Genre: Drama/Supernatural (TV Pilot)
Premise: Working on a top secret project to eliminate sickness and aging, the US Defense Department inadvertently creates vampires.
About: Today’s novel, “The Passage,” was adapted into a pilot by Liz Heldens, whose paid her writing dues by working as a staff writer for over a decade. She’s also created a couple of shows that didn’t make it to a second season, “Camp,” and “Deception.” Don’t let that fool you. Creating a show that stays on the air is the chupacabra of this business. It’s so hard to do, especially when you’re writing for a network. They’ll execute a top-rated show if they think it’ll help lunch get there faster. Stephen King called The Passage books “a trilogy that will stand as one of the great achievements in American fantasy fiction.” The pilot debuts this fall on Fox.
Writer: Liz Heldens (based on The Passage trilogy by Justin Cronin)
Details: 49 pages – Shooting draft
I looked at the title page of The Passage and saw a list of drafts off to the side (Production Draft, Blue Draft, Pink Pages, Green Pages, Goldenrod Pages, 2nd Blue Pages, Reshoot Pages, Revised Reshoot Pages). And let’s not forget however many drafts were written before the production draft.
Heldens probably needed a second computer just for all the notes she received on this project. I bring that up because yesterday I reviewed a movie from Netflix, How it Ends, whose notoriously hands-off approach led to zero notes.
Which begs the age old question about development: Is studio interference good or bad?
We love hearing quotes from directors of successful films such as: “We were so small they just left us alone.” The implication being that execs and producers are the real problem. If they’d just leave us artists alone, we’d all be painting the Mona Lisa.
But then how do you explain movies like How it Ends? If they had someone looking at those dreadfully boring dailies, they might’ve been able to come in actually save that film. Or at last try.
On the flip side of this you get network TV pilots like today’s, which are notes’d to death. Which is better? I don’t know. But maybe today’s pilot may get us a little closer to the answer.
Dr. Jonas Lear is with a team in the jungles of Bolivia searching for a legend – the 250 year old man. When he finds him, the man turns out to be a monster, leaping onto fellow doctor Tim Fanning and biting into his neck. Fanning survives, and after they take him to the hospital, he’s miraculously healed.
Cut to three years later and we’ve got Project Noah, a secret military operation where they take murderers on death row and experiment on them with medicine created from the blood of Fanning. Oh, Fanning’s still around, by the way. He’s being held in a cell due to the fact that he’s NOW A VAMPIRE MONSTER.
Running the lab is Major Nichole Sykes. When a Chinese outbreak of avian flu threatens to wipe out 15% of the world’s population, Sykes has to make a tough choice about Project Noah – which has the potential to save those 15%. Her scientists believe that the only way to come up with medicine that doesn’t turn its hosts into monsters, is to experiment on a child.
So Sykes finds a 10 year old orphan, Amy, and orders local agent Brad Wolgast to pick her up. Agent Wolgast, who lost his own daughter a few years ago, takes a liking to Amy. Sensing that a life in their lab will lead to years of pain, he decides to kidnap her and make a run for it. It doesn’t take long for the government to find out. And when they do, they put their entire might behind finding Wolgast and retrieving that girl.
Let me preface this by saying I haven’t read this novel. So I don’t know if this problem is addressed in it. But how is it that the story is built around retrieving a girl who has no special value whatsoever? She doesn’t have superpowers. She can’t see the future. She’s not injected with the virus. Her power is that she’s an orphan.
I think they’re implying that Amy could expose their secret and that’s why they have to find her. But she doesn’t know their secret. She doesn’t know anything about the experiments at this point. And, for that matter, neither does Wolgast. He’s making a guess that bad stuff happens in the lab but he’s never been there himself.
So half this show is about running after a girl who holds no special value at all? That’s strange.
Especially when you consider that they have a fun idea back at the lab. You have these weird variations on vampires that could escape at any second and then wreak havoc on the world. Vampires as far as the eye can see. Why not just stick with that?
I suspect this has to do with the A, B and C storyline TV formula. You have your A story, the Noah Project. The B story becomes finding the girl. And the C story is something else. I understand wanting to stick with this formula. TV is built with more characters, more plotlines, and therefore more jumping around. But you shouldn’t create storylines to meet quotas if they don’t work. No B story is better than a bad B story, right?
More concerning is how written everything feels here. Things were happening because the writer needed them to, not because they would really happen. Take, for example, the fact that Wolgast and his partner, Doyle, spot a carnival on the side of the road after picking up Amy for a military transfer. Amy points out the ferris wheel and, out of nowhere, Wolgast says, let’s stop there! So the three of them just stop at a carnival for an hour.
This makes zero sense. No professional agent on a mission for the government would do this. Especially since Wolgast hadn’t connected with Amy yet. It’s the writer making something happen so that Wolgast and Amy can become closer. I don’t know why so many writers continue to make this mistake. All you have to do to stop it is ask yourself, “Would it really happen this way?” If it wouldn’t, it means you’re cheating. Which means you need to move things around – do the hard work that most writers don’t want to do – to make the decision believable.
I would place The Passage at the other end of the development spectrum from How it Ends. It feels over-managed. Which is too bad because somewhere at the core of this show is a cool idea. If they got rid of this girl and focused on the vampires, they could have something.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Sometimes you have to be on the nose in TV writing. When Wolgast calls his ex-wife during the kidnapping, they must speak covertly, as there’s an agent in the room with her. Here’s how that’s described:
“Their voices are low and there’s an intimacy to the coded conversation that’s almost sexy. Despite everything, Wolgast gives a small smile for his cool-under-pressure Lila — despite everything, he is overcome with longing for her.”
This is VERY on-the-nose. I wouldn’t recommend ever writing a line like it in a spec. If you’re doing your job, the reader should be able to pick up on this themselves. However, when you’re dealing with multiple executives, as well as directors and other creatives, I’ve learned that sometimes a writer has to go against their instincts and be VERY ON THE NOSE about certain beats to make sure the direction is understood. You don’t have to worry about this as an amateur. But when you get into the game, you’ll sometimes have to write lines like this, unfortunately.
Today I take a look at one of my Top 25! scripts and how it translated to the Netflix screen.
Genre: Action/Thriller
Premise: (from IMDB) When a mysterious disaster turns the country into a war zone, a young lawyer heads west with his future father-in-law to find his pregnant fiancée.
About: How It Ends shot into my Top 25 back in 2011. Since then, it’s gone through many “almosts” in getting made. It took the determination of the Netflix machine to change the project’s fortunes. The film debuted this weekend on the streamer. It stars Theo James (The Hunger Games) and Forest Whitaker. It was directed by David Rosenthal, whose previous credits include The Perfect Guy and A Single Shot. Brooks McLaren was an unknown writer when his script made The Black List back in 2011. He’s currently working on the “Rambo: New Blood” script.
Writer: Brooks McLaren
Details: 113 minutes
Some of you may remember this script from a looooong time ago. I read it and instantly fell in love with it, enough to clear room in my Top 25. Finally, after seven long years, the movie’s been made. And thank goodness for Netflix. I have no doubt How it Ends wouldn’t have seen the light of day without the service.
I may have issues with Netflix. But you have to love the fact that they’ve single-handedly brought back the mid-budget film. They don’t make these movies for theaters anymore. Especially if they don’t have a marketable genre component to them – like zombies. Every time I dog Netflix, I have to remind myself of that.
For those who don’t remember, How it Ends is about a lawyer, Will Younger, who’s on a business trip in Chicago, talking with his fiancé back in Seattle on Skype, when all of a sudden a loud banging noise occurs off-screen. Scared, his fiancé says she needs to check it out and then – FWIP – the feed cuts out. And it’s not just the Skype feed. All feeds from the West Coast cut out. Nobody knows what’s going on over there.
It just so happens that Will’s fiancé’s dad, Tom, lives in Chicago. Will’s been avoiding Tom because Tom doesn’t like him. But he has to see him now. As the West Coast situation worsens, Tom and Will decide to drive to California to get to the fiancé. Along the way, their car breaks down near a Native American reservation, and they’re forced to ask for help from a young Native American woman, who ends up coming with them. However, the closer they get to the coast, the more chaotic the world gets. Will they be able to overcome these odds and get to Seattle in time???
Before I get into the script stuff, I’m going to say some things that are going to make it sound like I’m making excuses for a script that some people thought was never that good in the first place. And I’m okay with that. Because I know I’m right. :)
Never has it been so apparent how much a movie suffers when it doesn’t have a good director. This film was terribly directed. For starters, the cinematography was awful. Every shot had the background blown out and the actor’s faces in darkness, making it impossible for me to see basic things like facial expressions.
But the silent killer was the sound design. The entire movie was done through ADR. ADR (additional dialogue recording) can work as a patch. The problem with doing it the whole movie is that nobody sounds real. The voices are too smooth, too calm. And the reason they’re too smooth and too calm is because the actors are in a quiet comfortable booth recording their lines. In addition to there being a disconnect between the true performance and the more relaxed audio performance, the audio quality is too slick and too clean to not draw attention to itself.
I can’t convey enough how much this pulled me out of the movie. It was like watching one long lip-sync.
There were other problems with the direction as well, such as the fact that the night-time car scenes looked like they were shot on an iphone with a 3-point Lowell lighting kit from BP Photo. And I get it. This movie doesn’t have a huge budget. But part of your job as a director is to make stuff look better than the budget you’ve been given. Can you imagine what Coralie Fargeat would’ve done with a movie like this? Her film looked amazing and it was shot for a lot less than this one.
I read How it Ends at a time when I was in full GSU mode (Goal, stakes, urgency). It was one of the best embodiments of the formula I’d read up to that point. We’ve got a clear goal – get to the fiancé. Clear stakes – if we don’t, she dies. Clear urgency – Every passing moment society is falling more and more apart.
On top of that, we have a turbo-boost to the GSU formula: a giant mystery at the center of the film. What’s happened that’s causing all of this? Even if you’re not totally invested in the pursuit itself, you can’t help but wonder what’s going on.
On top of THIS, you’ve got a central character pairing that’s packed with conflict – the dad who doesn’t think the fiancé is good enough for his daughter. When you’re sending a character out on a long journey, you need a way to build drama into each scene. Stuffing two characters who don’t see eye-to-eye into a tight space for two hours is guaranteed drama.
All of these things were in the script yet I felt none of them onscreen.
Why?
That’s hard to figure out. I’d begin with the situation itself. In the script, the implosion of society and threat of an unseen menace was way more intense. Whereas in the script, things were ramped up to a 9. In the film, they were around a 5 or a 6. Wherever they went, things seemed calm. There weren’t a lot of crazies running around. You were convinced they could handle any problem.
For example, there were two major roadblocks early in the film. And they were able to get through simply by asking. In screenplays, you gotta make everything tough for your hero. Especially in a movie like this, where the world is falling apart. This idea is built for making things tough.
Then, later, in the one roadblock scene that wasn’t easy – a bridge they needed to cross – they turned it into this really cheesy Karate Kid scene with a couple of guys on dirt bikes who chased after our heroes. You gotta WIN each scene as a filmmaker. And in three of the biggest scenes, they lost.
Then there were little problems that added up. Such as the fact this entire icy relationship between the father and the fiancé-in-law is built on the idea that the son isn’t good enough for his daughter. Yet the son was a) strong and chiseled out of stone, an ideal protector, b) smart, c) presentable, and d) had a good job. This is the kind of man any normal father would be ecstatic his daughter was marrying. Yet we happened to have the one dad who didn’t like him.
Why is this an issue? Because when there’s a disconnect between what the audience is seeing and what the father is seeing, it feels like the only reason the father is acting that way is because the writer needs him to to act that way for his story to work. They could’ve solved this by casting someone who looked more like the kind of person a father didn’t think deserved his daughter. A Shia LaBeouf type, for example. Untamed, rough around the edges, a wild card.
And there were these tonal missteps. At one point, the group gets to an abandoned water park and the Native American girl jumps out of the car with a giant smile on her face and leaps into the pool, laughing excitedly at the chance to cool off. It was supposed to be the scene equivalent of a drink. Something to take the edge off after a long day.
Except that in every scene up to that point, Native American Girl had been the most dire, sad, miserable, human being in the world. The act disobeyed the very essence of her character make-up. You can’t just change who people are to fit a scene. You have to stay consistent. And the irony is, the movie could’ve used a sense of humor. It would’ve been smart to have more scenes where the characters were laughing so as to break up the enormously intense heaviness that permeated the movie.
I always try to remind writers that. The reader can’t appreciate the bitter unless they get the sweet. And vice versa. You can’t go crazy of course. You shouldn’t be putting Anchorman scenes in a movie like this. But you need the occasional bright spot if only to jolt the reader out of their malaise.
I’m not sure how to categorize this one. It’s on Netflix so it won’t cost you any money. So is it worth a free watch? I suppose it is if you’re doing background watching. But if you’re setting aside time just to watch a movie, you’ll probably be bored.
[ ] What the hell did I just watch?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth your time on Netflix
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: As much as it pains me to say this, movies like this struggle to get made because they don’t have a clear monstrous presence that can be marketed. In other words, there are no aliens. There are no zombies. There are no monsters. When audiences see trailers like this, it’s confusing for them. Because they ask, “Where’s the threat?” The threat, of course, is us (humanity). But people who just want to watch a fun movie don’t see it that way. They see a hole that hasn’t been filled. Anyone who watched this probably left saying, “That’s it?” The reason is the lack of that marketable element.
Genre: Dramedy
Premise: An old and cranky local politician goes publicly bananas in an effort to draw attention to an important social issue. This inadvertently puts the career of his son, the Governor of California, at risk.
Why You Should Read: This is a character driven dramedy with a lot of funny moments mixed in with an important social mission. Our hero knows he is in the last inning of life and is going to go out swinging even at the risk of damaging his own political legacy and ruining his son’s chance of building his own . So, yeah – he’s a a bit of an asshole. But an asshole you will root for.
Writer: David Lambertson (Eldave)
Details: 120 pages
I want to keep it 100 with you guys. As much I love doing what I do, there are times when I get tired of reading. And when I get to Thursday, and I can see the weekend over the horizon, and how I’ll be able to relax and get out of the house and do fun things… when I have that within grasp, I occasionally look at a Friday review as an obstacle standing in the way of my fun.
It occurred to me, while I was thinking about this, that for most low-level industry people working their way up the system, many of whom are required to read screenplays in addition to their numerous other responsibilities, this is how they view screenplays as well. As obstacles to whatever else they’re trying to get done that day.
I bring this up because I want the writer to know what they’re up against. Their script isn’t being read under ideal circumstances. In fact, the majority of the time, it’s the exact opposite. And it’s for this reason that the little things – the things that writers believe are insignificant – can actually become huge deal-breakers.
For example, page count. You may think that 120 pages is fine. But to a reader who sees each page as a minute of their time, they see 120 pages as you wasting 20 minutes of their time (when you consider that most spec comedies should be in the 100-105 page range). Again, in a vacuum, 120 pages isn’t a big deal. But in reality, it can be a huge deal. An agitated reader is just waiting for you to give them an excuse to start skimming.
I’ll give a more relevant example for today’s author, Eldave. Eldave expressed his dislike for Marvel movies earlier this week, finding them nearly impossible to watch. Imagine what your mood would be, then, if you were dragged to a Marvel movie by a friend. I’m guessing it would be something like, ARMS CROSSED, “You’re going to have to prove to me that you’re worthy of my time.” That’s exactly how people are approaching your script.
Which is why you want to present yourself in the best possible light. Because if your presentation is bulletproof and you’ve written a good script, it’s completely possible to win the reader over. Some of the best reads I’ve ever had have occurred when the last thing I wanted to do was read a script. But to achieve this, the little stuff – page count, easy-to-read writing style, formatting, clarity, great first scene – has to be on point.
Okay, with that tough but necessary reminder behind us, let’s get to today’s script!
82 year old Los Angeles County Board member Lowell Bachman has just learned that he may have Alzheimer’s. Or dementia. Actually, Lowell won’t allow his doctor to test him to get a definitive answer on why he’s been sick lately. So he’s just playing the “old person” diagnosis odds.
Meanwhile, Lowell heads to his daily job at the Los Angeles County Office where he listens to local citizens complain about things that nobody cares about or ask for things that nobody’s going to give them. That’s his typical daily routine, anyway. Today, however, Lowell is taken with a Mexican woman who tells the story of her veteran son who recently died homeless on the streets.
Lowell becomes fixated on this notion that our military veterans don’t have an easy way to transition back to normal life. So he proposes a bill to add a barracks in Los Angeles. This way, veterans can recuperate inside a setting they’re familiar with, before being thrust back into society.
Nobody else on the board cares, so they shoot Lowell down. But that only makes Lowell angry. He starts showing up every day in a robe (instead of a suit) and claims a plethora of ailments as the reason for his belligerent behavior (Tourette’s, Alzheimer’s, blindness). Lowell becomes relentless about these barracks, yelling and screaming like… well… the homeless vet who lives down my street on Highland and Melrose. Lowell’s behavior grabs the attention of the local press, and soon Loco Lowell videos are going viral on Youtube.
Meanwhile, Lowell’s son, Jason, the Governor of California, is prepping for the upcoming election. But when the media runs with the “Lowell has gone crazy” narrative, Jason finds his formally sure-thing re-election in question. To make matters worse, Lowell finds out he has a brain tumor, which, in his fucked up logic, grants him permission to act even crazier. Will he get those barracks? Or will his co-workers dispose of him first?
It’s not surprising to me that this script won Amateur Offerings. I’ve read a script of Eldave’s before and I knew he had game. I actually thought, “The rest of the writers are in trouble this week.”
In addition to the fact that the script is an easy breezy read with a clear plotline and a main character who pops off the page, there are little things that clue you in to this being a skilled scribe.
For example, if Lowell is causing all of this chaos unimpeded, it’s not very interesting. What makes it interesting is the choice to add the Governor son. Because the son is running for reelection, Lowell’s crazed actions directly affect him. Characters are always more interesting when their choices have consequences, as consequences mean a more conflicted character.
There are very few amateur screenwriters who know this. So seeing that thread expertly woven into this screenplay was an instant indicator that this wasn’t your typical amateur script.
With that said, I did have problems. And most of them stemmed from the premise.
Our hero’s goal is to build a barracks to help transitioning military veterans. The problem is, the only veteran we know is the one who prompted Lowell to act in the first place, and he happens to be dead.
So the entirety of this pursuit is built around helping people who we never meet. Here’s a man who’s hell-bent on getting these barracks set up, to the point where he’s shouting down fellow board-members, destroying his son’s shot at reelection, and killing his own legacy…
But for who?
Nobody we’ve met.
So why would I care if he succeeds?
I’m sure many of you followed the Thailand Boys Soccer Team cave rescue. Everyone who heard about the situation wanted those boys to be okay. But it was the video where we SAW THOSE KIDS IN THE CAVE that made us emotionally invested in their survival. That’s what made it real. Since we didn’t have that here – any tangible people to help – Lowell’s pursuit felt empty.
In fact, Lowell’s motivation seemed to be more about embarrassing his asshole co-workers than helping people in need. For him, it was all about acting like a kookoo bird and making the evening news. If we had just a single face to represent the people who needed help, it would’ve done wonders.
A better possible setup may have been for a veteran (I’ll call him “Josh”) to come in and highlight the loss of a fellow veteran. Then, Josh could become the representative of the people who would benefit from the barracks.
Even if you added that, though, it doesn’t explain why Lowell cared so much about veterans in the first place. He’s not a veteran himself, is he? So why is he so obsessed with this issue? I never found that answer and because that answer is the core of our main character’s motivation, it was hard for me to invest in what was going on.
I like the idea of an aging politician who stops playing by the rules. Any situation where someone stops playing by the rules is going to have some entertainment value. It’s a fun setup. And I could see that elite group of aging Hollywood stars stabbing each other in the back to get this role. I just think there’s a better story idea out there to get our 80 year old hero to stop playing by the rules. One of those old people Florida communities that take their rules very seriously, for example. Or maybe a country club. I guarantee you either of those would be more salable.
Or, if you wanted to stick with this setup, we need a better connection between Lowell and his cause, as well as a physical representation of who’s going to benefit from Lowell’s goal.
Screenplay Link: The Last Statesman
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Whenever you have a political figure in a key role, make sure an election is coming up soon. Political figures are a thousand times more interesting when they’re trying to secure re-election. If Jason isn’t up for re-election here, there’s no reason to worry about his father’s behavior.
I’ve noticed a trend in a lot of the amateur scripts I’ve been reading in regards to scene-writing. To many writers, a scene is a way to dispense information that the reader needs in order to understand what’s happening. For example, they know that in this scene, they must explain to the reader what a flux capacitor is, so that they understand how time travel works. In the next scene, they know they must introduce Henry the Neighbor, since Henry the Neighbor will play a crucial part in the story later on. The problem with this approach is that their focus is on themselves as opposed to the reader. They don’t care if the reader is satisfied. As long as they were able to successfully dispense the relevant information, they’re happy.
Here’s the problem though. You may have achieved what you’ve needed to achieved. But you sure haven’t kept me entertained in the process.
Writing a good screenplay isn’t about getting your checklist of story points down into a cohesive narrative. It’s about telling an entertaining story. So many writers want a cookie for the mere fact that they finished a screenplay that makes sense. Sorry, but if you want to play with the big boys, you have to tell a story that’s entertaining all the way through.
That’s the focus of today’s article. Making sure every single scene in your script has entertainment value. Now before we get started, I want to make something clear. I’m not using “entertain” in the hyperbolic sense. I don’t mean it like a roller coaster ride or a giant car chase. “Entertain” simply means that there’s something about the scene that makes it compelling on its own.
The most basic way to add entertainment value is through conflict. Conflict comes in many forms, and essentially refers to an imbalance in the scene. There’s something unresolved which adds tension to the proceedings. Let’s say that your hero, Joe, is at his son’s baseball game. You could certainly write this scene to establish the basics: Joe’s son plays baseball. But why not add some entertainment value to make the scene more interesting?
Let’s say Joe’s son is batting, and the pitcher’s belligerent father is sitting a few seats in front of Joe. “C’mon Frankie! Strike this bum out!” We can see the discomfort on Joe’s face, but he doesn’t want to make a scene. “Look at this kid! He’s afraid to swing. Lay it right down the middle!” Joe’s getting more angry now. Is he going to say something? This example may be a little excessive, but you get the point. You’ve taken what could’ve been a straight-forward establishing scene that your hero’s son plays baseball and turned it into a moment that’s entertaining on its own.
Another way to conjure entertainment out of a scene is to place your character in a situation of discomfort. As soon as you introduce something that impedes on a person’s comfort, they have to react. And, in doing so, you create an entertainment seed that can grow. Let’s say your character is a prisoner who keeps to himself. And you want to show his daily routine, specifically how meal time works. The boring screenwriter will simply put the prisoner in line and sit with them as they move their way forward until finally getting their food. Again, you’ve achieved your technical goal. You’ve shown us a component of the character’s shitty day. But you didn’t entertain us in the process. How can you change that?
Well, what if there are two options on the menu that day: pizza and a casserole that looks like vomit. As our prisoner is getting closer, we’re showing those pieces of pizza fly off the pan. It’s going to be close by the time it’s his turn, but it looks like he’s going to get one. Then, when he’s almost there, you impede upon the hero’s comfort. Four thugs come up. “Yo man, you mind if we jump in front of you?” Our hero glances at the last three slices of pizza, then at these guys. We can see the torture in his eyes before he finally relents. Sure enough, the thugs take the last slices of pizza, and our hero’s stuck with the gruel. You’ve just turned a scene where nothing happens into a scene where we’re entertained by a man who wants pizza.
Another easy way to add entertainment value is to introduce a problem. If there’s a problem, the audience will want to see if it can be resolved. In Thor: Ragnarok, one of the most entertaining movies of last year, virtually every scene is prefaced with a problem. We meet Thor while he’s hanging, tied up in a net. Later he gets stuck in a waiting room that he needs to get out of. Then he gets placed in a gladiator arena where he must survive. Afterwards, him and Hulk are placed in a holding bay that they have to escape from. The simple act of needing to solve a problem, no matter how small, adds instant entertainment value to a scene.
Something as simple as a time limit can make a scene entertaining. If a character has to clean up his extremely dirty apartment because his parents are in town, you could certainly show us a typical yet boring montage of him cleaning up. Or you could have his father call and let him know that they’re coming an hour early and should be there within the next 30 minutes. Now the clean-up session is a race with an uncertain ending. Much more entertaining.
You can add entertainment value by raising the stakes. Let’s say your character is a waiter. You could certainly give us a boring scene of him doing his typical waiter duties. Or you could have a fellow waiter point out that his new table is a famous food blogger. “Don’t screw it up or none of us will have jobs next week.” All of a sudden, a normal waiting scene becomes packed with tension.
A scene can become entertaining merely by changing the order in which the information is given. For example, let’s say your hero, Beth, has a long day at work. Later, when she gets home, she finds out her husband died in a work accident. Why not show us her husband dying in that accident BEFORE we show Beth’s work day? That way, we’re filled with anxiety as we wait for Beth to find out what we already know. Even a mundane task such as driving home becomes compelling since we know it’s only a matter of minutes now before she finds out what’s happened.
The lesson here is to assess when a scene is boring and to CREATIVELY SOLVE THAT PROBLEM. You don’t even need to know any of these tips to do this. You just have to be honest with yourself about the scene and come up with a way to make it more interesting. You’d be surprised at how easy this is.
Changing locations can do wonders for a scene. If you have a typical boring scene where two characters are talking, you can move them from a coffee shop, where it’s okay to talk, to a movie theater, where it isn’t. Now, every word risks someone nearby telling them to shut up.
Adding characters to a scene can do wonders as well. If you have a typical conversation scene between a guy and his girlfriend, add the girl’s best friend, who HATES the guy. Same conversation, except now the friend is constantly looking up from her phone, giving our guy judgmental looks after everything he says.
I’m sure you’re thinking, “Come on, Carson. Not EVERY scene can be entertaining. What about quick scenes whose sole purpose is to convey information?” Yes, even those scenes. You’ll vary the intensity of the entertainment value to fit the smaller scale, but you still want to entertain. For example, let’s say Alice calls her friend Claire to set up a later dinner party scene. “Pick you up at 7 for the party?” “Could you make it 7:30? I’m running late.” “Sounds good.” They hang up. Sure, that could work. But you could also throw a joke in there to make the conversation more fun. “Pick you up at 7 for the party?” “I can’t go. I have the flu.” “You used the flu excuse last time.” “I mean influenza.” “That’s the same thing, Claire.” “Fine. But come as late as possible.” It’s a small adjustment, but it makes a difference.
We live in a world where people don’t give a shit about anything other than how they feel in the moment. Back in the 70s, you could go 15 minutes in a movie without worrying about whether the audience was bored. These days, people are used to options. Entertainment is a phone-pull-out-of-a-pocket away. More than ever before, you have to make sure you’re keeping people entertained. I’d go so far as to say if you write two boring scenes in a row, the reader is already drifting out of your story. I don’t say that to scare you. I say it to keep you honest. Go into every scene with the intention of adding entertainment value and you will be fine.
Carson does feature screenplay consultations, TV Pilot Consultations, and logline consultations. Logline consultations go for $25 a piece or 5 for $75. You get a 1-10 rating, a 200-word evaluation, and a rewrite of the logline. If you’re interested in any sort of consultation package, e-mail Carsonreeves1@gmail.com with the subject line: CONSULTATION. Don’t start writing a script or sending a script out blind. Let Scriptshadow help you get it in shape first!
Genre: Action-Adventure/Sci-Fi
Premise: After being left at the alter, Indiana Jones tracks down his would-be wife only to find out she’s part of a top secret military clean-up of a mysterious crashed airplane.
About: This was the biggest Indiana Jones project that never got made. George Lucas was serious about its development, hiring one of his favorite writers at the time, Jeb Stuart, who wrote both Die Hard and The Fugitive. The legend goes that a very busy Spielberg and an even busier Harrison Ford were primed to do the film as soon as Spielberg finished Schindler’s List, but that they didn’t like all this hooky-pooky sci-fi stuff in regards to an Indiana Jones movie and therefore passed. It would take another 13 years before the three titans could find time to finally film another Indy film.
Writer: Jeb Stuart (story by Jeb Stuart and George Lucas) (characters created by George Lucas and Philip Kaufman)
Details: 2/20/1995 (Revised Draft)
There were some comments in my Ant-Man and The Wasp post questioning why people even go to see these giant Marvel films. They’re vapid emotion-free adventures designed solely to sell you merchandise. I pushed back on that because I find Marvel movies to be entertaining and that’s the only reason I physically go to the movies these days. I want to be entertained. I don’t want to spend 20 dollars to watch Jon Hamm in “Beirut.” I’m sorry but I can wait for the small screen for that.
With that said, I see the Indiana Jones franchise the same way commenters see Marvel movies. It’s a franchise that’s dangerously close to sliding into ATFT. Yes, I’m talking about Alien Terminator Franchise Territory. They just announced that the 5th film in the franchise has been pushed back to 2021, this after previously announcing that the co-writer of Solo, Lawrence Kasdan’s son, would be taking over writing duties.
So let me get this straight. They’ve got the co-writer of one of the biggest box office bombs in history to shape a script around a 79 year old action star. Does anybody see anything wrong with this? I’m asking honestly. Do you have any hope that this movie could be good? Because I don’t find any data that suggests it would be.
Which is why I’ve decided to go back to a more innocent time. A time when George Lucas still loved movies. The year was 1995 and George was actively developing the next Indiana Jones film. The reason I’m curious about this script is that it includes aliens, which was George’s only “MUST HAVE” for Indiana Jones IV. A big reason Crystal Skull suffered was because Spielberg didn’t want to do the alien thing. So the two kind of meshed their opposing visions into a single film and, well, you saw what happened.
With Mars, we have George Lucas’s unimpeded vision of how that alien storyline would play out. Let’s see if a potentially great movie was overlooked.
It’s 1949 and good old Indiana Jones is out of the game. Welllllll, at least until he finishes stealing a gold idol in Borneo. After that adventure, Indiana runs into a hot linguist named Elaine McGregor who he’s forgotten he promised to escort upriver to search for an old temple. Indie falls head over heels for Elaine and within a couple of months, they’re getting married!
Except that just before the ceremony, Elaine gets cold feet and runs away with her former boyfriend. Indiana is heartbroken and must hear it from Elaine herself why he wasn’t enough. He gets word that her and her former man, Robert Bolander, have flown to New Mexico, so off he goes.
Once there, he learns that things are more complicated than he assumed. Elaine didn’t run away with Robert because she loved him. She ran away because Robert, a military officer, was working on a top secret project that he needed her help on. After Indy shows up, he learns that Robert and the rest of the army believe they’ve found a crashed flying saucer.
Indy is skeptical until Robert shows Indy an old object from the crashed ship that’s covered in multiple ancient languages. They must translate these languages to see what the object says if they’re going to understand why these aliens are trolling them. But before anybody can do anything, THE RUSSIANS SHOW UP and STEAL THE OBJECT. Not only that, but they take the one person who can figure out the scripture on it – Elaine.
Indy’s able to catch up to his not-quite-wife and recover the object before getting chased through the desert by a flying saucer. At some point, they realize that this object is some sort of timer and when it gets to zero – game over! Pretty soon, the Russians, more aliens, and a suspiciously frantic Robert Bolander are all in pursuit of the timer object. Who will get it? And once it reaches zero, what will happen?
Before I get to the analysis, I need to address something for the Indiana Jones geeks. The NUKE THE FRIDGE scene IS in here. Which I find curious. This version of the script was developed, supposedly, without Spielberg. Spielberg famously copped to adding the “Nuke the Fridge” scene in Crystal Skull. So now I’m wondering if he was just sticking up for his friend. Of course, Spielberg could’ve suggested this scene to George even back then. But it’s always been presented as a scene that came about recently. The mystery deepens, I guess.
Now let’s get down to brass tacks. We need to use brass because all the gold was stripped out of this franchise a long time ago.
Raiders of the Lost Ark was famously constructed as a series of set pieces that Steven Spielberg wanted to shoot. Lay the set pieces out and let some screenwriter figure out how to connect them. Turns out that screenwriter, Lawrence Kasdan, did a pretty good job, since Raiders remains one of the most beloved movies ever.
Saucer Men From Mars attempts to do the same thing. We have a boat chase on the river. We have fridge nuking. We have a military plane being chased by a flying saucer. But there’s one major difference between the two films.
Raiders uses an overarching goal. Saucer Men does not. Raiders has the goal of getting the Ark. That objective dominates the entire movie. Saucer Men has no ultimate objective. It’s more about Indy and Elaine finding a mystery cube and trying to figure it out while running from aliens and Russians.
Why does this matter when building a story off pre-established set pieces? Because when you have a final destination worked out, it’s easy to guide the story to that destination. We know that Indy has to get that Ark. So the story will come to a conclusion once he does. You don’t have that in Saucer Men, which means you’re linking pre-established set pieces randomly. There’s no framework to guide the major story beats to a clear conclusion.
It’s like preparing a meal when you don’t know what you’re trying to make.
What happens in this scenario is that the plot becomes bigger than the characters. You’re not making decisions based on where the characters need to get to. You’re making decisions based on which set piece you need to get to. That’s going to result in a movie where the characters are dragged along. They have no free will (a common theme this week).
I’m telling you. When you give your hero an overarching goal, writing a good script is so much easier.
But there’s a bigger problem here. The character of Indiana Jones isn’t built for this story. George Lucas is obsessed with the idea that every iteration of a franchise has to give us something new. That’s what he did with the prequels. And that’s what he did with Crystal Skull. And I understand where he’s coming from. You don’t want to repeat yourself.
With that said, you created Indiana Jones for a very specific type of adventure. Look at his weapon. It isn’t a gun. It’s a whip. A gun helps you against spies. A whip helps you in a cave. Everything about this character was built around raiding tombs and finding treasure.
Therefore, when you put him in the desert against aliens, everything feels off. This character wasn’t built to fight aliens. He wasn’t built to avoid nuclear missile blasts. As a result, Indiana Jones stops being relevant in his own movie. You could put any alpha male hero in this role and it would be the same.
So there’s a balance here that Lucas ignores. Yes, you have to create something new. But you can’t go so far away from the source that the hero’s unique skills become irrelevant. And this is coming from someone who loves alien storylines. So if there’s anybody who’s going to buy into this premise, it’s me. But I didn’t, and that’s because of this error.
Did I like anything about the script?
I liked the opening boat chase. You had this little steamer being chased by a WW2 PT boat. That was fun. I liked that Indiana got stood up at his own wedding. That was unexpected. Cause now we’re wondering, what woman would leave Indiana Jones? And I liked the design behind the love triangle. Love triangles are often on-the-nose. Two people like the same person. Big whup. But in this case, Robert and Elaine used to be together. She left him. Now, she’s run off with him, but only because he needs her for a top secret mission. Yet we get the sense that he’s slyly taking advantage of this proximity to weasel his way back into the mix. So it’s not as simple as two guys fighting over the same woman. It’s a bit more nuanced.
But there are no game-changing set pieces in the script. Which isn’t surprising. Anything that had a modicum of potential was ushered into Crystal Skull. It goes to show how difficult it is to come up with original set pieces, in that even when something isn’t right for a movie, they’ll put it in there because it’s hard to come up with something better.
One final thought. If they changed just one letter in this title – ONE LETTER – this movie would’ve been awesome. Change the “R” at the end of Saucer to a “Y.” Boom, you have a movie for the ages.
Indiana Jones and the Saucey Men From Mars
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Every time you write a line of description, you have the option of turbo-charging the line. I’ll give you an example. Early in the script, when we’re boating down this river, Stuart describes the crocodiles that are hovering nearby. The functional description of these crocodiles is this: “ALONG THE RIVER – crocodiles, twenty feet long.” It’s a serviceable but ultimately boring line. It does the job and nothing more. Stuart turbo-charges the line, however. This is what he writes instead: “ALONG THE RIVER – crocodiles, twenty feet long and six months between meals.” It’s a small change, but a powerful one. In our minds, these imposing beasts become imposing beasts that are starving and looking for any opportunity to gulp down a human. Always look to turbo-charge key descriptions. It makes a difference.
