Genre: Drama/Thriller
Premise: In 1974, a company attempts the first hostile takeover of another company in history.
About: Today’s script is the first from Oliver Kramer (or at least the first he’s sent out). Kramer was a former executive for Colin Firth’s production company, and also has some former ties to Hollywood production companies. His script sold back in March to Filmnation.
Writer: Oliver Kramer
Details: 120 pages

For some reason, I imagine Andrew Garfield in this role.

Screenwriters tend to get prickly when they hear about former execs selling screenplays. And I get it. It doesn’t seem fair. You have nobody who will read your script and this guy has a dozen decision-makers off the top of his head he can text.

However, I like to remind people that every single person in Hollywood has a screenplay. From the guy who gets the director coffee to Steven Spielberg’s wife. Industry types are well aware of this, and, contrary to popular belief, aren’t asking their co-workers when that Ikea biopic they’ve been working on is going to be ready.

In fact, most of these people play the game of nod-and-dodge. Since 99% of screenplays are bad, they know that Craig the Cinematographer’s script has a good chance of sucking. So they nod, say, “Yeah, that sounds cool,” and then run away, hoping Craig never speaks about it again.

My point being, it’s still tough for the industry vet to sell something. Not as tough as it is for you. But if it were as easy as you think it is, we’d have 50,000 sold screenplays a year, one for every person working in the industry.

On top of this, it serves no purpose to hate on sales. All it does is get you down, reinforce false truths about how it’s impossible to make it, and dissuades you from doing what you should be doing, which is writing. So don’t worry about where a spec sale comes from. Just be happy that things are still getting sold and get back to work.

Leverage follows… okay, I’m not going to lie – this script was really hard to follow, so I can only promise that 70% of the below is accurate. But the script takes place in New York City, 1974, and follows a young lawyer named Ben Kleiner.

When Ben hears that a company his firm represents is planning something called a “hostile takeover” of Dickey Electric Copper, he jumps ship to another firm and pals up with a guy named Bill Faverwether to pull the takeover off himself.

The plan consists of a lot of confusing moving parts, which include buying 20% of Dickey’s stock from this guy, another 10% from that guy, and trying to do it quickly enough so that Dickey and friends can’t stop it before the takeover is completed.

Meanwhile, Ben is in love with a radical anarchist named Sara who’s on the lamb from the FBI. When Sara learns who Ben is trying to take over, she finds out that they’re responsible for illegal weapons manufacturing or something, and wants Ben to kill the deal.

Before Ben can contemplate that nonsense, Fayerwether is found murdered, leaving everyone to wonder who ordered the hit. Was it Dickey? Was it Sara? Was it some previously unknown entity?

Complicating measures is the fact that Ben was having an affair with Fayerwether’s wife. So now he has to appease her in the aftermath of her husband’s death. And, of course, somehow try to get this deal done, even though doing so now puts him on some secret hit list. Will he succeed? Will he fail? Much of that depends on if you can keep track of what’s going on in Leverage.

There are two kinds of scripts out there. Fun scripts and investment scripts. Fun scripts are scripts like Source Code. Like Max Landis’s, Deeper. Like Stuber. Investment scripts are scripts that make you invest. You’ll need memory on full alert, loads of concentration, and probably a notepad to keep up with all the names and subplots.

If you’re going to be an investment script guy, you need to be a better writer. You need to know how to weave suspense and conflict and structure and character and dialogue and plotting and clarity into a dramatically compelling screenplay. If you’re writing fun scripts, you need a grasp of those things, but you don’t need to have mastered them. You only have to be creative, fun, have some cool ideas, and not be boring.

Within 3 pages of Leverage, I’m trying to keep track of 10 lawyers, a complex meeting that involves a bunch of Wall Street and legal jargon, and no clues as to who the main character is. 7 pages later I’m introduced to a woman who’s pretending to be a hooker but who’s actually an anarchist on the lamb from the FBI, sneaking around with a guy who may or may not be our leading man.

So take a guess which category Leverage falls into.

Typically, investment scripts are saved for in-house development, or “assignment work,” where everyone is on board and contributing to the complexity, therefore making it not so complex to them.

When you don’t have that luxury and you’re writing an investment script on spec, you MUST do everything better. The reason for this is that you’re asking A LOT MORE from the reader. And if you screw anything up, it creates a domino effect where multiple story variables dependent on that initial variable become unclear.

I’ll give you an example. In Leverage’s opening scene, we’re introduced to a bunch of people. I don’t know who these people are yet. Which of these people are important and therefore deserve my full attention? Which are background characters and therefore people I don’t need to devote my memory to? And on top of that, what do each of these characters represent? What do they want?

I wasn’t sure of any of that. Therefore, 70 pages later, when a guy like Fayerwether enters a scene, I still don’t know if he was one of the lawyers in that meeting or one of the business owners. I still don’t understand how Fayerwether was at that meeting and then later teamed up with Ben to initiate a takeover that I could’ve sworn was planned by another company at that meeting.

That’s what I mean by YOU HAVE TO BE REALLY GOOD to pull off an investment script. You need to know how to introduce characters properly, how to make their entrances memorable, and how to be clear on who we need to focus on. Because a mistake in any of those areas will create a domino effect that results in exponential confusion.

Unfortunately, Leverage asks us to invest too much. I mean, when you’re creating dual love-interest subplots, you’re off the reservation. It’s hard enough to make one love interest work. You’re doing two? In a movie that already has half-a-dozen elements that require EXTREME concentration to keep up with?

And like I said, I just never quite knew who was who in this movie. Everything was fuzzy. And how can you enjoy something if you don’t know who the characters are?

There’s some potential in this subject matter. I’ve always been fascinated with this idea that a company can buy another company without their permission. And documenting the first instance of this sounded like an interesting idea.

But this isn’t like The Big Short, where you’re learning how all of this works and watching a blow by blow of how it all goes down. It starts out that way, but then introduces this weird girlfriend anarchist subplot, which leads to a murder, and now we’re in unchartered territory, no longer sure what the script is about.

I think the writer may have been too ambitious, which is something I warn you guys about all the time. When you’re trying to spin a dozen plates at once, unless you’re Aaron Sorkin, a lot of those plates are going to fall and break. Is it really asking so much to only spin 4 or 5?

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

What I learned: I’ve spotted this new naming trend recently and I like it. If you’re going to address a character by his last name in his dialogue scenes, only capitalize his last name when he’s introduced. So you wouldn’t say, “JOHN BLISS, 33 and a bulldog,” you’d say, “John BLISS, 33 and a bulldog.”

What I learned 2: I’ve never heard anybody in my entire life use the term “touché” in conversation. It seems to be solely used in movie dialogue and therefore always comes off as forced and false. I fully admit, however, that this may be a Carson-specific pet peeve.

OMG, we only have a WEEK before we have to start writing our script! And most of you still haven’t come up with an idea that’s even close to being script-worthy. So today’s post is dedicated to supercharging your concept and coming up with a great logline.

The biggest problem I seem to be running into is writers who think splashy movie-friendly elements on their own equal a good idea. So by merely saying, “Five aliens arrive on earth and search for a vampire who they believe possesses the key to saving their planet,” that they’ve come up with a good idea. And why not? Hollywood loves aliens. They love vampires. Do you really need anything else?

Well, yes. Coming up with buzzwords (aliens, zombies, sharks, time-travel) isn’t difficult. Nor is placing two of them in the same sentence. I’m pretty sure all you have to know is how to type to pull that off. A good concept consists of manipulating elements into a storyline that sounds intriguing. “A professor who moonlights as an archaeologist must beat a determined Hitler to one of the most elusive and mysterious artifacts in history, the powerful Ark of the Covenant.”

The second biggest mistake is loglines that have way too much going on in them. The number of elements is endless, and the point of the movie seems to change several times during the logline. “A young wannabe ninja joins “Hitman Incorporated,” a school that teaches young men and women how to be hit men, but when he gets his first assignment, it ends up being a circus performer who used to be his best friend, so he will have to seduce the performer’s boss, who also happens to be the Hairy Woman, to help him pull off a fake hit, which ends up saving the circus in the process.” The scariest thing about this logline is that everyone is thinking how ridiculous it is, and yet at least 60% of you have sent me a logline similar to it. Loglines need to be simple. Loglines need to be focused. This is neither.

The third biggest mistake is, strangely, the opposite of the second. The logline is too simplistic and has NO HOOK, so it ends up reading like a bland TV episode. “When new evidence emerges in the death of an NYPD cop, his son plots revenge on the gangsters responsible, against the wishes of his fiancée and his father’s ex-partner.” Cops, revenge, gangsters? Gee, I haven’t seen that before. Where is the hook? Where’s the “strange attractor?”

The biggest violator of this tends to come from road trip ideas for whatever reason. I get a lot of stuff like, “A young man, still recovering from his mother’s death, takes a cross-country trip with his brother to heal.” Uhhhhhh, I’d volunteer to join that mother in her coffin before reading this script. Come on, guys. There isn’t a single original element or hook in this concept!

Remember, movies have to be bigger than life. There’s got to be something unique there, either in the concept itself or in the execution of the concept. For example, let’s rework the road trip logline. “A young man, grieving from his alcoholic mother’s death, must pick up his troubled sister from an addiction program and drive her cross-country to the funeral.” Conceptually, it’s no Jurassic Park. But now we can see a bit of a movie here, right? Obviously, the younger sister suffers from the same issues the mom had, so this trip becomes about saving the sister before she ends up like her mom. There’s more MEAT there to work with.

Next up are re-dos of past movies. While I kind of understand how this mistake can be made (writers are told to come up with ideas that are “familiar but different”), I’d advise against ideas that sound, in any way, similar to past movies, or similar to past movie types. It’s always better to be more unique than more similar. Let me explain that in more detail. Let’s say you come up with an idea about a shark that terrorizes a small Italian town. You’ve just written Jaws in Italy. Is that unique enough? No. Or I’ll get stuff like, “A group of space explorers crash-lands on an icy planet where a local alien species starts hunting them.” Come on! That’s Alien or The Thing.

You also want to steer clear of common movie TYPES unless you’ve found a fresh element to add. For example, do you really want to write another “group of people stuck in a log cabin with zombies movie?” Even if you tweak something here or there (maybe the occupants are trained hunters!), it still feels similar enough that people are going to go, “Eh, I’ve seen that before.”

Okay, so now that we’ve established what you SHOULDN’T be doing, let’s focus on what you should. Here’s a quick cheat sheet for your next logline.

1) An idea that feels simple and easy-to-grasp.
2) Some sort of unique element must be involved.
3) The story must feel big and important.

1) An idea that feels simple and easy-to-grasp – So many of the loglines I’ve received are agonizingly complex. Guys, you need to find that simple idea that people are able to grasp immediately. Here’s a recent Black List entry: “An underwater earthquake decimates a research crew at the bottom of the ocean, leaving two survivors with limited resources to ascend 35,000 feet before their life support runs out.” We all know what that movie is about at the snap of a finger.

2) Some sort of unique element – “Unique” is subjective, which is where this tip runs into trouble. What’s unique to you may not be unique to me. But the idea is, as an aspiring screenwriter in this business, you watch every movie and keep tabs on every script that sells so that you know, better than the average schmuck, when you’re introducing a truly unique element into the mix. That element can be the main idea – bringing dinosaurs back to life in modern society. Or it can be the way the idea is executed. Memento is a whodunnit detective caper. We’ve seen that a million times. But it’s executed in reverse. That’s a unique element.

3) The story must feel big and important – I’m not saying you can’t write that lesbian coming-of-age movie. What am I saying is that you better know someone with a million bucks in their bank account because that’s the only way that script is getting made. If you barely have enough money to pay your rent each month like the rest of us, think bigger. Think larger than everyday life. The absolute lowest level of “big” is a dead body. You can tell a small town tale if there’s a dead body involved. But I’d think bigger. I’d think high stakes. Give me the kind of thing I can’t get anywhere else but in the movies.

Okay, with that in mind, here are five common loglines that always seem to do well. If you’re writing one of these guys, you’re in good shape.

1) The mega-hook – Think Steven Spielberg for the mega-hook (or, the lower rent versions, Michael Bay and Roland Emmerich). The kind of idea that feels like a Friday night crowd-pleaser. Give me your Nazi-fighting archeologists, your modern-day dinosaurs, your Roboapocalypses, your Ready Player Ones, even your children befriending aliens.

2) The unique horror hook – Give us a unique setting or a unique setup for your horror film and these specs sell like hotcakes because the budgets are so low. “A woman revisiting the old orphanage she grew up in loses her child, and begins to suspect that he may have been taken by the souls of the children still living there.” (The Orphanage).

3) Larger than life real-world people – We all know that biopics are hot, but even when they inevitably calm down, larger than life figures will always be intriguing to the movie-going public. Think Wolf of Wall Street. Somebody who either has a lot of personality, a lot of character, or who has a lot of shit going on. Also big right now are REAL LIFE EVENTS. How the big crash went down (“The Big Short”) or how an astronaut drove halfway across the country in diapers to kill her boyfriend’s wife (the upcoming “Pale Blue Dot”).

4) Overtly zany dark comedies – The Black List has ensured that these scripts will always be celebrated, will always be seen as cool by the reader crowd, and therefore are always solid picks from a conceptual standpoint. But you have to be weird to pull them off. Living inside John Malkovich’s head. A puppet serial killer. A therapist who manipulates his patients to commit suicide. Weird, twisted, and funny is the key to doing these well.

5) A well executed ironic logline – Guys, this is the EASIEST way to make your logline stand out from the rest. Place your main character in an ironic situation and you have invented logline nirvana. Look, I’ll just come up with one off the top of my head: “The world’s greatest shark hunter finds his boat slowly sinking inside the most shark-infested waters in the ocean.” The un-ironic version of this would be, “An opera singer finds his boat slowly sinking inside the most shark-infested waters in the ocean.” Reads a bit different, no? Yet I see SO MANY SIMILAR UN-IRONIC loglines that would’ve been so much better had the writer used irony.

HOW TO ACTUALLY WRITE THE LOGLINE

Okay, now that you’ve got your idea, you have to write your actual logline. And this is where everyone freaks out. But I’ll save you some anxiety. If you can’t come up with a well-written logline, chances are you don’t have your idea yet. In other words, it means you have to go back to the drawing board. A good idea should be easy to convey. Because all good ideas are. Think about it. When was the last time a good movie idea took 20 minutes to explain?

So I’m going to give you two basic tips to help you turn your golden idea into a golden logline…

1) KEEP IT FUCKING SIMPLE – The more words you add to your logline, the bigger the hole you’re digging for yourself. A logline is like a mini-script, where all the fat needs to be cut out. Only tell us what we need to know. And what we need to know is the main character, the hook, and what’s in his way (the major source of conflict). Mileage may vary with unconventional ideas (Pulp Fiction, for example), but that’s where you start.

2) KEEP IT FUCKING PERSONAL – I prefer loglines that center around the main character. We’re human beings. So we identify with other human beings. The more impersonal your logline is (if it focuses on things as opposed to people), the less connected I am to it. So yes, that submarine logline I included above, while solid, doesn’t meet this criteria. To this end, find that preceding adjective or descriptive phrase that sells the emotion of the hero. For example, with E.T., I could start my logline, “A boy befriends an alien…” or I could say, “A lonely boy befriends an alien…” You see the difference? We feel more of an emotional connection to a lonely boy than we do to a generic boy.

With all of this in mind, here are few loglines to inspire you:

When a refined man of science is recruited to investigate a recent spat of killings in the recovering town of Salem, he must fend off growing resistance from the intensely religious locals.

When the president of the United States and his immediate chain-of-command are killed in a terrorist attack, the cabinet’s weakest member is vaulted into the highest office in the world to take his place.

When his survivalist father is sent to prison, a militant teenager raised in seclusion must enter society for the first time, where his father instructs him to plot an attack against the government.

A woman being kept in an underground shelter by men claiming the outside world is infected, must figure out a way to escape when she discovers evidence that the men may be lying.

Alright, so the top 25 scripts in the Scriptshadow 250 Contest have been announced. And while I’m sure many of you are happy for the finalists, let’s be honest. You want to know why the hell your script didn’t make the list. I’ve already seen people complaining about the loglines. “This is it??” they’re saying, forgetting that we’re not running a contest for best logline here. If we were, yesterday’s list would be a lot different. We’re looking for the best scripts. And because of that, a lot of the best loglines fell by the wayside. Believe me, I was pulling for them. The holy grail is the great concept WITH the great execution. But those scripts are like unicorns, appearing once or twice a year.

But let’s get back to that question: Why didn’t I make it? In some cases, the answer was specific to the script. I had one script that didn’t advance because the character naming was so ridiculous, it became impossible to take the script seriously. Imagine someone named Clarkwardenfall. IN A DRAMA. Then multiply that by 20 characters. But for most of the misses, there were patterns. The same issues kept coming up. Maybe by highlighting these issues, I can help you do better in your next contest.

1) LACK OF CREATIVITY – By far, the biggest issue was a lack of creativity in the storytelling. Everyone’s writing the same scenes, the same characters, the same plot beats. Nothing fresh or creative or unexpected or unique is happening on any level. I was a million pages ahead of writers on so many of these scripts. This is why the industry values “voice” so much, since voice is the antithesis of this. Writers with voice are constantly making unexpected choices that are keeping the reader on their toes. But you don’t need to be blessed with a unique voice to thrive in this area. Creative choices can be learned. You have to a) be more aware of how original your choices are and b) hold yourself to a higher standard once you recognize low-quality choices (by digging in and coming up with something better). Be brave. Do a few things that surprise even you when you tell a story.

2) TOO MUCH CREATIVITY – There’s a type of writer who writes in the opposite manner to what I just described. They don’t see behind or in front of them, but focus only on the present, writing their stories “off-the-cuff.” Because of this, their screenplays keep the reader guessing (unlike the uncreative folks). But since the writer possesses no plan, their choices usually lead you down paths to nowhere. These writers need to learn how a story is structured (beginning, middle, and end) and they need to spend more time outlining, so that their choices contain a plan behind them. As soon as I realize you don’t have a plan or as soon as things get too scattered or unfocused, I’m out.

3) LACK OF SOPHISTICATION – In a good 20 of the scripts I read, writers tackled subject matter that was well beyond their level of sophistication. For example, a writer might have written about a tragic World War 1 story, yet the writing was simplistic, lacked detail, and didn’t possess the proper mood or tone to capture the period. If you’re going to tackle weightier subject matter, make sure you possess the writing skills to do so. If you want to get better in this area, read strong literary material, carry a curiosity for vocabulary and grammar, and practice your ass off.

4) SECOND ACT BLUES – There are still too many writers who don’t have a clue of what to do once they reach the second act. One of the scripts I read was cruising through its first act. I was like, “This might make the top 5!” And then the writer spent the first 25 pages of his second act giving us extensive background on his 12 main characters. The screenplay lost all its momentum and never recovered. The second act should be doing three things. 1) Every scene should be moving your hero closer to his goal. 2) The second act should be exploring the major lines of conflict between your key characters, and 3) The second act should be placing obstacles in front of your characters so that they have things to overcome in order to achieve their goal. The second act is the act of “conflict,” so every scene should contain conflict on some level. Even if it’s just two people in a room, there needs to be something unresolved there, something that starts off negative and poses a problem that must be solved, for one or both of the characters.

5) ROSES ARE RED, PROSES ARE DEAD – I read three scripts from writers who may have made the top 25 if they didn’t grind their scripts to a standstill with walls of text. And guys, just because you divide 50 lines of description into 3 and 4 line paragraph chunks? THAT’S STILL A WALL OF TEXT. I’ve found that these writers fall into two categories. The first is the “need to impress” category. These writers tend to be young and believe it’s their job to impress you with their word-skills. The second is the “show-off” category. These are writers who are genuinely talented writers and want to show that off, but don’t realize their scripts aren’t being read in a breakfast nook with a blanket and a hot coffee, like novels are. Screenplays are meant to be read quickly, in a high-pressure industry where people are constantly asking for the new hot thing. So fair or not, it feels like WORK if we’re reading a lot of words to describe simple things. Once your script starts feeling like work ON ANY LEVEL, you’re done.

6) LACK OF NUANCE – There were a lot of scripts where writers weren’t nuanced in their writing. So a character would be really angry one second, then really nice the next, with no insight into why their mood changed so suddenly. Or a character would wake up in the middle of the night, walk outside, and all of a sudden be fighting a bunch of bad guys. How did we get here? Where did these bad guys come from? How did this character even know to wake up and check outside in the first place? There was a TON of this, and I call it “In Your Head Writing.” “In Your Head Writing” is when you’re thinking about what makes sense TO YOU (in your head) and not someone who will be reading this for the first time. To you, you may have thought, “My angry character is done being angry, he’ll be nice now,” so you make him nice. But you never shared with us (the people outside of your head) why that transition took place. If you’re being told that your writing is confusing a lot, step outside of your head and see if your writing makes sense from a third-person’s perspective.

But the biggest thing, guys, is to keep practicing. As hard as this is to hear, you may not be ready yet. I know that sucks but you may need to work more on structure or character development or dialogue. All that stuff takes time to grasp. So keep writing, keep reading (scripts), and keep studying. I’d even add “get more feedback” to that list. How can you know if you’re writing “in your head” if you don’t have a third party giving you feedback? Now get back on the horse and write something great.

Gratuitous Deadpool pic that can be used in any article

One of the most important scenes in a script is your protagonist’s introductory scene. I can’t stress this enough. One of the biggest mistakes new screenwriters make is not conveying who their protagonist is in that opening scene and not showing us why they’re a character we should be interested in.

You can have a great story and be excellent at plotting and dialogue and lots of other things. But if your main character is uninteresting, vague, unappealing, or just plain boring, it doesn’t matter.

This isn’t just true in movies. It’s true in real life. Have you ever gone to a party and started talking to someone only to find out they’re the most boring person in the universe? You don’t want to keep talking to that person, do you? You want to find someone who’s more interesting!

Obviously then, getting that introductory scene right starts long before you write it. After constructing your premise, you should make sure you have an interesting/unique protagonist to drive that premise.

Once you have that, you will use your first scene to highlight that uniqueness. If your main character is mysterious, have them be mysterious. If your main character is a chatterbox, open with them chattering. If your main character is weird, open with them doing something weird.

Note this isn’t just about creating quirky characters that would serve as Charlie Kaufman masturbation material. “Interesting” could mean someone who’s passionate, energetic, charming, or a number of other things.

Let’s take a look at recent Academy Award winner, Leonardo DiCaprio, in his most famous film, Titanic. We meet him betting everything on a poker game. That tells us everything we need to know about this guy. He lives life by the seat of his pants and goes wherever it takes him.

Next, you want to convey what a character’s ISSUE is. By issue I mean what’s plaguing their life at the moment, making things sucky? In Star Wars, Luke’s issue is that he doesn’t want to be on this planet farming any more. He wants to be a pilot, fighting for the Rebellion. Or Neo in The Matrix. We meet Neo alone in his apartment, fallen asleep in front of his computer. This man’s issue is that he lives a boring, lonely, introverted existence (note how in the first example, the main character is aware of his issue, in the second he is not – either approach is fine).

Now here’s where things get juicy. If you want to REALLY do your job, you want to convey in that first scene what your main character’s FLAW is. This will indicate to the audience what your character needs to “fix” to become whole by the end of the movie.

Remember when we were discussing dramatic questions a few weeks ago? And how if you pose a dramatic question, the reader will stick around for the answer? Identifying your main character’s flaw in that first scene works in a similar fashion. Once we see what’s wrong with them, we’ll subconsciously want to stick around to see if they can overcome it. “Close the loop” so to speak.

Now here’s the thing. The “flaw” opener is most prominent in comedy scripts. Like Liar Liar. Jim Carrey DEPENDS on lying. We see that in his opening scene in the courtroom. This tends to be the case because audiences are okay with comedies being over-the-top in conveying important story points.

It’s a lot harder to pull this off in other genres, like drama or science-fiction, because you can’t be too overt about it. For that reason, most writers tend to avoid it and deal with the flaw later on, if at all. I would caution against this. If you can make your main character interesting, identify their issue, AND announce their flaw all in their first scene, you are not only a masterful writer, but you’ll have bought yourself that reader’s eyes for 30 more pages AT LEAST. Readers will want to stick around to see what’s up with that character.

Remember, you’re not always going to be able to pull all three off. Each screenplay has its own unique set of problems. For example, in the Bourne series, Jason Bourne has amnesia and therefore doesn’t remember who he is. How can you establish someone’s flaw if they don’t know who they are? Or in Braveheart, we meet William Wallace before he’s an adult. So you can’t really give him a flaw since his flaw will be born through his experiences growing up. The point being – don’t try to force everything in there if it doesn’t work for your particular story.

But today is different. Today we ARE going to try and pull off all three. So your challenge is to write a scene introducing us to a main character who we a) want to see more of (conveyed through making them interesting/unique in some way), and b) know who he is by the end of the scene (conveyed through issue and flaw).

Upvote the character you MOST want to read more about in the comments section and we’ll give a shout out to the winner tomorrow. Good luck!

Is there such thing as the perfect concept? Today’s script poses that question. And no one makes it out alive before the answer is given! Time Shark baby! TIME SHARK!!!

Title: Time Shark!
Genre: Spoof/Action Adventure
Logline: A retired marine biologist goes back into the water when inter-dimensional time-traveling sharks invade our world. But an overzealous military-man has nefarious plans for the strange fish. Airplane! meets Jaws.
Why you should read: Hey there! So I’m a first time screenwriter, starting this a little later than most, (I’m in my early 40s) and I had a story to tell about time traveling sharks. So I did. I don’t live in California, I’m actually a tv sports producer in Florida, a cuban-american dad, and write as a hobby on the side. I think you should review my script because it’s a comedy about time traveling sharks. And time travel is awesome, and so are sharks. And spoof comedies aren’t all that common anymore, so why not? I really hope you give it a look. Thanks.
Writer: Enrique Bertran
Details: 97 pages

First off, I want to apologize to the four OTHER applicants of last week’s Amateur Offerings. Because, seriously? Did anybody REALLY stand a chance against Time Shark? We’re talking about time travel and sharks. The two greatest things that have ever existed on the planet. I once conducted a survey of the greatest pairings of all time once and you know what the number 1 pairing was? Peanut Butter and Jelly. Except there was an asterisk next to it. The asterisk stated: “Unless you’re counting time travel and sharks.”

The only bad thing about putting time travel and sharks in the same script is that the expectations are stratospheric. Anything less than genius would be a literary catastrophe. But no worries. We can be sure that today’s screenplay will be perfect. Why? Because if it isn’t, we can just send a shark back in time to rewrite it. Boom! Splash goes the shark’s fin.

Pentagon worker Sarah Lightman has just been informed of the impossible. All over the world, ancient sharks – sharks that have not existed in millions of years – are attacking and killing people. We’re talking megalodon sharks here, those giant prehistoric motherfuckers, and flying sharks, and sharks with two heads. Sarah and her co-worker, Chairman Higgins, are tasked by the government to figure out a solution to this growing problem.

It doesn’t take long for Sarah to realize they’re in over their heads. Luckily, she knows a man. Gil Baitman, the world’s number 1 shark expert. The thing is, Baitman hasn’t been seen in years. Ever since his wife was chewed up by one of these dorsel-finned gravy gobblers, he can’t so much as mouth the word “shark.” But desperate times call for desperate measures, and the curiosity factor of prehistoric sharks using our beaches as buffets is too big for even Baitman to resist.

The goal is to capture one of these sharks so the government can study what they’re up against. And somehow, Gil and Sarah pull this off. Little do they know, however, Chairman Higgins never had any intentions of studying these sharks and their time-traveling ways. He wanted to create the ultimate time shark army! So he starts cloning these sharks and strapping weapons to them (like lasers), and before you know it, he’s sending this shark army off on missions.

But wouldn’t you know it – those bastard sharks rebel. And now that they’re armed with weapons, they have one goal in mind – to settle the score with their makers. It’ll be up to Gil, the only person who knows enough about sharks to stop this kind of attack. But will he be able to put past tragedies behind to pull off this impossible feat? Only time will tell. Or should I say, only time SHARKS will tell.

Luke Perry for Baitman for sure

I honestly considered giving this script a “worth the read” on its title alone. I’m serious. There have only been five screenplays in existence that were worth money on their title alone. Monster-In-Law, I remember, was one of them. Then there were… those other ones. And Time Shark would definitely be in that group.

But Enrique makes a critical mistake. He mixes two types of comedy that shouldn’t be mixed. “Spoof” is the kind of comedy that works when you have a generic subject matter – like an airplane. The spoofing is there to “spice up” up the otherwise bland concept. But when you have a spicy concept to begin with, you don’t need any more spice. Too much spice can turn a relaxed dinner at an Indian restaurant into an all-night date with your toilet.

I mean Russians speaking with subtitles, then looking down to read their own subtitles and then, because they’re upside-down relative to them, turning those subtitles right-side up so they can read them – that’s pretty funny and something that would work in a movie like Airplane. But it doesn’t work here when you’ve already got a wacky concept to begin with.

Every bit of comedy here needs to stem from two things – sharks and time-travel. When you’ve got scenes centered around the cloning of Kim Kardashian’s ass, you move from “buzzworthy so-bad-it’s-good” type movie, a la “Sharknado,” to “Vampires Suck,” which is the trash heap of the comedy genre. You don’t want to get anywhere near that. I mean a joke about Abe Vigoda? Really? I suppose that’s sort of time travel related. As in time traveling jokes from the 90s.

As for the plot itself, it’s a mixed bag. Having Sarah and Gil try and bag a time shark was okay, I guess. But once they deliver the shark, the movie shifts over to Chairman Higgins, who’s driving the story with his whole “weaponizing sharks” plan. In the meantime, our main characters are just hanging out on a boat for 30 pages.

There’s this misconception that when you’re writing comedy – ESPECIALLY broad comedy – that nothing matters. That you can do whatever the hell you want because ‘who cares, it’s comedy.’ But the standard pillars of storytelling still apply. And having your two main characters inactive for 30 pages is a bad idea. You want them to be driving the story at all times.

The script picks back up when the time sharks rebel and Gil and Sarah are tasked with cleaning up the mess (so they’re finally active again), but it’s too little, too late. By that point we’d gotten bored of the two.

I DEFINITELY think this is salvageable though. The idea of megalodon sharks attacking people on beaches is genius. I also like the idea of the government weaponzing them. I would try and keep Gil and Sarah closer to the action in that second act though. You never want your main characters waiting at the side of the ring to be tagged back in. They need to be fighting the fight at all times. And stop trying to mix two different types of comedy. I’d go so far as to say this will never go anywhere if you keep the spoof angle.

Out of my own curiosity, I’d like to hear other commenters pitch their Time Shark movies. This is something I’m almost sure will be turned into a film, even if it’s just on Syfy. And if we can help Enrique see a better version of this script, we could help him speed up that process. So, fire away!

Script link: Time Shark

[ ] what the hell did I just read?

[x] wasn’t for me 

[ ] worth the read 

[ ] impressive

[ ] genius

What I learned: Guys, if secondary characters are making the decisions that are pushing your story forward, it means your main characters aren’t. That’s bad storytelling 101.