Back when I taught tennis, there was something called a NTRP Rating. To this day I have no idea what NTRP stands for, but its purpose was legitimate. It ranked players on a 7 point scale. So a player with a solid forehand, decent backhand, and consistent serve in the 80s, might be a 4.0, while a player with a high national ranking who could pound groundstrokes consistently deep into the court with heavy topspin, might be a 6.0. This allowed us pros to group players according to their level as well as place them in the right leagues and tournaments.

That always had me thinking: Why don’t they do the same thing for screenwriters? Because I think one of the big problems with screenwriters is they have no idea where they stand. Assuming an imaginary 10 point scale, there are millions of 1s out there who believe that they’re 10s. And that’s because there’s nothing to go by. It’s frustrating not just to see these writers deluding themselves, but if a writer doesn’t know where the checkpoints are, how can they possibly know what they need to do to get better? And hence, the 10-Point Scriptshadow Writer Scale – a detailed breakdown, from 1 (lowest) to 10 (highest) which tells you where you stand. Are you ready to find out your level?

LEVEL 1
If you’re on your first or second screenplay, you’re probably at Level 1 status. Level 1s usually know very little about storytelling. They often start their stories with no idea of what’s going to happen from scene to scene, making everything up as they go along. They’re not yet aware that events must progress in a logical fashion to make sense to a reader, and therefore much of their story bounces around illogically. Characters are often replicas of characters from their favorite movies and therefore display no originality. Dialogue scenes can go on for 10 pages at a time with no point – they’re just people talking. Most Level 1s assume screenwriting is easy and therefore put very little effort into the final product.

LEVEL 2
A level 2 writer has typically read 1 screenwriting book (usually “Save The Cat”) and is therefore aware of the 3 act structure, giving their stories a little more form than a Level 1. The problem is, while they know where the act breaks reside, they have very little idea what to do inside of those acts, particularly the second act. Their dialogue is typically on-the-nose and feels false as a result. Also, the writer hasn’t learned the importance of clarity yet, leaving out key pieces of information that they erroneously assume are obvious. This ensures a lot of head-scratching on the reader’s end, as they’re constantly trying to keep up. For example, the writer may know that their protagonist is a recovering alcoholic, but they don’t tell this to the reader. So when that character falls off the wagon and starts drinking again, it’s supposed to be this big powerful moment, but means nothing to the reader. Many Level 2s believe that since they’ve written a few screenplays, they know everything. They don’t. Not even close.

LEVEL 3
Level 3s are still often writing personal stories with very little market appeal, making it nearly impossible to sell their script or get noticed. Their structure is getting better – particularly the first act – but they still don’t know what to do with their second act, resulting in 60+ filler pages whose only purpose is to get them to that ending. Ironically, their scripts tend to be on the long side, usually 125 pages or more, and they *insist* that they need every single one of those pages, even though more than half the pages are extraneous and/or repeating information. Another problem is that their dialogue scenes are way too long, and usually consist of two characters discussing topics that the author thinks are interesting, even if they have nothing to do with the story.

LEVEL 4
Level 4 is usually where the writer first learns the importance of a strong goal that drives the story. Not only does this give the story a point, but it makes the main character active, since he has to go after something. Because these two things are so important in creating a great story, the jump from Level 3 to Level 4 is one of the most important a writer will go through. Level 4s also write good first acts, since having a character goal makes setting up the story a lot easier. But they still falter when they get to the second act, as even though they know where the protagonist is going, they don’t yet know how to create obstacles, reversals, surprises and interesting relationships, the things that keep the second act entertaining. But if you can make it to Level 4, which can take between 1 and ½ to 2 and ½ years depending on your talent level, you put yourself in a strong position to make it as a screenwriter.

LEVEL 5
Level 5 is when a writer first *really* understands the importance of concept. They’re no longer trying to write Academy Award winning scripts that change the world. They realize that in order to get noticed, you need to write something that appeals to the studios, and a marketable concept is the best way to go. Level 5 is also where writers first typically stress “showing” (tell the story through action/visuals) as opposed to telling (characters explaining through dialogue). They’re also learning to hide their exposition more so that characters aren’t speaking so on the nose. Their story is becoming more invisible. Although they don’t add conflict to every scene, they’ve started to subconsciously pick up on its importance, and therefore have quite a few strong scenes. Level 5s will occasionally place in contests as contest runners will see the potential in their work.

LEVEL 6
Level 6 often signifies a writer who’s in it for the long run. This writer has read a lot of the screenwriting books and has taken the best from all of them to develop his/her own approach. He/she also understands the importance of reading scripts, which they read a lot of. Level 6 is also when character development first starts to become a major focus for the writer. They’re just as interested in developing characters with full arcs as they are plotting their story out. Their scenes are also much better as they understand how to get into scenes late and leave early, giving their scripts a crisp “straight to the point” feel. There’s more conflict (in the plot, in the characters, in the relationships, in the scenes) making a larger chunk of the script entertaining. The thing is, while a Level 6 KNOWS all these things, they haven’t yet perfected them, giving the scripts an unpolished feel. Level 6s will place high in many secondary contests, possibly even winning a few.

LEVEL 7
Level 7 is when a writer really begins to “get it.” They’ve had all these pieces they’ve been perfecting for so long, but now those pieces are finally starting to fit together. It’s one of the more magical times for a writer, as they’ll experience a lot of “Ah ha!” moments. Outside of a strong marketable concept, Level 7s often look to the power of irony (i.e. a lawyer who can’t lie) to make their concepts and stories even juicier. Characters become the primary focus, specifically creating characters who are relatable and who have interesting problems and backstories that need to be resolved by the end of the story. Structure is never an issue with Level 7s. The dialogue is also a lot better since they keep their scenes short and to the point and have done enough character work that their characters speak distinctly and specifically. The problem with Level 7s is that they sometimes stress the craft side of screenwriting so much that their scripts feel a bit mechanical. Everything is where it’s supposed to be. The characters are all going through transformations. And yet there’s something missing that prevents the story from connecting with the reader. The writer hasn’t yet learned how to make all of these things feel natural, feel invisible. Level 7 is usually when writers start to make money off of their work, getting small jobs here and there. A few of them will even get lucky, selling a script if they have a really great concept. This is why you sometimes see so-so professional writers. They’re Level 7s who caught a break.

LEVEL 8
A level 8 writer has almost all of the screenwriting tools at their disposal and is working on perfecting more advanced techniques, such as dramatic irony, invisible set-ups, and thematic consistency. They can easily recognize when a scene or section isn’t working and know how to fix it. This skill is essential for working in the industry since that’s what you’ll be doing most of the time – rewriting your own and other people’s work. Level 8, in my opinion, is also when you first start “moving” readers emotionally with your work. It’s when you first create characters who really resonate with people, who feel real to them. This extends to the story as well. Often when reading a Level 8 writer, the reader isn’t aware that they’re reading a script as they’re too lost in the story. Their dialogue scenes often have subtext and in most scenes, there’s usually more going on than what’s on the surface. Strangely enough, Level 8s still struggle with the second half of the second act and can get overconfident, believing that their writing is good enough that it can overcome a weak premise, ironically putting them back at Square 3 – writing an unmarketable script. Level 8s are making a living off screenwriting, but aren’t yet trolling the 90210 zip code on Trulia for their next home.

LEVEL 9
A level 9 writer has gotten to the point where they can break time-tested screenwriting rules and still get away with it, since they know how to counteract them. Level 9 writers are specifically aware of what the studios and producers want and cater their premises accordingly. They know, for example, that to get a non-book-franchise movie made, you need an A-list actor to play the lead – which means coming up with an intriguing protagonist role with a lot of meat that an A-lister would love to play. Their execution is first rate and they know how to make every single moment interesting – even that damn second half of the second act. Level 9s don’t stop at making their primary characters interesting, but make sure every single character in the script is memorable and changes in some way. These guys are the meat and potatoes of the industry and are responsible for most of the movies you enjoy. They get paid at least 500k per job and are sought after for all the big assignments.

LEVEL 10
Level 10 is master status, Aaron Sorkinville, Academy award winning screenwriter. There are only 20-30 of these writers working and they know EVERYTHING about screenwriting. They know how to manipulate every single button inside of you using conflict, irony, sympathy, character flaws, all to make you laugh, cry, angry – WHATEVER they want you to be! They know every trick in the book to keep you turning the pages as well – anticipation, obstacles, mysteries, dramatic irony. They can write a character who seems like your best friend even though you’ve only known him for a few minutes. They can make you fall in love with a woman even if women aren’t your preference. Every scene has a specific purpose. There is no fat. They can completely ignore rules and still make it work. But what really separates these guys from the rest of the pack is how fast they work. They not only give you a great screenplay, but they can do it in a very short amount of time, something only a coveted few in Hollywood can pull off. Which is why they’re paid so much money. Once you reach Level 10 status, you can quit. Cause you’re at the top of the mountain baby.

Now is the Scriptshadow Writer Scale perfect? No. There are some writers who are naturally gifted with dialogue, for example, who still might be a Level 2 in every other category. But generally speaking, these are the observations I’ve made after reading every type of script from every type of writer under the sun. So how do you accelerate your ascent up the scale? Simple: LEARN AS MUCH AS YOU CAN ABOUT THE CRAFT. Read all the books. Read a ton of scripts. Write! Trade scripts with a screenwriting group. Get constant feedback. Study! It doesn’t mean you have to listen to everything you read. In fact, I encourage writers to perfect their own unique approach to screenwriting. But you can’t perfect something you don’t know anything about. So keep at it. Hopefully this scale gives you an idea of where you stand and where you need to get to. Good luck. :)

Genre: Rom-Com
Premise: A young woman who keeps important items from her previous relationships decides to start a museum featuring those items, turning her into a mini-celebrity.
About: This script finished in the middle of the pack of last year’s Black List.
Writer: Natalie Krinsky
Details: 110 pages – May 17, 2011 draft (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

I heard mixed things about this one. One person I trust said it was absolutely awful. Another person I trust said it was borderline amazing. It should be noted that the person who didn’t like it was a guy and the person who did was a girl. Maybe this is a gender specific script?

The first thing I’d point out about The Museum of Broken Relationships is that the concept is…ehhh…a little hard to buy into. Building a museum out of old relationship items? I even had issues with someone *preserving* old relationship items in the first place. Nobody actually does that, right? But when I went back to check the writer’s name for this review, I noticed that under the title and her name was this: (based on her own insanity). This implied, of course, that not only does this happen, but that our writer was leading the charge!

Okay, so maybe it does happen. And maybe our writer has something unique to say about it. And you know what? I have to admit, the concept’s at least *different*. This isn’t your typical “been there done that” rom-com premise. So I tried to go into “Museum” with an open mind.

Lucy Gulliver, 28, resides in her “adorable Brooklyn apartment,” cursing like a sailor and falling in love easily. She’s currently a junior curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She’s also banging her boss, Max Frank, a self-absorbed asshole whose assholish qualities are lost on everyone except for Lucy.

As Lucy gears up for what she believes is going to be the next level of their relationship, Max surprises everyone except for poor Lucy when, at a banquet, he announces that his inspiration – and also new girlfriend – Ameilia, will be getting the new curator position that Lucy so desperately wanted. Ouch.

A World War II battle between Lucy and Max follows and she follows that by quitting, putting her in big financial doo-doo. Luckily her roommates are there to pick her up, going into Break-up Damage Control Mode, something they’re very good at with Lucy breaking up ALL THE TIME.

Afterwards, we find out Lucy creepily keeps tons of items from her previous relationships in her room. And her roommates come clean, telling her in no uncertain terms that she’s a psycho, and that if she’s ever going to have a real relationship, she has to let go of all these relationships by letting go of these items.

But Lucy’s not the type of girl who listens to logic and actually goes in the opposite direction. In a drunken crying Facebook post, she tells everyone to offload their own personal relationship souvenirs on her. She doesn’t think much of it, but the next day, people start leaving these items on her doorstep. Lucy unwittingly becomes the recipient of everyone else finally letting go of their past.

The itemage gets so big that she eventually needs a place for all of it, and that’s when she comes up with the idea to turn it into a museum exhibit.

During this time, she meets the curiously named Nick Friend, a man-whore who usually doesn’t go out with girls long enough to experience breakups. The two are opposites in many ways, which is why they get along great. Nick is actually the one who finds her her museum space.

Eventually, the museum becomes a big hit, and Max comes back into the picture, wanting to affiliate the museum with the Met. He also wants to get back together with Lucy. Despite her success, Lucy’s self-esteem is still low, so she says yes, in the process ensuring her doom. The question is, will she figure that out in time to stop it and realize who she’s really supposed to be with?

The Museum Of Broken Relationships is definitely a “love it or hate it” script. And it’s clear early on why women are going to relate to this script more than men. I’d argue that Krinski doesn’t like men much – something she’s not afraid to show. At one point, describing Nick’s friend playing video games, she writes, “Brady plays Madden or Halo or Call of Duty or one of those lame games that boys play.” Which is kind of funny but at the same time a pretty transparent indication that our writer’s not a fan of us dudes.

But what’s really going to polarize people is the style the script is written in – the dialogue in particular – which is VERY big and showy. It’s the kind of style that’s going to get a script noticed, and certainly makes a script memorable where so many others are forgettable, but it also feels a bit desperate, like a writer waving their hands and screaming, “Look at me!”

I have a problem with that kind of writing for that reason. It makes me forget about the story and concentrate on the writing itself. And anything that pulls the writer out of the story is a dangerous move. Because they’re no longer caught up in the magic of your world. They’re thinking about you the physical writer. Let me give you a couple of examples

When describing a statue in the museum she works at, Lucy says, “Aphrodite is the original gangsta of love. And thusly deserves a place of original gangsta-ness. And that’s final.”

Or, “Cinder-Fella, we’ve got to be at the ball in 15 minutes. The talking ship has sailed.”

Nearly EVERY line of dialogue is like this. Now the funny thing is I talked about elevating your dialogue a few posts ago. But this is what happens when you elevate it too much. You bring attention to it. I’m old school in that sense. I think the writing should be invisible, no matter how “big” it is. Krinsky takes the same approach with the action description.

Max clears his throat uncomfortably then leans in the opposite direction and whispers something in Amelia’s ear. She giggles. Max smiles tightly. Homeboy looks worried.

I don’t know. It just feels like the writer is trying too hard.

As for the story, it’s executed well. Sometimes I’m so focused on what’s not working in a script that I forget to appreciate what is working. Just getting all the pieces where they’re supposed to be is big deal. And everything here is where it’s supposed to be. And I know that because I never checked what page I was on or pulled out of the script because a scene had nothing to do with the story. In an amateur script, I might do that 40 to 50 times. So there’s something to say about Krinsky’s understanding of the craft.

But if I’m being honest, I don’t think this script was written for guys. I think it was written for women and that’s why I identified with so little of it. A female-written script I felt was much better suited to both sexes, and a lot more relatable, was the highly ranked Black List entry, “He’s Fucking Perfect,” which I loved and about everybody else hated (don’t know where those voters of the Black List were to back me up on that review!”). So who knows who’s right? I just felt the showy female-biased vibe was too dominant here. I didn’t dig it.

[ ] Wait for the rewrite
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Motivate your characters’ actions. You can’t just have characters do things because you want them to. Your characters don’t know they’re in a story. They believe they’re in real life. So if they do something, it has to make sense to them. There’s a moment in the middle of the script where Krinsky needs to accelerate the relationship between Nick and Lucy, who’ve only seen each other out and about. So Krinsky simply has Nick show up at her place. Why? I have no idea. I don’t even know how he knows where she lives. But the relationship needed to get going and this was the easiest way to do it. But it doesn’t make sense so it stands out as an awkward scene. Instead, look for ways to motivate these moments. For example, maybe Nick has heard about Lucy’s broken relationship item collecting and therefore brings over something from his previous relationship. Now his visit is motivated by an act instead of him just showing up. So always look to motivate your character’s actions in your script. If you don’t, we’ll notice.

 Thank you everybody who sent in Llewyn Davis reviews. I had a wonderful time reading them and there were a lot of good ones.  BUT I really liked this one by Alexander Gillies, whose passion for the Coens and knowledge of film history won me over.  Really good review!  I’ll be back with a new review tomorrow.  In the meantime, enjoy! :)

I just want to apologize for today, and really, the next two weeks. As I gear up for the LA trip and then actually go there, my posts are probably going to be late. But I’m going to bust my ass to get them up as soon as possible, so I’m still hustling! Anyway, better late than never, right?

Genre: Thriller-ish Crime Drama
Premise: A computer poker player is hired by an offshore poker giant to run his company. But as his fortune and status grow, the player begins to sense that something is amiss.
About: Justin Timberlake baby! JUS-TIN TIMB-ER-LAKE. In this script, Justin reprises his Social Network roll as a sort of hotshot wonder boy who uses computers to build his wealth. The script sold earlier this year. Dicaprio’s production company, Appian Way, is producing with Double Feature.
Writers: Brian Koppelman & David Levien
Details: 124 pages – undated

I played poker once.

I lost.

I never played again.

The End.

Okay, maybe not “the” end. But it was the end for me. Despite how much I disliked this strange game that operated by screwing people like me out of my hard earned money, I’d always been fascinated with poker from afar. When two people go “all in” (whatever that means), and there’s all that money on the table and only one person gets to win it? I mean, isn’t that the very definition of stakes?

But the online poker business brings a whole new spin to it. You don’t have to leave your house anymore. You can just hang out in your bed all day, play against other lazy home-dwellers, and rake in the digital dough.

How easy is THAT?? Very. Until you start losing your kids’ college tuition. Yup, not so easy anymore. But check this out. Even the ones who WON at online poker STILL got screwed. That’s because the government decided their Pa-pa-pa-poker game was illegal or something. So all that money that those places horded? All gone. And some players never saw a dime. Talk about the chips being down.

Ah, but there’s still one online poker joint still kicking! Ivan Block’s. Block’s set up an online poker haven in the Caribbean, somehow safe from the jurisdiction of U.S. governments. The man is raking in hundreds of millions of dollars and when you pull in that kind of cash, people get mad. People want a piece. Especially the IRS. But they can’t do anything about it. Even though they were able to do something about the other poker places.

More on Block in a second. Back in the real world, grad student Richie Furst is trying to scrape together enough money to pay for his Princeton education. And since he doesn’t have a lot of dough, he decides to gamble what he does have on some online poker. And he kills it. We’re talking tuition and then some! But as you already know, greed is a nasty little devil that has no mercy.

Richie keeps playing, and then, impossibly, within a ten minute span, loses every single cent he has. It would be devastating if there weren’t something odd about it. It was like, all of sudden, his competitors played completely irrationally. It’s suspicious enough that Richie goes to one of his Stanford Tech Buddies and has him run an analysis on his hand history. Tech Buddy confirms that, yup, the ace of spades made sure the ace got paid. And Richie ain’t the ace in this conversation.

So Richie, being Justin Timberlake, decides rather illogically to go to the Caribbean and confront the owner of the site, our tax-evading entrepreneur Ivan Block. I’m not sure anybody would do this in real life but hey, I’ll go with it. Once there, Richie uses his charm to get in front of the big guy, show him that he cheated him, and demand his money back. Well Block goes one better. He HIRES Richie.

You see, Block’s competitors are catching up (but aren’t they all out of business??) and he needs a boy-genius to give him an edge. So Richie does what he does best – computerizes shit so it’s better. And the money starts rolling in. But as the great…some rapper…said, “Mo money, mo problems.” And Richie definitely starts experiencing more problems. Going to deliver some dough to one of Block’s friends results in a Tyson-worthy pummeling. A few FBI agents on an extended Caribbean vacation keep popping up to remind Richie that if he doesn’t quit soon, he’ll never step foot in the US again. Cry me a river indeed.

But worst of all, Richie learns that Block may not be shooting straight with him (who woulda thought?) and that if he doesn’t do something soon, lack of vacations in the ole U.S. of A will be the least of his worries.

Runner Runner is a good script. I wouldn’t say there’s anything special about it but the execution is nearly flawless. If it weren’t for the familiarity, it would’ve gotten a much higher rating. But as it stands, it’s just good solid entertainment that does exactly what it sets out to do.

On the negative side, there are a few things that popped out to me. You get the feeling that this project started before the whole Online Poker collapse. Then when it happened it was sort of like, “Oh shit, what do we do now?” And it’s explained away with a two line snippet of dialogue that basically amounts to, “Oh yeah, those companies fell apart. But we didn’t.” Except Block’s company is doing the exact same thing and is based out of the exact same area. Not a script-killer. But it did raise an eyebrow.

Another thing that didn’t quite work was the Richie-Rebecca relationship. Rebecca is someone involved in the poker company when Richie gets there and the two fall for each other. But I couldn’t for the life of me figure out if Rebecca was with Block or wasn’t. Sometimes we’d hear that Rebecca “used to be” with Block a long time ago. Yet her and Richie seemed to be sneaking around trying to avoid Block. So were her and Block together or weren’t they?

The lack of clarity here is a big deal because it’s the difference between adding a whole other level to all the Richie-Rebecca-Block scenes or having them completely devoid of conflict. Don’t you want that tension there? That subtext?. If we know Richie and Rebecca are together even though Rebecca’s with Block and Block doesn’t know about it, that creates all sorts of potentially tense scenes. Though that was never explored here. Or if it was, it was done half-heartedly, I believe because the writers didn’t even know which way they wanted to go. There was no commitment!

I also would’ve loved for Block to be meaner. I was just never scared of the guy. These movies work best when the bad guy starts off your best friend but then slowly devolves into a monster, with a pivotal scene that just scares the shit out of us about the guy. I wanted that pivotal scene but never got it. I liked Block – but he definitely needs more. Where’s that danger??

But hey, the script moved like a bullet train and the writing was about as clean as it gets. After reading all these Twit-Pitch scripts where it takes writers 3 sentences to say what they easily could have said in 1, it was nice to read some professionals who could pack a sentence full of information to keep the line-count down. All writers need to learn how to do this!!!

Not great, but a pretty good script.

[ ] Wait for the rewrite
[ ] wasn’t for me
[x] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: You can never fudge a relationship or a plot point. You have to COMMIT to it 100%. Because if you figure, “Ehhh, I don’t wanna do the work. We’ll just leave it be and they probably won’t notice.” Trust me, we ALWAYS notice. If you’re unclear about something, it comes off as unclear in the script. So this whole Rebecca-Block thing. It was never clarified if they were together. Therefore everything between Block and Rebecca, Block and Richie, Richie, Block and Rebecca – always had a cloud of confusion hanging over it. Clear that up and you could’ve had a whole boatload of great scenes between the three.

What I learned 2: Never say in three lines what you can say in one. Come on, guys. Work hard to make the read easier on your poor reader.

NEW Amateur Friday Submission Process: To submit your script for an Amateur Review, send in a PDF of your script, a PDF of the first ten pages of your script, your title, genre, logline, and finally, why I should read your script. Use my submission address please: Carsonreeves3@gmail.com. Your script and “first ten” will be posted. If you’re nervous about the effect of a bad review, feel free to use an alias name and/or title. It’s a good idea to resubmit every couple of weeks so your submission stays near the top.

Genre: Comedy
Premise: (from writer) A lost cache of Nazi gold could save the crumbling hometown of a failed actor. But the key to the treasure, an antique shaving mug, is also the key to his doom. He must outwit, battle and defeat weird and dangerous Nazi sympathizers who have skulked into town searching for him and the treasure.
Writer: Michael Wire
Details: 108 pages (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

It’s comedy time here on Amateur Friday. I hope your laugh buds are tingling cause we got ourselves a wild one. Our writer, Michael Wire, is definitely insane in the membrane – but in a good way! “Shaving Mug Fracas” is a wild ride that may not have the focus a story this ambitious needs, but I see a lot of promise in Michael. If he can learn to sharpen his storytelling skills, he might very well be a comedy writer to watch for.

“Fracas” starts with former B-grade movie star Chad McSteele III (the actor who portrayed the superhero “Flying Falcon”) putting the finishing touches on one of those giant mechanical dinosaur heads you see in Monster Truck shows. McSteele used to have it all. The women. The fame. The house in the hills. But after a Youtube video surfaced of him screaming like a girl when his wire-frame harness malfunctioned on set, no one bought the illusion of Flying Falcon anymore. McSteele’s career was McSeeya.

So he moved back to his hometown, Verona, Arizona – a desert dump with a higher evacuation rate than Chernobyl, and started his auto-body business. In many ways, Verona IS Chad McSteele – a past-its-prime town that’s just wasting away.

With the banks moving in on Verona, demanding money that the town, and our hero, don’t have, McSteele is looking for any source of income to stave them off. So he starts selling old junk on Ebay. To his surprise, one item, a seemingly innocuous shaving mug, is garnering a serious bidding war. In fact, it’s already up to 1500 dollars!

Before McSteele can figure out why the hell anyone would want a boring mug, a German bombshell, Evita, and her creepy brother, Maxwell, show up wanting to buy the mug directly. When that plan fails, they hire some local skinheads to steal it for them. The skinheads do the job, but in the process see the letters “A.H.” inscribed on the mug. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who those letters refer to (but the skinheads still need it explained to them). And that means it’s time to up their asking price.

In the meantime, a plump dorky 40-something Brit named “Eggman” shows up ALSO willing to do anything for the shaving mug. It turns out he’s collected a whole set of Hitler’s toiletries and this is the last item he needs to complete it. When he learns that it’s been stolen, he hires McSteele to steal it back.

But that’s when things get really crazy. Evita and Maxwell’s boss, the ancient “Grandfather,” who may or may not have been a Nazi Zeppelin pilot back in World War 2, flies into town himself. He quickly buys some property near the town’s pride and joy, a famous American tank used in World War 2, and hires a number of shifty fellars to move in with him.

It turns out that that mug wasn’t really what our guests were after afterall. There’s something much bigger hidden inside the town of Verona. And the evil Grandfather is going to find it. It will then be up to McSteele to put those tights on one last time and stop him, and maybe, in the process, save Verona.

“Fracas” is reallllllyyyyy ambitious. And I think Michael may have chomped off more Nazi war crimes than he could chew. One of the hardest areas to nail in this kind of story is the first act – because you have to set up so many people and so many storylines in such a short period of time. If you’re not careful, the entire act can turn into an exposition dump. And I’m afraid that’s what happens here. Michael is exerting all of his energy on just making sure every piece of information is conveyed, as opposed to telling an entertaining story. In the process, scenes feel like numbers on a checklist. There’s no flow to them. Nothing evolves naturally from anything else.

I mean we start with a superhero, then cut to a dinosaur head, then cut to a German grandfather in another country, then cut back to McSteele’s body shop where we go into some exposition about a rival body shop, then a quick switch to McSteele trying to pay his workers, then to a mug McSteele’s put up on Ebay, then to Evita showing up, then to a really long bar scene setting up McSteele’s old flame, Julie. I mean I didn’t know which way was up after the first fifteen pages.

And it boils down to a writer trying to jam so many things into his setup without considering how the reader is going to process all of that information. You can’t just use your first act as exposition. It still has to entertain. It still has to read smoothly.

Another thing that bothered me was once we got through those 15 pages of exposition, we had a really long bar scene that had no discernible purpose.

We were just talking about this yesterday. You don’t want to write scenes that convey the same information you’ve already given. So in the bar, McSteele runs into Julie, his old flame, and the two partake in a game of pool. The conversation they have is about A) how McSteele is down on his luck. B) How he’s lost all his money. C) How his superhero career ran out. Yet we already know all of these things. They’ve been conveyed to us quite aggressively. So the scene just sits there.

The scene does have conflict but nobody wants anything out of it and therefore there isn’t anything at stake. If I were to write this scene, I would’ve established beforehand that he and Julie don’t talk anymore – that she dislikes him – but she has something he really needs (possibly something that will help save his business). Now when he approaches her to play a game of pool, he secretly wants something from her. Ahh! Your scene now has a point, something at stake, and therefore some entertainment value. I wanted to see a lot more of that in the first act – entertainment value. Not exposition.

On the flip side, Michael has a wild imagination and some really great moments in his script. Eggman may be one of my favorite characters of the year. His obsession with the mug is hilarious. I loved that McSteele was a former movie super hero. I loved the Germans coming in to steal a secret treasure. I loved that the final battle takes place on Independence Day. I liked the huge mechanical dinosaur they used to attack the Germans. The plot with the gold hidden inside the tank was really clever. The set pieces, like the cop dressing up like a gorilla to take a wasp’s nest off the radio tower, and then the model planes swarming around him, was inspired.

So there’s a lot here to be excited about. But Michael just doesn’t bring it together. You have to work too hard to understand what’s going on. And in a comedy, you shouldn’t have to work hard at all. It should be breezy and easy to understand. I don’t know anyone who goes to a comedy to be challenged.

So that’s what I would say to Michael. Work on hiding your exposition more. Work on adjusting your plot so you don’t have so much exposition in the first place. Work on making all of your exposition scenes entertaining – not just info you’re conveying to the reader. And work on sharpening your explanation of the plot. There are a lot of moments in the script where you’re not clear enough on what’s going on, and I think it’s because certain plot points aren’t clear enough.

So I like Michael as a writer. I like his ambition here and that he’s pushing himself. The other day I chastised a script for making too many obvious choices. This script is anything but that. I can’t think of a single obvious choice Michael made. He just needs to do some simplifying and some smoothing out so the script reads more like a story and less like a prep-sheet for what’s to happen later.

Script link: The Incredible Shaving Mug Fracas

[ ] Wait for the rewrite
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: You have to be careful with your openings. Remember that an opening is the door you use to bring the reader into your home. If the reader walks in and there are monkeys on the ceiling and a plate of food being thrown at them and aliens having sex and a hot Columbian woman whispering sweet Cantonese nothings into his ear, that reader’s probably going to turn around and leave. It’s too hard to process all of that craziness right away. And that’s how I felt reading the opening here. I walked into a house and had no sense of where I was or what was going on. Invite your reader into your house and let them look around a little bit before you start throwing the batshit crazy at them.