Genre: Comedy
Premise: A sheep herder in the old west falls for a woman who’s married to the biggest gang leader in the region.
About: This is Family Guy (and Ted) creator Seth MacFarlane’s new movie. Last year’s Oscar host is taking his new film one step further from Ted and adding “lead actor” to his ever evolving resume. The film will co-star Charlize Theron, Liam Neeson, Amanda Seyfried, and Neil Patrick Harris. For those of you frustrated by all the recent successes I cover being of Ivy League pedigree (it seems like every other pro writer I review these days graduated from Harvard), you’ll be happy to hear that MacFarlane (whose fortune is measured at 150 million dollars over at Celebrity Net Worth) slummed it up at the Rhode Island School of Design before moving to Hollywood. Hey, if someone from Rhode Island can make it here, anybody can.
Writers: Seth MacFarlane and Alec Sulkin & Wellesley Wild
Details: 125 pages (1st draft)

I’ll be the first to admit, I did not think Ted was going to be a hit. Only afterwards did I realize the power of Seth MacFaralane, the multi-talented cartoonist, host, comedian, and now actor. It appears MacFarlane is now going the Trey Parker/Matt Stone route, evolving his cartoonist career into an acting one. Of course, that didn’t work out too well for the South Park duo (Baseketball was a jumbled mess of a concept that become too goofy for its own good, resulting in us never seeing Matt and Trey onscreen again), but MacFaralane has a 250 million dollar hit on his resume, which gives him a little more cache going into “West.”

That’s not to say all is swell in the land of this decision. MacFarlane looks really odd in the trailers, sort of like a wax museum character (the man never seems to have a hair out of place) set against a gaggle of much more authentic looking chess pieces. But I do have to give it to him as a writer-director. He’s come in to the movie space taking big risks (a talking teddy bear movie and a western comedy??), something no other comedy folks in Hollywood are really doing. You have to respect that. Let’s see what his latest script is all about.

It’s the olllllld West. 30-something Albert Stark is the world’s worst sheep herder. How bad? Occasionally his sheep will end up on the roof of his house. How that’s even possible, no one knows. Lucky for him, he’s got a hot girlfriend in Louise, even if she does treat him the way Kate treated Jon in Jon & Kate Plus 8. But after Albert backs down from a duel, Louise has had enough of his pussy ways and dumps him.

Bummed out, Albert tries to get back on the horse (apropos, since I think this is the era where that phrase was actually born!), but dating back in the Old West isn’t like dating today. Eager parents are pushing their 12 year-old daughters on you (which results in one of the most awkward dates you’ll ever see onscreen). Lucky for Albert, a sharp-tongued energetic woman named Anna arrives in town and the two immediately become friends. They decide to pretend to go out to make Louise jealous so Albert can get her back.

Unfortunately, Louise has moved on and is now dating the extremely arrogant town mustachier, a well-groomed fellow named Foy. As much as Albert would like to challenge old Foy, the reality is that he’s a coward. It’s why he lost Louise in the first place and it’s why he’ll never have a woman like her again. Not so, says Anna! She’ll teach him how to shoot, and that way he can duel against Foy and win back the girl of his dreams.

Oh, but there’s one last problem. Anna isn’t telling the whole truth. She’s married to the most ruthless gangster in all the land, and he’s on his way to town RIGHT NOW. The cowardly Albert will not only have to take down his nemesis, Foy, but also the Billy The Kid of his era. Will he be able to do it? And even if he does, can he still avoid one of the million other ways to die in the West? We shall see!

“Million Ways To Die” was surprisingly good, especially for a first draft (although “labeled” first drafts are always tricky to measure. It might mean it was the first draft given to the studio. But it could’ve been the 10th draft they worked on before that point). But here’s what I liked about this script, and it’s a lesson screenwriters everywhere should jot down.

“Million Ways to Die” allowed us to take comedy tropes we’ve seen a million times before, and make them fresh. Think about it. How many comedies have the main character getting dumped by his girlfriend within the first 15 pages? 8 billion? 20 trillion? A lot, right? Which is why they all feel so cliché and lame.

But how many WESTERNS have been made where the main character gets dumped by his girlfriend in the first 15 pages? Not many, right? Welcome to the beauty of changing up the time and setting of your story. You can use all those typical tropes we’ve seen a million times before, and they all come off as fresh and new.

When Anna enters the picture, we even get the, “Pretend to be together to get the ex-girlfriend back but actually fall in love with each other along the way” trope. God, am I sick of seeing that in garden-variety comedies. But here it feels unique and fun. Change the time and setting of your story and thousands of cliché jokes become available to you, because in this new setting, they don’t feel cliché anymore!

MacFarlane (and his co-writers) seem to understand character better this time around, too. Albert has a clear flaw – he’s a coward. And that flaw is constantly being challenged, allowing the writers to explore character. What I mean by that is, when you have a character flaw, you want to constantly give your character opportunities to overcome that flaw and fail (until the very end, of course). So MacFarlane will have a big bar fight break out – allowing Albert a chance to be brave, to fight. Instead he ducks out, still stuck in his cowardice ways.

We even have some dramatic irony working to strong effect here. We know Anna is a gangster’s wife. That he’s coming sooner or later. So we know this relationship, and Albert, are doomed! We’re just waiting for the shit to finally hit the fan. What’s great about this is how seamlessly it ties into Albert’s flaw. If he wants Anna at the end, he’s going to have to overcome his biggest weakness – his cowardice. He’ll have to defeat the most fearless villain to do it.

I think what surprised me most about “Million” is how much I cared. I will contend to the end that comedy stops being funny once you stop caring about the characters. You can write the most genius funny scene ever, but if we stopped giving a shit about your characters 30 minutes ago, you’ll be lucky if you get a chuckle out of us.

But let’s not be foolish. You still gotta bring the funny for a comedy to work, and MacFarlane does. Probably the best running gag was Edward, Albert’s best friend, who’s dating a whore at the local whorehouse. He’s in love with her despite her coming home every day regaling in her day’s work, some of the most raunchy, horrifying sexual experiences you can possibly imagine. I’m talking worse than anything you can find on the internet. And yet, because she and Edward are Christian, she doesn’t want to sleep together until they get married. When Edward suggests lying together one night (not doing anything, just lying in the same bed), she is beyond appalled. “We’re Christian!” she reminds him. And then also reminds him she has an anal appointment at 5:30.

I honestly have no idea how this movie is going to do. That’s the problem when someone takes a chance. You don’t have as much comparative data to work with to predict box office. Plus, Seth MacFarlane in a lead role is a total wildcard. Who knows how audiences are going to respond to that. What I can tell you is that this was a fun and surprisingly well-written screenplay.

[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[x] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: The flaw you give your main character doesn’t have to be inventive. Flaws are often simple universal traits we’re all familiar with. One of the best ways to come up with a flaw is to identify your setting and look for a flaw that seems logical to explore within that setting. The West was big on machismo. So it makes sense to explore a cowardly hero. If I were to write a movie about the financial world, my main character’s flaw would probably be associated with greed. If I were to write a movie about racism, my main character’s flaw might have something to do with ignorance. It’s almost too simple, but that’s how flaws work.

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: Adventure
Premise: (from writer) When his war-hero grandfather dies, a young man returns home to collect his inheritance — an audio cassette tape of old bedtime stories — but discovers the tape also holds a dark secret that a sinister group of agents wants back at any cost.
Why you should read: (from writer) Because fun, genuine adventure movies for kids and teenagers — without superheroes — are a rare thing these days and I want to mount a comeback. This one’s filled with action, humor, romance and intrigue, dastardly villains and honest heroes. It’s not perfect, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (and re-writing it, and re-writing it), and I would love everyone’s help in making it even better.
Writer: Matthew Merenda
Details: 115 pages

Harrison for Jack Walsh!

Is Matthew Merenda right? Are we suffering from a lack of big non-super-hero movies? I’d say, moist sointenly. That may be the most obviously obvious statement of the new millennium. Therefore, after Boom Box blew away the competition a couple of weeks ago in Amateur Offerings, I wondered, “Has this writer finally found the answer to this problem?”

But before we tackle that, Merenda’s question inspired one of my own. How come we haven’t had more movies like Indiana Jones? Big films with unique cool characters not based on intellectual property. Cause when you look at Raiders, it was such a simple idea! Professor dude is secretly a tomb raider in his spare time. Hollywood would have you believe that every single character we see in the movies has already been thought up in book form, comic book form, or video game form. They make it seem as if it is IMPOSSIBLE to write one of these characters on spec.

That begs the question. Is it impossible? Or is it just that spec screenplay writers don’t put in the same effort in creating these characters and these stories as a video game team, or a novelist, or a comic book company? Personally, I’m torn on the issue.

Not that today’s script is a Raiders clone or anything. But it’s an original adventure idea. So what’s it about? Jack Walsh was this big international agent spy dude back in the 50s. He used to save the world on a daily basis, in particular from an evil nasty bastard named “Von Krom.” Jack and Von Krom would regularly get into those situations you saw on the old Batman TV show where they entered a big room with some sort of dangerous giant weapon being prepped and Batman would have to stop the villain from using said weapon before it killed him and everyone else in the world.

Or at least… that’s what Jack Walsh tells his grandchildren, when he regales them with bedtime stories every evening. And according to Jack, he came out victorious, eventually killing Von Krom so that the world would never have to fear him again.

Until the world had to fear him again. That’s right, 60 years later, Von Krom returns! Older but wiser, he introduces a couple of bullets to Jack’s head, making it look like a suicide, and starts his plan to take over the world.

Off in the big city, the now grown-up older of Jack’s two grandchildren, 24 year old failed musician Mike, heads back to attend the funeral, only to be approached by his teenage brother, Max, who believes that Jack did not commit suicide, but was rather murdered!

The two find an old audio cassette tape from Gramps, which, while masquerading as one of his stories, actually has some pulsing sounds in the background that may or may not contain a secret message! As the two begin seeking clues, Max excited, Mike unwilling, they find that all their Grandpa’s stories were true, Von Krom is still alive, and he’s planning on vaporizing everyone in the state with a secret weapon by the end of the evening. Can they stop him in time? Or will this AARP Villain inspire other octogenarian baddies everywhere with his Giantus Killus Opus?

So was Boom Box worth turning up the volume for? Or should this box of metal and plastic head back to its 80s glory days?

Here’s the weird thing about the Amateur Offerings experiment. The script that wins every week almost always LOOKS and FEELS like a script. It’s someone who knows how to do things like keep text sparse, introduce their hero in a compelling way, structure a script. Typically, that takes about 2-3 years to master. So if you’re entering Amateur Friday with 3 years of experience, you’ll often finish in the top 1 or 2, just off your experience and knowledge alone.

But just being proficient in screenwriting isn’t enough. I know I hammer this over your heads all the time, but screenwriting is about telling a story. It’s not about how well you can write. Or how well you understand the technical merits of the craft. That stuff is expected in this profession.

Boom Box is off in its storytelling for a few reasons. Let’s start with the main character, Mike. The guy is a total bummer! He’s so down on himself, so down on everyone else, always negative, never wants to do anything. It’s strange, because Jack Walsh (the grandfather) was awesome! I actually loved the guy, and when I first started reading the script, I thought Merenda was going to try something new and write a senior citizen action-comedy adventure. Admittedly, I don’t know if that movie could get made, but it certainly would’ve made the script stand out more and get more attention, particularly because Jack was such a great character.

As soon as Mike entered the picture though, the entire energy of the script dropped. This is one of the hard parts about screenwriting. I understand WHY Merenda did what he did. By creating a negative hero, he creates resistance, conflict, as well as making for a more complex person. Mike doesn’t believe in his grandfather’s stories like his brother, which allows him to arc over the course of the story and finally believe. That looks good on the stat sheet, but if we’re annoyed by your hero, none of it matters. We’ll check out before we get to experience any of that change. So the first thing I’d do here is make Mike more interesting, give him more personality, not make him such a downer.

Also, I thought the story moved too slowly. It’s crazy. I can take two pieces of information (“Adventure film” and “116 pages”) and before I’ve even read the first page, know something is wrong. Adventure films must move! 105 is a much more comfortable page length for a script like this. So I already knew the script probably meandered in places.

I know what you’re saying. “Carson! You can’t tell that without reading the script!” I admit that this isn’t the case ALL the time. But it usually is. And there it was. We didn’t get to our heroes (the brothers) listening to this tape and going on their adventure until page 35. You don’t need 35 pages to set up the first act. And that’s exactly how it felt while I was reading it (“Man, this is developing really slowly”). If Merenda had had his first act turn where it should’ve been in an action script, page 25, well, that’s your extra ten pages right there! Fix that and you’re down to 105.

The rest of the script was competent but still had problems. I don’t want to downplay what Merenda did here. This looks and feels like a script. But again, I think the storytelling could’ve been more creative and moved quicker. I mean when I see “adventure” as the genre, and then we set up the story with an international super-agent fighting crime all over the world, I guess I expected this adventure to be more than two kids running around a tiny town. It felt too small.

Boom Box is kind of like an 80s mix-tape. It’s got some good songs on it. But then you’ll hit a few tracks that you wish weren’t on there. I think the tape, err, script, has potential though. Start with Mike. Give the guy some life. Then get to the story a little quicker. And, if you can find a way to do so, expand the scope of the story. This last point is the one I’m least sure about. I get the feeling Merenda was going for a sort of “Goonies” vibe. So maybe the readers will argue with me on that one. But to me, it feels too small. If you can tackle those three problems, Boom Box is going to sound a lot better.

Script link: Boom Box

[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Don’t describe your female lead as: “classically beautiful.” I see this description in every other script that I read. Come on guys. You’re writers. Your job is to give us your own unique take on everything. If you’re writing exactly what everyone else is, how are you going to distinguish yourself?

Gone Girl had a disappointing final act.  So Fincher had author Flynn rewrite it for the movie.  Will it save the film?

In the five years since this site began, it’s hard to believe that I STILL haven’t written an article about the third act. I think it’s because the third act is kinda scary. It’s easy to set up a story. The middle act is tough, however I’ve written a couple of articles demystifying the process. But with final acts, it feels like every one is a little different. They’re sort of like their own little organisms, evolving and changing in indefinably unique ways, packed with previously established variables that are constantly fighting against one another, and it’s hard to bring all of that together in a streamlined package.

Blake Snyder does a really good job breaking down the third act, and his methods are a good place to start, but what I’ve found is that his approach mostly applies to comedies and romantic comedies, where the audience is aware of the exaggerated structure of the moment (hero loses the girl, is at his lowest point) but doesn’t mind. They come to see these movies because they like laughing and seeing the guy get the girl, so they don’t need some genius plot point to keep them invested.

With that said, I think it’s a good idea to have a baseline approach to your third act. It’s the same thing as if you’re building a house.  You want to get the blueprints in order. But you still need to keep the option open of adding a breakfast nook over here, or moving the kitchen over to the other side of the main room. So here’s how a prototypical third act should be structured. It doesn’t mean that your act should be structured the same way. It just means it’s a starting point.

THE GOAL
Without question, your third act is going to be a billion times easier to write if your main character is pursuing a goal, preferably since the beginning of the film. “John McClane must save his wife from terrorists” makes for a much easier-to-write ending than “John McClane tries to figure out his life” because we, the writer, know exactly how to construct the finale. John McClane is either going to save his wife or he’s going to fail to save his wife. Either way, we have an ending. What’s the ending for “John McClane tries to figure out his life?” It’s hard to know because that scenario is so open-ended. The less clear your main character’s objective (goal) is in the story, the harder it will be to write a third act. Because how do you resolve something if it’s unclear what your hero is trying to resolve?

THE LOWEST POINT
To write a third act, you have to know where your main character is when he goes into the act. While this isn’t a hard and fast rule, typically, putting your hero at his lowest point at the end of act two is a great place to segue into the third act. In other words, it should appear at this point in the story that your main character has FAILED AT HIS/HER GOAL (Once Sandra Bullock gets to the Chinese module in GRAVITY, that’s it. Air is running out. She doesn’t understand the system. There are no other options). Either that, or something really devastating should shake your hero (i.e. his best friend and mentor dies – Obi-Wan in Star Wars). The point is, it should feel like things are really really down. When you do this, the audience responds with, “Oh no! But this can’t be. I don’t want our hero to give up. They have to keep trying. Keep trying, hero!” Which is exactly where you want them!

REGROUP
The beginning of the third act (anywhere from 1-4 scenes) becomes the “Regroup” phase. This phase often has to deal with your hero’s flaw, which is why it works so well in comedies or romantic comedies, where flaws are so dominant . If your hero is selfish, he might reflect on all the people he was selfish to, apologize, and move forward. But if this is an action film, it might simply mean talking through the terrible “lowest point” thing that just happened (Luke discussing the death of Obi-Wan with Han) and then getting back to it. Your hero was just at the lowest point in his/her life. Obviously, he needs a couple of scenes to regroup.

THE PLAN
Assuming we’re still talking about a hero with a goal, now that they’ve regrouped, they tend to have that “realization” where they’re going to give this goal one last shot. This, of course, necessitates a plan. We see this in romantic comedies all the time, where the main character plans some elaborate surprise for the girl, or figures out a way to crash the big party or big wedding. In action films, it’s a little more technical. The character has to come up with a plan to save the girl, or take down the villain, or both. In The Matrix, Neo needs to save Morpheus. He tells Trinity the plan, they go outfit themselves with guns from the Matrix White-Verse, and they go in there to get Morpheus.

THE CLIMAX SCENE
This should be the most important scene in your entire script. It’s where the hero takes on the bad guy or tries to get the girl back. You should try and make this scene big and original. Give us a take on it that we’ve never seen in movies before. Will that be hard? Of course. But if you’re rehashing your CLIMAX SCENE of all scenes?? The biggest and most important scene in the entire screenplay? You might as well give up screenwriting right now. If there is any scene you need to challenge yourself on, that you need to ask, “Is this the best I can possibly do for this scene?” and honestly answer yes? This is that scene!

THE LOWER THAN LOWEST POINT
During the climax scene, there should be one last moment where it looks like your hero has failed, that the villain has defeated him (or the girl says no to him). Let’s be real. What you’re really doing here is you’re fucking with your audience. You’re making them go, “Nooooooo! But I thought they were going to get together!” This is a GOOD THING. You want to fuck with your audience in the final act. Make them think their hero has failed. I mean, Neo actually DIES in the final battle in The Matrix. He dies! So yeah, you can go really low with this “true lowest point.” If the final battle or confrontational or “get-the-girl” moment is too easy for our hero, we’ll be bored. We want to see him have to work for it. That’s what makes it so rewarding when he finally succeeds!

FLAWS
Remember that in addition to all this external stuff that’s going on in the third act (getting the girl, killing the bad guy, stopping the asteroid from hitting earth), your protagonist should be dealing with something on an internal level as well. A character battling their biggest flaw on the biggest stage is usually what pulls audiences and readers in on an emotional level, so it’s highly advisable that you do this. Of course, this means establishing the flaw all the way back in Act 1. If you’ve done that, then try to tie the big external goal into your character’s internal flaw. So Neo’s flaw is that he doesn’t believe in himself. The only way he’ll be able to defeat the villain, then, is to achieve this belief. Sandra Bullock’s flaw in Gravity is that she doesn’t have the true will to live ever since her daughter died. She must find that will in the Chinese shuttle module if she’s going to survive. If you do this really well, you can have your main character overcome his flaw, but fail at his objective, and still leave the audience happy (Rocky).

PAYOFFS
Remember that the third act should be Payoff Haven. You should set up a half a dozen things ahead of time that should all get some payin’ off here in the finale. The best payoffs are wrapped into that final climactic scene. I mean who doesn’t sh*t their pants when Warden Norton (Shawshank spoiler) takes down that poster from the wall in Andy Dufresne’s cell? But really, the entire third act should be about payoffs, since almost by definition, your first two acts are setups.

OBSTACLES AND CONFLICT
A mistake a lot of beginner writers make is they make the third act too easy for their heroes. The third act should be LOADED with obstacles and conflict, things getting in the way of your hero achieving his/her goal. Maybe they get caught (Raiders), maybe they die (The Matrix), maybe the shuttle module sinks when it finally gets back to earth and your heroine is in danger of drowning (Gravity). The closer you get to the climax, the thicker you should lay on the obstacles, and then when the climactic scene comes, make it REALLY REALLY hard on them. Make them have to earn it!

NON-TRADITIONAL THIRD ACTS (CHARACTER PIECES)
So what happens if you don’t have that clear goal for your third act? Chances are, you’re writing a character piece. While this could probably benefit from an entire article of its own, basically, character pieces still have goals that must be met, they’re just either unknown to the hero or relationship-related. Character pieces are first and foremost about characters overcoming their flaws. So if your hero is selfish, your final act should be built around a high-stakes scenario where that flaw will be challenged. Also, character piece third acts are about resolving relationship issues. If two characters have a complicated past stemming from some problem they both haven’t been able to get over, the final act should have them face this issue once and for all. Often times, these two areas will overlap. In other words, maybe the issue these two characters have always had is that he’s always put his own needs over the needs of the family. The final climactic scene then, has him deciding whether to go off to some huge opportunity or stay here and takes care of the family. The scenario then resolves the character flaw and the relationship problem in one fell swoop! (note: Preferably, you are doing this in goal-oriented movies as well)

While that’s certainly not everything, it’s most of what you need to know. But I admit, while all of this stuff is fun to talk about in a vacuum, it becomes a lot trickier when you’re trying to apply it to your own screenplay. That’s because, as I stated at the beginning, each script is unique. Indiana Jones is tied up for the big climax of Raiders. That’s such a weird third act choice. In Back To The Future, George McFly’s flaw is way more important than our hero, Marty McFly’s, flaw. When is the “lowest point before the third act” in Star Wars? Is it when they’re in the Trash Compactor about to be turned into Star Wars peanut butter? Or is at after they escape the Death Star? I think that’s debatable. John McClane never formulates a plan to take on Hanz in the climax.  He just ends up there.  The point is, when you get into your third act, you have to be flexible. Use the above as a guide, but don’t follow it exactly. A lot of times, what makes a third act memorable is its imperfections, because it’s its imperfections that make it unpredictable. If you have any third act tips of your own, please leave them in the comments section. Wouldn’t mind learning a few more things about this challenging act myself!

Genre: Dark Comedy/Period
Premise: An advertising executive shooting a commercial based on the famous literary character, Don Quixote, soon finds himself transported to the 17th century, becoming the sidekick of the real Don Quixote.
About: For those unfamiliar with this project, it’s one of the most famous in film history mainly because it embodied the reality of just how hard it is to make movies. The almost-film, originally starring Johnny Depp, was famously chronicled in the 2002 documentary “Lost in La Mancha.” It’s one of the best documentaries I’ve ever seen and an absolute must for anybody in the entertainment industry. The film ran into every kind of obstacle possible (aging actors unable to do key scenes, floods, a complicated financing situation with dozens of separate investors, delays upon delays, a star with a quickly depleting scheduling window) until it was clear that there was no way it could continue. All this was made worse by the fact that it was director Terry Gilliam’s passion project. There is no one on earth who wanted to make a single movie as much as Gilliam wanted to make The Man Who Killed Don Quixote. Well, good news, folks. While it was assumed the movie would be lost forever, Gilliam is hopping back onboard, and making the film his next project! Hooray for the power of perseverance! The original Don Quixote novel, published in 1605, is considered by some to be the greatest literary work ever written.
Writer: Terry Gilliam & Tony Grisoni (based on the character created by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra)
Details: 113 pages (May 15th, 2000 draft)

Do I feel guilty that I’ve read Angels and Demons but not Don Quixote? Of course I do. But with so much stuff to read, I try to keep my historic cut-off at 300 years (correct, I haven’t read the Bible, either). But hey, if this isn’t more proof of yesterday’s “what I learned” section (adapt old books) I don’t know what is!

Despite that, this would be one of my most anticipated films of the decade, only because I know the history behind it. I want to see Gilliam realize his dream. I don’t think I’ve watched anything as gut-wrenching as aging actor Jean Rochefort (as Quixote) trying to ride that horse in “La Mancha.” It was clear he wanted so badly to do it, but was in so much pain, that even the slightest movement was unbearable. You could see Gilliam wanting to keep going, his manic determination fogging his perception. If not for the first assistant director calling a stop to it, he might have gone on. The reason that moment was so powerful was because it embodies moviemaking as a whole. The pressure and stakes are so high, you push beyond all reason, knowing that if you don’t, it could all fall apart. Which is exactly what happened in this case.

Toby Grosini is your typical douchebag advertising exec. He’s shooting a commercial in Spain for a dying power company based on the famous character Don Quixote. Normally, all Toby has to worry about is how many zeroes are in his bank account. But with the commercial’s shoot becoming more and more hectic, he’s starting to worry if he can keep it together.

One day, a local gypsy convinces him to visit a nearby castle, where he meets an old man claiming to be the real Don Quixote. That is correct – the man believes himself to be 400 years old. He certainly looks it, but Toby obviously thinks he’s a crackpot. That is until he wakes up the next day in the year 1605!

That same man is now calling him Sancho Panza (Quixote’s famous peasant sidekick from the book). Toby, in turn, keeps calling Fake Quixote crazy. But if that’s the case, why the hell does everything look so 1600s?? No sooner does this “reality” start to hit him than the duo is marauded by the local police. Some nearby prisoners get wrapped up in the fight and a straight-up brawl ensues.

Quixote is injured, so Toby takes him to a local Inn. Quixote then gives him a list of ingredients to get so he can put together a healing medicine. Only afterwards does Toby learn this “medicine” is some sort of immortal elixir, and as long as you take it, you never die.

Eventually, Toby gets fed up playing this game with Quixote and wants to go home. Of course, it’s unclear where home is. At times he believes this whole thing is a ruse.  Not only do some of the commercial crew he worked with appear as 17th century characters (not unlike The Wizard of Oz), but he inconsistently transports back to the modern day with no rhyme or reason.  Are they drugging him?  What’s going on??

Toby finally betrays Quixote to escape the madness and makes it back to the modern world for good (where he learns that he was hit by a car – hence why this all might have been happening). But as he feels worse and worse about screwing his elder imaginary buddy over, he vows to find a way back to the fake and/or real world and save him before it’s too late.

Uhhhh, okaaaaa-y.

Not really sure how to address this one. They say that honesty is the best policy so let’s start with that. This looks to be an excuse for two totally deranged creative minds (Gilliam and Depp) to dick around. Granted, if there were two minds I would pay to see dick around for two hours, these two would be at the top of the list. Still, this one felt like it was conceived in the mind of an Alzheimer’s patient. It was so scattershot and all over the place, you never knew which way was ‘sane.’

Here’s the thing. Terry Gilliam loves to explore the theme of reality. What’s real? What’s in our heads? Is there a difference? Do we live in the matrix? All that good stuff. We saw it with Twelve Monkeys. We saw it with Tideland. We saw it with The Fisher King. Really, there are elements of it in every single movie he’s done. So it’s no surprise he’s taking on that theme again.

But I’d argue this script doesn’t need it. Quixote and Sancho appear to be two rich, wacky interesting characters all on their own. Why not just set this in the 1600s and tell one of their adventures? Trying to figure out if Quixote was real, how he was over 400 years old, if this was all a dream, how we were seamlessly drifting from 2000 to 1600 – it was so much work that I didn’t have time to enjoy the story.

I think Gilliam likes it this way – that you’re not sure which way is up – but I’m of the belief that before you start tripping up your audience, you have to set up a status quo. We need the constants before we can get to the variables. I can honestly say I never knew what the fuck was going on because I didn’t know what was going on with these two. I mean, think about it. Our main character, Toby, believes that our secondary character isn’t who he says he is. And our secondary character, Don Quixote, believes that our main character, Toby, isn’t who he says he is. I’m terrible at math, but doesn’t this mean that neither of them exists??

I’m not going to go off and tell Terry Gilliam how to write or direct. The man is a genius. I want to make that clear. But I think this speaks to the notion that if you go too far off the reservation, your story can fall apart, no matter who you are. I mean, if it’s happening to Gilliam, it will definitely happen to you.

And I bring this point up because I recently read an amateur script where I was having a discussion with the writer about this very issue. He’d basically created these characters that were three times removed from themselves. The sci-fi script had a body being invaded by a body being invaded by a body. Conceptually, that might certainly be interesting to explore. But in reality, it was really confusing to read.

I want to talk about this more in a coming article, specifically in regards to the movie Cloud Atlas, but for better or worse, we live in a cinematic universe where you don’t want to overcomplicate things. Movies aren’t books (8 hours to finish) or video games (20 hours to finish) where you have time to lead audiences in and out of a number of concepts, philosophies, characters and storylines. They’re only 2 hours long. Which is why you hear so often: “Cut out all the fat.” Movies just can’t hold too many concepts. You have to keep it simple, stupid, with small exceptions here and there. I just think this script didn’t need to be as complicated as it ended up being.

With all that said, I watch every Terry Gilliam movie (Twelve Monkeys made me a fan for life) and I’ll watch this one. I just hope he makes things a little easier to follow in the new draft.

[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: A dirty little Hollywood secret is that a lot of actors determine their roles exclusively by director, in many cases never even looking at the script (Depp does this a lot. Matt Damon signs on almost exclusively because of directors these days. I just heard Bill Murray talking about this). For that reason, you want to write a script that’s going to attract a great director first, since they’re the ones who are going to attract the star, which is how the movie’s going to get made. While it didn’t work for me in today’s instance, generally speaking, playing with reality in your story is director catnip. Distorted reality allows directors to do all these cool exciting visual things that directors like to do. From all of Gilliam’s movies to The Matrix to Inception to Vanilla Sky to The Truman Show. You want to attract a director, these kinds of screenplays are a good place to start.

Genre: Art-heist thriller/comedy
Premise: Art dealer Charles Mortdecai searches for a stolen painting rumored to contain a secret code that gains access to a Swiss bank account worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
About: Mortdecai will be directed by long time writer, sometimes director, David Koepp. This seems to be Koepp’s step into the directing big leagues, as he’ll be directing Gwyneth Paltrow, Ewan McGregor, Olivia Munn, and Johnny Depp. Mortdecai (based on a 4 book series and primed to be a franchise if it does well), was born out of the new partnership between Lionsgate and Oddlot. Oddlot is a financier/production company run by Gigi Pritzker. Pritzker is one of the richest families in the United States and owns the Hyatt Hotel chain. They’re also producing #1 Black List script, Draft Day. Lionsgate has recently evolved from a schlocky bad horror/sci-fi/supernatural mini-studio to a major player with its acquisition of Summit, which of course has one of the hottest franchises in town, The Hunger Games. Mortdecai is based on a book series by Kyril Bonfiglioli. This specific script is based on the fourth and final book in the series, which Bonfiglioli actually never finished, due to his death in 1985. It was completed by another author.
Writer: Eric Aronson (revisions by Peter Baynham and David Koepp – based on the books by Kyril Bonfigloli)
Details: 120 pages – June 20, 2013 draft

Mortdecai was adapted by a writer named Eric Aronson. Somehow, this very talented writer has only one produced credit, an abomination of cinema called “On the Line,” written in 2001, starring N*SYNC members Lance Bass and Joey Fatone. The sometimes semi-professional baseball player likes to take his breaks, waiting a full 12 years for his newest effort. Talk about patience.

To describe Aronson’s script is tough. It’s kind of like 1 part Sherlock Holmes, 2 parts Pink Panther, 3 parts Coen Brothers. The writing on display is very good, yet it isn’t afraid to moronify itself to Dumb & Dumber levels if necessary. For example, there are roughly 718,000 references to the main character’s mustache.

Basically our title character, Mortdecai, is an art thief. Or he used to be one. Or he still is one. It all depends on who you talk to. The former aristocrat with the most beautiful wife in the world isn’t doing so well these days, though. He owes Mother Britain 8 million dollars in back taxes, which means he’s only a few days away from losing his house, his car, and most likely that beautiful wife.

Lucky for Mortdecai, an opportunity arises. It seems that while being restored, a painting has been stolen. But not just any painting – “The Duchess of Wellington,” one of the most famous paintings in the world, due in part to the rumor that it may not even exist. The story goes, it was ordered destroyed by a king who didn’t like the painting, but was ripped off before the destruction could occur.

It went through many hands over the years and eventually ended up with the Nazis, and rumor has it that the Nazis coded a Swiss bank account number into the painting, which could be worth millions. The police tell Mortdecai that if he can find and bring back that painting, they’ll get rid of his tax problem.

Mortdecai accepts, employing his steady other half, bodyguard and womanizer, Jock. Along the way he finds out that others have caught wind of the painting’s re-emergence and want it as well. One of those people is nasty world criminal Emil Strago, who will presumably use the money from the painting’s secret code to support terrorism. The stakes have been raised.

Complicating his pursuit is his own wife, with whom Mortdecai is having problems. Not just because they’re broke and she doesn’t like his new mustache. But she doesn’t seem to respect him anymore. You get the sense that if he doesn’t pull this off, she’s probably going to leave him. And since she’s the biggest treasure of all, it’s very much in Mortdecai’s interest to find that damn painting before it’s too late!

I can’t stress enough how well Mortdecai is written. The kind of writing that I normally tell screenwriters to avoid turns into music when Aronson types, a possible result of his working with Joey Fatone and Lance Bass. The thing is, overly-descriptive writing tends to detract… UNLESS you’re great at it. And that seems to be the case with Aronson (and all the other writers involved). Here, for example, is an early description of Mortdecai’s mustache…

“A word about Mortdecai’s moustache — it’s a groomed affair and much care has gone into its cultivation, but there’s something a bit off about it. Simply put, everyone can agree he’d be much better off without it. Despite this, great admiration has been bestowed upon it by its owner.”

Could he have said simply, “Mortdecai’s moustache is a little off”? Of course. But there’s something about the extra attention to detail that gives us a better feel for the character. Here’s another description, this one about Mortdecai’s wife:

“The pricey authenticity of her blondeness is unimpeachable, and pleasant weather systems move in when she favors you with her wide and lovely smile.”

I mean, is that description totally necessary? No. But it’s so damn good and fun that I go with it.

In addition to the impressive description, this screenplay very wisely puts a new spin on the genre. In almost all of these art heist thrillers, there’s a painting in a museum or a rich person’s home that the main character must figure out how to steal from. Here, however, we (and the main character) don’t even know where the painting is. It’s already been stolen. In fact, we don’t even know WHAT the painting is. It isn’t revealed until later that it’s the famed “Duchess of Wellington.”

That’s another thing I liked about Mortdecai. It kept you guessing. And I believe these art thrillers are predicated on keeping you guessing. You must constantly surprise the audience. Remember, a thriller is supposed to do just that. THRILL. That doesn’t always mean thrill with a car chase or a shootout. It could mean using a reversal, a surprise, or a shocking reveal. When we find out, for example, that the painting was in Nazi hands and has a secret code embedded in it, we’re more than satisfied. This the kind of fun we came for.

Finally worth noting is that Mortdecai uses a time tested tool that rarely malfunctions. That is, of course, George Lucas’s favorite device, the MacGuffin! This is when you place one very important thing out there in your story THAT EVERYBODY WANTS. And then everybody goes after it. The reason the MacGuffin works so well is because it immediately makes every character ACTIVE. This means the script will always be packed with energy and purpose. Mortdecai’s after the painting. His wife is. Emil Strago is. The British police are after it. The Russians are after it. It’s kind of hard to fuck this up because no matter who you jump to, they’re always in an immediate active state. They’re always pursuing a goal. The MacGuffin isn’t for every story, but in the right story (Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Pirates of the Caribbean), it can turn your script into a beast.

[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Seeing as the quadrology of books this script was based on was completed in the 70s and this weekend’s “Winter’s Tale” was based on a book published in the 80s, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea to scour Amazon and GoodReads for highly rated, long-since-forgotten books that don’t have options on them for potential adaptation material.  Having an adapted screenplay carries with it a little more cache than an original script, since it’s already been proven in another medium.  The problem is all the current stuff is snatched up.  But tons of stuff in the 90s, 80s and 70s has been forgotten.  Lots of opportunity there.

What I learned 2: The second of today’s “what I learned’s” has nothing to do with Mortdecai, actually, but a TV show!

So last night, Miss SS and I were watching The Bachelor and out of nowhere, a monster of a screenplay lesson popped up and helped Miss SS understand something she’d previously had a hard time grasping.  I’ve been trying to tell her forever now how important it is to KNOW YOUR CHARACTERS before you write a script.  Write down their bios, get into their past, know what’s led them to this point in their lives. She saw this approach as a creative handicap, though.  She likes to discover her characters through dialogue, as they go through her story.  Know too much, she said, and it stifles the creativity.

For those of you who don’t watch The Bachelor, it’s a reality show based on the very realistic notion of one man dating 25 women, eliminating them one at a time until there is one left.  He then proposes to the final girl, only to break up with her a few months after the show has ended.

In this season, there’s this girl named Clare.  Clare is 32, prickly, a little bitchy, jealous, passive-aggressively catty towards the other women, and always looks like she’s seconds away from having an emotional breakdown.  Around this season’s bachelor, Juan-Pablo, she’s overly-flirty, eager-to-please, comes on too strong, and carries with her just a wisp of desperation.  For all of these reasons, she’s not a household favorite.

Well tonight, Clare unloaded a bomb during one of her interviews.  She is one of six sisters, and the only one who hasn’t yet married.  “Ohhhh!,” Miss SS said.  “No wonder she’s so desperate and catty.  At 32 years old, the pressure to find a man must be intense.”  That’s when the teachable moment occurred to me.  “That,” I said, “is exactly the same thing you’re doing when you dig into your characters’ pasts before you write a script.  If you know background stuff – like your unmarried character having 5 sisters, all of whom are married – you’ll be able to write that character way more specifically than had you known nothing.” Clare is the embodiment of a well-written character (despite the fact that she’s “real”).  Every single aspect of her is informed by this delicate and pressure-filled reality of being “the last of the sisters.”   That seemed to hit Miss SS.  “Ooh,” she said.  “You should put that on the blog.”  And so I have!