Three Secrets of Great Storytelling

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Three Secrets of Great Storytelling

by Jill Chamberlain

We asked screenwriter and story doctor, Jill Chamberlain, the secrets of great stories.Take it away, Jill!

If you find yourself blocked and can't figure out what to write next, the problem may lie

not in the scene you're stuck on but in your story as a whole.

Take a look at these three secrets of great storytelling, and see if they help you

reimagine your story in a fresh light. With a few tweaks, you can usually manipulate your

tale to work within these three frameworks. Then, your story should be rock solid, and

hopefully you'll never find yourself at a loss for words again

1. Every story is a version of "be careful what you wish for."

At the beginning of a screenplay, usually within the first 10 pages, the protagonist is

introduced, and we find out what the protagonist wants. Later, the protagonist will get

exactly what she wanted–it may not be the thing she wanted the most–but she will get

something she wanted in those first 10 pages. Then, pretty soon after that, the

protagonist's life will begin to resemble the old maxim "be careful what you wish for."

In The Wizard of Oz Dorothy wishes she could go somewhere over the rainbowbecause she thinks that there she'd escape her problems. Does she get her wish? Yes–but

it turns out to be a scary place, and instead of taking away her problems, it compounds

them.

In Tootsie Michael Dorsey, the out-of-work actor played by Dustin Hoffman, desperately

wants an acting job. Does he get his wish? Yes–but the acting job is that of a female

character on a soap opera, so he has to disguise himself as a woman all the time.

Eventually this creates so many problems in his life that he risks his entire acting career to

try to get out of his contract.

In Juno, the title character wishes she knew if she was pregnant. Does she get her

wish? Yes–and the answer is yes, she's preggers. The rest of the movie is about her

dealing with the consequences of this knowledge.

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In some films "be careful what you wish for" is more apparent than in others. Often it

requires some verbal dexterity to create just the right wording of the wish so that it's the

one that is fulfilled. But deep down, it's always there.

2. Your protagonist's flaw is secretly what your story is about.

In life, we all have strengths and weaknesses. Well-developed fictional characters

should have both, too. And your protagonist should have one weakness in particular–one

specific personal flaw–which she is going to have to come up against before the end of

your story.

The protagonist's flaw isn't something like a mustache or a Southern accent that you

can tack onto your script as an afterthought. The protagonist's flaw is the story. This flaw

and how your protagonist deals with it is actually what your story is secretly about.

You could say that The Wizard of Oz is about a Kansas farm girl whom wakes up in a

magic land and, to get back home, she has to follows a path through scary places so she

can talk to a wizard she's told can help her. But it turns out that she alone has the power to

bring herself home, which she does by proclaiming "there's no place like home." That's the

plot.

But what The Wizard of Oz is really about is a girl who yearns to be someplace else so

she can escape her troubles. When she wakes up in a land far away, she finds she has all

new problems that are even scarier than the ones she was trying to escape. When she

finally is able to return home, she proclaims that she'll never look for excitement further

than her own backyard, because somewhere new won't take away your problems; it'll just

make them worse. That's the story.

When you think about it, so very many movie plots revolve around a physical journey.

It's a great metaphor to use. Because, at the heart of it, every great story is an emotional

journey. If you don't give your protagonist a real flaw to tackle, she'll literally have no place

to go.

3. Don't put Tootsie in a chicken suit.

Stories are not one-size-fits-all. Your protagonist's journey should be specific to that

character and her flaw. If you can easily remove your current protagonist from your story

and replace her with a different character, say, your protagonist's best friend, and nobody

would notice the difference, then your story is not specific to your protagonist. You have

what we call at The Screenplay Workshop "Tootsie in the Chicken Suit" syndrome.

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Let's say that instead of having to convince everyone he's a woman, Michael Dorsey in

Tootsie has to wear a head-to-toe chicken costume. Instead of getting the part of a woman,

he got the part of "Mr. Chicken," a kook who always wears a chicken suit for some reason.

Now, let's say the producers want to keep the identity of Mr. Chicken top secret, and so

Michael has to come to work and leave work in his Mr. Chicken costume, and he can never

reveal to his costars or anyone whom he really is. Everything else about the plot of Tootsie

we're going to leave exactly the same: Michael falls for his costar; Michael's character on

the soap opera becomes a big hit, etc., etc.

Men dressing as women are funny; chicken costumes are funny. The rest of the plot is

the same. So why wouldn't "Tootsie in the Chicken Suit" be as good a story? Why wouldn't

it ultimately work?

The problem is that a chicken suit is arbitrary; it has nothing to do with the character

Michael Dorsey. In the film Michael Dorsey is a guy who sleeps around and has no respectfor women. Making him have to be a woman is a perfect test of Michael and his flaw, and

it's exactly what makes it such a satisfying story.

A story isn't a bunch random events dumped onto characters. A story should be specific

to its characters and their flaws. Don't put Michael in the chicken suit! Make sure you put

your characters on journeys that are designed to test them as individuals and their specific

flaws.

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12 Things to Keep in Mind When Writingan Ending!

by Peter Sinn Nachtrieb

We asked award-winning playwright Peter Sinn Nachtrieb for his tips on endings. Takeit away, Peter!

I am the type of writer who usually begins a play not being exactly sure of the ending.That's part of the excitement for me of building a story: figuring out as I go along where theplay needs to go. The discovery often has full structural ramifications, and I go backwardsand forwards to further shape the play and its push towards the ending (which may or maynot be conclusive. Let's just call it "the moment the audience is supposed to clap."). As an

avid fan of the rewriting process, this "organic free love" ending-finding is a process thatworks well for me. Sometimes.

The particular moment when I've had the revelation of where my play may be endinghas varied from project to project. It usually emerges somewhere around 1/2 to 2/3 of theway through. I have enough material on paper to detect some momentum and direction(such as "oh man, I think only one of these people can be alive at the end!"). There areother times when ending-finding been less easy for me. Sometimes I think I've written towhat I think is the right end, only to discover that it isn't. Or, even worse, I find myself hovering around page 75 for several weeks which then summons a moment in my writingprocess I like to call "Holy !@** Mother&@## Where the ??!@ is this ??!@ing play going

*@#$ ()%% !@#$."

You fine folks do not have several weeks to hover. So do not lose hope! There is abeautiful, wonderful, perfect ending lurking within your piece, waiting for you to find andwrite. Here are a few thoughts to help you as you seek your end. (I should mention that Iam a playwright, thus the handy Syd Field rules do not necessarily apply to my craft. I hopeI am crafting tips that embrace stories both conventional and non.)

1) Helpful hints to your ending are all around you in your work. Go back and see whatyou've done. What clues have you left for yourself? Start by looking at your characters.What are they pushing towards? What are they clamoring for? What do they need to do

before we're done with watching them and they're done existing? Do they need to findLove? Die? Kill? Eat? Mate? Is their quest a success or a failure?

2) What questions is your play raising? These could be questions of story (What doesBernard keep in that sack?) or theme (Are we all destined to be sad?). Perhaps the endingsomehow involves addressing, maybe even resolving, some of your questions and/or mysteries you have raised. BUT, don't feel like you have to resolve everything! Your endingdoesn't have to be tidy. It's okay to leave your audience with some unanswered questions.

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But you also do not want them to be completely confused. Have some things come to ahead.

3) Considering your ending should also include (maybe) thinking about how you want toleave your audience after they have experienced your whole piece. What do you want to

leave your audience feeling? Hopeful? In Awe? Angry? Dejected? Humbled? Horny? Howare you pushing your play towards that final feeling?

4) It's okay if the first ending you write sucks. Maybe you know the last image of the playbut you're struggling how to get there from 10 minutes before. Get the clunky parts down.Let the thing be a piece of smoldering turd on your screen. It's much better than a page of nothingness. Throw a crappy ending up there and see what sticks. Maybe there'ssomething in there that seems right amidst the muck. Keep the nugget and try again.Rewriting, cutting, adding, and shaping is a fabulous and crucial part to the crafting of anypiece.

5) A major revelation about the ending of your play may occur to you around three or four in the morning. Have a notepad handy by the bed.

6) Avoid the last line being "and it was all a dream."

7) The farther along you are in the story of a piece, the less satisfying it is to haveexternal events influence the outcome. As we get more invested in characters, we want tosee the ending affected by them, not by a sudden random god-like event.

8) Simplicity is always a good option.

9) Conversely, do not be afraid of making big and bold choices. You can always workon them more if they feel really nutty.

10) It's possible that your ending actually happened about 10 to 20 pages before your current ending. Since there's a page requirement for Script Frenzy, you may have to addfiller in the middle of the play if you need to cut ten pages at the end. I'm kidding.

11) Many audiences will tend to repulsed by explicit morals or lessons at the end of your piece. Just sayin.

12) Remember Monty Python was brilliant and they couldn't end sh*t. So don't feel bad

if yours is bad. (But you may want to keep working on it after the month is done.)

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Five Building Blocks for a Rich Scene

by Liz Lisle

We asked Liz Lisle, producer, dramaturg, and playwright, for her thoughts on sparking

up a scene. Take it away, Liz!

Banging your head against the door of the refrigerator because your scene just won’t

come together? Here are some quick and dirty ways to get your characters moving, your

plot dancing, and your imagination playing the fiddle like it’s a hot summer night.

1. Add a character that speaks differently. Put someone in the scene that uses words

in a distinctly different manner than the other characters. As soon as language becomes a

focus, there are lots of interesting questions on the table about who, why, and what. As theplaywright, you then get to spend time deciding if these are questions you want to answer

now or later, if at all. A great way to create a dynamic in a scene is to create mystery

around what is common knowledge and what is not. Who knew this different person would

be so different? Who knew they were even coming? It all depends on what kind of world

you are creating onstage. For an additional twist, try making this character’s language,

dialect, or speech impediment translatable by only some of the other characters. (Example:

“This is my girlfriend, Monique”.)

2. Add a distraction. Create a magnetic event that each character has a differentopinion about. Even though the event may not fund the strict structure of the plot, it adds a

central point around which the characters can orient, and gives everyone a sudden,

unexpected reason to show their true colors. By adding a live moment of action to the

scene, you immediately add a layer to the story of the play, something the audience and

the actors are living together and learning about together. This makes the audience feel

smart, which is usually a good thing. Creating a distraction also gives opportunity for some

characters to sneak away from the main action of the scene and do some business in a

dark nefarious corner if need be. Then you have the glory of making two scenes happen

onstage at the same time, which will make you feel smart. (Example: “Did you see that?

Some hobo out there just got hit by a car!”)

3. Add a threat. Create a rhythmic shift in the scene and some attractive tension by

pitting two characters against one another. When one character threatens another in no

uncertain terms, there is a real boxing match sort of effect onstage. It’s raw, it’s exciting,

and no one seems to know who’s got the stronger right hook. Whether the threat is verbal,

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emotional or physical, there’s nothing like writing a current moment of conflict to pick up the

energy. Who can tell what might happen when an angry animal gets cornered! Be sure to

work all the angles here, and let your characters really get sweaty. (Example: “Go ahead! If

you throw my plant out the window you know what you’ll get.”)

4. Add a discovery. Everyone loves knowing a secret. Finding one out might even be

better. Create relationships between characters in a scene, and then move them around as

things are revealed. Try setting up the reveal, so that characters that seemed firm in one

stance or another can be exposed or victorious, just at the moment no one was expecting

them to be. Secrets pave the path for power exchanges, for romance, for betrayal, for

friendship… the possibilities are endless. It’s all about creating a small, enclosed space

onstage, smaller than the world the characters have been living and moving in. Invite the

audience into that space, whether it is through sound level or posture, and then give it to

them: that wonderful feeling of knowing. Of being in on it. (Example: “Well you knew, right?

He and Monique…?”)

5. Add physical quirks. The great thing about theater is that you have bodies to play

with. Sometimes it’s hard to remember this when you’re crunched in front of a computer

screen with only your eyes and your fingers moving for hours on end. But the greatest

plays are the ones where playwrights have given some hint as to the physicality of his or

her characters. Even if these details don’t end up in the final draft, it’s worth your time to

spend a hour walking around the room and being your character. My advice is to make

eccentricities and tics visible, even when your characters are “normal” people. Also, think

about what piece of clothing, prop, or beloved item might define a character, and how theother characters choose to react—or whether they’ll even notice. (Example: “That’s some

sweater.”)

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Five Ways to Start a Script

by Nick Turner

Around the world the clock is striking midnight and the Frenzy is beginning! As we startScript Frenzy 2008 we turned again to award-winning writer Nicholas Turner for advice onthe best way to start a script. Take it away, Nick!

The best scripts feel both original and familiar at the same time—no easy feat. Evenmore challenging: being able to capture that tone within the first few pages. Your script onlygets one first impression, and if it doesn’t hook a reader immediately, its next stop may bethe landfill.

That doesn’t mean the beginning needs explosions and car chases—or that it even has

to be particularly fast-paced. What it should do is introduce a bit of mystery. Your readersshould have a thread of suspense pulling them from page to page. What’s going on here?Who are these people? Why does one of them keeping sharpening his bowie knife?

Unsure how to start? Here are five classic beginnings you may want to try. A tried-and-true formula gives you structure and helps ground your reader in something familiar. Thechallenge is to give your opening a twist, making it your own.

1. The how-did-we-get-here opening. With this beginning, you plunge right into theaction—showing your character in an intriguing predicament. Maybe your hero is by thegallows, getting a hood placed over his head. Maybe she’s dragging a trash bag full of

twenties past a policeman—and the bag slowly starts to split open. In any case, as soon asyou’ve hooked your audience, you flash back to the beginning of the story. If you’ve doneyour job right, they’ll be itching to find out how it all happened. The ultimate version of thisopening may be Memento (2000), which is told backwards.

2. The who-are-these-people opening. Mysteries don’t have to be about murder andcover-ups. Just put two characters together and have them start a conversation. Don’t tellus that they’re man and wife, or boss and secretary, or hit man and victim. Let the factsleak out gradually, through natural dialogue. The audience’s desire to figure out therelationship between characters can hold their attention. This approach often works best for stage plays (Harold Pinter is a master of the technique), where there are few clues other

than dialogue.

3. The big-bang opening. There’s nothing wrong with an explosion or two. If you’rewriting an action-adventure script, it’s wise to start off with a tightly paced set piece. Inaddition to grabbing the audience, it can help establish your character. In Speed (1994), anelevator sequence teaches us that Keanu Reeves’ Jack Traven is a quick-thinking cop onthe bomb squad. In the Peruvian-temple scenes from Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), wesee Indiana Jones’ bullwhip-cracking prowess, as well as his respect for ancient artifacts.

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After the set piece, you should step back and slow down—showing your character in a lessfrenzied environment (Indiana Jones teaching college kids, for instance). Remember thatyour climax will have to be even more exciting than your opener, so don’t pump up theaction to the max. Where will you go from there?

4. The waking-up opening. This beginning is fraught with cliché dangers, so becareful. How many movies have you seen where an alarm clock goes off and a weary heroflails around in an effort to shut it off? It’s a shopworn scene. However, there’s something tobe said for showing your protagonist starting out a typical day. It helps your audienceidentify with the character and also establishes who this person is—before the events of your script irrevocably change his life. To see a twist on this idea, check out Half Nelson(2006). Ryan Gosling’s character is in his living room, strung-out and wide-awake, when hisalarm clock goes off in his bedroom. Like all good beginnings, this reveals something aboutthe character: You know immediately that this guy is messed up.

5. The origin opening. If you want to add a little heft to a character trait, consider this

opener. Say your protagonist is deathly afraid of bees, you may want to show her as a kid,when she bumps her head on a buzzing hive. Or maybe you’re giving the origin of asuperhero’s powers, as in Superman (1978). When you cut to adulthood, the audience hasa deeper understanding of the character than they’d get through dialogue alone. The risk:Starting off with your main character in childhood can easily be hackneyed and cheesy.And when you show that character as an adult, the audience may not recognize that it’ssupposed to be the same person. (You also may want to withhold the origin story until later in the script, to give more mystery.) For an example of this approach done well, see TheOrphanage (2007). It shows the protagonist Laura as a kid, enjoying games at theorphanage. You then can understand why she would return to the same rundown placelater in life, eager to restore the idyll she remembers. Again, the best openings spotlight the

hero’s character.

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The Three Most Important Things I Teach

Alex Epstein

Alex EpsteinRabbi Hillel was asked to sum up the Torah while standing on one foot. "That which ishateful to you, don't do it to your neighbor," he said. "The rest is commentary."

If you asked me to sum up my writing advice while standing on one foot, I would tell youthree things.

a. You need a hook.

The hook is what gets people reading your script and gets the audience to see your

movie. It’s just a compelling, attractive story idea in a nutshell. “Five unemployedsteelworkers put on a strip show to raise money.” “A kid discovers his dog can playbasketball.” “A ditz joins the Army to prove herself.”

The hook should implicitly ask a question—how does that turn out—that we have toread the screenplay or go to the movies to see answered. It should imply the maincharacter, imply the obstacles he or she faces, and imply the stakes.

Movies get made, and screenplays get bought, without hooks, but only if they alreadyhave bankable elements attached — they are based on a hit musical, or novel, or have amajor star attached.

b. The elements of story

A story is:

• a hero we care about• who has a compelling problem, an opportunity or goal• who faces difficult obstacles and/or an antagonist• if they succeed, they (or their world) will have something they didn't have (stakes)• if they fail, they'll lose something precious to them (jeopardy)

80% of all screenplays that fail, fail because one of these story elements isn’t strongenough. We don’t care about the hero, or his problem isn’t serious enough, or he doesn’tface strong enough obstacles to solving it, or there’s nothing for him to win or lose.

If your script is not working, see which one of these elements needs strengthening.

c. Pitch your story

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Before you write your script, tell your story out loud to as many people as you can get tosit still for it. Not necessarily fellow writers. Waitresses, people in line at the checkoutcounter. Your mom.

Tell it in person. Tell it without notes. You will discover valuable things.

You will see when your audience is bored or confused. You will know where the storyneeds fixing.

You will learn where you can’t remember what the next step is. Obviously that’s not theright next step.

You will come up with more interesting story ideas on the fly.

You actually know how to tell a story. We all tell stories, every day, about things thathappen to us. The more we tell them, the better they get.

But once you write things down, they become fixed. You start ignoring the boringsections—your eye just blips over them. You can’t do that when you’re telling a story live toan actual human being in front of you.

Tell your story off the cuff, to anyone who will listen. It will get better. When you can tellyour entire movie story, as a story, to anyone, and get them to sit still and pay attention to itthroughout, then and only then should you start to write things down.

Okay, can I have my foot back now? Thank you.

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How to Write a Kick-Ass Protagonist byXander Bennett

"A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.”-Thomas Mann

No kidding, Mr. Mann.

If you're anything like me, you put a lot of pressure on yourself as a writer. With everynew screenplay, your hopes and expectations are sky-high. You want your finished script tocrackle with wit, thrill with energy and sparkle with originality. Most of all, you just hope itdoesn't suck.

Well, don't sweat it. Because the truth, is you don't need flashy prose and elaborate set-pieces to craft a good screenplay. What you need is a kick-ass protagonist.

I've read a lot of not-so-good screenplays, and I'll let you in on a little secret: they all failin exactly the same way. 'The hero's emotional journey didn't map to her external journeythrough the plot'. 'The minor characters were more interesting than the lead'. 'Theprotagonist's goals and motivations were unclear'. There are a hundred ways to say it, butthey all boil down to this: your main character did not kick enough ass.

Here are three ways to ensure that she does.

1 – Make her WANT SOMETHING.

This is the big one. Ever watched a movie and thought, "Wait, why are they looking for this Crystal Skull thingy again? What happens if they all just turn around and go home?”.That's what happens when the protagonist of a movie doesn't want something in a vital, all-consuming way.

Here's what you do: give your protagonist a desire so powerful, it turns her life upside-down. It doesn't even matter what she wants – love, fame, fortune, the attention of that boyshe sits next to in history class – so long as the desire for it is strong enough to drive your story.

The most amazing thing about this trick? A powerful want can turn an average character into something sublime. Liam Neeson's character in TAKEN is the kind of guy you wouldn'teven notice if he passed you on the street... until his daughter gets kidnapped, whereuponhe transforms into a human hurricane of pain and destruction. For the next 90 minuteswe're glued to the screen. Rocky Balboa is a loser and a has-been... until he becomesobsessed with 'going the distance' against Apollo Creed. That's what happens when yougive your protagonist a want so big, it changes them completely.

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One of my favorite protagonists of all time appears in the novel 'The Stars MyDestination' by Alfred Bester. The hero of that book starts out a dim-witted thug devoid of ambition, a nobody with no heart and no future. But when a rescue craft leaves him to diein deep space, something in him snaps, and he dedicates the rest of his life to elaborateschemes of revenge. His overwhelming want is visible in every action he takes, every word

he speaks. It's even (in a particularly clever plot element) literally tattooed across his face.

When a character wants something – really wants it, beyond all reason – the audiencewill happily watch her do anything. Walk the dog, make a cup of tea, do her taxes, anything.Because every little thing she does will be informed by that passion, that need, that'sburning inside of her.

Make your protagonist want something, and you've got us hooked.

2 – Make her INCREDIBLY GOOD at what she does.

Dear comic book fans: I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Wolverine is a veryboring character. He's a short Canadian with a murky past and really good bone structure,and that's about the extent of his character development. So why is Wolverine one of themost popular and recognizable characters on the planet?

Because he's 'the best there is at what he does'. And sometimes, that's enough topower an entire plot. Just ask James Bond.

Believe me, if you're writing a simple or even unlikeable protagonist, nothing endearsthem to an audience faster than sheer competence. Maverick in TOP GUN isinexperienced, cocksure and, as everybody repeatedly complains, dangerous to fly with...

but he's just so darned good! And so we follow his story with rapt attention, suspiciousvolleyball scenes and all.

Take Micky Rourke's character in THE WRESTLER. At the beginning of the film we'reintroduced to a man who can't pay the rent on his trailer, works a dead-end job and treatshis family like dirt. Why are we watching this again? Then he steps into the ring, and our eyes are opened. We see his grace, his skill and his bloody-minded dedication to his art-form... and we're hooked.

Remember: kick-ass protagonists are really, really good at what they do.

3 – Have her CHANGE enormously.

Some of the most satisfying stories are the ones where the protagonist in Act Three isbarely recognizable as the same person who set out on the journey in Act One.

Remember GROUNDHOG DAY? Phil Connors' transformation from boorish jerk tobodhisattva isn't amazing by itself. What's amazing is how far he had to come. His

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character arc was so unbelievably vast, the universe had to refashion the laws of time justto accommodate it!

But how to make a character change that much? Unless you're writing GROUNDHOGDAY 2, you probably don't have the luxury of watching them grow over a hundred years. So

here's what you do: give them a fantastic catalyst for change. In BRAVEHEART, thecatalyst for William Wallace's transformation is his wife's murder at the hands of theEnglish. In every romantic comedy ever, it's the other person – you know, the cute boy or girl who walks into the protagonist's life and messes everything up.

In the case of romances and rom-coms, the trick is to make sure that other person iscustom-built to trigger every one of your protagonist's big changes. If your protagonist isshy, make her love interest brash and loud – all the better to force those changes in her.Remember WHEN HARRY MET SALLY? Every little facet of Sally's personality was thereto challenge Harry, infuriate him and ultimately transform him into a better person, and viceversa.

If you really want your protagonist to change, make sure you send them to hell andback. In THE GODFATHER, Michael Corleone loses everything that matters to him – hiswife, his family, his own morality – and winds up transforming into the complete opposite of what he once stood for. The further your protagonist falls, the more amazing their eventualtransformation.

Nobody ever said writing was easy. But if you can write a great protagonist, you'realready halfway there. To those who are about to write, I salute you. May your ideas alwaysflow, may your data always be backed up, and may your protagonists always kick ass.

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THE TOP 3 THINGS YOU OUGHT TOKNOW ABOUT WRITING A ROMANTIC

COMEDY by Billy Mernit#1: It’s the characters, stupid.

Check out your own short-list of favorite romantic comedies and I guarantee it’s the

character-driven factor (usually hitched to a neat story concept) that makes them

memorable – people like Tootsie, Annie Hall, Arthur, Harry/Sally and the rest. So much of

good comedy comes out of strong, vivid character ideas. Creating two unique characters

an audience will fall in love with and need to see united is the most important key to your

screenplay’s success. All great characters have purpose and credibility, are empathic andcomplex. But romantic comedy leads have additional requirements. They’re emotionally

incomplete people who get completed by their mate-to-be. One (if not both) of your

protagonists should have an inner conflict that the story’s romantic relationship confronts

and ultimately resolves. And take the time to create a truthful, resonating "chemical

equation" between two distinctive leads, i.e. write their chemistry on the page (instead of

leaving it to casting); we need to believe that these two people have to, must, absolutely

belong together in the end.

#2: Use cinematic storytelling.

Why is it that we don’t expect to see the first 3D romantic comedy anytime soon?

Because generally people think of rom-coms as Two People Sitting Around Talking.

Romantic comedy is a horribly dialogue-dependent genre, and spec-writers tend to be too

in love with the sound of speech. Instead, you should be tapping into great visual ideas,

gags that use the medium (e.g. 500 Days of Summer) – to make a movie-entertaining ride

out of your story, and to prove to your prospective buyers that your movie justifies being

given big screen treatment. How active is your script? How visually exciting? While you

may not have the mudslides, wild chases and fireworks that Romancing the Stone

delivered, you may have a set, a setting, world, or a physical comedy opportunity that willopen up and enliven your movie. Annie Hall takes place in a fairly mundane urban world,

but it’s packed with sight gags, from the cocaine sneeze to the errant lobsters, and

inventive visual ideas, from split screen to animation. Make sure your script makes use of

all the cinematic storytelling techniques a good movie-movie uses.

#3: The best ones are about something.

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"I was a better man when I was a woman, with you, than I was when I was a man"…

"Men and women can’t be friends, because the sex thing always gets in the way…" Not to

harp on 500 Days, but there’s a movie about a syndrome: being too in love with love, and

thus being blind to the realities of who one’s love object is. Even light fare like The Proposal

is in its way an attempt to look at professional women and the "can you have it all?" issue.

At the core of any great romantic comedy is some kind of thematic idea, grounded in the

writer’s personal point of view. Why are you writing this particular story about this specific

couple? Your romantic comedy should be posing a question, or poking at a truth, that you

the writer are passionately invested in exploring. That’s the real key to involving an

audience, and no amount of cute one-liners can take its place. Good romantic comedies

speak to something that’s going on in the culture. So make your story matter to us. It

wouldn’t hurt.

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Five Character-Defining Opening Scenes

With Adam Kempenaar & Sam Van Hallgren

Throughout the next two months, we'll be talking to screenwriters, playwrights, critics,

and gurus, asking them to school us on all things script-related.

Today's guests are two of our favorite film commentators, Sam and Adam from WBEZ

Chicago's "Filmspotting" (also an eponymous podcast). Adam and Sam have seen more

films than is probably healthy, so we challenged them, on this opening day of our Cameo

series, to come up with their top five character-defining opening scenes. Take it away, Sam

and Adam!

Many great movies open with the main character doing something that cuts right to the

heart of their personality and gives a clear sense of who the person is, while also telling the

audience what sort of wild ride they're in for. Here are five of our character-defining

favorites:

1)The Dude in The Big Lebowski

Written and directed by Joel & Ethan Coen

The Stranger: Sometimes, there's a man, well, he's the man for his time and place. He

fits right in there. And that's the Dude. The Dude, from Los Angeles. And even if he's a lazy

man—and the Dude was most certainly that. Quite possibly the laziest in all of Los AngelesCounty, which would place him high in the runnin' for laziest worldwide. Sometimes there's

a man, sometimes, there's a man. Well, I lost my train of thought here.

With their opening monologue, impeccably delivered by Sam Elliott, the Coen brothers

employ a screenwriting convention that's often regarded as the crutch of the lazy

screenwriter. Of course, used to introduce a hero who's "high in the runnin' for laziest [man]

worldwide," it's perfectly appropriate.

And when we are finally introduced to Jeff Bridges' "The Dude," we find him the very

embodiment of human sloth: dressed in a dirty t-shirt and pajama bottoms, shuffling in hisflip-flops through the dairy aisle, checking the expiration dates on milk cartons. At the

checkout, he wears a milk mustache and writes a check for $0.69. It's a hilariously sorry

sight.

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http://www.filmspotting.net/

http://www.filmspotting.net/




What we see in this first scene is a character just sharp enough to maintain his lifestyle

of weed, bowling, and some Creedence. The rest of the film is The Dude's desperate

attempt to get things back to the status quo that he was so content with.

The monologue manages to undermine its own grandiosity, while at the same time

establishing The Dude as the story's heroic figure. The Coens don't make the mistake of showing contempt for their character. By elevating the Dude to the status of Greatest Lazy

Person of All Time, they give us a reason to pay attention to him.

So if you've got a voice-over in your heart as good as the opening to The Big Lebowski,

then sing it! Sing it, brothers and sisters!

2) William Somerset in Se7en

Written by Andrew Kevin Walker

Did the kid see it?

Sometimes less really is more when introducing a character. Take David Fincher's 1995

film Se7en, which begins with detective William Somerset (Morgan Freeman) deliberately

going about his morning routine. He carefully puts on his tie and grabs his keys, badge,

switchblade knife, and pen (all in a row). He flicks a speck from his perfectly pressed

sportcoat, gently lifts it from his perfectly-pressed bed, and shuts out the light. On his

nightstand we spy a metronome. Whatever horrors he may witness outside his apartment,

Somerset will make sure that the world he can control is pristine and orderly.

When, in the following scene (also before the opening credits), he arrives at the site of a

grisly murder involving a woman who has shot her husband, he wonders whether the

couple's young child saw it happen. "What kind of a [expletive] question is that?", another

detective responds. "We're all going to be real glad when we get rid of you, Somerset." We

know Somerset lives alone; now we learn that he works alone, too. He's retiring not

because he doesn't care enough but that he cares too much.

3) John L. Sullivan in Sullivan's Travels

Written and directed by Preston Sturges

John L. Sullivan: I want this picture to be a document. I want to hold a mirror up to life. I

want this to be a picture of dignity. A true canvas of the suffering of humanity.

LeBrand: But with a little sex in it.

John L. Sullivan (reluctantly): But with a little sex in it.

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Preston Sturges single-handedly invented the concept of the writer-director, and all you

have to do is watch the first scene of Sullivan's Travels to see why. It's a brilliantly written,

brilliantly acted, hilariously rapid-fire, three-character scene. That was shot in a single take.

It also establishes the Hollywood director character of John L. Sullivan as a naive,

arrogant idealist—the very qualities that set the film in motion and allow Sturges to satirizethe sanctimoniousness of Hollywood, while simultaneously making a good case for

comedy. In fact, the first scene accomplishes in four minutes what the rest of the movie

takes 90 minutes to do.

As a bonus, take a look at Sturges's The Lady Eve (my favorite screwball comedy) for

another pair of great character introductions, as well as an example of how to make a wildly

implausible premise totally believable. (Watch as the brilliant Barbara Stanwyck manages

to seduce Henry Fonda twice—as two different people!)

Sturges' characters are always more than the sum of their foibles and self-deceptions,and his films always take surprising and unconventional turns. With both films, part of the

fun is watching Sturges write himself into a corner and then watching him write himself out

of it.

4) Primo and Secondo in Big Night

Written by Stanley Tucci & Joseph Tropiano

Secundo: Make it, make it, make it, make the pasta!

A middle-aged couple are the only customers in a small, but well-appointed restaurant.

The waiter, Secundo (Stanley Tucci), fusses over them because he has nothing better to

do. In the kitchen, his brother Primo (Tony Shalhoub) prepares the food. The woman is

served her risotto. She wants to know if she gets any pasta with it.

The ensuing (hilarious) argument between Secundo and Primo ("You don't serve pasta

with risotto!") establishes at least three opposing forces that the movie will explore: food,

family and home. Do you compromise food for financial success? Do you side with your

brother or with the customer? Do you choose comfort and anonymity (Italy) or risk failure

for a shot at fame and fortune (America)?

The reason this scene—and the movie—works so well is because Primo and Secundo

are not only at philosophical odds with each other; they also love and respect each other.

Too often, movies feature two characters (husband and wife; best friends, etc.) who are so

perfectly at odds that you spend the whole movie wondering why they spend any time with

each other in the first place. Not so in Big Night.

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(As a bonus, Big Night also features my very favorite "last scene" of all time.)

5) Fitzcarraldo in Fitzcarraldo.

Written and directed by Werner Herzog

I'm going to build an opera in Iquitos and Caruso'll open it. It will be the greatest opera

of the jungle the world has ever seen.

With one brief exchange, Werner Herzog reveals everything you need to know to

understand the peculiar madness of Fitzcarraldo's titular character, a man who will devise a

plan to successfully haul a huge boat over a mountain with nothing but pulleys and

manpower, all in the service of his "one dream"—to build an opera house in the jungle.

The movie opens with Fitzcarraldo (Klaus Kinski) frantically rowing a ramshackle boat

along the Amazon. He and his lover, Molly, are late for an opera they don't have tickets to."We come from Iquitos," he implores the door guard. "1,200 miles down the Amazon. I had

to row because our motor broke down." Molly adds: "Can't you see this man needs

desperately to go in there. He hasn't got a ticket but he has got a right."

The rules of the civilized world don't apply to a man with a transcendent vision, a

passion for opera so strong that he would come 1,200 miles by boat in order to see his idol

Caruso. Exhausted and with bloodied hands from rowing, the delusional, determined

Fitzcarraldo convinces the guard to let them in. His hubris—along with his powers of

persuasion, regardless of how ridiculous the request may be—will serve him well in the

pursuit of his dream, just as it will eventually (and inevitably) lead to his undoing.

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FIVE MISTAKES A BEGINNING WRITERSHOULD AVOID (and will probably fall

prey to)We asked David S. Goyer, writer of The Dark Knight, Batman Begins, and the Blade films

(to name a few), to share his expert advice with new writers. Here's what he had to say…

1) ROMANTICIZING WRITING…DON’T DO IT. Many beginning writers have a tendency toromanticize the act of writing. They imagine themselves as pint-sized Colettes or Hemingways or the screenwriter du jour.

But the dirty little truth is – most writing isn’t romantic at all. Real writing involves brutal, soul-searching, often isolating work. And I’ve found that most real, seasoned writers approach it as a

craft, rather than a calling.

Because writing is a solitary, formless pursuit it’s important to impose a structure upon it. Self-discipline is the key. For me, things turned around when I started treating the act of writing like asalaried day-job. I found a place to work (i.e. “office”) that wasn’t in my home. I made a point of going there, turning off my phone, and logging in a requisite amount of hours. I didn’t just writewhen the muse visited me. I made myself write on a schedule – usually from 9 until 2 everyweekday. And I made myself write whether I was feeling inspired or not. Gradually, I found that mywriting came more easily. I realized that I’d been exercising a particular set of mental muscles andthat they were responding to my self-imposed discipline just like their flesh and blood counterparts.

2) THE OUTLINE IS KING/QUEEN. The outline is the most painful step of the writing process. I

hate it. I always have. Over the course of my career, I’ve probably been paid to write at least 60screenplays. And I can tell you that the act of writing an outline has never gotten any easier. Thereason for it is pretty basic; figuring out how to get from A to B to C is – at its most reduced state –the actual heart of the writing process.

Outlining is painful because it’s essentially writing with all the frilly, fun parts stripped away – nowitty banter, no character nuance or elegant descriptions. It’s all about mechanics. But if you don’thave the mechanics down, then no amount of witty banter or nuance in the world will make your story/script sing.

Often, I find myself deviating from the outline once I actually go to script. And that’s fine – evenfor a newbie. But it’s important to have that road map in front of you to begin with. If you don’t, you’ll

quickly find yourself driving off a cliff.

3) ANYONE CAN WRITE A GOOD FIRST ACT. First acts are easy. The reason they’re easy isbecause they don’t involve having to figure out any of the attendant consequences. First acts are allset-up. You can strut various characters on-stage, but you don’t have to have them pay off or revealtheir motivations and back-stories.

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The trick is moving past Act One into the inevitable, sagging Act Two. Many writers bottom outin the middle of their scripts – the point where they actually have to start weaving the variousstorylines together. They get depressed, they procrastinate, they flounder. I do it as well. Even now,I frequently find myself questioning the merit of any given project when I’m in the middle of it.

But it’s important to resist the temptation to jump back to Act One and begin endlessly rewriting

it. Rewriting Act One before plowing through Act Two is just an elaborate form of procrastination.More often than not, fine-tuning Act One will simply result in further demoralizing you. And honestly,how can you be revising Act One when you haven’t even finished the rest of the draft?

My advice? Keep moving ahead. You can always go back and revise what you’ve previouslywritten – and you should. But it’ll be much easier and effective once you’re able to assess acompleted piece of work.

4) IF ENOUGH PEOPLE TELL YOU YOU’RE DRUNK, LIE DOWN. No one likes to subjectthemself to criticism. But there’s simply no better way to improve as a writer.

The point of writing is to communicate. You may think your plotting is genius but others may findit impenetrable. The only way to know for sure is to put your baby out there and weather whatever criticism it induces.

When I was starting out I made a point of giving my script to at least five people. If the majorityof those people came back with similar notes, then I was forced to concede that they were probablyright about what they were saying (hence the title of this tip).

But the great thing about writing is – no matter how exhaustive the notes may be – your scriptcan always be rewritten. There’s no deadline on an original, spec script. Which brings me to my lastpointer…

5) REWRITE YOUR SCRIPT AT LEAST TWICE. I can’t tell you how many writers I’ve met thathave a handful of first-drafts in a drawer. There’s a tendency to finish a script, then want to move onto the next one. It’s enticing – you get to work with new ideas and you don’t have to confront theinadequacies of your first piece. But launching into a second script before rewriting the first one isreally just another elaborate form of procrastination and cowardice.

A proper rewrite will usually involve some restructuring – possibly creating new characters or set-pieces. It’s not simply polishing dialogue. Which is why many people avoid it. Because rewritingis actually work. If you have to restructure something, then you’re right back in the throes of Step 2.Having said that, if you can suffer through the pain of a proper rewrite, you will probably end up witha much better script.

Hopefully, these pointers will be of some use to you. I wish I could say that I developed themright out of the gate. The truth is, it probably took me some four years and a half-dozen scriptsbefore I actually managed to routinely put them into practice.

Three Secrets of Great Storytelling

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