Read as far as you can in each, then VOTE for which one you think should get reviewed on the site. Feel free to offer constructive criticism to the writers. Also, please be CLEAR with your vote (preferably, state at the beginning of your comment: “My vote is for…”). To get the amateur scripts early, make sure to sign up for my newsletter. :)
TITLE: Partners In Crime
GENRE: Action, Comedy, Crime
LOGLINE: Busted for smuggling drugs to bankroll their flight home, two spring breakers escape jail time by becoming a snitch for a DEA agent to take down a Mexican drug lord.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ: I wanted to write a fun, commercial movie and I believe that I succeeded. I would compare this farcical comedy to such past hits as 21 Jump Street and Pineapple Express. I hope you enjoy!
TITLE: Escaping Freedom
GENRE: Drama
LOGLINE: A Gestapo agent is mistaken for a Jew and sent to Auschwitz to fight for his life.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ: I’m the only one that finds myself amusing. I like no walks on the beach. I’m an ex-gangleader for a Chicago black gang, even though I’m white – and that’s not a joke – this has equipped me to write about some strange characters in life and writing probably saved my life. And I’ll retire before I start a career in screenwriting if you don’t read this script. That was a joke. Had to try. — Why should this script get read? If nothing more than the Auschwitz victims are dying yearly and they have less a film of remembrance than ever before. They had five minutes in “Schindler’s List,” why not give them a full movie to warn future generations of what man’s capable of doing? It’s a script the size of War & Peace, but a little shorter than an Aaron Sorkin film. While the characters are fictional, the crimes and timeline of events are historically accurate…
TITLE: ACCELERATOR
GENRE: Sci-Fi Thriller
LOGLINE: An agent with a CIA-like agency of the future struggles with his tragic past while on a mission to prevent the emergence of a perilous new technology.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ: THE MATRIX meets THE AVENGERS meets SIN CITY is how I would pitch ACCELERATOR. I think a lot of what ultimately motivates writers is that we find ourselves getting bored with our favorite genres and decide we can do a better job. That was certainly the case with this script. ACCELERATOR’s the kind of sci-fi thriller that would get me to the multiplex.
TITLE: Rocket Surgery
GENRE: Coming of age
LOGLINE: A lovesick twelve-year-old boy must use his dad’s inventions to stop a monster he accidentally unleashed on his town while deciding between the girl of his dreams and the girl who loves him.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ: Reading Carson’s pleas for someone to write an original script loaded with GSU, unique characters, a solid plot and at least one wacky character, I set out to tackle this challenge. If I had to describe this script, which I am, I’d say it is a little like Gremlins with the tone of Back to the Future. I wanted it to be a fun ride for those of us who love getting lost in movies.
TITLE: OTIS KRINGLE HATES CHRISTMAS!
GENRE: Biopic
LOGLINE: After the entire Kringle clan is murdered, Santa’s illegitimate son is forced to save his least favorite holiday from a menagerie of supernatural fuckwits.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ: My name’s Otis J. Kringle and I’m not a screenwriter — I’m fucking Santa Claus. Hang on, that came out wrong, as I am not actually “fucking” Santa — that would be weird and (as you’ll see) necrophilia. More like, I AM Santa Claus. I didn’t used to be, mind you. Truth be told, I’ve always considered Christmas to rank somewhere between getting a colonoscopy from Edward Scissorhands and watching FAILURE TO LAUNCH on a neverending loop. But alas, events unfolded that led me to pick up the jolly red mantle, events like stealing a UPS truck, getting thrown in jail, stepping in reindeer shit, throwing down in fisticuffs with Frigid Bitch and Jack Frost, riding flying lions, massive mall sing-a-longs, things of this nature. I know, right? I was pretty amazed, too. So amazed, I felt the need to share and find an outlet for my story (and movie, because who doesn’t love a new Christmas flick?), namely ScriptShadow. What can I say — I read your site, love the shit out of your site, and as far as I’m concerned, this makes it to a Friday review, everybody who reads your site will be put on the Nice List this year. Even Grendl. I know when you’re sleeping and when you’re awake, — Otis J. Kringle
Get Your Script Reviewed On Scriptshadow!: To submit your script for an Amateur Review, send in a PDF of your script, along with the title, genre, logline, and finally, something interesting about yourself and/or your script that you’d like us to post along with the script if reviewed. Use my submission address please: Carsonreeves3@gmail.com. Remember that your script will be posted. If you’re nervous about the effects of a bad review, feel free to use an alias name and/or title. It’s a good idea to resubmit every couple of weeks so your submission stays near the top.
Genre (from writer): Horror/Survival
Premise (from writer): Deep winter in Civil War Era Missouri – A Union Deserter, a Priest and an Assassin must fight for survival when they are stranded in the wilderness and hunted by a terrible Sasquatch.
Why You Should Read (from writer): Liar. Coward. Judge is a script that has been written out of frustration as much as ambition. As a conscious reply to those horror scripts that turn a blind eye to character, theme and subtext it is a pitch black descent into madness that treats the Sasquatch myth with rare seriousness. It is a savage horror with a truly unique setting that is driven not by the relentless movement from jump scare to gore gross-out but by the development of characters. — Most of all though you should read Liar. Coward. Judge because it doesn’t just ask that cliché question; “who will survive?” but wants you to ask yourself; “does anyone deserve to?”
Writers: Mark and Christopher Webster
Details: 109 pages
Okay, I’m going to bust out a sports analogy today because it’s been awhile since I’ve done so. I am a sad supporter of the abysmal excuse for a football franchise known as the Chicago Bears. My poor stumbling team is 3-5 in the standings, a far cry from what many predicted would be a successful season.
A lot of people have come up with reasons why the Bears are so terrible, but one in particular has stuck with me. “They have no identity,” an analyst pointed out. “Look at the New England Patriots,” he continued. “They’re going to sling the ball around on offense and put up a lot of points. Or the Baltimore Ravens. They’re going to play physical smash-mouth defense and win tight low-scoring games. Even the old Bears had an identity. They were going to run the ball to draw out the clock, keep the score close, then win the turnover battle.”
This Bears team has no identity. Nobody’s really sure what they’re trying to do.
I think this need for an identity can be transferred over to movies as well. As readers (or audience members) we demand that a film have some kind of identity. We want to know what we’re getting into. This is usually measured by genre. Horror, thriller, crime-drama, action-adventure. But it can also encompass a certain type of story. The “home invasion” movie, for example.
While I was reading “Liar Coward Judge,” I started to realize that I didn’t know what the movie was. I didn’t know its identity. It wasn’t exactly a horror film. It wasn’t exactly a thriller. I’ve seen movies where a town is threatened by a beast. This wasn’t that. I’ve seen movies where a group of people are trapped inside a space, hunted by a monster. This wasn’t that.
The more I read of “Liar Coward Judge,” the less clear I was on what kind of movie I was reading.
The premise for “Liar Coward Judge” starts out like a bad joke. “A priest, an assassin, and a rapist walk into the woods.” Of course, it’s a little more complicated than that. The year is 1870, after the Civil War has ended, and an assassin has been hired by a Confederate Commander to kill a man named Matthew Jefferson, a rapist and a killer.
Meanwhile, we meet a Union war deserter, who happens upon a church. Back then, even if you were doing bad things, the rules were that churches were sanctuaries. Once inside, nobody could hurt you. So the deserter finds a church, where he meets our priest, and also this Matthew Jefferson fellow.
The next morning, Jefferson is gone, but a new man arrives. Our assassin! Once he realizes our duo knows Jefferson, he forces them to head into the woods and find him. They don’t go far before finding Jefferson, who’s hanged himself.
It would seem that the mission is over, except that they run into some huge monster-type-thing that’s killing everyone in the forest. They become an impromptu team, running from this evil beast, all the while trying to find their way out of the forest and to safety.
Does a movie like Interstellar have an identity? Should it have one?
So let’s get back to that question. Does a script need an identity? An argument can be made that if you want to write something unique, you want to AVOID an identity, right? I mean what is the identity of Christopher Nolan’s “Interstellar?” Or Charlie Kaufman’s, “Being John Malkovich?”
It’s a fair argument but, as always, the further you walk off the beaten path, the more likely it is you’ll get lost. And somewhere along the way, “Liar Coward Judge” got lost.
It’s interesting that Mark and Christopher bring up character as their focus here, because I think, after the identity problem, that’s where the bulk of the problems lie. There’s this belief that if you’re handling your characters in a serious manner, you’re somehow creating a compelling character piece. And you do feel an intensity behind each of our character’s motives in “Liar Coward Judge.”
But strangely enough, I didn’t sense depth to any of the characters. They were all surface-level people. A priest who’s a dedicated priest. An assassin who’s a mean assassin. A deserter who’s a coward.
The best characters tend to be dynamic. Bad people who have good qualities and good people who have bad qualities. That unexpectedness adds a rich extra layer to the character that makes them far more interesting to watch. Think of one of the most popular characters in the history of cinema – Batman. He’s a good person, but he’s not above doing bad things to push his agenda. We don’t see any of that subtlety here. With some minor exceptions, everyone here can be taken at face value all the time.
The Walking Dead and Lost are two shows that were masterful at this. You’d think a character was bad (Locke), only to find out you were wrong, only to LATER find out you may have been right. As I watch more TV, I’m starting to see that the best shows do exactly this. They make you wonder who a character is for awhile. You have to work to find out their true colors. Here, the true colors are established right away and never change.
The Deserter had the most potential to be a cool character. He was the one we knew the least about. And there was an indication that he had some secrets. But alas, none of these secrets ever came to light. He was as straightforward a coward as they get.
I have a feeling the Websters locked into these archetypes with the very intention of exploring them at face value. A coward as a coward. Which is why we don’t get any surprises here. While that sounds good in theory, sometimes you have to abort your original intentions if they’re not working. Because they were so obvious, these characters stopped being interesting (to me) around page 20. To keep them exciting, we needed them to evolve over the next 90 pages. But they never did.
Also, when your movie focuses on a small group, it’s important that each character be different from the others. The way they talk, the way they act, the choices they make, must all be unique to them, so you get the most conflict out of the interactions in the group. Strangely, everyone here was pretty similar, especially the priest and the deserter, who both just wanted to get the hell out of here. The assassin was a little different, but honestly, not much.
The thing I kept wondering was, why don’t we put this square in the middle of the Civil War (instead of afterwards) and place one hardcore Confederate and one hardcore Union in the group. These foes, who hate everything the other stands for, must now team up (with the priest or an altogether new character) to defeat this Sasquatch.
Finally, there’s the “likability” factor. The Websters point out in their “WYSR” that you’ll wonder, while reading this, if any of these characters deserve to survive. As is implied by that statement, nobody here was likable. A character doesn’t HAVE to be likable for the audience to care about them, but it’s a lot harder to keep the audience on your side with unlikable characters than with likable ones. Indeed, I didn’t care if any of these three lived or died, due to all of them exhibiting annoying or unlikable qualities.
Look, I love Sasquatches. I remember being fascinated by Sasquatches as a kid. So I think there’s a movie to be made where a Sasquatch is featured. But the exploration of the Sasquatch here is secondary to the exploration of the characters. Normally, that would be good, IF the characters warranted the scrutiny. These characters aren’t interesting enough, likable enough, or unique enough to handle the spotlight of the story. I would intensify the involvement of the Sasquatch in the movie, then go back to the drawing board with the characters. Make them deeper, more dynamic, with more secrets, and make them truly different from one another so there’s more conflict. Good luck. ☺
Screenplay link: Liar Coward Judge
[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned 1: Face value is a bad thing. Just like in real life, you shouldn’t be able to take your characters at face value. There should be layers there. There should be more going on underneath the surface. Obviously, there will be exceptions to this, but for the most part, a character who can be taken at face value is a boring character.
What I learned 2: Your main characters must evolve over the course of the story. You can do this in a number of ways. You can reveal secrets about their past that change our perception of them (someone we thought was good ends up being a rapist). You can present them one way (a coward) only to later have them act the opposite (be brave). A character can learn something over the course of the story that grows their confidence (Neo in The Matrix). A great movie to see all this in action with is Pitch Black. Watch how each character grows into something different from what you originally perceived. I saw the characters in “Liar Coward Judge” staying pretty much the same from opening to closing credits. That led to me being bored with them pretty quickly.
A Marvel superhero? Or a writer’s demons?
Screenwriting is in a funny place right now. The days of the huge spec sale are more a part of the past than the present. When you meet with managers and agents these days, they’re more likely to ask you about your latest TV pilot than your latest feature spec. As Marvel grows its brand, filling more and more of those precious movie slots with its bottomless pit of superhero characters, there’s more uncertainty than ever about what the industry wants. I mean it used to just be, “Write something marketable that you’re passionate about.” But that’s not enough anymore. You need a strategy.
With that said, most writers still make it into the industry the old fashioned way – hard work. They write something that speaks to them. It ends up being good enough for people to pass around. The writer gains fans, writes something else, gains more fans, builds his network, and sooner or later, writing assignments start coming his way. They’re small at first, but they get bigger as the writing improves. Some of these writers take the feature assignment career route. Some join TV staffs. Eventually, they become consistent working writers in the industry.
Now what they do from there – whether they stay at that low-to-middle working professional status or break into the elite level – is dependent on a number of factors. And that’s what I’d like to talk about today. I want to discuss “writer stages.” I read so many screenplays and most of the time after I finish, I think, “If this writer doesn’t change, they’re going to be stuck in this stage for the rest of their lives.” Part of being a good writer is recognizing where you’re at and working to fix your weaknesses. If you’re not willing to do this, stop writing now. You need to be a student of this craft, as well as your involvement in it, if you want to succeed.
STAGE 1 – THE ARROGANCE STAGE
WRITER NICKNAME – “THE CONTEST SUPPORTER”
The Arrogance Stage represents one of the most common misconceptions about screenwriting – that it’s easy. People see movies like “Need for Speed” and know, for a fact, that they can write something better. So they write a script, maybe two, and start hawking them around town, waiting for everyone to hail them as industry saviors. These scripts are the worst scripts I read, by far, as there’s a lethal combination of suckitude going on. One, the writer is using the industry’s worst movies as their bar. Therefore, everything is written to be only slightly better than that terrible movie they saw. The irony is that even though these writers THINK they’re better than the writers who wrote Need for Speed, they’re actually a lot worse. So they’re giving us an even suckier version of an already sucky movie.
And second, the writers have never studied storytelling on any level. It’s such an arrogant oversight that it actually infuriates the reader. It would be like wanting to be a surgeon but never studying the inside of the body. These scripts always lack original concepts, build, suspense, rhythm, character development, structure, or anything resembling what makes a story work. To add to the fun, there is so little respect for the craft, that the scripts are often riddled with misspellings, misused words, grammatically incorrect sentences, and more. I call these writers “Contest Supporters” because their scripts typically comprise of 75% of all contest entries and therefore fund the contest for the real writers.
To Break Out: To break out of The Arrogance Stage, you need to come to terms with reality. Your first scripts probably aren’t any good. They might be. But you need to operate under the assumption that they’re not. One of the biggest steps a beginner writer can take is admitting that being a professional screenwriter is hard. Once they do this, there will be a tectonic shift in the way they approach the craft. They will now put some real time and effort into the practice, and this should thrust them into Stage 2 in no time.
STAGE 2 – THE FOG-OF-WAR STAGE
WRITER NICKNAME – “THE JACKSON POLLACK”
I call this the “Fog of War” stage because you rarely know where you are as a screenwriter while in this stage. How effective can you be if you’re not sure whether you’re 20 feet from the enemy or 20 miles? The commonality I see with these scripts is tiny bursts of good writing, followed by long chasms of bad writing. Why does this happen? Well, you’ve only just started learning the principles of screenwriting. So you know a few things, like what “3 act structure” and “character arc” mean, but since you’ve only written 2-3 screenplays, you’ve only been able to practice these principles 2-3 times. When have you ever perfected anything on the 3rd try? Likewise, you haven’t learned how to deftly hide exposition yet, how to come into scenes late, how to use subtext (etc., etc., etc.). Some of these things will come more naturally than others, but rarely can a writer nail them all immediately. I call these writers “Jackson Pollocks” because it feels like they’re randomly throwing paint against the canvas, hoping that the sheer earnestness of their intent will result in a masterpiece.
To Break Out: You need to embrace the study-bug in this stage. Read as many screenwriting books as you can afford. Read as many screenplays as you can find time to read (produced, unproduced, and amateur!). As soon as you learn something, go practice it. Study, read, write. Study, read, write. This stage takes time, because learning all the elements of good storytelling doesn’t happen overnight. But if you’re serious about screenwriting, this tends to be the stage that gives you your screenwriting armor.
STAGE 3 – THE STAGE OF DEATH
WRITER NICKNAME: “THE CYBORG”
I call this The Stage of Death because this is where many screenwriters, writers who have given years to the craft, disappear silently into the night, never to be heard from again. They’ll feel like they gave it their all, but couldn’t get over the hump for some reason, and so they leave. I have some strong opinions about these writers. Real writers never give up. They NEED to write. First and foremost, writing has to be FOR YOU. It has to be an outlet that you can’t stop yourself from doing, like a drug. Sure, as you get older and the complexities of life get in the way (i.e. supporting a family), you’ll have less time to write. But if you love this craft, you should never stop writing.
While Stage 1 scripts make me the angriest to read, and Stage 2 scripts are the most boring to read, Stage 3 scripts tend to be the most frustrating to read. That’s because by this stage in the game, the writer generally knows what they’re doing. They know how to tell a story. The problem is, they haven’t figured out how to tell a good story. A big part of the problem is that these scripts are driven too fiercely by structure and technicalities. Writers have learned what the books tell them to do, but they’re overplaying these elements, creating a robotic experience for the reader (hence: “The Cyborg”). These are the scripts that make the quarterfinals, maybe even the semifinals, of contests, and they show a respect for and an understanding of the craft. But they just don’t resonate. It’s almost like the scripts lack soul.
To Break Out: To break out of this stage, two things need to happen. First, there needs to be a change in philosophy. You know the technicalities of screenwriting. Now you have to go back to the mindset of a beginner. Instead of trying to meet technical checkpoints, start writing on “feel” again. Let your emotions guide you. Take a few chances. Break a few rules. The problem with writing a technically proficient script is that it reads like a technically proficient script. It’ll get you high grades with your professors, but low grades from readers who actually want to be moved. To get to the next level, you have to start emotionally connecting with the reader, and writing on emotion will help that. Now don’t get me wrong. You still want to follow the general guidelines of good storytelling. You just no longer want those guidelines to dominate your script.
The second thing that needs to happen is you need to identify your biggest weaknesses and work on them. If you suck at dialogue, you need to dedicate huge chunks of time to improving your dialogue. Finding your weaknesses requires getting HONEST feedback from others, not the “rah-rah” feedback that makes you feel good but keeps you chugging along at the same level. Locate where you suck and work to improve yourself.
STAGE 4 – THE TINY STAR STAGE
WRITER NICKNAME: “THE FRUSTRATED PROFESSIONAL.”
Getting to this stage is a big deal. You feel like you’ve crossed a major hurdle. You either have a manager or an agent (or both), secured a legitimate option or two (from a big production company) and/or have gotten assignment work. But for whatever reason, you still feel like an outsider, like a Stage 3. Your scripts aren’t landing on that prestigious Black List. Nor are they being fielded by the upper echelon of Hollywood – the people who can actually make things happen. What’s wrong?
Well, I can tell you what I see in the scripts themselves. These offerings are better than Stage 3 scripts. But upon reading them, I always feel like I’ve read them before. While the characters are well-written and the story is solid, I generally know what’s going to happen next, and therefore the story feels like it’s going through the motions. In some ways, these scripts are just as frustrating as the Stage 3s because you can see the potential for the story to break out, but it never does.
To Break Out: Three things need to happen to break out of this stage. First, take more chances. If you want to write something great, you need to take chances, because those chances are going to lead to the differences that make your script stand out against your competition. Taking chances is terrifying. But since the best stories are unpredictable, you need to make some unpredictable choices to write something great.
Second, you need to focus more on character. When I read the top scripts out there, it’s the characters that take hold of me, who make me feel something, who give me the warm and fuzzies. Rarely does a plot point touch me on an emotional level. So learn how to build interesting characters, how to build likable characters, how to build compelling relationships, how to arc characters, how to create problems between characters that need to be resolved. Learn how to make relatable characters and situations so that readers feel a connection to the people you’re writing. In short, focus more on character.
Finally, challenge yourself more. Most writers believe they only have a fifth gear. You actually have a sixth gear. And this is the gear that turns good scripts into great ones. Let me give you an example. Ben Ripley, the writer of Source Code, wrote a series of drafts of Source Code where an investigator comes in and investigates a time-altered train crash. He created the “5th Gear” version of this story. And he could’ve stopped there and sent the script out. But he decided to challenge himself, to push and find the element of the story that turned an average script into a great one. This led him to realize a more interesting take was to shift his main character from an impartial investigator to one of the passengers on the train. The next thing he knew, his script became one of the hottest in Hollywood.
STAGE 5: THE SUPERNOVA STAGE
WRITER NICKNAME: “THE TRUE PROFESSIONAL”
A Stage 5 script is a script that moves me. And you move people by creating compelling realistic characters going through universal problems that the average person relates to. Combined with a story that tackles strong universal themes (forgiveness, family, love, etc.) you can really move a reader. When you add an original concept and an unpredictable plot, you can count yourself among the best writers in the world. Of course, even Stage 5 writers are unsatisfied. I suppose the only thing that makes you happy at this stage is an Oscar. But you know what, if that’s your biggest problem in screenwriting? Is that you haven’t won an Oscar yet? I think you’re doing okay.
Now obviously, no two screenwriters’ journeys are alike. I’m not saying that every writer should be pigeonholed into one of these five stages. I’m saying that based on the scripts that I’ve read, this is where most screenwriters lie. But if that’s too complicated for you, here’s a simplified version of the plan: Treat yourself as a student of the craft. Always be studying. Always be reading. Always be writing. The second you think you’ve got it figured out in this business is the second you’re done. You should always be trying to get better!
Genre: Comedy
Premise: A modern-day narcissistic adventurer happens upon a clue that might lead him to the fabled lost City of Atlantis.
About: Comedy writing team Mike Arnold and Chris Poole are no strangers to outrageous manly comedies, as they popped onto the scene with the highly ranked Black List script, The Grackle, back in 2006, about a New Orleans barroom brawler who starts his own business settling disputes for people who can’t afford a lawyer. They then sold something very manly-sounding called “Captain Awesome” to Fox. And finally, Beaujolais, back in 2008. As a testament to how difficult the business is, the writers still don’t have a produced credit six years later. It just goes to show that selling a spec is not the end-all be-all. It’s just the beginning of a much tougher journey where you’re now competing with bigger hungrier fish.
Writers: Mike Arnold and Chris Poole
Details: 123 pages (3/19/08) draft
I couldn’t think of ANY actor for this role, which might be why they haven’t made it. Joel McHale is all I’ve got.
When you hear the pitch, “The redneck version of Indiana Jones,” you sit up and pay attention. I love strange mash-ups, and truth be told you could mix anything up with Indiana Jones and I’d read it. The haunted house version of Indiana Jones. The pirate version of Indiana Jones. The Food Network version of Indiana Jones. I’m there! But something about the “redneck” slant took it to a new level. It just sounded funny.
The script follows our boisterous hero, Sty Beaujolais, a “borderline insane completely fearless” half-retard who reminds you of a cross between a young Chunk Norris and The Dos Equis guy, with a little Agent 86 thrown in for good measure. Sty is the kind of guy who hums his own theme music and wears a “mandana” signed by the great Bruce Willis.
Somehow, Beaujolais stumbles on a rare part from one of those old Enigma machines that the Nazis used to use during World War 2. And when he pairs up with the niece of his dead mentor, she becomes convinced that the part is one of three that, when used in connection with the Enigma machine, will give them the location of the lost city of Atlantis.
The problem is, his new female partner kinda hates him. As in, thinks he’s the worst human being in the world. Which is news to Beaujolais, who always operates under the assumption that all women love him.
Anyway, Beaujolais and his “romantic interest” (as he calls her) must bounce from country to country looking for these three missing Enigma parts, occasionally running into his evil nemesis, the snobby Brit, Victor Denardo, along the way. Denardo has perfected the villainous trait of waiting for the good guy to find the treasure so he can then steal it from under him.
Somewhere along the way it becomes unclear to us if they’re going after the lost City of Atlantis or just Nazi gold that was hidden after the war. But either way, Beaujolais is going all-in, like he always does, with plans to come away with the treasure, the girl, and a terribly pitched version of the closing credits song.
After finishing Beaujolais, I sat there stumped. What I’d read certainly had energy. It boasted a fun larger-than-life main character I could see an A-list comedian having fun with. The dialogue was amusing at times (ANNA: “Good. Then we’re in this together.” Sty takes this in – leaning back in his seat. STY: “Are you asking to join Sty Beaujolais on a professional adventure? In the role of the clever sidekick perhaps? Is that what you’re saying?” ANNA: “I have no idea what any of that means.” STY: “Maybe the love interest?” ANNA: “Absolutely not.”) There was even a clear goal driving the plot (find the lost city of Atlantis).
And yet I found myself bored. But I couldn’t tell if it was because the script wasn’t funny or if I didn’t find this character funny. The overly self-aware manly-main character, who’s graced the leading role in about ten specs I’ve read over the years, seems played out to me, like an extended version of the Dos Equis commercial guy.
My feeling is that there’s a reason the Dos Equis guy is in a commercial and not in a feature. People love that kind of thing for a few seconds. But can they handle it for it two hours?? It’s the McGruber Effect. McGruber is funny as a 3 minute SNL sketch, but his character isn’t built with enough weight to extend those 3 minutes to 100.
That’s the thing with comedies. When you think of them in a general sense, you imagine all the hilarity ensuing. It isn’t until you start writing, though, that you realize not every scene can be a 5 star knee-slapper. You’re going to need some scenes to set up your story, to set up your characters, to set up later situations. And, in those scenes, you’re going to need depth to draw upon. You’re going to need your character to actually give a shit.
Take a movie like There’s Something About Mary, which is VERY broad in its own right. The reason that movie works is because you love Ted (Ben Stiller). And you love Ted because of those early scenes where he’s being real. Where he’s genuinely falling in love with Mary.
Contrast that with Beaujolais, where Beaujolais is making a joke every five seconds about how he wants to bang Anna (the love interest). You know he doesn’t really like Anna. Every comment about her is a joke. So you’re never REALLY emotionally involved in whether Beaujolais is going to win her over or not. And to keep an audience’s interest, you need to be able to pull them in emotionally on SOME LEVEL.
If you want real laughs, and not just empty surface-level laughs, you need to make us care.
Does this mean it’s impossible to write a comedy that’s 100% broad humor? No, of course not. Austin Powers made three films and there wasn’t a second of sincerity in any of them. But they’re a lot tougher to pull off. And also, Austin Powers had something Beaujolais did not – variety.
Whereas it seemed like in every scene, Austin Powers was introducing some new crazy character (“Get into my belly!”) Beaujolais spends 90% of time with Beaujolais and Anna, which means we get to hear the SAME CONVERSATION over and over again. He points out how manly he is. She scoffs and tells him to pay attention to the mission. He makes a remark about how he wants to bang her. She rolls her eyes. They bicker a little, then it’s on to the next scene where this starts up all over again.
The scene between Beaujolais and Anna on page 90 is the exact same scene between Beaujolais and Anna on page 30. And you can’t have that. You need to mix up the dynamics of your relationships. You need to put your characters in new situations, situations that bring out OTHER types of jokes. We rarely saw that in Beaujolais.
Now this could all be an example of me not gelling with the humor here. Comedies, more than any other scripts, are wild cards in their journey from script to screen. Sometimes the ones that make you roll your eyes are the ones that end up being hilarious. And I may sound a little hypocritical since I’ll be first in line for Dumb and Dumber in two weeks. But I’d even made the argument there that the Farrellys took some time to ground those characters and their problems first (they ran out of money and their dream was destroyed) before getting all wacky with them. I never saw any sincerity in Beaujolais.
Still, I’d LOVE to get you comedy guys on this script to see what you think. Am I being too much of a screenplay stickler? This script was meant to be enjoyed, not analyzed! So tell me if I’m off-base. If you want to read it, let me know and I can tell you where to find it. Until then, this script was not for me.
[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: In comedy, you can’t keep recycling the same joke over and over again. Look to bring in new characters or new situations that allow you to explore other aspects of your characters, and therefore different jokes.
Genre: Sci-fi
Premise: In the future, 99% of the human race has been eliminated due to a virus outbreak. One of the survivors is sent back in time to try and kill the man who started it all.
About: This is college roommates’ Terry Matalas and Travis Fickett’s first series, although the two have worked before in TV on such shows as “Terra Nova” and the CW’s “Nikita.” Fickett is pretty excited to have the job, offering, “It’s constantly surreal. I’m still not used to writing something and almost the next day seeing a prop or piece of costuming or something just take shape.” Indeed, this is every writer’s dream! 12 Monkeys will premiere on SyFy this January. This is an earlier draft of the script, before showrunner Natalie Chaidez came on and added some finishing touches. For those who don’t know how a TV series works, the writer of the show will sometimes head up the showrunner position (where they’re actually running the show), but in cases where the writers are really green, or in situations where the writers don’t want the responsibility, they’ll hire a separate person to run the show, as was the case here.
Writers: Terry Matalas & Travis Fickett (inspired by the film written by David Peoples & Janet Peoples)
Details: March 2012 draft – 62 pages
Count me as a big fan of Terry Gilliam’s 1995 film, “12 Monkeys.” You remember those days, right? When studios took chances? And 12 Monkeys was one hell of a chance to take. It dirtied up its stars. It was “artsy.” It was different. It even gave you an ending that, gasp, made you THINK!
So I wouldn’t say I was against making the film into a TV series. But here’s my problem. In this new dash to fill up the hundreds of original TV spots that are out there, the TV folks are starting to do what the lazy film folks have been doing: Look into the past. Find something that’s already proven, either in this medium or another, then translate it. I mean they’re making a TV show based on Limitless for God’s sakes. Limitless?? That’s not a TV show.
And then there’s Syfy. Syfy is this channel that has the potential to dominate the sci-fi landscape, to take this new television world that stresses quality, find some wild out-of-the-box ideas, and give them the A+ production treatment. Become the genre version of AMC. Instead, they’re making bad B-movies and cheesy shows like the cringe-worthy Walking Dead knock-off, Z Nation.
I’m going to hope that 12 Monkeys is part of a new company mandate to start offering quality material. Because if there was ever a project that had some actual weight behind it – something that you could really play with and sink your teeth into, this is that property.
Cole lives in a post-apocalyptic future. Weeds have grown up through the pavement. City buildings are falling apart due to lack of care. Technically, Cole is one of the “lucky” ones who survived the virus that killed 99% of the world, but it sure doesn’t feel that way. In this future, you can’t even breathe without the help of an oxygen mask.
So it sure is nice when Cole gets sent back to the past, like before this whole apocalypse thing happened. Cole’s looking for a woman named Cassie Reynolds, a cute doctor who, later in life, will inform Cole that he has to jump back into the past and find her. If that makes sense.
The reason Cole needs to find Cassie is because Cassie knows where the ominously named Mason Frost is. And Mason Frost is the one who creates the virus that kills everyone. I’m guessing Cole saw Terminator 2 growing up, and he assumes that if he kills Mason, he’ll save the world.
But first he’s got to convince Cassie that he’s actually from the future, as people of the year 2014 have a hard time accepting time-jumping at face value. Once he convinces her, the two go on a little quest to find Mason and (big spoilers!) when they do, Cole kills him. Except that when he gets back to the future, it’s still the same. Mason must not have been the key piece. Which puts Cole right back at square 1.
12 Monkeys Retro!
One of the things I found really cool about the original 12 Monkeys was that we weren’t sure whether Cole was crazy or not. The future could’ve all been in his mind. The past could’ve all been in his mind. Maybe he was just a guy sitting in a white padded room in a straight-jacket.
When they ditched that here, the pilot lost something for me. However, I did recognize the difficulty inherent in maintaining a question of sanity over an entire series. Time travel alone is tricky to wrangle, so I’m guessing they saw this other question as too complicated and turned a variable into a constant.
Was the constant any good? It’s hard to say. Sort of, maybe? I’ll tell you one choice that infuriated me though (spoilers). There are zombies in 12 Monkeys. It’s been many years since I’ve seen the Gilliam film but I’m fairly certain there were no zombies. Yeah, they don’t call them “zombies” here. But there are these semi-dead people with white eyes in the apocalyptic future who try to kill you.
Look, I don’t have a problem with adding zombies or vampires or werewolves to anything. What I have a problem with is when the monsters are shoe-horned into the story inorganically. Readers and viewers can tell when you’re hopping on a trend instead of building an honest mythology. And if it screams “cheat,” we’re going to call you on it. I mean there’s a chance this will all be explained later satisfactorily. But there wasn’t enough good in this pilot to imply that that would be the case.
Further lowering my confidence was the use of “Occam’s Razor” in the dialogue. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve read a character asking another character, “Have you heard of Occam’s Razor?” in a sci-fi script. Yes! We’ve heard of Occam’s Razor! In just about every single science-fiction screenplay written between the years of 1995-2005. It’s the sci-fi equivalent to the “Scorpion and the Frog” fable. These things need to be locked up in a writer’s “never to be used again” box.
I mean, come on. We’re writers here. One of the only things we have control over is effort. We might not be the most talented. We might not be the most educated. But we control how hard we try. And if you’re going with Occam’s Razor, one of the most often used example theories in the business, it says you’re not trying hard enough to come up with something original.
Another red flag here was the villain who was evil just because he’s a villain. Mason Frost is a nasty evil individual not because there was something in his past that made him this way. Not because of some psychological problem. But only because he’s the villain and it’s the villain’s job to be evil.
Characters in screenplays are supposed to be REAL. They’re supposed to have lived full lives, just like you and me. If you treat a character as if they are a simplistic cog in the machine, they will treat you that way right back. They will only give out what you put into them. And if all you think of them is that they’re “evil” then how do you think they’re going to represent themselves? In big general generic evil ways.
But if you figure out why your villain became this way. If you map out (either mentally or in a document) what brought them to this point in their lives, they’re going to give you a lot more. Because they have more to give back from. So yeah, that really frustrated me.
I mean the story for the 12 Monkeys pilot isn’t that bad. It’s kind of cool to see this disheveled guy from the future come back to this perfect world and try to kill this guy. It’s got a lot of the story elements that I champion here on the site. It’s got a goal. It’s got some of the biggest stakes you’re going to find. But everything else here felt too familiar. It didn’t feel like the writers were trying hard enough to give us something fresh. The zombies are a perfect example of that (“Hey, why not throw in zombies?” “Yeah, why not!”).
I will hope that the series proves me wrong but as for the pilot script, it wasn’t for me.
[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: One of the many things you have to pull off in a TV pilot, is a “preview,” if you will, of what the show will be like going forward. By watching the first show, we should get a feel for what dozens of future episodes will look like. After 12 Monkeys was over, I didn’t see where we were going from here. (spoilers) He’d killed Mason, so he’d achieved his goal. Game over, right? Sure, when he gets to the future and learns that it’s still the apocalypse, we’re guessing he’s going to have to go back to the past again, but in what capacity? Are we just going to repeat this episode over and over again where he looks for “the next guy” to kill? I’m not getting a strong enough sense for what’s next. And when the audience doesn’t get that feel, they don’t tune in next week.
