Is this the first time Scriptshadow gets sexy in a script review??

Genre: Thriller
Premise: (from Black List) A successful author/wife/mother plans a trip to a bucolic island to crack her next book and finds herself in a surprising situation.
About: Today we get the rare CELEBRITY script, as Power Rangers’ very own Amy Jo Johnson wrote today’s screenplay, which made last year’s Black List. More actors should be writing their own material and creating their own way like Amy Jo Johnson. The woman is a straight-up inspiration. Now someone please tell me what “bucolic” means.
Writer: Amy Jo Johnson
Details: 114 pages

Today is a first on Scriptshadow.

I am about to do something that I’ve never before been faced with on the site.

I am going to read a script from one of my early crushes.

We’re talking Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. Felicity. And the utterly underrated, “Hard Ground.”

Amy Jo Johnson everyone. If you don’t know who that is you need to be arrested for dumbness.

Look, it’s not going to be easy reviewing today’s script. How can I ever judge AJJ objectively? What am I going to do if the script is an Amy Jo Disaster? Even if AJ has never heard of the site, I’ve learned that most of the writers of these scripts are made aware of the review at some point or another. Does that mean any potential future between Amy and I is 69’d? Wait, not “69’d.” That’s the wrong term. What’s the right word? 86’d! That’s what I meant to say. “86’d.” Honest slip of the keyboard. Sorry about that, guys.

Let’s get to the script!

Jennifer is a 45-year-old novelist with a family and a husband, Steven, who’s her biggest fan. Well, he *was* her biggest fan. He’s the agent who signed her and began her successful run on the best-seller list. But Jennifer hasn’t written a book in 5 years. She’s got an ugly case of writer’s block.

So Steven decides to rent Jennifer a house in the middle of nowhere (Alderney Channel Island) for three weeks so she can finally finish her latest book, “What We Became.” Jennifer doesn’t want to do it but the reality is, they’re running out of money. If they don’t start selling books again, they’re going to be looking for studio apartments on the south side of the 10 freeway.

Once on the island, Jennifer meets a young beautiful woman named Kathleen. Kathleen informs her that the house Jennifer is staying at was used by the Nazis for secret meetings back in World War 2. Kathleen offers to bring groceries over, periodically. But not any normal groceries. SEX GROCERIES (‘sex groceries’ is a term I just made up. It means getting people groceries when what you *really* want to do is have sex with them).

Jennifer is both elated and mortified by her desire for Kathleen. But what is she gonna do when the hot little number keeps swimming naked in her pool? I mean, who can resist that? Not Jennifer.

Not long after they start sleeping together, Jennifer heads into town and meets Kathleen’s mother by chance, who tells her Kathleen is dead and has been for five years. Wrestling with her newfound potential necrophiliac status, Jennifer confronts Kathleen, who admits that she’s not Kathleen. She’s actually a fan.

Jennifer is so turned on by this chick that she keeps sleeping with her anyway, despite the creepy fan stalker issue. It helps that she’s flying through the pages of her novel. She’s never been this inspired in her life. She’s so inspired that she straight-up ignores her husband’s calls, to the point where Steven gets worried and flies to the manor, where he learns that his wife has been sleeping with the help.

After a big blow-up between Jennifer and Steven, Jennifer has to figure out, once and for all, who her lover is. Is she a liar, a ghost, a Nazi, a stalker? One thing’s for sure, whoever Kathleen is, she’s unstable. And that lack of stability is going to lead to a giant confrontation.

I have good news, everyone.

I liked it!

You all know this about me. Put a character on an island and I’m in.

Make them a writer and I’m even more in. Of course I’m going to be pulled in by a story set in the subject matter of my chosen profession.

The only thing holding this script back is the fact that, with the wrong director, it becomes a cheesy Netflix romantic thriller. But with a good director, it could be awesome.

Cause Johnson writes in a sophisticated enough way that the story is elevated above your run-of-the-mill romantic thriller. She’s very detailed when she writes. She’s good at describing the setting – adding just enough detail to convince us that we’re really there.

In scripts like this, it’s the sum of all the mini-parts that elevate the script above average-ness. For example, this could’ve taken place anywhere. In some generic woods setting, for example. Placing it on the Alderney Channel Island, an island I’ve never heard of, off the coast of Britain, made it feel real. Specifics and detail help your story every time. Never forget that.

I say that as someone who just read two scripts from writers who used little-to-no-detail. Who always went with the basic general option. It’s the difference between having your characters get the pear-gorgonzola gelato at Gelateria Fatamorgana and… your character go to the “ice cream shop” to get “yummy ice cream.” Specificity makes a difference.

Another thing that impressed me here was the sex stuff. We don’t usually talk about sex on the site. Sex scenes are tricky, to shoot as well as to write. Because if you’re too soft, they’re boring. If they’re too hard, they become exploitative and overwhelm the moment, pulling the reader out of the story.

I thought Johnson wrote these perfectly. The scenes are sexy, slightly original, occasionally push the boundaries, and most importantly, remain authentic.

I think the reason sex scenes can be challenging is because, in order to make them authentic, we do have to bare our soul a bit. We have to give those uncomfortable details of our own sexual experiences because those are details that make the moment feel real. If you try and write, “He gets on top of her. They kiss. She moans.” That’s not going to cut it. It’s too generic to make an impact, especially in a script like this where the sex is a key component to the plot.

If I have any complaints about the script, I’d say Johnson relied too much on twists and turns. I loved the first twist of Kathleen being dead. I thought, “Ooh, are we going into ghost territory here?” Then there’s another twist where we learn she was just saying she was the dead girl to hide her own identity and that she’s actually a fan. Then there’s another twist still that she’s never read one of Jennifer’s books. And there’s even another twist after that.

Twists are fun. But most scripts can’t handle more than two big twists. Cause if every ten pages is a twist, then we stop believing in what’s happening and we don’t trust the writer anymore. Just to be clear, smaller twists are fine. But big twists? 1 or 2 is all you need.

Let’s be honest. The “romantic thriller” isn’t the coolest genre on the block. A lot of industry people roll their eyes at it. But if you’re passionate about a genre, even if it isn’t cool, you should write in that genre. Cause that’s the genre you’re going to be the most passionate writing. That passion is likely to result in a good script, like this one.

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

What I learned: Don’t introduce juicy red herrings that you’re not going to pay off. That’s like promising steak for dinner and cooking SPAM. Red herrings are a great way to get the reader off your scent. I encourage using them in any mystery. But don’t introduce a big fat juicy red herring – like Nazis – and not pay it off. Cause it’s just going to upset the reader. I was hoping that the Nazis came back into this script somehow after they were mentioned in the first act. So I was bummed when that setup was abandoned.

Is today’s script the best horror entry of the entire 2022 Black List??

Genre: Horror
Premise: To save her friend, a maid in a decaying manor must unravel the secrets of its inhabitants while confronting spirits, her own terrifying abilities, and the very real horrors of Depression-era America lurking outside the door.
About: Another writer brand new to the scene here. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been putting the work in. Evan Enderle has been writing screenplays for at least six years as he was the recipient of the 2017 Rough Draft Residency with The Drama League in New York. Put in those reps, everybody! Assuming he wrote between 1-2 scripts a year since then, he could have as many as ten screenplays under his belt. In my experience, somewhere between 6 and 10 scripts is when a writer finds their screenwriting legs. We’re going to talk about how many scripts screenwriters should be writing in the next newsletter as I’ve come across lots of writers who are approaching it the wrong way. If you want in on my newsletter, send me an e-mail at carsonreeves1@gmail.com.
Writer: Evan Enderle
Details: 112 pages

A hurricane?

In LA?

Is that even possible?

This past week I was hanging out with extended family on vacay. For perspective, my family was seeded, and then sprouted, from the endless fields of Indiana. They are proudly mid-western and, because of this, I wanted to know what kind of content they were into. What movies does the “Average Joe and Joan” in middle America up and leave their houses to see? What shows did they drape themselves in potato chip crumbs to binge?

I got only two universal answers.

They all loved Barbie.

And they all loved White Lotus.

Well, at least they half have good taste.

As much as I’d like to take you down another backroad of Barbie Land and trade definitions of the patriarchy, we’ve got a new script to review! I know Poe’s been hyping this one up. Let’s see if he was right.

20-something Lucy Moore arrives at Ravenswood Manor in 1931, on the outskirts of Tarrytown, USA. Lucy has been brought here as a maid to serve under the evil Ms. Crowne, the real-world equivalent of the wicked witch of the west. Crowne isn’t happy just making her workers depressed. She wants to make them les miserable.

After a tough first day, Lucy buddies up with another maid, Gertrude. The two are fast friends, which Crowne immediately picks up on. A day later and Gertrude has mystreruousy disappeared. Crowne says she left voluntarily during the night. But Lucy’s not buying it.

Before she “left,” Gertrude told Lucy about a special room in the manor. And after meeting Hale, the studly son of the woman Lucy looks after, Mrs. Dyer, the three are summoned to the special room, which we learn is a “ghost room” of sorts, where spirits are summoned. Right away Lucy is uncomfortable. She seems to have a special connection with the dead, a power passed onto her by her grandmother.

After connecting Mrs. Dyer with her dead husband, Lucy becomes a favorite of the woman, who insists to a furious Crowne that Lucy stay with her 24/7. Crowne attempts to undermine Lucy when she realizes her power is growing within the manor, but to no avail. The client, Dyer, likes Lucy too much.

With her newfound access, Lucy looks deeper into Gertrude’s disappearance only to discover a chilling truth – that Gertrude may not be dead or alive, but rather, stuck in limbo. Lucy will have to find her friend and set her free. But this will mean infiltrating Ravenswood’s most hideous secret – a secret that will change the nature of life as we know it.

This is DEFINITELY one of the better written scripts on the Black List. The writing is simple, descriptive, and, most importantly for a horror script, haunting. It feels professional right from the bump.

She waits, dwarfed by the soaring ceilings reflected in the shining marble floors. She takes a few tentative steps, surveys the sweeping grand staircase.

All is silent except for the soft POP of logs burning in the impressive fireplace. A YELLOW CAT watches from the shadows.

There’s also a sophistication to the dialogue that you don’t often see in the post 2018 Black List Era – in other words, dialogue that’s actually good.

“You are a queer one, Lucy. The girl who would refuse a job when so many are suffering. And now to be caught thieving and in hysterics in the middle of the night. The entitlement of it.”

Note the reversed nature of that final statement. Normally, that would go near the front of the sentence. “Do you understand how entitled you sound, Lucy? You’ve refused a job when so many are suffering.” But in real life, we don’t always think linearly. We come up with our thoughts on the fly, occasionally backloading sentences with points we realized we left out earlier. To write dialogue that reflects that is high level stuff.

Where this script is going to live or die, however, is with each individual’s preference regarding how they like their horror. If you like to have fun with your horror (Paranormal Activity), this script isn’t for you. If you like a giant infusion of drama in your horror (Let The Right One In), this is the script you’re going to be telling your horror buddies about.

Ravenswood puts on its “serious hat” from the outset. This script is about mood. It is about feel. Heck, you can practically smell the mildew within the manor, the novel-esque description is so thick.

It is both the script’s main strength and weakness. I dug it. I felt much more fear when we were placed in dangerous scary situations here (inside a garden maze with a headless gardener) due to how seriously the writer was covering the events. But it *did* come at the expense of being 40 pages into the script and still not knowing what the point of the story was.

This happens when you don’t add a clear goal. Which is fine. Horror movies are often powered by a looming sense of dread, of knowing that the monsters are coming. Being stuck in an ancient giant shadow-filled haunted house promises us many a spooky endeavor. But you can only milk that udder for so long before the reader starts demanding purpose.

Eventually, Enderle seemed to realize that Gertrude was the key to crafting any sort of narrative and therefore embraced the mystery of her having gone missing. This gave the script its coveted goal. But even then, the goal seemed to be stirred into other, less sexy, plotlines, such as the nonexistent romance plot between Lucy and Hale. That had real potential but the writer seemed to grow bored of it in real-time, as it had all but vanished (like a ghost) by the arrival of the first act.

The good news is, there were more good plotlines than bad ones. I was obsessed with the way Crowne pushed Lucy around, to the point where I would’ve been happy reading the entire script just to see Lucy stick it to her in the end, even if there hadn’t been any horror.

Speaking of, the horror imagery was good. Headless dogs. Headless gardeners. Limbless other animals and humans – all stuff Lucy kept seeing. It made for a nice mystery. We knew someone was lopping off body parts machete-style. But who was it? And why were they doing such a thing?

But the star of this script was always the writing. Even if I would’ve preferred more dialogue to make the read easier, I noticed a higher level of writing across the board, and it really made a difference in how the horror came across. Better writing better convinces us that we’re really there.

Take this simple line…

“A boy lies on a table, pale with death.”

Note how the line could’ve been…

“A boy lies on a table, dead.”

See the difference? The second line lacks any commitment to visually describe the moment. It gives us the cold hard facts and nothing more. The first example not only gives us an image in our heads (a pale dead body) but it’s also a more interesting way to say “he’s dead.”

It takes thought to write that way.

I have a feeling that this script will finish Top 10 when I do my annual Black List re-rankings. It’s pretty darned good.

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

What I learned: Your analogies should be reflective of the script’s setting. “Crowne has reached the foot of the stairs, appraises Lucy like a displeasing cut from the butcher.” This is a great analogy. Why? Because the analogy is rooted in the same setting that the script takes place in. A displeasing cut of meat from the butcher is something that would happen in 1931. I too often see writers using an analogy in this instance such as, “Crowne has reached the foot of the stairs, appraises Lucy like a drunk DJ at a wedding party.” In other words, the analogy is not time or setting appropriate.

Genre: Action/Comedy
Premise: After Hollywood’s leading action star hits his head on set and wakes up thinking he’s a real-life action hero, he embarks on an international mission to track down a real stolen nuke before it’s too late.
About: This script made it onto last year’s Black List. Sean Tidwell, the writer, wrote another script, Super Dad, that was on another Black List that I thought was funny but I remember getting a lot of blowback for liking the script. I can’t win here!
Writer: Sean Tidwell
Details: 104 pages

If there’s one thing that’s clear about why people are going to see Barbie, it’s that it’s fun. It’s summer. It’s hot. People are in a good mood. Barbie is like the last piece of the happiness equation. Maybe that’s why nobody wanted to see The Last Voyage of the Demeter. It didn’t scream: “Fun summer movie!”

Then again, neither did Oppenheimer. And I’m pretty sure a lot of people saw that. I’d actually call Oppenheimer “anti-fun.” Man, this box office stuff is hard to figure out. Anyway! The point I was going to make was that Mega Action Hit is the perfect script to read right now. It screams “Fun!”

Dack Benson is the world’s coolest movie star. He’s also a gigantic workaholic. He never stops making films for his Mission Impossible-like franchise, where he plays a member of a super-secret government organization called I.B.S. It’s gotten bad enough that his wife is done with him. She wants a divorce.

Dack has done so many of these freaking movies that he gets careless on one of the wire stunts, falls, and hits his head. When he wakes up, he thinks he’s Dack Benson. Because… HE IS Dack Benson. Character Dack Benson’s name in real life is also Dack Benson. That’s how into making movies this guy is.

But now he thinks he’s his *character,* Dack Benson. And when he sees a news story about a guy named Ivan Shanko (warlord and nudist) procuring a nuke, he recruits his production’s two newest assistants, Julia and Max, to help him save the world. The two think he’s method acting and are so scared to upset the franchise star, they go along with it.

Because Dack does all his own stunts, he’s pretty proficient at a lot of the spy stuff and figures out that something is going down in Turkey. Dack asks the military to fly him to Turkey and because he’s a movie star, they oblige.

Once in Turkey, they learn of the elaborate plan to both secure the nuke, get the uranium, combine the two, and blow up a city! That city, it turns out, is going to be Liverpool. So off Dack, Julia, and Max go. But when they finally catch up to Ivan, Dack gets hit in the head AGAIN, and is now back to being actor, Dack. The problem is he’s so deep in it now, that actor Dack will have to figure out a way to save the world (or Liverpool).

First thing I need to remind you of is that this is one of the last genres you can still legit sell a spec script in. The reason for that is that audiences don’t care about IP when it comes to action comedies. And studios know that if they add action to comedy, it will sell all over the world.

Mega Action Hit asks the question, “What if Mission Impossible made fun of itself?” That’s the concept in a nutshell. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tidwell was hoping Tom Cruise played the part.

Indeed, that would be funny. Actually, I would love to see an in-his-prime Ben Stiller play this role, as he kind of already did back when he pretended to be Tom Cruise’s Mission Impossible stuntman.

But these scripts are trickier than they look. They always sound fun in logline form. But when you have to sit down and flesh them out, you quickly wonder how you’re going to take 20 pages of flesh and stretch it out to 100 pages.

I suppose it doesn’t matter as long as it’s funny.

So is Mega Acton Hit funny?

I did laugh a few times. There’s this scene where Dack, Julia, and Max, are discussing their intricate plan of dismantling a nuclear syndicate while sitting around a computer, then we cut to a wide shot and they’re all sitting in the middle of a Fed Ex store, using one of their rented computers.

There were a lot of fun jabs at how silly the dialogue is in these movies. When the crew is thrust into a dangerous situation, you’d get exchanges like… Dack: “I have a plan!” Julia: “What is it?!” Dack: “I’ll let you know when I think of it!”

Probably my favorite joke was when Dack sees an IBS Treatment Center in the middle of Liverpool and believes it’s an extension of his agency. They, of course, mistake his passion for believing he has *actual* irritable bowel syndrome, and perform emergency surgery on him.

On the flip side, there was comedy I didn’t like. I don’t think that Ivan and his team of nudists were funny at all. Not because it isn’t my type of humor. But because it’s lazy. Just having naked people onscreen for no other reason than “naked is funny” is lazy comedy writing.

Whatever joke you want to include, do it in a clever way. Which is why I liked the IBS joke. It makes fun of the fact that all these industries have the most pointless acronyms. It found a way to work that joke into the story later on (with the IBS Treatment Center). That I can get on board with.

People being nude for no other reason than that naked penises are funny? That’s, quite frankly, lame. Take a lesson from the best comedy scene ever, Ted getting his testicles stuck in his zipper on prom night in There’s Something About Mary. You’ve created an actual scenario around the nakedness as opposed to saying, “These guys are naked. Funny, right???”

Plus, nude doesn’t work on the page because we can’t see them. So even if someone is going to find that funny, they won’t laugh because they can’t see it! And will often forget the characters are nude until you remind them (that’s what kept happening to me while reading this).

A lot more could’ve been done on the character front as well. In comedies, you want your characters rocking those fatal flaws in big bright flashing lights.

Tidwell *does* explore that with Dack wanting to quit to spend more time with his wife. But for some reason I didn’t care. There were no scenes that made me a fanatic Jessica cheerleader. So after the thirtieth time that Dack tells Julia and Max that he wants to quit acting and be with his wife, all I could do was roll my eyes.

It’s hard, I get it. One of the most frustrating things in screenwriting is wondering if something’s working. Is this character working? Is this plotline working? Is this scene working? Is this third act working? Is this CONCEPT working?

But you want to know what I’ve found? I’ve found that, deep down, we know when something’s not working. I know this because I’ve probably given a thousand consultations where, after I sent the notes back to the writer, they said, “Carson, I knew that [that thing] wasn’t working. I just needed you to say it.”

So we know. And the wife thing didn’t work at all here. Which sucks because Tidwell built the entire emotional arc of the movie around it.

Mega Action Hit is fun. But like a lot of these scripts, the fun is too empty. It’s not genuine fun. It’s the kind of fun you have passively watching TV while messing around on your computer. In other words, there’s not enough here for me to endorse it.

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

What I learned: A “bridge” scene is not an excuse to be boring. In scripts where your characters are on the move, there’s a temptation that, when they’re on a car ride, or a train ride, or a plane ride, to “offload” some exposition. If you EVER think you can use a scene as a “breather?” As an opportunity to place some important but boring exposition in there, that’s terrible writing. Screenwriting is not about YOU. It’s about the READER. It’s THEIR experience you want to be good. Not yours. Sure, being able to offload that exposition onto a plane scene where we’re waiting for the characters to get to the next destination – that may be helpful to you, the writer. But I can promise you it isn’t going to be fun for the reader. We have that here in a plane scene where Max and Julia share their backstories with each other. BAD! NO! Always always always look to make the scene entertaining. You don’t get any “off” scenes as a screenwriter.

It’s no secret that the industry is going through a transition.

The move away from original concepts at the box office as well as the rise of streaming has confused the marketplace in ways that probably won’t be settled for another five years.

The best way to explain it is that streaming has tried to pick up the slack on the original concept front and the results have been a mixed bag. We’ve gotten red-headed step-children like Ghosted, Red Notice and The Gray Man, which are more “shy concept” than “high concept.”

But there’s also been some golden children. Army of the Dead comes to mind. The Tomorrow War. Palm Springs. With these movies, we’re talking legitimate big ideas, the kind of “spec-y” material that gets industry folks jazzed up.

But I must be honest in saying that I’ve been questioning the value of “high concept” (or “flashy concept”) lately. It used to be the highest form of currency an unrepped writer possessed. Nowadays, the kind of script that gets a writer noticed is muddier than ever.

Take a movie like Extraction, on Netflix. Good movie. But how reliable is it that such a nuts-and-bolts action spec is going to get you noticed? That film was dependent on its direction to work. It was the furthest thing from a script-friendly concept.

You also have these screenwriting success stories that revolve around voice. Christy Hall, who wrote “Get Home Safe.” Shay Hatten, who writes all the John Wick stuff. He broke out because of his sixth gear writing style. Simon Rich, who’s positioning himself to be the next Charlie Kaufman. Emerald Fennel, with her eerie revenge story, Promising Young Woman.

So then, should writers forgo concept and write something that best showcases their voice?

The answer to that is a big fat “no” and I’ll tell you why. Because the one thing that has been true of Hollywood ever since its inception is that NO ONE WANTS TO READ YOUR SCRIPT.

They don’t. I love reading and I can’t even read your script. Not because I don’t want to. But because I’ve got a million other scripts to read so I don’t have time.

Now imagine someone who doesn’t like reading at all! How do you get them to read your script?

There are only four ways.

1. Already have a relationship with them.
2. Someone they respect must recommend the script to them.
3. There’s a monetary benefit to reading the script (an agent reading a project that already has funding to see if it’s right for their actor).
4. It’s a really good idea.

We know we can’t do anything about number three. And both one and two are dependent on you getting the script to someone in the first place. Which leaves us with number four. You have to come up with an idea that entices readers to want to read your script. And it has to be the best idea possible because, as we’ve established, nobody wants to read your script. So you have to make your idea irresistible.

I don’t think writers internalize this truth. A good way to cross that barrier is to imagine yourself pitching the script to a friend. That’s where you really know if your idea is a winner or a dud. A friend catches you off guard and asks you what your script is about.  No matter how well you explain it, it always ends up sounding boring (or weak, or bad).

Most writers live in Delusion Land when it comes to their movie ideas because they’re biased and have an emotional attachment to their ideas. Telling them their idea is bad just makes them want to prove you wrong. So let’s use this as an opportunity to remind you what makes for a good concept.

STRANGE ATTRACTOR
There are a lot of movie ideas out there that sound decent at first. Yet there’s clearly something missing. That thing is usually the strange attractor. The “strange attractor” is the element in your idea that’s unique enough to set your concept apart from others. A kid who gets kidnapped by a local serial killer and imprisoned in his basement is a dime-a-dozen concept. A kid who gets kidnapped by a local serial killer, imprisoned in his basement, and has access to a phone that can connect with all the killer’s previous victims is a concept with a strange attractor.

MARKETABLE
Would it require mountains to be moved to market your idea? Is your idea about a 19 year old selling bed mattresses in 1997? Is it about two nuns questioning their faith? Is it an impressionistic account of an American family’s rise and fall over two decades? I’m not saying these movies don’t occasionally break out. Aftersun is about a woman’s memories with her dad when she was 11. It would definitely fall into the “unmarketable” category. But remember that you’re not pitching people an already-finished movie. You’re pitching them a script and trying to get them to read it. How many of you have even seen Aftersun? If you haven’t seen a beloved movie that’s already finished and available for only 5 bucks, why would you think anyone would want to read your unmarketable premise, which *IS NOT* a movie that won a dozen awards? If you’re going indie, at least try and get *ONE* marketable element in there. Even Bones and All had cannibals. Even the indy-est film ever, “The Whale,” had a 600-pound man. Even “Pig,” had a truffle pig. Think about how your movie would be marketed to know if your average reader would be interested in reading it.

THE ‘ALMOST’ CONCEPT
The ‘almost’ concept is the fake Rolex of the screenwriting world. It looks good at first. But the closer you inspect it, the less it holds up. It basically amounts to using a lot of high concept buzz words that don’t add up to anything real. Here’s an example: “An advanced AI algorithm figures out a way to create the first real vampires, werewolves, and zombies, which are inadvertently released into the population.” Look at all the high concept buzzwords here. “Advanced AI algorithm.” “Vampires.” “Werewolves.” “Zombies.” It must be a good idea, right? No. Because it’s an inelegant collection of surface-level elements that lack a compelling narrative.

IRONY
Irony is the biggest concept cheat code you’re ever going to find. It’s actually quite difficult to come up with a good ironic concept, which means that, when you do, your idea is going to stand out. One of the reasons that The Lost City was a hit was because it had a fun ironic premise. The dopey clueless model on the book cover of all her romance-adventure novels is determined to save the author when she gets stuck in a real-life adventure. The great thing about ironic movie ideas is that they’ve proven they can stand the test of time. 1983’s Trading Places is about a poor guy who trades places with a rich guy. We all love watching a rich person who’s all of a sudden penniless. Or a poor person who becomes a millionaire. We all love irony.

PUSH THE ENVELOPE
Not everyone likes to write big flashy movies. But, if you’re going to write something smaller, you have to find ways to turbo-boost the idea or I’m afraid people just aren’t going to be interested. Promising Young Woman walked a dangerous line with some of the scenes in the script as well as its main character’s actions. Black List script, Magazine Dreams, about a disturbed man obsessed with bodybuilding, gets uncomfortably gnarly. If you’re thinking of writing an idea that’s both small and lightweight, you’re making things sooooooo hard on yourself.  If you’ve got one of the things listed above (irony, strange attractor, marketability) it can work. But if not, you need some edge. Look to push the envelope, usually with your main character. The Joker is the ‘best case scenario’ outcome of this strategy.

In the end, idea construction comes down to creativity. It starts with inspiration – you saw something and it gave you an idea for a movie. You then have to be honest with yourself.  Do I have a legitimate movie idea here? When I was in high school, I saw my friend’s brand new litter of puppies and I thought, “That would be a great idea if the puppies were all real smart and could communicate with humans.” So I came up with a drama idea (not comedy idea) about smart puppies. Again, just cause you’re inspired doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.

Once you have the idea, come up with the best way to present it. I’ve told this story before – screenwriter Ben Ripley’s first six drafts of Source Code centered around a detective trying to figure out why a train crashed. Once Ripley moved the script inside the train, in the mind of a character who keeps waking up on it every eight minutes, the idea came alive.

And from there, you have to field-test it. Ask people who have told you before that you have bad ideas what they think. If several of them are really pumped up about the idea, you probably have something on your hands. If everyone’s lukewarm or gives you that pleasant, “Yeah, it’s not bad” response? Or starts asking a lot of confused questions?  Throw the idea away. There isn’t time for you to waste on an idea that you’ll find out six months down the road wasn’t any good in the first place.

Feel free to field test ideas here in the comments. I’m going to ask for an amendment to the field-testing, though. If you are replying to someone’s idea, you must rank it on a 1-10 scale. BE HONEST. We’re trying to help people here. Not send them off on a wild bad-movie-idea goose chase. And writers? I’ve found that most people rating you on a 1-10 scale will rate you one number higher than what they really think. Just because most people don’t want to be mean. So if someone gives you a 6 out of 10, they’re probably giving you a 5 out of 10.

You can come to me as well. I will give it to you straight. My logline consults are $25. You can e-mail me at carsonreeves1@gmail.com if you want one!

For reference, I’ve done a few hundred logline consults this year and I’ve given about ten 8’s. A couple of 8.5’s. No 9’s or 10’s. And I use “7” as my floor for whether you should write the script or not.

Genre: Superhero/Comedy
Premise: (from Black List) When a washed-up superhero gets betrayed by a Mexican government, he must lead a populist social movement to fight the Narcos, topple the government, and free the people.
About: We’ve got another Black List script here, this one near the top with 15 votes. Miguel Flatow is a Mexican native who went to NYU for Creative Writing. In 2021 he wrote and directed his first feature film, called For Diego, which he shot on an iPhone for 70 grand.
Writer: Miguel Flatow
Details: 113 pages

No need to beat around the salvia clevelandii. This script wasn’t my jam.

It wasn’t a bad script. It moved along at a nice pace and everything. But it’s so uneven that it’s hard to get a handle on.

The read got me thinking about Black List scripts and which scripts make the coveted Black List (a yearly list of the best scripts in Hollywood). It’s a question I’ve been asked a million times before. “What’s the difference between a Black List script and my script?” In other words, what do I need to do to get my script on the Black List?

It’s a hard question to answer because the margin between Black List writers and the average aspiring screenwriter with at least five scripts under his/her belt is thinner than ever. If you held a blind vote between a lower-ranked Black List script and a veteran amateur script, the guess on which one was the Black List script would probably come back at 50/50.

So then let’s get back to the question. What’s the difference? What is it that the Black List script has that your script, which hasn’t made the Black List, doesn’t have?

Well, the best way I can think of to explain it is through a tennis analogy. A lot of you probably don’t watch college or professional tennis. But I watch both. And when I’m watching college tennis, I marvel at how good the players are. Almost all of them have serves eclipsing 120mph. They all have huge forehands. They have consistent and even, in some cases, aggressive backhands. If a weekend club player played the number 2 tennis player at UCLA, they would lose 6-0, 6-0.

However, the second you put a college tennis player up against a professional player – a guy in the top 100 – he’s the one who’s overmatched. He’ll definitely look respectable out there. But he’s still going to lose to the pro in straight sets.

The question of what’s the difference between a Black List writer and a seasoned amateur writer is similar to the difference between a pro tennis player and a college tennis player. And what that amounts to is that both players do everything well. But the pro player just does everything a little better.

The college player has a 120 mph serve. The pro player can buzz one in there at 130. The college player can sit in the pocket and groove the ball back through a 15 ball rally without getting tired. The pro player can stay in there for a 25 ball rally and is still be as fresh as he was at the start of the match. The college player can belt out 10 winners on their forehand side throughout the match. The pro player can hit up to 50% more than that.

How this relates back to screenwriting is that, at first glance, the Black List writer doesn’t seem to be doing much different from the amateur writer. But if you look closer, their character work is just a little more thought out. Their structure is a little cleaner. Their dialogue is a little more thoughtful. Their scene work is a bit better. And when you add all those things up, the Black List script reads better than the amateur script.

Now, you may point out that the Black List scripts are hardly show-stoppers. I agree. To extend the metaphor, if a pro player ranked 90 in the world goes up against a pro player ranked 7 in the world, the lower ranked pro player isn’t going to look so great. In other words, very rarely will someone on the Black List write a better script than Quentin Tarantino or Aaron Sorkin. Those guys are in another bracket. But, that doesn’t change that fact that the low-ranked pro player is still better than the college player.

That’s a very long intro into today’s script but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while and I wanted to share it with you guys. Cause I know how frustrating it can be to read some of these Black List scripts and be confused. So, in a second I’ll tell you how you can elevate your writing up to Black List level.

Viva Mexico follows a 40-something sometimes-commercial actor named John who also happens to be a former superhero named Captain Bald Eagle. John’s agent calls him to tell him that he’s been hired by the governor of a small southern Mexican city to take care of a recent issue involving a local cartel (called “Cartel Cartel”).

John flies down to Mexico in his Captain Bald Eagle uniform and is told by Governor Pena about a dangerous man named Juan Rojo who has kidnapped five congressmen. He wants Captain Bald Eagle to take Juan down.

But as soon as John is out of the meeting, he’s kidnapped by a nasty looking tattooed fellow named Sordomudo. Sordomudo busses John to a warehouse, puts on a Mission Impossible mask of Juan Rojo, and proceeds to video tape a decapitation of John.

Well, an “almost” decapitation because a bunch of gnarly men break into the warehouse and kidnap John. John wakes up at the compound of the real Juan Rojo and learns that Sordomundo was working with the governor. Their plan was to stage a video murder of Captain Bald Eagle, making it look like he was killed by Juan Rojo, which would’ve given the government international approval to go scorched earth on Juan Rojo.

But, according to Juan Rojo, the government is the real cartel. Juan and his community are the good guys. And yes, they did kidnap those politicians. But only because they plan on exposing the government. Captain Bald Eagle decides to join Juan Rojo in this endeavor which gets complicated after Sordomundo kidnaps a young Mexican woman John has fallen in love with. Juan and John decide that this will end on Mexcian Independence Day. They are are going to battle Sordomundo’s cartel to the death. And they’re going to take back Mexico for the people in the process.

I could never grasp what this script was trying to do beginning with its concept. It’s a weird one. Bring in some over-the-hill American superhero to solve a Mexico-specific cartel problem?? It’s definitely not an idea that rolls off the proverbial high concept tongue. It takes a few run-throughs to make peace with it.

And there’s a ton going on here. It’s actually exploring some pretty deep ideas in regards to the troubles Mexico is facing. But, at times, it’s trying to tell that tale in a funny way. Captain Bald Eagle is supposed to be Bob Parr from The Incredibles, I think. A former great superhero who’s now over the hill and needs to find his chi again. But it was very poorly set up.

It wasn’t even clear, at the beginning, if John *was* a superhero or a guy wearing a suit pretending to be a superhero. And then when we do find out he’s a real superhero (he’s kind of a low-rent Captain America), we’re told that he only got half-a-dose of the super-serum. So he’s not a true superhero. And, also, I think his shield is the only thing that allows him to have his powers? It’s not well explained.

If I had to give the script a comp, I would say it’s similar to The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent with Nic Cage. An American “superhero” gets chummy with a cartel boss. But that script was written with a level of assuredness that this script is missing. So, even though Viva Mexico was competently written, it’s misguided from the get-go.

Okay, back to our metaphor. How does a college player become a top 100 ranked pro player? Well, it’s not one fix. They work on EVERYTHING. They might realize that they’re falling backwards whenever they hit their backhand, which takes 15mph off the stroke. So they get to work with their coach, who feeds them thousands of backhands where they now practice stepping into the backhand. After several months, their backhand is a completely different stroke.

They may be doing something technically wrong on their serve that’s leaving mph’s on the table. It could be that they’re not tossing the ball forward enough or maybe they’re making contact with their body falling instead of pushing upward. These slight tweaks might add as much as 20 mph. Their footwork may be a little slow so they spend 30 minutes after every hitting session doing footwork drills. This allows them, in matches, to get to balls earlier, which means they’re prepared sooner, which makes the shot easier.

In other words, you’re making all of these small improvements that, when added together, up your total game play. So that’s all you should be doing in screenwriting. Identify your weaknesses and try to improve them.

Do you have enough conflict in your scenes? If not, write 100 practice scenes where all you focus on is adding conflict. Are your characters interesting or boring? If they’re boring, study the 30 most interesting characters in movie history, write down what makes them interesting, and then start incorporating some of those traits into your own characters. Do you know how to construct your 50 page second act to move quickly? If not, study pacing (adding goals with some sort of urgency attached).

The closest thing to a “skip the line” strategy in screenwriting is finding that elusive awesome concept. But minus that, it’s just hard work. It’s making all these little improvements in your “game.” Eventually, those improvements add up to an overall improvement that puts you on the Black List.

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

What I learned: “Sorta” doesn’t work in movies. “Sorta” superhero. “Sorta” drug-addict. “Sorta” selfish. “Sorta” villain. I’m sure you guys can come up with a few exceptions, but movies, by and large, work best when your characters have definitive traits. He’s a superhero. He’s a hardcore drug addict. He’s cripplingly selfish. He’s a deadly villain. Not only did the “sorta” superhero thing here make Captain Bald Eagle wishy-washy and, therefore, less compelling. It also made him confusing. I was trying to figure out, through the first half of the script, why he hadn’t done anything super.