Finally! The Bee Keeper script is here!

Genre: Action-Thriller
Premise: When his elderly neighbor is duped out of her entire life savings by online scammers and subsequently commits suicide, a bee keeper goes on a rampage to take the scammers down.
About: Yeah baby! Bzzzbzzzbzzzz!  We’ve got a spec script that sold for over a million bucks. We’ve got Jason Statham playing the lead. David Ayer just signed on to direct the film two weeks ago. This is the kind of script writers who want to make a big splash in the business should be writing. Tyler Marceca just made a million dollars for a fun action thriller, Stay Frosty. Shay Hatten blasted onto the screenwriting A-List when he wrote a fun action thriller in Ballerina. This is a very lucrative genre for a screenwriter. And if you want to study someone who does it best, read Kurt Wimmer’s scripts. They’re some of the easiest funnest specs you’ll ever read.
Writer: Kurt Wimmer
Details: 106 pages

I’ve been really excited for this one.

Not only is it written by one of the most successful spec screenwriters of all time, Kurt Wimmer. It’s such a weird subject matter that my curiosity meter is off the charts. An action thriller…. About a bee keeper? Tell me more, please!

An old woman in rural Tennessee named Eloise is on her computer when she gets one of those spam warnings that most people ignore (“Your computer is infected. Call this number to fix it.”). Unfortunately, in an attempt to fix her computer, she calls the number. Within 5 minutes, her entire life savings has been stolen. That night, Eloise commits suicide.

The next day both her FBI agent daughter, Verona, and her reclusive bee keeper neighbor, Adam Clay, who she was friendly with, show up. After they both learn the truth, that a company located in Memphis called “Data Group” did this, Adam shows up at Data Group’s building the next day and burns it down.

Data Group, as it turns out, is a branch of a much larger corporation called Evermore Enterprises, run by the former director of the CIA, Westwyld. And when they find out some dude just burned down their building, they send four heavies to take him out. Except they do not “take him out.” They get taken out in some of the best action-fight writing I’ve seen in years.

Clay then calls Westwyld and tells him he’s coming for him. It is then that Westwyld realizes he is not dealing with an ordinary man. He’s dealing with a “bee keeper.” No, not a bee keeper in the traditional sense. A type of secret agent that is so top secret not even the freaking president knows who he is. These beekepers are part of a larger “hive” who keep the country running by any means possible. I’ll let Westwyld explain…

This forces Westwyld to ask for help from the Secretary of Defense! Who says that the only way to stop a bee keeper is with another bee keeper. Which they reluctantly agree to deploy. And this is where things get crazy, lol! When bee keepers fight each other, they use honey, they use bee puns, they use bee tactics. It is truly a marvel to behold. To say anything more about this script would be to betray the joy of reading it yourself. So find it and read it now! I’m sure someone in the comments can send it to you.

Hoooo-weee! I can’t remember the last time I forgot I was reading something. I totally forgot I was reading a script while reading Bee Keeper.

That’s because Kurt Wimmer is a master at writing spec scripts. And take note of the “spec” part of that declaration. There’s a difference between being great at writing a script and being great at writing a spec script. With a spec script, you have to keep a tighter grip on the reader. If you try to take your time and build something up for 15 pages without anything interesting happening in the meantime, you’ll lose the reader.

Wimmer understands this better than maybe any screenwriter in the business. Not only does he make sure each page keeps you reading. He makes sure before he’s even written a word that the concept and execution are going to create enough situations where he can keep you invested all the way through.

Beginner and even intermediate writers will decide to write a script with no idea if they can keep it entertaining the whole way through. They’re hoping they’ll figure it out “along the way.” Great screenwriters suss this stuff out ahead of time. Wimmer clearly did that here.

I don’t know why I’m surprised but I saw so many things here that were smart. For example, Wimmer does something really complicated in the screenwriting world with effortless ease. He has to make it make sense that Adam Clay will put his entire life on the line to get revenge on these people. And he has to do that through Adam’s connection with Eloise.

The problem is, he has to kill off Eloise quickly because she’s the inciting incident for the whole movie. Her death is what propels him to go on this journey. So he only has a brief amount of time to create a relationship between the two that emotionally resonates.

Complicating this is that you want to start these scripts off BIG. It’s an action-thriller. Starting with a character scene is not the best idea. So that was the puzzle Wimmer was challenged with solving.

What he did was he created this slow opening character scene between Clay and Eloise by inserting a problem – she had a wasps’ nest in her house. This allowed Clay, who’s a bee keeper, to come take care of it for her.

Now one of the tricks you can use to make a slow scene interesting is teaching us something interesting during it. Which is what Clay does. He explains what’s going on with the wasps. He tells us that wasps destroy beehives. Which is why it’s best to terminate them. We show him do some very technical interesting things to destroy the wasps’ nest, allowing us to both learn something cool and establish a relationship between these two so that we understand why he goes after the bad guys later.

On top of all this, we’re learning who our hero is. What he does.

The best scene-writing, especially in the first act, does multiple things at the same time. And Wimmer is doing that on expert-mode here. But he’s not just achieving that. He’s achieving it invisibly. We don’t see any of the mechanisms that are creating this effect because they’re seamless and invisible. That’s great writing.

He also does something really clever with the bad guys. Sometimes we can get lost in trying to create an interesting bad guy. But you can make that job a lot easier on yourself by doing what Wimmer does here – creating a villain with “built-in hate pedigree.” The villain is a scammer (everybody hates scammers) and not only that, but they target the elderly (everybody hates people who take advantage of the elderly).

So before we’ve even met our scammer, we hate him. And that does SO MUCH OF THE WORK FOR YOU when you write the script. Because if we hate the villain, we’ll almost want to keep reading to see them go down MORE than we want to see our hero achieve his goal.

I can’t emphasize this enough. The big secret hack when it comes to writing great screenplays is to make the reader feel EMOTION. Once you have a reader emotionally invested — actually, hold up, let me think about how to phrase this…

You know how when you meet someone who you really really like and want to be with? All you can think about is them and being around them? That’s because you’re emotionally hooked on that person. They’ve triggered you on an emotional level.

It’s the same idea with a screenplay. Just like you can’t convince a person to like you logically, you can’t convince a reader to like a script because you’ve done everything the proper way it’s supposed to be done.

You hook the reader by making them feel something. As strong as you can make them feel it. And we feel it here immediately when we have this nice old lady get taken advantage of by these terrible people. And we’re in! That’s it! We’re in. We want to see that person go down. Which is why this script works so well.

The rest is gravy. It’s a fun ride where this guy tries to kill the bad guys.

The only thing I didn’t like about this script was the idea that there was no recourse for someone illegally jacking into your bank account and transferring all of your money out of it without your permission. Especially when you consider that the woman’s daughter was a federal agent! Talk about kicking the hornet’s nest. The FBI would be able to take this enterprise down within 72 hours.

So I didn’t like that. But crazy enough, the writing was so darn amazing that I didn’t care. It was such a fun exciting and FUNNY ride. I loved this quirky concept of a bee keeper taking the bad guys down. It was so different. And the mastery of Wimmer just made it a dream read. Every screenwriter should read this script to see how to make their own scripts read. It’s truly impressive stuff.

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

What I learned: This is a little dialogue trick I’ve learned that always works in scripts like this. The formula goes something like this. Your hero approaches one of their targets and runs into some foot soldiers (guards, heavies, in this case, security) and the foot soldiers ask what your hero is doing here. There’s a tendency to think logically about how your hero will answer that question. They might say, “I have an appointment here and I’m late.” Maybe he tricks them by calling a fake number and letting them talk to the person to “confirm” that he indeed has an appointment. But where’s the fun in that? Instead, when Adam Clay goes to the Data Group building and encounters security outside and they suspiciously ask him what he’s doing here, he responds, “If this is Data Group – the call center – I’m going inside. I’m going to burn it down.” In other words, have your hero say EXACTLY what he’s going to do. You can do this anywhere. If you’re writing a movie in the 1700s and a William Wallace like character walks up to the castle and the guards say, “What do you want?” “I’m planning on walking into your castle here, heading up to the king’s throne room, and gut him before cutting off his head and tossing it out the window.” I’m telling you, it works pretty much every time.

The team that brought us Arrival, Ted Chiang and Eric Heisserer, is back with an adaptation of another one of Chiang’s stories.

Genre: Drama/Light Sci-Fi
Premise: After being released from a mental hospital, a brilliant mathematician comes up with a theory that could destroy the entire mathematical field.
About: This project just came together recently. It reteams author Ted Chiang with Eric Heisserer, who adapted his short story, The Story of Your Life, into the surprise hit sci-fi film, Arrival.  Heisserer will be producing this time around.  Henry Dunham, who directed the super-interesting (and killer script), “The Standoff At Sparrow Creek,” will be adapting and directing. This comes from a story that Chiang wrote all the way back in 1991. You can read the short story for yourself here.
Writer: Ted Chiang
Details: 5500 words (for reference, a screenplay is a little over 20,000 words)

I have to give it to Eric Heisserer. He’s the one who saw something in “Arrival” that no one else did. Because when you read Ted Chiang’s stories, it is not an effortless experience. His stories tend to be vague, metaphorical, and feelings-based rather than having some clear plot that one could easily sculpt a feature film out of.

That is, without question, why we haven’t heard of anything from Ted Chiang since Arrival. As soon as that movie became a hint, Hollywood scoured through all of his short stories, of which there are many, and came away with bupkis. They just couldn’t find anything.

That’s why this development is so interesting to me. For one, it says that if there’s one person who knows how to figure Chiang out, it’s Heisserer. He’s the guy who can get into his head and know how to bring one of these weird stories to life. And two, this is one of Chiang’s earliest short stories. He wrote it all the way back in 1991. That implies that maybe this is one Hollywood missed when they went digging into Chiang’s work – a gem just waiting to be plucked and sold at Sotheby’s for tens of millions of dollars.

We shall find out together if said belief is true.

Our story follows a 32 year-old mathematician named Renee, who’s just been released from the mental hospital for unknown reasons. She heads back home with her supportive husband, Carl, and immediately gets to work on a mysterious new mathematical theory.

The tale is told in mini-chapters roughly 250-500 words long. Between each chapter is a history lesson on how math has evolved throughout the centuries. A recurring theme in these “Did You Know?” snippets is the idea that arithmetic has never entirely been proven infallible.

Back at home, Renee, for whom happiness is so foreign it appears she’s never so much as giggled in her life, spends the majority of her time in her office, working on this math theorem. Carl, in the meantime, starts to wonder if he actually likes his wife anymore. I would counter that by asking Carl why he liked Renee, you know, in the first place.

Around this time, we get some odd backstory that Carl was once in a mental hospital in his early 20s as well! And Renee had been there for him, nursing him back to health after he’d tried to commit suicide. I think the point here is to create this dynamic by which Carl can’t leave Looney Renee since she was there for him during his time of need.

I’m sure you’re all wondering what this theorem is that Renee came up with. My decision to create some suspense before telling you is far more of an attempt to entertain the reader than anything I read in this short story.

The theory Renee proves is that all of arithmetic is false. She has proven that the number 1 can equal the number 2. Not only that, but that any number can equal any other number. And, therefore, there is no such thing as math. Everything we have built our world around is false. Or something. The End.

Amy Adams completing the band getting back together?

Sorry.

I couldn’t hide my disgust for this story in the summary.

Here’s the thing. I’ve read so many of these “the world is the universe is math is numbers equals equations that kind of sort of explain the meaning of life” stories and they never ever deliver. Because they can’t.

You’re not going to be the writer who figures out something about math that nobody’s ever figured out before and then lay it out in a fashion that is going to be anything other than vague, frustrating, and, ultimately stupid. Go watch Interstellar if you don’t believe me.

I guess the question is, does Heisserer plan on using Division By Zero as the starting point of an idea or the idea itself? I would posit that he approach it as a starting point. Because two people fumbling around their house talking about mathematical equations and also remembering suicide attempts isn’t compelling storytelling.

What I’m hoping for is that this is the kernel for a much bigger story Heisserer has in mind. Because if you extrapolated someone disproving math to affect the entire world, there might be a movie there – another “thinking man’s sci-fi movie” like Arrival was.

For example, maybe this is a mathematical proof that, if it was released into the world, it would cause complete chaos, since no form of math matters anymore. But let me stress that nothing like that was ever mentioned in the story.

In fact, in the short story, Renee publishes her proof and a bunch of mathematicians collectively shrug their shoulders. That was one of my biggest problems with the story. There was zero stakes. Who gives a rat’s behind about some proof if it doesn’t affect anything??

But again, Heisserer might already feel this way and have plans to fix the issue.

For those wondering what makes a short story “adaptable,” there are two questions you want to ask yourself. 1) Should the story be adapted? This is divided by zero into two secondary questions. A) Is the concept good? And B) Are the characters worthy of building a movie around? The second question is, 2) Do you have a good angle to adapt the story into, something that can fit nicely into a feature-film structure?

So let’s quickly answer these questions. Should this story be adapted? The concept of disproving all of math has potential. So I’d say, “Maybe.” But there are zero characters in this script. Renee is way too harsh to be anything other than hated by audiences. And Carl’s just boring. So Heisserer would need to completely rewrite these characters.

Finally, is there an angle here? Again, the “math isn’t real” thing has some potential but I’m not sure I see an angle into it. You could go the stupid route of the theorem being placed on a thumb drive and everyone’s after it, some to expose it, others to keep it hidden.

You might be able to do something like Margin Call meets Don’t Look Up where we watch this theorem work its way up the mathematical world hierarchy, getting to bigger and more influential mathematicians, each of whom are terrified by the prospects of the theorem getting out and what it would lead to.

A third option – and I suspect this is the one that may have attracted Heisserer to the story – is to go the A Beautiful Mind route. There’s some stuff in the story about, is Renee going crazy or not? I suppose you could shoot for the Best Actress Oscar with that. But you’d need to find a way to make Renee at least tolerable. At the moment she’s about as relatable as a Pythagorean theorem.

In conclusion, this feels like an “almost idea.” It’s one of those ideas where you think, “Yeah, there’s something interesting in there. But it doesn’t add up to anything.” And yes, I just went there. Because 9 minus 5 still equals 4 so why not? :)

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

What I learned: Despite what I’ve said today, I do think that you can mine short stories for great concepts even if the execution of the story sucks. We’re all just searching for that great idea. So if you like the core of a story but not the rest, get in touch with the writer and see if they like your idea of changing it. Remember that one of my favorite shows, Into the Night, about a group of people on a plane trying to outrun the sun, was based on the very first page of a 400 page novel and nothing more. Most writers want to see their stuff turned into TV shows and movies so the smart ones will listen to you.

What I learned 2: Avoid repeating yourself. For example, Renee attempted suicide and stayed at a mental hospital. Later we learn that Carl, when he was younger, attempted suicide and stayed at a mental hospital. Whenever the same things happen to your characters in a way that’s not necessary for the plot to work, it reads as lazy. Like you couldn’t think of anything original for the other character so you just copy and pasted. It seems as if Chiang was trying to create a dilemma for Carl in that Renee once helped him out of this problem so it is his duty to help her out of hers. But you could’ve easily achieved this by creating a separate tragic event that required Renee to help Carl. Maybe he lost his sister or something and she helped him through it. You don’t want or need to use the exact same experience.

As a kid who grew up on Star Wars, and who loves the original Star Wars more than anything, you would think that A New Hope would be the most memorable movie from my childhood. But that actually isn’t true. Both Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi were more memorable.

The reason for this is, Star Wars began a new expectation in Hollywood that, with each new blockbuster film, you were going to see things you had never seen before.  And when I went to those sequels, that’s exactly what happened.  I saw AT-AT walkers and tauntauns.  I saw aliens with lobster heads and speeder bikes shooting through gigantic trees.

Back then, Star Wars was the defining franchise for Hollywood’s new mantra: GIVE THEM SOMETHING NEW AND FRESH. Every movie that had aspirations of being a hit had to give audiences something genuinely new. It’s why Jurassic Park did so well. It’s why Men in Black and Independence Day and The Matrix and Aliens did so well. Hollywood operated off of this idea that why would someone see a movie if all you were going to give them was something they’d already seen?

But somewhere around 2005, when comic book movies started to take over and special effects companies were able to create anything you could imagine, it all of a sudden became a lot more difficult to give audiences something new. Once you have a man in an iron suit fighting a giant green monster in the sky or five-story tall robots hurling each other into city buildings… what can you really show audiences at that point that they haven’t seen?

Marvel realized that this was going to be a problem. Whether intentional or not, they had opened up Pandora’s Box. How do we tempt audiences to come to theaters when we’ve already given them everything? They’ve come up with a temporary solution. More superheroes. You cram more spidermen, more Avengers, and more surprise guest caped crusaders into your flick, because, technically, you are still giving audiences something new. You’re giving them more superheroes to play around with.

And Marvel has a quasi stay of execution since they now own 20th Century Fox. People are going to be excited to see the X-Men hanging out with Thor. They’re going to be excited to see the Silver Surfer cutting a jib with Starlord. They’re going to love when the Fantastic Four goes on an adventure with Spidey. But eventually, even that will peter out. At a certain point, people are going to say, “What’s new? What’s next?”

I think about this a lot because you – as in you, reading this article right now – are the solution to this problem. It will be up to you to come up with the next big thing. The question is, is it possible to come up with the next big thing anymore? Is it possible to shock readers anymore? Is it possible to show them something they’ve never seen before?

As someone who reads pretty much everything, I can’t remember the last time I read something totally fresh. I’m not even talking about the whole script. I’m talking about one set piece I haven’t seen before.

There are scripts that are KIND OF unique. Colin Bannon, who wrote yesterday’s script, for example – he wrote a script about ultra marathon runners who participate in a death race where an evil mythological creature kills the runners one by one. Have I ever come across that specific concept before? No. But I’ve read plenty of scripts where people get killed by a creature in the woods.

Which leads us back to the question, can writers come up with anything truly new? Like an AT-AT Walker attack on a snow base in 1982?

Probably not. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still write movies that wow a reader or an audience.

And by my estimation, there are still two ways to do that.

There’s a way for the ultra-talented screenwriter. And there’s a way for the workhorse screenwriter.

For the ultra-talented screenwriter, the answer is A UNIQUE VOICE. Back in the 90s, concurrently with all these big Hollywood movies that were giving us stuff we’d never seen before, the indie scene was also giving us stuff we’d never seen before, but not through big expensive effects, like dinosaurs. But rather through their own unique lens. Tarantino, Paul Thomas Anderson, Spike Lee, Charlie Kaufman, Wes Anderson. They would lead us into the 2000s where we got Diablo Cody, Alan Ball, Alfonso Cuarón, M Night, Edgar Wright, and Jordan Peele.  These writers showed us the world in ways we had not seen on film before.

You can’t really strategize a voice. Your voice is inherently yours so you can’t change it around. But voice tends to break out when it’s different from what we’re used to seeing. That’s the whole point of today’s article. You’re giving them something new. So if you’re writing “male romantic comedies” at a time when Cameron Crowe was the biggest screenwriter in the world, your unique voice probably isn’t going to be appreciated, since there’s already a strong voice dominating that sub-genre.

But nobody knew what hit them when Charlie Kaufman started getting movies produced. We’re in John Malkovich’s head?? What the hizell is going on right now??? Ditto Diablo Cody. We hadn’t heard heightened dialogue that fun and lyrical since John Hughes. Nobody else was doing that at the time.

Fortunately, if you’re one of the lucky lottery winners who have an industry-changing voice, you don’t need this article. You’re probably going to be okay. So let’s switch over to what the workhorse writer can do.

First off, like I said, you should still be trying to come up with new ideas. Whether it be concepts or set pieces or even an idea for a scene that’s never been done before (the opening sequence from Promising Young Woman, where the prey shockingly becomes the predator, for example). The more “new” you can get into your script – even if it’s not world changing new like an Old West bar full of aliens, you should include it. Cause all those little *slightly new* things add up.

But here’s where you should really be focusing. Because this is the hack that will allow you to write even a traditional story that people fall in love with.

The way that the workhorse screenwriter can circumvent the blueprint is to write a great main character into their script. And let me explain why. When a reader falls in love with a character, they don’t care that much about anything else but following that character around and seeing what happens to them.

This is the secret sauce that will work now and until the end of time. It is the reason why, even though we in the movie business can no longer provide audiences with things they’ve never seen before, we can still make them feel things. We can still jack into their emotional circuit board and take them on a ride that will feel just as powerful as their last relationship. That will fill them with just as much love and pain as the trials and tribulations they go through with their own family. And when they finish that ride, they will feel a much deeper connection to that film than all the CGI dinosaurs combined.

Okay, Carson, that’s great. Write a great character. Duh. That’s still really hard to do, though.

It is hard. But, at this point, it’s way more doable than trying to create something nobody’s ever seen before.

So let me give you two recent films that achieved this that you can learn from. The first was Joker. And the second was Everything Everywhere All At Once.

Joker, more than any movie in the last ten years, proved that if you focus on creating a really compelling main character, you don’t need anything else to be new. And you don’t need big fancy effects either.

The reason Arthur (the Joker) worked is because the movie made him sympathetic – someone who was picked on and made fun of wherever he went. He had a mental condition, which created more sympathy. We liked him because he took care of his mother. But also, we saw how difficult that was for him and how it shaped him (limiting his opportunities to create a social circle), adding complexity. He was an underdog in his pursuit of the pretty girl who lived in his building. So we rooted for him.

But here’s where the character took off. Cause if you stopped there, you could’ve placed that character in a romantic comedy. The reason the character becomes iconic is because he hates the world and he starts to have a severe mental breakdown. Going so far as wanting to hurt innocent people.

Severe contrast within a character (you’ve got this really good stuff and this really bad stuff swirling around in the same body) is often what makes them compelling and interesting to watch. And Arthur Fleck had that in spades. We wanted to watch him to see what he did because what he did was usually interesting.

Everything Everywhere All At Once was a completely different beast in that it was an ensemble piece and it actually was giving us bits and pieces of “new” (I mean, there’s a universe where everyone has hot dog fingers). But where the film really excels is in its characters.

The mother, Evelyn, has this really complex backstory where her father warned her not to marry this wimpy man. She ignored him and did anyway. And it turns out her father was right. Her husband never amounted to anything and, because of this, she’s 60 years old and managing a crappy laundromat that’s being held together by rubber bands and popsicle sticks.

She’s got a daughter who’s gay and it’s really really hard for her to accept that. If you slide over to the husband’s storyline, he loves his wife more than anything and is dealing with the fact that she wants to divorce him. She’s loveless. He’s hopeless. The daughter is miserable. And all of that stuff is rooted heavily in a backstory that was extensively reserached because it had to be since the movie would explore hundreds of different versions of that same backstory in other universes.

The climax of the movie is not a big fancy Marvel showdown but rather, by the Daniels’ (the directors) own admission, an “empathy fight.” It’s this family trying to connect for the first time in years.

I bring this example up because it would’ve been easy to write paper-thin characters and just focus on the fun kung-fu and multiverse gags. By making sure the characters were all complex, it turned a movie with a wacky concept into something that will stay with you for the rest of your life.

THAT’S WHAT YOU NEED TO BE DOING.

Create characters with interesting well researched backstories, who have intense unresolved inner conflict, and who also have unresolved conflict with other characters in the movie, who, to the best of your ability, you give the same fully-fleshed out treatment to.

Cause if you can write characters we love (the husband in Everything Everywhere) or are fascinated by (Arthur Fleck), those characters will get their hooks in the reader/audience, and everything else about the script becomes so much easier to pull off.

To summarize, if you’ve got that idea that nobody’s seen before, great. Write it. If you’ve got that set piece or scene that nobody’s seen before, great. Write it. As I’ve said before, producers will buy a script if it has one amazing “going to look great on screen” movie scene. If you don’t have either, try to include as much “kinda new” stuff as you can in your script. Cause it adds up. Finally, even if you don’t have a single new thing in your script, you can still write something great if you have a great main character or a cast of extremely strong characters. Unless you’re the next David Lynch, character-creation is your biggest weapon as an unknown screenwriter. Now go use it!

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So late last month, a little known E.T. story started making the rounds. Steven Spielberg had finished 1941 and was currently on production of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Like any smart director, he was lining up his next film, E.T., and needed a writer. As luck would have it, he wanted a young writer named Melissa Mathison, who was his star’s (Harrison Ford) girlfriend at the time.

This is where the story gets interesting. Spielberg pitched Mathison the idea for E.T. and Mathison said no, she didn’t get it. I just want to pause here so we can all hear the galactic level record scratch of a writer SAYING NO TO STEVEN SPIELBERG! In Mathison’s defense, she had a good reason for the rejection. She’d just quit screenwriting.

Between her two lone credits, The Black Stallion and The Escape Artist, Mathison had decided that screenwriting was “too hard.” In retrospect, Mathison’s early retirement never stood a chance. Spielberg went straight to Ford, asked him to put in a good word for him and E.T., and Mathison eventually came around to write the film. For all involved, it was ‘happily ever after.’

However, Mathison’s reason for the initial rejection stuck with me. She quit screenwriting, at just 31 years old and with two produced credits, because it was “too hard.”

“Too hard.”

Is screenwriting “too hard?”

It sure seems easy when you’re watching a bad movie. “I could write a better movie than that!” somewhere north of 100 million moviegoers have said over the years.

But anyone who’s spent even three years in the game knows how deceptively difficult screenwriting is.

But is it too hard?

Is it not worth the trouble?

A while ago I was developing a sports script with a writer and we’d spent countless hours and many drafts trying to figure out our main character. It seemed like every new draft, we tried a new iteration of the character. After about draft 7, the character finally started to take shape. We finally felt like we understood him, and the rest of the script came together nicely as a result.

Then, around draft 10, as we were writing the big final game, it occurred to us that the ending would be MUCH BETTER if our main character made a major sacrifice at a critical point late in the game. We’re talking, the climax went from being a 6 out of 10 to a 9 out of 10. The change was a no-brainer. We had to do it.

But here was the problem. Our main character was not someone who sacrificed. Nowhere in the script was this built into the character so that when the moment came, it would make sense for him to sacrifice anything.

What we realized was, if we were to write this new direction into the climax, it would mean completely redesigning the character from the ground up. He’d have a totally different personality and demeanor. Which would make all of his actions and dialogue different.

On top of that, we’d designed the love interest to be in stark contrast to our main character. She was his opposite. By changing the main character into this new version, he was no longer the opposite of the love interest. Which meant – as I’m sure you’ve already figured out – we’d have to completely rewrite her as well! Change her from the ground up so that this new version of her was opposite to the new version of him.

So now we had to sit down and make a difficult decision. Do we make all these changes, redesigning our two main characters from the ground up, just to support this awesome ending? Or do we continue to try and find another great ending, despite the fact that we’d spent the previous six months doing just that and failing?

Is screenwriting hard?

If you’re doing it right, you bet your ass it’s hard.

So I get Melissa Mathison. I totally understand where she was coming from. Because a script can feel like a never-ending battle. In a way, you never truly write the script you want. You either run out of steam or, if you’re one of the blessed few who have made it to the professional ranks, they need to start shooting.

With that said, I have found some tips and tricks over the years to make the experience of writing screenplays a little easier. If you incorporate these ten tips, you’re going to keep more hairs on your head, and severely lower your chances of having a heart attack.

Outline – One of the things that causes so much pain in screenwriting is all the drafts. You’re always having to fix some aspect of the script with a rewrite. You can knock about 3-4 drafts off that process if you outline. In particular, outlining helps you figure out your structure ahead of time, which means spending less drafts fixing your broken structure.

Make sure you understand your 2-3 main characters as clearly as possible going into the script – The hardest thing about screenwriting is getting the characters right. That’s because people are complex and creating fictional versions of them that feel authentic takes an incredible amount of skill. Therefore, if you have a great feel for your characters going in, you eliminate a lot of headaches later on. Rocky is an underdog who doesn’t know if he has what it takes. Alan in The Hangover is the most socially unaware overly opinionated man in the universe. Guy (Free Guy) is tired of following the same old routine every day and decides he’s going to commit to doing things outside his comfort zone. Just like these examples, try and distill your character down to a single clear sentence. If you can do that, you should be good.

Keep your story simple – I read a lot of “everything-and-the-kitchen-sink” scripts where the writer is shooting themselves in the foot by giving themselves a massive amount of variables to keep track of. The reality is, most of the best movies have a simple setup and execution. Small character count. Clear goal. Etc. By keeping the variables down, you’ll keep the stress level down.

Be passionate about your concept – As much as I talk about finding the best idea you can come up with and writing it, that’s worthless advice unless you love the idea. As most of us here can attest to, there is nothing worse than writing a script you’re only kinda into. Every draft feels like five drafts. These scripts take way more out of you and will definitely accelerate any doubts you have about whether screenwriting is for you. Love that idea like you love your family.

Write lean – If you tend to write 4-line paragraphs, aim for 3 lines. If you tend to write 3-line paragraphs, aim for 2 lines. Writing lean means there are less words to edit and since we’re all writers and obsessive about making every little sentence perfect, the less words you have to wade through, the less hassle writing is going to be. As a bonus, your script is easier to read through.

Don’t deliberately make the process overwhelming – You’ve got a document detailing all the characters in your script, a document for your potential story ideas to use, you’ve got your outline, an excel spreadsheet tracking when and where every character appears, you’ve got a document for alternate scenes, a document for deleted scenes, a document explaining the alien language spoken in your script… If all these things make you genuinely happy, fine. But, at a certain point, we make the process of writing a script so cumbersome, that we start to hate the idea of working on it. It’s fine to get detailed. But don’t get carried away.

Focus on the things you should do, not the things you shouldn’t – I know reading this site can sometimes feel like a never-ending mine field of screenwriting bombs to avoid. But if all you’re doing is focusing on mistakes to avoid, you can’t write freely and you won’t have fun. You are always going to do things in your script that “shouldn’t be done,” like yesterday’s choice to make the protagonist a kidnapper. But as long as you feel it’s right for your story, embrace it and don’t look back.

Talk it out – Find someone in your life who will listen to you talk out the problems in your screenplay. One of the reasons writing is so hard is that we contain ourselves to just our brain and run the same problems through that calculator over and over and over again with no result. Of course writing starts to feel impossible (and drives you crazy!). Sometimes you need to talk your ideas out with someone, even if they’re not a screenwriter. By forcing yourself to explain the issue to a third party, you see the problem through their eyes, and that alone helps you find a solution.

Focus on the stuff that matters – Stop stressing about that exposition scene on page 70 where you’re trying to make each dialogue line perfect. Instead, focus on the things in your script that have the biggest impact on the read. The first ten pages, the first act turn, the midpoint shift, the story’s big set pieces, the hero’s low point, any major twist scene, the climax. That’s where you should be placing 75% of your focus. You don’t need to drive yourself crazy over those smaller scenes where the characters reveal some mildly significant backstory about themselves. In the grand scheme of a screenplay, those scenes are way down on the priority list.

Be easy on yourself – Screenwriting is hard no matter what you do. It’s baked into the pursuit. However, I think that’s why we do it. We know that in those few moments where we do crack the code and write a good script, we’ve achieved something amazing, something that very few people on the planet can do. Who cares if you achieve something that’s easy, right? You only feel a sense of accomplishment when you’ve achieved something that’s hard.  Maybe even too hard. :)

What’s your take on this? Is screenwriting too hard?

Having concerns about your logline or screenplay? Let me help you. Logline consults are just $25 (and if you buy 4, you get a 5th for free).  I also provide consultations for each stage of the screenplay journey: outline ($99), first 10 pages ($75), first act ($149), full pilot ($399), full screenplay ($499).  I’ve read thousands of screenplays, including all the ones that get produced and all the ones that don’t.  There’s no one better equipped to help you improve your script than me.  If you’re interested in getting a consultation, e-mail me at carsonreeves1@gmail.com and let’s work together!

Genre: Crime/Thriller
Premise: When his young son is viciously murdered by a classmate, a grieving father with a history of violence kidnaps the child responsible, igniting a frenzied manhunt fueled by a powerful politician — the father of the kidnapped boy.
About: This script made last year’s Black List with nine votes. A year earlier, it made the semi-finals of the Nicholl Fellowship. A reader from that contest characterized the script this way: “Barron’s Cove is probably the bleakest screenplay I’ve ever read. Its bleakness is only surpassed by its quality.”
Writer: Evan Ari Kelman
Details: 119 pages

Jesse Plemons for Caleb?

We’ve got a wild one today.

I don’t think I’ve ever read a script quite like this.

It’s Mystic River meets Prisoners by way of Taylor Sheridan.

But it’s also a new writer. And that newness is reflected in the storytelling, which at times soars but at other times, is eye-poppingly inconsistent.

I’m still not sure what to make of Barron’s Cove. But I can promise you it’s one of the more interesting scripts on the Black List.

36 year old Caleb Faulkner is a hit man for his uncle, Benji. But Caleb isn’t one of those fancy-schmancy hit men, the kind with smooth bald heads who wear Armani suits. He’s the backwoods type – the bearded blue-collar Ozarky hit man.

One evening, when Caleb goes to pick up his son, Barron, from his ex-wife, she stares back at him with confused eyes. “I thought you had him.” After their confusion subsides, the hunt is on to find out where Barron is. The news is not good as the cops get word that a 10 year old boy was strapped to the train tracks and got run over by a freaking train. Doesn’t take long to confirm it was Barron.

Caleb quickly finds out that two kids were out with Barron that day, Alex and Phillip. And all Caleb has to do is see Alex once to know he was responsible. In one of the craziest scenes I read this year, Caleb goes to Alex’s school and chases him THROUGH THE SCHOOL T-1000 style with everyone standing around watching. He catches him, throws him in his trunk, and heads upstate.

What Caleb doesn’t entirely understand is that Alex is the adopted son of Lyle Chambers, who’s about to become a state senator. So Lyle immediately mobilizes the might of the state to find Caleb and his son.

Except it’s much more complicated than that. You see, Lyle has a backroom deal with Benji once he gets elected. So Benji is now secretly helping Lyle take his nephew down. Oh, and as Alex will later reveal to Caleb, Lyle is a serial child abuser. So Alex doesn’t want to go back to his father. In fact, the only reason Lyle adopted Alex in the first place was to make him a more sympathetic candidate.

In fact, the further down the rabbit hole we go, the more we realize that there are no clean answers here. Barron’s Cove leaves you unsure who to root for at every turn. All the way up to the heartbreaking ending.

As I’ve said north of a quarter-million times on this site, you gotta do something different with your script in order to stand out. You gotta take risks – the type of risks that get some agents and producers telling you, “You can’t do that.”

I’ll be honest, if this logline would’ve landed on my desk, I probably would’ve told the writer, “You can’t write a story where the protagonist kidnaps a child with the intent to torture and kill him.” It’s just too hard to get an audience on your side.

Kelman clearly knew this so he went into kick-the-dog mode in building the character of Alex, the kid who may or may not have killed Barron. Alex is evil incarnate. He’s just a bad kid. When Caleb first confronts him, Alex gleefully tells Caleb that Barron killed himself because he hated his father. He repeatedly antagonizes Caleb and has zero remorse for what happened.

Kelman walks that tightrope for a while, but seems to understand that you can’t walk it too far. So, eventually, Caleb starts to feel bad about Alex and his abusive father, and backs down with the threats.

Eventually they come to a truce where if Caleb can get Alex to freedom, away from his abusive father forever, Alex will tell him what happened that day on the tracks. It’s not the easiest narrative to buy into. This kid has zero leverage so it’s hard to believe he’s calling the shots. But we go along with it for the most part.

The script does a great job keeping you guessing til the end. Even though we figure out what’s happened by the midpoint, there are still several questions as to why it happened that may have been out of Alex’s hands. I really had no idea where this was all going to end, especially with the wild card that was Benji. At one point he sends hit men to kill both Caleb and Alex, and we’re thinking, “What’s going on right now?!?”

While the script doesn’t have that big splashy final twist that, I believe, it hinted was coming. It does give us a final motivation for the kill that makes sense. A satisfying ending that I didn’t think was coming as I figured the writer had painted himself into too deep of a corner.

Oh, one more thing I want to highlight here – the school kidnap scene. In my opinion, every script worth its weight needs to have ONE GREAT SCENE. You should be trying to write more than that. But you definitely need at least one. Because what a great scene does is it sticks in a producer’s head and that producer really really really wants to see that scene come to life. It very well may be the motivator for the script to get sold and made.

This school kidnap scene was great for the simple reason that the writer did something THAT HAS NEVER BEEN DONE BEFORE. Every single time there’s a kidnap scene at a school – and I’ve read tons of them – it’s always the kidnapper sneaking around the outskirts of the school, luring the kid over with a lie or the promise of something, then when no one’s looking, grabbing them and throwing them in their car.

Whenever you enter a common scenario as a screenwriter, one of the first questions you should ask yourself is, “How can I make this different?” And here’s a pro-tip for you. Your first option should be to ask, “What if I did the complete opposite of what everybody else does?” Because the complete opposite will always be jarring. The thing is, it usually doesn’t work because it doesn’t make logical sense.

But what Kelman realized here was that, for first time in history, the kidnapper was the “good guy.” Once you shift that, it opens up new possibilities for the scene that you didn’t have before. Since we’re kind of rooting for Caleb, doing the complete opposite of what a writer would normally do in this scenario actually makes sense. Which is why we get this great shocking scene. At one point, Caleb is literally chasing Alex over lunch tables with hundreds of students and dozens of faculty around. That’s going to be a great scene.

The only question with this movie is… is it so offbeat that people just aren’t going to be able handle it? Either way, it’s an entertaining screenplay. It’s different. And for that reason, I say it’s worth checking out.

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

What I learned: You have to be careful with writing kids like adults. I’m not talking about the precocious kids that are in every romantic comedy. I’m talking just normal kids in movies like this. There’s this tendency to bring their level of sophistication up to that of an adult to keep the dialogue sharp. Alex bordered on that a lot. For example, Caleb tells this deep intense story about being responsible for his brother’s death when he was younger. Alex – WHO’S 10 YEARS OLD MIND YOU – replies to this story with the line: “Do we have to be the worst thing we’ve ever done?” I mean come on. I’m not saying Alex needs to reply with, “Can I have a popsicle now?” But no kid has the emotional or psychological intelligence to come up with that kind of thought.