for you because they don’t have time. They have 20-30 other clients, and those are the ones who are paying their bills. You wanna hear something scary? I know this up-and-coming writer-director who just made a movie with one of the hottest character actors in the business, a guy who had one of the biggest TV shows ever. A couple of months after he finished production, his agents called him. “Hey, we just read your latest spec,” they said. “We like it. We want to send it to a few people.” “Umm, I finished shooting that movie two months ago,” he replied, laughing. That’s how freaking clueless these guys are about you unless you’re making them money.

Oh, and I also met with an agent from one of the Big 3 agencies, and we were going through a list of professional scripts I liked. It just so happened, he represented five of the writers of those scripts. He noted, as he went down the list, “I represent that guy. Haven’t heard from him in a year.” “I represent that guy. I have no idea what he’s doing right now.” And so on and so forth. And it was just this kick to the head. I realized that these guys can’t and won’t do anything unless you’re creating quality material for them that’s making them money. For that reason, it’ll always be your job to write as much as possible and create your own jobs. Do you know how Sam Mendes ended up directing the last Bond? It wasn’t because his and Daniel Craig’s agents decided they should meet. It was because they saw each other at a party and Craig suggested the possibility to Mendes. The more I learn about this business, the more I learn that it’s up to YOU to create your own breaks and forge our own career. Nobody is going to do it for you. Your agents just legitimize you and facilitate your deals.

And now to the big one – the reason I wanted to respond to yesterday’s article. Should you move to LA?  Put simply, moving to LA increases your chances of selling a screenplay and becoming a working screenwriter. There is no question about that. And I’ll tell you why. One of the biggest complaints from aspiring screenwriters watching all these other writers break in is, “Yeah, but they knew that famous actor or that famous director. That’s the only reason they got that opportunity.” Well yeah, no shit. And guess how they met those people? Cause they moved to LA! This is where you meet all the folks who make movies! So if you’re out here and active, chances are you’re going to meet someone who can give your script to someone who can give your script to someone else. And maybe it sells.

And if it doesn’t? If it only gets people interested in knowing you? Then you take meetings and gain more contacts based on the quality of that spec. Something that’s hard to do if you’re not in town. It’s kind of like trying to break into the popular clique at high school when you live half-way across the country. How are they going to remember you over the 20 other guys who they see every day?

Now, with that said, I do NOT think it’s impossible to break into Hollywood from outside of Los Angeles. But I will tell you a truth that may be difficult to hear: YOU HAVE TO BE BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE. You have to write more. You have to work harder. You have to meet as many other screenwriters online and build the biggest ONLINE screenwriting network you can. You have to enter more contests. You have to cold query more agents and producers. You have write even when you don’t feel like writing. The reason? You have that “not here” stigma attached to you and that works against you. I’ll give you a personal example. Since I’m moving into producing, I want to meet all the writers whose scripts I like. So I try and set up meetings with all of them. When I find out they don’t live here, I’m bummed. I want to put a face to the name. I want to know what kind of movies they want to make. I want to know if their sensibilities match up with mine. I want to possibly make a movie with them! If they’re not here, it’s a lot harder to do that. E-mail is fine. But it’s not the same as being able to get to know someone “for real.”

But. BUT. BUTTTT!!! I don’t care if you live in Santa Monica, Alaska, Iraq, New Zealand. If you write something great, you better believe I will try and do something with it. I will never pass over a great script because the writer doesn’t live in Los Angeles. And I’m sure there’s nobody else in town who would either. There is such a lack of quality material out here, that if a quality script shows up, people will want it. Period. I’m not talking about “good” material. People here in LA can get away with that. When you’re an outsider, it has to be REALLY GOOD. But like I said, that isn’t going to happen magically. You have to out-work all the guys who are in a better position than you are. You need to read all the books, read as many scripts as you can, write more than the dude with a plush Hollywood loft. And then you need to blanket every screenwriting avenue that will read your script. Because a great script doesn’t matter if nobody knows it exists. That’s the only way it’s going to happen for an out-of-towner. Nobody’s going to hand it to you.

So that’s my response. Screenwriting is not a hopeless cause. It’s just hard, like any profession. And if you’re in a situation where it’s a little harder for you than the next guy, you have to work harder than the next guy. That ain’t exclusive to screenwriting. That’s life.

Hey guys.  Carson here.  I’ll be moving today’s review to tomorrow.  Today, I have something special and interesting, something that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before – a screenwriter openly admitting defeat – giving up on his dream.  It’s a brave and scary thing to confront.  And I’m sure a draining thing to write about.  But like our guest columnist, Randy Steinberg, says, if it can help just a few people avoid the mistakes he did, it’ll be worth it.  I don’t agree with everything he says below, but I agree with most of it.  I know one thing.  This should be a very interesting comments section.  

*Note* Throughout this essay, when I refer to screenwriting it should be meant to understand I am discussing theatrical film writing as opposed to television writing.

I received a Master’s degree in Film in 1998. My concentration was screenwriting, and from that point forward I set out to write movie scripts with the goal of finding an agent, getting produced, and building a career. In 2011, I ceased trying. I threw in the towel. Tapped out. I had failed. I made very little money during all those years, had a virtual rolodex of contacts who probably wouldn’t remember my name in six months, and a bunch of old scripts that only myself and the universe knew existed.

How had this come to pass? It’s not as if I didn’t try. I had diligently written scripts for more than a decade. I knew people both in and out of the Hollywood system liked my writing. I had the chops, the drive, and the ideas to succeed. Why didn’t I?

No one will tell you success in screenwriting is easy, but few impart just how high the odds are. You may secure an agent or a manager, but that is only one step. Once you have representation, your script may be circulated. You may even get an actor or director attached. A small paid option will seem like a giant leap forward. If you are extremely fortunate, your script may sell and even be produced. This may mean some solid income, but don’t quit your day job because you could go dry for years after that. To actually live off screenwriting and that alone (and hope to support a family if that’s part of the equation) is an achievement few realize.

It’s not as if I was unaware of the long odds, but I didn’t play the game correctly. The age old saw “if I had only known then what I know now” applies, but even armed with better knowledge the odds of success increase only slightly. Still, if one hopes to achieve a dream it is best to embark on the journey with the proper tools and information.

What was it I didn’t know? What should I have done differently? Why did I fail where others succeeded? What can I pass on so new writers avoid the mistakes I made?

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As with most failures, you have to look at yourself (though many are wont to do that). First, however, let me indulge in a bit of self-pity. When I emerged from film school, I was ill prepared to commence a career in screenwriting. It was the classic dichotomy of theory and practice, and many film school grads face this: no matter how well-schooled they might be, they are not prepared for what lies beyond the halls of the academy. For me, at the time of my graduation I did not hit the ground running: I just hit the ground.

It took me a few years to get over this poor start, but that amount of finger pointing aside, I have no one but myself to blame about the subsequent mistakes I made.

One of the appeals of screenwriting is the lottery-like nature of it. You can go from rags to riches overnight. One day you are the struggling writer in the garret, the next the toast of Hollywood. There is an entire industry built around tips, strategies, formulas, etc. that can help a writer achieve that big payoff. The allure is hard to resist.

That is probably one of the reasons I stayed at it as long as I did. Every time you begin a new script, you have hope. This could be the one. All the disappointments of the past are washed away, like so much sin after a sprinkling of holy water. Writers of all stripes have to deal with constant rejection and self-doubt, but they are the ultimate optimists. No aspiring writer would ever begin a new project if he or she didn’t think it would be the one that was going to make a big splash.

But here is the first and greatest mistake I ever made: I never moved to Los Angeles (I am from the Boston area). I had the opportunity when I was younger—before family and work made it an impossible decision—but I didn’t seize it. I labored under the impression I could write from afar, and, perhaps after a sale or another big development, then move to Hollywood—or maybe never have to live there permanently.

It’s not that this can’t happen. There are writers who don’t live in LA, who write scripts and visit frequently but don’t call the town their home. Some can make noise, but if you are going to make screenwriting your career (especially television writing) you simply have to live in Los Angeles—or at least reside there for some amount of time.

This is truer now more than ever, as reps eschew some clients simply because of out of town status. It’s harder to build the career of a young writer (and sustain the career of an established writer) if he or she isn’t known around town and can’t meet with industry players on a day in and day out basis.

Some writers may be content with one sale or maybe writing material for independent films. Maybe they want to write and produce their own scripts, in which case Hollywood matters less. But if you want to work in the Hollywood system and make a true living from it, you’ve got to be in the mix. There are always exceptions, but personally, in retrospect, it was a very large error not to move to Los Angeles—at least for a time if not permanently.

But let’s put that decision aside. Could I have achieved more, even removed from the center of the American movie industry? Yes, but again I made some poor decisions. If you want to succeed in screenwriting you have to be focused—like a laser. You are only as good as your last script. Everyone wants to know what you are working on next, and if you get sidetracked with other pursuits you fall behind. Reps and producers forget you. Tastes change and new trends form. To succeed in screenwriting you have to stay relevant, and to be on the forefront of people’s minds that means new material all the time.

Life intercedes, so it’s easier said than done, but for a time I wrote a few novels (lousy ones) and then I tried representing other writers for a bit. Both were worthy endeavors, but they forced me to put down my own screenwriting, and this was time I could have been writing newer and better scripts and perhaps breaking through.

And speaking of the wasted time department, I fell into the writing trap that is almost impossible for people to avoid, but bears mentioning because, undoubtedly, it will be asked of you if you attempt to make screenwriting your career: writing for free or writing “on spec.”

Every script that a writer begins without compensation is essentially that. Unless commissioned or written with an eye on raising money for your own film, every screenplay is penned on speculation that it can be sold or at least a manager or agent gained by it.

Some years back, times were a little easier for writers (not much but some). An unknown could procure a rep based on solid writing samples and then work his or her way into the system with small paid assignments. Money for the development of screenplays was freer and studios and production companies were more likely to take a chance on an unknown writer. Those days are gone and writers are being exploited.

More than ever, writers (both new and established) are working for free. These are not their own projects, which they then try to sell or pitch to reps. These are the ideas of producers, managers, and executives. Writers are asked to work on these for months, maybe even years with no pay, hanging only on the promise of a big score when the script is finally sold.

It is often hard for the writer to turn down these opportunities. There could be the chance to work with someone who has clout or access, and passing that up feels like starting at square one. It’s better to cling to something than have nothing, so writers take the chance and work this way, putting aside their own original material to spend time on ideas they might not even have full intellectual control of.

This, as with not living in LA, can occasionally work out, and that one out of one thousand success story fuels the notion that “it can happen to me, too.”
I don’t believe most of those asking writers to work on spec are bad eggs, looking to fool writers or get something for nothing. I do think it’s an unfortunate practice, on both sides of the equation. If you want good work, you pay for it, and there seems to be a belief that writers will still give their best effort even if not getting paid. On the other side, writers naively believe because someone is offering to get their scripts to higher ups these assurances will be followed through on. But I’m a firm believer that if there is no skin in the game on the producer or managerial side, even if the intentions are noble, you are unlikely to gain traction working on spec.

Of course, there are some looking to exploit writers, but whatever the motivations of those asking for free work, the writer should avoid it. I made this mistake several times. With limited time in this life, a writer should look askance at these situations and try to stay with his or her own original material.

But, if you must do it, do it when you are younger. Trial and error should happen when you have time and freedom on your side. You don’t want to be 20 scripts into your career, maybe with a spouse, children, and other responsibilities, putting down your own work to take free passes at someone else’s idea.

This happened to me toward the end of my screenwriting efforts, and it was not without appeal. It was a situation about a well known true crime story, one which I had a lot of background in. The producers could not afford to (or just didn’t want to) pay me up front, but as it was a front page story (and still is) there was some mojo for the project and the belief that it could be sold. In my younger days, I probably would have bit. But having learned the lessons of a failed screenwriter, I passed.

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It’s not just with producers that writers can fall into this trap. Finding representation can also be a time suck and lead to failure.

In theory, the rep is supposed to work for the writer, and this may be true at the higher echelons where a well-known writer can fire an agent or manager and easily sign up with a new rep. But at the beginning stages the writer has little negotiating power. Your only leverage is to walk away, but many writers feel it’s better to hang on to something rather than beginning the search for a rep again.

Part of the reason for my failure is that, in several instances, I did just this. I should have headed for the exit far sooner, but I played the part of the ingénue too long hoping against hope that reps who took interest in my work would actually advance my career.

For example, I had once been introduced to a strong management team. They liked my writing and asked what else I was interested in doing. After discussing some ideas, we settled on something to script. Nine months and four or five drafts later, we were basically nowhere, and these reps didn’t seem interested in trying to work on something else. Furthermore, they did very little to put me forward to the industry as a writer with ideas and skills worth hearing about.
The emotional screws are similar to writing on spec for a producer and go down just as deeply. You have a legitimate rep, an industry player, interested in you and your work. They have the access and the contacts to get you where you want to be, so you are shy about asking questions or pressing the rep too much. They have all the power. The time I spent working on a script the reps never really showed to anyone was time I could have used writing other material and making more –and possibly better—contacts.

The small advantage to these situations is you have control over the material (unless you sign something to the contrary). You are working on your own ideas, with the rep helping to develop but not legally entitled to them. Still, unless you ask specific questions and “manage your manager” you can easily wind up in the same situation you would working on spec for a producer. You labor on a script for months and possibly years with the expectation that your rep will eventually get you and the work out there, but in the end they do neither.

There are many variations on this kind of relationship. A writer can spend much time working on different things for the same rep, but when push comes to shove the rep doesn’t feel it’s right for the market and asks his or her client to begin again on something new. Or the rep is only half-interested in the writer and strings him or her along hoping he or she will produce something amazing, but, short of that, won’t lift a finger to help the writer’s career.

Indeed, a few years after my failed efforts with Management Company A, I was introduced to Management Company B. Company B had an even better track record in the business than A, with big sales and an impressive client list. I showed them some scripts, and they thought I was a skilled writer but stated they could not sell those particular screenplays (more indy, character-driven pieces). Nevertheless, they wanted to discuss other ideas I might have. It quickly became apparent they were only looking for concept-driven scripts –action, big-comedy, horror and sci-fi—and their interest in me was of the “hip-pocket” variety.
This is a situation where a client is not formally signed with the manager, but he or she will agree to look at material the writer submits even though providing no guidance. When the script is complete, if the rep sees possibility in it, he or she will then sign the writer.

Had I been younger, I might have attempted to play ball, but I had learned my lessons by then and realized I would probably spend several months writing on a wing and a prayer—and in a genre that I had little passion for. In the end, I told Management Company B we didn’t have much common ground. They did not seem surprised and made no attempt to convince me we should try to work together.

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The experience with Management Company B came in 2009-10. Even then, nearing 40 years of age and with much experience, I let the situation play out for too long. I was still holding out hope this one could be different. I did not want to admit failure. But when I did walk away I actually felt relieved.

After a few months of reflection, I realized I should start to move away from screenwriting entirely. I also realized the irony of it all. My final failure (the reality that I no longer aspired to practice the art of screenwriting professionally) came about because I was not afraid to fail. All those years, I was afraid to walk away from dodgy opportunities, afraid to ask for more commitment from potential reps, afraid to move to LA. Once I stopped fearing those things, I could be realistic with myself and summoned the courage to let it all go.

It was about this time, after more than a decade of trying, that I really and truly started to understand the system and could see why I had failed to make headway.

I began to realize that writing scripts was not the hard part, because if you want to succeed in the Hollywood system you have to be more than a good writer. There’s no question you need skill to make it; one can’t bumble his or her way into a successful writing career. But once you get past some of the first hurdles, success in screenwriting becomes more about market savvy, how you position and develop yourself, and saying the right things to the right people.

You’ll hear Hollywood insiders frequently tell new writers to just “write a great story” and you will get noticed. I think this is terrible advice. If there are two writers of equal skill, one who loves writing period dramas with female leads over 50 years of age and the other who scripts action pieces with 30-year old male leads, it’s not hard to see who is going to get more traction.

Screenwriting is, far more than any of the other writing forms, business-based. No one is going to shell out millions of dollars to make a movie without expecting (misplaced as this often is) millions more in return. Writers need to realize this.

I’ve read enough screenplays (at different levels of development) and seen enough movies by career-professional writers to know the gap between them and the talented aspirational class of writers is not as large as we are led to believe. It’s true that being in the right place at the right time is something no one can predict or prepare for, but I think a certain class of writers separate themselves from the pack by doing the little things that others can’t or won’t do.

No story about how a writer broke in to the system and succeeded is ever the same. There is no magic formula. The best advice I ever heard about success in screenwriting is “be pleasantly persistent.” But some succeed while others fail because they learned to do the little things. The little things evaded me for a long time, and when I did finally understand them I didn’t want to put them into practice.

I found the ideas that spoke to me as a writer were not commercial enough for Hollywood. I was not interested in moving to LA, ever. And I was unwilling to talk the kind of eager-beaver talk that producers and reps in the system want to hear. Perhaps some of this was due to the fact that I was nearing 40 and at a different place in life, but there are plenty of writers, no matter what age, who succeed because they play the game correctly (in addition to possessing great storytelling skill).

Perhaps I was never truly cut out to be a Hollywood-style screenwriter, but all those years of trying would have been less of a letdown if I had not made some of the mistakes I did. Then I could have chalked up lack of success to poor timing as opposed to some of the other missteps I made.

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Even though I harbor little ambition for screenwriting any more, I still have people approach me and exclaim “I’ve got a great idea for a movie.” It’s difficult to even hear this because there is so much beyond having a great idea. I used to respond, “Sounds good. Write it up.” Now, I feel I should be a little tougher or at least ask “What’s your goal?” You need a great idea to begin, but that’s one piece out of a 1,000 item jigsaw puzzle.

It’s hard to be entirely negative. A prominent screenwriter I’ve known for years has always counseled me not to bother with the craft. Naturally, I never liked that advice, but he knew what I was up against. You don’t want to lead on aspiring writers by telling them just to try hard and believe in themselves. You want to encourage someone to pursue their dreams, but at the same time you want them to know exactly how steep the climb is.

As I noted earlier, there are a million books, articles, and blogs about screenwriting that will tell you all the things you need to do in order to sell a script or land an agent. The point of this essay is not to follow suit. I don’t want to tell anyone reading this article what they must do in order to succeed at screenwriting: I’m here to tell readers what I did wrong and why I failed.

A screenwriter who did succeed once told me something about the business when I asked him what I should expect out of a situation with an agent. He said, “It’s all a mystery until it isn’t a mystery.” If this article can take just a small slice out of the mystery by highlighting my missteps, I will take solace in helping someone else succeed where I did not.

 

There was a time long ago when you couldn’t turn on your TV and not find The Warriors playing. It must’ve been the first movie ever syndicated or something because no matter what house you showed up at, what street you passed through, what party you attended, there was The Warriors. My memory of the film was formulated on these viewings. And I must admit, I haven’t seen it since. All I remember is that the movie had that indescribable something that made it unforgettable. Unforgettable good? Unforgettable bad? Unforgettably cheesy? It’s hard to say. Which is why today’s Ten Tips will be the first in the site’s history where I expect to note both good and bad screenwriting tips. I mean, there’s a roller-skating gang-leader. The movie was written and directed by Walter Hill (he worked off a screenplay by David Shaber, who adapted the script from Sol Yurick’s novel). Hill wrote and/or directed some good movies in his day like The Getaway, Hard Times and 48 Hours. Unfortunately, he had a really bad experience in 2000 with the movie Supernova. The studio wrestled the movie away from him, famously recutting it with numerous directors (even Francis Ford Coppola took a stab at it). The movie was famously awful and Hill said it was because it deviated heavily from his original darker vision (however, he claims to have never seen the film). Since then, Hill has worked mainly in the background of Hollywood, mostly in television.

1) ALWAYS WORKS – The wrongly accused protag! We will always love and root for the wrongly accused protagonist! Here, the Warriors have been wrongly accused of killing Cyrus, the beloved gang leader. It’s for this reason that everyone’s trying to take them out. Combined with The Warriors’ underdog status as a gang, it’s no wonder we root for them from the first page.

2) Don’t throw a female character in the script just to have a female character in the script – This tends to happen in macho male-driven films. The writer knows he needs a female lead but doesn’t want one, so he tosses one in there without any thought as to how or why she’s involved. This happens in The Warriors. The prostitute who hung with The Orphans just decides to join the Warriors for NO REASON. Come on now. As a writer, it’s your job to FIGURE OUT A WAY to get your female characters into the story naturally.

3) When the stakes are sky-high, simple scenes become awesome scenes – When the stakes are high (in this case, The Warriors can run into death at any corner), creating a simple objective with an obstacle in front of it can lead to a great scene. There’s a moment where the Warriors have to get to the train. But the Skinheads are blocking their way. We watch as the tension builds. They have to decide if they’re going to go or not. They finally make a run for it. A chase ensues. We’re on the edge of our seats wondering if they’ll be able to catch the train in time. It’s a simple scene, but one of the best in the movie. And it’s so simple!

4) If your characters are trying to outrun something, make sure you explain why they can’t just stay where they are – I had a problem with this here. Since there was no urgency in The Warriors (they didn’t need to be anywhere by a set time), I didn’t understand why they couldn’t just stay put and leave the next night when the city was less volatile. There are vague references to dangerous cops and gangs finding them. But it seemed to be a lot more dangerous trying to get home rather than staying put. This is why a ticking time bomb always works. It explains why your characters can’t stay put.

5) Is backstory bad? – Walter Hill has an interesting take on backstory. This is what he says: “I very purposely — more and more so every time I do a script — give characters no back story. The way you find out about these characters is by watching what they do, the way they react to stress, the way they react to situations and confrontations. In that way, character is revealed through drama rather than being explained through dialogue.”

Our villain: Luther

6) Counterpoint – Backstory ain’t so bad – I see Hill’s point. Exploring characters through their actions is one of the best ways to develop them. More importantly, it keeps the story in the present, where movies work best. But these days, actors, producers and readers need more from their characters. They need to feel like those characters have lived a life. Backstory does that. The trick is to keep the backstory relevant and never give more than you have to.

7) Never underestimate the power of a simple plot – Hill, who was given a draft of The Warriors before writing his own draft, loved the “extreme narrative simplicity and stripped down quality of the script.” Looking back at it, I think that’s why the movie had such an impact on children, in addition to adults. A stripped down plot means every audience member, no matter what age, will be able to understand what’s going on. If you then want to up the adult appeal, add complexity through themes or social commentary or characters, whatever floats your boat.

8) Your main characters shouldn’t be wimps – One thing I realized when re-watching The Warriors was: THESE GUYS ARE WIMPS! They’re always running away. They’re only fighting when they’re cornered. If you have a macho hero-driven movie, make your hero a hero! Have him go after the prize instead of running or hiding. Obviously, in chase movies, your hero will be on the run. But when the opportunity arises and it makes sense, have them stand up for themselves. There wasn’t enough of that here.

9) Beware the Split-Up Paradox – In movies with group protagonists, there’s inevitably a time when the group splits up. My suggestion to you? Think twice before doing this. Watching The Warriors, I was all in for the first 40 minutes. Then, I noticed my concentration wandering. I wasn’t as into it. That’s when I realized the gang had split into three (or maybe four?) mini-groups. I wasn’t sure where any of them were or what they were trying to do. If you’re going to split up your characters, KNOW that this could be a problem and take counter-measures. Keep each mini-storyline focused (give them goals, makes sure we know where they are). And just like the overall story, try to give urgency to these tangents. If you don’t, our minds will start to wander.

10) Write your villain to steal the show – I read SO MANY boring villains with no personality. It’s no wonder I forget them the instant I put down the script. Honestly, I can count the number of memorable villains I’ve read in screenplays this year on one hand! To prevent this, write your villain to steal the show. Make SURE he’s memorable. Luther, despite having something like 5 minutes in the film, is a villain I still remember to this day. He’s small (unlike a typical villain). He’s a weasel. He’s a bully. He’s got a temper. But the big thing is, he just LOVES to have fun. He leads the charge when it’s time to get into trouble and he loves it. “Warrr-eee-orrrrs, come out to play-ye-yeeee.” If your villain ain’t stealing the show, you probably have a weak villain.

Genre: Comedy
Premise: A young family must deal with a legendary party-happy fraternity moving in next door to them.
About: This flick stars Seth Rogen and Zac Efron. It seems to have been written on assignment, as references to all the real actors are scattered everywhere in the script. The writers also appear to be longtime collaborators with Judd Apatow, starting as low-level producers on his movies, then moving up the ladder. This will be their first feature credit. Nicholas Stoller (Forgetting Sarah Marshall) is directing.
Writers: Andrew Jay Cohen & Brendan O’Brien
Details: 111 pages

Man, it’s been a weird weekend, hasn’t it? I went up to Portland for Thanksgiving, where I’ve realized every guy has a shaved head and two-foot beard. I don’t want to say it’s starting to get clique-y, but it was no fun feeling like one of the uncool beardless kids. I then come home to find out that Paul Walker, the star of a franchise based on really fast cars, died in a really fast car accident. In the midst of thinking how shitty that was, my mind drifted into the logistics of finishing a film so dependent on Paul’s character (Fast & Furious 7). This will be the most difficult rewrite a movie of this size has ever had to deal with, with a cast-member’s death during production. I honestly don’t know how they’re going to do it without completely rewriting the movie and starting over.

Then I went and saw Delivery Man, wanting to laugh and feel better about life. Strangely, the movie took every opportunity where a big laugh was about to come and pulled back. It was like that girl who keeps leading you on, implying she’s interested, yet every time you ask her out, she comes up with an excuse. Talk about frustrating.  And then I finish the weekend with this script, which starts off with our three main characters talking to someone with their balls hanging out of their zippers. At that point, what do you do?

I know, I know. You’re expecting another “Comedy Screenwriting Apocalypse” review from me. And after that scene, I was too. Well the JOKE’S (get it? Cause it’s a comedy!) on you. Because I liked Townies. It’s one of those “in spite of” comedy experiences where you’re defending your laughing to other people, but you’re laughing nonetheless.

And speaking of jokes, I gotta give it to the man I thought was a joke, Zacky Efron. 99 out of a 100 of his types have come and gone in this business in the blink of an eye. But he’s still around, even though he looks like a weird white version of a Japanese animated character. The guy’s getting involved in the right projects, and this is another perfect match for him. Way to go Zac.

Mac went to college in the 90s when cell phones were mini-tanks being bought up by former Russian provinces for future wars and you communicated with others via how grungy your clothes looked and how many Nirvana lyrics you could recite by memory. Gold stars if you were able to pull off a full goatee.

And you know what? Mac loved college. He loved it so much that he married his college sweetheart, Kelly, and bought the piece of shit house they lived in while at school. Well, a lot of time has passed since then. The two have a daughter now. And they’re STILL living in the same house. As you’d expect, the wifey is NOT okay with this.  She wants to move to a “normal” neighborhood. But Mac can’t stand the thought of moving out of this box of wonderful memories. He’d stay here for the rest of his life if he could.

So yeah, everything gets janky when Kappa Sigma moves next door. All of a sudden, Mac and Kelly are trying to raise a child next to a frat house. This house is led by the one and only Teddy Sanders, a senior who is bent on continuing Kappa Sigma’s tradition of pioneering partying. These guys are the Facebook of the frat partying world, inventing things like Beer Pong and the “boot and rally” (which I’d never heard of until this script – why would you want to throw up in your boot?).

So Teddy wants to create the greatest end-of-the-year party in college history where every single frat member will get laid (he’s calling it “The Full House” – not sure why).  This is the last straw for Kelly.  She tells Mac if he can’t do something about that frat, she’s out of here.  The screenplay then amounts to Mac and his loser buddies trying to get the frat kicked out so he can continue to live in his house. But when Teddy and the frat learn they’re being fucked with, they call an all-out war on Mac. Needless to say, there will be many a casualty before this is over.

Townies opens with a montage showing our main characters growing up in college. I wouldn’t say it’s boring. But it’s not the kind of thing you’d ever see in a spec script (which this isn’t). Montages are generally boring, used to show the passing of time. The beginning of a spec is when you want to pull your reader in. Not bore them away. Which is why I’m always fascinated by this dichotomy.

When you’re writing on assignment, you have so much freedom to take your time. You’re working with producers who generally know what’s coming, so shit, if you want to start your script with a character-intro montage, start with a character-intro montage!

If you’re writing a spec, however, you’re working with no one, and therefore you have to write a compelling first scene that immediately pulls the reader in (like the boat scene I just discussed in Deep Blue Sea in the newsletter). I find it funny that a slow opening scene or a compelling opening scene in the movies is often dictated by whether the person is writing on spec or on assignment.

Anyway, Townies doesn’t get laid. But it does hook up. The structure of this script is solid. You have Mac, whose goal is to take down the frat house. You have Teddy, whose goal is to throw the most epic party ever. And you have Kelly, whose goal is to buy a new house. Since all of these goals are in conflict with each other, you have a lot of funny scenes.

And you have a story that’s constantly evolving in order to keep this plot – which could’ve run out of ideas in twenty pages – moving.

What I mean by “evolving” is, this starts out with Mac and his friends trying to take down Kappa Sigma. Right as that’s about to get old, they convince Kelly to help them. Kelly (who’s smarter and more manipulative than them) adds a new dimension to their strategy. She gives them ideas they never would’ve thought of. Then, as that thread’s starting to burn out, Teddy catches wind that Mac’s trying to take him down, and he turns the tables and goes after THEM.

Identifying those moments where a story thread is running out of stream and finding a way to infuse the story with a new hit of heroin is one of those essential storytelling skills that isn’t talked about enough. Had this script been written by an amateur, it probably would have been one continuous set of attacks by Mac that would’ve gotten stale quickly. It’s important to look for those things that shift the balance of the story just enough that it feels a little different.

And you know, I laughed a lot here. There’s a scene where Mac and Kelly’s daughter swallows a condom thrown over from the frat (thinking it’s a balloon). They take her to the hospital and must explain how their six year-old daughter swallowed a condom. There were these hazing flashbacks that are beyond anything you can imagine (think Human Centipede), where college dishes like “the vommelette” are introduced. I kept shaking my head, not believing I was laughing. But I couldn’t help myself.  There’s some inventive stuff in here!

The only big issues I found were that the relationships at the frat weren’t well-defined. It wasn’t clear whose was whose girlfriend – that kind of thing. And we seemed to be on the cusp of developing Teddy as a character (a brief glimpse of him realizing he was ill-prepared for the real world) but nothing came of it. I like when villains change. So it sucked that we didn’t get to see him arc more. I give them credit for trying, though. A lot of writers would’ve never taken us in that frat house to begin with unless our main characters were there. Cohen and O’Brien tried to give that world a little more weight.

I don’t know if I’m ready to anoint this a classic. But it’s a good comedy. Assuming people want to see it (I think they will), they should leave the theater telling their friends to see it as well. And if that’s the case, we’ll have a hit on our hands.

[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: When you’re giving your main characters goals, look to put all of those goals in conflict with one another. That’s what creates drama in your screenplay. Teddy wants to keep the frat house. Mac wants him out. Kelly wants to move to a new house. Mac wants to stay in this one. None of the principle characters agree. Which is what leads to conflict. And conflict is what makes comedies funny (think about it, when has a comedy been funny when everyone’s on the same page?).

This is your chance to discuss the week’s amateur scripts, offered originally in the Scriptshadow newsletter. The primary goal for this discussion is to find out which script(s) is the best candidate for a future Amateur Friday review. The secondary goal is to keep things positive in the comments with constructive criticism.

Below are the scripts up for review, along with the download links. Want to receive the scripts early? Head over to the Contact page, e-mail us, and “Opt In” to the newsletter.

Happy reading!

TITLE: Capital Punishment
GENRE: Action/Sci-Fi
LOGLINE: An attorney travels back in time where he battles corrupt FBI agents in a race to save his brother’s life.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ: In preparation for my upcoming free ebook, I dug up all the scripts I ever wrote. This was collecting dust in a box. I wrote it 20 years ago and only showed it to a few people before moving on to another script. Starting with its title, CAPITAL PUNISHMENT is a throwback to the Arnold Schwarzenegger films of the eighties.

TITLE: Benevolence of the Butcher
GENRE: Action
LOGLINE: When a group of bank robbers risks their own safety to protect a woman who is shot at the front door of their hideout, they are attacked by an unrelenting army determined to kill everyone who helped the wounded stranger.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ: This is a story about a group of six people who must ask themselves how much they are willing to sacrifice to help others. When universal healthcare, the one percent, and wealth redistribution are buzz words on every news website, a story that asks us what it really means to live in a capitalistic, competitive world and what we must be willing to give purely for the sake of our fellowman is a narrative full of questions I believe are worth asking. This theme is explored with nonstop action and in one location for a marketable film at a very reasonable budget.

This is the sixth draft of my ninth screenplay and I am finally confident enough to give the readers of SS a look. I am hoping to learn a lot from the comments of everyone and hopefully everyone willing to read it will learn something as well.

TITLE: MOTHERF—ER
GENRE : Comedy
LOGLINE: As Matthew and Helen get involved in a steamy affair, they must keep their secret from one person: Rachel, Helen’s daughter and Matthew’s best friend.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ: I know you’ll like it because this is a comedy that has a very strong hook with a lot of built-in conflict. It also goes to unexpected places and the feedback I’ve received from reader around town is that the characters and the relationships are well-developed. Also, at 96 pages it’s a very quick and easy read.

TITLE: MUK
GENRE: Horror
LOGLINE: A knife wielding serial-killer harvests human souls for Hell, and his name is MUK.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ: I’ve wanted to write a slasher film ever since I saw Halloween in my early teens. I’m in my early forties now and I’ve finally done it. I’ve taken everything I know, love and loath about the sub-genre and put it into this script, which took me about eight months to complete. I am proud of what I accomplished and I think horror fans will love it.

This script is not for the meek or weak of heart. It’s a brutal story. A lot of people die and badly. Ye been warned.

TITLE: A Lot of Blood
GENRE: Contained Thriller
LOGLINE: After two friends leave the bar after a night of drinking, they discover their car missing
from the parking lot, an RV in its place, and a woman trapped inside.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ: Coming from a fiction background has been challenging. But, I have worked with Victor Miller to find my voice in terms of saying what I want, and saying what the audience wants to hear. I think there is so much more that a story can tell that goes beyond the page and beyond the stage.