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Today's screenplay proves you can only hide for so long before something comes for you and makes you do something you don't want to do...

Genre: Contained Horror
Premise: A family lives in a nuclear fallout shelter, hiding from a deadly race of mutated humans known only as, the breathers.
About: This is a script that’s been getting a lot of heat lately. Lots of people I talk to really love it. Hence, I had to read.
Writers: The Duffer Brothers
Details: 105 pages - undated (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

There is one type of script that is absolutely perfect for the spec market – this one. If you come up with a contained horror scenario that's intense, that has immediacy, and that's a little bit different from what’s come in the past, somebody will buy it. Shit, I’LL buy it. You can make these movies for a cheap price AND they’re easy to market. So they’re always going to be in high demand.

But that doesn't mean you can do whatever you want. You have to find that fresh angle. Hidden is by no means original, but it has just enough new that it doesn’t feel like yet another contained thriller clone.

For example, almost all scripts with people hiding from an unseen danger put several strangers together. It's a smart way to go because you can create a mysterious backstory behind each character (that can be revealed over the course of the script) and the potential is high for conflict since you have a bunch of different personalities.

But Hidden took the unique approach of sticking us with a family. You definitely lost some potential conflict with the choice, but what you gain is an overwhelming sense of love between the characters and an "us against them" mentality. This created a strong bond between us and the characters, which meant we were rooting for them from Page 1.

And remember that when you have the audience rooting for your characters, you can pretty much get away with anything. You can even ignore some of the things I preach all the time because if we’re desperately rooting for the characters, the structure isn’t as important. We just want to see the characters win, regardless of the mechanics beneath them. The closeness of this family really helped in that sense. I read on because I wanted to see them survive.

Speaking of the family, it includes Claire and Ray Hewitt, former middle-class suburban parents, and their seven-year-old daughter, Zoe. They're down in this shelter because a year ago, on an ordinary Sunday, a mass hysteria rose up when a unique virus started infecting everyone. The virus turned ordinary people into dangerous and uncontrollable beasts.

The Hewitt family tried to get away like everybody else, but when the military started attacking civilians, they fled into the woods and found this hidden shelter. They've been here ever since, hiding. And it's gone pretty well. Except they're finally running out of rations and will need to find food somewhere else – not an easy task since going to the surface is the equivalent of suicide.

But hunger is just one of many invisible clocks ticking down for this family. And those clocks start ticking a lot faster when an accidental fire sends smoke out the ventilation shaft up into the forest. It’s only a matter of time, now, before the breathers spot the smoke and seek out its origin. When that happens, it’s doubtful our family will be able to remain…hidden.

Lots to like about this one! The writing itself was top-notch. The brothers have an amazing ability to keep descriptions sparse, so that the script moves along quickly, yet still pack interesting shit into their action, so that the info both moves the story forward and paints a powerful picture of the situation.

I read lots of scripts from writers who hear their writing needs to be sparse, but they take it to the extreme. The writing ends up containing so little meat, so little detail or depth of information, that it’s as if the words disappear somewhere between the page and your eyes.

I loved how the brothers would take time, for example, to explain how a rat was able to get into their food supply and chew through the cans, cutting their survival time in half. It’s stuff like this that paints a detailed picture of their predicament – that shows the unique things a family in this type of situation would have to go through. There’s meat here. There’s specificity.

But the real power of the script came in the writers’ ability to tell a story. Again, so many new writers focus on how to string words together. And it's not that that isn’t important. It is. But it's not nearly as important as telling the story and keeping the reader interested.

Right away, we hear about these "breathers." The way the family talks about them, you’d think that the devil himself was hunting them. And yet we don’t know what they are yet because the writers have chosen to make them a mystery. Well guess what? That mystery is a storytelling device to keep us, the reader, interested. We will keep reading until we see these breathers for ourselves.

Then there was the smoke that went up through the ventilation shaft. We knew that the breathers might see this and possibly find them. So from the moment that smoke went out, we’re in a deep state of anticipation as we hope against all hope that they’re not going to show up. That's storytelling. You manipulate the plot in such a way where the reader *has* to read on because they *have* to find out what happens next.

And then there were, of course, the set pieces of the script. For a movie this small in scope, the set pieces are incredibly well-crafted. What I loved about the brothers was that they knew when they had a high-impact scene, and they milked the hell out of it.

Too many writers extend scenes that have no business being extended. You only want to milk scenes if the set-up is big, the stakes are high, and the situation is compelling. There's a scene, for example, where the escaped smoke has caused the leaves hiding their doorway to blacken with soot. This means that the parents have to go topside to replace them with fresh leaves in order to stay hidden. So they do, leaving Zoe alone in the shelter.

This is the exact kind of scene you want to milk. You’ve set up a dangerous situation. The stakes are through the roof (literally). You’ve left your youngest character alone. Go to town with this scene. Zoe watches them, for example, from the underground “periscope,” and thinks she sees breathers running towards them. She has to warn them, but has no way to. We cut back and forth between the breathers getting closer and Zoe trying to open a hatch she’s not strong enough to open. The brothers milk every second of this scene, and appropriately so, as it’s the perfect kind of scene you want to milk.

What’s really impressive is they have about five of these sequences throughout the script, all about 10 pages long, all of which move like the Chicago wind. Truthfully, I was shocked at how quickly the brothers were able to make such a tiny movie move so fast.

For me, this was a guaranteed impressive through the first two acts. However, while I liked the twist ending, I’d heard there was a twist ahead of time, so I was anticipating something a little flashier. Unfortunately, while the twist did its job, it didn’t quite live up to the expectation in my head. Don’t get me wrong. It was cool. It just wasn’t “fall out of your seat” cool.

So even though that brought it down a notch, this is one of the better horror scripts I've read in a while. It's a little different. The characters are compelling. The writing is great. You just don't see all of those things in a horror script these days. For that, I commend these guys. A job well done!

[ ] Wait for the rewrite
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Show and Tell. Any good screenwriter will tell you to SHOW things, not TELL things. But there’s actually a way to show while telling, and I call it the “Show and Tell.” Here, on page 10, the brothers want to establish how many days the family has been down here. So they highlight hundreds of marks on the wall (this is them showing). Zoe then asks how many days they’ve been down here. Claire answers, “Count for yourself.” Zoe counts, and tells us the number (301). So technically, since there’s a discussion about the days, we’re telling. But the conversation is motivated by a ‘showing,’ the walls. So it's a combination of the two. Which is way better than someone going, “Man, if we hadn’t been down here for 300 long days already…” which, believe it or not, is the kind of clunky exposition I read all the time.

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They attached, they waffled, they attached again, they waffled, and now, finally, Leo and Martin are back together again with The Wolf Of Wall Street.

A day off for me but this review is pretty darn good, so I don’t feel so bad. I actually read the book “The Wolf Of Wall Street” a long time ago and thought to myself, “They’ll never make a movie out of this. The main character is the most despicable human being ever.” Though I guess since Scorsese makes tragedies, that doesn’t matter as much. Still, I’m curious as to how he’ll keep us invested in what has to be the single most evil most disgusting flesh-container ever recorded in written form. I also want to know when Scorsese and Dicaprio are getting married. I mean, put on a ring on it already! Here’s guest reviewer Daniel Holmes to report on the script and potential nuptials.

Genre: Biopic

Premise: (from IMDB) Based on a true story, a New York stockbroker refuses to cooperate in a large securities fraud case involving corruption on Wall Street, corporate banking world and mob infiltration.

About: This script landed on the Black List all the way back in 2008 I believe. This is *that* draft. The script has since been through, I presume, many iterations, with Scorsese and Dicaprio flirting with it on and off, until they finally committed to it recently, off a newer draft.

Writer: Terence Winter (based on the book by Jordan Belfort)

Details: 127 pages – first revision, March 4th, 2008 draft.

As a big Scorsese fan, I was excited when The Wolf of Wall Street was first announced. The subject matter seemed like perfect Scorsese material, and with a script written by Terrence Winter (writer/executive producer for “The Sopranos”, creator of “Boardwalk Empire”), I was immediately on-board. The project seemed like a perfect opportunity for a strong return to the Crime genre for Scorsese, and its refusal to die amongst his pile of potential next gigs implied that there might be something special here. But as I learned from Scorsese & Dicaprio’s last collaboration, not even Scorsese can make a great film from a mediocre script. I was cautiously optimistic on whether or not Winter’s script would deliver the goods.

The script opens up with an unmistakably Scorsesean device: a scene that takes place late in the story. Jordan Belfort is the head honcho at Stratton Oakmont, one of the most profitable firms on Wall Street. Jordan and his 700+ minions (most in their early 20s) praise him like a god and they celebrate their success in a scene of such debauchery it would make Gene Simmons blush. Soon after, we see Jordan’s mug-shot taken before being sent back to the beginning to see everything that ultimately led him to this point in his life.

Jordan’s love affair with the almighty dollar has been life long. At 11, he’s collecting nickel deposit bottles and by 16, he’s running his own Italian ice business. He eventually marries a local girl, Denise, whose uncle hooks him up with a trainee job at a brokerage firm on Wall Street. Jordan bonds with Danny, one of the brokers, and Danny takes him under his wing, showing him all the ins and outs of Wall Street (Example: “Fuck the clients. The only responsibility you have is to put meat on the table.”). Jordan is immediately hooked and trains to become a broker himself.

He’s on the road to glory until he arrives for his first official day as a broker on the most unfortunate of days to do so: Black Monday, where the stock market experiences its highest one day drop since 1929. The firm closes down, and Jordan is back at square one. While this incident would send every sane person running as far away from the stock market as possible, Jordan is not like the rest of us. Dirt poor, he soon finds a position at Investor’s Center, a penny stock brokerage which is every bit as bleak as it sounds. However, once Jordan brings his Wall Street savvy ways to the equation, he starts pocketing up to 94 grand a month. He gets Danny in on the mix and soon they open up their own firm. The only problem with Jordan’s success is that it more or less relies on him lying to investors about the shoddy companies he’s pushing them. And since rich people don’t buy penny stocks, all of his oblivious clients are already on the wrong side of the economic spectrum.

Soon, Jordan figures out the key to getting rich people to invest in his penny stocks and so begins Jordansanity, a manic ascent to the top of Wall Street littered with hookers, cocaine, and quaaludes. Jordan gets introduced to Nadine, the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid his eyes on. Naturally, Jordan needs to have her and does so despite his marriage to the loyal Denise, which was otherwise still going strong. Denise inevitably finds out about the affair and Jordan goes on to marry Nadine, and not before throwing a $2 million bachelor party in Vegas.

Everyone wants to be in the Jordan Belfort business, no matter what side of the law they’re on. Everyone, that is, except for Greg Coleman, a pushy FBI agent. Coleman knows Jordan’s up to something, and he won’t be bought no matter how hard Jordan tries. Jordan now has to navigate the rocky terrain of a failing second marriage, drug addiction, sex addiction, and possible jail time all while trying to stay on top.

The Wolf of Wall Street shares a laundry list of similarities with some of the main staples of the Scorsese filmography including: starting the film with a scene that takes place late in the story, a married male protagonist who falls for another woman (who is more often than not blonde), protagonist voice-over, the protagonist's best friend betraying him, etc. It's impossible to imagine any scenario where Winter didn't write this script specifically with Scorsese in mind. Despite this, I'm happy to say that there is just enough freshness in this script for it not to feel like Scorsese will be completely ripping himself off.

For one thing, the character of Jordan is more complex than protagonists cut from a similar cloth usually are. Unlike most of the Henry Hills of the world, Jordan's morality has somewhat of a grey area. With many similar stories, the protagonist’s sense of morality is either backwards or non-existent altogether. Pathologically, they believe the rules don't apply to them and they spend their entire lives breaking them recklessly without any sense of remorse. It’s how 95% of criminals are portrayed on film. What made Jordan interesting is that there’s a part of him (however small) that knows he’s doing something wrong and feels bad about it. When he initially stumbles on to his penny-stock scheme, part of what leads him to going after richer investors is simply to avoid screwing over poor ones.

Jordan is no angel by any stretch of the imagination, but his sense of guilt was just enough to keep him fresh in the pantheon of on-screen criminals. Throughout the script, Winter also employed what I call "empathy checkpoints", where every now and then Jordan either does something or says something empathetic enough to keep the reader within arm's reach no matter how bad his behavior gets. An example is when he's presented with the option of ratting out his associates or sending Denise to jail. Despite their marriage having been over for years, he immediately spends the next six hours writing a list of just about every single person he’s crossed paths with throughout his work life.

The other thing I liked about Jordan is that his problem goes much deeper than the fact that he's greedy. The seed of Jordan's success and everything that comes after it is pure addiction. Jordan is addicted to drugs, to money, and to sex but his primary addiction first and foremost is to success. All of Jordan’s other addictions ultimately stem from his addiction to success. When Jordan first meets Nadine, he needs to have her. It doesn't matter that he's still in love with Denise, or that he’s racked by guilt during his first date with Nadine. Love is no match for the strength of Jordan’s addictive needs.

Another one of the things I really liked about this script was how cinematically it was written. This is one of the few scripts I’ve read in a while that truly always remind the reader that they’re reading a movie. A great example is a scene where Jordan is teaching the employees of his firm his new method for selling. The scene starts off by him explaining the process to a large group of his brokers. As the scene progresses, we cut between brokers applying the methods until we see each one of them having mastered Jordan’s technique having applied it verbatim. The pacing of the scene is impeccable and it’s a great way of visually explaining Jordan’s power and his ability to lead.

Despite the fact that The Wolf of Wall Street hits a lot of familiar beats, I think there’s enough here to bring something relatively fresh to the Crime genre. Regardless, I think the familiar aspects of the script remind one not to fix something that’s not broken. I know Winter’s tackled at least one other rewrite of this script since this draft, so it will be interesting to see how much gets changed.

[ ] Wait for the rewrite

[ ] wasn’t for me

[ ] worth the read

[x] impressive

[ ] genius

What I Learned: Always pace your script in the way most appropriate to the story you're trying to tell. This script is a testament to the strength of proper pacing and utilizing it to build a reader experience that reflects the energy of the story. The pure kineticism of the majority of this script harkens back to one film in particular: Goodfellas. One of Goodfellas’ biggest strengths was its pacing and how every single scene was structured in a way that appropriately reflected the story events at that time. The most famous example being the depiction of Henry’s cocaine use as his paranoia hits new heights late in the film. More than anything else, The Wolf of Wall Street is a story about addiction, and the pacing of the script lends itself so well to bringing the reader along with Jordan to experience that ride of constant rushes.

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Can an actor jump into the screenwriting world without a hitch? Past experience tells me no. But today's actor may break the mold.

Genre: Crime
Premise: Two brothers go on a bank-robbing spree in rural Texas with a determined near-retired Texas Ranger on their tail.
About: This script sold just a few weeks ago! The writer, Taylor Sheridan, is actually best known for a recurring role on the TV show, Sons Of Anarchy.
Writer: Taylor Sheridan
Details: 113 pages - undated (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

Today's writer looks the part!

Have to admit, didn’t know much about this one going in other than that it sold. Oh, and that the writer was an actor. So that made it interesting. Always curious to see if the front-of-the-camera guys can hack it behind the camera. Or hack it before the camera even starts rolling. Can’t be an easy transition having assistants waiting on you hand and foot one day, then being kicked by those very same feet the next. Being the lowest guy on the movie totem poll isn’t easy!

In fact, I have a writer friend who’s writing a project for someone right now and nobody cares what he says. They’re just changing everything. And I’m listening to these changes thinking, “They can’t be serious. They’re destroying the most BASIC things that make the screenplay work.” I mean, you’d think that common sense would take over at some point. And this is a known respected filmmaker he’s working for! Yet they’re just butchering the script. So sad.

The questionably titled “Comancheria” follows two brothers, Tanner and Toby, as they make rural Texas their bank-robbing playground. Toby is the sensible brother. He's clean cut and focused and doesn't take chances. Tanner, on the other hand, is a loose cannon if there ever was one. These brothers haven’t spent a lot of time together lately. Tanner’s been stuck in jail and Toby’s been taking care of their dying mother, whom neither of the brothers liked much.

Needless to say, the two have very different reasons for robbing these banks. Tanner just wants some easy money. Well, that and the thrill of the game. But for Toby, this is much more personal. His wife left him a long time ago and for that reason, he has to watch his kids grow up from afar. And since every person in the history of his family has been poor, he wants to break that chain and make sure his kids have the kind of money where they’ll never have to worry again.

So after they rob a few banks, 70 year old Marcus Hamilton, a Texas Ranger about to become a Texas retiree, is called in to take a look at the robberies and see if he can’t figure out how to stop these guys. The thing with the brothers is that they’re robbing these tiny little banks out in the middle of nowhere and only taking the drawer money, which can’t be tracked.

It sure takes a lot longer than robbing a single bank vault but it's damn effective as it’s almost impossible to get caught. But as most bank robbing sprees go, at some point something goes drastically wrong or the bank robbers get a little greedy. With time running out on when they need the money, Tanner gets a little greedy, and it'll end up costing the brothers, potentially with their lives.

The thing that stuck out to me most about this story was how simple it was. We had two brothers with a clear goal - to rob a series of banks. We also had two “villains,” Marcus and his partner, with a clear goal, to capture the brothers.

The key to making a narrative like this work is to make sure that your hero’s goal is strong. Sheridan did a great job establishing how important stealing this money was for Toby. Everything he was doing was for his kids, who he had a very complicated but loving relationship with. As long as you establish that your hero desperately wants to achieve his goal, then by association, we’ll want him to achieve it as well.

The strength of a goal is determined mostly by motivation, and how well you establish that motivation. What that means is digging into your character and getting to know him and getting to know why he wants to do what he wants to do. Sheridan spends a lot of time in the conversations between Tanner and Toby discussing Toby's kids, the way they’ve pulled away from him, the way his ex-wife has facilitated that divide. This is a man with nothing in this world other than his children, and even though he doesn't know them that well, he loves them to the point where he’d do anything for them. The specificity of this relationship is what makes us believe that it’s real and go along with it. In other words, it’s not just slapped in there by a lazy phone call at the beginning of the movie from his son saying something like, “I miss you dad,” and the dad replying, “I miss you too, son.” Believe me, I see that kind of cheap tactic ALLL the time.

Another thing that stuck out to me here was the dialogue. Boring dialogue is usually normal dialogue. Characters speak in a very plain obvious way. They use very plain obvious sentences. Good writers find ways to play with the sentences, to give them a slightly different feel so they pop off the page. But it’s a tough skill to learn because you have to do it without it FEELING like you’re doing it. So these heightened lines must sound as relaxed and normal as everyday conversation. Lots of writers have trouble with that. But Sheridan nails it. Let’s look at quick exchange in the middle of the movie. Ranger Marcus is asking an old man at a diner if he saw anything during the robbery.

MARCUS
Ya’ll been here for a while?

OLD TIMER
Long enough to watch someone rob the bank that’s been robbing me for thirty years.

Perfect example. I can think of a million boring versions of this line that average writers would’ve written. “Not long, nope.” “I suppose so.” “I wasn’t keeping track.” I could go on. There's nothing wrong with these answers. They're just average. They’re not memorable. They don’t *pop*? Why go average when you can go heightened?

MARCUS
You say you saw them?

OLD TIMER
Saw the guy running from the bank.

MARCUS
What’d he look like?

OLD TIMER
Had a mask on. But he ran pretty good, so I’d gather he’s youngish.

MARCUS
That so ... What’s youngish in your book?

OLD TIMER
Younger’n you and me, but older than all these little girls running around here pouring tea.


We have another interesting answer here. He could have easily given an age. He could've said “25.” And again, that would've been fine. But when you're writing scripts, and especially when you're writing dialogue, you're trying to elevate the reality of the world you’re portraying. This answer is brilliant. It answers his question but in an unexpected interesting way.

The only reason this script didn’t rate higher for me was because I have no interest in this kind of movie. It just doesn’t appeal to me. With that said, I don’t think anybody could’ve executed this story as well as Sheridan did. I mean the writing is top notch. The dialogue is top notch. The character development is waaaay beyond what I’m used to in a screenplay. If I was into this kind of movie, Comancheira would get an impressive. As it stands, ‘double worth the read’ will have to do. Oh, and one last piece of advice to Mr. Sheridan – GET RID OF THIS TITLE. It screams “Don’t watch me.”

[ ] Wait for the rewrite
[ ] wasn’t for me
[xx] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Be careful about mimicking real-life dialogue. There’s a certain rhythm to real life conversation that’s important to capture, but as far as the vocabulary and the flavor, real life conversation is pretty dull. When you’re writing dialogue for a movie, you’d like for it to be slightly heightened. Not overtly so. But it should definitely have more pop. “No thanks” might become, “Not for me, compadre.” “What are you up to?” might become “What the hell happened to you?” Now all of this is dependent on the character delivering the dialogue (i.e. an average Joe will speak in an average way) and the story you’re telling (comedy dialogue will be more flavorful than drama dialogue), but in general, avoid stale dialogue by looking to invisibly heighten it. Don’t be afraid to add a little flavor.

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I read way too many boring scripts. And the thing is, the whole time I’m thinking, “Aww man, if they had just done this or done that, the script would be so much better.” I want to reach through the screen and correct their mistakes for them. But I can’t. And that’s what’s the most frustrating. They don’t even know what they’re doing wrong – so they continue to make the same mistakes over and over again – and I’m helpless to stop it.

Which is why I’m writing today’s article. If there’s anyone who knows what makes a script boring, it’s me. And I’m here to reveal those mistakes so that you guys don’t make them anymore. Some of them will be easy to apply and some of them will take – gulp – years of practice. But at LEAST you’ll know what they are, which gives you a fighting chance. The biggest reason for a bad screenplay is ignorance – not knowing or understanding the mechanics of what make a story work. Well my friends, consider yourselves enlightened. Here are 10 possible reasons people are bored with your script.

Your movie idea isn’t interesting - This one seems obvious and yet it's the most ignored piece of advice I give. Writers simply come up with uninteresting ideas. They want to write about a man coming to terms with the death of his mother or a woman’s road trip to discover the meaning of life. There’s no CONCEPT there. There’s no ironic component to make you sit up and notice. You need a SPECIFIC INTERESTING IDEA to explore or else we won’t care. So please, for the love of all that is holy, test-drive your idea with a dozen people before you write your script. If nobody seems that excited (beware fake excitement – which friends and family are good at) then move on to a better idea. It doesn’t matter how good of a writer you are if your idea is boring.

You’re writing scenes that say the exact same thing - New writers take four or five scenes to make a point. Pro writers take one scene to make a point. Because of that, their scripts move faster and because of *that*, their stories are more entertaining. For example, if you want to point out that your main character is afraid to get close to people, then give us an early scene showing them pull away from an emotional moment. Do NOT then follow that scene with four extra scenes specifically showing different versions of that exact same point. That’s not to say you won’t keep hitting on your hero’s flaw throughout the screenplay. But you should only have one scene specifically dedicated to it. That’s the problem with a lot of young writers. They repeat the same things over and over and OVER again when we got it the first time. It’s MUCH more important to keep your story moving than it is to drive your point down our throats. 

Lack of a compelling/interesting/intriguing main character – Oh my God this one is huge. Your main character is who we’re going to be following for the entire movie. So guess what? If he’s got nothing going on, we’re going to be bored! Too many writers make their characters Average Joes doing average things. And yes, some movies require that type of protagonist, but you HAVE to find something interesting about them if we’re going to follow them around enthusiastically. Maybe your hero’s like Indiana Jones, who’s a professor by day and a superhero by night. Maybe he’s a janitor at MIT who’s secretly genius. Or maybe he’s just a really funny dude who doesn’t have any ambition (Knocked Up). Whatever the case, your main character has to be interesting in some way because if he’s not, it doesn't matter what your plot is. We’ll be bored.

There’s no point to your scene - Pointless scenes are script killers. I usually run into pointless scenes as early as the second scene of the screenplay. In fact, that's a pretty common place to find them because most writers know what their big fun exciting opening scene is going to be before they write their script. But once that scene is over and they get to characters actually talking, it’s like the writer doesn’t know what to do any more. It’s like they think as long as two characters are having a dialogue – regardless of what they’re talking about – that they’re doing their job. Wrong. If there’s no point to your scene – if characters aren’t trying to get something out of the scene or out of the other character, you’re just talking to yourself. One of the easiest ways to make a scene interesting is to make sure the characters in it want something. That desire (that point) will suck the reader in.

Endless action - Endless action is one of those false security blankets. Young writers believe that as long as there's a lot of action happening, the reader will be entertained. But actually, if you're giving us endless action, it’s just as boring as giving us endless dialogue. The reason action scenes work is because of what's at stake. They work because you’ve used the previous 20 pages to set up how important this heist is or this battle is or this race is. Without that prep to establish the stakes, it’s just mindless action. So if you’re jumping from one action sequence to another with little to no breaks in between, I guarantee you we’re getting bored.

Scenes without conflict – Think of your scenes as a tug-of-war. One person in the scene wants one thing – the other person in the scene wants another thing. You write the scene to figure out who’s going to win that tug-of-war. Maybe Person A wins. Maybe Person B wins. Maybe nobody wins. But the fact that something is trying to be gained is what’s going to keep the scene entertaining. New writers RARELY add conflict to their scenes which is why their scenes are so boring. Now conflict can be tricky. It’s not just two people being angry with one another. In fact, sometimes a character may not even know he’s in a tug of war. So yeah, a conflict-filled scene could be as simple as a wife and husband arguing about who’s going to pick up the kids today. But it can also be a girl who secretly likes a boy and is trying to get him to realize it. Or it can be a wife who’s trying to get her husband out of the house before her lover shows up. However you look at it, scenes work best when there’s some sort of imbalance in them that needs to be resolved. So add some damn conflict to your boring scene!

Your characters are thin - I know too many writers who don't care about digging into their characters. Some will use the excuse that they're writing an action movie. Some will just say they're not interested. But if you're not digging into your characters and learning about them and understanding how they grew up and understanding the complications they went through and what regrets they have and what their dreams are and who they still hold a candle for - if you don’t know all those things about your characters, then guess what? Your characters will be thin. And thin characters are BORING characters. One of the reasons Avengers was so well-liked was because, even as an action movie, every single one of those characters had an intense backstory. I mean look at the Hulk. If that's not a character with depth, I don't know what is. So if they can do that in the biggest popcorn action movie of all time, then you can do it in your screenplay as well.

Not understanding the phrase “stuff needs to happen” - Stuff needs to HAPPEN in your screenplay. The problem is that young writers don't know what the word “happen” means. They think it means your character going to bars and talking with their friends or going to work for yet another boring workday. Yeah, technically something is “happening” in those scenes, but nothing INTERESTING is happening. In order to make something of interest happen, have the scene push your story forward. So instead of plopping two characters down in a location to discuss their lives, have them trying to figure out something that has an impact on the story. Maybe one of them is thinking of moving to a new city. Maybe one of them is thinking of asking their dream girl out. Now there's an actual purpose to the conversation so we’ll be invested in how it ends. “Happening” basically means writing a scene where you’re pushing the story forward. If you're not doing that, your scene’s probably boring.

An unfocused story – I can tell you right now, one of the quickest ways to reading boredom is when I lose track of what’s going on. The script’s become so unfocused that I don’t care anymore. We've ended up in a house in another state with a character whose goal I’ve forgotten trying to contact somebody I don’t know about something that’s never been fully explained. Of course I’m bored. A lack of focus almost always stems from an unclear character goal. If we’ve forgotten (or never been told) what the protagonist is after and why, then the script drifts into a sea of murkiness. So the lesson here is, MAKE SURE THE READER KNOWS WHAT THE CHARACTER IS AFTER. There's never any doubt that Indiana Jones is going after the Ark. That’s why that script whizzes by. So make sure you establish that and don’t be afraid to remind us every once in awhile. Because as soon as we lose track of what’s going on, we start to lose interest.

You’re not putting enough effort into your choices - Recently I read this script I felt could easily be a movie. It was very marketable and the kind of thing a studio would want to add to their slate. But it was incredibly boring. And it was boring because every choice the writer made was the most obvious choice in the world. The main character was a cliche obvious choice. The scenes were all scenes I’d seen a million times before. The funny sidekick character had nothing new to him. It was like the writer never thought past the first thing that popped into his head. It’s your job as a writer to always ask the question: “Can I come up with something better, more interesting, more original, or cooler than this?” Chances are you can. But most writers don’t take the time because it’s too much work. Well I got news for you. Screenwriting ain’t all fun. It’s work. I would go so far as to say if writing a script is pure fun for you, you’re not working hard enough. Challenge your choices. Come up with better ones. Don’t be the guy who sends out a script where everything is obvious, general, and cliché.

And there you have it. Now get back to your current screenplays and make sure you're not making any of these mistakes. Good luck!

type='html'>NEW Amateur Friday Submission Process: To submit your script for an Amateur Review, send in a PDF of your script, a PDF of the first ten pages of your script, your title, genre, logline, and finally, why I should read your script. Use my submission address please: Carsonreeves3@gmail.com. Your script and “first ten” will be posted. If you’re nervous about the effect of a bad review, feel free to use an alias name and/or title. It’s a good idea to resubmit every couple of weeks so your submission stays near the top.

Genre: Comedy
Premise: (from writer) A lost cache of Nazi gold could save the crumbling hometown of a failed actor. But the key to the treasure, an antique shaving mug, is also the key to his doom. He must outwit, battle and defeat weird and dangerous Nazi sympathizers who have skulked into town searching for him and the treasure.
Writer: Michael Wire
Details: 108 pages (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

It’s comedy time here on Amateur Friday. I hope your laugh buds are tingling cause we got ourselves a wild one. Our writer, Michael Wire, is definitely insane in the membrane – but in a good way! “Shaving Mug Fracas” is a wild ride that may not have the focus a story this ambitious needs, but I see a lot of promise in Michael. If he can learn to sharpen his storytelling skills, he might very well be a comedy writer to watch for.

“Fracas” starts with former B-grade movie star Chad McSteele III (the actor who portrayed the superhero “Flying Falcon”) putting the finishing touches on one of those giant mechanical dinosaur heads you see in Monster Truck shows. McSteele used to have it all. The women. The fame. The house in the hills. But after a Youtube video surfaced of him screaming like a girl when his wire-frame harness malfunctioned on set, no one bought the illusion of Flying Falcon anymore. McSteele’s career was McSeeya.

So he moved back to his hometown, Verona, Arizona – a desert dump with a higher evacuation rate than Chernobyl, and started his auto-body business. In many ways, Verona IS Chad McSteele – a past-its-prime town that’s just wasting away.

With the banks moving in on Verona, demanding money that the town, and our hero, don’t have, McSteele is looking for any source of income to stave them off. So he starts selling old junk on Ebay. To his surprise, one item, a seemingly innocuous shaving mug, is garnering a serious bidding war. In fact, it’s already up to 1500 dollars!

Before McSteele can figure out why the hell anyone would want a boring mug, a German bombshell, Evita, and her creepy brother, Maxwell, show up wanting to buy the mug directly. When that plan fails, they hire some local skinheads to steal it for them. The skinheads do the job, but in the process see the letters “A.H.” inscribed on the mug. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who those letters refer to (but the skinheads still need it explained to them). And that means it’s time to up their asking price.

In the meantime, a plump dorky 40-something Brit named “Eggman” shows up ALSO willing to do anything for the shaving mug. It turns out he’s collected a whole set of Hitler’s toiletries and this is the last item he needs to complete it. When he learns that it’s been stolen, he hires McSteele to steal it back.

But that’s when things get really crazy. Evita and Maxwell’s boss, the ancient “Grandfather,” who may or may not have been a Nazi Zeppelin pilot back in World War 2, flies into town himself. He quickly buys some property near the town’s pride and joy, a famous American tank used in World War 2, and hires a number of shifty fellars to move in with him.

It turns out that that mug wasn’t really what our guests were after afterall. There’s something much bigger hidden inside the town of Verona. And the evil Grandfather is going to find it. It will then be up to McSteele to put those tights on one last time and stop him, and maybe, in the process, save Verona.

“Fracas” is reallllllyyyyy ambitious. And I think Michael may have chomped off more Nazi war crimes than he could chew. One of the hardest areas to nail in this kind of story is the first act – because you have to set up so many people and so many storylines in such a short period of time. If you’re not careful, the entire act can turn into an exposition dump. And I’m afraid that’s what happens here. Michael is exerting all of his energy on just making sure every piece of information is conveyed, as opposed to telling an entertaining story. In the process, scenes feel like numbers on a checklist. There’s no flow to them. Nothing evolves naturally from anything else.

I mean we start with a superhero, then cut to a dinosaur head, then cut to a German grandfather in another country, then cut back to McSteele’s body shop where we go into some exposition about a rival body shop, then a quick switch to McSteele trying to pay his workers, then to a mug McSteele’s put up on Ebay, then to Evita showing up, then to a really long bar scene setting up McSteele’s old flame, Julie. I mean I didn’t know which way was up after the first fifteen pages.

And it boils down to a writer trying to jam so many things into his setup without considering how the reader is going to process all of that information. You can’t just use your first act as exposition. It still has to entertain. It still has to read smoothly.

Another thing that bothered me was once we got through those 15 pages of exposition, we had a really long bar scene that had no discernible purpose.

We were just talking about this yesterday. You don’t want to write scenes that convey the same information you’ve already given. So in the bar, McSteele runs into Julie, his old flame, and the two partake in a game of pool. The conversation they have is about A) how McSteele is down on his luck. B) How he’s lost all his money. C) How his superhero career ran out. Yet we already know all of these things. They’ve been conveyed to us quite aggressively. So the scene just sits there.

The scene does have conflict but nobody wants anything out of it and therefore there isn’t anything at stake. If I were to write this scene, I would’ve established beforehand that he and Julie don’t talk anymore – that she dislikes him – but she has something he really needs (possibly something that will help save his business). Now when he approaches her to play a game of pool, he secretly wants something from her. Ahh! Your scene now has a point, something at stake, and therefore some entertainment value. I wanted to see a lot more of that in the first act – entertainment value. Not exposition.

On the flip side, Michael has a wild imagination and some really great moments in his script. Eggman may be one of my favorite characters of the year. His obsession with the mug is hilarious. I loved that McSteele was a former movie super hero. I loved the Germans coming in to steal a secret treasure. I loved that the final battle takes place on Independence Day. I liked the huge mechanical dinosaur they used to attack the Germans. The plot with the gold hidden inside the tank was really clever. The set pieces, like the cop dressing up like a gorilla to take a wasp’s nest off the radio tower, and then the model planes swarming around him, was inspired.

So there’s a lot here to be excited about. But Michael just doesn’t bring it together. You have to work too hard to understand what’s going on. And in a comedy, you shouldn’t have to work hard at all. It should be breezy and easy to understand. I don’t know anyone who goes to a comedy to be challenged.

So that’s what I would say to Michael. Work on hiding your exposition more. Work on adjusting your plot so you don’t have so much exposition in the first place. Work on making all of your exposition scenes entertaining – not just info you’re conveying to the reader. And work on sharpening your explanation of the plot. There are a lot of moments in the script where you’re not clear enough on what’s going on, and I think it’s because certain plot points aren’t clear enough.

So I like Michael as a writer. I like his ambition here and that he’s pushing himself. The other day I chastised a script for making too many obvious choices. This script is anything but that. I can’t think of a single obvious choice Michael made. He just needs to do some simplifying and some smoothing out so the script reads more like a story and less like a prep-sheet for what’s to happen later.

Script link: The Incredible Shaving Mug Fracas

[ ] Wait for the rewrite
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: You have to be careful with your openings. Remember that an opening is the door you use to bring the reader into your home. If the reader walks in and there are monkeys on the ceiling and a plate of food being thrown at them and aliens having sex and a hot Columbian woman whispering sweet Cantonese nothings into his ear, that reader’s probably going to turn around and leave. It’s too hard to process all of that craziness right away. And that's how I felt reading the opening here. I walked into a house and had no sense of where I was or what was going on. Invite your reader into your house and let them look around a little bit before you start throwing the batshit crazy at them.

type='html'> Thank you everybody who sent in Llewyn Davis reviews. I had a wonderful time reading them and there were a lot of good ones.  BUT I really liked this one by Alexander Gillies, whose passion for the Coens and knowledge of film history won me over.  Really good review!  I'll be back with a new review tomorrow.  In the meantime, enjoy! :)

Genre: Dramedy

Premise: (from IMDB) A singer-songwriter navigates New York's folk music scene during the 1960s.

About: Loosely based on folk singer Dave Van Ronk’s memoir, the Coen brothers’ latest opus is set to star Oscar Isaac, Carey Mulligan and Justin Timberlake. Shooting started February 2012.

Writers: Joel and Ethan Coen

Details: 113 pages. Unknown revision.

I love the Coen brothers with a wholehearted passion, but I’ll just come out and say it: Inside Llewyn Davis has no plot. It could have just as easily been called A Series of Shitty Things Happen to Llewyn Davis. Not that this is new territory for the Coens, who I’ve always admired for their ability to tell stories about three-dimensional characters who despite going through complete character arcs never learn a damn thing. Nevertheless, there’s usually some sort of plot device to serve as a through-line. A murder to solve and/or cover up. A treasure to find. A soiled rug to replace. Inside Llewyn Davis has none of that—and is shaping up to be by far the most stream-of-consciousness of the Coens’ canon (with the possible exception of Barton Fink). So the question is: can even the great Coens tell a compelling story with little to no plot? Let’s find out!

Llewyn Davis, not-quite-famous folk musician, lives paycheck to paycheck and couch to couch in the New York City of 1961. As a new solo act (his former partner committed suicide), he’s finding it even harder than usual to bring in cash. He can’t book gigs. His records aren’t selling. On top of that, he’s running out of couches to crash on.

From this point on, Llewyn weaves through problem after problem. He loses his friend’s cat. He impregnates another friend’s wife—and now has to raise money for an abortion. He loses his pilot’s license and now can’t even get a job down at the shipyard. And throughout it all, he’s frantically trying to grab a hold of that elusive fame that he desires—which proves to be as tricky to hold onto as the Gorfeins’ cat. To put it simply, his life is fucked. He tackles each obstacle single-mindedly, never giving up but also never thinking farther ahead than tomorrow’s couch. Like Charlie of the Kingston Trio’s MTA, Llewyn is doomed to ride forever in metaphorical circles. Llewyn’s tragic flaw is not that he is afraid of the future—but that it never even enters his mind.

The more Llewyn deals with his friends, the worse he gets. Everyone he knows is more successful, better adjusted, more grown up, more stable than he is. As he steers through dinner parties, a road trip with two eccentric companions (true to Coen form, one a chatterbox and the other a mute) and a healthy discussion of jiggling cat scrotums, Llewyn starts to think that maybe he should just hang up his guitar for good. Maybe he’d be better off forgetting his art and devoting his life to menial labor.

But when the chance finally arises for Llewyn to grab his life by the balls and get his dream audition for the legendary Bud Grossman, will he grab those balls—or just let them hang like a cat’s scrotum?

The script delivers on all the beloved Coen beats: fascinating and bizarre characters, clever dialogue, well-crafted scenes, people surnamed Grossman, etc. All the same, it treads new ground for them in terms of structure. The Coens said that they’re shooting for a Robert Altman-style pace—and the whole thing is more than a little reminiscent of Arlo Guthrie and Arthur Penn’s Alice’s Restaurant (even down to the comatose estranged father). All in all, we’re not talking about a four-quadrant picture here. Nevertheless, the thing I found fascinating was that no matter how many times I wondered, “Is this going anywhere?”— I kept turning the pages. And I was at the end of the script before I knew it. Intriguing! How did they do that?

Our hero’s got a goal: artistic success. The stakes are high: immortality via his music. The urgency is where it gets weird: Llewyn has a sense of urgency, but it’s always misdirected at his here-and-now problems rather than toward his ultimate goal. He constantly puts off opportunities that could lead to something bigger in favor of finding a couch for tonight. Unlike the militantly lazy Jeff Lebowski who will stop at absolutely nothing to obtain his ideal life of doing absolutely nothing, Llewyn Davis knows exactly what he wants but just lacks any drive to make it happen. He’s waiting for life to happen on his own terms, but we soon realize that those terms will never come true. The result is that we experience a disconnect with our protagonist—we’re constantly yelling “No Llewyn! Stop and think for a second!” Kind of like an existential horror movie.

The interesting (some might say frustrating) thing about the script is this: while it might seem totally random and directionless, it’s painfully obvious that that’s exactly how the writers want it to be. Llewyn’s life is random and directionless. He doesn’t think about where he’ll be in four pages, so we never know either. Time after time, we’re presented with loaded guns that would serve as plot devices in any other movie: an affair with your friend’s wife. Finding out you have a two-year old kid in another state. But none of them ever go off. This would seem like a flaw in any other screenplay, but in this one it’s a perfect representation of Llewyn’s mindset: he always means to get something done, but never follows through.

So sure, it all ties in together thematically—but with a less seasoned writer, the whole thing could still be a one-way ticket to Just-Shoot-Me-In-The-Faceville, USA. So what do the brothers do to keep us interested? It’s pretty simple, actually.

Just like any good writer should do, they approach each scene as its own story. Regardless of whether it relates to the scene before it or after, every single scene has characters with conflicting goals trying to get what they want. One of the very first exchanges is Llewyn trying to get an elevator operator to take his friends’ cat for the day. The operator is obviously appalled at this idea. So we’ve got conflict. Does it have anything to do with folk music? Not directly. But it’s interesting.

That’s not to say that everyone should throw random cats into their screenplays for conflict. This cat does have a larger thematic meaning later on, but that’s beside the point.

Here are a few more tactics Joel and Ethan use…

LITTLE OBSTACLES: Little problems keep people interested. As I mentioned, the script starts with Llewyn accidentally releasing his friends’ cat into the city. So during the set-up as we’re getting to know our protagonist, we’re treated to various scenes of him chasing a cat. Even totally disregarding that the cat is a great physical manifestation of Llewyn’s struggle for success which always slips out of his grasp, I want to keep reading because seriously, what’s he gonna do with that cat? Cats can be total assholes—dragging one through New York City all day without a carrier would be hell. So by the end of the set-up, I’ve been so distracted by the cat that I don’t even realize I’ve already bonded with the main character. Now I’m ready to follow him with or without a cat.

FOCUSING ON CHARACTERS: This is something at which the Coens have always excelled, but it bears repeating because it’s so damn important. Nothing sucks the energy out of screenplays like throwaway characters. The building manager at Jim and Jean’s apartment isn’t just BUILDING MANAGER. He’s Nunzio, the old Italian man who likes to wear high-waisted pants. He’s brusque but not in an unfriendly way. He hangs out in an office down the hall. I like him. And he has two lines in the entire script. I doubt that Joel and Ethan are drafting a sequel called Inside Nunzio the Building Manager—but based on his two scenes, I wouldn’t really mind. Obviously this goes double for main characters—but no matter how big the role, putting in time for character work always makes scenes more interesting and expands new worlds of possibility for your script.

So did the brothers succeed in telling a compelling story? Well, based on this draft I wouldn’t rank it among their best—but I liked it. Some people won’t. A lot of that comes down to how much you like the premise. But in terms of writing ability for this specific story, I can’t imagine anyone better suited to keep my attention through an hour and a half of wandering. Character and conflict can go a long way.

[ ] Wait for the rewrite

[ ] wasn’t for me

[xx] worth the read

[ ] impressive

[ ] genius

What I Learned: Even if you have no coherent plot in the Hollywood sense, you can still keep the reader turning the pages by giving your protagonist simple goals and having him/her achieve them. It’s especially important if your protagonist’s main goal is something nebulous like “artistic success.” In a script like this, there’s absolutely no excuse for a scene where Llewyn just sits and mopes. No matter how dispossessed or ennui-filled your protagonists are, they better be trying to obtain something or we’re gonna get bored fast.

type='html'>Genre: Rom-Com
Premise: A young woman who keeps important items from her previous relationships decides to start a museum featuring those items, turning her into a mini-celebrity.
About: This script finished in the middle of the pack of last year’s Black List.
Writer: Natalie Krinsky
Details: 110 pages – May 17, 2011 draft (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

I heard mixed things about this one. One person I trust said it was absolutely awful. Another person I trust said it was borderline amazing. It should be noted that the person who didn’t like it was a guy and the person who did was a girl. Maybe this is a gender specific script?

The first thing I’d point out about The Museum of Broken Relationships is that the concept is…ehhh…a little hard to buy into. Building a museum out of old relationship items? I even had issues with someone *preserving* old relationship items in the first place. Nobody actually does that, right? But when I went back to check the writer’s name for this review, I noticed that under the title and her name was this: (based on her own insanity). This implied, of course, that not only does this happen, but that our writer was leading the charge!

Okay, so maybe it does happen. And maybe our writer has something unique to say about it. And you know what? I have to admit, the concept’s at least *different*. This isn’t your typical “been there done that” rom-com premise. So I tried to go into “Museum” with an open mind.

Lucy Gulliver, 28, resides in her “adorable Brooklyn apartment,” cursing like a sailor and falling in love easily. She's currently a junior curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She's also banging her boss, Max Frank, a self-absorbed asshole whose assholish qualities are lost on everyone except for Lucy.

As Lucy gears up for what she believes is going to be the next level of their relationship, Max surprises everyone except for poor Lucy when, at a banquet, he announces that his inspiration - and also new girlfriend – Ameilia, will be getting the new curator position that Lucy so desperately wanted. Ouch.

A World War II battle between Lucy and Max follows and she follows that by quitting, putting her in big financial doo-doo. Luckily her roommates are there to pick her up, going into Break-up Damage Control Mode, something they’re very good at with Lucy breaking up ALL THE TIME.

Afterwards, we find out Lucy creepily keeps tons of items from her previous relationships in her room. And her roommates come clean, telling her in no uncertain terms that she's a psycho, and that if she's ever going to have a real relationship, she has to let go of all these relationships by letting go of these items.

But Lucy’s not the type of girl who listens to logic and actually goes in the opposite direction. In a drunken crying Facebook post, she tells everyone to offload their own personal relationship souvenirs on her. She doesn't think much of it, but the next day, people start leaving these items on her doorstep. Lucy unwittingly becomes the recipient of everyone else finally letting go of their past.

The itemage gets so big that she eventually needs a place for all of it, and that's when she comes up with the idea to turn it into a museum exhibit.

During this time, she meets the curiously named Nick Friend, a man-whore who usually doesn't go out with girls long enough to experience breakups. The two are opposites in many ways, which is why they get along great. Nick is actually the one who finds her her museum space.

Eventually, the museum becomes a big hit, and Max comes back into the picture, wanting to affiliate the museum with the Met. He also wants to get back together with Lucy. Despite her success, Lucy's self-esteem is still low, so she says yes, in the process ensuring her doom. The question is, will she figure that out in time to stop it and realize who she's really supposed to be with?

The Museum Of Broken Relationships is definitely a “love it or hate it” script. And it's clear early on why women are going to relate to this script more than men. I'd argue that Krinski doesn't like men much – something she’s not afraid to show. At one point, describing Nick’s friend playing video games, she writes, “Brady plays Madden or Halo or Call of Duty or one of those lame games that boys play.” Which is kind of funny but at the same time a pretty transparent indication that our writer’s not a fan of us dudes.

But what's really going to polarize people is the style the script is written in - the dialogue in particular - which is VERY big and showy. It's the kind of style that's going to get a script noticed, and certainly makes a script memorable where so many others are forgettable, but it also feels a bit desperate, like a writer waving their hands and screaming, “Look at me!”

I have a problem with that kind of writing for that reason. It makes me forget about the story and concentrate on the writing itself. And anything that pulls the writer out of the story is a dangerous move. Because they're no longer caught up in the magic of your world. They're thinking about you the physical writer. Let me give you a couple of examples

When describing a statue in the museum she works at, Lucy says, “Aphrodite is the original gangsta of love. And thusly deserves a place of original gangsta-ness. And that’s final.”

Or, “Cinder-Fella, we’ve got to be at the ball in 15 minutes. The talking ship has sailed.”

Nearly EVERY line of dialogue is like this. Now the funny thing is I talked about elevating your dialogue a few posts ago. But this is what happens when you elevate it too much. You bring attention to it. I’m old school in that sense. I think the writing should be invisible, no matter how “big” it is. Krinsky takes the same approach with the action description.

Max clears his throat uncomfortably then leans in the opposite direction and whispers something in Amelia’s ear. She giggles. Max smiles tightly. Homeboy looks worried.

I don't know. It just feels like the writer is trying too hard.

As for the story, it's executed well. Sometimes I'm so focused on what's not working in a script that I forget to appreciate what is working. Just getting all the pieces where they're supposed to be is big deal. And everything here is where it's supposed to be. And I know that because I never checked what page I was on or pulled out of the script because a scene had nothing to do with the story. In an amateur script, I might do that 40 to 50 times. So there’s something to say about Krinsky’s understanding of the craft.

But if I'm being honest, I don't think this script was written for guys. I think it was written for women and that's why I identified with so little of it. A female-written script I felt was much better suited to both sexes, and a lot more relatable, was the highly ranked Black List entry, “He’s Fucking Perfect,” which I loved and about everybody else hated (don’t know where those voters of the Black List were to back me up on that review!”). So who knows who's right? I just felt the showy female-biased vibe was too dominant here. I didn’t dig it.

[ ] Wait for the rewrite
[x] wasn’t for me
[ ] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: Motivate your characters’ actions. You can't just have characters do things because you want them to. Your characters don't know they're in a story. They believe they’re in real life. So if they do something, it has to make sense to them. There's a moment in the middle of the script where Krinsky needs to accelerate the relationship between Nick and Lucy, who’ve only seen each other out and about. So Krinsky simply has Nick show up at her place. Why? I have no idea. I don't even know how he knows where she lives. But the relationship needed to get going and this was the easiest way to do it. But it doesn't make sense so it stands out as an awkward scene. Instead, look for ways to motivate these moments. For example, maybe Nick has heard about Lucy’s broken relationship item collecting and therefore brings over something from his previous relationship. Now his visit is motivated by an act instead of him just showing up. So always look to motivate your character's actions in your script. If you don't, we’ll notice.

type='html'>

LEVEL 10!!!

Back when I taught tennis, there was something called a NTRP Rating. To this day I have no idea what NTRP stands for, but its purpose was legitimate. It ranked players on a 7 point scale. So a player with a solid forehand, decent backhand, and consistent serve in the 80s, might be a 4.0, while a player with a high national ranking who could pound groundstrokes consistently deep into the court with heavy topspin, might be a 6.0. This allowed us pros to group players according to their level as well as place them in the right leagues and tournaments.

That always had me thinking: Why don’t they do the same thing for screenwriters? Because I think one of the big problems with screenwriters is they have no idea where they stand. Assuming an imaginary 10 point scale, there are millions of 1s out there who believe that they’re 10s. And that’s because there’s nothing to go by. It’s frustrating not just to see these writers deluding themselves, but if a writer doesn’t know where the checkpoints are, how can they possibly know what they need to do to get better? And hence, the 10-Point Scriptshadow Writer Scale – a detailed breakdown, from 1 (lowest) to 10 (highest) which tells you where you stand. Are you ready to find out your level?

LEVEL 1
If you’re on your first or second screenplay, you’re probably at Level 1 status. Level 1s usually know very little about storytelling. They often start their stories with no idea of what’s going to happen from scene to scene, making everything up as they go along. They’re not yet aware that events must progress in a logical fashion to make sense to a reader, and therefore much of their story bounces around illogically. Characters are often replicas of characters from their favorite movies and therefore display no originality. Dialogue scenes can go on for 10 pages at a time with no point – they’re just people talking. Most Level 1s assume screenwriting is easy and therefore put very little effort into the final product.

LEVEL 2
A level 2 writer has typically read 1 screenwriting book (usually “Save The Cat”) and is therefore aware of the 3 act structure, giving their stories a little more form than a Level 1. The problem is, while they know where the act breaks reside, they have very little idea what to do inside of those acts, particularly the second act. Their dialogue is typically on-the-nose and feels false as a result. Also, the writer hasn’t learned the importance of clarity yet, leaving out key pieces of information that they erroneously assume are obvious. This ensures a lot of head-scratching on the reader’s end, as they’re constantly trying to keep up. For example, the writer may know that their protagonist is a recovering alcoholic, but they don’t tell this to the reader. So when that character falls off the wagon and starts drinking again, it’s supposed to be this big powerful moment, but means nothing to the reader. Many Level 2s believe that since they’ve written a few screenplays, they know everything. They don’t. Not even close.

LEVEL 3
Level 3s are still often writing personal stories with very little market appeal, making it nearly impossible to sell their script or get noticed. Their structure is getting better – particularly the first act – but they still don’t know what to do with their second act, resulting in 60+ filler pages whose only purpose is to get them to that ending. Ironically, their scripts tend to be on the long side, usually 125 pages or more, and they *insist* that they need every single one of those pages, even though more than half the pages are extraneous and/or repeating information. Another problem is that their dialogue scenes are way too long, and usually consist of two characters discussing topics that the author thinks are interesting, even if they have nothing to do with the story.

LEVEL 4
Level 4 is usually where the writer first learns the importance of a strong goal that drives the story. Not only does this give the story a point, but it makes the main character active, since he has to go after something. Because these two things are so important in creating a great story, the jump from Level 3 to Level 4 is one of the most important a writer will go through. Level 4s also write good first acts, since having a character goal makes setting up the story a lot easier. But they still falter when they get to the second act, as even though they know where the protagonist is going, they don’t yet know how to create obstacles, reversals, surprises and interesting relationships, the things that keep the second act entertaining. But if you can make it to Level 4, which can take between 1 and ½ to 2 and ½ years depending on your talent level, you put yourself in a strong position to make it as a screenwriter.

LEVEL 5
Level 5 is when a writer first *really* understands the importance of concept. They’re no longer trying to write Academy Award winning scripts that change the world. They realize that in order to get noticed, you need to write something that appeals to the studios, and a marketable concept is the best way to go. Level 5 is also where writers first typically stress “showing” (tell the story through action/visuals) as opposed to telling (characters explaining through dialogue). They’re also learning to hide their exposition more so that characters aren’t speaking so on the nose. Their story is becoming more invisible. Although they don’t add conflict to every scene, they’ve started to subconsciously pick up on its importance, and therefore have quite a few strong scenes. Level 5s will occasionally place in contests as contest runners will see the potential in their work.

LEVEL 6
Level 6 often signifies a writer who’s in it for the long run. This writer has read a lot of the screenwriting books and has taken the best from all of them to develop his/her own approach. He/she also understands the importance of reading scripts, which they read a lot of. Level 6 is also when character development first starts to become a major focus for the writer. They’re just as interested in developing characters with full arcs as they are plotting their story out. Their scenes are also much better as they understand how to get into scenes late and leave early, giving their scripts a crisp “straight to the point” feel. There’s more conflict (in the plot, in the characters, in the relationships, in the scenes) making a larger chunk of the script entertaining. The thing is, while a Level 6 KNOWS all these things, they haven’t yet perfected them, giving the scripts an unpolished feel. Level 6s will place high in many secondary contests, possibly even winning a few.

LEVEL 7
Level 7 is when a writer really begins to “get it.” They’ve had all these pieces they’ve been perfecting for so long, but now those pieces are finally starting to fit together. It’s one of the more magical times for a writer, as they’ll experience a lot of “Ah ha!” moments. Outside of a strong marketable concept, Level 7s often look to the power of irony (i.e. a lawyer who can’t lie) to make their concepts and stories even juicier. Characters become the primary focus, specifically creating characters who are relatable and who have interesting problems and backstories that need to be resolved by the end of the story. Structure is never an issue with Level 7s. The dialogue is also a lot better since they keep their scenes short and to the point and have done enough character work that their characters speak distinctly and specifically. The problem with Level 7s is that they sometimes stress the craft side of screenwriting so much that their scripts feel a bit mechanical. Everything is where it’s supposed to be. The characters are all going through transformations. And yet there’s something missing that prevents the story from connecting with the reader. The writer hasn’t yet learned how to make all of these things feel natural, feel invisible. Level 7 is usually when writers start to make money off of their work, getting small jobs here and there. A few of them will even get lucky, selling a script if they have a really great concept. This is why you sometimes see so-so professional writers. They’re Level 7s who caught a break.

LEVEL 8
A level 8 writer has almost all of the screenwriting tools at their disposal and is working on perfecting more advanced techniques, such as dramatic irony, invisible set-ups, and thematic consistency. They can easily recognize when a scene or section isn’t working and know how to fix it. This skill is essential for working in the industry since that’s what you’ll be doing most of the time – rewriting your own and other people’s work. Level 8, in my opinion, is also when you first start “moving” readers emotionally with your work. It’s when you first create characters who really resonate with people, who feel real to them. This extends to the story as well. Often when reading a Level 8 writer, the reader isn’t aware that they’re reading a script as they’re too lost in the story. Their dialogue scenes often have subtext and in most scenes, there’s usually more going on than what’s on the surface. Strangely enough, Level 8s still struggle with the second half of the second act and can get overconfident, believing that their writing is good enough that it can overcome a weak premise, ironically putting them back at Square 3 – writing an unmarketable script. Level 8s are making a living off screenwriting, but aren’t yet trolling the 90210 zip code on Trulia for their next home.

LEVEL 9
A level 9 writer has gotten to the point where they can break time-tested screenwriting rules and still get away with it, since they know how to counteract them. Level 9 writers are specifically aware of what the studios and producers want and cater their premises accordingly. They know, for example, that to get a non-book-franchise movie made, you need an A-list actor to play the lead – which means coming up with an intriguing protagonist role with a lot of meat that an A-lister would love to play. Their execution is first rate and they know how to make every single moment interesting – even that damn second half of the second act. Level 9s don’t stop at making their primary characters interesting, but make sure every single character in the script is memorable and changes in some way. These guys are the meat and potatoes of the industry and are responsible for most of the movies you enjoy. They get paid at least 500k per job and are sought after for all the big assignments.

LEVEL 10
Level 10 is master status, Aaron Sorkinville, Academy award winning screenwriter. There are only 20-30 of these writers working and they know EVERYTHING about screenwriting. They know how to manipulate every single button inside of you using conflict, irony, sympathy, character flaws, all to make you laugh, cry, angry – WHATEVER they want you to be! They know every trick in the book to keep you turning the pages as well – anticipation, obstacles, mysteries, dramatic irony. They can write a character who seems like your best friend even though you’ve only known him for a few minutes. They can make you fall in love with a woman even if women aren’t your preference. Every scene has a specific purpose. There is no fat. They can completely ignore rules and still make it work. But what really separates these guys from the rest of the pack is how fast they work. They not only give you a great screenplay, but they can do it in a very short amount of time, something only a coveted few in Hollywood can pull off. Which is why they’re paid so much money. Once you reach Level 10 status, you can quit. Cause you’re at the top of the mountain baby.

Now is the Scriptshadow Writer Scale perfect? No. There are some writers who are naturally gifted with dialogue, for example, who still might be a Level 2 in every other category. But generally speaking, these are the observations I’ve made after reading every type of script from every type of writer under the sun. So how do you accelerate your ascent up the scale? Simple: LEARN AS MUCH AS YOU CAN ABOUT THE CRAFT. Read all the books. Read a ton of scripts. Write! Trade scripts with a screenwriting group. Get constant feedback. Study! It doesn’t mean you have to listen to everything you read. In fact, I encourage writers to perfect their own unique approach to screenwriting. But you can’t perfect something you don’t know anything about. So keep at it. Hopefully this scale gives you an idea of where you stand and where you need to get to. Good luck. :)

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You will not be the same after reading this screenplay.

NEW Amateur Friday Submission Process: To submit your script for an Amateur Review, send in a PDF of your script, a PDF of the first ten pages of your script, your title, genre, logline, and finally, why I should read your script. Use my submission address please: Carsonreeves3@gmail.com. Your script and “first ten” will be posted. If you’re nervous about the effect of a bad review, feel free to use an alias name and/or title. It’s a good idea to resubmit every couple of weeks so your submission stays near the top.

Genre: No idea - Crazy?
Premise: When a young gang of girls kills her brother, Dakota, a former member of the gang, vows revenge.
About: I picked this because I just really liked Z’s query letter. Here it is: “BULLET" features a high school girl on a quest for revenge, a rambunctious 16 year-old male prostitute and a human-taxiderming psycho. It's over-the-top, but my main objective is always to prioritize well-rounded characters and complex relationships above spectacle. If someone asked me to "movie-meets-movie" it, I'd say "Heathers meets Kill Bill". -- My biggest beef with the grindhouse resurgence is that filmmakers think they can skate by on irony and style to mask poor storytelling. I want to see more substance injected into the genre. -- My biggest influences were "The Machine Girl" and "Up". -- Thanks for your consideration.”
Writer: Z. LaPorte Airey
Details: 106 pages (This is an early draft of the script. The situations, characters, and plot may change significantly by the time the film is released. This is not a definitive statement about the project, but rather an analysis of this unique draft as it pertains to the craft of screenwriting).

Today’s review will change everything.

Okay, maybe that’s overstating it. But it’s rare that an Amateur Friday script has gotten this much buzz before a review (generated mainly on Twitter). The question is, what kind of buzz? Good buzz? Bad buzz? That’s up to you to decide. But I’ll say this – this is one of the few scripts I’ve read over the past year that you read and absolutely HAVE to have an opinion on. It makes you want to talk about it. Do you know how rare that is? A good 95% of the scripts you read you forget about a few days later. This is not one of those scripts.

And yet, I still don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know if it’s the most original voice I’ve ever read or a total mess. One thing’s for sure – and this is something a lot of you have already written me about – no matter how weird or shifty it gets, you have to keep reading. Bullet is so damn readable!

The first scene is a good indicator of what to expect. Nina Pinko, a 16 year old knockout and leader of the Pink gang, is cavorting with her crew – the overtly obese Cameo, the constantly spitting Spits, the Duran Duran lookalike…Duran Duran, and Nina’s best friend – Dakota.

When a member of the rival gang, the Yellows(?) shows up, our crew (minus Dakota) stomps the shit out of her. And I’m not talking about movie fighting here. I mean they beat the pulp out of this poor girl. It was at this point that I realized I was reading something different.

As you know, I’ve been reading through the first ten pages of the Twit-Pitches every night, and my biggest complaint is that nearly all of them have nothing that GRABS you in those first ten pages. Either a surprising scene or a surprising voice or a perfectly executed scene with lots of conflict or irony. Something that pulls a reader in. Because of this, I’m rarely excited to read on.

Bullet had such a jarring first scene that I absolutely had to read on.

Anyway, Dakota, the only one in the group with an actual heart, decides that the beating of the Yellow girl is too much and quits the gang. Instead, she focuses on finishing up school and protecting her younger-by-a-year brother, the fragile Duckie.

Unfortunately, Nina is so furious by her best friend’s betrayal that she targets Duckie as her personal whipping boy. So one day, in maybe one of the most disturbing scenes I’ve read, Nina’s crew corners Duckie in the men’s bathroom, forces him down on his knees, Nina pulls down her pants, and Cameo postures, “You ever eat cunt, little boy?”

I mean, what the hell is going on here!? So disturbing!

And yet I had to keep reading!

While Duckie gets out of that situation with his life intact, he’s later cornered by the girls on a rooftop, and to spare you the gory details, let’s just say when it’s all over, Duckie’s not on the rooftop anymore.

Dakota is devastated when she hears the news and it takes all of about 2 seconds for her to transform into revenge mode. Unfortunately, revenge mode isn’t very well thought out in Dakota’s world and when she confronts the group (in an alley), they beat her within an inch of her life, chop off her arm, and leave her for dead.

Dakota’s rescued by a gas station manager, the anxiety-riddled Val, who nurses her back to health. Afterwards, she tells her why she saved her. A group of bad people have kidnapped her 2 year old child and she needs to get him back but can’t do it alone. So she’ll help Dakota get revenge for her brother’s death if Dakota helps her save her baby first. Dakota doesn’t have much of a choice so she’s in.

Eventually the two meet up with a 16 year old male prostitute who specializes in imitating Elvis. Elvis-Prostitute is pretty naïve on anything that doesn’t have to do with sex, so being involved in a rescue mission AND a revenge mission is a little overwhelming for him. But truthfully, none of these three have any idea what they’re in for, as Bullet For My Best Friend is basically one giant extended bat-shit crazy sequence (and not for the light-hearted).

How does one even analyze a script like Bullet For My Best Friend? It’s just so…unique. Maybe that’s where we’ll start. Writing something that’s truly unique is so damn hard these days. Everything’s already been written of course. And everybody’s copying everyone else – either the movies they see or the scripts they read. “Bullet” does reference some other movies, but it still has its own voice, its own vocabulary. And it’s kind of mesmerizing.

Starting with the choices, Bullet features a gang of girls. 99 out of 100 writers would’ve featured a male gang. Except a male gang’s been done a million times over. So this felt fresh. Same thing with the 16 year old male prostitute. Not many movies feature a prostitute who isn’t a female, much less a 16 year old one. So again, it felt fresh. Strange how something as simple as a gender change can bring life to a script.

And, you know, what really surprised me, was that this script actually had some heart. I believed in the friendship between Dakota and Nina. I believed in Dakota’s love for her brother. Therefore, I was invested in her avenging his death. Nina’s gang was so ruthless as well that I wanted to see them go down. It’s a small thing but kind of not. Creating a bad guy that an audience hates can drive interest for an entire story all by itself. The bad guy just can’t be “stock bad.” They have to feel unique, different in some way. And for the reasons I mentioned above, Nina and crew felt different.

The scene structure here was pretty great too. You know how I always talk about “goals, stakes, and urgency” for a story? Well that same approach can be (and should be in most cases) applied to scenes as well. There’s a bizarre scene late in the script where a psycho human taxidermist (the nightmare inducing Mr. Hands) has our three heroes chained up. He plugs Elvis Prostitute with a needle and starts transferring blood out of his body. Dakota then gets free and has to fight off Mr. Hands. If you’re paying attention, you’ll notice that the ticking time bomb is what makes the scene so exciting. Fighting off Mr. Hands alone would be an okay scene. But Dakota has to do it BEFORE too much blood is sucked out of Elvis Prostitute. It’s a great scene.

But let’s not kid ourselves. There’s something…off about this script. I don’t know if it’s the tone or what but it just doesn’t seem…real? And maybe that’s because it’s supposed to be absurdist. I get that. But one second a character is beating the shit out of an old lady and the next second someone’s sobbing their eyes out. Are we supposed to be laughing or crying? I’m not sure. Brent, a Scriptshadow reader, probably said it best in a tweet: “It's well written, but so odd. I would not be surprised if the author had never met another human being.” It made me laugh but when you read Bullet, that’s kind of what you’re thinking too.

And yet that’s what makes it so damn original. If it were just like everything else, then who would care, right?

Anyway, I also thought some characters needed major rewriting. Val is a huge disappointment. She just tags along the whole time, whining and worrying. Her act gets old immediately and she has nothing under the surface to keep us interested in her. Since we need to love this woman to want her to find her child, this is a huge misstep that needs to be rectified. She needs to be rebuilt from the ground up and have something just as crazy going on as all the other characters so she can fit in. Yeah, that was my issue with her. She felt like she belonged in the alternate “normal” version of Bullet For My Best Friend.

Elvis Prostitute was also kind of lame. He, too, felt like he was tagging along for the ride. You have to remember that just creating an interesting character on paper isn’t enough. You still have to dig into him – give him a backstory, give him issues he needs to resolve, give him some sort of depth. In characters like Nina and Dakota, you could feel the history there. I never felt any history with Elvis. He was just your average quirky character, which is a shame, because he had a ton of potential.

But in the end, I can’t stop thinking about Bullet For My Best Friend. It has tons of flaws but it’s so damn readable! You have to find out what happens next. And isn’t that all that matters in the end? Also, the next best thing you can do outside of writing a great script is writing something that gets people talking – and this script will guaranteed GET PEOPLE TALKING. You can’t NOT have an opinion on it. For that reason, this one’s definitely worth the read.

Script link: A Bullet For My Best Friend

[ ] Wait for the rewrite
[ ] wasn’t for me
[x] worth the read
[ ] impressive
[ ] genius

What I learned: I thought Z missed an opportunity here. I can’t remember where I first heard this, but a tip I always liked was to use your character’s biggest weakness and, at some point in the script, turn it into a strength. For example, Riddick’s weakness in Pitch Black is that his eyes are too sensitive to see in the light. But in the second half of the movie, when the planet goes dark, that weakness becomes a strength. I kept waiting for that with Dakota. She only has this one arm, which puts her at a big disadvantage. There should have been a payoff near the end where that weakness became a strength. But it never did. :(