A funny thing happens when you start reading a lot of scripts. You become a little jaded. Your standards begin to inch up. That initial giddiness of reading a future piece of celluloid wears off. Is that what’s happened to Roger? Or has the material simply not been up to snuff lately? While you ponder that, I’ll ready my next installment of The Reader Top 25. Expect that around 6am Pacific Time. Also, expect a couple of reviews from the newly announced winners of the Nicholl Fellowship later this week. I know you guys are wondering what your scripts lost out to. Stay tuned and you’ll find out. And now, Roger’s review for “God Is A Bullet:”

Genre: Thriller
Premise: A policeman teams up with an ex-cult member to find his missing daughter.
About: Nick Cassavetes wrote this draft of the script. However, Ehren Kruger (writer of Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen) is set to take on the latest rewrite. The rights to the book were snapped up by Bold And The Beautiful head writer Bradley Bell, who will produce alongside partner Daniel Bobker. Kruger is also responsible for penning Torso, which will be shot by David Fincher.
Writers: Nick Cassavetes (The Notebook, My Sister’s Keeper, Alpha Dog, John Q). Based on a novel by Boston Teran.

Warning: This script ain’t pretty. You’ll probably get sick on the 2nd page when one of our heroes, Case, is shoved into the skinned torso of a cow. I don’t think my co-writer even made it that far. (“I started reading the first page and it was so dark I stopped.”) But that’s just a flashback, and this story has a lot of ‘em.

Supposedly, Teran’s life remains in danger because it’s purported that “God is a Bullet” is based on fact. If it is, color me scared shitless.

Who is Boston Teran?

It’s a name comprised of two cities, which is a tip-off that it’s probably a pseudonym (like Reno Vegas, or Jerusalem London). Rumor-mill palaver says it’s the nom de plume for a successful mystery author. All I know about the guy (or gal, as some people confess) is that his/her’s latest manuscript, entitled “The Creed of Violence” was leaked to Hollywood producers before a publishing contract was even signed and supposedly everyone went apeshit in a war to buy it.

Although people who have read ARCs of that novel say it rocks (and at the time of this writing it’s been out for a week or so), “God is a Bullet” is Teran’s first novel and as a screenplay I don’t feel like there’s any restraint shown in its quest to be noir.

It’s certainly hardboiled, but it’s so pervertedly earnest and over-the-top I got lost in its maze of mass murder and gang-rape. I have to admit, it’s a strange read indeed when the guy who made the “The Notebook” and “My Sister’s Keeper” achieves a Takashi Miike level of depravity.

It’s like the story hits noir, isn’t satisfied, and buries the needle until it reaches Japanese shock horror.

Which, in this case, isn’t a good thing. After last week, I tried to choose something that wasn’t horror, but dammit, horror keeps choosing me.

What, exactly, is noir?

It depends who you ask. Authors and filmmakers seem to be divided on the subject. Paul Schrader says it’s not a genre, that it’s defined by tone and mood. He also says the film noir cycle starts with 1941’s “Maltese Falcon” and ends in 1958 with “Touch of Evil”.

Which this reviewer thinks is bullshit, because people are still making film noir today. (“The Dark Knight”, anyone?) I’m a student in the school that believes noir is a genre unto itself, which can be melded to other genres, defined by the quest for personal redemption against the atmosphere of a sophisticated moral darkness.

It’s more than atmosphere.

Noir is conflict.

Noir is being trapped in Hell, and trying to claw your way out.

And I think noir characters that try to return to the light oughta have a code they live by. If not, then fucking anything goes with no regards for consequence, and “God is a Bullet” has a protagonist that doesn’t so much throw his code out the window, but never had one to begin with.

What’s the play, Rog?

A satanic Manson-like cult called The Left Hand of Darkness kidnap Gabi Hightower after they torture, rape and murder her mother and step-father. Yes, it’s particularly gruesome and the first ten pages are a force of nature.

Bob Hightower is Gabi’s cop father, and he teams up with Case Hardin, an ex-junkie and ex-cult member who lives in a Hollywood halfway house. Case is easily my favorite character, a gal so wounded and consumed with her quest for redemption she reads like a twisted Sarah Connor on meth-amphetamines.

Case escaped Cyrus’ clutches (the leader of the cult) and feels compelled to help Bob find his daughter after she hears about the murders on the news. The ones who walk on the Left-Handed Path are so elusive Case knows that she is the only one who can help. And we understand that this is her destiny, her end-game.

Her redemption.

Cyrus is a sick fuck. He makes “life sculptures” out of human beings and likes to pin Tarot cards to the corpses he leaves behind. He indoctrinates converts with drugs, gang-rape (there’s so much gang-rape in this script it becomes a motif), and nasty psycho-sexual satanic rituals.

Bob’s daughter, Gabi, is a fourteen-year old girl, and she experiences all of this.

Multiple times.

And you can’t help but wonder if Bob should put a bullet in his daughter’s head if he and Case ever rescue her.

Case takes Bob to the Ferryman, Hell’s doorman. Most of his limbs have been replaced by prosthetics. “As he comes hitching forward, he’s like some biomechanical entity.” The Ferryman supplies Case and Bob with not only artillery and tattoos to transform Bob from one of society’s “sheep” to an outlaw So-Cal “wolf”, but with information concerning Cyrus’ whereabouts.

Cyrus is on rat patrol, working “the border between Calexico and Yuma, picking up drugs brought across the line by wetback mules”. Presumably, this is how he funds his Charlie Manson lifestyle. And with this information, Bob and Case are off to the border to hunt cultists.

Surely there’s some double-dealing and bad mojo along the way, right?

Yep, and this is where the script feels not only pedestrian, but excessive. Most noir stories have some upper crust citizens who turn out to be corrupt, perverted, or just morally evil. In fact, I think the strength of good noir is exploring the concept of corruption, of evil.

And this is where “God is a Bullet” slaps you in the face, kicks you in the balls, and ejaculates in your hair while telling you that these characters are so stained they’ve crossed over into the realm of caricature.

I wanted to burn all of my clothes and scour my skin with bleach after I read this script.

Enter John Lee and Maureen Bacon. John Lee’s the Sheriff of Clay County, California, and Maureen is a wealthy business owner. This is where the plot gets convoluted.

Sam (Gabi’s stepfather, the guy who got his penis cut off in the first few pages?) was fucking Maureen. John Lee likes young boys, but he does not like Sam fucking his wife. So John Lee gets Cyrus and his gang to kill Sam, except things spin out of control when Cyrus and his “war children” hump everything to death and claim Gabi as their new toy.

Who woulda thought that a FUCKING PSYCHOPATH CULT LEADER would have caused so many problems, huh?

Things get even more snarled when we discover that John Lee, and Gabi’s grandfather, Arthur (Maureen’s business partner), have ties to Cyrus that go all the way to the “Furnace Creek Cult Murders”. Apparently, Cyrus’ pseudo-mother owned some fertile Clay County real-estate that these upper crust citizens wanted. So Cyrus kills this woman and Arthur arranged it so the land became his.

All this just proves my theory that the only people who can make me give two fucks about real-estate are Raymond Chandler, Charlie Huston, and James Ellroy.

With the Bacons, you have a woman who likes to have affairs and a man who likes to have sex with boys. There’s something to the dysfunction that makes it feel like the writer is trying too hard. It’s too much…whenever you’re writing about moral darkness, you have to have a counterpoint.

There has to be light.

A drop of light makes the darkness seem blacker. You have to have a point of reference, of comparison. You keep piling on the fetishes and it ruins everything.

The good people that lurk in the background, that live in the community, are not explored. This is only the representation of light, or good, and they are depicted (to use cult-speak) as “sheep”.

Our heroes are so stained they grapple with moments of extreme existential horror and at moments, give in to it. Bob goes from desk-pushing pussy to kill-em-all commando like the writer flipped an abrupt magical switch, and it doesn’t feel like a journey, but a cop-out.

So what happens?

Somewhere in the middle, I disconnected completely from the story. It was for a variety of reasons, but plot-wise, I feel like the screenwriter wrote all of our characters into a corner.

Cyrus is the type of villain that always has the upper hand. Case concocts a plan to hit him in his wallet (and I kept asking myself, does this guy even care about money?) by double-crossing his main drug guy and stealing the money. And they’re going to exchange the money for the kid? It doesn’t feel right. Cyrus has spent his whole life living off the grid, surely he has resources stocked up. He’s toted as the big bad wolf, the ultimate hunter. And our heroes gain the upper-hand by forcing an old-fashioned “money for the hostage” exchange?

I don’t think so. If Cyrus is really smart, he’d just kill the kid. Hunt down Case and Bob. I mean, he sends one of his “war children” to hurl a rattle-snake that’s been loaded with speed at Bob. It’s an absurd scene, but it conveys that Cyrus can strike at any moment, in any way he wants.

Instead, they meet him, they give him the money, and he points them on their way. A van full of his “war children” kick Gabi out, and let them go. Only to start hunting them at night fall. Um, again, they could have just killed Case and Bob right there.

But anyways, this hunt sort of turns into a sunburnt Route 66 So-Cal Road Warrior, and this perked my interest. Yet, after it ended, I still wanted to shoot myself in the face.

To use a noir pantheon analogy, “God is a Bullet” is more perverted Ross Macdonald than classy Raymond Chandler.

[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[xx] barely kept my interest
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: As I read this script, I got the sense that “God is a Bullet” is the type of novel you read to be blown away by the language, the description and prose-poetry of the thing. So much so that you understand that the author spent most of his energy on the poetry than on the story and plot. A script like “Big Hole” pulls off the Cormac McCarthy prosaic descriptions because it knows when to use it, and when not to. But this script is a good example of cryptic hipster dialogue gone overboard. It attains self-parody. Some lines work, and when they do, it’s pretty cool. But when they don’t, they really fucking don’t.

In case you missed it, it’s Double Post Monday! Yeah, you heard that right. Two posts for the price of one. I reviewed Paranormal Activity so if you’re interested in hearing my reaction, scroll down or click here. If you want my twitter (“Twitter” is now a verb used to describe anything quickly) on it, I thought it was a solid scary movie that’s worth the hype. Roger doesn’t have time for such trivial shakey-cam endeavors though. He’d much rather review the long-rumored but never filmed Arnold Schwartzenegger project, “Crusade.” I remember when Harry from AICN would have weekly updates on this script. Now you get a chance to actually read it for yourself. Take it away Roger…

Premise: A prisoner who is set to die is freed when he fakes a miracle during a visit by the Pope, and is drafted to recapture Jerusalem.
About: In the summer of 1994, the film was weeks from starting production under the helm of Paul Verhoeven, with sets being built in Spain and Morocco when Carolco’s Mario Kassar pulled the plug because the budget was topping $120 million. Because Schwarzenegger had a pay-or-play deal, he walked away with ownership of the project and Carolco gambled on Cutthroat Island, which had a budget of $115 million. It only made $10 million, landing it in the Guinness Book of World Records for biggest box office flop of all time and bankrupting Carolco Pictures. There’s a lesson in there somewhere, and I’m guessing an old-fashioned compare and contrast session with each script could yield us much wisdom. Or maybe, we need only ask ourselves, who the fuck says ‘No’ to Arnold?
Writer: Walon Green. Revisions by Gary Goldman.

One of my favorite filmmakers is Sam Peckinpah and one of my favorite films is The Wild Bunch. So much so that I probably drive my co-writer mad whenever we hit a narrative bump and I break the silence with, “Well, in The Wild Bunch…”

So it was a delight for me to read a script by Walon Green. There’s lots to learn from a man who is known for his remorseless sense of structure, his byzantine attention to detail, and his palpably-drawn characters.

Walon Green.

The Wild Bunch.

Sorcerer.

WarGames.

And also…Crusade.

Isn’t Crusade the fabled Arnold Schwarzenegger project where his enemies stitch him into a live donkey?

Fuck yeah, it is. But it’s more like Han shoving an unconscious Luke into the carcass of a Tauntaun, except substitute Han for angry Saracens and Tauntaun for a dead donkey that’s hanging from a spit surrounded by hungry hyenas. But this is just one scene that’s sure to offend special interest groups worldwide, and we have so much more (awesomely) loathsome ground to cover.

The opening title credits are no slouch. It’s 1095 A.D. and we meet a rider named Hagen who proceeds to rob a French Abbey during vespers. In the Abbot’s chambers, it’s more like a bacchanal than a prayer service, where the main course is prepubescent acolyte boy-flesh. If that’s not enough to ruffle your conservative feathers, consider the soundtrack of pan-pipes and lutes.

Long story short, Hagen is caught red-handed and the Abbot sends for Count Emmich of Bascarat, whom we meet raping a pubescent peasant girl in a vat full of grape slime. “Closer to bone the sweeter the meat,” after all, and we are introduced to his villainous entourage who may or may not die horrible deaths at the hands of Hagen (against the backdrop of two civilizations at war) later on.

Here’s the lowdown: Hagen’s inheritance has been stolen from him by Emmich, his half-brother. So rather than serve as this douchebag’s serf, he would rather be a thief. Only problem is, the acquisitive Abbot agrees to keep Emmich’s dirty little secret for a quarter of his estate, in exchange for hanging Hagen.

What gives? Hagen can’t die. Doesn’t he have to fight in the Crusades first?

You betcha. Hagen’s scaffold is struck down when emissaries from the Vatican arrive, heralding the arrival of papal hype-master, Pope Urban II. He spins a tale about a city named Jerusalem, a forlorn place where nuns are ravaged by Moslems and where Christians live in fear and slavery. He urges his crowd to listen to the voices of the martyrs, to take up arms and free Jerusalem from the blackamoors.

He promises remission from all sin and eternal salvation to those who die in battle…and to their families. If people aren’t convinced yet, Pope Urban II guarantees a holy sign to confirm that this war is God’s will.

What’s the sign?

I’d rather not spoil it, but let’s just say that Hagen, not content with merely having his execution date postponed, fakes a miracle from his jail cell with the help of his cell-mate, Ari, a comedic and resourceful shyster.

When it comes to survival, Ari is a great guy to have on your side. Just like in Entourage.

And before we know it, Hagen is pardoned and he’s marching off to the Holy Lands with the rest of The Pope’s Army.

Hagen is the official mascot of Christendom’s war against Islam.

Unfortunately, he is relegated under the command of his d-bag brother, Count Emmich, rather than the knight known as Godfrey of Bouillon, a blind idealist who at least has less scandalous intentions than Emmich.

But don’t worry, Hagen’s situation improves when he royally fucks up his stepbrother’s face in a dispute involving the intentioned rape of Jewish newlyweds who have strayed too close to the army of Crusaders.

Hagen’s not one to sit around and watch his dickcheese brother violate a bride in front of her husband (or at all). Obviously, the deal breaker is that Emmich opts to “protect” his head with a “pot helm”, and Hagen decides to use his brother’s armored head for batting practice with his axe-handle. A combat faus pax? You be the judge. But a fair warning, the description detailing what happens when a blacksmith removes Emmich’s pot helm leaves nothing to the imagination.

Emmich may have lost the battle, but he’s in this for the long run. In a scheme that would make Machiavelli proud, he sells Hagen and Ari to Moslem slavers. So, we’re treated to a cool sea-faring sequence where Hagen and Ari attempt to commandeer the ship they’re on to escape the Saracen corsair. There’s some decapitations and some swash-buckling, but the fun and games ultimately end in manacles.

Except not for Ari. Who speaks enough Arabic to convince the slavers that he’s actually a Moslem that was captured by the Christians.

Things look grim for Hagen.

They get nut-chopping grim when Hagen witnesses another captor get castrated by a cold-as-ice Moslem surgeon and his assistant. And right when Hagen’s member is put on the butcher’s block, Ari dramatically strides in like the best of double-agents and rescues him. Like I said, when it comes to survival, or avoiding the fate of eunuch, Ari is a great guy to have on your side.

How is Ari able to be so convincing?

Ari’s uncle is counselor to Ibn Khaldun, the Moslem Prince. Hagen is to be trained as a royal guardsman. We learn that Crusaders have besieged Antioch, and the only “safe” window for Hagen to escape will open when they march on Jerusalem. Essentially, he’s forced to blend into his surroundings.

It’s in Jerusalem that Hagen learns the truth.

The city is truly a mélange of three faiths where Jews, Christians and Moslems can worship freely.

It is also in Jerusalem where Hagen falls in love with Leila, the daughter of Ibn Khaldun. While Hagen and Leila play cat-and-mouse fuckgames, in which Leila vicariously experiences Hagen’s sexual prowess through her odalisque, Sheba, Emmich rises to power and influence among the Crusaders in Antioch.

In a city that’s stripped of food, what will the starving Crusaders have for their victory feast? According to Emmich, it’s people. “I see no shortage of meat in Antioch. I see ewes that carry ample flesh and tender lambs still fattening at the nipple.” A ghastly stew is prepared for the Christian army, and the soldiers pledge their loyalty to Emmich with their grateful spoons.

Meanwhile meanwhile, the Moslem leaders discuss the possibility of protecting Jerusalem’s walls with archers from Damascus. The plot thickens as we learn that the reluctant Damascan leader is a selfish prick who will only share his army if he can marry Leila. Ibn Khaldun muses that perhaps they can reason with the Crusaders, maybe even attain a truce.

The story kicks into high gear when the Crusaders reach Jerusalem’s walls and Ibn Khaldun sends Leila to her brother’s estate in Nablus, with Hagen as escort. An assault on the royal entourage segues into the infamous donkey scene.

But what about the big war sequence we’ve all been waiting for?

It’s pretty fucking cool. It’s a third act ball-buster that injects some much-needed momentum for those who grew tired of the Moslem girlfriend stuff.

There are some startling images here. Hagen, berserker-fighting through a sea of battle, armed with a scythe that he uses to cut through the ankles of Moslem soldiers. Hagen, his silhouette projected onto a wall of smoke, back-lit by the setting sun, singlehandedly fighting off hordes of men, the tableau rallying the fleeing Crusaders to get back into the fight.

The battle spills into the siege of Jerusalem, and I ain’t gonna lie, it’s grisly.

But the best part, and probably the most resonant, is a scene involving the One True Cross in the Holy Sepulchre. It’s a disarming sequence that cuts through all of Hagen’s war-time survival profiteering and points at a higher power. It’s good stuff.

Crusade has an amazing attention to detail in it that points to an older, tougher era of screenwriting. With today’s “modern” scripts, I can breeze through them in an hour or two. Not so with this one. I was forced to slow down, to pay attention, to savor the words.

This script makes “Medieval” look fucking clownish in comparison. And “Medieval” is a script I like (I’m sorry I’m not sorry, I have doubts about “Predators” after hearing the plot. It’s not “Aliens” to “Alien”. It’s a coin-op arcade game a company like Midway would have made back in the mid-90s.)

It might be blasphemous to say it, especially considering the two iconic characters Schwarzenegger is known for (The Terminator and Conan), but I think Hagen could have been his greatest role. It’s not only iconic, it has a depth to it that transcends the epic breadth of the background story. It’s an underdog story of redemption set against the historical conflict of The Crusades.

I felt there might have been too much exotic girlfriend and not enough holy war, but what the hell, it ties into Hagen’s conflict with Emmich. Which is the overarching theme to Crusade. Redemption. And isn’t that what all redemption stories are about? A man trying to regain his inheritance, a man trying to re-seize a mantle lost? Quim just sweetens that redemptive pot, amirite?

[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] barely kept my interest
[ ] worth the read
[x] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: The next time you’re lost in your own character arcs without a thematic compass, just remember what Conan said: The best things in life are to kill your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women.

Seriously, when it comes to movies about men with swords, everything else is icing on the cake.

Genre: Sci-fi
Premise: A civilization ending comet is on a collision course with Earth.
About: Back before Armageddon and Deep Impact, James Cameron (along with Peter Hyams) was angling to get his own asteroid/comet disaster flick into theaters. For whatever reason, his script was ignored in favor of Dreamworks’ and Disney’s own versions. Or was it?
Writer: Peter Hyams and James Cameron
Details: 136 pages (undated draft)

In case I haven’t made it clear, I’m head over heels in fan love with James Cameron. The man has proven time and time again that he’s the King of Blockbusters. While I understand the Titanic backlash, particularly in response to the film’s dialogue, I’ll repeat what every good writer knows: It isn’t the dialogue that’s difficult to get right, it’s the structure. And the structure underneath the Titanic screenplay is so solid not even the biggest iceberg in the world could sink it. It’s hard enough to keep someone’s interest for 90 minutes. Cameron kept you biting your nails for twice that. Even the man’s less successful films, The Abyss and True Lies, are better than 95% of the summer movies you see today (the director’s cut of The Abyss is particularly trippy if you ever get a chance to see it).

But I have to say, this whole 3-D thing isn’t for me. I’ve gotten into some fights with friends over this but I can’t imagine any scenario where putting bulky 3-D glasses on every time you go to the theater is the norm. That doesn’t mean I won’t give Avatar a chance. On the contrary, Avatar is probably the one movie I *will* see in 3-D. If anyone’s going to do this right, it will be the creator of Terminator and Aliens. But what bothers me about the movement is that it’s not so much consumer driver (us demanding it) as industry driven (them pushing it on us). Hollywood clearly needs something to differentiate itself from the ever-improving home theater experience. 3-D is the only thing they’ve come up with. So they have, and will, throw every dollar they have into convincing us it’s the future. And that’s the problem. Is that’s exactly how it feels. A desperate attempt to keep us going to movies. I, however, come from the old school. You know, that school that says, “Write better scripts.” Studio heads may laugh at me when I mention such a silly idea, but I honestly think that’s the key. Look at Pixar if you don’t believe me. They put so much emphasis on the script and look at their track record.

Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. Back in the days when you could find a pair of 3-D glasses in the current month’s issue of MAD magazine, Cameron and Peter Hyams (writer-director of 2010) wrote a comet heading towards earth flick called, “Bright Angel Falling”. For you under-ten year olds, 1998 was the year of two asteroid-earth collision movies, the Steven Spielberg produced “Deep Impact” and the Michael Bay directed “Armageddon.” Both these films came out within a FEW MONTHS OF EACH OTHER. If that doesn’t tell you how fucked up Hollywood is, I don’t know what does. Both movies brought on a large amount of writers. Armageddon in particular had, what some people believed, was the most writers ever to have worked on a single project. We’re talking tens of millions of dollars were spent on that screenplay. And my question today is: why? Why did both productions spend so much money on writing when they basically took James Cameron’s screenplay and switched out the title page?

I suppose there are differences here but man, not many. Bright Angel Falling centers on Will Seacord, a divorced astronaut who’s up in space so much he can probably name all the satellites on site. As a result, he doesn’t see much of his 15 year old rebellious daughter, Claire. Work’s given him an excuse for that. So when he’s told he’ll no longer be a part of NASA’s number 1 flight crew anymore, the reality of a life post-NASA, a life where he’ll have to face his failures as a parent, have him reevaluating everything.

Around this time, a young astronomer (the female Asian version of Elijah Wood) spots the comet that’s going to turn our planet plural. The president is notified and pretty soon the whole world is aware that human extinction is 3 months away. But the prez isn’t going down without a fight. The United States government puts their best minds together to come up with a solution but the truth is there’s nothing that can be done in such a short amount of time. That is until a couple of Berkely students stumble in with an old thesis paper they think is the answer to earth’s problems. What if they strategically place two bombs on the comet and detonate them simultaneously to knock the comet off its trajectory so it will miss earth? (Does any of this sound familiar?)

A crew is readied, people prepare, and in a scene reminiscent of the terrorist attack in Contact, the captain of the crew is killed by some religious freak. What do you know? Seacord is once again in command of the shuttle. There’s some training stuff with the rest of the crew but to be honest, it wasn’t very interesting. One touch I did like (which is funny, because it’s one that neither movie chose to use) requires them to use two 50 megaton nukes. And there are only two of these bombs in the world. Both of them reside in Russia (this would be China if the script were written today). Because Russia refuses to just hand over two of their biggest nukes to the U.S., they give them on the condition that two Russians accompany the bombs, each one containing the codes to activate them, which they will do once the bombs are in place on the comet. The reason I liked this so much was because I have a feeling this is exactly what would happen if our world was threatened by something. Politics would take precedence over saving mankind. It also serves a great dramatic purpose, since you know those Russians aren’t going to be around when the actual codes need to be entered.

Anyway, back on earth, fragments from the comet start hitting early (I told you it was similar). And in one of the coolest described destruction sequences I’ve ever read, Cameron and Hyams detail one of these black-out-the-sky-it’s-so-big chunks hitting the ocean at “a thousand times the speed of a bullet”, resulting in a colossal tsunami wave that shoots off in every direction. I want you to stop and imagine something as big as, say, 50 city blocks, shooting towards the earth 1000 times faster than a bullet. Imagine what that would look like. I honestly felt like I was in the theater watching this during the description. It was that cool.

But once the astronauts are in the air, I’m afraid I felt like I was back watching Ben Affleck run animal crackers up girls’ bellies, because it really is sequence after sequence from Armageddon. From the Mir hookup gone wrong to the slingshotting around the moon (although it’s way cooler in Cameron’s version) to Seacord locking his co-astronaut in the shuttle so that he can detonate the bomb manually. It sucks because it takes away from an otherwise cool reading experience. I’m guessing with all the similarities that Disney must’ve bought this screenplay, right? Can anyone confirm this?

As for the script itself, it’s probably not something you guys should emulate. Cameron and Hyams write in big intimidating chunks, sometimes 15 lines long, going into the minute details of the science behind the operation. Cameron’s obviously obsessed with this stuff and since he probably entertained directing the project himself at some point, he may have been writing these things more for his own reference than the readers.

In the end, I think it’s worth the read because Cameron basically does everything they did in those movies, but better. The amount of research this man incorporates into his projects is astounding and boy does it help sell the idea. When he tells us, “It takes 30 thousand people to get a shuttle ready for launch. 6 million parts need to be checked,” we understand the scope in a way that we never did in Deep Impact or Armageddon. It would be an interesting exercise to read the script then watch those two movies, just to see how Cameron’s version compares side by side. I have a general sense. But I haven’t seen either film since the summer they came out so I don’t remember everything.

Maybe the biggest compliment I can pay James Cameron is that if there was a comet heading towards earth, I’d want him on the team assigned to stop it. If you’re a Cameron fan, you should definitely give this a read.

[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] barely kept my interest
[x] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: I know I just praised Cameron’s attention to detail, but there are times when he gets a little carried away. It’s one thing to explain how the shuttle is going to land on the comet. It’s another to get into the different kinds of compounds needed to create the fuel that will get them there. Know when enough is enough. Story is always most important. If you’re slowing everything down so you can explain the minute details of something that we only need the bare essentials of, take a step back and determine which information is really necessary and cut out the rest. Nobody’s going to be as patient with you as they are with a James Cameron script.

So I’m introducing a new script reviewer today because he’s a great writer and passionate about the craft (and he writes me weekly e-mails telling me how awesome Scriptshadow is). He kept raving to me about this awesome script he read that he just had to tell the world about. I tried to explain to him that I already had a backlog of script reviews in queue. He ignored me and sent the review anyway. Once I saw how passionate he was, I knew I had to post it. So I’d like to introduce everyone to… Michael Stark.

Random observations before I give Michael the reigns. Strange that the script title is also the name of Freeman’s most famous character? And what the hell happened to Bruce Willis??? When did he become a cranky old man?? It’s sad. I’ll still see anything he’s in. But after this interview, I won’t ever look at him the same way again.

Genre: Action/comedy
Premise: A retired Black-Ops Agent must reassemble his old team to fight the new generation of high-tech assassins hunting him down.
About: Bruce Willis and Morgan Freeman already attached to this comic book flick. ‘Nuff said.
Writers: The Brothers Erich and Jon Hoeber adapting a Sir Warren Ellis Graphic Novel
Details: 120 pages (November 14, 2008 first draft, revised)

First off, I’m old school. Not just kind of old school, but real old school. I’m typewriters and rotary dial phones and vinyl records and staples-in-the-navels of centerfolds kind of old school. So, I just can’t get into reading scripts as pdfs. Can’t stand it. I loved the fact that they had to pulp some thousand-year-old Sequoia just so I could read your fucking work of genius. Screenwriting is an art. It requires sacrifice. Trees must die! Toner cartridges must get depleted. There might even be papercuts.

I know the industry is trending green these days, but I swear on the life of your vegan girlfriend’s pound-rescued crack puppy that I promise to recycle all the paper you send me. I’ll fold every page of your fucking work of genius into assortments of barnyard origami to leave at crime scenes. I’ll wrap my kid’s peanut-free school-bound sandwiches with your untroubled third act. Hell, I’ll chew on every page of your sparkling dialogue till I can spit out a fine paste that’ll turn your high concept into reprocessed, adult diapers for June Allison.

Just gimme your words on paper. I need to have you in my hands. I gotta feel the true heft of your tome. I wanna get blisters on my fingers from turning the pages so goddamn fast. I want to take you in the can with me cause I just can’t put your magnum opus down. I want to jot down notes you’ll never read in the margins. I want to spill coffee all over your script at the Farmer’s Market and play keep away with it from Andre De Toth, whose depth perception has been kinda off these days. And, of course, for my troubles, I’m gonna steal your 1.5 inch brads when I’m finished, cause I’m not only old school, but I haven’t worked in like fucking forever and I gotta scrimp and scrounge and steal wherest I can.

This is just how it’s supposed to be done. Call me old fashioned, but screenplays are made to be read in one sitting. You wanna know why spec scripts aren’t selling right now? It ain’t the economy, stupid. It’s cause you listened to that liar, Al Gore, and you’re now dutifully sending them all out as pdf files! Producers and executives and movie stars and their assistants already have the attention spans of retarded, sugar-smacked hummingbirds. You think they’re gonna really read anybody’s script on their computers with all them fine distractions already loaded on their desktops like tournament canasta and barely legal porn?

Honestly, how many of you have actually read an entire screenplay on your computer in one sitting? Don’t tell me you didn’t check your facebook 18 times after you opened up the file. How often did you tweet before the second act rolled around? How many hands of solitaire did you play? Bet you already IMDBed the key grip of this flick while you’ve been skimming my opening rant.

Believe me, I’m equally guilty. I haven’t been able to do a single one-shot read through on my laptop of anything since this techno geek takeover. Nope, not once. Not till someone sent me Red.

That’s how engrossing this script was. Even the most ADHD of you fan boys will soar through this without once checking your emails or twiddling out a text. It’s just that absorbing.

Okay, maybe I’m overselling it a wee bit. The thing isn’t a great work of art. But, it is a great work of craft that’s worth studying. So, if you have a hankering to write an action film, you’ll learn a lot about plotting, pacing and narrative drive from reading Red.

Let me impart some wisdom on all you young scribes out there. I’m not advocating you forego the usual study of Chinatown, The Untouchables and the complete works of Joseph Campbell. But, if this script got both Bruce and Morgan so hot and bothered, I’d download it while you still can and scrutinize the shit out of it. Reread the mother till it becomes your mantra. When you get your next draft of “My Catalogue of Cool Shots” into something this tight, I guarantee it will get sold. Yup, even if you sent it off as a fucking pdf file.

So, why am I so impressed by yet another adaptation of yet another graphic novel? Well, for one, the source material is from Warren Ellis, the Godfather of funny paper scribblers. The screenwriting brothers in charge of distilling this comic into cinema are Erich and John Hoeber. They might not have made movie alchemy with their recent “Whiteout”, but the boys definitely spin yarn into gold this time around.

Now, I must warn you. You’ve seen this plot before. You’ve seen it many times before. Nothing new under the sun here – especially if you’ve ever seen a Jason Bourne flick or read any David Baldacci or Lee Child potboilers. Did the Brothers take all the genre conventions and spin them on their heads Electric Boogaloo style? Not exactly, it’sbstill pretty much standard fare. You have the same stock, way-high-up-in-the-Washington-food-chain villains and side switching patriotic uber-thugs revealed at the end. And, the Bruce Willis character is pretty much a Bruce Willis character only a little bit older — and, apparently, gonna actually be played by a little bit older Bruce Willis.

So, Mr. Hype Meister, why should I read this damned thing? For the pace, baby, for the pace. This thing leaps out of the gate and keeps building and escalating with a rare economy of action. Meaning, there are no superfluous scenes or even extraneous lines of dialogue. Every single set up has a payoff!!! They didn’t throw in a car chase barreling through the unfinished Panama Canal during an asteroid storm just for the sake of getting your attention. This is a lean cornbeef sandwich without an inch of fat kind of storytelling. Hell, even the crusts of the rye bread have been trimmed off.

This is one lean, mean fighting machine of a screenplay!

So, what it’s all about? Frank Moses is a retired Black-Ops agent. He hasn’t pulled a Burn Notice and isn’t scrambling to get back in the show by helping a new troubled civilian every episode. Frank basically keeps himself under the radar, adjusting to his AARP status by keeping fit with early morning sit-ups, trying his hand unsuccessfully at gardening and listening to his classic collection of 50s vinyl. His only contact with the outside world is with Sarah, the operator of the government office whose pension checks he accidentally-on-purpose keeps losing to perpetuate their little chats.

Their burgeoning friendship doesn’t seem forced at all. It’s funny, sweet and real. The writers allow us a little downtime to develop this. When we open, Frank just seems like an average Joe struggling with the boredom of retirement. You get the hint that he might be ex-military cause of his regimented morning routines. But, there’s no hint of the two-fisted events to follow. Maybe I was sent a sweet romantic comedy for the Angela Lansbury set.

We don’t know anything about Frank or his mercenary past till page 8 when a crack team of government killers suddenly turn up to his abode to take the old dude out. His ex-spy status has just turned from “Green” to “Red”. “Red” as in when someone uptown wants you seriously dead “Red”. And, we’re kinda amazed to see our rose gardening retiree so effortlessly, single-handedly take out their whole unit. He’s old, but not Bucket List or Bubba Ho-Tep old. Ain’t no Death Panel for our Frank Moses.

See, Frank is like me, old school. He listens to Vinyl, not MP3s. He does sit-ups, not crunches. He slowly courts a woman over the telephone, not going after her all balls-out like some Apatow/Smith scripted lothario. He’s a gentleman. He’s also a former one-gentleman killing machine that some big muckety-muck just stupidly forced back into the game. And, he’ll show the young turks assigned to euthanize him just how it was done back in the good old days.

He doesn’t need any real cool, high tech weaponry from the Cheney Foundation to annihilate you. He’s a Q-less, Luddite who doesn’t know gun fu or parkour, but can still take down the entire CIA with a paper clip, a long expired bottle of High Karate and a little bare-knuckled help from his Cold-War era friends.

But, first, Frank has to rescue the gal whom might be the only leverage his ex-agency has on him. She doesn’t go quietly. It exacts some smooth talking and duct tape on Frank’s part to get her out of harms way. Yes, you’ve seen this before in Three Days Of The Condor, but, didn’t I mention somewhere this was also a comedy? It’s Grumpy Old Men vs the entire Central Intelligence Agency. It’s John McClane action hero Willis morphed with the wisecracking Moonlighting David Addison Willis with some gray haired, Danny Glover Murtough “I’m too old for this kinda shit” thrown in for good measure. And, Casting Directors, the gal, should most definitely be played by a certain repartee-ready Gilmore Girl.

Now Frank is just as in the dark as we are as to why he’s suddenly chased by the best assassins our tax dollars can still buy. The rest of the first act and a good chunk of the second is him reaching out to the few industry contacts he has left – Joe, his 90-year-old-dying-of-liver-cancer mentor; Marvin (Freeman) a completely paranoid ex-compadre: Ivan, a Russian ex-spy denigrated now to desk duty at the Ruskie Embassy and Victoria, a B&B owning femme fatale who has been juggling her retirement with a little wet work here and there for the extra pocket scratch or maybe just for the kicks.

The guy running this raid on Entebbe is Cooper, the agency’s most efficient and loyal killer. Of course, he’d been trained by someone Frank had trained way back when Coop was just a young pup of a pitbull. He’s also quite the devout family man, getting a honey-do list from his wife while he restages his latest hit to look more like a convincing suicide.

So, what ensues is the old guard versus the better-armed, physically fitter, mentally sharper army of new kids.

Unlike the norm for this genre, there aren’t any red herrings, false leads or wrong turns. Remember that I told you this was an exceptionally lean and mean script. The narrative drive goes from Point A to Point Z seamlessly and without any pit stops. Each action beat gets either Frank a new team member, another obstacle placed in the way or a bit more intel on why he’s suddenly a hunted man. And, once he gets the why, our guy quickly goes on the offensive to payback the who.

The writers also chose not to bog us down with the usual detective work seen in most procedurals. Frank doesn’t have to leap through a lot of hoops to find out why he’s on the hit list. He basically has Joe run the thumb print off the thumb he ginzued off of one of his attackers and – BAM — we go from there. This was a wise choice cause it gives us far more time on Frank’s elaborate (and pleasurable) acts of table turning.

The sure to be scene stealing character is Frank’s old buddy, Marvin. He doesn’t just spout paranoid conspiracy theories, he practically foams at the mouth with them. He’s delusional and perhaps dangerous, but a total riot nonetheless. His choice as an asset is what’s so fun about this script. The audience is kept guessing if Marvin’s brain has finally been fried forever, making him a potentially huge liability (He was the agency’s main lab rat in their LSD experiments back in the 70s) or if he’s really still that super perceptive at the spy game.

Marvin gets many magnificent melt-down moments. He is suspicious of everyone and everything and it would be unwise to make any sudden movements or whip out your cellphone in his presence. While our rag tag team tries to quietly cross the Mexican border, he suddenly pulls a gun on a woman tourist, a middle-aged realtor, weaving her into his psychotic pastiche of black helicopters, satellite surveillance and the Patriot Act. I don’t want to spoil the scene, but this script adheres to strict Newtonian laws. To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction.

All the characters here are blessed with snappy dialogue, intriguing back-stories and sheer likeability. Except for Frank, all of the supporting players sprang solely out of the imaginations of the screenwriters. Ellis’ three-issue miniseries was really just a cocktail napkin of carnage for the Hoebers to build off of.

Now, the sheer likeability factor is what will have the true Ellis disciples shouting “Heresy!” The comic’s consequent bloodbath has pretty much been excised. We may live in the age of Dexter, but the producers wanted to keep this caper strictly PG. And who really wants to see John McClane play a monster? The very thought is just so un-American.

Frank and Ivan share a John le Carré inspired cloak and dagger past. They reminisce about the Golden Age of the Cold War when spies were real spies. When it was considered bad form to even think about touching your target’s family. Cooper, representing the new breed, has the combined ethics of a rattlesnake, a used car salesman, and the entire Bush cabinet (minus Colin Powell of course). He’ll do anything necessary to serve Frank’s head on a platter to his bosses.

Perhaps that’s what stayed with me so long after reading Red. It’s really a throwback to an earlier era/age/style of screenwriting. It has action, but it doesn’t call attention to itself like today’s product. The sequences moves at a nice clip, but it’s totally devoid of any look-at-me-as-I-cleverly-off-someone-with-a-bednob-or-a-broomstick-or-something-else-you’ve-never-seen-before. We’re totally invested in these characters and I found myself getting gleeful as they miraculously pull their mission impossible off.

Red is different because it’s so refreshingly underwritten. You won’t get a jolt or a rush or a headache after putting it down. There’s an old showbiz axiom that admonishes to “Always leave them wanting more.” The Brothers Hoeber have deftly pulled that off. When I closed the file, I was already looking forward to Frank’s next adventure.

Even if I have to read that next adventure as a fucking pdf!

[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[ ] barely kept my interest
[] worth the read
[X ] impressive
[ ] genius

I’m sure the discussions that follow will accuse me of being overly generous, throwing off the Shadow’s strict script grading curve. I think it’s a great script to learn the craft from. The teacher inside me stands firmly by this high mark.

What I learned: Surely you don’t think an old dog like me can pick up any new tricks? Yes, I learned something. And, this is why I’m making Red required reading for all the young scriptors I’m tutoring. Most screenplays remind me of all the damned, superfluous notes Mariah Carrey squeezes into every fucking song she sings. Your scripts don’t need superfluous diva shit. Not every scene has to be an extravagant road trip tangent or an over the top set piece. Stop trying to light a fart or a building or a whole country on fire just to get my attention. You have my attention. So, just tell me a story.

Okay, I wasn’t going to post this because everybody in the world picked it up and, I feel, it’s already gotten its due. Even Nikki Finke posted it on her page. But I’ve received a ton of e-mail from people asking, specifically because I read so many scripts, what my opinion on the matter is. Josh Olson is the screenwriter of “A History Of Violence.” They posted this article of his in Village Voice. And I am re-posting it here. Read it (but remember I DID NOT WRITE IT) and I’ll follow with my thoughts.

I will not read your fucking script.

That’s simple enough, isn’t it? “I will not read your fucking script.” What’s not clear about that? There’s nothing personal about it, nothing loaded, nothing complicated. I simply have no interest in reading your fucking screenplay. None whatsoever.

If that seems unfair, I’ll make you a deal. In return for you not asking me to read your fucking script, I will not ask you to wash my fucking car, or take my fucking picture, or represent me in fucking court, or take out my fucking gall bladder, or whatever the fuck it is that you do for a living.

You’re a lovely person. Whatever time we’ve spent together has, I’m sure, been pleasurable for both of us. I quite enjoyed that conversation we once had about structure and theme, and why Sergio Leone is the greatest director who ever lived. Yes, we bonded, and yes, I wish you luck in all your endeavors, and it would thrill me no end to hear that you had sold your screenplay, and that it had been made into the best movie since Godfather Part II.

But I will not read your fucking script.

At this point, you should walk away, firm in your conviction that I’m a dick. But if you’re interested in growing as a human being and recognizing that it is, in fact, you who are the dick in this situation, please read on.

Yes. That’s right. I called you a dick. Because you created this situation. You put me in this spot where my only option is to acquiesce to your demands or be the bad guy. That, my friend, is the very definition of a dick move.

I was recently cornered by a young man of my barest acquaintance.

I doubt we’ve exchanged a hundred words. But he’s dating someone I know, and he cornered me in the right place at the right time, and asked me to read a two-page synopsis for a script he’d been working on for the last year. He was submitting the synopsis to some contest or program, and wanted to get a professional opinion.

Now, I normally have a standard response to people who ask me to read their scripts, and it’s the simple truth: I have two piles next to my bed. One is scripts from good friends, and the other is manuscripts and books and scripts my agents have sent to me that I have to read for work. Every time I pick up a friend’s script, I feel guilty that I’m ignoring work. Every time I pick something up from the other pile, I feel guilty that I’m ignoring my friends. If I read yours before any of that, I’d be an awful person.

Most people get that. But sometimes you find yourself in a situation where the guilt factor is really high, or someone plays on a relationship or a perceived obligation, and it’s hard to escape without seeming rude. Then, I tell them I’ll read it, but if I can put it down after ten pages, I will. They always go for that, because nobody ever believes you can put their script down once you start.

But hell, this was a two page synopsis, and there was no time to go into either song or dance, and it was just easier to take it. How long can two pages take?

Weeks, is the answer.

And this is why I will not read your fucking script.

It rarely takes more than a page to recognize that you’re in the presence of someone who can write, but it only takes a sentence to know you’re dealing with someone who can’t.

(By the way, here’s a simple way to find out if you’re a writer. If you disagree with that statement, you’re not a writer. Because, you see, writers are also readers.)

You may want to allow for the fact that this fellow had never written a synopsis before, but that doesn’t excuse the inability to form a decent sentence, or an utter lack of facility with language and structure. The story described was clearly of great importance to him, but he had done nothing to convey its specifics to an impartial reader. What I was handed was, essentially, a barely coherent list of events, some connected, some not so much. Characters wander around aimlessly, do things for no reason, vanish, reappear, get arrested for unnamed crimes, and make wild, life-altering decisions for no reason. Half a paragraph is devoted to describing the smell and texture of a piece of food, but the climactic central event of the film is glossed over in a sentence. The death of the hero is not even mentioned. One sentence describes a scene he’s in, the next describes people showing up at his funeral. I could go on, but I won’t. This is the sort of thing that would earn you a D minus in any Freshman Comp class.

Which brings us to an ugly truth about many aspiring screenwriters: They think that screenwriting doesn’t actually require the ability to write, just the ability to come up with a cool story that would make a cool movie. Screenwriting is widely regarded as the easiest way to break into the movie business, because it doesn’t require any kind of training, skill or equipment. Everybody can write, right? And because they believe that, they don’t regard working screenwriters with any kind of real respect. They will hand you a piece of inept writing without a second thought, because you do not have to be a writer to be a screenwriter.

So. I read the thing. And it hurt, man. It really hurt. I was dying to find something positive to say, and there was nothing. And the truth is, saying something positive about this thing would be the nastiest, meanest and most dishonest thing I could do. Because here’s the thing: not only is it cruel to encourage the hopeless, but you cannot discourage a writer. If someone can talk you out of being a writer, you’re not a writer. If I can talk you out of being a writer, I’ve done you a favor, because now you’ll be free to pursue your real talent, whatever that may be. And, for the record, everybody has one. The lucky ones figure out what that is. The unlucky ones keep on writing shitty screenplays and asking me to read them.

To make matters worse, this guy (and his girlfriend) had begged me to be honest with him. He was frustrated by the responses he’d gotten from friends, because he felt they were going easy on him, and he wanted real criticism. They never do, of course. What they want is a few tough notes to give the illusion of honesty, and then some pats on the head. What they want–always–is encouragement, even when they shouldn’t get any.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to tell someone that they’ve spent a year wasting their time? Do you know how much blood and sweat goes into that criticism? Because you want to tell the truth, but you want to make absolutely certain that it comes across honestly and without cruelty. I did more rewrites on that fucking e-mail than I did on my last three studio projects.

My first draft was ridiculous. I started with specific notes, and after a while, found I’d written three pages on the first two paragraphs. That wasn’t the right approach. So I tossed it, and by the time I was done, I’d come up with something that was relatively brief, to the point, and considerate as hell. The main point I made was that he’d fallen prey to a fallacy that nails a lot of first timers. He was way more interested in telling his one story than in being a writer. It was like buying all the parts to a car and starting to build it before learning the basics of auto mechanics. You’ll learn a lot along the way, I said, but you’ll never have a car that runs.

(I should mention that while I was composing my response, he pulled the ultimate amateur move, and sent me an e-mail saying, “If you haven’t read it yet, don’t! I have a new draft. Read this!” In other words, “The draft I told you was ready for professional input, wasn’t actually.”)

I advised him that if all he was interested in was this story, he should find a writer and work with him; or, if he really wanted to be a writer, start at the beginning and take some classes, and start studying seriously.

And you know what? I shouldn’t have bothered. Because for all the hair I pulled out, for all the weight and seriousness I gave his request for a real, professional critique, his response was a terse “Thanks for your opinion.” And, the inevitable fallout–a week later a mutual friend asked me, “What’s this dick move I hear you pulled on Whatsisname?”
So now this guy and his girlfriend think I’m an asshole, and the truth of the matter is, the story really ended the moment he handed me the goddamn synopsis. Because if I’d just said “No” then and there, they’d still think I’m an asshole. Only difference is, I wouldn’t have had to spend all that time trying to communicate thoughtfully and honestly with someone who just wanted a pat on the head, and, more importantly, I wouldn’t have had to read that godawful piece of shit.

You are not owed a read from a professional, even if you think you have an in, and even if you think it’s not a huge imposition. It’s not your choice to make. This needs to be clear–when you ask a professional for their take on your material, you’re not just asking them to take an hour or two out of their life, you’re asking them to give you–gratis–the acquired knowledge, insight, and skill of years of work. It is no different than asking your friend the house painter to paint your living room during his off hours.

There’s a great story about Pablo Picasso. Some guy told Picasso he’d pay him to draw a picture on a napkin. Picasso whipped out a pen and banged out a sketch, handed it to the guy, and said, “One million dollars, please.”

“A million dollars?” the guy exclaimed. “That only took you thirty seconds!”

“Yes,” said Picasso. “But it took me fifty years to learn how to draw that in thirty seconds.”

Like the cad who asks the professional for a free read, the guy simply didn’t have enough respect for the artist to think about what he was asking for. If you think it’s only about the time, then ask one of your non-writer friends to read it. Hell, they might even enjoy your script. They might look upon you with a newfound respect. It could even come to pass that they call up a friend in the movie business and help you sell it, and soon, all your dreams will come true. But me?

I will not read your fucking script.

Josh Olson’s screenplay for the film A History of Violence was nominated for the Academy Award, the BAFTA, the WGA award and the Edgar. He is also the writer and director of the horror/comedy cult movie Infested, which Empire Magazine named one of the 20 Best Straight to Video Movies ever made. Recently, he has written with the legendary Harlan Ellison, and worked on Halo with Peter Jackson and Neill Blomkamp. He adapted Dennis Lehane’s story “Until Gwen,” which he will also be directing. He is currently adapting One Shot, one of the best-selling Jack Reacher books for Paramount.

©2009 Josh Olson. All rights reserved.

Carson back here. Okay, so here’s the thing. Josh brings up some great points. I have personally watched a couple of blossoming friendships destroyed because someone asked me to read their script and I gave them honest feedback. The problem is two-fold. Writers, particularly ones who are just starting out, tend to overestimate their ability to write. So when you give them feedback that says, “This wasn’t that great,” they take it as a personal attack and consider you (as Josh pointed out) an asshole. The second is that (also as Josh pointed out) people don’t seem to respect your time. Reading, thinking about, then coming up with constructive notes for a script can easily take 4-5 hours. Sometimes more. So let’s say I agree to read 4 of the 20 script requests I get in a week. That’s 20 hours right there. Who has 20 hours a week to spare?? It kills me that I have to say no to you guys when you write in, but at a certain point I have to stand up and say, “Hey, I haven’t been able to work on a script in 4 months. I need some me time!”

For that reason, I have to be choosy. I have to say no to people. I have to be the asshole. Because if I accepted every read request, it would be a full-time job (it should be noted that my situation is a little different from Josh’s. Reading scripts is kind of my job).

So I definitely understand where Josh is coming from. My advice for approaching people for reads is this. 1a) Be respectful of their time. Know that reading a script is a huge commitment, and be okay with it if they say they just don’t have the time. 1b) Show that you respect their time. Offer something in trade. If you work at a nice clothing store, offer them a gift certificate for a read. If you know they love the Dodgers, buy them a couple of tickets. Offer to babysit their kids. If you *show* them that you respect their time, they’ll be much more receptive to your request. 2) If someone in the industry does agree to read your script, you better be okay with them ripping it to shreds. You’re not asking them for a guaranteed referral to Spielberg, you’re asking for their opinion based on years of experience. If they say, “This isn’t any good. You need to do A, B, and C,” I would thank them for their time and start doing A, B, and C.

In all honesty. It’s not your fault. If you’re reading Scriptshadow, chances are you care enough about the craft to do what it takes to become a screenwriter. The problem people are the ones who come up with an “idea” for a script based on their and their friends’ experiences that’s just totally hilarious, have never written a single word before this, hit you up for a read, and treat you like an idiot for not seeing their genius. These are the people who have approached that industry friend of yours dozens of times before you came along. And since I can tell you from experience that only about 1-3% of scripts are any good, chances are every one of those scripts they read was terrible. Which means they’re expecting your screenplay to be terrible as well. If you come across as intelligent and respectful with maybe something to offer in return, you’re likely to get a much better response than High School Dropout John and his idea about a group of potheads who get stoned for 24 hours straight.

One final thing. I think Josh went about the article in the wrong way. Once you’re on the other side of the fence, it’s important to give back. And while you can’t help everyone, you should try and help where you can. Someone on a message board pointed out that Josh wouldn’t be where he was today if someone hadn’t read his script. It’s important for everyone with some level of success in the business to remember that.