I have one question for you before I get to today’s article. Is the key to getting an original script turned into a wide release movie one single shot? I know it’s a small sample size but after 1917 made a shocking 36 million this weekend (when was the last time a World War 1 movie made 36 million in a weekend???), we have to ask the question. Cause there was that OTHER original idea – a little movie called Gravity – that was a single-shot film (for the most part) and that became a surprise hit also. Coincidence?

I’m asking the question half-jokingly but it’s an intriguing discussion. It’s so hard to get any original movie released these days. So if you can find any trend out there, you run with it. Now both these movies were writer directors. But I think a spec writer could do an even better job because they wouldn’t be worried about pulling off certain shots and whether something would be too difficult or not. They could write whatever came to mind.

Why does the single shot movie work? Well, obviously, it’s hard to pull off so it’s easy to build buzz around a one-shot movie. But from a screenwriting perspective, if you’re doing something in one shot, you have to create a sense of urgency or else there’ll be a bunch of slow spots in the movie. So, in a way, it forces you to create a really tight exciting story. Might we now get a few single-shot spec scripts in The Last Great Screenwriting Contest? Maybe a single shot social horror thriller even? We’ll see!

Moving on, I’m going to talk about producing today because that’s where my mind is at. This past week, I stumbled onto a movie called “Sweetheart” on Netflix. The film is about a shipwrecked girl who wakes up on an island only to learn that a monster lives on it as well. The movie follows her journey both trying to survive on an island and trying not to get killed by this monster.

The main reason I watched this movie is because it’s a movie I would’ve made. You’ve got a contained thriller. You’ve got a supernatural threat. That combination has been responsible for a lot of movies that have made a lot of money. You’ve also got a hot young director coming off a hit movie at Sundance. I would’ve seen all these elements and thought, “Slam dunk.”

Unfortunately, as I hit the 30 minute mark of the movie, I was struggling to stay invested. I kept asking myself, “Why? This is a movie you would make. Why isn’t it working!?” As if being able to answer the question would ensure that every future movie I made wouldn’t suffer the same fate. Gradually, after I was able to take my emotion out of it, I realized it came back to script problems. More specifically, it reminded me that contained thrillers are incredibly hard to pull off. And Sweetheart shows you why.

When we come with a contained idea, the first thing we think about is the cool moments. For example, in the big spec contained thriller, “Shut In,” you would think of the moment where the main character nailed the bad guy’s hand into the floor to keep him there. Or, with this movie, you might imagine the first time our heroine sees the monster. These moments are the moments that get us excited to write a script.

Here’s the problem though. There are only about four of five of these big exciting moments in your head when you’re putting an idea together. In the best case scenario, these moments take up fifteen minutes of screen time. In addition to this, you’re likely going to have a big climax, so we can add another 10-15 minutes of screen time on top of that. This means you have 30 minutes figured out. Which means you still have 70 MORE MINUTES TO FILL.

Now filling up 70 minutes in a Star Wars or James Bond movie isn’t that difficult. You just go to a new planet or a new country and throw in a car chase. But 70 minutes in a CONTAINED THRILLER??? Even screenwriting aces have trouble making those minutes interesting. Usually, all you have is a few characters and a small space. What do you do with 70 minutes of that?

That’s clearly where Sweetheart fell apart. It didn’t have a plan for those 70 minutes. It made the fatal mistake of assuming the concept alone was going to do the work for it. That we’d be so excited in the moments between the monster attacks to see it again that we’d wait through anything. Watching a character washed up on an island try to survive on page 10 is interesting. Not so much on page 60, when we’re bored of it.

It’s the writer’s job, then, to come up with plot beats that keep the story moving. And, to their credit, they try. For example, a couple of other shipwrecked characters (from her ship) show up about 50 minutes in. And that, at least, gives us some new scenarios, like characters being able to have a conversation. However, the plot beats were lazy. In fact, there’s another girl washed up on a deserted island with a monster spec that was written at the same time as Sweetheart. What happens at the 50 page mark of that script? A couple of shipwrecked characters show up. In other words, your story choice was so predictable that the only other person writing this idea came up with the same plot beat.

It is IMPERATIVE as a screenwriter to always check yourself on these things. When you come up with a plot development, one of the first things you should ask yourself is, “Would someone else come up with this as well?” And if the answer is yes, don’t write it. Come up with something else. The counter-argument to this is, “Well how many plot options are there in this scenario? Bringing in new characters is one of the only things you can do.” There’s never a situation where there’s only one thing to do. There are always options. It’s definitely harder to come up with the options that nobody’s thought of yet. But those are the ones that are going to make your script great.

Another issue was that there was no sense of danger in a script about a woman stuck on an island with a monster. She and the monster routinely see each other and nothing happens. She’s easily able to hide under a log or behind a tree. It gets to the point where you’re wondering if the monster is even interested in killing her. If the only person in your thriller script isn’t in danger, you don’t have a thriller.

In retrospect, I think I know why they did this. If the monster is too aggressive and powerful, the movie’s over in five minutes. The only way to make the movie last was to make him passive. But then where’s the movie? The last time I checked, the alien in “Alien” doesn’t occasionally walk by the characters, uninterested in them. It aggressively hunts them down one by one. And I’m not bashing Sweetheart for not living up to the greatest sci-fi horror film ever. I get that these are tough script problems to figure out. But if the audience isn’t feeling fear for your hero, we don’t have anything to work with.

I bring this up in the hopes that those of you writing contained thrillers for The Last Great Screenwriting Contest approach these dangerous 70 minutes strategically. You might want to watch Sweetheart and read Shut In back-to-back. In Shut In, we have two children in danger outside the room our hero is stuck in the entire movie. That alone adds a sense of urgency and tension that Sweetheart never had. It ensured that we were always rooting for our hero to escape the room so she could rescue her kids.

And that’s probably the best lesson to learn for a contained thriller – personal character-driven stories give you the best chance at surviving those big gaps of screen time where you don’t have a set-piece. I’m still on the edge of my seat for the Shut In heroine when all the noise died down because I still want her to save her kids. I’m not scared for the Sweetheart heroine at all because, from what I can tell, this monster isn’t interested in killing her.

Did you guys see Sweetheart? If so, what did you think?

Genre: Action
Premise: When a talented hacker is recruited by the mysterious Cicada 3301, she gets wrapped up in a plot that threatens to destroy the entire world. Based on the real organization.
About: This script finished number 4 on the 2019 Black List. The writer of the script, Lillian Yu, made last year’s Hit List with her script, Singles Day.
Writer: Lillian Yu
Details: 108 pages

One of the reasons it’s so hard to make hacker movies work is because there aren’t a lot of ways to make typing on a computer interesting. Even with the fancy graphics, it’s a bit like chronicling the life of a famous writer. The act of writing is boring to watch, just as the act of hacking is boring to watch. I found this out the hard way a long time ago when I wrote a hacker script. No matter how cool I tried to make the hacking process, it always came back to my hero sitting in front of a screen pounding buttons. I could never figure it out.

The more interesting approach is probably to have your hero be operating in the real world and your villain be the one who’s the hacker. That way, they’re controlling the elements around you and you have to constantly adjust. I think The Net, with Sandra Bullock, took this approach. Enemy of the State as well. And probably some recent movies that I’m forgetting. So how does Yu solve this problem? Let’s find out.

Jane is a computer genius, so much so that she got a full-ride to Harvard. Jane is also a bit of a social justice warrior, and when she tries to expose one of Harvard’s premiere fraternities for covering up sexual assault, she finds out that Harvard is more interested in keeping up its pristine image than being Ronan Farrow’s next expose. So Jane is kicked out of school.

She eventually gets a crappy job at an insurance company where she secretly retroactively adjusts policies so that poor people don’t get screwed over. This catches the eye of a secret organization known as Cicada who recruits Jane to be a member. She’s flown to Paris via a remotely controlled airplane, passes a bunch of a tests, then meets the team, which is basically a techno-savvy version of the Mission Impossible group.

The leader, Adam, explains that Cicada is an organization whose sole job is to do right in the world. For example, there’s a guy running a Ponzi scheme 10x worse than Madoff. Cicada digitally transfers all that money back to its rightful owners. All in the background.

The problem is there’s another organization called Zero whose mission is the same as Cicada’s. To save the world. Except their business plan has gone awry recently and their current plan is to infuse North Korea with trillions of dollars so it can launch a nuclear war against the world. All of this is happening at the end of the month, so they need to act now.

There’s a major gathering of the most influential people in the world at a castle and the head of Zero is going to be there. They need to get there and kill the guy. Unfortunately, hacking isn’t going to be enough to do the job. So Jane must go through action training to get her up to speed in hand to hand combat and shooting peeps in the face. She barely passes and off they go.

Everything at the castle goes cleanly at first, but then Jane runs into a Zero member, who informs her that Cicada is lying to her. That she was recruited specifically to be the fall guy when all of this hits the press. Unsure of who to believe, Jane must decide who to align herself with, the company who recruited her, or the apparent enemy.

One of the best ways to convey a script read is to take people inside the mind of the reader as they were reading. Which is what I’m going to do here. The first thing I noticed about this script was that the writing was strong. There was a vibrancy and energy to it that was exciting. The description, in particular, was a cut above what I usually see.

So I was excited. However, I then ran into my first issue with the script. The main character was really angry at the world. And angry main characters rarely work. It’s hard to root for them, plain and simple. Whenever you’re unsure of what you can get away with with your main character, just imagine them in real life. Do you like angry people in real life? I don’t. Most people don’t. So that’s probably not going to work as a main character. It can work with a side character since they don’t need our emotional investment. But it’s a major risk when you’re doing it with the hero.

I think Yu sensed this and, therefore, gave Jane a couple of save the cat moments. Her mom dies. And she helps a wronged insurance customer get their money back. This can sometimes work to balance the character out. But only if the implementation is invisible. I saw these moments for what they were – attempts to get us to like the character. Once we see the hand of the writer writing, we know we’re being manipulated.

Regarding the problem I brought up in the intro, Yu made the wise decision to train Jane in more than computer hacking. She’s taught how to kill and fight and drive which allows her to get into more interesting situations in the big set pieces. The issue there was that it wasn’t believable. She’s trained to be an action star in a week.

This is a common problem in these “ordinary hero thrust into extraordinary situation” movies and writers have developed all sorts of tricks to make the leap passable. For example, in the movie Wanted, didn’t James McAvoy’s character have a father who was special and therefore he’d inherited special abilities as well? He just needed someone to open them up?

To this day, the best movie that’s ever done this is The Matrix. It was instantly believable that a nobody who doesn’t know how to fight could fight like a master since when you’re in a computer system, any skill can be uploaded into you. It’s one of the many reasons that movie was a classic (Matrix 4 coming, baby!).

But the biggest problem with this script is that 75 pages into it, I stopped and thought to myself, “I know I’ve read this somewhere before.” I went into my archives, did some research, but eventually realized that, no, I hadn’t read it before. It was that the script’s beats were so familiar, it just FELT like something I’d read before. And that’s where I mentally gave up on the script.

A few of you have indicated I should add a “Is this produceable” section to my reviews since I’m moving into producing. It’s a great question with this script. Because it feels like a movie. But if I’m going to produce something, I’m looking for some element that’s unique enough to make the film stand out amongst the crowd. And I didn’t feel that here. This is very much Mission Impossible meets James Bond. A few years ago, the female lead might’ve helped it stand out. But now everyone’s writing female action leads.

Then again, who knows. John Wick was the most generic action movie plot ever. A retired assassin comes back to kill a bunch of bad Russians. And after the Action Showdown Contest, one of the conclusions we came to was that it’s really hard to make an original action movie. So I suppose the answer to this question is in the eye of the beholder. We’ll have to see what happens.

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

What I learned: When writing hacking scenes, avoid a bunch of character + computer screen gobbledy-gook that sounds like hacking. Stuff like, “Did you close down the firewall?” “I’m still trying to find out if he’s using a password sniffer!” In my experience, that stuff never works. Instead, you need to create a situation – preferably something visual – that the reader can understand. Maybe this isn’t the best example, but in The Social Network, instead of Mark Zuckerberg writing some weird techy hacky program in real time, Sorkin had him competing against six other people in a circle of computers in the midst of a drinking contest. That’s always going to work better than literal lines of code.

Genre: Sci-fi/Rom-Com/Drama
Premise: Teddy thinks he’s the only living person left in a world where humanity is frozen in time… until his ex-girlfriend, Leyna, shows up at his doorstep. Together, they must go on a journey to find the cause behind the freeze and in the process, confront the issues that plagued their relationship before it’s too late.
About: This is the number 1 script on the 2019 Black List. The writer, Ken Kobayashi, graduated from USC Film School. This project is set up at Sony with Will Gluck producing. Gluck is no stranger to championing breakout scripts. He directed Easy A, one of the biggest spec scripts of 2009.
Writer: Ken Kobayashi
Details: 104 pages

Nat Wolff for Teddy?

Late last night, someone posted a comment regarding the low vote count for this year’s Black List. Writers don’t have agents this year, they reminded me. Duh! How could I forget?? And agents are the ones doing the heavy lobbying to get their clients on the Black List.

But it goes deeper than that. Yesterday, I championed the death of the biopic, as the dreaded genre was practically absent from the 2019 Black List. But now I realize that was almost certainly because the big agencies weren’t involved. Agencies promote projects for their talent arms, and biopics are actor favorites, since the actors get to play famous flawed figures and those movies always get Oscar noms. Once you remove the main people incentivized to promote that genre, however, you’re not going to have as many of them on list.

Which means maybe biopics aren’t dead after all. :(

This would also explain the uptick of original concepts in this year’s list. Managers are more willing to take chances on and develop original projects and they’re now the primary lobbyers. It’s a reminder that these things are never black and white. You take away one variable for a list and there might be 20 scripts out and 20 new scripts in. I suppose we’re going to find out if this change results in a better list or not. And it starts today with the top screenplay, Move On.

28 year-old Teddy has just asked his girlfriend, Leyna, to marry him. Leyna doesn’t mince words with her response. “No,” she says, and walks out the door. Teddy is devastated, lamenting to his best bud, Squid, who came to cheerlead, that nothing matters anymore. On his drive home, he tries to call Leyla but gets clipped by a truck, nearly dying. But it gets worse. A few minutes later, the entire world freezes.

Cut to three months later and Teddy is biking around a frozen world. Some things still work, like hot water and all the food stays fresh (since it’s frozen in the moment) but other than that, being alone in the world blows. But on his way home from biking, Teddy sees an impossible sight. It’s Leyna! She’s unfrozen as well!

She pops into his place and the two lament the situation they’re in. For some reason, they don’t discuss her marriage rejection. They hang out and the next morning Teddy shows her a google map of this giant black line off the west coast. He saw a black wall in person off the east coast and he wants to see if this other black line is also a wall. So the two go on a road trip together to find out.

During the trip, we occasionally cut back in time to the two meeting, getting to know each other, and starting their adult lives — all the things that led up to the proposal. What we learn is that Ted’s a moron. He took a job in Japan without clearing it with Leyla and then tried to save face by proposing to her. It turns out that rejection is the least of his worries, though, as Ted is about to find out the shocking reason why the world is frozen.

I saw a lot of people commenting on “Move On” in the comments yesterday and the consensus seemed to be that nobody made it past the first 20 pages. I can see why. The writing here doesn’t crackle loud enough to inspire that page-turning tick all writers strive for.

So what would’ve happened had you kept reading? Well, the script has a nice twist. There’s no doubt about it. And that led to an interesting final act. But before we get to that, let’s talk about everything else.

There were too many small but frustrating miscalculations in Move On to buy into it. For example, we get hit with the most gigantic story development ever. THE WORLD IS FROZEN. That’s something you need to sit in for a while. It’s not something you flippantly throw in before sprinting to the next plot point. But that’s exactly what happens. Less than ONE PAGE after the world freezes, Teddy sees Leyla. I knew at that moment the script was in trouble.

Understanding time and pacing and when to draw things out and when to move things along is an essential skill in screenwriting. Some writers do it naturally. For others, it takes time to learn. But, I mean, one page of Frozenville and we’re already throwing the girlfriend back in there?

Then, our lead characters aren’t acting like real people would. If two people lived in a frozen world for three months then ran into each other, it doesn’t matter who they are, they would spend the next 48 hours talking about this bizarre event and how it’s changed their lives and how scared they were and everything they saw and experienced. Instead, we get a brief conversation between Teddy and Leyla before she says, “We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.”

The trifecta for me was when Teddy says he’s found this black line on the West Coast on Google Maps. He’s already been to the East Coast and seen a black wall off the beach. So he wants to “check to see” if this line is also a black wall. Here’s your answer, Teddy. Yes. Yes it is. What else would it possibly be? Yet that’s the goal we use to drive the story. At that point, I mentally gave up on the script and only read on because I was going to review it.

To the writer’s credit, we do get that twist. —SPOILERS— It turns out that on his way home that day, Teddy didn’t get clipped by a truck. He got flat-out T-boned and was killed. This is a simulation (both the world and Teddy) for people who need to find closure with those who they’ve lost. Leyla was devastated because she never got to discuss what happened and why she did what she did. So, five years later, she’s finally gotten a chance to get that closure.

I’ve read a lot of scripts where people are in simulations. I’ve even read a good number of scripts where people create simulations to connect with dead loved ones. But I’ve never read a script where we take the point of view of the simulated dead person inside the simulation.

It just goes to show how powerful POV can be in story creation. If you’ve been doing this long enough, you’ve come up with a hundred concepts, many of them discarded because they were too similar to other movies. But what if you changed the obvious POV to a non-obvious one? For example, everyone’s come up with a Die Hard idea. But what if you wrote a Die Hard idea from the point of view of Hans? The villain? It would be a completely different movie (I’m not saying it would be good – I’m talking off the top of my head here – but it would be different). So I give credit to Kobayashi for finding a cool angle that no one else thought of. I’m guessing that’s why he made this year’s list.

Unfortunately, the script wasn’t up to snuff in many other areas. I loved the twist. And I even liked the dark tone the script shifted to in those last 20 pages. But then you have stuff like Teddy learning he’s a simulation and, within one scene, being okay with it, and then, in the next scene, cheerfully ready to be turned off for good. There were so many story beats like this one that lacked genuine human reactions that I was constantly being pulled out of the script.

But it does show you how powerful a big concept and a big twist can be. If you’re a young writer who’s a long ways away from mastering this skill, those two things can act as turbo boosters. Because both of them are memorable. You remember the concept. You remember the twist. In most cases of reading screenplays, you don’t remember anything about a script after a couple of weeks.

Move On is a fun screenplay when viewed in totality. But it’s an uphill battle getting to the twist that saves it. It wasn’t enough for me to recommend the screenplay.

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

What I learned: Screenplays where a character acts bizarre for reasons that aren’t revealed until late in the story are hard to pull off. Once we hit the twist on page 70, we get a better understanding of why Leyla is acting so strangely (why she just conveniently appeared out of nowhere and why she’s so laid back in spite of the outrageous circumstances). This is her simulation. She doesn’t have to talk or answer anything from Teddy if she doesn’t want to. She just wants to spend time with him to get closure. Think about what you’re doing to the reader here, though. You’re having a character act unlike any rational human being would for 70 pages before you tell them why. It’s not that you can’t pull this off. But you have to creatively find ways to make the character feel real in the meantime. Or else the reader sees this character who’s doing all these things that no normal person would do and they give up on the script before they get to the great twist. So travel down this road cautiously.

Welcome to The Mandalorian Teleplay Chronicles. I will be reviewing every episode of The Mandalorian’s first season with an eye towards helping writers learn TV writing. Here’s a link to my review of the first episode here, a link to the second episode here, a link to episode 3 and here’s episode 4.

Genre: Sci-fi/Fantasy
Premise: The Mandalorian gets stuck on Tatooine where he must help a young bounty hunter pursue a dangerous assassin.
About: This is Episode 5 of The Mandalorian. Only three episodes left! Star Wars trivia maven Dave Filoni is back in the driver’s seat. But unlike the pilot episode, he’s not just directing here, he’s writing too, making this the first episode not written by Jon Favreau.
Writer: Dave Filoni
Details: 30-35 minutes.

“Mando!”

I love the way Carl Weathers calls out to the Mandalorian. There’s something vocally pleasing about mimicking the way he says it.

But I’ll tell you what I don’t love.

Dave Filoni’s writing.

This episode is about what you’d expect from the Star Wars Trivia Guy. A jaunt down memory lane. Lots of old Star Wars lines and Star Wars spots. It’s a fan service party. I’m sorry but Filoni needs to be placed back in the cartoon side of Star wars. He works best in situations where he can give characters pink helmets and have everyone say, “I have a bad feeling about this” twice an episode.

I’m tempted to spend the next 2000 words ripping this episode apart, but I want to stay true to the purpose of these articles and focus on improving our television writing.

For those who didn’t see the episode, here’s a recap.

After Mando injures his ship in a space battle, he flies down for repairs on Tatooine! You know, from the original Star Wars! Once he lands, we meet the extremely cartoonish Rhea Pearlman who I know isn’t Rhea Pearlman but I’m going to call her Rhea Pearlman. Rhea Pealman is a space port mechanic or something. She tells Mando she can’t fix his ship without deniro and Mando doesn’t have any. Uh-oh. What’s a bounty hunter to do?

Mando leaves Baby Yoda and his viral memes in the ship to grab a beer at, you guessed it, the Cantina bar from Star Wars! There he meets Toro Calican. If that’s not a fan fiction Star Wars name, I don’t know what is. I bet I could find a better name on one of those Star Wars name generator websites. Actually, I’m going to test that theory. Hold on. ——- Back! Here’s the first one they gave me: Thes Lerann. Already better.

Toro Calican, played by someone who took his first acting class last week, is sitting in the exact seat where we first met Han Solo and even sits the same way Han Solo does!! Toro is a young bounty hunter who needs help with a bounty out by the Dune Sea (THE DUNE SEA!? WAIT, DIDN’T LUKE REFERENCE THE DUNE SEA IN THE ORIGINAL STAR WARS!?!?). He says he’ll split the payout with Mando, which will allow Mando to pay for his ship repairs and blow this joint.

They head out to the Dune Sea and get in a sniper battle with the assassin. Realizing they need to get closer, they wait til night and use flash-bang explosions to blind her gun site. This makes it so she can’t shoot them as they approach. Eventually they capture her and she smooth-talks Toto Barnacle into going after Mando. Fortunately, Mando sniffs it out and defeats Toto first. The end.

Oh, and then there’s a cliffhanger where we see a random character’s feet.

The big problem with this TV series right now is that the show doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. When you’re writing serialized television, you want to connect the episodes as much as possible. You want multiple characters pursuing multiple things. You want unresolved conflict between characters. You want overarching goals, immediate goals. You want new relationships to form, old ones to fall apart. You want conflict at every turn. And you want it all to exist within a giant web of connectedness. All of this helps your show feel like it has purpose.

So it’s strange that The Mandalorian is doing the opposite of all these things.

Each episode is singular. Not only in its mission, but with its characters. The press tour for this show focused on all of these actors who were going to be a part of this series. But so far, all of them are only getting one episode. It’s bizarre.

We continue to watch because we’re Star Wars fans and this is a new way to enjoy the franchise. But they need to get their bantha s%$# together. What is the ultimate goal of this show? There’s no big bad guy. There aren’t any real unresolved conflicts between Mando and other characters. Maybe Greef Carga, but come on. He’s had 5 minutes of screen time.

And that’s another issue with the show. Every drama I’ve ever known has been in that 48 to 60 minute length. The reason for that is that dramas are about character and it takes time to develop characters. You have to experience them in a lot of different situations and witness a lot of their conversations in order to connect with them. We’re not doing any of that. When you combine that approach with these short individualized [side] quests, the experience feels as empty as talking to a droid.

It’s funny because one of the things I was worried about going into this series was whether Star Wars could work as a “talking heads” show. Yet here I am now begging for more talking heads. If we’re not invested in multiple character storylines in a show, we’re eventually going to tune out. Focusing on a single hero’s storyline is a feature game. This is television.

Okay, back to Filoni. Everything in this episode from the characters to the dialogue was cheesy and cartoonish. However, if you look back at the original Star Wars, you could argue that it’s cheesy and cartoonish as well. A major storyline in the second film is a man hunched over in a tiny hut talking to a green frog creature who speaks backwards. But the original Star Wars is still a thousand times better than this episode. So there’s a clear line between good cheesy and cartoonish and bad cheesy and cartoonish. Where is that line and how do you know if you’ve crossed it?

I think it’s a matter of degree.

If you create overly goofy characters, it’s hard to rein them in to anything approaching authenticity. The two characters Filoni introduced into this episode were Toto Barnacle and Rhea Pearlman. Rhea is WAAAAAY over the top. And Toto is WAAAAAY cheesy.

Interestingly, they’d probably work well in a cartoon. Cartoons embrace exaggeration whereas live action requires a sense of grounded-ness. Cartoon characters don’t possess the necessary depth to make you believe that they exist outside of the moments we see them. For example, can you imagine an average day with the Rhea Pearlman character? Of course not. She wasn’t constructed to exist in real life. She was constructed to bounce off the walls and give Mando dime store life lessons in five minutes of screen time. If you want characters who feel like real people (or real aliens!) you need to think of them beyond the scenes that you write for them.

And, actually, a great exercise is to sit down and write a typical day that your character goes through. Once you’re forced to think about the mundane moments of your character’s life, that’s when you really start to understand them. Filoni clearly hasn’t done that. And that’s why Toto sounds so cliche. You can’t get original lines out of a cartoon character. You only find original dialogue through a fully lived life.

That friend of yours who always seems to come up with the funniest most original observations – that didn’t come out of nowhere. His extensive life experiences shaped his reality and, over time, all of that built into a unique world view. It’s the same thing with characters. The more you know about them, the deeper the well there is to pull dialogue from. The less you know about them, the more you’ll rely on cliches. This is a monster point so I want to stress it:

The majority of generic and/or cliche dialogue comes from a lack of understanding of the characters speaking. The more you know about someone, the more specific their lines will be, moving you further and further away from cliche.

If there’s one thing I want you to take away from this misadventure, it’s the importance of character in television. Spend more time coming up with your characters. Try to get to know their pasts as much as possible. Think about the relationships of your characters in your show. Make them complicated and interesting and full of unresolved conflict. Think about their individual storyline throughout the season and think about how it will weave in and out of other characters’ storylines. And think about the arcs of your supporting characters. In features, it’s all about the hero. But in TV, everybody needs to arc and so everybody needs to be on their own difficult journey. That’s not happening in The Mandlorian, and if it doesn’t start happening soon, this show is in major trouble.

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

What I learned: One of the reasons I’m not a huge Stranger Things fan is that, like The Mandalorian, they depend too much on fan service. Everything is a reference to something else. I like it when writers do the hard work and come up with fresh ideas. However, the one thing Stranger Things has over The Mandalorian is that it cares a lot more about character development. There’s a real desire to get to know what makes those characters tick that I’m not seeing in this show. You can only get by for so long on plot in TV. Sooner or later, you have to let us into multiple characters’ lives.

What I learned 2: Singular POV doesn’t work well in television. The Mandalorian is a Singular POV TV show. We see every scene through the hero’s eyes. The reason this is so hampering is because television depends heavily on great characters and if we’re limiting the point of view to just one person, we’ll only get to know the other characters through the limited point of view of our hero’s eyes. I mean even Star Wars cuts around to different points of view and that’s a feature. This is a strange choice that’s slowly killing the show.

Don’t forget. You have one week left to turn your script in for the HOLIDAY AMATEUR SHOWDOWN. Must be a late-year holiday-themed script. I’m giving you til next Thursday, December 12, at 8:00 pm Pacific Time. Send the title, genre, logline, why you think it deserves a shot, and, of course, a PDF of the script (you’d be surprised at how many people forget that part), to carsonreeves1@gmail.com

Genre: Action
Logline: A disaffected NYPD cop visiting her daughter in a state-of-the-art hospital is unwittingly caught in a hostage situation when extremists raid the building seeking the cure of a deadly virus.
Why You Should Read: I got my start writing for B-Movie King Roger Corman, which basically means your creative flexibility gets completely strapped by ultra-low budget constraints. I wrote “Hemorrhage” to break free of such restrictions and focus on telling a story about a hard-pressed mother struggling to mend old wounds between her sick daughter, albeit with armed extremists threatening to rip apart what little bond they have left. I love the thrill of a good action movie, especially ones with compelling antagonists whose motives aren’t simply black or white and make us truly fear for the principal characters’ lives. If you get a kick out of the same thing, then you’ll have a blast reading “Hemorrhage.”
Writer: Justin Fox
Details: 108 pages

Zoe Saldana for Laken?

When I conceived of Action Week, this is exactly what I imagined. A good old-fashioned balls-to-the-wall action flick. But I realized something while reading “Hemorrhage,” which is that reading action scripts is challenging. Action is meant to be experienced visually. It isn’t meant to be conveyed in words. There are only so many “He jumps,” “She shoots,” “They runs,” “It explodes,” a reader can take before they tune out.

This is why I encourage writers to come up with action concepts and set pieces that are unique in some way. The more uniqueness you can bring, the more you disrupt the pattern. “Gravity” comes to mind. That movie had so many unique action scenes because of the story’s unique setup. Or that library book attack scene in John Wick 3. That’s the sort of stuff you need to put on the page.

Let’s see how Hemorrhage fared in this department.

An American doctor in Afghanistan is trying to help contain a deadly virus when she, herself, gets infected. She’s tossed on a plane and flown back to New York City so she can be treated. Meanwhile, 35 year old cop Laken Atwood is finishing up the day’s beat so she can get to her daughter, Piper’s, lung surgery. Piper’s lung was punctured due to a car accident where Laken was driving. So Piper’s not exactly thrilled to see her mom.

While this is going on, terrorists led by creepy frenchman, Cedric, creepier fake doctor, Mateo, and Mateo’s angry younger sister, Ana, show up at the hospital the Afghanistan doctor is being sent to and start killing everyone they see. They then withdraw blood from the woman, which no doubt they will use to kill large portions of populations at some point in the future.

In case you were wondering, this is the same hospital Piper is staying at. So when Laken and Piper hear all the shooting, Laken knows it’s time to high-tail it out of here. There are a few problems though. One, Piper is connected to a computer thing that’s keeping her lung pumping. Two, Laken’s husband, Danny, is downstairs grabbing snacks. And three, New York is in the midst of a storm so bad the streets have turned into lakes.

Laken tries to construct an escape plan but the terrorists are on them quickly. Laken kills Emil AND Ana, which makes Mateo so angry, he momentarily ditches his plan to destroy the world so he can find this pesky cop and kill her. Eventually he’s able to get his hands on Piper and does the unthinkable – HE INJECTS HER WITH THE VIRUS!!! This gives Piper a couple of hours to live. So now Laken will have to retrieve her daughter from the terrorists and somehow find the vaccine before Piper bites it. Will she succeed?

I like what Fox did with his characters.

He made this about the mother-daughter relationship. A lot of action writers don’t care about character stuff. But if you can create characters who a) we want to root for, and b) have a conflict that we want to see resolved, we’re going to be a heck of a lot more invested in your story.

I also liked the way the setup made our hero’s job more challenging. Laken isn’t the female John McClane. She doesn’t get to roam free through a building wherever she wants. She has to protect her daughter who’s only got one lung and has to lug around an apparatus in order to breathe. That was good.

And my favorite part of the script was when they jammed the virus into Piper. Now you’ve got this literal ticking time bomb that’s going to go off ON TOP OF Laken needing to get her daughter back from the terrorists. All of that was great.

But every time it felt like this script took a step forward, it would take two steps back. Let’s start with the storm. If you’re using something to create a convenience in your story that is so big it could be a movie on its own, that’s a problem. Fox needed to create a reason why cops couldn’t just descend upon this hospital and rescue everyone. So we get a storm so intense it’s creating rivers on the streets. I don’t know if that’s ever happened in New York history. If the thing you’re using to plug up a pot hole is so big it could be its own film (A flooded New York City!), people aren’t going to buy it.

Then you had the dad. He was clearly the weakest character in the script. The guy goes missing for long stretches of time without an explanation. What I’m guessing happened is that Fox never truly understood the dad so there wasn’t any commitment to the character. All writers run into this problem. At a certain point, if you’re not going to fully commit to a character, you have to cut bait. The dad could’ve died a few years ago. He and Laken could be divorced and he lives in another state. But he definitely shouldn’t have been here in this hospital.

And, finally, I didn’t understand Mateo’s plan. At first we learn that the terrorists fighting for him are doing so because he planned to use this virus to save people. How do you use a virus to save people? It didn’t technically matter since he was lying to them and was always going to use it as a weapon, but we still have to buy into why the terrorists believed such a thing in the first place. And even once we learn that he’s going to use it as a weapon, it isn’t clear who he’s going to target or how. And then, late in the movie, we establish that Piper needs to get the vaccine which means that… there’s a vaccine. So how is this virus going to kill a bunch of people if we have a vaccine for it? As your villain’s ultimate plan emerges, we should feel more and more satisfied, not more and more confused.

But hey, this is Amateur Action Showdown. So what about the action, Carson!?

The action was fine. My favorite sequence was the sky-bridge. That felt unique to the situation and therefore it popped as the most memorable of the action sequences. But everything else was standard shoot-shoot-duck-hide-shoot-fight-shoot. There wasn’t a lot of creativity. I implore action writers everywhere to do as little of the generic action stuff as possible. We can get generic action anywhere. What action can we only get from your movie? Figure that out and you’re going to come up with tons more creative action scenes. Like the “attacked at the border highway” scene in Sicario. I’d never seen anything like that before.

This is probably stale advice to you, at this point. I talk about it all the time. But, it’s one of the main things that distinguishes the writers who stay stuck on the outside from the ones who make millions of dollars. The writers who can come up with original situations within the genres they specialize in will stand out PRECISELY BECAUSE the majority of writers do not bother to go the extra mile.

This isn’t to say Fox’s script was too generic. Not at all. It’s simply that it wasn’t creative enough. If I were to rate it on a scale of 1-10, I’d give it a 6. Which is respectable because most of the action scripts I read are 5 and below. I could even see Hemorrhage sneaking into the 9 or 10 slot on my Best Amateur Screenplays of the Year list. However, I think this script has another gear or two to it and that Fox needs to really push himself if he wants to get it there.

Script link: Hemorrhage

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

What I learned: “The Baby Yoda” – In order to make your hero’s journey more difficult, add something fragile that they have to protect. In Mandalorian, it’s Baby Yoda. Here, it’s a physically impaired daughter.