Eighth Grade isn’t only one of the best films of the year. It’s got some kickass screenwriting lessons hidden inside it. Today, I share them with you.
Genre: Drama
Premise: A chronically introverted eighth-grader attempts to navigate the end of the year by finally breaking out of her shell.
About: Bo Burnham became an Youtube celebrity for the 13 year old demographic when he was just a teenager. He became such a sensation, Judd Apatow hired him to write a teenage musical when he was just 18 (Burnham admits that Apatow made a huge mistake – he had no idea how to write a movie at the time). Now 27, Burnham has come out with his first film. Apropos to his perceived demographic, it’s about a 13 year old girl. The raw real energy of the film shocked the festival circuit, making Burnham a wanted man by every studio in town. If its 99% Rotten Tomatoes score hasn’t convinced you to watch it, maybe this review will.
Writer: Bo Burnham
Details: 90 minutes
I’ve been keeping an eye on Eighth Grade for awhile now. I’d heard amazing things about it, yet I wasn’t convinced the subject matter would be to my liking. In the end, I decided to give it a shot for no other reason than to see if Burnham wrote a screenplay for the movie. I’m convinced these artsy writer-director types don’t care about the script. And I always like to call them out for it. Boy was I barking up the wrong tree this time.
If you haven’t seen Eighth Grade, it follows Kayla, a quiet girl who lives with her father and spends the majority of her time on Instagram and Youtube, where she makes videos of herself giving advice. The irony is that Kayla doesn’t have any experience in the topics she speaks about. The videos are used more as a self-motivational tool. For example, she’ll make a video about “How to be Confident,” then attempt to use those tips the next day at school.
The plot for Eighth Grade is non-existent. There’s no overarching goal. The closest thing we have to a narrative is Kayla getting invited to a popular girl’s pool party. “So my mom said I had to invite you to my party so this is me doing that,” the girl texts Kayla. That and Kayla pining for the hottest boy in class, Aiden, who’s said to have broken up with his previous girlfriend because she wouldn’t send him naked pictures, an opportunity Kayla believes she can exploit.
Eventually, Kayla becomes friends with Olivia, a genuinely kind girl in high school who Kayla meets during the high school “shadow” program. Olivia invites Kayla out with her friends where Kayla tries desperately to shed her quiet persona. She fails, then finds herself alone in the car with an aggressive boy on the ride home, who she escapes, but not without some emotional damage. Kayla manages to toughen up before graduation, finally opening herself up to a new friendship she didn’t even realize was available.
Despite this being a director-driven movie, there’s a lot more screenwriting here than you’d think. Pay attention all you young directors who think movies are pretty shots and cool music. You’re gonna learn sumthin.
For starters, while there isn’t a goal, there is a timeframe. This is a technique I’ve endorsed in the past. Not every story has a goal-driven narrative. The problem that occurs when you don’t have a goal is that your plot starts to wander. You can alleviate this by adding a timeframe, preferably one that ends soon. Eighth Grade starts with a week left til graduation. Since we now know when the story is ending, we don’t care so much that it lacks a goal.
The script also establishes a clear flaw right away. Kayla is quiet. She hates being quiet. She desperately wishes she were loud and talkative like all the cool people in school. How aggressively does Burnham push this flaw? Kayla is awarded “Most Quiet” for the yearbook. I bring this up because a lot of writers think that when you’re writing character driven scripts, you want to be super-subtle about everything. This proves that the opposite is true. Kayla’s flaw is front and center, and it dominates her journey throughout the movie.
But where Burnham really separates himself is through Kayla’s Youtube videos. Again, most indie filmmakers would be overly subtle about who Kayla is, attempting to depict her through her actions alone. While this can be done, it’s extremely difficult. Sooner or later, we need some insight into the character, and we can only get through characters speaking.
So what Burnham did was genius. He explored Kayla’s thoughts through her videos. And not in an on-the-nose way where she’d say, “Today was terrible. Nobody likes me. I’m sick of eighth grade.” No. Instead, Kayla uses her channel to instruct people on how to be strong or how to be confident or how to overcome fear. Since Kayla isn’t good at any of these things herself, we realize that these videos are representations of who she wants to be.
I contrast this with one of the worst indie high school movies I’ve ever seen, Gus Van Sant’s “Elephant,” which does all the things I tell you not to do. The characters don’t speak. We only get to know them through their actions. Everything is extremely subtle. We get zero insight into the characters, and therefore don’t care about them. Kayla’s videos are the key to making her not only memorable, but arguably the most memorable character of the year.
There were a lot of little decisions I loved as well. The second act revolves around a pool party that Kayla gets invited to by the mother of a girl who doesn’t like Kayla. In your traditional studio high school movie, what happens here is that Kayla’s father forces her to go to the party even though she doesn’t want to. But Burnham has Kayla decide to go on her own. The reason this is such a great choice is because it makes your hero ACTIVE. Your hero is deciding her fate. Audiences always prefer this over a character’s fate being chosen for them.
Then there were non-traditional ways of dealing with traditional moments. Like when Kayla finally confronts the cool girl over the fact that Kayla’s always nice to her and she’s never nice back. The scene is an odd one, with Kayla never once looking the girl in the face while she yells at her. Nor does Kayla have a slam-dunk final blow that you’d see in your typical studio movie. Instead, the attack ends awkwardly, with Kayla stumbling away and us never seeing how the girl reacted. It was odd but at the same time way more real than what we’re used to seeing.
I think this film works not only because Burnham did an amazing job directing (the score, in particular, was awesome) and the actress who played Kayla was great. But also because the themes are universal. If you’ve ever wondered how you make a movie that stands the test of time. This is how. You key in on universal themes that everyone feels, not just in 8th grade, but throughout life – loneliness, courage, wanting to break out of one’s self-imposed shell. That was what Kayla did and that’s what helped make this one of the best movies of the year.
[ ] What the hell did I just watch?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the price of admission
[x] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Kayla is a reminder of one of the most powerful character types you can write – someone who’s in a shitty situation, but who keeps their chin up and never stops fighting. There were so many moments in this movie where Kayla could’ve thrown up her hands and given up. The girl literally had zero friends. Every day at school was a struggle. But she always got up the next day, made a new positive video, and tried to make her life better. It’s literally impossible to dislike a person like this. Keep that in mind when you’re writing your next hero.
Do not be sad! True, we have to wait an entire extra week for Halloween Amateur Offerings. But in the meantime, we have an entire thread to update the world on your 2018 screenwriting progress. How many scripts have you written? Or how much of a single script have you written? Are you on schedule to meet your 2018 goals? If not, why not? Are you making excuses? Are you lazy? Are you starting stuff then getting bored? Did you hit a bout of writer’s block and never recover? I find that by admitting your problem, even if it’s just typing it “out loud” in a forum, you’re more likely to overcome the issue and move forward.
Now is a good time to remind everyone that every great piece of work was, at one point, doubted by its author. There’s going to be a struggle with everything you write. Accept that and be okay with it. What you DON’T want is to give up, is to let a day of not writing turn into a week, or a week turn into a month, or worse a month turn into half a year. Because I’ve seen it before. It’s happened to me. Incorporate some harsh deadlines and hold yourself accountable. And for the love of all that is holy, stop wasting so much time on the internet. “I don’t have time to write,” doesn’t work as an excuse when the follow-up question is, “How much time did you spend on the internet today?” and you answer, “4 hours.”
For those of you wondering what Halloween Amateur Offerings is, it’s a mini-contest where FIVE Horror scripts are posted on the site and you, the readers, vote on which one is the best. I then review the winning script on the site the following Friday. If you want to be a part of Halloween Amateur Offerings, send a pdf of your Horror (or “Horror Adjacent”) script to carsonreeves3@gmail.com. Include the title, genre, logline, and why you think your script should get a shot. Only five scripts will be chosen to compete. So bring your best stuff!
As I like to remind all the screenwriters out there… always keep an eye on the box office. Hollywood spends so much money on productions these days that a single unexpected triumph or a single earth-shattering failure can create a tectonic shift in the business. Look no further than Solo. Many considered Star Wars the most bullet-proof brand of them all. Solo barely clearing 200 million domestically resulted in Disney pulling their “2 Star Wars Movies a Year” plan and icing all Star Wars movies after Episode 9. A single bomb could mark that current script you’re working on irrelevant. Or an unexpected hit could mean that idea you’ve been sitting on is all of a sudden a hot commodity. So always keep up to date. Here are 10 2018 overperformers and underperformers and the reasons for their box office results.
OVERPERFORMERS
The Meg ($142 mil dom, $525 mil worldwide) – Sharks, sharks, sharks, sharks, and sharks. Probably the most bullet-proof subject matter there is behind horror. When’s the last time you heard of a shark movie doing bad? To show you how solid this genre is, look no further than 47 Meters Down. That movie was supposed to go direct-to-video. Instead they released it in theaters and it made 44 million dollars. Wow.
Crazy Rich Asians ($169 mil dom, $226 mil worldwide) – Crazy Rich Asians brought back an old-school approach to movie-making – Introduce us to a unique culture and tell us a story within that culture that is both entertaining and educational. Something that’s oft-forgotten is that audiences want unique experiences. If you can introduce them to a fresh world that they haven’t seen before, and promise them they’ll be entertained in the process? They’ll show up.
A Quiet Place ($188 mil dom, 334 mil worldwide) – I don’t care what anybody here says. This was a genius concept. I knew it the second I read the script. I knew right away it was going to make a ton of money. You can either keep complaining or seek to understand why this did well. Because these are some of the last concepts a screenwriter can come up with and make a big spec sale with. A family that operates in a post-apocalyptic monster-ridden world where you can’t make a sound. Boom. That’s a dream concept producers everywhere would die to find the next version of.
Hereditary ($44 mil dom, $79 mil worldwide) – Hereditary proves the value of the horror brand. This is about as non-traditional as a horror film gets. It’s dark and weird and unsettling. In other words, it’s not “The Nun.” But if you can come up with a great image or a great trailer that promises scares? People are going to show up. Which is why if you’re a screenwriter who likes horror even a LITTLE bit, you should be writing in it. While the rest of your screenwriting friends are debating what’s more important, theme or a character’s fatal flaw, you’ll be deciding whether to buy a house next to Leonardo DiCaprio or Will Smith.
Searching ($25 mil dom, $65 mil worldwide) – Searching is a film that begs the question to every screenwriter trying to break in: “What are you waiting for?” People are making movies where they don’t have to leave their bedroom! Why are you complaining that nobody will read your script when there are clearly opportunities to write and create movies for next to nothing? Do you have any idea how hard making movies used to be? You used to need to buy film. FILM! And it was expensive. Now you can use your darn phone. Stop the excuses!
UNDERPERFORMERS
Skyscraper ($67 mil dom, $303 mil worldwide) – If “Crazy Rich Asians” is the embodiment of giving us something new, Skyscraper is the embodiment of giving us everything old. I mean, these people do realize they’re remaking Die Hard, right? This reminds me of the crap studios used to pull before social media could destroy word-of-mouth in less than 12 hours, where they’d vomit out an unoriginal screenplay then try to hide it behind a big star. Audiences aren’t fooled by that anymore. Studios? You have to do better.
Tag ($54 mil dom, $77 mil worldwide)– Imagine coming up with an idea that had absolutely no stakes at all (someone getting tagged is literally the stakes of the movie) and then asking people to pay to see your movie. Slap onto that “tweener” status (when a movie is stuck between genres – this one both a comedy and a drama) and you’ve got a disaster in the making. As long as we’re here, let’s add the trifecta. The movie ends at a wedding. A wedding! The ONE THING you have going for you here is that your idea’s a little bit unique. So instead of embracing that you give us the most cliche ending scenario of them all? They should’ve gone full comedy here and figured out a plot that had some actual stakes. Also, casting Jeremy Renner in anything that involves comedy was the final nail in the coffin.
The Happytime Murders ($20 mil dom, $25 mil worldwide) – Here’s an odd one. This movie is actually giving us something we desire – a fresh idea. Yet it bombed. And not just bombed. People gleefully celebrated its demise. You realize you’re the same people who complain that Hollywood never tries anything new, right? “But, but, but…” you say, “we DO want something new. We just want the good kind of new.” You can’t have it both ways. You have to celebrate when people take chances, even if they fail. The reason this movie failed is a subtle one, and one of the hardest to calculate as a screenwriter – tone. I like the idea of puppets acting bad. But they pushed it too far. I mean, at one point, they have a puppet ejaculating for five minutes onscreen. Somewhere around 15 seconds is when you know you’ve gone too far. If they would’ve pulled the humor back and made it a little less risky, I could see this being a success.
Tomb Raider ($57 mil dom, $273 mil worldwide) – There wasn’t a single person who came out of Tomb Raider and said, “Man, I’ve never seen that scene before!” Tomb Raider suffered from “Save the Cat” syndrome. This is when you follow the formula so closely, there isn’t a single surprising or fresh idea in your screenplay. Yes, you could take your script in front of a USC screenwriting panel and point out how every single component of the script is perfect. But screenplays can’t just be technically perfect. They have to be imaginative, creative, and unexpected. You have to make bold choices every once in awhile so that your story feels original. I didn’t like Hereditary (spoiler), but the choice to kill off the sister halfway through the script helped separate that film from everything else in 2018.
Fahrenheit 11/9 ($6 mil dom, $6 mil worldwide) – A documentary? Carson, have you gone mad? What does the box office of a documentary film have to do with screenwriting? I’m actually including this movie for a specific reason, one that director Michael Moore is so out of touch with, he wasted millions of dollars and a year of his life for. What’s the lesson? Don’t write anything that people can get for free. Back in 2002, we didn’t have hundreds of online political outlets to spout off about 9/11. Which is why that earlier documentary made so much money. It was one of the few places you could go to get a thoughtful detailed look at how 9/11 went down. But now, the second anything happens in the news, there are hundreds of Youtube channels breaking it down WITHIN HOURS. If we can get it for free without having to put our clothes on, why would we pay $15 bucks to go see it in the theater? Let this lesson extend to the concepts you choose to write. Give us things we can’t get anywhere else but the movies. What are examples of documentaries that fit this bill? Tickled and Three Identical Strangers.
Genre: Drama/Crime/Shades of Sci-Fi
Premise: (from Hit List) After America goes bankrupt and millions flee the country, a Chinese billionaire hires an American PI to rescue his daughter in the American ghetto of Hong Kong.
About: Today’s script finished with 8 votes on last year’s Hit List. The writer, Rowan Athale, wrote and directed the 2012 indie film, Wasteland. He more recently finished directing the film “Strange But True,” about a woman who surprises the family of her deceased boyfriend by telling them she’s pregnant with his child. That film stars Amy Ryan and Brian Cox. This script was purchased by Platinum Dunes and Universal.
Writer: Rowan Athale
Details: 110 pages
The Little America sale reminds me of the good old days when studios used to buy any spec that contained a high-concept premise with potential. Nowadays, concept isn’t as important as the spec fitting into a handful of narrow genres Hollywood likes to market. Guy with a gun. Contained Horror. Cheap but thoughtful sci-fi. Biopics.
And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m becoming more infected with that groupthink. When I saw this idea, I thought, “Great if this were 1999. But it’ll never get made in 2018.” It simply doesn’t fit into any category Hollywood likes to market. I know I harp on this all the time, but it’s reality. If your script doesn’t fall into a type of film that you’ve seen Hollywood roll out an advertising campaign for at least once a year, you’re writing uphill.
It reminds of that film with Miles Teller and Jonah Hill – War Dogs. Did anybody see that movie? Of course not. Why? Because it didn’t fit into any clear marketing campaign. Which means Hollywood didn’t know how to market it. Which means general audiences had no idea what they were going to see. And when you don’t know what you’re gonna see, you don’t go.
Now some of this is starting to change with Netflix. They’re making movies Hollywood has no idea what to do with. So I guess that’s good for writers writing outside the norm. My question is: Is that a good thing? Is Netflix actually making good movies? I know Larry the Lyft Driver thinks they are. But do you? We’ll see what Universal ends up doing with this project. But, in the meantime, let’s find out if the script is any good.
Ray Cobb works at a fishing cannery in Little America, Hong Kong. That’s right. The year is 2028. American has gone bankrupt because giant conglomerates drove it into the ground. China offered a lifeline to rich Americans fleeing the chaos. But within a decade, many of the Americans who made it to China now work blue collar jobs, including Ray.
After Ray gets in a fight with a group of rich racist Chinese men on a train, he’s sent to prison, only to get pulled out by his old boss, Winters. We find out that when America was falling apart, Ray became an enforcer to make ends meet. He quit that job and fled to Little America. But Winters has found him again, and needs him for a job.
The job is simple. The heir to one of the biggest car manufacturers in China needs someone who knows Little America to find his daughter, Hun, who recently disappeared in the squalid ghetto. Since Ray knows the area better than anybody, he’s called in to help. But he won’t be able to work alone. He’s teamed up with Hun’s sister, Deshi, the emotionless heir to the car fortune.
In order to find Hun, the two must figure out why Hun would head to such a decrepit part of the city in the first place. She’s basically Chinese royalty. At first, they assume she’s been kidnapped for ransom, but when Ray pays visits to the usual gangster suspects, he believes that there’s something more nefarious at play here.
Despite numerous attempts to send Deshi to the bench so he can get dirty, he learns that the emotionless Deshi’s plight is more personal, as she believes that her disconnect from humanity, and by association, her family, is what drove Hun away in the first place. She must save her sister if only to let her know that she loves her.
Let me start off by saying that any script that references In and Out within the first three pages is AUTOMATICALLY elevated to ‘worth the read’ status. So smart move by Athale there.
Today I want to talk about the difference between ideas that give initially versus ideas that keep on giving. An idea that keeps on giving is something like The Hangover. The concept of three guys who have no recollection of the prior night attempting to piece together that night through a series of clues plays to the concept’s strengths throughout. Scene after scene has them going to places they don’t remember, and we enjoy trying to figure out how this place is involved in their pursuit just like they do.
Contrast that against something like Little America, whose idea gives A LOT initially. There’s a cool setup with America going bankrupt and a bunch of Americans fleeing to China – all of whom are now considered low-lives and live in the ghetto. That’s very high concept. However, once we get past that setup, there’s nothing left for the concept to offer. We’re in yet another gang-ridden city with two people trying to solve the mystery of a missing girl. We’ve seen that movie before. So there’s nothing new or fun to play with.
The whole purpose of coming up with a high concept is to be able to play within the specifics of that concept throughout the script’s running time. In Jurassic Park, you don’t set up an island of dinosaurs then watch a bunch of guys hanging out at the docks. No. You come up with a series of kick-ass dinosaur sequences. Or, to use a more relevant example: Killing on Carnival Row – another script about a guy needing to descend into the dark reaches of a squalid city to solve a crime. That script exploits the uniqueness of its concept on every single page. You wouldn’t be able to confuse it with any other movie.
That was my biggest problem with Little America. With the exception of the setup and the reason for Hun’s disappearance, it’s a movie I’ve already seen.
BUT.
It still kept my interest. Not in an “oh my God, everyone has to read this” sort of way. But the writing was sophisticated enough to build a compelling mystery that I needed answers for. I loved how Ray was honorable yet had no problem getting dirty if the situation called for it. And I liked the idea of this billionaire heiress mixing it up with the common folk to save her sister. And the characters never felt written. There was an honesty to the way they were approached that made me give a shit. I don’t often see that in a script like this.
Athale was also able to exploit that all-too-necessary sexual tension between the leads. It sounds silly. But if you can nail that? It’s one extra reason for the reader to keep reading. If the reader wants those characters to get together, they might stick around just to see if that happens. The trick is you can’t go overboard. You can’t be all wink-wink flirty-flirty every single line. It’s got to be just under the surface. That restraint is what draws us in, is what gives us just enough doubt that we have to keep reading to know for sure.
I still remember that screenwriting book from 20 years ago. I think it was called “Like it, Didn’t Love It.” It was written by an executive who was pointing out that the large majority of scripts were rejected because they were “like-it-didn’t-love-it” scripts. The book was about what you needed to do to turn a like-it-didn’t-love-it script into a love-it script. Long story short, it was getting the characters right. But, actually, there’s a bigger lesson to learn from that book, which I’ll share in a minute. In the meantime, I’ll say that this script didn’t quite deliver on the promise of its premise. But the writing and characters were strong enough to keep me engaged.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[x] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: As I was saying – the reality is only a fraction of screenplays in Hollywood are “love-it” scripts. The overwhelming majority of scripts written by professionals are “like-it-didn’t-love-it” scripts. Due to the reality that Hollywood needs to push product, many of these scripts get made. So the question is, how do you write a “like-it-didn’t-love-it” script that still gets purchased? And the answer is… concept. The flashier the concept, the more likely someone’s going to bank on that “okay script” breaking out. On the contrary, a “like-it-didn’t-love-it” script with zero concept has virtually no chance of getting purchased. I suspect this is why Little America sold.
Genre: True Story/Sports
Premise: The true story of Brad Lewis, a blue-collar rower rejected numerous times by the Olympic team, who eventually wins America’s first gold medal in the sport in 50 years.
About: This script finished with a monstrous 32 votes on the 2016 Black List. Screenwriter Tony Tost is one of the writers on the Logan-Marshall Green led series, Damnation. More recently, Tost was hired to adapt “Bare Knuckle,” about underground bare-knuckle boxer Bobby Gunn, who some say is the toughest guy you’ve never heard of.
Writer: Tony Tost (based on the book, “Assault on Lake Casitas” by Brad Alan Lewis)
Details: 119 pages
I’m going to come straight out and say it. The Olympian is Sports Story Light.
It’s a good script but it’s written in the way those late 90s early 2000s sports scripts were written – the films that Disney became good at producing (“Miracle”). I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. Only that if you’re looking for a gritty dirty truthful production, you’re not going to get it here.
I bring this up because biopics are at this stage where there’re so many of them, it’s getting harder for any to stand out. To do so, you need to find an off-the-wall character, an outrageous story, or discover a unique point of view. I wasn’t a fan of I, Tonya by any means. But I’ll be the first to admit it was unlike any recent true sports story I’ve seen. I’m not sure The Olympian provides us with anything new.
The story introduces us to 29 year old Brad Lewis, a row-a-holic who’s aiming to make the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics rowing team. The blue-collar California native lives with his alcoholic father and, during the few hours of the day he’s not rowing, shacks up with local bartender Pam Cruz.
While Brad would tell you the biggest obstacle to making the team is the elitist Ivy League coach, Harry Parker, the reality is, his biggest obstacle is himself. All Brad cares about is rowing. He illegally cuts down fences to get to private lakes so he can practice. He slaps himself in the face repeatedly to get psyched up before every race. And he alienates anyone who gets in his way.
As the Olympics approach, Brad flies to the east coast to try and make the team. But he loses the final race by a hair and is forced to quit. Until Harry gives him a second chance. Row tandem. Brad is so destructive that teaming up has never been an option. But with it being his lone chance to make the team, he has no choice.
Back home, Pam learns that she has breast cancer. Terrified that she may become a distraction, she doesn’t tell Brad. Meanwhile Brad and his new teammate, Paul, take on a series of way-better-trained Ivy Leaguers to get that final tandem slot on the team. In the end, Brad learns to control his emotions and become one with someone else, which ends in the two pulling off one of the biggest upsets in Olympic history.
Today I want to talk about the heartbeat of your script, your characters. You have two jobs when you create your hero. The first job is to find the conflict within. In the case of Brad, you have someone who’s self-destructive and self-centered. His entire arc revolves around trying to control himself. He’s a powder keg ready to explode. That’s what’s kept him from making the Olympics all these years.
Your second job is to find the conflict between your hero and each of the secondary characters. This is where a lot of beginner to intermediate writers falter. They feel like as long as they get the inner stuff with their hero figured out, they’re good. But a fully-rounded screenplay examines the relationships as well.
One of the difficult things about creating conflict between characters is that most writers only understand one form of conflict. Head-butting. Therefore, after they’ve assigned that conflict to one of the pairs, they’ve got nothing left for anyone else. We do have that form of conflict here in The Olympian. It occurs between Brad and the coach. They don’t like each other at all.
But you still have numerous other characters Brad is in contact with. What do we do with them? Well, let’s find out. We’ll start with the father. The father doesn’t think Brad should waste his time with rowing anymore. Brad is 29 years old. His dad thinks it’s time to start a family. This plays out mostly in a passive-aggressive manner. The father isn’t impressed by anything Brad accomplishes, which only forces Brad to work harder to get his father’s acceptance. It’s not the most original relationship. But for the sake of today’s lesson, it’s a solid choice if only because it’s different from head-butting.
Next we have Pam. This is the most interesting conflict in the script because it doesn’t contain any interaction between the characters. Pam is choosing to hide her cancer from Brad so that she doesn’t disturb his training. I like this because it’s outside the box. A conflict between two characters doesn’t always mean the characters have to be in contact. As long as the reader is aware of the conflict – as is the case here, since we’re aware of Pam’s cancer – that’s enough to create interest from the reader.
Finally, we have the relationship with Brad’s teammate, Paul. Their conflict is more of a difference in approach. And this is something you can use for the lesser relationships in the script – a difference in philosophy or a difference in approach. Brad always wants to GO GO GO at a thousand miles an hour, whereas Paul wants them to pace themselves.
And there you have it. If you can build compelling conflicts into each of your primary relationships, you can write just about anything and it will be interesting. At the end of the day, we’re not rooting for the plot. We’re rooting for the characters. So as long as the situations your characters are placed in are interesting, we’ll stay invested.
As for the rest of the script, I found myself pulled in, taken out, pulled back in, taken out again. I never gave up on the screenplay. But there always seemed to be something preventing me from loving it. Such as the fact that everyone in this script was reading classic books. Look, having one character be a book nerd is fine. But once you have two or three characters that are book nerds, it’s clear that the characters aren’t the book nerds. You are. And that takes the reader out of the story.
This issue extended to the dialogue as well. These were supposedly blue collar characters, yet they’d be routinely spouting out lines like, “Well, darling, I am trained to discern the underlying substrata to all human behavior and cognition,” as Pamela says early on. As a writer, your dialogue should only be as smart as the character saying it. And I didn’t always feel that way.
In the end, though, it didn’t matter because this was such a strong depiction of one of the “always works” character types – the underdog. Brad is the ultimate underdog. And seeing him go up against these Ivy School pricks for a spot on the team – it’d be weird if I didn’t root for him. I guess my only criticism is that this felt like it had the potential to be better. The execution was too straight-forward. Which is why I place it in the like-it-didn’t-love it category.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[x] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: THE RULE OF TWO – I’ve found that in sports movies, two is usually better than one, because two gives you more opportunity to explore conflict. If you’re writing a tennis movie, write about a doubles team instead of a singles player. If you’re writing a rowing movie, write about a team as opposed to a single rower. If you’re writing a golf movie, make it about the golfer AND the caddy. If you’re writing a boxing movie, make it about the boxer AND his coach. Rule of Two, baby!
Here’s the winning race…
