Today (Thursday) is the final day to send in a scene for Scene Showdown. Details are here!

You want to make it as a screenwriter.

You want to sell a script.

You want your script to be turned into a movie.

You want that movie to play in front of millions of people.

But you haven’t been able to fulfill that dream.

Why?

I don’t know.

But I guarantee you: You do.

Yes. The reason you haven’t gotten over the hump yet – you haven’t catapulted yourself into the arena of moviemaking – is 100% because of YOU.

It’s not because of nepotism. It’s not because of the color of your skin or your gender. It’s not because no one will read your script. It’s definitely not because they don’t understand your genius.

It’s you. You’re the problem.

But guess what?

That’s empowering. Because if you’re the problem, that means you possess the solution. You have control over fixing it.

Yet very few writers ever do fix it.

Because of that, they never achieve their dream. They never make it over the hump.

Why?

Because too many writers refuse to self-analyze and identify the REAL problem that’s holding them back. Only once you know what the problem is can you begin the process of fixing it.

Luckily, I’m here to tell you what your problem is. Or, at least, I’m here to provide you with the likely problem.

The sinister thing about “making it” is that we almost always self-sabotage. We get in our own way and prevent ourselves from achieving that which we so badly desire.

So, let’s go over the most common problems standing in the way of your success.

You’re Not Writing Enough

You say you’re a screenwriter. Yet you’re not writing enough. A screenwriter who’s really serious about success should be writing two screenplays a year with at least three drafts of each of those scripts. Or, writing one new script a year while putting the finishing touches on a screenplay from the previous year.

If you’re not doing that, the first question I’d ask you is, how serious are you!? Often, what screenwriters will do is keep fiddling away with one script without having any true destination for it.

This is a “Spinning Your Wheels” problem. You are often so afraid of being judged on the finished screenplay that you keep writing new drafts with no honest intention of ever completing the script. That way, you get to tell yourself you’re working AND you never have to get judged for that work. Perfect combination, right?

This is probably the hardest rock to climb out from under but the way out is clear. Start by setting times for yourself to write. I won’t force you into any time of day. You know what your schedule is like. But PICK. A. TIME. And, every day, write during that time.

From there, pick 2 screenplay contests you’re going to enter. Then, you must enter two scripts into those contests regardless of whether they’re “finished” or not. The idea for you is to get used to writing and get used to deadlines. Because if you can’t find consistency with those two basic things, you’ll never finish any scripts and you’ll never get anywhere.

You’re Not a Salesman

You’re quite good at keeping to a writing schedule. You DO finish your scripts. But then, once you finish, you have one or two people you send them to and if those people don’t flip out for how great your script is and tell you they’re sending it to Megan Ellison or Jason Blum, you tuck the script into a corner of your hard drive and never think about it again.

Your problem is that you do not understand the threshold that must be met in the selling phase of your screenplay. It’s not “Send the script to two people.” It’s not “Send the script to five people.” If you really want to have a chance at selling your script – I mean REALLY – you’ve got to send it to a ton of people.

10 at least. 20 is better. 30 would be awesome. 40 is a writer who’s serious. And 50 is someone who’s tried every avenue.

People say no in this town A LOT. They say no to writers with 20 credits. They’ll say no a lot more to writers with 0 credits. I just told you how Hollywood’s newest screenwriting crush, TJ Newman, was ignored by her first 40 inquiries until she got signed.

And if you’re wondering who to get your script to. ANYONE! Obviously, the closer they are to the business, the better. But contests count. People in the comments section count (well, maybe not Hep Athlete). Managers you cold e-mail count. I count. Every person who reads your script counts because that’s one more person who, if they like it, could push it up the ladder to someone else.

Be proud of your work. If you’ve put your heart and soul into a script, you deserve to have lots of people read it.

You Haven’t Done The Work

This issue pops up with two types of writers. The overeager writer writing his first, second, or third script, and the longtime writer who either never gets feedback or is unable to process feedback and improve the weak parts of his writing.

Each writer is dealing with opposing issues. The new writer doesn’t know what he doesn’t know yet. Every time they’re writing a page, they’re learning new things about the craft. So they can’t be blamed for not knowing why their scripts aren’t resonating.

The way to solve this problem is to assume there is a lot you do not know and to consider yourself an ongoing student of the craft. You are a work in progress and are okay with that. It does not mean you can’t get the attention of a major player with your third script or that you shouldn’t try. But you probably won’t and you shouldn’t get butt hurt if that’s the case. Thank them for their time and assume it’s because there is still more to learn. Get as much feedback as you can and keep getting better. Generally speaking, it isn’t until the 5th or 6th script that a screenwriter starts cooking with gas.

The longtime writer who is not getting better is a tougher fix. This issue often stems from stubbornness but can also be related to the fear that, if you admit to yourself that your writing approach is wrong, it means you have to “start over.” The idea of that is so terrifying that you’d rather stick to the path you’re on and keep charging forward with it.  It’s the sunk cost fallacy.

These writers need to ask for more feedback and, when they get it, they need to process it. Particularly the specific feedback they hear multiple times. Once you know where your weakness is, you can create a little Google Search inspired lesson plan on how to fix it.

Common problems I see are boring characters, writing that lacks clarity, uninspired creative choices, plots that move too slowly, second acts that meander. Probably the biggest one is untested concepts that weren’t strong enough to build a screenplay around in the first place.

I remember a writer who kept getting the note that his scripts lacked conflict so what did he do? He came up with a concept that would automatically inject conflict into every single scene. It ended up being his best script!

There are tons of articles about all of these things on the internet. Just remember: Because there is no screenwriting college (for most of us), it’s up to you to create your own lesson plans.

Finally, be aware of how time stifles enthusiasm. That can be the biggest enemy of all. Of course you don’t have the same drive as you did when you first started and thought this was easy.

But guess what? You are a MUCH BETTER WRITER than when you first started. You’re probably better than the bottom 25% of working writers out there. Possibly even better than that.

Don’t let your diminished enthusiasm prevent that skillset from being seen by the world. Internalize that you’re better than you think you are. Cause I can promise 95% of writers on here that that’s the case. And then call on that younger version of yourself to provide any enthusiasm reserves they can offer to get your stuff out there.

Because, in the end, it all comes down to being seen.

A script cannot become a movie unless it is seen.

Your job then is, simply, to make sure people see it.

All that means is putting some effort into getting it in front of people.

You do that?

Your life may change.

Genre: Sci-Fi
Premise: In the year 2035, companies can help you control your dreams so you can have amazing dream experiences. But one of the dream “writers” learns that her company may be using the dreams to control the clients after they leave.
About: This script finished with 9 votes on last year’s Black List. From what I understand, co-writer Tricia Lee is a director. So she and her co-writer may be writing this for her to direct.
Writers: Tricia Lee and Corey Brown
Details: 104 pages

Constance Wu for Jayden?

Dreayuhyuhyuh dreams… dream dream dreeeeeeams.

Dreayuhyuhyuh dreams… dream dream dreeeeeeams.

For as long as there has been time, there have been screenplays about dreams.

And why not?

Dreams are mysterious.  Dreams are elusive.  Dreams are weeirrrrrd.

But dream movies rarely work. (What Dreams May Come, Vanilla Sky, The Cell, The Science of Sleep, Dreamgirls)

The reason dream stuff doesn’t work is because screenplay is STRUCTURE and dreams are ANTI-STRUCTURE. Often to the point of frustration. Case in point: Has anybody ever shared a dream with you that you actually enjoyed hearing about? Of course not. I don’t care if you were naked in high school and got eaten to death by a band of tiny land whales while your teeth fell out.

So, I go into this script skeptical.

But I am encouraged that the script has two writers. When you’re a lone writer, going into a loosely structured subject matter, you’re more likely to justify randomness and weak choices. In concepts like this that have the potential to go off the rails, it helps when you have a second voice to keep you in check.

Let’s see how that plays out…

30-something Jayden Chan works for a company called Dream Dynamics. She’s one of the dream writers there. Basically, you sign up, you come in, you give Dream Dynamics an idea of the dream you want to have, and the dream writer comes up with it in real time. They’re sort of like your Dream Operator, painting the dream as it happens.

But it’s imperative that the writer always retain 80/20% control of the dream. If the ratio ever dips below that (70/30, 60/40), then that’s REALLY BAD. Bad in what way, you ask? I wasn’t sure. That could’ve been made clearer. I just know that when Jayden’s dream control ratio went down to 70/30, everybody at Dream Dynamics freaked out.

A guy named Kato comes in for a session – KATO (37, Black) watches the intake video. Long braids, handsome as hell, a strong chest you just want to touch under his inauspicious gray sweater – whose dream ratio gets all the way down to 60/40, which nearly gets Jayden fired.

Later that night, Jayden is approached by her brother, Bing, who is a big protestor of Dream Dynamics. He thinks they’re evil. He lets Jayden in on something she didn’t know. That a handful of recent clients, all of them minorities, have died soon after their sessions!

After Kato nearly kills himself, Jayden realizes that something is not right. She suspects that the evil head of the corporation, Richard Fox, is using the dream technology to control the clients after they leave. This allows him to kill them off if need be.

Through a series of character interactions, we learn that this specific dream system is designed to “keep people of color down.” Richard Fox doesn’t want minorities to leave their dreams thinking they can also achieve those dreams in real life. So if they leave optimistic, he must kill them. Jayden teams up with her ragtag crew – basically Kato and Bing – to take down the evil corporation she works for and the nasty man who runs it.

Whenever you’re exploring a big topic like dreams, you need to find a *specific* way into the idea. Because the more you approach an idea from a 10,000 foot point-of-view, the blander the script is going to be. Ideas become more interesting the closer to them you get.

To expand on that, let’s take one of my favorite topics, aliens. Think about all the angles that have been explored through this topic. A kid finds an alien in his backyard and befriends him (E.T.). A family holes up in their farmhouse when aliens arrive on earth (Signs). A group of soldiers try and take out an alien that’s landed in the jungle (Predator). A linguistics professor attempts to communicate with aliens before the U.S.’s adversaries do (Arrival). A city resigns a bunch of aliens to a walled-off ghetto where they’re barely able to survive (District 9).

All of these are very specific ways to explore the topic. We’re not covering the grandiosity of Aliens with a capital A. We are looking at them from a highly specific point of view.

Getting back to dreams, the most successful dream movie is probably Inception and a big reason that worked was because of the specific genre Nolan told the story through.  All dreams were explored as heists.

American Dreams is told through too broad of a lens in my opinion.

You’ve got this giant company. They’re helping people control their dreams. But really they’re using the dream control to control them after their dreams. I don’t know. It just feels too big to be interesting.

Granted, execution plays a big part in this. In a seasoned screenwriter’s hands, the execution of this story’s going to look a lot better. But, as constructed, it doesn’t feel like the idea has been explored with any sort of curiosity.  Every first idea they came up with, they went with.

There’s some basic understanding of screenwriting structure. But the creative choices all feel cliched and predictable. It’s been a while since I’ve read a villain this one-dimensional. He’s mean because….. he’s mean! That’s the extent of his depth.

It’s kind of like watching my rookie quarterback on the Bears through three games. I’m hoping for him to dial up complex 70-yard passing plays for touchdowns. In the meantime, he’s barely able to successfully hand it off to his running back.

I want complex exciting storytelling here but the reality is, these writers are only barely able to execute character descriptions. I get it. We all start somewhere. But for this script to be on the Black List, I’ve got to think Franklin Leonard has transformed into Howard Hughes, randomly throwing darts at titles on the wall.

I would be interested to see what Chat GPT would come up with when given this same idea.  Cause I suspect the script might be better than this. What Chat GPT does well is cliches and soft story choices. That describes American Dreams to a T.  Cliches and soft story choices. It’s the polar opposite of yesterday’s film, The Substance, which had its own problems but a lack of bold choices was not one of them.

I mean, a good 30 pages of this script were dedicated to cutting to the good guys in a room saying, ‘We have to take down the meanie bad guys,’ then cutting to the bad guys in their room saying, ‘We must take down those good guys!’ It was like being transported back to 1984 watching an episode of The Smurfs. Just change the names “Papa Smurf” and “Gargamel” to “Jayden” and “Richard Fox.”

If you want to see a better version of what this script is trying to achieve with its social commentary, check out They Cloned Tyrone.  While I didn’t love that script, it takes a lot more creative risks with both its storytelling and the way it explores this subject matter (white people exploiting people of color).  Everything here felt rushed, first choice, with, I’m assuming, little to no critical pushback between drafts.  Someone needed to challege this writing team with some hard-hitting notes for it to reach its potential.

[x] Gargamel
[ ] Azrael
[ ] Brainy Smurf
[ ] Papa Smurf
[ ] Smurfette

What I learned: I feel so confident the readers of Scriptshadow could’ve done better than this that I challenge everyone here to come up with a better way into this concept: A company that writes your dreams. I bet we get 4-5 ideas that are notably better than whatever this was. Share your ideas in the comments section.

The Substance will become, to everyone who sees it, the most talked about film of the year.

Genre: Body Horror
Premise: A former Hollywood star signs up for a secret service that allows her to split in two, birthing a younger hotter version of herself.
About: I’ve waited five long years to see Fargeat’s follow-up to “Revenge.” Bringing Demi Moore back for a major role? Count me in. Inject some Margaret Qualley into that equation? DOUBLE count me in. The Substance didn’t have the marketing money to get the same awareness as a lot of these other Hollywood movies. But it did win Best Screenplay at Cannes.
Writer: Coralie Fargeat
Details: 2 hours and 20 minutes

Some context is necessary before I get into today’s review.

I knew NOTHING about this movie going into it.

I went because the director directed Revenge and I loved that movie. I couldn’t wait to see what she came up with in her first American film.

That information is key because had I known what I was getting into, I would’ve prepared myself better. It’s the funny thing about expectations. I prefer to know as little as possible about a script or a movie going in. And yet, there are certain types of movies that you need to be in a certain headspace for going in. This was one of those movies.

50 year old former Hollywood star, Elizabeth Sparkle, who’s barely scraping by doing a fitness show for women of a certain age, is mortified when she overhears her evil boss mention that he’s going to fire her and find a younger hotter replacement.

Distracted by that information on her drive home, she gets in a car accident. Luckily, she’s fine. At the doctor’s office, a young attractive man slips her something called “The Substance.” It’s a service that allows you to split into two, basically. This other version of yourself will be young and hot.

Elizabeth injects the substance and births Sue, who immediately auditions for the replacement position, which she gets easily. Good times, right? Ah, but there are rules with the substance. You can only be young for seven days at a time. Your old version then must be reactivated for 7 days to replenish the cells needed to stay young, while you are deactivated. You must keep this schedule or certain body modifications will start happening.

Sue begins loving young life so much that she gradually starts stretching out her seven days. A few hours at first. Then a few days. Elizabeth will wake up with an old finger. Or an old leg. She complains to customer support but they tell her, “You guys are the same. You have to figure it out yourselves.”

Sue then gets on such a hot streak at work that she simply stops switching altogether. When she’s finally out of animation juice, she has no choice but to reactivate Elizabeth, and ohhhhhh boy does Elizabeth look different. She is a beast. And she’s mad as hell at Sue for doing this to her. This can only lead to one thing – a battle to the death.

Let me start with the concept.

I was in.

I’m always telling screenwriters: Start with a big concept. If you start with a big concept, every stage of selling the script becomes a thousand times easier. Getting people to read your script is easier. Getting people to greenlight your movie is easier. And getting people to see your movie is easier.

This idea of being able to trade off with a younger version of yourself half the year via an injectable serum is about as high concept as it gets. Which surprised me. Fargeat’s first film had such a basic premise (a girl is left for dead by her evil boyfriend in the desert and she comes back and kills him and his friends) that I wasn’t expecting something this concept-y.

And I absolutely LOVE Fargeat’s direction. To the point where I’m obsessed with it. That opening sequence where we hold on a top down shot of a sidewalk as Elizabeth Sparkle’s Hollywood star is put in. We see her, top down still, accepting the honor. Then, top down still, we watch the years pass by, overhearing chatter from the people passing over the star. “Who is this?” “I don’t know. She used to be famous a long time ago.” Over more time still, the star starts to crack. Until finally we’re seeing people casually drop food on it. Homeless people wheeling their carts over it. It was such a brilliant way to tell her backstory.

Since Thursday is Scene Showdown (enter here!), I want to highlight the scene-writing as well. My favorite scene occurred in the middle of the movie. Elizabeth decides she wants to go on a date with an old classmate. They set the date for that night. We then show Elizabeth getting ready in the bathroom. She looks at herself in the mirror. But she’s clearly not satisfied. She’s not satisfied because she’s now experienced life as Sue – being younger, tighter, more effortlessly beautiful. So she applies more makeup, trying to hide more of her wrinkles. Mask her imperfections.

But then she’s not happy with her cleavage. It doesn’t look as good as Sue’s. So she grabs a scarf and awkwardly covers herself. We see the clock ticking, getting closer and closer to the date time, but she’s less and less happy with herself, making more and more changes, desperately trying to look as young and pretty as possible, until finally she has a breakdown where she messes up her entire look, climaxing in her sitting, like a lump, on her living room floor, a series of text messages from her date coming in on her nearby phone: “Hello? Are you still coming?” “Are you here yet?” “Are you okay?”

What I liked about the scene is it had that beginning, middle, and end that I’m always advocating for in your scene-writing. And it did it WITHOUT A WORD OF DIALOGUE. That’s not easy to do! So I always rate writers who are able to pull that off.

Now, if the movie would’ve focused on scenes like that the whole time, I would’ve loved it.

But as I slowly began to realize, this was a body-horror movie. Maybe THE body-horror movie. The best of all time, I may proclaim? The problem is, I am NOT a body-horror fan. I don’t enjoy it. It creeps me out. I find it weird. And that was what doomed this movie for me in the final 45 minutes because the final 45 minutes are all body-horror.

Ironically, the things I loved about Coraline’s direction – the extreme close-ups, the unique angles, the unexpected ways she’d shoot a scene – became the things I hated. Cause she wouldn’t just show an eyeball growing on Elizabeth’s shoulder. She would get an extreme close-up of that eyeball, play the various squishy sounds that eyeballs make when they move around, show you pus coming out of the lip of the eye socket. She might keep you there with that eyeball for an entire 60 seconds. It was unsettling.

But for me, the thing that killed The Substance was the absurd amount of blood during the final scene. Have you ever watched a movie where a character gets their arm chopped off and for about 3 seconds, we see them holding their arm, screaming, with blood shooting out everywhere?

Well, I want you to imagine that happening for ten straight minutes. With deafening high-octane metal blasting. And a million close-ups of 200 different people getting sprayed with blood. And we don’t leave the 10,000 square foot room until every wall, every floor, every ceiling, is entirely covered with blood.

It was so bizarrely unnecessary to get the point across. We literally got the point 9 minutes and 30 seconds ago.

And while, at times, Deformed Elizabeth was fun, seeing every crevice of her pulsating decaying body in extreme close-up again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again… oh wait, there’s more… and again and again and again and again and again and again… nope, the movie’s not over yet… and again and again and again, became unbearable.

Unless you’re a body horror junkie, I can’t, in good conscience, recommend this movie. It’s so hard to look at at times, that I don’t know what the entertainment value is supposed to be. And to be honest, I didn’t think the script was very good either. Sue rarely talks. So I never felt like I understood her. The movie is supposed to be taking place in modern day but the New Year’s Finale production seemed to be set in 1950. Coraline played fast and loose with the rules of her story.

I’m bummed out. Cause I expected to love this movie. I thought for sure I’d have another entry for Top Movies of 2024. Twas not to be.

You can read the script here: The Substance

[ ] What the hell did I just watch?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the price of admission
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Learn to tell a scene with a beginning, middle, and end, with no dialogue. If you can write a good scene with that limitation, you should have no problem writing good scenes that contain dialogue.

Scene Showdown is THIS WEEK. Details on how to enter are inside today’s post!

I know the suspense is killing you.

You’re all wondering who won the weekend box office.

Was it 80s nostalgia film #1 or 80s nostalgia film #2?

Are you ready for it?

Sing it with me!

Transformers…

More than meets the eye…

Autobots raise the battle for control of the evil… Decepticons!

Those are the words, right?

Oh wait… this just in.

Transformers did NOT win the weekend. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice did. My fault.

Shucks.

That throws me for a loop. I had this stellar 5000 word dissertation all primed up about Bumblebee’s origin story.

Hmmm…

What do we talk about now!?

How bout SCENE SHOWDOWN! Yes, in case you forgot, Scene Showdown is this week. Your entries need to be in by Thursday night. Everyone here should be entering because, guess what? It takes no time at all to write a scene. Here’s what I need from you for Scene Showdown.

Title
Genre
Logline
Up to 50 words to prep the scene (up from 30)
A PDF of your scene (no minimum length, maximum is 5 pages long)
Send submission to carsonreeves3@gmail.com
Deadline 10pm Pacific Time, Thursday September 26th!

To get you primed for Scene Showdown, I’ll share with you a movie I just saw. It was a French movie called, “Last Summer.” It was about a woman who starts having an affair with her step-son (who happens to be a Timothee Chalamet clone). I know. Spicy!

Anyway, the movie starts on the aforementioned mother, who’s a lawyer, priming a 16 year old girl for her defense in court tomorrow. She asks the girl how many boyfriends she’s had in the last year. How many boys she’s slept with in the last year. Clearly uncomfortable, the girl fights through the answers. The lawyer is merciless. She says to her, “They are going to try to make you look like a slut. It is imperative you do not crack.” She then continues to test her until she’s satisfied.

This is a solid example of how to write a good scene.

Note how, right from the start, you’re placing us in an uncomfortable situation, a situation that has TENSION. Even if that’s all you did, you’re ahead of most of the people writing scenes because sustained tension keeps readers turning the page.

But, also – and this is something so few writers are doing these days – there’s a beginning, middle, and end to the scene. The beginning is setting up what she needs her to say. The middle is the conflict, the girl struggling with being able to do this, and the end is the resolution, the lawyer convinces her to man-up and get ready for battle.

To understand why this is a good scene, look at what the alternative could’ve been, an alternative I read just about every day in mediocre scripts. Start with a typical day, our lawyer at her work doing lawyerly things. We cut to the step-son suntanning in the back yard when she gets home. We cut to them all having dinner together later. We’re getting snippets of scenes, sure.  And we’re moving things forward, yes.  But we’re not being entertained by full-on scenarios along the way.

That’s my ultimate goal with Scene Showdown. I want to remind you writers that it isn’t just about stitching together pieces of a story. It’s about utilizing your scenes as stories in and unto themselves – creating them as a means to entertain all on their own.

Okay, now let’s get back to Transformers One because I can’t help myself.

This movie looked… awful.

Hey, kudos to whatever Paramount promotional team convinced everyone that this was the next Citizen Kane three months ago when the buzz for this film began. But those trailers were major buzz-kills. It honestly looked like something that wouldn’t make the grade if it were a free Saturday morning cartoon. Cheesy animation. Cheesier jokes. None of which were organic to the original spirit of the cartoon. I’m not sure what they were thinking to be honest. And no, I’m not bagging on sci-fi animation. I can’t wait to see The Wild Robot this weekend. I expect it to be nothing short of spectacular. But Transformers One? More like Transformers One-And-Done.

As for what’s coming next at the box office, I want every screenwriter here to pay attention to one film that’s being released. It’s a film I guarantee you’ve never heard of before. And yet knowing about this film may be the most important screenwriting lesson of your life.

The film is titled, “Lee.” It stars Kate Winslet and is about the real life story of a fashion model, Lee Miller, who would go on to become a war correspondent in World War 2. Why am I bringing this movie up? Partly because nobody’s going to see it. But mainly because Kate Winslet has been trying to make this movie for years. She’s been told ‘no’ again and again and again. Yet, finally, she’s done it.

Look, Kate Winslet will likely be in the Oscar race for her performance in the film. She’s a great actress. I love me some Titanic. But too many screenwriters write scripts like “Lee” – these boring-sounding biopics – that have zero chance of ever getting made. There’s a reason everyone in Hollywood told her no. Because they know what I know, and what all of you know. Which is that nobody is going to see this movie.

The only reason it got made was that Winslet begged, borrowed, and stole until finally convincing a studio to allow her to make the movie. But they said only if you star in a more marketable movie of ours. Which was the deal she made.

You are not Kate Winslet. You do not have billions of dollars worth of proven box office in your browser cache. You are a faceless entity. And faceless entity screenwriters need to write scripts that have big ideas that sell themselves. You want to think big. You want to think flashy. Unless you have ten years to pitch how your movie is going to be good despite its boring premise, let your logline do the work for you!

That’s all I ask.

That, and write some grade-A scenes.

I’m being totally honest when I say if you possess these two skills, you are un-freaking-stoppable as a screenwriter. :)

A famous “sneaking on government base” scene.

I’m currently working with a writer who’s writing an elaborate spy/science-fiction script that involves infiltrating the US Government. The final 45 pages are the main character infiltrating a series of complex checkpoints and well-guarded areas on a giant base created by the most advanced military in the world.

When that first draft came in, the script completely fell apart in those final 45 pages. Often, what would happen, is there would be a checkpoint, and the hero would hide in the back of a car, allowing him to sneak through the checkpoint. Then he’d get to a building he’d have to breach. So he’d sneak around the back and override the passcode to open a door.

There were almost a dozen moments like this, which is why I said to the writer: The reason this ending falls apart is because every time your hero encounters a challenge, the challenge isn’t difficult. He hides in the car. The guard walks around the car. He pauses for a moment, creating a teensy bit of suspense. And then he tells the driver to go ahead.

In other words, THE WRITER IS THE HERO’S GUARDIAN ANGEL. The writer is a protector. He is on the hero’s side. Therefore, whenever a problem pops up, he’s going to make sure that the hero gets out of that problem just fine.

This is the WORST approach you can have to writing a script.

When you write a script, YOU WANT TO BE THE HERO’S WORST ENEMY.

You want to be the VILLAIN.

Even bigger than the actual villain in your story. Because the worse of a villain you are, the better your script is going to be.

Let me give you an example.

Go back to the scene where the main character is hiding in the car. We’ll say he’s hiding in a compartment in the trunk. The Guardian Angel Writer will never have anybody even open that trunk. The Guardian Angel Writer is a screenplay killer because no moments in his script have any tension at all.

The Good Buddy Writer *will* have the guard open up the trunk and look inside. But something will happen at the last second – another guard will call him away for a more ‘important’ matter – that keeps our hero protected. This Good Buddy Writer is definitely better than the Guardian Angel Writer because he’s created more suspense out of the scene. But he’s still helping our protagonist out when he needs it.

You know what the Villain Writer does? He has that guard open up the trunk. He has that guard dig around in that trunk. And you know what he has the guard do next? Think about it for a second. You’re the villain. You want to make things as bad for the hero as possible. So… YOU HAVE HIM DISCOVER YOUR HERO.

Because guess what? If he discovers the hero? You’ve got yourself a scene now! And not just an okay scene. A MEMORABLE scene. Because now we, the reader, are wondering how the heck the hero is going to get out of this. Which is the ideal place to have your reader in.

Why don’t writers do this more often?

Simple. Because they don’t have any clue how to get the hero out of that situation. So they’d rather avoid the situation than give themselves a difficult job to do. But let me make this clear. The more times you are the Villain Writer to your hero, the better the chances are that you are writing something great.

In one of the great sequels of all time, The Empire Strikes Back, a big chunk of that film’s finale is dedicated to the build-up of encasing Han Solo in carbonite. The Guardian Angel or the Good Buddy Writer would’ve found a way to save Han Solo from this fate. Luke or Leia would’ve gotten to him in time, shot or sliced up some stormtroopers, grabbed Han, and it’s off to the Millennium Falcon we go!

This needs to be you!

Not the Villain Writer. The Villain Writer encases Han in carbonite. Cause that’s the story direction that’s going to get the biggest reaction out of the audience. They’re going to be confused. This is not supposed to happen. Why couldn’t he have gotten away!?

Getting back to the spy sci-fi script, let’s look at that final obstacle where the hero has to sneak into the building. The way it was written, the hero did an override on the code panel. My first question to the writer was, “Where are the cameras?” “Aren’t there cameras outside this building so they can monitor people who are trying to break in?”

The writer began rambling, “Well, it’s not that kind of facility. They don’t usually have people in this area so it wouldn’t be expected that someone would be trying to break in here…” I said to him, “Listen to yourself. Does that sound like the real world AT ALL??” OF COURSE they’re going to have cameras! These days, they’re going to have drones combing the facility as well. They’re going to have every single inch of this base secured.

The writer looked at me with a blank stare and I knew exactly what that blank stare meant. It was the writer thinking to himself, “Well if I put all that in there, I’m going to have to figure out a way for my hero to get past it.”

EXACTLY!

And when you start writing this way, THAT’S WHEN YOU START BECOMING A GREAT WRITER.

Let me make something clear cause screenwriters seem to forget this all the time. The more CERTAIN the reader is of what’s going to happen next in your script, the more bored they are. The more UNCERTAIN the reader is of what’s going to happen next, the more engaged they are.

When you are the Villain Writer, you are constantly creating UNCERTAIN SCENARIOS. I have no idea how the hero in this spy sci-fi script is going to get past drone security. WHICH IS WHY I WANT TO KEEP READING! So I can find out. In contrast, if you’ve written an entire script holding your hero’s hand through all the obstacles, I know that once we get to this base, the hero’s going to figure it out. I’m going to be CERTAIN of the hero’s success. Which means I’m BORED.

Likewise, when we get to that back door, don’t place a number code on it. Just have it be a steel door with no apparent way to get in. Hell, if you want to be a true villain, TAKE THE DOOR AWAY COMPLETELY. Actually, let’s go one step further. In the planning stages of infiltrating this base, this door was a key part of the plan. It was, according to their reconnaissance, the least guarded door on the base. So it’s essential to their plan.

What would a true Villain Writer do? When the hero gets there, THERE IS NO DOOR. It’s no longer there. NOW WHAT???

You should love that phrase as a screenwriter: NOW WHAT??

Place your hero in a bunch of situations where the next thought is, NOW WHAT?

Because what does “Now What” imply? It implies UNCERTAINTY.

I’ll leave you with one of my favorite Villain Writer moments, just to show you that you can be a Villain Writer in any genre. Not just action or spy movies. It occurs in the romantic comedy, Notting Hill.

Anna, the movie star, has invited William, the nobody local dude, on a first date. Now, the Guardian Angel Writer is going to have William show up to her hotel room. She’s going to open the door. There’s going to be some cutesy romantic comedy banter. And off they go on their date!

Instead, what happens?

William shows up, and when the door opens, it’s some random guy. The guy then walks William into the middle of a press junket. The Villain Writer makes sure that NOTHING is easy for their hero. William is forced to pretend he’s part of a magazine and must ask questions to all of the stars of Anna’s latest movie before finally getting a chance to see her.

Richard Curtis, the writer of Notting Hill, is actually really good at being a Villain Writer. Later in the movie, William comes over to Anna’s hotel for another date, only to find her a-hole ex-boyfriend (played awesomely by Alec Baldwin) in the room with her. She had no idea he was going to show up.

I am so convinced of the value of today’s lesson that I challenge you to go into your current screenplay and find one of the biggest scenes in it, and rewrite the scene being as big of a Villain Writer as you can possibly be to your hero. I GUARANTEE YOU that the scene will get better.

Go try it and report back!