July 4th weekend is over. Well, sorta. Only America can figure out a way to make July 5th the official July 4th holiday, so I guess the holiday weekend will be over tomorrow. In the meantime, here’s Roger, who I hear had a wonderful weekend experience. I tried to get details but details were in short supply. I thought I heard something about multiple women but you’ll have to ask him at the end of his review for The Wettest County.

Genre: Period Crime Drama
Premise: The story of a moonshine gang operating in the bootlegging capital of America –- Franklin County, West Virginia –- during Prohibition.
About: The latest collaboration between The Proposition creators, Nick Cave and director, John Hillcoat (The Road). “The Wettest County” has recently been re-titled to “The Promised Land”, and Ryan Gosling, Shia LaBeouf and Amy Adams are attached to star. For those of you that don’t listen to good music, Nick Cave is the frontman for Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (also The Birthday Party) and a pretty darn good novelist to boot (And the Ass Saw the Angel and The Death of Bunny Munro).
Writers: Nick Cave, based on the book by Matt Bondurant

I don’t know if I’m the best person to review a screenplay written by Nick Cave. I have a signed copy of The Death of Bunny Munro (a gift from Professor Stark), I love The Proposition and my idea of romance is the murder ballad Henry Lee performed by Cave and his duet partner, Polly Jean Harvey. I even gleefully enjoy his Michael Moorcock Eternal Champion rendition of Maximus in his quizzical (and rejected) Gladiator sequel script. So I suppose this makes me a Nick Cave apologist in the film world, but I’ll fight the urge to be blindly generous in this review of his adaptation of Matt Bondurant’s novel, The Wettest County in the World.

So this is the tale of the bootlegging Bondurant brothers?

Yep. Franklin County, West Virginia is pretty much the capital of illegal liquor distribution in the crime wave-laden Prohibition era, and the brothers Bondurant are the criminals painted as heroes in this deliciously violent crime drama.

In an opening sequence I love, we meet Jack, Howard and Forrest in a pig enclosure when they are children. Jack is the youngest of the trio, and he is about to kill for the first time. Forrest, the eldest, and Howard, the brute middle-child, already seem well-versed in the realm of delivering death, and they expectantly watch their brother walk up to a sow and shoot it in the eye. But, pigs can be hard to kill, and after shooting it again point-blank, Jack cries in frustration when it doesn’t die. But his brothers are there to slit its throat and we learn the difference between Jack and them, “Blood and violence? My brothers had a talent for it. A gift. They were susceptible to its needs. Me, well, I guess my talents lay elsewhere.”

We span several years, the Spanish Lady Flu and a World War, and after the boys survive all this, people in Franklin County whisper that these boys are immune to death. Immortal. The flu almost took Forrest, and in what of the most original character details I’ve ever seen in a screenplay, we learn that it’s left him “haunted and bent crooked and in certain lights his skin looked strange and blue.” Howard returned from war a changed man, and he now deals with the horrors he saw with drink and a bit of the old ultraviolence.

Jack is still the baby of the bunch, making rotskull with his friend Cricket (a boy deformed by rickets), a whiskey brew possibly concocted out of swampwater and tadpoles while his brothers Forrest and Howard supply a radical corn whiskey dubbed White Lightning to all the thirsty folk in Franklin County.

Forrest runs The Blackwater Station diner on the county-line, and he uses the locale to sell White Lightning (drinking it distorts sound, and the imbibers just about go deaf to the resulting sensation of sheet metal being ripped in two) to travelers passing in and out of the way-station. Howard acts as both delivery man and enforcer, even welcomed at the Sheriff’s Office.

Jack is enchanted with the lifestyle of city gangsters like Floyd Banner, stylishly dressed men brimming with ambition and a get-shit-done attitude. While Forrest is content to run his business quietly, not so much concerned with expansion but with self-preservation, Jack is stricken with a vision that will turn Forrest and Howard’s bootlegging operation into an empire. The only problem is that Jack is not a man of violence, and his brothers want to protect him. Their way of protecting him is not letting him into the family business.

The Bondurants then become something of legend when Forrest survives an attack by two city gangsters, apparently walking twelve miles in the snow with a horribly gashed throat to the local hospital. These guys entered his place of business and threatened his lady friend, Maggie, with violence. It’s a bit of a mystery to how he survives the ordeal (which plays out wonderfully in the third act), but it’s the catalyst for a tender love story that is a nice parallel to all the bloodshed in the main story.

Of course, all this attention makes them the target for Carter Lee, the Commonwealth’s new corrupt attorney who wants to manage all the bootleggers and provide them safe passage in return for a fee.

Lemme guess. Forrest isn’t interested in this business partnership?

Not at all.

Things get interesting when Carter Lee’s right hand man, Charley Rakes, a jackal-like evil Deputy, arrives in Franklin County to challenge the Bondurant brothers and their legendary hard-boiled status. Not only does Rakes threaten Maggie, he decides to go after the weak link in the chain.

He goes after Jack first.

What’s interesting is that our protagonists are anti-heroes, and not necessarily likeable ones at that. But when an evil fucker like Rakes arrives on the scene, we instantly choose a side, and it ain’t with Rakes. How bad is this guy? Well, it’s easy to hate a man who tortures a boy with rickets. And it’s easy to hate a man who does what he does to Jack.

Jack’s newly mangled face sends a clear message to Forrest and Howard.

They’re next.

So, it then becomes a battle of wills between the Carter Lee, the evil Deputy Rakes, and the Bondurant brothers. While all the other bootleggers are integrating themselves into this new system, the Bondurants make a stand to challenge this system.

And this is when they allow Jack to become a blockader, which is pretty much a runner between county-lines of their liquor supply. This makes him vulnerable to bandits, corrupt cops and city gangsters like Floyd Banner and his syndicate, The Midnight Coal Company.

How does it end?

Well, accordingly, it’s pretty much a slow build-up to bloodshed between the lawmen of Franklin County and the Bondurant brothers. I’m not sure what the point is, other than that it’s taking a stubborn stand for your own volition.

However, the script seems to be more of a character study than a caper, so it has a relaxed pace. There are lots of scenes that are not immediate to the plot, but more to the atmosphere and tone of the story. I particularly enjoyed Jack’s courting of the local Mennonite preacher’s daughter, Bertha Minnix, and the scenes involving Cricket and his harebrained bootlegging schemes.

Out of curiosity, I want to see how “The Wettest County” measures up to Carson’s 13 Qualities of a Great Script:

1)AN ORIGINAL AND EXCITING CONCEPT – To be honest, I wasn’t so much as interested in the logline as I was in the fact that Nick Cave was attached as a writer. Bootleggers? I don’t know if it’s across-the-board exciting, but in the historical context of Prohibition (resulting in the greatest crime wave in American history) it’s definitely interesting. Especially when you learn that the setting, Franklin County, manufactured more illegal liquor than anywhere else in the United States. Factor in that the Bondurant brothers were the characters at the center of this conflict, and then, yeah, it seems pretty exciting.

2)A MAIN CHARACTER WHO WANTS SOMETHING (AKA “A GOAL”) – The Bondurants are all interested in money. But how much and what they’ll do to achieve it is the center of the conflict. Jack wants a lot of money, and more importantly, he wants a rich lifestyle; Forrest just wants to run a business. Howard is the man stuck in the middle.

3)A MAIN CHARACTER WE WANT TO ROOT FOR – Frankly, Jack’s greed overpowered his need to be accepted by his brothers, and I found him thin. However, I respected and rooted for his older brother, Forrest, because he was a man of principle and honor. An eerie blue man who verily survived a beheading and can fight with iron knuckles but is shy around women? I’m rooting for him, and I only root for Jack because he’s related to this man.

4)GET TO YOUR STORY QUICKLY – On page 12 we learn that Jack wants in on Forrest and Howard’s business. Okay, that’s the main story. If you want more conflict, between pages 32 and 40 we learn that Carter Lee wants to control the flow of the Bondurant’s business, and we are introduced to the villain, Charley Rakes.

5)STAY UNDER 110 PAGES – Nope. This is 133 pages. For a screenplay, it’s very prosaic. Kiss of death if the screenwriter isn’t gifted of language, but Cave is, so it’s a rich, even a sensual read.

6)CONFLICT – A young brother trying to break into the family business when the elder brother is trying to keep him out. Greed versus contentment. Bootleggers versus corrupt law men who want a cut of their business. And of course, the conflict always seems about money when for the men involved, it’s always about something else: Principle versus precedent. Lots of conflict.

7)OBSTACLES – Forrest is an obstacle to Jack. Jack is an obstacle to Forrest. Rakes and Carter Lee are obstacles to the Bondurant brothers. The Mennonite preacher is an obstacle to Jack and his desire to court his daughter. And, the nature of the Bondurant business is illegal so they have to go out of their way to protect themselves.

8)SURPRISE – There’s lots of foreshadowing in this thing, so I would say I wasn’t surprised a ton. However, I couldn’t predict the resolution and the most tension-laden and surprising sequence for me was Jack and Cricket’s first blockading run.

9)TICKING TIME BOMB – We don’t really get a concrete ticking clock until page 79, when the brothers decide they have to move their supply across the county line or Rakes is going to destroy it all. As a result, this thing has a pretty leisurely place. The focus isn’t so much on the demands of the plot, but the character moments. This is either the script’s strength or weakness.

10)STAKES – Everyone’s life is on the line. What starts out as about money becomes something else for Forrest and Rakes. But I get the sense that this isn’t the case with Jack, almost like he peaks with ambition and greed, and it doesn’t go any deeper with him. I was a bit puzzled by why these guys were so obsessed and dogged about bootlegging.

11)HEART – Forrest is the only guy that seems interested in something other than money. Sure, Jack courts Bertha Minnix, but he seems primarily interested in showing off his money to her.

12)A GREAT ENDING – There’s a sentimental and poignant ending, but it doesn’t feel like it’s completely earned. Forrest and Maggie’s story is the most moving, and it seems like something out of a murder ballad.

13)THE X-FACTOR – The Nick Cave factor. The original material of Matt Bondurant’s novel seems perfectly coupled with Cave’s unique voice for the bizarre, the Biblical, the violent, the lovesick and the mad. His gift of mythic and lyrical storytelling shines in this screenplay.

“The Wettest County” is an odd script. It’s a fascinating read, especially if you’re a fan of Cave and Southern Gothic literature. An initial impression tells me it eschews many of the rules and beats you’ll find in most specs. The protagonists aren’t particularly “likeable” or “sympathetic”. Instead they are intriguing and enigmatic. Even if I don’t always like them, I still want to know their story. A page turner that moves at a leisurely meditative pace, promising a cinematic translation of the prosaic imagery and violence found in a Faulkner or Cormac McCarthy novel.

If I had to compare the idea of this script and its vision as a finished film by John Hillcoat to another movie, I would point to Andrew Dominik’s The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. I can imagine a film that will seem inscrutable to some, but a sublime experience to others.

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

What I learned: Omens. A sign in the natural world signifying the advent of change. Their mere existence in a story suggests that maybe something supernatural or beyond a character’s control is at work. As a narrative device, an omen’s purpose is to create foreshadowing, tension and dread. As a foreshadowing tool, they can also be used to subvert and control reader expectation, or bait and switch an audience. Screenwriters don’t seem to use them as much as a novelist or playwright, but that doesn’t mean they don’t work in a screenplay. “The Wettest County” (and Karl Gajdusek’s “Pandora”) doesn’t shy away from omens. Two are so startling and weird I don’t think I’ll ever be able to shake the imagery from my head. One is of Jack and Howard trying to remove a dead calf from a suffering cow. They have to saw the legs off the calf in order to remove the corpse, and eventually the cow dies and we discover that this dead calf has six fucking legs. It’s grotesque, and it all takes place during a conversation about the villain, Charley Rakes. The other omen is a dog that has frozen to death, standing up, outside of its pen because the other dogs didn’t let it inside the kennel. When Jack describes its death, he might as well be describing himself and his brothers, “Those dogs didn’t know better. It’s just plain bad luck.”

It’s Unconventional Week here at Scriptshadow, and here’s a reminder of what that’s about.

Every script, like a figure skating routine, has a degree of difficulty to it. The closer you stay to basic dramatic structure, the lower the degree of difficulty is. So the most basic dramatic story, the easiest degree of difficulty, is the standard: Character wants something badly and he tries to get it. “Taken” is the ideal example. Liam Neeson wants to save his daughter. Or if you want to go classic, Indiana Jones wants to find the Ark of The Covenant. Rocky wants to fight Apollo Creed. Simple, but still powerful.

Each element you add or variable you change increases the degree of difficulty and requires the requisite amount of skill to pull off. If a character does not have a clear cut goal, such as Dustin Hoffman’s character in The Graduate, that increases the degree of difficulty. If there are three protagonists instead of one, such as in L.A. Confidential, that increases the degree of difficulty. If you’re telling a story in reverse such as Memento or jumping backwards and forwards in time such as in Slumdog Millionaire, these things increase the degree of difficulty.

The movies/scripts I’m reviewing this week all have high degrees of difficulty. I’m going to break down how these stories deviate from the basic formula yet still manage to work. Monday, Roger reviewed Kick-Ass. Tuesday, I reviewed Star Wars. Wednesday was The Shawshank Redemption. Yesterday was Forrest Gump. And today is American Beauty.

Genre: Drama – Coming-of-Age
Premise: Lester Burnham experiences a mid-life crisis after he’s fired from his job, which ends up triggering chaos in his suburban neighborhood.
About: Was widely considered one of the best spec screenplays of the last 20 years. But the movie was always going to be a hard sell due to its non-high concept nature. American Beauty went on to become a surprise hit, winning a Best Picture Oscar, as well as 4 other Oscars, including one for Kevin Spacey.
Writer: Alan Ball

Degree of difficulty – 4.5 out of 5

Some of you have suggested that I ditch this mainstream trash and take on movies that are REALLY unconventional. For example, explain why a film like Mulholland Drive works. Well, it’s pretty simple. I *don’t* think Mulholland Drive works. So I’d do a pretty lousy job convincing others of it. I’ve always struggled with Lynch’s appeal. The randomness of his stories always confuses me. So I ask you Lynch-ians, what is the appeal of Lynch’s films? I ask that in all sincerity. I want to know.

Today I’ll be hitching a ride on Kevin Spacey’s train – whatever that means – and reviewing one of the great movies of the last decade – American Beauty. Recently, I watched this movie with a friend who’d never seen it before. I was like, “How could you not have seen American Beauty? It’s awesome.” And she was like, “I don’t know. I just haven’t.” So I forced her to sit down and watch it, and halfway through she turned to me with this frustrated expression and said, “This is just like Desperate Housewives.”

At first I was angry that she wasn’t appreciating the genius of this movie. But I was also trying to figure out if she knew American Beauty came out a decade before Desperate Housewives, and how this would affect our friendship if she didn’t. But after stepping back and thinking about her comment, I realized just how much American Beauty influenced movies and television. It really inspired a lot of copycats, and for that reason, it can never play as original as it did back in 1999. But it’s still awesome, and it still had no business being as good as it was. You want to talk about degree of difficulty, let’s talk about American Beauty.

American Beauty does something I tell new writers never to do: Follow a bunch of characters instead of following just one. It’s okay to follow other characters when they’re around your character, but to jump back and forth between numerous characters and their individual storylines is basically the same as having multiple protagonists. So instead of having to create only one character compelling enough to carry a movie, you have to create six. In addition to that, multiple characters screw up your act breaks and overall structure. You’re essentially having to create multiple three-act stories within a three-act story, and I’m not even going to get in to how hard that is. So yeah, you’re kinda screwed right off the bat.

Also, like a lot of movies this week, American Beauty doesn’t have a very compelling story. In fact, if I described it to you beforehand, you’d probably get bored within 20 seconds. “Well see it’s about this guy. And he like, gets fired. And then he decides to live his life to the fullest. But see, we also watch his family too. And his daughter wants new breasts. And his wife totally hates him. Oh, and the next door neighbors are this military dad and his pot-smoking son…” It just sounds like a slightly exaggerated version of what goes on in everybody’s neighborhood. Why would anyone want to watch that for two hours?

Finally, Lester is an unsympathetic character. He basically says “fuck off” to anyone who doesn’t want to live by his new rules. On top of that, he tries to fuck his high school daughter’s best friend! Let me repeat that. Our 45 year old protagonist is trying to have sex with a 17 year old High School girl. Conrad Hall, the cinematographer on the film, was so concerned about this that he almost didn’t take the job.

Too many characters: check. Weak story: Check. Despicable protagonist: Check. Why the hell did this work?

Why it works:

Ball was smart. He knew that if he followed a bunch of different characters for an extended period of time without a point, we’d get bored. He needed a connective thread – something to bring all these storylines together. He created it in Lester’s death. Ball tells us in the beginning of the movie that in one year, Lester Burnham will be dead. You don’t think much of it at the time, but later you realize that that one sentence turns the movie into a Whodunnit. It’s by no means the dominant focus of the movie, but it gives the movie purpose. I read a lot of these screenplays where writers don’t use that device and they’re almost always bad. In fact, Mark Forster has one of these movies in development called “Disconnect,” (about how we’re all disconnected because of technology). He doesn’t use this device and as a result, the script wanders all over the place.

Next, Ball adds humor. American Beauty deals with some serious ass subject matter. Stalking, death, murder, physical abuse. But the movie is fucking FUNNY. And we’re only able to feel the pain because we’re allowed to laugh. The 7th line of the movie is “Look at me, jerking off in the shower.” Contrast this with another Mendes movie, Revolutionary Road, which had a lot of similarities to American Beauty, but didn’t have a single joke in it. Despite having two of the biggest stars in the world to sell the movie, it bombed. Coincidence? Not thinking so. American Beauty understands that if you ratchet up the melodrama 100% of the time, the audience will turn on you. Make’em laugh and they’ll go as deep as you dare to take them.

Scandalous. A little scandal goes a long way. Old guy with an underage girl? That’s controversial. Controversy intrigues people. It gets people talking. But what Ball managed to do with this storyline was make you understand why our hero did it. This wasn’t about nailing an underage girl. This was about Lester trying to reconnect with his youth. By getting the young girl, it was the physical manifestation of that goal. Also, Ball did a really smart thing by having Mena Suarvi engage in the pursuit. If she would have been some innocent doe-eyed teenager, Lester would’ve looked like a predator. Because she eggs him on, the relationship doesn’t seem nearly as dirty as it could’ve been.

Finally, what I loved most about American Beauty is that I never knew what was coming next. As a writer, it’s your job to surprise the unsurprisable. The audience has seen everything. The readers have read everything. So safe boring choices aren’t going to cut it. Yet, safe boring choices is what I see 99% of the time. American Beauty has its 40 year old protag befriending his 17 year old pot-selling neighbor who’s dating his daughter. It has his wife fucking her real estate rival. It has 5 minute scenes with bags blowing in the wind. It has military closet homosexuals who collect Nazi dinnerware. I can’t remember a movie that consistently surprised me as much as this one. I just never knew where it was going to go. It shows what can happen when you test yourself as a writer and never go with the obvious choice. That’s something we all need to do more of.

Let me finish with this. I’m of the belief that what you have in the script is what you get in the movie. I don’t believe you can do that much to make a script better than it is. Sure you can do a few flashy things here and there, but in the end, it’s about the emotion, and that comes way before a frame of film is ever shot . However, I will concede this belief in one area: the score. A great score can elevate a movie beyond the script. And American Beauty did that. I don’t think without that score that the movie is as good as it is.

Anyway, great movie. Why do you think it worked?

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

What I learned: The power of a framing device. If your screenplay has little to no plot, look to build a framing device around it. For example, Cameron easily could’ve made Titanic about two people falling in love on a boat, but he knew there wasn’t enough story to that. So he framed that love story inside a present-day search for a jewel. Now the entire movie had purpose, as there was a point to telling this love story. The same thing happens here. We aren’t just jumping in and out of people’s lives randomly. We’re trying to figure out who’s going to kill Lester.

It’s Unconventional Week here at Scriptshadow, and here’s a reminder of what that’s about. 

Degree of Difficulty – 5 (out of 5)

Yes! I love talking about Forrest Gump. It’s one of those divisive movies that always gets the opinions flowing. People either love it or hate it. I think it’s a great movie, but I understand where the non-likers are coming from. Let’s face it. It’s a smarmy feel good star vehicle that wants you to love it a little too much. But here’s the difference between Forrest Gump and all the other also-rans jockeying for that blatant heartstring tug-a-thon (like “The Blind Side” for instance). Forrest Gump is DIFFERENT. It’s unlike any movie you’ve ever seen and unlike any movie you’re ever going to see. This isn’t some by-the-numbers bullshit. It’s genuinely original. For that reason alone, it’s worthy of discussion.

Let’s start off with the span of time the movie takes place in. Movies are really good at dealing with contained time periods. Why? Because contained time periods provide immediacy to the story. Characters are forced to face their issues and achieve their goals right away and that makes the story move. This is why a lot of films take place within a few days or a few weeks. Once you start spanning months and years and decades, you lose that inherent momentum, and you’re forced to figure out ways to replace it (which isn’t easy!). Forrest Gump takes place over something like 40 years. Not looking good.

But that isn’t the biggest problem for Gump by a long shot. What truly makes the success of this movie baffling is that its main character is the single most passive mainstream protagonist in the history of film. Forrest Gump doesn’t initiate ANY-thing in this movie. He literally stumbles around from amazing situation to amazing situation like a member of the Jersey Shore cast. All of Forrest Gump’s decisions are orchestrated by someone else. People tell Forrest to jump and he says “how high?”. A main character who doesn’t drive the story? You’ve written yourself into Trouble Town. Next train leads to Screwedville in five minutes.

Another issue is, just like The Shawshank Redemption, Forrest Gump has as much plot as an episode of Dora The Explorer (note: I’ve never actually seen Dora The Explorer but I’m guessing there’s not a lot of plot in it). There’s no overarching goal for the protagonist. There’s no drive. No first act, second act, or third act (although I’ve seen people try to break this into acts – it’s never been convincing). Instead, the film plays out like a series of vignettes – or better yet, a sitcom episode. Tom Hanks is thrown into a crazy situation. Something funny happens. Repeat. It’s a very compartmentalized approach to the story. Why these disconnected misadventures worked was a mystery to me for a long time. But I think I finally figured it out.

Why it works:

It came to me like a flash of light. I hadn’t seen Forrest Gump in forever but there the answer to my question was. Forrest Gump wasn’t a movie. It was a documentary. Documentaries don’t have first act breaks and mid-points and character arcs. They simply follow a person’s life and whatever happens to that person happens. All the documentary has to do is capture it. Now as all documentarians know, documentaries are made or broken by their subject. Without a compelling subject, you don’t have a documentary. And that’s why this film worked. Forrest Gump is one of the most fascinating characters we’ve ever seen. He’s “retarded,” yet doesn’t wallow in it. He does extraordinary things, yet is humble about it. His childlike enthusiasm appeals to the kid in all of us. His situation is ironic (he’s extremely successful yet has the intelligence of a 6th grader). This man has a ton going on underneath the hood.

But the characteristic that most ensures the character’s success is that Forrest Gump is the ultimate UNDERDOG. I cannot make this clear enough. EVERYBODY LOVES AN UNDERDOG. When someone is picked on, looked down upon, is a longshot, we love to root for them. And Forrest Gump is the biggest underdog of them all. He’s physically handicapped (as a child). He’s mentally handicapped (as a child and an adult). Yet he achieves things the rest of us could only dream of. It’s entertaining as hell to watch, and it’s impossible not to feel good for the guy when it happens.

Another key component here is the detail given to the supporting characters, particularly Lieutenant Dan. Remember, some protagonists don’t arc. The story just isn’t conducive to them transforming. That happens here in Gump. But if that’s the case, you should probably have one of your supporting characters fill that role, because the audience wants to see somebody learn something by the end of the film (or become a better person in some capacity). Roth recognized that, which is why he has the eternally cynical character of Lieutenant Dan learn the gift of life over the course of the story.

Speaking of supporting characters, Roth also needed some kind of thread to hold the story together. The plot was so wacky, so disconnected, that had he not added a connective thread, it would’ve come off as a series of comedy skits. He needed a constant. And that’s where Jenny came in.

What’s so cool about the Jenny relationship is that everything goes so well for Forrest…except his relationship with her. I said up above that there’s no goal for Forrest and that’s technically correct (Forrest doesn’t actively pursue anything). But he does keep bumping into Jenny. And he does want her. So because there’s an element of pursuit going on, we become engaged. We want to know, will he get her or not?

Remember, movies are essentially characters trying to overcome obstacles. That’s it. And the greater the obstacle, the more involved we get, the more rewarding it is when our character overcomes said obstacle. What’s a greater obstacle than being in love with someone who will never love you back? It’s the ultimate underdog scenario. And our desire to see if he Forrest can pull off the impossible is what gives this movie purpose. Quite simply, we want to see if Forrest gets the girl. And that’s enough to keep us satisfied for 150 minutes.

I’d be interested to hear why you guys believed this movie worked (or didn’t). When I’m in a bad mood, I hate how cute it can be. But otherwise, I get a kick out of how weird and different it is. It fascinates me every time I watch it.

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

What I learned: If a character has a weakness, don’t allow him to wallow in it. Nobody likes the “woe is me” guy/girl in real life, so why the hell would we like them onscreen? Forrest has a serious disability but he doesn’t let it affect him. He pushes on with a positive attitude. It’s hard not to like someone like that.

It’s Unconventional Week here at Scriptshadow, and here’s a reminder of what that’s about.

Every script, like a figure skating routine, has a degree of difficulty to it. The closer you stay to basic dramatic structure, the lower the degree of difficulty is. So the most basic dramatic story, the easiest degree of difficulty, is the standard: Character wants something badly and he tries to get it. “Taken” is the ideal example. Liam Neeson wants to save his daughter. Or if you want to go classic, Indiana Jones wants to find the Ark of The Covenant. Rocky wants to fight Apollo Creed. Simple, but still powerful.

Each element you add or variable you change increases the degree of difficulty and requires the requisite amount of skill to pull off. If a character does not have a clear cut goal, such as Dustin Hoffman’s character in The Graduate, that increases the degree of difficulty. If there are three protagonists instead of one, such as in L.A. Confidential, that increases the degree of difficulty. If you’re telling a story in reverse such as Memento or jumping backwards and forwards in time such as in Slumdog Millionaire, these things increase the degree of difficulty.

The movies/scripts I’m reviewing this week all have high degrees of difficulty. I’m going to break down how these stories deviate from the basic formula yet still manage to work. Monday, Roger reviewed Kick-Ass. Yesterday, I reviewed Star Wars. Today, I’m reviewing The Shawshank Redemption.

Genre: Drama
Premise: Two imprisoned men bond over a number of years, finding solace and eventual redemption through acts of common decency.
About: Often at the top of IMDB’s user voting list for best movie ever, The Shawshank Redemption was released in 1994 and subsequently bombed at the box office. It later became an immense hit on home video.
Writer: Frank Darabont (based on a Stephen King story)

Degree of Difficulty: 5 (out of 5)

Why the degree of difficulty is so high:

The producers of The Shawshank Redemption along with Frank Darabont expressed shock at how badly their movie fared in theatrical release. Sometimes I wonder if anybody in this business understands how the public thinks. If you give us a boring title, throw two actors on a poster who we don’t know very well, set them in a gloomy shade of gray, have them look depressed and confused, then avoid giving us any clue of what the movie’s about…chances are no one’s going to see your movie.

And even if you did find out what Shawhank Redemption was about, did that help any? A couple of guys wallow in a prison for 25 years. Wonderful. Opening Day here I come.

Besides the depressing subject matter, the movie embraces a 142 minute running time. While that’s not in the same boat as Titanic, it’s a questionable decision due to just how relaxed the movie plays. In fact, this wouldn’t be a big deal except that The Shawshank Redemption is missing the most important story element of all: PLOT. That’s right. A nearly 2 and a half hour movie has no plot! There’s no goal for the main character. Nobody’s trying to achieve anything. There’s no inherent point to the journey. Contrast that with another long movie like Braveheart, where William Wallace is on a constant quest for his country’s freedom. He’s beheading Dukes. He’s taking over countries. That’s why we’re able to hang around for 3 hours. We want to see if he’ll achieve THAT GOAL. What is it the characters are trying to get in The Shawshank Redemption? Pretty much nothing.

So when a movie doesn’t have a clear external journey, the focus tends to shift to the inner journey. This usually takes place in the form of a character’s fatal flaw. A fatal flaw is the central defining characteristic that holds a person back in life. Gene Hackman’s coach character in Hoosiers is bullheaded. He does things his way and his way only. Through his pursuit of a state basketball title, he learns the value of relinquishing control to others, which helps him become a better person.

Neither Andy nor Red have a fatal flaw. They’re not forced to overcome any internal problems. I guess you could say Andy keeps to himself too much and eventually learns to open up to others, but it’s by no means a pressing issue. Red speaks his mind at the end and it gets him parole. But refusing to speak his mind never hindered him in other parts of the movie. In other words, there’s no deep character exploration going on with the two main characters. That’s pretty nuts when you think about it. You have an overlong movie with no plot and no significant character development. That would be like Rocky already believing in himself and not having to fight at the end of the movie. He’d just walk around Philadelphia all day hanging out. So the question is, how the hell did Shawshank overcome this?

Why it still works:

One of the main reasons The Shawshank Redemption works is because its characters are so damn likable. Let’s face it. We love these guys! There’s a segment of writers out there who break out in hives if you even suggest that their characters be likable. But Shawshank proves just how powerful the likability factor is. Andy and Red and Brooks and Tommy and Heywood. We’d kick our best friends out of our lives just to spend five minutes with these guys. And when you have likable characters, you have characters the audience wants to root for.

On the other end of the spectrum, Shawshank’s bad guys are really bad. I’ve said this in numerous reviews and I’ll continue to say it. If you create a villain that the audience hates, they’ll invest themselves in your story just to see him go down. Since Shawshank has no plot, Darabont realized he would have to utilize this tool to its fullest. That’s why there’s not one, not two, but three key villains. The first is Bogs, the rapist. The second is the abusive Captain Hadley. And the third, of course, is the warden. Darabont makes all of these men so distinctly evil, that we will not rest until we see them go down. If there’s ever a testament to the power of a villain, The Shawshank Redemption is it.

So this answers some questions, but we’re still dealing with a plot-less movie here. And whenever you’re writing something without a plot, you need to find other ways to drive the audience’s interest. One of the most powerful ways to do this is with a mystery (sound familiar?). If there isn’t a question that the audience wants answered, then what is it they’re looking forward to? The mystery in Shawshank is “Did Andy kill his wife or not?” Now it doesn’t seem like a strong mystery initially. For the first half of the script, it’s only casually explored. But as the script goes on, there are hints that Andy may be innocent, and we find ourselves hoping above everything that it’s true. The power in this mystery comes from the stakes attached to it. If Andy is innocent, he goes free. And since we want nothing more than for Andy to go free, we become obsessed with this mystery.

And finally, the number one reason Shawshank works is because it has a great ending. The ending is the last thing the audience leaves with. That’s why some argue that it’s the most important part of the entire movie. And it’s ironic. Because Shawshank’s biggest weakness, the fact that it doesn’t have an actual plot, the fact that virtually nothing happens for two hours, is actually its biggest strength. The film tricks us into believing that the prison IS the movie so escape never enters our minds. For that reason when it comes, it’s surprising and emotional and exciting and cathartic! There aren’t too many movies out there that make you feel as good at the end as The Shawshank Redemption. The power of the ending indeed!

When you think about it, Shawshank actually proves why you shouldn’t ignore the rules. Doing so made the movie virtually unmarketable. It’s why you, me, and everyone else never saw it in the theater. Let’s face it, it looked boring. Luckily, all of the chances Shawshank took ended up working and the film was one of those rare gems which caught on once it hit video. I’m not sure a movie like Shawshank will ever be made again. That’s sad, but it makes the film all the more special.

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

What I learned: Shawshank taught me that you can lie to your audience. If you can trick them into thinking one way, you can use it to great effect later on. When Andy asks Red for a rock hammer, the first thing on our minds is, “He’s going to use it to escape.” But Red quickly dispels that notion when he sees the rock hammer himself and tells us, in voice over, “Andy was right. I finally got the joke. It would take a man about six hundred years to tunnel under the wall with one of these.” And just like that, we never consider the notion of Andy escaping again. So when the big escape finally comes, we’re shocked. And it’s all because that damn writer lied to us!

For those just tuning in, it’s a Theme Week. This week’s theme is great movies that tell their stories unconventionally. The idea will be to try and break down why, even though the scripts bucked traditional structure, they still worked. Yesterday, Roger led us with Kick-Ass, and today, I’m taking on a little independent film you might have heard of called Star Wars.

Genre: Sci-fi Fantasy
Premise: Luke Skywalker leaves his home planet, teams up with other rebels, and tries to save Princess Leia from the evil clutches of Darth Vader.
About: One of my favorite movies of all time. I still watch it a few times a year. Although George Lucas is the sole credited writer on Star Wars, everybody knows he had a lot of help with this script. For proof of this, go watch any of the prequels to see what happens when no one helps George. This is also why I say “they” a lot when referring to the writers.
Writer: George Lucas

Before I go into my review, let me explain a little bit about my approach to this week. Every script, like a figure skating routine, has a degree of difficulty to it. The closer you stay to basic dramatic structure, the lower the degree of difficulty is. So the most basic dramatic story, the easiest degree of difficulty, is the standard: Character wants something badly and he tries to get it. That’s all. “Taken” is the perfect example. Liam Neeson wants to save his daughter. So he tries to. Indiana Jones wants to find the Ark of The Covenant. So he tries to. Rocky wants to fight Apollo Creed. So he trains to. As you can see, these stories are simple but can still be very powerful.

Each element you add or variable you change that strays from this basic structure increases the degree of difficulty and requires the requisite amount of skill to pull off. If a character does not have a clear cut goal, such as Dustin Hoffman’s character in The Graduate for example, that increases the degree of difficulty. If there are three protagonists instead of one, such as in L.A. Confidential, that increases the degree of difficulty. If you’re telling a story in reverse such as Memento or jumping backwards and forwards in time such as in Slumdog Millionaire, these things increase the degree of difficulty.

I bring this up because all four of the movies/scripts I plan to review this week have very high degrees of difficulty and I’d like to break down how these stories deviate from the basic formula yet still manage to work. We’ll start with one of my favorite movies of all time, Star Wars. Star Wars looks like a simple story from the outside, but this quirky adventure film is actually extremely complicated, and it’s a minor miracle that the story works at all.

Degree of Difficulty: 5 (out of 5)

Why the degree of difficulty is so high:

We’ll start with how Star Wars approaches the single most basic element of the story: the character goal. Unlike how the goal would be presented in a traditional story (Shrek’s goal is to bring back the princess to retain his swamp) Lucas gives his central story goal to a trash-can shaped robot named R2-D2 who speaks a language the audience doesn’t understand. R2-D2 has the Death Star plans inside his “rusty innards” and is trying to get them to Obi-Wan Kenobi so Obi-Wan can get them to Leia’s stepfather so that they can destroy the Death Star. Hence, R2-D2, not our hero Luke Skywalker, is driving the story.

Now here’s the thing. WE DON’T KNOW THIS YET. We know that R2 has the plans to the Death Star, but we don’t know that these plans will allow the Rebels to pull off the ultimate goal, which is to destroy the Death Star. That information isn’t given to us until roughly 20 minutes before the movie ends, which makes the ultimate goal one giant shrouded mystery. But this mystery isn’t one of those “we’re dying to find out” mysteries. It’s kept under wraps only because the writers don’t want us to know it yet. That means during the majority of Star Wars’ running time, we’re not even sure what we’re going through all this trouble for.

So you have a main goal that’s a mystery being driven by a non-human character who doesn’t speak. Yeah, try to throw that into your next screenplay. But what’s even more fascinating is how this affects the other characters in the script. Because R2 is driving the story, all the other characters are following him. That means all your protagonists are passive. They’re lemmings, following a random robot wherever he wants to go. Again, you’d be called out on this in a second at a production company. (“Make your characters more proactive!” they’d say.)

So why in the world are we interested in all this nonsense? I’ll get to that in a second. But first, we must deal with one of the most outrageous script choices ever. The main character, Luke Skywalker, doesn’t arrive until 15 minutes into the movie! Every producer, manager, and agent worth their salt will tell you that by 15 minutes time, we should not only have introduced the main character, but we should understand what he’s about, what his central character flaw is, and what he’s after. This late arrival forces us to spend the next 20 minutes learning about Luke Skywalker, and the story is essentially put on hold while we do.

Further complicating matters is that Star Wars makes the decision to jump back and forth between the good guys and the bad guys, creating multiple subplots that must be kept track of ON TOP of an already complicated story and structure. And, oh yeah, did I mention that this entire story is piggybacking on top of a completely made up universe with complicated made-up mythology which Lucas must familiarize the audience with? And that he must move the story along at a quick enough pace that the script doesn’t get bogged down in all the necessary exposition to explain that universe? I mean Jesus Christ. Every screenwriting choice Lucas made here practically guaranteed failure.

Why it still worked:

The number one reason Star Wars worked was because of its characters. Every single big character in the movie was perfectly executed, starting with Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. While Luke was a passive protagonist for most of the movie, he was still driven. He wanted to take down the Empire. And that dogged idealistic drive helped us forget that for most of the movie he’s just following everyone else. Also, Luke’s fatal flaw, that he didn’t believe in himself, was executed to perfection via his eventual acceptance of The Force. When he decides to go it alone in the Death Star trenches, we’re so into it because we’ve been waiting for Luke to finally see in himself what we’ve seen in him all along.

On the flip-side, Han Solo was the perfect anti-hero. He was the epitome of I-play-by-my-own-rules charm. And the guy was hilarious. Never was it more evident how important a wise-cracking rogue character was than when the prequels came out. Without a Han Solo character, Star Wars never had a chance. And while Han’s fatal flaw was very simplistic – his selfishness – it is one of, if not the most memorable execution of that flaw I’ve ever seen. I mean, who didn’t want to see Han Solo crack and finally embrace the others over himself? This is why when he takes out Vader’s fighter in the end, it’s one of the only deus-ex-machina moments in film history that doesn’t feel like a cheat. They did such a good job setting up his selfishness, that finally seeing him help others over himself ended up being more important to the audience than the fact that a rogue force-less thief-for-hire somehow took out the most powerful villain in the universe with a single shot.

But, the characters can only do so much. You still need to have a compelling plot. You still need to have a story that’s driving forward, that keeps us interested, and Star Wars does this in two ways. It took me awhile to figure this out but one of the big reasons Star Wars works is because it’s one giant chase movie. One of the things I always tell you to do is use a ticking time bomb. Whenever time is running out for your characters, it adds immediacy to your story, which subsequently ups the tension, ups the stakes, ups the conflict and ups just about everything else. Because your characters need to do their jobs RIGHT NOW, the story has a continuous energy to it.

Well, a close cousin to the ticking time bomb is the chase. Why? Because it accomplishes the same thing. If your characters are being chased, then there will always be an immediacy to their actions. They always have to move move MOVE. Here, wherever our protagonists are, the Empire is close behind. From when they slaughter the jawas to when they slaughter Luke’s family to when they follow Luke and Obi-Wan to Mos Eilsley to when they’re looking for them on the Death Star… We know that they’re always RIGHT BEHIND US, and because of that immediacy, it makes us forget about a lot of the deficiencies in the storytelling (such as the hero being introduced on page 15). We’re so concerned our heroes are going to get caught, we’re not judging any of that other stuff.

Now remember when I said how it increased the degree of difficulty to jump back and forth between the bad guys and the good guys? Well this is why they did it. Since we actually SEE our bad guys, we SEE that they’re right behind the protagonists. Had Lucas not done this, had we just stayed with the protagonists the whole time, then that chase aspect wouldn’t have been nearly as effective, and the story wouldn’t have worked nearly as well.

Now here’s the thing you have to remember. No chase, no matter how short or how long, works unless we care about the characters being chased! As I mentioned before, Lucas executes all of his character development perfectly. We like all of them. Shit, we even like the damn villain! So we actually care when the Empire closes in on them. It’s also interesting to see how the successful execution of one story element (the well constructed characters) affects another (the chase). Have you ever been bored by a car chase scene? You’re not bored because the car chase is boring. You’re bored because you don’t give a shit if the characters get caught or not. Since we love these characters so much, it wouldn’t matter if they were being chased down a straight featureless hallway for 20 minutes. We’d still want to see them escape!

Another thing Star Wars does really well is it understands that its main goal is murky (the protags aren’t aware yet that destroying the Death Star is the ultimate goal). So Star Wars needs a way to keep us focused in the interim. It does this by substituting a series of smaller goals for the big one.

For example, the first mini-goal is for Darth Vadar to get down to Tatooine and find the plans. When that doesn’t pan out, his new goal is to find the droids. Next, Luke must go find a wandering R-2. Afterwards, Luke and Obi-Wan must find a ship to get off the planet. Then, Luke, Obi-Wan, and Han must deliver the plans to Leia’s father. Then, Luke, Obi-Wan, and Han must save the princess. Then Luke, Obi-Wan, Leia and Han must escape the Death Star. Each one of these goals is strong and explained ahead of time. This makes sure we’re always focused – the characters always have something they’re trying to do. If you ever get the note that your script is wandering and random, not having any immediate goals for your characters is probably why. So whenever you don’t have a clearly stated ultimate goal, it’s essential that you keep your characters busy with a series of smaller goals. Star Wars does this wonderfully.

Now of course, I could talk about Star Wars for days. I didn’t even get into the inventiveness of the Star Wars universe, the brilliance of the force, the surprises in the story, the comedy, the greatest villain of all time, etc. All of those things had a big impact on this movie being so special. But when it comes down to the quirky structure of this screenplay and why it worked, I believe the elements I listed above were the keys. It just goes to show that any story can work, even nontraditional ones, but only if you understand what rules you’ve broken, and have the requisite tools to make up for those choices.

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

What I learned: Star Wars is the movie where I learned the power of the chase. Imagine for a second Star Wars without the Empire chasing the heroes. Or, if that’s too dramatic, imagine never cutting to the antagonists in the story. Let’s say that Luke and the crew were trying to deliver Artoo to Leia’s father and just occasionally ran into bad guys now and then. This movie’s high energy is due in large part to The Empire always being on their heels. If you’re writing any kind of story where your characters are on the move, you should probably have some bad guys chasing them. And if it works to cut to those bad guys, even better.