Genre: Horror
Premise: (from Blood List) A goat farmer discovers a newborn baby among the bodies of a cult’s mass suicide. In nurturing the baby, the farmer’s cancer-ridden wife starts getting better. But there’s something dark about the child’s power.
About: We’re just 10 days from The Black List. Going off what I’ve read from the Blood List, expect at least three of those script to make the list. If today’s Blood List script is good, I’ll raise that number to 4. The writer/director is Kevin McMullin, who penned and directed this year’s dramatic thriller, “Low Tide,” starring one of the biggest young actors in the business, Jaeden Martell (It, Knives Out).
Writer: Kevin McMullin
Details: 94 pages
I like when I see a unique setting in a logline. I read so many scripts that feel the same that any break from the familiar is appreciated. If you’re writer number 782,213 writing a haunted house movie, you’re going to find it very hard to differentiate your script from every other haunted house script.
So when I saw “goat farm” in this logline, I thought to myself, “I’ve never read a script about a goat farm before.” That’s not to imply that goat farming is going to lead to storytelling nirvana, but when you start from a unique place, you’re more likely to deliver a unique experience.
It’s 1979. Texas. 69 year old George Viske is barely making ends meet on his goat farm. A major part of the problem is that his corn crop isn’t growing to full term. He’s considering pesticides as a last resort but doesn’t have much faith that they’ll work. Things on the inside of the household aren’t so great either. George’s wife, Alice, is suffering from Stage 4 cancer.
One day after selling goat meat in town, George stumbles across a stray goat who he follows into a valley, where he sees over 100 dead bodies from a doomsday cult. There is only one survivor, a newborn baby. The local sheriff is overwhelmed and asks George if he can take care of the baby while he coordinates all the incoming press and federal agents.
Alice immediately takes a liking to the baby and, wouldn’t you know it, her cancer starts regressing. And that corn crop? All of a sudden, it’s growing just fine. But the good luck baby can’t help everyone. For some reason, all of George’s farm hands start developing intense fevers. Whatever’s going on here appears to be selective. Or random.
George is lukewarm on the baby, who they name Eli. Alice, conversely, becomes obsessed with it. She seems to sense it has special powers and wants to raise it. So when a couple of surviving members of the doomsday cult church arrive looking for Eli, Alice doesn’t want to give him away. Little do they know, they’re going to have to fight to keep him. And to stay alive.
Before I get into my analysis of the script, I want to point out that this is a writer-director and that he clearly has a vision in mind for the story. The script has that quasi “writing it for myself” quality that you see in a lot of writer-director scripts. And after seeing the disaster screenplay that was Three Billboards turn into one of my favorite movies of 2017, I’ll never discount a writer-director until I see the finished product.
With that said, this script had issues.
We talk about STORY ENGINES a lot on this site. What is the engine that’s driving your story – that’s making the reader want to turn the page? The most common example is a character goal. Ad Astra – Get to dad and bring him back.
But a character goal isn’t the only narrative engine out there. It’s just the best one. Another common engine is a mystery. “Get Out” is about a guy who visits his girlfriend’s parents for the weekend and starts to sense that something is off. We keep watching to see how that mystery will unfold. What is going on in this house with these people?
First Harvest doesn’t have a clear engine as far as I can tell. It’s more of a “an older couple inherits a strange baby and weird stuff starts happening” movie. Now if you were debating me about this, you might argue that the baby is the mystery. The reader will keep reading to figure out what’s going on with this baby.
And therein lies why there’s no true formula for writing a screenplay. The writer thinks that mystery is compelling enough to drive the entire movie. I don’t. Who’s right? Whoever reads this script or sees this movie – they’ll decide if that mystery is compelling enough. But I don’t think it is.
Part of the problem is that the mystery is passive. We’re just sort of waiting around to see what happens next. Is the corn going to grow? Are the farm hands going to die? Is Alice going to keep getting better? Strangely, the biggest storyline – 100 dead people in the adjacent farm lot – is barely explored. We instead focus everything on George and Alice’s household, which, again, amounts to a lot of waiting around. As I’ve made clear in dozens of script reviews, I don’t like storylines where people wait around. It’s like you’re deliberately shooting your screenplay in the leg. You make it so hard for the script to get anywhere.
One of things you’re trying to do when you come up with an idea is find the narrative that gets the MOST out of the concept. With a little more brainstorming, I think we could’ve come up with a much better storyline here.
For starters, the sheriff shouldn’t have handed the baby to them and said, “Figure this out yourself.” It would’ve been a lot more compelling had George found the baby before anyone else came along and brought it back home. Now your main characters are trying to keep a secret, which is a lot more interesting. Especially with the nosy farmhands nearby. Throw a plot point in around page 40 where the feds find out a baby is missing, and things really get dramatic.
Then you have Alice, who was literally on her deathbed, start to get better. George believes it’s because of the baby. This means losing the baby doesn’t mean giving something back you found a week ago. It’s George losing his wife. How far would you go to make sure that didn’t happen? That’s your movie right there. I could see George killing the farmhand who knows about the baby when he threatens to go to the police.
Instead of all that, we get one of those scripts that feels like the writer is figuring things out on the page. For example, there’s a scene where George wakes up to find his wife floating above the bed. When you’re writing a scene like that, it feels fun and exciting. But it doesn’t elevate the story in any way (no pun intended). It doesn’t lead to some plot point that takes the story to another level. It’s just a fun isolated moment. A cute effect.
I’ll finish things off by saying this. You want to avoid writing situations where the only thing you know going in is “weird stuff is going to happen.” A baby with strange powers. Okay. There’s a way to turn that into a movie. But if all you’re going to give us is weird stuff happening with an arbitrary rule-set (some people are healed by the baby, some people are hurt by it), the reader is going to find that frustrating. They want a script where the writer understands the magical force at the center of their story and what the point of it is. And I didn’t get that feeling here at all.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: What is the most unique part of your life? Do you have a weird job? Know a weird person? Do you live in a unique area of the country? Did you go on a trip once that was unlike anything else you’ve experienced? These are the things you want to build movie ideas around – the stuff from your life that’s unique. Not only are you giving readers something different. But because you experienced these things yourself, you can write from a place of knowledge. Which means your story will be specific and, therefore, believable.
Genre: Crime/Period
Premise: An Irish hitman joins the Italian mob, allowing him to meet Jimmy Hoffa, who he develops a deep friendship with.
About: After 10 long years of development, Scorsese’s latest passion project, The Irishman, is here. Unable to get studios interested in a 150 million dollar flick that didn’t have superheroes in it, Scorsese turned to former enemy Netflix to make the film, who was all too happy to bankroll another shot at their current obsession – a Best Picture Oscar. The film’s sky-high budget is due mostly to de-aging its trio of stars, Joe Pesci, Al Pacino, and Robert DeNiro. Here’s my old review of the script.
Writer: Steve Zallian (based on the book by Charles Brandt)
Details: 3 hours and 30 minutes long!
The Irishman is a weird movie.
Its biggest expense – the de-aging of its actors – is so unimpressive as to make you wonder why they went through all the hassle. The idea was strong in theory. Use new technology to turn back the hands of time and give us one more performance from three master actors in their prime.
Except when I think of these actors’ primes, I think ages 30-45. Not 55. Yet that was the age Scorsese covered. While I’m not sure make-up and hair could’ve achieved the same effect, there had to be other options. 80 million bucks seems like an enormous expense for what they delivered. If you’re going to spend that money, we need to be truly transported.
Something tells me that if you would’ve aged these guys to 35 instead of 55, this movie would’ve been a monster hit everyone was talking about. We’d truly feel like we were back in the Pacino and DeNiro hey day. As it stands, the whole thing comes off as a curiosity, an old dog trying new tricks and not executing them well enough to earn a treat.
If the 3 and a half hour running time of The Irishman scared you off, here’s my TLDR. The movie follows a guy named Frank Sheeran, an Irishman who became a hit man for the Italian mob. He took care of people whose interests weren’t aligned with his employers. Sometimes that meant people outside the mob, sometimes it meant people inside.
Big boss Russel Bufalino (Pesci) takes a liking to Frank, and the two work in tandem with Jimmy Hoffa, the teamster leader who has more power than the president of the United States, to rule the roost in the 1960s. But when they get greedy, the government comes after them, and all three end up in prison at one point or another.
When Hoffa gets out, he wants to be reinstated as teamster president. But that ship has sailed. Unable to accept this arrangement, Hoffa keeps pushing and pushing until Bufalino’s had enough and orders Frank to kill him. Frank drives him to an empty house and shoots him in the head. They then burn Hoffa’s body. Frank is conflicted since Hoffa was a friend but this is the life he chose. This is the bed he must lie in.
All of this is told in Scorsese’s trademark MONTAGE-VOICE OVER style, using an older Frank to narrate the events for us. This allows us to speed through years at a time when needed and get full-on bios of the movie’s endless cast of characters.
Something I realized while watching this style is that it’s perfect for big sprawling stories. One of the reasons I always tell you to keep your stories as contained as possible is because contained stories are easier to manage. The more sprawling things get, the harder it is to wrangle it all in in a cohesive manner. Of particular importance is pacing. It’s hard to keep the pace up if you’re randomly jumping forward years at a time. Scorsese’s never-ending voice over montage helps keep these traditionally slow transitions crackling along.
As far as how the script changed since its initial draft 10 years ago, I’d say it both changed a lot and yet not at all. The overall feeling of the movie is EXACTLY the same as that early draft. All of this is exactly how I pictured it would look and feel. But they made some wise choices, like de-emphasizing the plot line where Frank and Hoffa drive to a wedding together. Scorsese seemed to realize, either in the script or in the editing room, that nothing much happened in that storyline, and that the stuff in the past was where it was at.
Another change made was giving a bigger storyline to Frank’s oldest daughter. I’m guessing this choice was made specifically because Scorsese is often critiqued for not providing enough strong female roles in his movies. It was a surprisingly effective plot line, especially the stuff where Bufalino became increasingly upset over the years because Frank’s daughter was the one person on the planet who didn’t like or pretend to like him. Anna Paquin’s nearly dialogue-free performance was one of the most memorable in the film for me.
Conversely, the most disappointing thing about the film were the performances of the big three. They were all nice. But you’re not going into a Pesci, DeNiro, Pacino movie looking for “nice.” You’re looking for great, performances you’re going to remember for the rest of your life. We didn’t get that. One of the most surprising choices was that none of the characters was given a “chews up the scenery” type character to play. Everybody was various levels of reserved. Bufalino was extremely reserved. Frank was fairly reserved. And even the king of overacting, Pacino himself, played Hoffa reserved most of the time.
This robbed the characters of any contrast between one another. If you want great dialogue and great moments, you need contrasting characters. And with everyone so chilled out here, we rarely got that. Some of the better scenes with the three came late when Hoffa began losing his cool. It’s not surprisingly why. The more he lost his cool, the more in contrast he was with Frank.
For that reason, Irishman had to look elsewhere for its good scenes, and my favorite came when Hoffa had to ask rival Tony Pro for his endorsement to get back the top position in the union. The last time we saw these two, Hoffa told Tony he wouldn’t be getting his million dollar pension. Tony then shows up late for the meeting, which pisses Hoffa off, who tells him he wants an apology for showing up late. It only gets worse from there. It was these moments where The Irishman shined brightest – where one person needed something from another and there was all this s#$% in the way that made it difficult. As a writer, tension needs to be one of your best friends. Treat him well and he’ll give you some of your best scenes.
One final beef I had with the script was the lack of a clear narrative for Frank. The title of this movie is “The Irishman” and yet, if you didn’t know that, you wouldn’t have known Frank was Irish. Or that being Irish in this world even mattered. If I remember correctly from the script, Frank’s dream was to become a mob boss. He wanted to get as high up into the mob hierarchy as possible. That goal gave his character purpose and it gave the audience an opportunity to participate.
That’s what a good character goal does – it recruits the audience to root for the hero to achieve what they want. Since we didn’t get any targeted storyline about Frank wanting to be the first Irishman to lead the mob, Frank’s character felt more like an unimportant drifter, a dude who was called upon when an important hit needed to be made. Otherwise, go stand by the wall and shut up. A narrative more focused on him climbing the ranks and getting pushback due to his non-Italian roots would’ve elevated this movie considerably.
And one final problem this movie has that not many people are talking about is there was another movie that came out this year which also faithfully placed us back in the 60s that did everything The Irishman did, just better. That movie, obviously, was Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. Pitt’s and DiCaprio’s performances were so much more fun to watch than these three.
All of this is not to say I didn’t enjoy The Irishman. But to say that the film didn’t meet my expectations would be an understatement. It needed one of these guys – just one of these guys – to give a great performance. And because that didn’t happen, I’d say that this film is best enjoyed as a passive viewing experience while you mess around on your computer for four hours.
[ ] What the hell did I just watch?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[x] worth the stream
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Look for contrast in the characters who are going to have the most screen time together in your script. If the characters are even a little alike, you’re going to run into a lot of scenes where you’ll find it hard to bring the dialogue alive.
Welcome to The Mandalorian Teleplay Chronicles. I will be reviewing every episode of The Mandalorian’s first season with an eye towards helping writers learn TV writing. Whether the show is a breakout hit or a Jar Jar Binks level bust, we’re going to be focusing on how to become better TV writers. Here’s a link to my review of the first episode here, a link to the second episode here, and here’s a link to episode 3.
Genre: Sci-Fi
Premise: The Mandalorian takes Baby Yoda off to a remote planet to hide from pursuing bounty hunters, but runs into a problem when members of a nearby clan ask for his help.
About: Jon Favreau wrote this fourth episode and Bryce Dallas Howard, who starred in Jurassic World and is the daughter of “Solo” director, Ron Howard, directed the episode. Dallas Howard has one directing credit to her name – a short film.
Writer: Jon Favreau
Details: About 38 minutes
It’s days like these that I wish I didn’t know as much about Star Wars as I did. It definitely affects my judgment. I knew, for example, that Jon Favreau wrote three episodes when he pitched the show to Disney. That means Chapter 4 would be the first episode of the show Favreau wrote *after* his original 3 episode self-contained story. So I was expecting something clunky, or, at least, not as purposeful, and that’s exactly what I got.
Something else I knew was that Bryce Dallas Howard would be directing this episode. I’ve been annoyed about this news ever since it was announced. You’ve got the first ever Star Wars show. You’ve got eight episodes. You want to make the show as amazing as it can possibly be. Your first job is choosing directors for each episode. In ANY room with ANY group of people, is there ANY scenario under which ANY person says, “You know who we need directing one of these? Bryce Dallas Howard.”
Of course not. It would never ever happen. There is a list of, probably, 2500 directors in the world who have more experience and deserve more of a shot and who are more qualified to direct a Star Wars episode than Bryce Dallas Howard. Which means that the only reason Bryce Dallas Howard is directing an episode is because someone got her the job. And you don’t have to look far to figure out how that happened. Her dad, Ron Howard, probably said that one of the conditions for him to come in and save “Solo” was that his daughter get to direct an episode of The Mandalorian. And that’s exactly why we get the worst episode of The Mandalorian yet.
Now I’m not going to lay all the blame on Howard. Favreau wrote this episode and he didn’t do her any favors. But when your episode looks like something out of a bad Syfy series, that responsibility usually falls on the shoulders of the direction. Especially when you’ve been given more money than 99% of the shows out there.
This silly episode starts off with the Mandalorian flying Baby Yoda to a remote planet to, I think, hang out for a few weeks and let the heat die off them. Immediately, they go to some Star Warsian Starbucks, and that’s where the Mandalorian sees a woman drinking a puppychino. For some reason, he believes she’s a threat to him, and therefore follows her out back where they get into a fight.
The fight ends in a draw which means that now they’re best friends. Um, okay. Soon after, a couple of locals approach the Mandalorian and ask for his protection. Their nearby clan is being bullied by some neighbors. Mandalorian sees this as an opportunity to get Baby Yoda further away from danger so he takes the deal. And New Chick comes with cause why not?
Once at the village, a hot widowed woman flirts with Mandalorian, telling him he needs to take off his helmet more. Then Mandalorian and New Chick teach the locals how to fight and shoot, a task that takes all of 40 seconds. They then wait for the bad guys to approach. They come that night with an Imperial AT-ST walker and the fight is on. The good guys win but Star Wars fans lose. The end.
In television, the fourth episode is really where you start to see if the show is working. The novelty has worn off. We’re a month in. Are we getting consistent quality entertainment or aren’t we?
From a writing perspective, your approach to episode 4 shouldn’t be that different from your approach to episode 3. You’re trying to expand the mythology to imply a bigger world, a bigger threat. Why are you doing this? Because we want viewers to start making a mental long-term commitment. It’s like dating. You want the other person to start seeing you in their future, not just the next dinner date or next late night booty call.
The Mandalorian didn’t go there though. There was one moment where it had the opportunity to but it didn’t follow through. The Mandalorian makes a comment about, “Why would an AT-ST be way out here in the middle of nowhere?” That’s a good question. Why? Is some fallen Empire villain putting together a nefarious plan? Nope. Turns out it was just some random happenstance thing! Oh well.
What the episode DID do was create a contained story for the episode. This I endorse. Too many TV shows use their episodes as formless blocks of time to move individual character storylines further along. If you’ve ever watched an episode of your favorite show and been disappointed that the episode felt empty and unfocused, this is often the reason.
Remember the very simple formula for creating a storyline for a TV episode. Present a PROBLEM and then have your hero try and SOLVE THE PROBLEM. Here we get this clan’s problem that a nearby clan keeps attacking them. So the whole episode is about teaching the clan to defend themselves and, at the end, fighting off the threat once they arrive.
In theory, the bones for a good episode are there. But there were too many problems.
The most obvious one was that there wasn’t enough time to make an episode like this work effectively. Who is this clan??? We’ve known them for two seconds. Why should we care whether they fight off the bad guys or not? You need time to build up an entire group of people, to build up the characters within that group so that we care for them. When you don’t effectively develop characters, they become cliche. They have no choice other than to be cliche because we don’t know enough about them to differentiate them from other characters we’ve seen. The same principle goes for the group. Don’t know what makes them unique = cliche.
But the real problem with this episode was all of the “Of Course” moments. “Of Course” moments are when something happens in a show/movie because “of course” it does. “Of Course” moments are things we’ve seen in a million other shows and movies, things that have become so ubiquitous that the use of even a few of them can destroy any chance of creating originality. The things we remember in a story are never the things we’ve seen before. They’re the things that are different.
Of course when the Mandalorian sees New Chick they get in a fight with each other that ends in a draw. Of course they both teach the clan how to fight in a cheesy montage. Of course someone is about to shoot Baby Yoda but at the very last second we hear a blast then see that New Chick has shot the killer first. A huge reason why this episode was so lame were all the Of Course moments. Nothing you write is ever going to stand out if you’re drenching your script in Of Course moments.
Another problem with this episode is that it was the first episode that moved from an ACTIVE storyline to a PASSIVE storyline. Your characters weren’t going out there and trying to achieve something. They were waiting for the fight to come to them. WAITING is often a storytelling death sentence. It can work. But the skillset required to make it work is more extensive than simply having your character go after something. The pairing of a “waiting around” narrative combined with a first time director doomed this episode before it was even shot.
Finally, I want to talk about THREADING in television writing. Threading is the act of weaving setups into episodes so that later episodes don’t feel too self-contained. With television, you want the fabric of every episode to connect to the fabric of every other episode. You do this by threading in moments or information in previous episodes.
The show “Evil” has been dropping nuggets throughout the first six episodes that our heroine’s husband is a tour guide on Everest. So when he finally shows up in Episode 7 and they dedicate a whole storyline to him, we’re not asking, “Wait, who is this guy and where the heck did he come from?” The show has been threading in little moments throughout its running time to prepare us for his arrival.
The Mandalorian could’ve threaded in a number of things that would’ve made this episode more connected, starting with the planet. For example, maybe the Nick Nolte alien used to live on this planet and told him about it. As it stands, he chooses the planet because his Navi-computer indicates it’s habitable. It feels random, which subcommunicates a lack of importance to the action. Again, a big reason why you felt nothing for this clan was because they were so random. Had they been more connected to the story, that could’ve changed.
Sticking with my “Playoff Series” analogy, The Mandalorian has now won two games and lost two. My biggest concern is that we haven’t provided the series with an overall goal. If anything, you’re setting up a reactive storyline (keep running away with Baby Yoda) which doesn’t work as well as an active goal (“Lost” – Get off the island). I’ve going to give Favreau the benefit of the doubt because, well, “Baby Yoda.” But this series isn’t on strong enough ground to be giving inexperienced directors jobs based on nepotism. This is freaking Star Wars. Let’s bring in some All-Stars and give the viewers the experience they deserve.
[ ] What the hell did I just watch?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the stream
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Use “tell by showing” moments to improve your dialogue. In this episode, the clan’s widow character asks the Mandalorian when was the last time he took off his helmet in front of others. When a character asks another character a question, one of the WORST things you can do is have the other character give a straight-forward literal answer. “Twelve years,” would’ve been a boring answer, for example. A trick is to look for visual cues in the environment to give the answer more pop. There are a group of kids playing nearby while they have their conversation. The Mandalorian says to her, “I wasn’t much older than them.” Boom. A WAAAAAY better answer. You can’t do this for EVERY response, obviously, but you should be using it every once in a while.
With The Irishman just having come out on Netflix (I haven’t seen it yet – will check it out this weekend), here’s my review of the screenplay from a few years ago! Can’t wait to find out how it’s changed. Will probably do a script-to-screen on Tuesday.
Genre: Crime Drama Biopic
Premise: A mob hit man recalls his relationship with one of the most well-known mobsters in history.
About: “The Irishman” is based on the book “I Heard You Paint Houses” by Charles Brandt. It’s a hot project due to Martin Scorsese potentially directing the all-star team of De Niro, Pesci, and Pacino. Steven Zallian, who adapted the script, is one of the best writers working today. His credits include American Gangster, Gangs of New York, Mission: Impossible, Clear and Present Danger, and Searching For Bobby Fischer. Of course, he won the Oscar for Schindler’s List back in 1993.
Writer: Steven Zallian (based on aforementioned novel by Charles Brandt)
Details: 135 pages – Draft 1-5, Sept. 15, 2009
The Irishman is yet another Scorsese foray into the criminal underworld, this one taking place in a period he knows nothing about: the 70s. The story isn’t truly based in the 70s. Scorsese, lover of flashbacks that he is, actually flashes back inside his 70s flashback film to the 1950s, where the bulk of the plot takes place.
Our real life hero is an average guy named Frank. Frank tells us (in classic Scorsese voice over) how sucky it is having to kill people, particularly people you know. Due to the friendship, you must master a cadence by which they don’t suspect you’ll kill them. As soon as they suspect you, they’re capable of anything, and all bets are off. So stay calm, wait for them to turn their back, and bang bang. Problem solved.
After explaining the art of the kill, we meet Frank’s good friend, Russell Bufalino. Bufalino wants Frank to join him on trip to an old friend’s wedding. Bufalino has some “business” to deal with along the way so he’d prefer to drive instead of fly.
Using this 1970s “present” as a framing device, Frank escorts us into an extended flashback where he tells us how he reached this moment in life. He first learned to kill back in World War 2. He was involved in a major standoff where Germans fired on him for 130 consecutive days. When the Allied forces finally surrounded the Germans, even though they surrendered, Frank shot every pleading German he could because of the hell they put him through.
After the war, Frank took a trucking job, immediately figuring out how to work the system. He’d steal steaks out of his own truck and sell them on the side. This led to him working for Russell Bufalino (the man he’s taking the road trip with in the 70s) who was one of the big heavies at the time. If you’ve seen Casino or Goodfellas, this portion of the screenplay will sound familiar, as passages are almost identical to famous passages from those films. “You wanted to bribe a judge, you asked Russell. You weren’t sure how much to give him, Russell would tell you. You wanted to up one of your guys, he’d tell you if you should. You wanted to get rid of someone – you needed Russell’s permission.”
Where the script really picks up is when Bufalino introduces Frank to Jimmy Hoffa. I had no idea this story was about Hoffa, so watching him show up was kind of like Justin Bieber showing up to your kid’s birthday party. Everything went up a level and all of a sudden it hit me: “Oh shit, we’re going to find out what happened to Jimmy Hoffa!” And indeed, that’s where the story goes.
For those who don’t know much about Hoffa (don’t feel bad – I didn’t know much myself), he became president of the biggest union in the United States and began lending out money to high class criminals from the union’s pension fund. This changed the face of America, as it infused mobsters with boatloads of cash, allowing them to organize crime in a way it had never been organized before. They say Vegas was built with this money.
Hoffa’s story is pretty fascinating (are you paying attention John Wilkes Booth?), so the entire second act is solidly entertaining. For example, Hoffa’s people donated tons of money to back JFK in the hopes that he would help them get back all the casinos they had built in Cuba, which Fidel Castro had claimed for himself once they severed ties with America. Incensed, Hoffa wanted JFK to kill Castro once he became president. Of course, as we all know, that didn’t go so well, and Cuba was lost forever.
In fact, the backing of JFK came back to haunt Hoffa. Kennedy’s brother Bobby HATED him and went after him relentlessly. Eventually, he caught Hoffa on tax evasion and he went to jail for 13 years. During this time, Hoffa wanted a place keeper union leader he’d be able to elbow out as soon as he finished his time. Unfortunately, the man who took his place became super-popular and wouldn’t let Hoffa back in. Hoffa’s insistence that he get that slot back eventually lost him a lot of friends and led to his downfall. Of course, we’re watching all this unfold through Frank’s eyes, and specifically his friendship with Hoffa, who considered Frank one of his closest confidants.
Overall, I really liked The Irishman. While I adore joking about Scorsese’s infatuation with flashbacks and voice overs, I thought they both worked well here. There’s something sorrowful about these old men, driving across Americana, tired, burnt out, brittle, contrasted against their prime, when they were both masters of the universe. The juxtaposition there was perfect. When you combined that with the larger-than-life character that was Jimmy Hoffa, someone I’ve always wanted to know more about, that’s what broke down the wall I usually put up when reading biopics. I mean this is a story that’s fun, interesting, mysterious, suspenseful, dramatic, inventive and challenging. I rarely see a couple of those things in a biopic, much less all of them. Maybe that’s because it isn’t your standard biopic, but that’s a discussion for another day.
My one major criticism of the story is the present day storyline. There just isn’t anything going on in it. They’re driving to a wedding. Every time we cut back to them, they’re still driving to a wedding. There’s no drama there. No conflict. Zallian seems to be using the 70s solely as a “Princess Bride” device – a way to jump forward in the 50s storyline whenever he needs to.
I actually thought the 70s storyline had a ton of potential. In the beginning of the movie, Frank tells us how difficult it is to kill someone you know, so I was sure that was in reference to him having to kill Bufalino. Had we been watching their friendship build over two hours back in the 50s, all the while anticipating Frank having to get rid of him at the end of the trip, that could’ve upped the suspense a hundred-fold. Or maybe we had it backwards, and Bufalino was going to kill Frank. And we’re sitting there wondering who’s going to kill who. It goes another way, and I think that way is ultimately interesting, but it definitely would’ve been nice to have something more going on here.
Where it really hurts the script though is in the final act, since we spend the entirety of that act in the present day. So little has happened in that storyline that it lacks the essential pulse that pushes a story to its ultimate conclusion. It’s hard to describe but those last 30 pages (and we are talking about a long script here, so that contributes to it) feel like the last 60 minutes of a long vacation. Your plane has landed, you’re barely able to stand, you’re waiting for your luggage, and all you want to do is get home and sleep. I’m not sure that’s the way this story should’ve ended.
But hey, on the whole, this was really enjoyable, especially the second act, which as we know is the hardest act to master. Of the four scripts I reviewed this week, I expected to enjoy this one the least, and it ended up being the best by a mile. So for that reason, it’s definitely worth the read.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Never neglect a storyline. I see this a lot, particularly in this kind of setup where two storylines are going on and one of those storylines carries the bulk of the plot. It’s easy to say, “Well, the 70s storyline isn’t really that important so let’s just make it adequate.” But it’s always better if there’s something interesting going on in the lesser storyline. Even in The Princess Bride, there’s conflict in the Fred Savage/Grandpa storyline because Fred Savage is pretending like he doesn’t care or want to hear the story. That back and forth eventually leads to them becoming closer, giving that storyline a legitimate beginning, middle, and end just like the story he tells has a beginning, middle and end. So I’m by no means saying there needs to be shootouts or excessive fighting in the 70s storyline here – but it would be nice if it wasn’t so benign.
Genre: Thriller
Premise: A newly engaged couple and a young girl go on a snorkeling trip only to realize that they’ve been kidnapped by sex traffickers.
About: This script finished on this year’s Blood List and has already secured Joe Russo to produce.
Writer: Tracee Beebe
Details: 112 pages
The nice thing about these Blood List scripts is that they’ve all got exciting plots. Plots that feel like movies. The writers still have to execute the idea in a dramatically compelling way, of course, but this past year has yielded too many scripts that feel self-important, where the writers feel that their message should take priority over their concept.
It’s fine if you have a point to make. Most good writers do. But the job of the writer is to find a vehicle that’s entertaining enough to keep the reader’s interest. Once you’ve got that sorted out, you can cleverly integrate your point of view. That’s why Get Out made Jordan Peele the hottest creator in Hollywood. Sure, he could’ve made “Harriet.” But he knows that the best way to spread a message is entertain audiences while you do it.
I have no idea what today’s script has in store other than it sounds fun. Let’s find out if it is.
25 year old Jenna just said ‘yes’ to her nerdy but adorkable boyfriend, Tyler. The two are at an unnamed Beach resort hanging with Tyler’s sister, single mom Mel, and Mel’s 10 year old daughter, Tori. Tori, in particular, is thrilled to be on the beach, as she’s a future marine biologist in the making.
Jenna and Tyler are slated to go on snorkeling trip the next day but overhear a large strapping Chris Hemsworth type talking about a secret snorkeling excursion with a local. When he invites them, how can they resist? The two introduce Mel to Jones, who’s so overcome by his hotness that she agrees to let Tori come with them.
The next day the four of them meet up with Skinny, the boat’s captain, and his 10 year old rugrat of a son, and off they go! Once they scoot out to the snorkeling site, everyone begins swimming with the sharks, including Tori, which is a little confusing but okay. However, not long after they start, Tyler goes missing. All hands on deck as they start motoring around looking for him.
Then something strange happens. Jenna and Tori realize that they’re heading further and further away from the snorkel point. It doesn’t take long for reality to set in. Tyler was purposefully left and Jones and Skinny are working together! And it appears that the girls are being kidnapped so that they can be trafficked.
The only weapons the two have at their disposal are that Jenna is a firecracker who won’t go down easy and Tori knows everything about the sea, including an expansive understanding of sharks (which definitely comes in handy). But will that be enough to save them against the chiseled rock of a villain known as Jones? We’ll see.
I have mixed feelings about Deep Water. I want to acknowledge that if this went up against a crop of Amateur Showdown scripts, it would probably win. But with only a few scripts making these prestige lists, I expected more from the execution. Let’s take a closer look.
My first issue with the script is the setup. It’s clunky. One of the first things we’re told once Jones marches past Jenna and Tyler is that Tyler “pulls her in close,” threatened by the alpha male dominance of the man. However, a couple of hours later, after Jones pitches his side snorkeling trip, Tyler is the first one to jump and has to beg Jenna to go. Character consistency is of huge importance in screenwriting. And that wasn’t consistent.
But what really raised my eyebrows was when Mel allowed her 10 year old daughter to go on a STRANGER’S boat and snorkel with sharks!!! I am not a parent myself but I’m guessing that puts you in the running for worst mother of the year.
I don’t want to pretend like Beebe is the only writer who does this because I see it in a lot of scripts. And it happens for a simple reason. When us writers want to push our story forward, we put on blinders. We have to get the girl on the boat because that’s how we envisioned the story when we first conceived it and when you have that kind of tunnel vision, you don’t think logically. You don’t ask yourself if a mother would really allow her 10 year old to go swimming with sharks on a random boat.
One of the reasons setups are so crucial is that if the reader doesn’t buy into them, they don’t buy into anything that happens after. For example, if on page 60, Tori is swimming away from a shark, the reader is still thinking, “She should never be in this position in the first place!” They’re thinking back to the setup instead of being in the moment.
To Beebe’s credit, she does some good things. One of the primary challenges of setting the story up is establishing the characters economically. Sure, if you had all the time in the world, you could carefully set up every character in their own starring scene, manipulating the environment and the conditions to best say “this is who this person is.” But this is screenwriting, which means you have to move the story forward quickly. That means writers who can set up multiple characters in a single scene stand out.
For example, in an early scene, Jenna and Mel are out near the pool. We’re setting Mel up as Tori’s mother as well as notifying Mel of Jones’s offer. As Jenna and Mel converse, Tori is nearby in the pool, intermittently dunking her head and trying to hold her breath for as long as possible. Every time she pops up she asks her mom how long she was under for. “45 minutes at least!” “Come on, Mom. The world record is only twenty-two minutes. I’m not that good! Time me for real.” Tori would also occasionally spout out facts about sharks and other marine life. The scene convincingly sets her up as someone knowledgeable and comfortable in water.
Beebe also makes some solid choices later on in the story. This felt to me like one of those concepts where, surely all the good guys were going to win. So when she offs Tyler early on, leaving Jenna and Tori on their own, I thought to myself, whoa, this just got interesting. You want to make things as difficult as possible on your heroes and we definitely get that here. So that was good.
There’s one final thing I want to point out here, however, and I want to get your opinion on it because it was kind of a revelation for me.
Before they head out on the ship, Jenna and Tyler have sex. Afterwards, they’re lying there, and we see cigarette burns on Jenna’s arm. Tyler leans in and says, “You’re not her,” then kisses each burn ‘tenderly.’ (I’m assuming “her” meant Jenna’s abusive mother)
Here’s the thing. A guy would never write this moment. He wouldn’t write that line. And it made me realize that when it comes to romance, we often write what WE OURSELVES would want the opposite sex character to say or do as opposed to what they would actually say or do. I’ve definitely been guilty of this. If I wrote a female love interest for my male character, I’d have her say and do all the things my ideal version of a woman would say and do.
What’s important to remember is that in writing, all that matter is THE TRUTH. Not what we want to happen. Not the idealized version of what would happen. But the truth. Because when you don’t write the truth, something feels off. Even if you’re a viewer who knows nothing about screenwriting or is even aware that movies are written, you come across that moment and something doesn’t feel right.
So when you’re writing a character action or line dialogue in these situations, ask yourself, “is this the truth? Or is it some idealized version of this moment that I want in my own life?” The truth should always win out.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Include geography lessons in situations where the geography is crucial to enjoying the story. There are lots of boats out there. They’re all different. To assume we know exactly what this one looks like would be a mistake. Especially since we’re going to be jumping around it so much. So Beebe wisely gives us a layout as soon as we board…
The old fishing boat is made up of four sections:
the prow, with a wooden platform perfect for sunbathing
the helm, accessible by a rickety ladder
the small cabin below the helm
a low bench along the stern
