Genre: Period/Supernatural/Action
Premise: A group of disgraced Samurais (known as “Ronin”) attempt to take down one of the biggest samurai forces in the world to get revenge for their fallen leader.
About: This script dates all the way back to the 2008 Black List. It stars Keanu Reeves.  Writer Chris Morgan has written several of the Fast and Furious movies and is currently working on The Legend of Conan, which is bringing back Ah-nold as Conan.
Writer: Chris Morgan
Details: It’s not clear if this is the 2008 Black List draft or if it’s the 2010 draft. – 123 pages

I’ve been curious about this one. Visually, it looks different from everything else out there. There’s a supernatural slant to it. Martial Arts is involved. It’s got a hot new director. Any of this sound familiar? It’s the recipe that made The Matrix such a huge success. And let’s be honest. We’ve been waiting for Keanu to make another Matrix for awhile now (not that I’m not a huge fan of Generation Um…).

On the flip side, it looked like one of those movies that COULD be all show and no flow. In other words, I’m scared it may be Sucker Punch or Night Watch. I was 50/50 on the answer to that until I saw the December 25 release date. If a studio’s releasing something on Christmas, that usually means they have confidence in it. So I’m going to give the film the benefit of the doubt.

47 Ronin is set in the beginning of the 18th century and is about a dude named Lord Asano who’s expecting the most important person in the land, the Shogun, to visit his kingdom. Asano’s right hand man is a samurai named Oishi. The two have been through everything together and this is probably going to be their biggest moment yet.

Oishi is in charge of a group of samurais, one of them a “half-breed” named Minoru, who neither Oishi or Asano know is sneaking off with Asano’s daughter, the beautiful Mika. The whole half-breed thing means they can never be together, which puts a real damper on their future prospects. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try.

In advance of the Shogun’s arrival, his evil second-in-command shows up, the serpentine-like Lord Kira. Lord Kira instantly falls in love with Mika, and tricks Asano into lifting his blade by pretending to attack Mika. Lifting a blade in a kingdom where the Shogun is present is punishable by death. Everyone must watch as Asano takes his own life, the honorable way for a samurai to die.

Adding salt to the wound, Lord Kira designates everyone who served under Lord Asano “ronin.” This is the worst disgrace a samurai can face. Ronin are samurai who have no honor. They’re then kicked out of the kingdom except for Oishi, who’s jailed and beaten to within an inch of his life.

Lord Kira, of course, wants to marry Mika now, but she wisely calls for a clause in the code that gives a daughter a year of mourning for her father’s death. The Shogun grants her request, to Kira’s dismay.

Eight months later, Oishi, now a broken man, is released. And he hasn’t forgotten about his best friend’s death. Naturally, he wants to get the band back together and kick Lord Kira’s ass. The problem is, most of the Ronin have disappeared. He only manages to scrounge up 47 of them. These 47 will have to take on an army of a thousand of the best samurais in the world. The odds don’t look to be in their favor. But don’t tell Oishi that.

I want you to imagine The Hobbit mixed with 300 mixed with The Princess Bride in feudal Japan. Ya with me? I hope so. Because this script was damned good. Surprisingly good. Unexpectedly good! Starting with it being lights out UNIQUE.

I always say that while you wanna follow the rules for the most part, it’s the breaking of the rules that sets your script apart. The choices you make which go against traditional practice are what give your script its own unique flavor.

In this respect, Morgan’s choice to not have a clear cut main character was pretty brave. Not having a clear cut main character (unless you’re doing a deliberate ensemble film like Love Actually) is usually the kiss of death for a screenplay. It makes the script unfocused and it doesn’t allow us to identify with, get behind, and root for someone (see Contagion).

When you watch the trailer for this film, you think Keanu Reeves is the main character. But that’s not necessarily true. Oishi is the one driving the story. He’s the one who has the most at stake. It’s his best friend who’s killed unjustly and who he must avenge. With that said, Keanu’s character, Minoru, has something at stake too (his love for Mika). He has to get to her before she’s married off and violated in a thousand different ways by the insane Lord Kira.

So it’s a weird read in that sense. Cause you keep waiting for Minoru to take that step forward and start dominating the action. But he’ll only get so close before stepping back. At the same time, it’s this weird “who are we following” issue that gives the script a sense of unpredictability.

That’s not to say you guys should try this at home. Oh no no no no no. I’ve seen writers who aren’t as good as Chris Morgan (and this guy is good – this script he wrote put him on my A-list) try the same thing and the result was a wandering unfocused mess where you keep angrily yelling at the script, “Who the hell is the main character here???” Some way, some how, 47 Ronin never suffered this fate. And I’m still trying to figure out why.

Now what’s interesting here is that there’s been some rewrites to the script since this draft. Hossein Amini (who wrote that amazing original draft of Drive) came in to rewrite Morgan’s script, and watching the trailer, some changes have definitely been made. My assumption is that somewhere along the way, a producer said, “Yo, why is Keanu Reeves not playing the clear-cut main character?” and they then rewrote the script to make him the main character (the fact that even his name has been changed – to Kai – would support this theory). Then again, Keanu’s one of those unselfish actors, so you just don’t know.  But I’m curious what they did.  Because if you make Keanu the guy driving all the action, a ton of the script has to change.  You’d then be moving away from a script that’s already awesome.

As far as the story, this script uses one of the best devices for making a reader root for your hero out there: Punishing your hero for doing the right thing. And the way you tweak this device to REALLY make it work? You make the punishment as terrible as it can be and the “right thing” our hero does the most heroic thing it can be.

So in this case, the evil Lord Kira knows the rules of the house. If a blade is drawn when the Shogun is in a castle, it’s punishable by death. Well, Lord Asano walks in as Lord Kira’s about to rape his daughter. Lord Asano runs to protect her. Lord Kira fakes a move to his knife, as if he’s going to hurt her, and Asano’s forced to draw his blade to save her. But when Asano looks closely, Kira has merely lifted a fan. It was a trick. There are others in the hall who witness this, and all of a sudden, Asano has broken the law. He must take his own life.

So here someone is punished (Asano) for doing the right thing (protection). The punishment is the most extreme punishment it can be (death) and he was doing something that couldn’t have been more right (protecting his daughter). After this moment, Morgan has us wrapped around his finger. We will not stop reading until we see Asano’s men get justice over what the terrible Lord Kira has done.

I also got a kick out of Morgan using a very standard ticking time bomb device, one we’ve seen popularized in what was basically the opposite of this movie (tone-wise at least), The Princess Bride. We are simply trying to get to Lord Kira before he and Mika’s wedding so that Minoru can be with her. It’s funny how we can overthink these bigger “epic” stories and overcomplicate them as a result. Here, we’re simply trying to beat a wedding and get revenge. It’s so simple!

I could go on about this script but all I gotta say is, wow, I’m impressed. You’ve never seen anything like it before. I mean when’s the last time you saw samurais battling Dutch hulks inside an opium den on an artificial island? Doubt there’s a scene of that in Catching Fire. The attention to detail is also excellent here. I wouldn’t be surprised if Chris Morgan WAS a samurai. It’s got the underdog thing going for it, with the tiny group of reject samurai going up against a thousand of the best samurai warriors in the world. The fights all read amazing. This is going to be pretty badass. The only thing I’m worried about is that it looks a little over-stylized. But I’ll still be there on Christmas day with the fam (if my parents can handle it). What a script!

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

What I learned: Give us a frame of reference. Sometimes when you’re describing something so unknown to the reader (a sci-fi or supernatural setting, for example), you want to give them a frame of a reference, an analogy. So in the beginning of the script, when describing Lord Asano’s kingdom, Morgan writes: “It’s clear that Ako castle is Camelot at its height — the people of the province living happy, contented lives — and Asano is its Arthur; noble, just and kind.”

Due to work constraints, I’m switching Tuesday and Thursday around.  That means 10 Screenwriting Tips via E.T. is moving to Thursday.  Right now, I have to post one of my favorite comments of the year.  It came in response to Thursday’s post about the intangibles of screenwriting.  Writers come from all different backgrounds and situations.  Some are trust fund babies with all the time in the world.  Some are parents barely able to scrape up enough money to keep their families above water.  Whatever the case, writers tend to make up reasons to procrastinate, to not write, to hold off.  This comment just makes you want to write.  Print it and tape it next to your workspace.  It’s from Half-Robot.  Enjoy (and Half-Robot, I’ll read your script when it’s finished!).

If you are finding reasons to avoid writing, maybe it’s not for you. It’s all about effort.

Megastar athletes are there because of dedication and perseverance. Not a single person wakes up one day and is amazingly talented.

Famous musicians.

Actors.

Scientists.

You name it.

I’m sorry but you gotta churn stuff out to get better. The whole 10,000 hours thing. It’s almost as simple as math. Writing a great story, no. But getting better? Elementary.

Unless you just REALLY aren’t getting it. But that’s a whole different story…

I started writing five months ago.

Five.

Before that (and now) I just worked regular, everyday jobs. I’m currently a payroll manager for a mid-size marketing firm. I live an hour away from my job. I work 40-50 hours a week, plus another 10-15 commuting on a cramped bus reading every screenplay I can get my hands on. Plus, I’m married to someone who doesn’t really like movies. Don’t tell me you don’t have time to write.

I don’t have a fancy film degree. I haven’t watched all the classics. I just sit my ass down, forget about sleeping, and write. I leave for work at 5:30 AM, get home at 6 PM. Spend a few hours with the wifey and I’m usually writing from 9 until about 1 or 2 AM. It’s what it takes, man. It ain’t easy. No one said it was. But don’t give me a bullshit excuse that you don’t have time. Suck it up, buttercup.

Though, admittedly, when I started, I thought I would be one of the lucky ones. Sell my first script, dash away to the hills of Hollywood, hob-nob with A-listers. At first, that was my inspiration. The golden dream. Who doesn’t dream of that scenario? It still has to be a small part of your inspiration to make it as a writer. Maybe those things don’t happen to writers, but you still have to swing for the stars. Literally and metaphorically.

It obviously didn’t go that route. And months later, I’ve completely shifted my view on the art of screenwriting. I stopped caring about others “making it” and focused entirely on what I was doing. MY projects.

And you know how much I’ve written?

2 (god-awful) complete feature specs. Both rewritten a few times before I moved on to a fresh idea.

Countless outlines.

2 half-baked feature specs.

Dozens of half-baked ideas, scenes.

A million “A day in the life of” character sheets.

3 separate ideas for The Writer’s Store contest in 2 weeks.

And I’m now on my third draft (technically sixth, but some are partial rewrites) of my 3rd feature.

Five months, people. Don’t tell me it can’t be done.

Feedback is HUGE. I’ve connected with a dozen people through this site and I can’t even tell you how pleased I am to have met them.

Carson, thank you for providing a pretty relaxed atmosphere where we can discuss and connect with each other.

Contrary to popular belief, there aren’t a lot of sites like this. I’ve read a few blogs and they get MAYBE two or three comments. We’re consistently pushing 70+ on most articles. That is fucking stellar y’all.

The flip side to feedback is what to do with it. Get over yourself. You’re not god’s gift to the screenwriting world. We’re all (aspiring) story tellers. See what others think.

From the people I’ve met here, they usually have some pretty great ideas on how to improve that scene where your lead is slicing someone’s throat but in a way we’ve all seen before. You probably thought it was fucking brilliant. Guess what?

It wasn’t.

To quote the Barenaked Ladies, “It’s all been done.”

So yeah, feedback and a thick skin. WHEN (NOT IF) you sell something, you’re going to get hit with notes. Probably a lot of them. I obviously don’t know, but from what I’ve read, get ready for a lot of rewriting.

Rewriting is the fun part anyway. That’s where your script comes alive. I read an interview from here last night from E. Nicholas Mariani that talked about rewriting being the connective tissue, the “scene between the scenes.” That really resonated with me. You can only discover that stuff the second (third, fourth, fifth, sixth…) time around.

That’s why I have an issue with so many AoW scripts. They are clearly first drafts. They are not thought through. It’s basically a (way too long usually) first draft of some cool scenes you thought of. Guess what? After countless weeks of offerings, how many have really gained traction? Yeah. Exactly.

I think we are too easy on amateur writers. You sugar coat the issue, they don’t grow. Simple as that. I’ve read notes from friends that always start with “let me know if I’m being too harsh” and the really grinds my gears.

Let me have it. Make my story better. If you’re polite, I don’t see the problem. If you’re rude, we may have an issue. But I haven’t met anyone here or anywhere else that is a raging douchebag.

I have to disagree with Carson on three things, though.

One –

Don’t read screenplay books right away. I did that. If I could go back, I wouldn’t. Yes, read a book on formatting. Don’t be that guy. BUT, don’t read Save the Cat! and go from there.

Those bad habits will stick with you. Don’t count pages. Don’t worry about 15 beats. You will hit roadblock after roadblock. Write INTERESTING CHARACTERS doing INTERESTING THINGS that makes us want to KNOW WHAT HAPPENS.

If your inciting incident doesn’t land on page 10, an executive isn’t going to jump out of a bush and murder you.

The best way to describe if something is good to me is this rule:

How many pages have I read before I check to see what page I’m on.

If it’s good, I don’t check.

If it’s bad, well, you get it.

We all do it when we read.

We’ve read stories our entire lives. We’ve watched countless movies. Telling a story isn’t rocket science. Well, it is, but not really.

Read SCREENPLAYS. A SHIT TON OF THEM. I’ve read more screenplays in five months than movies I’ve watched in my entire life. And you know what? My scripts are stronger because of it. Half the movies you watch aren’t like the screenplay anyway. READ. READ. READ.

Because you are –

WRITING. WRITING. WRITING. They are words. Go outside, feel emotions, nature. Next time you’re on a walk, mentally think how you’d describe where you are in the most interesting, brief way. Not how your favorite movie ALREADY DID IT.

Two –

Yes, you should write. Every. FUCKING. Day. No excuses. BUT, it has to be more than five minutes. I know that is metaphor for just spending at least some time on writing, but you’ll get no where.

Five minutes? Ten minutes? That’s how long it takes me to come up with a fucking tweet for christ’s sake. How many pages do you think you’ll get done in a year writing even 30 minutes a day? Maybe enough to post a new blog entry every couple of days.

Put your ass in that seat and get excited. Tell sleep to go fuck itself. Tell five minutes to go fuck itself. You’re a writer, not a stopwatch. Get to writing.

Three –

Don’t write something because it’s a “commercial idea.” It will be so obvious. Another interview I read from the fucking talent that is Brian Duffield explained how he starts his specs… A thought or emotion that he’s struggling with. That’s what you need to do.

Yeah, that’s right. YOU.

Pick something challenging. Pick a flaw in your life. Writing will become therapy and before you know it, you’ve got something good.

My current project is about relationships. Their complexity… their brutal way of making you vulnerable, exposing you to another soul. How unfair they can be. How they shape us. How in dire situations, knowing the person you are with has your back. Trust. Finding your soul mate.

The logline? A former couple must survive a road trip during the zombie apocalypse.

And it’s a fucking rom-com. It’s a dark comedy, but a rom-com nonetheless.

If you write based only on a commercial idea, that’ll get you a couple scenes. It WON’T get you a deep connection with the reader. Look, we’re all human. We all have fears, worries, problems, complications, themes, ideas, struggles, whatever. Pick one. Tackle it. Challenge yourself. Brian Koppelman bashes this idea into our heads with his six second screenwriting advice vines. They are brilliant.

Once you’ve grasped the idea you want to work on, then you can attach the story to it. I could have written a dumb comedy about two opposites stuck in car together and all the wacky, crazy things that happen to them. But I grounded it first, then added the story later. I want you to know, at the heart, WHY they are a former couple, HOW that affects the trip, WHY they are even on the trip to begin with. I want you to watch and FEEL them grow, arc, whatever word you want to use for it.

I don’t want Kevin James butt to touch David Spade’s face for a laugh.

Your Bridesmaid is a Bitch isn’t just about some guy going to his sister’s wedding where his ex-girlfriend will be. That is the story, sure. But at the core, like Brian says, is the complexity and struggles with relationships we’ve all been in. We’ve all had our hearts broken. Now, I’m sure a very small percentage of us actually have been to our sister’s wedding where our ex was. But we relate to the feeling. It’s pretty universal. No one is reinventing the wheel, here. And it doesn’t need to be, either.

In conclusion – sorry for ranting. I’m pretty fired up about this. It all comes down to you. Do you want to do this. Like, for reals. Or is it just a hobby?

Here’s a clue. In the last week, how many hours have you dedicated to a blank page? If it’s less than 15, you might need to reevaluate your goals.

As always, if anyone wants to connect, trade scripts, or engage in hilarious, off-beat emails while I’m at work, email me.

driftinginscripts@gmail.com

I’m also on twitter. I’ve kind of fell off the map there, but I still whip up a few quips every now and then.

@half_robot

When I win an Oscar, I will thank all of you in my speech. Especially you, Carson.

Genre: Comedy-Drama
Premise: When an aging irresponsible meat truck driver learns he’s fathered over 500 children via artificial insemination, he does everything in his power to help them, as long as they don’t find out who he is.
About: Well this is a bit of a rags to riches story. Writer-Director Ken Scott was making small indie movies in Canada for a decade when he conceived of “Starbuck.” The small-budgeted film made all of 1.6 million dollars at the global box office. Then Vince Vaughn saw the movie and wanted to make an American version of it. Instead of going the typical Hollywood route of hiring a flashy big-name screenwriter to adapt the film, he hired Scott himself. Not only to write the film, but to DIRECT it. Talk about getting your shot. Apparently, Vaughn liked Scott so much, he’s having him direct his next film, the Walter-Mitty-like “Business Trip,” as well (which I’ve read and thought was quite good). So I guess there ya go. You stick with it long enough and good things come to you.
Writer: Ken Scott (adapted from the film “Starbuck” written by Ken Scott and Martin Petit)
Details: 103 pages – February 2012 – First Draft

As long as we’re laying our cards on the table, I gotta be true to you.

I kinda liked the Google movie. The one with Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson? You have to keep this between us because I don’t want anyone else to find out.

I don’t even remember what it was called. Google Guys? Google, The Film? Don’t Loogle On My Google? Whatever the case, I assumed it was going to be horrible because it was so clearly an ad for Google. Yet it was fascinating to watch in the oddest way. You’d have these situations – like this evil villainous Indian character who worked at Google – and you’re wondering, how bad are they going to make him? Because if they make him too bad, they’re basically saying, “If you come work at Google, really angry Indian men are going to yell at you all day and make your life a living hell.” Which isn’t the best endorsement for the company. At the same time, the story requires a villain to work. So the writer wants Angry Indian Man yelling at all these poor interns.  You, then, get to watch this push-pull battle between Google and the writers in real time, desperate to find out who wins! Okay, maybe that’s not as fascinating as I originally thought it was, but for someone obsessed with screenwriting, this is prime entertainment.

What does this have to do with today’s script? Everything!!!! Actually nothing. But being dramatic always sounds better. I didn’t know a whole lot about Delivery Man going into it. I just knew that this was supposed to be the beginning of Vaughn’s resurgence as an actor. He’d been making these really terrible goofy movies for a decade now (with the exception of a couple) and I guess he just got sick of it. Call it Matthew Mcconaughey Syndrome. Let’s see if he’s indeed changed his ways.

David Wozniak never quite grew up. He’s 42 years old. He works as a delivery man for his family business (a “Meat Store”) and he’s the low man on the totem pole. If somebody needs something done, they DON’T call David.

But David’s not a bad guy. He sort of wants to be better. But it’s hard to change your habits when you’ve been doing them for 42 years. Take the fact that his girlfriend, Emma, is pregnant. David KIND OF wants the baby. He just isn’t confident he’ll be able to handle it when the shit hits the… diapers.

Well David’s about to get a crash course in fatherhood. A lawyer breaks into his loft and informs him that twenty years ago, when David donated his sperm to a fertility clinic, “complications” resulted in that sperm being given out to 700 women. Which has translated, today, into 533 children, 342 of whom have put together a class-action suit to find out who their father is.

While at first, David can barely handle this burden, he eventually becomes obsessed with all his children, doing what anyone who’s been told they have 500 children would do – he stalks them (no word yet on whether Scott is applying the Rian Johnson Looper approach of digitally super-imposing Vince Vaughn’s features on all the kids’ faces). He finds out one is a professional basketball player, another is a wannabe actor, another a drug addict, another an emo goth, another black, another gay, and yet another developmentally challenged. David does his best to touch and guide these childrens’ lives, but there are so many that he can only do so much.

Eventually, the class action suit starts heating up and David must do everything in his power to protect his identify, even as the story about the “mystery donor of 500 children” goes global and everyone in the world wonders who this man is. In the end, David will have to decide whether to disclose his identity or not, a decision that will go to the very core of whether or not he’s finally ready to grow up.

Starbuck (aka Delivery Man) was pretty good. I mean this is definitely not your typical Vince Vaughn flick. The scene where David finds out that one of his kids is developmentally challenged alone has more emotional layers than Fred Clause, Dodgeball, Couples Retreat, and The Watch combined.

I think the big takeaway here, though, is the notion of turning an idea into a story. This particular idea (of someone fathering tons of kids via artificial insemination) has been all over Hollywood for the past 15 years. But nobody was able to get it right in movie form. And the reason for that is, they weren’t able to take the IDEA of a man who fathered a bunch of children through artificial insemination and figure out how to build a STORY around it.

Think about it. Let’s say you’re starting to spitball this idea into an outline. A guy has fathered 500 kids. That sounds funny, right! Yeah! Err, but what happens after the scene where the lawyer tells your protagonist he’s fathered 500 kids? Uhhhhh… Have you thought that far? Because most writers don’t. You can’t have your character go meet every single one of his kids because you don’t have enough time. So then where’s the story? Does he only meet a few kids? Then what about all the others? You can see how it starts to get complicated.

Delivery Man uses an offbeat cobbled-together approach to create its story, but manages to make it work. David sees and helps five of his children, then Scott amps up the class action suit against him, so that David must hire a lawyer (his friend – who’s the worst lawyer in the world) to protect his identity. In the meantime, David continues to see his children (anonymously) and even attend the meetings for the class action suit (anonymously).

Everything is building up towards the judge’s decision, and so that becomes the engine that drives the story. Without Scott discovering the class action suit, I’m not sure this ever becomes more than an idea. Because with the suit, we have a destination. And once you have a destination, you have a story.

While I believe the script on the whole is good, I don’t think it fulfills its promise (at least not in this draft). (spoilers). That’s because we’re supposed to be worried about David being exposed as the father, and I’m not sure we do. Scott does his best. He shows articles and talk shows discuss how horrible this anonymous donor is for doing this, in hopes that we’ll say, “Oh my God! David will be roasted on national TV if he’s found out!” The problem is David hasn’t done anything wrong. It was the clinic that fucked up. David was just a stupid 20 year old desperate for cash. I guess I just didn’t see how it was bad if he was exposed.

Despite that, Delivery Man was packed with enough heart, charm and earnestness to make up for its faults. It really is a step up for Vaughn. And I’m curious to see it. I know Business Trip (Vaughn and Scott’s next collaboration) is a very visual director-y type script. So I’m curious to see how Scott is as a director as well. Can’t wait.

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

What I learned: The problems with this script come down to stakes. As a screenwriter, you always have to ask, what happens if my character “loses” at the end of the film? If the answer isn’t something catastrophic (his job, his wife, his kids, his life) then the stakes probably aren’t high enough. In this case, what happens if David gets discovered? He becomes a national media topic for a week. Then his life probably goes back to normal.  He may even become a minor celebrity.  I’m just not sure that’s bad enough.

Man, I’m going off-book for every post this week. I said I was going to do ten tips for The Karate Kid or Rain Man, but instead, I’m going with another 80s movie, The Road Warrior! Now The Road Warrior may seem like an unlikely choice for a plate of screenwriting lessons. The script focuses mainly on action, which doesn’t translate very well on the page. But look closer and you’ll find that how the script tackles action is the secret to its success. Today’s studio films are so jam packed with action, they’ve lost track of why they’re adding it in the first place. Maybe to fill up their trailers. Maybe because they’re afraid the audience will get bored. I don’t know. But The Road Warrior comes in at a lean 95 minutes, and only includes action sequence when they’re necessary (true, the smaller budget probably contributed to this, but that may be a lesson in itself – don’t spend money if you don’t have to). What sticks with you when you watch The Road Warrior are its amazing set pieces (read: car chases), and particularly the climactic chase. These may not be as flashy as the stuff you see today, but they’re definitely more brutal and real. That’s because there were no special effects.  Everything you saw was real.  The problem with these digitally-aided chases today is that they all carry a sheen of fakeness. And “fake” feels safe – the exact opposite of how you want your audience to feel in the theater. But I’m getting off track here. Let’s reach back to one of the greatest action movies ever and see if we can’t learn something from it.

1) Never underestimate a simple story – I see so many writers writing themselves into corners because they’re trying to do too much with their story. Look at the plot of The Road Warrior. The good guys must find a way to escape the bad guys with their fuel in tact. The great thing about a simple plot is that the audience is never confused. Everybody always knows what’s going on. These days in movies like Transformers 2 or Pirates of the Caribbean 4, that’s rarely the case.

2) Universal Motivation – Movies work well when there’s universal motivation. This means every character is motivated by the same thing. In this case, it’s fuel. Every character wants it. No character wants to give it away. This provides ample opportunities for conflict, since all of your characters are fighting over the same thing.

3) If your hero doesn’t say a whole lot, make sure he does a whole lot – A character who doesn’t speak much must speak with his actions. Max isn’t a talker, but he’s very active. If he’s not outrunning the road pirates, he’s stopping to inspect curious objects (the gyro-copter), forming his plan to get into the fuel yard, heading out to get the fuel truck. He’s always DOING something. If you have a character who doesn’t speak and doesn’t do, you have a boring character.

4) Script Exercise: Pretend that sound isn’t working on set today – Pretend you’re a writer on set and the director’s just informed you that the sound equipment broke. Hence, you need to come up with a version of the scene that doesn’t contain dialogue. As a guideline, watch the scene in The Road Warrior where Max befriends the Ferrel Kid. There’s no dialogue in it but it’s very powerful. Max takes out an old music box he found on the road and starts playing it. The kid is intrigued. Max plays a little more before tossing it to him. The kid spins the crank, the music comes out, and he gets excited. It’s a simple scene, but it establishes a solid friendship between the two. The Road Warrior has a few really nice moments like these.

5) Establish the danger in your world – If we don’t feel the danger, we won’t be afraid.  And you need your audience to feel afraid of the bad guys.  Early on, we watch a band of the road pirates mercilessly kill a man and rape his wife. Admittedly, this would be a hard scene to show today. But it really established how dangerous this world was. If you do this right, it will pay dividends throughout the rest of the movie. When the bad guys are chasing Max in the truck, for example, we know if they catch him they’re not simply going to put a bullet in his head.  There will be torture, pain, horrible things done to him that we can’t even begin to imagine.  Which is why we don’t want him to get caught!

6) Urgency in the form of an ultimatum – One of the easiest ways to create urgency is through an ultimatum. The road pirates come up to the oil yard and broadcast an announcement that the good guys have 24 hours to leave the yard or else they will be slaughtered. Urgency is one of your best friends as a storyteller (as evidenced by yesterday’s article), and this is a really easy way to instigate it.

7) Make characters memorable with their actions, wardrobe, disposition, possessions – Too many writers try to make characters memorable with their words. Instead, look for ways to make them memorable with their actions and outfits and overall disposition. Helicopter Guy wears goggles and has a quirky flying machine. The Ferrel Kid speaks in grunts and has a bladed boomerang. Max eats dog food to survive. It’s these extracurricular things that the audience typically remembers, not what your characters say.

8) You want your hero going into the climax at his worst – The worse your hero is prepared for the climax, the better. Max is nearly dead when he takes control of that tanker. He’s got one leg, one eye, and one arm (think about that – he has only ONE ARM to drive this tanker!).

9) You want your bad guys going into the climax at their best – It shouldn’t be a fair fight. The bad guys have 30 cars and hundreds of weapons to Max’s 1 car and handful of weapons.

10) Find irony in your set pieces – Set pieces are supposed to be big and action-packed and crazy. So writers look for the biggest most action-packed craziest way to do them. By taking this approach, however, they often miss out on the more nuanced moments that make a set piece memorable. Many times it’s the TINIEST thing that can be the stand out moment in a set-piece. For example, in the ending of The Road Warrior, a final shotgun shell rolls out onto the hood of the truck. It’s out there dangling on that dashboard and getting that final bullet turns out to be the only thing we care about for two minutes.  This amongst an insane car chase with over 30 cars!

As great as this movie is, there’s still one thing I haven’t been able to figure out about it. Max is a really selfish hero.  He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.  He’s not very talkative.  He’s a dick to everyone.  I mean there’s a moment where he’s about to save somebody but before he does he says, “I’ll only do this if you give me gas.”  But we still love this guy.  Why?  Is it as simple as that he has a dog?  That he connects with the little kid?  Is it that the bad guys are so much worse?  Max today would probably be rewritten to be more “likable.”  And it would’ve ruined the character.  So my question to you is, why do we like Max?  I feel like if we can figure that out, we can shed some light on just what “likable” means.

Genre: Sci-fi Comedy
Premise: A plucky teenage boy is accidentally sent 30 years into the past, where he inadvertently prevents his parents from meeting, in the process threatening his very existence.
About: This is the very first draft of Back to the Future, written in 1981.
Writers: Robert Zemeckis & Bob Gale
Details: 110 pages (but the formatting here is really tight – this feels more like 130 pages) 1981 draft

I swear. I tried to see Thor 2 this weekend (as I said I would in my newsletter). With every fiber of my being I tried to go. At one point I actually constructed a catapult on my couch (from nearby items like couch pillows and a floor lamp) that would physically propel me towards the door so that I’d be forced to go.

But in the end, I just couldn’t (make the catapult work or see the film). I never did get into the whole Greek God thing in English anyway. Much like my distaste for Doritos and Everybody Loves Raymond, they were wisps of popular culture I never understood.

Instead, I decided to do something different today – read the first draft of Back To The Future! From what I’d heard, it wasn’t very good. The word on the street was that every studio in town passed on it. True, neither Zemeckis or Gale had done much at the time (Zemeckis’s first movie, Used Cars, had just come out and done so-so at the box office) but even if they had, nobody was drinking the McFly juice yet.

And therein lies the reason I must review it. I want to show screenwriters what can be done with a bad script. As long as there’s a good idea at the core, you can turn something bad into something good. It takes time (it took these guys 3 years). But if the script has potential and you’re willing to put in the work, there’s hope.

Back to the Future Alpha is essentially the boring version of the movie you’ve come to love. The script starts off strangely with Marty McFly perfecting his video pirating skills. He’s even trying to get Doc to streamline his bootlegging process so he can sell films out on the street before they hit theaters! I’m not kidding. And this is 1981!

Marty hangs around Doc’s place before and after school, shooting the shit. Doc’s always talking about power sources and how he needs more power for his latest project – oh, and there’s a secret locked room that he refuses to allow Marty to see.

Marty’s parents are both here, but their personalities haven’t been fleshed out yet. Likewise, Biff is operating on about 25% of his eventual personality. Marty’s still got a girlfriend (her name’s Suzy) whom he passes notes to in long classroom scenes where the teacher warms about the upcoming nuclear apocalypse.  There are no siblings here, though (and therefore no famous disappearing picture).

One day Marty’s hanging out at Doc’s and, out of curiosity, pours some Coke into one of his devices. This causes a chemical reaction that turns out to be exactly what Doc needs for his mysterious behind-the-locked-door project. Coke (due to its secret formula) actually plays a big part in this version of the story.

We finally learn that the thing behind the door is a time machine. It needs incredible amounts of energy. And the mix of Coke and plutonium generate that energy. There is no car here. No 88 miles per hour. Just a machine in a lab. CIA agents eventually show up at that lab looking for the plutonium Doc stole. There’s a shoot out, and Marty accidentally gets caught in the machine and travels back 30 years.

After realizing where he is, Marty runs to his mom’s house and she’s, of course, his age now. He asks her what’s going on. She doesn’t know what he’s talking about or who he is. Marty passes out and when he wakes up, Doc has come to pick him up (Marty had Doc’s name in his pocket from earlier, so they called him).

Doc seems to know what’s happened right away in this version (Marty doesn’t need to convince him he’s from the future), and sets about getting Marty home. He tells Marty he MUST stay in his house in the meantime so he doesn’t upset the space-time continuum. But Marty gets bored and heads to school (because, why not!) where he sees his mom again, who starts falling in love with him.

From that point on, everything happens pretty much the way it happens in the film, except for the final sequence, where instead of the clock tower, we get Doc and Marty driving to Nevada to channel energy for the time machine from the very last nuclear bomb test in America. And in a sequence that would come back to haunt moviegoers worldwide three decades later, Marty will have to hide inside a refrigerator to survive the nuclear blast.

The biggest change you see from this draft to the final one is that of URGENCY. Everything in the final draft MOVES FAST. Characters are always late. Characters are always on the move. Characters always have somewhere to be.

In this version, Marty’s just hanging out at Doc’s place with all the time in the world. Then he’s hanging out in his classroom with his teacher droning on about nuclear bombs. The story ISN’T MOVING. It’s GETTING READY TO MOVE. And that’s one of the major things that rewrites change. You locate all the places in your story that are GETTING READY to happen, and you replace them with things that HAPPEN.

Take Doc’s time machine, for instance. In this version, Doc’s still in the process of building it. He hasn’t come up with all the answers yet. This means four or five scenes of Doc wondering how he’s going to do it. In the movie, DOC’S ALREADY FIGURED THIS OUT. He already has the time machine ready. So the story’s already on the move. He calls Marty to the mall and we’re off to the races.

Or look at the classroom scene. The final draft would NEVER have a classroom scene. Characters sitting around while a teacher slowly doles out exposition? No way! Instead, Marty’s late for class. He’s getting stopped in the hallway by the principal. He’s trying to set up his date with Jennifer. We don’t have time for class! There’s always somewhere to be!

You also see a lot of forced set-ups here, which is one of the easiest ways to spot an early draft. Take Marty’s skateboarding. Obviously, one of the key scenes in the film is when Marty outmaneuvers Biff in Town Square on a makeshift skateboard. So we need to set that up. In this version, in the first act, Marty is walking home with Suzy and some kid’s skateboard shoots off towards Marty. Marty hops on it, does all these ridiculous tricks for no reason (other than to set up he’s a master skateboarder), then hands the board back.

Contrast that with the final draft. The skateboard is an integral part of Marty’s everyday routine. It’s how he gets around. We see him hop on it and hurry to school as early as the second scene of the film. That’s one area where rewriting helps, is taking those isolated ideas and interweaving them into the fabric of your screenplay.

The same thing can be said for stuff like the Clock Tower, the lightning bolt, the car-as-time-machine, the 88 miles per hour. We saw seeds of those ideas here, but they needed time to grow in order to be realized. Doc is living in the main building in town, which looks like it eventually became the Clock Tower. And the idea of them only getting one shot at this lightning bolt originated from the one and only shot at catching energy from the nuclear bomb test.

Speaking of the ending, that was another huge problem with this draft. You don’t keep your characters in one location for 90% of the movie, then put them in a car and drive them on a six hour road trip for the climax. It feels clumsy and disjointed. I’m guessing Zemeckis and Gale eventually realized this, which necessitated a more local solution. Hence the atomic bomb turning into a lightning bolt.

Also of note is the movement of a key plot point that really helped the structure of the second act. In this version of Back To The Future, Marty doesn’t disrupt his parents from meeting right away. Instead, he runs into his mom, then goes to Doc’s, then Doc tells him to hang out while he works on sending him back to the future.

Despite Doc hammering Marty on how dangerous it is to interact with anybody, Marty leaves the house and heads to school out of boredom. It’s only then that he screws up the meeting between his mother and father. This, of course, makes zero sense. Why would Marty go to school and potentially endanger his existence if he doesn’t have to?

In the final draft, they wisely changed the position of this plot point to maximize motivation. Marty saves his father after he falls out of the tree, getting hit by the car INSTEAD of his dad, and getting taken into his mom’s house, where she falls in love with him (instead of his father). All of this happens BEFORE he meets Doc. This way, when Marty and Doc game plan sending him back, they realize that Marty has already endangered his existence by having his mom fall for him instead of his dad. Marty now HAS NO CHOICE but to go to school and correct his mistake.  This works so much better than, “Eh, I’m bored. Let’s go to High School.”  Right?

I think to some of you, all of this is obvious. “Yeah, it was an early draft. Of course it wasn’t as good as the final draft.” But this is the draft Zemeckis and Gale were originally trying to sell. And that’s the problem. I see a lot of writers going out there with drafts like this. Drafts with huge potential but where the writers haven’t come close to maximizing that potential.

Think about it. Is your ending the refrigerator-in-a-nuclear-explosion ending? Or is it the Delorean racing 88 miles per hour while Doc swings from the clock tower lightning bolt ending? Sure it takes lots more drafts and lots more time to get the lightning bolt ending, but how the hell do you think you’re going to beat the competition with a subpar product?

I don’t think this draft of Back To The Future was bad. But it reads like a lot of early drafts do. Some fun ideas. Some decent characters. Some clumsy exposition. A start-and-stop story that’s still trying to find itself. But it didn’t feel FINISHED.

The lesson here is to look at what can happen when you rewrite. I heard stories about how these two, after getting rejected, wrote draft after draft after draft of this script, debating every single detail of the story until it got to where it needed to be. That takes dedication. And that’s what every screenwriter needs in order to succeed.

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

What I learned: Every time you get an idea, it’s just a seed. Your job is to water that seed and help it grow to as big as it possibly can. Too many writers are too impatient to do the watering. And their scripts always reflect that.