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Genre: Sci-Fi
Premise (from writer): When a young man serving on the zeppelin Hindenburg discovers that a deadly, shape-shifting alien is hidden on board, he must defeat it or the girl he loves will suffer a fate worse than death.
Why You Should Read (from writer): I already sent you two of my other scripts for the Scriptshadow 250 contest, but what you wrote about the lack of big idea scripts inspired me to send you my biggest idea script. With its love story on a doomed vessel coupled with an alien which can assume the form of anyone it devours, it’s like TITANIC meets THE THING… I worked hard to make the script as easy to read as possible (no paragraph over 2 lines, only 97 pages) and to keep it moving and entertaining. If you’ll like it I’d really love for you to come on board as a producer!
Writer: Tal Gantz
Details: 97 pages
I’m throwing EVERYONE for a loop today. There was a lot of discussion over last week’s group of scripts, but not a lot of voting. I think that says something. If people aren’t compelled enough to even type “I vote for [x]” in a comment, then something’s missing from your script. So I decided to look into it more deeply until I finally figured out what the problem was. I can’t believe, in retrospect, how obvious it was.
The writers didn’t center their title pages.
As we all know, the most important part of any screenplay is not just the title page, but how well you center that title. I try to get this across to new writers all the time. It’s not about character or dialogue or structure. It’s about centering. Think I’m exaggerating? Let me put it this way. I heard that the best script ever submitted to the Nicholl Fellowship was rejected because the title wasn’t centered properly.
Yes.
I got in touch with the writer and apparently his centering was 4 and a half pixels off. In his defense, his title included a hyphen and an ellipses, which confused the matter, but you know what? That’s no excuse. He should’ve known better. You can’t have an improperly centered title page and expect this industry to take you seriously.
All of this forced me to go back a few Amateur Saturdays to find a script that DID center its title properly, and boy am I excited. This script exuded one of the most center-positive attitudes I’ve ever seen. So much so that I’m nominating it for the prestigious “Center Award,” which as you all know rewards the most centered objects of the year. It is time, my friends, to review a script that dares to care about the things that really matter. Let’s take a trip back to… The Hindenburg Alien.
It’s 1937, a year before the world lost its innocence, and when Germany graced us with the largest flying machine anyone had ever seen, the Hindenburg. We join this gargantuan airship while its loading up passengers for its impending flight. This is where we meet 20 year-old David Grant, a ship hand who’s trying to kick ass and not be a Nazi.
David is joined by his comic relief co-worker, Harry, and the demonstrably stodgy captain, Mr. Lehman, along with a host of other worker bees that make flying the Hindenburg so exciting, when it’s not bursting into flames and roasting its passengers alive that is.
Shit gets Nazi-real when a professor rolls up a giant iron box that looks like it could be a Steampunk transformer “before” picture. Following him is 19 year-old Anna, the girl of David’s dreams, who is unfortunately followed by Hans Muller, her Nazi fiancé. So much for that love connection. I’m guessing that’s nazi-gonna happen.
After the Hindenburg takes off, David wanders downstairs in time to see a co-worker, Eric, get pulled into the iron box and EATEN by whatever’s in there. David runs upstairs to tell the captain, but when they come back down, it appears that Eric is fine. OR IS HE? Eric’s acting strange, and after a bit of sleuthing, David figures out that whatever was in that box has taken the form of Eric.
David eventually finds Anna, and because she’s just so darn dreamy, he informs her of what he saw. She believes him and wants to help, but her evil fiancé, Hans, keeps hanging around and being all clingy. Those Nazis. We eventually find out that Anna is only marrying this jerk because he’s agreed to smuggle her father out of the country to safety.
While evil alien-monster thing jumps form one host to the next, David realizes that if this planet-hopper lands, there’s a good chance it’s going to spread its seed and earth as we know it will turn into an intergalactic truck stop. So David must overcome his fears and take Alien Yucky Head on. One on one. May the best… biological… living creature win.
I’m digging the concept here. Tal’s obviously been influenced by Titanic, but he knows if he takes that approach, it just becomes Titanic on the Hindenburg. And we’ve seen “Titanic on the…” films before and they never end up well (Pearl Harbor). So he wisely turns this into a sci-fi film and makes it more of a monster-in-a-box movie.
Here was my issue while reading The Hindenburg Alien though: It was too darn simplistic. And I know this might sound confusing because I’m always harping on you guys for being too complex. But rarely does ANY extreme work well, and that includes being too simplistic.
I don’t want this to come off the wrong way but “Hindenburg” felt like it was written by a third grader. That’s not to say there were a lot of spelling or grammar errors. But the grammar was devoid of any color or nuance. There was no flavor to the way anything was written, leaving the script feeling so basic that it was hard to get excited about anything.
Here’s an example: “David and Harry sneak into the deck. All is silent and still. Eric is nowhere in sight.”
You see how rudimentary and lifeless those sentences are? Even the book our romantic lead is reading is titled: “Romantic Poems.” The only title I can think of more generic than that would be, “Written Stories.”
I can overlook colorless prose sometimes if the character work or dialogue is exceptional. But both of those suffer from the same problem. Here’s a dialogue exchange from when David meets up with Anna. David: “How did you know it was me?” “Your footsteps gave you away. Quiet, but strong. Just like you.” Is it just me or does that sound like it was spoken by an animatronic automaton?
You know, it’s funny. Technically speaking, Tal does what myself and many screenwriting folks teach in regards to dialogue. Keep the lines sparse and to the point, usually under three lines. But while this sounds great in practice, if EVERY SINGLE SPOKEN LINE OF DIALOGUE is like that, it feels generic and lifeless (and worse – predictable). And plus, in the real world, everyone talks differently. Some do keep it short and to the point. But others can’t shut up. I didn’t get enough of a sense of different personalities and talking styles here. To that end, changing up the dialogue length for each character would’ve helped a ton.
But yeah, in general, we needed more color to everything. In the description, the dialogue, the backstory, the plotting. A basic plot point would be “Let’s follow Eric” and at a certain point I felt like I’d asked for a Chinese chicken salad and they’d brought me a head of lettuce and a few ketchup packets.
I will say this about The Hindenburg Alien. It’s not as simplistic as Monday’s “Free Fall,” which sold. And Tal’s got the right idea here. This is a big enough concept that it could be turned into a movie. But if he wants to improve his chances, he needs to add more complexity to the characters and the plotting, and he needs to add some color to the writing himself. I would recommend he check out Osgood Perkins’ script, “February,” for how to add color through prose, and Aaron Sorkin’s, Jobs, for tips on how to write more colorful dialogue.
Good luck, my friend. You’re on your way to something here. ☺
Screenplay link: The Hindenburg Alien
[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Be mindful of long absences by your characters (30+ pages). You can’t just bring them back whenever. It’s very likely we’ve forgotten who they are. Or even if we remember their name, we’ve forgotten the exact circumstances by which they’re attached to the story. That’s what happened here. We meet Anna’s father, Rosen, when he arrives on the ship, but I’d forgotten about him by the time he showed up again 50 pages later. I thought to myself, “Wait, did we see him board in the opening?” I wasn’t sure. And because there were a lot of dream-scenes in The Hindenburg Alien, I thought she may have been dreaming about her father. To eliminate confusion, add another scene with Rosen somewhere between those two scenes. That way he stays prominent in our minds, and we’re not playing the “Who’s This Dude Again?” screenplay game (a game I have to play way too much!).
