Genre: Horror/Comedy
Premise: When an ice cream social results in a deadly outbreak spreading throughout a nursing home, one elderly resident must overcome his own post-war trauma to battle the undead and prove himself to the woman he loves.
About: Hello. My name is Walter Melon (no jokes, please. Believe me, I’ve heard every fucking one of them). I’m 76 years young and an aspiring screenwriter. At this point in my life I’ve had plenty of experiences to draw from – fought in Vietnam, married three times (and divorced three times, thank Christ, though that first one was a hellion in the sack if I’m being honest). I was a tugboat captain on the mighty Mississippi, did a little production work on some adult films in the mid 60’s and even tried my hand at circus life. And let me tell you, those goddamned sideshow freaks think they’re the cat’s pajamas, treating us normal folks like we’re the wierdos! Lobster Boy my asshole. That motherfucker was a…sorry. I can get pretty worked up as you can see. Old wounds never heal. They fester, let me tell you. But I tend to ramble as I get on in years. Like I was saying, this is my second screenplay (my first was a World War 2 yarn, but I didn’t really know what I was doing at the time and it turned out to be a real piece of shit, so I don’t really count that one.) This story here is based on a true experience, one that involved myself and my best friend Albert Miller – the man who saved Picket Farms Nursing Home. Well, fact of the matter is, he didn’t really save but a handful of us – most of the residents were killed. But he saved my hide – more than once. And I thought his story needed to be told. He may be a deaf old bastard, but he’s one tough sonofabitch and I’d walk through fire for that man. I’d love to hear what the younger generation thinks about my latest effort. Thanks to anyone for taking the time.
Sincerely, Walter Melon
PS – Did I mention this was a true story? Hell, at least I think it is. I can’t remember shit anymore.
WM
Writer: Walter Melon
Details: 91 pages
It all comes down to a simple question.
Am I still reading because I have to or because I want to?
If there were no review to put up today, would I still care about what happens enough to read to the end? I’d say that 98% of the time, the answer to that question is no. And writers don’t think about that. They think that their script deserves to be read because they put a lot of effort into it. When in reality, the only reason your script deserves to be read is if you’ve come up with a story compelling enough that people will want to keep reading it. You’ve thought through each section, each scene, each moment, and you’ve asked yourself, “Are they still interested right now?” And if there’s doubt in your mind that they are, you follow that up with, “Why might that be?” And then you fix the problem.
For example, a good writer knows that if he has to come up with an extensive exposition-heavy scene, that could present a hiccup in the reader’s enjoyment. So he asks, “How do I fix that?” He could strip as much exposition out as possible. That could help. He could split the exposition up, so some of it comes now and some of it comes in a later scene. That should help keep the momentum going. But the best writers say, well how can I ALSO make this scene entertaining, as opposed to just information? So they might add some conflict between the characters to make the scene more fun.
The opening of Fargo (the movie) is a great example. That scene where Jerry Lundergarten walks into a bar and discusses the kidnapping of his wife with two criminals is pure exposition. It’s setting up what’s about to happen in the story. But we don’t even notice the exposition because one of the criminals is bitching at Jerry for being an hour late and the other looks like he’s about to rip somebody’s head off within the next three minutes. There’s tension and anger and conflict in the scene. The exposition is invisible.
I read too many scripts where writers don’t make that adjustment. They think “The reader owes me this time.” I even had a writer defend himself once after one of the most blatant exposition-heavy scenes I’ve ever read, by saying, “Well yeah, that was my Exposition Dump Scene.” As if he was somehow owed four minutes of boredom from the reader. I’ve seen four minutes of boredom derail scripts before. Never take four minutes lightly.
I don’t even know why I’m focusing so much on exposition because there are plenty of other ways to bore a reader. Like having three scenes in a row where the story doesn’t move forward. Or where the characters aren’t talking about anything interesting. There are a lot of ways to be bad. I guess the point I want to make is, you must monitor your reader’s projected reaction after each and every scene so that you have a strong argument that you aren’t boring them.
You aren’t owed anything with a script. Nobody cares that you worked 500 hours on it, or 7 hours if you’re Max Landis. All they care about is, “Am I not bored right now?” The second the answer to that question is “no,” you’re toast. So pull out all the stops to make sure you’re never placed in the toaster in the first place.
Speaking of food, how did Sundae, Bloody Sundae fare under this criteria?
The Picket Farms Nursing Home is usually a fun place for its age-advanced residents. Even though one of his best friends just died, 70-something Albert has a nice flirtationship going with 70-something Isabella, and is looking to impress her this weekend while her granddaughter is visiting.
Unfortunately, Albert’s plan to Netflix and Chill is ruined by some Netflix and Kill. The dickhead administrator here at Picket Farms, Gil Tuttle, ordered the cheapest most rancid ice cream you can imagine for Sundae Movie Night, and one serving of that ice cream turns people into flesh-eating zombies.
While Albert, his buddy Walter, Isabella, and Picket Farms rabble-rouser, Claire, sputter around for a random evening of trouble, their co-residents are busy Ben & Jerrying themselves into old-person zombies. They’ll now have to use their smarts to find a way out of the building, since they definitely can’t use their strength, quickness, or anything that has to do with movement. If you’re thinking this won’t go smoothly, I’d tell you that you are correct, my friend.
So does this survive that all-important question I brought up?
Am I reading because I have to or because I want to?
Sadly, it was because I have to.
If it was up to me, I would’ve been out around page 15. But not for any of the reasons I mentioned above. In truth, Walter keeps things moving pretty quickly here. I’m not sure there’s a scene in this script that doesn’t deserve to be there. But here’s why I tapped out.
The zombie genre is the most ubiquitous sub-genre in all of screenwriting. So when I read a zombie script, it has to be really fucking amazing. To Walter’s credit, he’s found a subject matter that hasn’t been explored in zombie storytelling before (at least that I know of). But see, that’s not enough for me. And it isn’t enough for most people.
When you’re playing inside the same sandbox as everyone else, you need to be CLEVER. Moving the zombie genre into a new arbitrary location isn’t enough. Because to me, anybody can do that. Anybody can place a zombie movie in a law firm (never been done before) or IRS headquarters (never been done before) or at the top of the Empire State Building (never been done before). But what’s clever about that? You’re just finding a different place to place zombies.
That’s why I hated that Boy Scouts vs. Zombies abomination. What the fuck was that? It’s almost like the writer spun the “random subject matter” wheel, it landed on Boy Scouts, and he just added zombies to it.
Now Walter (and others) may come back at me and say, “Carson, aren’t you overthinking this? Old people turning into zombies is funny!” That’s a fair argument. But I’m trying to place you in the mind of the seasoned reader or producer who sees a new zombie script on their desk every day. Those people aren’t easily swayed. Having them chuckle at a premise isn’t the same as buying one. They’re looking for something more, especially because yesterday they probably read a zombie movie that takes place in a high school. And the day before that a zombie movie that takes place in Ikea. Your funny premise stops looking as funny when placed next to other sorta funny premises.
The best zombie movie of the past 10 years – and also the most profitable, which is the main thing producers are looking at, mind you – was Zombieland. Why? Because it was clever! It explored the mythology in a unique way. So did 28 Days Later. It created a different kind of zombie that we hadn’t seen before, one that was more dangerous, scarier. And the most clever zombie movie I’ve ever seen is this short film. Unless you’re funding your zombie movie yourself, that’s the level you need to aspire to.
Having ranted about all of that, how was the script?
For a zombie script, I thought the character work was pretty good. Each of the main characters was colorful and memorable. They all seemed to have something going on. For staff, it might have been a social security scam. For residents, it may have been lying about being a war hero. So the characters were more than just munch-cushions.
And there were clever uses of this unique situation. For example, old people are slow. Zombies are slow. So in a scene where a zombie is chasing an old person down the hallway, it’s the slowest chase in the history of chases. I could see that playing like gangbusters onscreen.
And there were smart little plot threads. For example, Isabella’s granddaughter gets lost, which gives our characters something to achieve (A GOAL!). Whenever you give your characters a strong goal, chances are, at the VERY LEAST, your script will be readable (up until that goal is met). Who doesn’t want to see if the defenseless little cute girl gets rescued?
Walter also gets bonus points for a marketable image to sell the movie – a giant bloodied bear costume. Loved it.
But this is the thing about concept – and the reason I put so much emphasis on it when we started the Scriptshadow Write-a-Screenplay Project a month ago. If the reader isn’t on board with the concept, it’s really hard to make them interested in what’s happening inside of that concept. It’s still possible to win them over. But it’s harder. Which is why you want to road test that concept ahead of time.
With all that said, I admit that people more into zombie flicks, particularly zombie-comedies, might like this. For what it is, it’s a fun crisply-written screenplay. Unfortunately, it wasn’t my thing. :(
Script link: Sundae, Bloody Sundae
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Sundae Bloody Sundae is a good reminder that screenplays don’t start on page 1. They start long before that. Make sure things have been happening before your story begins. That way, your characters feel like they’re living their lives, as opposed to being born the second the writer types, “FADE IN.” For example, Rose and Tuttle have their social security scam that they’ve been profiting from for years. That started long before this script began. You want to do that with as many characters as possible. Give them things they’ve been doing before your script started.
