Genre: Contained Thriller
Premise: A group of masked thugs break into a morgue, demanding access to a body that contains evidence to a crime they recently committed.
About: Information on this one is mixed but I believe it originally went wide in 2010 and then finally ended up selling (possibly after a few rewrites) at the end of 2011. David Lesser, the writer, has been around for a long time, working mainly in TV. He wrote for “Who’s The Boss,” and wrote episodes for “Coach” and “Sabrina The Teenage Witch.”
Writer: David Lesser
Details: 106 pages – undated (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 guess what happens when you get into the later stages of your screenwriting career is you stop writing spec scripts. You usually have a family, children, people who depend on you. So you don’t have the luxury of spending those precious few hours each day on writing something that doesn’t guarantee a paycheck. Instead, you go where the money is. And the money is in a steady paying TV job or assignment work.

For that reason, it’s always cool to see a veteran writer still writing specs – still taking a shot. And to that end, I love what Lesser has done here. He’s come up with a cool little idea with plenty of conflict and a cheap production tag.

With that said, Bodies at Rest is one of those screenplays that exists in the floating netherworld of spec sales. It’s good enough to get purchased, but something’s missing from making it that break out “talked about” screenplay. Sometimes I bring up the notion that certain stories (namely dramas and thrillers) need TEETH. They need to bite down on you, wrestle you, make you feel like you’re not going to get away. They need to feel DANGEROUS. That’s how I felt yesterday. I felt like The Stanford Prison Experiment dug its teeth into me and wouldn’t let go. With this script, I feel more like the characters are blowing bubbles at me. They’re winking and smiling when the cameras aren’t looking. Nobody ever feels threatening or threatened. For that reason, it was hard to become invested.

For example, it seemed like over a dozen times the villain said to our hero, “If you try and screw around ONE MORE TIME I’m going to [some clever saying about the method in which he was going to kill him].” But that moment never came. Once you get past 3 empty threats, it’s hard to take anything the villain says seriously. The irony is that in The Stanford Prison Experiment, we knew with 100% certainty that those characters were safe – that nothing terrible was ever going to happen to them. And yet I was a thousand times more terrified for them than I was the characters in Bodies At Rest. And that’s because that script had TEETH.

Anyway, Bodies At Rest follows the beautiful Lia and the mischievously handsome Abe. Both of them work together at the morgue, tearing up dead bodies and trying to figure out how they died. The two have a bit of a romance going, but Lia wants more out of it than Abe, and that causes just the slightest bit of friction between the two. She’s ready to take the next step. He’s not.

Well that white picket fence Lia’s so obsessed with is about to get mowed down, because three armed men in masks burst into the morgue, demanding to see a woman’s body. Now you’d think our body carvers would be terrified by this development. I mean, it’s not every night that someone breaks into a morgue and threatens to kill you. But for whatever reason, our heroic duo is as calm as the dead body lying on the table in front of them.

We soon learn that the trio wants a bullet taken out of a female body. Abe, who is somehow more relaxed now than he was when Lia was asking for a commitment, shrugs his shoulders as if to say, “Sure, why not?” He goes in the back room to extract the bullet from the woman. The thug watching him is so grossed out, he can’t look. Abe gives the man his bullet and the group leaves.

Once they go, Abe reveals to Lia that he didn’t give the men the bullet they were looking for. He extracted a bullet out of a different female body. Now he wants to find out why the men wanted that body. Hmmm. So instead of calling the cops, Abe wants to play Sherlock Holmes? Of course, the thugs realize that they’ve been had and charge back into the morgue all over again, demanding the REAL bullet.

What follows is a psychological game of cat and mouse as Casual Abe leads the thugs on and the thugs keep catching on, menacingly threatening Abe each time but never actually doing anything about it. In the end, when they’ve really truly honestly had enough of Abe’s antics, it looks like they’re REALLY going to kill him. Casual Abe will then have to come up with one last trick to get he and Lia out of this mess.

So I’ve already given you my main problems with the script. But here’s the thing I’m stumped over. There are certain movies where the main character is essentially a super-hero. He’s not afraid of anything because he knows he’s more powerful than everyone else. Many of these movies are popular (Mission Impossible, James Bond). But isn’t it more interesting when the main character actually exhibits fear? When he (and we) feel like there’s a possibility that he can be beaten/defeated/killed?

Because if we’re not worried that anything’s going to happen to our protagonist, then what are the stakes? What’s dramatically interesting about a person who can’t be hurt? That was my issue with Abe. He just seemed WAY too sure of himself and was never once afraid. Since he wasn’t afraid, I wasn’t afraid. And if I’m not afraid, I’m not going to be into the movie.

Still, I admit this kind of character works in some scenarios. One of my favorite characters of all time, Wesley from The Princess Bride, is this kind of character. He always knew he was going to come out okay and so did we. So what’s the difference here? Why does Wesley work and Abe not work? Or do we only accept these characters in larger than life scenarios?

This same approach was extended over to Lia. There’s a moment early on, when the thugs send Abe off to extract the bullet, and Lia is left standing there with the men. What is the first thing she says to them? “Do you mind if I get back to work?”

Uh, wait a minute. What did you just say?

DO YOU MIND IF I GET BACK TO WORK?????

Oh yeah, that would definitely be my reaction if someone was pointing a gun to my head. “Hey guys? I know you want to kill me n’stuff but I REALLY need to get this blog entry up. If you can just hang out for a moment? There’s food in the fridge. Believe me, if you knew Grendl, you’d know why I need to do this pronto.”

Anyway, this gets to the heart of why the script didn’t work for me. Nobody acted like people would really act in this situation. For example, when one of the bad guys is about to rape Lia, she tells him she’s into weird kinky sexual shit and asks if she can spit on him. The thug answers “yes” for God knows what reason and she asks him to hold out his hands. He does, she spits on them, and then kicks him backwards into a freezer where his wet hands get stuck on the frozen doors. This, apparently, was her plan all along. I mean let’s be serious for a second. Is this in any way believable?

My philosophy is always to put yourself in your character’s shoes. Ask the question, “What would I do if I were in this situation?” If your characters are doing something completely different from that, you better have a great reason for why. And I couldn’t find that reason with Bodies At Rest.

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

What I learned: I think it’s important that the audience FEARS your villain. If we don’t fear the villain, there’s a lack of tension and uncertainty in the script that’s hard to make up for. Star Wars has a great moment early on when Darth Vader holds a rebel soldier up off the ground by his neck, choking him to death. So right away, I’m scared of Darth Vader. But it’s not just that he killed someone (the villain in Bodies at Rest kills a few people). It’s the manner in which he does it. It’s cold, it’s heartless, it’s brutal. I just never got that feeling here from the villain. He was never very frightening.

Genre: Drama
Premise: Based on a true story, in 1971, a Stanford professor initiated one of the most controversial university experiments of all time, recreating a simulated prison environment with volunteers. Within hours, the experiment spun out of control.
About: The Stanford Prison Experiment is a 2006 script written by Christopher McQuarrie and Tim Talbott for McQuarrie to direct. McQuarrie had assembled a great cast that included Channing Tatum, Giovanni Ribisi, Ryan Phillipe, Jesse Eisenberg, Paul Dano, Jamie Bell, Ben McKenzie, and others, but just as the project was getting ready to go, Valkyrie emerged, and McQuarrie had to make a tough decision on whether to produce that film or direct this one.  It was a difficult choice but he ultimately went with Valkyrie. You might remember I reviewed a more recent McQuarrie screenplay, One Shot, a couple of months back.
Writers: Tim Talbott & Christopher McQuarrie
Details: 122 pages – August 7, 2006 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).

So I’d been hearing about how good this script was for-evvvvv-er but the reason I hadn’t picked it up is because I’d seen “Das Experiment” (A German film covering the same territory – it was pretty good) and figured I already knew the story, so what was the point? But this script had a nasty habit of not going away. It just kept popping up on my radar. And due to the recent slate of less than stellar scripts here on Scriptshadow, I decided to read something I knew was going to be a quality screenplay.

Whereas Das Experiment took the subject matter and went all “creative license” with it, Chris and Tim seem to be more interested in exploring how things *really* went down on that fateful week in 1971. The event centers around an arrogant Stanford Professor named Dr. Philip Zimbrado who thought it’d be interesting to study the effects of how prisoners and guards interact with one another in a prison setting.

So he put an ad in the paper and narrowed the applicants down to 30 people, most of them in the 19-25 age range. 9 of them were made guards and the rest prisoners. Zimbardo then set up a make-shift jail and began the experiment.

Immediately, things started getting weird. The volunteers were led to believe this was going to be a fun little experiment they could leave at any moment. Zimbardo had another plan, however. His goal was to strip away every “prisoner’s” humanity, make them feel like dirt, and study how this affected them. So right when they arrived, the prisoners were literally stripped naked and de-liced. They were then given smocks that barely covered anything. The experience was humiliating but they still went along with it, figuring things would get better.

They didn’t.

One of the guards, a cocksure 18 year old sociopath named David Eshleman, decided to take his role very seriously, to the point where he changed his Northeastern accent to a Southern one. He took on the persona of a meaner creepier version of himself who didn’t take shit from anybody. He began harassing the prisoners with a vengeance. And if any of them got out of line, he’d send them to “the hole,” a box so tiny you couldn’t even stand up in it.

One of the prisoners, 22 year old Doug Corpi, quickly realized that if the prisoners didn’t stand up for their rights, they were about to experience two weeks of torture. So he began rebelling, refusing to eat food and barricading the cell entrances so the guards couldn’t get inside. Eshelman didn’t back down. He told the other inmates that unless Corpi started abiding by the rules, they wouldn’t eat. They wouldn’t get bathroom breaks.

It was a standoff. A hatred began building between the two sides, fueled by Corpi and Eshelman, and it was clear that only 48 hours in, things were out of control. But did Zimbardo stop? No. He was too fascinated by the interaction. He wanted more.

Soon, the psychological exhaustion of dealing with the relentless guards began to take its toll, and the prisoners started breaking down. They went to Zimbardo, begging for help, but since they never specifically asked to leave, he wouldn’t let them go. He’d force them right back into their cells to endure more psychological terror.

His biggest fascination, however, was Eshelman. He wanted to see how far he would go. The problem with that was Eshelman wanted to see how far he could take it. So he just got worse and worse and worse until he was a bona fide monster. But since no one was telling him to stop, he kept going. He devoted his entire shifts to torturing the inmates.

At a certain point, things became so ridiculously out of control, that Zimbardo had no choice but to stop the experiment, a mere six days in. It was not due to any sympathy on his part. It was only because his staff couldn’t bear it anymore. And just like that, it was over. The prisoners were released from their cells and told to go home.

Man, I don’t even know if I can talk about this script in screenwriting terms. I was just so fucking…..ANGRY at Zimbardo and Eshelman. These people were tortured for six straight days and there were no consequences for their torturers! They just got to smile and shrug their shoulders at the end and call it a day.

I think this is why this script leaves such an impression. There aren’t many movies where the bad guys get to mercilessly torture the good guys without any payback. It just feels so…unfair.

Especially in the case of Zimbardo, the smarmy piece of shit who came up with the idea. He just watches the whole thing with this evil little grin on his face, allowing these men to be berated and humiliated. I wanted to find out where he lived and conduct my own little experiment on him.

And you want to talk about a script with awkward mechanics. You know our hero? Corpi? Yeah well he goes insane and leaves the movie at the 65% point. So our main character is just gone. It’s a little like Psycho in that sense. After Corpi leaves, we’re sitting there going, “Who is it we’re now supposed to follow? Whose story is it now?” And at a certain point we realize it’s Zimbardo’s. We’re stuck with this manipulating douche-bag monster for the rest of the film.

You’ll also notice the script has a ton of characters, which I thought I’d bring up because last week I went off on Cities of Refuge for having too many characters. First of all, it’s important to remember that McQuarrie was directing this himself. So the only person who had to remember all these characters was him. But he and Tim also do something unique with the characters at the beginning of the screenplay. They tell you they’re going to name them, but to pay no attention to their names. Because they’re not people in this movie. They’re rats in a maze. They’re nobodies.

Truthfully, the only people we have to remember are Korpi, Eshelman, Zimbardo, and a few minor characters.

This isn’t a GSU movie either. The driving force behind the movie is not a goal – it’s a question. What’s going to happen to these people? What’s going to happen in this situation? And because the situation is so compelling (every single scene is packed with conflict), we want to find out.

The thing about the script that baffles me most, though, is the lack of stakes. Going into this, I thought for sure I wouldn’t care because the stakes were so low. It’s just an experiment – and an experiment at a prestigious University at that. You knew nothing could get *too* bad. I mean any of the prisoners could get up, say they had enough, and walk out without any consequences.

And yet despite this, I was still riveted by their predicament. I’m still not sure how Talbott and McQuarrie managed to do this. I think part of it may be that humans always respond passionately towards a) people being taken advantage of, and b) people abusing their power. Since both of those scenarios were on full display here, we were invested in the story from the moment those prisoners walked into their cells.

I’m still pissed off there were no repercussions for Zimbardo and Eshelmen though. I wanted somebody to go down at the end of this. But you’ll have a tough time finding another screenplay out there that pulls you into its story as effectively as this one.

[ ] What The Hell Did I Just Read?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[x] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: A lot of writers are looking for that perfect “save the cat” moment, the thing that’s going to make the audience fall in love with their main character. They forget, however, that an often more effective way of making us like the main character is to “kick the owner.” If we see the bad guy beat down our protagonist, a much stronger “sympathy” bond is created between us and the character, resulting in our steadfast support of him for the rest of the movie. You see that here in spades (you also saw it in The Shawshank Redemption). So remember, saving the cat isn’t your only option. Kicking the owner creates a similar – and often – more powerful effect.

Tawnya is basically one of my favorite people in the world. She’s sweet, smart, cool and has a staggeringly high screenwriting IQ. So when she told me she was starting up Script Anatomy, which would teach both TV and feature writing (in Los Angeles), the first thing I said was, “Well we have to get you some students.” Not for Tawnya’s sake, but for the students’ sake! I knew that anybody I could get into her class was going to become a hell of a lot better screenwriter.

To give you some background on Tawnya, she taught at the Writers Boot Camp for 4 years. She now writes on USA’s “Fairly Legal” with her writing partner, Ali Laventhol. The pair are in development on two original pilots, and have optioned a few features, one being packaged by CAA. They are repped at CAA and RABINER/DAMATO Entertainment. Feel free to jump over to her site right now or sign up for spots while they’re still open (I don’t know how long they’ll be available after this post). Or get to know her and her philosophy on screenwriting first in our interview. Enjoy!

SS: So why did you get into screenwriting? Are you a masochist?

TB: I started out as an actress. I had gone to an Acting Conservatory. Worked in the theater in Seattle, Chicago, Vienna and Prague and then moved to LA. After struggling, not getting enough auditions and doing a slew of crappy B films (if we’re letter grading they’d be D minus at best), I’d had enough. The writing was awful. The directing was awful. I was awful. And it was painful. This was years ago, and my boyfriend at the time was in the business and doing pretty well as a writer/director. I think I was the only actress in town for whom the casting couch failed — he never gave me any work. Bastard!

I started writing because I wanted to write a short for myself but I ended up catching the bug. I knew inside that I was really a writer. I quit acting and started writing. Two screenplays in and one thing was clear: I had no idea what the hell I was doing. So I set out to change that. I read books. I read scripts. I took every class and workshop under the sun: Robert McKee, William Martell, Jen Grisanti, Blake Snyder, Michael Hague, John Truby… I went to Writers Boot Camp for 22 months, where I then ended up teaching for four years. Am I a masochist? Isn’t every writer?

SS: You and I have chatted about the craft before. What do you think is the hardest thing about writing a screenplay?

TB: Writing the screenplay.

Seriously, I think what’s difficult about writing a screenplay is going to vary depending on the individual and where they are with their craft and process. I feel like dialogue and scene work were always strong suits for me. Early on, getting the structure right did my head in. Later, it was theme and arcing the character throughout their journey. I worked hard on those and now specialize in them as an instructor. Not many instructors out there teach theme and how to apply it, which blows my mind because it’s so important.

Anyway… focusing solely on my last two scripts, I’d have to say the most difficult part was getting the opening right. There are so many ways in, but maybe only a few ways that will get your story off on the right foot. On the most recent one, we (the producer, my writing partner, and I) had a two hander and there was some disagreement as to whose story it really was. We went back and forth. We ended up making the right choice – but it wasn’t without trying it many different ways. On another project, I was hired by a director to write his idea. Looking back, I shouldn’t have taken the job. I wasn’t excited about the material, which made it a long and hard row to hoe. If you don’t love what you’re writing — if your heart isn’t in it — you constantly have to pull out the defibrillators. Even when you love what you are writing, rewriting over and over again without losing enthusiasm for a project can be challenging. Writing is rewriting. It’s how you turn something good into something great — yet if you lose your passion it shows on the page.

SS: You’ve also taught a lot of screenwriters. In your experience, what was their biggest misconception about the craft that you needed to correct?

TB: I think the biggest misconception is that structure kills creativity. That if you’re writing a smaller independent film, structure doesn’t matter. Of course, that would launch me in to breaking down the structure of Another Earth, Lars and the Real Girl, Happy Accidents, The Swimming Pool or In the Bedroom and what have you. All storytelling adheres to structure — it’s just whether it’s weak, ineffective structure or strong, effective structure.

SS: What were some of their common mistakes? And don’t hold back!

TB: I think the usual suspects are:

– Weak concept or no concept at all
– Poor structure or no structure at all
– Passive writing
– Inactive characters
– Too many characters
– Characters who don’t have distinct voices
– No conflict or stakes
– Dense action lines
– Dialogue heavy/action light
– On the nose dialogue
– Taking too long to get into the story
– Unmemorable characters that lack a flaw and therefore possibility for growth and change.
– Characters who are two-dimensional archetypes instead of three-dimensional humans. If they don’t come alive we can’t possibly care about them and their story.
– No theme
– Too much directing on the page. Pet peeve: CUT TO. When you write a new slug line that is a cut.
– Typos
– Incorrect formatting
– Scripts that are too long
– Lack of surprise
– Getting into a scene too early / getting out too late
– Lack of craft in transitions
– No story. Yes, that’s right. No story! Just a lot of words and bumbling about that doesn’t lead anywhere.
Etcetera.

SS: Wow, you really didn’t hold back. Okay, so, let’s move on to something more positive. I always have a lot of writers asking me how to write great dialogue. I find it one of the harder questions to answer. What’s your approach to teaching dialogue?

TB: I like Elmore Leonard’s list, especially, “Leave out all the boring parts” and “If it sounds like writing, rewrite it.”

After going over a long list of dialogue no-no’s, I teach dialogue techniques and give writers examples of those techniques from existing TV or feature scripts. Sometimes I show clips as well. In class, students rewrite one or two of their scenes implementing the techniques they’ve learned. A partial list is: tangents, parallel construction, reversals, unexpected response, comeback zingers, exposition, subtext, character interruptions, echoing, similes, character on own track, response implying answer, set ups and pay offs, comic contrasts… etc.

Here are a couple of examples…

EXAMPLE 1 – From the MAD MEN Pilot written by Matthew Weiner, illustrates a few techniques: SET UP AND PAY OFF, an UNEXPECTED RESPONSE and a COMEBACK LINE.

DON
We should get married.

MIDGE
You think I’d make a good ex-wife?

Don sits up and grabs a cigarette off the end table.

DON
I’m serious. You have your own business and you don’t care when I come over. What size Cadillac do you take?

EXAMPLE 2 – From UP IN THE AIR, screenplay by Jason Reitman, based on the novel by Walter Kirn, uses ECHOING and PROGRESSIVE DIALOGUE.

CRAIG GREGORY
Today I took my first crap in two weeks. Hallelujah.

RYAN
That’s me, applauding.

CRAIG GREGORY
That’s me, passing blood.

RYAN
That’s me, hanging up on you.

SS: What’s your general screenwriting teaching philosophy? What do you focus on most? 

TB: Character, character, character. And structure and theme. My TV and feature classes begin with concept and continue through full development of a writer’s first draft. However, because of the depth of in class exercises and tools I teach, usually the resulting first draft will look more like a second or third. I really believe in investing the time up front – developing ideas and characters, brainstorming infinite options and outlining vigilantly before writing pages.

SS:  You seem to be hitting on theme a lot. It’s definitely one of those things screenwriters struggle to grasp. Can you give me a basic breakdown of what theme is in your opinion and how you apply it?

TB: Theme is the foundation on which your screenplay is built. Theme is the spine, the core, the heart and soul of your story and what makes it relatable and universal and meaningful. Because it’s the lesson or moral of the story and expresses your unique point of view about the world and the state of humanity, theme is your voice.
And how do you express theme? Through symbolism and cinematic imagery, dialogue… many ways… but most importantly, through character and transformational arc. I do a workshop on theme and I hate to simplify because it’s actually more complex than this but I’ll distill it here for “page” length purposes.

Theme is the opposite of the main character’s flaw.  (Carson note: I like this!  I’ve never heard it expressed this way before)

Your Main Character or Hero is flawed. They have a goal they are not getting because of this flaw. To achieve the goal the MC will have to change and grow, overcoming the flaw throughout the second act journey – hence learning the lesson. (In some cases, the character doesn’t grow or learn but the theme is still articulated). This process is the transformational arc. We see this evolution occur as the MC confronts his flaw via conflict and obstacles, a strong opponent and a catalyst character(s)… we see them “become the theme” in a sense.

Like I said, there’s much more to it – in class I focus on it in more depth as writers develop their projects.

In TV, theme works a little differently. You’re obviously not arcing your characters in one episode to the point of alleviating their flaw. If Nurse Jackie cures her drug addiction do they still have a show? Her med addiction is so connected to the concept, character and arena, they have to draw out her transformational arc – but – she has other flaws to play with that stem from the addiction: lying, cheating, stealing… Which brings me to branches of theme. Theme is like a tree. There might be one primary theme that is the trunk, but other secondary facets of theme, like branches, stem from the trunk.

A show will likely have a series theme and possibly another theme per season, and individual themes per episode – which all may or may not be related.

SS: You work in both TV and features. What would you say is the big “writing” difference between the two mediums?

TB: Writing-wise it’s obviously much more manageable to tell a 24 to 60 page story than it is 110. There’s a lot more to track in a feature. And much more room for mistakes.

Work/Career-wise, the TV and feature world couldn’t be more different. Writing features can be a lonely business. It’s collaborative in that you might get notes from the studio or a director, but you’ll go off and write by yourself. Working in television you’re surrounded by other writers and it’s a collaborative process. Movies are difficult to get made and it can take years whereas everything about TV is fast. You can start working on a TV show and within months you can have a produced credit. I think most writers would think that’s golden.

SS: I’m curious. Which one do you think is easier? 

TB: Oh boy. I don’t think it’s ever easy to write well, but… but TV. As I mentioned, it’s an extremely collaborative medium. The room usually breaks story as a group. If you’re lucky, like we are on our show, you have an amazing showrunner with a strong vision and voice. Writing an episode is much more manageable than a feature just by way of page count but also because some of the work has been done for you: the template, characters, tone, the world, relationships and conflicts are pre-existing. Writing an original pilot is as difficult as writing a feature, it just takes less time. The real challenge of writing for television is the pace. It’s incredibly fast. Recently we (my writing partner and I) had two days to outline our episode and two weeks to write it.

SS: Which one do you think it’s easier to break into? 

TB: I’d say TV. There are more jobs in television. There are also specific ways a new writer can break in such as becoming a writers’ assistant and then getting bumped up. Acceptance into one of the prestigious Studio Writing Programs (I did FOX’s Diversity Initiative and NBC Writers On The Verge) can be a great launching point for a writer. Neither is easy to break into, but it can be done.

SS: In your experience, is an agent necessary to become a successful screenwriter? 

TB: I’ll most likely contradict myself, so here goes: yes and no.

No. Writing careers are like snowflakes. There are no two alike. And everyone’s way in is different. I really believe that great writing will rise to the top and get noticed eventually if you are putting yourself out there. That may be through friends and contacts or a reputable screenwriting contest or fellowship. Hell, it might be because your script got caught in a tornado and five pages landed on Spielberg’s desk. If those pages knock his socks off he’ll come find you even if you’re not repped. Maybe I’m exaggerating, maybe not, but I’ve always done my best to believe that anything’s possible in a career that sometimes feels like the lottery.

Yes. An effective agent or manager can help build your career. They have relationships in the business that you don’t — especially starting out. They can guide you, connect you with the right people and help sell you to those people. A big agency might package a project. And then of course, it doesn’t hurt to be validated by someone respected in the business. People feel more confident about you if you’ve been vetted. That said, I have friends who have agents who are ineffective yet they stay because they’re afraid of not having one.
In our experience, our agents and managers were crucial in getting a job on Fairly Legal. We’re really happy with our reps and their involvement in our career.

SS: You’re repped at CAA. How did you find your way over there and what can Joe and Jane Writer do to get there too?

TB: I can’t make an exact trail map for Joe and Jane, but I can tell you how we got there… (sorry we should have left bread crumbs!)

My writing partner and I have a feature with a producer attached. This producer had given our script to a talent agent at CAA who happened to like it for his star client. A few weeks later my partner and I went to The Austin Film Festival. At one of those panel discussions we noticed a CAA TV agent who stood out as being incredibly savvy and smart. After the panel, we introduced ourselves and asked her a question. During the conversation we managed to slip in that were currently in NBC’s Writers On the Verge program. A few weeks later our feature producer put in a call to the agent. The rest was history. Just kidding. Nothing happened after the call. The agent, more senior in the company, had mostly established writers on her list and wasn’t exactly looking for new writers. After NBC WOTV was over, the head of the program made a call, but it wasn’t until our mentor, who at the time (he’s since been promoted) was the Sr. Vice President of Drama Development at NBC, made a call that we got a meeting. Now we have 4 people on our team there — two TV and two feature agents aside from our two managers.

SS: I know you’re pushing me to stop by your classes. But you know I’m a busy guy! If I came by, what should I expect? What would an average class be like?

TB: You are a busy guy! And I’m so proud of you, by the way, for all you have created with ScriptShadow and all of the exciting things coming up. Still… you should stop by one of my classes! So, um… what to expect… well, nothing average. Haha. You should expect to learn a lot about screen or TV writing (depending on the class) and to become a better writer through not only lecture and theory but more importantly through exercises and tool work. You should expect to gain an applicable process (or improve the process you already have) that will serve you throughout your screenwriting career. My next TV Workshop is already in progress but my next Feature Class is ten weeks long and starts up February 25th.

SS: Before we finish up, do you want to do a shameless plug for the show you’re writing on?

TB: It’s an “all new” FAIRLY LEGAL Season 2 which will air on USA March 16th on Friday nights at 9pm. “All new” because the entire writing team from the showrunner down is brand new. Expect some very exciting changes. My episode, which I wrote with my writing partner, Ali Laventhol, is “Gimme Shelter”. Hope you enjoy it.

I’m already on the Tivo. Does Tivo allow you to tape shows two months in advance? Anyway, thanks Tawnya for dropping by and sharing your wonderful insight. I think I need to take your class for dialogue alone. I’ve never even heard of some of those terms before but I like them. So, if you guys want to learn a little more about Tawnya and her site, check out Script Anatomy. Or if you want to grab a spot while they’re still available, here’s the site where you can sign up for her classes. Good news for Scriptshadow readers. If you sign up before this Sunday at midnight (Pacific Time), it’s 10% off. When it asks for the promotional code, just enter “Scriptshadow_22.” If you have any question about the classes, feel free to e-mail Tawnya at tawnya@scriptanatomy.com. What are you waiting for! Go become a better screenwriter. And who knows? You might even see me there. :)

Amateur Friday Submission Process: To submit your script for an Amateur Review, send it in PDF form, along with your title, genre, logline, and why I should read your script to Carsonreeves3@gmail.com. Keep in mind your script will be posted in the review (feel free to keep your identity and script title private by providing an alias and fake title). Also, it’s a good idea to resubmit every couple of weeks so that your submission stays near the top of the pile.

Genre: Comedy
Premise: A print shop owner who moonlights as a counterfeiter finds himself in over his head after a money deal gone wrong.
Writer: Robert Cornero
Details: 142 pages

Amateur Friday has been switched to Amateur Thursday this week!

So today we’re going to do something different. Robert, a longtime reader of Scriptshadow and a really nice guy, e-mailed me to let me know he had finally written a script he was confident enough in to submit to Amateur Friday. There was only one problem, he noted. It violated one of my most hardcore rules. It was 142 pages long.

I told him I couldn’t read it. 142 pages? There was no way. We then had a back and forth discussion/argument on why a script can’t be 140 pages. I argued my side. He argued his (his main point was that his script was dialogue heavy, which takes up a lot of space). And at the end of the discussion, I realized, this is the exact same argument I hear from every screenwriter who writes a long screenplay. So that gave me an idea. I could use this script as a learning tool. I would show writers our argument, and then, assuming I was right, use the review to show why a 140 page script shouldn’t be written. At the same time, I would be open-minded and give the script a fair shot. If Robert proved me wrong, I would happily admit so, and writers everywhere would have new ammunition for their super-sized screenplays. So, here was our e-mail exchange…

MY REPLY

Hey Robert,

I hear you. Dialogue heavy scripts are a little longer, but 142 pages??? I’ll be honest. If that landed on my desk and I didn’t know who you were, I would never read it. That’s not true. I MIGHT read the very first page. If it made me BURST OUT LAUGHING then I’d keep reading. But comedies are supposed to be lean and mean, not bulky, even WITH dialogue (remember, most comedies are dialogue based, so you don’t get much leniency in that area). If you got it down to 110, I’d put it in the mix. The thing is, I’ve only ever read 2 scripts over 130 pages that were good. The Social Network and Brigands Of Rattleborge. That’s 2 in maybe 400. I know you think yours is the exception, but every one of those bad 130+ page scripts also had writers who swore theirs was the exception. So it’s hard to believe anyone when they say that.

Gut that puppy! I know it’s hard but you gotta do it. :)

HIS REPLY

I hear ya. Believe me, I hear ya. It wasn’t a choice I made lightly, and it’s still something I’m concerned about, not for story reasons, but exactly for the kind of length-bias you echoed here – which isn’t to accuse you of being biased. After all, there’s good reason for it – there are a lot of bad writers out there and they tend to multiply their words. But I have to wonder if Hollywood as a whole suffers for its reluctance to read lengthier pieces (or at least automatically equating length with story quality). I mean:

Citizen Kane – 167 pages.
The Shawshank Redemption – 131 pages
Silence of the Lambs – 145 pages
Batman Begins – 150 pages
The Dark Knight – 141 pages
Toy Story 3 – 131 pages
Lord of the Rings – 173 pages
Inglourious Basterds – 166 pages
The Hurt Locker – 131 pages
Inception – 147 pages
City of the Gods (Darabont) – 141 pages
Smoke & Mirrors – 128 pages
Catch Me If You Can – 134 pages

And of course, all established pros, right? They get to do that because they earned it, or so the logic goes. But it seems that lengthier scripts generally turn into better, more timeless movies than their shorter brethren. It’s just a fact of the page; you’re never, ever going to jam as meaningful a story into 90 pages as you would spending 130 pages on the story.

Idk, maybe I’m wrong, but a lean cuisine, microwave friendly script is not going to be as satisfying as a home cooked meal script, meat, potatoes and all. Just because 90-110 is dominant doesn’t mean it’s healthy, or good.

Maybe there’s an article somewhere in that thought there for Scriptshadow.

MY REPLY

Lol, that’s not really fair to list those movies. I could also list you the 398 130+ screenplays that I’ve read which have been terrible. That would multiply exponentially if you included the ones ALL the readers in Hollywood have read…

Ager’s Toothache 159 pages
Prophecy Boy 181 pages
Caramel Is My Favorite – 143 pages
The Barber Ate My Baby – 156 pages
(and on for another 50,000 scripts)

Here’s the thing I ALWAYS see with big scripts. They always show a lack of discipline. They always include more than they should. It’s incredibly rare that I read a long script where the writer ACTUALLY utilizes every single one of those pages. Am I saying yours can’t be that one? No. But I’d probably want to read something of yours that was 100 pages so I could at least see if you could write before I gave you that chance, you know?

But you’re right. It’s reader-bias that’s your biggest problem here. It doesn’t really matter if your script is good or not. If it’s 140 pages (with a comedy no less, which are supposed to come in between 100-110), they’re not giving it a chance.

HIS REPLY

But haven’t you read an equal, if not greater, amount of terrible normal-sized scripts? My point in listing those was to show there’s no direct correlation between length and skill.

I mean, the 90-110 page rule isn’t exactly a hidden secret. Everyone knows it and shoots for it. I’d be willing to wager that the vast majority of terrible scripts out there fall into the 90-110 page category. So the question is, why then don’t “normal” scripts get the same negative reaction?

When it comes to long scripts, if a reader gets a terrible one, it just takes the reader longer to figure out that it’s terrible, and because they’ve spent that much more time on it, they get that much more fed up and end up decrying all long scripts. We live in a microwave culture. We want catharsis immediately. We want gratification and pay off right away. A great example is The Godfather. That script would not get made today. It barely got made in the 70’s and today, it wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance.

Anyway, thanks for the conversation and feedback. It’s given me some things to consider. My hope is that the reader won’t be dismissive when they arrive at page 1.

MY REPLY

The longer scripts are always worse for three reasons. 1) They’re always more unfocused (naturally, since the writers are using the extra pages for the wrong reasons), 2) Instead of only having to endure bad for 100 pages, you have to endure it for 140, which if you read a lot of scripts is the worst! and 3) They steal an extra 30-40 minutes out of your day. Readers live to work on their own writing. When a script steals nearly an extra hour out of their night, they get mad as hell.

Robert, all I can say is that when I was just writing, I thought the EXACT SAME WAY you did. I was making these exact same arguments to people. In fact, most young writers offer these same arguments. It took me being on the other side to realize how wrong I was.

:)

HIS REPLY

And I agree with you, for the most part. I see the value and truth in what you are saying, and what many have said before you. I guess I just wish I could communicate the gravity with which I made that decision to allow it to be long, so that you would understand that page count is not something I take lightly.

Anyway, I’m not going to worry about it. Whether it moves forward or not is largely out of my hands at the moment.

And that’s when I offered to read his script if I could post this discussion. So, it’s time to look at Funny Money and see if it’s worth the 140 pages it takes to tell its story or if it, indeed, could’ve been cut waaaaay down. Let’s begin…

Funny Money follows a 30-something print shop owner named Andrew Piero. Andrew is raising his 11 year old precocious son on his own because his wife died after a very long and expensive battle with cancer.

But we soon learn there’s more going on to Andrew than we thought. He and his 70-something assistant, Hugo, are counterfeiting money in their basement! These guys just print money at will. What they find out, however, is that the Feds might be onto them. The bumbling duo of Agent Charlie and Agent Cynthia have been monitoring them for weeks. They just need that last “smoking gun” piece of evidence to convict them.

Once they realize this, Andy and Hugo decide to make one last giant sum of money and then dump the equipment. This is where the story got a little confusing to me, but I believe they need the help of some special guy who knows the secret ingredient that the U.S. Treasury is adding to all their new bills, in order for their fake money to look/feel authentic. And it just so happens this man operates out of Monte Carlo.

Cut to Europe, where we meet Marie Aubert, a sort of gold digging con woman, the hotter younger female version of Steve Martin in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. This woman sucks men out of all their money then moves on to the next target.

She runs across Andrew and Hugo, as well as Agents Charlie and Cynthia (who are following them) and puts two and two together. These guys are up to no good. Being her con-woman self, she decides to play both sides of the fence, telling the agents she’ll help them for a sum of money and our heroes she’ll help them for a sum of money. In the end, she’ll be able to run off and live happily (and lavishly) ever after. Except complications arise when she starts to have feelings for Andrew. Ahhh, might Marie have finally met her match? Love? And does any of this even matter, with our agents close to finally securing the evidence that they need?

So, we shall ask the age old screenwriting question once again: Is it possible to write a great 140 page script? Or is this proof, once again, that all super-long amateur scripts are going to be wandering messes? Well, I hate to answer this so anti-climactically, but the answer is…I’m not sure. The thing is, Funny Money has some story issues that have nothing to do with page length. And it’s only once we fix those that we can determine how length affects this screenplay. Having said that, there were numerous places I felt could be easily cut.

Let’s start at the top. The opening scene was quite strange. Andrew buys a ham. Another man steals it from him as he walks out the door. Andrew chases him, corners him, and then pays him $375 for the ham back. I believe this was to show that money wasn’t a problem for Andrew, but I was having a hard time accepting the logic of the scene. Why not just go to one of the 800 other butchers in Manhattan and buy another ham for 30 bucks? Or back to the one you just came from? I’m assuming butcher shops keep more than one ham.

But that issue paled in comparison to the big issue I had with the script. What was Andrew’s motivation for needing all this money he was printing up in the first place? He lived a very middling existence. He didn’t have fancy cars or a nice place. Through all of these money-making montages, the implication is that hundreds of thousands of dollars is being made. Where exactly is all this money going if he’s not using it? And if he’s not using it, why does he need it? I’m sure it’s not every day that he gets a ham stolen from him.

Eventually we’re told that Andrew’s wife died from cancer. And her care was expensive. So maybe – though it’s not ever made 100% clear – he’s using the fake money to pay off her medical bills? The problem with this is two-fold. One, we never actually see him PAYING a medical bill. So is the reader supposed to assume he’s doing this off-screen? And two, he’s not printing money out of an HP inkjet printer here. He’s got huge heavy-duty equipment that can print dozens of hundred dollar bills at a time.

I’m not a math-major. But let’s just assume worst-case scenario here. His wife’s cancer cost them 2 million dollars. From the equipment I’ve seen, I’m thinking he could probably print that up within 2-3 weeks tops? Yet it’s implied his wife has been dead for years. So what’s taking so long to print up all this money?

Anyway, after he and Hugo try to print up one last lump sum, I either missed a key plot point or something wasn’t explained well, because I couldn’t figure out exactly why they needed this guy in Europe. I think it was to secure some special ingredient that was being used in all the U.S.’s new money. This was probably the death knell for me because not only did I not understand why our main character printed up so much money that he never used, but I didn’t understand the main goal of the movie – why he’s going to this European man for help. I mean, it’s not like if you print up money without the special ingredient that it won’t be any good. Hundred dollar bills from 10 years ago are worth the same as hundred dollar bills being printed today. So who cares if you print old bills? Due to all this shaky logic, it was hard to give myself to the story.

Once they get to Monte Carlo, Marie approaches Andrew about the agents chasing him and offers to help, but when they go back to the room to get Hugo, he’s gone. At this point I assumed that Hugo was some sort of double agent and had screwed Andrew over, which I thought was sort of a cool idea, as Andrew’s plan couldn’t work without him. But then later we learn that Hugo just LEFT! He left because he got a strange phone call from someone totally unaffiliated with the plot. I can’t appropriately convey my response to this choice. But it was somewhere between utter frustration and complete bafllement. A main character exits the story because of a random phone call??

From this point on, I was just confused as to what the story was about. I guess a new goal was introduced where they needed to get Andrew a passport so he could get back to the U.S. safely (because Hugo had his original passport maybe?). But it seemed like such a strange choice to have this entire story build up what they needed to do in Europe, only to have your character get there and have to come right back. Dramatically, it’s sort of uninteresting. I didn’t love the storyline with the mysterious money-ingredient guy, but at least that storyline held some promise.

As for the length of the screenplay, there were definitely places to cut. There’s an incredibly long scene early on, for instance, where an insignificant character Marie is talking to breaks his finger. It’s something like 3-4 pages of a man talking about how his finger is broken. Those are the easiest cuts to make in a 140 page screenplay.

We have a pointless scene on page 53 where Andy talks about how his feet hurt. Easy cut. Andy doesn’t meet the love interest until page 65!!! He needs to meet her by page 30 (and we should be in Europe by page 20 at the latest – probably earlier). We have this whole random Blackjack storyline with Marie, who is some sort of Blackjack genius and can beat the dealer every time. When I refer to scripts “wandering,” this is what I mean. Blackjack should have nothing to do with this story. It needs to be ditched (Also, if she’s so great at blackjack, why does she need men for money? Why not just win a billion dollars for herself in Vegas?).

Hugo gets a 7 line paragraph description. Unacceptable in a 140 page screenplay. On page 88, characters spend a half a page ordering drinks. Ordering drinks is not interesting and should never be included in your script unless it’s plot related. Just from a general first read, I would’ve been able to chop 20 pages off this guy without a second thought. Then you just have to go in there and do a bunch of minor snips to bring it down to 110.

The thing is, Robert clearly has some talent. The dialogue at times is funny. The idea of a printer who’s secretly a counterfeiter is one with all sorts of potential, but I don’t think this story allows any of that potential to be explored.

I see this kind of script a lot actually. It happens a lot with young writers. There’s some talent on display, but the script reads like it only makes sense to the writer himself, as if he thinks we’re in his head with him. For example, if the point to printing all this money is, indeed, to pay for his wife’s medical bills, that needs to be shown somewhere. We need to know how much money is left on the tab. We need to see him paying the hospital bills. We need to understand HOW much money his machines can print at a time so we understand WHY he hasn’t already printed up enough money to pay the bills. I’m sure all of this is clear in Robert’s head, but unless he shows it to us, we’re left in the dark.

This is all tough love here. Robert’s always been super nice to me. And I take no happiness from digging my claws into this script as deeply as I have. But I’m hoping that, like most everyone who submits for Amateur Friday, these notes end up making the script (and the writer!) better.

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

What I learned: If your script is heavy on dialogue, you need to lose some weight in your description. Dialogue takes up a lot more space than description. So if all that dialogue is pushing you past the 120 page mark, do yourself a favor and thin out ALL YOUR DESCRIPTION LINES to make up for it. You can’t complain that your script is long because of the dialogue, then have a 7 line introduction for one of your characters. I would try and keep EVERYTHING under 2 lines. That’s the sacrifice you have to make if you’re going to have a dialogue heavy script.

Genre: Comedy
Premise: (from Black List) Four overachieving high school students in Cape Cod reinvent themselves during the summer after graduation.
About: Good Kids finished with 12 votes on the 2011 Black List, the same number of votes as yesterday’s encyclopedia, Cities of Refuge. My love for writer Chris McCoy is growing. I did NOT like his 2009 script “Good Looking,” at all. It had a pretty good premise – you’ve been with someone for 5 years only to find out that an online dating service knows, with 100% certainty, your soul mate, and it’s not the person you’re with – but the execution was weak. Then last year he sold his script “Get Back,” his ode to “Back To The Future,” about a Beatles fanatic who finds a time machine and decides to go back in time and prevent Yoko Ono from ever meeting John Lennon. A little derivative but a big improvement over Good Looking. And today we have his latest spec, “Good Kids,” about one last crazy summer before a group of friends go off to college. This one, it turns out, is his best yet. It’s always nice to see a writer improving. It is a little strange though that all his titles contain two words and start with the letter ‘G.’ I wonder if there’s something deeper going on there. Maybe Chris has done some research and found that two-word titles starting with “G” have the best chance of selling. Scriptshadow Nation, please do some research on this for me.
Writer: Chris McCoy
Details: 101 pages – Oct. 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).

Good Kids takes places in Cape Cod, Massachusetts and follows four newly graduated high school students. There’s Andy, the “John Cusack” of the group. There’s “Spice,” the slightly pudgy future chef. There’s Nora, the girl who’s always been “one of the guys” but in the last two months has become smoking hot and none of the group knows how to handle it, including her. And finally there’s Lionel “The Lion,” Miller, who’s basically a big fat weirdo.

These lifelong friends are the “good kids.” They actually paid attention in school. They did their homework. They got into great schools. BUT, in the process, they didn’t do anything else. They never went to parties. They never took any risks. They’ve played it safe their entire lives.

And here, on their last summer together, they realize this is going to be the only time in their lives where they can actually have some fun without any consequences. So they make a pact (Hmmm, American Pie anyone?) to say “yes” to any opportunity that sounds like fun this summer.

When the rich summer crowd comes in for their two months of vacation, the good kids find themselves attending parties and making new friends. Andy, a tennis pro, gets his Mrs. Robinson act on and starts sleeping with his MILF students….FOR MONEY. Nora starts dating her much older co-worker at her bio-lab internship. Spice spends every waking second trying to secure his first handjob. And The Lion does a ton of drugs.

Andy also has an online relationship with a really hot Indian girl who’s been dying to come see him, but can’t afford it. This is, of course, why Andy becomes a gigolo, so he can save up enough money to get her a ticket. Ahhh, teenage logic. I used to love rationalizing things like that. – All in all, their plan turns out to be the greatest plan in the universe. They’re all having the time of their lives!

But as everybody knows, anything that’s too good to be true probably is (except for Scriptshadow). And soon these choices start coming back to haunt them, particularly Andy, whose “tennis lesson’s” husbands get wind of the fact that it isn’t tennis balls their wives are playing with. Nora also realizes she may be in over her head with this older guy. Spice manages to piss off more girls than he attracts. And The Lion? Well, he might be too high to realize what’s going on. But in the end, all four of them will have to face the consequences of their actions.

Let’s start with some miscellaneous notes here. Once again, we start with a crazy opening scene…AND THEN JUMP BACK 12 WEEKS EARLIER. I’m not lying to you guys. It’s a disease I tell you. A disease! The flashforward is in almost every script I read now! There’s no stopping it! In Good Kids’ defense though, it was one of the few times where it worked. The opening scene was so weird (Andy in a junkyard wearing war paint running from a bunch of 40 year old men) that I actually wanted to see how we got there.

I liked the “fish-out-of-water” angle of the story as well. Remember, fish-out-of-water situations almost always work! To see the “nerdy” kids tackle all these unfamiliar situations was instant conflict. And as we know, conflict equals drama, and drama equals entertainment!

I also dug the time period McCoy picked. Maybe someone can correct me, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a major film about this specific time in people’s lives. I’ve seen a lot of movies about high school kids in their last days of high school. But none that focused on the summer between high school and college.

Now, as for the script itself, it’s by no means a traditional story. Let’s put it through the GSU wringer, shall we? Goal. There’s no concrete goal here. The goal is an open-ended one. It’s to “have fun.” As I’ve mentioned before, the less defined your goal is, the harder your story will be to execute. American Pie had a clear goal – for each of the guys to get laid before prom. That’s what gave that movie so much focus.

Stakes. What are the stakes if they succeed or fail? Not a whole lot. And this goes back to “goal.” If there’s no concrete goal in your movie, then how can there be any stakes attached to it? However, as the script goes on, the stakes do get higher for each character. Andy, for example, is threatening his job by banging all these women. Nora begins to really like her co-worker. So there’s something at stake if he dumps her. Still, the stakes are pretty low.

Urgency – There’s no real urgency either. And again, this goes back to the goal. If there’s no goal ,then there’s no amount of time our characters will have to achieve it by. There is a “ticking clock” though, always important when you don’t have urgency. Remember, audiences like to have an idea of when the story is going to end. So here, it’s the 12 weeks of summer, indicated right after the opening scene when we see the title “12 weeks earlier.”

So then wait a minute. No GSU? How is this any good? Well, for some of you, it isn’t good. I’ve had a handful of e-mails telling me they didn’t like this script. And the fact that there’s no real plot (no “GSU”) is probably a big part of that. People like characters who are after things. You’re not going to get that in Good Kids.

If you don’t have any of those structural things in place, you’re basically resting your script on the creation of original, interesting, compelling characters an audience will want to follow (other examples of this include Breakfast Club and Dazed and Confused). You do that, and the audience will want to know the answer to this question: “What happens to these guys?” They want to see how their situations are going to end up. You saw this in Swingers as well. Vince Vaughn and Jon Favreau don’t have a goal in the movie other than to find chicks. But we want to see how their situation will end because we like their characters. I’ll continue to warn you though, these movies are incredibly hard to write. If you don’t have a plot pushing the story forward, you better be amazing with character. And I thought McCoy produced three (Spice doesn’t make the cut) really fun characters here. But like I said, I’m already expecting a portion of you to hate this for its directionless story.

[ ] What the hell did I just read? (for Karlos)
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Teasers. If you don’t have a structured plot, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE TEASERS. What are teasers? Teasers are events coming up later in the story that you tease. We may not have an overall goal to look forward to. But with teasers we still want to keep reading because we want to get to those events. Here, it’s Andy’s online Indian girlfriend. McCoy teases her later arrival a few times, and therefore we want to see what happens when she shows up. You can also call the opening of the script (with Andy being chased by the 40-year old men) a teaser (we want to see how we get there), although I still think you should avoid the opening flash-forward if at all possible. It’s in every script I read now!