It’s Comedy Theme Week everyone. For a detailed rundown of what that means, head back to Monday’s post, where you’ll get a glimpse of our first review, Dumb and Dumber. Tuesday, I took on the best sports comedy ever (yeah, I said it), Happy Gilmore.  Wednesday was Grouuuuuundhog Day. And today, grab your invites cause it’s time to crash some weddings.  

Genre: Comedy
Premise: Two friends who live their lives to crash weddings get in over their heads when one of them falls in love with a bridesmaid.
About: Steve Faber and Bob Fisher wrote Wedding Crashers, yet strangely haven’t had a produced credit since (the film came out in 2005). They have sold a couple of specs though, including the Scriptshadow reviewed, “We’re The Millers,” about a fake family trying to smuggle drugs across the Mexican border. While Faber and Fisher obviously wrote the script, Vaughn and Wilson are said to have rewritten a lot of their own dialogue. The film made 209 million dollars in the U.S., which was a total surprise to New Line, who would’ve been happy with a take of 75 (the movie cost 40 million).
Writers: Steve Faber and Bob Fisher

So I sent an e-mail out to my most loyal readers asking them to pick between Wedding Crashers and Office Space for the final comedy pick of the week (there’s one more tomorrow, but I already had that one in place). I was kind of shocked when Wedding Crashers received just as many votes as Office Space, a movie that’s in my Top 3 comedies of all time. I thought Crashers was amusing but I didn’t think it was hilarious. When the final tally came in, Office Space actually beat Crashers by a couple of votes, but I decided to review Wedding Crashers anyway. Why? Because I think Crashers represents the beginning of a paradigm shift in the way comedies were marketed and, by association, written. Wedding Crashers decided to do away with the high concept, and make the concept the title itself. Wedding Crashers. Knocked Up. The Break-Up. 40 Year Old Virgin. Forgetting Sarah Marshall. The shorter time in which you could convey what your story was about, the easier it was to sell. So what’s shorter than stuffing your concept into the title? Now, hooks like weathermen stuck in time loops and hockey players forced onto the golf tour were unnecessary.

How do I feel about this? Well, I find it funny. You’re essentially dressing up what 15 years ago would’ve been considered “low-concept” and saying it’s the “new high concept!” Who needs a plot? Just throw people into a situation! Guys! Crashing weddings! Genius! I’m not being totally fair here. The truth is, in the right hands, movies like this can work. The idea of crashing weddings is funny. It’s just a little sad to see the more intricate comedy ideas of the past being deep-sixed as a result.

 

Now my memory of this film is so-so. I only saw it the one time in the theater. But I remember thinking…ehhh, not bad but nothing special. So I was curious to see why I felt that way. As the first 30 minutes unfolded, the answer revealed itself. Wedding Crashers’ plot is slow and plodding. Instead of the hardline goals of the previous three comedies (return the suitcase to Mary, save Grandma’s House, get out of the time loop), Wedding Crashers’ goal is more generic. Get the girl. Which I think adequately pulls the film along. But there’s something second rate about it. Like the story’s being pulled by a golf cart instead of a pick-up truck.

Now I’m not saying Wedding Crashers isn’t good. I think there’s a little more going on here than people give it credit for. Arrested development, better known as “man-children unable to grow up syndrome,” is a universal theme that a lot of people are familiar with. I mean, who wants to grow up? Who wants to be responsible? Who wants the fun and excitement and unpredictably of childhood to end? So the fact that these two guys are in conflict with that means we’re exploring them on a deeper level, which again, leads to comedy that resonates more.

I also liked the way the movie handled its dual-protagonists. One of them has a clear goal (get the girl) and the other is stuck along for the ride. And he’s really stuck. The writers put this house out on an island, which was smart, cause that way Vince Vaughn couldn’t go anywhere. This allows them to shit on Vaughn’s character from every possible angle (psycho girlfriend, crazy son, dickhead boyfriend) and that’s where most of the comedy comes from. This is especially important because, let’s face it, the Owen Wilson/Rachel McAdams love story is a little boring.

 

Still, I’m not sure these writers really understand comedy. Most of the funniest stuff comes from Vaughn and Wilson talking to each other. And as has been well-documented, they wrote a lot of that dialogue themselves. As far as the mechanics of the story go, there were some huge missed opportunities. A lot of great comedy comes from setting up high stakes for your characters and then placing them in a situation where those stakes are in jeopardy. If you throw them into a situation and there are no stakes, no matter how wacky that situation is, it’s not going to generate many laughs. Take the football scene for instance. It’s a cute scene where Wilson is trying to impress Rachel McAdams, but the truth is, there’s nothing really on the line here. None of the plays matter. Who wins doesn’t matter. Contrast that with the volleyball scene in Meet The Parents. Ben Stiller has, up until that point, been desperately trying to prove himself to this family he’s trying to join, and everything he’s done has made them dislike him more. This volleyball game is presented as a last chance opportunity for him to redeem himself, for him to let these guys know he’s good enough for their sister/daughter/niece. That’s why cheap jokes such as him having to wear speedos and him accidentally giving the bride a bloody nose work, because we want so badly for him to make a good impression. All the stuff in Wedding Crashers, including the dinner table scene, are just a collection of gags, of funny jokes (the foul-mouthed grandma, the over-the pants handjob). There was never enough at stake to make the scene really pop.

 
Another red flag that the writing wasn’t as good here was the villain. I was *just* talking about this the other day in the “What I Learned” section of Happy Gilmore. Shooter McGavin is a character you remember because he’s got more than one dimension. Bradley Cooper’s villain here (the evil boyfriend) has one dimension. The asshole. And that’s why his character is so boring. I didn’t even remember that there was a villain in Wedding Crashers. That’s how little of an impact he left. But this is the writers’ fault. You can’t give us the simplistic “asshole” and expect that to resonate with an audience. It’s boring. You have to add more dimensions.
 
On the plus side, Crashers uses one of the all-time “always works” story devices and makes it, well, work. Guy falls for girl. Girl has boyfriend. It works EVERY TIME. And the reason it works is this. In any romantic comedy, you have to have someone who wants someone else, in addition to a reason why they can’t have them. If you don’t include the reason why they can’t have them, you don’t have a movie. The problem is, writers try to come up with all these convoluted reasons for why they “can’t have them” (they work at rival companies! Oh no!). But the simplest version of this is also the most convincing, most relatable, and least questioned: They have a boyfriend. Because we’ve all been in that situation before (We’ve liked someone but they were with someone else), we get it. So there’s a natural conflict driving the narrative. It’s not just “will he get her?” We know he can do that. It’s “Will she leave her boyfriend for him?” which is a lot more uncertain.

Another thing Wedding Crashers has going for it is that it has two of the most likable leads you’ll ever see in a comedy. And it’s so funny we’re talking about this since the comedy from yesterday’s review came from the opposite end of the spectrum. But it’s true. Of all the characters we’ve met this week, Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn are the two we’d most want to spend a weekend with. They’re fun. They’re funny. They’re a little childish, sure, but they’re far from mean-spirited. And that says more than you think it does. Because we talk a lot about how making your characters too likable can backfire on you. If someone’s perfect, how interesting is that? But outside of not being able to grow up, these two are about as “studio-friendly likable” as they come. And we never question it.

My thing with Wedding Crashers is that it’s not a very well-written script. The stakes aren’t high enough. The story emerges clumsily. And most of the comedy is sloppy. But the dialogue and the interaction between the two main characters is enough to make us forget about that *most* of the time. I didn’t hate this movie. I didn’t love it. But I enjoyed it.

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

What I learned: One of the most important rules in screenwriting, and especially comedy, is: “Never include a scene that doesn’t move the story forward.” It’s one of the biggest mistakes amateur writers make. The problem is, there’s a wide-ranging gray area of what it means to “move the story forward.” Well, a great way to see this in practice is to watch the UNRATED versions of comedies. In these cuts, the producers put back in all the scenes they cut out for time. And boy can you tell. The scenes just sit there, bringing the film to a crashing halt, while they dole out some unnecessary joke or advance some pointless subplot. Wedding Crashers (Unrated) has a ton of these scenes, and they make the movie endless. For example, as we’re racing towards the end in that third act and meet Will Ferrell’s character, he talks to Wilson about crashing funerals. In the movie, that’s it. In the unrated version, we actually see them go and crash a funeral. Yeah it’s kind of funny, but it’s not needed. 

It’s Comedy Theme Week everyone. For a detailed rundown of what that means, head back to Monday’s post, where you’ll get a glimpse of our first review, Dumb and Dumber. Yesterday, I took on the best sports comedy ever (yeah, I said it), Happy Gilmore.  And today, I dissect a classic, Groundhog Day. 

Genre: Comedy
Premise: A weatherman being forced to cover a puff piece on Groundhog Day finds himself stuck in a continuous time loop in the town, having to live the same day over and over again.
About: So how long is Phil really stuck in Groundhog Day? The original writer, Danny Rubin, stated that he believed Phil was stuck there for at least 10,000 years. Harold Ramis, who directed the film, believes it’s somewhere in the vicinity of 40 years, but has told others estimates that range much higher. Speaking of, Ramis and Murray had a huge falling out behind the scenes during the filming of Groundhog Day, a spat that would not be repaired for another ten years. Steven Tobolowsky recalls the shooting of the last scene in Groundhog Day: “He [Bill Murray] said, “I refuse to shoot this scene until I know how I am dressed. Am I wearing the clothes I wore the night before? Am I wearing p.j.’s? Am I not wearing that?” That is, what happened that night between him and Andie [MacDowell]? So, he refused to shoot it. Harold Ramis, the director, had not thought of this question, and he didn’t know. So he took a vote from the cast and crew as to what Bill was wearing. Is he wearing the clothes from the night before, or is he wearing pajamas? And it was a tie, a tie vote, so Bill still refused to shoot the scene. Then one girl in the movie—it was her first film—she was assistant set director. She raised her hand and said, “He is absolutely wearing the clothes he wore the night before. If he is not wearing the clothes he wore the night before, it will ruin the movie. That’s my vote.” So Harold Ramis said, “Then that’s what we are going to do.”
Writers: Harold Ramis and Danny Rubin

I know this script has been analyzed to death, so I’m not sure I can bring any new insights to the table. But since an argument can be made that Groundhog Day is one of the top 10 comedies of all time, and because it also happened to be on Netflix Instant, well, the choice to include it in Comedy Week was obvious.

What’s cool about analyzing this movie now is that Groundhog Day is the prototypical script that would’ve landed on the Black List, had there been a Black List back in 1993. It’s quirky, it’s different, it explores deeper themes, it’s dark. But the final film is just a fraction of how dark and different the original script was. In fact, the script’s evolution happened in almost the exact opposite manner as the much talked about Scriptshadow favorite, Source Code.

Ben Ripley has talked openly about how the first draft of Source Code followed all the right Syd Field (or Blake Snyder) beats. A train gets bombed. The police come in. They don’t know what to do. An advanced government technology division arrives on the scene. Our hero, who’s part of that division, uses new technology to jump back onto the train two hours previous to try and find out what happened. Ripley says it was so boring and predictable that he lost confidence in the idea. It was only once he came up with having Colter and the audience wake up on the train together, unsure of what was going on, that the idea took off.

So I thought to myself, “Hmmmm. This is a great lesson here. Look beyond the Syd Field/Blake Snyder formula in order to make your idea unique and fresh. Be wary of traditional structure in many instances.” Ehhhhh…not so fast. With Groundhog Day, the exact OPPOSITE happened. You see, the original script started with Phil ALREADY STUCK IN THE TIME LOOP, similar, in some respects, to how the current Source Code starts. So we’d wake up with Phil, watch how he’d say what the people on the radio were saying before they’d say it, watch how he’d anticipate everything that everyone at the Bed and Breakfast would say to him, and wonder, “How is he doing this?” The studio decided that the audience would be too confused by this though and decided to, you guessed it, create a more structured “Syd Field” type narrative, where we set up Phil’s life and how he got pulled into the time loop in the first place. Ahhh, just when you think you’ve got it all figured it out. It changes on you again.

Anyway, Groundhog Day is quite different from the two comedies I reviewed already, mainly in how it handles its protagonist. In both Dumb and Dumber and Happy Gilmore, the writers work hard to make you love their characters. In Groundhog Day, they want you to hate their character. And this is always the most dangerous line to walk as a writer, when you center your story around an unlikable hero.

On the plus side, you’re going to get more actors interested in the part. Actors LIKE playing unlikable people. However, producers HATE this. They can’t stand when the lead character is unlikable because they assume the audience will hate him. So you’ve already put yourself in a no-win situation by even flirting with an unlikable protagonist.

Yet here’s the thing with the unlikable or “anti” hero. It offers the best opportunity for character exploration. A character can’t change for the better if he was never worse. So if you want any sort of character depth, you have to give him a flaw. But since most writers and producers are chickens, they choose a flaw that’s still likable. Something like “lack of confidence.” Rarely does anyone have the guts to make their hero a selfish asshole and when they do, it’s usually for a supporting character, so they can safely tuck him off to the side. Obi-Wan and Luke are model citizens. Han Solo, our supporting character, is the big jerk.

This brings us back to Groundhog Day, and our selfish-assholish main character. How do we keep our audience on board with this “jerk” until he starts to change? That’s the big question. And that’s a science I don’t think anyone’s figured out in the screenwriting world. You can try balancing it out with “nice” traits, but if you go too far (he volunteers at a children’s cancer hospital) we see through it and stop believing in your story. It requires subtlety. Give us just enough to stay on board, but not so much that it compromises the character. And I think Groundhog Day does that about as well as anyone. They only use one balancing trait. Phil’s kinda funny (we like funny people). But it doesn’t violate the character because a lot of that humor comes at the expense of other people. I think the only other element you could argue that draws sympathy is his situation. Once we realize this loop isn’t going to end, we begin to become worried for Phil. We want him to find a way out.

This leads us to the central goal of our main character, which is a strong one. Phil must find a way out of the loop. I can’t remember a character goal in a comedy that’s this strong. And the fact that it’s unique (not another “needs 20k by the end of the week”) gives it an extra kick.

But the real reason this comedy works is that it’s not about time-looping as much as it’s about a flawed man needing to learn the power of selflessness. Groundhog Day is a character study well before it’s a comedy, and that’s why it still holds up 20 years later, whereas we barely remember comedies like Anger Management and Bruce Almighty even a couple of years after they came out. This is what screenwriting is about. It’s about looking deep inside a person, figuring out what’s holding them back from obtaining true happiness, and putting them in a situation that forces them to address that flaw. And Groundhog Day is one of the best comedies – or even movies for that matter – at doing this.

It’s also a good reminder that one of the most powerful flaws to explore is selfishness. You could write your next 20 screenplays exploring this issue and it would never get old. It’s a timeless flaw in that we all wish we were more giving and caring of others, as opposed to so self-involved. It’s one of the reasons I started this site actually. Before this is was all about “me me me” and how do “I” become a better screenwriter. It’s only when I focused on trying to help others that I really began to learn (as cheesy as that sounds). So this theme is going to resonate with audiences no matter what package you wrap it in.

Another important lesson Groundhog Day reminds us of, is that concept is king. If you come up with an interesting high concept, you make things so much easier on yourself. I mean, when I watch Groundhog Day, I’m constantly putting myself in the role of Phil. I’m asking, “What would I do in that situation?” That’s when you know your concept is really working. Because once your audience is asking questions like that, you’ve got’em wrapped around your finger. You can do anything. Because now they themselves are incorporated into the story.

And, you know, just like Happy Gilmore, it’s a movie that takes advantage of its premise. The repeated encounters with Ned Ryerson. The repeated dates with Rita. Phil’s hilarious news lead-ins to the Groundhog event. Phil trying to kill himself. And that brings this into a whole nother territory. Dark humor resonates longer with audiences because it hits you harder. And Groundhog Day is dark. Mortality is a theme that’s explored repeatedly throughout the story. And seeing Bill Murray’s corpse after he’s killed himself…you just don’t see that kind of thing in your run-of-the-mill comedy.

To this day, there isn’t a comedy quite like Groundhog Day. It walks that fine line between broad and dark better than almost anything out there. It’s a great character piece. It’s a great thematic piece. And I didn’t even get into the love story (although I admit that Andie McDowell elevated that character beyond what was written on the page). This is just a golden comedy, and the definition of a genius script.

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

What I learned: If you want your comedy to stand the test of time and be taken seriously, you need to focus on some sort of universal theme. Not only does Groundhog Day tackle selfishness, but it also looks at love and mortality in a much deeper way than they’re usually explored in comedies. Your comedy is going to have far more layers, and have a much better chance with a reader, if you embrace a universal theme.

It’s Comedy Theme Week everyone. For a detailed rundown of what that means, head back to Monday’s post, where you’ll get a glimpse of our first review, Dumb and Dumber. Today, I’m taking on the best sports comedy ever made, Happy Gilmore.

Genre: Comedy
Premise: A failed hockey player is forced to join the pro golf tour in order to save his grandmother’s home.
About: As not many people saw Adam Sandler as a movie star at the time, Happy Gilmore did only so-so at the box office, taking in 38 million dollars. The movie, however, would later become a huge hit on video and help propel Sandler into becoming one of the highest paid actors in the world. Roger Ebert said of Sandler’s performance at the time, which he did not like, that he “doesn’t have a pleasing personality: He seems angry even when he’s not supposed to be, and his habit of pounding everyone he dislikes is tiring in a PG-13 movie.” As I find Sander’s anger to not only be the funniest part of the film, but an integral part of his character and character arc (and thus organic to the story), it just goes to show how polarizing reactions to comedy can be!
Writers: Tim Herlihy and Adam Sandler

Leave it to Adam Sandler to restore some normalcy to the craft of screenwriting.

Uhhhhh….what?? Did I just mention Adam Sandler and screenwriting in the same sentence? And that sentence didn’t include the words “dreadful,” “incomprehensible,” “horrifying,” “unreadable,” or “brain-cancer-inducing?” I believe I did. Yes, believe it or not, before Sandler and his “writing team” began invading our cineplexes with movies like “Has-Beens Hanging Out At A Cabin” or whatever the hell that piece of crap was with him and Chris Rock and Kevin James, he actually made a few good movies. And Happy Gilmore, by a country mile, was the best of them.

While yesterday’s comedy made all sorts of funky structure-breaking choices that confused and confounded me, Happy Gilmore is one of the most straightforward by-the-book executions of the three-act structure there is. In fact, if I was going to recommend a template for the execution of the single protagonist comedy, I would put Liar Liar first and Happy Gilmore second. As shocking as it sounds, this screenplay is a thing of beauty.

As many of you know, Happy Gilmore is about a lousy hockey player with anger management issues who’s forced to become a professional golfer in order to save his grandmother’s house. Happy’s unique talent is his ability to drive the ball further than any professional golfer in the world. But after his success begins to draw the ire of tour hot shot and universal asshole Shooter McGavin, Happy finds himself not only struggling to win back his grandmother’s home, but trying to defeat the best golfer in the world.

What I love about Happy Gilmore is that it follows all the rules, yet still manages to feel fresh and funny. It starts by giving us a hero with a flaw.  Happy has anger issues. This flaw, while admittedly simplistic, gives our character some depth, something to overcome during the course of his journey.  And even better, in “proper” screenwriting fashion, we find out about this flaw not because our hero or some other character *tells* us he has anger issues. We find out through his *actions*. After not making the hockey team, Happy proceeds to beat the shit out of his coach.

This is followed by the inciting incident, the moment in the screenplay that incites a call to action. Happy’s grandmother loses her house because she didn’t pay her taxes. She owes $250,000 dollars and if she doesn’t come up with it within 90 days, the house will be sold off. So our character goal is set: Get $275,000 before the 90 days is up.

In order to beef up that goal, the writers make sure you know that the grandma is the nicest sweetest coolest most loving woman in the world. And because you love her, you want to see Happy get her house back for her. Also, remember how the other day I was talking about positive and negative stakes? How you want your character to not only GAIN something if he wins, but LOSE something if he loses? We have that here when we find out Grandma is staying at the nursing home equivalent of a concentration camp. If Happy gets the money, he gets her house back. If he loses, she’s stuck in this hellhole forever!

But here’s where the genius really kicks in. For most movies to work, your hero must DESPERATELY WANT TO ACHIEVE HIS GOAL. If your hero doesn’t want to achieve his goal, then what’s the point in watching? He doesn’t really care. So why should we? But if someone’s desperately going after a goal doing something they enjoy, where’s the fun in that? Especially in a comedy. It’s much more fun if they DON’T like what they’re doing. And Happy hates playing golf. So then how do you make someone despereately want to achieve something if they don’t like what they’re doing? Simple. You force them into it. So Happy hates golf, but he HAS to play it. And this conflict he has with the sport is what leads to the majority of the comedy in the movie. Again, CONFLICT BREEDS COMEDY. This is how we get Happy swearing up a storm as he tears up a pack of clubs on national TV while the Tour President tries to calm down the sponsors. Or how we get the classic comedy moment of Happy fighting Bob Barker. It’s the key component to the movie working, that Happy wants desperately to achieve his goal, but still hates what he’s doing.

One commonality we see between Happy Gilmore and Dumb and Dumber is that the writers work really hard to make sure you love the main character. We start out with Happy’s voice over. Voice overs always get you into the head of your hero, breaking that fourth wall and making you feel like you know them. So it’s a great device to create sympathy (though still dangerous!). Through it, we find out that Happy lost his father when he was young (sympathy). Happy doesn’t make the hockey team (more sympathy). Happy gets dumped by his girlfriend (more sympathy). Happy employs a homeless man as his caddy (more sympathy). But what you may not have picked up on, is that there’s a very subtle twist to all of these sympathetic moments to draw our attention away from the fact that the writers are pining for our sympathy. Each moment is cloaked inside comedy. In other words, because we’re laughing, we forget that the writers are blatantly manipulating us. When Happy gets kicked off the team, he hilariously beats the shit out of the coach. When his girlfriend leaves him, he screams at her through the intercom (she eventually leaves and Happy is talking to a young boy and an aging Chinese maid). It’s very cleverly disguised inside comedy, and a neat trick to use in your own comedies.

Another great touch is that Happy Gilmore constructs the perfect villain: Shooter McGavin. A lot of writers think you just throw an asshole into the mix and that’ll be enough. Crafting a villain, even in a simple comedy, requires a lot of work. You have to give us someone we hate, but not in that obvious cliché stereotyped way. The mix here of arrogance, passive-aggressiveness, fakeness, and elitism, along with all those annoying little traits (his little “shooting of the guns” and recycled jokes) makes Shooter just a little bit different from the other villains you’ve seen in comedies.

Even the love interest is perfectly executed here. Usually, the love interest in a non-romantic comedy is unnaturally wedged into the story to appease producers. Here, it feels organic to the story. The romantic lead (who’s Claire from Modern Family btw) is the public relations director of the tour. So when one of the tour players is acting up (in this case, Happy Gilmore), it’s only natural that she be brought in to keep him in check. This stuff sounds like it just happens. But you gotta be on your game to make it feel natural. And you have to admit, you never question it in Happy Gilmore.

Chubbs (the one-armed golf pro) is also organically integrated into the script. Whenever you write a sports comedy, you want to not only have an internal flaw (anger, in this case) that the hero battles, but an external one as well, so there’s something physical they have to fix in order to achieve their goal. Here, it’s Happy’s putting. That’s what’s preventing him from beating Shooter. This is the reason Chubbs becomes essential. He has to teach Happy how to putt. Again, it seems obvious, but that’s because it’s so well done.

Another key that makes Happy Gilmore work – and a requirement for any good comedy – is that it exploits its premise. Whenever you come up with a comedy idea, you want to make sure you have 3 or 4 scenes that showcase that idea. That’s why the Bob Barker fight is genius. That’s why Chubbs taking Happy to the miniature golf course and Happy getting in a fight with the laughing clown is genius. These are the moments that represent the audience’s expectations of the idea. If you’re not including these scenes, you might as well not write the movie.

Happy Gilmore is also an incredibly tight script. That was another reason Dumb and Dumber threw me for a loop. It’s over 2 hours long. Most comedies need to be short. You’re making people laugh. Not giving them a history lesson. So by making Happy Gilmore a lean 93 minutes long, it forces the writer to make every scene count. And indeed, every single scene here pushes the story forward. Even the most questionable story-related scene, the pro-am tournament with Bob Barker, sets up Shooter’s goon/cronie who later tries to take down Happy in the Tour Championships.

This is by far the best sports comedy ever made. And just as a straight comedy, it’s pretty high up there as well. If you’re writing a comedy with a single protagonist trying to obtain a goal (like most comedies), you definitely want to study the structure of Happy Gilmore.  It’s pretty much perfect.

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

What I learned: Look to make your villain unique through a combination of traits. Shooter McGavin is clever (sending Happy to the 9th tee at nine), passive aggressive (offering backhanded compliments whenever asked about Happy’s talent), cowardly (backing away from a fight) phony (pretending to care about his fans when all he cares about is himself). This combination of qualities gives him a depth that you don’t often see in comedic villains. Making your villain a straight-forward asshole may get the job done, but layering him with numerous quirks and traits will separate him from all the cliché villains of the past.

So the other day I did an amateur review of “Bass Champion,” a comedy about a Twilight-like actor who becomes a bass fisherman to win a movie role. I liked it quite a bit. The response to the script, however, was divided. Some people liked it. Others hated it. That response got me thinking. Why are comedy scripts so hard to judge?

Take Your Bridesmaid Is A Bitch for example. That was one of my favorite comedy scripts of the year. And yet I actually received hate e-mails afterwards telling me how terrible it was and how bad my taste was. I was like, “Did we read the same thing here?” Or The Escort, which I thought was a great road trip script which was both funny and had heart. I won’t revisit the comments section, but let’s just say 90% of you didn’t agree with me.

The weird thing I’ve found about comedy screenplays is that when the reader doesn’t like them, they actually start to hate the writer. Not just “Oh, I didn’t like it. But good effort!” No.  A rage builds up inside of them like Bruce Banner to the point where they want to find the writer and beat his brains in for making them endure this garbage. No other genre elicits that reaction. And the broader the comedy, the more vitriol you can expect. And I get it. I think Talladega Nights is godawful. The unfunniest piece of garbage I saw that year. I actually stopped thinking Will Ferrel was funny for awhile after that movie. Yet some people think I’m crazy for not liking that film. My best friend says I have no funny bone if I think Nights isn’t funny.

Naturally, a lot of this comes down to humor being subjective. But there are movies out there that everybody seems to find funny (or at least most people). So as much as I’d like to throw up my hands and concede “If it’s funny, it’s a good comedy, if it doesn’t, it isn’t,” I can’t do that. Comedy is the top genre in the spec screenplay market. We have to be able to measure its quality somehow or else we’re writing in the dark.

So what I’m doing this week is taking five popular comedies and trying to figure out what makes them work. Now I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know what I’ll be able to conclude after this. It’s an experiment I’m doing for myself and I’m forcing all of you to come along for the ride. So hopefully something will come of it. But if all the reviews go like today’s, I might be in trouble.

Genre: Comedy
Premise: A pair of dim-witted friends accidentally steal a ransom suitcase full of money. When they try to return the suitcase to its rightful owner, the lovely Mary Swanson, hijinx ensue.
About: The film was very successful at the box office, grossing $127 million in the United States, and $247 million worldwide, an impressive take for a comedy on the world stage at the time, especially from a relatively unknown star (Carrey had only done Ace Ventura before this). There was a huge battle between the producers and the directors (and Carrey) about the ending where Harry and Lloyd are offered to join a bus full of models and they refuse. The producers insisted that they get on the bus. But the Farrelly’s and Carrey would not film the scene, insisting that the characters were too stupid to do so.
Writers: Peter & Bobby Farrelly.

One of my favorite comedies of all time, Dumb and Dumber follows two dimwitted friends, Lloyd (a limo driver) and Harry (a pet groomer), who get inadvertently wrapped up in a kidnapping after snagging a suitcase filled with ransom money and trying to return it to its owner, Mary Swanson, who Lloyd’s fallen in love with (after a ten minute limo ride). The journey takes them to Aspen, Colorado, where they realize the suitcase is filled with a million dollars, which, instead of conserving, they burn through in a matter of days.

I’m already regretting making this the first review of the week. If anything, this script’s served to confuse me more about comedy than help. Let’s start with the lead characters. If you walk into any movie studio and ask any creative person how to write a buddy movie, the first thing they’ll tell you is that the two leads have to be opposites. ESPECIALLY in a comedy. Opposites bring out conflict. Conflict results in humor. I actually can’t think of a single road trip comedy where the two leads didn’t have some key opposing quality which dominated their relationship.

Lloyd and Harry? They’re pretty much the same person. They’re both dumb. So theoretically, you lose out on a ton of comedy. And yet their interactions are funnier than 99% of the comedies out there. You see those question marks on my eyes? They were there the whole time. I mean, there’s no real conflict between these two until we get to the third act, when Harry steals Mary from Lloyd. THREE ACTS until we hit the conflict between our lead characters. Contrast this with the conflict that pops up right away in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. It’s baffling why this works so well here.

Bringing some sanity back to the analysis, the Farrelly’s do place a lot of external conflict on our characters, mainly with a world that keeps shitting on them and hit men who are hot on their trail. If there’s little conflict between your main characters, you should try to lay as much external conflict on them as possible, and they do that here.

But insanity returns when you break down Dumb and Dumber’s structure, which is really wonky. I always say, if you’re going to do a road trip film, make it a road trip film! Your entire second act should be your characters on the road, because that’s what your movie is about.  National Lampoon’s Vacation, Little Miss Sunshine, Planes Trains, Due Date, Road Trip, all follow this formula. Dumb and Dumber starts out this way. But our characters end up getting to Aspen at the midpoint, a full 1 hour before the movie ends.

From there, the movie almost reboots itself. The “Get to Mary Swanson” movie becomes The “Find Mary Swanson” movie. And then it reboots itself again, becoming “The Lloyd/Harry/Mary Love Triangle Movie.” I was surprised to see Blake Snyder’s famous “fun and games” section (where you typically find all your trailer moments) right after they open the briefcase and start spending the money, a full 65 minutes into the movie. This section almost always comes right after the first act.

I would say there’s no precedent for this but there actually is. Swingers sets itself up to be a road trip movie (or at least a “two guys in Vegas” movie) but then reverses itself and brings its characters back to L.A. for the final hour. I would say that there’s something to be learned here but every time I see an amateur try to do something similar, it ends up becoming a wandering mess, where we’re not sure what the movie is about. So I’m squirming in my seat trying to figure how it works here.

I’m inclined to guess that while the overall structure does have a strong driving force (get the suitcase to Mary), our real love for this movie comes from how much we love our protags. The Farrelly’s have said on many occasions that if you make the audience fall in love with your heroes, they’ll go anywhere with you. And they do work hard to achieve this. First of all, Lloyd and Harry get fired. Audiences generally sympathize with people who have fallen on hard times. They’re also extremely unlucky. Everything they touch turns to shit. Another layer of sympathy. But I think the big deal here is something that almost slipped by me. They’re underdogs. Say it with me. Everybody loves an underdog. Everyone! So we’re intrinsically rooting for these guys to overcome their deficiencies and achieve their goal.

Now I know what some of you are going to say. “Well, it’s Jim Carrey! That’s why it’s funny. That’s why we like it. The casting!” Okay, but let me reel off some movie titles for you. Me, Myself, and Irene, Bruce Almighty, Fun With Dick and Jane, Yes Man. Jim Carrey wasn’t funny in any of those movies. A writer must first write a funny character before an actor can come along and bring that character to life.

I have to confess that this is a pretty frustrating way to start my experiment. I love this movie. Really love it. But I was hoping to be enlightened while breaking it down. Instead, I’m more confused than ever. I didn’t even mention some of the other “essentials” the script eschewed. The guy doesn’t get the girl in the end. There are no real character flaws in the main characters (very little character depth).  I’m going to defer to the Scriptshadow Commenters on this one and see if you can’t find something I missed. In the meantime, on to the next comedy.

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

What I learned: Dumb and Dumber follows one rule I believe is imperative to making comedies work: Make sure the reasoning for your characters going on their journey is solid and believable. Had Lloyd and Harry just shrugged their shoulders and went, “Why don’t we go find this Mary chick,” I’m not sure we would’ve cared as much. But Lloyd, in one of the broadest comedies of that decade, breaks down in a very real way and, through tears, pleads, “I’m tired of being a nobody. I want to do something.” It’s that real character moment that propels us into this journey and fuels the next 75 pages.

Genre: Horror
Premise: A group of paranormal researchers move in to the most haunted mansion in the world to try and prove the existence of ghosts.
About: One of our longtime commenters has thrown his hat into the ring. Very excited to finally be reviewing Andrew Mullen’s script! — 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.
Writer: Andrew Mullen
Details: 146 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).

Andrew’s been commenting on Scriptshadow forever and I like to reward people who actively participate on the site, so I was more than happy to choose his script for this week’s Amateur Friday. Seeing that Andrew had always made astute points and solid observations, I was hoping for a three-for-three “worth the read” trifecta over the last three Amateur Fridays. What once seemed impossible was shaping up to be possible.

And then I saw the page count.

Pop quiz. What’s the first thing a reader looks at when he opens a screenplay? The title? No. The writer’s name? No. That little box on the top left corner of the PDF document that tells you how many pages it is? Ding ding ding! I saw “146” and my eyes closed. In an instant, all of the energy I had to read Shadows was drained. I know Andrew reads the site so I know he’s heard me say it a hundred times: Keep your script under 110 pages. Of all the rules you want to follow, this is somewhere near the top. And it has nothing to do with whether it’s possible to tell a good story over 110 pages. It has to do with the fact that 99.9% of producers, agents, and managers will close your script within 3 seconds of opening it after seeing that number. They will assume, rightly in 99.9% of the cases, that you don’t know what you’re doing yet, and move on to the next script.

Which is exactly what I planned to do. I mean, I have a few hundred amateur scripts that don’t break the 100 page barrier. I would be saving 45 minutes of my night to do something fun and enjoyable if I went back to the slush pile. But then I stopped. I thought, a) I like Andrew. b) This could serve as an example to amateur writers WHY it’s a terrible idea to write a 146 page script. And c) Maybe, just maybe, this will be that .01% of 146 page screenplays that’s good and force me to reevaluate how I approach the large page count rule.

So, was Shadows in that .01%?

Professor Malcom Dobbs and Dr. Butch Rubenstein are founders of the premiere paranormal research team on the planet. They’re the “Jodie Foster in Contact’s” of the paranormal world, willing to go to the ends of the earth to prove that ghosts do, in fact, exist. And they’re currently residing in the best possible place to prove this – a huge mansion with sprawling grounds known as Carrion Manor – a house many consider to be the most haunted in the world.

But with their grant running out, so is their time to prove the existence of ghosts, so the group is forced to take drastic measures. They head to a local nut house and ask for the services of 20-something Brenna, a pretty and kind woman with a dark past. Her entire family was slaughtered when she was a child, and that night she claimed to have heard voices, whispers, contact from another realm. This “contact” is exactly what our team needs to ramp up their experiments.

Basically, what these guys do is similar to the “night vision” sequence in the great horror film, “The Orphanage,” where they use all their technical equipment like computers, and cameras, and microphones, to monitor levels of energy as Brenna walks from room to room throughout the manor. This is one of the first problems I had with the script. There isn’t a lot of variety to these scenes. And we get a lot of them. Brenna walks into a room. The levels spike. Our paranormal team is excited. Some downtime. Then we repeat the process again.

During Brenna’s stay, she starts to fall for one of the team members, a child genius (now 27 years old) named Dr. Schordinger Pike. This was another issue I had with the script, as the development of Pike and Brenna’s relationship was way too simplistic, almost like two 6th graders falling in love, as opposed to a pair of 27 year olds (“She’s way out of my league. Right? Right. Not even the same sport!” Pike starts hyperventilating). Also, I find that when the love story isn’t the centerpiece of the film (in this case, the movie is about a haunted mansion) you can’t give it too much time. You can’t stop your screenplay to show the two lovers running through daisies and professing their love for one another. You almost have to build their relationship up in the background. Empire Strikes Back is a great example of this. Han and Leia fall in love amongst a zillion other things going on. Whereas here, we stop the story time and time again to give these two a scene where they can sit around and talk to each other. Always move your story along first. Never stop it for anything.

Anyway, another subplot that develops is the computer system that’s monitoring the house, dubbed “Casper.” Casper is the “Hal” of the family, and when things start going bad (real ghosts start appearing), Casper wants to do things his way. You probably know what I’m going to say here. A computer that controls the house is a different movie. It has nothing to do with what these guys are doing and therefore only serves to distract from the story. You want to get rid of this and focus specifically on the researchers’ goal (trying to prove that there are ghosts) and the obstacles they run into which make achieving that goal difficult.

I will say there’s some pretty cool stuff about the eclectic group of former house owners, and the fact that a lot of them had unfinished business when they died clues us in that we’ll be seeing them again. And we do. The final act is 30 intense pages of paranormal battles with numerous ghosts and creatures coming to take down our inhabitants, some of whom fall victim to the madness, some of whom escape.  But there are too many dead spots in the script, which makes getting to that climax a chore. 

So, the first thing that needs to be addressed is, “Why is this script so long?” I mean, did we really need this many pages to tell the story? The simple and final answer is no. We don’t need nearly this many pages. The reason a lot of scripts are too long is usually because a writer doesn’t know the specific story they’re trying to tell, so they tell several stories instead. And more stories equals more pages. This would fall in line with my previous observation, that we have the needless “Casper” subplot and a love story that requires the main story to stop every time it’s featured.

Figure out what your story is about and then ONLY GIVE US THE SCENES THAT PUSH THAT PARTICULAR STORY FORWARD. Doesn’t mean you can’t have subplots. Doesn’t mean you can’t have a minor tangent or two. But 98% of your script should be working to push that main throughline forward. So if you look at a similar film – The Orphanage – That’s a film about a woman who loses her son and tries to find him. Go rent that movie now. You’ll see that every single scene serves to push that story forward (find my son). We don’t deviate from that plan.

Another problem here is the long passages where nothing dramatic happens. There’s a tour of the house that begins on page 59 that just stops the story cold. We start with a couple of flirty scenes between Brenna and Pike as we explore a few of the rooms. Then we go into multiple flashbacks of the previous tenants in great detail, one after another. After this, Pike offers us a flashback of his OWN history. So we had this big long exposition scene regarding the house. And we’re following that with another exposition scene. Then Pike shows Brenna the house garden, another key area of the house, and more exposition. This is followed by another character talking about a Vietcong story whose purpose remains unclear to me. The problem here, besides the dozen straight pages of exposition, is that there’s nothing dramatic happening. No mystery, no problem, no twist, nothing at stake, nothing pushing the story forward. It’s just people talking for 12 minutes. And that’s the kind of stuff that will kill a script.

Likewise, there are other elements in Shadows that aren’t needed. For example, there’s a character named Lewis, a slacker intern who never does any work, who disappears for 50-60 pages at a time before popping back up again. We never know who the guy is or why he’s in the story. Later it’s discovered he’s using remote portions of the house to grow pot in. I’m all for adding humor to your story, but the humor should stem from the situation. This is something you’d put in Harold and Kumar Go To Siberia, not a haunted house movie. Again, this is the kind of stuff that adds pages to your screenplay and for no reason. Know what your story is and stay focused on that story. Don’t go exploring every little whim that pops into your head – like pot-growing interns.

This leads us to the ultimate question: What *is* the story in Shadows? Well, it’s almost clear. But it needs to be more clear. Because the clearer it is to you, the easier it will be to tell your story. These guys are looking for proof of the paranormal. I get that. But why? What do they gain by achieving this goal? A vague satisfaction for proving there are ghosts? Audiences tend to want something more concrete. So in The Orphanage, the goal is to find the son (concrete). In the recently reviewed Red Lights, a similar story about the paranormal, the goal is to bring down Silver (concrete). If there was something more specific lost in this house. Or something specific that happened in this house, then you’d have that concrete goal. Maybe they’re trying to prove a murder or find a clue to some buried treasure on the property? Giving your characters something specific to do is going to give the story a lot more juice.

Here’s the thing. There’s a story in here. Paranormal guys researching ghosts in the most haunted house in the world? I can get on board with that. And there’s actually some pretty cool ideas here. Like the old knight who used to live on the property who was never found. There’s potential there. But this whole story needs to be streamlined. I mean you need to book this guy on The Biggest Loser until he’s down to a slim and healthy 110 pages. Because people aren’t going to give you an opportunity until you show them that you respect their time. I realize this is some tough love critiquing going on here, but that’s only because I want Andrew to kick ass on the rewrite and on all his future scripts. And he will if he avoids these mistakes. Good luck Andrew. Hope these observations helped. :)

Script link: Shadows

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

What I learned: This script was a little too prose-heavy, another factor contributing to the high page count. You definitely want to paint a picture when you write but not at the expense of keeping the eyes moving. Lines like this, “A dying jack o’ lantern smiles lewdly. The faintly glowing grimace flickers in the dark as if struggling for life,” can easily become “A flickering jack o’ lantern smiles lewdly,” which conveys the exact same image in half the words. Just keep it moving.