YES! I’m finally reviewing it!
Genre: Sci-Fi
Premise: After the humans win the war against the robots, we get a highlight reel of the major moments that led to both the rise and fall of the machines.
About: Robopocalypse is one of the most famous properties ever purchased by Hollywood due to the fact that Steven Spielberg was announced as the director. The book was optioned in 2011. Drew Goddard was hired to adapt. Chris Hemsworth was hired as the male lead with Anne Hathaway in the main female role. The 200 million dollar film was scheduled to be released in 2012 by Disney. But Spielberg delayed it and then, a year later, left the project. The book’s writer, Daniel Wilson, to this day is hoping it makes it back onto some studio’s radar.
Writer: Daniel Wilson
Details: 350 pages
As I look back at Spielberg’s output over the last decade, I keep thinking of how it could’ve changed for the positive if he had directed Robopocalypse. The name alone screamed “GIANT SUMMER MOVIE” and felt like a perfect strike for the best mainstream director of our time.
So when he suddenly abandoned the sure-fire hit to send audiences into 2 hours of cryo sleep with Lincoln, I was disappointed. The funny thing is, I had no clue what the story for Robopocalypse was other than there was going to be a robot apocalypse. But that was the genius of it! It’s one of the great titles in title history, like “Monster-In-Law.” You knew EXACTLY what the movie was about just by hearing the title! It would’ve made hundreds of millions of dollars. Heck, it might STILL make hundreds of millions of dollars.
So I decided to finally read the book and do some detective work (along with some serious speculation) to discover why Spielberg may have left the project. And you know what? I think I figured it out. Before I share that with you, here’s a quick breakdown of the book.
We start out deep in the northern part of Alaska as soldiers dig out some sophisticated computer equipment from a giant hole in the ground. We’re told by soldier Cormac Wallace that the “New War” is over. The humans have defeated the robots. They are recovering the central computer, Archos, that controlled the attack. As a result, they will have all the major recorded events that led up to the war.
The book then is a “curation” of the most important events Cormac found in the hard drive. Everything from official interviews to events that security cameras caught on city streets are all on file. This allows the author, Daniel Wilson, to write a bunch of short stories. It is both the best thing and the worst thing about the book.
These stories include the first robot attack, which takes place in a convenience store where a robot bludgeons an employee to death. Another story follows a group of workers at a factory who play a prank on their weird older boss, kidnapping his love robot and bringing it to work, where it proceeds to attack the older man, biting his face off. We see the night in the city when all the cars – which are all computer controlled now – just start riding up on sidewalks, mowing down as many humans as possible.
My favorite story was when one of the main characters, a congresswoman, is driving her family to her father’s country house to escape the beginning of the war when she gets a call from her father to head to the Indianapolis Speedway instead. She then sees a pickup truck shooting towards her from behind and then it pulls up to the side of her momentarily and we see this woman inside, crying hysterically, banging on the windows for help. The car then shoots forward, steers into the oncoming lane, and plows into another car, each blowing up.
Our rattled mom then does a U-turn to head back to the new destination but meets a roadblock of another crash up ahead. There’s a man from one of the cars lying on the side of the road so she hurries out to see if he’s still alive. He’s dead. And his phone is in his hand. She hears a message from his wife. It says that she needs him to turn around and meet her at the Indianapolis Speedway.
Eventually, the book evolves into a semi-narrative (I say “semi” cause it’s still, essentially, a series of short stories) that follows the resistance and its eventual discovery of Archos’s location. The main regiment that Cormac is a member of teams up with some Native American soldiers and they head to Alaska, where they battle terrain that has been carefully prepped with robot defenses. A lot of people die but, as we already know, the humans win.
Official Concept Art
There’s an obvious freedom that comes from not being tethered to a narrative. You can write any short story you want. This allows you to only write the best of the best stories to come out of the war. The problem is, when you don’t have a narrative that pulls it all together, when you don’t have a main character who is guiding you through it all, the reader starts to dissociate from the story. That’s because every time we, the reader, start a new chapter, we’re starting over.
If I had to guess, I’d say that’s the reason the movie didn’t get made.
The book gives you the concept but it doesn’t give you the narrative. As a result, you can go in any direction you want. You can tell the story from anybody’s point of view. While that seems tempting, you are then moving away from the book since you’re not including all of the short stories. What are you really adapting, then?
I bet that what happened was Drew Goddard did that first draft and it sucked because he had too much choice. He could do anything he wanted, which blinded him from finding the best angle. That draft was sent to Spielberg. He probably realized it was the wrong take. And Spielberg knows that good scripts take time. He ultimately decided not to invest that time. So the project was dropped.
Another problem is that the book starts with the war being over and the humans winning. I understand that they did this with the World War Z book as well but I think it’s a terrible way to go into a story. You have zapped any and all suspense the second you tell us who won the war. Why are we even reading then? It’s an odd storytelling choice that I’ll never understand.
And we saw that, in the script development of World War Z, after trying to utilize the original structure through several writers, they realized it was a stupid idea and decided to tell the story in chronological order instead. Which is what you need to do here. I don’t know if Goddard tried to do that on his first pass or not. But if he didn’t, there’s no doubt that’s the reason the draft sucked.
Just like any short story collection, the book works when the short story is good and doesn’t work when the short story is bad. Luckily, there are a lot more good stories than bad here.
There’s a terrifying plane scene where the onboard computers link two planes up to collide and the pilots have to desperately figure out a way to avoid it. There’s a horror chapter where a little girl’s toy bot becomes evil. There’s a story out in Afghanistan where an American and Afghani soldier must team up to take down a determined psycho robot. Wilson has a good eye for dramatically entertaining scenarios.
The only thing that annoyed me was that Wilson would occasionally cheat. For example, he starts out every chapter saying something like: “This event was recorded by a series of public cameras and the sound was recorded by numerous nearby cell phones.” He would then write the story like this: “John had a lump in his throat the size of the Grand Canyon. He was never good with pressure but now he didn’t have a choice.” How is it that public cameras and recording cellphones know that John had a lump in his throat and was really nervous? That makes no sense.
It’s not a huge thing but if you’re going to create these rules to your story – where you’re pretending that all of this was available due to public recordings – you can’t change those rules in order to write descriptive prose. You have to treat it like it’s just the facts. Unless you want to break the suspension of disbelief.
But look. They should still make this movie! With the fast rise of AI, the subject matter is more relevant than ever. All you need is to get a good director and a good writer to read the book then sit down for an 8-hour brainstorming session where you hash out what the best story angle is. There are a dozen angles that could work. Then you go write the thing. I could have a draft for you in a month if you want.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[x] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: My approach to adapting something like this would be to write down all of the scenes in the book that you could imagine would make great movie moments, the kind of images or scenarios that you would see in a trailer. For example, that scene of the woman trapped in her truck banging on the windows crying to get out as it passes our protagonist’s car – that’s a trailer moment right there. It totally sells the movie. Come up with as many of those as possible and then see if there’s a version of the story where you can include them all. If you can’t find one, then find one that includes MOST of them. If you still can’t find one, find the idea that incorporates as many of them as possible. Cause those moments are your film-sellers. So that’s what you want to build your story around.
Joker 2 has been getting beaten up by the press all week. But is it actually the best movie of the year?
Genre: Superhero/Drama/Musical
Premise: As Arthur Dent, aka The Joker, awaits trial, he meets a woman in his prison music class who may be just as crazy as he is.
About: Joker: Folie a Deux hit theaters this week and managed to make just 40 million dollars. For comparison, the first Joker made 96 million dollars on its opening weekend. It’s a very concerning number not only for this movie, but for Hollywood in general. Joker was the freshest take on a superhero movie in a decade. For audiences to cool on that take so quickly leaves very few avenues for a still-superhero-dependent studio system going forward.
Writer: Scott Silver and Todd Phillips
Details: 2 hours 18 minutes
Arthur Fleck currently resides in Arkham Prison (or the insane asylum wing of the prison?), where he’s awaiting trial for the five murders he committed in the first film. Arthur lives a fairly mundane existence in lock-up but as least he’s a celebrity. People are always asking him to tell a joke. It helps that they made a TV movie about his murders and it became, unlike this film, a big hit.
While Arthur awaits his trial, the head guard, who’s a friend of Arthur’s, signs him up for a prison music class, and that’s where he meets Harley Quinn, who’s a big fan of Arthur’s. The two fall for each other immediately and when they meet in the class a few days later, Harley covertly sets a fire in the room so they can escape and hang out alone for a while.
Meanwhile, Arthur’s lawyer keeps reminding him how important the trial is, telling him that he must disavow his Joker personality. If he can convince the judge that that version of himself is a lie, is a thing that takes over his body, then he will not be convicted for murder. Arthur acts like he understands but with Arthur, you never know. At no point are all the lights on in Arthur’s attic.
When the trial finally starts, it’s a circus. Everyone wants to be a part of it. Harley, who has since checked herself out of the asylum, is Arthur’s biggest fan. She’s there every single day. But when she sees Arhtur’s lawyer holding him back, she implores him to ditch her. Arthur does and, the next day, shows up to represent himself… as the Joker. What could possibly go wrong?
People are going to tell you this movie is terrible. It isn’t.
Joker 2 is too unique of an experience to be terrible.
When you make a hit movie inside a major franchise, what does every sequel do? They go BIGGER. Right? Bigger set pieces. Bigger effects. Bigger freaking story! And if I’m being completely honest, I would’ve liked to see that. I would’ve loved to see Todd Phillips’ version of Batman. And it didn’t have to be some big story with heists or anything like that. But some conflict with Batman? I would’ve been in.
Phillips eschewed that and, at least from my untrained filmmaking eye, kept things small like the first. Who does that in this day and age? Nobody! Everybody takes the bait. Go bigger, harder, faster! Phillips understands that in the history of sequels going bigger has worked like three times. People liked the first film cause it was simple. So why not keep the second one simple?
Of course, none of that matters if the script doesn’t work.
So, did it?
As I sat there watching Joker 2, I asked that question a lot. I loved the first 30 minutes. Normally, when a script is a slow burn, it’s fast boredom. But this wasn’t that. Getting to know Arthur’s life inside the prison was sad yet unexpectedly sweet. The guards aren’t mean to him. They’re friendly and often joke around with Arthur.
Things lift up when Arthur meets Harley. You can see that this changes Arthur. It’s his first time experiencing real love and he (and we) can’t wait to see them together.
But as the movie went on, I found myself getting bored. I asked myself, “What’s powering the narrative here?” By ‘powering the narrative’ I mean, what’s making us want to keep watching? If I was watching this at home, what are the things that are going to prevent me from turning the movie off and watching Love Island instead?
There were two arguments to be made.
Number 1 was the conclusion of the trial. Theoretically, we wanted to see if Arthur won or lost the trial.
Number 2 was, would he and Harley end up together?
From a screenwriting perspective, these are both strong story engines. They *should* be able to power a story if done well.
Unfortunately, neither worked. Each had their moments. But neither engine could sustain itself. They would constantly peter out, requiring a jump.
With the trial, I think the thing that kept it from working was the stakes. The script never made it clear what would happen if Arthur won. We knew what happened if he lost. He remained in prison. But if he won… well, they never mentioned anything about it if he won. And that’s because they knew that if they told the audience the truth – that he heads to the insane asylum – that it was really no different than if he lost.
So what they did was they never mentioned it HOPING that we would think, hmmm, maybe if Arthur wins, he goes free!
We screenwriters think we’re so slick. That we can dance around these holes. But the truth is we can’t. If the audience doesn’t know what the exact value of obtaining the goal is, they’re going to feel a vagueness while they watch the film. They won’t know why something feels off. They’ll just know they’re not as invested.
But Phillips and Silver were smart. They added a second engine just in case the first one didn’t work. I’ve told writers to do this before. Two engines is better than one. Heck, on an airplane, it’s the difference between landing and crashing into a mountain should one engine flame out.
The second engine is this love story. But I’m sad to report, that didn’t work either. I enjoyed their meet cute scene. I enjoyed a couple of their dance numbers (the tap dancing one was my favorite – the one upbeat number in the film). But the problem is… there was no conflict between them. They both instantly liked each other. So the sum of their interactions was never interesting.
I suppose you can make the Titanic argument here – that the entertainment value of their relationship was not determined by the conflict between them, but rather by the conflict surrounding them. And, yeah, we genuinely don’t know if they’ll end up together. So that’s a reason to keep watching.
But I didn’t care. Something about them wasn’t interesting enough for me to care whether they got together or not.
That left me with little reason to watch.
But there was a third reason the story didn’t work. And it’s something we don’t talk about a lot on the site. It’s what I call, “Script Muck.” Script Muck is half a scene here, a stale subplot there, staying in one section of the script too long there. It is the accumulation of all the things you could’ve cut but didn’t. When you cut those things, the script moves faster. Less boring parts = stronger audience attention.
I’ll give you a prime example of some script muck that should’ve been cut. When we finally get to the courtroom section (over halfway through the film), Arthur starts the case with his lawyer. We get 2-3 long scenes in the courtroom with that lawyer before Arthur finally says, “I’m done with this! I want to represent myself!” And he changes from Arthur into The Joker, which injects the script with some much needed energy.
Why not start the courtroom stuff with Arthur already representing himself? The courtroom scenes were so slow before that. They were script muck. And I know the answer Phillips would give you. He would say that it’s a much more dramatic reveal if we’ve been in court for a while. But dude, it’s not necessary. You could’ve sliced off 10-15 minutes there alone.
I first became worried about this movie when it got a 7 minute standing ovation at Cannes. Not because 7 minutes was less minutes than other standing ovations at the festival. But because the French gave an ovation to it in the first place! If the French like a film, it’s probably terrible.
But then I got worried in the lead-up to the release when I saw that NOBODY was doing press for the film! A major studio production sequel to a big hit and nobody’s out there promoting it?!? That’s straight-up weird. Even worse, the one interview Phillips did, the only soundbite that came out of it was, “I’m done with this franchise.” That doesn’t exactly make me want to run out to the theater. Sheesh.
I guess people were right when they said nobody asked for this sequel. But I still think that if they had made a good movie, people would’ve come out in droves. Or not. I guess we’ll never know!
[ ] What the hell did I just watch?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the price of admission
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: (MAJOR SPOILERS) I saw that this movie got a D CinemaScore. Which is REALLY BAD. But it doesn’t always mean that the movie itself was bad. It means that something happened in the movie that the audience hated. No doubt they were responding to Arthur being killed at the end. This same thing happened with Uncut Gems, when Adam Sandler was killed in the end. That got a D CinemaScore as well, and that movie is a masterpiece. But the lesson here is that the large majority of audiences don’t like when you kill your main character off in the end. You get “cool” points from cinephiles and elder statesman critics and industry folks who love when writers have the balls to say “F Hollywood.” But if you want to write a movie that people actually enjoy, don’t kill your protagonist off at the end.
Title: ”Based on a True Story”
Genre: Comedy Feature
Logline: A struggling screenwriter recruits his writer friends to help him turn his fictional heist script into a True Story in the hopes it’ll make it more marketable.
Scene Setup: Our protagonist, Andrew, is trying to convince his writer friends to help him act out the events of his screenplay so he can claim it’s a true story, thereby making it much more marketable. He wants to use the money to save the bar he works at (and lives in).
For starters, let’s give it up to Dan Martin. Not just for winning. But for winning with a COMEDY ENTRY. How often does that happen here on the site? This guy’s breaking all the rules! So, let’s take a look at the scene in full then I can tell you why I chose it for the competition and why, I believe, it won.
This is a more clever setup than I originally gave it credit for. The main reason I picked it was the combination of the funny dialogue and the relevant-to-screenwriting subject matter. But the concept’s fun too. You have a movie idea. But you know selling it will be much easier if it’s based on a true story. So you then create the true story to base the screenplay on. That’s funny!
As for the scene itself, there are several things to celebrate. Let’s start with the structure because it isn’t apparent at first glance. When you first read this scene, you’re focused on the funny interaction. But, actually, the interaction has a purpose. Andrew’s GOAL is to convince his friends to help him steal this art. Once you have a goal, you have structure, due to the pursuit of an objective that requires a resolution. Either he’s going to convince them or not convince them. We keep reading to find out which one.
A goal also gives us our three-act structure within the scene. The setup – Introduce his plan. The conflict – pushback from the others about the plan, forcing Andrew to work harder to convince them. The resolution – They agree to help.
Contrast this against a scene where friends at a bar are just debating whether true story movies are real or not. We would’ve gotten some funny lines, just like this scene. But after a few pages, the reader would’ve started to get frustrated due to the lack of purpose in the scene.
This is a big difference between real life and storytelling. In real life, it’s fine to go to a bar and debate crap for 2 hours. Heck, I recently had an hour-long debate with a friend about whether Da Bears were any good this year. That’s great FOR REAL LIFE. But if you were to put that debate in a script, the reader would literally hate you for the rest of your life and beyond. There’s no structure to that. Which is where scene-writing comes in. You need to have that PURPOSE within the scene.
Moving on to the characters.
Often, when I read a script, I forget who’s who because the writer hasn’t done a good enough job differentiating the characters. A great place where you can differentiate characters is in their dialogue, which Dan does a nice job of here.
For starters, Dan establishes Andrew as the big talker. So whenever I see a lot of talking, I immediately know it’s Andrew. On the flip side of that, Bob barely says anything. Most of his responses are one line. Then you have Doug, who’s established as the guy who pushes back the most (“Don’t you f&cking dare!” “You’re going to hell.”). And I always remembered Julie because she’s the lone female in the group.
One of the more valuable skills a screenwriter can possess is the ability to write dialogue so specific to a character that we don’t need to look at the character’s name to know it’s them who’s talking. So, if you can pull that off, you are well ahead of the competition.
Another thing this scene does well is highlight something that people think but don’t often say. Larry David built his entire brand on this comedy concept. ‘Based on a true story’ is a bullsh%t notion. People will change dozens of things about the real story if it means improving the script. So to have a scene where characters humorously poke fun at this is a fun idea all by itself.
Of course, you still have to execute it. Aka you actually have to be a funny writer, which Dan is. My favorite part, by far, was when Andrew started bringing up Braveheart and Doug started having a meltdown. It’s funny because Braveheart is a sacred film to many. And, in comedy, you want to exaggerate these humorous anecdotes to get the biggest laughs out of them.
In other words, Doug doesn’t respond to Andrew’s first Braveheart dig with a casual, “Come on, Andrew, you know that’s not true.” You’re not going to get a laugh out of that. You have to go with something more extreme, such as, “Don’t you f*cking dare.” And when Andrew keeps going, Doug delivers my favorite line of the scene: “Blasphemous! That script is canon!”
It’s funny because, a) there was no talk of “canon” in the 90s. And b) there’s no such thing as real-life canon. The second that line was delivered, I knew the scene was going into the showdown.
Another thing I liked about the dialogue was the balance between structure and playfulness. You need both when you’re writing a comedy. But too much of either can kill the scene. For example, if you add too much structure, it can restrain the scene. Let’s say Andrew started with, “Okay, we only have 60 seconds before [our boss] comes back. We have to figure this out now.” Sure, you’re adding more structure to the scene via a time constraint. But you’re also not letting the dialogue breathe.
One of the fun things about this scene is that the dialogue has that element of real life where people talk a little too much. Did Andrew really need to add the point about how Mel Gibson tried to get a “true story” label for Passion of the Christ? That could be cut and the scene wouldn’t miss anything. But it comes out of the flow of the conversation so it works.
With that said, if the group decided to run down Mel Gibson’s best movies and Dan tries to get a bunch of jokes out of that, the reader likely would’ve said, “That’s too much.” In other words, there is a limit to “dialogue flow,” just like there’s a limit to structure. Good screenwriters understand that balance well.
I talk about this stuff and a lot of other dialogue intricacies in my dialogue book, “The Best Dialogue Book Ever Written.” Make sure to grab a copy if you haven’t already.
I can’t leave without pointing out the value of “writer comfort.” Dan feels very comfortable in this setting. Whereas maybe another writer doesn’t feel as comfortable writing ensemble dialogue. They feel more comfortable writing an action set piece on a pirate ship. Find your comfort zone and write the best possible thing you can in that space. I’m all for challenging yourself and trying new things. But your best writing is usually going to take place in the genres you feel comfortable in.
Good job Dan! And if you have the entire script, I’m more than happy to review it on the site. In fact, I’m willing to review any script from the top three vote earners since all three of those entries finished so close together. Just send the script my way! :)
Tomorrow, I’ll be reviewing the winner of Scene Showdown! But today, I want to look at one of the scenes that didn’t make the Top 5. Obviously, there were a ton of scenes that didn’t make the cut and I wish I could break down all of them. I chose this specific scene because it’s a good representation of the level of writing I received in the Showdown.
I’m hoping, with this breakdown, I can help both the writer and all aspiring screenwriters who are trying to get better at scene-writing. Let’s get into it!
Title: Reaper
Genre: Horror
Logline: When a high school girl discovers her family’s shocking connection to the Grim Reaper, she must save her little brother before a violent curse overtakes him. Some family secrets should stay dead.
From the very opening paragraph, I’m worried. “PUSH INTO the back of DAD’S head.” This is sort of a weird description and I’m not sure what to do with it. I generally understand that we’re behind a character and the camera is pushing into the back of their head. But my question is, “Why?” Why start pushing into the back of someone’s head? So we can see the details of their new haircut?
I don’t really know what “hardline posture” is. That leaves me with two questions in the opening paragraph and that’s usually enough to bail on a script. If I’m struggling to make it through the opening paragraph, based on my previous reading experience, I know there are going to be a lot more questions in the pages ahead.
I’m guessing that this image is meant to convey that a really bad storm is coming and they need to get to safety. The reason I believe this is because the writer has started with that image – the image of a man staring out into a storm. Whatever images you start with, the reader assumes those images are important. So I wouldn’t expect this to be a casual storm. I’m expecting it to be a big storm.
This is followed by voices in the background discussing something. This is a pet peeve of mine – when you start a script with voices from characters we haven’t met yet. Early on in a script (or, in this case, a scene), the reader is desperate to understand what’s going on. People speaking who don’t have names yet creates an air of confusion and frustration.
Case in point, as I mentioned, I assumed they were leaving because of the storm. But when I read the scene back, I’m thinking they’re leaving because something is happening in the house. The reason I didn’t pick up on that the first time was because I was expending my mental energy on figuring out who these voices were. That prevented me from focusing on the content of what they were saying.
I’m getting frustrated now that people who are important enough to dictate what happens don’t have a name yet (The Woman). I would like to know, one page in, if this is a mom, if this is an Aunt, if this is a friend. And what is their name? Us readers are desperate to make sense of things so the more you leave basic things unknown, the more frustrated we get.
“The Woman dips into frame, her worried brow creased like bedsheets after a fitful rest.” I don’t dislike this line but it reads more like a line from a novel than a screenplay. Screenplays need to get to the point. They’re not about nailing the perfect analogy or metaphor. This writing choice is not something that would make me stop reading but it’s something that, when combined with the problems I’ve already mentioned, might be the final nail in the coffin.
I’m realizing, at this point, that I don’t know why this family is leaving. As I pointed out, I initially thought it was because of the storm. But then I thought maybe it was because of something that was happening in the house (a haunting, perhaps?).
The reason this matters is because I need to understand what the engine underneath the characters’ actions is in order to enjoy the scene. For example, if you had established that something was after them in the house, now I know that the car ride is to get away from that something. But since I don’t know why they left the house, there’s no tension or purpose within the car scene. They might as well be on a road trip.
It makes lines like this: “Dad drives, locked forward, white knuckles groaning against the rubber steering wheel,” confusing because why have white knuckles when there’s been no clearly established threat? Yes, there have been allusions to a threat. But if the nature of the threat hasn’t been established, the reader is not going to feel any tension or anticipation or suspense or worry, which are all the things the reader *should* be feeling in a scene like this.
It affects even the end of this segment, where Cass makes the duck joke. A joke that is made specifically to cut the tension makes sense. But if we don’t feel the tension, the joke is just a random joke.
At this point I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. The second a character farts in a script, I consider that script slapstick. Fart humor is lowest common denominator humor so my feelings about this scene are plunging quickly. Just a page ago, we seemed like we were in a really serious place. Now it’s all shits and giggles, literally.
I suppose you can argue that Max and Mark are trying to lighten the mood. But, as I’ve already established, I don’t know what the mood is. I still don’t know why they’re driving somewhere or if they’re trying to escape something. By the way, the first time I read this scene, I thought Max was the dad. Only when I went through it again did I realize he was the kid. That’s what happens when you start your script with voice overs from characters we haven’t met yet. It makes every character that much harder to identify.
I’m not sure what “suckles from the blade” means. One thing that is definitely a big problem in screenwriting is when basic actions cause confusion due to the way they’re written. Constructing clear and concise sentences should be the easiest part of screenwriting. So if that mistake is happening, it needs to be fixed immediately.
The best way to fix this problem is, usually, to simplify it. We often try and be too clever by half with our writing when a simple description will suffice. I believe the writer is saying that Mark is sucking the blade. But I don’t know why. So tell us he’s sucking the blade and tell us why.
Here’s a tip for screenwriters. When you write the description in your script, write it in the clearest form possible. Don’t get cute. If the character is walking to a table, don’t say, “He sashays unwittingly to the table, like a raccoon on Broadway.” Just say, “Joe walks (or hurries) to the table.” Then, in subsequent drafts, if you want, you can add some flavor to the description. The problems with sentence structure often begin when the writer starts off with some unwieldy description. Start simple and if you feel like, later on, the description needs more flavor, add it.
I see and respect what the writer is trying to do here. Drifting onto the median implies that something bad is about to happen which, in turn, builds suspense. So the scene is picking up.
But this is the funny thing about screenwriting. You can do something good on page 40. But if everything leading up to page 40 was average or slightly-above-average, the reader is not going to be invested in what’s happening. They’re only going to be invested if you built up a compelling story in those previous 40 pages.
Same thing here. I like that things are picking up. But I still don’t know why they left the house. I don’t like the weird vibe in the car where people are farting and pretending to be apple-mouthed Draculas. I’m more confused than I am entertained and, therefore, when genuine suspense-initiators are introduced, I’m only partially invested.
When a character tells a story in a script, it is, in essence, no different from the overall story being told in your screenplay – IT MUST BE ENTERTAINING. This story about how the dad needed to get a job is fine, I suppose. But is it worthy of taking up the bulk of the dialogue in the car? I would say no. I’m not even sure why the story is being told. Is it Christmas time? is that why he’s relaying an old Christmas story? I’m struggling to see how the story connects to the situation.
This is the best part of the scene, hands down. We have the payoff of drifting into the middle lane. We have the payoff of Mark mucking around with a knife. The image is shocking, borderline disturbing. So, to that end, I give the writer credit. Something definitely HAPPENED in this scene, which is more than I can say for the majority of the scenes that were entered into Scene Showdown.
I don’t get the part where “something’s wrong with Dad,” though. Maybe that will be explained later in the script. I do think, for the sake of only being able to submit a single scene, the writer should have better set up that “something” that was “wrong with dad” earlier in the scene. That would’ve given the dad’s decision to crash the car more punch.
The final image is a fun one. I like the apple stabbed into the throat. The looming grim reaper looking down on him is also a good shot. So the scene ends with a kick, which is nice.
But let’s go over the reasons why the scene didn’t make the Showdown. One, the opening had too many unclear moments. Two, there were some clunky descriptions. Three, I didn’t know why they left the house. And finally, four, the scene didn’t achieve the main thing it was trying to do, which was create a tension-filled car ride.
Hopefully, this helps the writer out. Now it’s time for you guys to chime in. What did you make of the scene? Share your thoughts in the comments. :)
I’m swamped trying to put the October newsletter together so today I’m re-posting my script review for Megalopolis. Enjoy!
Genre: Drama/Event/touch of sci-fi
Premise: An architect in a futuristic New York City tries to create utopia with a new mini-city.
About: One of the more famous scripts in Hollywoodland, this is Francis Ford Coppola’s long-gestating “dream project” which you’ve likely heard about in his interviews. Coppola, who notoriously lashes out at the studio system whenever he gets the chance, says he only made his last three studio films, Bram Stoker’s Dracula
Writer: Francis Ford Coppola
Details: 212 pages!!!
For all you youngsters out there, Sofia Coppola 
However, blaming others is always the easy way out when things don’t go your way. It’s not “my” fault this isn’t a movie. It’s “their” fault. Whoever “they” may be. Maybe it’s the studios. Maybe it’s the suits. Maybe it’s the ticket-buying public themselves. “They” don’t understand what good movies are, which is why they’re not asking for movies like this one.
I happen to think that now is the most prominent time for experimentation in film EVER. Sure, you can’t do that experimenting on a 70-150 million dollar platform, but should you really be that pompous as to require 100 million dollars for an idea that has the potential to top out at 20 million? The more I think about it, the more absurd those old movie practices seemed to be. You might as well have gone to Vegas and put it all on Red.
Anyway, I’ve heard about Megalopolis so many times at this point that I finally decided to sit down and read it, despite its ridiculous 212 page length (making Titanic look like a Pixar short). I wanted to come to my own conclusion as to why the film was never made. Is this a great film in waiting that slipped through the cracks or a cinematic disaster of mega proportions?
Serge Catalane is our genius architect anti-hero, a controversial public figure whom the public has a love-hate relationship with. These days Serge does two things – work and gorge himself in debauchery. Serge would impregnate a mule if it gave him even a split-second of euphoria. Of course all his excess is to muzzle the sad man that he really is, which is probably why he works so hard – to keep reality from rearing its ugly head.
There are a TON of characters in Megalopolis. Too many for this reader to keep track of. I always tell writers to cut down their character count so that the reader isn’t backtracking every five pages to figure out who’s who – a surefire way to sap the entertainment out of your script. If you want to see just HOW damaging this practice can be, download Megalopolis and read it now. It’s like being in charge of immigration in 1853 New York without a book to write in. You just have to memorize the 18 trillion names in your head.
The key players are Mayor Frank Cicero, who wants to build a new modern mini-city inside of New York called “Cityworld.” He’s partnered up with the richest man in the city, 70 year old Gene Hamilton, to deliver this utopia. Then there’s Julia Cicero, Frank’s wild child daughter who doesn’t agree with his conservative ways.
Frank and Gene seem to have everything in place to make Cityworld happen when Serge charges in and says he has a cheaper cooler mini-city to make called “Megalopolis.” All the investors care about is the bottom line, so they kick Cityworld to the curb and give Megalopolis the go ahead.
Frank becomes obsessed with taking Serge down but that plan goes screwy when his daughter (the aforementioned Julia) falls in love with Serge and joins him in his quest to create Megalopolis.
That’s when the weird starts happening. There’s a Cher/Madonna/Angelina Jolie like diva named Wow (yes, that’s her name) who I believe is marrying 70 year old Gene but who is secretly having an affair with both Serge and another guy (one of the bankers maybe?). She keeps popping up, though I couldn’t tell you why as I’m not sure she had any influence on the plot at all.
Then there’s Vesta, a 15 year old pop star who oozes sex and I believe is supposed to be a commentary on Britney Spears, although I thought this was written before Spears blessed America with her talents. Serge ends up banging Vesta in a sex tape and Frank and Gene help get that tape exposed, in the hopes that it will derail Serge’s Megalopolis.
It doesn’t. In fact, not only does the court not give a crap, but Julie (conveniently) could care less as well. She lets Serge sleep with whatever and whoever he wants, explaining that it’s a small price to pay in order to be associated with genius. Aww, true love!
We then watch this thing get built over the next five or so years as a myriad of obstacles (some of them soap-opera’ish, others political) try and derail Megalopolis. It all culminates in a huge bloody violent finale festival celebrating the opening of the city dubbed: “Saturnalia.”
Megalopolis is one of those ideas you get early on as a writer that you like because of its ambitiousness, but never really consider how unfit it is as a full-fledged movie. It has bits and pieces of coolness but there’s no one thing to latch onto.
Minutes after finishing the 212 page opus, I still don’t see what the attraction of the film would be. It’s set in the future, which technically makes it sci-fi, but there’s not anything sci-fi about it, which brings it back into the realm of a “normal movie.” Which means you have a normal movie about a guy building a mini-city inside a city, which is kind of confusing when you break it down…….I mean am I the only one struggling to figure out what the hook is here?
What Coppola may have been going for was the next Citizen Kane, exploring a deep, complicated, flawed character’s obsession with his legacy, and more specifically what happens when an out-of-control ego and all the money in the world combine. But trying to write the next Citizen Kane is like trying to build the next Eifel Tower. It’s such a specific thing, nobody can replicate it.
My biggest problem, from a story sense, was that I didn’t like Serge. Anti-heroes can work but as I’ve pointed out numerous times, you have to give us something in a character to root for. It should preferably be substantial but at the very least minor.
I didn’t like anything about Serge. He was cold, he was rude, he was selfish, he was a misogynist, he was a cheater, he was a rapist. Lol. I mean come on here Francis! Throw me a bone! The goal here – to finish building Megalopolis – is a strong one. But it’s worthless unless we care about the man who’s trying to achieve it.
And don’t even get me started on the number of characters. At a certain point, when you’re writing a screenplay, you have to sit back and ask yourself, “Do I really need ONE MORE CHARACTER here?” Isn’t 30 enough? Do I need one more subplot that’s going to add one more 25 minute chunk to a movie that’s already 3-plus hours long?
I’m thinking specifically of Gene’s hotshot miracle-boy son, Claude, who has this whole subplot about trying to take Serge down. Why not just make Gene and Claude the same person? They’re both trying to do the same thing. Stuff like this is going to annoy anybody who’s put aside 4 hours to read your screenplay.
I hate to make this comparison but Megalopolis is kind of like a more sophisticated version of Southland Tales
You have to give credit to Coppola for creating something this complex and ambitious. Unfortunately, the pieces never end up fitting together, and the idea itself is too obscure to ever work as a whole. Luckily, this one is online for you guys to check out yourselves. So if you have some extra time, read it and tell me what you think.
Script link: Megalopolis
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Sometimes you have ideas that JUST. DON’T. WORK. I believe one of the greatest talents a writer can have is recognizing when an idea isn’t working and abandoning that script. Because if you spend six more months, or twelve more months, or, gasp, 2 more years, on that script that isn’t working, that’s 2 years you could’ve used to write something that did work. I believe Coppola held onto this so long because no one gave it to him straight. No one told him, “This will never work.” (and why would they? He made the freaking Godfather!) As writers, it’s our job to read between the lines when someone gives us feedback. If you give your script to ten people and their enthusiasm level is a collective “meh,” no matter how polite that “meh” is, your talents may be better suited working on another idea.
