Longtime commenter, Grendl, takes home an easy win on the third screenwriting showdown of the year!

I was initially quite down about Scene Showdown because I was reading 20, sometimes 30, entries in a row and not finding even a single respectable scene. To that end, I’m very thankful that Grendl entered the competition because as soon as I saw his e-mail address, I knew he was going to give me a quality entry. And he did.

To be honest, it provided a sigh of relief because I was starting to worry that I wouldn’t have enough entries to create a showdown. And, just to be clear, my frustration is not on you guys. It’s on myself. If the scenes you chose to enter are not up to par, then it’s something I’m doing wrong. I’m not conveying to you what constitutes a good scene. I’m not conveying to you how to write a good scene. These days, I consider myself a guide, a teacher of sorts, and that means if the entries fail, I failed.

I would like to get into why the entries didn’t work in a more aggressive manner because I think that soft-peddling criticism has, maybe, made writers believe script issues are less problematic than they are. But I need your permission to do so. So, if you entered a scene that didn’t get chosen and you want it to go through the Carson gauntlet, let me know in the comments. Cause I feel like if I’m more aggressive with my analysis, it has a better chance of sticking.

Okay, let’s get on to today’s winner, which won by a whopping 10 votes, Grendl’s scene from his script, “Undertow.”

The first thing I’m going to praise here isn’t sexy. But as I learned, after going through all these entries, it is by no means a given. Which is that the writing is simple and easy-to-understand.

Veronica approaches the intercom, spotting the faded listing behind a glass pane. She scans the list of names, but doesn’t see his. There is one button with no name next to it. She presses that one.

There’s no pretentious overly-complex description here. The writing tells us exactly what’s going on and nothing more. When there’s an opportunity to add detail (“spotting the faded listing behind a glass pane”) it’s taken. But there isn’t anything in the description that makes me double-take because it was unclear.

Yet this issue was prevalent in nearly all of the submissions. I don’t know what it is about writers but they seem to seek out the most awkward ways to describe things possible.

This was a huge issue while I was picking entries. I couldn’t even get to the point where I was judging the scene because I knew that if I put something up that had a sentence like, “In no uncertain manner as the buttons bloom with faded blue light, the intercom from which Vernoica has approached, in dire need of being replaced, responds to the index finger she presses upon it, the one button without a name…” that the entry would get hammered.

If we’re not even getting basic sentence-structure right, how can we expect to tell a compelling story? Grendl’s writing was simple and to the point. It allowed me to focus on the story and the story alone.

And I liked what Grendl did right away with the scene. We establish this trust and rapport between driver and passenger, with our driver promising he’ll wait around. And then Veronica barely makes it a step out of the car before the driver zips away. I like moments like this because they establish that unexpected things can happen at any moment.

This is so important in a genre like this because you need the reader to feel unsettled. If they feel too comfortable reading a scene like this, you haven’t done your job. So even before my protagonist moves into the dangerous situation, I’m already on edge.

The conversation that follows between Michael and Veronica is solid but unspectacular. It mostly deals with logistics (who are you, oh okay, you can come in) and I probably would’ve added more resistance on Michael’s end to create extra tension. Especially because this is no longer just about meeting with this man. It’s about how, if she doesn’t get into this building, she’s in danger. This is a strange scary neighborhood at night and she’s a lone girl.

So for the conversation to go that smoothly was a missed opportunity. Then again, I don’t know enough about the story to understand the context of this conversation. So maybe it makes more sense than I’m giving it credit for. These are the challenges with scene showdowns. The reader doesn’t have all the information.

Once in the building, Grendl knows to ratchet up the tension and the potential danger. He knows that you don’t want to just throw Veronica into the elevator right away. You want to build suspense. So the stuff about the elevator lurching into motion, “rattling and screeching its way down,” is good.

Remember that the original need for a written screenplay was to convey to the people working on the film what it was we’re going to see onscreen. That mission has evolved over time, as screenplays require the pages to be more entertaining. But everything goes back to that.

And Grendl achieves that here. I’m seeing this movie on the screen as I read it. Cavernous hallways, echoing footsteps, looming shadows. And none of this is overbearing or overwritten. It’s just enough to get an idea of what we’re looking at, and then we’re moving forward.

The scene gets another jolt when the elevator doors open and Veronica realizes there’s someone inside. One of the things I talk about in my latest book is this idea of leaning into common situations. The first instinct writers have is to avoid common situations behind the logic that they’re “cliche.”

But certain situations are dramatically dependable because they are RELATABLE. Every woman knows what it feels like to get into an elevator with a man who looks sketchy. And men know this too! Even if they haven’t experienced the scenario themselves, they understand how the situation would feel to a woman.

So, you have this baked-in tension powering the sequence. Even if you did nothing with this setup, it would provide the scene with an adequate amount of conflict. Of course, the writer’s job is to play with the scenario and create even more conflict with it. Which is exactly what Grendl does.

By the way, this section could’ve been described better. Veronica initially hesitates when she sees that there’s someone on the elevator. We’re then told the man “presses the button,” and she gets on. But what button did he press and what does it do? A few lines later, we’re told about a “DOOR OPEN” button so I guess that’s what he’s been pressing. But since the average elevator doesn’t require someone to hold a ‘door open’ button, that probably needs to be described up front.

And yet, it doesn’t matter. I’m already hooked on the scene. My suspension of disbelief is strong because of the way the scene’s been set up.

When you do that as a writer, readers DON’T CARE about this button stuff. I’m only pointing it out because this is an analysis of the scene. But if I was just reading this to enjoy it, this moment wouldn’t bother me at all because it doesn’t affect the core elements of the scene, which are working.

If this scene would’ve been bludgeoned in its setup, then the button qualm becomes indicative of a larger issue. So, get the dramatic stuff right and it won’t matter if you make little mistakes here and there.

Next, we get this fun little moment where the strange elevator man presses the basement level button instead of the 3rd floor button. So we’re going in the opposite direction of where we want to go. This is Suspense 101. You want to imply that something dangerous is coming and then sit in the anticipation of it. This is what directors such as Alfred Hitchcock were so good at.

There were very few writers who submitted to the Scene Showdown who understood anything about suspense. So, opportunities like this were overlooked. I just want to make it clear to people WHY this scene was chosen over other scenes. And an understanding of basic dramatic screenwriting, stuff like how to properly implement suspense, was a big reason.

My only real criticism of the ending is cutting directly to the third floor. I probably would’ve sat in the elevator as it ever-so-slowly ascended away from that basement, away from the danger of this man, to allow our heroine to finally let out a relieved sigh. Then follow her, in real time, up to the third floor, the elevator doors opening, and her trying to find Michael’s door.

She starts looking around. None of the doors have numbers on them so she has no idea where to go. And then, of course, as has already been written, she hears the elevator moving back to the basement floor. The scary man is coming back up. She’s got to find Michael’s door ASAP. She does just in the nick of time. End of scene.

Very strong entry. This is the scene I probably would’ve voted for as well.

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

What I learned: The scene is a great reminder that even small goals, such as your hero trying to get to an apartment in a building, can be compelling if you add the right mix of dramatic ingredients.

The April newsletter should be hitting your inbox any second now. I talk about the biggest scene of the year. I talk about the Avengers lineup. I talk about how AI is bunk and that you actually want to head in the OPPOSITE direction to be successful. I talk about the key to writing a great TV main character. And I review a Black List script that came from a writer who honed his skills right here on this site. The guy even got his manager after consulting with me on his logline!

If you are not on the list and want to jam with future newsletters, e-mail me at carsonreeves1@gmail.com with the subject line: “NEWSLETTER”

Scene Showdown is finally here!

For those of you who have not yet participated in a showdown on the site, the rules are simple. Your job is to read all the entries (or as much of each entry as you want) then vote for your favorite submission in the comments section. Just type the title of your favorite scene and, if you have time, tell us why you liked it. You have until this Sunday night at 10pm Pacific Time to vote.

I have a feeling this is going to be a tight race!

Good luck to everyone.

Title: Jump
Genre: Sci-Fi/Thriller
Setup: Opening scene

Title: Whitetooth
Genre: Action
Setup: Opening scene

Title: Undertow
Genre: Surreal Drama
Setup: “Doesn’t need setup.”

Title: A Son Adrift
Genre: Mystery/Thriller
Setup: Opening scene

Today (Thursday) is the final day to get your scene submissions in for Scene Showdown. If you’ve got a great scene, send it to me in PDF form at the e-mail below…

What: Scene Showdown
Rules: Scene must be 5 pages or less
When: Friday, March 28
Deadline: Thursday, March 27, 10pm Pacific Time
Submit: Script title, Genre, 50 words setting up the scene (optional), pdf of the scene
Where: carsonreeves3@gmail.com

The top 5 scenes go up tomorrow for voting.

Okay, time to give you some last minute scene-writing inspiration. I was watching the new Seth Rogen Apple show, “The Studio,” last night, which covers a new studio head trying to get good (translation: artistic) movies made inside a studio that wants him to make bad (translation: profitable) movies.

It’s a fun show. The first episode covers the current studio head getting fired and Seth Rogen’s character, Matt, replacing her. Matt wants to return to a time when studios made good movies, like The Godfather. The problem is, the studio’s primary financier, Griffin Mill (Bryan Cranston), wants to make tons of money. In fact, he just acquired the rights to the Kool-Aid Man, believing he can do for their studio what Barbie did for Warner Brothers.

As Matt tries to figure out how he’s going to terminate any type of Kool-Aid franchise, he takes a meeting with his hero, Martin Scorsese, who says he wants to make a Jim Jones movie, about the real life cult leader who had all his followers drink a suicidal drink (some called it “kool-aid” at the time) that would allow them to ascend to the next plane of existence.

Seeing an opportunity to secure a Martin Scorsese film AND make a Kool-Aid movie for his boss, Matt buys Scorsese’s pitch in the room with only one condition – that the title of his Jim Jones movie be “Kool-Aid.” But reality hits Matt later on when Griffin starts asking for details about the movie, and Matt is forced to do the unthinkable – kill his hero’s project.

Bringing this back to the topic at hand, the show has a lot of good scenes, and I want to focus on one in particular because it’s the simplest version of a scene and yet an example of how even the simplest scenes can be great.

To set up the scene, Matt, who’s an upper level executive at the studio, just showed up at work to learn that Patty, the studio head, has been fired, and that their boss, Griffin Mill, wants to speak to Matt. Matt’s no dummy. He thinks that he could be replacing Patty.

This gives our hero the primary objective in the scene – he wants this job. That’s always the start of a strong scene. Also of note, this is a very important job. It’s the head of the studio. Matt has worked at this studio for 20 years. And the way it works in studios is when you’re one of the few up for the job, if you don’t get chosen, you almost always get fired.

So the stakes are sky high. And like I told you last week, the higher you turn up the stakes “dial,” the more intense your scene is going to feel.

Now, does anybody remember what you need next to have a good scene? I’ll help you out. You need conflict. So, how do you get conflict? You get it by placing another character in the scene who stands in the way of your hero getting his goal.

But before I explain to you how that happens, I want to point out that there is nuance to this equation. If you’re thinking in black and white terms, you’d have Griffin come into this scene and say, “I’m not giving you the job.”

But instead, Griffin comes into the scene and says, “I want to give you this job. But I’m worried about something.  I hear that you like artsy-fartsy movies. And we can’t make artsy-fartsy movies. We need to make movies that make money. In fact,” he says, “I just bought the rights to the Kool-Aid Man.”

In this scene, the obstacle standing in the way of Matt achieving his goal is more internal than external. To accept the job means making the kinds of movies that he hates. Which means he has to decide if that’s really something he wants to do. Ultimately, he decides that becoming a studio head is too big of an opportunity to pass up and goes along with Griffin.

It’s a good scene. Cause it keeps things simple – two characters, there’s a want, there’s something in the way – and when you have that setup, writing a scene becomes easy. You can play around.  It’s like having your plate, utensils, glass, and napkin already laid out for you.  All you have to do is eat.  And you can eat in whatever order you want.

Where writers struggle in scenes is when they don’t understand what each character in the scene wants and why.

Because you can go deeper into the scene makeup if you want. Yeah, the scene is centered around Matt and Matt’s objective. But it helps to know Griffin’s side too. What does he want? Why does he want it? The more you know about him, the better you can write his side of the scene (this is one of the key tips I teach in my dialogue book).  But, in the end, if you set up those basic parameters of goal-obstacle-conflict, you should write a lot of winning scenes.

Okay, that concludes today’s scene-writing lesson, guys. It’s time to get your scenes in! The clock is ticking!!

Genre: Sci-fi
Premise: Waking up in a mysterious room, Emily faces a chilling ultimatum: she must decide which of three strangers to sacrifice before her ceiling descends, crushing her.
About: This script finished on last year’s Black List. The author, Michael Jones, is an Australian screenwriter.
Writer: Michael Jones
Details: 84 pages

I love these old school high concept spec scripts.

There’s something beautiful about big simple ideas.

This one actually feels kind of fresh in the same way that The Platform felt fresh.

So I was eager to see what “Crush” had in store for us. Let’s check it out.

35 year old Emily wakes up in a white room with concrete walls and a concrete ceiling. She tries to talk but for some reason she’s unable to. No sound comes out. Then three of the walls around her turn clear and she sees three other rooms.

In those rooms are 80 year old Vincent, 40-something mouthy Lucy, and 30 year old Earl. Those three *can* talk for some reason. So, naturally, they’re frustrated when they try to communicate with Emily and she can’t talk back.

All of a sudden, Emily’s ceiling dips from 14 feet high to 12 feet high. As she tries to figure out what that means, Earl points out that there are three Roman numerals on her floor – I, II, and III. Maybe standing on one of them does something.

The ceiling dips another two feet and Emily takes Earl’s advice and steps on one of the numbers. When she does, her ceiling ascends back up to the top, and Earl’s ceiling starts coming down. Except there’s no way to stop it. All three people watch as his ceiling lowers and mercilessly crushes him to death.

At the back of Emily’s room are 8 red lights. After Earl’s death, one of them turns yellow. Earl’s room is blocked from view and when it becomes clear again, Earl has been replaced by some dude named Matt. Lucy, quick to figure out what’s going on, pleads with Emily that she has a son. She can’t die. But, just like before, Emily’s ceiling starts dropping.

Vincent, realizing that his age is no asset in this game, volunteers himself to die. There’s no argument from everyone else and Emily crushes him. He’s then replaced by Sarah. But the focus shifts to Lucy and Matt, who begin squabbling about who deserves to live and die. Matt then catches Lucy in a lie (she changed her “son’s” name), which means she’s the next to go. Again, each time someone dies, one of the eight red lights turns yellow.

But a few people later, things get real. Next up in the fray is Emily’s mom, Ruby! Definitely can’t kill her so sorry Matt! But then Matt is replaced with David, Emily’s husband! And then in comes Emily’s son, Benny! After Emily is forced to start killing off her own family, those bodies are replaced with… random babies! What, ever, is Emily going to do!!?? Might she actually do the unthinkable and let HERSELF be crushed???

Three keys to any good sci-fi script are rules, mythology, and imagination. Imagination is probably the most important because people come to sci-fi movies to see things that they’ve never seen before. It’s why 2 billion dollars worth of people paid to see Avatar – giant blue aliens, floating waterfalls, and mechanized war outfits. So if you don’t have the imagination, nothing else will matter.

To Jones’ credit, I think that this script was fairly imaginative. The setup, in particular, was unique.

But don’t sleep on sci-fi rules. Rules are never sexy, like imagination, but if they become too elaborate, too confusing, they can easily sink a sci-fi script. And I see this happen ALL THE TIME. The writer gets so lost in their world that they have 2000 different rule-sets for what’s going on how the world operates. Does anybody understand the rules governing 2006’s Southland Tales?  I sure don’t.

In contrast, the rules here were very simple. And the writer did a great job of setting them up. Her ceiling descends to kill her unless she kills someone else. The three numbers on the ground stood for the three other rooms. She steps on the room number of the person she wants to kill. And she has to do this eight times (shown by the 8 red lights at the back of her room) to complete the task.

The Platform had even simpler rules. People on each level get food. They can choose how much to leave for the people below them. Every few weeks, people randomly get shifted to new levels.

A simple rule set is usually where you want to be with sci-fi. Trust me. The more complex you make it, the messier the story is going to get.

Finally, we have mythology. Why is all this happening? What’s the backstory here? This is where a lot of these higher concept scripts fall apart because there seems to be a correlation between big sexy ideas and an inability to explain them.

(Spoilers) This is Crush’s Achilles’ heel. About midway through the script, Emily tricks the powers that be to take her out of the room. She then makes a run for it, trying to escape. We’re in this big cavernous series of rooms and everyone she runs into is wearing masks. When she rips someone’s mask off, their face is deformed and they don’t have a nose. When she finally gets to a doorway out, she opens it and looks out into… space. So they’re all in space.

(Spoilers) Later, when Emily “wins” the game, she’s granted a meeting with the “master” guy, who seems to be an alien. He says they play this game repeatedly with humans to test their moral compass or something.

I mean… point blank, let’s be real. None of this shit makes sense. Space? Really? Masked deformed people running the ship? Huh? Some alien dude who likes to keep playing an ongoing game about choosing who lives and who dies. Despite having done thousands of games already. What else are you going to learn doing this one more time, exactly?

Mythology – the worldbuilding, backstory, and reasoning for why things are happening – needs to make sense. At the most basic level, it needs to be rational. If you can’t even make what’s happening rational, then it’s impossible to build a compelling story on top of that. The foundation is too shaky.

The thing with sci-fi is that you have those three unique traits and yet, even on top of those, you still need to get the drama right. Cause the human dramatic element is the thing we’re going to emotionally connect with.  It’s the thing that makes a movie stick with us.  And the writer didn’t get that right.

When it’s Emily, her mom, her husband, and her kid, that are left, the answer is easy. You have to kill the mom. The mom even agrees with that, which is another problem with this. Every family member who Emily has to kill tells Emily that they have to be killed. So there’s no conflict involved in killing them. Wouldn’t the scene between her and her husband be so much better if he was screaming at her NOT to kill him?

And then, after you get rid of the mom and the husband, you replace them with random babies. Look, I don’t want to kill babies either. But if you have to choose between killing a random baby and killing your blood and flesh son, 100% of the people in that situation are choosing to save their son. So how is it a dilemma?

This is something that frustrates me so much when I read screenplays – the writer creates a “dilemma” that isn’t difficult at all. The idea is to create a dilemma so even that the audience has no idea what the protagonist is going to choose. It’s Sophie’s Choice. That was the original 50/50 dilemma. These dilemmas ranged from 80/20 to 100/0. There was never a dilemma where I didn’t know what she should choose.

So, this one started off strong. But it fell under the weight of a weak mythology and weaker dramatic pieces. I can’t recommend it.

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

What I learned: Don’t have your character do something stupid early on or we’re going to dislike them. Emily has her phone in this room. And when she can’t access something on it, she hurls it across the room in frustration (it ends up sliding underneath the doorway). If you’re stuck in a room with ceilings that come down and crush you, you do not hurl your one lifeline across the room! That’s the single dumbest thing you can do. And readers don’t like dumb characters.