Friday, August 1, 2014

You Know Pulp Fiction’s on the Brain When...

...you call someone whose phone just keeps ringing and ringing and you shriek “Fuck you Lance, answer!!!”

...someone asks if you’ll be attending a particular event and you coolly declare “I’m goin’, that’s all there is to it, I’m fuckin’ goin’.”


...you wash your hands but aren’t quite satisfied with their cleanliness and you mutter “Maybe if I had some Lava I coulda done a better job.”

...someone asks you what you think and you proffer “Man, I don’t even have an opinion” then hope no one shoots you in the face.


...someone should understand you but doesn’t and you want to scream “English, motherfucker, do you speak it?!!?”

...you can’t eat bacon without remarking “Bacon tastes good. Pork chops taste good.”


...you can’t go through a car wash without commenting “Pretty please. With sugar on top. Clean the fuckin’ car.”

...you can’t see or hear the words “blueberry pie” without thinking how fast you desperately need to say them.


...you can’t soothe your sore feet (or anyone else’s) without bragging “I’m the foot fuckin’ master...”

...you can’t try a new burger from a new restaurant without exclaiming “Mmm-hmm...that is a tasty burger.”





Saturday, July 26, 2014

The Lego Movie


I’m gonna make this quick.

It has a certain kind of surreal, erratic brilliance and sardonic, self-referential humor that’s consistently inventive and appropriate...but it’s also the most relentlessly hyperactive bombardment of sounds and images I think I’ve ever experienced in cinematic form. I feel like someone dropped a toy store on me, then spent the next hour and a half smashing everything in the place onto my head. 


Let’s talk pacing, and timing: everything happens with such blinding speed and reckless agility I had almost no idea what was actually happening moment to moment. Literally could not follow the action. It shot past my eyes like the Road Runner on amphetamines during the Big Bang. Most of the movie appears to be playing on fast forward. Good golly, what an onslaught. I feel like my brain swallowed a Lite Brite getting a power surge.

It’d be easy to see this movie as nothing more than a giant commercial, but I don’t. It’s about imagination and creativity and playing and having fun and tacos, all of which I support. Everything is awesome. It’s just way, WAY too much at once. Ease up, Lego. There’s time enough for all of it.

I need a nap.


Saving Mr. Banks

I must start this by saying: I don’t care about or have much interest in Mary Poppins or Walt Disney, but since this movie is about those things only on one level, and does in fact have a much deeper emotional intent, there is certainly something in the film for me to respond to and write about.


I read the screenplay a while ago, because I like to read whatever produced scripts I can get my eyes on, and I didn’t think it worked. It had charm and style and humor, sure, just like the movie does - it’s well-written in that respect - but the same issues I encountered in the text show up on film.

One thing I advise screenwriters not to do, in the course of my coverage and feedback, is employ clichés, and a particular form of which I find rather grating is the interruption of a conversation for the purpose of having one character correct another in how to address them. This usually takes the form of things like “Don’t call me Mr. Smith, that was my father, call me Bob” or just a flat out “Bob, please” which is always followed by the other person saying “Bob” before continuing. Ugh. Please spare me these exchanges.

This movie and screenplay are made up of so many moments of this precise nature it is practically the entire premise.

Seriously, it’s that pervasive. People repeatedly call her Pam or Pamela no matter how many times she says Mrs. Travers. Not only does it slow down the story by constantly interrupting what could be meaningful dialogue for supposedly cute little moments that are merely aggravating, but it makes it look like none of these people are able to listen to or comprehend even the tiniest little thing being said to or asked of them. If someone says don’t call me that, call me this, you do it! It ain’t difficult. What kind of a person is such an ignorant jerk they constantly refer to someone in a manner they have been expressly and repeatedly informed not to? Most of the characters in this movie, that’s who. I just don’t get it. I don’t know who thinks this is entertaining, or a valid form of conflict. It’s just stupid.

All right. Rant ended.

As for the story itself, the other major issue I had with both script and film is the lack of clear motivation for some of the other major actions the characters take or avoid, in order to maintain an obvious conflict. Her father’s drinking, for example. I understand some people have addictions and can’t stop themselves, but why does he continue such destruction when he knows and sees what it’s doing to himself and his family? The story doesn’t address that, or ask why he doesn’t address it. The story simply watches him fall without giving him enough cause to stumble.


Then there’s the point at which she rejects everything due to the planned use of animated penguins, as that’s the moment in the plot when it needs to take a downturn, because it’s just taken an upturn when she approved the song about flying a kite. There’s nothing wrong with the change in tone, it’s wholly appropriate and perfectly timed, the problem is the method by which the movie shifts its weight. They make it seem like Walt tricked her, or at least that she felt tricked, in that she believed there would be absolutely no animation whatsoever when all he said is that the film would not be animated, it would be live action. Nobody lied, nobody deceived. But the movie needs this moment so it does whatever it can, using the ol’ innocent misunderstanding. It could have been done better.

A lot of the rest of the conflict mostly comes from her not telling the writers what she wants, just saying everything is wrong and walking away. They also rarely seem to attempt to explain what they’re going for, they just shrivel at her harsh tone and move on. As a screenwriter who often works for others in order to produce their vision, I respect and appreciate that aspect of this movie, in that a group of people are doing their creative best to please someone who seems to disagree with everything, or simply doesn’t know what she wants them to achieve. But when it plays as though she refuses to cooperate, how am I supposed to empathize with her? I get that she doesn’t want what’s close to her heart to be tarnished, but one has to communicate effectively in order to precipitate successful adaptation. If you don’t try, you just get nothing.


Past all these issues, the movie is decidedly better than the screenplay, largely due to the fabulous cast - especially Paul Giamatti, who does so much with so little and makes it looks effortless - and of course I love the message that storytellers instill hope, that we restore order with imagination. I can’t help but be moved by these small moments, as being coldly insensitive is not something I’m capable of, but the movie as a whole is held back by its repeated and frustrating lack of progress.

Eventually the triumph of art and creativity does free the movie of its drawbacks, somehow managing to outshine the disappointing aftertaste of so much halting, faltering energy.

If only it made me want to watch Mary Poppins...now that would have been some kind of magic.



Tuesday, July 22, 2014

The Grand Budapest Hotel

There are some filmmakers so exceptionally talented in putting a movie together that each project they complete is met with a great deal of reverent anticipation and attention which cannot be overeffusive, because these artists are simply that good at what they do. Wes Anderson’s Grand Budapest Hotel is one of these events, utterly extraordinary in its creation - the incredibly beautiful and detailed visual design, terrific editing, perfectly nuanced music, with his usual cast and their uniquely crafted characters


So why was I bored off my ass?

Literally. Off my ass. I tried watching it sitting up and had to lie down. It tired me out just trying to maintain attention.

Okay, so a certain medical condition might have (does, did) contribute to that exhaustion, but still...I love movies, and this one is so amazingly executed, it should have absolutely fascinated me, in any posture or position. It didn’t. Why not?

Because Wes Anderson has failed to entertain me for quite a while now. Several films in a row. The last one I felt something for, and still do, is The Royal Tenenbaums. And I don’t have to ask why, because I know why: it was about its characters. No reveling in silliness and style for the sake of them, but a good solid look at who these people are and how they relate to each other. It’s smart, funny, thoughtful, moving...he hasn’t done that since. Maybe a few interesting moments here and there, but nothing he’s brought forth - Life Aquatic, Darjeeling, Fox, Moonrise - has reached those heights of dramatic integrity. They’ve all been rather dull, in my experience, while still achieving that admirable level of artistic presentation.

It all comes down to story. What’s it really all about? With Tenenbaums, it’s about the Tenenbaums. People. Personalities. There’s interest there, human interest.


Grand Budapest Hotel is about...well, I don’t know. It isn’t even about the hotel; most of the scenes take place elsewhere. It certainly isn’t about the people in the hotel. It spends the first ten minutes with one person saying how he’s going to tell a story about himself being told a story by a guy who’s telling someone else’s story...ten minutes of “Hey, listen to this.” Not very interesting.

As for everything else that happens, there’s a kind of jaunty fun to it all, sure, but it’s meaningless. It isn’t about anything, there’s no human condition, it’s just activity. No heart.

And who can love art without heart?


Saturday, July 12, 2014

Jack The Giant Slayer: A Feminist Rant

And that’s the angle I intend to adhere to. I could spend time discussing how poorly structured and silly the movie is, be baffled by its proliferation of ridiculous plotting and silly clichés, ponder why it sat completed on the shelf for a while without a release date, decry the career of director Bryan Singer post Usual Suspects...but none of that is as important as how wrong the film is in regards to its depiction of female characters. So that’s where we’re going with this.

Let’s start with the Bechdel test. If you’re not familiar, check the link. Oddly enough, this one passes - technically. There is one scene with two female characters who talk about what it’s like to be queen. One of them is the queen, who doesn’t appear again, and the other is her daughter Isabel, the princess, who is an adult the rest of the movie and the only other female character. So, yeah. Big win.

Here’s what happens to Isabel, major character that she is: Jack, of the title, meets Isabel when he saves her from being accosted (raped) by uncouth commoners...because that’s what people do, in movies, as a form of conflict meant to be entertaining. She is soon revealed as a princess who doesn’t want to get married, since it’s gotta be that way and the concept has never been done before, plus she totally does her own thing despite the objections of her many male authority figures. Her father the king does eventually reach the inevitable and sad conclusion that she’s her own person and he can’t control her life, because he’s gotta have an arc - but of course the movie itself doesn’t actually figure this out. The movie itself controls her every step of the way.


Anyway, after she’s taken off from the protection of her castle - alone, again, of course, dumb broad that she is - she gets caught in a rainstorm, seeks shelter at what happens to be Jack’s home, then a magic beanstalk traps her inside. Instead of doing something about it, she screams for Jack to rescue her, but he doesn’t manage to and oh no, she disappears into the sky with the house...similarly disappearing from the story while so many menfolk climb up to find and save her. Seriously, she doesn’t show up again on screen for quite a while.


These brave menfolk - while searching for her during their scenes of valor as her current predicament remains an unknown, unseen subplot - mention her being smart and resourceful. However, she still manages to do nothing but be captured and held until the guys show up to free her, after which she whines about how this is all her fault and how useless she is; how useless princesses are in general. But all it takes is a bit of sweet talk from farm boy Jack to convince her she’s a good person with lots of potential. Hooray!

Not long after this inspirational moment, Isabel the smart and resourceful hides and watches as her two main fellows sneak up on a giant guarding an exit, carrying out their plan they came up with that she had nothing to do with and most certainly couldn’t have thought of because even though she’s an intelligent person with competent ideas and innovative strategy when people are talking about her while she’s not around, when she is around she’s just a girl and is best suited to looking concerned while the dudes do all the dangerous deeds.


Pretty soon thereafter, while riding a collapsing beanstalk to the ground, she holds onto Jack instead of the stalk...she even says “Jack, hold me!” while being all scared. Typical girly behavior, I know...it’s just their nature. Such femininity means she’s simply not up to the stress of being actively involved, and proves it once again toward the end when she and Jack are chased by the baddest bad guy giant, leaving Jack to conceive and execute the actions which save them. ‘Cause he’s the man, and it’s not like she could be of any real use to him.

So all this is really stupid and offensive and thoughtless and a hugely unfortunate part of the culture of general entertainment, but there’s one thing about the finale that really bugs the shit outta me: the plot of this movie involves the creation and use of a crown which has the power to control the giants in some way. This crown was forged by some long-ago king who defeated and banished the giants, and Isabel is his direct descendant. This means, once Jack has killed the major villain, and all the other people are still fighting all the other giants, the conclusion of the battle is for someone to put on the crown and banish the bad guys all over again. So guess who shows up wearing it? The one with the freakin’ birthright to do so? Nope. Jack the giant slayer. It’s his movie, right? 

What really makes it bad is how the giants are seen cutting short their attack, and bowing down, and all the people turn to see who saved them - which would have been a great time for them to see the princess, who hadn’t done anything for herself or her people up to this point, now saving them all, so they’d have some respect for her for reasons other than simply being born into royalty. But no, we are shown the crown, glinting in the sun, then Jack holding it, then he puts it on his head while all the kingdom’s subjects who don’t have the slightest clue who he is watch him save their pathetic little lives as the beautiful princess looks on adoringly and holds his hand. What a stud. As for Isabel, after all the hubbub, she gets to marry Jack and have babies, finally, because that’s all chicks really want anyway.


This is the truly hazardous pervasiveness of misogyny: when it isn’t overt, when it isn’t deliberately offensive or degrading, when it most likely isn’t even intentional. It’s become such an ingrained manner of storytelling that it can easily go unnoticed. And it shouldn’t. That’s why I’m trying to bring it to everyone’s attention. We gotta stop this shit. It isn’t doing anybody any good.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Indiana Jones and the Movie That Doesn’t Need Him?

I’ve heard talk recently of this hypothesis, this idea, this belief as some might call it, that in Raiders Of The Lost Ark, everything would have turned out the same had Dr. Jones simply taken a nap and not gotten involved. Or, they say, events may have transpired somewhat differently but resulted in a more or less equal outcome. Yet others claim the outcome was not the result of Indy’s actions, therefore he didn’t play an important role in anything that transpired, so it doesn’t really matter how it turned out because he didn’t really do anything. Some refer to all this as The Minimization Theory, apparently due to some sitcom I’ve never seen and don’t intend to...but whatever they call it, I’m calling it bullshit.


First of all, in terms of storytelling, even if one considers Indy ineffective, he’s still the central character, because it’s his perspective of events being witnessed. If he weren’t involved, how would anybody know about any of this? Who’d be the protagonist? Who else would follow the story to so many different parts of the world? Sallah? Not likely. Screenwriting lessons aside, let’s take a quick look at what actually happens in the movie:

After Indy decides to pursue the Ark at the request of the U.S. government, the Nazis follow him to Marion Ravenwood, where they get an impression from one side of the headpiece to the staff of Ra. With only partial information, they end up digging in the wrong place, but once Indy finds the Ark they just take it from him. However, Indy destroys the plane they were going to use to fly the Ark to Berlin, so they put it on a truck intending to take it to Cairo and fly from there. Naturally, Indy steals the truck, then puts the Ark on a boat. The Nazis promptly chase down the boat, steal back the Ark, and sail away, with stowaway Indy secretly aboard. They stop off at an unnamed island so Belloq can perform some ritual, hoping to verify the Ark’s contents before bringing it to Hitler. After that little idea blows up in (and melts) their faces, the U.S. government gets a hold of the Ark and puts it in some warehouse, the end.


So let’s say, instead of all that adventure, Indy stays home, assessing the advances of coeds who profess feelings on their eyelids, and the Nazis are left to their own devices to locate the Ark. Now, it seems as though they had no idea where to start until they followed the intrepid Dr. Jones to Nepal - remember the creepy guy on the plane, behind the newspaper? - but for the sake of everything else that happens, let’s assume they knew about Abner Ravenwood’s research and could have eventually found Marion on their own. This means they would have acquired the actual headpiece, thus enabling them to dig in the right place and find the Ark, no problem. After that, they would have put it on a plane and flown it to Berlin, probably opened it for Hitler, and possibly melted that stupid little mustache right off his face. No digging intrigue, no basket tossing, no truck chasing, no boat-jacking, no island adventure...just delivered to Der Führer zippity doo-dah.

So how is this outcome equal to that of Indy’s involvement? What if Hitler never intended to open the Ark? Maybe he just wanted to carry it around, thinking it would bring him power, or luck, or something else entirely. Maybe it would have. Maybe he had scientists and religious historians on hand to study it, maybe he felt like placing it in his library and resting his feet on it while he read romance novels...the point is, we don’t know. We have no idea what he planned to do with the Ark once he possessed it, but we DO know that he never will - and that’s because of Indiana Jones.


Even if Hitler had planned to open the Ark in Berlin, and doing so had gone about as well as Belloq’s final experiment, AND left the historical relic in a position to be appropriated by the U.S. government...that’s hardly the same as what results from Indy’s actions. It would have completely changed everything, especially if Hitler himself had been present, to get juiced by lightning like all those soldiers on the island. No more Hitler as of 1936 means no Holocaust, no World War Two, no atomic weapons

Hell, maybe in a larger sense things would have been better - a LOT better - if Indy HAD stayed home and events had been allowed to play out this way...but they certainly wouldn’t be the same. For one thing, Marion would most likely be dead. Is it worth trading her life for all those changes to history? Not in the movies, babe

Sunday, May 25, 2014

How NOT To Write A Screenplay, Part 2: Style And Substance

In this, the second half of my attempted educational essaying, we go past the basic formatting into the actual writing. If your script were a multi-course meal, we’ve covered which cutlery to use when; now we’ll be discussing what items it’s good and bad to have on your plate. I’m trying to cover things I saw over and over while reading for a contest and in other scripts I’ve read, but not necessarily notions generally argued throughout the industry - such as whether or not it’s okay to use “We see” or “We hear” (it really isn’t).

Generic Names
If you create generic characters who remain so throughout their entire appearance - giving them descriptive names such as MAN #1 or BUSY MOM or OBNOXIOUS FAN - you’re at least somewhat aware of the right way to do things. However, if this entire appearance stretches across more than one scene, or encompasses a moment during which his or her identity is expanded or revealed, then you need to make a change. If the characters are important enough to stick around a while, they deserve a name, even if only on the page.

But that’s fairly minor compared to these other problems, which crop up constantly. If you introduce an apparently generic character, with an appropriately generic name, and then later - within the course of a scene, in such a way it will show up in the film and be part of the story - reveal this person’s name, and then use that name for his action and speeches...why didn’t you provide the name in the first place? It’s rather jarring for a reader to identify a character as MECHANIC for half a page, and then, after he tells another character his name is Bob, to keep in mind that the character now speaking as BOB is the same person previously referred to as MECHANIC. A reader has to imagine all the characters, without the visual benefit of actors portraying them, so it’s best not to confuse us. Also, on the page you’ve got a guy with two names, so it looks like two characters, which would confuse a casting department skimming through the script trying to count roles and their basic types (gender, age, etc.). Just refer to him up front as BOB THE MECHANIC, or even just BOB, and maintain that consistently throughout his appearance(s).

The other problem, and the one which causes the most confusion because it makes the least sense to do, is when the character being introduced - whether for the first time in the script or perhaps just in this particular moment - is not immediately known to the reader or recognized by an audience. Often this happens when someone speaks off screen, and the character who is on screen turns around to see who it is. For example, the speaker is identified as MALE VOICE (O.S.) until the owner of that voice is shown or otherwise revealed, and then becomes BOB WALKER (I like the name Bob when we’re not really talking about anybody, so what.) But if you, the writer, know it’s Bob Walker who enters the scene, why don’t you identify him? Because the character he’s speaking to doesn’t know it’s him until he’s revealed? Unnecessary. Because you want to create or retain some sense of mystery about who this character is until you reveal him? Pointless. Again, these are words on a page. I have to imagine what you tell me is occurring. If you tell me there’s a voice, I don’t imagine a flesh and blood person in the scene, I imagine a voice - just a voice, which could be a recording, or a ghost, or who knows what else. Then you tell me it is a person, in fact it’s Bob Walker - wasn’t it him to begin with? Another instance of using two names for one character, and confusing a reader regarding what’s actually happening in the story.

I realize some people say, well, if we don’t know who he is yet, we shouldn’t identify him...that’s a weak argument. First of all, the script is meant to convey the story as clearly and simply as possible, and confusing a reader regarding who a character is or how many are actually in the scene does not constitute clarity or simplicity. And there’s always the distinct possibility that once this is filmed and edited, identifying the character will be as easy as recognizing the actor’s voice. If Tom Hanks is cast as Bob Walker, and the first scene he’s in doesn’t show his face right away, most people would still know it’s him as soon as a single word were out of his mouth. Even without a big name actor playing the character, the guy is who he is. He’s not a voice, or a figure, or a shape, or a shadow - he’s Bob Walker. Unless the story itself requires his identity be kept secret - if it’s a mystery or a spy movie or something like that - don’t try to be cute about it. Name your character, and tell your story.

Starts/Begins To & Suddenly
These are easy to do without realizing it, and you may only notice if you’re looking for it, or happen to read it hundreds of times. In a screenplay, anytime anybody does anything, they start doing it - because if they don’t start, they’re not doing it. So you don’t need to say “Bob starts to pick up the bowling ball” unless you’re also going to specify that he doesn’t actually pick it up - he only began the action. Even this isn’t a good use of action verbs; you’d be better off saying he reaches for it, but stops. Don’t define the intention, what would be; define what is. And the fewer words you can use to say the same thing and make it clear, the better.

Same deal with “suddenly.” Everything happens suddenly, because first it isn’t happening, then it is. If it weren’t sudden it would be gradual, right? So everything not described as happening suddenly I should picture in slow motion? No. These two things are obvious when you think about them; consider which of the two reads better: “Jenny suddenly slaps the cigarette out of Bob’s hand” or “Jenny slaps the cigarette from Bob’s hand.” Shorter, quicker, cleaner, is always better. But don’t worry about writing these things in early drafts; we all do them - but before you submit the script to anyone professionally, give it a pass just to find these little dragons and slay them.

Repeated Dialogue & “What?”
Most of the time, dialogue should be simpler, smarter, more direct, and more interesting than actual speech and conversation. If the point is for the characters to sound like uneducated buffoons who can’t put a sentence together, that’s fine, go for it, but in general, it’s best to make the dialogue catchy and concise. This means no character should be repeating what somebody else just said, as if we the readers didn’t just read it, as if the audience wouldn’t have heard it two seconds earlier. It’s boring.

Here’s an actual example: “I’m going to a concert tonight.” “You’re going to a concert?” “Yeah.” “Who’s playing?” “The Poster Children.” “The Poster Children?” “Mm-hmm.” “Never heard of ‘em.” Reading that, or listening to it, is like wading through cake batter. Too many words for the information presented, too slow and drawn out. Clip it, and let the actors set the pacing: “I’m going to a concert tonight.” “Who’s playing?” “The Poster Children.” “Never heard of ‘em.”

The other thing is when one character says something, then has to repeat it after someone else just says “What?” Or if they’re not repeating it, they’re elaborating, but either way, the other person just saying “What” is the blankest of terms, the least revealing thing they could possibly say. Give us a phrase that shows their character, expresses their emotions...or even better, have them react visually without saying anything. I realize there are some situations in which people may not be able to think of anything else to say, but along with what I mentioned earlier, fiction should be more interesting than reality. It should feel real, but more compelling. People just saying “What” is never compelling.

Parentheticals: Reprise
I come back to this because its misuse is so pervasive, its abuse such a mistake, it must be reiterated. DO NOT: put action or direction in parentheses between a speaker’s name and his or her dialogue. Action always belongs in action, and telling an actor how to act will be ignored. That’s how these are most often used in terms of style and substance: attempting to micromanage the performance with adverbs and descriptors. It’s not only annoying to read, but actors hate it, and rightly so. Parentheticals are only to be used for clarity when absolutely necessary, and such moments are rare. If you want to use it once or twice in an entire script to specify a beat between lines, when you feel this timing imperative to the delivery, go ahead. It’ll probably be changed anyway, but if it means that much to you, specify it - as long as it’s rarely done, it’s acceptable.

Yells, Screams, & More
What is unacceptable, and utterly pointless, is doing something like adding (yells) before dialogue such as “Timmy!! Dinnertime!!” This is an actual example. And while its pointlessness seems obvious when I state it, the obviousness is already there, in the exclamation points. I could go so far as to say more than one exclamation point per sentence is superfluous, even frowned upon professionally, but there’s no need to get into such details here...although it IS clearly unnecessary, and thus shouldn’t be done, but it’s so minor that hardly anyone would notice anyway.

Back to the point: if you feel you have to specify that your character yells or screams their dialogue, then your context is not clear enough. If you preface “NOOO!!!!” with (screams) then you give the impression you’re not paying attention to your writing. First of all, you shouldn’t have your characters screaming “NOOO!!!!” because come on, but second, if you’re not sure readers will understand that line is meant to be screamed...either you think your readers are stupid or you’re just not revising your script closely enough to remove excess.

It doesn’t belong in action, either. A script isn’t a novel. You don’t have to, and absolutely shouldn’t, get cute and tell us “Jimmy screams with all his might as if his soul is breaking” then present Jimmy’s one word of dialogue in all caps followed by several exclamation points. Because none of that really means anything. Not in a screenplay. Keep it simple, just tell the story. And let the actor act. Good actors will take your words and give them an emotional reality more vibrant and stunning than you could even picture while writing it. So let ‘em do their thing.

Phonetic Accents/Dialects
There are a lot of things to remember when writing a screenplay - keep it visual, show don’t tell, character motivation, conflict, structure - but the most important thing to keep in mind is that what you’re writing has to be read. People must understand every word of your script through the action of reading it. So if you’d like to convey how particular characters should sound, and choose to do so by changing the spelling of words throughout their dialogue, take care how far you alter the language to create your intended impression. Because if you make up too many words, or mix up the spelling too far, nobody will know what your characters are saying. And that’s bad.

Don’t get me wrong: if you have a talent for phonetic spelling which simply and clearly indicates a particular speech pattern, and makes for an easy and entertaining read, by all means, go for it. Most people do not have this talent. Even professional writers with years of experience rarely develop such a skill. The majority of the time, it just doesn’t work. This is where it’s good to have friends -  fellow filmmakers or non-professionals - give your script a read. You know what you’re saying, but if others can’t comprehend your characters, you need to make a change and get rid of these alternate spellings. Even in little ways, that nobody would have trouble understanding, it can be quite annoying. If a character says “Fer sure,” we all know what that means. We can hear the inflection, we comprehend the character. But ‘fer’ isn’t a word, isn’t even a recognized non-word. You accomplish the same thing, in a more professional manner, by introducing the character as speaking with a drawl and writing the line “For sure.” 

Truly, this is the best option: to specify any particular manners of speech in character introductions, and try to give them words and phrases to exemplify this. It’s the difference between saying “I don’t know” and “I ain’t for sure.” Speaking of the recognized non-word ‘ain’t’, sometimes you can get away with things that are technically wrong but already rather familiar, such as “I dunno” or other non-words like ‘gotta’, ‘oughtta’, ‘wanna’...it’s kinda cheap, and best avoided, but if you want your character to sound like that you can get away with it, as long you’re consistent.

Don’t, however, write things that are wrong in written form because your character doesn’t know better; you have to know better. If they speak incorrectly and say things like “funner” instead of “more fun,” that’s okay, but if you write “should of” instead of “should’ve,” slap yourself in the head. I don’t care if your character doesn’t know the difference: they’re only speaking it; you are writing it. You have to write what they mean when they say it, not how they would write it. 

Back to accents and dialects: if one or more characters speak pretty much the same way as everybody else but have a particular twist to their speech, just mention it at their introduction and hope folks reading the script remember to hear it that way in our heads. Will we? Probably not. But it doesn’t really matter, because the end goal is production, and actors will always make an effort to stay true to the background of a character. That background may change, or be developed further, but as the writer, you get to put your two cents in on the page, at the beginning of everything, where everyone can see it. So just make sure you’ve stated it clearly, and hope for the best.

Opening Routine
Please, please, please, please, please: never start your script with the main character going through his or her morning rituals and preparations. I don’t care if you really want to create a title sequence, which so many movies don’t even have anymore anyway; find something better for your character to do then get up and shower and eat breakfast because NO ONE CARES and it’s TERRIBLY BORING.

The only possible exception - and you’d better make it good if you dare attempt it - is if these scenes actually define and establish your character in a clear and entertaining manner. This is rare, partly because we’ve seen it all before, and partly because you might have to go way over the top to make anything stand out as defining. But really, why would you even want to do this? Because if you’d like anyone who doesn’t have to to read past page one, you want to make that first page interesting, dynamic, compelling...some shlub choosing a cereal ain’t none of those things.

Also, on a barely-related side note: don’t open the script with a flashback. If it’s the first scene, it can’t be a flashback, because where are you going back to, or from? There is no past, because you haven’t established a present. I just read a script which began with the words “FOUR WEEKS EARLIER” - earlier than what? Nothing’s happened yet. This makes no sense. What does make sense is to put “FOUR WEEKS LATER” at the start of the next sequence. So no flashbacks at the opening. It’s just ridiculous.

Proper Rating For Story & Genre: Swearing, Nudity, Violence, etc.
This one always confuses me, because I feel like it’s the kind of thing that should find a natural balance on its own, without much thought or attention to detail required on behalf of the writer - but maybe I’m wrong, or maybe that’s just me. The incongruity here is when a writer creates a relatively tame story but includes speeches with foul language, describes particular nudity, or presents moments of detailed, bloody violence. There’s nothing wrong with having any of these things in your script, but if the story is about (and aimed at) ten year-old skateboarders, there shouldn’t be occasional, multiple scenes of R-rated material. Yes that is an actual example.

It all goes back to knowing your audience, and making the story feel like a uniform piece. I read a script about a teenage babysitter that was PG all the way, aside from the one scene when a couple she was working for came home drunk and had sex on the couch downstairs while the girl was still in the house. If this were filmed exactly as written, it would be pornographic. So first off, why is that scene in this otherwise kid-friendly movie, and second, why would anyone write a scene so descriptively? Remember, screenwriting is only what is seen and heard - so if you describe it, you expect a reader to picture it, and an audience to see it in the finished film.

This is where being vague pays off. Describe a basic action, and allow the filmmakers to determine the tone. If you merely say a character steps out of the shower, you leave the visual detail open to interpretation while making the action itself perfectly clear. If you say a character walks naked down the hallway, dripping-wet body parts bouncing and jiggling with each step...well, you’re not leaving much to the imagination. You’re taking away a reader’s choices, and locking the entire script into a rating it might otherwise not require.

The trick here is really quite simple: just match the tone of the story. If it’s a murder mystery with blood-and-guts killings, you know it’ll have to be R, so go ahead and swear and describe nudity, if you want. You don’t have to, but it matches the tone, so it fits into the story. If it doesn’t necessarily have to be that bloody, don’t make it bloody. There’s a clear distinction in detail between describing a guy getting shot and a guy getting shot in the head so his brains paint the wall behind him. If the characters don’t need to swear then don’t have them swear. And don’t describe anything in detail you wouldn’t want or expect to be shown in precisely that detail.


So: that seems to about cover all the big problems I can think of. I’m sure there are other pet peeves and rejected notions swirling around a little deeper inside my head, but not seeing these particular issues anymore would be a big improvement.

Questions? Disagreements? Things I missed, or failed to clarify? Let me know in the comments, and feel free to add to the ideas presented here!



Next time: I settle once and for all a new debate on a classic film.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

How NOT To Write A Screenplay, Part 1: Formatting And Other Details

I recently read and reviewed 144 amateur spec scripts for a screenwriting contest. Some were good, a lot were not so good, and a few were astonishingly bad. What many of them had in common, across this entire spectrum of skill and content, were little things affecting the overall impression of the work. Whether decently written or horribly composed, a large number of these scripts had the same small problems. And by problems, I mean things I got sick of reading over and over again when I don’t think they should appear in any proper screenplay, much less dozens upon dozens of them.

If anyone wonders why I consider myself qualified to make these judgements: I have a Bachelor of Arts in Film, I am a produced screenwriter, and I’ve spent all my adult life (plus those formative teenage years) studying this craft, reading & reviewing & writing (and rewriting). There are certainly those who have read and written more than I have, some of whom may even disagree with a few of my assessments, but two things we can likely all agree on in regards to screenwriting: Less Is More, and Show Don’t Tell. The fewer things on your pages being called into question and distracting a reader, the more you can show us how you create characters and tell a story.

Part One is about technical choices which either add nothing useful to the script (and should therefore be excised) or are flat-out wrong (and should be corrected). I won’t go on about margins or spacing (should be standard), or the number of lines in paragraphs or speeches (aim for 4, tops), or using bold type or italics or underlining (don’t), or any other general concept that’s either handled by the software or covered in basic how-to-write-a-screenplay education. This is about specific choices many writers make, and what they should be doing instead. If you want your script to stand out in the eyes of people who read a lot of them, avoid these things.

Character Continueds
By far the most prevalent unnecessary text I’ve seen. I don’t even know why they exist, much less why three out of four people don’t deactivate them. They occur when the same character has at least two speeches in a row within a scene, with only action in between...making their dialogue a monologue of sorts, and thus, continuous - but is it really? What about when a person says “Let’s go!” then after three pages of action shouts “Retreat!” and it’s all in the same location, the same scene? Is that a continuous speech? No. And this is not a made-up example; I’ve actually seen this in a script.

Perhaps the CONT’D next to a character’s name is meant to help a reader be aware the same person is talking, that for the moment this is not a back-and-forth conversation...but that’s already clear, as the speaker’s name is right there on the page. And any extra words on the page are nothing but clutter. Get rid of these, please. While you’re at it, reconsider your impulse to include CUT TO (or other transitions) at the end (and beginning) of every scene. When I’m reading about events in one location, then you specify another scene in another location, I understand there’s going to be an edit there. Besides, you don’t want to be accused of directing on the page. Save these transitions for when it’s absolutely necessary, either for reasons of clarity (which are rare in this spot) or artistic imperative (even more rare). Otherwise, they’re useless.

Parentheticals
Speaking of useless, there’s almost never a point to including information between a character’s name and dialogue. Whether it’s about how to deliver a line (actors will, and should, ignore it) or to specify a particular action (which belongs in an action paragraph, not within dialogue), it’s one more thing to slow down a reader’s eye. Plus it takes up an entire line on the page, making your script longer for no reason; those extra lines add up and will increase the page count. Unless it’s necessary for clarity - such as to whom the character is speaking when the dialogue and number of characters in the scene don’t make it obvious - don’t bother. Try reading it without this extra detail, and if the meaning still comes across, delete the parenthetical. If it doesn’t make sense, or doesn’t convey what you want it to: rewrite!

V.O. & O.S.
I’m surprised to see these mixed up so often, as the words these letters stand for define how they’re meant to be used. O.S. means Off Screen. Some people use O.C. for Off Camera, and though I prefer the former they’re pretty much interchangeable, though you should choose one and stick with it. Anyway, what this means is, the person speaking is in the scene but not viewable. They’re in another room, or otherwise nearby, but physically present in the location without being shown, at least during that particular speech. A person on the other end of a phone conversation is not off screen. Neither is someone on the radio, and neither are these two scenarios a Voice Over.

V.O. is a narrator, someone entirely separate, physically, from the scene - in other words, the speaker’s VOICE plays OVER the scene, because their speech is non-diegetic. If your dialogue is neither offscreen nor a voice over, don’t use these. If you mention, once, at the point when it begins, that a voice is on the radio, we get it. If a person in a scene is on the phone, and you tell us who’s on the other end, we understand. We all know how phones work. Tell us what is seen and what is heard and don’t waste words on anything else not required for clarity.

CONTINUOUS
This is a problem for two reasons, one of which often occurs even when the term is used correctly. A scene is only continuous if it literally begins at the exact same moment the previous scene ends, and something or someone carries across, thereby providing the continuity. If a character walks from an interior to an exterior, and the story continues without a gap in time, go ahead and put CONTINUOUS in the EXT scene heading. If you have a scene in a restaurant, then a scene set somewhere else - whether a flashback or occurring in the present in another location - then return to the restaurant and the scene picks up precisely where it left off...this is not continuous. It was broken up by another scene. If you want to get across the idea that nary a moment has passed since last we left, do so in context. And if your scene is legitimately continuous, you still need to specify time of day, for the production crew. You don’t want to make people scroll back to the beginning of the previous scene just to find out if it’s day or night in the current one.

NAMES in ALL CAPS
The custom is to put character names in all caps when they are first introduced...and that’s it. Not every time, in every scene, or even any time, ever again. The one thing I can think of that might be considered an exception is the introduction of the same character at a different age, and different enough a second actor (or heavy makeup) would be needed - but I would consider this a new character, in a sense, and thus, going from BOB to Bob and then OLD BOB to Old Bob would be the kind of thing to do.

Another all caps convention is for things like specific sound effects or particular props, a leftover practice from an era when it was necessary to highlight these things for those creating or providing the sounds or items. It’s acceptable, to a certain degree, but like anything else, don’t overdo it. Save it for when you really need it, or don’t bother. What you should never do, no matter how many times you may have seen it done, is put sentences or phrases, in action or dialogue, in all caps as a means of making it seem bigger, louder, more important...it isn’t. Just tell the story. And if you capitalize your action verbs, such as “Bob DIALS his phone as he STEPS off the sidewalk and DODGES traffic,” I will mentally slap you. And it will leave a mark.

Age & Appearance
Film is visual. What we see is what we know. What you tell us on the page is meaningless if it doesn’t translate to the screen. So if you write that a character’s real age is 27 but he looks 42 because of stress...guess what? When I see him onscreen I’ll think he’s in his 40’s, because that’s what you said he looks like. Unless they cast someone younger, but then he won’t look 42, will he? So why did you write that? Some of you may be thinking, hey, this is ridiculous, who would write that a character is a certain age but looks older or younger? I don’t understand it either, but it happens. So just don’t be one of those writers.

Proofread
I consider a typo to be an error you know is wrong, but didn’t notice. There are bound to be one or two of them in any script, no matter how thoroughly and repeatedly you peruse the work. This is why it’s good to have someone else read it - they’ll catch those things your own eyes miss, because your brain knows what it’s supposed to say and lies to you that it reads correctly. But the real problem is writers who don’t know what they’re typing is wrong. Homophones are becoming epidemic; I can’t even tell you how many times I read about characters slamming on the breaks, drinking from little glass viles, peaking around corners...if I only see it once I can write it off as a mistake you haven’t spotted, but several times in the same script? Clearly you don’t know what you’re writing, and that’s just bad gnus.

If you know you can’t spell, or use punctuation, or comprehend grammar, find someone who can and let them fix your script. If your friends don’t know any better than you do, pay someone who does. Heck, I’ll do it. I’ll be glad to do it. Because I’d much rather read a script the writer is trying to improve than a screenplay the writer thinks is brilliant and perfect but is actually full of mistakes and bad ideas. 


I know these things may seem subjective, and some readers & writers may consider some of them useful despite my objections, but I look at it this way: if you’re questioning whether or not to use it, you probably shouldn’t use it. When in doubt, leave it out.

Questions? Disagreements? Things I missed, or failed to clarify? Let me know in the comments, and be prepared for Part Two: Style and Substance.