Is today’s script the best horror entry of the entire 2022 Black List??
Genre: Horror
Premise: To save her friend, a maid in a decaying manor must unravel the secrets of its inhabitants while confronting spirits, her own terrifying abilities, and the very real horrors of Depression-era America lurking outside the door.
About: Another writer brand new to the scene here. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been putting the work in. Evan Enderle has been writing screenplays for at least six years as he was the recipient of the 2017 Rough Draft Residency with The Drama League in New York. Put in those reps, everybody! Assuming he wrote between 1-2 scripts a year since then, he could have as many as ten screenplays under his belt. In my experience, somewhere between 6 and 10 scripts is when a writer finds their screenwriting legs. We’re going to talk about how many scripts screenwriters should be writing in the next newsletter as I’ve come across lots of writers who are approaching it the wrong way. If you want in on my newsletter, send me an e-mail at carsonreeves1@gmail.com.
Writer: Evan Enderle
Details: 112 pages
A hurricane?
In LA?
Is that even possible?
This past week I was hanging out with extended family on vacay. For perspective, my family was seeded, and then sprouted, from the endless fields of Indiana. They are proudly mid-western and, because of this, I wanted to know what kind of content they were into. What movies does the “Average Joe and Joan” in middle America up and leave their houses to see? What shows did they drape themselves in potato chip crumbs to binge?
I got only two universal answers.
They all loved Barbie.
And they all loved White Lotus.
Well, at least they half have good taste.
As much as I’d like to take you down another backroad of Barbie Land and trade definitions of the patriarchy, we’ve got a new script to review! I know Poe’s been hyping this one up. Let’s see if he was right.
20-something Lucy Moore arrives at Ravenswood Manor in 1931, on the outskirts of Tarrytown, USA. Lucy has been brought here as a maid to serve under the evil Ms. Crowne, the real-world equivalent of the wicked witch of the west. Crowne isn’t happy just making her workers depressed. She wants to make them les miserable.
After a tough first day, Lucy buddies up with another maid, Gertrude. The two are fast friends, which Crowne immediately picks up on. A day later and Gertrude has mystreruousy disappeared. Crowne says she left voluntarily during the night. But Lucy’s not buying it.
Before she “left,” Gertrude told Lucy about a special room in the manor. And after meeting Hale, the studly son of the woman Lucy looks after, Mrs. Dyer, the three are summoned to the special room, which we learn is a “ghost room” of sorts, where spirits are summoned. Right away Lucy is uncomfortable. She seems to have a special connection with the dead, a power passed onto her by her grandmother.
After connecting Mrs. Dyer with her dead husband, Lucy becomes a favorite of the woman, who insists to a furious Crowne that Lucy stay with her 24/7. Crowne attempts to undermine Lucy when she realizes her power is growing within the manor, but to no avail. The client, Dyer, likes Lucy too much.
With her newfound access, Lucy looks deeper into Gertrude’s disappearance only to discover a chilling truth – that Gertrude may not be dead or alive, but rather, stuck in limbo. Lucy will have to find her friend and set her free. But this will mean infiltrating Ravenswood’s most hideous secret – a secret that will change the nature of life as we know it.
This is DEFINITELY one of the better written scripts on the Black List. The writing is simple, descriptive, and, most importantly for a horror script, haunting. It feels professional right from the bump.
She waits, dwarfed by the soaring ceilings reflected in the shining marble floors. She takes a few tentative steps, surveys the sweeping grand staircase.
All is silent except for the soft POP of logs burning in the impressive fireplace. A YELLOW CAT watches from the shadows.
There’s also a sophistication to the dialogue that you don’t often see in the post 2018 Black List Era – in other words, dialogue that’s actually good.
“You are a queer one, Lucy. The girl who would refuse a job when so many are suffering. And now to be caught thieving and in hysterics in the middle of the night. The entitlement of it.”
Note the reversed nature of that final statement. Normally, that would go near the front of the sentence. “Do you understand how entitled you sound, Lucy? You’ve refused a job when so many are suffering.” But in real life, we don’t always think linearly. We come up with our thoughts on the fly, occasionally backloading sentences with points we realized we left out earlier. To write dialogue that reflects that is high level stuff.
Where this script is going to live or die, however, is with each individual’s preference regarding how they like their horror. If you like to have fun with your horror (Paranormal Activity), this script isn’t for you. If you like a giant infusion of drama in your horror (Let The Right One In), this is the script you’re going to be telling your horror buddies about.
Ravenswood puts on its “serious hat” from the outset. This script is about mood. It is about feel. Heck, you can practically smell the mildew within the manor, the novel-esque description is so thick.
It is both the script’s main strength and weakness. I dug it. I felt much more fear when we were placed in dangerous scary situations here (inside a garden maze with a headless gardener) due to how seriously the writer was covering the events. But it *did* come at the expense of being 40 pages into the script and still not knowing what the point of the story was.
This happens when you don’t add a clear goal. Which is fine. Horror movies are often powered by a looming sense of dread, of knowing that the monsters are coming. Being stuck in an ancient giant shadow-filled haunted house promises us many a spooky endeavor. But you can only milk that udder for so long before the reader starts demanding purpose.
Eventually, Enderle seemed to realize that Gertrude was the key to crafting any sort of narrative and therefore embraced the mystery of her having gone missing. This gave the script its coveted goal. But even then, the goal seemed to be stirred into other, less sexy, plotlines, such as the nonexistent romance plot between Lucy and Hale. That had real potential but the writer seemed to grow bored of it in real-time, as it had all but vanished (like a ghost) by the arrival of the first act.
The good news is, there were more good plotlines than bad ones. I was obsessed with the way Crowne pushed Lucy around, to the point where I would’ve been happy reading the entire script just to see Lucy stick it to her in the end, even if there hadn’t been any horror.
Speaking of, the horror imagery was good. Headless dogs. Headless gardeners. Limbless other animals and humans – all stuff Lucy kept seeing. It made for a nice mystery. We knew someone was lopping off body parts machete-style. But who was it? And why were they doing such a thing?
But the star of this script was always the writing. Even if I would’ve preferred more dialogue to make the read easier, I noticed a higher level of writing across the board, and it really made a difference in how the horror came across. Better writing better convinces us that we’re really there.
Take this simple line…
“A boy lies on a table, pale with death.”
Note how the line could’ve been…
“A boy lies on a table, dead.”
See the difference? The second line lacks any commitment to visually describe the moment. It gives us the cold hard facts and nothing more. The first example not only gives us an image in our heads (a pale dead body) but it’s also a more interesting way to say “he’s dead.”
It takes thought to write that way.
I have a feeling that this script will finish Top 10 when I do my annual Black List re-rankings. It’s pretty darned good.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Your analogies should be reflective of the script’s setting. “Crowne has reached the foot of the stairs, appraises Lucy like a displeasing cut from the butcher.” This is a great analogy. Why? Because the analogy is rooted in the same setting that the script takes place in. A displeasing cut of meat from the butcher is something that would happen in 1931. I too often see writers using an analogy in this instance such as, “Crowne has reached the foot of the stairs, appraises Lucy like a drunk DJ at a wedding party.” In other words, the analogy is not time or setting appropriate.
It’s a travel day for me so I don’t have time for a full post. I will try to get posts up tomorrow and Friday but there are no promises since I’m technically on vacation.
I wanted to take this opportunity to shout out my favorite movie of all time, Back to the Future. Still the de facto screenplay when it comes to teaching setups and payoffs. There are 100+ setups and payoffs in this script. More than any other film by far.
As I’ve said here before, setups and payoffs are the best “bang for your buck” screenplay tool you have at your disposal. Go watch this movie now and learn how to set up and payoff yourself to a great script!
Genre: Action/Comedy
Premise: After Hollywood’s leading action star hits his head on set and wakes up thinking he’s a real-life action hero, he embarks on an international mission to track down a real stolen nuke before it’s too late.
About: This script made it onto last year’s Black List. Sean Tidwell, the writer, wrote another script, Super Dad, that was on another Black List that I thought was funny but I remember getting a lot of blowback for liking the script. I can’t win here!
Writer: Sean Tidwell
Details: 104 pages
If there’s one thing that’s clear about why people are going to see Barbie, it’s that it’s fun. It’s summer. It’s hot. People are in a good mood. Barbie is like the last piece of the happiness equation. Maybe that’s why nobody wanted to see The Last Voyage of the Demeter. It didn’t scream: “Fun summer movie!”
Then again, neither did Oppenheimer. And I’m pretty sure a lot of people saw that. I’d actually call Oppenheimer “anti-fun.” Man, this box office stuff is hard to figure out. Anyway! The point I was going to make was that Mega Action Hit is the perfect script to read right now. It screams “Fun!”
Dack Benson is the world’s coolest movie star. He’s also a gigantic workaholic. He never stops making films for his Mission Impossible-like franchise, where he plays a member of a super-secret government organization called I.B.S. It’s gotten bad enough that his wife is done with him. She wants a divorce.
Dack has done so many of these freaking movies that he gets careless on one of the wire stunts, falls, and hits his head. When he wakes up, he thinks he’s Dack Benson. Because… HE IS Dack Benson. Character Dack Benson’s name in real life is also Dack Benson. That’s how into making movies this guy is.
But now he thinks he’s his *character,* Dack Benson. And when he sees a news story about a guy named Ivan Shanko (warlord and nudist) procuring a nuke, he recruits his production’s two newest assistants, Julia and Max, to help him save the world. The two think he’s method acting and are so scared to upset the franchise star, they go along with it.
Because Dack does all his own stunts, he’s pretty proficient at a lot of the spy stuff and figures out that something is going down in Turkey. Dack asks the military to fly him to Turkey and because he’s a movie star, they oblige.
Once in Turkey, they learn of the elaborate plan to both secure the nuke, get the uranium, combine the two, and blow up a city! That city, it turns out, is going to be Liverpool. So off Dack, Julia, and Max go. But when they finally catch up to Ivan, Dack gets hit in the head AGAIN, and is now back to being actor, Dack. The problem is he’s so deep in it now, that actor Dack will have to figure out a way to save the world (or Liverpool).
First thing I need to remind you of is that this is one of the last genres you can still legit sell a spec script in. The reason for that is that audiences don’t care about IP when it comes to action comedies. And studios know that if they add action to comedy, it will sell all over the world.
Mega Action Hit asks the question, “What if Mission Impossible made fun of itself?” That’s the concept in a nutshell. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tidwell was hoping Tom Cruise played the part.
Indeed, that would be funny. Actually, I would love to see an in-his-prime Ben Stiller play this role, as he kind of already did back when he pretended to be Tom Cruise’s Mission Impossible stuntman.
But these scripts are trickier than they look. They always sound fun in logline form. But when you have to sit down and flesh them out, you quickly wonder how you’re going to take 20 pages of flesh and stretch it out to 100 pages.
I suppose it doesn’t matter as long as it’s funny.
So is Mega Acton Hit funny?
I did laugh a few times. There’s this scene where Dack, Julia, and Max, are discussing their intricate plan of dismantling a nuclear syndicate while sitting around a computer, then we cut to a wide shot and they’re all sitting in the middle of a Fed Ex store, using one of their rented computers.
There were a lot of fun jabs at how silly the dialogue is in these movies. When the crew is thrust into a dangerous situation, you’d get exchanges like… Dack: “I have a plan!” Julia: “What is it?!” Dack: “I’ll let you know when I think of it!”
Probably my favorite joke was when Dack sees an IBS Treatment Center in the middle of Liverpool and believes it’s an extension of his agency. They, of course, mistake his passion for believing he has *actual* irritable bowel syndrome, and perform emergency surgery on him.
On the flip side, there was comedy I didn’t like. I don’t think that Ivan and his team of nudists were funny at all. Not because it isn’t my type of humor. But because it’s lazy. Just having naked people onscreen for no other reason than “naked is funny” is lazy comedy writing.
Whatever joke you want to include, do it in a clever way. Which is why I liked the IBS joke. It makes fun of the fact that all these industries have the most pointless acronyms. It found a way to work that joke into the story later on (with the IBS Treatment Center). That I can get on board with.
People being nude for no other reason than that naked penises are funny? That’s, quite frankly, lame. Take a lesson from the best comedy scene ever, Ted getting his testicles stuck in his zipper on prom night in There’s Something About Mary. You’ve created an actual scenario around the nakedness as opposed to saying, “These guys are naked. Funny, right???”
Plus, nude doesn’t work on the page because we can’t see them. So even if someone is going to find that funny, they won’t laugh because they can’t see it! And will often forget the characters are nude until you remind them (that’s what kept happening to me while reading this).
A lot more could’ve been done on the character front as well. In comedies, you want your characters rocking those fatal flaws in big bright flashing lights.
Tidwell *does* explore that with Dack wanting to quit to spend more time with his wife. But for some reason I didn’t care. There were no scenes that made me a fanatic Jessica cheerleader. So after the thirtieth time that Dack tells Julia and Max that he wants to quit acting and be with his wife, all I could do was roll my eyes.
It’s hard, I get it. One of the most frustrating things in screenwriting is wondering if something’s working. Is this character working? Is this plotline working? Is this scene working? Is this third act working? Is this CONCEPT working?
But you want to know what I’ve found? I’ve found that, deep down, we know when something’s not working. I know this because I’ve probably given a thousand consultations where, after I sent the notes back to the writer, they said, “Carson, I knew that [that thing] wasn’t working. I just needed you to say it.”
So we know. And the wife thing didn’t work at all here. Which sucks because Tidwell built the entire emotional arc of the movie around it.
Mega Action Hit is fun. But like a lot of these scripts, the fun is too empty. It’s not genuine fun. It’s the kind of fun you have passively watching TV while messing around on your computer. In other words, there’s not enough here for me to endorse it.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: A “bridge” scene is not an excuse to be boring. In scripts where your characters are on the move, there’s a temptation that, when they’re on a car ride, or a train ride, or a plane ride, to “offload” some exposition. If you EVER think you can use a scene as a “breather?” As an opportunity to place some important but boring exposition in there, that’s terrible writing. Screenwriting is not about YOU. It’s about the READER. It’s THEIR experience you want to be good. Not yours. Sure, being able to offload that exposition onto a plane scene where we’re waiting for the characters to get to the next destination – that may be helpful to you, the writer. But I can promise you it isn’t going to be fun for the reader. We have that here in a plane scene where Max and Julia share their backstories with each other. BAD! NO! Always always always look to make the scene entertaining. You don’t get any “off” scenes as a screenwriter.
Quick Reminder – Logline Showdown Deadline is Thursday, August 24th! Have a script and want to see how the concept measures up against real-world competition? Enter Logline Showdown and battle it out with four other contestants!
What: Logline Showdown (feature scripts only)
Send: title, genre, logline
Deadline: Thursday, August 24th, 9:59pm Pacific Time
Where: Carsonreeves3@gmail.com
A lot of you are probably looking at the box office this weekend, seeing Barbie take the crown once again, twiddling your fingers together mischievously, and whispering to yourself, “Yessssss. Yesssssssss. Take that, Carson. How wrong you turned out to be.”
And to you I say, “Okay, Barbie, let’s go party!” For the love of Sugar Baby Ken, I’m all for Barbie’s success. I want people seeing movies at the movie theater. I support every soldier fighting that war, even if that soldier would prefer that women and men live on opposite sides of the planet. I’m KIDDING! (But not really)
What I’m more invested in, at the moment, is The Last Voyage of the Demeter entering the box office ring. I hear you chirping from the peanut gallery. “Last Voyage of the Demeter? What the heck is that??” The Last Voyage of the Demeter is a cool little concept about a ship that inadvertently finds out that it’s transporting Dracula’s coffin. And when Dracula gets out, all hell breaks loose.
It’s a perfect setup for a spec script. You’ve got this contained ship in the middle of the sea. Nowhere to hide. It’s the 19th century, so no one to call either. And then you’ve got that strange attractor we were talking about on Friday, with Dracula himself being on the ship.
What’s crazy about this movie is that the spec has been kicking around for almost 15 years (it was a big spec sale way back in the day from Bragi Schut). And now, after all that time, it’s finally been made (by the director of the cool little movie gem, “Troll Hunter”). As someone who understands more and more every day just how difficult it is to get movies made, I can’t help but celebrate this accomplishment.
A lot of you have probably looked at the post title and thought, “Has Carson lost his mind?” Answer: Maaayyyyyybe. “This movie barely made six million bucks this weekend. That’s about as fail as failure gets.” Let me explain something to you: If you write a spec script AND IT GETS A WIDE THEATRICAL RELEASE, you have won. You have won the godd****ed screenwriting lottery.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a theatrical release for a movie? The amount of competition that goes into obtaining just one of those coveted slots? Especially today, when there are less theatrical releases than ever. Throw an original spec into the mix and the odds get even worse. Studios do not like releasing original material. It’s too much of a gamble.
So why didn’t Last Voyage do better? I think whenever you have a horror movie that traverses too far off the beaten path, it’s trickier getting horror fans interested. Ironically, the thing that sets this horror movie apart – the fact that it’s on a boat in the 1800s – is probably why people didn’t show up.
People can relate to scary people in masks in haunted houses (Insidious). They can relate to freaky dolls (M3GAN). But it’s harder to relate to something that you could never, yourself, experience. When’s the last time you were on a creaky old ship having to escape a monster?
Of course, nobody here has been on a spaceship with a face-hugging alien following them through the corridors and that movie, “Alien,” did all right. There’s a big difference between these two films though. Alien was a masterpiece. Masterpieces trump any and all box office logic. They’re so good that people go out and tell others about the film which means everyone goes to see it.
The large majority of movies are not masterpieces. So they can’t depend on that advantage. I think the setup may have been a mite too unfamiliar when it came down to it. And while vampires are cool, it’s unclear if Dracula is cool to the young crowd. Even as the OG vampire, there’s something a little dated about Mr. Dracula. It’s too bad people feel that way because the movie actually looks atmospheric and good!
The Last Voyage of the Demeter is a serendipitous title when you think about it because it’s one of the last holdover specs from the days when you could still sell spec scripts. It made me wonder, what now? Now that they can no longer pull from that well, what will they pull from?
We’re reaching that point where the studios don’t have archives to plunder anymore. Demeter was one of the last spec sales that everyone agreed should be a movie.
Does that mean it’s Barbie and Marvel sequels for the rest of our lives? Maybe. But maybe not! Shall we talk about the pink elephant in the room? No Barbie sequel announced?? Does anybody find that strange?
Usually, when you’re a studio and you have a director you love in your fold, you make a deal immediately to get their next movie. It’s why directors like Christopher Nolan stayed at Warner Brothers for so long before the weird Tenet-Covid soap opera.
But Greta Gerwig did not sign up for a Barbie sequel with Warner Brothers. Or any movie with them. Which you would think, if WB liked the film, they would’ve done. Keep in mind, this all would’ve been before the movie became an unexpected super-hit. Before a movie is released, there’s always a lot of doubts, always a lot of second-guessing. As crazy as it sounds, maybe the people at Warner Brothers didn’t like the film. And now they’re regretting the heck out of their “wait and see” strategy.
Because instead of Barbie 2, Gerwig has signed a giant deal with Netflix to spearhead a Chronicles of Narnia franchise. Franchises can take up to 7-10 years of a director’s life. Which leaves the future of Barbie in total disarray. Would Gerwig try to sneak in a Barbie movie between Narnia movies? I’m not sure that’s going to happen. Which puts Warner Brothers in the awkward position of trying to find another director INSTEAD of re-hiring the director who just became the highest-grossing female director ever. How do they plan to spin that?
Another side note in this odd real life story is that Barbie being a feminist screed puts it squarely in the liberal storytelling aisle. Whereas Chronicles of Narnia is basically a retelling of the Bible. It seems like an odd choice, particularly because if Gerwig were to attempt to re-interpret Narnia to divert it away from its conservative roots, she would surely receive a ton of backlash from the Narnia audience.
It’s all rather confusing, weird, and slightly salacious.
Getting back to Last Voyage, what’s crazy is that this is a concept I would still tell a screenwriter to write RIGHT NOW. It still has all the ingredients for a great spec. Maybe that’s why the spec script and the feature film have never had a harmonious relationship. What’s good for one isn’t always good for the other. And to further confuse things, Last Voyage would probably make a perfect streaming movie, while Chronicles of Narnia feels like a theatrical release.
Does anything in Hollywood make sense?
It’s no secret that the industry is going through a transition.
The move away from original concepts at the box office as well as the rise of streaming has confused the marketplace in ways that probably won’t be settled for another five years.
The best way to explain it is that streaming has tried to pick up the slack on the original concept front and the results have been a mixed bag. We’ve gotten red-headed step-children like Ghosted, Red Notice and The Gray Man, which are more “shy concept” than “high concept.”
But there’s also been some golden children. Army of the Dead comes to mind. The Tomorrow War. Palm Springs. With these movies, we’re talking legitimate big ideas, the kind of “spec-y” material that gets industry folks jazzed up.
But I must be honest in saying that I’ve been questioning the value of “high concept” (or “flashy concept”) lately. It used to be the highest form of currency an unrepped writer possessed. Nowadays, the kind of script that gets a writer noticed is muddier than ever.
Take a movie like Extraction, on Netflix. Good movie. But how reliable is it that such a nuts-and-bolts action spec is going to get you noticed? That film was dependent on its direction to work. It was the furthest thing from a script-friendly concept.
You also have these screenwriting success stories that revolve around voice. Christy Hall, who wrote “Get Home Safe.” Shay Hatten, who writes all the John Wick stuff. He broke out because of his sixth gear writing style. Simon Rich, who’s positioning himself to be the next Charlie Kaufman. Emerald Fennel, with her eerie revenge story, Promising Young Woman.
So then, should writers forgo concept and write something that best showcases their voice?
The answer to that is a big fat “no” and I’ll tell you why. Because the one thing that has been true of Hollywood ever since its inception is that NO ONE WANTS TO READ YOUR SCRIPT.
They don’t. I love reading and I can’t even read your script. Not because I don’t want to. But because I’ve got a million other scripts to read so I don’t have time.
Now imagine someone who doesn’t like reading at all! How do you get them to read your script?
There are only four ways.
- Already have a relationship with them.
- Someone they respect must recommend the script to them.
- There’s a monetary benefit to reading the script (an agent reading a project that already has funding to see if it’s right for their actor).
- It’s a really good idea.
We know we can’t do anything about number three. And both one and two are dependent on you getting the script to someone in the first place. Which leaves us with number four. You have to come up with an idea that entices readers to want to read your script. And it has to be the best idea possible because, as we’ve established, nobody wants to read your script. So you have to make your idea irresistible.
I don’t think writers internalize this truth. A good way to cross that barrier is to imagine yourself pitching the script to a friend. That’s where you really know if your idea is a winner or a dud. A friend catches you off guard and asks you what your script is about. No matter how well you explain it, it always ends up sounding boring (or weak, or bad).
Most writers live in Delusion Land when it comes to their movie ideas because they’re biased and have an emotional attachment to their ideas. Telling them their idea is bad just makes them want to prove you wrong. So let’s use this as an opportunity to remind you what makes for a good concept.
STRANGE ATTRACTOR
There are a lot of movie ideas out there that sound decent at first. Yet there’s clearly something missing. That thing is usually the strange attractor. The “strange attractor” is the element in your idea that’s unique enough to set your concept apart from others. A kid who gets kidnapped by a local serial killer and imprisoned in his basement is a dime-a-dozen concept. A kid who gets kidnapped by a local serial killer, imprisoned in his basement, and has access to a phone that can connect with all the killer’s previous victims is a concept with a strange attractor.
MARKETABLE
Would it require mountains to be moved to market your idea? Is your idea about a 19 year old selling bed mattresses in 1997? Is it about two nuns questioning their faith? Is it an impressionistic account of an American family’s rise and fall over two decades? I’m not saying these movies don’t occasionally break out. Aftersun is about a woman’s memories with her dad when she was 11. It would definitely fall into the “unmarketable” category. But remember that you’re not pitching people an already-finished movie. You’re pitching them a script and trying to get them to read it. How many of you have even seen Aftersun? If you haven’t seen a beloved movie that’s already finished and available for only 5 bucks, why would you think anyone would want to read your unmarketable premise, which *IS NOT* a movie that won a dozen awards? If you’re going indie, at least try and get *ONE* marketable element in there. Even Bones and All had cannibals. Even the indy-est film ever, “The Whale,” had a 600-pound man. Even “Pig,” had a truffle pig. Think about how your movie would be marketed to know if your average reader would be interested in reading it.
THE ‘ALMOST’ CONCEPT
The ‘almost’ concept is the fake Rolex of the screenwriting world. It looks good at first. But the closer you inspect it, the less it holds up. It basically amounts to using a lot of high concept buzz words that don’t add up to anything real. Here’s an example: “An advanced AI algorithm figures out a way to create the first real vampires, werewolves, and zombies, which are inadvertently released into the population.” Look at all the high concept buzzwords here. “Advanced AI algorithm.” “Vampires.” “Werewolves.” “Zombies.” It must be a good idea, right? No. Because it’s an inelegant collection of surface-level elements that lack a compelling narrative.
IRONY
Irony is the biggest concept cheat code you’re ever going to find. It’s actually quite difficult to come up with a good ironic concept, which means that, when you do, your idea is going to stand out. One of the reasons that The Lost City was a hit was because it had a fun ironic premise. The dopey clueless model on the book cover of all her romance-adventure novels is determined to save the author when she gets stuck in a real-life adventure. The great thing about ironic movie ideas is that they’ve proven they can stand the test of time. 1983’s Trading Places is about a poor guy who trades places with a rich guy. We all love watching a rich person who’s all of a sudden penniless. Or a poor person who becomes a millionaire. We all love irony.
PUSH THE ENVELOPE
Not everyone likes to write big flashy movies. But, if you’re going to write something smaller, you have to find ways to turbo-boost the idea or I’m afraid people just aren’t going to be interested. Promising Young Woman walked a dangerous line with some of the scenes in the script as well as its main character’s actions. Black List script, Magazine Dreams, about a disturbed man obsessed with bodybuilding, gets uncomfortably gnarly. If you’re thinking of writing an idea that’s both small and lightweight, you’re making things sooooooo hard on yourself. If you’ve got one of the things listed above (irony, strange attractor, marketability) it can work. But if not, you need some edge. Look to push the envelope, usually with your main character. The Joker is the ‘best case scenario’ outcome of this strategy.
In the end, idea construction comes down to creativity. It starts with inspiration – you saw something and it gave you an idea for a movie. You then have to be honest with yourself. Do I have a legitimate movie idea here? When I was in high school, I saw my friend’s brand new litter of puppies and I thought, “That would be a great idea if the puppies were all real smart and could communicate with humans.” So I came up with a drama idea (not comedy idea) about smart puppies. Again, just cause you’re inspired doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.
Once you have the idea, come up with the best way to present it. I’ve told this story before – screenwriter Ben Ripley’s first six drafts of Source Code centered around a detective trying to figure out why a train crashed. Once Ripley moved the script inside the train, in the mind of a character who keeps waking up on it every eight minutes, the idea came alive.
And from there, you have to field-test it. Ask people who have told you before that you have bad ideas what they think. If several of them are really pumped up about the idea, you probably have something on your hands. If everyone’s lukewarm or gives you that pleasant, “Yeah, it’s not bad” response? Or starts asking a lot of confused questions? Throw the idea away. There isn’t time for you to waste on an idea that you’ll find out six months down the road wasn’t any good in the first place.
Feel free to field test ideas here in the comments. I’m going to ask for an amendment to the field-testing, though. If you are replying to someone’s idea, you must rank it on a 1-10 scale. BE HONEST. We’re trying to help people here. Not send them off on a wild bad-movie-idea goose chase. And writers? I’ve found that most people rating you on a 1-10 scale will rate you one number higher than what they really think. Just because most people don’t want to be mean. So if someone gives you a 6 out of 10, they’re probably giving you a 5 out of 10.
You can come to me as well. I will give it to you straight. My logline consults are $25. You can e-mail me at carsonreeves1@gmail.com if you want one!
For reference, I’ve done a few hundred logline consults this year and I’ve given about ten 8’s. A couple of 8.5’s. No 9’s or 10’s. And I use “7” as my floor for whether you should write the script or not.
