Good Will Hunting has some of the best backstory integration ever in a script.
Backstory.
It’s essential to every screenplay.
Yet so few writers understand how to apply it.
Some choke their screenplays with so much backstory, their story suffocates and passes out. While others add so little, it’s like their characters were born the second they typed “FADE IN.” How much backstory should you be adding to your screenplays? The answer lies in why you’re adding backstory in the first place.
Backstory is the key to character depth. Some teacher or writer started a rumor a few years back that nobody cares about a character’s past. The only thing that matters is the present – what the character is doing right here and now. The sentiment of that opinion is correct. The character present – the choices your hero makes right now – have the biggest influence on how your character is perceived. But your character can’t make a single choice that isn’t motivated by his past. Which is why backstory IS relevant.
For example, if a character was sexually abused growing up, their choices in pursuing a serial rapist are going to be different from someone who’s never experienced abuse before. Or, if you want to go to even more of an extreme, than someone who’s a closet rapist themselves.
This is why laying out an extensive backstory for your characters is essential. The more you know about your character’s past, the easier it is to inform their present and future. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, it’s one of those things that separates the great scripts from the average ones. I can tell when someone’s done their backstory homework. Their characters all act and speak specifically. Whereas when a writer knows nothing about their characters’ backstory, their characters speak in generalities and clichés, usually those that echo popular movies they’ve seen.
For example, one of the reasons Will Hunting is such an amazing character is because of how well Matt Damon and Ben Affleck knew his history. They knew the neighborhood Will grew up in, the friends he ran with, the girls he slept with, that his father beat him, how his father beat him, that he was self-taught, how loyal he was, how he’d kill someone before embarrassing a friend while out for drinks. They knew the same thing about Sean, Robin Williams’ character. They knew when he met his wife, how he met her (during the Red Sox game), the type of cancer that killed her, how long he had to take care of her. These two characters were memorable BECAUSE of how well the writers understood them. And that all goes back to how much research they put into their characters’ backstory.
Not only that. But the more backstory you know, the more intricate and textured your story will be. The backstory is where you’ll find out Marty McFly wants to be a rock star, that he’s become best friends with a mad genius, that his father’s been a loser geek his whole life, that his mom used to be a bad girl, that he’s fallen in love, that the clock tower died in the 50s after a giant storm. The backstory is where you’ll find out John McClane’s wife moved to Los Angeles to pursue her career, leaving him behind. It’s where you’ll find out Thor’s complicated relationship with his brother. It’s where you’ll find out Hannibal used to eat his victims.
But how do you integrate backstory into a script? How do you know when you’re writing too much backstory or not enough? First, you need to understand the two types of backstory – VISIBLE backstory and INVISIBLE backstory. Invisible backstory will account for 90% of your backstory research. It’s everything from where your character grew up to their first love to their level of education to their biggest tragedies to their biggest fears to who they had the best sex of their life with. Yes, all that stuff matters. The more you know about your character, the easier it is to make them original and interesting. The thing is, rarely will invisible backstory show up in a script. It’s there more to inform your own relationship with your character. It’s there so you can understand them and motivate their choices.
For example, if you’re writing a Romantic Comedy and your hero, Kate, is about to get married to the love of her life, the boring yet “perfect” Thaddeus, and the dangerous guy she had the best sex of her life with, Cabe, just happened to come back into town, you’ve created the perfect opportunity for conflict. Without having done your invisible backstory research, this knowledge, this opportunity for conflict, may have never presented itself.
VISIBLE backstory is different. These are the 3-4 major things that have happened in your character’s past that WILL PLAY A PART in the movie itself. You only want to bring visible backstory up if it’s going to be relevant to the story in some way. So in Taken, we learn that Liam Neeson has been a terrible father and husband. He was not there for his family, which resulted in his wife falling out of love with him and running off with another man, taking his daughter with her. His desire to win his daughter over again, to repair that relationship, is what creates the bond necessary for us to root for him saving her once she’s kidnapped.
Or in Bridesmaids, Kristin Wiig’s failed bakery stole a big part of her confidence away. When it went under, she was forced to take a job she hated, leaving her desperate to find a man. When she starts dating the police officer, baking again becomes a major theme in their relationship. And when she experiences her rock bottom at the end of the second act, baking visually represents her rebirth.
The point is, visible backstory represents 3 or 4 major things that will influence the story. Your character may be the world’s pre-eminent Depression-Era nickel collector. But if collecting nickels never influences the story in a relevant way, then log that under the “invisible” category, not the “visible.” You only want to mention backstory that influences the plot (“Save the Clock Tower!”) or a character arc (Sean not being able to live life after his wife died in Good Will Hunting).
So now that you understand backstory, how do you get it into your story? Do you just throw it in there willy-nilly and hope for the best? Of course not. The way backstory is placed in your story is almost as important as the backstory itself. The worst thing a writer can do is have a character dive into their backstory unprovoked. You guys know what I’m talking about. Your characters may be between chase scenes. It’s a quiet moment. Then all of a sudden one of them launches into a monologue that starts off like: “I was six years old when my father first beat me. I still remember it like it was yesterday…” Ugh. Groan. Please never do this.
Instead, use Scriptshadow’s Fabulous Five Ways For Better Backstory Integration. You’ll thank me afterwards.
Resistance – One of the best ways to reveal backstory is through resistance. The character revealing their backstory shouldn’t want to. This eliminates the falseness that comes with your character revealing backstory in the first place. For a great example of this, watch the “Cage” scene in Silence Of The Lambs. In it, Hannibal refuses to give Clarice the information she wants until she tells him the lamb story. She’s desperate not to tell him, but she knows it’s the only way she’ll be able to get to Buffalo Bill before he kills the girl. So she tells him.
Argument – Hiding backstory is easily achieved when two characters are going at it. Because we’re so wrapped up in the argument (or conflict), we’re not aware that the writer is actually giving us key pieces of backstory on the character(s). Watch the Good Will Hunting scene where Will talks to Sean in therapy for the first time. Will starts challenging Sean’s credentials, and ultimately, his love for his wife. The end of the scene gets very heated, with Sean physically choking Will – something he clearly deserved. The conflict in the scene is top-notch, but check out what we learned during it – Sean’s storied education as well as how much he loves his wife. Use those arguments baby. They’re backstory batter.
Another Character Reveals The Backstory – You want to avoid your hero revealing his own backstory. It just never comes out right. A great way to avoid this is to have someone else reveal it for him. Check out the limo scene in Die Hard for a great example. We need to know why John has come to LA to visit his wife. Instead of John telling the driver (which would’ve been totally out of character), the limo driver takes some guesses. He figures out that she left to pursue a bigger job. He figures out that John thought she would fail and crawl back to New York. John never says a word about his life in this scene and yet we get a ton of backstory on him.
Showing, Not Telling – This screenwriting staple is a great way to reveal backstory. Why? Because you don’t have to say a word. You show it instead. And showing always resonates more with an audience. In Moneyball, there’s a scene where Brad Pitt’s character comes to his ex-wife’s place to pick up his daughter. Do we ever get a monologue about how he screwed up his marriage and wasn’t there for his family and now rarely gets to see his daughter? No. But we get a scene where he awkwardly waits in a living room with his ex-wife and her boyfriend while his daughter gets ready that tells us everything we need to know about his past. Great screenwriters use this technique as much as possible.
Bits and Pieces – The longer you dedicate a moment to revealing backstory, the clearer it becomes that you’re revealing backstory. The naturalism of the scene disintegrates, and pretty soon it feels like the writer’s stopped the story cold to directly remind the reader what’s going on. A great way to combat this is to reveal backstory in bits and pieces. Spread it out instead of throwing it at the reader all at once. This will hide it, making it harder for the reader to discern that backstory is being disseminated. One of the best examples of this is Field Of Dreams. The reason Ray reuniting with his father in the climax is one of the great endings of all time, is because the writer mentioned Ray Cancella’s issues with his father in tiny bits and pieces throughout the screenplay. You were never bombarded with any huge father backstory moments. So spreading out backstory in small easy to digest pieces is a super way to hide it.
And there you go folks. You now know everything you need to know about backstory – one of the more underrated facets of screenwriting. I can’t stress enough that if you haven’t done an extensive amount of backstory research on your characters, your story is never going to have enough depth to impact a reader. So go back to your current screenplay and see if that depth is there. If it isn’t, it might be time to go back to the beginning of your character’s life. Find out everything you can about him before your story started. I promise that once you do, your story is going to come alive.
Genre: Supernatural Drama
Premise: Set during the Depression, a widow and her son are visited by a strange man who may have the ability to communicate with the dead.
About: This is the writer’s breakthrough screenplay. Before this, he was one of the writers on the HBO show, “In Treatment.” He’s repped over at CAA. Ezekiel Moss finished high on last year’s Black List.
Writers: Keith Bunin
Details: 104 pages – Black List draft
Scriptshadow Casting Suggestion: Cillian Murphy for Ezekiel?
I’ve been meaning to read Ezekiel Moss for awhile but everybody keeps telling me, “It’s a good script but really slow.” That “but” was the killer. You don’t want any “buts” before you pick up a script. You want “ands.” You want “thens.” But please, no “buts.”
But it turns out the slowness of Ezekiel Moss hit a reading sweet spot for me. I was heading home from LA. And since I find it impossible to do multiple things on travel days, I basically had one task – to read a script. It was one of those rare times when I wasn’t rushed. The script was slow-developing? Fine with me. I had hours to spare.
Add to that the melancholy feeling you get when going home after a trip and I was in the perfect mood for this story. You’ve spent the last month of your life preparing for something, and then one day it’s just….over. It’s like “What do I do now?” You feel kind of empty. Yet “empty” is the perfect mood to read Ezekiel Moss in. The characters in this script are all empty. They need something to fill up their lives. And little do they know, that something is each other.
It’s 1934, the heart of the Depression. It’s a small town, too small “for anyone to care about the name” according to the writer. 11 year old Joel Carson has a giant imagination and zero friends. He lives with his widowed mother, Iris, an emotionally fragile woman, in the tiny Inn she runs. Iris finds occasional moments of happiness sleeping with the salesman who stop by her Inn every week. She hates herself for it, but if not for that, she’d be too lonely for words.
The thing with Iris’ job is that it’s predictable to the point of boredom. The faces may change, but it’s the same travelling salesmen, the same practiced smiles, the same broken promises. That is until the darkly intense Ezekiel Moss shows up with his witch-like partner, Hepzibah Webb.
The two ask to stay in one of her rooms for a week and they come with two stipulations – stay out of their way and don’t ask questions. Iris knows something is up but a girl’s gotta put food on the table so as long as it doesn’t incriminate her, they can do whatever they want.
Joel finds the odd but vulnerable Ezekiel fascinating, and starts following him around, trying to figure out what it is he and Hepzibah do. It turns out they travel from town to town to find people who’ve lost loved ones. And that’s where things get interesting. Ezekiel has a special talent – he can allow spirits to possess his body. He can allow the dead to speak to the living. Or, at least, that’s what he and Hepzibah claim.
After seeing one of these possessions himself, Joel is a believer, and he runs to his mother to tell her what’s going on. But because Joel’s imagination has always been so outrageous, Iris doesn’t believe him. Nor does she want to believe him, as she’s begun to fall for Ezekiel.
While all that’s going on, the town priest gets wind of Ezekiel. He’s heard of these two. They’re wanted in towns all over the region for conning people out of money at a time when money is most in need. It’s time to put a stop to this.
The thing is, all Ezekiel wants is to be normal, is to not live with this curse. And if this priest tells him he can save his soul, Ezekiel’s ready to take that chance. He now has a child who looks up to him and a woman who’s falling for him. If he can be “normal,” then maybe he can be part of a real family for once. In a way, that’s his goal, even if deep down he knows it will never happen.
Did I mention Ezekiel was slow? Yeah, reading it feels like every two pages should be one. But it still works! Why? Because the character development here is freaking top-notch. I mean take a look at Iris. Here’s a woman who was soul-mate in love with her husband before losing him. During the accident, he shielded her to save her, ensuring his own death in the process. She was pregnant with Joel at the time. Which means there are moments, moments she’d never admit out loud, where she wishes he would’ve lived instead of Joel. She seeks closeness from the company of other men, even though they’re gone before she wakes up. The entire town calls her a whore behind her back. She’s poor, can barely pay the bills. She ignores the one sense of community the town has – church, alienating herself even more. I mean that’s a f*cking complex character! A sympathetic character. The kind of person you want to know more about.
But what’s great about Ezekiel is that everyone has a deep backstory – specifically about someone they lost. And while in most stories, these tropes can become cliché and eye-roll worthy, here, they’re intricate parts of the plot. Because Ezekiel can speak to the dead, he can bring these figures back. The characters can resolve their issues with these ghosts. That was my favorite part about Ezekiel. People’s backstories actually mattered!
Another reason the slow-build works is that Bunin uses very simple but effective storytelling methods to keep you interested. First there’s the arrival of Ezekiel Moss. Everything about this man is interesting. You want to know more. You want to turn the page to see who he is and what he’s about.
Once you do find out, there’s a new mystery: “What are Ezekiel and Hepzibah doing here? What’s their business?” And as you gradually figure that out, a threat presents itself – the priest. People are closing in on Ezekiel. Their business is in danger (conflict). So even though everything’s moving along at a deliberate pace, Bunin seems to use just the right amount of suspense or conflict or mystery to keep us involved.
With that said, we could definitely move things along faster. Bunin has a terrible habit of commenting after every line of dialogue. And not just commenting – but giving a really detailed comment that just sucks up page real estate. For example, later in the script, Ezekiel is speaking to Iris and says, “Don’t you hope that someday you’ll get married?” Immediately afterwards we get this action line: “Ezekiel is asking this question for all kinds of reasons. Iris is deeply affected but she still keeps things light.”
I mean, just get to Iris’ response! That entire action line has already been implied. This is done ENDLESSLY throughout the script and if Bunin could cut out 75% of these lines, the script would fly. Right now, it’s in danger of being tossed because of Hollywood’s ADD epidemic. And that’s too bad. Because it’s a very powerful story.
For those interested in writing supernatural/horror movies, Ezekiel Moss is a good script to study. The character development is top notch. BECAUSE it’s top notch, the dialogue’s strong (a great understanding of character usually results in strong unique dialogue for each character). And then everything just feels authentic – not easy to do when you’re setting your story 80 years ago. I really liked this. Speed it up a little and maybe we have something great.
[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Beware character descriptions that contradict themselves. I see this all the time for some reason. “Joe is intelligent yet a bit of an imbecile.” “Linda is one of those people who’s both happy and miserable.” Uhhh, what does that mean? Which one am I supposed to go with? Remember, writing a character description is not about it reading cool on the page – it’s about conveying the character as clearly as possible to the reader. So here in Ezekiel, Iris is described as having a “winning mixture of toughness and fragility.” I suppose you can make an argument that this makes sense but to me it’s just confusing. All I want to know is “Who is this character?” And that line doesn’t tell me. Go for clear. Readers like clear.
Genre: Romantic Con-edy
Premise: A con man teams up with a con woman, but when he falls for her, he must decide which is more important, her or the con.
About: This is the directing team behind “Crazy Stupid Love.” They used to be purely writers but look to now be focusing on their directing careers. “Focus” is their latest writing/directing project. Word on the street is that Ryan Gossling and Emma Stone will star.
Writers: Glenn Ficarra and John Requa
Details: 130 pages – First Draft (3-16-2012)
I don’t usually review first drafts anymore. But a lot of people have written to tell me that this script is really good, so I’m going to make an exception.
As for this writing/directing team, I’m not sure what to make of them yet. I think they wrote and directed “I Love You, Phillip Morris,” which, while not something I’d ever want to see, was at least different. And recently, they took on directing duties for one of my favorite scripts, “Crazy, Stupid Love,” and played it a little too mainstream in my opinion. Something was lost in that translation. The story didn’t move as fast as it did in the script.
Still, comedies are tricky to direct and when you have another element to latch onto, like the con, it makes things a lot easier, since the entire movie doesn’t need to rest on laughs.
33 year-old Nicky Spurgeon comes from a long line of con men. His dad was a con man. His grandfather was a con man. In fact, his grandfather and father used to con each other! And that’s made Nicky about as untrustworthy of others as one can get. Gotta love those troubled backstories. They make your characters so damn interesting.
Anyway, Nicky’s hanging out in a bar one day where he meets a hot girl who takes him back to her room. Just before they’re about to do the Dew, the woman’s husband barges in with a gun, threatening to kill Nicky. But for some reason, Nicky’s not phased. He shrugs his shoulders and tells the hubby to fire away.
The couple is shocked when Nicky then reveals he’s been onto their con for an hour now. Pissed but intrigued, the girl, Jess, follows him out and begs him to teach her what he knows. But since Nicky doesn’t let anybody in – doesn’t trust a soul – he tells her to get lost.
Jess is one persistent little cookie, though, and eventually convinces him to take her on. He quickly shows her all his tricks, then brings her onto his big con, which will take place at the Super Bowl. After a few twists and turns, he nails the rather confusing Super Bowl con with Jess’ help.
But whereas Jess thinks they’re now a team (and possibly more), Nicky’s always thought of her as a means to an end. Now that the con is over, so is she. Just like that, he disappears, and Jess is devastated.
But three years later, she and Nicky cross paths again before a huge car race. Turns out Nicky is pulling a big con there, and Jess happens to be with one of the drivers, having left the con world behind. Nicky finds himself drawn to Jess once again, but this time she’s not having it, stonewalling him at every turn. Eventually she relents though, and Nicky is posed, once again, with that question: Does he give himself to this woman, or is it still all about the con?
I have a question about con man movies. Why is it that our con man always randomly gets hit up by another con man (in this case, Jess)? I mean, what are the chances? It’s not like every third person in the world is a con man, right? So the odds are pretty astronomical that someone would try to con a conner. Yet it ALWAYS happens. I don’t know. That’s just never made sense to me.
Anyway, my big thing with Con scripts is that they have to be CLEVER. Every scene, every character, every con, every double cross – has to be cleverly executed. If we can see it coming from a mile away? If at the end of the con, we don’t experience that internal, “Oooooohhhh?” then you’re not doing your job.
To me, that “ooooohhh” never happened in Focus. I wouldn’t say any of the cons here were bad. But none of them blew me away either. The best con is one in which we’re actually unaware a con is going on – so I don’t know if it counts.
Luckily, it’s a GREAT scene that almost single-handedly saves the draft. Nicky, who has a major gambling problem, starts to lose control while betting against a very rich Asian man at the Super Bowl. They bet on miniscule things like who’ll make the next first down or whether the quarterback will hand off or throw. Nicky keeps losing, but each time, betting double or nothing, until a 100 dollar bet turns into a million dollar bet. It’s one of the more intense scenes I’ve read in awhile and has you gripping your seat, desperate to see how it will end.
Unfortunately, after that sequence, we experience an awkward three-year time jump and are introduced to an unnatural storyline involving Nicky trying to con a bunch of race car drivers. The first draft-ness definitely affected this section (the writers feel like they’re still exploring the idea) but even considering its rawness, it doesn’t feel right. I mean, race cars haven’t even been mentioned in the script before this.
I also hate large time jumps late in scripts because they imply nothing in the story is immediate. If we can jump forward 3 years and nothing is affected, then the story probably isn’t focused enough (no pun intended). I’m not saying it can’t or hasn’t been done before, of course. Just that it’s difficult.
Focus has potential. Nicky is an interesting character. And the love story with Jess is pretty solid (and will only get better with more drafts). But I’m not sure either of the script’s halves currently work. The Super Bowl half is plagued by us not knowing what Nicky’s plan is. And the Race Car half just feels out of place. Will be interesting to see what they end up with.
[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: You want your characters to be fucked up in some way. Somewhere in that brain of theirs, wires need to be crossed. The more wires that are crossed, the more interesting the character tends to be. Here, Nicky comes from a family where his father played his own father in a con, accidentally killing him in the process. How can you trust anyone when you grew up in a family that couldn’t even trust each other? This lack of trust is what makes Nicky’s relationship with Jess so interesting. He doesn’t know whether to give in to her or play her. That script-long tug-of-war is the emotional meat of this piece and while it’s bogged down by too much first-draftness, I see it working well once the story’s been slimmed down.
Genre: Drama
Premise: A strange cult kidnaps a girl from a small town and uses a local radio talk show to promote their twisted beliefs.
About: This is the duo who wrote one of my favorite scripts from last year, “When The Streetlights Go On” (finished #2 on last year’s Black List). Not sure if they wrote “Broadcast” before or after “Streetlights” but if you liked that script, you’re going to be plenty satisfied with this one.
Writers: Chris Hutton & Eddie O’Keefe
Details: 127 pages – undated
I’m still baffled by these writers. I do not believe they’re only 23 years old. Not because the writing is so specific or so good, but because they seem to understand things about life that you don’t understand without an older perspective. I mean, when your generation’s most famous singer is Justin Bieber, you don’t reference The Beatles. When you grow up during the Iraq War, you don’t know the intricate make-up of Vietnam. Yet these two seem to know things that are way beyond what their years would imply. I guess they’re just old souls. But I won’t be convinced until I see them in person.
I mean let’s start with the first page – a centered 30 line paragraph detailing the world you’re about to be transplanted into, which includes segments like: “The Final Broadcast takes place in an era neither here nor there. It could be 2012 as easily as 1952. It’s a vacuum; an America that exists only in our collective unconscious. The kind of place Edward Hopper might have painted.”
Normally I’d slaughter writers for this. The audience can’t see this paragraph. These aren’t titles or a voice over. It’s never meant to be seen onscreen. So if it’s not in the film, it shouldn’t be in the script! And yet I believe it’s indispensible to the story. We need to understand this world. We need to wrap our heads around its idiosyncrasies and rhythms and tone to understand how it’s going to play out on screen. And this paragraph does that. So I’m in. Even though I’d never recommend anyone else trying it.
But what really sets these two apart – and I probably mentioned this in their last review – is how every single scene in their screenplay feels different. Read the first 10 pages of Broadcast for example. We get a monologue from a “Carl Sagan Lite” character in some cheap PBS show about the origins of the Universe. He tells us, in no uncertain terms, that our existence is pointless. It’s jarring, unnerving, unsettling, and yet there’s a poeticness to it all that propels you forward. You need to read more. You WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT – the only thing that truly matters in a screenplay.
So what does happen next? Well, we meet a girl named Teresa Carnegie, who happens to be the daughter of the host of that show. She’s watching a drive-thru movie with her friend when she’s kidnapped by some very nasty men.
Afterwards, we run into Gary Glossup, a transplant from the big city who’s just moved in to take over the local talk radio gig. Gary’s DJ’ing career is turned upside-down when he receives a live call from the men who took Teresa. They call themselves “The Association” and proclaim that the end of the world is coming.
Because the local cops are morons, Gary has no choice but to get involved in the investigation and save Teresa, a task that’s personal to him as he lost his own daughter many years ago.
So Gary buckles down and starts investigating the kidnapping, which brings him to another boy who went missing some weeks back named Billy Turman. Rumors were that Billy was abducted by aliens. But he was eventually found hanging from a tree during Halloween. Everyone just assumed he was a prop, until the smell clued them in.
Gary’s helped by a strange young reporter named Claire who happens to be in town doing a report on a rare moon eclipse. But when Gary finds out that her credentials don’t check out, he begins to wonder if she’ telling him the truth. As the eclipse draws near, more insanity begins to unravel, and Gary finds himself questioning everyone and everything around him. All of this leads, of course, to a shocking conclusion.
You know that show The Killing? You know how you’ll be watching an episode of it and you’re wondering why the f*ck nothing is happening?? But there’s still something entrancing about the tone and the characters that keeps you going? And since you want to find out who killed that damn girl, you stick around? Well imagine The Final Broadcast as the best episode of The Killing ever written times a thousand – because it has that same kind of dark spooky tone, but it’s actually entertaining!
And because there’s some actual urgency to it (the eclipse – ticking time bomb!) it moves where The Killing does not. Speaking of urgency, I have to point out that while these guys do break their share of rules, the core dramatic storytelling pillars are in place. You have the GOAL – find the girl. STAKES – her life, as well as the lives of others the cult keeps kidnapping. And URGENCY – the impending eclipse, when they promise to kill Teresa by. So with that core there, they can go off-book in a number of other places.
Like the way they write their scenes. I’ve been Twit-Pitch Reviewing every night and not enough people are surprising me. I’m not talking about big surprises. I’m just saying, when you write a scene, you have to know that TYPE of scene has been written tens of millions of times before. So it’s ESSENTIAL you add a minor twist or two to keep it fresh.
I was just talking about this with a professional screenwriter the other day in fact. She had a scene that had been in thousands of movies before but she still had to write it. Just the fact that she knew she had to approach the scene differently put her ahead of 99% of the writers out there, because most writers don’t think about that stuff. We talked it through and found a few new elements which would allow her to write a unique version of the scene, and it turned out rather well.
So here, in The Final Broadcast, we have the sort of common “femme fatale” trope. Our hero sees the drop-dead gorgeous stunner at the end of the bar and we’re assuming we’re going to get that boring predictable “one-up each other” clever dialogue laced with sexual subtext scene. Then, in the end, he’ll convince her to come home with him. Instead, he buys her a drink from across the bar, she walks over, hands him the drink, says she doesn’t go out with men twice her age, and leaves. The conversation is over before it even started.
“Hmmm,” I thought, “that’s a little different.” And the thing with this script is, it’s packed with dozens of moments like this.
I can’t stress how important this is because it’s the only time I truly get excited by a screenplay these days – when I’m not sure how scenes or a story are going to unravel. That was my experience with “Streetlights” and that was my experience here.
It’s rare that I give a writer two consecutive “impressives” in a row. Their follow-up is almost always a let-down. But these guys have done it. And in many ways, this is actually a step-up from “Streetlights.” It’s more structured. It’s cleaner. But it doesn’t quite reach the heights of that script and I think it’s because there’s a lack of character connection here. We really identified with and bonded with the main character in “Streetlights.” Here, it’s more about the story/the plot. Luckily, the plotting and story were top-notch, which is why this still makes the “impressive” pile. I love these writers.
[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[ ] not for me
[ ] worth the read
[x] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: I always say – don’t write 5-6 line paragraphs in a screenplay. And I’ll continue to say that until my very last script read. However, any rule can be broken if there’s a direct correlation between the rule and the writer’s strength. These two are so good with prose, so smooth with their writing, that I actually ENJOYED reading their long paragraphs, which is incredibly rare. Take for instance, this description of Gary: “He was once a very handsome twenty-five year old. However many years and many six-packs have softened his features a bit; softened everything but his old school heritage and sense of resolve. He’s a man cut from the same cloth as Newman or McQueen. The kind of guy they just don’t make anymore.” That’s a long freaking paragraph. But it flows so naturally and gives you such a great understanding of the character, that you allow it. So a big part of breaking the rules is understanding your strengths. If you’re great at dialogue, you can get away with 8 page dialogue scenes. If you’re great with prose, you can write longer paragraphs. The trick is to never blindly assume you’re good at something. Make sure you KNOW. Because that’s the reason behind a lot of bad writing – writers assuming they’re good at something they’re not. Play to your strengths people!
So because I’m in LA this week running around like a crazy person, there won’t be any reviews. Well, maybe I’ll have an Amateur Friday review but it’ll depend on time. I’ll try to post bite-sized chunks of content in the mean time and I’ll start with a little background detailing The Disciple Program sale.
On that crazy first day two months ago when Tyler and I first went out with the script, within about 4 hours, the script had attached an A-List producer and an A-List actor and was being brought in to one of the major studios. Within about 5 hours, some very big numbers were being discussed. But here’s the thing. The A-List actor hadn’t read the script yet. Or at least, we didn’t know if he had. He was off shooting a movie in another part of the world. We knew someone close to him had read the script and was confident the actor would want to do it. But we didn’t know if he had personally read it.
And this was where I experienced first hand one of those weird confusing things about Hollywood. Sometimes actors will attach themselves to projects without reading the script. The thing is, I guess, that an actor attaching himself to something doesn’t mean that much in the grand scheme of things. He’s not signing any official contract. He’s just saying he’s interested in the project enough to put his name on it. So he’s not really risking anything if he attaches himself. Still, as far as the studio is concerned, just his name can be enough to pull the trigger on the sale. They like the script anyway. But now they have an actor who can open a movie. Kaboom!
But here’s what you have to keep in mind. If an actor hasn’t read a script before he’s attached himself to it, you’re taking a risk. Because what if he reads it later on and doesn’t like it? Then the package the studio bought is no longer in place and that big splashy sale you made is in danger of becoming like 90% of all script sales – another screenplay that never makes it to the big screen.
So Tyler and his agents decided to pull back and package the project more securely. That meant getting an actor that they knew was going to make the movie, as well as a director. The thing with directors is that it’s very hard to get a good one attached to a script. Remember, unlike actors, who can make 3 movies a year, directors take years to make a movie. So they’re much pickier. Getting anyone of significance can be extremely challenging.
So now you have a great script, an actor who’s telling the studio he definitely wants to make the movie, and a director. It’s basically like the movie’s being handed to the studio. They can see it. They don’t have to do anything. That’s appealing. And it’s better for the writer when that happens too. As coveted a prize as making that big spec sale is to a screenwriter, the people on the other side of the fence look at it much differently. They see spec sales all the time, shrug their shoulders indifferently, and say, “It’ll never get made.” And they’re usually right.
The only thing anyone really cares about or puts any stock in is GETTING THE MOVIE MADE. That’s the true finish line. That’s when you get all the respect, all the accolades. And the reason why is because it’s really f*cking hard to do. Which is why having produced credits on your resume ups your profile so much. So in a lot of ways, carefully stepping back and packaging The Disciple Program was important for Tyler’s career. Because if Disciple gets made, he’s officially in the mix. His profile shoots up and his quote shoots up as well. A produced screenwriter is a BIG deal because that writer’s proven that his words get movies made. Since that’s all anyone wants to do, everyone in the business is seeking THOSE screenwriters out first.
Still, I keep thinking back to that day when we sent the script out and think, “If Tyler would’ve sold it that day, it would’ve been a HUGE story that people would’ve been talking about for years.” I mean, nothing like that had ever happened before. There were so many weird variables to selling that script– and in that amount of time (5 hours??). With no reps. With a first time writer that no one had even heard of 3 hours ago? It would’ve raised Tyler’s profile in a completely different way. Because going through that packaging process took so much time, a lot of that had been forgotten, and the buzz wasn’t as high. There was definitely a trade-off to going that route.
I think when I first started all this, I thought the process was a lot simpler. You send a script out and people either buy it or they don’t. But there’s a lot of planning – a lot of strategy that goes into it. Do you go out to actors first? Try to get a director? Who do you go out to? Who do you avoid? Do you prep everyone? Or do you spring it on them out of nowhere, like we did? That approach was what got the project so much buzz in the first place because everyone was trying so hard to figure out what Disciple Program was and where it came from that they were calling everyone else.
I think the route Tyler ended up taking was the better one for his career. But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t think about what would’ve happened had it sold that day. It would’ve been mayhem. Not even Deadline would’ve been able to ignore the Scriptshadow factor if that had happened. J What do you guys think?
