Genre: True Story
Premise: To get the performance he demands for “The Shining”, despotic director Stanley Kubrick emotionally tortures relative newbie Shelley Duvall. When she refuses to play the victim any longer, Shelley uncovers dark secrets that may completely destroy the film — and her sanity.
About: This was one of our entries in the Halloween Logline Showdown. David Kessler has been a longtime Scriptshadow reader and powered his script, Minimata, forward over the years, getting Johnny Depp attached. The movie, about the devastating effects of mercury poisoning, has a 92% audience score on Rotten Tomatoes.
Writer: Asher Farkas and David K. Kessler
Details: 113 pages

I’m still experiencing some PTSD from the key duplication fiasco which is why this review is appearing on November 1st instead of October 31st. I had convinced myself that Halloween was on Wednesday. Maybe it’s a good idea for me to not drive today. Clearly, I don’t know which way is up and which way is down.

Ironically, this is the best state of mind to be in while reading today’s script, seeing as our protagonist is being mind-f**ed by the greatest director in cinema history. Well, according to Stanley Kubrick, that is. The Kubster always had a little ego on him. Are you ready for this post-Halloween ride? Grab your set of backup keys and let’s find out.

It’s the 70s and Actress Shelley Duvall (awkwardly tall, crooked teeth) has been steadily moving up the actor food chain. Her rise is a true underdog story. She had no desire to be an actress and was randomly discovered by Robert Altman. As a result, she doesn’t train. She acts by instinct. That’s exactly why Stanley Kubrick wants her for his Stephen King adaptation of The Shining.

Shelley will have to leave boyfriend, singer Paul Simon, to go shoot in England for 4 months. Of course, that’s an optimistic estimation of the shoot’s length. With Kubrick, you have no idea how long a shoot is going to last.

When Shelley arrives on set, the intimidating Mr. Kubrick tells her that he likes to use a lot of takes and if she isn’t cool with that, she can be replaced. He also tells her that he chose her because he needed someone who could easily be broken. Confused by that comment, Shelley heads to her room.

It isn’t long before Jack Nicholson shows up. Jack looks like an old pro. Whereas everyone else is walking on eggshells around Kubrick, Nicholson rolls with it, seemingly unaffected by anything he says. Even Kubrick seems a little put off by this – that someone wouldn’t cower at his feet every time he walked in a room.

Immediately, strange things start happening to Shelley. After taking a shower, she finds a new script on her bed, despite her room having been locked. She says hi to Margaret, Kubrick’s secretary, who she met back in New York. But Margaret insists that she’s never met Shelley in her life. She starts getting phone calls in her room with no one on the other end. She tries to watch TV but, somehow, there are only horror movies playing. None of the other channels work.

On set, Kubrick puts her through the wringer. When she hasn’t memorized her lines (which he just sent changes to earlier in the day) he announces to the entire crew that they’re done for the day because Shelley couldn’t memorize her lines, embarrassing her. Kubrick brings the boy actor, Danny, in with his fake make-up bruises and throws them in Shelley’s face to get her to be more emotive during crucial scenes.

But the worst thing they do is they get Shelley a dog to cheer her up, only to then facilitate the dog “escaping” and then being brutally killed. Shelley witnesses the aftermath of the death and becomes inconsolable. She requests time off but Kubrick insists she keep working and thrusts her right back into a scene just hours later.

Then, of course, you’ve got the takes. We’re not talking 30 takes. We’re not talking 60. Or 90. We’re talking some time enduring over 100 takes! It is insanity. And Kubrick seems to revel in it. But will it break Shelley to the point where she’ll no longer be able to work? Or is there a light at the end of this tunnel? Great art must be suffered for, argues Kubrick. That saying will be put to the test.

Yesterday we talked about coming up with a movie idea and then deciding which direction to take it in. Do you take a movie about a group of people coming into a bunch of money in a goofy fun direction? Or a dark comedic direction?

Well, with today’s script, we actually get to see what it looks like when a concept is taken in two different directions. That’s because this idea was also explored by Colin Bannon in his Black List script, “Let’s Go Again.”

Bannon’s interpretation was different in a couple of ways. It threw us into the fire immediately. And it kept pounding us with the craziness relentlessly. It was the kind of execution that never gave you time to breathe. Kessler and Farkas’s version is more of a slow-build. It exists just as much in the spaces between the scenario as it does the scenario itself.

There are plenty of slow moments here. For example, when Shelley goes back to her room to prepare for the next day, Kessler and Farkas will stay there with her. Sit in her frustration.

I always feel like the scariest moments happen in the build up which is why I was appreciating this version of the idea so much. Especially when you’re talking about someone going crazy. The entertainment comes from her and us wondering if she’s really going crazy. When Shelley comes out of her shower to find the latest draft of the script on her bed and her hotel door still locked from the inside, we’re freaking out because it’s all happening in real time.

I just remember with Bannon’s script the insanity was being beaten over our head twenty times a scene. There was never a time in that script where we could breathe.

Another advantage of slow build-ups is they create an evolution in the story. We start slow, then get medium, and eventually ramp up to fast. So each section of the screenplay feels different. Whereas if you start off fast then stay fast the whole time, the entire movie feels the same. Most scripts need variation. People don’t like when you stay in one gear for an entire 2 hours, no matter what gear it is.

So then the answer is: “always take your time,” right? Not necessarily. Movies do favor urgency. Plots tend to work best when they move fast. So starting your movie in media res is a perfectly reasonable creative choice. Also, studios and audiences tend to like faster-moving stories. It’s less work for them.

Here’s something that might help you decide which is best for you. The better the writer you are, the more you can take your time. Good writers understand how to keep things entertaining when the story is moving slowly. Average writers fall apart when they try and do this. So, if you’re someone who doesn’t think of yourself as a master of suspense or a wordsmith, it may be best if you keep things moving quickly, as it’s easier to camouflage your writing deficiencies.

Maybe that’s why I enjoyed this script less when it hit its fast-paced second half. There’s something about descending into insanity that doesn’t jibe with the way I like my entertainment. I like my screenplays with structure. I like to feel that the writer has a plan and that we’re moving somewhere with purpose. Descending into insanity doesn’t work well with that approach. And I’m not saying it’s wrong. I’m just saying I personally don’t like it. At a certain point you’re just going nuts over and over and nothing’s really changing.

Another quibble I had was that Farkas and Kessler are cheating. They’re sneakily straddling both sides of the fence. They want the intellectual property advantages of referencing the real people and real event that make up this story, while also making things up when they wanted to. I’m guessing that massacring a dog to get a better performance out of Shelley Duvall didn’t happen.

It’s not a huge deal but one of the cool parts of watching a movie like this is you can say, “Wow, I can’t believe that really happened. That’s nuts!” You can’t do that here. You have to concede that that heart-stopping scene may have happened… or may have been totally made up. To me, that’s a bit of a cheat. I think they either should’ve stuck to the truth or did what Bannon did (invented fake characters then used the Kubrick-Duvall situation as inspiration).

Of course, the movie goes full-on super-psycho in its last 20 pages, letting us know this is complete fiction. And I probably would’ve enjoyed it more if I was right there with all the Shining references. I can tell David and his writing partner have seen the movie 50+ times. I’ve only seen it twice so and both viewings were a long time ago. So I didn’t get the references that I’m sure Shining super-fans will love. For this and the reasons I stated above, Scaring Shelley didn’t quite make it to “worth the read” territory for me. But I’ll tell you what. If you’re a Shining fan, you’ll probably love this.

Script link: Scaring Shelley

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

What I learned: Keep us in the loop. In a movie like this where it’s taking place over a series of months (that’s how long the shoot is), it’s a good idea to tell us WHERE WE ARE IN THE SHOOT. For example, every once in a while, include a title card that says, “Day 45,” which is what Kessler does here. Because, if you don’t do that, you have no idea where the reader thinks they are. You might be on day 90 of the shoot but the reader thinks you’re on day 10. So you guys are experiencing two different films. I just read a consult script where this exact issue occurred. It was a time loop script and I thought we’d looped 50 times. After talking to the writer, it turns out we’d looped 2000 times. So I said to him, “You have to tell us that (or at least strongly hint at it). You can’t just assume we’ll know.”

Today we take on the genre YOU SHOULD BE FOCUSING ON if making money is your priority as a screenwriter.

Genre: True Crime
Premise: Set in 1981, a serial killer kidnaps his latest victim, who proceeds to use religion to convince him that he is not the killer he has accepted himself to be.
About: Huge bidding war for this one that Amazon/MGM just won. It was an article in Vanity Fair. Stephen Morin’s killings are mostly forgotten over time due to several reasons, one of them being that the victim in this story, Margy Palm, wasn’t interested in selling the rights to her story to Hollywood, who she felt would turn it into some cheap surface-level story about the power of God. Only recently having gone through therapy, Palm has come to the conclusion that it’s finally time that her story be told.
Writer: Julie Miller
Details: About 6000 words long (the length of 4 Scriptshadow posts)

Sydney Sweeney is perrrrrrfect for this role.

What is it that Jerry Maguire said on that fateful day of his firing?

Oh yeah.

SHOWWWW MEEEE THE MONAAAAAAAYYYY!!!

Ever since the spec boom ended, screenwriters have been looking for a substitute source of instant income, a way where they could write something and get paid for it immediately. Well, my friends, that something is here. It’s called True Crime.

True Crime has always sold. Heck, they were making these things as TV movies all the way back in the 70s. But ever since podcasts supercharged the genre, True Crime has become more marketable than ever.

From The Watcher to Dirty John to Love & Death to The Staircase to The Act to Mindhunter to Dahmer. And now you have this whole new sub-genre of shows inspired by true crime, like Only Murders in the Building, Based on a True Story, and The Afterparty.

Without mincing words, you have to be more into television than movies if you want to sell one of these things. But it actually doesn’t matter because, in order to sell them, you’re going to write an article first. Whoever then buys the article will decide if they want to turn it into a movie or a TV show.

“True Crime: True Faith,” set in Texas in 1981, introduces us to Stephen Morin, a serial killer who seems to have escaped mainstream attention due to the fact that he was killing at the same time as the much flashier hipper serial killer, Ted Bunny.

Morin targets a young pretty blonde wife named Margy Palm, who’s returning to her car from K-Mart after doing some Christmas shopping. At this point, Morin had raped and killed dozens of women, something Palm wasn’t yet aware of. But she knew once he took her hostage that he was an angry dangerous man.

And yet, as he made her drive outside of San Antonio to a more secluded area to do who knows what with her, Palm didn’t feel afraid. A religious woman, she began explaining to Morin that he had the devil inside of him and during the many times when they’d park (Morin would get hungry, for example, and randomly head to some fast food restaurant) she would attempt to cast the demons out of his head.

At first, Morin was furious that he’d been stuck with some “religious freak.” But the more Palm spoke about God, the more sense it made to the killer. Palm busted out some scripture for Morin to read and soon, the two were sharing deep intense experiences from their pasts, bonding on a level that even Palm admits, to this day, she had never experienced before.

After 8 hours of driving around, Palm had successfully converted Morin into a born-again Christian. His lifelong anger had all but evaporated. She told him that there was a preacher he needed to visit in another part of Texas and took Morin to the train station so he could go to this man and confess his sins. She gave him her scripture and off he went. The police were waiting for him at the station where he was still reading the scripture.

Morin would later go on to receive three life sentences and the death penalty. But Morin started to call Palm from prison and, unthinkably, the two became friends. Palm would come to see him 15 times over the next four years and visited him a day before his execution. Morin called those last four years the best four years of his life because he found God.

The real Margy Palm

Time to start writing some true crime articles, right!

I know some of you are like, “ehhh, I don’t know. I just want to write scripts, Carson. I don’t want to write short stories or articles or any of that nonsense.” I get it. We writers are creatures of habit. But let me say this. One of the things I would’ve changed when I was a young screenwriter was not being so stubborn. I thought I knew how to do it and I was only going to do it that way. I know that if I was more open to other ideas and trying new things, my path would’ve been different.

There’s a reason these articles are selling beyond them being true crime. Much like short stories, they’re easily digestible to busy industry people. Which means that when agents send these packages out, people are more willing to read them because the time investment is much smaller.

So, how do you find a good true crime story to write about?

It’s not that different from looking for any concept. You’re looking for fresh angles that haven’t been explored yet. You’re looking for interesting characters, meaty parts that actors would want to play. And as I tell you all the time, you’ve discovered a gold mine if the true crime story has some element of irony to it.

One particular sentence stuck out to me in this article. “I became friends with a serial killer.” Take a good long look at the line. That line is the face of irony. You’re not supposed to be friends with a serial killer. Serial killers are evil. Especially ones who wanted to kill you. And yet that’s the primary relationship here – one where this offbeat friendship emerges from the most unlikely of circumstances.

I can imagine how they might adapt this into a TV show. You start off with this scene in prison where Palm has come to visit Morin. We don’t know who these people are yet or the context under which they know each other. But they’re laughing. They’re having a good time. And then we smash-cut back to that fateful day where he grabs her in the parking lot and forces her into the car.

You could have a lot of fun juxtaposing those two worlds. And, actually, you could write this as a movie as well, if you wanted. Any time you see a tight timeframe, that’s ideal for a film. That 8 hours that Morin kidnaps Palm for… that’s a perfect timeframe for a movie, especially if you could convince us that she really was in danger and that he’s going to kill her.

But this one comes back to the characters. Good memorable characters are sooooooooo hard to write. They’re so hard to write. It amazes me whenever one shows up in a movie. And it shocks me when one shows up in a screenplay, where you’re even less likely to run into well-written characters.

Morin goes through this clear arc as a character that is perfect for a story. But he’s also volatile. The article points out that one second he’s sharing his biggest regrets to Palm and the next he’s screaming at her for being rich and having a perfect life. Then you have Palm, who’s the perfect underdog. She’s the overmatched girl who should die just like the 30 girls before her. But she’s ACTIVE and takes a different tactic than you’re supposed to take. And it ends up working and… who’s not going to root for that character?

Also, the same rule for storytelling applies today as it did 100 years ago: If you have at least one dead body, you’ve got yourself a story.

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

What I learned: So many writers revert to guns and violence for their characters to solve problems. But I promise you that it is ALWAYS more satisfying to the audience and to the reader if the character OUTWITS their opponent. That’s what this story is about. It’s about a woman who outthinks her captor.

Genre: Action/Thriller
Premise: A man wakes up in a hospital, no memory of who he is, with a bullet lodged in his head. Over  the next 48 hours, he learns of his ties to a nefarious pharmaceutical company and the billionaire owner who wants him dead.
About: This is an older spec script that sold for $300k against $700k to Universal. It was purchased through Davis Entertainment, which is the same outfit that made the Predator movies (more recently, Davis has produced Game Night and Jungle Cruise). Half the writing team, Phoebe Dorin, has carved out a very successful acting career.
Writers: Christian Stoianovich & Phoebe Dorin
Details: 1994 draft

Will Poulter for Decker?

No Taylor Swift jabs today, I promise.

Instead, we’re going back to a time when Swiftie fans didn’t exist. It was a darker time. It was a grungier time. But if you were a screenwriter, it was a wonderful time. Cause Hollywood was buying everything with a brad attached. You may not know this. But screenwriter Lachlan Perry once sold a napkin with the words “Fade In” on the front, and three words inside, “Under Water Lion,” for 2.5 million dollars.

I totally made that up. But the fact that you almost believed me shows just how crazy those 90s were. Now let’s find out if “Bulletproof” warranted a sale.

We meet a mystery man as he’s running down a subway tunnel, chased by two men with guns. Our poor mystery man gets shot in the forehead. Normally, this is a death sentence. But, for some reason, our runner only passes out.

He wakes up 8 days later in the hospital, where he’s told that the bullet lodged in his head nearly killed him. In fact, if it had hit just a millimeter more in either direction, he’d be a goner. So he should feel lucky that he only has amnesia.

A cute doctor who specializes in amnesia, Kelly Chapman, comes to check him out. She gives him the typical “movie amnesia” spiel (“Memory is weird. Sometimes it comes back right away. Other times it takes a while) and informs him he should stay at the hospital as long as possible.

But the doctors let our mystery man go and that’s when he runs into Yuri Volkov, who tries to snuff him out in the elevator. Our bullet maestro somehow gets away and runs into Chapman in the parking lot. He unofficially takes her hostage, forcing her to drive him to safety.

After following a few leads, Bullet Man learns his name – Sam Decker. Decker realizes that he’s a scientist who worked for a gigantic pharmaceutical company called “Biotek.” It was there where he created the first ever medical male contraceptive. Aka, GOLDMINE.

For reasons we don’t know yet, he’d tried to sneak his research out of the lab, which is why everyone wants him dead. Did Decker know that his research was faulty and would kill millions? My guess is yes. But there’s one last twist to Decker’s research. It’s a twist that would make every act of sex an act of murder.

Something I often run into is flowery prose. What you have to understand about flowery prose is that when you start off as a writer, you think it’s more important than it actually is. So you put a lot of emphasis on. I’ll give you an example. Here’s a paragraph from early in the script.

Shadows scar the cobblestone driveway to the dilapidated hospital. White helmeted SOLDIERS, in a convoy of Jeeps roar past, belching black oily plumes of exhaust. A mongrel DOG pants in the doorway next to walnut-faced MEN playing dominoes. A legless MAN on a cart wheels past.

There’s a difference between trying to prove you’re a good writer and using your description to paint a picture. The line is thin but if you’re on the wrong side of it, readers will write you off.

It’s admittedly confusing because you do want your writing to appear strong. You don’t want to just write nouns, verbs and five-word sentences. But if your sole purpose for writing a sentence is to impress the reader, you’ve already got one foot in the proverbial grave. You should be writing paragraphs that do one thing and one thing only: serve your story.

And the point of description is to mimic, as best as you can, what the viewer is going to see onscreen.

Now, with this except above, you get a little bit of both so let’s go through it. “Shadows scar the cobblestone driveway to the dilapidated hospital.” This is a try-hard line. It’s the exact type of prose you don’t want to use. The more like poetry your lines sound, the less you want to use them. If you want to write poetry, go write poetry. This is a completely different medium.

“White helmeted SOLDIERS, in a convoy of Jeeps roar past, belching black oily plumes of exhaust.” This sentence is what you want in the first half and what you don’t want in the second. “White helmeted SOLDIERS” puts a relevant image in my head, as does a convoy of Jeeps roaring past. I feel like I’m watching a movie now.

But “black oily plumes of exhaust” is a try-hard description. I’m not going to stop reading if I see this. But if the writer has purple prosing me on every page and then I get another line of purple prose like this, I’m officially annoyed.

The description that really frustrates me, though, is “in the doorway next to walnut-faced MEN.” I don’t know what this means. A walnut-faced man? I’m literally imagining men with walnuts for heads. Is that what you want me, as a writer, to imagine? I would hope not.

You’re overthinking things. Use your description to describe, not to impress. Cause any time you’re *trying* to impress – I’m talking about in life, not just in writing – you’re usually doing the opposite.

Here’s an excerpt from the screenplay, “Seven,” by Andrew Kevin Walker. It takes place early in the story, with Somerset riding a train back to the city.

The train is almost full, moving slower. Somerset has his suitcase on the aisle seat beside him. He holds a hardcover book unopened on his lap. He still stares out the window, but his face is tense. The train is passing an ugly, swampy field. The sun has gone under.

Though it seems impossible it ever could have gotten there, a car’s burnt-out skeleton sits rusting in the bracken. A little further on, two dogs are fighting, circling, attacking, their coats matted with blood.

Note the clear imagery in the description. An almost full train. Moving slowly. His suitcase on an aisle seat. Hardcover book on his lap. A tense look on his face. An ugly swampy field. The sun has gone down. A burnt-out skeleton of a car in a field. Two dogs fighting nearby.

These are all things that we can clearly visualize. And if we’re visualizing them, it simulates the act of watching the movie in the theater. The only line I have a problem with is, “The sun has gone under.” We sometimes do this as screenwriters – write lines that are too sparse. But you probably needed one extra detail for this sentence: “The sun has descended below the horizon.”

Okay, onto the story itself. Was it any good?

Funny you ask. Something occurred to me as I was reading this script. It was sold in 1994. Around 1992-3 is when the industry had its biggest push towards formulaic writing. If you followed the beats you were supposed to follow and you had three acts and you wrote the plot reversal at the right time and your characters were likable and you had the requisite love story, then you could sell a script, even if you didn’t have a lot of talent.

Over the next couple of years, that belief grew. All you had to do was follow a formula and you’d win the script lottery. 1994 was the ‘culmination year’ of this belief. And you can see that on display here in Bulletproof. This thing feels like it was written by Syd Field.

That’s not necessarily the worst thing. I’ve read too many scripts with no adherence to formula and 99% of them are awful. But if you stick too close to formula, then nothing about your screenplay is going to stand out. Bulletproof unapologetically embraces Hollywood screenwriting.

Starting with the amnesia concept. It was one of the most popular concepts at the time. The set pieces here are all very cliche (escape the hospital, subway chase, chase by foot through city). A love story for no other reason than Hollywood required them at the time. The two even have sex just because you did that in scripts back then, regardless of if it made sense. Biotech companies were all the rage at the time. Heck, it even has one of the most cliche lines you can add to a script: “Who are you to play God!!”

There’s another way to look at this, of course. That the writers were smart. They saw what the industry wanted and they gave them EXACTLY THAT. Lots of writers who visit this site could do well following that advice. What is the industry looking for right now? It’s no secret. Look at what movies Hollywood gives all the promotional dollars to. That’s what they want. So, if you want to make money, that’s one avenue to do it.

But as a script, there’s nothing new here. It feels way way waaaaaaaaaay too familiar. One of the things I hate most about my job is that I’m always so far ahead of the writer. Writers rarely keep me guessing. I wanted this to keep me guessing just a little.

This is yet another reminder to take risks in your screenplays. Don’t do what you’re seeing every other writer do in their movies. When they zig, you zag.

Script link: Bulletproof

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

What I learned: If you are doing an amnesia or memory-loss screenplay, YOU MUST KNOW THE RULES of your character’s amnesia and stick by throughout the script. You can’t just say, “Memory’s a funny thing. It could come back all at once. Or not at all.” If you don’t know how the rules of your movie’s memory loss works, you’ll take advantage of the ambiguity and have your character forget or remember things whenever it’s most convenient for you and your plot. Readers hate that. If you follow an established rule-set, however, the reader will trust you.

Genre: Sci-Fi/Horror/Drama
Premise: Amid a rash of cattle mutilations in the ‘80s, a rural veterinarian holds an alien captive with the desperate hope that its miraculous healing biology can save his terminally ill wife.
About: This is the runner-up in the First Page Showdown. If you’re wondering why we’re reviewing the runner-up and not the winner, it’s a long complicated story but the gist of it is, the winner hadn’t finished his script yet and so we’re waiting on that before we can review it. Actually, that wasn’t long or complicated. It was pretty straightforward. Okay, let’s get to the review. Oh! And remember that we have Halloween Logline Showdown coming up next week. Get those loglines in!
Writer: Mark James
Details: 94 pages

Here’s the first page if you want to reacquaint yourself with it.

Lucky us.

We got a horror script just a week before Halloween Showdown! Sometimes the script gods shine down on us.

BUT!

The script still needs to be good. And the whole reason I picked this first page to compete was because it felt like a different kind of alien movie.

Let’s see if my instincts were right.

The year is 1985. We’re in Nebraska. We meet 30 year-old Dr. Lee Crutchfield as he is elbow deep inside of a dead cow’s rectum. Lee is a vet and although he’s seen a lot, this is not a normal Tuesday night for him. This is actually quite rare.

Word on the street is that cows from all over the local area have been getting mutilated. But Lee’s not buying it. He thinks an animal did this and is vindicated when a rabid badger pops up and he shoots it dead. He tells the rancher he has nothing to worry about, grabs the dead badger and heads back to the clinic to do tests.

Before he does that, though, he heads over to the hospital to see his late 20-s wife, Blair (who he calls “Mother Bear”), who has some sort of weird disease that causes dementia. Her situation is getting worse by the day but Lee is not giving up.

Back at the clinic, Lee spots the dead badger levitating, only to realize it’s being shuttled away by a cloaked 8 foot alien. Lee is able to neutralize the alien with a cattle prod and chain it up. Although the alien is coy at first, it eventually comes clean regarding having the magical ability to cure.

While all this is happening, an Omaha FBI agent named Annabelle Sable shows up who seems to have some knowledge about these aliens. She tells Lee that these off-worlders are not to be trusted! Everything they say is a lie. But all Lee hears is “healing.” So when his wife goes into a coma, Lee decides he’s using the alien cure to save her. But at what cost? And what happens if it doesn’t work?

I had a lot of thoughts swimming through my brain when I finished this script. I knew I could take the review in a familiar direction.

But since this all started with a First Page contest, the question that seemed the most relevant was, “Did I get the script I expected to get from the first page?”

The answer is no.

That’s not a bad thing. It’s just that when I read that first page, I imagined this thoughtful interesting take on aliens where the writer approached things from an angle that we hadn’t seen before. Cause this is a movie about aliens. And most movies about aliens start out with an on-the-nose scene that screams from the mountaintops that the movie is about aliens (i.e. a spaceship in the sky).

By approaching it via a dead cow’s rectum, you told us that this was going to be a different kind of journey (not unlike how we started in Adam Sandler’s rectum in Uncut Gems and got a totally different movie).

And while I suppose you could argue the script does turn out to be different, it ended up feeling too familiar when it was all said and done.

To the writer’s credit, he takes creative risks, the most visual being the alien’s dialogue. This is how all the alien dialogue looks:

What I liked about this choice was that an alien is going to look weird. It’s going to look different. This dialogue style captured that difference in a visual way. When we saw how different it was from normal dialogue, we subconsciously imagined the alien. Which was cool.

But the dialogue was hard to read. The middle part often covered the regular text on either side, which meant I had to squint and move the page around to see what the alien was saying. James also fades the regular text out as the script goes on until it’s practically invisible. So I wasn’t sure if that text even mattered?

Finally, I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to interpret the dialogue. The middle section always contradicted the ends so… I guess that meant the alien was always lying. But it’s still spoken dialogue so didn’t that mean Lee could hear it? All in all, as creative as it was, I felt it was more trouble than it was worth.

The script’s strongest suit is its emotional core – the relationship between Lee and Blair. But I’ll be honest, I had trouble giving in to it. For starters, they’re both late 20s, early 30s. And Blair has dementia. It didn’t read right. A 28 year old with dementia? I’m sure it happens but it happens rarely enough that it creates that dreaded “reading hiccup.” And then the characters called each other Mama Bear and Papa Bear, the kind of nicknames old people use for each other, which confused me, because these characters were young. It just created this clunky vibe to the proceedings that prohibited me from fully enjoying what I was reading.

And while I don’t mean to pile on, this script doesn’t resolve my belief that you can make aliens scary in the way that you can make traditional earthbound creatures and monsters scary.

What happens in The Harvester – and what happens in a lot of these scripts that try to combine horror and aliens – is that, at a certain point, the writer learns that making them scary doesn’t make sense. So it always turns out the the alien is helpful instead of hurtful. We see that here with the alien offering his magical medicine that can heal anything. And, at that point, what are we scared of? We’re not. In retrospect, I’m not sure I was ever scared. And I’m someone who routinely watches scary movies through my fingers.

I mean how scary of an alien can you be when you’re easily restrained by handcuffs? It just didn’t make sense. And I don’t want to dog James because I’ve been down this road before myself. With my own alien-horror scripts which ran into this same problem, and with scripts from other writers that I’ve tried to shepherd. But none of them can ever quite figure out this “aliens being scary” thing. You can do it in flashes. But over the course of the story, it doesn’t make sense for aliens to be scary. Why come 100 light years if you’re going to hide underneath beds and say “boo?”

Overall, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t connect with this script. The horror wasn’t horrifying enough. The sci-fi hit a wall. And the drama was affected by little choices that resulted in an unnecessarily clunky relationship journey.

It wasn’t for me but I’m curious what all of you think. Check out the script below.

Script link: The Harvester

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

What I learned: Whenever I see a writer offer three genres for their script, the first thing I think is, “This writer doesn’t know what kind of story he’s telling.”  And that’s how I felt when I read this.  “I’m not sure this script knows what it wants to be.”  It leans most heavily into the drama side of things.  That’s when it’s most comfortable.  Cause I think James understood that storyline the best.  But this alien who’s sort of dangerous but not really dangerous dictating the majority of the narrative had me scratching my head.  It just felt like there was a better story that could be told here.  And my gut tells me simplifying the genre is a good place to start.

So I’m sitting there watching Talk to Me, the A24 Australian horror movie you might have seen the trailer for. It’s the one where a bunch of teenagers are in a basement and one of them holds a hand statue and then goes into some sort of trance.

The movie is pretty good. But it made its fair share of screenwriting errors. Basically, the plot goes like this. A teenage girl, Mia, hangs out with this family all the time because her mom died. She’s got her friend, Jade. And then Jade’s younger brother, Riley.

This trio occasionally hangs around a cool group at school, led by tough-chick Hayley, and Hayley’s muscle, Joss. This group loves to play this game called, “Talk to Me,” where they bring out a hand statue, strap you into a chair in front of it, you hold the hand and say, “Talk to me,” then follow that by saying, “I let you in.”

As soon as you say, “I let you in,” whoever’s in the chair sees a [usually gruesome] dead person sitting in front of them. Nobody else in the room can see this. Just the person in the chair. This creates a level of doubt where everyone can write the experience off as fake, much like when two people push the planchette on a Ouija board. You can always blame the other person as the pusher.

Except everyone in the room participates in the experience so that sort of negates the idea that they’re faking it. But we’re not going to nitpick.

Mia seems particularly affected by her experience, where she saw a couple of gnarly dead bodies. But it’s when Riley goes under that the crap hits the air conditioner. Riley is channeling Mia’s dead mother.

Mia is so taken by the chance to talk to her mom that she prevents Riley from stopping the experience before the mandatory 90 seconds. Riley starts going ballistic, bashing his head into anything he can find, nearly killing himself before they’re able to detach the hand from him.

This results in Mia being banished from the family, which sends her back home to hang out with her dad. When Mia sees her mother’s apparition again, she finally answers the question about whether she killed herself. She didn’t. And the person who did is two rooms away from her. Her father. Time to run.

You may have snooped out a couple of the screenwriting issues from that synopsis. The first is that the possession rule is shaky. In fact, we’re not even sure people are being possessed for three-quarters of the movie. Mia is not possessed despite going through the process. She sees other spirits, like her mom. But she’s not possessed.

Then, near the end, we lean heavily into the injured Riley being possessed. And then, of course, Mia’s father being possessed. Whoever’s inside of her dad is trying to kill her.

You can tell that the writers started to realize near the end of writing the screenplay that, “Oh, they’re possessed! So we can do something with that!” So then they rush to pay off a possession storyline that they never really set up.

It’s fine to do this. It’s a natural part of screenwriting. You figure things out while you’re writing the script. But once you figure something big out, you have to go back and properly set it up.

Ditto the dad. They didn’t even mention the dad for the first 70% of the movie! I didn’t know she had one. How could I? She was always at this other house. And the writers leaned heavily into this idea that this other family was taking care of Mia. So we assumed she didn’t have family.

To not only tell us she had family, but to build the crux of Mia’s entire storyline around what her father did to her mother was clunky to say the least. A good screenwriter is going to realize that if they want to use this ending, they need to go back into that first act and properly set up the dad. Then keep him in the story throughout the second act.

As I was pondering all this, a question popped into my brain: Does it matter? Or, more specifically, would this have mattered in regards to how well the movie did? It’s got a 94% critic score on Rotten Tomatoes. It’s got an 82% audience score. It made 50 million dollars in the U.S. and nearly 90 million worldwide.

Would making those changes have affected these numbers in a positive way? Because if you look just at the movie, it’s really well put together. The main actress who plays Mia, Sophie Wild, is great. She’s going to become a star. The rest of the cast is really good. There are no weak links.

The cinematography is great. The directing overall has no weaknesses (they were particularly convincing in creating a “teenage atmosphere”). Also, the hand sequence WORKS. Whatever it is at the center of your fantastical story, it has to be convincing for the viewer to suspend their disbelief. If it’s hokey or dumb, they’ll immediately check out. And the “talk to me” stuff was perfect.

Most importantly, the movie was scary. I did the thing where I put my arms up in front of my face half-a-dozen times cause I saw something weird in the corner and it started moving and I didn’t want to know what the f*** it was.

So, if you do those things: You have a convincing mythology, you have plenty of legitimate scares, you have characters who we’re on board with – you can make screenwriting mistakes and it be okay. It’s similar to what I tell comedy writers. If your script is funny, you can have the worst plot ever. It doesn’t matter. Ditto with horror. If it’s scary, you can make mistakes.

But the purist in me still believes that if you fix those mistakes, your movie is going to have better word-of-mouth which means more people are going to want to see it. I think it’s telling that the audience score is lower than the critical score here. Audiences may have been a little frustrated by the sloppiness in the storytelling.

Look no further than what happened to Exorcist: Believer this weekend. Now I didn’t see the film. But I knew that the baseline they were building predictions off of was 30 million. Because that’s what the predicted ROI was for this particular advertising package. Now, the box office could go well above that number or below it. And it depended on if the story was good.

Guess what?

It wasn’t good. It has a 22% Rotten Tomatoes score and a 59% Audience score (which will probably go down once more reviews come in). It was made clear early on on social media that this one was a stinker. And so all those potential moviegoers who were thinking about going on Saturday who were going to pump up that box office to the high 30s, maybe even 40 million dollars, they decided to stay home, and the movie made 27 million bucks.

In David Gordon Green’s defense, I’ve never been able to figure out the key difference between an exorcism movie that works and one that doesn’t. For all intents and purposes, the original Exorcist should not have worked. It’s long. We’re stuck in this house the whole time. Some characters disappear for 90% of the movie. Others show up halfway into the movie.

I just remember that movie feeling so real. It felt like how an actual exorcism situation would happen. That realism is what sold it for me. And even though all these exorcism movies since have given us convincing possession performances, none of them has felt as authentic as The Exorcist.

In other words, trying to recreate the authenticity of one of the most authentic horror movies ever is a hard task to pull off. None of the other Exorcist sequels have been able to do it. I’m shocked, like the rest of the industry, that Universal paid 400 million for the rights to try and change that pattern. A lot of people thought they were dumb. Believer’s critical and audience reception is proving them right. It looks like this franchise is going to end up on the bottom of a concrete stairway.