Genre: Drama/Thriller
Premise: (set in 1941) A man wakes up in Mexico with no memory of his previous life or how he got there. Slowly, through the people he meets, he’s able to piece together his suspect past.
About: Today’s script is written by THE Orson Welles. You may have heard of this upstart. He co-wrote and directed a little movie called “Citizen Kane”? Oh, Orson. The man didn’t exactly have the career everyone thought he would after Kane, struggling to make films that, quite frankly, weren’t very good. This is one of those projects, a script that laid forgotten for 60-some years until it was recently found in RKO’s archives. They’re even saying they want to put this puppy into development! Find a new writer to modernize it. Well, let’s see if that’s a good idea.
Writer: Orson Welles
Details: March 25, 1941 draft. The “Third Revised Continuity” (whatever that means). 136 pages (though the over-spacing indicates it would’ve been shorter if put into proper format)
I love reading these old scripts because I love checking back on how they used to tell stories before the 10,000 screenwriting blogs and screenwriting books came around. Was storytelling “purer” back then? Did stories emerge more naturally, more organically, because writers weren’t following rules? Anti-establishment screenwriting folks will tell you, yes, of course! Books are bad! Rules be gone! Storytelling used to be a damn art form!
Oh, boy. If you think that, you are the president of Delusionville. Studios were just as strict about story and script-control back then as they are now. Case in point: When I went over to check what the studios thought of this script when it was originally turned in, they had the exact same problems with it that I did.
Storytelling is timeless. It’s followed a certain formula forever. And that’s because it’s a formula that works.
Okay, so what’s this Santiago script about? Before I tell you, let me tell you what the first line in the script is: “My face fills the frame.” You gotta love Orson Welles because lordy, lordy did he love himself!
Actually, Welles informs us before the script begins that because he’s starring in the film, he’ll be referring to himself as “Me, my, I” and whatever other pronoun can adequately capture his narcissism. So “me” wakes up in the middle of a room of people yelling at him in a dozen different languages.
He doesn’t know who these people are, how they got there, or why they care so much about him. All he knows is that he doesn’t remember anything about himself, so he can’t answer their questions. Pissed off, they eventually go away and “Me” learns that he’s in some Mexican city.
A kind, but suspicious-looking Mexican man named Gonzalez befriends “Me” and takes him into the city, where every single person who sees “Me” stares at him with scorn. Apparently our amnesiac is some sort of celebrity.
Eventually, “Me” is shot and almost killed, bringing to light just how sinister his former life must have been. He starts demanding answers from those around him and finds out his name is Lindsey Kellar, a Fascist radio personality from England. He’s trying to rally the Fascist movement wherever he can, and apparently his people sent him here to Mexico to transform them into like-minded, colonizing psychopaths.
I had to touch up on my history to understand what exactly this meant. Remember, it’s 1941, during World War 2, and the evil Axis powers wanted South America on their side. Hence, sending someone there to rile up Fascist sentiment would’ve been a big deal.
“Me” (now Kellar) learns from his fellow Fascists that he must go meet someone in the town of Santiago. Thus begins a long trek to the mysterious town. Kellar meets many sordid types along the way and eventually learns (spoiler) that he’s not really Kellar! He’s a body double FOR Kellar. The real Kellar is planning to kill a bunch of heavy-duty politicians on some boat, and Kellar was part of the plan (though I’m not sure how). Kellar must do a 180, from helping the Fascists to trying to stop them, a job he is not even close to being equipped for.
You know, I’ll be honest with you. I’m not surprised Orson Welles never had that mega career everyone was so sure he’d have. Citizen Kane is one of those screenplays (extremely layered, jumping through time, lots of characters, unorthodox narrative) that can only come from someone who doesn’t really understand the medium. Your lack of knowledge in how to tell a story actually helps you, because you’re unaware of all the rules you’re breaking. Every once in awhile, one of these newish writers gets really lucky and comes up with something genius. The problem is, they can’t replicate that success because they never learned how to tell a proper story in the first place. I feel like something similar happened to Christopher McQuarrie. There’s a reason he’s never gotten close to another Oscar since The Usual Suspects. That script could’ve only be written by someone (as he’s admitted in interviews) who didn’t fully understand the medium.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying Orson was a hack. But his legacy was more in his directing, how he was unafraid to try things and push the medium. That’s where he shined. Screenwriting is difficult. It’s a wonky way to write a story. So there’s no shame in it not being one’s forte.
And I’d argue we see these screenwriting issues here. I love a good amnesiac script (note: I have no idea if using an amnesiac as the main character was considered cutting edge or cliché in 1941), but while that definitely piqued our interest in the first act, after the excitement died down, there wasn’t much left in the story to get us excited.
I knew the script was in trouble when our main character randomly stumbled onto a tour bus for 15 pages. He does so to avoid his potential killers, which I guess makes sense. But did we need to stay with these people for 15 pages???
For those of you new writers who are starting to get feedback for the first time, you may have heard the note, “You need to tighten your story up.” Or “You need to tighten the second act up.” What that means is getting rid of sequences like these. Sure, the sequence is the first to bring up that Kellar’s a celebrity around the world, so you could make the argument that it’s necessary. But that one piece of information is placed amongst 15 pages of shit we don’t need at all. Just move that reveal to another scene and get rid of this sequence.
The more exciting stuff is when Kellar’s at the Presidential Party and everyone’s looking at him like he’s Hitler (and we’re wondering why). Have him meet his contact there, have the contact tell him he needs to go to Santiago, then the only scenes from there on out should revolve around him trying to get to that plane and leave the city.
Except that when we DO get on that plane and head to Santiago, we get stuck in another tiny town where a hell of a lot doesn’t happen. We’re looking for horses. We’re looking for lodging. It gets really boring really fast. I think Welles believed in his reveals and reversals (the man who’s supposed to be helping him is actually planning on killing him) too much and thought that gave him carte blanche to take his time.
The Way to Santiago had the story goal (get to Santiago), which gave the script some narrative drive. But it spent too much time in the waiting room, forcing it to come up with something to do before the next plot point. To that end, this script really could’ve used some urgency. If Kellar had to get to these checkpoints by a certain time, Welles would’ve had no choice but to not linger on these sillier unneeded moments.
I mean, look – this was a third draft. Obviously it wasn’t meant to be perfect. But it was the draft he was pushing on the studio in the hopes of making it and I have to agree with them in that it probably wouldn’t have made a good movie. The road to Santiago was too muddled and too slow for my taste.
You can read the script for yourself here!
[ ] what the hell did I just read?
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius
What I learned: SHIT’S GOTTA HAPPEN. I’m sorry for being so blunt, but in screenplays, shit’s gotta happen! You can’t be going 15 pages on a tour bus with a bunch of non-characters (characters who we’ll never see again) bickering. You can’t spend forever with your hero looking for stuff like lodging. Shit’s gotta happen! Get through the mundane stuff quickly then move on to the next plot point because that’s what we’re going to be interested in. I’m not saying you should never take your time. But don’t extend those slow sequences out for too long and don’t pack them to close together.
What I learned 2: Don’t let your script get stuck in the waiting room. This is where you’ve pre-established (for yourself) that a plot point is going to happen at “X” point in your story, and you realize you still have 5 (or 10, or 15) pages before that plot point occurs, so you have your characters “wait around” in the meantime. Long dialogue scenes. An unneeded foray into a store (or a tour bus) to pass the time. You don’t realize that, by doing this, you’ve pulled us into the boring waiting room as well. To combat this, create a goal and give that goal some urgency (they have to be at “x” by “y” time). That should keep your characters active during these sequences.
