Writing a Great Movie Read online

  Act I, Sequence 2, Scene 1

  Act I, Sequence 2, Scene 2

  Diagrams of Sequence, Proposition, Plot for Good Old St. Nick

  POST SCRIPT

  Master the Craft of the Dramatist

  Become a Great Storyteller

  Manage Your Rewrite Process

  Some Helpful Hints for the Professional Screenwriter

  A Final Assignment

  Now Get Out There and Write a Great Movie!

  hy do screenwriters go to so much trouble writing a script? It all comes down to one word: audience. It’s all about the audience. And for the audience, it’s all about two words: GREAT MOVIE!

  This book is a practical manual on how to write a great movie. It will teach you the craft of the dramatist by focusing on a set of Key Tools for the screenwriter to use within the context of a complete working technique. Part One explains how each tool works and provides a short demonstration to help you understand its function, using a series of successful movies—Training Day, What Women Want, Minority Report, The Godfather, Tootsie, and Blade Runner—to illustrate. I recommend that you watch those six films carefully before reading this book, because knowing them thoroughly will help you learn and internalize these essential tools and techniques.

  Part Two consists of the creation, development, and construction of an actual original screenplay, built from scratch. This will give you a clear picture of how to put the tools to use in your own scripts. Starting with an utterly raw idea, I build it up as demonstrated in Part One, with you watching over my shoulder as I wrestle the script into shape. The process is left as unvarnished as possible in order to show you what you must deal with as a writer—the problems, discoveries, wipeouts, eureka moments, puzzles, and black holes that constitute the daily grunt work of building a script. It is crucial to bridge the gap between understanding these tools and being able to apply them successfully to your own partially developed screenplays. Writers of every skill level can learn this material. My intention is to be as useful and practical as possible so that you can consistently write screenplays that work.

  Writing a Great Movie focuses on seven Key Tools. These tools come from widely varying sources and are a mixture of classic structural principles and cutting-edge technique. Each tool is explored in one of the seven chapters of Part One, and then demonstrated in the seven chapters of Part Two. The first tool comes from Aristotle’s observations about what tends to be common to those dramas that successfully grip an audience—Dilemma, Crisis, Decision & Action, and Resolution. The next tool, Theme, is connected to this first tool because the way in which the central character or protagonist resolves the dilemma expresses the theme of the script. The third is a powerful brain-storming tool known as the 36 Dramatic Situations, which categorizes storytelling’s raw elements—such as madness, disaster, ambition, and sacrifice—and helps trigger story possibilities and enliven your creative process. The Enneagram is a highly effective resource for creating and developing dynamic, complex, and realistic characters. This system of personality profiling combines ancient wisdom about human nature with modern psychology; it’s great for doing character work. Research and Brainstorming are a fifth key part of the complete writing process. The Central Proposition adapts the logic of argumentation to dramatic writing, tying the parts of a script together into a coherent whole and enhancing the conflict. Finally, the three-step process called Sequence, Proposition, Plot is a remarkable tool for actually constructing the mechanics of the plot. It works with reverse cause and effect to tighten a script and keep it on track, as well as with a sophisticated process of conflict mapping that helps create and structure conflict to keep the audience on the edge of their seats.

  Before we get into Part One, I’d like to share some useful insights born of my experience as a writer, script consultant, and dramatic writing teacher for many years. I was classically trained as a playwright in the technique of William Thompson Price, a turn-of-the-century teacher who founded the American School of Playwriting in New York City (the first school of dramatic writing in the history of the world) in 1901. Price took on twenty-eight students—twenty-four of whom went on to have hits on Broadway. I then worked in New York theater as a dramaturg and taught playwriting for several years. When I started teaching the art of screenwriting, I discovered that all the tools from playwriting are perfectly applicable. Good screenwriting is about making a story work dramatically: It has to be actable, and it has to grip the audience. In this book, I teach the craft of the dramatist—the art of dramatic plotting, which works on-screen as well as onstage. And when I talk about drama, I’m referring to all genres, because these tools and techniques work equally well for writing comedy, thriller, action, romantic comedy, horror, science fiction, or what we know as “drama.” Whether you’re writing a nutball comedy or a bone-crunching thriller, your screenplay has to work dramatically.

  IT’S ALL ABOUT THE AUDIENCE

  When you go into a movie with major expectations, what specifically do you expect? You’ve heard that this movie will rock your world, and you’re excited. But can you put your finger on exactly what you expect from it? Obviously, this will vary with different genres—you expect one thing from an intense drama, something else from a romantic comedy, and yet something else from an action thriller. Examine your expectations as closely as possible. Remember, it’s your job as a screenwriter to satisfy audience expectations.

  Anyone who has performed live knows intimately that it’s all about the audience. Some screenwriters who sit in their rooms concocting wild stories aren’t necessarily trained to think in terms of the audience. But that’s what this medium is all about: It’s a performance medium intended to transform an audience. A movie playing to an empty theater has no power at all—it’s just shadows on the wall. The power of the film resides in the response of the audience.

  I urge you to make a professional study of the audience—your audience. First, pay attention to the buzz about an upcoming film. Why do people want to see it? Are they electrified or just curious? One a scale of 1 to 10, how intense are their expectations? Next, study audiences as you’re entering the movie theater. Examine your own expectations as you go in. Gauge the electricity in the air. While the movie plays, feel out the audience response. Are they thrilled? Scared? Let down? Intoxicated? Bored? Exhilarated? Then, when the movie’s over, stand outside the theater and watch the audience exit. Study the expressions on their faces. Listen in on their reactions. Be passionately curious about how your fellow moviegoers react to the movie you’ve just seen together.

  When Star Wars I: The Phantom Menace came out in 1999, people camped out at Graumann’s Chinese Theatre six weeks in advance. On opening night I joined them, specifically in order to study audience expectations. I interviewed the fans, asking, “What are you expecting?” They were pumped! I got answers like, “Oh man, I saw the first Star Wars when I was seven and it was the greatest movie ever! I’m expecting a ride to the moon!” When the theater let the first couple hundred people enter, they ran inside screaming, jumping, and whooping it up. Those fans really had it—that intense audience expectation—and I wanted to stick my finger in that electric socket. Director Billy Wilder said, “I never overestimate the audience, nor do I underestimate them. I just have a very rational idea as to who we’re dealing with, and that we’re not making a picture for Harvard Law School, we’re making a picture for middle-class people, the people that you see on the subway, or the people that you see in a restaurant. Just normal people.”

  Study your own reactions. Be your own guinea pig. You’re an audience member, too, and you can see right into your own deepest responses. Observe your body chemistry afterward. Are you tripping on adrenaline? Is your gut churning? Are you in a state of shock? Examine your mood. Are you giddy and in love? Do you feel energized, infatuated, distressed, inert, crazed, pissed off, silly, serious, demonic, transfigured? Did the movie match up to your expectations? Think about how you feel when you come out of a tr
uly great film. Consider the various levels of exhilaration, satisfaction, passion, adrenaline, happiness, clarity, fury, energy, or love that you’re feeling. As a screenwriter, this is how you want your audience to feel.

  The Writer Sculpts the Mood of the Audience

  When writing your screenplay, it’s essential to ask yourself, “How do I want my audience to feel at the end of my movie?” As the dramatist, you’re sculpting the mood in which viewers leave the theater. What mood do you want them to be in? It’s like a magic spell or hypnosis, where it all comes together at the end: “When I snap my fingers, you will feel light and refreshed.” The more specifically you can pinpoint the mood you intend for the audience, the clearer your focus will be as you write. Bear in mind that it’s not an intellectual transformation but an emotional one—and there’s a huge difference.

  I experienced this several years ago after a friend saw the band The Moody Blues. He was in a fabulous mood, and he wanted to pass it on. He told me how phenomenal the show was and how I had to see it the next night. Now, I’d had my fill of that band years before, so I wasn’t getting fired up or even pretending very well. My friend became frustrated and said, “No, you’re not getting it!” He had something inside him that he really wanted me to have. This is what I’m talking about. What do you have in you that you really want to transfer to your audience? What are you trying to do to them? Identify this, and you will see more clearly your intention for the entire movie.

  What Do We Hunger For in Movies?

  As you walk past the people lined up around the block for a movie, look each one of them in the eye and ask (in your mind), “Why are you here? What do you want from this movie? What are you hungering for? What are your hopes, your dreams, your ambitions, your desires?” Moviegoers are there to get something special. Observe them with the passionate curiosity of a writer, a scientist, a student of human nature, and a fellow moviegoer. Try to get an ever deeper and more complex—but also a clearer and simpler—understanding of the audience. Consider it part of your job, because the audience is who you write for. You’re not writing for readers, agents, studio executives, directors, or actors. You’re writing for each and every person who enters a theater and wants to see a great movie.

  Another good question is, “What’s special about a great movie?” Simple enough to ask, but these days it’s literally the $64 million question. If everyone knew what was special about a great movie, then each movie you see would be the best movie yet made. Certain movies have a “magic something,” and it’s your job as a screenwriter to get that magic something into the script. The more you can put your finger on it, the more you’ll be able to recognize it when you stumble upon it—or to create it purposefully.

  “Why do I love movies?” is yet another good question to ask yourself. Your initial answer may be simple enough, but contemplating it over the years will reveal deeper and deeper levels of understanding. What are these bizarre things called “movies”? Why do we love them? What hunger do they satisfy? It’s interesting to think about the movies that stay with you, to look back at scenes you’ll never forget, and to remember the first time you saw one of your favorite movies. Sit down and make a list of the movies that changed your life, gave you a new outlook, or awakened something in you. Think about why these films had this effect and try to articulate what they did for you.

  And then there’s the question, “In real life, what transports me?” What sends you over the moon? What puts you in a wildly altered state? To be truly transported is an astounding experience. It is to be swept into a different dimension, to be taken to an exalted place, to feel an energetic freedom. Look at the absolute peak experiences in your own life—the ones you can count on one hand, the ones that stand out far above all the others. If you can isolate one of those times, examine the confluence of powerful emotions surrounding it—the intensity, the exhilaration, or the pain. Why will you never forget it? Bring this level of intensity to your writing and it will help you create a great movie. The audience wants your movie to be one of the peak experiences of their lives. You’re working with the elements of magic and transformation, of rekindling dreams and changing perceptions. Throughout history, the storyteller has traditionally been a bringer of fire, of life, energy, healing, freedom, fun, action, insight, beauty, intensity, focus, and clarity. As a screenwriter, you are the storyteller, and you have a wonderful job: bringing powerful transformative energy and a full spectrum of emotions into people’s lives.

  The Stage and the Altar

  Throughout much of history, the stage and the altar were the same thing. The altar was a stage, with religious dramas enacted upon it. Generally these dramas were about the transformation of the hero and were for the benefit of those gathered there—the audience. From its earliest days drama has served a shamanistic function: to show those watching how to transform themselves. People seek guidance in getting through life’s transitions: moving from childhood into adulthood, entering a marriage or dissolving one, having children, dealing with success or failure, growing old, and facing death, among many others. Think about the great movies that have pointed you in a direction or helped you understand something key about yourself or about the world. At the end of the award-winning film about his life, the character of Gandhi says, “I can show you a way out of hell.” It may sound strange to think of movies having a religious function, but transforming an audience certainly can lead to a type of fundamental awakening.

  Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., believed that a powerful emotional experience can be the first step on the road to commitment. Sometimes a great film does just that: It provides an emotional release, an opportunity for conversion or renewal. Comedy can transform an audience as well, and clowns find their ancestry in priests—truth seekers and fountains of creativity. Laughter is very transformative—it clears the air and can open your eyes to new possibilities. Many comedians, knowing how crucial it is to laugh at life, take their jobs very seriously. As Groucho Marx once noted, “They’ll never know how necessary our insanity is to their sanity.”

  Audience Demand

  People expect a lot from movies. Audience demand is important to understand because it is so powerful, and it’s your job as the writer to satisfy it—even if the audience itself is unaware of it. It’s like a river that looks lazy on the surface but hides a fierce undercurrent. An excellent way to get in touch with audience demand is to remember the last time someone told you that a particular movie would rock your world and change your life. But when you went to see the movie, you found it really disappointing. Look at your reaction. It wasn’t, “Oh, too bad, it was lame.” It was more like, “Damn it! I didn’t get what I was promised, and I’m mad. I needed that!” The mark of a great artist is often that he or she gives the audience what it wants—even if the audience itself doesn’t know what it wants. So penetrate into what audiences want and demand—that’s your bread and butter. Locating it is like digging below the street, finding the giant electric line that powers the whole city, and tapping into that power. Audiences bring a lot of energy to the theater and if you can tap into it, then it will multiply the power of your movie.

  Why does an audience bring such a powerful set of demands to a movie? Because in real life, our demands often go unmet. Notice in your own life the myriad demands that you place on your friends, your spouse, your parents, your children, your neighbors, and your politicians. Look at the demands placed on you in your own life. How many are likely to or can ever be met?

  Movies are an arena in which magical things can happen, and that’s part of their enchantment—the things that could never happen in real life can happen in film and theater, even if only for a few special hours. Many of us have what could be called “chronic avoidance”: We tiptoe around tricky or worrisome issues. We agree to unspoken contracts so that certain issues will not be broached. This pressure builds into a tremendous hunger for resolution, and then if someone does tackle the issue it may blow up in his or her face, making t
he problem a thousand times worse—and still leaving it unresolved. The hunger for resolution is still active. People naturally seek closure and meaning in life—sometimes a film can provide this if “real life” cannot.

  Another important question to ask yourself is, “How do I intend to penetrate the indifference of the audience?” Today’s audiences are very jaded. From their point of view, they’ve seen it all and they know it all. This isn’t true, of course, but the feeling is genuine nonetheless. Plus, anyone entering into a new experience will tend to arrive with a certain degree of insulation. This is natural, but it’s something you must overcome to get through to your audience. Compare it to an electrician stripping the rubber coating off a wire to get a live connection.

  Drama is often compared to a crucible. In chemistry a crucible is a ceramic pot used to contain a potent chemical, or in steelmaking it’s the container that holds the molten steel. Consider the drama as a crucible in which we can experiment with powerful situations, explosive reactions, radical solutions, and forbidden ideas. People often need drastic changes in their lives, but experimenting can be risky. If your marriage is falling apart, you don’t just try a radical solution because if it doesn’t work, then there goes the rest of your marriage. But you can watch a movie or a play that broaches the subject and thereby get a feel for how it might work for you at home. The movies are a “let’s pretend” arena—we can engage in an experiment from a safe distance. We can put out our feelers or perform a taste test to see how it might work in our own life. Some of the best medicines are poisons in the right dosage. In the same way, insights derived from films, when properly used in real life, can liberate people. The healing power of art is continually sought after. It has always been a central part of civilization itself.