Get Your Script Reviewed!: To submit your script for an Amateur Review, send in a PDF of your script, along with the title, genre, logline, and finally, something interesting about yourself and/or your script that you’d like us to post along with the script if it gets reviewed. Use my submission address please: Carsonreeves3@gmail.com. Remember that your script will be posted. If you’re nervous about the effects of a bad review, feel free to use an alias name and/or title. It’s a good idea to resubmit every couple of weeks so your submission stays near the top.

Genre: Thriller
Premise: (from writer) A mother and daughter held hostage at an isolated farmhouse struggle to survive as one of their captors grows increasingly unstable.
Why You Should Read: (from writer) This script was a Nicholl quarterfinalist in 2011. It’s gotten some attention in the past, but has always managed to get lost in the shuffle. I thought this would be a good opportunity to inject new life into a script I feel has been overlooked. I don’t claim the concept is unique, but I do believe the execution is. I wrote it partly to prove to myself I could write a contained thriller and still be original. It’s difficult to stand out once the budget gets below a certain level, but I think this script shows a good effort. It’s got strong structure, three dimensional characters, and has something to say I’ve wanted to express in a story for a long time. It’s a quick read in both style and page count and I’m confident you’ll enjoy it.
Writer: Breanne Mattson
Details: 100 pages

Halle Berry for Audrey?

I don’t know what it is with you Scriptshadow readers. But you always seem to endorse the darkest shit! Last week it was child murder. This week it’s moms and daughters being tied up and threatened in every way imaginable. There’s even a rape backstory. What ever happened to happy stuff!? Why can’t there be a script about ducklings and puppies? Maybe a ducklet and a puppy named Pupplestor team up to solve a farmland crime? It can be a prequel to Babe. I don’t know. This is probably a reflection of me. Something about my writing brings you dark-minded folk to my site. I must be a sicko.

With that being said, today’s script, while hurting my happiness, is actually quite good. The story flies by. Lots of conflict. Lots of drama. Lots of suspense. You could do a lot worse than Warning Shot, that’s for sure. But why hasn’t it done more for Breanne? Let’s throw on our script-fighting capes and find out!

30 year old Audrey is a former valedictorian who dropped out of college for reasons unknown (reasons we’ll find out later). She’s got an 8 year old daughter, Cheyenne, who’s the only thing that gets her through the day. And those days aren’t pretty. Her diner tips barely get above the 2 dollar variety and she’s THIS close to getting evicted from a trailer park. That’s when you know things are really bad.

Lucky for her, her grandfather dies! Well, not “lucky,” but you know what I mean. He left Audrey his farm, and that means her and her daughter at least have a roof over their heads. Little do they know, across town, this loser named Bobby doesn’t know about the grandfather’s death. And Bobby’s grandfather (who’s on his deathbed) has been trying to get the water rights from that man for 60 years. Bobby thinks if he can get them, his grandfather will finally respect him.

Bobby’s plan is to hire the ultra slimy Rainy and his dope head pot dealer, Juarez. The two have simple instructions. Go get the old man to sign the rights away to the water but don’t kill him. Well, when they get there, they find that Audrey and Cheyenee are there instead. And that Grandpa is dead.

So they tie them up, wondering what to do. And that’s when the loose cannon, Rainy, starts getting other ideas – as in maybe he’ll have a little fun before doing business. The threat of rape quickly turns into the threat of murder, but it’s when an innocent church goer, David, comes by and accidentally sees what’s going on, that Rainy loses his shit. He ties all of them up, with plans to kill the lot.

This is WAY more than Juarez bargained for, and he’s eventually able to restrain Rainy, but in this house, on this day, nobody has control of the situation for long. The guns and the power keep shifting, leaving small windows for the weak to make their move. But nothing will prepare anybody for when Bobby shows up. He wants this deal done and he wants it done now. And he doesn’t care who’s standing at the end of the process.

You know, I don’t think I’ve ever 100% agreed with a writer’s “Why You Should Read” until today. This script is EXACTLY what Breanne says it is. The concept’s a little bland. The structure’s really tight. It moves fast. It feels different from other contained thrillers. Understanding your work well enough to know exactly how it comes off is a talent in itself.

The thing holding it back is that lack of a compelling concept. I mean, if I’m a producer and I’m trying to figure out how to market this movie, I’m confused. What are you selling? A movie about a bad guy who ties up a mom and her daughter? That kind of thing happens in almost EVERY MOVIE at some point. It’s an eventual part of every story. So to make something so ubiquitous the hook of your film? That’s not going to get people excited.

I suppose if you got movie stars to play the parts, it might make some money, but these days, with more and more star vehicles going straight to VOD, it’s just really hard. I mean maybe that’s your answer. You get this made as an independent film for a small price and then go straight to VOD. That could happen. But as someone looking at it from the other side, I need to get excited about the concept. And I’m not. Which sucks. Because it is well written, and like Breanne says, well-executed.

In addition to those things mentioned, it’s got a great villain in Rainy. I mean this guy is scary shit. This is highlighted in the section where Rainy doesn’t have a gun. Juarez has taken charge and put Rainy “in the corner” until Bobby gets there. Despite the fact that Rainy doesn’t have a weapon, he’s the scariest he is all movie. The way he grills Audrey with probing questions, you just know he’s biding his time. You know he’s got something up his sleeve. The dude sends chills up your spine!

The dialogue here was really good too (with the exception of Cheyenne, who spoke too much like an adult at times). There’s a strong emotional anchor with Audrey and her daughter. Over the course of the script, we learn that Cheyenne may have not been in the plans, which forces Audrey to tell Cheyenne the truth about her father. And I mean come on. A mother and daughter in a life or death situation? Even if you don’t add a lick of backstory, we’re automatically rooting for them. So the script pretty much has us right from the start.

And then there’s the metaphor (spoiler) behind the story, which is obviously the fact that Audrey was raped in college (which is why she had Cheyenne) and then the farm’s water rights weren’t even hers. They belonged to the city. Which meant none of this ever had to happen. Just like the guy who raped her in college, all they had to do was ask. So that certainly adds an extra layer to the story that makes it hit harder.

The only weak story element was how Bobby’s plan didn’t make sense. He was going to come here, get this woman to sign the rights away, then kill her? It doesn’t take the Dateline Team to figure out that a woman signing over the rights to her land then getting killed a day later may be connected somehow. So I would’ve liked if Bobby’s plan was a bit more tidy, seeing as he’s supposed to be a smart guy.

Breanne is a really good writer. But this is a hard sell.  If I were her, I’d contact every big actress with a daughter, preferably young daughters.  Protecting your daughter is such a primal instinct I could see one of them making a big connection with this material.  And once you have the actress, you have a chance to make your movie.  I’ll be keeping an eye on Breanne.  This is a solid effort.  I can’t wait to see what she does with a bigger concept.

Script link: Warning Shot

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

What I learned: When you’re doing one of these contained thrillers, it’s all about changing the dynamic to keep the story fresh. Cause you can’t change the setting. So changing who’s in charge, what information is revealed, when new characters are inserted – anything that changes the dynamic in that room – that’s how you keep a low-location story fresh. So here, Rainy starts out in charge. Then David shows up. Then Juarez takes charge. Then Bobby shows up and takes charge. Changing the dynamic keeps the story from becoming stagnant.

Get your script reviewed on Scriptshadow!: To submit your script for an Amateur Review, send in a PDF of your script, along with the title, genre, logline, and finally, something interesting about yourself and/or your script that you’d like us to post if it gets reviewed. Use my submission address please: Carsonreeves3@gmail.com. Remember that your script will be posted. If you’re nervous about the effects of a bad review, feel free to use an alias name and/or title. It’s a good idea to resubmit every couple of weeks so your submission stays near the top.

Genre: Contained Thriller
Premise: (from writer) Trapped in a shrinking air pocket deep beneath the ocean’s surface, the survivors of a plane crash battle to stay alive long enough for the rescue teams to locate them.
Why you should read: (from writer) “This is my eighth screenplay, all in the action thriller genre. Submerged adheres rigidly to all of the spec script rules laid out on Scriptshadow – it is a low-budget, contained thriller with a marketable concept, set in a unique location, featuring a proactive protagonist who must conquer a potentially fatal flaw to succeed. And it all happens in a reader-friendly 94 pages!”
Writer: Dan Hall
Details: 93 pages

You know, it’s funny that this came a day after my Breaking Bad article, because just like Dan promised, there’s a whole lot of GSU in this script. When the plane crashes, it gives us a problem that leads to a goal (get out of the plane and find safety), stakes (death), and urgency (the plane is taking on water, leaving them with less and less time to survive). There are plenty of obstacles along the way (asthma attacks, major injuries, sharks), and there’s a bit of conflict as well (mainly from douchebag brother-in-law Vinnie). It’s set up, structurally, almost exactly like yesterday’s Breaking Bad episode. So it’s a perfect script to compare and see how it holds up.

3 years from 30, Alice Shaw is a first year resident at a hospital trying to make it in the E.R. unit. Problem is, she always chokes. The intensity of the situation always gets to her and if she doesn’t have a superior to help, she’s very likely to hurt someone, or worse, kill them. For this reason, she’s told by her superiors that she may want to look for a more laid back doctor gig. This upsets her to no end. All Alice has ever wanted to be was an E.R. doctor.

Easing some of this pain is the fact that Alice is getting married to Matt, who, if you did a girlie checklist of everything you’ve ever wanted in a man, would meet all the boxes.  So Alice’s life isn’t so terrible after all.  With the wedding being out of town that weekend, Alice, Matt, Matt’s step-brother, Vinnie (a loudmouth asshole), Vinnie’s friend (brother?) Tavon, and Tavon’s secretly pregnant girlfriend Brooke, hop on a flight together to get to the festivities.

In a harrowing (and detailed) series of events, a fire erupts in the cockpit and the plane crashes into the ocean. The plane sinks into the water until it hits an unstable reef, and since our five protagonists were the only ones in the back (due to a previously set-up plot point), they’re the only passengers to survive, along with Columbian stewardess, Gabriela.

What follows is pure unadulterated survival. The backside of the plane contains a fairly large air pocket that, for now, allows them some time to formulate a plan. But soon Brooke’s having an asthma attack and since her inhaler is in the cargo hold, the team has to start splitting up. Things, of course, go wrong (when swimming into a submerged plane, try not to get trapped by a food cart), people start getting injured (and even die), and they realize if they don’t figure out something soon, they’re blowfish food.

Despite being in the middle of nowhere, they decide their best bet is to get up to the surface and signal for help. But that plan gets tricky when some leftover sharks from Sharknado come sniffing around. I have seen where this kind of thing ends up and it’s never good. With her future husband badly injured and the other friends desperately in need of direction, it looks like Alice is going to have to overcome that performance anxiety and figure a way out of this mess.

So here’s the thing. Really snappy script. Really crisp writing. Great structure. Active protagonist. Dan promotes all of these things in his pitch and, thankfully, he didn’t lie. And there are some miscellaneous gold stars to be given as well. The plane crash, in particular, was not only harrowing, but well-researched! Usually when I see a no-apologies Thriller, authenticity isn’t a priority. You might get a writer who doesn’t know the difference between a cockpit and a pit stop and decides to guess based on his previous movie experiences. Here, the pilots are going through a checklist, they’re reacting to the fire in a believable way. Their check-backs to the control tower are believable. That kept my disbelief suspended.

However, these days, I’m always reading a script with my producing hat on. And it’s a really different way to look at a script compared to an impartial internet blogger. Impartial Internet Blogger is looking more at the writing. Producer is asking, “Can this be a movie? Will people come to see it? Does it need to be developed a lot? If so, is it a good enough idea to put in all that time and effort for?” And when I look at Submerged, I say… almost.

I have two big problems. First, the characters are all really thin. And I battle with this all the time. I know thrillers aren’t supposed to have tons of character development. But I still have to feel a closeness and/or a connectivity to them ON SOME LEVEL so that I care about them. The GSU can be the greatest in the world, but if I don’t care about the people WITHIN the GSU, it doesn’t matter.  And if I don’t EVEN KNOW the people in the GSU, that’s even worse!  Yesterday’s Breaking Bad episode had an advantage of course (20 episodes to develop their characters), so we automatically cared about those guys. But that’s the big difference between why that episode was awesome and this script is just pretty good. Strong characters.

I also thought the stuff in the plane after the crash was pretty generic. An asthma attack? We’ve seen that so many times. And it takes up a good 12-14 pages! And from then on, everything in that section was pretty standard. Nothing that unique or memorable happened. It was all garden-variety “injury” and “plane-shifting” stuff. And it really brings us back to the characters. When your story slows down and it’s ONLY about your characters, they HAVE to be well-developed and deep and interesting enough for the limelight. Because they are now the only things holding up your scenes.

That’s not to say Dan wasn’t putting in the effort. April, for example, had this flaw that she broke down under pressure. But truth be told, that’s a really generic flaw. And it doesn’t really get into who she is as a person. It’s more about the surface-level issue of saving people, which is pretty thin. If her flaw was that she was afraid of commitment, for example, and this impending marriage was making her nervous, then this journey could’ve been more about her realizing how great Matt is. It would’ve been more about who she was on the inside, which is always more interesting.

As for the rest of the characters, I can’t tell you anything about them except that Vinnie was an asshole and Brooke was pregnant. I didn’t know anything about Matt. I didn’t know anything about Gabriela. I didn’t know anything about Tavon. Even Vinnie is only barely a character. He’s an asshole. But why? Because that causes conflict? Not good enough.

One way to solve this problem is to do something interesting with the relationships. Once you create an interesting dynamic between people, their dialogue is more likely to reveal parts of their lives, which in turn develops the characters. What if, for example, April used to be with Vinnie? And three years ago, she left him for Matt? Now that motivation we wanted for Vinnie being such an asshole? It’s right there. This guy stole his girl. Now we’re bringing up the past. Now we’re generating conflict both on top of and underneath the surface. And now, in those slower moments, you have something for your characters to actually hash out. It’s not JUST about hitting the plot beats.

Now where Submerged threw me was when the sharks showed up. Because up until that point, I kept thinking, “This is too thin.” “This is too thin.” “Focusing the whole story on trying to get out of the fuselage isn’t big enough for a feature film.” But then a little past the half-way point, they get to the surface, sharks start swimming around, and it almost becomes a different movie. It’s now a shark film. The whole time in the plane I felt like it needed that extra element, and then when I got it, I thought, “Wait, isn’t it too late for this?” Maybe we need to start teasing the sharks earlier, I’m not sure. But I admit, the shark angle definitely makes this more marketable. The producer side of me started to have doubts about my initial reaction.

But ultimately, my uncertainty about the half-plane/half-shark structure and the really thin character development would make this a no-go for me on the producer end. However, this is the kind of thing that one of these straight-to-video productions companies might love. And I know that’s not the dream six-figure spec sale scenario, but it’s something I’d consider if I were Dan. It might lead to enough money to spend more time writing, which means getting better faster, which means finally getting that big splashy sale.

Script link: script link taken down…

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

What I learned: Structure is your left brain. Character development is your right brain. You will be better at one than the other. Know which one is your weakness, PRACTICE IT, and get better. Because only being good at one side (like Submerged) leaves readers feeling gypped. Readers are greedy people. They want BOTH sides. If I were Dan, I would spend the next 4 weeks writing a character piece. Not for anyone to read, but to practice making a story interesting via character development alone. No big fancy plot!  Just interesting characters. That’s how you learn. Then come back and apply those lessons to these characters. Because if you make these guys strong, memorable, and interesting, I can promise you this script will sell.

Sing it with me now.  “Mish Mash Monday…. Mish Maasssh Muuunnnnday!”

There were no major releases this weekend that contained see-ocity and therefore no big movies to write about. Unless you’re Team Smurf (hey, Hank Azaria was genius as Gargamel in Smurfs 1 – not that I’ve, um, seen it). As for the other major release, 2 Guns, I thought it was pretty original when I read it, but once I saw the trailer, it dropped on the priority list to somewhere between a kitten funeral and sign flipping. It was like all the originality was sucked out of whatever I read. It looked Generic City, like Safe House in the desert.

I was discussing this the other day. Everyone starts off making a movie with these great intentions of creating something unique, but as the development process (and the production process) goes on, everybody starts freaking out that people aren’t going to “get it” and therefore tip toe closer and closer to the most generic version of whatever they’re doing. I understand this phenomenon because it’s scary to go off and be different. But I wish more production teams (and studios) would trust themselves with what they originally bought and stick to that vision.

My movie-going experience was not totally deprived of optimism, however. Miss SS and I went to see The Spectacular Now and both really liked it. Let me just offer some words of wisdom though for those in the LA area. Do NOT go see any movies at the West LA landmark unless you a) wear adult diapers, b) sport life alert or c) smell like a hospital. The median age of the showing we were at (about a high school couple, ironically) was 87 at least. The 106 year old woman next to me wore one of those audio assist headphones and it was BLASTING static louder than a freaking Kanye West concert. It didn’t help that her husband had to go to the bathroom 9 times during the first 45 minutes. And you know the annoying person at a theater who always asks their date/friend, “What did they just say?” Imagine if there were FIFTY of them in a single theater. There was more talking going on OUTSIDE the movie than inside it. I don’t know if we accidentally stumbled in on a special hospice showing or Landmark was allowing Civil War vets to use their facilities, but you won’t see me at the Landmark again for another 60 years at least.

Anyway, from what I was able to hear, the performances of the two leads (Miles “No, I’m not going to be in Fantastic Four” Teller and Shailene “I got cut out of Spiderman 2 because Andrew Garfield wants a male love interest” Woodley) lived up to the hype. They have wonderful chemistry that elevated a script which was already good to begin with. And I loved that director James Ponsoldt used long takes with his leads, which made the dialogue even more natural than it already was. That decision is what’s making this film play so well in my opinion. We don’t get any of those hard artificial dialogue cuts where you can tell the editor is fishing for the best line reading. The actors were allowed to just let go, and the film feels like real life as a result.

The only thing I didn’t like about The Spectacular Now was the last twenty minutes as it reminded me of a problem a lot of screenplays (especially character-driven screenplays) face: RRSS (“Relationship Resolution Stacking Syndrome”). Whenever you write a character piece that has your main character embedded in multiple relationships that need resolving, the last 20 pages of the script becomes a chore of stacking all those resolution scenes on top of each other.

That happened big time in Spectacular Now. Obviously, our main character was going to need to resolve stuff with his absent dad. That was fine. But then we have the scene where he wraps up his issues with his sister. Then the scene where he wraps up issues with his boss. Then the scene where he wraps up issues with his mom. Finally the scene where he wraps up things with Aimee. It just went on and on and on. I feel like there’s a more delicate way to handle this, where you don’t feel the scenes climbing up on top of each other.

Then again, if you try and create space between them, the third act can go on forever, which is a whole other problem to deal with. I think the key may be to resolve some of these relationships earlier. Maybe at the end of the second act. And also ask yourself if you really need to resolve every relationship. Like did we really care about his three-scene boss enough to resolve that? I know the writers might say, “Well yeah, but the boss is the one who makes it clear that he’s not fooling anyone with his drinking. So that scene was needed.” True, but remember, this is writing. There are a million ways to solve a problem. Why not give one of the other characters he’s resolving issues with that observation?

Another idea is to create devices where you can resolve a relationship quickly, as opposed to with endless melodramatic conversations. Good Will Hunting did this famously. Damon and Affleck set up the whole Chuckie, “I’m hoping that one day I show up for work and you aren’t there” moment early on. That way, at the end, they could quickly show Chuckie going to Will’s door and Will isn’t there, and that’s it. Relationship resolved. And now that I think about it, they resolved the relationship with Robin Williams quickly too. Will leaves him a note that says, “I’m going to see about a girl.” (another payoff of a setup). So maybe the lesson here is to set something up earlier so you don’t have RRSS problems in your final act.

Moving on to a completely different genre, I finally saw Evil Dead (the remake) this weekend on iTunes. I have to say that I was really disappointed. When I read the script, I thought it was kind of clever that they created this whole “heroin-addicted woman takes her friends out to the middle of nowhere to help her beat her addiction” storyline. I’d never seen that as a way to start one of these middle-of-nowhere horror movies before.

But when I watched how this played out onscreen, something felt off and I couldn’t figure out what it was. Everybody seemed so… bummed out. I’m talking right from the beginning. Nobody really liked each other. They all seemed to be in a pissy mood. And that’s when it hit me. The detox storyline was all wrong. It meant that the characters were already starting in a dark place. So there was no shift when the horror hit. Everybody was pissed off and upset beforehand and everyone was pissed off and upset after.

There’s a reason the classic formula of a bunch of happy college kids going out to a secluded cabin works. Because we start from a high place. We start with a positive charge, with hope. That way, it’s more jarring when bad shit starts happening to them. There’s an arc in the emotion. And we never experienced any arc in Evil Dead. I mean, it was a well-made movie, but it was such a fucking downer. As silly as it sounds, we like to ENJOY being scared. This film made being scared sad.

Moving on, I couldn’t help but notice this story about George Clooney and Daniel Loeb. The short of it is that this guy, Daniel Loeb, is one of the biggest investors in Sony, and he got really pissed when two of Sony’s big blockbusters bombed this summer (After Earth and White House Down). So he publicly bitches and moans that Amy Pascal and the Sony folk have no idea what they’re doing and that Sony, to protect people like him, needs to sell off the entertainment division to another company (or something like that – I don’t understand all this financial terminology). In other words, he’s trying to strike fear in Hollywood so that they become even MORE risk-averse than they already are. And we all know what risk-averse gets us.

Well George Clooney to the fucking rescue. Clooney basically told Loeb to go fuck himself. That Loeb doesn’t know jack shit about how the entertainment industry works and that he was part of the financial culture that almost bankrupted the U.S., so why the fuck should he have anything to say about how to run the movie business. I mean he really handed it to him. And when you think about it, that was a dangerous thing to do. Clooney is a movie star, but money crushes everything, and this Loeb guy is loaded. You just don’t hear guys of this stature taking each other on in the public like this. Props to Clooney for speaking his mind and defending this business we’re all dying to get into.

Look, I didn’t think After Earth was very good. And the trailers for White House Down made it look like they cared more about Channing Tatum’s muscle definition than, you know, a story. But that doesn’t mean Sony won’t make good movies in the future. There will always be duds. I can only imagine how difficult it is to be a studio head and come up with a slate of films for the entire year. There are so many variables at play and you don’t always get the movie you thought you signed up for. But this business is predicated on taking risks and if you, as an investor, don’t know that’s what you signed up for, take your money elsewhere. This business is mega-profitable and we’ll find the money somewhere else.

Finally, I wanted to congratulate writer Mickey Fisher. He did well in a small pilot contest, which got him repped by Brooklyn Weaver, and now he finds the pilot he entered in that contest (Extant – about an android boy) as the hottest TV pilot in town. Every network wants it. This guy is about to become very rich, very fast, and probably get a guarantee that his show will be on the air. That never happens. And it definitely never happens for a nobody.

I read the pilot (the 2013 version that went out to the networks) and while it starts slow, it really gets good at the end. In addition to the android boy storyline, his mother has just gotten back from an 18 month solo-trip on the space station where she’s inexplicably pregnant. We have hints that aliens could be involved. There are mysterious Japanese men coming out of hyper-jello sleep. And probably, most interestingly, the pilot poses questions about a future society WITHOUT the famed “3 robot rules.” In other words, the robots can do whatever they want. They’re not bound by directives like “never hurt humans.” And the more I think about that, the more I’m starting to see the reason why everyone wants this show. I mean it has the possibility of going on for 30 seasons if approached right. We could watch as these robots integrate deeper and deeper into society and explore the issues and philosophical questions that come with that integration.  What the humans want.  What the robots want.  If robots should have the same rights as humans. What happens if a robot kills someone?  They’re still the same person after an 80 year jail sentence.  Do they just get out again?  The show would be able to explore issues extensively that movies like Bi-Centenial Man and A.I. and 2001 and I-Robot were only briefly able to touch on because of their 2 hour format.  That sounds like it could be pretty awesome to me.

That’s all for Mish-Mash Monday. I had this epiphany about clichés that I wanted to get into but I’ll save that for another time. See you tomorrow when I give you 10 screenwriting mistakes to avoid via Southland Tales.

For the fully immersive 4-D experience, make sure to read today’s review on your commute to work!

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

Genre: Sci-fi found-footage (although the writer prefers the term: “live streaming event”)
Premise: A trio of car-poolers who podcast their commute every morning come upon a mysterious van that begins defying the laws of physics. The longer they follow the van, the stranger and more suspicious it becomes.
About: Writer Bryan Stumpf is looking to either sell Commute outright or raise money to direct it himself.
Writer: Bryan Stumpf
Details: 90 pages

So Wednesday night, I was getting through the last of the pilot scripts in preparation for PILOT WEEK (which is next week. Yahooo!), and, not surprisingly, I was losing my sanity. I had to read so many scripts back to back that my eyeballs had courier font burned onto the retinas. But these moments are often the most enlightening as a reader. When you read so many scripts next to each other, you realize how few people actually write anything unique.

We’re all telling the same stories with the same characters, using the same writing style, with the same plot twists and the same endings. Sure, there are little differences here and there, but the majority of writers are rehashing their favorite movies in one form or another, copying their favorite writer’s style, instead of looking for new ideas and telling stories in new ways. So when one of those scripts does come around, it’s impossible NOT to notice. It’s like, “Oh, finally, something different.”

“Commute” is not a pilot. It’s a feature. But when I picked it up, I noticed right away that I hadn’t seen this idea before. First and foremost, we’re introduced to a new take on found footage. A video podcast commute. Okay, I’ll admit, it was a little weird. But it was so unique, I wanted to know how it would play out.

The man in charge of this podcast is Adam Earling, a 25 year old who works at a ski resort outside the city and therefore must make a long commute to work every day. He’s decided to create a commute podcast with two of his co-workers (cameraman Jorma and Tweet-Girl Dawn) to move the ride along faster, and it’s worked out pretty well. For a tiny podcast, they’ve amassed a substantial audience. Nobody’s going to confuse them for the Adam Corolla Podcast, but at least folks find them entertaining.

On this particular day, the commute seems to be going fine until a black van crashes into them, then drives off as if nothing happened. Curious (and let’s face it, because it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to them on their commute) Adam starts following the fan. Strangely enough, the thing isn’t speeding away. Rather it seems… determined. Determined to reach its destination.

As Adam and crew document this strange event, they receive news updates that a huge irregular meteor shower hit last night. When Adam notices the wheels on the van seemingly skidding across the ground, he starts putting together a theory. What if this black van and those meteors were related somehow?

As the real-time event continues, Adam’s listeners tweet him with their opinions on what to do. Some say to engage the van, others say to stay away. But it’s what Adam, Jorma and Dawn hear on the news next that really changes the game. People are spotting these black vans all over the world. And just like this one, they’re barreling forward, knocking into cars, and continuing on.

Eventually, it becomes clear why the vans are acting so strange. They’re alien. Adam theorizes that each of them, then, is trying to get to a particular spot on the planet where they can “triangulate” a laser, allowing them to take out the whole damn planet. Adam figures that if you take out one link in the chain, you take out the whole chain. In other words, our podcasters are the only shot at saving the world. And because these vans seem to be indestructible, they’re going to have a hell of a time figuring out how to stop theirs.

Commute is a hard script to analyze. At first glance, it has a lot of good things going for it. It’s different. It takes chances. It reads fast. It’s short. There’s a clear goal. It builds. The stakes are sky high. It’s marketable. There are lots of mysteries. There are some fun sequences (like having to throw one of their cameras inside the van to see what’s inside).

Despite all this, when you’re reading Commute, something about it feels off. And I struggled to figure out what exactly was causing that feeling. One of the issues, I surmised, was the characters. They didn’t feel real enough. Yesterday we talked about flaws, inner conflicts, and vices. I barely saw any of that with these characters. And the one sort-of inner conflict happening with our hero, Adam, surrounded a race-car past that was too cheesy and on-the-nose to take seriously.

The way these characters interacted just never felt genuine, particularly early on, and that’s the time you need the reader to latch on to your characters the most, not pull away. I pulled away early and for that reason, I never became invested. I say this time and time again. We need to either fall in love with or become fascinated by your main characters right away so that we care for and root for them immediately. If we don’t, we’ll tune out before we get to the meat of the story.

But the big issue with Commute was that there were too many strange and unbelievable choices being made. Take the lack of cop cars for example. While the alien van isn’t doing anything “wrong” at first (besides hitting them), and because the world starts falling apart in the second half of the script, an argument could be made that there’d be no cops. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t envision a scenario where tons of cops weren’t following and trying to stop this thing.

Then there were strange things like a motorcycle podcast fan riding next to them, tweeting them his communication. A motorcyclist communicating by text? Then there was the fact that our characters became super-human due to their proximity to the alien van. Super-heroes?  Then at one point, they realize the van is held together by a sort of gelatinous compound. So to destroy it, they start scooping parts of it out with their hands. Scooping?

Alien vans, a gelatinous construct, no cops, characters with super-powers, a motorcycle accomplice communicating via tweeting. At a certain point, there are just too many things for the reader to buy into. If you challenge a reader’s suspension of disbelief enough, sooner or later it’s going to break. That’s how I felt here. I mean it’s hard enough to buy into the fact that aliens are constructing vans. You’re asking a ton from your reader right there. So to keep laying more and more outrageous things on top of that? Like superpowers? You’re really pushing the envelope at that point.

With that said, there’s something to this idea. There were moments where I could see a movie here. But it needs to be stripped of all its outrageousness and weird choices, and approached from a more grounded point of view, not unlike the tone of War of the Worlds. Some really crazy shit happened in that movie. But the execution of the film was always straight-forward and realistic.

So, what about you guys? How was your commute?

Script link: Commute

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

What I learned: There’s a moment early on in Commute where Kawasaki Karl (our motorcyclist) tells Adam (via tweet) to check his Youtube channel for some info on the meteors. Adam does, and we see that Kawasaki Karl does a show of his own called, “Rooftop Stoners.” During the video, we hear a meteor crash, seemingly the point of Karl’s request, but instead of cutting out there, the conversation shifts between Karl and his co-host to Adam. The two start discussing how Adam used to be this amazing race car driver until he got into this big accident. An accident he could’ve avoided if he hadn’t froze. Now to Bryan, our writer, this is a necessary moment. He wants to inform the reader that Karl used to race, as that will come into play later as he chases the alien van. But to us, it feels really obvious and on-the-nose and “let’s stop the movie so we can tell the audience Adam’s backstory.” This is an important lesson. It doesn’t matter how badly you have to get some exposition or backstory into your story. Until you can get it in in a way that’s invisible and doesn’t draw attention to itself, you haven’t tried hard enough. Because audiences will spot this kind of thing every time.

note: Scroll down for the weekend’s Amateur Offerings post!

Hey everyone.  Carson here.  Today we have a very familiar guest poster, professional screenwriter John Jarrell.  You may remember John from his Hollywood Horror Stories post a few months back. John wanted to write another article for the site, but this time focus a little less on horror and a little more on hope.  Hence, today, John will be discussing that moment every writer dreams of – his first screenplay sale.  As you may remember from his last post, John runs an awesome screenwriting class here in LA, one of the few held by actual working screenwriters.  This man not only tells how you how to write what Hollywood’s looking for, but explains how to navigate the elusive trenches that only those with experience in the industry know how to navigate.  If you feel like your writing has stagnated, if you don’t know where to go next, or if you just want some really awesome instruction, check out John’s site to learn more about him, then sign up for his Tweak Class.  You won’t regret it!

Trust me — nothing will ever quite match the crack-high of earning your first real money from screenwriting.

Experienced this yet? You and your bros crash some screening, party, mixer. People (even women!) ask what you do. You admit that you’re a (cough) screenwriter.

Great, they say, wow. Anything I’d be familiar with?

Not yet, you explain, you’re unproduced and haven’t sold anything… but Lionsgate is really, REALLY excited about a project of yours, and it could be any day now…
And that’s pretty much where the pussy hunt ends.

Because other than credits and/or money, there’s no standard by which civilians and Industry insiders can possibly differentiate between those working hard to become legit screenwriters and the army of ass-clowns out there just playing at it.

So… what’s an aspiring screenwriter to do? How can we rid ourselves of this dreaded Wannabe Syndrome, shake the metaphorical monkeys clawing at our backs? Parents, classmates, landlords, loan collectors, the faux-hipster who spotted you Twenty at The Farmacy, and, most importantly, our own stratospheric expectations?

The answer’s pretty straightforward.

Get paid for your screenwriting.

Bury a fifty-foot putt. Knock the guy through the ropes. Or as DMX so succinctly puts it, “Break ’em off somethin'”.

Because rightly or wrongly, the business of screenwriting ultimately comes down to convincing a complete stranger to give you real money for something you typed into Final Draft.

Actually, this is great news – that part about strangers paying money for scripts. Because they’re still doing it, making the blank page the great equalizer for us all, every screenwriter’s secret weapon.

Yeah, sure, no shit, John. Love the concept. But where the hell does one even START in this godforsaken town? By what means do you actually propose to get this done?

Bottom line? By any and all means necessary. Hard work. Blind luck. Freak breaks. Perfect timing. Brute Force.

At least that’s what worked for me.

*********

Before you can get paid, however, you need an agent or manager. Getting my first agent is one of those bizarre, by-the-seat-of-your-pants Hollywood stories.

Summer 1990, my actor buddy Mike was cast in perhaps the most nonsensical martial arts movie of all-time — Iron Heart starring Britton Lee. Britton was actually Korean, not Chinese, and shouldn’t be confused with Bruce Lee, Bruce Le, Bruce Li, Dragon Lee, Bruce Dragon Li, or any other Enter The Dragon copycats of that era.

Shooting was in Oregon, and late one night Mike went to a wedding party at the Portland Marriot. The bash got crazy loud, completely out of hand. Two women from an adjoining suite came over to complain, but rather than turn the racket down, the Groom convinced them to stay and party instead.

The blonde one was hot, and my bro took a liquored shine to her. Mike’s a pretty handsome guy (he became a Network soap star years later) and so he followed Young MC’s advice to the Pepsi Generation to just “bust a move”. (Under 30? Google it.)

Small talk kicked up. “Where are you from?”, “What do you do?”, etc.

So she tells Mike she’s a literary agent in Los Angeles.

And Mike, bless his heart, blurts out — “Wow. I know about the best script!”

Cue needle scratching LP surface. This chick’s looking at him like, I’m on vacation, in Portland Fuckin’ Oregon, and I’m still getting scripts thrown at me!”

But he kept her talking (like I said, Mike’s pretty hot himself) and put it out there that I’d gone to NYU and long story short, she told him this —

“If you’re serious, leave a copy at the front desk and I’ll have somebody in L.A. look at it. I fly out at 6 a.m. tomorrow.”

Want to know if your best buddy is the real deal? Here’s the gold standard.

Mike hauled ass back to his hotel, got the only copy of the script within 3000 miles, penned a quick note with my contact info, then drove all the way back to the Marriot again, at 3 a.m., and left my script for her.

Raises the bar pretty damned high, doesn’t it? Saying nothing of the fact he could’ve gotten laid if he hadn’t decided to hook me up instead.

Next morning, Mike hipped me to what happened, and I was like, great man, thanks, really appreciate it… and promptly forgot all about it. I’d already had my ass kicked so many times over that script I’d given up all hope. Shitty coverage, angry agency rejection letters, demoralizing notes from two junior, junior, baby execs, all that. A man can only eat so much shit in one sitting.

But one week later I found a message on my Panasonic answering machine.

“Hi, I’m Susanne Walker, from the New Talent Agency in Los Angeles. I’d like you to call me back. I read your script and I think it could be very, very big.”

Completely blissed out and brimming with newfound hope, I drove down to L.A. in my ’66 Bug, $200 to my name, ready to take my rightful place astride the Industry’s brightest and best paid.

Susanne got me meetings everywhere. Mace Neufeld, Scott Rudin, Paramount, Warners – all the Town’s heavy hitters. This was Ground Zero of the ’90’s Big Spec Era. It was ridiculous then, like a cartoon when compared to today’s Business. Writers were selling dirty cocktail napkins sketched with story ideas for a million cash. As the trades boldly confirmed each morning, with a decent script, anything and everything was possible.

There was only one little glitch.

Bad timing.

My script was essentially Taxi Driver meets Romeo And Juliet. Two tough Irish kids, living in the burned-out bowels of Jersey City get in trouble with black gangsters and the Mob, gunplay and tragedy quickly to ensue. People loved the gritty action and characters, and it was the type of genre film Studios were still interested in making back then.

But then State of Grace opened, just as I was taking all these meetings, I’m talking same exact week. Even though it boasted Sean Penn and Gary Oldman, it completely cratered at the box office, sinking its home studio, Orion.

Everybody agreed, our stories were COMPLETELY different. But they did share the same world, and quite literally overnight, all my hard work turned toxic, Fukushima’d by State of Grace’s blast radius.

One veteran producer put it perfectly — “It’s a shame one big, dumb movie out there is going to kill your sale.”

And that’s exactly what happened.

My new agent had nothing for me after that. One unknown with one good unsold spec wasn’t any more likely to get an open writing assignment back then than they are today. All she could suggest was to write another spec — the last thing on Earth any aspiring screenwriter wants to hear.

I got pissed. Mega-testosterone, 24 year-old white-boy pissed. I cursed the Film Gods for crushing my quick sale and the lifetime of Hollywood leisure to follow. Bitterly, I resolved to knuckle down and write that second goddamn script, vowing it would be so good that some stranger would be forced to give me money for it — they simply wouldn’t be able to help themselves.

Mike moved down to L.A., and together we took shelter in an old beach studio. Venice in ’91 was a dicey shithole, not the Pinkberry/ iPad skinny jeans love-fest you know now. Borrowing a PC, desk and chair from our dope-harvesting landlord, I barricaded myself inside our place and went on a screenwriting killing spree.

Grinding day and night, punching out page after page, wearing nothing but a bottomless bowl of Cheerios on my lap, I summoned the gripping tale of a Brooklyn attorney who witnesses a murder committed by a Mafia client he himself got off in court. When the attorney threatens to testify, the Mob comes after him and his family, gunplay and tragedy quickly to ensue.

Twenty-four days later, I chicken-pecked “The End”. I entrusted my magnum opus to Mike, holding his Backstage hostage until he read it. He finished, grinned and said — “If someone doesn’t buy this, I don’t know what to say.”

Flushed with pride and riding the final, indignant fumes of my prior rejection, I pointed The Bug down to my agent’s place. I remember bulldozing into her office like I was storming the Bastille.

“Here it is, my new spec, exactly what you asked for,” I stammered, thrusting it towards her like a broadsword. “I believe this is The Big One.”

“Okay, swell, thanks for driving in,” she said, ward nurse handling potential mental patient. “I’ll call you the second I’ve read it.”

Standing next to her desk was a stack of client scripts maybe twenty, twenty-five specs tall; a Xeroxed, three-bradded Leaning Tower of Pisa. In harrowing slow-motion, she took my newborn masterpiece and discarded it atop of the pile. Number Twenty-Six.

Something about it just broke me.

In that dark instant I got my first, unfiltered snapshot of how infinitesimal my odds really were — and it ruined me. Like they say, when you’re walking a tightrope, never, ever look down…

Returning to Venice, expecting the very worst, I marched into my half of the hovel and hand-shred all my notes; stepsheet, page revisions, all of it. Then I staggered, crushed, to the Boardwalk, bought a pair of 22 oz. Sapporo’s, found an empty bench and got ridiculously, pathetically, shithoused blind drunk.

Like a little baby, I cried out there, a six-foot, 190 lb. pity party. I bawled my fuckin’ eyes out among the hacky-sackers and forlorn homeless, casting my broken dreams atop the invisible, flaming bonfire of their own.

So this was the real Hollywood, I thought. The one every B-movie, t.v. show, and Danielle Steele beach-book warns you about. A financial and emotional Vietnam from which cherry young recruits like myself never returned.

Fuck me. How in the hell could I have thought selling a script would be that easy?

*********

Alas, Dear Reader, I’d overreacted. Turns out, I had not been irrevocably voted off Screenwriter Island.

Susanne called three weeks later. The ol’ good news/bad news.

Good News — She liked my script and thought it could sell. You heard me — sell. For money. Awesome, right?

Bad News — She felt it needed an entirely new Third Act. She wanted to throw out everything I had and rethink the whole thirty pages from square one.

Sooner or later every screenwriter’s life reaches a crossroads where the whole of their career — the full possibility of what they may or may not become — comes to rest in their own fragile hands. In that brief instant, there’s nobody and nothing to rely on save your own gut instincts – not unlike the process when any of us face the empty page. All the solemn risks and rewards rest squarely on your slumped shoulders alone.

My own crossroads came very quickly. On this very call, in fact.

Susanne insisted on a new Third Act before she’d go out with it. Not only didn’t I want to do extra work, I honestly wasn’t sure it was the right call creatively. I was exhausted, beaten down, my self-doubt was flaring up, and the Imposter Syndrome had me by the throat. The concept of more time in isolation, the unique self-loathing only a screenwriter knows, was simply too much to bear.

So, brain racing, I decided to sack up and posit this —

Why not cherry-pick one of the many esteemed producers we’d met when I first hit town, slip the draft to them and get their opinion?

It seemed the perfect solution. We could get an objective, world-class opinion without exposing the script and burning it around town. Further, the producer’s take would be our tie breaker. If he/she agreed with Susanne, then I’d get to work on the third act straight away, without another whimper. Conversely, if the producer agreed with me that it was ship-shape and good to go, we’d fire things up and paper the town with it.

Susanne liked the idea. Now all that remained was to choose the producer.

We picked Larry Turman, the wise man who produced The Graduate. Larry was a real straight-shooter with a ridiculous wealth of experience.

Susanne messengered my script (remember those days?) over to Larry’s office on the Warner Hollywood lot, and a few weeks later his assistant called saying Larry wanted me to drop by and talk about what I’d written.

Enduring the endless crawl up Fairfax that day was awful. That Third Street intersection has always been a clusterfuck, long before The Grove arrived. Legions of ornery blue-hairs shot-gunning in and out of the prehistoric Vons parking destroyed traffic with a sadistic regularity.

Running way late, tragedy struck. I stepped down on the clutch and SNAP! the clutch cable broke. I actually heard it shatter, like a little bone, and the pedal sank straight to the floor, useless as a severed limb.

No clutch, no drive car. Simple as that. If your clutch goes AWOL, it’s game over. You pull over, Siri Triple A and wait.

But I still had one blue-collar trick up my sleeve. True fact — you can drive an old VW without a clutch. Here’s how. Turn the engine off, cram the gearshift into first, then restart it. Your Bug will lurch and whiplash terribly, then start grinding forward. If you match the RPM’s just right, you shift back into second, too — top speed, 20 mph.

So that’s what I did, said “fuck it” and snailed onward, my Bug’s antiquity a sudden asset in my favor.

This went down at Third and Fairfax, Clusterfuck Central. Hazards on, I politely edged to the shoulder, but that did nothing to halt the on-coming bloodbath. Apoplectic motorists began HONKING AND CUSSING ME OUT as they passed. Every single motorist had their horn pinned down and/or were commanding me to forcibly insert my Bug into my own colon. Zero mercy. Welcome to L.A.

This road-rape only encouraged me. Smiling my best “fuck you, too”, I continued surfing the glacial grind towards Warner Hollywood.

I was shown into Larry’s office a humiliating forty minutes late. Here I was, this Dickensian scrub, some hat-in-hand wannabe, accidently insulting the only ray of hope I had in Hollywood.

Besides being mortified, I also looked like shit now. Oil-smudged hands, pit stains pock-marking my only clean shirt, hair matted flat to my humid skull.

“Larry, I’m really, REALLY sorry. My sincerest apologies.”

I’d blown it, and I totally accepted that. No doubt, it was a colossal bed-shitting, one I’d have to live with forever. But Larry was legitimately one of the nicest guys I’d met since crossing over the River Styx — hell, he’d actually taken time to read my script as a courtesy! — so I felt it important he know my fuck up was not intentional.

“Believe it or not, I drive an old Bug, ’66 actually, and the clutch broke. Those last two miles I had to baby her in, at, like, ten miles per hour.”

Larry peered back. What sense he might make of these ramblings, I had no clue.

“Well, your car may not be working too well, but I know something else that is.”

“Huh? What’s that?”

“Your brain,” Larry said. “You’ve written a really good script here…and I want to buy it.”

I am Jack’s completely blown mind.

“You’re fuckin’ with me, right?”

“Not at all, John. We’ve partnered with a venture capitalist, and I want to acquire your project with some of the development money we have.”

By naïve force of will, what Orson Welles once called, “The Confidence of Ignorance”, trusting my gut and a shit-ton of hard work, I’d fought my way onto the big board. I was now a paid writer.

*********

Money changed hands, and that changed my life, forever.

I was working a $125-per P.A. gig at Magic Mountain when I got The Call. Over the payphone, Susanne confirmed the deal had closed. Tomorrow, I’d have a check for $25K in my pocket, with the promise of THREE-HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE once we set it up.

Believe me, it felt EPIC. Something I pray every last one of you tastes someday. Think Tiger Woods, ’97 Masters, triumphant fist uppercutting Augusta sky, Barkley suplexing Shaq flat on his back, Hagler/Hearns with Marvelous alone still standing.

Oh, and by the way, Susanne was right — it did need a whole new third act. Five of them, in fact. And I started working up the first Day One/Page One with Larry.

Looking back, who knows? Maybe Susanne’s approach would’ve been best. Maybe if I had rewritten the Third Act in-house, we’d have sold it for even more money; started a bidding war, landed a massive, splashy spec sale putting me squarely on top.

But for me in ’91, there was no tomorrow. It was land this script, now, or beg my folks for airfare and crawl back to N.Y.C. busted apart. Many times, I’ve reflected about how not getting it done would’ve affected me, as both a writer and a man. Thank Baby Jesus, I never did find out.

Of course, here’s the punch line, the part I had no idea about —

This was just the first, brutal step of my climb up Screenwriter Mountain. Game One of a seven game series that would eat up a full decade, with a thousand times the agony of this little walk in the park.

Eventually, though, I’d pay off my student loans with a single check. Realize the Great American Dream and buy my parents a house, then grab a vintage Marshall and Gibson SG I’d always masturbated myself to. But meeting after meeting, script after script, I kept driving my trusty ’66 Bug as a reminder to keep my head on straight, come what may.

If you take nothing else away from my mangled musings, let it be this —

Screenwriters are special. Americans in general are taught never, ever to say that; never to imply any relative value between ourselves and our neighbors. But the fact remains — we writers have undertaken special challenges, endured special risks, absorbed a special amount of punishment and persevered with a special amount of grit, determination and (hopefully) integrity along the way. Screenwriters make a spectacular effort to scale our mountain of dreams while the majority of others huddle in the warmth and easy shelter of the base camps and ski lodges below.

So yeah, by any and all means necessary. Work hard. Trust your instincts. Fight like hell to spin every setback, every strand of Hollywood bullshit into gold.

And on that glorious day when you finally see an open kill shot, take it, my friend. Bury it right between the eyes.

Carson back again.  I don’t know about you.  But this sure makes me want to go write.  Once again, John’s classes start THIS MAY in Los Angeles.  So get over to his site now and SIGN UP!  He only has a limited number of slots open!