Last week we talked about establishing conflict through characters, relationships, and external forces. During the article, I casually mentioned the importance of conflict within scenes as well. Many of you expressed interest in hearing more about that, so I decided to expand my conflict ramblings to a second week.
Indeed, virtually every scene in your screenplay should have some element of conflict if it’s going to entertain an audience. I cannot stress this enough. One of the biggest mistakes I see in screenplays is boring scenes. Scenes that only exist for characters to spout exposition, to reveal backstory, or to wax philosophic. I’ve referred to these scenes before as “scenes of death.” The quickest way to make these scenes interesting is to add conflict.
The basis for all conflict comes from an imbalance – two forces opposed to one another (wanting different things), or even one force wanting something it can’t have. Usually these forces are represented by your characters. But they can be external as well (if our character is racing towards the airport to tell his girlfriend he loves her, the opposing force might be a traffic jam). So when you sit down to write a scene, you’re always looking to create that imbalance, that unresolved issue, to add an entertainment factor to the sequence.
Having said that, it should be noted that in rare circumstances, you can get away with no conflict. For example, in order for the scene in Notting Hill to work where Anna invites William up to her hotel only to find her boyfriend there (a scene heavy with conflict), we needed a few scenes with the two having a great time together. So eliminating the conflict in those previous scenes actually made the conflict stronger in this one. So as long as you have a purpose for not using conflict, it’s okay (however I would always err on the side of adding conflict).
In true Scriptshadow form, I’ve decided to highlight 10 movies and look at how they create conflict within their scenes. This should give you a clearer picture on how to apply conflict to scenes in your own screenplays.
Meet The Parents
Scene: The Dinner Scene
Conflict: The conflict here is simple. Greg wants to impress Jack so he’ll approve of him marrying his daughter. Jack wants to expose Greg as the inadequate choice for his daughter that he is (two opposing forces – a clear imbalance). This is a great reminder that the best conflict has usually been set up beforehand. So we’ve already established in Greg’s earlier scenes how important getting married to Jack’s daughter is (testing his proposal on one of his patients, organizing her preschool class to help him propose). We’ve also established how reluctant Jack is to accept Greg (when he first shows up, Jack disagrees with him on almost everything). This is the most basic application of conflict in a scene, but as you can see, even the most basic conflict can make a scene highly entertaining.
The Sixth Sense
Scene: Malcolm tries to get Cole to talk to him.
Conflict: This is a very understated scene, but the conflict is well-crafted. Malcolm wants Cole to trust him. Cole is resistant to trusting Malcolm. Again, a simple imbalance. One person wants one thing. Another person wants the opposite. Night cleverly draws the scene out by building a game around it – if Malcolm guesses something right about Cole, he has to take a step forward. If he guesses wrong, Cole gets to take a step back. So you actually feel the conflict with every question.
Back To The Future
Scene: Marty asks Doc to get him back to the future.
Conflict: Once Marty convinces 1950s Doc that he’s from the future, Doc lets him inside. Now at this point, the two are on the same page. They both want to get Marty back to the future. So there’s no conflict between the characters. Instead, the conflict comes from the fact that Doc doesn’t believe it’s possible. So again, two forces are colliding with one another and need to be resolved. At the end of the scene, they realize that the lightning can send him back to the future, and the conflict is resolved (sometimes conflict will be resolved by the end of a scene and sometimes not – it depends on the story and what you’re trying to do).
Rocky
Scene: Multiple scenes.
Conflict: One of the reasons Rocky is so great is because almost every single scene is packed with conflict. Whether it’s Rocky trying to get a resistant Adrian to go out with him. Whether it’s Rocky getting kicked out of his gym. Whether it’s Mick begging Rocky to let him coach him. Whether it’s his constant clashes with Paulie (and his destructive behavior). Whether it’s him telling a resistant girl to stop hanging around thugs and do something with her life. If you want to know how to create conflict within scenes, pop this movie in your DVD player right now.
Toy Story
Scene: Birthday scene.
Conflict: In this scene, the army men sneak down to Andy’s birthday to report what the new presents are. The conflict stems from trying to report the presents without getting caught. Remember, if it didn’t matter whether the army men were discovered or not, there would be no conflict (and therefore no drama) in this scene. The conflict comes from the fact that if they’re seen, they’re screwed. This is actually one of the reasons the Toy Story franchise is so successful. Because nearly every scene is built around this imbalance. The toys have to pretend to be inanimate whenever humans are around. That means every scene is packed with conflict.
The Wrestler
Scene: Deli scene
Conflict: In this famous scene, the conflict comes from the fact that everything in The Ram’s life is falling apart – his health, his family, his profession – and the last place he wants to be is at his $10 an hour deli job. So there’s conflict within the character before the scene even begins. But when his boss starts getting on his nerves, when customers start pushing him, when someone recognizes him, he starts losing it. Those multiple forces pushing up against him are the conflict that makes this scene so great. It’s also another reminder that the best conflict is usually set up ahead of time. This scene doesn’t work if it’s the first scene in the movie. It works because we’ve experienced the downfall of this character. We know what he’s been through. Therefore we understand why he doesn’t want to be here.
Pretty Woman
Scene: Vivian comes back to his hotel.
Conflict: In this scene, Edward picks up Vivian on the streets and brings her back to his hotel. I specifically picked this scene because it’s a scene that amateur writers always screw up. What’s the purpose of this scene? The purpose is for these two characters to get to know each other. A very common scene in a romantic comedy or any “guy meets girl” movie. However, bad writers will take this scene and try to fill it with a bunch of clever dialogue, exposition, and backstory. If you go that route, at best you’ll have an average scene, and more likely a terrible one. Here’s the thing. This scene *does* have clever dialogue, exposition, and back story. So then why does it work? Because the writer added an element of conflict. Edward wants to talk whereas Vivian wants to get down to business. He wants to get to know her. She wants to collect her money and run. So there’s this little dance going on during the scene – the two characters wanting different things – that allows the writer to slip in clever dialogue, exposition, and backstory, without us realizing it. We’re so entertained/distracted by that dance, that all the story machinations slip under the radar. This is why conflict is so powerful. The right dose can turn an otherwise boring scene into an entertaining one.
The Other Guys
Scenes: All of them.
Conflict: One of the easiest genres to write conflict in is the buddy comedy. That’s because every single scene will have your characters clashing with each other. This is why The Hangover was so popular. This is why Rush Hour was so big. The conflict is definitely artificial, however because it’s a comedy, it works. The trick with these films is to vary the conflict from scene to scene so we don’t tire of it. For example, in an early scene at the office, Mark Wahlberg yells at Will Ferrell for being a pussy. It’s an intense scene with a lot of conflict. However later on, when Mark has dinner with Will’s wife, the conflict is more subtle. Mark keeps bothering him about the fact that there’s no way this could really be his wife. Not every scene needs to be nuclear charged with conflict. You need to mix it up just like you need to mix up any aspect of your screenplay.
Pulp Fiction
Scene: Jack Rabbit Slims
Conflict: The uninitiated screenwriter will look at this scene between Vincent Vega and Mia Wallace and think it’s just a bunch of cool dialogue. Don’t be fooled. This scene’s awesomeness is based entirely on its conflict. Vincent Vega wants something he can’t have – Mia Wallace. Why? Because Mia Wallace is the wife of his boss. What’s so great about this scene though is how hard Tarantino pushes the conflict. If all that was going on here was Vincent wanting Mia, there would be conflict, but not that much. It’s the fact that Mia is throwing herself at him that’s making this so difficult. The more tempted Vincent is, the more difficult his choice becomes. Another lesson here is that the conflict doesn’t only have to come from the characters inside the scene. It’s not Mia who doesn’t want Vincent here. It’s her husband who’s preventing her from being with Vincent. So the conflict in this scene is a little trickier than normal, but it shows that if you think outside the box, you can find conflict through other avenues.
No Country For Old Men
Scene: Anton and the gas station attendant.
Conflict: In this scene, which is probably one of the best scenes of the last decade, Anton pays for gas but gets annoyed when the attendant makes an offhanded remark about where he’s from. The conflict here comes from two places. The first is through dramatic irony. We know how dangerous Anton is. We know what he’s capable of. So we fear what he’s going to do to this man. Dramatic irony is basically conflict between the character and the audience member. It’s usually us not wanting a character to do something. So the imbalance has actually broken the fourth wall. The other conflict here is basic. Anton refuses to let the attendant off for anything he says. Every sentence is shot back in his face. The longer the conversation goes, the more dangerous (and more conflict filled) the scene becomes.
The idea is you want to look at every scene and ask the question, “Where is the conflict here?” Where are the opposing forces? Where is the imbalance? If everything is too easy for the characters in your screenplay – if everybody agrees on everything or the characters don’t face any resistance – there’s a good chance your scene is boring. There are instances where it’s okay (such as the Notting Hill example) but for the most part, you want some conflict in your scene. So get back to that script you’re working on and start making all those scenes more interesting by adding conflict. Good luck! :-)
Genre: Thriller
Premise: An agent infiltrates a dangerous eco-terrorism unit only to find herself falling for the unit’s leader.
About: This is from Sundance sensation Brit Marling, whose film Another Earth has broken out of indie obscurity into slightly less indie obscurity. Supposedly, Brit would be playing the main character here, but I’ve also heard that Ellen Page would be playing the lead. So I’m not sure what’s going on. Brit is a multi-hyphenate. She writes. She directs. She acts. She bakes cookies. Let’s see Britney Spears do that! Not that innocent my ass! (only on Scriptshadow do you get pop culture references this current).
Writers: Zal Batmanglij and Brit Marling
Details: 113 pages – March 15, 2010 draft – draft 2.0 (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).
While today’s script doesn’t compare in zaniness to the first two scripts of the week, it isn’t exactly chopped liver in the originality department. In fact, on any other week, it would probably be the most original script of the bunch. The subject matter is kooky. The execution is unpredictable. The characters are strange. I can’t remember ever seeing a movie quite like it. But does that mean it’s good?
Hmmmm…
Maybe?
Here’s the thing – and I’ve said it before. Eco-terrorism and movies don’t mix. It’s been attempted over and over again and it just doesn’t work! The main reason for this is that the stakes of an eco-terrorist attack are dramatically lower than real terrorism. I mean how dangerous can a bunch of disgruntled uber-hippies be? Unfortunately not that dangerous. That means lives aren’t at stake. And that means the stakes of stopping them are never high. Teaching a pharmaceutical company a lesson by o.d.’ing them on their own drugs might be an interesting story in real life, but in a movie, it doesn’t have enough drama sauce.
The East follows Sarah Moss, a private agent at a security company that specializes in investigating enemies of major corporations. Kind of like a privatized version of the FBI. One of these corporations – it’s not clear which – hires the company to look into an eco-terrorist unit called “The East.” These aren’t the guys who stand in front of local supermarkets and threaten to drink chemical laced water from polluted lakes. These guys kidnap CEOs and force them to swim in their own chemical created sludge.
The agency decides that Sarah is the best agent for the job, so she transforms herself into a grungy “save the earth” hippie and burrows herself inside the group. Everything about The East is predictably weird and the members are all under mind control by a charming [decidedly less dangerous] Charles Manson-like leader named Benji.
Sarah is scared of Benji at first, but then finds herself attracted to him, something that isn’t going over well with his current girlfriend, Izzy, even though this place is supposed to be about the free love man. On top of that, Sarah has only lived a life for herself. She is selfish to a T, and isn’t used to having feelings for others.
So she must navigate the peculiar dynamics of the group to monitor their upcoming marks, and then report back to the agency, who for some reason she’s still able to visit whenever she wants (I guess she can just come and go as she pleases?). I wouldn’t say that Sarah ever becomes understanding of The East’s ideals, but she does start to like Benji and is torn by whether to take him down or not. However, in the end, that’s exactly the choice she’ll have to make.
Whenever you write an infiltration movie, they are certain mainstays you want to explore. The biggest one is you want your character to be torn. The more that the main character sees the other side’s point of view, the harder her choice becomes. That inner struggle leads to tension and that tension leads to drama, the lifeblood of any screenplay. This is what you see in Avatar for example. Jake Sulley is torn between what the humans stand for and what the Na’vi stand for. I didn’t think The East explored this enough. Sarah never sides with what these guys are doing so there was never a dilemma. Yes, she did start to like Benji, but that development came in way too late, almost like it was discovered on the last pass of the script and then thrown in as an afterthought. Therefore the script didn’t have nearly as much conflict as it could’ve had.
That’s not to say there was no conflict. Just the fact that our character could get caught at any moment created a good deal of drama. But because the cult weren’t killers – just advanced hoaxers – you always felt that if she did get caught, she’d simply be abandoned at the nearest town. Lack of true danger = lack of true drama.
The screenplay also suffered from MSS (Murky Story Syndrome). This is when the story isn’t laid out clearly for the reader – a huge problem in most amateur screenplays I read. I had a hard time figuring out, for example, who the agency was doing this job for and why doing it for them was so important.
I knew Sarah was infiltrating the group to get information on future attacks. But for who? Why does it matter if we don’t know who hired them? Because if I don’t understand the point of the infiltration, I don’t understand the stakes, and if I don’t understand the stakes, nothing else matters, because I won’t care. If I told you a story about how I got a flat tire right before work, and I had to race to put a spare on to get there in time, you probably wouldn’t care. But if I told you that the previous day, my boss said that if I was ever late to work again, he’d fire me, now that story becomes a lot more interesting, because there are actual stakes involved in me succeeding.
There were some things to like. As I said in the beginning, it didn’t feel like anything I’d read before. I was never quite sure where the script was going. I thought some of the stuff inside the cult was creepy. There’s a scene early on where they put Sarah in a straitjacket and tell her to eat some food without her hands. It’s a strange scene that works in a weird way. There’s a scene later on where Sarah sees members of the cult doing a strange Wicker Man-like ritual that’s also pretty spooky. And finally there’s a scene where they cleanse a naked Sarah in the river that gave me the heebie-jeebies. I actually wish they would’ve taken this a step further. The weirder and crazier you make the cult, the more interesting this movie gets. Because right now you don’t have any stakes. It never feels like anybody is truly in danger. But if you created this really whacked out unprecedented cult-like atmosphere, it might be enough to keep us entertained. That’s why The Wicker Man is such a classic – because you never knew what was coming next – you never knew just how wacky the people on this island could get.
So I would try to make this story clearer. I would try to add higher stakes within the cult. I would put more lives at risk. For example, I’d probably add a scene early on where they killed one of their own members for screwing up. That way for the entire rest of the movie we’d be terrified for Sarah – because we know if she got caught she was dead. I guess I just wanted more danger here. I wanted to feel more of an edge. Despite some original twists and turns, the story was too soft for me.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: The East taught me something pretty cool – that you can use specific word phrases as callbacks for later on in the script. They’re kind of like visual setups and payoffs in word form. So early on, the agency headquarters is described like this: “A building you might not notice from the road, but once you do, its design and simplicity haunt you.” Later on, the reemergence of this building becomes a key surprise plot turn. So when we round a corner, the writers describe the building in the exact same way: “A building you might not notice from the road, but once you do, its design and simplicity haunt you.” The payoff is more dramatic because the exact same description is used.
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Musical/Satire/Crazy
Premise: A bitter and frustrated movie blogger becomes obsessed with an award-winning director who he believes stands for everything that is wrong with the industry.
About: This is Charlie Kaufman’s next directing project. It will star Kevin Klein, Steve Carrell, Jack Black and Nicholas cage.
Writer: Charlie Kaufman
Details: 151 pages – May 17, 2010 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).
If yesterday’s script was the meat lovers pizza of wacky screenplays, today’s script adds stuffed crust, double toppings, a gigantic side order of cheese sticks, and instructions on how to bake yourself into your next pizza. Charlie Kaufman is a great big weirdo. But he’s a weirdo with a voice unlike any other screenwriter in the world. We saw that in Eternal Sunshine. We got sucked up in it with Adaptation. And I don’t think anybody has written a screenplay as strange as Being John Malkovich. That is, until today. Charlie Kaufman has outdone himself. He has created one of the most bizarre pieces of screenplay real estate in the history of the United Screenplays of America.
This is life imitating art imitating life imitating art imitating life. I’m 30% sure that Kaufman planned for this script to be reviewed on Scriptshadow. And I’m 16% sure that this review is somehow a part of the movie. I’m also convinced that I’m supposed to record this review in song and sing it to you guys. What am I talking about? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. God help all of us for the next 5 minutes. Because there’s a good chance you won’t know who you are after this review is over.
Kaufman has opted to tackle one of the most difficult subject matters in screenwriting – the Hollywood satire. Anybody remember “Burn Hollywood Burn?” I do. It was awful. As is pretty much every satire about Hollywood. How do you satirize something that’s already ridiculous in itself? The same thing happened when Paul Weitz tried to satirize American Idol. Why make fun of something that already knows how cheesy it is? In short, you don’t want to satirize Hollywood. Which is exactly why Kaufman decided to do it.
Frank or Francis covers a lot of territory and a lot of characters. There is a disabled 60-year-old film loving woman in a wheelchair. There’s an actor known for his funny fat rolls who is now skinny so nobody cares about him anymore. There’s a director who’s constantly attacked for making lightweight movies (ahem – Michael Bay) who’s decided to write an equation for an Oscar winning screenplay. And of course, there’s a disembodied head. Yes, you heard that correctly. One of the characters is a disembodied head.
But the main storyline centers around Frank, a director who makes serious films that are always up for Oscar contention. When he wins for his latest film, Hapax Legomenon, there’s one person who refuses to accept it. That would be Francis. Francis is a twenty-something blogger (or possibly just a frequent commenter on a blog) who has seen every single movie ever and is furious about the state of film – particularly that hacks like Frank are seen as “auteurs.” As everyone knows, at least according to Francis, there hasn’t been a true auteur since the 1970s.
Francis doesn’t really do anything with his life other than scour the Internet for discussions about film and write out passionate angry discourses about how bad said films are. Even though this character is exaggerated for effect, it’s scary how familiar he is. In fact, I think we’ve seen versions of Francis right here on Scriptshadow.
Anyway, Francis is in love with another blogger named Mimi, who he somehow persuades to come out with him to Frank’s newest film, “You,” for which he’ll be doing a question and answer session afterwards. As the credits roll, Mimi is blown away by the film and believes Frank is the best director in the world. Francis is furious with her and proceeds to ask a long angry question about the half a dozen films Frank ripped off to make “You.” Everybody’s weirded out by Frank’s anger but he seems to think this is normal. Naturally, the question ensures there will be no second date with Mimi.
And then comes the singing. Yes, there’s a whole lot of singing in Frank or Francis. In fact, we get the first musical number in history with two blog commenters trading barbs via song. Trying to imagine a musical number with two people sitting in front of a computer is baffling enough. But to base it around film criticism is hilarious indeed.
Eventually – and I use that term liberally – a kind of story emerges centering around the upcoming Oscars. Frank is hoping to win another Oscar for his film, “You.” And Francis is doing everything in his power to alert the Internet how terrible “You” is. We’re also following 8 to 10 other characters, such as the disembodied head and the fat actor, as they too are gearing towards making an impression at the Oscars.
Let me start by saying, Charlie Kaufman is one of the few writers I don’t feel qualified to critique. Even if I don’t agree with or understand what he’s doing, I know that he’s in a screenwriting universe so far advanced from my own, that it’s probably my fault for not understanding it. That being said, I think Kaufman got a little too nuts here. There’s a moment in the script where, I believe, Francis accuses Frank of just “throwing a bunch of weird shit up on screen” and calling it “deep.” I’m not sure if this script is supposed to be taken seriously, or is one big inside joke where Kaufman decided to do just that — throw a bunch of weird shit up on screen and laugh as everyone around him called it genius.
The other day we were blasting amateur entry Manchester Black for having too many characters. In the spirit of consistency, I would have to lodge the same complaint against Frank or Francis. There are just too many people here and it’s not always clear what they have to do with the story. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell the disembodied head was doing in the script. Was that part of the movie within a movie? Was there a movie within a movie? I’m still not sure.
Nor did I think Jonathan, the Michael Bay-like director who’s trying to be taken seriously, was important enough to garner so much screen time. If a script is 150 pages long, I don’t care what your writing pedigree is, chances are you need to cut some stuff down and cut some people out. There’s no question that some of these characters could’ve been cut out and the story wouldn’t have suffered at all.
Actually, if this would’ve been slimmed down to focus mainly on Frank and Francis, I think it would have been great. There’s something eerily familiar about Francis that anybody who loves film can relate to. The angry anonymity internet commenting card has been done before, but Kaufman takes it to a whole new level, making Francis this obsessive freak who can’t survive unless he’s tearing somebody else down. Again, hearing him say things like he’d easily be able to create a masterpiece if he just had the resources that somebody like Frank had, is about as familiar a real-life claim as they come.
I actually thought Kaufman should’ve spent a lot more time on both characters’ love stories as well (instead of all these random people). The way Francis was so unaware of how his anger turned off Mimi made for an interesting dynamic. Yet they really only had one scene together. Then Frank has this interesting online relationship where he falls for one of his fans pretending to be somebody else. The problem is, it comes into the story so late that it never has time to grow.
So where does that leave us? I’m not sure. It does sort of come together in the end in a wild and unexpected Oscar finale. But as I look back on the script, I felt like I had to work too hard to get there. I had to push through too many characters and subplots that weren’t necessary to experience the good stuff. Kaufman may be a great writer, but it wouldn’t hurt to go back to the basics. Streamline your story. Only tell the parts that need to be told. Don’t fall in love with stuff that doesn’t really matter, because it’s just going to get in the way of telling your story. Frank or Francis is a mess. But at least it’s an ambitious mess. It’ll be interesting to see how it all plays out on the big screen.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: How do you know when you’ve gone too far? When you’ve exited the reservation? You don’t. You can’t know. You’re too close to the material. You need outside eyes to tell you that stuff. Kaufman has stated he doesn’t give his screenplays to anybody before he sends them off to his agent. That’s probably why we have a disembodied head, a few too many unneeded subplots, and a 151 page running time. You need 2-3 people you trust to tell you when you’ve gone too far, ESPECIALLY when you’re writing a comedy or trying something different. Otherwise all that genius of yours is going to be buried underneath a confusing semi-interesting movie.
Genre: Comedy/Romantic Comedy
Premise: Told in the first person, a disgruntled screenwriter falls in love with a taken woman, and decides to do anything in his power to get her.
About: This is one of this year’s (2011) Nicholl finalists. The Nicholl Fellowship is the biggest screenwriting competition in the world.
Writers: Chris Shafer & Paul Vicknair
Details: 104 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).
Where do I start with this one? Let’s see. I’ll begin by giving these guys a couple of gold brads. This script is unique. As someone who’s read upwards of 50 screenplays in a single week, I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to read the same stories told the same way over and over again. You’re not going to get that here. A Many Splintered Thing differentiates itself right away by telling its story in the first person. On top of that, it’s a self-referential feast. We’ve seen this kind of thing before (Passengers for first-person and Balls Out for self-reference), but never together. On top of that, these guys are actually good writers. If this were attempted by some hack, it wouldn’t work. But you can tell these guys have been around the block.
So then, why didn’t I like it? I’ll get to that in a bit. First, let’s break down the story.
The main character in Splintered is Me. Not “me” me. But you. Actually, no. You’re the main character, which is me. Wait. I’m the main character. Hold on. The main character doesn’t have a name. So he’s referred throughout the screenplay as me. Or I. Because the story is told in the first person. There you go. I think that’s right.
We are a writer. We have an agent. We’re asked to write the kind of screenplays we hate. So we’re frustrated with our job. We also have sex with a lot of women. We don’t believe in love because love sucks. We say this a lot. Love really sucks.
We spend most of our time hanging out with our writers group and because we have a new form of attention deficit disorder that only allows us to pay attention for 3 seconds at a time, in order to make it through these sessions, we insert ourselves into our writer group friends’ stories. So for example, if someone starts telling us about their new Korean immigrant script, we imagine ourselves as that Korean immigrant, and experience the story as them.
Still with me?
Anyway, we eventually meet a beautiful girl at a charity event. This is the first time we’ve ever actually liked a girl. But it turns out she has a boyfriend. So when we go our separate ways, we’re really bummed out because all we can think about is this girl. But then we realize that if this girl was at one charity event, she may be at more. So we start crashing every charity event in town, pretending to be some big time philanthropist (our specialty is saving a very rare form of frog). We eventually run into this girl again (hooray!), and she’s impressed by how much we care about charity, so soon we’re spending time together -as friends.
Of course, there’s that whole pesky boyfriend thing getting in the way, and when the friendship starts to approach the make or break point, we’re not sure what we want to do. Because we hate love, we’re leaning towards ditch city, but then there’s that feeling we have that we haven’t had before, pulling us back into her arms. So will we get her in the end? Will we finally learn that love is good? That is the question.
As you can see, the story itself is pretty basic, which was probably a good idea, since we need some sanity amidst all the storytelling chaos. Now back to the question. Why didn’t I love this?
As I’ve stated over and over again, what I care about most is story. I want to be transported into another world. I want to believe in the characters. I want to believe in the situations. I crave that suspension of disbelief. I still find it fascinating that I can read something that’s completely made up inside somebody’s imagination, and believe it. It’s bizarre isn’t it? I mean you watch movies and all they are is a group of people getting together in front of a big camera, reading lines. Yet you believe it. You actually believe that Luke Skywalker is destroying the Death Star.
So if everything is a joke – if everything is designed to rip me out of that false reality – it’s hard for me to care. And I’m not saying that’s the case for everyone. Some people appreciate goofy self-referential nods, the purposeful flipping of clichés. That can be fun. But I’m looking for the screenplay that moves me, that takes me to another place. A great example of a script that took a similar approach (told in the first person) but was able to bring me into its world was Passengers. The difference was, they used the first-person to put you in the mind of the main character as he gradually went insane. So the first-person had a story purpose. It wasn’t a gimmick.
I had a few other issues as well. The problem when you’re trying to be different all the time is that sooner or later those “different” moments start feeling artificially manufactured. It’s like you’ve set this impossible bar for yourself because you want everything to be something that the audience has never seen before. But you just can’t do that for an entire screenplay, so moments like the Korean mini movie, while cute, end up coming off as “writerly.”
Then there’s the whole “I hate love” stuff. Not believing in love is actually a solid inner conflict. The problem is, this trait isn’t shown visually in Splintered. It’s just beaten into our heads via dialogue, mostly from the main character. It was almost like the writers kept getting the note – “Not feeling the main character’s hatred of love enough,” so they simply added more scenes where the main character would say, “I hate love.”
But remember, one great “show” moment is worth a dozen “tell” moments. Had they just shown him hating love, it would have been enough. For example, if you want to convey that a character is a cheater, you don’t write 13 scenes of him saying how much he loves cheating. You show him meet a hot girl at a bar, and when she looks the other way, discreetly slip his wedding ring into his pocket.
Also, after a while, this screenplay hit a predictable rhythm. We’d get a scene where our main character pursued the girl, then a scene where he’d talk about it with his writers group. Then another scene with the girl. Then another scene with the writers group. It was almost like an episode of Seinfeld, where you have the event, and then the recollection of the event. Except it went on for two hours instead of 23 minutes. They should probably fix this because the first-person writing style doesn’t work nearly as well once the novelty has worn off. So the second half of the script is tougher to get through. If they changed up the rhythm a bit, made the story a tad more unpredictable, we wouldn’t be focusing so much on that writing because we’d be into the story.
But I have a feeling a lot of people are going to like this. Not everybody is Snobby Carson who’s read a billion screenplays and finds something to complain about with all of them (except Drive of course). No matter which way you slice it, this script is unique. It’s sort of like the illegitimate stepchild of Sequels Remakes and Adaptations, Passengers, 500 Days Of Summer, Balls Out and The F Word. If you liked those screenplays, you’ll definitely want to check this out. Despite it not being my thing, I probably would’ve put it in the Nicholl finals as well.
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: Cut your script down via diet and exercise, not pills. — Guys, don’t cheat. It comes back to bite you one way or another. As I was reading Splintered, I was getting frustrated by how long it was taking me so to get through it. It was confusing because it wasn’t like the script was badly written, which is the usual reason scripts drag, but it was taking way longer than it should have. Afterwards, a Scriptshadow Nation reader brought to my attention that the writers had formatted their script to 66 lines per page instead of 55 (the standard). This allowed them to “save” 20 pages on the page count. Sure, that looks good on the surface, but if you think that’s not affecting the read, you are wrong my screenplay loving friend. Anything that slows down your script, whether it’s hidden or not, is going to hurt our enjoyment of it, as was evidenced by my frustration. So don’t try to cut pages by cheating (pills). Cut them the old-fashioned way (diet and exercise). Get rid of characters you don’t need. Get rid of scenes you don’t need. Kill those scenes you love that have nothing to do with your story. Pare down your description. I know it’s hard work but in the end it will pay off. I promise you.
Genre: Crime/Thriller
Premise: After being left for dead, a man plots his revenge against the Chicago mob family who killed his wife.
About: Every Friday, I review a script from the readers of the site. If you’re interested in submitting 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.
Writer: Erik Fredsell
Details: 104 pages
I have a feeling that this script is going to generate some interesting discussion. This is what Erik, the writer, wrote in his query letter: “I’ve asked you to review this script before-about a year ago. I thought it was the most erudite piece of writing that has ever been produced in the history of screenplay writing…I was wrong. I was forced to go back and take a look at it because a producer contacted me about it. The screenplay was filled with superfluous scenes that ate up pages and pages. The dialogue was far too pretentious, and the narrative structure was pedestrian. I spent months redrafting the script. I’ve brought it down to 104 pages from 139.”
First of all, I want to applaud Erik for making these changes. This tends to be one of the more monumental steps amateur screenwriters make in their journey. We all start off believing our scripts are worthy of being 130, 140, and 150 pages. The second we realize that we don’t need all those extra pages, all those extra scenes, and all that extraneous dialogue, is the second we become better storytellers. The problem here is that, even at 104 pages, I’m still seeing a lot of those same problems. There are still extraneous scenes. There is still extraneous dialogue. And there are still traces of pretentiousness. So while I’m guessing this is way better than the previous draft, some pretty significant changes still need to be made.
I know this because, normally, it’s easy for me to summarize a story. But when I have to stop, think about how I’m going to convey things, stumble through the points I need to make, and am constantly trying to remember the plot, that’s an indication that the story was too confusing or too muddled. I’m still not exactly sure what happens in Manchester Black, but I’m going to give it my best shot.
Michael, our main character, is mistaken for somebody involved with the mob – I believe somebody who was supposed to deliver something called a “mandori box.” So the mob takes him and his wife, tortures them to find out where the box is, but since Michael doesn’t know what they’re talking about, they end up killing his wife and leaving him for dead.
We then follow Michael through four very torturous years where he rehabilitates his body, all in preparation to get his revenge on the people who did this. The thing is, we don’t go about this linearly. Nor do we always stay with our protagonist. In fact, the movie starts with us seeing our protagonist enact his revenge, and then we go back in time, bit by bit, to see why he enacted his revenge.
I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that Erik is a huge Quentin Tarantino fan, and I have a strong feeling that he’s going to get bashed by the commenters for it. I mean we have influences from Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and Kill Bill blanketing the script at almost every turn. You have to be careful when paying homage to icons, because if you do so too blatantly, you’re seen as a copycat, and people are just pissed that they have to trudge through a not-as-good version of a far better movie. That’s not to say this is straight Tarantino. I found this script to be darker and less forgiving than Tarantino’s work, sort of Tarantino by way of William Monahan. So Erik does have his own voice. But I’m not sure it shines bright enough to outweigh the clear influences in the screenplay.
Getting back on track, once Michael takes out some of the key men responsible for killing his wife, their mob boss, Vincenzo, orders some of his top hit men to take Michael out. We intermittently cut to these groups of hit men, sometimes on their way to kill Michael, and sometimes just hanging out shooting the shit. Eventually, they all fail, and Vincenzo will have to do the deed himself. Theoretically, this should be easy. He’s one of the top mob bosses is in the city. But Michael has something going for him that none of these men can touch – the desire to avenge his wife’s death.
I have so many things to say about this script, I don’t even know where to start. First of all, I already know what commenters are going to say. They’ll start with the script being overwritten. And they’re right. Here is one of the very first sentences in the screenplay: “Michael, draped in an exanimate black suit, inexorably walks past the eponymously embossed window, towards three thuggish men sitting at a table.” I’m not even sure what half of those words mean.
The reason overwriting is a problem is that it takes the reader’s focus off the screenplay and places it on the writing. Screenplays aren’t a writing contest. They’re a storytelling contest. Outside of Scriptshadow, these words will never be published anywhere. So it doesn’t matter if you’re a walking thesaurus. The goal of writing a story is to bring the reader into your world. If you try to be too flashy or too wordy, you’re constantly pushing the reader out of that world. You want to be visual with your writing, yes, but the second it looks like you’re trying too hard, you’re dead. And it feels like the writing is trying way too hard here.
Second is degree of difficulty. Ambition is good. Trying to do something different is good. But tackling a degree of difficulty higher than your ability level is suicide. We have two things here that make telling this story extremely difficult. The first is an endless character count. The more characters you have, the less time you have to develop your main characters, and the more likely you’re going to have a reader who’s confused as hell about who everybody is. I couldn’t remember half the people here, and even worse, I don’t think a quarter of them were necessary. We’d occasionally jump to characters who didn’t have anything to do with the story. They’d just talk. So that led to a lot of confusion.
The second problem is all the time jumping. Manipulating time is one of the coolest things film allows you to do. But conveying it on the page is way more difficult than conveying it onscreen, and if you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re going to confuse the hell out of the reader. It took me about 40 pages, for example, to figure out what was going on. A big part of the problem was, I didn’t understand why we were telling this story out of order. I kept thinking to myself, would this lose anything if it were told linearly? It might be more predictable, but it’d certainly be less confusing. So the jumping around felt like a cheap manipulative trick just to make the story different. It’s a better idea to have your time jumping motivated in some way. Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind is a perfect example. We jump around in time there in order to take advantage of the characters’ memory loss. Stories always work better when choices are motivated.
The thing is, I can understand a guy like Erik’s frustration. There is some serious talent on display here. I’m not an authority on mob flicks, but the dialogue here was pretty damn good. When these guys spoke, I felt like they were really those people – and I don’t often see that in screenplays. Also, he’s well read and intelligent. You can see that intelligence on every page. So here’s this guy, with all this talent, looking out there and seeing scripts like the dumbed down “Nonstop” sell, and wondering, how the hell are these guys making a living at this and I’m not??
Here’s the reason. Because the story has to come before everything. You have to display storytelling skills and not an ability to write random monologues, or crazy characters, or jump around in time a lot. I don’t care how well you describe that stuff, or how different you can be. If it’s not serving the story, if it’s not easy to follow, if it isn’t building the stakes, etc., etc., then it won’t matter. There are pieces of this story that are really good. There are scenes in this story that are really good. But on the whole, it’s a garbled mess. It’s too difficult to follow and has too many unnecessary tangents. Say what you will about Nonstop, but the storyline is always clear, the stakes are always clear, and you can see it as a movie. With Manchester Black, at least in its current form, it’s too hard to follow.
So how would I fix this screenplay? I’d start by cutting the character list by half. It would force you to only use the characters you absolutely needed to tell the story. The next thing I would do is cut out any scene with a monologue in it. I don’t remember a single monologue in this script that was necessary. I’d then focus on the story elements that have the most punch. For example, this mandori box sounds interesting. But it’s essentially treated like the suitcase in Pulp Fiction (another reference people are going to kill you for). Let’s make that box a bigger part of the story. Finally, continue to focus on the components that bring out the most emotion – avenging his wife’s death for example. You do that well here. So I’d continued to feature it in the next draft. Once you strip the movie down, and we don’t have to keep track of so many people, the time jumping should be easier to follow. I’d still like it to be motivated, but I could see it working a lot better if your script were streamlined.
And finally, don’t end your mob movie at a warehouse. That’s where every mob movie ends! :-)
Script link: Manchester Black
[ ] What the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: I’m gonna say this again. A scene where all that’s happening is one person giving another person their theory on life is a scene of death. Here’s a monologue from one of the characters on page 49. It happens as two characters we don’t know very well are randomly driving their car somewhere: “You’re talking about evil like it has any inherit meaning beyond its limited definition. My view is that if God is truly omniscient, he can see things from all perspectives. He knows why I do what I do just as well I do. And what is evil but perspective. It isn’t tangible, and there’s always a reason behind it, even if it can’t be seen. Look at it with total honesty-this whole argument. How do we weigh a man’s actions? He provides for his family, gives to charities, volunteers, but one day he murders his wife. You don’t even need to examine his reasoning. Just look at it like this: He built up a lifetime of goodwill, and does one moment negate all he has done throughout his life and make him evil? Same thing goes for terrorists. They’re freedom fighters and liberators to many people. Serial killers-sufferers from severe psychosis. Child molesters, rapists-an outgrowth from years of sexual abuse. There is no evil my friend just perspective.” Well-written? Sure. Does the story lose anything if the scene is erased? No. And that’s the problem. If the scene can be erased and absolutely nothing is lost, you don’t need the scene. Does that mean you should never have a monologue in your screenplay? No. Of course not. But you have to find a way to weave them into the story – to make them matter. Now I didn’t love this scene in The Matrix, but it’s adequate enough to make my point. There’s a scene where Agent Smith has Morpheus chained up to a chair and is trying to get him to give him the codes to Zion. He goes on a rather long monologue about how humans are actually a virus. Let’s apply the same test here. Does the story lose anything if the scene is erased? Yes. One character is trying to obtain highly important information from another character before his friends come and save him. Drop the scene and the movie doesn’t make sense. So you can have monologues in your screenplay. They can even contain philosophical meanderings. But they have to be an essential part of the story to work.
