Pacific Rim may have a title tailor-made for a porn movie offshoot, but we’ll only be discussing its script here.

Genre: Sci-fi
Premise: (from IMDB) As a war between humankind and monstrous sea creatures wages on, a former pilot and a trainee are paired up to drive a seemingly obsolete special weapon in a desperate effort to save the world from the apocalypse.
About: This script was penned by Travis Beacham, well known in the spec world for writing the extremely popular Killing On Carnival Row. Guillermo Del Toro (Hellboy, Pan’s Labrynth), who directed the film, also helped with the writing. The project came to light in an interesting way. Del Toro was originally attached to direct Killing On Carnival Row back when the script first came about, which is where he first established his relationship with Beacham. He had heard about and was intrigued by Beacham’s new treatment, Pacific Rim, a couple of years later, but was working on other projects, particularly “At The Mountains Of Madness,” with James Cameron producing. Late in the development of that project, however, the studio freaked out about the price and the project was killed. Del Toro was devastated, even reportedly crying after it happened. He really really wanted to make that movie. But he rebounded quickly. “Mountains” died on a Friday, and on Monday he signed on to make “Pacific Rim.”
Writers: Travis Beacham and Guillermo Del Toro.

Creating an original property is hard these days. There’s just so much competition from pre-established properties that have had years upon years to burrow themselves into our collective minds. Where do we fit something new?

The idea is to create something so big, so in-your-face, moviegoers can’t ignore it. Pacific Rim is definitely big, but is it too big? Almost immediately after the trailer was released, it was drawing comparisons to Transformers. Another “Big robots doing battle” movie. We’d already seen that. What’s new?

Well what’s new is unfortunately something the average audience member doesn’t care about: the director. Guillermo Del Toro is a much more sophisticated and interesting director than Michael Bay. Bay’s going to give the 14 year old A.D.D. crowd exactly what they want. With Del Toro, the hope is that he’s going to have something in store for the adult audience as well.

The question is, did that actually happen?

Pacific Rim starts out the way most sci-fi actioners start out, with voice over explaining what’s led us to where we are now. Well, a decade ago, huge monsters started appearing in the sea. These gargantuan freaks of nature made dinosaurs look like kittens. But unlike kittens, they had a nasty habit of going into cities and destroying Chick-fil-A’s and Pinkberry’s.

The world realized that traditional defenses weren’t going to slow these guys down. In order to defeat them, they would have to build really big robots. These were called Jaegers. Now for these robots to be effective, they would have to hook up the pilots’ brains directly to them. But here was the trick. One brain wasn’t enough. It got overloaded. So you had to hook TWO pilots up for each robot.

The Jaeger Program had its ups and downs, but was eventually scrapped in favor of a giant coastal wall. The remaining Jaegers, including former star (but since fallen) pilot Raleigh Becket, were discarded off to Hong Kong where they’d be called on if needed.

It didn’t take long before they were needed. The “Life Wall” was a bust and the monsters began appearing more and more frequently. It appeared they were coming through some sort of parallel world bridge at the bottom of the ocean. The Jaeger Program leaders believed if they could drop a nuclear bomb in that hole, they just might be able to get rid of these monsters forever.

I walked into this movie knowing almost nothing about it. I had the script but decided not to read it. I saw the beginning of a trailer but (like I always do when I sense it’s something I’m going to see) I closed my eyes and tried really hard not to listen to what was being said. So when I finally plopped my rear end in that theater seat, I had very little knowledge of what was to follow other than big robots fighting big monsters.

What followed over those next 30 minutes were… not what I expected. I told you the whole reason I was excited about Del Toro making a robot fighting movie was that we were finally going to get that “sophisticated” version of Transformers we never got with Bay. Well, shit. Throw that idea out the window. Pacific Rim wasn’t as goofy as Transformers, but Holy Shit was it cheesy. And I’m not talking Kraft American Cheese Singles here. We’re talking aged gruyere cheese.

Starting with the visuals, which were so bright and shiny I had to dig out my old Oakleys. The opening sequence where Raleigh loses his partner was even cheesier than the Top Gun sequence it was stolen from. The newcomer who played Raleigh – This guy might as well have worn a T-shirt that read “Cliché Action Hero.” The Russian pilots were more ridiculous than the Russians in Rocky 4, if that’s possible. And the comic-relief! Ahhhh! Are we sure those actors knew they were in a Guillermo Del Toro film or did someone play a joke on them and convince them they were on an episode of The Big Bang Theory? They were so beyond goofy, I almost had to look away whenever they came onscreen, especially “Looks Like Hitler Without A Mustache” Guy, whose fake limp was so exaggerated, he deserved a six month acting time-out. The dialogue wasn’t Sharknado bad or anything, but I did cringe at the cheesiness of it more than once (usually when Cliché Action Hero – who sounded like he was experimenting with seven different accents at the same time – said something).

Man. I was so disappointed. This was not the movie I was expecting. Afterwards, I did some digging on the internet and found that Del Toro envisioned Pacific Rim to have an “incredibly airy and light feel” to it, in contrast to the “super-brooding super-dark, cynical summer movie.” Um, what?? Since when is the “super-brooding super-dark cynical summer movie” a rule? I thought it was the rare exception. There’s like, The Dark Knight and Inception and that’s it. “Incredibly airy and light” is what EVERYBODY does with their summer film.

Humph.

Well, after I accepted Pacific Rim for what it was trying to be, I re-shifted my expectations and watched the movie for what it was. Once that happened, I started enjoying it more. One of the things I found really clever was the dual-piloting idea. I always love a writing idea that 99% of the writers out there wouldn’t have come up with. Everyone else would’ve placed one pilot in those robots. But by having two, and coupling that with this “mind meld” they were forced to accomplish in order to operate the robot, you created a much richer more interesting environment going on inside the robot.

Instead of having one guy talking to himself (boring), you could have characters speaking to each other during each battle, each problem. Once you have that, you can create conflict (the partners don’t always agree) which is always going to increase the level of drama.

And I liked how they took advantage of this idea and kept pushing it. A really neat byproduct of the mind meld, or “drift” as I think they called it, was the backstory. We work so hard as writers to look for ways to sneak our characters’ backstories in without slowing down the plot. It’s one of the hardest things to do because, despite the benefits of knowing the characters better, too much backstory gets boring. So I liked how every time we went into the “drift,” we got flashes of the pilots’ key moments in their lives.

One of my favorite scenes was when Raleigh’s co-pilot, Mako, got lost in the “drift” and remembers the moment when she first saw one of the monsters. We see it through her eyes, as a little girl, and have a much better understanding of who she is as a result. It’s not an Oscar worthy scene or anything, but it’s really hard to get ANY extensive character development into a tentpole movie, so kudos to Beacham for figuring out a way.

And I really liked the story behind the monsters’ origins. The whole “come from space” thing has been done to death. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do it. But these things coming through a porthole in the ocean connected to a parallel world – it was different. Granted, you probably have to be a little geeky to like that kind of thing, but to me it was just refreshing. And where it really helped was the ending. There was no flying around, trying to take down big spaceships with nuclear-armed jets. Instead we had an underwater porthole that needed to be breached. This gave us a climax we haven’t seen before. That was cool.

You know what this experience reminded me of? The first time I watched The Fifth Element. I didn’t know what I was watching at the time. It was too goofy, much wilder than I was prepared for. I only later, in subsequent viewings, embraced its quirkiness and began to appreciate it for what it was. I’m hoping the same thing will happen with Pacific Rim.

[ ] what the hell did I just watch?
[ ] wasn’t for me
[x] worth the price of admission
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: From this point forward, I’m going to consider ways to fit two characters into a situation that’s traditionally meant for one. It provides you with so many more dramatic opportunities – from character development to conflict – if you have two people playing off each other. Loved how Pacific Rim incorporated that into these robot cockpits.

So last week I took some kryptonite-laced shots at the man of steel for being a “reluctant” protagonist, an issue I contend can destroy a screenplay. What’s a reluctant protagonist? It’s a hero who doesn’t want to take on the problem. I contend that we don’t like our heroes wimpy. We don’t like them sitting back and doing nothing. It’s the exact opposite of what the word “hero” means. However, there’s no such thing as a screenwriting rule that works across the board. There are times where the reluctant protagonist works, The Godfather being one of those examples. This gave me an idea to kill two birds with one stone. I’m not the foremost authority on The Godfather, and therefore wanted a reason to read it. And I knew that Michael Corleone, the main character, is a reluctant protagonist, which would allow me to see why the character works here when in so many other scripts, it doesn’t. I’ve also always been drawn to how slow stories work. Only the best writers know how to keep you turning the pages during a slow burn. So those are the main things I went into this script looking for. Let’s see if I found my answers, or any good tips for that matter. (you can have 500 MORE TIPS just like these by buying my e-book here)

1) Counter your hero’s reluctance with positive qualities – I think the biggest issue with reluctant heroes is when you couple them with a downbeat or depressed disposition. The combination of those two things always makes characters droll and boring. Look no further than Superman in Man of Steel for that. Instead, look for traits that CONTRAST that negative quality. One of the best traits you can use to offset this is charisma. Michael Corleone has it. William Wallace (a reluctant hero from Braveheart) had it. A double dose of negativity can quickly make your hero moody, depressed, and a downer. Steer clear of that with a positive trait (if not charisma then something else!).

2) If you have a reluctant protagonist, the earlier you can break out of being reluctant, the better – In actuality, most screenplays have reluctant protagonists at the start of the story. This is the period where they’d rather stay in the safety of their everyday lives than take on the pressures of this new adventure that’s presented itself. So we almost always see reluctant protagonists become willing and active participants at the beginning of the second act. For stories where this doesn’t happen, note that the longer you keep your hero reluctant, the more frustrated with him we’re going to get. Because we came to your movie to see your hero DO SHIT, not RESIST DOING SHIT. Michael Corleone starts being active pretty early, when he must protect his father after the assassination attempt.

3) There’s a difference between an reluctant active protagonist and an reluctant inactive protagonist – I think the problem I had with Man of Steel was that Clark was not only reluctant to do anything, he DIDN’T do anything. A reluctant character works much better if, even though he doesn’t want to get involved, HE DOES. Michael Corleone doesn’t want to be doing the things he’s doing, but he does them anyway. Another famous reluctant character, Mad Max, didn’t want to be there helping any of those people, but he did because it furthered his own agenda. Ditto with William Wallace. He didn’t want war, but he realized it needed to happen to free his country. So write a reluctant protagonist, just make sure he’s out there still being active.

4) If you have a character you need us to like who does bad things, introduce them doing good things – Vito Corleone (The Godfather) does a lot of bad shit. He’s hurt a lot of people.  He’s killed a lot of people. But the power of writing is that you can make the audience like ANYONE. Don’t believe me? Have you seen Silence Of The Lambs? Yes, writers have made cannibalistic serial killers likable.  One of the simplest ways to do this is to introduce your “bad” character doing something good. Vito Corleone is introduced helping a man whose daughter was beaten and nearly raped by two men who got away with it. He orders those men to be taken care of. How can you dislike a guy who’s taking down rapists?

5) Outline big party scenes – Big party/event/wedding scenes (anything with a lot of people) are some of the hardest to write. Writers often bounce around from character to character without a plan, which results in a messy directionless sequence. When you’re writing a big scene, like the famous wedding scene that opens The Godfather, make sure to plot out beforehand every character and what that character is doing. Preferably, you’ll have characters that need something during the sequence (a goal!), as that tends to make things more focused and interesting. Here we’d map out all the people coming to the Godfather with their requests. We’d map out Miachel showing up with his new girlfriend – what they’re going to talk about and why. We’d map out a scene to show that Carlo, who’s marrying the Don’s daughter, is sketchy. We’d map out Michael’s brother Sonny, who cheats on his wife with one of the bridesmaids. Map all of this out ahead of time and make sure each set of characters is doing something IMPORTANT. That’ll keep you from lingering on irrelevant stuff, which is where these big sequences go to die. Have a plan and you’ll do just fine at your next wedding.

6) A reluctant protagonist in a drama has a much better chance of working than a reluctant protagonist in an action film – Know what genre you’re writing when considering the reluctant protagonist. In an action movie, when your audience wants a lot of action, it’s going to be pretty silly if your main character is avoiding it all. In a slower drama, however, where plot and action aren’t as important, you have more freedom to play with a reluctant lead. I’d still be wary of it, but you do have more freedom there.

7) The best setups and payoffs establish high stakes during the setup – Remember, a payoff doesn’t really resonate unless you establish high stakes when it’s set up. That’s what makes the famous “horse head in the bed” scene so powerful. The day before, Jack Woltz, our unlucky movie producer, shows Hagen (Don’s lawyer) his horse stable and gushes about how much he loves horses, especially one in particular, a 600,000 dollar horse which he’ll put out to stud, leading to endless riches. Guess which head ends up under his covers? This scene doesn’t work the same way if Woltz casually passes a race track and barely points out a horse that he likes. We build the stakes up high by having him LOVE this horse.

8) Always look for an indirect way to handle backstory/exposition – Remember, one of the most boring ways to convey backstory or exposition is to lay it out in a very straightforward manner via dialogue. Instead, try to find an angle that conveys the information in a nontraditional way. They did this quite cleverly in The Godfather. Michael tells Kay (his girlfriend who knows nothing about his family’s lifestyle) about Luca Brazi, the muscle for his father. His story is about how Luca was sent over to take care of these men who attacked his father. The backstory for this character he gets into is very graphic and violent. But Coppola added an angle. Michael is smiling while he’s telling the story, so Kay isn’t sure if he’s telling the truth. Gone is the on-the-nose boring rundown we’re USED TO in these situations, replaced by a, “is he or isn’t he telling the truth” angle that makes the same information kind of fun. It’s a slight change, but it’s these slight changes that separate you from the next guy, who’s doing it the obvious way.

9) Conflict, suspense and mystery are your friends when writing a slow story – When you don’t have urgency (as is the case with The Godfather), you need to use other tools to keep your audience interested, or else they get impatient. You do this with these three tools: suspense, conflict, and mystery (and tension – though it can be argued that tension is conflict). Consistent use of these should keep even the slowest stories interesting. We see conflict, for example, in all of the requests of Vito Corleone, who makes his guests work for it. We see tension in his relationship with Michael, who doesn’t want to be involved in the family business. We have suspense in what’s going to happen with Johnny, the movie star who desperately needs a part from a producer who won’t give it to him, in Michael needing to save his father at the hospital when he knows the bad guys are coming, and leading up to the dinner where Michael plans to kill the police chief and Sollozzo. There aren’t a lot of mysteries in The Godfather, but that’s an option for you to use as well. If you’re writing a slow screenplay and you’re not using these three tools frequently, your script is probably boring.

10) How committed are you? – The more I read, the more I find that the deepest most emotionally affecting stories are based on books and real life. Why? Because the writer has tons of backstory and character knowledge to draw from. When a screenplay is written from nothing, the writer often doesn’t fill in the details that happened before the story. As a result, the characters never project any depth (why would they? They never existed before they were placed on the page). I’ve constantly been looking for a solution to this. How does one manage the same depth of a book adaptation without writing a book? Is it possible? Or should a screenwriter actually write a book before his screenplay? It sounds nuts but I GUARANTEE you, if you did that, your screenplay would be a hundred times deeper than if you didn’t. And aren’t we all looking for an advantage over the next guy?  Reading the opening of The Godfather (based on the book by the same name), with this huge wedding, with Vito Corleone listening to requests for help, with Sonny cheating on his wife, with Vito’s daughter desperately trying to keep a man she barely has, with Michael introducing his new girlfriend to everyone, to Luca Brazi, to movie stars pleading for a break, a spec writer just wouldn’t know or care about 75% of these characters. They’d know their hero, they’d know the second most important guy in the scene, and then maybe one other character (the lead girl). Everybody else they’d know their first name, what they’re wearing, and that’d be it. And that’s exactly why all spec scripts feel so thin. To measure up to this expected level, try to write as much backstory as you possibly can on every character in order to give them as rich and as detailed of a history as you can. Then and only then, will they project the kind of depth and presence characters in adapted scripts like The Godfather project.

 

This is your chance to discuss the week’s amateur scripts, offered originally in the Scriptshadow newsletter. The primary goal for this discussion is to find out which script(s) is the best candidate for a future Amateur Friday review. The secondary goal is to keep things positive in the comments with constructive criticism.

Below are the scripts up for review, along with the download links. Want to receive the scripts early? Head over to the Contact page, e-mail us, and “Opt In” to the newsletter.

Happy reading!

TITLE: Pâtisserie
GENRE: Drama
LOGLINE: A young Jewish woman in occupied France escapes the Nazis by changing places with a shop owner. But as her love grows for the other woman’s husband and child, so does her guilt.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ (from writer): My screenplay finished in the top 6% of last year’s Nicholls, perhaps you can tell me why it didn’t crack the top 5. It was also the Screenplay of the Month on both Zoetrope and TriggerStreet.

TITLE: A Call To Respond
GENRE: Action/Thriller
LOGLINE: A first responder is the target of a madman, but his greatest enemy may be the public he vows to protect.

TITLE: X-9
GENRE: Scifi/Action
LOGLINE: In a world overrun with monsters, a futuristic city thrives behind a massive wall. But when a conspiracy threatens to destroy it all, the city’s last hope rests on the shoulders of a criminal in a stolen combat suit.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ (from writer): You mean besides the guy in the armor punch fighting monsters? Well. There is some solid character work, themes dealing with duty and what makes a hero, and a few twists and turns. It’s something that Hollywood flips for: something that feels familiar but isn’t.

TITLE: The Golden House
GENRE: Period Drama
LOGLINE: A young Roman risks his life and his friendship with the emperor when he secretly pursues a woman who has sworn allegiance to the cross, a crime punishable by death.

TITLE: Drug War
GENRE: Action/Thriller
LOGLINE: A US Marine enlists the help of a Mexican journalist to rescue his father who is being held hostage by a powerful drug cartel.
WHY YOU SHOULD READ (from writer): I was a finalist in the Industry Insider Screenwriting Contest immediately following Tyler Marceca. I even had the same mentor. It wasn’t hard to accept that following Tyler’s path was a real long shot when hit by the reality of turning a solid 15 pages into my first full length script and juggling writing deadlines between the pull of work and family commitments. I learned a lot from the mentoring and script notes, but did not win. Based on the script I submitted, I knew the only way I would win is if the other scripts were not good. Seven months and several versions later, I believe it’s ready for an Amateur Friday review–comments and all.

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

Genre: Sci-fi/Noir
Premise: (from writer) In the year 2068, a rough and tumble Detective who moonlights for organized crime is forced to solve a series of crimes wherein android prostitutes have been killing their clients, before a zealous US Attorney succeeds in his mission to destroy him.
About: Rarely do I review an amateur script if it’s not Amateur Friday, but I have an unwritten rule that if you send me a kick-ass query letter or have the most amazing unbelievably awesome premise ever, I will review your script right away. Such was the case with James Thoo, who sent me this hilarious query letter, which I’ve included below.
Writer: James Thoo
Details: 101 pages

Henry Cavill for Patterson?

Hi Carson,

So this is the first time that I’ve had to come up with two stories to sell one screenplay. One for the screenplay itself, and one for me and the process behind the writing of the screenplay, to get you to read it. I think I have both though, so here goes.

I’ve actually sold work before. Bear with me though, because I’m still pretty sure I qualify for Amateur Friday. Mostly because I am a total amateur now with zero residual ties to the film industry remaining. I started out in film (ish) as a News Editor for JoBlo.com, which is a pretty major movie news website. I got that job when I was 18. People seemed to really dig my voice before I was fired two years later for taking a few too many jabs at Eli Roth – whom I loath and whose films I avoid like I would avoid fraternity rape – who in turn emailed my boss to tell him that he was tired of me “being a persistent asshole to him.”

After that I was approached to write a screenplay by a small studio in LA, who optioned it, but never made it. I was sad about this for a while. That was kind of parlayed into being hired to write a modern adaptation of Shakespeare’s Othello for a Malaysian film studio (where I went to school; my dad moved around a lot). I had some meetings set up in LA but I declined them because I really wanted to do something in Malaysia. I had gross delusions of grandeur wherein I changed the face of the infant film industry over there and local government declared a James Thoo day and elderly women and small children alike high-fived each other amid tears of pure joy. Virgins were offered up and I chose which ones I was interested in with the flick of a cane fashioned for me from pure gold and unicorn bones. I’m sure you can imagine.

So I signed to make the Othello movie. Which would end up being perhaps not the, but certainly one of the biggest crimes perpetrated internationally, ever, and not just in film: in general. Good lord was this film an abomination.

As I mentioned, the film industry in Malaysia isn’t very developed and so there are a lot of restrictions. One of which is on run time, which shouldn’t really be a problem, but quickly becomes one when your director (who has final cut) has been subsisting for the past month on a steady diet of marijuana, self-praise and Terrence Malick films. As such the film was an unmitigated disaster. Back story and some pretty substantial plot points were extradited for inconsequential, self masturbatory lingering shots of snakes and foliage and shit. The producer also pulled a Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun Li and added in some voice-over that he had written himself, which was also added to all promotional materials, because, you know, why not?

Beyond all reason the film actually won a couple of awards and got an extended cinematic run but I was so disillusioned with the whole thing that I tried to take a page out of Tony Kaye’s book and change the writing credit to Humpty Dumpty. When I couldn’t make that happen I never wrote again. There was a funny instance of me picking up a film magazine one day and flicking to the review section where I went straight to the verdict and saw four out of five stars. I was pretty proud. And then I glanced over at the next page and saw Alvin and the Chipmunks. Five stars. There’s probably some similar stories to mine floating around, but I should point out that all of this happened when I was 22 years old. I don’t think that there are many people you meet who effectively, completely burnt out as writers by the age of 22. That was over 5 years ago now.

So yeah, I’ve been working since, as Editor in Chief of an online news portal in Malaysia, which consists largely of curating news aggregation and editing for a team of mongoloids who wield the english language with the kind of accuracy a drunk shows a urinal. These guys are like the anti-grammar. It is mind numbing. Up out of nowhere, 6 months ago I started writing again. I had a sudden bout of genuine inspiration. And I found my passion again. Maybe it is totally misplaced and whatever minor talent I once had is long gone, and whatever I came up with this time around is total garbage, but here it is nonetheless. I’d truly appreciate it if you would take the time to read my screenplay and then decimate it publicly on your blog.

In all honesty, I’m not an every day reader of Script Shadow, but I do check in a couple of times a week. I really think you’re doing a wonderful job, and I hope my relative lack of dedication to your lessons does not preclude me from writing a script that you appreciate. Or don’t hate. Let’s see…

You can’t read a query letter like that and not think, “This guy’s gotta be good.” I mean he obviously has a natural ability to tell stories and be funny, and if you have that, you’ve got a shot. But then I opened the first page of “Keep Us Safe.” My heart sank. James’ intro page suffered from “Wall of Text” syndrome. It’s a disease that’s commonly found in young writers who are still learning the craft. Their main source of reading entertainment up to this point has been books, so they start off writing their scripts like books, packed with way too much description.

And readers HATE this. They hate it. I hate it. Because it’s going to tack 45 more minutes onto my reading time. Which would be fine if those minutes were spent word-smithing together an enhanced story. But 80 out of 81 times, the opposite is true. The excessively long passages gum up the story, making the script the literary equivalent of the 405 at 6pm on a Friday. However, I still had some confidence in James. I knew he could write. Yeah, the first page was wordy, but it wasn’t “I can’t string a sentence together” wordy. The descriptions painted a strong picture. So I figured – Let’s still give this James guy a shot, Carson.

The year is 2068. The location is Los Angeles, CA. Shades of Blade Runner abound. Also some shades of A.I. In fact, if I were to describe “Keep Us Safe,” I’d say “It’s Blade Runner meets A.I meets I-Robot.” Tommy Patterson is a crooked cop for hire. The man can be bought for a 5 dollar footlong (or a 50 dollar footlong in the year 2068). However, despite being described as such, he seems to be very un-crooked in his policing – as we meet him chasing down a nasty drug dealer. Which was confusing. If you’re introducing a character who’s dirty, you probably want to show him doing something dirty. And if Patterson IS doing something dirty here, it isn’t clear.

Afterwards, Patterson’s told by his boss, Police Chief Martin Deinard, that the newspapers know he’s dirty and are going to destroy his reputation. Which means Deinard has to demote him (I was a little unclear on why he didn’t just fire him), giving him, in his words, the worst jobs in the precinct. Strangely then, Patterson’s placed on homicide for a string of cop murders perpetrated by a rogue android prostitute. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like the coolest assignment ever!

Patterson’s case takes him to the maker of these prostitute-bots, Lux Kubotu Robotics, where he learns that a high-profile employee recently quit. It’s the CEO’s belief that the employee may have implanted some code that made the robots killers. So he bounces around from bars to nightclubs, talking to a lot of seedy folks, trying to trace down this dude, eventually learning that someone HE knew actually sent this robot into the red light district to take down Patterson himself, who was known to frequent the area. Patterson will have to go back into his own ranks, then, to take this asshole down.

I’ll be the first to admit this summary may not be 100% correct but that’s only because I couldn’t always tell what was going on. And this takes us back to all that text I was complaining about earlier. You see, many writers believe that writing a ton of description gives the reader MORE information. However it often works the opposite way. The reader’s focus starts drifting. Or meaningless things (like the smell of the air) are highlighted, imposing on the reader that he doesn’t need to read all the text as it doesn’t contain relevant information, resulting in him starting to skim. Or the plethora of words start to get jumbled around, confusing the essence of what the writer is trying to say. Let me give you an example. Here’s the beginning of an early scene in the police chief’s office…

Patterson slumps into a leather couch that occupies the far corner of the office. He rests his head in his open palm and leans into the shadows.

On an extravagant mahogany chair in front of the main bureau sits a man, broad, rough around the edges but trying to make clean: D.A. HENRY CAHILL. He turns his seat to face Patterson, who nods familiarly in his direction.

POLICE CHIEF MARTIN DEINARD is all business. He wears a flawless pinstripe suit with a transparent brace around his neck the catches hair as his PERSONAL BARBER trims at the grey, close around his head.

He stands by the window of his office and looks down at the city. He sighs and turns to Patterson with a TABLET PC in his hand. The Barber follows his every move. He tosses it into his lap and Patterson caches it instinctively, twisting it to read what is being shown.

The image rotates to fit the screen and he sees a middle-aged man, thin, strong, definite jawed, no-nonsense, like he was carved from granite. If anything, maybe like a younger more idealistic Deinard himself.

Holy Word Explosion Batman! Here we have five huge paragraphs (note that the paragraphs have been thinned out due to the format change: they are 3, 4, 4, 5, and 4 lines respectively in the script) to set up a scene. We never need this many paragraphs to set up a scene unless extremely complicated and/or relevant things are going on. Honestly, this is how I would rewrite it…

Patterson slumps in a leather couch. He’s surrounded on either side by D.A. HENRY CAHILL, a slimy crooked type, and POLICE CHIEF MARTIN DEINARD, who’s being tended to by his personal barber.

The chief stares out at the city, cutting off the barber momentarily to hand Patterson a tablet PC. On it is a middle-aged man, a no-nonsense type, who looks like Deinard may have looked like 20 years ago.

Now I understand that you want to convey SOME atmosphere and description in your writing, but you want to do so in moderation because this is screenwriting, not novel writing. Check out The Equalizer or When The Streetlights Go On to see writers convey atmosphere yet still keep their prose sparse.

Because “Wall Of Text” Syndrome has a trickle down effect. It leads to what’s known as “Reader Mind Slip.” This is when a reader’s mind gets overloaded with unimportant information, so they stop paying attention. When this happens, they can’t keep up, as they’re constantly having to re-read paragraphs that they only sorta grasped the first time, which leads to frustration, which leads to them eventually saying “Fuck it” and charging through, even when they don’t entirely understand a scene. From that point on, they’re operating in “Murkyville” territory. They sort of understand what’s going on, but don’t get all of those finer points you’ve meticulously plotted in there. Which is why it’s so important to keep your prose sparse and only tell us what we need to know. You want to avoid “Reader Mind Slip” at all costs.

There are other problems here as well. The story played out too predictably. I felt like I’ve seen it before. The love story comes in too late, making it feel like an afterthought.  But if I were James, I would just focus on thinning out his prose for now. Learn how to say a lot more in a lot less. Because obviously, James can write. I mean he can string a sentence together. Even though the writing was thick, it was never bad. And a lot of the dialogue was right up there with professional-level dialogue. But none of that stuff matters unless the story is easy to grasp, and right now all this text is getting in the way.

Also, I have a personal plea for James. Write a comedy script! From your e-mail, you obviously have the chops for it. It seems like it suits your sensibilities better anyway. In fact, write about that experience you had going to Malaysia. It sounds hilarious. I’ll be the first in line to read any comedy you write. And don’t let this review get you down. You seem a bit sensitive. You obviously have talent, I just think you need to tweak your writing approach a little. I wish you luck my friend.

Script link: Keep Us Safe

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

What I learned: Your query letter is a key part of your marketing. The tone should reflect you, but more importantly, your script. So if you have a heavy drama, be professional and serious in your query. If you have a comedy, be funny! By the same token, try not to act one way in your query then give a script that’s completely the opposite. After James’ hilarious query, I was hoping for a comedy. So it was a little confusing getting a dark sci-fi script.

What I learned 2: Beware pages that look like walls of text. Beware multiple pages in a row that look like walls of text. But most importantly, beware of a FIRST PAGE that looks like a wall of text. It will put your reader off right away.

Genre: Drama
Premise: A woman is kidnapped, drugged, and robbed of her life’s savings. She must now figure out how to reclaim her life, a task made easier when she meets a man on a train. Plus there are pigs.
About: Shane Carruth became a breakout sensation in the filmmaking world a decade ago when his first film, Primer, shocked Sundance and became the Grand Jury Prize Winner. The time-travelling mind-bending thriller shot for under 10 grand gave young filmmakers everywhere hope that they, too, could shoot films on the cheap and become star directors. But in the years after, Shane’s inexperience with the Hollywood system led him to dead end after dead end, unable to put together another movie. He then shocked the film world (once again) when this new film of his showed up at Sundance this year, a film no one knew he had even made. Carruth wrote, directed, and starred in the movie.
Writer: Shane Carruth.
Details: 97 minutes

Upstream Color was one of the most frustrating movies I’ve ever seen. It was a movie designed to destroy you, to make you detest it. It challenged you to be the one person in the theater who came away saying, “I liked that.” Even still, if you managed to be that person, you didn’t know why you were that person, why you liked it. Or maybe you did. Maybe you convinced yourself you did. Like Carruth’s first movie, Primer, it’s a film that makes you feel smart if you can follow along. It makes you feel superior. It’s a recipe that Carruth’s used to gain his cult following: Make the puzzle complex enough so that you feel good if you can put it together.

But there’s a difference between being a skilled puzzle maker and just throwing a bunch of pieces on the screen. In fact, I think there are many parallels here to Shane Carruth’s career and Richard Kelly’s. Both broke through with these strange puzzle-centric stories and made them jusssst weird enough that you weren’t sure if their intrigue was created on purpose or the result of pure luck. Kelly’s mess of a second film, Southland Tales, proved that it was probably the latter. And Upstream Color, in my opinion, proves the same.

Let me give you some background here. Keep in mind I heard this through the grape vine. It’s by no means fact. But I did hear it from a couple of independent sources so I’m willing to believe it. Shane came out of Primer with Hollywood in the palm of his hands. Everyone wanted to work with him. They tabbed him a young Kubrick. So Shane went around pitching a half thought-through idea about some marine biologists that was part drama, part romantic comedy, part sea adventure, etc. Nobody really understood what the movie was about so Shane went back and wrote this script called “A Topiary,” about kids who used star burst energy to create and control flying dragon-like creatures.

It was 244 pages long. (for those who are mathematically challenged, that would be a 4 hour movie)

Despite this, Shane had some big people who wanted to help him. How big? Try David Fincher. Fincher wanted to shepherd his career, guide him along, produce his films. So Shane showed him his script and then waited for the money. Except Fincher (and others) had some problems with the script. It was long and wandering and devoid of drama. They wanted to give Shane notes. Shane was SHOCKED. Shocked! I mean, are you serious? You’re not just going to give me a hundred million dollars without any strings attached and let me make my movie??? And thus began why Shane Carruth hasn’t made a movie in ten years. Cause he told guys like David Fincher to go fuck themselves.

Now some of you might be holding up your fists and screaming, “you go, girl.” “Fuck Hollywood.” Except David Fincher isn’t just anyone in the land of smog and billboards. Fincher notoriously went through hell with “the system” when he made Alien 3. It’s something that still affects him today, and why he tries to stay somewhat outside the system even as he’s working within it. In other words, Fincher is one of the few people who actually understands what it’s like to be in Shane’s shoes. He’s sympathetic. So if Shane’s having trouble with this guy, I can only imagine how he rubbed everyone else.

Now the reason I bring this up is because Upstream Color plays like a movie that nobody else but Shane has seen. You know how you screen things for friends or let friends read your scripts so that you can iron out the things that don’t make sense? Things that don’t seem to be playing the way you intended them to? This film didn’t go through that process. Or if it did, Carruth ignored any and all feedback. Because the storytelling here is a mess. It’s like the ultimate experimental student film. Zero script and a bunch of experimentation.

So what is it about? Well, I needed to consult with a few other people to come to this summary, but here’s the best I could do. There’s this woman, a film editor or something, I think. She gets kidnapped by this guy who’s created these “drug-worms,” little maggots infested with some sort of mind-control chemical. Once swallowed, the victim basically becomes a mental slave. The guy who kidnaps her then tells her to clear out all her bank accounts and give him all the money. She wakes up a few weeks later, having no idea why she’s broke and can’t remember anything.

But that becomes the least of her worries when she notes a worm swimming through her body up around skin level. She tries to keep cutting it out but with no success. She then hears a noise, a loud “WOOOMP WOOOMP” that draws her from her home out to a pig farm. She tells the strange pig farmer that she can’t get this worm out. No problem, the pig farmer says, and performs surgery on her, inserting (I believe) some pig parts inside of her. This seems to eliminate the problem. Or so we believe.

The woman then wakes out of her mental stupor, realizing that she’s lost her job and that a couple of months have gone by. As she attempts to put her life back together, she meets a dude on the train who has a sketchy (potentially illegal) hotel job. Sketchy Hotel Guy takes a liking to the woman and keeps asking her out. But because the last dude she met led to worms and pig parts inside her body, she’s understandably reluctant. Eventually, however, his persistence pays off, and the two start dating. Except this is REALLY DEPRESSING DATING. Like, both of these people have extremely mundane boring lives and talk about the most boring things imaginable. So we must endure banal, directionless, sad dialogue between them for many many scenes.

Eventually, Sketchy Hotel Guy realizes that Pig Girl isn’t all mentally there. Clue number one is that she likes to take a bag of rocks to the local swimming pool, dump them on the swimming pool floor, recover them one at a time, reciting lines from an obscure book while doing so. Observing this, it occurs to Sketchy Hotel Guy that the two of them might be under some mind control.  So he and Pig Girl do some investigation, locate the pig farmer, go to his place, and realize that each of the pigs he owns is some sort of psychic counterpart to a human being out there in society. Which means they’ve both been psychically pig-abducted. I think. They then go out, tell all of the psychically abducted pig people that they’re being controlled by pigs, and those people come to the pig farm to look at their pig counterparts, coming to terms with the reality that they’re… sorta pigs too, now. Then they all go home and order pizzas with extra pepperoni (okay, I made that last part up).

Okay, I’m just going to state the obvious here. This idea is dumb. I’m sorry, but it’s just dumb! Psychically controlled pig people? There’s no screenwriting gobbledy-gook that needs to be mentioned or applied here. It’s just a DUMB IDEA. I don’t care how you dress it up. You put lipstick on a pig, it’s still a pig.  Someone needed to tell Shane Carruth that this was a dumb idea and to not to make this movie! But, see, Shane Carruth isolated himself from Hollywood so that nobody could tell him no. He’s like the indie version of George Lucas.

I mean, nothing really matters if the idea is stupid, right? If people aren’t on board with the idea, they won’t give a crap about the story. Except for the rare case when you get a really awesome storyteller who can make a bad idea interesting. Shane Carruth, however, is not that storyteller. You’d have a better chance translating Mayan scripture than one of his stories. And some people think that’s by design. I don’t. I believe that the success of a storyteller is dependent on the audience understanding his work in the way he intended for it to be understood. If he’s trying to make you see “A” and you’re seeing “B,” that’s a failure. And I don’t think anyone but a scattered few are interpreting Shane’s work the way he intended. And this could’ve been avoided by simply – oh I don’t know – LISTENING to other people. Other people’s opinions are not the devil. You don’t even have to make the changes they suggest. Just LISTEN to them. If you did, you might be able to make more than one film a decade.

Personally, I think the movie would’ve been better if the guy who kidnapped her originally (who hypnotized her so she wouldn’t remember who he was) was the one she later started dating, instead of Sketchy Hotel Guy. I mean, now you have some actual dramatic irony. We know this guy is dangerous, that he’s stolen this woman’s money, and she’s falling in love with him. That’s a scenario I would’ve been intrigued by.

But there’s nothing as skilled as that here. It’s all just strange ideas mixed in with an awkward romantic relationship storyline. I did like a few things. I liked the title. I liked the cinematography. I liked the score. The first few minutes of the movie were captivating in a purely cinematic way. But it always comes back to the story for me. If you don’t know how to dramatize situations, how to add suspense or create compelling relationships or clear conflict. Or just make sense! You’re going to fall on your face. And Upstream Color, along with all the little piglets it birthed, falls squarely on its face.

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

What I learned: Dumb ideas make bad movies. I know this sounds obvious but I see a TON of scripts that are doomed before I even read the first line because the ideas are dumb. Simple test. Throw your idea in with a bunch of others, send them to some friends, don’t tell them which one is yours. Ask them to rank the ideas from best to worst. If your idea isn’t coming out near the top, don’t write it. Or just pitch your idea to people. Regardless of what they say (they’re all going to tell you they “like” it to be nice to you), look at their eyes. Are they excited, or are they confused and bored? A sign of a good idea is when they jump in and start adding ideas. Or they’re just excited. If someone looks genuinely excited about your idea, you know you have something good.