Genre: Art-heist thriller/comedy
Premise: Art dealer Charles Mortdecai searches for a stolen painting rumored to contain a secret code that gains access to a Swiss bank account worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
About: Mortdecai will be directed by long time writer, sometimes director, David Koepp. This seems to be Koepp’s step into the directing big leagues, as he’ll be directing Gwyneth Paltrow, Ewan McGregor, Olivia Munn, and Johnny Depp. Mortdecai (based on a 4 book series and primed to be a franchise if it does well), was born out of the new partnership between Lionsgate and Oddlot. Oddlot is a financier/production company run by Gigi Pritzker. Pritzker is one of the richest families in the United States and owns the Hyatt Hotel chain. They’re also producing #1 Black List script, Draft Day. Lionsgate has recently evolved from a schlocky bad horror/sci-fi/supernatural mini-studio to a major player with its acquisition of Summit, which of course has one of the hottest franchises in town, The Hunger Games. Mortdecai is based on a book series by Kyril Bonfiglioli. This specific script is based on the fourth and final book in the series, which Bonfiglioli actually never finished, due to his death in 1985. It was completed by another author.
Writer: Eric Aronson (revisions by Peter Baynham and David Koepp – based on the books by Kyril Bonfigloli)
Details: 120 pages – June 20, 2013 draft

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Mortdecai was adapted by a writer named Eric Aronson. Somehow, this very talented writer has only one produced credit, an abomination of cinema called “On the Line,” written in 2001, starring N*SYNC members Lance Bass and Joey Fatone. The sometimes semi-professional baseball player likes to take his breaks, waiting a full 12 years for his newest effort. Talk about patience.

To describe Aronson’s script is tough. It’s kind of like 1 part Sherlock Holmes, 2 parts Pink Panther, 3 parts Coen Brothers. The writing on display is very good, yet it isn’t afraid to moronify itself to Dumb & Dumber levels if necessary. For example, there are roughly 718,000 references to the main character’s mustache.

Basically our title character, Mortdecai, is an art thief. Or he used to be one. Or he still is one. It all depends on who you talk to. The former aristocrat with the most beautiful wife in the world isn’t doing so well these days, though. He owes Mother Britain 8 million dollars in back taxes, which means he’s only a few days away from losing his house, his car, and most likely that beautiful wife.

Lucky for Mortdecai, an opportunity arises. It seems that while being restored, a painting has been stolen. But not just any painting – “The Duchess of Wellington,” one of the most famous paintings in the world, due in part to the rumor that it may not even exist. The story goes, it was ordered destroyed by a king who didn’t like the painting, but was ripped off before the destruction could occur.

It went through many hands over the years and eventually ended up with the Nazis, and rumor has it that the Nazis coded a Swiss bank account number into the painting, which could be worth millions. The police tell Mortdecai that if he can find and bring back that painting, they’ll get rid of his tax problem.

Mortdecai accepts, employing his steady other half, bodyguard and womanizer, Jock. Along the way he finds out that others have caught wind of the painting’s re-emergence and want it as well. One of those people is nasty world criminal Emil Strago, who will presumably use the money from the painting’s secret code to support terrorism. The stakes have been raised.

Complicating his pursuit is his own wife, with whom Mortdecai is having problems. Not just because they’re broke and she doesn’t like his new mustache. But she doesn’t seem to respect him anymore. You get the sense that if he doesn’t pull this off, she’s probably going to leave him. And since she’s the biggest treasure of all, it’s very much in Mortdecai’s interest to find that damn painting before it’s too late!

I can’t stress enough how well Mortdecai is written. The kind of writing that I normally tell screenwriters to avoid turns into music when Aronson types, a possible result of his working with Joey Fatone and Lance Bass. The thing is, overly-descriptive writing tends to detract… UNLESS you’re great at it. And that seems to be the case with Aronson (and all the other writers involved). Here, for example, is an early description of Mortdecai’s mustache…

“A word about Mortdecai’s moustache — it’s a groomed affair and much care has gone into its cultivation, but there’s something a bit off about it. Simply put, everyone can agree he’d be much better off without it. Despite this, great admiration has been bestowed upon it by its owner.”

Could he have said simply, “Mortdecai’s moustache is a little off”? Of course. But there’s something about the extra attention to detail that gives us a better feel for the character. Here’s another description, this one about Mortdecai’s wife:

“The pricey authenticity of her blondeness is unimpeachable, and pleasant weather systems move in when she favors you with her wide and lovely smile.”

I mean, is that description totally necessary? No. But it’s so damn good and fun that I go with it.

In addition to the impressive description, this screenplay very wisely puts a new spin on the genre. In almost all of these art heist thrillers, there’s a painting in a museum or a rich person’s home that the main character must figure out how to steal from. Here, however, we (and the main character) don’t even know where the painting is. It’s already been stolen. In fact, we don’t even know WHAT the painting is. It isn’t revealed until later that it’s the famed “Duchess of Wellington.”

That’s another thing I liked about Mortdecai. It kept you guessing. And I believe these art thrillers are predicated on keeping you guessing. You must constantly surprise the audience. Remember, a thriller is supposed to do just that. THRILL. That doesn’t always mean thrill with a car chase or a shootout. It could mean using a reversal, a surprise, or a shocking reveal. When we find out, for example, that the painting was in Nazi hands and has a secret code embedded in it, we’re more than satisfied. This the kind of fun we came for.

Finally worth noting is that Mortdecai uses a time tested tool that rarely malfunctions. That is, of course, George Lucas’s favorite device, the MacGuffin! This is when you place one very important thing out there in your story THAT EVERYBODY WANTS. And then everybody goes after it. The reason the MacGuffin works so well is because it immediately makes every character ACTIVE. This means the script will always be packed with energy and purpose. Mortdecai’s after the painting. His wife is. Emil Strago is. The British police are after it. The Russians are after it. It’s kind of hard to fuck this up because no matter who you jump to, they’re always in an immediate active state. They’re always pursuing a goal. The MacGuffin isn’t for every story, but in the right story (Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Pirates of the Caribbean), it can turn your script into a beast.

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

What I learned: Seeing as the quadrology of books this script was based on was completed in the 70s and this weekend’s “Winter’s Tale” was based on a book published in the 80s, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea to scour Amazon and GoodReads for highly rated, long-since-forgotten books that don’t have options on them for potential adaptation material.  Having an adapted screenplay carries with it a little more cache than an original script, since it’s already been proven in another medium.  The problem is all the current stuff is snatched up.  But tons of stuff in the 90s, 80s and 70s has been forgotten.  Lots of opportunity there.

What I learned 2: The second of today’s “what I learned’s” has nothing to do with Mortdecai, actually, but a TV show!

So last night, Miss SS and I were watching The Bachelor and out of nowhere, a monster of a screenplay lesson popped up and helped Miss SS understand something she’d previously had a hard time grasping.  I’ve been trying to tell her forever now how important it is to KNOW YOUR CHARACTERS before you write a script.  Write down their bios, get into their past, know what’s led them to this point in their lives. She saw this approach as a creative handicap, though.  She likes to discover her characters through dialogue, as they go through her story.  Know too much, she said, and it stifles the creativity.

For those of you who don’t watch The Bachelor, it’s a reality show based on the very realistic notion of one man dating 25 women, eliminating them one at a time until there is one left.  He then proposes to the final girl, only to break up with her a few months after the show has ended.

In this season, there’s this girl named Clare.  Clare is 32, prickly, a little bitchy, jealous, passive-aggressively catty towards the other women, and always looks like she’s seconds away from having an emotional breakdown.  Around this season’s bachelor, Juan-Pablo, she’s overly-flirty, eager-to-please, comes on too strong, and carries with her just a wisp of desperation.  For all of these reasons, she’s not a household favorite.

Well tonight, Clare unloaded a bomb during one of her interviews.  She is one of six sisters, and the only one who hasn’t yet married.  “Ohhhh!,” Miss SS said.  “No wonder she’s so desperate and catty.  At 32 years old, the pressure to find a man must be intense.”  That’s when the teachable moment occurred to me.  “That,” I said, “is exactly the same thing you’re doing when you dig into your characters’ pasts before you write a script.  If you know background stuff – like your unmarried character having 5 sisters, all of whom are married – you’ll be able to write that character way more specifically than had you known nothing.” Clare is the embodiment of a well-written character (despite the fact that she’s “real”).  Every single aspect of her is informed by this delicate and pressure-filled reality of being “the last of the sisters.”   That seemed to hit Miss SS.  “Ooh,” she said.  “You should put that on the blog.”  And so I have!